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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/14614-0.txt b/14614-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..442bd73 --- /dev/null +++ b/14614-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12949 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14614 *** + +SISTER TERESA + +BY GEORGE MOORE + +LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN ADELPHI TERRACE + +_First Edition, 1901_ + +_Second Edition (entirely rewritten), 1909_ + + + + +PREFACE + +A weaver goes to the mart with a divided tapestry, and with half in +either hand he walks about telling that whoever possesses one must, +perforce, possess the other for the sake of the story. But +allegories are out of place in popular editions; they require linen +paper, large margins, uncut edges; even these would be insufficient; +only illuminated vellum can justify that which is never read. So +perhaps it will be better if I abandon the allegory and tell what +happened: how one day after writing the history of "Evelyn Innes" +for two years I found myself short of paper, and sought vainly for a +sheet in every drawer of the writing-table; every one had been +turned into manuscript, and "Evelyn Innes" stood nearly two feet +high. + +"Five hundred pages at least," I said, "and only half of my story +finished.... This is a matter, on which I need the publisher's +opinion." + +Ten minutes after I was rolling away in a hansom towards Paternoster +Square, very anxious to persuade him that the way out of my +difficulty would be to end the chapter I was then writing on a full +close. + +"That or a novel of a thousand pages," I said. + +"A novel of a thousand pages!" he answered. "Impossible! We must +divide the book." It may have been to assuage the disappointment he +read on my face that he added, "You'll double your money." + +My publisher had given way too easily, and my artistic conscience +forthwith began to trouble me, and has never ceased troubling me +since that fatal day. The book the publisher puts asunder the author +may not bring together, and I shall write to no purpose in one +preface that "Evelyn Innes" is not a prelude to "Sister Teresa" and +in another that "Sister Teresa" is not a sequel to "Evelyn Innes." +Nor will any statement of mine made here or elsewhere convince the +editors of newspapers and reviews to whom this book will be sent for +criticism that it is not a revised edition of a book written ten +years ago, but an entirely new book written within the last eighteen +months; the title will deceive them, and my new book will be thrown +aside or given to a critic with instructions that he may notice it +in ten or a dozen lines. Nor will the fact that "Evelyn Innes" +occupies a unique place in English literature cause them to order +that the book shall be reread and reconsidered--a unique place I +hasten to add which it may easily lose to-morrow, for the claim made +for it is not one of merit, but of kind. + +"Evelyn Innes" is a love story, the first written in English for +three hundred years, and the only one we have in prose narrative. +For this assertion not to seem ridiculous it must be remembered that +a love story is not one in which love is used as an ingredient; if +that were so nearly all novels would be love stories; even Scott's +historical novels could not be excluded. In the true love story love +is the exclusive theme; and perhaps the reason why love stories are +so rare in literature is because the difficulty of maintaining the +interest is so great; probably those in existence were written +without intention to write love stories. Mine certainly was. The +manuscript of this book was among the printers before it broke on me +one evening as I hung over the fire that what I had written was a +true love story about a man and a woman who meet to love each other, +who are separated for material or spiritual reasons, and who at the +end of the story are united in death or affection, no matter which, +the essential is that they should be united. My story only varies +from the classical formula in this, that the passion of "the lovely +twain" is differentiated. + +It would be interesting to pursue this subject, and there are other +points which it would be interesting to touch upon; there must be a +good deal for criticism in a book which has been dreamed and +re-dreamed for ten years. But, again, of what avail? The book I now +offer to the public will not be read till I am dead. I have written +for posterity if I have written for anybody except myself. The +reflection is not altogether a pleasant one. But there it is; we +follow our instinct for good or evil, but we follow it; and while the +instinct of one man is to regard the most casual thing that comes +from his hand as "good enough," the instinct of another man compels +him to accept all risks, seeking perfection always, although his work +may be lost in the pursuit. + +My readers, who are all Balzacians, are already thinking of Porbus +and Poussin standing before _le chef d'oeuvre Inconnu_ in the studio +of Mabuse's famous pupil--Frenhofer. Nobody has seen this picture +for ten years; Frenhofer has been working on it in some distant +studio, and it is now all but finished. But the old man thinks that +some Eastern woman might furnish him with some further hint, and is +about to start on his quest when his pupil Porbus persuades him that +the model he is seeking is Poussin's mistress. Frenhofer agrees to +reveal his mistress (_i.e._, his picture) on condition that Poussin +persuades his mistress to sit to him for an hour, for he would +compare her loveliness with his art. These conditions having been +complied with, he draws aside the curtain; but the two painters see +only confused colour and incoherent form, and in one corner "a +delicious foot, a living foot escaped by a miracle from a slow and +progressive destruction." + +In the first edition of "Evelyn Innes" (I think the passage has been +dropped out of the second) Ulick Dean says that one should be +careful what one writes, for what one writes will happen. Well, +perhaps what Balzac wrote has happened, and I may have done no more +than to realise one of his most famous characters. + +G.M. + + + +SISTER TERESA + + + +I + +As soon as Mother Philippa came into the parlour Evelyn guessed there +must be serious trouble in the convent. + +"But what is the matter, Mother Philippa?" + +"Well, my dear, to tell you the truth, we have no money at all." + +"None at all! You must have some money." + +"As a matter of fact we have none, and Mother Prioress won't let us +order anything from the tradespeople." + +"Why not?" + +"She will not run into debt; and she's quite right; so we have to +manage with what we've got in the convent. Of course there are some +vegetables and some flour in the house; but we can't go on like this +for long. We don't mind so much for ourselves, but we are so anxious +about Mother Prioress; you know how weak her heart is, and all this +anxiety may kill her. Then there are the invalid sisters, who ought +to have fresh meat." + +"I suppose so," and Evelyn thought of driving to the Wimbledon +butcher and bringing back some joints. + +"But, Mother, why didn't you let me know before? Of course I'll help +you." + +"The worst of it is, Evelyn, we want a great deal of help." + +"Well, never mind; I'm ready to give you a great deal of help... as +much as I can. And here is the Prioress." + +The Prioress stood resting, leaning on the door-handle, and Evelyn +was by her side in an instant. + +"Thank you, my child, thank you," and she took Evelyn's arm. + +"I've heard of your trouble, dear Mother, and am determined to help +you; so you must sit down and tell me about it." + +"Reverend Mother ought not to be about," said Mother Philippa. "On +Monday night she was so ill we had to get up to pray for her." + +"I'm better to-day. If it hadn't been for this new trouble--" As the +Prioress was about to explain she paused for breath, and Evelyn +said: + +"Another time. What does it matter to whom you owe the money? You owe +it to somebody, and he is pressing you for it--isn't that so? Of +course it is, dear Mother. Well, I've come to bring you good news. +You remember my promise to arrange a concert tour as soon as I was +free? Everything has been arranged; we start next Thursday, and with +fair hope of success." + +"How good of you!" + +"You will succeed, Evelyn; and as Mother Philippa says, it is very +good of you." + +The Prioress spoke with hesitation, and Evelyn guessed that the nuns +were thinking of their present necessities. + +"I can let you have a hundred pounds easily, and I could let you have +more if it were not--" The pause was sufficiently dramatic to cause +the nuns to press her to go on speaking, saying that they must know +they were not taking money which she needed for herself. "I wasn't +thinking of myself, but of my poor people; they're so dependent upon +me, and I am so dependent upon them, even more than they are upon +me, for without them there would be no interest in my life, and +nothing for me to do except to sit in my drawing-room and look at the +wall paper and play the piano." + +"We couldn't think of taking money which belongs to others. We shall +put our confidence in God. No, Evelyn, pray don't say any more." + +But Evelyn insisted, saying she would manage in such a way that her +poor people should lack nothing. "Of course they lack a great deal, +but what I mean is, they'll lack nothing they've been in the habit +of receiving from me," and, speaking of their unfailing patience in +adversity, she said: "and their lives are always adversity." + +"Your poor people are your occupations since you left the stage?" + +"You think me frivolous, or at least changeable, Reverend Mother?" + +"No, indeed; no, indeed," both nuns cried together, and Evelyn +thought of what her life had been, how the new occupations which had +come into it contrasted with the old--singing practice in the +morning, rehearsals, performances in the evening, intrigues, +jealousies; and the change seemed so wonderful that she would like +to have spoken of it to the nuns, only that could not be done without +speaking of Owen Asher. But there was no reason for not speaking of +her stage life, the life that had drifted by. "You see, my old +friends are no longer interested in me." A look of surprise came +into the nuns' faces. "Why should they be? They are only interested +in me so long as I am available to fill an engagement. And the +singers who were my friends--what should I speak to them about? Not +of my poor people; though, indeed, many of my friends are very good: +they are very kind to each other." + +"But we mustn't think of taking the money from you that should go to +your poor people." + +"No, no; that is out of the question, dear Mother. As I have told +you, I can easily let you have a hundred pounds; and as for paying +off the debts of the convent--that I look upon as an obligation, as +a _bonne bouche_, I might say. My heart is set on it." "We can +never thank you enough." + +"I don't want to be thanked; it is all pleasure to me to do this for +you. Now goodbye; I'll write to you about the success of the +concerts. You will pray that I may be a great success, won't you? +Much more depends upon your prayers than on my voice." + +Mother Philippa murmured that everything was in God's hands. + +The Prioress raised her eyes and looked at Evelyn questioningly. +"Mother Philippa is quite right. Our prayers will be entirely +pleasing to God; He sent you to us. Without you our convent would be +broken up. We shall pray for you, Evelyn." + + + +II + +The larger part of the stalls was taken up by Lady Ascott's party; +she had a house-party at Thornton Grange, and had brought all her +friends to Edinburgh to hear Evelyn. Added to which, she had written +to all the people she knew living in Edinburgh, and within reach of +Edinburgh, asking them to come to the concert, pressing tickets upon +them. + +"But, my dear, is it really true that you have left the stage? One +never heard of such a thing before. Now, why did you do this? You +will tell me about it? You will come to Thornton Grange, won't you, +and spend a few days with us?" + +But in Thornton Grange Evelyn would meet many of her old friends, and +a slight doubt came into her eyes. + +"No, I won't hear of a refusal. You are going to Glasgow; Thornton +Grange is on your way there; you can easily spend three days with +us. No, no, no, Evelyn, you must come; I want to hear all about your +religious scruples." + +"That is the last thing I should like to speak about. Besides, +religious scruples, dear Lady Ascott--" + +"Well, then, you shan't speak about them at all; nobody will ask you +about them. To tell you the truth, my dear, I don't think my friends +would understand you if you did. But you will come; that is the +principal thing. Now, not another word; you mustn't tire your voice; +you have to sing again." And Lady Ascott returned to the +concert-hall for the second part of the programme. + +After the concert Evelyn was handed a letter, saying that she would +be expected to-morrow at Thornton Grange; the trains were as +follows: if she came by this train she would be in time for tea, and +if she came by the other she would be just in time for dinner. + +"She's a kind soul, and after all she has done it is difficult to +refuse her." So Evelyn sent a wire accepting the invitation.... +Besides, there was no reason for refusing unless--A knock! Her +manager! and he had come to tell her they had taken more money that +night than on any previous night. "Perhaps Lady Ascott may have some +more friends in Glasgow and will write to them," he added as he bade +her good-night. + +"Three hundred pounds! Only a few of the star singers would have +gathered as much money into a hall," and to the dull sound of gold +pieces she fell asleep. But the sound of gold is the sweetest +tribute to the actress's vanity, and this tribute Evelyn had missed +to some extent in the preceding concerts; the others were artistic +successes, but money had not flowed in, and a half-empty +concert-room puts an emptiness into the heart of the concert singer +that nothing else can. But the Edinburgh concert had been different; +people had been more appreciative, her singing had excited more +enthusiasm. Lady Ascott had brought musical people to hear her, and +Evelyn awoke, thinking that she would not miss seeing Lady Ascott +for anything; and while looking forward to seeing her at Thornton +Grange, she thought of the money she had made for the poor nuns, and +then of the money awaiting her in Glasgow.... It would be nice if by +any chance Lady Ascott were persuaded to come to Glasgow for the +concert, bringing her party with her. Anything was possible with +Lady Ascott; she would go anywhere to hear music. + +"But what an evening!" and she watched the wet country. A high wind +had been blowing all day, but the storm had begun in the dusk, and +when she arrived at the station the coachman could hardly get his +horses to face the wind and rain. In answer to her question the +footman told her Thornton Grange was about a mile from the station; +and when the carriage turned into the park she peered through the +wet panes, trying to see the trees which Owen had often said were the +finest in Scotland; but she could only distinguish blurred masses, +and the yellow panes of a parapeted house. + +"How are you, my dear Evelyn? I'm glad to see you. You'll find some +friends here." And Lady Ascott led her through shadowy drawing-rooms +curtained with red silk hangings, filled with rich pictures, china +vases, books, marble consol tables on which stood lamps and tall +candles. Owen came forward to meet her. + +"I am so glad to meet you, Miss Innes! You didn't expect to see me? I +hope you're not sorry." + +"No, Sir Owen, I'm not sorry; but this is a surprise, for Lady Ascott +didn't tell me. Were you at the concert?" + +"No, I couldn't go; I was too ill. It was a privation to remain at +home thinking--What did you sing?" + +Evelyn looked at him shrewdly, believing only a little in his +illness, and nearly convinced he had not gone to the concert because +he wished to keep his presence a secret from her... fearing she +would not come to Thornton Grange if she knew he were there. + +"He missed a great deal; I told him so when I returned," said Lady +Ascott. + +"But what can one do, Miss Innes, when one is ill? The best music in +the world--even your voice when one is ill--. Tell me what you +sang." + +"Evelyn is going to sing at Glasgow; you will be able to go there +with her." + +The servant announced another guest and Lady Ascott went forward to +meet him. Guest after guest, and all were greeted with little cries +of fictitious intimacy; and each in turn related his or her journey, +and the narratives were chequered with the names of other friends +who had been staying in the houses they had just come from. Evelyn +listened, thinking of her poor people, contrasting their +simplicities with the artificialities of the gang--that is how she +put it to herself--which ran about from one house to another, +visiting, calling itself Society, talking always, changing the +conversation rapidly, never interested in any subject sufficiently +to endure it for more than a minute and a half. The life of these +people seemed to Evelyn artificial as that of white mice, coming in +by certain doors, going out by others, climbing poles, engaged in +all kinds of little tricks; yet she was delighted to find herself +among them all again, for her life had been dull and tedious since +she left the convent; and this sudden change, taking her back to art +and to her old friends, was very welcome; and the babble of all +these people about her inveigled her out of her new self; and she +liked to hear about so many people, their adventures, their ideas, +misfortunes, precocious caprices. + +The company had broken up into groups, and one little group, of which +Evelyn was part, had withdrawn into a corner to discuss its own +circle of friends; and all the while Evelyn's face smiled, her eyes +and her lips and her thoughts were atingle. Nonsense! Yes, it was +nonsense! But what delicious nonsense! and she waited for somebody +to speak of Canary--the "love machine," as he was called. No sooner +had the thought come into her mind than somebody mentioned his name, +telling how Beatrice, after sending him away in the luggage-cart, had +yielded and taken him back again. "He is her interest," Evelyn said +to herself, and she heard that Canary still continued to cause +Beatrice great unhappiness; and some interesting stories were told +of her quarrels--all her quarrels were connected with Canary. One of +the most serious was with Miss ----, who had gone for a walk with him +in the morning; and the guests at Thornton Grange were divided +regarding Miss ----'s right to ask Canary to go for a walk with her, +for, of course, she had come down early for the purpose, knowing +well that Beatrice never came downstairs before lunch. + +"Quite so." The young man was listened to, and he continued to argue +for a long while that it was not reasonable for a woman to expect a +man to spend the whole morning reading the _Times_, and that +apparently was what Beatrice wished poor Canary to do until she +chose to come down. Nevertheless, the general opinion was in favour +of Beatrice and against the girl. + +"Beatrice has been so kind to her," and everybody had something to +say on this point. + +"But what happened?" Evelyn asked, and the leader of this +conversation, a merry little face with eyes like wild flowers and a +great deal of shining hair, told of Beatrice's desperate condition +when the news of Miss ----'s betrayal reached her. + +"I went up and found her in tears, her hair hanging down her back, +saying that nobody cared for her. Although she spends three thousand +a year on clothes, she sits up in that bedroom in a dressing-gown +that we have known for the last five years. "Well, Beatrice," I +said, "if you'll only put on a pair of stays and dress yourself and +come downstairs, perhaps somebody will care for you." + +A writer upon economic subjects who trailed a black lock of hair over +a bald skull declared he could see the scene in Beatrice's bedroom +quite clearly, and he spoke of her woolly poodle looking on, trying +to understand what it was all about, and his allusion to the poodle +made everybody laugh, for some reason not very apparent, and Evelyn +wondered at the difference between the people she was now among and +those she had left--the nuns in their convent at the edge of +Wimbledon Common, and her thoughts passing back, she remembered the +afternoon in the Savoy Hotel spent among her fellow-artists. + +Her reverie endured, she did not know how long; only that she was +awakened from it by Lady Ascott, come to tell her it was time to go +upstairs to dress for dinner. Now with whom would she go down? With +Owen, of course, such was the etiquette in houses like Thornton +Grange. It was possible Lady Ascott might look upon them as married +people and send her down with somebody else--one of those young men! +No! The young men would be reserved for the girls. As she suspected, +she went down with Owen. He did not tell her where he had been since +she last saw him; intimate conversation was impossible amid a +glitter of silver dishes and anecdotes of people they knew; but +after dinner in a quiet corner she would hear his story. And as soon +as the men came up from the dining-room Owen went straight towards +her, and she followed him out of hearing of the card-players. + +"At last we are alone. My gracious! how I've looked forward to this +little talk with you, all through that long dinner, and the formal +talk with the men afterwards, listening to infernal politics and +still more infernal hunting. You didn't expect to meet me, did you?" + +"No; Lady Ascott said nothing about your being here when she came to +the concert." + +"And perhaps you wouldn't have come if you had known I was here?" + +"Is that why you didn't come to the concert?" + +"Well, Evelyn, I suppose it was. You'll forgive me the trickery, +won't you?" She took his hand and held it for a moment. "That touch +of your hand means more to me than anything in the world." A cloud +came into her face which he saw and it pained him to see it. "Lady +Ascott wrote saying she intended to ask you to Thornton Grange, so I +wrote at once asking her if she could put me up; she guessed an +estrangement, and being a kind woman, was anxious to put it right." + +"An estrangement, Owen? But there is no estrangement between us?" + +"No estrangement?" + +"Well, no, Owen, not what I should call an estrangement." + +"But you sent me away, saying I shouldn't see you for three months. +Now three months have passed--haven't I been obedient?" + +"Have three months passed?" + +"Yes; It was in August you sent me away and now we are in November." + +"Three months all but a fortnight." + +"The last time I saw you was the day you went to Wimbledon to sing +for the nuns. They have captured you; you are still singing for +them." + +"You mustn't say a word against the nuns," and she told anecdotes +about the convent which interested her, but which provoked him even +to saying under his breath, "Miserable folk!" + +"I won't allow you to speak like that against my friends." + +Owen apologised, saying they had taken her from him. "And you can't +expect me to sympathise with people or with an idea that has done +this? It wouldn't be human, and I don't think you would like me any +better if I did--now would you, Evelyn? Can you say that you would, +honestly, hand upon your heart?--if a heart is beating there still." + +"A heart is beating--" + +"I mean if a human heart is beating." + +"It seems to me, Owen, I am just as human, more human than ever, only +it is a different kind of humanity." + +"Pedantry doesn't suit women, nor does cruelty; cruelty suits no one +and you were very cruel when we parted." + +"Yes, I suppose I was, and it is always wrong to be cruel. But I had +to send you away; if I hadn't I should have been late for the +concert. You don't realise, Owen, you can't realise--" And as she +said those words her face seemed to freeze, and Owen thought of the +idea within her turning her to ice. + +"The wind! Isn't it uncanny? You don't know the glen? One of the most +beautiful in Scotland." And he spoke of the tall pines at the end of +it, the finest he had ever seen, and hoped that not many would be +blown down during the night. "Such a storm as this only happens once +in ten years. Good God, listen!" Like a savage beast the wind seemed +to skulk, and to crouch.... It sprang forward and seized the house +and shook it. Then it died away, and there was stillness for a few +minutes. + +"But it is only preparing for another attack," Evelyn said, and they +listened, hearing the wind far away gathering itself like a robber +band, determined this time to take the castle by assault. Every +moment it grew louder, till it fell at last with a crash upon the +roof. + +"But what a fool I am to talk to you about the wind, not having seen +you for three months! Surely there is something else for us to talk +about?" + +"I would sooner you spoke about the wind, Owen." + +"It is cruel of you to say so, for there is only one subject worth +talking about--yourself. How can I think of any other? When I am +alone in Berkeley Square I can only think of the idea which came +into your head and made a different woman of you." Evelyn refrained +from saying "And a much better woman," and Owen went on to tell how +the idea had seized her in Pisa. "Remember, Evelyn, it played you a +very ugly trick then. I'm not sure if I ought to remind you." + +"You mean when you found me sitting on the wall of an olive-garth? +But there was no harm in singing to the peasants." + +"And when I found you in a little chapel on the way to the +pine-forest--the forest in which you met Ulick Dean. What has become +of that young man?" + +"I don't know. I haven't heard of him." + +"You once nearly went out of your mind on his account." + +"Because I thought he had killed himself." + +"Or because you thought you wouldn't be able to resist him?" + +Evelyn did not answer, and looking through the rich rooms, +unconsciously admiring the gleaming of the red silk hangings in the +lamplight, and the appearance of a portrait standing in the midst of +its dark background and gold frame, she discovered some of the +guests: two women leaning back in a deep sofa amid cushions +confiding to each other the story of somebody's lover, no doubt; and +past them, to the right of a tall pillar, three players looked into +the cards, one stood by, and though Owen and Evelyn were thinking of +different things they could not help noticing the whiteness of the +men's shirt fronts, and the aigrette sprays in the women's hair, and +the shapely folds of the silken dresses falling across the carpet. + +"Not one of these men and women here think as you do; they are +satisfied to live. Why can't you do the same?" + +"I am different from them." + +"But what is there different in you?" + +"You don't think then, Owen, that every one has a destiny?" + +"Evelyn, dear, how can you think these things? We are utterly +unimportant; millions and billions of beings have preceded us, +billions will succeed us. So why should it be so important that a +woman should be true to her lover?" + +"Does it really seem to you an utterly unimportant matter?" + +"Not nearly so important as losing the woman one loves." And looking +into her face as he might into a book, written in a language only a +few words of which he understood, he continued: "And the idea seems +to have absorbed you, to have made its own of you; it isn't +religion, I don't think you are a religious woman. You usen't to be +like this when I took you away to Paris. You were in love with me, +but not half so much in love with me as you are now with this idea, +not so subjugated. Evelyn, that is what it is, you are subjugated, +enslaved, and you can think of nothing else." + +"Well, if that is so, Owen--and I won't say you are utterly wrong-- +why can't you accept things as they are?" + +"But it isn't true, Evelyn? You will outlive this idea. You will be +cured." + +"I hope not." + +"You hope not? Well, if you don't wish to be cured it will be +difficult to cure you. But now, here in this house, where everything +is different, do you not feel the love of life coming back upon you? +And can you accept negation willingly as your fate?" + +Evelyn asked Owen what he meant and he said: + +"Well, your creed is a negative one--that no man shall ever take you +in his arms again, saying, 'Darling, I am so fond of you!' You would +have me believe that you will be true to this creed? But don't I +know how dear that moment is to you? No, you will not always think +as you do now; you will wake up as from a nightmare, you will wake +up." + +"Do you think I shall?" Soon after their talk drifted to Lady Ascott +and to her guests, and Owen narrated the latest intrigues and the +mistake Lady Ascott had been guilty of by putting So-and-so and +So-and-so to sleep in the same corridor, not knowing that their +_liaison_ had been broken off at least three months before. + +"Jim is now in love with Constance." + +"How very horrible!" + +"Horrible? It is that fellow Mostyn who has put these ideas into your +head!" + +"He has put nothing into my head, Owen." + +"Upon my word I believe you're right. It is none of his doing. But he +has got the harvesting; ah, yes, and the nuns, too. You never loved +me as you love this idea, Evelyn?" + +"Do you think not?" + +"When you were studying music in Paris you were quite willing I +should go away for a year." + +"But I repaid you for it afterwards; you can't say I didn't. There +were ten years in which I loved you. How is it you have never +reproached me before?" + +"Why should I? But now I've come to the end of the street; there is a +blank wall in front of me." + +"You make me very miserable by talking like this." + +They sat without speaking, and Lady Ascott's interruption was +welcome. + +"Now, my dear Sir Owen, will you forgive me if I ask Evelyn to sing +for us? You'd like to hear her sing--wouldn't you?" + +Owen sprang to his feet. + +"Of course, of course. Come, Miss Innes, you will sing for us. I have +been boring you long enough, haven't I? And you'll be glad to get to +the piano. Who will accompany you?" + +"You, Sir Owen, if you will be kind enough." + +The card-players were glad to lay down their cards and the women to +cease talking of their friends' love affairs. All the world over it +is the same, a soprano voice subjugating all other interests; +soprano or tenor, baritone much less, contralto still less. Many +came forward to thank her, and, a little intoxicated with her +success, she began to talk to some of her women friends, thinking it +unwise to go back into a shadowy corner with Owen, making herself +the subject of remark; for though her love story with Owen Asher had +long ceased to be talked about, a new interest in it had suddenly +sprung up, owing to the fact that she had sent Owen away, and was +thinking of becoming a nun--even to such an extent her visit to the +convent had been exaggerated; and as the women lagging round her had +begun to try to draw from her an account of the motives which had +induced her to leave the stage, and the moment not seeming opportune, +even if it were not ridiculous at any moment to discuss spiritual +endeavour with these women, she determined to draw a red herring +across the trail. She told them that the public were wearying of +Wagner's operas, taste was changing, light opera was coming into +fashion. + +"And in light opera I should have no success whatever, so I was +obliged to turn from the stage to the concert-room." + +"We thought it was the religious element in Wagner." + +A card party had come from a distant drawing-room and joined in the +discussion regarding the decline of art, and it was agreed that +motor-cars had done a great deal to contribute--perhaps they had +nothing to do with the decline of Wagner--but they had contributed +to the decline of interest in things artistic. This was the opinion +of two or three agreeable, good-looking young men; and Evelyn forgot +the women whom she had previously been talking to; and turning to the +men, she engaged in conversation and talked on and on until the +clock struck eleven. Then the disposition of every one was for bed. +Whispers went round, and Lady Ascott trotted upstairs with Evelyn, +hoping she would find her room comfortable. + +It was indeed a pleasant room, wearing an air of youthfulness, thanks +to its chintz curtains. The sofa was winning and the armchairs +desirable, and there were books and a reading-lamp if Evelyn should +feel disposed to draw the armchair by the fire and read for an hour +before going to bed. The writing-table itself, with its pens and its +blotting-book, and notepaper so prettily stamped, seemed intended to +inveigle the occupant of the room into correspondence with every +friend she had in the world; and Evelyn began to wonder to whom she +might write a letter as soon as Lady Ascott left the room. + +The burning wood shed a pleasant odour which mingled pleasantly with +that of the dressing-table; and she wandered about the room, her +mind filled with vague meditations, studying the old engravings, +principally pictures of dogs and horses, hounds and men, going out +to shoot in bygone costumes, with long-eared spaniels to find the +game for them. There was a multitude of these pictures on the walls, +and Evelyn wondered who was her next-door neighbour. Was it Owen? Or +was he down at the end of the passage? In a house like Thornton +Grange the name of every one was put on his or her door, so that +visitors should not wander into the wrong room by accident, creating +dismay and provoking scandal. Owen, where was he? A prayer was +offered up that he might be at the other end of the house. It would +not be right if Lady Ascott had placed him in the adjoining room, it +really would not be right, and she regretted her visit. What evil +thing had tempted her into this house, where everything was an +appeal to the senses, everything she had seen since she had entered +the house--food, wine, gowns? There was, however, a bolt to her +door, and she drew it, forgetful that sin visits us in solitude, and +more insidiously than when we are in the midst of crowds; and as she +dozed in the scented room, amid the fine linen, silk, and laces, the +sins which for generations had been committed in this house seemed to +gather substance, and even shape; a strange phantasmata trooped past +her, some seeming to bewail their sins, while others indulged +themselves with each other, or turned to her, inciting her to sin +with them, until one of them whispered in her ear that Owen was +coming to her room, and then she knew that at his knock her strength +would fail her, and she would let him in. + +Her temptations disappeared and then returned to her; at last she saw +Owen coming towards her. He leaned over the bed, and she saw his +lips, and his voice sounded in her ears. It told her that he had +been waiting for her; why hadn't she come to his room? And why had +he found her door bolted? Then like one bereft of reason, she +slipped out of bed and went towards the door, seeing him in the +lucidity of her dream clearly at the end of the passage; it was not +until her hand rested on the handle of his door that a singing began +in the night. The first voice was joined by another, and then by +another, and she recognised the hymn, for it was one, the _Veni +Creator_, and the singers were nuns. The singing grew more distinct, +the singers were approaching her, and she retreated before them to +her room; the room filled with plain chant, and then the voices +seemed to die or to be borne away on the wind which moaned about the +eaves and aloft in the chimneys. Turning in her bed, she saw the +dying embers. She was in her room--only a dream, no more. Was that +all? she asked as she lay in her bed singing herself to sleep, into +a sleep so deep that she did not wake from it until her maid came to +ask her if she would have breakfast in her room or if she were going +down to breakfast. + +"I will get up at once, Mérat, and do you look out a train, or ask +the butler to look out one for you; we are going to Glasgow by the +first quick train." + +"But I thought Mademoiselle was going to stay here till Monday." + +"Yes, Mérat, I know, so did I; but I have changed my mind. You had +better begin to pack at once, for there is certain to be a train +about twelve." + +Evelyn saw that the devoted Mérat was annoyed; as well she might be, +for Thornton Grange was a pleasant house for valets and lady's +maids. "Some new valet," Evelyn thought, and she was sorry to drag +Mérat away from him, for Mérat's sins were her own--no one was +answerable for another; there was always that in her mind; and what +applied to her did not apply to anybody else. + +"Dear Lady Ascott, you'll forgive me?" she said during breakfast, +"but I have to go to Glasgow this afternoon. I am obliged to leave +by an early train." + +"Sir Owen, will you try to persuade her? Get her some omelette, and I +will pour out some coffee. Which will you have, dear? Tea or coffee? +Everybody will be so disappointed; we have all been looking forward +to some singing to-night." + +Expostulations and suggestions went round the table, and Evelyn was +glad when breakfast was over; and to escape from all this company, +she accepted Owen's proposal to go for a walk. + +"You haven't seen my garden, or the cliffs? Sir Owen, I count upon +you to persuade her to stay until to-morrow, and you will show her +the glen, won't you? And you'll tell me how many trees we have lost +in last night's storm." + +Owen and Evelyn left the other guests talking of how they had lain +awake last night listening to the wind. + +"Shall we go this way, round by the lake, towards the glen? Lady +Ascott is very disappointed; she said so to me just now." + +"You mean about my leaving?" + +"Yes, of course, after all she had done for you, the trouble she had +taken about the Edinburgh concert. Of course they all like to hear +you sing; they may not understand very well, still they like it, +everybody likes to hear a soprano. You might stay." + +"I'm very sorry, Owen, I'm sorry to disappoint Lady Ascott, who is a +kindly soul, but--well, it raises the whole question up again. When +one has made up one's mind to live a certain kind of life--" + +"But, Evelyn, who is preventing you from living up to your ideal? The +people here don't interfere with you? Nobody came knocking at your +door last night?" + +"No." + +"I didn't come, and I was next door to you. Didn't it seem strange to +you, Evelyn, that I should sleep so near and not come to say +good-night? But I knew you wouldn't like it, so I resisted the +temptation." + +"Was that the only reason?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Of course, I know you wouldn't do anything that would displease me; +you've been very kind, more kind than I deserve, but--" + +"But what?" + +"Well, it's hard to express it. Nothing happened to prevent you?" + +"Prevent me?" + +"I don't mean that you were actually prevented, but was there another +reason?" + +"You mean a sudden scruple of conscience? My conscience is quite +healthy." + +"Then what stayed you was no more than a fear of displeasing me? And +you wanted to come to see me, didn't you?" + +"Of course I did. Well, perhaps there was another reason... only... +no, there was no other reason." + +"But there was; you have admitted that there was. Do tell me." + +And Owen told her that something seemed to have held him back when +the thought came of going to her room. "It was really very strange. +The thought was put into my mind suddenly that it would be better +for me not to go to your room." + +"No more than a sudden thought? But the thought was very clear and +distinct?" + +"Yes; but between waking and sleeping thoughts are unusually +distinct." + +"You don't believe in miracles, Owen?" And she told him of her dream +and her sudden awaking, and the voices heard in her ears at first, +then in the room, and then about the house. "So you see the nuns +kept us apart." + +"And you believe in these things?" + +"How can I do otherwise?" + +Owen sighed, and they walked on a few paces. The last leaves were +dancing; the woods were cold and wet, the heavy branches of the +fir-trees dripping with cold rain, and in the walks a litter of +chestnut-leaves. + +"Not a space of blue in the sky, only grey. It will be drearier still +in Glasgow; you had better stay here," he said, as they walked round +the little lake, watching the water-fowl moving in and out of the +reeds, and they talked for some time of Riversdale, of the lake +there, and the ducks which rose in great numbers and flew round and +round the park, dropping one by one into the water. "You will never +see Riversdale again, perhaps?" + +"Perhaps not," she answered; and hearing her say it, his future life +seemed to him as forlorn as the landscape. + +"What will you do? What will become of you? What strange +transformation has taken place in you?" + +"If--But what is the use of going over it again?" + +"If what?" + +"What would you have me do? Marriage would only ruin you, Owen, make +you very unhappy. Why do you want me to enter on a life which I feel +isn't mine, and which could only end in disaster for both of us." He +asked her why it would end in disaster, and she answered, "It is +impossible to lay bare one's whole heart. When one changes one's +ideas one changes one's friends." + +"Because one's friends are only the embodiment of one's ideas. But I +cannot admit that you would be unhappy as my wife." + +"Everybody is unhappy when they are not doing what Nature intended +them to do." + +"And what did Nature intend you to do? Only to sing operas?" + +"I should be sorry to think Nature intended me for nothing else. +Would you have me go on singing operas? I don't want to appear +unreasonable, but how could I go on singing even if I wished to go +on? The taste has changed; you will admit that light opera is the +fashion, and I shouldn't succeed in light opera. Whatever I do you +praise, but you know in the bottom of your heart there are only a few +parts which I play well. You may deceive yourself, you do so because +you wish to do so, but I have no wish to deceive myself and I know +that I was never a great singer; a good singer, an interesting +singer in certain parts if you like, but no more. You will admit +that?" + +"No, I don't admit anything of the kind. If you leave the stage what +will you do with your time? Your art, your friends--" + +"No one can figure anybody else's life: everybody has interests and +occupations, not things that interest one's neighbour, but things +that interest herself." + +"So it is because light opera has come into fashion again that you +are going to give up singing? Such a thing never happened before: a +woman who succeeded on the stage, who has not yet failed, whose +voice is still fresh, who is in full possession of her art, to say +suddenly, 'Money and applause are nothing to me, I prefer a few +simple nuns to art and society.' Nothing seems to happen in life, +life is always the same; _rien ne change mais pourtant tout arrive_, +even the rare event of a successful actress relinquishing the +stage." + +"It is odd," she said as they followed the path through the wintry +wood, startled now and again by a rabbit at the end of the alley, by +a cock pheasant rising up suddenly out of the yew hedges, and, +beguiled by the beauty of the trees, they passed on slowly, pausing +to think what a splendid sight a certain wild cherry must be in the +spring-time. At the end of the wood Owen returned to the subject of +their conversation. + +"Yes, it is strange that an actress should give up her art." + +"But, Owen, it isn't so strange in my case as in any other; for you +know I was always a hothouse flower. You took me away to Paris and +had me trained regardless of expense, and with your money it was +easy to get an engagement." + +"My money had nothing to do with your engagements." + +"Perhaps not; but I only sang when it pleased me; I could always say, +'Well, my good man, go to So-and-so, she will sing for you any parts +you please'; but I can only sing the parts I like." + +"You think, then, that if you had lived the life of a real actress, +working your way up from the bottom, what has happened wouldn't have +happened; is that what you mean?" + +"It is impossible for me to answer you. One would have to live one's +life over again." + +"I suppose no one will ever know how much depends upon the gift we +bring into the world with us, and how much upon circumstances," and +Owen compared the gift to the father's seed and circumstances to the +mother's womb. + +"So you are quite determined?" And they philosophised as they went, +on life and its meaning, on death and love, admiring the temples +which an eighteenth-century generation had built on the hillsides. +"Here are eight pillars on either side and four at either end, +serving no purpose whatever, not even shelter from the rain. Never +again in this world will people build things for mere beauty," Owen +said, and they passed into the depths of the wood, discovering +another temple, and in it a lad and lass. + +"You see these temples do serve for something. Why are we not +lovers?" And they passed on again, Owen's heart filled with his +sorrow and Evelyn's with her determination. + +She was leaving by the one train, and when they got back to the house +the carriage was waiting for her. + +"Good-bye, Owen." + +"Am I not to see you again?" + +"Yes, you will see me one of these days." + +"And that was all the promise she could make me," he said, rushing +into Lady Ascott's boudoir, disturbing her in the midst of her +letters. "So ends a _liaison_ which has lasted for more than ten +years. Good God, had I known that she would have spoken to me like +this when I saw her in Dulwich!" + +Even so he felt he would have acted just as he had acted, and he went +to his room thinking that the rest of his life would be +recollection. "She is still in the train, going away from me, intent +on her project, absorbed in her desire of a new life ... this +haunting which has come upon her." + + + +III + +And so it was. Evelyn lay back in the corner of the railway carriage +thinking about the poor people, and about the nuns, about herself, +about the new life which she was entering upon, and which was dearer +to her than anything else. She grew a little frightened at the +hardness of her heart. "It certainly does harden one's heart," she +said; "my heart is as hard as a diamond. But is my heart as hard as +a diamond?" The thought awoke a little alarm, and she sat looking +into the receding landscape. "Even so I cannot help it." And she +wondered how it was that only one thing in the world seemed to +matter--to extricate the nuns from their difficulties, that was all. +Her poor people, of course she liked them; her voice, she liked it +too, without, however, being able to feel certain that it interested +her as much as it used to, or that she was not prepared to sacrifice +it if her purpose demanded the sacrifice. But there was no question +of such sacrifice: it was given to her as the means whereby she +might effect her purpose. If the Glasgow concert were as successful +as the Edinburgh, she would be able to bring back some hundreds of +pounds to the nuns, perhaps a thousand. And what a pleasure that +would be to her! + +But the Glasgow concert was not nearly so successful: her manager +attributed the failure to a great strike which had just ended; there +was talk of another strike; moreover her week in Glasgow was a wet +one, and her manager said that people did not care to leave their +houses when it was raining. + +"Or is it," she asked, "because the taste has moved from dramatic +singing to _il bel canto?_ In a few years nobody will want to hear +me, so I must make hay while the sun shines." + +Her next concert succeeded hardly better than the Glasgow concert; +Hull, Leeds, Birmingham were tried, but only with moderate success, +and Evelyn returned to London with very little money for the +convent, and still less for her poor people. + +"It is a disappointment to me, dear Mother?" + +"My dear child, you've brought us a great deal of money, much more +than we expected." + +"But, Mother, I thought I should be able to bring you three thousand +pounds, and pay off a great part of your mortgage." + +"God, my child, seems to have thought differently." + +The door opened. + +"Now who is this? Ah! Sister Mary John." + +"May I come in, dear Mother?" + +"Certainly." + +"You see, I was so anxious to see Miss Innes, to hear about the +concert tour--" + +"Which wasn't a success at all, Sister Mary John. Oh, not at all a +success." + +"Not a success?" + +"Well, from an artistic point of view it was; I brought you some of +the notices," and Evelyn took out of her pocket some hundreds of +cuttings from newspapers. It had not occurred to her before, but now +the thought passed through her mind, formulating itself in this way: +"After all, the mummeress isn't dead in me yet; bringing my notices +to nuns! Dear me! how like me!" And she sat watching the nuns, a +little amused, when the Prioress asked Sister Mary John to read some +passages to her. + +"Now I can't sit here and hear you read out my praises. You can read +them when I am gone. A little more money and a little less praise +would have suited me better, Sister Mary John." + +"Would you care to come into the garden?" the nun asked. "I was just +going out to feed the birds. Poor things! they come in from the +common; our garden is full of them. But what about singing at +Benediction to-day? Would you like to try some music over with me +and forget the birds?" + +"There will be plenty of time to try over music." + +The door opened again. It was the porteress come to say that +Monsignor had just arrived and would like to speak with the +Prioress. + +"But ask him to come in.... Here is a friend of yours, Monsignor. She +has just returned from--" + +"From a disastrous concert tour, having only made four hundred pounds +with six concerts. My career as a prima donna is at an end. The +public is tired of me." + +"The artistic public isn't tired of you," said Sister Mary John. +"Read, Monsignor; she has brought us all her notices." + +"Oh, do take them away, Sister Mary John; you make me ashamed before +Monsignor. Such vanity! What will he think of my bringing my notices +to read to you? But you mustn't think I am so vain as that, +Monsignor; it was really because I thought the nuns would be +interested to hear of the music--and to excuse myself. But you know, +Mother, once I take a project in hand I don't give it up easily. I +have made up my mind to redeem this convent from debt, and it shall +be done. My concert tour was a failure, but I have another idea in +my head; and I came here to tell it to you. I don't know what +Monsignor will think of it. I have been offered a good deal of money +to go to America to sing my own parts, for Wagner is not yet dead in +America." + +"But, Miss Innes, I thought you intended to leave the stage?" + +"I have left the stage, but I intend to go back to it. That is a +point on which I will have to talk to Monsignor." Evelyn waited for +the prelate to speak. + +"Such determination is very unusual, and if the cause be a good one I +congratulate you, Mother Prioress, on your champion who, to defend +you, will start for the New World." + +"Well, Monsignor, unless you repudiate the motives of those who went +to Palestine to fight for the Holy Sepulchre, why should you +repudiate mine?" + +"But I haven't said a word; indeed--" + +"But you will talk to me about it, won't you? For I must have your +opinion before I go, Monsignor." + +"Well, now I think I shall disappear," said Sister Mary John. "I'm +going to feed the birds." + +"But you asked me to go with you." + +"That was before Monsignor came. But perhaps he would like to come +with us. The garden is beautiful and white, and all the birds are +waiting for me, poor darlings!" + +The nuns, Evelyn and Monsignor went down the steps. + +"There is a great deal of snow in the sky yet," said Sister Mary +John, pointing to the yellow horizon. "To-night or to-morrow it will +fall, and the birds will die, if we don't feed them." + +A flock of speckled starlings flew into a tree, not recognising +Evelyn and Monsignor, but the blackbirds and thrushes were tamer and +ran in front, watching the visitors with round, thoughtful eyes, the +beautiful shape of the blackbird showing against the white +background, and everybody admiring his golden bill and legs. The +sparrows flew about Sister Mary John in a little cloud, until they +were driven away by three great gulls come up from the Thames, driven +inland by hard weather. A battle began, the gulls pecking at each +other, wasting time in fighting instead of sharing the bread, only +stopping now and then to chase away the arrogant sparrows. The +robin, the wisest bird, came to Sister Mary John's hand for his +food, preferring the buttered bread to the dry. There were rooks in +the grey sky, and very soon two hovered over the garden, eventually +descending into the garden with wings slanted, and then the seagulls +had to leave off fighting or go without food altogether. A great +strange bird rose out of the bushes, and flew away in slow, heavy +flight. Monsignor thought it was a woodcock; and there were birds +whose names no one knew, migrating birds come from thousands of +miles, from regions where the snow lies for months upon the ground; +and Evelyn and the prelate and the nuns watched them all until the +frosty air reminded the prelate that loitering was dangerous. Sister +Mary John walked on ahead, feeding the birds, forgetful of Monsignor +and Evelyn; a nun saying her rosary stopped to speak to the +Prioress; Evelyn and Monsignor went on alone, and when they came +towards St. Peter's Walk no one was there, and the moment had come, +Evelyn felt, to speak of her project to return to the stage in order +to redeem the convent from debt. + +"You didn't answer me, Monsignor, when I said that I would have to +consult you regarding my return to the stage." + +"Well, my dear child, the question whether you should go back to the +stage couldn't be discussed in the presence of the nuns. Your +motives I appreciate; I need hardly say that. But for your own +personal safety I am concerned. I won't attempt to hide my anxiety +from you." + +"But it is possible to remain on the stage and lead a virtuous life." + +"You have told me yourself that such a thing isn't possible; from +your own mouth I have it." + +Evelyn did not answer, but stood looking at the prelate, biting her +lips, annoyed, finding herself in a dilemma. + +"The motive is everything, Monsignor. I was speaking then of the +stage as a vanity, as a glorification of self." + +"The motive is different, but the temptations remain the same." + +"I'm afraid I can't agree with you. The temptation is in oneself, not +in the stage, and when oneself has changed... and then many things +have happened." + +"You are reconciled to the Church, it is true, and have received the +Sacraments--" + +"More than that, Monsignor, more than that." But it was a long time +before he could persuade her to tell him. "You don't believe in +miracles?" + +"My dear child, my dear child!" + +After that it was impossible to keep herself from speaking, and she +told how, at Thornton Grange, in the middle of the night, she had +heard the nuns singing the _Veni Creator_. + +"The nuns told me, Monsignor, their prayers would save me, and they +were right." + +"But you aren't sure whether you were dreaming or waking." + +"But my experience was shared by Sir Owen Asher, who told me next +morning that he had thought of coming to my room and was +restrained." + +"Did he say that he, too, heard voices?" + +She had to admit that Owen had not said that he had heard voices, +only that a restraint had been put upon him. + +"The restraint need not have been a miraculous one." + +"You think he didn't want to come to see me? I beg your pardon, +Monsignor." + +"There is nothing to beg my pardon for. I am your confessor, your +spiritual adviser, and you must tell everything to me; and it is my +duty to tell you that you place too much reliance upon miracles. +This is not the first time you have spoken to me about miraculous +interposition." + +"But if God is in heaven and His Church upon earth, why shouldn't +there be miracles? Moreover, nearly all the saints are credited with +having performed miracles. Their lives are little more than records +of miracles they have performed." + +"I cannot agree with you in that. Their lives are records of their +love of God, and the prayers they have offered up that God's wrath +may be averted from a sinful world, and the prayers they have +offered up for their souls." + +"What would the Bible be without its miracles? Miracles are recorded +in the Old and in the New Testaments. Surely miracles cannot have +ceased with the nineteenth century? Miracles must be inherent in +religion. To talk of miracles going out of fashion--" + +"But, Miss Innes, I never spoke of miracles going out of fashion. You +misunderstand me entirely. If God wills it, a miracle may happen +to-morrow, in this garden, at any moment. Nobody questions the power +of God to perform a miracle, only we mustn't be too credulous, +accepting every strange event as a miracle; and you, who seemed so +difficult to convince on some points, are ready enough to believe--" + +"You mean, Monsignor, because I experienced much difficulty in +believing that the sins I committed with Owen Asher were equal to +those I committed with Ulick Dean." + +"Yes, that was in my mind; and I doubt very much that you are not of +the same opinion still." + +"Monsignor, I have accepted your opinion that the sin was the same in +either case, and you have told me yourself that to acquiesce is +sufficient. You don't mind my arguing with you a little, because in +doing so I become clear to myself?" + +"On the contrary, I like you to argue with me; only in that way can +you confide all your difficulties to me. I regret that, +notwithstanding my opinion, you still believe you are not putting +yourself in the way of temptation by returning to the stage." + +"I know myself. If I didn't feel sure of myself, Monsignor, I +wouldn't go to America. Obedience is so pleasant, and your ruling is +so sweet--" + +"Nevertheless, you must go your own way; you must relieve this +convent from debt. That is what is in your mind." + +"I am sorry, Monsignor, for I should have liked to have had your +approval." + +"It was not, then, to profit by my advice that you consulted me?" + +Evelyn did not answer, and the singer and the prelate walked on in +silence, seeing Sister Mary John among her blackbirds and thrushes, +sparrows and starlings, accepting her crumbs without fear, no +stranger being by. The starlings, however, again flew into a tree +when they saw Evelyn and Monsignor, and some of the other birds +followed them. + +"The robin follows her like a dog; and what a saucy little bird he +is! Look at him, Monsignor! isn't he pretty, with his red breast and +black, beady eyes?" + +"Last winter, Monsignor, he spent on the kitchen clock. He knows our +kitchen well enough, and will go back there if a thaw does not begin +very quickly. But look," continued Sister Mary John, "I have two +bullfinches following me. Aren't they provoking birds? They don't +build in our garden, where their nests would be safe, stupid birds! +but away in the common. I'd like to have a young bird and teach him +to whistle." + +Evelyn and Monsignor stayed a moment watching the birds, thinking of +other things, and then turned into St. Peter's Walk to continue +their talk. + +"The afternoon is turning cold, and we can't stop out talking in this +garden any longer; but before we go in I beg of you--" + +"To agree that you should return to the stage?" + +"For a few months, Monsignor. I don't want to go to America feeling +that you think I have acted wrongly by going. The nuns will pray for +me, and I believe in their prayers; and I believe in yours, +Monsignor, and in your advice. Do say something kind." + +"You are determined upon this American tour?" + +"I cannot do otherwise. There is nothing else in my head." + +"And you must do something? Well, Miss Innes, let us consider it from +a practical point of view. The nuns want money, it is true; but they +want it at once. Five thousand pounds at the end of next year will +be very little use to them." + +"No, Monsignor, the Prioress tells me--" + +"You are free to dispose of your money in your own way--in the way +that gives you most pleasure." + +"Oh, don't say that, Monsignor. I have had enough pleasure in my +life." And they turned out of St. Peter's Walk, feeling it was +really too cold to remain any longer in the garden. + +"Well, Miss Innes, you are doing this entirely against my advice." + +"I'm sorry, but I cannot help myself; I want to help the nuns. +Everybody wants to do something; and to see one's life slipping +away--" + +"But you've done a great deal." + +"It doesn't seem to me I have done anything. Now that I have become a +Catholic, I want to do something from the Catholic point of view, or +from the religious point of view, if you like. Will you recommend to +me some man of business who will carry out the sale of my house for +me, and settle everything?" + +"So that you may hand over to the nuns the money that the sale of +your pictures and furniture procures at Christie's?" + +"Yes; leaving me just sufficient to go to America. I know I must +appear to you very wilful, but there are certain things one can only +settle for oneself." + +"I can give you the address of my solicitor, a very capable and +trustworthy man, who will carry out your instructions." + +"Thank you, Monsignor; and be sure nothing will happen to me in +America. In six months I shall be back." + +Evelyn went away to Mr. Enterwick, the solicitor Monsignor +recommended, and the following month she sailed for America. + + + +IV + +Her pictures and furniture were on view at Christie's in the early +spring, and all Owen's friends met each other in the rooms and on +the staircase. + +The pictures were to be sold on Saturday, the furniture, china, and +enamels on the following Monday. + +"The pictures don't matter so much, although her own portrait is +going to be sold. But the furniture! Dear God, look at that brute +trying the springs of the sofa where I have sat so often with her. +And there is the chair on which I used to sit listening to her when +she sang. And her piano--why, my God, she is selling her piano!-- +What is to become of that woman? A singer who sells her piano!" + +"My dear friend, I suppose she had to sell everything or nothing?" + +"But she'll have to buy another piano, and she might have kept the +one I gave her. It is extraordinary how religion hardens the heart, +Harding. Do you see that fellow, a great nose, lumpy shoulders, +trousers too short for him, a Hebrew barrel of grease--Rosental. You +know him; I bought that clock from him. He's looking into it to see +if anything has been broken, if it is in as good condition as when +he sold it. The brutes have all joined the 'knock-out,' and there--" + +As he said these words young Mr. Rowe, who believed himself to be +connected with society, and who dealt largely in pictures, without, +however, descending to the vulgarity of shop-keeping (he would +resent being called a picture-dealer), approached and insisted on +Sir Owen listening to the story of his difficulties with some county +councillors who could not find the money to build an art gallery. + +"But I object to your immortality being put on the rates." + +"You write books, Mr. Harding; I can't." + +As soon as he left them, Harding, who knew the dealer kind, the +original stock and the hybrid, told an amusing story of Mr. Rowe's +beginnings; and Owen forgot his sentimental trouble; but the story +was interrupted by Lady Ascott coming down the room followed by her +attendants, her literary and musical critics. + +"Every one of them most interesting, I assure you, Sir Owen. Mr. +Homer has just returned from Italy--" + +"But I know Mr. Homer; we met long ago at Innes' concerts. If I am +not mistaken you were writing a book then about Bellini." + +"Yes, 'His Life and Works.' I've just returned from Italy after two +years' reading in the public libraries." + +Lady Ascott's musical critic was known to Owen by a small book he had +written entitled "A Guide to the Ring." Before he was a Wagnerian he +was the curator of a museum, and Owen remembered how desirous he was +to learn the difference between Dresden and Chelsea china. He had +dabbled in politics and in journalism; he had collected hymns, +ancient and modern, and Owen was not in the least surprised to hear +that he had become the director of a shop for the sale of religious +prints and statues, or that he had joined the Roman Church, and the +group watched him slinking round on the arm of a young man, one who +sang forty-nine songs by all the composers in Europe in exactly the +same manner. + +"He is teaching Botticelli in his three manners," said Lady Ascott, +"and Cyril is thinking of going over to Rome." + +"Asher, let us get away from this culture," Harding whispered. + +"Yes, let's get away from it; I want to show you a table, the one on +which Evelyn used to write her letters. We bought it together at the +Salle Druot." + +"Yes, Asher, yes; but would you mind coming this way, for I see +Ringwood. He goes by in his drooping mantle, looking more like an +umbrella than usual. Lady Ascott has engaged him for the season, and +he goes out with her to talk literature--plush stockings, cockade. +Literature in livery! Ringwood introducing Art!" + +Owen laughed, and begged Harding to send his joke to the comic +papers. + +"An excellent subject for a cartoon." + +"He has stopped again. Now I'm sure he's talking of Sophocles. He +walks on.... I'm mistaken; he is talking about Molière." + +"An excellent idea of yours--'Literature in livery!'" + +"His prose is always so finely spoken, so pompous, that I cannot help +smiling. You know what I mean." + +"I've told you it ought to be sent to the papers. I wish he would +leave that writing-table; and Lady Ascott might at least ask him to +brush his coat." + +"It seems to me so strange that she should find pleasure in such +company." + +"Men who will not cut their hair. How is it?" + +"I suppose attention to externals checks or limits the current of +feeling... or they think so." + +"I am feeling enough, God knows, but my suffering does not prevent me +from selecting my waistcoat and tying my tie." + +Harding's eyes implied acquiescence in the folding of the scarf (it +certainly was admirably done) and glanced along the sleeves of the +coat--a rough material chosen in a moment of sudden inspiration; and +they did not miss the embroidered waistcoat, nor the daring brown +trousers (in admirable keeping withal), turned up at the ends, of +course, otherwise Owen would not have felt dressed; and, still a +little conscious of the assistance his valet had been to him, he +walked with a long, swinging stride which he thought suited him, +stopping now and again to criticise a friend or a picture. + +"There's Merrington. How absurdly he dresses! One would think he was +an actor; yet no man rides better to hounds. Lady Southwick! I must +have a word with her." + +Before leaving Harding he mentioned that she attributed her lapses +from virtue, not to passionate temperament, but to charitable +impulses. "She wouldn't kiss--" and Owen whispered the man's name, +"until he promised to give two thousand pounds to a Home for Girl +Mothers." + +"Now, my dear Lady Southwick, I'm so delighted to see you here. But +how very sad! The greatest singer of our time." + +"She was exceedingly good in two or three parts." + +A dispute arose, in which Owen lost his temper; but, recovering it +suddenly, he went down the room with Lady Southwick to show her a +Wedgewood dessert service which he had bought some years ago for +Evelyn, pressing it upon her, urging that he would like her to have +it. + +"Every time you see it you will think of us," and he turned on his +heel suddenly, fearing to lose Harding, whom he found shaking hands +with one of the dealers, a man of huge girth--"like a waggoner," +Owen said, checking a reproof, but he could not help wishing that +Harding would not shake hands with such people, at all events when +he was with him. + +"These are the Chadwells, whom--" (Harding whispered a celebrated +name) "used to call the most gentlemanly picture-dealers in +Bond-street." Harding spoke to them, Owen standing apart absorbed in +His grief, until the word "Asher" caught his ear. + +"Of whom are you speaking?" + +"Of you, of Sir Owen Asher." And Harding followed Owen, intensely +annoyed. + +"Not even to a gentlemanly picture-dealer should you--" + +"You are entirely wrong; I said 'Sir Owen Asher.'" + +"Very strange you should say 'Sir Owen Asher'; why didn't you say Sir +Owen?" + +Harding did not answer, being uncertain if it would not be better to +drop Asher's acquaintance. But they had known each other always. It +would be difficult. + +"The sale is about to begin," Asher said, and Harding sat down angry +with Asher and interested in the auctioneer's face, created, Harding +thought, for the job... "looking exactly like a Roman bust. Lofty +brow, tight lips, vigilant eyes, voice like a bell.... That damned +fellow Asher! What the hell did he mean--" + +The auctioneer sat at a high desk, high as any pulpit, and in the +benches the congregation crowded--every shade of nondescript, the +waste ground one meets in a city: poor Jews and dealers from the +outlying streets, with here and there a possible artist or +journalist. As the pictures were sold the prices they fetched were +marked in the catalogues, and Harding wondered why. + +Around the room were men and women of all classes; a good many of Sir +Owen's "set" had come--"Society being well represented that day," as +the newspapers would put it. All the same, the pictures were not +selling well, not nearly so well as Owen and Harding anticipated. +Harding was glad of this, for his heart was set on a certain drawing +by Boucher. + +"I would sooner you had it, Harding, than anybody else. It would be +unendurable if one of those picture-dealers should get it; they'd +come round to my house trying to sell it to me again, whereas in +your rooms--" + +"Yes," said Harding, "it will be an excuse to come to see me. Well, +if I can possibly afford it--" + +"Of course you can afford it; I paid eighty-seven pounds for it years +ago; it won't go to more than a hundred. I'd really like you to have +it." + +"Well, for goodness' sake don't talk so loud, somebody will hear +you." + +The pictures went by--portraits of fair ladies and ancient admirals, +landscapes, underwoods and deserts, flower and battle pieces, +pathetic scenes and gallantries. There was a time when every one of +these pictures was the hope and delight of a human being, now they +went by interesting nobody.... + +At last the first of Evelyn's pictures was hoisted on the easel. + +"Good God!" isn't it a miserable sight seeing her pictures going to +whomsoever cares to bid a few pounds. But if I were to buy the whole +collection--" + +"I quite understand, and every one is a piece of your life." + +The pictures continued to go by. + +"I can't stand this much longer." + +"Hush!" + +The Boucher drawing went up. It was turned to the right and to the +left: a beautiful girl lying on her belly, her legs parted slightly. +Therefore the bidding began briskly, but for some unaccountable +reason it died away. "Somebody must have declared it to be a +forgery," Owen whispered to Harding, and a moment after it became +Harding's property for eighty-seven pounds--"The exact sum I paid +for it years ago. How very extraordinary!" + +"A portrait by Manet--a hundred pounds offered, one hundred," and two +grey eyes in a face of stone searched the room for bidders. "One +hundred pounds offered, five, thirty, thirty-five, forty, fifty," +and so on to two hundred. + +"Her portrait will cost me a thousand," Owen whispered to Harding, +and, catching the auctioneer's eyes, he nodded again. Seven hundred. +"Will they never stop bidding? That fellow yonder is determined to +run up the picture." Eight hundred and fifty! The auctioneer raised +his hammer, and the watchful eyes went round the room in search of +some one who would pay another ten pounds for Evelyn's portrait by +Manet. Eight hundred and fifty--eight hundred and fifty. Down came +the hammer. The auctioneer whispered "Sir Owen Asher" to his clerk. + +"It's a mercy I got it for that; I was afraid it would go over the +thousand. Now, come, we have got our two pictures. I'm sick of the +place." + +Harding had thought of staying on, just to see the end of the sale, +but it was easier to yield to Owen than to argue with him; besides, +he was anxious to see how the drawing would look on his wall. Of +course it was a Boucher. Stupid remarks were always floating about +Christie's. But he would know for certain as soon as he saw the +drawing in a new light. + +He was muttering "It is genuine enough," when his servant opened the +door--"Sir Owen Asher." + +"I see you have hung up the drawing. It looks very well, doesn't it. +You'll never regret having taken my advice." + +"Taken your advice!" Harding was about to answer. "But what is the +use in irritating the poor man? He is so much in love he hardly +knows what he is saying. Owen Asher advising me as to what I should +buy!" + +Owen went over and looked into Harding's Ingres. + +"Every time one sees it one likes it better." And they talked about +Ingres for some time, until Owen's thoughts went back to Evelyn, and +looking from the portrait by Ingres to the drawing by Boucher he +seemed suddenly to lose control; tears rose to his eyes, and Harding +watched him, wondering whither Owen's imagination carried him. "Is +he far away in Paris, hearing her sing for the first time to Madame +Savelli? Or is he standing with her looking over the bulwarks of the +_Medusa_, seeing the shape of some Greek island dying in the +twilight?" And Harding did not speak, feeling the lover's meditation +to be sacred. Owen flung himself into an arm-chair, and without +withdrawing his eyes from the picture, said, relying on Harding's +friendship: + +"It is very like her, it is really very like her. I am much obliged +to you, Harding, for having bought it. I shall come here to see it +occasionally." + +"And I'll present you with a key, so that when I am away you can +spend your leisure in front of the picture.... Do you know whom I +shall feel like? Like the friend of King Condules." + +"But she'll not ask you to conspire to assassinate me. My murder +would profit you nothing. All the same, Harding, now I come to think +of it, there's a good deal of that queen in Evelyn, or did she +merely desire to take advantage of the excuse to get rid of her +husband?" + +"Ancient myths are never very explicit; one reads whatever psychology +one likes into them. Perhaps that is why they never grow old." + +The door opened... Harding's servant brought in a parcel of proofs. + +"My dear Asher, the proof of an article has just come, and the editor +tells me he'll be much obliged if I look through it at once." + +"Shall I wait?" + +"Well, I'd sooner you didn't. Correcting a proof with me means a +rewriting, and--" + +"You can't concentrate your thoughts while I am roving about the +room. I understand. Are you dining anywhere?" + +"I'm not engaged." + +The thought crossed Harding's mind when Owen left the room that it +would be better perhaps to write saying that the proofs detained +him, for to spend the evening with Owen would prove wearisome. "No +matter what the subject of conversation may be his mind will go back +to her very soon.... But to leave him alone all the evening would be +selfish, and if I don't dine with him I shall have to dine +alone...." Harding turned to his writing-table, worked on his proof +for a couple of hours, and then went to meet Owen, whom he found +waiting for him at his club. + +"My dear friend, I quite agree with you," he said, sitting down to +the table; "what you want is change." + +"Do you think, Harding, I shall find any interest again in anything?" + +"Of course you will, my dear friend, of course you will." And he +spoke to his friend of ruined palaces and bas-reliefs; Owen listened +vaguely, begging of him at last to come with him. + +"It will give you ideas, Harding; you will write better." + +Harding shook his head, for it did not seem to him to be his destiny +to relieve the tedium of a yachting excursion in the Mediterranean. + + + +V + +"One cannot yacht in the Baltic or in the Gulf of Mexico," Owen said, +and he went to the Mediterranean again to sail about the _Ægean_ +Islands, wondering if he should land, changing his mind, deciding +suddenly that the celebrated site he was going to see would not +interest him. He would stand watching the rocky height dying down, +his eyes fixed on the blue horizon, thinking of some Emperor's +palace amid the Illyrian hills, till, acting on a sudden impulse, he +would call an order to the skipper, an order which he would +countermand next day. A few days after the yacht would sail towards +the Acropolis as though Owen had intended to drop anchor in the +Piræeus. But he was too immersed in his grief, he thought, to be +able to give his attention to ruins, whether Roman or Greek. All the +same, he would have to decide if he would return to the islands. He +did not know them all; he had never been to Samos, famous for its +wine and its women.... The wine cloyed the palate and no woman +charmed him in the dance; and he sailed away wondering how he might +relieve the tedium of life, until one day, after long voyaging, +sufficiently recovered from his grief and himself, he leaned over +the taffrail, this time lost in admiration of the rocks and summits +above Syracuse, the Sicilian coasts carrying his thoughts out of the +present into the past, to those valleys where Theocritus watched his +"visionary flocks." + +"'His visionary flocks,'" he repeated, wondering if the beautiful +phrase had floated accidentally into his mind, hoping that it was +his own, and then abandoning hope, for he had nearly succeeded in +tracing the author of the phrase; but there was a vision in it more +intense than Tennyson's. "Visionary flocks!" For while the shepherds +watched Theocritus dreamed the immortal sheep and goats which tempt +us for an instant to become shepherds; but Owen knew that the real +flocks would seem unreal to him who knew the visionary ones, so he +turned away from the coasts without a desire in his heart to trouble +the shepherds in the valley with an offer of his services, and +walked up and down the deck thinking how he might obtain a +translation of the idyls. + +"Sicily, Sicily!" + +It was unendurable that his skipper should come at such a moment to +ask him if he would like to land at Palermo; for why should he land +in Sicily unless to meet the goatherd who in order to beguile +Thyrsis to sing the song of Daphnis told him that "his song was +sweeter than the music of yonder water that is poured from the high +face of the rock"? It was in Sicily that rugged Polyphemus, peering +over some cliffs, sought to discern Galatea in the foam; but before +Owen had time to recall the myth an indenture in the coast line, +revealing a field, reminded him how Proserpine, while gathering +flowers on the plains of Enna with her maidens, had been raped into +the shadows by the dark god. And looking on these waves, he +remembered that it was over them that Jupiter in the form of a bull, +a garlanded bull with crested horns, had sped, bearing Europa away +for his pleasure. Venus had been washed up by these waves! Poseidon! +Sirens and Tritons had disported themselves in this sea, the bluest +and the beautifullest, the one sea that mattered, more important +than all the oceans; the oceans might dry up to-morrow for all he +cared so long as this sea remained; and with the story of Theseus +and "lonely Ariadne on the wharf at Naxos" ringing in his ears he +looked to the north-east, whither lay the Cyclades and Propontis. +Medea, too, had been deserted--"Medea deadlier than the sea." Helen! +All the stories of the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey" had been lived +about these seas, from the coasts of Sicily to those of Asia Minor, +whence Æneas had made his way to Carthage. Dido, she, too, had been +deserted. All the great love stories of the world had been lived +about these shores and islands; his own story! And he mused for a +long time on the accident--if it were an accident--which had led him +back to this sea. Or had he returned to these shores and islands +merely because there was no other sea in which one could yacht? +Hardly, and he remembered with pleasure that his story differed from +the ancient stories only in this, that Evelyn had fled from him, not +be from her. And for such a woeful reason! That she might repent her +sins in a convent on the edge of Wimbledon Common, whereas Dido was +deserted for-- + +Again his infernal skipper hanging about. This time he had come with +news that the _Medusa_ was running short of provisions. Would Sir +Owen prefer that they should put in at Palermo or Tunis? + +"Tunis, Tunis." + +The steerman put down the helm, and the fore and aft sails went over. +Three days later the _Medusa_ dropped her anchor in the Bay of +Tunis, and his skipper was again asking Owen for orders. + +"Just take her round to Alexandria and wait for me there," he +answered, feeling he would not be free from England till she was +gone. It was his wish to get away from civilisation for a while, to +hear Arabic, to learn it if he could, to wear a bournous, to ride +Arab horses, live in a tent, to disappear in the desert, yes, and to +be remembered as the last lover of the Mediterranean--that would be +_une belle fin de vie, après tout_. + +Then he laughed at his dreams, but they amused him; he liked to look +upon his story as one of the love stories of the world. Rome had +robbed Dido of her lover and him of his mistress. So far as he could +see, the better story was the last, and his thoughts turned +willingly to the Virgil who would arise centuries hence to tell it. +One thing, however, puzzled him. Would the subject-matter he was +creating for the future poet be spoilt if he were to fall in love +with an Arab maiden, some little statuette carved in yellow ivory? +Or would it be enhanced? Would the future Virgil regard her as an +assuagement, a balm? Owen laughed at himself and his dream. But his +mood drifted into sadness; and he asked if Evelyn should be +punished. If so, what punishment would the poet devise for her? In +Theocritus somebody had been punished: a cruel one, who had refused +to relieve the burden of desire even with a kiss, had been killed by +a seemingly miraculous interposition of Love, who, angered at the +sight of the unhappy lover hanging from the neck by the lintel of +the doorpost, fell from his pedestal upon the beloved, while +he stood heart-set watching the bathers in the beautiful +bathing-places. + +But Owen could not bring himself to wish for Evelyn's death by the +falling of a statue of Our Lady or St. Joseph; such a death would be +a contemptible one, and he could not wish that anything contemptible +should happen to her, however cruelly she had made him suffer. No, +he did not wish that any punishment should befall her; the fault was +not hers. And he returned in thought to the end which he had devised +for himself--a passing into the desert, leaving no trace but the +single fact that on a certain day he had joined a caravan. Going +whither? Timbuctoo? To be slain there--an English traveller seeking +forgetfulness of a cruel mistress--would be a romantic end for him! +But if his end were captivity, slavery? His thoughts turned from +Timbuctoo to one of the many oases between Tunis and the Soudan. In +one of these it would be possible to make friends with an Arab +chieftain and to live. But would she, whose body was the colour of +amber, or the desert, or any other invention his fancy might devise, +relieve him from the soul-sickness from which he suffered? It seemed +to him that nothing would. All the same, he would have to try to +forget her, "Evelyn, Evelyn." + +The bournous which his Arab servant brought in at that moment might +help him. A change of language would be a help, and he might become +a Moslem--for he believed in Mohammedanism as much as in +Christianity; and an acceptance of the Koran would facilitate +travelling in the desert. That and a little Arabic, a few mouthfuls, +and no Mahdi would dare to enslave him.... But if he were only sure +that none would! + +Outside horses were stamping, his escort, seven Arab horses with +seven Arabs from the desert, or thereabout, in high-pummelled +saddles, wearing white bournous, their brown, lean hands grasping +long-barrelled guns with small carven stocks. The white Arab which +Owen had purchased yesterday waited, the saddle empty; and, looking +at him before mounting, Owen thought the horse the most beautiful +thing he had ever seen, more like an ornament than a live thing, an +object of luxury rather than of utility. Was he really going to ride +this horse for many hours? To do so seemed like making a drudge of +some beautiful woman. The horse's quarters curved like a woman's, a +woman's skin was hardly finer, nor were a woman's wrists and hands, +though she cared for them ever so much, shaping them with files, and +polishing them with powders, more delicate than the fetlock and hoof +of this wonderful horse. Nor was any woman's eye more beautiful, nor +any woman's ears more finely shaped; and the horse's muzzle came to +such a little point that one would have been inclined to bring him +water in a tumbler. The accoutrements were all Arab; and Owen +admired the heavy bits, furnished with many rings and chains, severe +curbs, demanding the lightest handling, without being able to guess +their use. But in the desert one rides like the Arab, and it would +be ridiculous to go away to the Sahara hanging on to a snaffle like +an Irishman out hunting. + +So he mounted, and the cavalcade started amid much noise and dust, +which followed it until it turned from the road into the scrub. A +heavy dew had fallen during the night, and it glittered like silver +rain, producing a slight mirage, which deceived nobody, but which +prevented Owen from seeing what the country was like, until the sun +shone out. Then he saw that they were crossing an uncultivated +rather than a sterile plain, and the word "wilderness" came up in +his mind, for the only trees and plants he saw were wildings, wild +artichokes, tall stems, of no definite colour, with hairy fruits; +rosemary, lavender and yellow broom, and half-naked bushes stripped +of their foliage by the summer heat, covered with dust; nowhere a +blade of grass--an indurated plain, chapped, rotted by stagnant +waters, burnt again by the sun. And they rode over this plain for +hours, the horses avoiding the baked earth, choosing the softer +places where there was a litter of leaves or moss. Sometimes the +cavalcade divided into twos and threes, sometimes it formed into a +little group riding to the right or left, with Owen and his dragoman +in front, Owen trying to learn Arabic from the dragoman, the lesson +interrupted continually by some new sight: by a cloud of thistledown +hovering over a great purple field, rising and falling, for there +was not wind enough to carry the seed away; by some white vapour on +the horizon, which his dragoman told him was the smoke of Arabs +clearing the scrub. + +"A primitive method, and an easy one, saving the labour of billhook +and axe." About nine o'clock he saw some woods lying to the +north-west. But the horses' heads were turned eastward to avoid an arm +of a great marsh, extending northward to the horizon. It was then +that, wearying of trying to get his tongue round certain Arabic words, +he rode away from his dragoman, and tried to define the landscape as a +painter would; but it was all too vast, and all detail was lost in +the vastness, and all was alike. So, abandoning the pictorial, he +philosophised, discovering the fallacy of the old saying that we owe +everything to the earth, the mother of all. "We owe her very little. +The debt is on her side," he muttered. "It is we who make her so +beautiful, finding in the wilderness a garden and a statue in a +marble block. Man is everything." And the words put the thought into +his mind that although they had been travelling for many hours they +had not yet seen a human being, nor yet an animal. Whither the Arabs +had gone the dragoman could not tell him; he could only say they came +to this plain for the spring pasture; their summer pastures were +elsewhere, and he pointed to an old olive, brown and bent by the +wind, telling Owen it was deemed a sacred tree, to which sterile +women came to hang votive offerings. Owen reined up his horse in +front of it, and they resumed their journey, meeting with nothing +they had not met with before, unless, perhaps, a singular group of +date-palms gathered together at one spot, forerunners of the desert, +keeping each other company, struggling for life in a climate which +was not theirs. + +At eleven o'clock a halt was made in the bed of a great river +enclosed within steep mudbanks, now nearly as dry as the river they +had crossed in the morning; only a few inches of turbid water, at +which a long herd of cattle was drinking when they arrived; the +banks planted with great trees, olives, tamarisks, and masticks. At +three o'clock they were again in the saddle, and they rode on, +leaving to the left an encampment (the dragoman told Owen the name of +the tribe), some wandering horses, and some camels. The camels, who +appeared to have lost themselves, did not gallop away like the +horses, but came forward and peaceably watched the cavalcade +passing, absent-minded, bored ruminants, with something always on +their minds. The sobriety of these animals astonished him. "They're +not greedy, and they are never thirsty. Of what do they remind me?" +And Owen thought for a while, till catching sight of their long +fleecy necks, bending like the necks of birds, and ending in long +flexible lips (it was the lips that gave him the clue he was +seeking), he said, "The Nonconformists of the four-footed world," +and he told his joke to his dragoman, without, however, being able +to make him understand. + +"These Arabs have no sense of humour," he muttered, as he rode away. + +The only human beings he saw on that long day's journey were three +shepherds--two youths and an old man; the elder youth, standing on a +low wall, which might be Roman or Carthaginian, Turkish or Arabian +(an antiquarian would doubtless have evolved the history of four +great nations from it), watched a flock of large-tailed sheep and +black goats, and blew into his flageolet, drawing from it, not +music, only sounds without measure or rhythm, which the wind carried +down the valley, causing the sheep-dog to rise up from the rock on +which he was lying and to howl dismally. Near by the old man walked, +leaning on the arm of the younger brother, a boy of sixteen. Both +wore shepherd's garb--tunics fitting tight to the waist, large +plaited hats, and sandals cut from sheep-skin. The old man's eyes +were weak and red, and he blinked them so constantly that Owen +thought he must be blind; and the boy was so beautiful that one of +the Arabs cried out to him, in the noble form of Arab salutation: + +"Hail to thee, Jacob, son of Isaac; and hail to thy father." + +Owen repeated the names "Jacob!" "Isaac!" a light came into his face, +and he drew himself up in his saddle, understanding suddenly that he +had fallen out of the "Odyssey," landing in the very midst of the +Bible; for there it was, walking about him: Abraham and Isaac, the +old man willing to sacrifice his son to please some implacable God +hidden behind a cloud; Jacob selling his birthright to Esau, the +birthright of camels, sheep, and goats. And down his mind floated the +story of Joseph sold by his brethren, and that of Ruth and Boaz: +"Thy people shall be my people, thy God shall be my God," a story of +corn rather than of flocks and herds. For the sake of Boaz she would +accept Yahveh. But would he accept such a God for Evelyn's sake, and +such a brute?--always telling his people if they continued to adore +him they would be given not only strength to overcome their enemies, +but even the pleasure of dashing out the brains of their enemies' +children against the stones; and thinking of the many apocalyptic +inventions, the many-headed beasts of Isaiah, the Cherubim and +Seraphim, who were not stalwart and beautiful angels, but +many-headed beasts from Babylonia, Owen remembered that these +revolting monsters had been made beautiful in the Ægean: sullen +Astaarte, desiring sacrifice and immolation, had risen from the +waters, a ravishing goddess with winged Loves marvelling about her, +Loves with conches to their lips, blowing the glad news to the world. + +"How the thought wanders!" he said, "A moment ago I was among the +abominations of Isaiah. Now I am back, if not with the Greek Venus, +'whom men no longer call the Erecine,' at all events with an +enchanting Parisian, nearly as beautiful, and more delightful--a +voluptuous goddess, laughing amid her hair, drawn less austerely +than Ingres, but much more firmly than Boucher or Fragonard... a +fragrant goddess." + +And meditating with half his mind, he admired the endurance of his +horse with the other, who, though he could neither trot, nor gallop, +nor walk, could amble deliciously. + +"If not a meditative animal himself, his gait conduces to +meditation," Owen said, and he continued to dream that art could +only be said to have flourished among Mediterranean peoples, until +he was roused from his reverie by his horse, who suddenly pricked up +his ears and broke into a canter. He had been travelling since six +in the morning, and it was now evening; but he was fresh enough to +prick up his ears, scenting, no doubt, an encampment, the ashes of +former fires, the litter left by some wayfarers, desert wanderers, +bedouins, Hebrews. + +Owen began his dream again, and he could do so without danger, for +his horse hardly required the direction of the bridle even in the +thick wood; and while admiring his horse's sagacity in avoiding the +trees he pursued his theological fancies, an admirable stillness +gathering the while, shadows descending, unaccompanied by the +slightest wind, and no sound. Yes, a faint sound! And reigning in +his horse, he listened, and all the Arabs about him listened, to the +babble coming up through the evening--a soft liquid talking like the +splashing of water, or the sound of wings, or the mingling of both, +some language more liquid than Italian. What language was being +spoken over yonder? One of the Arabs answered, "It is the voice of +the lake." + +As the cavalcade rode out of the wood the lake lay a glittering +mirror before Owen, about a mile wide; he could not determine its +length, for the lake disappeared into a distant horizon, into a +semblance of low shores, still as stagnant water, reflecting the +golden purple of the sunset, and covered with millions of waterfowl. +The multitude swimming together formed an indecisive pattern, like a +vague, weedy scum collected on the surface of a marsh. Ducks, teal, +widgeon, coots, and divers were recognisable, despite the distance, +by their prow-like heads, their balance on the water, and their +motion through it, "like little galleys," Owen said. Nearer, in the +reeds agitated with millions of unseen inhabitants, snipe came and +went in wisps, uttering an abrupt cry, going away in a short, +crooked flight and falling abruptly. In the distance he saw grey +herons and ibises from Egypt. The sky darkened, and through the dusk, +from over the hills, thousands of birds continued to arrive, +creating a wind in the poplars. Like an army marching past, +battalion succeeded battalion at intervals of a few seconds; and the +mass, unwinding like a great ribbon, stretched across the lake. Then +the mist gathered, blotting out everything, all noise ceased, and +the lake itself disappeared in the mist. + +Turning in the saddle, Owen saw a hillock and five olive-trees. A +fire was burning. This was the encampment. + + + +VI + +He had undertaken this long journey in the wilderness for the sake of +a few days' falconry, and dreaded a disappointment, for all his life +long, intermittently of course, he had been interested in hawks. As +a boy he had dreamed of training hawks, and remembered one taken by +him from the nest, or maybe a gamekeeper had brought it to him, it +was long ago; but the bird itself was remembered very well, a large, +grey hawk--a goshawk he believed it to be, though the bird is rare +in England. As he lay, seeking sleep, he could see himself a boy +again, going into a certain room to feed his hawk. It was getting +very tame, coming to his wrist, taking food from his fingers, and, +not noticing the open window, he had taken the hawk out of its cage. +Was the hawk kept in a cage or chained to the perch? He could not +remember, but what he did remember, and very well, was the moment +when the bird fluttered towards the window; he could see it resting +on the sill, hesitating a moment, doubting its power of flight. But +it had ventured out in the air and had reached a birch, on which it +alighted. There had been a rush downstairs and out of the house, but +the hawk was no longer in the birch, and was never seen by him +again, yet it persisted in his memory. + +The sport of hawking is not quite extinct in England, and at various +times he had caused inquiries to be made, and had arranged once to +go to the New Forest and on another occasion to Wiltshire. But +something had happened to prevent him going, and he had continued to +dream of hawking, of the mystery whereby the hawk could be called +out of the sky by the lure--some rags and worsted-work in the shape +of a bird whirled in the air at the end of a string. Why should the +hawk leave its prey for such a mock? Yet it did; and he had always +read everything that came under his hand about hawking with a +peculiar interest, and in exhibitions of pictures had always stood a +long time before pictures of hawking, however bad they might be. + +But Evelyn had turned his thoughts from sport to music, and gradually +he had become reconciled to the idea that his destiny was never to +see a hawk strike down a bird. But the occasion long looked for had +come at last, to-morrow morning the mystery of hawking would cease +to be a mystery for him any longer; and as he lay in his tent, +trying to get a few hours' sleep before dawn, he asked himself if +the realisation of his dream would profit him much, only the certain +knowledge that hawks stooped at their prey and returned to the lure; +another mystery would have been unravelled, and there were few left; +he doubted if there was another; all the sights and shows with which +life entices us were known to him, all but one, and the last would +go the way the others had gone. Or perhaps it were wiser to leave +the last mystery unravelled. + +Wrapping himself closer in his blanket he sought sleep again, +striving to quiet his thoughts; but they would not be quieted. All +kinds of vain questions ran on, questions to which the wisest have +never been able to find answers: if it were good or ill-fortune to +have been called out of the great void into life, if the gift of +life were one worth accepting, and if it had come to him in an +acceptable form. That night in his tent it seemed clear that it would +be better to range for ever, from oasis to oasis with the bedouins, +who were on their way to meet him, than to return to civilisation. +Of civilisation it seemed to him that he had had enough, and he +wondered if it were as valuable as many people thought; he had found +more pleasure in speaking with his dragoman, learning Arabic from +him, than in talking to educated men from the universities and such +like. Riches dry up the soul and are an obstacle to the development +of self. If he had not inherited Riversdale and its many occupations +and duties, he would be to-day an instinctive human being instead of +a scrapbook of culture. For a rich man there is no escape from +amusements which do not amuse; Riversdale had robbed him of himself, +of manhood; what he understood by manhood was not brawn, but +instincts, the calm of instincts in contradiction to the agitation of +nerves. It would have been better to have known only the simple +life, the life of these Arabs! Now they were singing about the camp +fires. Queer were the intervals, impossible of notation, but the +rhythms might be gathered... a symphony, a defined scheme.... The +monotony of the chant hushed his thoughts, and the sleep into which +he fell must have been a deep one. + +A long time seemed to have passed between sleeping and waking.... + +Throwing his blanket aside, he seized his revolvers. The night was +filled with cries as if the camp had been attacked. But the +disturbances was caused by the stampeding of the horses; three had +broken their tethers and had gone away, after first tumbling into +the reeds, over the hills, neighing frantically. As his horse was +not one of the three it did not matter; the Arabs would catch their +horses or would fail to catch them, and indifferent he stood watching +the moon hanging low over the landscape, a badly drawn circle, but +admirably soft to look upon, casting a gentle, mysterious light down +the lake. The silence was filled with the lake's warble, and the +ducks kept awake by the moon chattered as they dozed, a soft cooing +chatter like women gossiping; an Arab came from the wood with dry +branches; the flames leaped up, showing through the grey woof of the +tent; and, listening to the crackling, Owen muttered "Resinous +wood... tamarisk and mastic." He fell asleep soon after, and this +time his sleep was longer, though not so deep... He was watching +hawks flying in pursuit of a heron when a measured tramp of hooves +awoke him, and hard, guttural voices. + +"The Arabs have arrived," he said, and drawing aside the curtain of +his tent, he saw at least twenty coming through the blue dusk, white +bournous, scimitars, and long-barrelled guns! "Saharians from the +desert, the true bedouin." + +"The bedouin but not the true Saharian," his dragoman informed him. +And Owen retreated into his tent, thinking of the hawks which the +Arabs carried on their wrists, and how hawking had been declining in +Europe since the sixteenth century. But it still flourished in +Africa, where to-day is the same as yesterday. + +And while thinking of the hawks he heard the voices of the Arabs +growing angrier. Some four or five spurred their horses and were +about to ride away; but the dragoman called after them, and Owen +cried out, "As if it matters to me which hawk is flown first." The +quarrel waxed louder, and then suddenly ceased, and when Owen came +out of his tent he saw an Arab take the latchet of a bird's hood in +his teeth and pull the other end with his right hand. "A noble and +melancholy bird," he said, and he stood a long while admiring the +narrow, flattened head, the curved beak, so well designed to rend a +prey, and the round, clear eye, which appeared to see through him +and beyond him, and which in a few minutes would search the blue air +mile after mile. + +The hawk sprang from the wrist, and he watched the bird flying away, +like a wild bird, down the morning sky, which had begun in orange, +and was turning to crimson. "Never will they get that bird back! You +have lost your hawk," Owen said to the Arab. + +The Arab smiled, and taking a live pigeon out of his bournous, he +allowed it to flutter in the air for a moment, at the end of a +string. A moment was sufficient; the clear round eye had caught +sight of the flutter of wings, and soon came back, sailing past, +high up in the air. + +"A fine flight," the Arab said, "the bird is at pitch; now is the +time to flush the covey." A dog was sent forward, and a dozen +partridges got up. And they flew, the terrible hawk in pursuit, +fearing their natural enemy above them more than any rain of lead. +Owen pressed his horse into a gallop, and he saw the hawk drop out +of the sky. The partridge shrieked, and a few seconds afterwards some +feathers floated down the wind. + +Well, he had seen a falcon kill a partridge, but would the falconer +be able to lure back his hawk? That was what he wanted to see, and, +curious and interested as a boy in his first rat hunt, he galloped +forward until stopped by the falconer, who explained that the moment +was always an anxious one, for were the hawk approached from behind, +or approached suddenly, it "might carry"--that is to say, might bear +away its prey for a hundred yards, and when it had done this once it +would be likely to do so again, giving a good deal of trouble. The +falconer approached the hawk very gently, the bird raised its head to +look at the falconer, and immediately after dipped its beak again +into the partridge's breast. + +Owen expected the bird to fly away, but, continuing to approach, the +falconer stooped and reaching out his hand, drew the partridge +towards him, knowing the hawk would not leave it; and when he had +hold of the jesses, the head was cut from the partridge and opened, +for it is the brain the hawk loves; and the ferocity with which this +one picked out the eye and gobbled it awoke Owen's admiration again. + +"Verily, a thing beyond good and evil, a Nietzschean bird." + +He had seen a hawk flown and return to the lure, he had seen a hawk +stoop at its prey, and had seen a hawk recaptured; so the mystery of +hawking was at an end for him, the mystery had been unravelled, and +now there was nothing for him to do but to watch other birds and to +learn the art of hawking, for every flight would be different. + +The sun had risen, filling the air with a calm, reposeful glow; the +woods were silent, the boughs hung lifeless and melancholy, every +leaf distinct at the end of its stem, weary of its life, "unable to +take any further interest in anything" Owen said, and the cavalcade +rode on in silence. + +"A little too warm the day is, without sufficient zest in it," one of +the falconers remarked, for his hawk was flying lazily, only a few +yards above the ground, too idle to mount the sky, to get at pitch; +and as the bird passed him, Owen admired the thin body, and the +javelin-like head, and the soft silken wings, the feathered thighs, +and the talons so strong and fierce. + +"He will lose his bird if he doesn't get at pitch," the falconer +muttered, and he seemed ashamed of his hawk when it alighted in the +branches, and stood there preening itself in the vague sunlight. But +suddenly it woke up to its duty, and going in pursuit of a +partridge, stooped and brought it to earth. + +"A fine kill; we shall have some better sport with the ducks." + +Owen asked the dragoman to translate what the falconer said. + +"He said it was a fine kill. He is proud of his bird." + +Some Arabs rode away, and Owen heard that a boat would be required to +put up the ducks; and he was told the duck is the swiftest bird in +the air once it gets into flight, but if the peregrine is at pitch +it will stoop, and bring the duck to earth, though the duck is by +five times the heavier bird. The teal is a bird which is even more +difficult for the hawk to overtake, for it rises easier than the +duck; but if the hawk be at pitch it will strike down the quick teal. +One of the Arabs reined in his horse, and following the line of the +outstretched finger Owen saw far away in a small pool or plash of +water three teal swimming. As soon as the hawk swooped the teal +dived, but not the least disconcerted, the hawk, as if understanding +that the birds were going to be put up, rose to pitch and waited, +"quite professional like," Owen said. The beautiful little drake was +picked out of a tuft of alfa-grass. But perhaps it was the snipe that +afforded the best sport. + +At mid-day the falconers halted for rest and a meal, and Owen passed +all the hawks in review, learning that the male, the tercel, is not +so much prized in falconry as the female, which is larger and +fiercer. There was not one Barbary falcon, for on making inquiry +Owen was told that the bird he was looking at was a goshawk, a much +more beautiful hawk it seemed to him than the peregrine, especially +in colour; the wings were not so dark, inclining to slate, and under +the wings the breast was white, beautifully barred. It stood much +higher than the other hawks; and Owen admired the bird's tail, so +long, and he understood how it governed the bird's flight, even +before he was told that if a hawk lost one of its tail feathers it +would not be able to fly again that season unless the feather was +replaced; and the falconer showed Owen a supply of feathers, all +numbered, for it would not do to supply a missing third feather with +a fourth; and the splice was a needle inserted into the ends of the +feathers and bound fast with fine thread. The bird's beauty had not +escaped Owen's notice, but he had been so busy with the peregrines +all the morning that he had not had time to ask why this bird wore +no hood, and why it had not been flown. Now he learnt that the +gosshawk is a short-winged hawk, which does not go up in the air, and +get at pitch, and stoop at its prey like the peregrine, but flies +directly after it, capturing by speed of wing, and is used +principally for ground game, rabbits, and hares. He was told that it +seized the hare or the rabbit by the hind quarters and moved up, +finding the heart and lungs with its talons. So he waited eagerly +for a hare to steal out of the cover; but none appeared, much to the +bird's disappointment--a female, and a very fine specimen, singularly +tame and intelligent. The hawk seemed to understand quite well what +was happening, and watched for an opportunity of distinguishing +herself, looking round eagerly; and so eager was she that sometimes +she fell from the falconer's wrist, who took no notice, but let her +hang until she fluttered up again; and when Owen reproved his +cruelty, he answered: + +"She is a very intelligent bird and will not hang by her legs longer +than she wants to." + +It was in the afternoon that her chance came, and a rare one it was. +Two bustards rose out of a clump of cacti growing about a deserted +hermitage. The meeting of the birds must have been a chance one, for +they went in different directions, and flying swiftly, soon would +have put the desert between themselves, and the falconers, and each +other, if the bird going eastward had not been frightened by the +Arabs coming up from the lake, and, losing its head, it turned back, +and flying heavily over the hawking party, gave the goshawk her +single chance, a chance which was nearly being missed, the hawk not +making up her mind at once to go in pursuit; she had been used for +hunting ground game; and for some little while it was not certain +that the bustard would not get away; this would have been a pity, +for, as Owen learned afterwards, the bird is of great rarity, almost +unknown. + +"She will get him, she will get him!" the falconer cried, seeing his +hawk now flying with determination, and a moment after the bustard +was struck down. + +As far as sport was concerned the flight was not very interesting, +but the bustard is so rarely seen and so wary a bird that even the +Arabs, who are not sportsmen, will talk with interest about it, and +Owen rode up curious to see this almost fabulous bird, known in the +country as the habara, a bird which some ornithologists deny to be +the real bustard. Bustard or no bustard, the bird was very +beautiful, six or seven pounds in weight, the size of a small turkey, +and covered with the most beautiful feathers, pale yellow speckled +with brown, a long neck and a short, strong beak, long black legs +with three toes, the fourth, the spur, missing. That a hawk should +knock over a bustard had not happened often, and he regretted that +he knew not how to save the bird's skin, for though stuffed birds +are an abomination, one need not always be artistic. And there were +plenty at Riversdale. His grandfather had filled many cases, and this +rare bird merited the honour of stuffing. All the same, it would +have to be eaten, and with the trophy hanging on his saddle bow Owen +rode back to the encampment, little thinking he was riding to see +the flight which he had been longing to see all his life. + +One of the falconers had sent up a cast of hawks, and an Arab had +ridden forward in the hope of driving some ducks out of the reeds; +but instead a heron rose and, flopping his great wings, went away, +stately and decorative, into the western sky. The hawks were far +away down on the horizon, and there was a chance that they might +miss him; but the falconer waved his lure, and presently the hawks +came back; it was then only that the heron divined his danger, and +instead of trying to outdistance his pursuers as the other birds had +done, and at the cost of their lives, he flopped his wings more +vigorously, ringing his way up the sky, knowing, whether by past +experience or by instinct, that the hawks must get above him. And +the hawks went up, the birds getting above the heron. Soon the +attack would begin, and Owen remembered that the heron is armed with +a beak on which a hawk might be speared, for is it not recorded that +to defend himself the heron has raised his head and spitted the +descending hawk, the force of the blow breaking the heron's neck and +both birds coming down dead together. + +"Now will this happen?" he asked himself as he watched the birds now +well above the heron. "That one," Owen cried, "is about to stoop." + +And down came the hawk upon the heron, but the heron swerved +cleverly. Owen followed the beautiful shape of the bird's long neck +and beak, and the trailing legs. The second hawk stooped. "Ah! now +he is doomed," Owen cried. But again the heron dodged the hawk +cleverly, and the peregrine fell past him, and Owen saw the tail go +out, stopping the descent. + +Heron and hawks went away towards the desert, Owen galloping after +them, watching the aerial battle from his saddle, riding with loose +rein, holding the rein lightly between finger and thumb, leaving his +horse to pick his way. Again a hawk had reached a sufficient height +and stooped; again the heron dodged, and so the battle continued, +the hawks stooping again and again, but always missing the heron, +until at last, no doubt tired out, the heron failed to turn in time: +heron and hawk came toppling out of the sky together; but not too +quickly for the second hawk, which stooped and grappled the prey in +mid-air. + +Owen touched his horse with the spur; and, his eyes fixed on the spot +where he had seen the heron and hawks falling, he galloped, +regardless of every obstacle, forgetful that a trip would cost him a +broken bone, and that he was a long way from a surgeon. + +But Owen's horse picked his way very cleverly through the numerous +rubble-heaps, avoiding the great stones protruding from the sand.... +These seemed to be becoming more numerous; and Owen reined in his +horse.... He was amid the ruins of a once considerable city, of +which nothing remained but the outlying streets, some doorways, and +many tombs, open every one of them, as if the dead had already been +resurrected. Before him lay the broken lid of a sarcophagus and the +sarcophagus empty, a little sand from the desert replacing the ashes +of the dead man. Owen's horse approached it, mistaking it for a +drinking trough; "and it will serve for one," he said, "in a little +while after the next rainfall. Some broken capitals, fragments of +columns, a wall built of narrow bricks, a few inscriptions... all +that remains of Rome, dust and forgetfulness." + +About him the Arabs were seeking a heron and hawks; a falconer +galloped across the plain, waving a lure, in pursuit of another +hawk, so Owen was informed by his dragoman--as if falcon or heron +could interest him at that moment--and he continued to peer into the +inscription, leaving the Arabs to find the birds. And they were +discovered presently among some marbles, the heron's wings +outstretched in death, the great red wound in its breast making it +seem still more beautiful. + + + +VII + +The lake water was salt, but there was a spring among the hills, and +when the hawks were resting (they rested every second day) Owen +liked to go there and lie under the tamarisks, dreaming of Sicily, +of "the visionary flocks" and their shepherds no less visionary, +comparing the ideal with the real, for before him flocks grazed up +the hillside and his eyes followed the goats straying in quest of +branches, their horns tipped with the wonderful light which threw +everything into relief--the bournous of the passing bedouin, the +woman's veil, whether blue or grey, the queer architecture of the +camels and dromedaries coming up through a fold in the hills from +the lake, following the track of the caravans, their long, bird-like +necks swinging, looking, Owen thought, like a great flock of +migrating ostriches. + +It was pleasant to lie and dream this pastoral country and its +people, seen through a haze of fine weather which looked as if it +would never end. The swallows had just come over and were tired; +Owen was provoking enough to drive them out of the tamarisks just to +see how tired they were, and was sorry for one poor bird which could +hardly keep out of his way. Whence had they come? he asked, +returning to a couch of moss. Had any of them come from Riversdale? +Perhaps some had been hatched under his own eaves? (Any mention of +Riversdale was sufficient to soften Owen's heart.) And now under the +tamarisks his thoughts floated about that bleak house and its +colonnade, thinking of a white swallow which had appeared in the +park one year; friends were staying with him, every one had wanted +to shoot it, but leave had not been granted; and his natural +kindness of heart interested him as he lay in the shade of the +tamarisks, asking himself if the white swallow would appear, +thinking that the bird ought to nod to him as it passed, smiling at +the thought, and the smile dying as his dragoman approached; for he +was coming to teach him Arabic. Owen liked to exercise his +intelligence idly; a number of little phrases had already been picked +up, and his learning he tried on the bedouins as they came up the +hill from the lake, preferring speech with them rather than with his +own people, for his own people might affect to understand him, his +dragoman might have prompted them, whereas the new arrivals afforded +a more certain examination, and Owen was pleased when the bedouin +understood him. + +Next day he was hawking, and the day after he was again under the +tamarisks learning Arabic, and so the days went by between sport and +study without his perceiving them until one morning Owen found the +spring in possession of a considerable caravan, some five and twenty +or thirty camel-drivers and horsemen; and anxious to practise the +last phrases he had acquired, he went forward to meet the Saharians, +for they were easily recognisable as such by the blacker skin and a +pungent blackness in the eyes. The one addressed by Owen delighted +him by answering without hesitation: + +"From Laghouat." + +The hard, guttural sound he gave to the syllables threw the word into +wonderful picturesqueness, enchanting Owen. It was the first time he +had heard an Arab pronounce this word, so characteristically +African; and he asked him to say it again for the pleasure of +hearing it, liking the way the Saharian spoke it, with an accent at +once tender and proud, that of a native speaking of his country to +one who has never seen it. + +"How far away is--?" + +Owen tried to imitate the guttural. + +"Fifteen days' journey." + +"And what is the road like?" + +With the superlative gesture of an Arab the man showed the smooth +road passing by the encampment, moving his arms slowly from east to +west to indicate the circuit of the horizon. + +"That is the Sahara," he added, and Owen could see that for the +bedouin there was nothing in the world more beautiful than empty +space and low horizons. It was his intention to ask what were the +pleasures of the Sahara, but he had come to the end of his Arabic +and turned to his dragoman reluctantly. Dragoman and Saharian +engaged in conversation, and presently Owen learned that the birds in +the desert were sand grouse and blue pigeons, and when the Saharian +gathered that these did not afford sufficient sport he added, not +wishing a stranger should think his country wanting in anything: + +"There are gazelles." + +"But one cannot catch gazelles with hawks." + +"No," the Saharian answered, "but one can catch them with eagles." + +"Eagles!" Owen repeated. "Eagles flying after gazelles!" And he +looked into the Arab's face, lost in wonderment, seeing a +picturesque cavalcade going forth, all the horses beautiful, +champing at their bits. + +"But the Arab is too picturesque," he thought; for Owen, always +captious, was at that moment uncertain whether he should admire or +criticise; and the Arabs sat grandly upright in their high-pummelled +saddles of red leather or blue velvet their slippered feet thrust +into great stirrups. He liked the high-pummelled saddles; they were +comfortable to ride long distances in, and it was doubtless on these +high pummels that the Arabs carried the eagles (it would be +impossible to carry so large a bird on a gloved hand); and criticism +melted into admiration. He could see them riding out with the eagles +tied to the pummels of their saddles, looking into the yellow +desert; the adjective seemed to him vulgar--afterwards he discovered +the desert to be tawny. "It must be a wonderful sight... the gazelle +pursued by the eagle!" So he spoke at once to his dragoman, +telling him that he must prepare for a long march to the desert. + +"To the desert!" the dragoman repeated. + +"Yes, I want to see gazelles hunted by eagles," and the grave Arab +looked into Owen's blonde face, evidently thinking him a petulant +child. + +"But your Excellency--" He began to talk to Owen of the length of the +journey--twenty days at least; they would require seven, eight, or +ten camels; and Owen pointed to the camels of the bedouins from the +Sahara. The dragoman felt sure that his Excellency had not examined +the animals carefully; if his Excellency was as good a judge of +camels as he was of horses, he would see that these poor beasts +required rest; nor were they the kind suited to his Excellency. So +did he talk, making it plain that he did not wish to travel so far, +and when Owen admitted that he had not fixed a time to return to +Tunis the dragoman appeared more unwilling than ever. + +"Well, I must look out for another dragoman"; and remembering that +one of his escort spoke French, and that himself had learned a +little Arabic, he told the dragoman he might return to Tunis. + +"Well, my good man, what do you want me to do?" And seeing that the +matter would be arranged with or without him, the Arab offered his +assistance, which was accepted by Owen, and it now remained for the +new dragoman to pay commission to the last, and for both to arrange +with the Saharians for the purchase of their camels and their +guidance. Laghouat was Owen's destination; from thence he could +proceed farther into the desert and wander among the different +archipelagoes until the summer drove him northward. + +The sale of the camels--if not their sale, their hire--for so many +months was the subject of a long dispute in which Owen was advised +not to interfere. It would be beneath his dignity to offer any +opinion, so under the tamarisks he sat smoking, watching the Arabs +taking each other by the shoulders and talking with an extraordinary +volubility. It amused him to watch two who appeared to have come to +an understanding. "They're saying, 'Was there ever any one so +unreasonable? So-and-so, did you hear what he said?'" Drawing long +pipes from their girdles, these two would sit and smoke in silence +till from the seething crowd a word would reach them, and both would +rush back and engage in the discussion as violently as before. + +Sometimes everything seemed to have been arranged and the dragoman +approached Owen with a proposal, but before the proposal could be +put into words the discussion was renewed. + +"In England such a matter as the sale of a few camels would not +occupy more than half a dozen minutes." + +"All countries have their manners and all have their faults," the +dragoman answered, an answer which irritated Owen; but he had to +conceal his irritation, for to show it would only delay his +departure, and he was tired of hawking, tired of the lake and +anxious to see the great desert and its oases. And he felt it to be +shameful to curse the camels. Poor animals! they had come a long way +and required a few days' rest before beginning their journey +homewards. + +Three days after they were judged to be sufficiently rested; this did +not seem to be their opinion, for they bleated piteously when they +were called upon to kneel down, so that their packs might be put +upon them, and upon inquiring as to the meaning of their bleats Owen +was told they were asking for a cushion--"Put a cushion on my back +to save me from being skinned." + +"Hail to all!" + +And the different caravans turned north and south, Owen riding at the +head of his so that he might think undisturbed, for now that +everything had been decided, he was uncertain if the pleasure he +would get from seeing gazelles torn by eagles, would recompense him +for the trouble, expense, and fatigue of this long journey. He +turned his horse to the right, and moved round in his saddle, so +that he might observe the humps and the long, bird-like necks and the +shuffling gait of the camels. They never seemed to become ordinary to +him, and he liked them for their picturesqueness, deciding that the +word "picturesque" was as applicable to them as the word "beautiful" +is applicable to the horse. He liked to see these Arab horses +champing at their cruel bits, arching their crests; he liked their +shining quarters, his own horse a most beautiful, courageous, and +faithful animal, who would wait for him for hours, standing like a +wooden horse; Owen might let him wander at will: for he would answer +his whistle like a dog and present the left side for him to mount, +from long habit no doubt. And the moment Owen was in the saddle his +horse would draw up his neck and shake all the jingling +accoutrements with which he was covered, arch his neck, and spring +forward; and when he did this Owen always felt like an equestrian +statue. And he admired the camel-drivers, gaunt men so supple at the +knee that they could walk for miles, and when the camel broke into a +trot the camel-driver would trot with him. And the temperance of +these men was equal to that of their beasts, at least on the march; +a handful of flour which the camel-driver would work into a sort of +paste, and a drink from a skin was sufficient for a meal. Running by +the side of their beasts, they urged them forward with strange +cries; and they beguiled the march with songs. His musical instincts +were often awakened by these and by the chants which reached him +through the woof of his tent at night. He fell to dreaming of what a +musician might do with these rhythms until his thoughts faded into a +faint sleep, from which he was awakened suddenly by the neighing of +a horse: one had suddenly taken fire at the scent of a mare which a +breeze had carried through the darkness. + +The first bivouacs were the pleasantest part of his journey, despite +the fact that he could find no answer to the question why. he had +undertaken it, or why he was learning Arabic; all the same, these +days would never be forgotten; and he looked round... especially +these nights, every one distinct in his mind, the place where +yesterday's tent had been pitched, and the place where he had laid +his head a week ago, the stones which three nights ago had prevented +him from sleeping. + +"These experiences will form part of my life, a background, an +escapement from civilisation when I return to it. We must think a +little of the future--lay by a store like the bees"; and next +morning he looked round, his eyes delighting in the beauty of the +light. Truly a light sent from beyond skies in which during the +course of the day every shade of blue could be distinguished. A thin, +white cloud would appear towards evening, stretch like a skein of +white silk across the sky, to gather as the day declined into one +white cloud, which would disappear, little by little, into the +sunset. As Owen rode at the head of his cavalcade he watched this +cloud, growing smaller, and its diminishing often inspired the +thought of a ship entering into a harbour, sail dropping over sail. + +The pale autumn weather continued day after day; everything in the +landscape seemed fixed; and it seemed impossible to believe that +very soon dark clouds would roll overhead, and wind tear the trees, +and floods dangerous to man and horse rush down the peaceful river +beds, now nearly dry, only a trickle of water, losing itself among +sandy reaches. + +During the long march of twenty days the caravan passed through +almost every kind of scenery--long plains in which there was nothing +but reeds and tussocked grass, and these plains were succeeded by +stony hills covered with scrub. Again they caught sight of Arab +fires in the morning like a mist, at night lighting up the horizon; +and a few days afterwards they were riding through an oak forest +whose interspaces were surprisingly like the tapestries at +Riversdale, only no archer came forward to shoot the stag; and he +listened vainly, for the sounds of hunting horns. + +On debouching from the forest they passed through pleasantly watered +valleys, the hillsides of which were cultivated. It was pleasant to +see fields again, though they were but meagre Arab fields. All the +same Owen was glad to see the blue shadows of the woods marking the +edge of these fields, for they carried his thoughts back to England, +to his own fields, and in his mood of mind every remembrance of +England was agreeable. He was beginning to weary of wild nature, so +it was pleasant to see an Arab shepherd emerge from the scrub and +come forward to watch for a moment and then go away to the edge of a +ravine where his goats were browsing, and sit upon a rock, followed +by a yellow dog with a pointed face like a fox. It was pleasant, +too, to discover the tents of the tribe at a little distance, and +the next day to catch sight of a town, climbing a hill so steep that +it was matter for wonderment how camels could be driven through the +streets. + +The same beautiful weather continued--blue skies in which every shade +of blue could be studied; skies filled with larks, the true English +variety, the lark which goes about in couples, mounting the blue +air, singing, as they mounted, a passionate medley of notes, +interrupted by a still more passionate cry of two notes repeated +three or four times, followed again by the same disordered cadenzas. +The robin sings in autumn, and it seemed strange to Owen to hear this +bird singing a solitary little tune just as he sings it in England--a +melancholy little tune, quite different from the lark's passionate +outpouring, just its own quaint little avowal, somewhat +autobiographical, a human little admission that life, after all, is +a very sad thing even to the robin? Why shouldn't it be? for he is a +domestic bird of sedentary habits, and not at all suited to this +African landscape. All the same, it was nice to meet him there. A +blackbird started out of the scrub, chattered, and dived into a +thicket, just as he would in Riversdale. + +"The same things," Owen said, "all the world over." On passing +through a ravine an eagle rose from a jutting scarp; and looking up +the rocks, two or three hundred feet in height, Owen wondered if it +was among these cliffs the bird built its eerie, and how the young +birds were taken by the Arabs. Crows followed the caravan in great +numbers, and these reminded Owen of his gamekeeper, a solid man, six +feet high, with reddish whiskers, the most opaque Englishman Owen had +ever seen. "'We must get rid of some of them,'" Owen muttered, +quoting Burton. "'Terrible destructive, them birds,'" + +Among these remembrances of England, a jackal running across the +path, just as a fox would in England, reminded Owen that he was in +Africa; and though occasionally one meets an adder in England, one +meets them much more frequently in the North of Africa. It was +impossible to say how many Owen had not seen lying in front of his +horse like dead sticks. As the cavalcade passed they would twist +themselves down a hole. As for rats, they seemed to be everywhere, +and at home everywhere, with the adders and with the rabbits; any +hole was good enough for the rat. The lizards were larger and uglier +than the English variety, and Owen never could bring himself to look +upon them with anything but disgust--their blunt head, the viscous +jaws exuding some sort of scum; and he left them to continue their +eternal siesta in the warm sand. + +That evening, after passing through a succession of hills and narrow +valleys, the caravan entered the southern plain, an immense +perspective of twenty or thirty miles; and Owen reined up his horse +and sat at gaze, watching the dim greenness of the alfa-grass +striped with long rays of pale light and grey shadows. But the +extent of the plain could not be properly measured, for the sky was +darkening above the horizon. + +"The rainy season is at hand," Owen said; and he watched the clouds +gathering rapidly into storm in the middle of the sky. Now and +again, when the clouds divided, a glimpse was gotten of a range of +mountains, seven crests--"seven heads," the dragoman called them, +and he told Owen the name in Arabic. These mountains were reached +the following day, and, after passing through numberless defiles, +the caravan debouched on a plain covered with stones, bright as if +they had been polished by hand--a naked country torn by the sun, in +which nothing grew, not even a thistle. In the distance were hills +whose outline zigzagged, now into points like a saw, and now into +long sweeping curves like a scythe; and these hills were full of +narrow valleys, bare as threshing-floors. The heat hung in these +valleys, and Owen rode through them, choking, for the space of a long +windless day, in which nothing was heard except the sound of the +horses' hooves and the caw of a crow flying through the vague +immensity. + +But the ugliness of these valleys was exceeded by the ugliness of the +marsh at whose edge they encamped next day--a black, evil-smelling +marsh full of reeds and nothing more. The question arose whether +potable water would be found, and they all went out, Owen included, +to search for a spring. + +After searching for some time one was found in possession of a number +of grey vultures and enormous crows, ranged in a line along the +edges, and in the distance these seemed like men stooping in a hurry +to drink. It was necessary to fire a gun to disperse these sinister +pilgrims. But in the Sahara a spring is always welcome, even when it +carries a taste of magnesia; and there was one in the water they had +discovered, not sufficient to discourage the camels, who drank +freely enough, but enough to cause Owen to make a wry face after +drinking. All the same, it was better than the water they carried in +the skins. The silence was extraordinary, and, hearing the teeth of +the camels shearing the low bushes of their leaves, Owen looked +round, surprised by the strange resonance of the air and the +peculiar tone of blue in the sky, trivial signs in themselves, but +recognisable after the long drought. He remembered how he had +experienced for the last few days a presentiment that rain was not +far off, a presentiment which he could not attribute to his +imagination, and which was now about to be verified. A large cloud +was coming up, a few heavy drops fell, and during the night the rain +pattered on the canvas; and he fell asleep, hoping that the morning +would be fine, though he had been told the rain would not cease for +days; and they were still several days' journey from Laghouat, where +they would get certain news of eagles and gazelles, for the Arab who +had first told Owen about the gazelle-hunters admitted (Owen cursed +him for not having admitted it before) that the gazelles did not +come down from the hills until after the rains and the new grass +began to spring up. + +All the next day the rain continued. Owen watched it falling into the +yellow sand blown into endless hillocks; "Very drie, very drie," he +said, recalling a phrase of his own north country. Overhead a low +grey sky stooped, with hardly any movement in it, the grey moving +slowly as the caravan struggled on through grey and yellow colour-- +the colour of emptiness, of the very void. It seemed to him that he +could not get any wetter; but there is no end to the amount of +moisture clothes can absorb, a bournous especially, and soon the rain +was pouring down Owen's neck; but he would not be better off if he +ordered the caravan to stop and his servants to pitch his tent under +a sand-dune. Besides, it would be dangerous to do this, for the wind +was rising, and their hope was to reach a caravansary before +nightfall. + +"And it is not yet mid-day," Owen said to himself, thinking of the +endless hours that lay before him, and of his wonderful horse, so +courageous and so patient in adversity, never complaining, though he +sank at every step to over his fetlocks in the sand. Owen wondered +what the animal was thinking about, for he seemed quite cheerful, +neighing when Owen leaned forward and petted him. To lean forward +and stroke his horse's neck, and speak a few words of encouragement +to one who needed no encouragement, was all there was for him to do +during that long day's march. + +"If he could only speak to me," Owen said, feeling he needed +encouragement; and he tried to take refuge in the past, trying to +memorise his life, what it had been from the beginning, just as if +he were going to write a book. When his memory failed him he called +his dragoman and began an Arabic lesson. It is hard to learn Arabic +at any time, and impossible to learn it in the rain; and after +acquiring a few words he would ride up and down, trying the new +phrases upon the camel-drivers, admirable men who never complained, +running alongside of their animals, urging them forward with strange +cries. Owen admired their patience; but their cries in the end +jarred his highly-strong nerves, and he asked himself if it were not +possible for them to drive camels without uttering such horrible +sounds, and appealed to the dragoman, who advised him to allow the +drivers to do their business as they were in the habit of doing it, +for it was imperative they should reach the caravansary that night. +The wind was rising, and storms in the desert are not only +unpleasant, but dangerous. Owen tried to fall asleep in the saddle, +and he almost succeeded in dozing; anyhow, he seemed to wake from +some sort of stupor at the end of the day, just before nightfall, +for he started, and nearly fell, when his dragoman called to him, +telling him they were about to enter the ravine on the borders of +which the caravansary was situated. + +The first thing he saw were three palm-trees, yellow trees torn and +broken, and there were two more a little farther on; and there was a +great noise in their crowns when the caravan drew up before the +walls of the caravansary--five palms, the wind turning their crowns +inside out like umbrellas, horrible and black, standing out in livid +lines upon a sky that was altogether black; four; great walls, and +on two sides of the square an open gallery, a shelter for horses; in +the corner rooms without windows, and open doorways. Owen chose one, +and the dragoman spoke of scorpions and vipers; and well he might do +so, for Owen drove a hissing serpent out of his room immediately +afterwards, killing it in the corridor. And then the question was, +could the doorway be barricaded in such a way as to prevent the +intrusion of further visitors? + +The wind continued to rise, and he lay rolled in his blanket, +uncomfortable, frightened, listening to the wind raging among the +rocks and palms, and, between his short, starting sleeps, wondering +if it would not have been better to lie in the ravine, in some +crevice, rather than in this verminous and viperous place. + +Next day he had an opportunity of contrasting the discomfort of the +caravansary with a bivouac under a rainy sky; for at nightfall, +within two days' journey of Laghouat, the caravan halted in a +desolate valley, shut in between two lines of reddish hills +seemingly as barren as the valley itself. After long searching in +the ravines a little brushwood was collected, and an attempt was made +to light a fire, which was unsuccessful. The only food they had that +night was a few dates and biscuits, and these were eaten under their +blankets in the rain, Owen having discovered that it was wetter in +his tent than without. This discomfort was the most serious he had +experienced, yet he felt it hardly at all, thinking that perhaps it +would have been very little use coming to the desert in a railway +train or in a mail coach. Only by such adventures is travel made +rememberable, and, looking out of his blankets, he was rewarded by a +sight which he felt would not be easily forgotten--the camels on +their knees about the drivers, who were feeding them from their +hands, the poor beasts leaning out their long necks to take what was +given to them--a wretched repast, yet their grunts were full of +satisfaction. + +In the morning, however, they were irritable, and bleated angrily +when asked to kneel down so that their packs might be put upon them; +but in the end they submitted, and Owen noticed a certain strain of +cheerfulness in their demeanour all that day. Perhaps they scented +their destination. Owen's horse certainly scented a stable within a +day's journey of Laghouat, for he pricked up his ears, and there was +nothing else but the instinct of a stable that could have induced +him to do so, for on their left was a sinister mountain--sinister +always, Owen thought, even in the sunlight, but more sinister than +ever in the rainy season, wrapped in a cloud, showing here and there +a peak when the clouds lifted. And no mountain seemed harder to +leave behind than this one. Owen, who knew that Laghouat was not +many miles distant, rode on in front, impatient to see the oasis +rise out of the desert. The wind still raged, driving the sand; and +before him stretched endless hillocks of yellow sand; and he +wandered among these, uncertain whither lay the road, until he +happened upon a little convoy bringing grain to the town. The convoy +turned to the left.... His mistake was that he had been looking to +the right. + +Laghouat, built among rocks, some of which were white, showed up high +above the plain; and, notwithstanding his desire for food and +shelter, he sat on his horse at gaze, interested in the ramparts of +this black town, defended by towers, outlined upon a grey sky. + + + +VIII + +"When a woman has seen the guest she no longer cares for the master." +An old hunter had told him this proverb, a lame, one-eyed man, an +outcast from his tribe, or very nearly, whose wife was so old that +Owen's presence afforded him no cause for jealousy, a friend of the +hunter who owned the eagles, so Owen discovered, but not until the +end of a week's acquaintance, which was strange, for he had seen a +great deal of this man in the last few days. The explanation he gave +one night in the café where Owen went to talk and drink with the +Spahis; coming in suddenly, and taking Owen away into a corner, he +explained that he had not told him before that his friend Tahar, he +who owned the eagles, had gone away to live in another oasis, +because it had not occurred to him that Owen was seeking Tahar, +fancying somehow that it was another--as if there were hundreds of +people in the Sahara who hunted gazelles with eagles! + +"_Grand Dieu_!" and Owen turned to his own dragoman, who happened to +be present. "_A-t-on jamais!_... _Ici depuis trois semaines!_" + +The dragoman, who expected an outburst, reminded Owen of the progress +he had made in Arabic, and of the storms of the last three weeks, +the rain and wind which had made travelling in the desert +impossible, and when Owen spoke of starting on the morrow the +dragoman shook his head, and the wind in the street convinced Owen +that he must remain where he was. + +"_Mais si j'avais su_--" + +The dragoman pointed out to him the terrible weather they had +experienced, and how glad he had been to find shelter in Laghouat. + +"_Oui, Sidna, vous êtes maintenant au comble de regrets, mats pour +rien au monde vous n'auriez fait ces étapes vers le sud_." + +Owen felt that the man was right, though he would not admit it; the +camels themselves could hardly have been persuaded to undertake +another day's march; his horse--well, the vultures might have been +tearing him if he had persevered, so instead of going off in one of +his squibby little rages, which would have made him ridiculous, Owen +suddenly grew sad and invited the hunter to drink with him, and it +was arranged that as soon as the wind dropped the quest for Tahar +should be pursued. + +He would be found in an oasis not more than two days' journey from +Laghouat, so the hunter said, but the dragoman's opinion was that +the old hunter was not very sure; Tahar would be found there, and if +he were not there he was for certain in another oasis three or four +days still farther south. + +"But I cannot travel all over the Sahara in search of eagles." + +"If _Sidna_ would like to return to Tunis?" + +But to return to Tunis would mean returning to England, and Owen felt +that his business in the desert was not yet completed; as well +travel from one oasis to another in quest of eagles as anything +else, and three days afterwards he rode at the head of his caravan, +anxious to reach Ain Mahdy, trying to believe he had grown +interested in the Arab, and would like to see him living under the +rule of his own chief, even though the chief was, to a certain +extent, responsible to the French Government; still, to all intents +and purposes he would be a free Arab. Yes, and Owen thought he would +like to see a Kaid; and wondering what his reception would be like, +he rode through the desert thinking of the Kaid, his eyes fixed on +the great horizons which had re-appeared, having been lost for many +days in mist and rain. + +An exquisite silence vibrated through the great spaces, music for +harps rather than for violins, and Owen rode on, reaching the oasis, +as he had been told he would, at the end of the second day's +journey. When he arrived the Kaid was engaged in administering +justice, and Owen was forced _de faire un peu l'anti-chambre_; but +this was not disagreeable to him. The Arab court-house seemed to him +an excellent place for a lesson in the language; and the case the +Kaid was deciding was to his taste. A man was suing for divorce, and +for reasons which would have astonished Englishmen, and cause the +plaintiff to be hurled out of civilised society; but in the Sahara +the case did not strike anybody as unnatural; and Owen listened to +the woman telling her misfortunes under a veil. But though deeply +interested he was forced to leave the building; the flies plagued +him unendurably, and presently he found the flies had odious +auxiliaries in the carpet, and after explaining his torture to the +dragoman, who was not suffering at all, he left the building and +walked in the street. + +Half an hour after the Kaid came forward to meet him with a little +black sheep in his arms, struggling, frightened at finding itself +captured, bleating painfully. The wool was separated, and Owen was +invited to feel this living flesh, which in a few hours he would be +eating; it would have been impolite to the Kaid to refuse to feel +the sheep's ribs, so Owen complied, though he knew that doing so +would prevent him from enjoying his dinner, and he was very hungry +at the time. The sheep's eyes haunted him all through the meal, and +his pleasure was still further discounted by the news that though +the eagles were at Ain Mahdy, the owner having left them-- + +"Having left them," Owen repeated. "Good God! I was told he was +here." + +"He left here three days ago." + +Owen cursed his friend in Laghouat. If he had only told him in the +beginning of the week! The dragoman answered: + +"_Sidna, vous vous en souvenez_" + +"Speak to me in Arabic, damn you! There is nothing to do here but to +learn Arabic." + +"Quite true, _Sidna_, we shall not be able to start to-morrow; the +rains are beginning again." + +"Was there ever such luck as mine, to come to the desert, where it +never rains, and to find nothing but rain?"--rain which Owen had +never seen equalled except once in Connemara, where he had gone to +fish, and it annoyed him to hear that these torrential rains only +happened once every three or four years in the Sahara. He was too +annoyed to answer his dragoman.... _Enfin_, Tahar had left his +eagles at Ain Mahdy, and Owen fed them morning and evening, gorging +them with food, not knowing that one of the great difficulties is to +procure in the trained eagle sufficient hunger to induce him to +pursue the quarry. It was an accident that some friend of Tahar's +surprised Owen feeding the eagles and warned him. + +"These eagles will not be able to hunt for weeks now." + +Owen cursed himself and the universe, Allah and the God of Israel, +Christ and the prophets. + +"But, _Sidna_, their hunger can be excited by a drug, and this drug +is Tahar's secret." + +"Then to-morrow we start, though there be sand storms or rain storms, +whatever the weather may be." + +The dragoman condoned Owen's mistake in feeding the eagles. + +"The gazelles come down from the mountains after the rains; we shall +catch sight of some on our way." + +A few hours after he rode up to Owen and said, "Gazelles!" + +When he looked to the right of the sunset Owen could see yellow, +spotted with black; something was moving over yonder among the +patches of rosemary and lavender. + +The gazelles were far away when the caravan reached the rosemary, but +their smell remained, overpowering that of the rosemary and +lavender; it seemed as if the earth itself breathed nothing but +musk, and Owen's surprise increased when he saw the Arabs collecting +the droppings, and on asking what use could be made of these he was +told that when they were dried they were burnt as pastilles; when +the animal had been feeding upon rosemary and lavender they gave out +a delicious odour. + +Then the dragoman told Owen to prepare for sand grouse; and a short +while afterwards one of the Arabs cried, "Grouse! Grouse!" and a +pack of thirty or forty flew away, two falling into the sand. + +They came upon a river in flood, and while the Arabs sought a ford +Owen went in search of blue pigeons, and succeeded in shooting +several; and these were plucked and eaten by the camp fire that +night, the coldest he had known in the Sahara. When the fire burnt +down a little he awoke shivering. And he awoke shivering again at +daybreak; and the cavalcade continued its march across a plain, flat +and empty, through which the river's banks wound like a green +ribbon.... Some stunted vegetation rose in sight about midday, and +Owen thought that they were near the oasis towards which they were +journeying; but on approaching he saw that what he had mistaken for +an oasis was but the ruins of one that had perished last year owing +to a great drought, only a few dying palms remaining. Oases die, but +do new ones rise from the desert? he wondered. A ragged chain of +mountains, delightfully blue in the new spring weather, entertained +him all the way across an immense tract of barren country; and at +the end of it his searching eyes were rewarded by a sight of his +destination--some palms showing above the horizon on the evening +sky. + + + +IX + +As the caravan approached the beach he caught sight of an Arab, or +one whom he thought was an Arab, and riding straight up to him, Owen +asked: + +"Do you know Tahar?" + +"The hunter?" + +"Yes," and breathing a sigh, he said he had travelled hundreds of +miles in search of him--"and his eagles." + +"He left here two or three days ago for Ain Mahdy." + +"Left here! Good God!" and Owen threw up his arms. "Left two days +ago, and I have come from Ain Mahdy, nearly from Tunis, in search of +him! We have passed each other in the desert," he said, looking +round the great plain, made of space, solitude, and sun. It had +become odious to him suddenly, and he seemed to forget everything. + +As if taking pity on him, Monsieur Béclère asked him to stay with him +until Tahar returned. + +"We will hunt the gazelles together." + +"That is very kind of you." + +And Owen looked into the face of the man to whom he had introduced +himself so hurriedly. He had been so interested in Tahar, and so +overcame by the news of his absence, that he had not had time to +give a thought to the fact that the conversation was being carried +on in French. Now the thought suddenly came into his mind that the +man he was speaking to was not an Arab but a Frenchman. "He must +certainly be a Frenchman, no one but a Frenchman could express +himself so well in French." + +"You are very kind," he said, and they strolled up the oasis +together, Owen telling Monsieur Béclère that at first he had +mistaken him for an Arab. "Only your shoulders are broader, and you +are not so tall; you walk like an Arab, not quite so loosely, not +quite the Arab shuffle, but still--" + +"A cross between the European spring and the loose Arab stride?" + +"Do you always dress as an Arab?" + +"Yes, I have been here for thirty-one years, ever since I was +fourteen." Owen looked at him. + +"Here, in an oasis?" + +"Yes, in an oasis, a great deal of which I have created for myself. +The discovery of a Roman well enabled me to add many hundred +_hectares_ to my property. + +"The rediscovery of a Roman well!" + +"Yes. If the Sahara is barren, it is because there is no water." Owen +seemed to be on the verge of hearing the most interesting things +about underground lakes only twenty or thirty feet from the surface. +"But I will tell you more about them another time." + +Owen looked at Béclère again, thinking that he liked the broad, flat +strip of forehead between the dark eyebrows, and the dark hair, +streaked with grey, the eyes deep in the head, and of an acrid +blackness like an Arab's; the long, thin nose like an Arab's--a face +which could have had little difficulty in acquiring the Arab cast of +feature; and there had been time enough to acquire it, though +Béclère was not more than forty-five. + +"No doubt you speak Arabic like French." + +"Yes, I speak modern Arabic as easily as French. The language of the +Koran is different." And Béclère explained that there was no writing +done in the dialects. When an Arab wrote to another, he wrote in the +ancient language, which was understood everywhere. + +"You have learned a little Arabic, I see," Béclère said, and Owen +foresaw endless dialogues between himself and Monsieur Béclère, who +would instruct him on all the points which he was interested in. The +orchards they were passing through (apricot, apple, and pear-trees) +were coming into blossom. + +"I had expected oranges and lemons." + +"They don't grow well here, but we have nearly all our own +vegetables--haricot-beans, potatoes, artichokes, peas." + +"Of course there are no strawberries?" + +"No, we don't get any strawberries. There is my house." And within a +grove of beautiful trees, under which one could sit, Owen caught +sight of a house, half Oriental, half European. He admired the flat +roofs and the domes, which he felt sure rose above darkened rooms, +where Béclère and those who lived with him slept in the afternoons. +"You must be tired after your long ride, and would like to have a +bath." + +Owen followed Béclère through a courtyard, where a fountain sang in +dreamy heat and shade, bringing a little sensation of coolness into +the closed room, which did not strike him as being particularly +Moorish, notwithstanding the engraved brass lamps hanging from the +ceiling, and the Oriental carpet on the floor, and the screen inlaid +with mother-of-pearl. Owen did not know whether linen sheets were a +European convention, and could be admitted into an Eastern +dwelling-house, but he was not one of those who thought everything +should be in keeping. He liked incongruities, being an inveterate +romancist and only a bedouin by caprice. One appreciates sheets after +months of pilgrimage, and one appreciates a good meal after having +eaten nothing for a long while better than sand-goose roasted at the +camp fire. More than the pleasure of the table was the pleasure of +conversation with one speaking in his native language. Béclère's mind +interested him; it was so steady, it looked towards one point always. +That was his impression when he left his host after a talk lasting +till midnight; and, thinking of Béclère and his long journey to him, +he sat by his window watching stars of extraordinary brilliancy, and +breathing a fragrance rising from the tropical garden beneath him--a +fragrance which he recognised as that of roses; and this set him +thinking that it was the East that first cultivated roses; and amid +many memories of Persia and her poets, he threw himself into bed, +longing for sleep, for a darkness which, in a few hours, would pass +into a delicious consciousness of a garden under exquisite skies. + +His awakening was even more delightful than he anticipated. The +fragrance that filled his room had a magic in it which he had never +known before, and there was a murmur of doves in the palms and in +the dovecot hanging above the dog-kennel. As he lay between sleeping +and waking, a pair of pigeons flew past his window, their shadows +falling across his bed. An Arab came to conduct him to his bath; and +after bathing he returned to his room, glad to get into its sunlight +again, and to loiter in his dressing, standing by the window, +admiring the garden below, full of faint perfume. The roses were +already in blossom, and through an opening in the ilex-trees he +caught sight of a meadow overflowing with shadow, the shadow of +trees and clouds, and of goats too, for there was a herd feeding and +trying to escape from the shepherd (a young man wearing a white +bournous and a red felt cap) towards the garden, where there were +bushes. On the left, amid a group of palms, were the stables, and +Owen thought of his horse feeding and resting after his long +journey. And there were Béclère's horses too. Owen had not seen them +yet; nor had he seen the dog, nor the pigeons. This oasis was full +of pleasant things to see and investigate, and he hurried through his +meal, longing to get into the open air and to gather some roses. All +about him sounds were hushing, and lights breaking, and shadows +floating, and every breeze was scented. As he followed the +finely-sanded walks, he was startled by a new scent, and with dilating +nostrils tried to catch it, tried to remember if it were mastick or +some resinous fir; and, walking on like one in a trance, he admired +Béclère's taste in the planting of this garden. + +"A strange man, so refined and intelligent--why does he live here?... +Why not?" + +Returning suddenly to the ilex-trees, which he liked better than the +masticks, or the tamarisks, or any fir, he sat down to watch the +meadow, thinking there was nothing in the world more beautiful than +the moving of shadows of trees and clouds over young grass, and +nothing more beautiful than a young shepherd playing a flute: only +one thing more beautiful--a young girl carrying an amphora I She +passed out of the shadows, wearing a scarlet haik and on her arms and +neck a great deal of rough jewellery. + +"She is going to the well," he said. The shepherd stopped playing and +advanced to meet her. Boy and girl stood talking for a little while. +He heard laughter and speech... saw her coming towards him. "She +will follow this path to the house, and I shall see her better." A +little in front of the ilex-trees she stopped to look back upon the +shepherd, leaning the amphora upon her naked hip. The movement +lasted only a moment, but how beautiful it was! On catching sight of +Owen, she passed rapidly up the path, meeting Béclère on his way. + +"Speaking to him in Arabic," Owen said, as he continued to admire the +beautiful face he had just seen--a pointed oval, dark eyes, a small, +fine nose, red lips, and a skin the colour of yellow ivory. "Still a +child and already a woman, not more than twelve or thirteen at the +very most; the sun ripens them quickly." This child recalled a dream +which he had let drop in Tunis--a dream that he might go into the +desert and find an Arab maiden the colour of yellow ivory, and live +with her in an oasis, forgetful.... Only by a woman's help could he +ever forget Evelyn. The old bitterness welled up bitter as ever. +"And I thought she was beginning to be forgotten." + +In his youth he had wearied of women as a child wearies of toys. Few +women had outlasted the pleasure of a night, all becoming equally +insipid and tedious; but since he had met Evelyn he had loved no +other. Why did he love her? How was it he could not put her out of +his mind? Why couldn't he accept an Arab girl--Béclère's girl? She +was younger and more beautiful. If she did not belong to Béclère-- +Owen looked up and watched them, and seeing Béclère glance in the +direction of the shepherd, he added, "Or to the shepherd." + +The girl went into the house, and Béclère came down to meet his +guest, apologising for having left him so long alone.... He talked +to him about the beauty of the morning. The rains were over, or +nearly, but very often they began again. + +"_Cella se pent qu'elle ne soit qu'une courte embellie, mais +profitons en_," and they turned to admire the roses. + +"A beautiful girl, the one you were just speaking to." + +"Yes... yes; she is the handsomest in the oasis, and there are many +handsome girls here. The Arab race is beautiful, male and female. +Her brother, for instance, the shepherd--" + +"Her brother," Owen thought. "Ah!" They stopped to watch the +shepherd, a boy of sixteen. "About two years older than his sister," +Owen remarked, and Béclère acquiesced. The boy had begun to play his +flute again. He played at first listlessly, then with all his soul, +and then with extraordinary passion. Owen watched the balance of his +body and arms, and the movement, extraordinarily voluptuous, of his +neck and head. He played on, his breath coming at times so feebly +that there was hardly any sound at all, at other times awaking music +loud and imperative; and the two men stood listening, for how many +minutes they did not know, but for what seemed to them a long while. +Their reverie stopped when the music ceased. It was then that a +dun-coloured dove with a lilac neck flew through the garden and took +refuge in a palm, seen for a moment as she alighted on the flexible +djerrid on a background of blue air. She disappeared into the heart +of the tree; the leaves were again stirred. She cooed once or twice, +and then there was a hush and a stillness in every leaf. + +"You would like to see my property?" + +Owen said he would like to see all the oasis, or as much as they +could see of it in one day without fatiguing themselves. + +"You can see it all in a day, for it is but a small island, about a +thousand Arabs in the villages." + +"So many as that?" + +"Well, there has to be, in order to save ourselves from the predatory +bands which still exist, for, as I daresay you have already learned, +the Arabs are divided into two classes--the agricultural and the +nomadic. We have to be in sufficient numbers to save ourselves from +the nomads, otherwise we should be pillaged and harried from year's +end to year's end--all our crops and camels taken." + +"Border warfare--the same as existed in England in the Middle Ages." + +Béclère agreed that the unsettled vagrant civilisation which existed +in the North of Africa up to 1830--which in 1860 was beginning to +pass away, and the traces of which still survived in the nineties-- +resembled very much the border forays for which Northumberland is +still famous; and, walking through the palm-groves towards the Arab +village, they talked of the Arab race, listening all the while to +the singing of doves and of streams, Owen listless and happy. + +"But I shall remember her again presently, and the stab will be as +bitter as ever!" + +Béclère did not believe that the Arab race was ever as great a race +as we were inclined to give it credit for being. + +"All the same, if it hadn't been for your ancestors, we might have +all been Moslems now," Owen said, stopping to admire what remained +of the race which had conquered Spain and nearly conquered France. +"Now they are outcasts of our civilisation--but what noble outcasts! +That fellow, he is old, and without a corner, perhaps, where to lay +his head, but he walks magnificently in his ragged bournous. He is +poor, but he isn't a beggar; his life is sordid, but it isn't +trivial; he retains his grand walk and his solemn salute; and if he +has never created an art, himself is proof that he isn't without the +artistic sentiment." + +Béclère looked at Owen in surprise, and Owen, thinking to astonish +him, added: + +"His poverty and his filth are sublime; he is a Jew from Amsterdam +painted by Rembrandt, or a Jew from Palestine described by the +authors of the Pentateuch." + +"The Jew is a tougher fellow to deal with; he cannot be eradicated, +but the Arab was very nearly passing away. If he had insisted on +remaining the noble outcast which you admire, he would not have +survived the Red Indian many hundreds of years. I don't contest +whether to lose him would be a profit or a loss, but when +civilisation comes the native race must accept it or extinction." + +"I suppose you're right," Owen answered, "I suppose you're right." + +And they stopped to look at an Arab town; some of it was in the plain +below, some of it ran up the steep hillside, on the summit of which +was a ruined mosque. + +"Why did they choose to build up such a steep hillside?" + +"The oasis is limited, and the plain is devoted to orchards. Look at +the village! If you were to visit their town, you would not find a +street in which a camel could turn round, hardly any windows, and +the doors always half closed. They are still suspicious of us and +anxious to avoid our inquisition. Yes, that is the characteristic of +the Arab, to conceal himself; and his wife, and his business from +us." + +"One can sympathise with the desire to avoid inquisition, and +notwithstanding the genius of your race--no one is more sympathetic +to you than I am--yet it is impossible not to see that your fault is +red tapeism, and that is what the Arab hates. You see I understand." + +"I don't think I am unsympathetic, and the Arabs don't think it. +Perhaps there is no man in Africa who can travel as securely as I +can--even in the Soudan I should be well received--and what other +European could say as much? There must be something of the Arab in +me, otherwise I shouldn't have lived amongst them so long, nor +should I speak Arabic as easily as I do, nor should I look--remember, +you thought I was an Arab." + +"Yes, at first sight." + +The admission was given somewhat unwillingly, not because Owen saw +Béclère differently, he still saw an Arab exterior, but he had begun +to recognise him as a Frenchman. Race characteristics are generally +imaginary; there are, shall we say, twenty millions of Frenchmen in +France, and every one is different; how therefore is it possible to +speak of race characteristics? Still, if one may differentiate at +all between the French and English races (but is there a French and +English race?) we know there is a negro race because it is black-- +however, if there be any difference between England and France, the +difference is that France is more inclined to pedantry than England. +If one admits any race difference, one may admit this one; and, with +such thoughts in his mind, Owen began to perceive Béclère as the +typical French pedagogue, a clever man, one who if he had remained +in Paris would have become _un membre de l'Institut_. + +Béclère, _un membre de l'Institut_, talking to the beautiful girl +whom Owen had seen that morning! Owen smiled a little under his +moustache, and, as there was plenty of time for meditation while +waiting for Tahar to return from Ain Mahdy, he spent a great deal of +time wondering if any sensual relations existed between Béclère and +this girl. Béclère as a lover appeared to him anomalous and +disparate--that is how Béclère would word it himself, but these +pedants were very often serious sensualists. We easily associate +conventional morality with red-tapeism, for it seems impossible to +believe that the stodgy girl who spends her morning in the British +Museum working at the higher mathematics or Sanscrit is likely to +spend her afternoon in bed, yet this is what happens frequently; the +real sensualist is the pedant; "and, if one wants love, the real +genuine article," whispered a thought, "one must seek it among +clergymen's daughters." + +That girl Béclère's mistress! Why not? The thought pleased and amused +him, reconciled him to Béclère, whom he never should have thought +capable of such fine discrimination. But it did not follow that +because Béclère had chosen a beautiful girl to love he was +susceptible to artistic influences, sculpture excepted. Of the other +arts Owen felt instinctively that Béclère knew nothing; indeed, +yester evening, when he, Owen, had spoken of "The Ring," Béclère had +answered that his business in life had not allowed him to cultivate +musical tastes. He had once liked music, but now it interested him +no longer. + +"Tastes atrophy." + +"Of course they do," Owen had answered, and Béclère's knowledge of +himself propitiated Owen, who recognised a clever man in the remark, +a man of many sympathies, though the exterior was prosaic. All the +same Owen would have wished for some music in the evening, and for +some musical assistance, for while waiting for the eagles to arrive +he spent his time thinking how he might write the songs he heard +every morning among the palm-trees; written down they did not seem +nearly as original as they did on the lips, and Owen suspected his +notation to be deficient. A more skilful musician would be able to +get more of these rhythms on paper than he had been able to do, and +he regretted his failures, for it would be interesting to bring home +some copies of these songs just to show... + +But he would never see her again, so what was the good of writing +down these songs? What was the good of anything? A strange thing +life is, and he paused to consider how the slightest event, the fact +that he was unable to give complete expression on paper to an Arab +rhythm, brought the old pain back again, and every pang of it. Even +the society of Béclère was answerable for his suffering, and he +thought how he must go away and travel again; only open solitude and +wandering with rough men could still his pain; primitive Nature was +the one balm.... That fellow Tahar--why did he delay? Owen thought +of the eagles, the awful bird pursuing the fleeting deer, and +himself riding in pursuit. This was the life that would cure him-- +how soon? In three months? in six? in ten years? It would be strange +if he were to become a bedouin for love of her, and he walked on +thinking how they had lain together one night listening to the +silence, hearing nothing but an acacia moving outside their window. +Béclère was coming towards him and the vision vanished. + +"No news of Tahar yet?" + +"No; you are forgetting that we are living in an oasis, where letters +are not delivered, and where we bring news of ourselves, and where +no news is understood to mean that the spring we were hastening +towards was dry, or that a sand-storm--" + +"Sand-storms are rare at this season of the year." + +"An old bedouin like Tahar is safe enough. To-morrow or the day +after... but I see you are impatient, you are growing tired of my +company." + +Owen assured Béclère he was mistaken, only a sedentary life was +impossible to him, and he was anxious to be off again. + +"So there is something of the wanderer in you, for no business calls +you." + +"No, my agent manages everything for me; it is, I suppose, mere +restlessness." And Owen spoke of going in quest of Tahar. + +"To pass him again in the desert," and they went towards the point +where they might watch for Tahar, Béclère knowing by the sun the +direction in which to look. There was no route, nothing in the empty +space extending from their feet to the horizon--a line inscribed +across the empty sky--nothing to be seen although the sun hung in +the middle of the sky, the rays falling everywhere; it would have +seemed that the smallest object should be visible, but this was not +so--there was nothing. Even when he strained his eyes Owen could not +distinguish which was sand, which was earth, which was stone, even +the colour of the emptiness was undecided. Was it dun? Was it tawny? +Striving to express himself, Owen could find nothing more explicit +to say than that the colour of the desert was the colour of +emptiness, and they sat down trying to talk of falconry. But it was +impossible to talk in front of this trackless plain, _cela coupe la +parole_, flowing away to the south, to the west, to the east, ending-- +it was impossible to imagine it ending anywhere, no more than we +can imagine the ends of the sky; and the desert conveyed the same +impression of loneliness--in a small way, of course--as the great +darkness of the sky; "for the sky," Owen said, half to himself, half +to his companion, "is dark and cold the moment one gets beyond the +atmosphere of the earth." + +"The desert is, at all events, warm," Béclère interjected. + +Hot, trackless spaces, burning solitudes through which nobody ever +went or came. It was the silence that frightened Owen; not even in +the forest, in the dark solitudes avoided by the birds, is there +silence. There is a wind among the tree-tops, and when the wind is +still the branches sway a little; there is nearly always a swaying +among the branches, and even when there is none, the falling of some +giant too old to subsist longer breaks the silence, frightens the +wild beast, who retires growling. The sea conveys the same sense of +primal solitude as the forest, but it is less silent; the sea tears +among the rocks as if it would destroy the land, but when its rage +is over the sea laughs, and leaps, and caresses, and the day after +fawns upon the land, drawing itself up like a woman to her lover, as +voluptuously. Nowhere on earth only in the desert, is there silence; +even in the tomb there are worms, but in some parts of the desert +there are not even worms, the body dries into dust without decaying. +Owen imagined the resignation of the wanderer who finds no water at +the spring, and lies down to die amid the mighty indifference of +sterile Nature; and breaking the silence, somewhat against his will, +he communicated his thoughts to Béclère, that an unhappy man who +dare not take his life could not do better than to lose himself in +the desert. Death would come easily, for seeing nothing in front of +him but an empty horizon, nothing above him but a blank sky, and for +a little shelter a sand dune, which the wind created yesterday and +will uncreate to-morrow he would come to understand all that he need +know regarding his transitory and unimportant life. Does Nature care +whether we live or die? We have heard often that she cares not a jot +for the individual.... But does she care for the race--for mankind +more than for beastkind? His intelligence she smiles at, concerned +with the lizard as much as with the author of "The Ring." Does she +care for either? After all, what is Nature? We use words, but words +mean so little. What do we mean when we speak of Nature? Where does +Nature begin? Where does she end? And God? We talk of God, and we do +not know whether he sleeps, or drinks, or eats, whether he wears +clothes or goes naked; Moses saw his hinder parts, and he used to be +jealous and revengeful; but as man grows merciful God grows merciful +with him, we make him to our own likeness, and spend a great deal of +money on the making. + +"Yes, God is a great expense, but government would be impossible +without him." + +Béclère's answer jarred Owen's mood a little, without breaking it, +however, and he continued to talk of how words like "Nature," and +"God," and "Liberty" are on every lip, yet none is able to define +their meaning. Liberty he instanced as a word around which poems +have been written, "yet no poet could tell what he was writing +about; at best we can only say of liberty that we must surrender +something to gain something; in other words, liberty is a compromise, +for no one can be free to obey every impulse the moment one enters +into his being. + +"Good God, Béclère! it is terrible to think one knows nothing, and +life, like the desert, is full of solitude." + +Béclère did not answer, and, forgetful that it was impossible to +answer a cry of anguish, Owen began to suspect Béclère of thoughts +regarding the perfectibility of mankind, of thinking that with +patience and more perfect administration, &c. But Béclère was +thinking nothing of the kind; he was wondering what sort of reason +could have sent Owen out of England. Some desperate love affair +perhaps, his wife may have run away from him. But he did not try to +draw Owen into confidence, speaking instead of falconry and Tahar's +arrival, which could not be much longer delayed. + +"After all, if you had not missed him in the desert we never should +have known each other." + +"So much was gained, and if you ever come to England--" Béclère +smiled. "So you think we shall never meet again, and that we are +talking out our last talk on the edge of this gulf of sand?" + +"We shall meet again if you come to the desert to hunt with eagles." + +"But you will not come to England?" Béclère did not think it +necessary to answer. "But in France? You will return to France some +day?" + +"Why should I? Whom do I know in France? _Je ne suis plus un des +vôtres. Qu'irais-je y faire?_ But we are not talking for the last +time, Tahar has yet to arrive, he will be here to-morrow and we'll +go hunting; and after our hunting I hope to induce you to stop some +while longer. You see, you haven't seen the desert; the desert isn't +the desert in spring. To see the desert you will have to stop till +July. This sea of sand will then be a ring of fire, and that sky, +now so mild, will be dark blue and the sun will hang like a furnace +in the midst of it. Stay here even till May and you will see the +summer, _chez lui_." + + + +X + +At the beginning of July Owen appeared on the frontiers of Egypt +shrieking for a drink of clean water, and saying that the desire to +drink clean water out of a glass represented everything he had to +say for the moment about the desert; all the same, he continued to +tell of fetid, stale, putrid wells, and of the haunting terror with +which the Saharian starts in the morning lest he should find no +water at the nearest watering-place, only a green scum fouled by the +staling of horses and mules I Owen was as plain-spoken as +Shakespeare, so Harding said once, defending his friend's use of the +word "sweat" instead of "perspiration." There was no doubt the +language was deteriorating, becoming euphonistic; everybody was a +euphonist except Owen, who talked of his belly openly, blurting out +that he had vomited when he should have said he had been sick. There +were occasions when Harding did not spare Owen and laughed at his +peculiarities; but there was always a certain friendliness in his +malice, and Owen admired Harding's intelligence and looked forward +to a long evening with him almost as much as he had looked forward +to a drink of clean water. "It will be delightful to talk again to +somebody who has seen a picture and read a book," he said, leaning +over the taff-rail of the steamer. But this dinner did not happen +the day he arrived in London--Harding was out of town! And Owen +cursed his luck as he walked out of the doorway in Victoria Street. +"Staying with friends in the country!" he muttered. "Good God! will +he never weary of those country houses, tedious beyond measure--with +or without adultery," he chuckled as he walked back to his club +thinking out a full-length portrait of his friend--a small man with +high shoulders, a large overhanging forehead, walking on thin legs +like one on stilts. But Harding's looks mattered little; what people +sought Harding for was not for his personal appearance, nor even for +his writings, though they were excellent, but for his culture. A +curious, clandestine little man with a warm heart despite the +exterior. Owen had seen Harding's eyes nil with tears and his voice +tremble when he recited a beautiful passage of English poetry; a +passionate nature, too, for Harding would fight fiercely for his +ideas, and his life had been lived in accordance with his beliefs. As +the years advanced his imaginative writing had become perhaps a +little didactic; his culture had become more noticeable--Owen +laughed: it pleased him to caricature his friends--and he thought of +the stream of culture which every hostess could turn on when Harding +was her guest. The phrase pleased him: a stream of culture flowing +down the white napery of every country house in England, for Harding +travelled from one to another. Owen had seen him laying his plans at +Nice, beginning his year as an old woman begins a stocking (setting +up the stitches) by writing to Lady So-and-so, saying he was coming +back to England at a certain time. Of course Lady So-and-so would +ask him to stay with her. Then Harding would write to the nearest +neighbour, saying, "I am staying with So-and-so for a week and shall +be going on to the north the week after next--now would it be +putting you to too much trouble if I were to spend the interval with +you?" News of these visits would soon get about, and would suggest +to another neighbour that she might ask him for a week. Harding +would perhaps answer her that he could not come for a week, but if +she would allow him to come for a fortnight he would be very glad +because then he would be able to get on to Mrs.----. In a very short +time January, February, March, and April would be allotted; and Owen +imagined Harding walking under immemorial elms gladdened by great +expanses of park and pleased in the contemplation of swards which +had been rolled for at least a thousand years. "A castellated wall, +a rampart, the remains of a moat, a turreted chamber must stir him +as the heart of the war horse is said to be stirred by a trumpet. He +demands a spire at least of his hostess; and names with a Saxon ring +in them, names recalling deeds of Norman chivalry awaken remote +sympathies, inherited perhaps; sonorous titles, though they be new +ones, are better than plain Mr. and Mrs.; 'ladyship' and 'lordship' +are always pleasing in his ears, and an elaborate escutcheon more +beautiful than a rose. After all, why not admire the things of a +thousand years ago as well as those of yesterday?" Owen continued to +think of Harding's admiration of the past. "It has nothing in common +with the vulgar tuft-hunter, deeply interested in the peerage, +anxious to get on. Harding's admiration of the aristocracy is part +of himself; it proceeds from hierarchical instinct and love of +order. He sees life flowing down the ages, each class separate, each +class dependent upon the other, a homogeneous whole, beautiful on +account of the harmony of the different parts, each melody going +different ways but contributing to the general harmony. He sees life +as classes; tradition is the breath of his nostrils, symbol the +delight of his eyes." Owen's thoughts divagated suddenly, and he +thought of the pain Harding would experience were he suddenly flung +into Bohemian society. He might find great talents there--but even +genius would not compensate him for disorder and licence. The dinner +might be excellent, but he would find no pleasure in it if the host +wore a painting jacket; a spot of ink on the shirt cuff would +extinguish his appetite, and a parlourmaid distress him, three +footmen induce pleasant ease of thought. + +"A man born out of his time, in whom the disintegration of custom, +the fusing of the classes, produces an inner torment." And wondering +how he bore it, Owen began to think of an end for Harding, deciding +that sullen despair would take possession of him if the House of +Lords were seriously threatened. He would leave some seat of ancient +story, and proceed towards the midlands, seeking some blast furnace +wherein to throw himself. "A sort of modern Empedocles." And Owen +laughed aloud, for he was very much amused at his interpretation of +his friend's character. It was one which he did not think even his +friend would resent. "On the contrary, it would amuse him." And he +picked up a newspaper from the club table. + +The first words he saw were "Evelyn Innes in America." "So she has +gone back to the stage, and without writing to me...." He sank back +in his armchair lost in a great bitterness but without resentment. +Next day, acting on a sudden resolve, he started for New York. But +he did not remain there very long, only a few days, returning to +England, exasperated, maddened against himself, unable to explain +the cause of his misfortune to Harding. + +"I suppose you'll use it in a novel some day. I don't care if you do, +but you will never be able to explain how it happened." Harding +followed his friend into the study, thinking of the excellent cigar +which would be given to him more perhaps than of the story--a man +who suddenly finds his will paralysed. "It was just that, paralysis +of will, for after dinner when the time came to go to her I sat +thinking of her, unable to get out of my chair, saying to myself, 'In +five minutes, in five minutes,' and as the minutes went by I looked +at the clock, saying to myself, 'If I don't go now I shall be late.' +I can't explain, but it was almost a relief when I found it was too +late." + +"What I don't understand is why you didn't go next day?" + +"Nor do I; for naturally I wanted to see her, only I couldn't go, +something held me back, and in despair I returned to England, unable +to endure the strain. There you have it, Harding; don't ask me any +more for I can't tell you any more. During the voyage I was near out +of my mind, and could have thrown myself overboard, yet I couldn't +go to see her, though she is the only person I really care to see. +Of course friends are different," he added apologetically. + +"And you could not forget her in the desert?" "No, it only made me +worse. Amid the sands her image would appear more distinct than +ever. Now why is it that one loves one woman more than another, and +what is there in this woman that enchants me, and from whom I cannot +escape in thought?... Yet I didn't go to see her in New York." + +"But would you go if she wrote to you?" "Oh, if she wrote--that would +be different, but she never will. There is no doubt, Harding, love +is a sort of madness, and it takes every man; none can look into his +life without finding that at some time or another he was mad; the +only thing is that it has taken me rather badly, and cure seems +farther off than ever. Why is it, Harding, that a man should love +one woman so much more than another? It certainly isn't because she +has got a prettier face, or a more perfect figure, or a more sensual +temperament; for there is no end to pretty faces, perfect figures, +and sensual temperaments. Evelyn was pretty well furnished with +these things. I am prepared to admit that she was, but of course +there are more beautiful women and more sensual women, more charming +women, cleverer women--I suppose there are--yet no one ever charmed +me, enchanted me--that is the word--like this woman, and I can find +no reason for the enchantment in her or in myself, only this, that +she represents more of the divine essence out of which all things +have come than any other woman." + +"The divine essence?" + +"Well, one has to use these words in order to be understood; but you +know what I mean, Harding, the mystery lying behind all phenomena, the +Breath, esoteric philosophers would say, out of which all things +came, which drew the stars in the beginning out of chaos, creating +myriads of things or the appearance of different things, for there +is only one thing. That is how the mystics talk--isn't it? You know +more about them than I do. If to every man some woman represented +more of this impulse than any other woman, he would be unable to +separate himself from her; she would always be a light in his life +which he would follow, a light in the mind--that is what Evelyn is +to me; I never understood it before, it is only lately--" + +"The desert has turned you into a poet, I see, into a mystic." + +"Hardly that; but in the desert there are long hours and nothing-- +only thought; one has to think, if one isn't a bedouin, just to save +oneself from going mad: the empty spaces, the solitude, the sun! One +of these days when you have finished your books, I should like to +write one with you; my impressions of the desert as I rode from +oasis to oasis, seeking Tahar--" + +"Who was he?" + +"He was the man who had the eagles. Haven't I told you already how--?" + +"Yes, yes, Asher, but tell me did you meet Tahar, and did you see +gazelles hunted?" + +"Yes, and larger deer. My first idea was hawking and we went to a +lake. One of these days I must tell you about that lake, about its +wild fowl, about the buried city and the heron which was killed. We +found it among Roman inscriptions. But to tell of these things--my +goodness, Harding, it would take hours!" + +"Don't try, Asher. Tell me about the gazelles." + +"How we went from oasis to oasis in quest of this man who always +eluded us, meeting him at last in Béclère's oasis. But you haven't +heard about Béclère's, the proprietor, you might say, of one oasis; +he discovered a Roman well, and added thousands of acres; but if I +began to tell about Béclère's we should be here till midnight." + +"I should like to hear about the gazelles first." + +"I never knew you cared so much for sport, Harding; I thought you +would be more interested in the desert itself, and in Béclère's. It +spoils a story to cut it down to a mere sporting episode. There +doesn't seem to be anything to tell now except I tell it at length: +those great birds, nearly three feet high, with long heads like +javelins, and round, clear eyes, and lank bodies, feathered thighs, +and talons that find out instinctively the vital parts, the heart and +the liver; the bird moves up seeking these. And that is what is so +terrible, the cruel instinct which makes every life conditional on +another's death. We live upon dead things, cooked or uncooked." + +"But how are these birds carried?" + +"That is what I asked myself all the way across the desert. The hawks +are carried on the wrist, but a bird three feet high cannot be +carried on the wrist. The eagle is carried on the pummel of the +saddle." + +"And how are the gazelles taken and the eagles recaptured?" + +"They answer to the lure just like a hawk. The gazelles come down +into the desert after the rains to feed among the low bushes, +rosemary and lavender. In the plain, of course, they have no chance, +the bird overtakes them at once; fleet as they are, wings are +fleeter, and they are over-taken with incredible ease, the bird just +flutters after them. But the hunt is more interesting when there are +large rocks between which the gazelles can take cover; then the bird +will alight on the rock and wait for the deer to be driven out, and +the deer dreads the eagle so much that sometimes they won't leave +the rocks, and we pick them up in our hands. The instinct of the +eagle is extraordinary, as you will see; the first gazelle was a +doe, and the eagle swept on in front, and, turning rapidly, flew +straight into the hind's face, the talons gathered up ready to +strangle her. But the buck will sometimes show fight, and, not caring +to face the horns, the eagle will avoid a frontal attack and sweep +round in the rear, attacking the buck in the quarters and riding him +to death, just as a goshawk rides a rabbit, seeking out all the +while the vital parts." + +"But gazelles are such small deer; now it would be more interesting +with larger deer." + +"We killed some larger deer and some sheep, wild sheep I mean, or +goats, it is hard to say which they are; the courage of the birds is +extraordinary, they will attack almost anything, driving the sheep +headlong over the precipices. We caught many a fox. The eagle +strikes the fox with one talon, reserving the other to clutch the +fox's throat when he turns round to bite. Eagles will attack wolves; +wolves are hunted in Mongolia with eagles, the fight must be +extraordinary. One of these days I must go there." + +"If Evelyn Innes doesn't return to you." + +"One must do something," Owen answered. + +"Life would be too tedious if one were not doing something. Have +another cigarette, Harding." And he went to the table and took one +out of a silver box. "Do have one; it comes out of her box, she gave +me this box. You haven't seen the inscription, have you?" And +Harding had to get up and read it; he did this with a lack of +enthusiasm and interest which annoyed Owen, but which did not +prevent him from going to the escritoire and saying, "And in this +pigeon-hole I keep her letters, eight hundred and fifty-three, +extending over a period of ten years. How many letters would that be +a year, Harding?" + +"My dear Asher, I never could calculate anything." "Well, let us +see." Owen took a pencil and did the sum, irritating Harding, who +under his moustache wondered how anybody could be so self-centred, +so blind to the picture he presented. "Eighty-five letters a year, +Harding, more than one a week; that is a pretty good average, for +when I saw her every day I didn't write to her." + +"I should have thought you would write sometimes." + +"Yes, sometimes we used to send each other notes." + +"Will he never cease talking of her?" Harding said to himself; and, +tempted by curiosity, he got up, lighted another cigarette, and sat +down, determined to wait and see. Owen continued talking for the +next half-hour. "True, he hasn't had an opportunity of speaking to +anybody about her for the last year, and is letting it all off upon +me." + +"There is her portrait, Harding; you like it, don't you?" + +Harding breathed again under his moustache. The portrait brought a +new interest into the conversation, for it was a beautiful picture. +A bright face which seemed to have been breathed into a grey +background--a grey so beautiful, Harding had once written, that +every ray of sunlight that came into the room awoke a melody and a +harmony in it, and held the eye subjugated and enchanted. Out of a +grey and a rose tint a permanent music had been made... and, being +much less complete than an old master, it never satisfied. In this +picture there were not one but a hundred pictures. To hang it in a +different place in the room was to recreate it; it never was the +same, whereas the complete portraits of the old masters have this +fault--that they never rise above themselves. But a ray of light set +Evelyn's portrait singing like a skylark--background, face, hair, +dress--cadenza upon cadenza. When the blinds were let down, the music +became graver, and the strain almost a religious one. And these +changes in the portrait were like Evelyn herself, for she varied a +good deal, as Owen had often remarked to Harding; for one reason or +for some other--no matter the reason: suffice it to say that the +picture would be like her when the gold had faded from her hair and +no pair of stays would discover her hips. And now, sitting looking at +it, Owen remembered the seeming accident which had inspired him to +bring Evelyn to see the great painter whose genius it had been to +Owen's credit to recognise always. One morning in the studio Evelyn +had happened to sit on the edge of a chair; the painter had once +seen her in the same attitude by the side of her accompanist, and he +had told her not to move, and had gone for her grey shawl and placed +it upon her shoulders. A friend of Owen's declared the portrait to be +that of a housekeeper on account of the shawl--a strange article of +dress, difficult to associate with a romantic singer. All the same, +Evelyn was very probable in this picture; her past and her future +were in this disconcerting compound of the commonplace and the rare; +and the confusion which this picture created in the minds of Owen's +friends was aggravated by the strange elliptical execution. Owen +admitted the drawing to be not altogether grammatical; one eye was a +little lower than the other, but the eyes were beautifully drawn--the +right eye, for instance, and without the help of any shadow. + +"Look at the face," he said to Harding, "achieved with shadow and +light, the light faintly graduated with a delicate shade of rose." + +He compared the face to a jewel the most beautiful in the world, and +the background to eighteenth-century watered silk. + +"The painter conjures," Harding said, "and she rises out of that grey +background." + +"Quite so, Harding." + +Owen sat, his eyes fixed on the picture, his thoughts far away, +thinking that it would be better, perhaps, if he never saw her +again. Not to see her again! The words sounded very gloomy; for he +was thinking of his ancestors at Riversdale, in their tomb, and +himself going down to join them. + +"I think, Asher, it is getting late; I must go now." + +The friends bade each other good-night among the footmen who closed +the front door. + +In his great, lonely bedroom, full of tall mahogany furniture, Owen +lay down; and he asked himself how it was that he had left America +without seeing her. His journey to America was one of the uncanniest +things that had ever happened in his life. Something seemed to have +kept him from her, and it was impossible for him to determine what +that thing was, whether some sudden weakening of the will in himself +or some spiritual agency. But to believe in the transference of human +thought, and that the nuns could influence his action at three +thousand miles distance, seemed as if he were dropping into some +base superstition. Between sleeping and waking a thought emerged +which kept him awake till morning: "Why had Evelyn returned to the +stage?" When he saw her last at Thornton Grange her retirement +seemed to be definitely fixed. Nothing he could say had been able to +move her. She was going to retire from the stage.... But she had not +done so. Now, who had persuaded her? Was it Ulick Dean? Were these +two in America together? The thought of Evelyn in New York with +Ulick Dean, going to the theatre with her, Ulick sitting in the +stalls, listening, just as he, Owen, had listened to her, became +unendurable; he must have news of her; only from her father could he +get reliable news. So he went to Dulwich, uncertain if he should +send in his card begging for an interview, or if he should just push +past the servant into the music-room, always supposing Innes were at +home. + +"Mr. Innes is at home," the servant-girl answered. + +"Is he in the music-room?" + +"Yes, sir. What name?" + +"No name is necessary. I will announce myself," and he pushed past +the girl.... "Excuse me, Mr. Innes, for coming into your house so +abruptly, but I was afraid you mightn't see me if I sent in my name, +and it would be impossible for me to go back to London without +seeing you. You don't know me." + +"I do. You are Sir Owen Asher." + +"Yes, and have come because I can't live any longer without having +some news of Evelyn. You know my story--how she sent me away. There +is nothing to tell you; she has been here, I know, and has told you +everything. But perhaps you don't know I have just come from the +desert, having gone there hoping to forget her, and have come out of +the desert uncured. You will tell me where she is, won't you?" + +Innes did not answer for some while. + +"My daughter went to America." + +"Yes, I know that. I have just come from there, but I could not see +her. The last time we met was at Thornton Grange, and she told me +she had decided definitely to leave the stage. Now, why should she +have gone back to the stage? That is what I have come to ask you." + +This tall, thin, elderly man, impulsive as a child, wearing his heart +on his sleeve, crying before him like a little child, moved Innes's +contempt as much as it did his pity. "All the same he is suffering, +and it is clear that he loves her very deeply." So perforce he had +to answer that Evelyn had gone to America against the advice of her +confessor because the Wimbledon nuns wanted money. + +"Gone to sing for those nuns!" Owen shrieked. And for three minutes +he blasphemed in the silence of the old music-room, Innes watching +him, amazed that any man should so completely forget himself. How +could she have loved him? + +"She is returning next week; that is all I know of her movements... +Sir Owen Asher." + +"Returning next week! But what does it matter to me whether she +returns or not? She won't see me. Do you think she will, Mr. Innes?" + +"I cannot discuss these matters with you, Sir Owen," and Innes took +up his pen as if anxious for Sir Owen to leave the room so that he +might go on copying. Owen noticed this, but it was impossible for +him to leave the room. For the last twelve years he had been +thinking about Innes, and wanted to tell him how Evelyn had been +loved, and he wanted to air his hatred of religious orders and +religion in general. + +"I am afraid I am disturbing you, but I can't help; it," and he +dropped into a chair. "You have no idea, Mr. Innes, how I loved your +daughter." + +"She always speaks of you very well, never laying any blame upon +you--I will say that." + +"She is a truthful woman. That is the one thing that can be said." + +Innes nodded a sort of acquiescence to this appreciation of his +daughter's character; and Owen could not resist the temptation to +try to take Evelyn's father into his confidence, he had been so long +anxious for this talk. + +"We have all been in love, you see; your love story is a little +farther back than mine. We all know the bitterness of it--don't we?" + +Innes admitted that to know the bitterness of love and its sweetness +is the common lot of all men. The conversation dropped again, and +Owen felt there was to be no unbosoming of himself that afternoon. + +"The room has not changed. Twelve years ago I saw those old +instruments for the first time. Not one, I think, has disappeared. +It was here that I first heard Ferrabosco's pavane." + +Innes remembered the pavane quite well, but refused to allow the +conversation to digress into a description of Evelyn's playing of +the _viola da gamba_. But if they were not to talk about Evelyn +there was no use tarrying any longer in Dulwich; he had learned all +the old man knew about his daughter. He got up.... At that moment +the door opened and the servant announced Mr. Ulick Dean. + +"How do you do, Mr. Innes?" Ulick said, glancing at Owen; and a +suspicion crossed his mind that the tall man with small, inquisitive +eyes who stood watching him must be Owen Asher, hoping that it was +not so, and, at the same time, curious to make his predecessor's +acquaintance; he admitted his curiosity as soon as Innes introduced +him. + +"The moment I saw you, Sir Owen, I guessed that it must be you. I had +heard so much about you, you see, and your appearance is so +distinctive." + +These last words dissipated the gloom upon Owen's face--it is always +pleasing to think that one is distinctive. And turning from Sir Owen +to Innes, Ulick told him how, finding himself in London, he had +availed himself of the opportunity to run down to see him. Owen sat +criticising, watching him rather cynically, interested in his youth +and in his thick, rebellious hair, flowing upwards from a white +forehead. The full-fleshed face, lit with nervous, grey eyes, +reminded Owen of a Roman bust. "A young Roman emperor," he said to +himself, and he seemed to understand Evelyn's love of Ulick. Would +that she had continued to love this young pagan! Far better than to +have been duped by that grey, skinny Christian. And he listened to +Ulick, admiring his independent thought, his flashes of wit. + +Ulick was telling stories of an opera company to which it was likely +he would be appointed secretary. A very unlikely thing indeed to +happen, Owen thought, if the company were assembled outside the +windows, within hearing of the stories which Ulick was telling about +them. Very amusing were the young man's anecdotes and comments, but +it seemed to Owen as if he would never cease talking; and Innes, +though seeming to enjoy the young man's wit, seemed to feel with Owen +that something must be done to bring it to an end. + +"We shall be here all the afternoon listening to you, Ulick. I don't +know if Sir Owen has anything else to do, but I have some parts to +copy; there is a rehearsal to-night." + +Ulick's manner at once grew so serious and formal that Innes feared +he had offended him, and then Owen suddenly realised that they were +both being sent away. In the street they must part, that was Owen's +intention, but before he could utter it Ulick begged of him to wait +a second, for he had forgotten his gloves. Without waiting for an +answer he ran back to the house, leaving Uwen standing on the +pavement, asking himself if he should wait for this impertinent +young man, who took it for granted that he would. + +"You have got your gloves," he said, looking disapprovingly at the +tight kid gloves which Ulick was forcing over his fingers. "Do you +remember the way? As well as I remember, one turns to the right." + +"Yes, to the right." And talking of the old music, of harpsichords +and viols, they walked on together till they heard the whistle of +the train. + +"We have just missed our train." + +There was no use running, and there was no other train for half an +hour. + +"The waiting here will be intolerable," Owen said. "If you would care +for a walk, we might go as far as Peckham. To walk to London would +be too far, though, indeed, it would do both of us good." + +"Yes, the evening is fine--why not walk to London? We can inquire out +the way as we go." + + + +XI + +"A Curious accident our meeting at Innes's." + +"A lucky one for me. Far more pleasant living in this house than in +that horrible hotel." + +Owen was lying back in an armchair, indulging in sentimental +and fatalistic dreams, and did not like this materialistic +interpretation of his invitation to Ulick to come to stay with him +at Berkeley Square. He wished to see the hand of Providence in +everything that concerned himself and Evelyn, and the meeting with +this young man seemed to point to something more than the young man's +comfort. + +"Looked at from another side, our meeting was unlucky. If you hadn't +come in, Innes would have told me more about Evelyn. She must have +an address in London, and he must know it." + +"That doesn't seem so sure. She may intend to live in Dulwich when +she returns from America." + +"I can't see her living with her father; even the nuns seem more +probable. I wonder how it was that all this time you and she never +ran across each other. Did you never write to her?" + +"No; I was abroad a great deal. And, besides, I knew she didn't want +to see me, so what was the good in forcing myself upon her?" + +It was difficult for Owen to reprove Ulick for having left Evelyn to +her own devices. Had he not done so himself? Still, he felt that if +he had remained in England, he would not have been so indifferent; +and he followed his guest across the great tessellated hall towards +the dining-room in front of a splendid servitude. + +The footmen drew back their chairs so that they might sit down with +the least inconvenience possible; and dinner at Berkeley Square +reminded Ulick of some mysterious religious ceremony; he ate, +overawed by the great butler--there was something colossal, +Egyptian, hierarchic about him, and Ulick could not understand how +it was that Sir Owen was not more impressed. + +"Habit," he said to himself. + +At one end of the room there was a great gold screen, and "in a dim, +religious light" the impression deepened; passing from ancient +Thebes to modern France, Ulick thought of a great cathedral. The +celebrant, the deacon and the subdeacon were represented by first +and second footmen, the third footman, who never left the sideboard, +he compared to the acolyte, the voice of the great butler proposing +different wines had a ritualistic ring in it; and, amused by his +conception of dinner in Berkeley Square, Ulick admired Owen's dress. +He wore a black velvet coat, trousers, and slippers. His white +frilled shirt and his pearl studs reminded Ulick of his own plain +shirt with only one stud, and he suspected vulgarity in a single +stud, for it was convenient, and would therefore appeal to waiters +and the middle classes. He must do something on the morrow to redeem +his appearance, and he noticed Owen's cuffs and sleeve-links, which +were superior to his own; and Owen's hands, they, too, were +superior--well-shaped, bony hands, with reddish hair growing about +the knuckles. Owen's nails were beautifully trimmed, and Ulick +determined to go to a manicurist on the morrow. A delicious perfume +emerged when Owen drew his handkerchief from his coat pocket; and all +this personal care reminded Ulick of that time long ago when Owen was +Evelyn's lover and travelled with her from capital to capital, +hearing her sing everywhere. "Now he will never see her again," he +thought, as he followed Owen back to his study, hoping to persuade +him into telling the story of how he had gone down to Dulwich to +write a criticism of Innes's concert, and how he had at once +recognised that Evelyn had a beautiful voice, and would certainly win +a high position on the lyric stage if she studied for it. + +It was a solace to Owen's burdened heart to find somebody who would +listen to him, and he talked on and on, telling of the day he and +Evelyn had gone to Madame Savelli, and how he had had to leave Paris +soon after, for his presence distracted Evelyn's attention from her +singing-lessons. "In a year," Madame Savelli had said, "I will make +something wonderful of her, Sir Owen, if you will only go away, and +not come back for six months." + +"He lives in recollection of that time," Ulick said to himself, "that +is his life; the ten years he spent with her are his life, the rest +counts for nothing." A moment after Owen was comparing himself to a +man wandering in the twilight who suddenly finds a lamp: "A lamp +that will never burn out," Ulick said to himself. "He will take that +lamp into the tomb with him." + +"But I must read you the notices." And going to an escritoire covered +with ormolu--one of those pieces of French furniture which cost +hundreds of pounds--he took out a bundle of Evelyn's notices. "The +most interesting," he said, "were the first notices--before the +critics had made up their mind about her." + +He stopped in his untying of the parcel to tell Ulick about his +journey to Brussels to hear her sing. + +"You see, I had broken my leg out hunting, and there was a question +whether I should be able to get there in time. Imagine my annoyance +on being told I must not speak to her." + +"Who told you that?" + +"Madame Savelli." + +"Oh, I understand I You arrived the very day of her first +appearance?" + +Owen threw up his head and began reading the notices. + +"They are all the same," he said, after reading half a dozen, and +Ulick felt relieved. "But stay, this one is different," and the long +slip dismayed Ulick, who could not feel much interest in the +impression that Evelyn had created as Elsa--he did not know how many +years ago. + +"'Miss Innes is a tall, graceful woman, who crosses the stage with +slow, harmonious movements--any slight quickening of her step +awakening a sense of foreboding in the spectator. Her eyes, too, are +of great avail, and the moment she comes on the stage one is +attracted by their strangeness--grave, mysterious, earnest eyes, +which smile rarely; but when they do smile happiness seems to mount +up from within, illuminating her life from end to end. She will never +be unhappy again, one thinks. It is with her smile she recompenses +her champion knight when he lays low Telramund, and it is with her +smile she wins his love--and ours. We regret, for her sake, there +are so few smiles in Wagner: very few indeed--not one in 'Senta' nor +in 'Elizabeth.'" The newspaper cutting slipped from Owen's hand, and +he talked for a long time about her walk and her smile, and then +about her "Iphigenia," which he declared to be one of the most +beautiful performances ever seen, her personality lending itself to +the incarnation of this Greek idea of fate and self-sacrifice. But +Gluck's music was, in Owen's opinion, old-fashioned even at the time +it was written--containing beautiful things, of course, but somewhat +stiff in the joints, lacking the clear insight and direct expression +of Beethoven's. "One man used to write about her very well, and +seemed to understand her better than any other. And writing about +this performance he says--Now, if I could find you his article." The +search proved a long one, but as it was about to be abandoned Owen +turned up the cutting he was in search of. + +"'Her nature intended her for the representation of ideal heroines +whose love is pure, and it does not allow her to depict the violence +of physical passion and the delirium of the senses. She is an artist +of the peaks, whose feet may not descend into the plain and follow +its ignominious route,' And then here: 'He who has seen her as the +spotless spouse of the son of Parsifal, standing by the window, has +assisted at the mystery of the chaste soul awaiting the coming of +her predestined lover,' And 'He who has seen her as Elizabeth, +ascending the hillside, has felt the nostalgia of the skies awaken +in his heart,' Then he goes on to say that her special genius and +her antecedents led her to 'Fidelio,' and designed her as the +perfect embodiment of Leonore's soul--that pure, beautiful soul made +wholly of sacrifice and love,' But you never saw her as Leonore so +you can form no idea of what she really was," + +"I will read you what she wrote when she was studying 'Fidelio': +'Beethoven's music has nothing in common with the passion of the +flesh; it lives in the realms of noble affections, pity, tenderness, +love, spiritual yearnings for the life beyond the world, and its joy +in the external world is as innocent as a happy child's. It is in +this sense classical--it lives and loves and breathes in spheres of +feeling and thought removed from the ordinary life of men. Wagner's +later work, if we except some scenes from "The Ring"--notably the +scenes between Wotan and Brunnhilde--is nearer to the life of the +senses; its humanity is fresh in us, deep as Brunnhilde's; but +essential man lives in the spirit. The desire of the flesh is more +necessary to the life of the world than the aspirations of the soul, +yet the aspirations of the soul are more human. The root is more +necessary to the plant than its flower, but it is by the flower and +not by the root that we know it." + +"Is it not amazing that a woman who could think like that should be +capable of flinging up her art--the art which I gave her--on account +of the preaching of that wooden-headed Mostyn?" Sitting down +suddenly he opened a drawer, and, taking out her photograph, he +said: "Here she is as Leonore, but you should have seen her in the +part. The photograph gives no idea whatever; you haven't seen her +picture. Come, let me show you her picture: one of the most beautiful +pictures that ---- ever painted; the most beautiful in the room, and +there are many beautiful things in this room. Isn't it extraordinary +that a woman so beautiful, so gifted, so enchanting, so intended by +life for life should be taken with the religious idea suddenly? She +has gone mad without doubt. A woman who could do the things that she +could do to pass over to religion, to scapulars, rosaries, +indulgencies! My God! my God!" and he fell back in his armchair, and +did not speak again for a long time. Getting up suddenly, he said, +"If you want to smoke any more there are cigars on the table; I am +going to bed." + +"Well, it is hard upon him," Ulick said as he took a cigar; and +lighting his candle, he wandered up the great green staircase by +himself, seeking the room he had been given at the end of one of the +long corridors. + + + +XII + +"Did it ever occur to you," Owen said one evening, as the men sat +smoking after dinner, after the servant had brought in the whisky +and seltzer, between eleven and twelve, in that happy hour when the +spirit descends and men and women sitting together are taken with a +desire to communicate the incommunicable part of themselves--"did it +ever occur to you," Owen said, blowing the smoke and sipping his +whisky and seltzer from time to time, "that man is the most +ridiculous animal on the face of this earth?" + +"You include women?" Ulick asked. + +"No, certainly not; women are not nearly so ridiculous, because they +are more instinctive, more like the animals which we call the lower +animals in our absurd self-conceit. As I have often said, women have +never invented a religion; they are untainted with that madness, and +they are not moralists. They accept the religions men invent, and +sometimes they become saints, and they accept our moralities--what +can they do, poor darlings, but accept? But they are not interested +in moralities, or in religions. How can they be? They are the +substance out of which life comes, whereas we are but the spirit, the +crazy spirit--the lunatic crying for the moon. Spirit and substance +being dependent one on the other, concessions have to be made; the +substance in want of the spirit acquiesces, says, 'Very well, I will +be religious and moral too.' Then the spirit and the substance are +married. The substance has been infected--" + +"What makes you say all this, Asher?" + +"Well, because I have just been thinking that perhaps my misfortunes +can be traced back to myself. Perhaps it was I who infected Evelyn." + +"You?" + +"Yes, I may have brought about a natural reaction. For years I was +speaking against religion to her, trying to persuade her; whereas if +I had let the matter alone it would have died of inanition, for she +was not really a religious woman." + +"I see, I see," Ulick answered thoughtfully. + +"Had she met you in the beginning," Owen continued, "she might have +remained herself to the end; for you would have let her alone. +Religion provokes me... I blaspheme; but you are indifferent, you +are not interested. You are splendid, Ulick." + +A smile crossed Ulick's lips, and Owen wondered what the cause of the +smile might be, and would have asked, only he was too interested in +his own thoughts; and the words, "I wonder you trouble about +people's beliefs" turned him back upon himself, and he continued: + +"I have often wondered. Perhaps something happens to one early in +life, and the mind takes a bias. My animosity to religion may have +worn away some edge off her mind, don't you see? The moral idea that +one lover is all right, whereas any transgression means ruin to a +woman, was never invented by her. It came from me; it is impossible +she could have developed that moral idea from within--she was +infected with it." + +"You think so?" Ulick replied thoughtfully, and took another cigar. + +"Yes, if she had met you," Owen continued, returning to his idea. + +"But if she had met me in the beginning you wouldn't have known her; +and you wouldn't consent to that so that she might be saved from +Monsignor?" + +"I'd make many sacrifices to save her from that nightmare of a man; +but the surrender of one's past is unthinkable. The future? Yes. But +there is nothing to be done. We don't know where she is. Her father +said she would be in London at the end of the week; therefore she is +in London now." "If she didn't change her mind." "No, she never +changes her mind about such things; any change of plans always +annoyed her. So she is in London, and we do not know her address. +Isn't it strange? And yet we are more interested in her than in any +other human being." + +"It would be easy to get her address; I suppose Innes would tell us. +I shouldn't mind going down to Dulwich if I were not so busy with +this opera company. The number of people I have to see, +five-and-twenty, thirty letters every day to be written--really I +haven't a minute. But you, Asher, don't you think you might run down +to Dulwich and interview the old gentleman? After all, you are the +proper person. I am nobody in her life, only a friend of a few +months, whereas she owes everything to you. It was you who +discovered her--you who taught her, you whom she loved." + +"Yes, there is a great deal in what you say, Ulick, a great deal in +what you say. I hadn't thought of it in that light before. I suppose +the lot does fall to me by right to go to the old gentleman and ask +him. Before you came we were getting on very well, and he quite +understood my position." + +Several days passed and no step was taken to find Evelyn's address in +London. + +"If I were you, Asher, I would go down to-morrow, for I have been +thinking over this matter, and the company of which I am the +secretary of course cannot pay her what she used to get ten years +ago, but I think my directors would be prepared to make her a very +fair offer, and, after all, the great point would be to get her back +to the stage." + +"I quite agree, Ulick, I quite agree." "Very well, if you think so go +to Dulwich." "Yes, yes, I'll go." And Owen came back that evening, +not with Evelyn's address, but with the news that she was in London, +living in a flat in Bayswater. "Think of that," Owen said, "a flat +in Bayswater after the house I gave her in Park Lane. Think of that! +Devoted to poor people, arranging school treats, and making +clothes." + +"So he wouldn't give you her address?" + +"When I asked him, he said, and not unreasonably, 'If she wanted to +see you she would write.' What could I answer? And to leave a letter +with him for her would serve no purpose; my letter would not +interest her; it might remain unanswered. No, no, mine is the past; +there is no future for me in her life. If anybody could do anything +it is you. She likes you." + +"But, my good friend, I don't know where she is, and you won't find +out." + +"Haven't I been to see her father?" + +"Oh, her father! A detective agency would give us her address within +the next twenty-four hours, and the engagement must be filled up +within a few weeks." + +"I can't go to a detective agency and pay a man to track her out--no, +not for anything." + +"Not even to save her from Monsignor?" + +"Not even that. There are certain things that cannot be done. Let us +say no more." + +A fortnight later Owen was reading in the corner by the window about +five o'clock, waiting for Ulick to come home--he generally came in +for a cup of tea--and hearing a latchkey in the door, he put down +his book. + +"Is Sir Owen in?" + +"Sir Owen is in the study, sir." + +And Ulick came in somewhat hurriedly. There was a light in his eyes +which told Owen that something had happened, something that would +interest him, and nothing could interest him unless news of Evelyn. + +"Have you seen her?" and Owen took off his spectacles. + +"Yes," Ulick answered, "I have seen her." + +"You met her?" + +"Yes." + +"By accident?" + +"Yes." + +"Tell me about it." + +Ulick was too excited to sit down; he walked about the hearthrug in +order to give more emphasis to his story. + +"My hansom turned suddenly out of a large thoroughfare into some mean +streets, and the neighbourhood seemed so sordid that I was just +going to tell the driver to avoid such short cuts for the future +when I caught sight of a tall figure in brown holland. To meet +Evelyn in such a neighbourhood seemed very unlikely, but as the cab +drew nearer I could not doubt that it was she. I put up my stick, but +at that moment Evelyn turned into a doorway." + +"You knocked?" + +Ulick nodded. + +"What sort of place was it?" + +"All noise and dirt; a lot of boys." + +"A school?" + +"It seemed more like a factory. Evelyn came forward and said, 'I will +see you in half an hour, if you will wait for me at my flat,' 'But I +don't know the address,' I said. She gave me the address, Ayrdale +Mansions, and I went away in the cab; and after a good deal of +driving we discovered Ayrdale Mansions, a huge block, all red brick +and iron, a sort of model dwelling-houses, rather better." + +"Good Lord!" + +"I went up a stone staircase." + +"No carpet?" + +"No. Mérat opened the door to me. I told her I had met Miss Innes in +a slum; she followed me into the drawing-room, saying, 'One of these +days Mademoiselle will bring back some horrid things with her.'" + +"Good Lord! Tell me what her rooms were like?" + +"The flat is better than you would expect to find in such a building. +It is the staircase that makes the place look like a model +dwelling-house. There is a drawing-room and a dining-room." + +"What kind of furniture has she in the drawing-room?" + +"An oak settle in the middle of the room and--" + +"That doesn't sound very luxurious." + +"But there are photographs of pictures on the walls, Italian saints, +the Renaissance, you know, Botticelli and Luini; her writing-table +is near the window, and covered with papers; she evidently writes a +great deal. Mérat tells me she spends her evenings writing there +quite contented." + +"That will do about the room; now tell me about herself." + +"She came in looking very like herself." + +"Glad to see you?" + +"I think she was. She didn't seem to have any scruples about seeing +me. Our meeting was pure accident, so she was not responsible." + +"Tell me, what did she look like?" + +"Well, you know her appearance? She hasn't grown stouter her hair +hasn't turned grey." + +"Yet she has changed?" + +"Yes, she has changed; but--I don't know exactly how to word it--an +extraordinary goodness seems to have come into her face. It always +seemed to me that a great deal of her charm was in the kindness +which seemed to float about her and to look out of her eyes, and +that look which you know, or which you don't know--" + +"I know it very well." + +"Well, that look is more apparent than ever. I noticed it especially +as she leaned over the table looking at me." + +"I know, those quiet, kindly eyes, steady as marble. A woman's eyes +are more beautiful than a man's because they are steadier. Yes, it +is impossible to look into her eyes and not to love her; her thick +hair drawn back loosely over the ears. There never was anybody so +winsome as she. You know what I mean?" + +"How he loves her!" Ulick said to himself; "how he loves her! All his +life is reflected in his love of her." + +"Are you going to see her again?" Owen asked suddenly. + +"Well, yes." + +"Did she raise no difficulties?" + +"No." + +"You didn't speak to her about your plans to induce her to accept the +engagement?" + +"Not yet." + +"Shall you?" + +"I suppose so, but I cannot somehow imagine that she will ever go +back to the stage. She said, having made money enough for the nuns, +she had finished with the stage for ever, and was glad of it." + +"Once an idea gets into our minds we become the slaves of it, and her +mind was always more like a man's than a woman's mind." + +This point was discussed, Ulick pretending not to understand Owen's +meaning in order to draw him into confidences. + +"She has asked you to go to see her, so I suppose she likes you. I +wish you well. _Anything_ rather than Monsignor should get her. You +have my best wishes." + +"What does he mean by saying I have his best wishes? Does he mean +that he would prefer me to be her lover, if that would save her from +religion? Would he use me as the cat uses the monkey to pull the +chestnuts out of the fire, and then take them from me." But he did +not question Owen as to his meaning, and showed no surprise when a +few days afterwards Owen came into the drawing-room, interrupting +him in his work, saying: + +"Have you forgotten?" + +"Forgotten what?" + +"Why, that you have an appointment with Evelyn." + +"So I have, so I have!" he said, laying down his pen. "And if I don't +hasten, I shall miss it." + +Owen took his hat, saying, "Your hat wants brushing; you mustn't go +to her with an unbrushed hat." + +Ulick ran away north, casting one glance back. Owen--would he sit in +his study thinking of his lost happiness or would he try to forget +it in some picture-dealer's shop? + + + +XIII + +"Has Mr. Dean come in?" + +"No, Sir Owen." + +"What time is it?" + +"Eight o'clock." + +"Dinner is quite ready?" + +"Quite ready, Sir Owen." + +"I don't think there is any good in waiting. Something must have +detained Mr. Dean." + +"Very well, Sir Owen." + +The butler left the room surprised, for if there was one thing that +Sir Owen hated it was to dine by himself, yet Owen had not screamed +out a single blasphemy, or even muttered a curse, and wondering at +his master's strange resignation, the butler crossed the hall, +hoping Sir Owen's health was not run down. He put the evening paper +by Sir Owen, for there had been some important racing that day, and +sometimes Sir Owen would talk quite affably. There were other times +when he would not say a word, and this was one of them. He pushed +the paper away, and went on eating, irritated by the sound of his +knife and fork on his plate, the only sound in the dining-room, for +the footmen went silently over the thick pile carpet, receiving +their directions by a gesture from the great butler. + +After dinner Owen had recourse to the evening paper, and he read it, +and every other paper in his room, advertisements and all, asking +himself what the devil had happened to Ulick. Some of his operatic +friends must have asked him to dinner. A moment after it seemed to +him that Ulick was treating his house like a hotel. "Damn him! he +might have easily sent me a telegram." At half-past ten the footman +brought in the whisky, and Owen sat sipping his drink, smoking +cigars, and wondering why Ulick had net come home for dinner; and +the clock had struck half-past eleven before Ulick's latchkey was +heard in the door. + +"I hope you didn't wait dinner for me?" + +"We waited a little while. Where have you been?" + +"She asked me to stay to dinner." + +"Oh, she asked you to stay to dinner!" Such a simple explanation of +Ulick's absence Owen hadn't thought of, and, reading his face, Ulick +hastened to tell him that after dinner they had gone to a concert. + +"Well, I suppose you were right to go with her; the concert must have +been a great break in her life.... Sitting there all the evening, +writing letters, trying to get situations for drunken men, girl +mothers, philanthropy of every kind. How she must have enjoyed the +concert! Tell me about it; and tell me how she was dressed." + +Ulick had not remarked Evelyn's dress very particularly, and Owen was +angry with him for only being able to tell him that she wore a pale +silk of a faint greenish colour. + +"And her cloak?" + +"Oh, her cloak was all right; it seemed warm enough." + +Owen wanted to know what jewellery she wore, and complained that she +had sold all the jewellery he had given her for the nuns. Ulick was +really sorry for him. Now, what did she think of the singing? To +please him Ulick attributed all his criticism of the singers to +Evelyn, and Owen said: + +"Extraordinary, isn't it? Did she say that she regretted leaving the +stage? And what did she say about me?" + +Ulick had been expecting this question. + +"She hoped you were very well, and that you did not speak unkindly of +her." + +"Speak unkindly of her!" and Owen's thoughts seemed to fade away. + +Cigar after cigar, drink after drink, until sleep settled in their +eyes, and both went to bed too weary to think of her any more. + +But next day Owen remembered that Ulick had not told him if he had +driven Evelyn home after the concert, and the fact that he had not +mentioned how they had parted was in itself suspicious; and he +determined to question Ulick. But Ulick was seldom in Berkeley +Square; he pleaded as his excuse business appointments; he had +business appointments all over London; Owen listened to his +explanations, and then they talked of other things. In this way Owen +never learnt on what terms Evelyn and Ulick were: whether she wrote +to him, whether they saw each other daily or occasionally. It was +not natural to think that after a dinner and a concert their +intimacy should cease as suddenly as it had begun. No doubt they +dined together in restaurants, and they went to concerts. Every hour +which he spent away from Berkeley Square he spent with her ... +possibly. To find out if this were true he would have to follow +Ulick, and that he couldn't do. He might question him? No, he +couldn't do that. And, sitting alone in his study in the evening, +for Ulick had gone out after dinner, he asked himself if he could +believe that Ulick was with the directors of the opera company. It +was much more likely that he was in the Bayswater flat, trying to +persuade Evelyn to return to the stage. So far he was doing good +work, but the only means he had of persuading her was through her +senses, by making love to her. Her senses had kindled for him once, +why shouldn't they kindle again? It would be a hard struggle between +the flesh and the idea, the idea which urged her in one direction, +and the flesh which drew her in another. Which would prevail? Ulick +was young, and Owen knew how her senses flared up, how certain music +set her senses on fire and certain literature. "All alone in that +flat," and the vision becoming suddenly intense he saw Ulick leading +her to the piano, and heard the music, and saw her eyes lifted as +she had lifted them many times to him--grey marble eyes, which would +never soften for him again. + +He had known her for so many years, and thought of her so intensely +that every feature of her face could be recalled in its minutest +line and expression; not only the general colour of her face, but +the whiteness of the forehead, and where the white skin freckled. +How strange it was that freckles should suit her, though they suited +no other woman! And the blue tints under the eyes, he remembered +them, and how the blue purpled, the rose red in the cheeks, and the +various changes--the greys in the chin, the blue veins reticulating +in the round white neck, and the pink shapes of the ear showing +through the shadow. Her hair was visible to him, its colour in the +light and in the shadow; and her long thin hands, the laces she wore +at the wrists, her rings, the lines of the shoulders, and of the +arms, the breasts--their size, their shape, and their very weight-- +every attitude that her body fell into naturally. From long knowledge +and intense thinking he could see her at will; and there she was at +the end of the sofa crossing and uncrossing her lovely legs, so long +from the knees, showing through the thin evening gown; he thought of +their sweetness and the seduction of the foot advancing, showing an +inch or two beyond the skirt of her dress. And then she drew her +rings from her fingers, dropping them into her lap, and +unconsciously placed them again over the knuckles. + +A great deal he would give--everything--for Ulick's youth, so that he +might charm her again. But of what avail to begin again? Had he not +charmed her before? and had not her love flowed past him like water, +leaving nothing but a memory of it; yet it was all he had--all that +life had given him. And it was so little, because she had never +loved him. Every other quality Nature had bestowed upon her, but not +the capacity for loving. For the first time it seemed to him he had +begun to understand that she was incapable of love--in other words, +of giving herself wholly to anybody. A strange mystery it was that +one who could give her body so unreservedly should be so +parsimonious about her soul. To give her body and retain herself was +her gift, above all other women, thereby remaining always new, +always unexpected, and always desirable. In the few visits to Paris +which had been allowed to him by her, and by Madame Savelli, she had +repaid him for the long abstinences by an extraordinary exaltation +and rapture of body and of intellect, but he had always experienced +a strange alienation, even when he held her in his arms--perhaps +then more than ever did he feel that she never was, and never could +be, his. The thought had always been at the back of his mind: +"Tomorrow I shall be far from her, and she will be interested in +other things. All she can give me is her body--a delicious possession +it is--and a sweet friendliness, a kindliness which sometimes seems +like love, but which is not." Some men would regard her as a cold +sensualist; maybe so, though indeed he did not think that it was so, +for her kindliness precluded such a criticism. But even if it were +so, such superficial thinking about her mattered little to him who +knew her as none other could ever know her, having lived with her +since she was two or three and twenty till five and thirty--thinking +of her always, noting every faintest shade of difference, comparing +one mood with another, learning her as other men learn a difficult +text from some ancient parchment, some obscure palimpsest--that is +what she was, something written over. There was another text which +he had never been able to master; and he sat in his chair conscious +of nothing but some vague pain which--becoming more and more +definite--awoke him at last. Though he had studied her so closely +perhaps he knew as little of her as any one else, as little as she +knew of herself. Of only one thing was there any surety, and that +was she could only be saved by an appeal to the senses. + +So he had done right in encouraging her friendship with Ulick, +sending Ulick to her, putting his natural jealousy aside--preferring +to suffer rather than that she should be lost. God only knew how he +was suffering day by day, hour by hour; but it were better that he +should suffer than that she should be abandoned to the spiritual +constriction of the old Roman python. It was horrible to think, but +the powerful coils would break and crush to pulp; then the beast +would lubricate and swallow. Anything were better than this; Ulick's +kisses would never be more to Evelyn than the passing trance of the +senses; she never would love him as other women loved, giving their +souls: she had never given her soul, why should she give it now? +But, good God! if after some new adventure she should return to the +python? + +His heart failed him; but only for a moment. Ulick might prove to her +the futility of her endeavour to lead a chaste life; and once that +was established she would become the beautiful, enchanting being +that he had known; but she would never return to him. If she only +returned to herself! The spirit of sacrifice tempted him, despite +the suffering he was enduring--a suffering which he compared to +sudden scaldings: he was being scalded to death by degrees, covered +from head to foot with blisters. A telegram in the hall for Ulick, a +hesitation in Ulick's voice, a sudden shifting of the eyes--anything +sufficed--and therewith he was burnt to the bone, far beyond the +bone, into the very vitals. Even now in his study, he waited another +scalding. At any moment Ulick might come in, and though he never +betrayed himself by any word or look, still his presence would +suggest that he had just come from Evelyn. Perhaps he had been +walking with her in the park? But why wait in Berkeley Square? If a +martyrdom of jealousy he must endure, let it be at Riversdale. Out of +sight would not mean out of mind; but he would not be constantly +reminded of his torment; there would be business to attend to which +would distract his mind, and when he returned in a few days to +Berkeley Square merciful Fate would have settled everything: she +would be gone away with Ulick to be cured, or would remain behind, a +living food for the serpent. + +The valet was told that he must be ready to catch the half-past four +train; and Ulick, when he returned from a long walk with Evelyn at +half-past six, learnt that Sir Owen had gone to Riversdale. + +"Sir Owen says, sir, he hopes to see you when he returns." + +But what business had taken Sir Owen out of London, and so suddenly? +The placid domestic could only tell him that Sir Owen often went to +Riversdale on business connected with the estate. "Sir Owen often +gets a wire from his agent." But this sudden call to see his agent +did not strike Ulick as very likely; far more likely that Asher had +gone out of town because he suspected-- + +"Poor chap! it must be dreadful seeing me come in and out of the +house, suspecting every time I am going to or coming from her. But +it was his own will that I should try to get her back to the stage +and away from Monsignor. All the same, it must have been devilishly +unpleasant." Ulick was very sorry for Owen, and hoped that if he did +succeed in tempting Evelyn away from Monsignor Owen would not hate +him for having done so. Nothing is more common than to hate one's +collaborator. Ulick laughed and suddenly grew serious. "His years are +against him. Old age, always a terror, becomes in an affair of this +kind a special terror, for there is no hope; she will never go back +to him, so I might as well get her. If I don't, Monsignor will"; and +a smile appeared again on his face, for he had begun to feel that he +would succeed in persuading Evelyn to accept the engagement, and to +do that would mean taking him on as a lover. + +When he lighted a cigar the conviction was borne in upon him, as the +phrase goes, that to travel in an opera company without a mistress +would be unendurable.... Where could he get one equal to Evelyn? +Nowhere. No one in the company was comparable to her; and of course +he loved her, and she loved him: differently, in some strange way he +feared, but still she loved him, or was attracted to him--it did not +matter which so long as he could succeed in persuading her to accept +the engagement which his directors were most anxious to conclude. As +they walked through Kensington Gardens that afternoon he had noticed +how she had begun to talk suddenly on the question whether it would +be permissible for a woman in certain circumstances to take a second +lover, if her life with her first were entirely broken, and so on. +He had answered perfunctorily, and as soon as possible turned the +conversation upon other things. But it had come back--led back by +her unconsciously to the moral question. So it would seem that she +was coming round. But there was something hysterical, something so +outside of herself--something so irresponsible in her yielding to +him, that he did not altogether like the adventure which he had +undertaken, and asked himself if he loved her sufficiently, finding +without difficulty many reasons for loving her. Nowhere could he +find anybody whom he admired more, or who interested him more. He +had loved her, and they had spent a pleasant time together in that +cottage on the river. A memory of it lit up his sensual imagination, +and he determined to continue the experience just as any other young +man would. Evelyn had denied herself to him in Italy for some +strange reason; whatever that reason was it had been overcome, and +once she yielded herself she was glorious. What happened before +would happen again, and if things did not turn out as pleasantly as +he hoped they would--that is to say, if she would not remain in the +opera company, well, the fault would not be with him. She sang very +well, though not as well as Owen thought; and he went upstairs to +dress for dinner, thinking how pleasant it was to live in Berkeley +Square. + +They were dining together in a restaurant, and as she came forward to +meet him he said to himself, "She looks like accepting the +engagement." And when he spoke about it to her he only reminded her +that by returning to the stage she would be able to make more money +for her poor people, for he felt it were better not to argue. To +take her hand and tell her that it was beautiful was much more in his +line, to put his arm about her when they drove back together in the +hansom, and speak to her of the cottage at Reading--this he could do +very well; and he continued to inflame her senses until she withdrew +herself from his arm, and he feared that he was compromising his +chance of seeing her on the morrow. + +"But you will come to the park, won't you? Remember, it is our last +day together." + +"Not the last," she said, "the last but one. Yes, I will see you +to-morrow. Now goodbye." + +"May I not go upstairs with you?" + +"No, Ulick, I cannot bring you up to my flat; it is too late." + +"Then walk a little way." + +"But if I were to accept that engagement do you think I could remain +a Catholic?" + +Ulick could see no difficulty, and begged of her to explain. + +His question was not answered until they had passed many lamp-posts, +and then as they retraced their steps she said: + +"Travelling about with an opera company do you think I could go to +Mass, above all to Communion?" + +"But you'll be on tour; nobody will know." + +"What shall I do when I return to London?" + +"Why look so far ahead?" + +"All my friends know that I go to Mass." + +"But you can go to Mass all the same and communicate." + +"But if you were my lover?" + +"Would that make any difference?" + +"Of course it would make a difference if I were to continue to go to +Mass and communicate; I should be committing a sacrilege. You cannot +ask me to do that." + +Ulick did not like the earnestness with which she spoke these words. +That she was yielding, however, there could be little doubt, and +whatever doubt remained in his mind was removed on the following day +in the park under the lime-trees, where they had been sitting for +some time, talking indolently--at least, Ulick had been talking +indolently of the various singers who had been engaged. He had done +most of the talking, watching the trees and the spire showing between +them, enjoying the air, and the colour of the day, a little heedless +of his companion, until looking up, startled by some break in her +voice, he saw that she was crying. + +"Evelyn, what is the matter? You are crying. I never saw you cry +before." + +She laughed a little, but there was a good deal of grief in her +laughter, and confessed herself to be very unhappy. Life was proving +too much for her, and when he questioned her as to her meaning, she +admitted in broken answers that his departure with the company was +more than she could bear. + +"Why, then, not come with us? You'll sign the agreement?" + +And they walked towards Bayswater together, talking from time to +time, Ulick trying not to say anything which would disturb her +resolution, though he had heard Owen say that once she had made a +promise she never went back upon it. + +There was all next day to be disposed of, but he would be very busy, +and she would be busy too; she would have to make arrangements, so +perhaps it would be better they should not meet. + +"Then, at the railway station the day after to-morrow," and he bade +her goodbye at her door. + +Owen was in his study writing. + +"I didn't know you had returned, Asher." + +"I came back this afternoon," and he was on the point of adding, "and +saw you with Evelyn as I drove through the park." But the admission +was so painful a one to make that it died upon his lips, finding +expression only in a look of suffering--a sort of scared look, which +told Ulick that something had happened. Could it be that Owen had +seen them in the park sitting under the limes? That long letter on +the writing-table, which Owen put away so mysteriously--could it be +to Evelyn? Ulick had guessed rightly. Owen had seen them in the park, +and he was writing to Evelyn telling her that he could bear a great +deal, but it was cruel and heartless for her to sit with Ulick under +the same trees. He had stopped in the middle of the letter +remembering that it might prevent her from going away with Ulick, +and so throw her back into the power of Monsignor. Even so, he must +write his letter; one has oneself to consider, and he could bear it +no longer. + +"I see you are writing, and I have many letters to write. You will +excuse me?" And Ulick went to his room. After writing his letters, +he sent word to Owen that he was dining out. "He will think I am +dining with her, but no matter; anything is better than that we two +should sit looking at each other all through the evening, thinking +of one thing and unable to speak about it." + +Next day he was out all day transacting business, thinking in the +intervals, "To-morrow morning she will be in the station," sometimes +asking himself if Owen had written to her. + +But the letter he had caught sight of on Owen's table had not been +posted. "After all, what is the good in writing a disagreeable +letter to her? If she is going away with Ulick what does it matter +under what trees they sat?" Yet everything else seemed to him +nothing compared with the fact that she and Ulick had pursued their +courtship under the limes facing the Serpentine; and Owen wondered +at himself. "We are ruled by trifles," he said; all the same he did +not send the letter. + +And that night Owen and Ulick bade each other goodbye for the last +time. + +"Perhaps I shall see you later on in the year; in about six months' +time we shall be back in London." + +Owen could not bring himself to ask if Evelyn had accepted the +engagement--what was the good? To ask would be a humiliation, and he +would know to-morrow; the porter at her flat would tell him whether +she was in London. + + + +XIV + +"Mr. Dean left this morning, Sir Owen." + +The butler was about to add, "He left about an hour ago, in plenty of +time to catch his train," but guessing Sir Owen's humour from his +silence, he said nothing, and left the footman to attend on him. + +"So he has persuaded her to go away with him. ... I wonder--" And +Owen began to think if he should go to Ayrdale Mansions himself to +find out. But if she had not gone away with Ulick, and if he should +meet her in the street, how embarrassing it would be! Of what should +he speak to her? Of the intrigue she had been carrying on with Ulick +Dean? Should he pretend that he knew nothing of it? She would be +ashamed of this renewal of her affection for Ulick, though she had +not gone away with him; and if she had not gone, it would be only on +account of Monsignor. He sat irresolute, his thoughts dropping away +into remembrances of the day before--the two sitting together under +the lime-trees. That was the unendurable bitterness; it was easy to +forgive her Ulick, he was nothing compared to this deliberate +soiling of the past. If she could not have avoided the park, she +might have avoided certain corners sacred to the memory of their +love-story--the groves of limes facing the Serpentine being +especially sacred to his memory. + +"But only man remembers; woman is the grosser animal." And in his +armchair Owen meditated on the coarseness of the female mind, always +careless of detail, even seeming to take pleasure in overlaying the +past with the present. "A mistake," he thought. "We should look upon +every episode as a picture, and each should hang in a place so +carefully appointed that none should do injury to another. But few +of us pay any regard to the hanging of our lives--women none at all. +The canvases are hooked anywhere, any place will suffice, no matter +whether they are hung straight or crooked; and a great many are left +on the floor, their faces turned to the wall; and some are hidden +away in cellars, where no memory ever reaches them. Poor canvases!" +And then, his thoughts reverting suddenly to his proposed visit to +Ayrdale Mansions, he asked himself what answer he could give if he +were asked to explain Ulick's presence at Berkeley Square--proofs of +his approval of Ulick's courtship; his motives would be +misunderstood. Never again would his love of her be believed in. + +"I have been a fool--one always is a fool, and acts wrongly, when one +acts unselfishly. Self is our one guide--when we abandon self, we +abandon the rudder." + +He would have just been content to keep Evelyn as his friend, and she +would have been willing to remain friends with him if he did not +talk against religion, or annoy her by making love to her. "There is +a time for everything," and he thought of his age. Passionate love +should melt into friendship, and her friendship he might have had if +he had thought only of himself; it would have been a worthy crown +for the love he had borne for her during so many years. Now there +was nothing left for him but a nasty sour rind of life to chew to the +end--it was under his teeth, and it was sour enough, and it never +would grow less sour. His sadness grew so deep that he forgot +himself in it, and was awakened by the sound of wheels. + +"Somebody coming to call. I won't see anybody," and he rang the bell. +"I am not at home to anybody." + +"But, Sir Owen, Mr. Dean--" + +"Mr. Dean!" And Owen stood aghast, wondering what could have brought +Ulick back again. + +"Are you at home to Mr. Dean, sir?" + +"Yes, yes," and at the same moment he caught sight of Ulick coming +across the hall. "What has happened?" he said as soon as the door +was closed. + +"She tried to poison herself last night." + +"Tried to poison herself! But she is not dead?" + +"No, she's not dead, and will recover." + +"Tried to poison herself!" + +"Yes, that is what I came back to tell you. We were to have met at +the station, but she didn't turn up; and, after waiting for a +quarter of an hour, I felt something must have happened, and drove +to Ayrdale Mansions." + +"Tried to kill herself!" + +"I'm afraid I have no time to tell you the story. Mérat will be able +to tell it to you better than I. I must get away by the next train. +There is no danger; she will recover." + +"You say she will recover?" and Owen drew his hands across his eyes. +"I'm afraid I can hardly understand." + +"But if you will just take a cab and go up to Ayrdale Mansions, you +will find Mérat, who will tell you everything." + +"Yes, yes. You are sure she will recover?" + +"Quite." + +"But you--you are going away?" + +"I have to, unless I give up my appointment. Of course, I should like +to stay behind; but there is no danger, absolutely none, only an +overdose of chloral." + +"She suffered a great deal from sleeplessness. Perhaps it was an +accident." + +Ulick did not answer, and the elder man drove in one direction and +the younger in another. + +"Mérat, this is terrible!" + +"Won't you come into the drawing-room, Sir Owen?" + +"She is in no danger?" + +"No, Sir Owen." + +"Can I see her?" + +"Yes, of course, Sir Owen; but she is still asleep, and the doctor +says she will not be able to understand or recognise anybody for +some hours. You will see her if you call later." + +"Yes, I'll call later; but first of all, tell me, Mérat, when was the +discovery made?" + +"She left a letter for me to say she was not to be called, and +knowing she had gone out for many hours, and finding her clothes and +her boots wet through, I thought it better not to disturb her. Of +course, I never suspected anything until Mr. Dean came." + +"Yes, she was to meet him at the station." And as he said these words +he remembered that Mérat must know of Evelyn's intimacy with Ulick. +She must have been watching it for the last month, and no doubt +already connected Evelyn's attempted suicide in some way with Mr. +Dean, but the fact that they had arranged to meet at the railway +station did not point to a betrayal. + +"There was no quarrel between them, then, Sir Owen?" + +"None; oh, none, Mérat." + +"It is very strange." + +"Yes, it is very strange, Mérat; we might talk of it for hours +without getting nearer to the truth. So Mr. Dean came here?" + +"Yes. When I opened the door he said, 'Where is mademoiselle?' and I +said, 'Asleep; she left a note that she was not to be called.' +'Then, Mérat, something must have happened, for she was to meet me +at the railway station. We must see to this at once.' Her door was +locked, but Mr. Dean put his shoulder against it. In spite of the +noise, she did not awake--a very few more grains would have killed +her." + +"Grains of what?" + +"Chloral, Sir Owen. We thought she was dead. Mr. Dean went for the +doctor. He looked very grave when he saw her; I could see he thought +she was dead; but after examining her he said, 'She has a young +heart, and will get over it.'" + +"So that is your story, Mérat?" + +"Yes, Sir Owen, that is the story. There is no doubt about it she +tried to kill herself, the doctor says." + +"So, Mérat, you think it was for Mr. Dean. Don't you know +mademoiselle has taken a religious turn?" + +"I know it, Sir Owen." + +And he attributed the present misfortune to Monsignor, who had +destroyed Evelyn's mind with ceremonies and sacraments. + +"Good God! these people should be prosecuted." And he railed against +the prelate and against religion, stopping only now and again when +Mérat went to her mistress's door, thinking she heard her call. "You +say it was between eleven and twelve she came back?" + +"It was after twelve, Sir Owen." + +"Now where could she have been all that time, and in the rain, +thinking how she might kill herself?" + +"It couldn't have been anything else, Sir Owen. Her boots were soaked +through as if she had been in the water, not caring where she went." + +Owen wondered if it were possible she had ventured into the +Serpentine. + +"The park closes at nine, doesn't it, Sir Owen?" They talked of the +possibility of hiding in the park and the keepers not discovering +Evelyn in their rounds; it was quite possible for her to have +escaped their notice if she hid in the bushes about the Long Water. + +"You think, Sir Owen, that she intended to drown herself?" + +"I don't know. You say her boots were wet through. Perhaps she went +out to buy the chloral--perhaps she hadn't enough." + +"Well, Sir Owen, she must have been doubtful if she had enough +chloral to kill herself, for this is what I found." And the maid +took out of her pocket several pairs of garters tied together. + +"You think she tied these together so that she might hang herself?" + +"There is no place she could hang herself except over the banisters. +I thought that perhaps she feared the garters were not strong enough +and she might fall and break her legs." + +"Poor woman! Poor woman!" So if the garters had proved stronger, she +would have strangled there minute by minute. Nothing but religious +mania--that is what drove her to it." + +"I am inclined to think, Sir Owen, it must have been something of +that kind, for of course there were no money difficulties." + +"The agony of mind she must have suffered! The agony of the suicide! +And her agony, the worst of all, for she is a religious woman." Owen +talked of how strange and mysterious are the motives which determine +the lives of human beings. "You see, all her life was in disorder-- +leaving the stage and giving me up. Mérat, there is no use in +disguising it from you. You know all about it. Do you remember when +we met for the first time?" + +"Yes, Sir Owen; indeed I do." And the two stood looking at each +other, thinking of the changes that time had made in themselves. Sir +Owen's figure was thinner, if anything, than before; his face seemed +shrunken, but there were only a few grey hairs, and the maid thought +him still a very distinguished-looking man--old, of course; but +still, nobody would think of him as an old man. Mérat's shoulders +seemed to be higher than they were when he last saw her; she had +developed a bust, and her black dress showed off her hips. Her hair +seemed a little thinner, so she was still typically French; France +looked out of her eyes. "Isn't it strange? The day we first met we +little thought that we would come to know each other so well; and +you have known her always, travelled all over Europe with her. How I +have loved that woman, Mérat! And here you are together, come from +Park Lane to this poor little flat in Bayswater. It is wonderful, +Mérat, after all these years, to be sitting here, talking together +about her whom we both love, you have been very good to her, and have +looked after her well; I shall never forget it to you." + +"I have done my best, Sir Owen; and you know mademoiselle is one of +those whom one cannot help liking." + +"But living in this flat with her, Mérat, you must feel lonely. Do +you never wish for your own country?" + +"But I am with mademoiselle, Sir Owen; and if I were to leave her, no +one else could look after her--at least, not as I can. You see, we +know each other so well, and everything belonging to her interests +me. Perhaps you would like to see her, Sir Owen?" + +"I'd like to see her, but what good would it do me or her? I'll see +her in the evening, when I can speak to her. To see her lying there +unconscious, Mérat--no, it would only put thoughts of death into my +mind; and she will have to die, though she didn't die last night, +just as we all shall have to die--you and I, in a few years we shall +be dead." + +"Your thoughts are very gloomy, Sir Owen." + +"You don't expect me to have gay thoughts to-day, do you, Mérat? So +here is where you live, you and she; and that is her writing-table?" + +"Yes; she sits there in the evening, quite contented, writing +letters." + +"To whom?" Owen asked. "To no one but priests and nuns?" + +"Yes, she is very interested in her poor people, and she has to write +a great many letters on their behalf." + +"I know--to get them work." And they walked round the room. "Well, +Mérat, this isn't what we are accustomed to--this isn't like Park +Lane." + +"Mademoiselle only cares for plain things now; if she had the money +she would spend it all upon her poor people. It was a long time +before I could persuade her to buy the sofa you have been sitting on +just now; she has not had it above two months." + +"And all these clothes, Mérat--what are they?" + +"Oh, I have forgotten to take them away." And Mérat told him that +these were clothes that Evelyn was making for her poor people--for +little boys who were going upon a school-treat, mostly poor Irish; +and Owen picked up a cap from the floor, and a little crooked smile +came into his face when he heard it was intended for Paddy Sullivan. + +"All the same, it is better she should think about poor people than +about religion." + +"Far better, Sir Owen, far better. Sometimes I'm afraid she will +bring back things upon her. She comes back tired and sleeps; but +when she spends her time in churches thinking of her sins, or what +she imagines to be sins, Sir Owen, I hear her walking about her room +at night, and in the morning she tells me she hasn't slept at all." + +"What you tell me is very serious, Mérat. All the same, all the same-- +jackets and coats for Paddy Sullivan's children. Well, it is very +touching. There never was anybody quite so good, do you think there +was, Mérat?" + +"That is the reason why we all love her; and you do, too, Sir Owen, +though you pretend to hate goodness and to despise--" + +"No, Mérat, no. Tell mademoiselle, if she wakes, that I am coming +back to see her this evening late--the later the better, I suppose, +for she is not likely to fall asleep again once she awakes." + +Mérat mentioned between nine and ten o'clock, and, to distract his +thoughts, Owen went to the theatre that evening, and was glad to +leave it at ten, before the play was over. + +"Is she awake?" + +"She has been awake some time. I think you will be able to have a +little talk with her." And Owen stole into the room with so little +noise that Evelyn did not hear him, and all the room was seen and +understood before she turned: the crucifix above the bedstead, the +pious prints, engravings which they had bought in Italy--Botticelli +and Filippo Lippi. She lay in a narrow iron bed, and all the form +that he knew so well covered in a plain nightgown such as he had +never seen before, but in keeping, he thought, with the rest of the +room, and in conformity--such was his impression, there was no time +for thinking--with her present opinions. The smallness of the chest +of drawers surprised him. Where did she keep her clothes? It might +be doubted if she possessed more than two or three gowns. Where were +they hanging? The few chairs and the dressing-table, on which he +caught sight of some ivory brushes he had given her, seemed the only +furniture in the room. + +"Evelyn!" + +"Oh, it is you, Owen. So you have come to see me. You are always +kind." + +"My dear Evelyn, there never can be any question of kindness between +you and me. You will always be Evelyn, and I am only thinking now of +how glad I am to have found you again." + +"Found me again!" And her thoughts seemed to float away, her mind not +being strong enough yet to think connectedly. "How did you hear +about me?" Before he could answer she said, "I suppose Ulick--" And +then, with an effort to remember, she added, "Yes, Mérat told me he +had come here," and the effort seemed to fatigue her. + +"Perhaps it would be better if you didn't talk." + +"Oh, no," she said, taking his hand, detaining it for a moment and +then losing it; "tell me." + +And he told her, speaking very gently so that his voice might not +tire her, that Ulick had called at Berkeley Square. + +"He told me you weren't going away with him." + +A slight shudder passed through Evelyn's face, and she asked, "Where +is Ulick?" + +"He has gone away. If he had stayed he would have lost his post as +secretary to the opera company." + +Evelyn did not appear to hear the explanation, and it was some time +before she said: + +"He has gone away. I don't think we shall see much of him again, +either you or I, Owen." + +Owen did not resist asking if she regretted this, and she answered +that she did not regret it at all. "And now you understand, Owen, +what kind of woman I am; how hopeless everything is." In spite of +herself, a little trace of her old wit returning to her, she added, +"You see what an unfortunate man you are in your choice of a +mistress." + +Owen could not answer; and a moment after he remembered that it is +only those who feel as deeply as Evelyn who can speak as lightly, +otherwise they would not be able to resist the strain; and the +strain was a very terrible one, he could see that, for she turned +over in bed, and a little later he perceived that she had been +crying. Turning suddenly, she exclaimed: + +"Owen, Owen, I am very frightened!" + +"Frightened of what, dear one?" + +"I don't know, Owen, I can't tell you; but I am very frightened, for +he seems not to be very far away and may come again." + +"And who is 'he'?" + +"It is impossible to tell you--a darkness, a shadow that seems always +by me, and who was very near me last night. A little more chloral +and I should not be here talking to you!" + +"It is terrible, Evelyn, terrible! And how should I have lived?" + +"You lived before me and you will live after me. Suicide is a mortal +sin, so Monsignor would tell me. We are forbidden to kill ourselves +even to escape sin, and that seems strange; for how shall I ever +believe that God would not have forgiven me, that he would not have +preferred me to kill myself than to have--?" And her voice died +away, Owen wondered whether for lack of strength or unwillingness to +express herself in words. + +"My dear Evelyn! my dear Evelyn!" + +"You don't understand, Owen; I am so different from what I was once. +I know it, I feel it, the difference, and it can't be helped." + +"But it can be helped, Evelyn. You've been living by yourself, +spending whole days and nights alone, and you've been suffering from +want of sleep--something had to happen; but now that it has happened +you will get quite well, and if you had only done what I asked you +before--if we had been married--I" + +"Don't let us talk about it, Owen; you don't understand how different +I am, how impossible--I--don't want to be unkind, you have been very +good to me always; and, understanding you as I seem to understand +you now, I am sorry you should have made such a bad choice, and that +I was not more satisfactory." + +"But you are perfectly satisfactory, Evelyn. If I am satisfied, who +should have the right to grumble? The pain of losing you is better +than the pleasure of winning anybody else.... So you think, Evelyn, +you will never return to the stage?" + +She did not answer, and, with dilated eyes, she looked through the +room till Owen turned, wondering if he should see anything; and he +was about to ask her if she saw the shadow again which she had +spoken of a while ago, but refrained from speaking, seeing that the +time was not one for questions. + +"Evelyn," he said, "I will come to see you to-morrow. You are tired +to-night." + + + +XV + +"She will fall asleep again, and to-morrow will be quite well. But +what a near escape!" And he lingered with Mérat, feeling it were +better she should know everything, yet loth to tell her that he had +known all the while that Ulick was trying to persuade Evelyn to go +away with him. But Mérat must know that Ulick had been staying at +Berkeley Square. + +"I suppose Monsignor comes here to see her?" + +"He has been here, Sir Owen." + +Owen would have liked to question her, but it did not seem honourable +to do so, and after a little talk about the danger of yielding to +religious impulses, he noticed that Mérat was drifting from him, +evidently thinking such discussions useless. + +On the landing he told her that Ulick had gone away with the opera +company, and that it was not likely that he and mademoiselle would +see each other again. + +"But when Mr. Dean comes back to London?" Mérat answered. + +"Well, hardly even then; after a crisis like this she will not be +anxious to see him. You know, Mérat, he was staying with me at +Berkeley Square; and I knew of his visits here, only it seemed to me +the only way to save her from religion was by getting her to go back +to the stage." + +Owen took breath; he had told his story, or as much as was necessary, +omitting the fact that he was an accomplice in the love-making which +had led to attempted suicide. + +"You don't think I was right?" + +"Well, Sir Owen, you see, I don't think mademoiselle will ever go +back to the stage." + +"You think that, Mérat? Well, then, the only thing to save her from +religion is marriage. I don't mind telling you, nor is there any +need to tell you--you must know--that I have always wanted her to be +my wife, only she would not marry me, and for some reason impossible +to get at." + +"Mademoiselle is like nobody else; _elle avait toujours son idée_." + +"_Parfaitement, comme disent les paysannes de chez vous, d'une bête +qui ne ressemble pas au troupeau et qui allait toujours._" + +"_Oui, mademoiselle a eu toujours son idée_. So Sir Owen thinks it +was fear of going back to the stage that persuaded mademoiselle to--" + +"Something like that, Mérat. She liked Mr. Dean." + +"But you are first in her thoughts, Sir Owen." + +"That isn't astonishing. We have known each other so long. Now, after +what has happened, perhaps she will think differently about +marriage, do you understand, Mérat. She may think differently +to-morrow, for instance, and it would be better for all of us--for +you, for myself, for her. Don't you agree?" + +"Well, Sir Owen, there is nothing I should like more than to see +mademoiselle married, only--" + +"Only you don't think she'll marry me?" + +"_Comme monsieur a dit, elle a eu toujours son idée._" + +"But after the great shock surely she will see that marriage is the +only way." Owen continued to talk of marriage a little while longer, +and all the way home his thoughts ran on his chance of persuading +Evelyn to marry him. It did not seem possible that she could refuse +after the shock. The chances were all with him: he would catch her +in a moment when her faith in religion would be weakened, for she +must see that it had not saved her from attempted suicide; all the +chances were in his favour, and he hardly doubted at all he would be +able to persuade her to marry him. Once she agreed she would carry +it out; nothing she hated as much as any alteration of plan. + +His mind wandered back into the past years, and he recalled little +facts significant of her character. However loud the storm she would +cross the Channel, though there was no reason for it--merely, as she +said, because it had been arranged to cross that day. He could +remember the dress she wore on that occasion, and the expression of +her face. Other instances equally trivial floated into his mind, +every one strangely vivid, delighting him because they were +characteristic of her. If he could only get her to say she would +marry him. It would be unnecessary to explain why he had sent Ulick +to her. Or he might explain. It didn't matter. Ulick would pass out +of their lives, and all this miserable business would be forgotten. + +The quickest way of being married was in a registry office, but would +Evelyn look upon a civil marriage as sufficient? Once the civil +marriage was an accomplished fact, she could be married afterwards +in Church, even in a Catholic church; he would go there if it +pleased her to go. Besides, Evelyn really looked upon marriage more +as a civil than as a religious obligation. His thoughts continued to +chatter, keeping him up late, till long after midnight, and awaking +him early. And the sun seemed to him to have dawned on his wedding +day. But even if they were to be married in a registry office a best +man would be required. So his thoughts went to Harding, whom he knew +to be in London. But Harding would be busy with his writing until +the afternoon, and Owen strode about Bond Street, visiting the shops +of various picture dealers, welcoming any acquaintance whom he +happened to meet, walking to the end of the street with him, and +spending the last hour--from three to four--in the National Gallery, +whither he had gone to see some new acquisitions. But the new +pictures did not interest him. "My thoughts are elsewhere." + +And turning from the new Titian, it seemed to him that he might drive +to Victoria Street; Harding's work must be over for the day. + +"My dear Harding, you don't mind my interrupting you?" And he envied +his friend's interest in his manuscripts when the writer put them +away. + +"You are not disturbing me; my secretary didn't come to-day, and +everything is habit. I can no longer write except by dictation." + +"If I had known that I would have called in the morning." + +"Again some drama in which Evelyn Innes is concerned," Harding said +to himself. + +"Harding, I have come to ask your advice; you'll give me the very +best. But you will have to hear the whole story." + +"Well, I am a story-teller, and like to hear stories." + +Owen told him how he had met Ulick Dean at Innes', and had invited +him to stop at Berkeley Square, and how gradually the idea that he +could make use of Ulick in order to tempt Evelyn back to the stage +had come into his mind. Anything to save her from religion, from +Monsignor. + +Owen caught Harding looking at him from under his shaggy eyebrows, +and anger had begun to colour his cheeks when Harding said: + +"Don't you remember, Asher, coming here a couple of years ago, and--" + +"Yes, I know. You predicted that Ulick Dean and I would become +friends, and you are right; we did." + +"And you preferred that Evelyn should be his mistress rather than +that she shall go over to Monsignor?" + +"I am not ashamed to confess I did; anything seemed better--but there +is no use arguing the point. What I have come to tell you is that +rather than go away with him she tried to kill herself." And he told +Harding the story. + +"What an extraordinary story! But nothing is extraordinary in human +nature. What we consider the normal never happens. Nature's course +is always zigzag, and no one can predict a human action." + +"Well, then, my good friend, when you have done philosophising--I +don't mean to be rude, but you see my nerves have been at strain for +the last four-and-twenty hours; you will excuse me. My notion now is +that everything has happened for the best." And he confided to +Harding his hopes of being able to persuade Evelyn to marry him. +"Only by marriage can she be saved, and I think I can persuade her." +And he babbled about her appearance last night after her long sleep, +comparing her with the portrait in his room. The painter had omitted +nothing of her character; all that had happened he read into the +picture--the restless spiritual eyes, and the large voluptuous +mouth, and the small high temples which Leonardo would like to draw. +The painting of this picture was as illusive as Evelyn herself, the +treatment of the reddish hair and the grey background. + +And Harding listened, saying, "So this is the end." + +"You think she will marry me?" + +"Everything in nature is unexpected, that is all I can tell you. Art +is logic, Nature incoherency." + +"Well, let us hope that Nature will be a little more coherent +to-morrow than she was last night, and that Evelyn will do the right +thing. Women generally marry when it is pressed upon them +sufficiently, don't you think so, Harding?" + +"I hope it will be so, since you desire it." + +"And you will be my best man, won't you?" + +"I shall be only too pleased. Now, if you wait for me while I change +my boots we'll go out together." And the two men crossed the Green +Park talking of the great moral laxity of the time they lived in; +whereas in the eighteenth century men were even accused of boasting +of their successes, now the conditions were reversed, men never +admitting themselves to be anything else but virtuous; women, on the +contrary, publishing their _liaisons_, and taking little pleasure in +them until they were known to everybody. + +"_Liaisons_ have become as official as marriages. Who doesn't know--" +And Harding mentioned a number of celebrated 'affairs' which had +been going on for ten, some twenty years. "The real love affair of +her ladyship now is probably some little tenor or drawing-master, +and Cecil's a little milliner; but her ladyship and Cecil are forced +to keep up appearances, for if they didn't who would talk about them +any more?" + +"You should write that as a short story," Owen suggested. And the two +friends began to argue as to the number of lovers which fell to the +lot of fashionable women, from the age of twenty-three to fifty. Two +or three ladies were mentioned whose _liaisons_ reached a couple of +hundred, and there was another about whom they were not agreed, for +some of her _liaisons_ had lasted so long that Owen did not believe +she had had more than fifty lovers. + +"It is impossible to imagine any time for a young man more propitious +than the present, or any society more agreeable than London. Morals, +as the newspapers would say, are in abeyance, conscience is looked +upon as pedantic, especially in women, and unbecoming." As the two +walked up St. James' Street together, Harding noticed that Owen, +notwithstanding his chatter about morals, was thinking of Evelyn, +and took very little interest in the display of the season--in the +slim nobility of England, fresh from Oxford, all in frock coats for +the first time, delighting in canes, and deerskin gloves, in collars +and ties, the newest fashion, going down the street in pairs, +turning into their clubs, lifting their hats to the women who drove +past in victorias and electric broughams. + +"Never were women more charming than they are now," Owen said, in +order not to appear too much immersed in his own thoughts, and he +picked a woman out, pretending to be interested in her. "That one +leaning a little to the left, her white dog sitting beside her." + +"Like a rose in Maytime." + +"Rather an orchid in a crystal glass." + +Harding accepted the correction. + +"Do you know who she is, Harding?" + +The question was a thoughtless one, for no one knows the whole of the +peerage, not even Harding, and it was painful for him to admit that +he did not know the lady, who happened to be an earl's daughter-- +somebody he really should have known. Not having been born a peer +himself, he had, as a friend once said, resolved to make amends for +the mistake in his birth by never knowing anybody who hadn't a +title. But this criticism was not a just one; Harding was not a +snob. It has already been explained that love of order and tradition +were part of his nature; the reader remembers, no doubt, Harding's +idiosyncrasies, and how little interested he was in writers, and +painters, avoiding always the society of such people. But his face +brightened presently, for a very distinguished woman bowed to him, +and he was glad to tell Owen he was going to stay with her in the +autumn. The Duchess had just returned from Palestine, and it was +beginning to be whispered she had gone there with a young man. The +talk turned again on the morality of London, and exciting stories +were told of a fracas which had occurred between two well-known men. +So their desks had been broken open, and packets of love letters +abstracted. New scandals were about to break to blossom, other +scandals had been nipped in the bud. + +Harding said nothing wittier had been said for many generations than +the _mot_ credited to a young girl, who had described a ball given +that season by the women of forty as "The Hags' Hop." Somebody else +had called it "The Roaring Forties." Which was the better +description of the two? "The Roaring Forties" seemed a little +pretentious, and preference was given to the more natural epigram, +"The Hags' Hop." + +"We were all virtuous in the fifties, now licence has reached its +prime, and we shall fall back soon into decadence." + +Harding, who was something of an historian, was able to illustrate +this prophecy by reference to antiquity. When the life of the senses +and understanding reached its height, as it did in the last stages +of the Roman Empire, a reaction came. St. Francis of Assisi was +succeeded by Alexander VI.; Luther soon followed after. "And in +twenty years hence we shall all become moral again. Good heavens! the +first sign of it has appeared--Evelyn." + +Piccadilly flowed past, the stream of the season, men typical of +England in their age as in their youth, typical of their castles, +their swards, and lofty woods, of their sports and traditions, +hunting, shooting, racing, polo playing; the women, too, typical of +English houses and English parks, but not so typical; only +recognisable by a certain reflected light; an Englishman makes woman +according to his own image and likeness, taking clay often from +America. The narrow pavements of Bond Street were thronged, women +getting out of their carriages, intent on their shopping, bowing to +the men as they ran into the shops, making amends for the sombre +black of the men's coats by a delirium of feathers, skirts, and pink +ankles. And nodding to their friends, bowing to the ladies in the +carriages, Harding and Owen edged their way through the crowd. + +"The street at this hour is like a ballroom, isn't it?" Owen said. "I +want to get some cigars." And they turned into a celebrated store, +where half a dozen assistants were busily engaged in tying up +parcels of five hundred or a thousand cigars, or displaying +neatly-made paper boxes containing a hundred cigarettes. + +"When will men give up smoking pipes, I should like to know?" + +"I thought you were a pipe smoker?" + +"So I was, but I can t bear the smell any longer." + +"Yet you smoke cigars?" + +"Cigars are different." + +"How was it the change came?" + +"I don't know." Owen ordered a thousand cigars to be sent to Berkeley +Square. + +It was late for tea, and still too early for dinner. + +"I am sorry to ask you to dine at such an early hour, but I daresay +we shan't have dinner till half-past seven." + +But Harding remembered his tailor: some trousers. And he led Owen +towards Hanover Square, wondering if Owen would approve of his +choice? + +"It was like you to choose that grey." + +Now what was there to find fault with in the grey he had chosen? They +turned over the tailor's pattern sheet. Daring, in the art of +dressing, is the prescriptive right of the professional just as it +is in writing. Owen was a professional dresser, whereas he, Harding, +was but an amateur; and that was why he had chosen a timid, +insignificant grey. At once Owen discovered a much more effective +cloth; and he chose a coat for Harding, who wanted one--the same +rough material which Harding had often admired on Owen's shoulders. +But would such a dashing coat suit him as well as it did its +originator, and dare he wear the fancy waistcoats Owen was pressing +upon him? + +"They suit you, Asher, but you still go in at the waist, and brown +trousers look well on legs as straight as billiard cues." + +"Is there nothing we can do for you, Sir Owen?" + +Owen spoke about sending back a coat which he was not altogether +satisfied with. + +"Every suit of clothes I have, Harding, costs me fifty pounds." + +Harding raised his thick eyebrows, and Owen explained that only one +suit in six was worth wearing. + +"There is more truth in what you say than appears. I once wore a suit +of clothes for six years! And they were as good as new when--" + +But Owen refused to be interested in Harding's old clothes. "If I'm +not married to-morrow I shall never marry. You don't believe me, +Harding? Now, of what are you thinking? Of that suit of clothes which +you have had for six years or of my marriage--which?" + +At the moment that Owen interrupted him Harding was thinking that +perhaps a woman who had attempted suicide to escape from another man +would not drift as easily into marriage as Owen thought; but, of +course, he did not dare to confess such an opinion. + +"You don't mind dining at half-past seven?" + +"Not in the least, my good friend, not in the least." Going towards +Berkeley Square they continued to speak about Evelyn.... She would +have to refuse Owen to-night or accept him: so he would know his +fate to-night. + +"Just fancy," he said, "to-morrow I am either going to be married +or--" And he stared into the depths of a picture about which he +thought he would like to have Harding's opinion, but it did not matter +what anybody thought of pictures until he knew what Evelyn was going +to do. None had any interest for him; but they could not talk of +Evelyn during dinner, the room being full of servants, and he was +forced to listen to Harding, who was rather tiresome on the subject of +how a collection of pictures had better be formed, and the proposal to +go to France to seek for an Ingres did not appeal to him. + +"I hope you don't mind my smoking a pipe," Harding said as they rose +from table. + +"No," he said, "smoke what you like, I don't care; smoke in my study, +only raise the window. But you'll excuse me, Harding. My appointment +is for eight." + +As he was about to leave the room a footman came in, saying that Miss +Innes' maid would like to see him, and, guessing that something had +happened, Owen said: + +"It is to tell me I'm not to go to see her; something disagreeable +always--" And he left the room abruptly. + +"I have shown the maid into the morning-room, Sir Owen." + +"Now, what is the matter, Mérat?" + +"Perhaps you had better read the letter first, Sir Owen, and then we +can talk." + +"I can't read without my glasses; do you read it, Mérat." Without +waiting for her to answer he returned to the dining-room. "I have +forgotten my glasses, Harding, that is all; you will wait for me." +His hand trembled as he tried to fix the glasses on his nose. + +"MY DEAR OWEN,--I am afraid you will be disappointed, and I am +disappointed too, for I should like to see you; but I think it would +be better, and Monsignor, who was here to-day, thinks it would be +better, that we should not see each other... for the present. I have +recovered a good deal, but am still far from well; my nerves are +shattered. You know I have been through a great deal; and though I am +sure you would have refrained from all allusions to unpleasant +topics, still your presence would remind me too much of what I don't +want to think about. It is impossible for me to explain better. This +letter will seem unkind to you, who do not like unkind letters; but +you will try to understand, and to see things from my point of view, +and not to rave when I tell you that I am going to a convent--not to +be a nun; that, of course, is out of the question; but for rest, and +only among those good women can I find the necessary rest. + +"My first thought was to go to Dulwich to my father, but--well, here +is a piece of news that will interest you--he has been appointed +_capelmeister_ to the Papal choir, the ambition of his life is +fulfilled, and he started at once for Rome. It is possible that +three or four months hence, when he is settled, he will write to ask +me to go out to join him there, and Monsignor would like me to do +this, for, of course, my duty is by my father, who is no longer as +young as he used to be. I don't like to leave him, but the matter +has been carefully considered; he has been here with Monsignor, and +the conclusion arrived at is, that it is better for me to go to the +convent for a long rest. Afterwards ... one never knows; there is no +use making plans. "EVELYN." + +"No use making plans; I should think not, indeed," Owen cried. "Never +will she come out of that convent, Mérat, never! They have got her, +they have got her! You remember the first day we met, you and I, in +the Rue Balzac, and you have been with her ever since; you were with +us in Brussels when she sang 'Elizabeth,' and in Germany--do you +remember the night she sang 'Isolde'? So it has come to this, so it +has come to this; and in spite of all we could do. Do you remember +Italy, Mérat? Good God! Good God!" And he fell into a chair and did +not speak again for some time. "It would have been better if Ulick +Dean had persuaded her to go away with him. It was I who told him to +go to see her and kept him in my house because I knew that this +damned priest would get her in the end." + +"But, Sir Owen, for mademoiselle to be a nun is out of the +question... if you knew what convents were." + +"Oh, Mérat, don't talk to me, don't talk to me; they have got her!" + +Then a sudden idea seized him. + +"Come into the dining-room," he said. "You know Mr. Harding? He is +there." He passed out of the room, leaving the door open for Mérat +to follow through. "Harding, read this letter." He stood watching +Harding while he read; but before Harding was half-way down the page +he said: "You see, she is going into a convent. They have got her, +they have got her! But they shan't get her as long as I have a +shoulder with which to force in a door. The doors of those mansions +where she has gone to live are not very strong, are they, Mérat? She +shall see me; she shall not go to that convent. That blasted priest +shall not get her. Those ghouls of nuns!" And he was about to break +from the room when Mérat threw herself in front of him. + +"Remember, Sir Owen, she has been very ill; remember what has +happened, and if you prevent her from going to the convent--" + +"So, Mérat, you're against me too? You want to drive her into a +convent, do you?" + +"Sir Owen, you hardly know what you are saying. I am thinking of what +might happen if you went to Ayrdale Mansions and forced in the door. +Sir Owen, I beg of you." + +"Then if you oppose me you are responsible. They will get her, I tell +you; those blasted ghouls, haunters of graveyards, diggers of +graves, faint creatures who steal out of the light, mumblers of +prayers! You know, Harding, what I say is true. God!" He raised his +fist in the air and fell back into an armchair, screaming oaths and +blasphemies without sense. It was on Harding's lips to say, "Asher, +you are making a show of yourself." "_Vous vous donnez en spectacle_" +were the words that crossed Mérat's mind. But there was something +noble in this crisis, and Harding admired Owen--here was one who was +not afraid to shriek out and to rage. And what nobler cause for a +man's rage? + +"The woman he loves is about to be taken out of the sunlight into the +grey shadow of the cloister. Why shouldn't he rage?" + +"To sing of death, not of life, and where the intelligence wilts and +bleaches!" he shrieked. "What an awful end! don't you understand? +Devils! devils!" and he slipped from his chair suddenly on to the +hearthrug, and lay there tearing at it with his fingers. The elegant +fribble of St. James' Street had passed back to the primeval savage +robbed of his mate. + +"You give way to your feelings, Asher." + +At these words Asher sprang to his feet, yelling: + +"Why shouldn't I give way to my feelings? You haven't lost the most +precious thing on God's earth. You never cared for a woman as I do; +perhaps you never cared for one at all. You don't look as if you +did." Owen's face wrinkled; he jibbered at one moment like a +demented baboon, at the next he was transfigured, and looked like +some Titan as he strode about the room, swearing that they should +not get her. + +"But it all depends upon herself, Owen; you can do nothing," Harding +said, fearing a tragedy. But Owen did not seem to hear him, he could +only hear his own anger thundering in his heart. At last the storm +seemed to abate a little, and he said that he knew Harding would +forgive him for having spoken discourteously; he was afraid he had +done so just now. + +"But, you know, Harding, I have suspected this abomination; the taint +was in her blood. You know those Papists, Harding, how they cringe, +how shamefaced they are, how low in intelligence. I have heard you +say yourself they have not written a book for the last four hundred +years. Now, why do you defend them?" + +"Defend them, Asher? I am not defending them." + +"Paralysed brains, arrested intelligences." He stopped, choked, +unable to articulate for his haste. "That brute, Monsignor Mostyn-- +at all events I can see him, and kick the vile brute." And taken in +another gust of passion, Owen went towards the door. "Yes, I can +have it out with him." + +"But, Asher, he is an old man; to lay hands upon him would be ruin." + +"What do I care about ruin? I am ruined. They have got her, and her +mind will be poisoned. She will get the abominable ascetic mind. The +pleasure of the flesh transferred! What is legitimate and beautiful +in the body put into the mind, the mind sullied by passions that do +not belong to the mind. That is what papistry is! They will poison +that pure, beautiful woman's mind. That priest has put them up to +it, and he shall pay for it if I can get at him to-night!" Owen broke +away suddenly, leaving Harding and Merat in the dining-room, Harding +regretting that he had accepted Owen's invitation to dinner... If +Asher and Monsignor were to meet that night? Good Lord! ... Owen +would strike him for sure, and a blow would kill the old man. + +"Merat, this is very unfortunate.... Not to be able to control one's +temper. You have known him a long time.... I hope nothing will +happen. Perhaps you had better wait." + +"No, Mr. Harding, I can't wait; I must go back to mademoiselle." And +the two went out together, Harding turning to the right, jumping +into a cab as soon as he could hail one, and Merat getting into +another in order to be in time to save her mistress from her madman +lover. + + + +XVI + +Three hours after Harding and Mérat had left Berkeley Square, Owen +let himself in with his latch-key. He was very pale and very weary, +and his boots and trousers were covered with mud, for he had been +splashing through wet streets, caring very little where he went. At +first he had gone in the direction of the river, thinking to rouse +up Monsignor, and to tell him what he thought of him, perhaps to +give him a good thrashing; but the madness of his anger began to die +long before reaching the river. In the middle of St. James's Park the +hopelessness of any effort on his part to restrain Evelyn became +clear to him suddenly, and he uttered a cry, walking on again, and +on again, not caring whither he walked, splashing on through the +wet, knowing well that nothing could be done, that the inevitable +had happened. + +"It would have been better if she had died," he often said; "it would +have been much better if she had died, for then I should be free, +and she would be free. Now neither is free." + +There were times when he did not think at all, when his mind was +away; and, after a long absence of thought, the memory of how he had +lost her for ever would strike him, and then it seemed as if he +could walk no longer, but would like to lie down and die. All the +same, he had to get home, and the sooner he got home the better, for +there was whisky on the table, and that would dull his memory; and, +tottering along the area railings, he thought of the whisky, +understanding the drunkard for the first time and his temptations. +"Anything to forget the agony of living!" + +Three or four days afterwards he wrote to her from Riversdale. +Something had to be written, though it was not very clear that +anything could be gained by writing, only he felt he must write just +to wish her goodbye, to show that he was not angry, for he would +like her to know that he loved her always; so he wrote: + +"For the last four days I have been hoping to get a letter from you +saying you had changed your mind, and that what was required to +restore you to health was not a long residence in a convent, but the +marriage ceremony. This morning, when my valet told me there were no +letters, I turned aside in bed to weep, and I think I must have lain +crying for hours, thinking how I had lost my friend, the girl whom I +met in Dulwich, whom I took to Paris, the singer whose art I had +watched over. It was a long time before I could get out of bed and +dress myself, and during breakfast tears came into my eyes; it was +provoking, for my servant was looking at me. You know how long he +has been with me, so, yielding to the temptation to tell somebody, I +told him; I had to speak to somebody, and I think he was sorry for +me, and for you. But he is a well-bred servant, and said very +little, thinking it better to leave the room on the first +opportunity. + +"Merat, who brought your letter, told me you said I would understand +why it was necessary for you to go to a convent for rest. Well, in a +way, I do understand, and, in a way, I am glad you are going, for at +all events your decision puts an end to the strife that has been +going on between us now for the last three years. It was first +difficult for me to believe, but I have become reconciled to the +belief that you will never be happy except in a chaste life. I +daresay it would be easy for me, for Ulick, or for some other man +whom you might take a fancy to, to cause you to put your idea behind +you for a time. Your senses are strong, and they overpower you. You +were, on more than one occasion, nearly yielding to me, but if you +had yielded it would have only resulted in another crisis, so I am +glad you did not. It is no pleasure to make love to a woman who +thinks it wrong to allow you to make love to her, and, could I get +you as a mistress, strange as it will seem to you, upon my word, +Evelyn, I don't think I would accept you. I have been through too +much. Of course, if I could get back the old Evelyn, that would be +different, but I am very much afraid she is dead or overpowered; +another Evelyn has been born in you, and it overpowers the old. An +idea has come into your mind, you must obey it, or your life would be +misery. Yes, I understand, and I am glad you are going to the +convent, for I would not see you wretched. When I say I understand, +I only mean that I acquiesce--I shall never cease to wonder how such +a strange idea has come into your mind; but there is no use arguing +that point, we have argued it often enough, God knows! I cannot go +to London to bid you goodbye. Goodbyes are hateful to me. I never go +to trains to see people off, nor down to piers to wave handkerchiefs, +nor do I go to funerals. Those who indulge their grief do so because +their grief is not very deep. I cannot go to London to bid you +goodbye unless you promise to see me in the convent. Worse than a +death-bed goodbye would be the goodbye I should bid you, and it, +too, would be for eternity. But say I can go to see you in the +convent, and I will come to London to see you. + +"Yours, + +"OWEN." + + * * * * * + +"MY DEAR OWEN,--You have written me a beautiful letter. Not one word +of it would I have unwritten, and it is a very great grief to me +that I cannot write you a letter which would please you as much as +your letter pleases me. No woman, since the world began, has had +such a lover as I have had, and yet I am putting him aside. What a +strange fatality! Yet I cannot do otherwise. But there is +consolation for me in the thought that you understand; had it been +otherwise, it would have been difficult for me to bear it. You know +I am not acting selfishly, but because I cannot do otherwise. I have +been through a great deal, Owen, more, perhaps, even than you can +imagine. That night! But we must not speak of it, we must not speak +of it! Rest is required, avoidance of all agitation--that is what +the doctor says, and it agitates me to write this letter. But it must +be done. To see you, to say goodbye to you, would be an agitation +which neither of us could bear, we should both burst into tears; and +for you to come to see me in the convent would be another agitation +which must be avoided. The Prioress would not allow me to see you +alone, if she allowed me to see you at all. No, Owen, don't come to +see me either in London or in the convent. Leave me to work out my +destiny as best I can. In three or four months perhaps I shall have +recovered. Until then, + +"Yours ever, + +"EVELYN." + + + +XVII + +In a letter to Monsignor, Evelyn wrote: + +"I have just sent a letter to my father, in which I tell him, amid +many hopes of a safe arrival in Rome, not unduly tired, and with all +the dear instruments intact, unharmed by rough hands of porters and +Custom House officers, that, one of these days, in three or four +months, when I am well, I look forward to contributing the _viola da +gamba_ part of a sonata to the concert of the old instrumental music +which he will give when he has put his choir in order: you know I +used to play that instrument in my young days. A more innocent wish +never entered into the heart of a human being, you will say, yet +this letter causes me many qualms, for I cannot help thinking that I +have been untruthful; I have--lied is, perhaps, too strong a word-- +but I have certainly equivocated to the Prioress, and deceived her, +I think, though it is possible, wishing to be deceived, she lent +herself to the deception. Now I am preferring an accusation against +the dear Prioress! My goodness, Monsignor, what a strange and +difficult thing life is, and how impossible to tell the exact truth! +If one tries to be exact one ends by entangling the thread, and +getting it into very ugly knots indeed. In trying to tell the truth, +I have been guilty of a calumny against the Prioress, nothing short +of that, Monsignor, nothing short of that--against the dear +Prioress, who deserves better of me, for her kindness towards me +since I have been to the convent has never ceased for a single +instant! + +"One of her many kindnesses is the subject of this letter. When I +arrived here the nuns were not decided, and I was not decided, +whether I should live in the convent as I did before, as a guest, or +whether, in view of the length of my probable residence in the +convent, I should be given the postulant's cap and gown. Mother Mary +Hilda thought it would be dangerous to open the doors of the +novitiate to one who admitted she was entering the religious life +only as an experiment, especially to one like myself, an opera +singer, who, however zealously she might conform to the rule, would +bring a certain atmosphere with her into the novitiate, one which +could not fail to affect a number of young and innocent girls, and +perhaps deleteriously. I think I agree with Mother Mary Hilda. All +this I heard afterwards from Mother Philippa, who, in her homely way, +let out the secret of these secret deliberations to me--how the +Prioress, who desired the investiture, said that every postulant +entered the novitiate as an experiment. 'But believing,' Mother Mary +Hilda interrupted, 'that the experiment will succeed, whereas, in +her case, the postulant does not believe at all.' + +"As it was impossible for the Mothers to decide I was sent for, and +asked whether I thought the experiment would succeed or fail.' But +what experiment?--I had to ask. And the Prioress and Mother Hilda +were not agreed, their points of view were not the same; mine was, +again, a different point of view, mine being, as you know, a +determination to conquer a certain thing in my nature which had +nearly brought about my ruin, and which, if left unchecked, would +bring it about. Room for doubt there was none, and, after such an +escape as mine, one does not hesitate about having recourse to +strong remedies. My remedy was the convent, and, my resolve being to +stay in the convent till I had conquered myself, it did not at the +time seem to me a falsehood to say that I put myself in the hands of +God, and hoped the experiment would succeed. Mother Mary Hilda, who +is very persistent, asked me what I meant by conquering myself, and I +answered, a subjugation of that part of me which was repellent to +God. At these words the Prioress's face lit up, and she said, 'Well, +Mother Hilda, I suppose you are satisfied?' Mother Hilda did not +answer, but I could see that she was not satisfied; and I am not +satisfied either, for I feel that I am deceiving the nuns. + +"But, Monsignor, if a different answer had been given, if I had said +that I looked upon the convent as a refuge where a difficult time +might be passed, two or three months, it does not seem to me that I +would have answered the nuns more truthfully. The Prioress seems to +think with me in this, going so far as to suggest that there are +occasions when we do well not to try to say everything, for the very +simple reason that we do not know everything--even about ourselves; +and she seemed glad that I had not said more, and took me there and +then to her room, and, in the presence of Mother Philippa and Mother +Mary Hilda, said, 'Now, we must hide all this fair hair under a +little cap.' I knelt in front of the Prioress, and she put a white +cap on my head, and pinned a black veil over it; and when she had +done this she drew me to her and kissed me, saying, 'Now you look +like my own child, with all your worldly vanities hidden away. I +believe Monsignor Mostyn would hardly know his penitent in her new +dress.' + +"I think I can see you smile as you read this, and I think I can hear +you thinking, 'Once an actress always an actress.' But there is not +sufficient truth in this criticism to justify it, and if such a +thought does cross your mind, I feel you will suppress it quickly in +justice to me, knowing, as you must know, that a badge gives courage +to the wearer, putting a conviction into the heart that one is not +alone, but a soldier in a great army walking in step towards a +definite end. This sounds somewhat grandiloquent, but it seems to me +somewhat like the truth. Trying to get into step is interesting and +instructive, and the novitiate, though hardly bearable at times, is +better than sitting in the lonely guest-room. Mother Hilda's +instruction in the novitiate seems childish, yet why is it more +childish than a hundred other things? Only because one is not +accustomed to look at life from the point of view of the convent. As +a guest, I felt it to be impossible to remain in the convent for +three months, and it pleased me, I admit it, and interested me, I +admit it, to try to become part of this conventual life, so +different, so strangely different, from the life of the world, so +remote from common sympathies. In speaking of this life, one hardly +knows what words to employ, so inadequate are words to express one's +meaning, or shall I say one's feeling? 'Actress again,' I hear your +thoughts, Monsignor; 'a woman desirous of a new experience, of new +sensations.' No, no, Monsignor, no; but I confess that the pure +atmosphere of the convent is easier and more agreeable to breathe +than the atmosphere of the world and its delight. To her whose quest +is chastity, it is infinitely agreeable to feel that she is living +among chaste women, the chastity of the nuns seems to penetrate and +enfold me. To the hunted animal a sense of safety is perhaps a +greater pleasure than any other, and one is never really unhappy, +however uncomfortable one's circumstances may be, if one is doing +what one wants to do.... But I am becoming sententious." + +In another letter to Monsignor she said: + +"This morning I received a long and delightful letter from my father +telling me about the progress he is making, or I should say the +progress that the choir is making under his direction, and how +convinced he found everybody of the necessity of a musical +reformation of some kind, and how gratifying it was to find them +ready to accept his reading of the old music as the one they had been +waiting for all this time. But, Monsignor, does my father exaggerate? +For all this sounds too delightful to be true. Is it possible that +his ideas meet with no opposition? Or is it that an opposition is +preparing behind an ambuscade of goodwill? Father is such an +optimist that any enthusiasm for his ideas convinces him that +stupidity has ended in the world at last. But you will not be duped, +Monsignor, for Rome is your native city, and his appointment of +_capelmeister_ is owing to you, and the kindly reception of my +father's ideas--if they have been received as he thinks--is also +owing to you. You will not be deceived, as he would easily be, by +specious appearance, and will support him in the struggle that may +be preparing under cover. I know you will. "His letter is entirely +concerned with music; he does not tell me about his daily life, and, +knowing how neglectful he is of material things, thinking only of +his ideas, I am not a little anxious about him: how he is lodged, and +if there is anybody by him who will see that he has regular meals. +He will neglect his meals if he is allowed to neglect them, so, in +the interests of the musical reformation, somebody should be charged +to look after him, and he should not be allowed to overwork himself; +but it will be difficult to prevent this. The most we can hope for +is that he shall get his meals regularly, and that the food be of +good quality and properly cooked. The food here is not very good, nor +very plentiful; to feel always a little hungry is certainly trying, +and the doctor has spoken to the Prioress on the subject, insisting +that nourishing food is necessary to those suffering from nervous +breakdown, and healthy exercise; of healthy exercise there is +plenty, for the nuns dig their own garden; so I am a reformer in a +small way, and I can assure you my reformation is appreciated by the +nuns, who thank me for it; my singing at Benediction is better +appreciated on a full than on an empty stomach, especially when it +is the song that fills the stomach. And it is my singing that +enables Mother Philippa, who looks after the catering, to spend more +money at the baker's and the butcher's. There has been an +improvement, too, in the cooking; a better watch is kept in the +kitchen, and not only my health but the health of the entire +community is improved. + +"We are a little more joyous now than we were, and every day I seem +to be better able to appreciate the happiness of living among people +who share one's ideas. One cannot love those whose ideas are +different, at least I cannot; a mental atmosphere suitable to our +minds is as necessary as fresh air is to our lungs. And I feel it a +great privilege to be allowed to live among chaste women, no longer +to feel sure of my own unworthiness, no longer; it is terrible to +live always at war with oneself. The eyes of the nuns and their +voices exhale an atmosphere in which it seems to me my soul can +rise, and very often as I walk in the garden with them I feel as if +I were walking upon air. Owen Asher used to think that intellectual +conversation kindled the soul; so it does in a way; and great works +of art enkindle the soul and exalt it; but there is another +exaltation of soul which is not discoverable in the intellect, and I +am not sure that it is not the greater: the exaltation of which I +speak is found in obedience, in submission, yes, and in ignorance, +in trying--I will not say to lower oneself--but in trying to bring +oneself within the range of the humble intelligence and to +understand it. And there is plenty of opportunity for this in the +convent. To explain what I mean, and perhaps to pass away the tedium +of an afternoon which seems long drawn out, I will put down here for +you, Monsignor, the conversation, as much as I can remember of it, +which introduced me to the inhabitants of the novitiate. + +"When Mother Hilda recited the Litany of Our Lady, and we had risen +to our feet, she said: + +"'Now, Evelyn, you must be introduced to your sisters--Sister Barbara +I think you have met, as she sings in the choir. This is Sister +Angela; this tall maypole is Sister Winifred, and this little being +here is Sister Jerome, who was the youngest till you came. Aren't +you pleased, Jerome, to have one younger than yourself?' The novices +said, 'How do you do?' and looked shy and awkward for a minute, and +then they forgot me in their anxiety to know whether recreation was +to be spent indoors or out. + +"'Mother, we may go out, mayn't we? Oh, thank you so much, it is such +a lovely evening. We need not wear cloaks, need we? Oh, that is all +right, just our garden shoes.' And there was a general scurry to the +cells for shoes, whilst Mother Hilda and I made our way downstairs, +and by another door, into the still summer evening. + +"'How lovely it is!' I said, feeling that if Mother Hilda and I could +have spent the recreation hour together my first convent evening +would have been happy. But the chattering novices soon caught us up, +and when we were sitting all a-row on a bench, or grouped on a +variety of little wooden stools, they asked me questions as to my +sensations in the refectory, and I could not help feeling a little +jarred by their familiarity. + +"'Were you not frightened when you felt yourself at the head of the +procession? I was,' said Winifred. + +"'But you didn't get through nearly so well as Sister Evelyn; you +turned the wrong way at the end of the passage and Mother had to go +after you,' said Sister Angela. 'We all thought you were going to +run away.' And they went into the details as to how they had felt on +their arrival, and various little incidents were recalled, +illustrating the experience of previous postulants, and these were +productive of much hilarity. + +"'What did you all think of the cake?' said Sister Barbara suddenly. + +"'Was it Angela's cake?' asked Mother Hilda. 'Angela, I really must +congratulate you; you will be quite a distinguished _chef_ in time.' + +"Sister Angela blushed with delight, saying, 'Yes, I made it +yesterday, Mother; but, of course, Sister Rufina stood over me to +see that I didn't forget anything.' + +"'Ah, well, I don't think I cared very much for the flavouring,' said +Sister Barbara in pondering tones. + +"'You seemed to me to be enjoying it very much at the time,' I said, +joining the conversation for the first time; and when I added that +Sister Barbara had eaten four slices of bread and butter the laugh +turned against Barbara, and every one was hilarious. It is evident +that Sister Barbara's appetite is considered an excellent joke in +the novitiate. + +"Of course I marvelled that grown-up women should be so easily +amused, and then remembered a party at the Savoy Hotel (on leaving +it I went to the presbytery to confess to you, Monsignor). I had to +admit to myself that the talk at Louise Helbrun's party did not move +on a higher level; our conversation did not show us to be wiser than +the novices, and our behaviour was certainly less exemplary. +Everything is attitude of mind, and the convent attitude towards life +is curiously sympathetic to me... at present. My doubts lest it +should not always be so is caused by the fury of my dislike to my +former attitude of mind; something tells me that such fury as mine +cannot be maintained, and will be followed by a certain reaction. I +don't mean that I shall ever again return to a life of sin, that +life is done with for ever. Even if I should fall again--the thought +is most painful to me--but even if that should happen it would be a +passing accident, I never could again continue in sin, for the memory +of the suffering sin has caused me would be sure to bring me back +again and force me to take shelter and to repent. + +"I know too much belief in one's own power of resistance is not a +good thing, but I can hardly bear to think of the suffering I +endured during those weeks with Ulick Dean, walking in Hyde Park, +round that Long Water, talking of sin and its pleasures, feeling +every day that I was being drawn a little nearer to the precipice, +that I was losing every day some power of resistance. It is +terrifying to lose sense of the reality of things, to lose one's own +will, to feel that one is merely a stone that has been set rolling. +To feel like this is to experience the obtuse and intense sensations +of nightmare, and this I know well. Have I not told you, Monsignor, +of the dreams from which I suffered, which brought me to you, and +which forced me to confession, those terrific dreams which used to +drive me dazed from my bed, flying through the door of my room into +the passage to wake up before the window, saying to myself: + +"'Oh, my God! it is a dream, it is a dream, thank God, it is only a +dream!' + +"But I must not allow myself to dwell on that time, to do so throws +me back again, and I have almost escaped those fits of brooding in +which I see my soul lost for ever. Sooner than go back to that time +I would become a nun, and remain here until the end of my life, +eating the poorest food, feeling hungry all day; anything were +better than to go back to that time!" + +In another letter she said: + +"I am afraid I shall always continue to be looked upon as an actress +by the Prioress, and St. Teresa's ecstasies and ravishments, with +added miracles and prophecies, would not avail to blot out the +motley which continues in her eyes, though it dropped from me three +years ago. + +"'My dear Evelyn, you have hardly any perception of what our life +is,' she said to me yesterday. 'You know it only from the outside, +you are still an actress, you are acting on a different stage, that +is all.' And it seemed to me that the Prioress thought she was +speaking very wisely, that she flattered herself on her wisdom, and +rejoiced not a little in my discomfiture, visible on my face, for +one cannot control the change of expression, 'which gives one away,' +as the phrase goes. She laughed, and we walked on together, I +genuinely perplexed and pathetically anxious to discover if she had +spoken the truth, fearing lest I might be adapting myself to a new +part, not quite sure, hoping, however, that something new had come +into my life. On such occasions one peers into one's heart, but +however closely I peer it is impossible for me to say that the +Prioress is right or that she was wrong. Everybody will say she is +right, of course, for it is so obvious that a prima donna who +retires to a convent must think of the parts she has played, of her +music, and the applause at the end of every evening, applause +without which she could not live. To say that no thought of my stage +life ever crosses my mind would be to tell a lie that no one would +believe; all thoughts cross one's mind, especially in a convent of a +contemplative Order where the centre of one's life is, as Mother Mary +Hilda would say, the perpetual adoration of the Blessed Sacrament +exposed upon the altar; where, as she teaches, next to receiving +Holy Communion, this hour of prayer and meditation in the presence +of our Lord is the central feature of our spiritual life, the axis +on which our spiritual progress revolves. + +"This was the subject of yesterday's lesson; nevertheless, during the +meditation thoughts came and went, and I found much difficulty in +trying to fix my mind. Perhaps I shall never learn how to meditate +on--shall I say the Cross?--I shall never be able to fix my +attention. Thoughts of the heroes and heroines of legends come and +go in my mind, mixing with thoughts of Christ and His apostles; yet +there is little of me in these flitting remembrances. My stage life +does not interest me any longer, but the Prioress does not see it as +I do, far away, a tiny speck. My art was once very real to me, and I +am surprised, and a little disappointed sometimes, that it should +seem so little now. But what I would not have, if I could change it, +is the persistency with which I remember my lovers; not that I +desire them, oh, no; but in the midst of a meditation on the Cross a +remembrance catches one about the heart, and, closing the eyes, one +tries to forget; and, Monsignor, what is worse than memory is our +powerlessness to regret our sins. We may not wish to sin again, but +we cannot regret that we have sinned. How is one to regret that one +is oneself? For one's past is as much oneself as one's present. Has +any saint attained to such a degree of perfection as to wish his +past had never existed? + +"Another part of my life which I remember very well--much better than +my stage life--is the time I spent working among the poor under your +direction. My poor people are very vivid in my memory; I remember +their kindness to each other, their simplicities, and their +patience. The patience of the poor is divine! But the poor people +who looked to me for help had to be put aside, and that was the +hardest part of my regeneration. Of course I know that I should have +perished utterly if I had not put them aside, but even the thought +of my great escape does not altogether satisfy me, and I would that +I might have escaped without leaving them, the four poor women whom +I took under my special protection, and who came to see me the day +before I came to the convent to ask me not to leave them. Four poor +women, poor beyond poverty, came to ask me not to go into the +convent. 'The convent will be always able to get on without you, +miss.' Such poverty as theirs is silent, they only asked me not to +leave them, not to go to the convent. Among them was poor Lena, a +hunchback seamstress, who has never been able to do more than keep +herself from starving. It is hard that cripples should have to +support themselves. She has, I think, always lived in fear lest she +should not be able to pay for her room at the end of the week, and +her food was never certain. How little it was, yet to get it caused +her hours and hours of weary labour. Three and sixpence a week was +all she could earn. Poor Lena, what has become of her? So little of +the money which my singing brings to the convent would secure her +against starvation, yet I cannot send her a penny. Doesn't it seem +hard, Monsignor? And if she were to die in my absence would not the +memory of my desertion haunt me for ever? Should I be able to forgive +myself? You will answer that to save one's soul is everybody's first +concern, but to sacrifice one's own soul for the poor may not be +theological, but it would be sublime. You who are so kind, +Monsignor, will not reprove me for writing in this strain, writing +heresy to you from a convent devoted to the Perpetual Adoration of +the Sacrament, but you will understand, and will write something +that will hearten me, for I am a little disheartened to-day. You will +write, perhaps, to the Reverend Mother, asking her if I may send Lena +some money; that would be a great boon if she would allow it. In my +anxiety to escape from the consequences of my own sins I had almost +forgotten this poor girl, but yesterday she came into my mind. It +was the lay sisters who reminded me of the poor people I left; the +lay sisters are what is most beautiful in the convent. + +"Yesterday, when the grass was soaked with dew and the crisp leaves +hung in a death-like silence, one of them, Sister Bridget, came down +the path carrying a pail of water, 'going,' she said, answering me, +'to scrub the tiles which covered the late Reverend Mother's grave. +Ah, well, Mother's room must have its weekly turn out.' How +beautiful is the use of the word 'room' in the phrase, and when I +pointed out to her that the tiles were still clean her answer was +that she regarded the task of attending the grave not as a duty but +as a privilege. Dear Sister Bridget, withered and ruddy like an +apple, has worked in the community for nearly thirty years. She has +been through all the early years of struggle: a struggle which has +begun again--a struggle the details of which were not even told her, +and which she has no curiosity to hear. She is content to work on to +the end, believing that it was God's will for her to do so. The lay +sisters can aspire to none of the convent offices; they have none of +the smaller distractions of receiving guests, and instructing +converts and so forth, and not to have as much time for prayer as +they desire is their penance. They are humble folk, who strive in a +humble way to separate themselves from the animal, and they see +heaven from the wash-tub plainly. In the eyes of the world they are +ignorant and simple hearts. They are ignorant, but of what are they +ignorant? Only of the passing show, which every moment crumbles and +perishes. I see them as I write--their ready smiles and their +touching humility. They are humble workers in a humble vineyard, and +they are content that it should be so." + + + +XVIII + +"You see, Evelyn," the Prioress said, "it is contrary to the whole +spirit of the religious life to treat the lay sisters as servants, +and though I am sure you don't intend any unkindness, they have +complained to me once or twice that you order them about." + +"But, my dear Mother, it seems to me that we are all inferior to the +lay sisters. To slight them--" "I am sure you did not do so +intentionally." + +"I said, 'Do hurry up,' but I only meant I was in a hurry. I don't +think anything you could have said could have pained me more than +that you should think I lacked respect for the lay sisters." + +Seeing that Evelyn was hurt the Prioress said: + +"The sisters have no doubt forgotten all about it by now." + +But Evelyn wanted to know which of the sisters had complained, so +that she might beg her pardon. + +"She doesn't want you to beg her pardon." + +"I beg you to allow me, it will be better that I should. The benefit +will be mine." + +The Prioress shook her head, and listened willingly to Evelyn, who +told her of her letter to Monsignor. "Now, wasn't it extraordinary, +Mother, that I should have written like that about Sister Bridget, +and to-day you should tell me that the lay sisters complained about +me? If the complaint had been that I was inclined to put the active +above the contemplative orders and was dissatisfied with our life +here--" + +"Dissatisfied!" the Prioress said. + +"Only this, Mother: I have been reading the story of the Order of the +Little Sisters of the Poor, and it seems to me so wonderful that +everything else, for the moment, seems insignificant." + +The Reverend Mother smiled. + +"Your enthusiasms, my dear Evelyn, are delightful. The last book you +read, the last person you meet--" + +"Do you think I am so frivolous, so changeable as that, dear Mother?" + +"Not changeable, Evelyn, but spontaneous." + +"It would seem to me that everything in me is of slow growth--but why +talk of me when there is Jeanne to talk about; marvellous, +extraordinary, unique--" Evelyn was nearly saying "divine Jeanne," +but she stopped herself in time and substituted the word "saintly." +"No one seems to me more real than this woman, no one in literature; +not Hamlet, nor Don Quixote, not Dante himself starts out into +clearer outline than this poor servant-girl--a goatherd in her +childhood." And to the Prioress, who did not know the story of this +poor woman, Evelyn told it, laying stress--as she naturally would-- +on Jeanne's refusal to marry a young sailor, whom she had been +willing to marry at first, but whom she refused to marry on his +returning after a long voyage. When he asked her for whom she had +refused him, she answered for nobody, only she did not wish to marry, +though she knew of no reason why she should not. It was not caprice +but an instinct which caused Jeanne to leave her sweetheart, and to +go on working in humble service attending on a priest until he died, +then going to live with his sister, remaining with her until she +died, and saving during all these long twenty years only +four-and-twenty pounds--all the money she had when she returned to the +little seaport town whence she had come: a little seaport town where +the aged poor starved in the streets, or in garrets in filth and +vermin, without hope of relief from any one. + +It was to this cruel little village, of which there are many along +the French coast, and along every coast in the world, that Jeanne +returned to rent a garret with an old and bedridden woman, unable to +help herself. Without the poor to help the poor the poor would not +be able to live, and this old woman lived by the work of Jeanne's +hands for many a year, Jeanne going every morning to the +market-place to find some humble employment, finding it sometimes, +returning at other times desperate, but concealing her despair from +her bedridden companion, telling her as gaily as might be that they +would have to do without any dinner that day. So did they live until +two little seamstresses--women inspired by the same pity for the +poor as Jeanne herself--heard of her, and asked the _curé_, in whom +this cruel little village had inspired an equal pity, to send for +Jeanne. She was asked to give her help to those in greater need than +she--the blind beggars and such like who prowled about the walls of +the churches. + +On leaving the priest it is related that she said: "I don't +understand, but I never heard any one speak so beautifully." But +next day when she went to see the priest she understood everything, +sufficient at all events for the day which was to take to her garret +a blind woman whom the seamstresses had discovered in the last +stages of neglect and age. There was the bedridden woman whom Jeanne +supported, and who feared to share Jeanne's charity with another, and +resented the intrusion; she had to be pacified and cajoled with some +little present of food, for the aged and hungry are like animals-- +food appeases them, silences many a growl; and the blind woman was +given a corner in the garret. "But how is she to be fed?" was the +question put to Jeanne next morning, and from that question the +whole Order of the Little Sisters of the Poor started. Jeanne, +inspired suddenly, said, "I will beg for them," and seizing a basket +she went out to beg for broken victuals. + +"There is a genius for many things besides the singing of operas, +painting pictures, and writing books," Evelyn said, "and Jeanne's +genius was for begging for her poor people. And there is nothing +more touching in the world's history than her journey in the +milk-cart to the regatta. You see, dear Mother, she was accustomed to +beg from door to door among squalid streets, stopping a passer-by, +stooping under low doorways, intruding everywhere, daring everything +among her own people, but frightened by the fashionable folk _en +grande toilette_ bent on amusement. It seems that her courage almost +failed her, but grasping the cross which hung round her neck, she +entered a crowd of pleasure-seekers, saying, 'Won't you give me +something for my poor people?' Now, Mother, isn't the story a +wonderful one? for there was genius in this woman, though it was only +for begging: a tall, thin, curious, fantastic figure, considered +simple by some, but gifted for her task which had been revealed to +her in middle age." + +"But why, Evelyn, does that seem to you so strange that her task +should have been revealed to her in middle age?" + +Evelyn looked at the Reverend Mother for a while unable to answer, +then went on suddenly with her tale, telling how that day, at that +very regatta, a man had slapped Jeanne in the face, and she had +answered, "You are perfectly right, a box on the ears is just what +is suited to me; but now tell me what you are going to give me for +my poor people." At another part of the ground somebody had begun to +tease her--some young man, no doubt, in a long fashionable grey +frock-coat with race-glasses hung round his neck, had ventured to +tease this noble woman, to twit her, to jeer and jibe at her +uncouthness, for she was uncouth, and she stood bearing with these +jeers until they apologised to her. "Never mind the apology," she +had answered; "you have had your fun out of me, now give me +something for my poor people." They gave her five francs, and she +said, "At that price you may tease me as much as you please." + +Evelyn asked if it were not extraordinary how an ignorant and uncouth +woman, a goatherd during her childhood, a priest's servant till she +was well on in middle age, should have been able to invent a system +of charity which had penetrated all over Europe. Every moment Evelyn +expected the Prioress to check her, for she was conscious that she +was placing the active orders above the contemplative, Jeanne above +St. Teresa, and, determined to see how far she could go in this +direction without being reproved, she began to speak of how Jeanne, +after having made the beds and cleaned the garret in the morning, +took down a big basket and stood receiving patiently the +remonstrances addressed to her, the blind woman saying, "I am +certain and sure you will forget to ask for the halfpenny a week +which I used to get from the grocery store, you very nearly forgot it +last week, and had to go back for it." "But I'll not make a mistake +this time," Jeanne would answer. Her bed-ridden friend would reprove +her, "But you did forget to ask for my soup." To bear patiently with +all such unjust remonstrances was part of Jeanne's genius, and +Evelyn asked the Reverend Mother if it were not strange that a woman +like Jeanne had never inspired some great literary work. + +"I spoke just now of Hamlet, Don Quixote, but Falstaff himself is not +more real than Jeanne, and her words are always so wonderful, +wonderful as Joan of Arc's. When the old woman used to hide their +food under the bed-clothes and sell it for food for the pigs, +leaving the Little Sisters almost starving, Jeanne used to say, +'So-and-so has not been as nice as usual this afternoon.' How is it, +Mother, that no great writer has ever given us a portrait of Jeanne?" + +"Well, Jeanne, my dear Evelyn, has given us her own portrait. What +can a writer add to what Nature has given? No one has ever yet given +a portrait of a great saint, of St. Teresa--what can any one tell us +that we do not already know?" + +"St. Teresa's life passed in thought, whereas Jeanne's passed in +action." + +"Don't be afraid, Evelyn," the Prioress said, "to say what you mean, +that perhaps the way of the Little Sisters of the Poor is a better +way than ours." + +"It seems so, Mother, doesn't it?" + +"It is permissible to have doubts on such a subject--which is the +better course, mercy or prayer? We have all had our doubts on this +subject, and it is the weakness of our intelligences that causes +these doubts to arise." + +"How is that, Mother?" + +"It is easy to realise the beauty of the relief of material +suffering. The flesh is always with us, and we realise so easily +that it suffers that there are times when relief of suffering seems +to us the only good. But in truth bread and prayer are as necessary +to man, one as the other. You have never heard the story of the +foundation of our Order? It will not appeal to the animal sympathies +as readily as the foundation of the Sisters of the Poor, but I don't +think it is less human." And the Reverend Mother told how in Lyons a +sudden craving for God had occurred in a time of extraordinary +prosperity. Three young women had suddenly wearied of the pleasure +that wealth brought them, and had without intercommunication decided +that the value of life was in foregoing it, that is to say, +foregoing what they had always been taught to consider as life; and +this story reaching as it did to the core of Evelyn's own story, was +listened to by her with great interest, and she heard in the quiet +of the Reverend Mother's large room, in which the silence when the +canaries were not shrilling was intense, how a sign had been +vouchsafed to these three young women, daughters of two bankers and +a silk merchant, and how all three had accepted the signs vouchsafed +to them and become nuns. + +"I am not depreciating the active Orders when I say they are more +easily understood by the average man than--shall I say the Carmelite +or any contemplative Order, our own for example. To relieve +suffering makes a ready appeal to his sympathies, but he is +incapable of realising what the world would be were it not for our +prayers. It would be a desert. In truth the active and the +contemplative Orders are identical, when we look below the surface." + +"How are they identical, Mother?" + +"In this way: the object of the active Orders is to relieve +suffering, but the good they do is not a direct good. There will +always be suffering in the world, the little they relieve is only +like a drop taken out of the ocean. It might even be argued that if +you eliminate on one side the growth is greater on the other; by +preserving the lives of old people one makes the struggle harder for +others. There is as much suffering in the world now as there was +before the Little Sisters began their work--that is what I mean." + +"Then, dear Mother, the Order does not fulfil its purpose." + +"On the contrary, Evelyn, it fulfils its purpose, but its purpose is +not what the world thinks it is; it is by the noble example they set +that the Little Sisters of the Poor achieve their purpose. It is by +forsaking the world that they achieve their purpose, by their +manifestation that the things of this world are not worth +considering. The Little Sisters pray in outward acts, whereas the +contemplative Orders pray only in thought. The purpose, as I have +said, is identical; the creation of an atmosphere of goodness, +without which the world could not exist. There are two atmospheres, +the atmosphere of good and the atmosphere of evil, and both are +created by thought, whether thought in the concrete form of an act +or thought in its purest form--an aspiration. Therefore all those +who devote themselves to prayer, whether their prayers take the form +of good works or whether their prayer passes in thought, collaborate +in the production of a moral atmosphere, and it is the moral +atmosphere which enables man to continue his earthly life. Yourself +is an instance of what I mean. You were inspired to leave the stage, +but whence did that inspiration come? Are you sure that our prayers +had nothing to do with it? And the acts of the Little Sisters of the +Poor all over the world--are you sure they did not influence you?" + +Evelyn thought of Owen's letter, the last he had written to her, for +in it he reminded her that she had nearly yielded to him. But was it +she who had resisted? She attributed her escape rather to a sudden +realisation on his part that she would be unhappy if he persisted. +Now, what was the cause of this sudden realisation, this sudden +scruple? For one seemed to have come into Owen's mind. How wonderful +it would be if it could be attributed to the prayers of the nuns, +for they had promised to pray for her, and, as the Prioress said, +everything in the world is thought: all begins in thought, all +returns to thought, the world is but our thought. + +While she pondered, unable to believe that the nuns' prayers had +saved her, unwilling to discard the idea, the Prioress told of the +three nuns who came to England about thirty years ago to make the +English foundation. But of this part of the story Evelyn lost a +great deal; her interest was not caught again until the Prioress +began to tell how a young girl in society, rich and beautiful, whose +hand was sought by many, came to the rescue of these three nuns with +all her fortune and a determination to dedicate her life to God. Her +story did not altogether catch Evelyn's sympathies, and the Prioress +agreed with Evelyn that her conduct in leaving her aged parents was +open to criticism. We owe something to others, and it appears that +an idea had come into her mind when she was twelve years old that +she would like to be a nun, and though she appeared to like +admiration and to encourage one young man, yet she never really +swerved from her idea, she always told him she would enter a +convent. + +Evelyn did not answer, for she was thinking of the strange threads +one finds in the weft of human life. Every one follows a thread, but +whither do the threads lead? Into what design? And while Evelyn was +thinking the Prioress told how the house in which they were now +living had been bought with five thousand out of the thirty thousand +pounds which this girl had brought to the convent. The late Prioress +was blamed for this outlay. Blame often falls on innocent shoulders, +for how could she have foreseen the increased taxation? how could she +have foreseen that no more rich postulants would come to the +convent, only penniless converts turned out by their relations, and +aged governesses? A great deal of the money had been lost in a +railway, and it was lost at a most unfortunate time, only a few days +before the lawyer had written to say that the Australian mine in +which most of their money was invested had become bankrupt. + +"There was nothing for us to do," the Prioress said, "but to mortgage +the property, and this mortgage is our real difficulty, and its +solution seems as far off as ever. There seems to be no solution. We +are paying penal interest on the money, and we have no security that +the mortgagee will not sell the property. He has been complaining +that he can do better with his money, though we are paying him five +and six per cent. + +"And if he were to sell the property, Mother, you would all have to +go back to your relations?" + +"All of us have not relations, and few have relations who would take +us in. The lay sisters--what is to become of them?--some of them old +women who have given up their lives. Frankly, Evelyn, I am at my +wits' end." + +"But, Mother, have I not offered to lend you the money? It will be a +great pleasure to me to do it, and in some way I feel that I owe the +money." + +"Owe the money, Evelyn?" + +The women sat looking at each other, and at the end of a long silence +the Prioress said: + +"It is impossible for us to take your money, my child?" + +"But something must be done, Mother." + +"If you were staying with us a little longer--" + +"I have made no plans to leave you." And to turn the conversation +from herself Evelyn spoke of the crowds that came to Benediction. + +"To hear you, dear, and when you leave us our congregation will be +the same as it was before, a few pious old Catholic ladies living on +small incomes who can hardly afford to put a shilling into the +plate." Evelyn spoke of the improvement of the choir, and the +Prioress interrupted her, saying, "Don't think for a moment that any +reformation in the singing of the plain chant is likely to bring +people to our church; the Benedictine gradual _versus_ the Ratisbon." +And the Prioress shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. "What has +brought us a congregation is you, my dear--your voice and your story +which is being talked about. The story is going the rounds that you +are going to become a nun, and that interests everybody. An opera +singer entering a convent! Such a thing was never heard of before, +and they come to hear you." + +"But, Mother, I never said I was going to join the Order. I only came +here in the hope--" + +"And I accepted you as a postulant in the hope that you would +persevere. All this seems very selfish, Evelyn. It looks as if we +were only thinking! of your money; but you know it isn't so." + +"Indeed, I do, Mother. I know it isn't so." + +"When are you going to leave us?" + +"Well, nothing is decided. Every day I expect to hear from my father, +and if he wishes--" + +"But if he doesn't require you? By remaining with us you may find you +have a vocation. Other women have persevered and discovered in the +end--" The Prioress's face changed expression, and Evelyn began to +think that perhaps the Prioress had discovered a vocation in +herself, after long waiting, and though she had become Prioress +discovered too late that perhaps she had been mistaken. "You have no +intention of joining the Order?" + +"You mean to become a novice and then to become a nun and live here +with you?" + +"You need say no more." + +"But you don't think I have deceived you, Mother?" + +"No, I don't blame anybody, only a hope has gone. Besides, I at +least, Evelyn, shall be very sorry to part with you, sorry for many +reasons which I may not tell you... in the convent we don't talk of +our past life." And Evelyn wondered what the Prioress alluded to. +"Has she a past like mine? What is her story?" + +The canaries began singing, and they sang so loudly the women could +hardly hear themselves speak. Evelyn got up and waved her +handkerchief at the birds, silencing them. + + * * * * * + +Late that night a telegram came telling Evelyn that her father was +dangerously ill, and she was to start at once for Rome. + + + +XIX + +The wind had gathered the snow into the bushes and all the corners of +the common, and the whole earth seemed but a little brown patch, with +a dead grey sky sweeping by. For many weeks the sky had been grey, +and heavy clouds had passed slowly, like a funeral, above the low +horizon. The wind had torn the convent garden until nothing but a few +twigs remained; even the laurels seemed about to lose their leaves. +The nuns had retreated with blown skirts; Sister Mary John had had to +relinquish her digging, and her jackdaw had sought shelter in the +hen-house. + +One night, when the nuns assembled for evening prayer, the north wind +seemed to lift the roof as with hands; the windows were shaken; the +nuns divined the wrath of God in the wind, and Miss Dingle, who had +learned through pious incantation that the Evil One would attempt a +descent into the convent, ran to warn the porteress of the danger. At +that moment the wind was so loud that the portress listened, +perforce, to the imaginings of Miss Dingle's weak brain, thinking, in +spite of herself, that some communication had been vouchsafed to her. +"Who knows," her thoughts said, "who can say? The ways of Providence +are inscrutable." And she looked at the little daft woman as if she +were a messenger. + +As they stood calculating the strength of the lock and hinges the +door-bell suddenly began to jingle. + +"He wouldn't ring the bell; he would come down the chimney," said +Miss Dingle. + +"But who can it be?" said the portress, "and at this hour." + +"This will save you." Miss Dingle thrust a rosary into the nun's hand +and fled down the passage. "Be sure to throw it over his neck." + +The nun tried to collect her scattered thoughts and her courage. +Again the bell jingled; this time the peal seemed crazier than the +first, and, rousing herself into action, she asked through the +grating who it might be. + +"It is I, Sister Evelyn; open the door quickly, Sister Agnes." + +The nun held the door open, thanking God it was not the devil, and +Evelyn dragged her trunk through the door, letting it drop upon the +mat abruptly. + +"Tell dear Mother I want to speak to her--say that I must see her--be +sure to say that, and I will wait for her in the parlour." + +"There is no light there; I will fetch one." + +"Never mind, don't trouble; I don't want a light. But go to the +Reverend Mother and tell her I must see her before any one else." + +"Of course, Sister Evelyn, of course." And the portress hurried away, +feeling that things had happened in a life which was beyond her life, +beyond its scope. Perhaps Sister Evelyn had come to tell the Prioress +the Pope himself was dead, or had gone mad; something certainly had +happened into which it was no business of hers to inquire. And this +vague feeling sent her running down the passage and up the stairs, +and returning breathless to Evelyn, whom she found in a chair nearly +unconscious, for when she called to her Evelyn awoke as from sleep, +asking where she was. + +"Sister Evelyn, why do you ask? You are in Wimbledon Convent, with +Sister Agnes; what is the matter?" + +"Matter? Nothing and everything." She seemed to recover herself a +little. "I had forgotten, Sister Agnes, I had forgotten. But the +Prioress, where is she?" + +"In her room, and she will see you. But you asked me to go to the +Prioress saying she must see you--have you forgotten, Sister Evelyn? +You know the way to her room?" + +Evelyn did not answer; and feeling perhaps that she might lose her +way in the convent, Sister Agnes said she would conduct her to the +Prioress, and opened the door for her, saying, "Reverend Mother, +Sister Evelyn." + +There was a large fire burning in the room, and Evelyn was conscious +of the warmth, of bodily comfort, and was glad to sit down. + +"You are very cold, my child, you are very cold. Don't trouble to +speak, take your time and get warm first." And Evelyn sat looking +into the fire for a long time. At last she said: + +"It is warm here, Mother, I am so glad to be here. But perhaps you +will turn me away and won't have me. I know you won't, I know you +won't, so why did I come all this long way?" + +"My dear child, why shouldn't we be glad to have you back? We were +sorry to part with you." + +"That was different, that was different." + +These answers, and the manner in which they were spoken even more +than the answers themselves, frightened the Prioress; but unable to +think of what might have happened, she sat wondering, waiting for +Evelyn to reveal herself. The hour was late, and Evelyn showed no +signs of speaking. Perhaps it would be better to ring for one of the +lay sisters, and ask her to show Evelyn to her room. + +"You will stay here to-night?" + +"Yes, if you will allow me." + +"Allow you, my dear child! Why speak in this way?" + +"Oh, Mother, I am done for, I am done for!" + +"You haven't told me yet what has happened." + +Evelyn did not answer; she seemed to have forgotten everything, or to +be thinking of one thing, and unable to detach her thoughts from it +sufficiently to answer the Prioress's question. + +"Your father--" + +"My father is dead," she answered. And the Prioress, imagining her +father's death to be the cause of this mental breakdown, spoke of the +consolations of religion, which no doubt Mr. Innes had received, and +which would enable Mr. Innes's soul to appear before a merciful God +for judgment. + +"There is little in this life, my dear; we should not be sorry for +those who leave it--that is, if they leave it in a proper disposition +of soul." + +"My father died after having received the Sacraments of the Church. +Oh, his death!" And thinking it well to encourage her to speak, the +Prioress said: + +"Tell me, my dear, tell me; I can understand your grief and +sympathise with you; tell me everything." + +And like one awakening Evelyn told how for days he had fluctuated +between life and death, sometimes waking to consciousness, then +falling back into a trance. In spite of the hopes the doctors had +held out to him he had insisted he was dying. + +"'I am worn to a thread,' he said, 'I shall flicker like that candle +when it reaches the socket, and then I shall go out. But I am not +afraid of death: death is a great experience, and we are all better +for every experience. There is only one thing--' + +"He was thinking of his work, he was sorry he was called away before +his work was done; and then he seemed to forget it, to be absorbed in +things of greater importance." + +Sometimes the wind interrupted the Prioress's attention, and she +thought of the safety of her roofs; Evelyn noticed the wind, and her +notice of it served to accentuate her terror. "It is terror," the +Prioress said to herself, "rather than grief." + +"I waited by his bedside seeing the soul prepare for departure. The +soul begins to leave the body several days before it goes; it flies +round and round like a bird that is going to some distant country. I +must tell you all about it, Mother. He lay for hours and hours +looking into a corner of the room. I am sure he saw something there; +and one night I heard him call me. I went to him and asked him what +he wanted; but he lay quiet, looking into the corner of the room, and +then he said, 'The wall has been taken away,' I know he saw something +there. He saw something, he learnt something in that last moment that +we do not know. That last moment is the only real moment of our +lives, the only true moment--all the rest is falsehood, delirium, +froth. The rest of life is contradictions, distractions, and lies, +but in the moment before death I am sure everything becomes quite +clear to us. Then we learn what we are. We do not know ourselves +until then. If I ask who am I, what am I, there is no answer. We do +not believe in ourselves because we do not know who we are; we do not +know enough of ourselves to believe in anything. We do not believe; +we acquiesce that certain things are so because it is necessary to +acquiesce, but we do not believe in anything, not even that we are +going to die, for if we did we should live for death, and not for +life." + +"Your father's death has been a great grief to you; only time will +help you to recover yourself." + +"Recover myself? But I shall never recover, no, Mother, never, never, +never!" + +The Prioress asked when Mr. Innes had died. + +"I can't remember, Mother; some time ago." + +The Prioress asked if he were dead a week. + +"Oh, more than that, more than that." + +"And you have been in Rome ever since? Why did you not come here at +once?" + +"Why, indeed, did I not come here?" was all Evelyn could say. She +seemed to lose all recollection, or at all events she had no wish to +speak, and sat silent, brooding. "Of what is she thinking?" the +Prioress asked herself, "or is she thinking of anything? She seems +lost in a great terror, some sin committed. If she were to confess to +me. Perhaps confession would relieve her." And the Prioress tried to +lead Evelyn into some account of herself, but Evelyn could only say, +"I am done for, Mother, I am done for!" She repeated these words +without even asking the Prioress to say no more: it seemed to her +impossible to give utterance to the terror in her soul. What could +have happened to her?" + +"Did you meet, my child, either of the men whom you spoke to me of?" + +The question only provoked a more intense agony of grief. + +"Mother, Mother, Mother!" she cried, "I am done for! let me go, let +me leave you." + +"But, my child, you can't leave us to-night, it is too late. Why +should you leave us at all?" + +"Why did I ever leave you? But, Mother, don't let us talk any more +about it. I know myself; no one can tell me anything about myself; it +is all clear to me, all clear to me from the beginning; and now, and +now, and now--" + +"But, my child, all sins can be forgiven. Have you confessed?" + +"Yes, Mother, I confessed before I left Italy, and then came on here +feeling that I must see you; I only wanted to see you. Now I must +go." + +"No, my child, you mustn't go; we will talk of this to-morrow." + +"No, let us never talk of it again, that I beseech you, Mother; +promise me that we shall never talk of it again." + +"As you like, as you like. Perhaps every one knows her own soul +best.... It is not for me to pry into yours. You have confessed, and +your grief is great." + +The Prioress went back to her chair, feeling relieved, thinking it +was well that Evelyn had confessed her sin to some Italian priest who +did not know her, for it would be inconvenient for Father Daly to +know Evelyn's story. Evelyn could be of great use to them; it were +well, indeed, that she had not even confessed to her. She must not +leave the convent; and arriving at that conclusion, suddenly she rang +the bell. Nothing was said till the lay sister knocked at the door. +"Will you see, Sister Agnes, that Sister Evelyn's bed is prepared for +her?" + +"In the guest-room or in the novitiate, Reverend Mother?" + +"In the novitiate," the Prioress answered. + +Evelyn had sunk again into a stupor, and, only half-conscious of what +was happening to her, she followed the lay sister out of the +Prioress's room. + +"It is very late," the Prioress said to herself, "all the lights in +the convent should be out; but the rule doesn't apply to me." And she +put more coal on the fire, feeling that she must give all her mind to +the solution of the question which had arisen--whether Evelyn was to +remain with them to-morrow. It had almost been decided, for had she +not told Sister Agnes to take Evelyn to the novitiate? But Evelyn +might herself wish to leave to-morrow, and if so what inducements, +what persuasion, what pressure should be used to keep her? And how +far would she be justified in exercising all her influence to keep +Evelyn? The Prioress was not quite sure. She sat thinking. Evelyn in +her present state of mind could not be thrown out of the convent. The +convent was necessary for her salvation in this world and in the +next. + +"She knows that, and I know it." + +The Prioress's thoughts drifted into recollections of long ago; and +when she awoke from her reverie it seemed that she must have been +dreaming a long while: "too long" she thought; "but I have not +thought of these things for many a year.... Evelyn has confessed, her +sins are behind her, and it would be so inconvenient--" The +Prioress's thoughts faded away; for even to herself she did not like +to admit that it would be inconvenient for Evelyn to confess to +Father Daly the sins she had committed--if she had committed any. +Perhaps it might be all an aberration, an illusion in the interval +between her father's death and her return to the convent. "Her sins +have been absolved, and for guidance she will not turn to Father Daly +but to me." The Reverend Mother reflected that a man would not be +able to help this woman with his advice. She thought of Evelyn's +terror, and how she had cried, "I am done for, I am done for!" She +remembered the tears upon Evelyn's cheeks and every attitude so +explicit of her grief. + +"A penitent if ever there was one, one whom we must help, whom we +must lead back to God. Evelyn must remain in the convent. To-morrow +we must seek to persuade her. But it will not be difficult." Then, +listening to the wind, the Prioress remembered that the convent roof +required re-slating. "Who knows? Perhaps what happened may have been +divinely ordered to bring her back to us? Who knows? who knows?" She +thought of the many other things the convent required: the chapel +wanted re-decorating, and they had to spare every penny they could +from their food and clothing to buy candles for the altar; another +item of expense was the resident chaplain; and when in bed she lay +thinking that perhaps to-morrow she would find a way out of the +difficulty that had puzzled her so long. + + + +XX + +"Yes, dear Mother, if you are willing to keep me I shall be glad to +remain. It is good of you. How kind you all are!" + +Very little more than that she could be induced to say, relapsing, +after a few words, into a sort of stupor or dream, from which very +often it was impossible to rouse her; and the Prioress dreaded these +long silences, and often asked herself what they could mean, if the +cause were a fixed idea... on which she was brooding. Or it might be +that Evelyn's mind was fading, receding. If so, the responsibility of +keeping her in the convent was considerable. A little time would, +however, tell them. Any religious instruction was, of course, out of +the question, and books would be fatal to her. + +"Her mind requires rest," the Prioress said. "Even her music is a +mental excitement." + +"I don't think that," Sister Mary John answered. "And as for work, I +have been thinking I might teach her a little carpentry. If plain +carpentry does not interest her sufficiently, she might learn to work +at the lathe." + +"Your idea is a very good one, Sister Mary John. Go to her at once +and set her to work. It is terrible to think of her sitting brooding, +brooding." + +"But on what is she brooding, dear Mother?" + +"No doubt her father's death was a great shock." + +And Sister Mary John went in search of Evelyn, and found her +wandering in the garden. + +"Of what are you thinking, Sister?" As Evelyn did not answer, Sister +Mary John feared she resented the question. "You don't like me to +walk with you?" + +"Yes I do, I don't mind; but I wonder if the Prioress likes me to be +here. Can you find out for me?" + +"Why should you think we do not wish to have you here?" + +"Well, you see, Sister--oh, it is no use talking." Her thoughts +seemed to float away, and it might be five or ten minutes before she +would speak again. + +"I wish you would come to the woodshed, Sister. If not, I must leave +you." + +"Oh, I'll go to the woodshed with you." + +"And will you help me with my work?" + +"I help you with your work!" + +There was a long, narrow table in the woodshed--some planks laid upon +two tressels; and the walls were piled with all kinds of sawn wood, +deal planks, and rough timber, and a great deal of broken furniture +and heaps of shavings. The woodshed was so full of rubbish of all +kinds that there was only just room enough to walk up and down the +table. Sister Mary John was making at that time a frame for +cucumbers, and Evelyn watched her planing the deal boards, especially +interested when she pushed the plane down the edge of the board, and +a long, narrow shaving curled out of the plane, but asking no +questions. + +"Now, wouldn't you like to do some work on the other side of the +table, Sister?" + +Evelyn did not answer, and it was not that day nor the next, but at +the end of the week, that she was persuaded to take the pincers and +pull the nails out of an old board. + +"And when you have done that, I will show you how to plane it." + +She seemed to have very little strength--or was it will that she +lacked? The pincers often fell from her hands, and she would stand, +lost in reverie. + +"Now, Sister, you have only pulled two nails out of that board in the +last ten minutes; it is really very tiresome of you, and I am waiting +for it." + +"Do you really mean that you are waiting for this board? Do you want +it?" + +"But of course; I shouldn't have asked you to draw the nails out of +it if I didn't," And it was by such subterfuges that she induced +Evelyn to apply herself. "Now, you won't think of anything until you +have drawn out every nail, will you? Promise me." Sister Mary John +put the pincers into her hand, and when the board was free of nails, +it seemed that Evelyn had begun to take an interest in the fate of +the board which she had prepared. She came round the table to watch +Sister Mary John planing it, and was very sorry when the nun's plane +was gapped by a nail which had been forgotten. + +"This iron will have to go to the grinders." + +"I am so sorry, Sister. Will you forgive me?" + +"Yes, I'll forgive you; but you must try to pay attention." + +When the cucumber-frame was finished Sister Mary John was busy making +some kitchen chairs, and the cutting out of the chair-backs moved +Evelyn's curiosity. + +"Shall you really be able to make a chair that one can sit upon?" + +"I hope so." + +"Have you ever made one before?" + +"Well, no, this is my first chair, but I made several stools." + +The mystery of dovetailing was explained to Evelyn, and she learned +that glue was required. + +"Now you may, if you like, melt the glue for me." + +There was a stove in the adjoining shed, and Sister Mary John lighted +a fire and told Evelyn that she was to keep stirring the glue. "And +be sure not to let it burn." But when she came back twenty minutes +after, she found that Evelyn had wandered away from the stove to the +farther end of the shed to watch a large spider. + +"Oh, Sister, just look at the spider! There is a fly in the web; see +how he comes out to seize his prey!" + +"But, my goodness, Evelyn! what about my glue? There it is, all burnt +in the pot, and I shall have to take it to the kitchen and get hot +water and scrape it all out. It is really very tiresome of you." + +When she returned with the glue, Evelyn said: + +"You see, Sister, it is difficult to fix one's thoughts on a +glue-pot; the glue melts so slowly, and, watching the spider, I lost +count of the time. But I think I should like to saw something." + +"That's a very good idea." + +A saw was put into her hand, and half an hour after the sister came +to see how Evelyn had been getting on. "Why, you will be a first-rate +carpenter; you have sawn those boards capitally, wandering a little +from the line, it is true, but you will do better to-morrow." + +Whenever Sister Mary John heard the saw cease she cried out, "Now, +Sister Evelyn, what are you thinking about? You are neglecting your +work." And Evelyn would begin again, and continue until her arm +ached. + +"Here is Mother Abbess." + +"See, dear Mother, what Evelyn has been doing. She sawed this board +through all by herself, and you see she has sawn it quite straight, +and she has learned how to plane a board; and as for glueing, she +does it capitally!" + + + +XXI + +"What are you looking for, Sister Evelyn?" + +"Veronica asked me to go into the garden; I think it was to gather +some laurel-leaves, but I can't remember where they grow." + +"Never mind the leaves, I will gather them for you. Take my spade and +dig a little while. It is pleasanter being in the open air than in +that hot sacristy." + +"But I don't know how to dig. You'll only laugh at me." + +"No, no. See, here is a bed of spring onions, and it wants digging +out. You press the spade in as far as you can, pull down the handle, +and lift out the earth. I shall be some little while away, and I +expect you will have dug some yards. You can dig as far as this. Try, +Evelyn, make up your mind that you will; if you make up your mind, +you will succeed." + +Evelyn promised. + +"But you won't stay a long time, will you?" she called after the nun. +"Now I know why Sister Mary John wears men's boots." And she stooped +to pin up her skirt. + +All the while the sky was clearing, the wind drove the clouds +westward, breaking up the dark masses, scattering, winnowing, letting +the sun through. Delicious was the glow, though it lasted but for a +few minutes--perhaps more delicious because it was so transitory. +Another patch of wind-driven clouds came up, and the world became +cold and grey again. A moment afterwards the clouds passed, the sun +shone out, and the delicious warmth filled mind and body with a +delight that no artificial warmth could; and, to enjoy the glowing of +the sun, Evelyn left her digging, and wandered away through the +garden, stopping now and then to notice the progress of the spring. A +late frost had cut the blossoms of the pear and the cherry; the +half-blown blossom dropped at the touch of the finger, and Evelyn +regretted the frost, thinking of the nets she had made. + +"They'll be of very little use this year." And she wondered if the +currant and gooseberry-bushes had escaped; the apples had, for they +were later, unless there was another frost. "And then my nets will be +of no use at all; and, I have worked so hard at them!" + +The lilac-bushes were not yet in leaf--only some tiny green shoots. +"We shall not have any lilac this year till the middle of May. Was +there ever such a season?" Larks were everywhere, ascending in short +flights, trilling as they ascended; and Evelyn listened to their +singing, thinking it most curious--quaint cadenzas in which a note +was wanting, like in the bagpipes, a sort of aerial bagpipes. But on +a bare bough a thrush sang, breaking out presently into a little tune +of five notes. "Quite a little tune; one would think the bird had +been taught it." She waited for him to sing it again, but, as if not +wishing to waste his song, being a careful bird, he continued a sort +of recitative; then, thinking his listener had waited long enough for +his little aria, he broke out again. "There it is, five notes--a +distinct little tune." Why should he sing and no other thrush sing +it? There was a robin; but he sang the same little roundelay all the +year.... A little, pale-brown bird, fluttering among the bushes, +interested her; but it was some time before she could catch fair +sight of it. "A dear little wren!" she said. "It must have its nest +about here." She sought it, knowing its beautifully woven house, with +one hole, through which the bird passes to feed a numerous progeny, +and expected to find it amid the tangle of traveller's-joy which +covered an old wall. + +In the convent garden there was a beautiful ash-tree, under which +Evelyn had often sat with the nuns during recreation, but it showed +no signs of coming into leaf; and the poplars rose up against the +bright sky, like enormous brooms. The hawthorns had resisted the +frost better than the sycamores. One pitied the sycamore and the +chestnut-trees most of all; and, fearing they would bear no leaves +that year, Evelyn stood with a black and shrivelled leaf in her hand. +"Autumn, before the spring has begun," she said. "But here is Jack." +And she stooped to pick up the great yellow tom-cat, whom she +remembered as a kindly, affectionate animal; but now he ran away from +her, turning to snarl at her. "What can have happened to our dear +Jack?" she asked herself. And Miss Dingle, who had been watching her +from a little distance, cried out: + +"You'll not succeed in catching him; he has been very wicked lately, +and is quite changed. The devil must have got into him, in spite of +the blue ribbon I tied round his neck." + +"How are you, Miss Dingle?" + +Miss Dingle evinced a considerable shyness, and muttered under her +breath that she was very well. She hoped Evelyn was the same; and ran +away a little distance, then stopped and looked back, her curiosity +getting the better of her. "Ordinary conversation does not suit her," +Evelyn said to herself. And, when they were within speaking distance +again, Evelyn asked her what had become of the blue ribbon she had +tied round the cat's neck to save him from the devil. + +"He tore it off--I mean the devil took it off. I can't catch him. If +you'd try?--if you'd get between him and that bush. It is a pity to +see a good cat go to the devil because we can't get a bit of blue +ribbon on his neck." + +Evelyn stood between the cat and the bush, and creeping near, caught +him by the neck, and held him by the forepaws while Miss Dingle tried +to tie the ribbon round his neck; but Jack struggled, and raising one +of his hind paws obliged Evelyn to loose him. + +"There is no use trying; he won't let it be put on his neck." + +"But what will become of him? He will get more and more savage." Miss +Dingle ran after the cat, who put up his tail and trotted away, +eluding her. She came back, telling Evelyn that she might see the +devil if she wished. "That is to say, if you are not afraid. He's in +that corner, and I don't like to go there. I have hunted him out of +these bushes--you need not be afraid, my rosary has been over them +all." + +Evelyn could see that Miss Dingle wished her to exorcise the +dangerous corner, and she offered to do so. + +"You have two rosaries, you might lend me one." + +"No, I don't think I could. I want two, one for each hand, you +see.... I have not seen you in the garden this last day or two. +You've been away, haven't you?" + +"I've been in Rome." + +"In Rome! Then why don't you go and hunt him out... frighten him +away? You don't need a rosary if you have touched the precious +relics. You should be able to drive him out of the garden, and out of +the park too, though the park is a big place. But here comes Sister +Mary John. You will tell me another time if you've brought back +anything that the Pope has worn." + +Sister Mary John came striding over the broken earth, followed by her +jackdaw. The bird stopped to pick up a fat worm, and the nun sent +Miss Dingle away very summarily. + +"I can't have you here, Alice. Go to the summer-house and worry the +devil away with your holy pictures. I've no time for you, dear," she +said to the jackdaw, who had alighted on her shoulder; "and I have +been looking for you everywhere," she said, turning from her bird to +Evelyn. "You promised me--But I suppose digging tired you?" + +"No, it was not that, Sister, only the sun came out and the warmth +was so delicious; I am afraid I am easily beguiled." + +"We are all easily beguiled," Sister Mary John answered somewhat +sharply. "Now we must try to get on with our digging. You can help me +a little with it, can't you?" And looking up and down a plot about +ten yards long and twenty feet wide, protected by a yew-hedge, she +said, "This is the rhubarb-bed. And this piece," she said, walking to +another plot between the yew-hedge and the gooseberry bushes, "will +have to be dug up. We were short of vegetables last year." + +"You speak very lightly, Sister, of so much digging. Do you never get +tired?" So that she might not lose heart altogether, Sister Mary John +told her one of these beds had been dug up in autumn, and that no +more would be required than the hoeing out of the weeds. + +"Is hoeing lighter work than digging?" + +"You will find out soon." Evelyn set to work; but when she had +cleared a large piece of weeds she had to go over the ground again, +having missed a great many. "But you will soon get used to the work. +Now, there's the dinner bell. Are you so tired as all that?" + +"Well, you see, I have never done any digging before." + +After dinner Sister Mary John without further words told her she was +to go in front with the dibble and make holes for the potatoes, for +an absent-minded person could not be trusted with the seed potatoes-- +she would be sure to break the shoots. The next week they were +engaged in sowing French beans and scarlet runners, and Evelyn +thought it rather unreasonable of the sister to expect her to know by +instinct that French beans should not be set as closely together as +the scarlet runners, and she laughed outright when the sister said, +"But surely you know that broad beans must be trodden firmly into the +ground?" Sister Mary John noticed her laugh. "Work in the garden +suits her," she said to herself, "she is getting better; only we must +be careful against a relapse. Now, Evelyn, we must weed the flower +beds, or there will be no flowers for the Virgin in May." And they +weeded and weeded, day after day, filling in the gaps with plants +from the nursery. A few days later came the seed sowing, the +mignonette, sweet pea, stocks, larkspur, poppies, and nasturtiums-- +all of which should have been sown earlier, the nun said, only the +season was so late, and the vegetables had taken all their time. + +"They all like to see flowers on the altar, but not one of them will +tie up her habit and dig, and they are as ignorant as you are, dear." + +"Sister, that is unkind. I have learned as much as can be expected in +a month." + +"You aren't so careless as you were." The two women walked a little +way, and then they sat for a long time looking into the distant park, +enjoying the soft south wind blowing over it. Evelyn would have liked +to have sat there indefinitely, and far too soon did the nun remind +her that time was going by and they must return to their work. "We +have had some warm nights lately and the wallflowers are out; come +and look at them, dear." And forgetful of her, Sister Mary John rose +and went towards the flower garden. Evelyn was too tired to follow, +and she sat watching Sister Mary John, who seemed as much part of the +garden as the wind, or the rain, or the sun. + + + +XXII + +A cold shower struck the windows of the novitiate. + +"Was there ever such weather? Will it never cease raining and +blowing?" the novices cried, and they looked through the panes into +the windy garden. Next day the same dark clouds rolled overhead, with +gleams of sunshine now and then lighting up the garden and the +distant common, where sometimes a horseman was seen galloping at the +close of day, just as in a picture. + +"How wet he will be when he gets home!" a novice would sometimes say, +and the conversation was not continued. + +"I wonder if we shall ever have fine weather again?" broke in +another. + +"One of these days it will cease raining," Mother Hilda said, for she +was an optimist; and very soon she began to be looked upon as a +prophetess, for the weather mended imperceptibly, and one afternoon +the sky was in gala toilette, in veils and laces: a great lady +stepping into her carriage going to a ball could not be more +beautifully attired. An immense sky brushed over with faint wreathing +clouds with blue colour showing through, a blue brilliant as any +enamel worn by a great lady on her bosom; and the likeness of the +clouds to plumes passed through Evelyn's mind, and her eyes wandering +westward, noticed how the sky down there was a rich, almost +sulphurous, yellow; it set off the white and blue aerial +extravagances of the zenith. The garden was still wet and cold, but a +warm air was coming in, and the voices of the nuns and novices +sounded so innocent and free that Evelyn was moved by a sudden +sympathy to join them. + +Under yonder trees the three Mothers were walking, looking towards +Evelyn now and then; she was the subject of their conversation, the +Prioress maintaining it would be a great benefit to her to take the +veil. + +"But, dear Mother, do you think she will ever recover her health +sufficiently for her to decide, and for us to decide, whether she has +a vocation?" Mother Hilda asked. + +"It seems to me that Evelyn is recovering every day. Do you remember +at first whole days passed without her speaking? Now there are times +when she joins in the conversation." + +Mother Mary Hilda did not answer, and a little aggressive glance shot +out of the Prioress's eyes. + +"You don't like to have her in the novitiate. I remember when she +returned from Rome--" + +"It seems to me that it would be just as well for her to live in the +convent as an oblate, occupying the guest-room as before." + +"Now, why do you think that, Hilda? Let us have things precise." + +"Her life as an opera singer clings about her." + +"On the contrary, I cannot discover any trace of her past life in +her. In the chapel she seems very often overcome, and for piety seems +to set an example to us all." + +"You see, dear Mother, I am responsible for the religious education +of some half-dozen young and innocent girls, and, though I like +Evelyn herself very much, her influence--" + +"But what influence? She doesn't speak." + +"No matter; it is known to every one in the convent that she has once +been a singer, though they don't know, perhaps, she was on the stage; +and she creates an atmosphere which I assure you--" + +"Of course, Hilda, you can oppose me; you always oppose. Nothing is +easier than opposition. Your responsibilities, I would not attempt to +deny that they exist, but you seem to forget that I, too, have +responsibilities. The debts of the convent are very pressing. And +Mother Philippa, too, has responsibilities." + +"It would be a great advantage if Evelyn could discover she had a +vocation. Four or five, perhaps six hundred a year--she must have at +least that, for opera singers are very well paid, so I have always +heard--would--" + +"But, Mother Philippa, the whole question is whether Evelyn has a +vocation. We know what the advantages would be," said Mother Hilda in +a low, insinuating voice which always exasperated the Reverend +Mother. + +"I think it would be better to wait," Mother Philippa answered. "You +see, she is suffering from a great mental breakdown; I think she +should have her chance like another." And, turning to the Prioress, +she said, "Dear Mother, do you think when Evelyn recovers her health +sufficiently to arrive at a decision that she will stay with us?" + +"Not if a dead set is made against her, and if she is made to feel +she has no vocation, and that her influence is a pernicious one." + +"Dear Mother, I never said--" + +"Well, don't let us discuss the matter any more for the moment. Of +course, if you decide that Evelyn is not to remain in the novitiate--" + +"It is for you to decide the matter. You are Reverend Mother here, it +is for us to obey; only since you ask me--" + +"Ask you, Hilda? But you tell me nothing. You merely oppose. What is +your dislike to Evelyn?" + +"Dislike!" + +"I am sure there is no dislike on Mother Hilda's part," Mother +Philippa said; "I am quite sure of that, Reverend Mother. Evelyn's +health is certainly improving, and I hope she will soon be able to +sing for us again at Benediction. Haven't you noticed that our +congregation is beginning to fall away? And you won't deny that the +fact that an opera singer wishes to enter our convent gives a +distinction--" + +"It depends, Mother Philippa, in what sense you use the word +'distinction.' But I see you don't agree with me; you think with the +Prioress that Evelyn is--" + +"Don't let us argue this question any more. Hilda, go and tell Evelyn +I want her." + +"How Hilda does try to thwart me, to make things more difficult than +they are!" + +"Evelyn, my dear child, I have sent for you to ask if you feel well +enough to-day to sing for us at Benediction?" + +"Oh, yes, dear Mother, why shouldn't I sing for you? What would you +like me to sing?"' The Prioress hesitated, and then asked Evelyn to +suggest some pieces, and after several suggestions Evelyn said: + +"Perhaps it would be better if I were to call Sister Mary John, if +you will allow me, Mother." And she went away, calling to the other +nun, who came quickly from the kitchen garden in her big boots and +her habit tucked up nearly to her knees, looking very much more like +a labouring woman than a musician. + +"We were talking just now of what Evelyn would sing for us at +Benediction; perhaps you had better go away and discuss the matter +between you." + +"Will you sing Stradella's 'Chanson d'Eglise' or will you sing +Schubert's 'Ave Maria'? Nothing is more beautiful than that." + +"I will sing the 'Ave Maria.'" + +The nun sat down to play it, but she had not played many bars when +Evelyn interrupted her. "The intention of the single note, dear +Sister, the octave you are striking now, has always seemed to me like +a distant bell heard in the evening. Will you play it so." + + + +XXIII + +And the idea of a bell sounding across the evening landscape was in +the mind of the congregation when Sister Mary John played the octave; +and the broken chords she played with her right hand awoke a +sensation of lights dying behind distant hills. + +It is almost night, and amid a lonely landscape a harsh rock appears, +and by it a forlorn woman stands--a woman who is without friend or +any mortal hope--and she commends herself to the care of the Virgin. +She begins to sing softly, tremulous, like one in pain and doubt, +"Ave Maria, hearken to the Virgin's cry." The melody she sings is +rich, even ornate, but the richness of the phrase, with its two +little grace notes, does not mitigate the sorrow at the core; the +rich garb in which the idea is clothed does not rob the song of its +humanity. + +Evelyn's voice filled with the beauty of the melody, and she sang the +phrase which closes the stanza--a phrase which dances like a puff of +wind in an evening bough--so tenderly, so lovingly, that acute tears +trembled under the eyelids. And all her soul was in her voice when +she sang the phrase of passionate faith which the lonely, +disheartened woman sings, looking up from the desert rock. Then her +voice sank into the calm beauty of the "Ave Maria," now given with +confidence in the Virgin's intercession, and the broken chords passed +down the keyboard, uniting with the last note of the solemn octaves, +which had sounded through the song like bells heard across an evening +landscape. + +"How beautifully she sings it!" a man said out loud, and his +neighbour looked and wondered, for the man's eyes were full of tears. + +"You have a beautiful voice, child," said the Prioress when they came +out of church, "and it is a real pleasure to me to hear you sing, and +it will be a greater pleasure when I know that for the future your +great gift will be devoted to the service of God. Shall we go into +the garden for a little walk before supper? We shall have it to +ourselves, and the air will do you good." + +It was the month of June, and the convent garden was in all the +colour of its summer--crimson and pink; and all the scents of the +month, stocks and sweetbriar, were blown up from St. Peter's Walk. In +the long mixed borders the blue larkspurs stood erect between +Canterbury bells and the bush peonies, crimson and pink, and here and +there amid furred leaves, at the end of a long furred stalk, flared +the foolish poppy, roses like pale porcelain clustered along the low +terraced walk and up the house itself, over the stucco walls; but +more beautiful than the roses were the delicate petals of the +clematis, stretched out like fingers upon the walls. + +An old nun was being wheeled up and down the terrace in a bath-chair +by one of the lay sisters, that she might enjoy the sweet air. + +"I must say a word to Sister Lawrence," the Prioress said, "she will +never forgive me if I don't. She is the eldest member of our +community; if she lives another two years, she will complete half a +century of convent life." + +As they drew near Evelyn saw two black eyes in a white, almost +fleshless face. The eyes alone seemed to live, and the shrunken +figure, huddled in many shawls, gave an impression of patriarchal +age. Evelyn saw by her veil that Sister Lawrence was a lay sister, +and the old nun tried to draw herself up in her chair as they +approached, and kissed the hand of the Prioress. + +"Well, Sister, how are you feeling? I have brought you our new +musical postulant to look at. I want to know what you think of her. +You must know, Evelyn," said the Prioress, "that Sister Lawrence is a +great judge of people's vocations; I always consult her about my new +postulants." + +Sister Lawrence took Evelyn's hands between hers and gazed into her +face so earnestly that Evelyn feared her innermost thoughts were +being read. Then, with a little touch of wilfulness, that came oddly +from one so old and venerable, the Sister said: + +"Well, Reverend Mother, she is pretty anyhow, and it is a long time +since we had a pretty postulant." + +"Really, Sister Lawrence, I am ashamed of you," said the Prioress +with playful severity; "Sister Evelyn will be quite disedified." + +"Mother, if I like them to be pretty it is only because they have one +more gift to bring to the feet of our dear Lord. I see in Sister +Evelyn's face that she has a vocation. I believe she is the +providence that God has sent to help us through our difficulties." + +"We are all praying," said the Prioress, "that it may be so." + +"Well, Hilda, you'll agree with me now, I think, that we have every +reason to hope." + +"Hope for what, dear Mother?" + +"That we shall discover a vocation in Evelyn. You heard what Sister +Lawrence said, and she has had great experience." + +"It is possible to God, of course, that an opera singer may find a +vocation for the religious life, and live happily in a community of +nuns devoted to Perpetual Adoration." + +"But you don't believe God desires that such a thing should come to +pass?" + +"I shouldn't like to say that, it would be too presumptuous; but it +would be entirely out of the ordinary course." + +The Prioress began to wonder if Mother Hilda suspected that some +great sin committed while she was in Rome was the cause of Evelyn's +nervous breakdown; and the Mistress of the Novices, as she walked by +the side of the Prioress, began to wonder why the Prioress wished +that Evelyn should become a nun. It might be that the Prioress, who +was a widow, was interested in the miracle of the great shock which +had caused Evelyn to relinquish her career and to turn to the Church! +That might be her motive, she reflected. Those who have lived in the +world are attracted and are interested in each other, and are to some +extent alien to the real nun, to her who never doubts her vocation +from the first and resolves from the first to bring her virginity to +God--it being what is most pleasing to him. It might be that the +Prioress was influenced, unconsciously, of course, by some such +motive; yet it was strange that she should be able to close her eyes +to Evelyn's state of mind. The poor woman was still distracted and +perplexed by a great shock which had happened before she came to the +convent and which had been aggravated by another when she went to +Rome; she had returned to them as to a refuge from herself. Such +mental crises often happened to women of the world, to naturally +pious women; but natural piety did not in the least mean a vocation, +and Mother Hilda had to admit to herself that she could discover no +sign of a vocation in Evelyn. How were it possible to discover one? +She was not herself, and would not be for a long while, if she ever +recovered herself. Mother Prioress had chosen to admit her as a +postulant.... Even that concession Mother Hilda did not look upon +with favour. Why not go one step farther and make Miss Dingle a +postulant? It seemed to her that if Mother Prioress insisted that +Evelyn should take the white veil at present, a very serious step +would be taken. It was the Mistress of the Novices who would be +responsible for Evelyn's instruction, and Evelyn was hardly ever in +the novitiate; she was always singing, or working in the garden. + + + +XXIV + +"I am afraid, dear Mother, her progress towards recovery is slow." + +"I don't agree with you. A great nervous breakdown! That journey to +Rome, only to see her father die before her eyes, was a great shock-- +such a one as it would take anybody a long time to recover from. +Evelyn is very highly-strung, there can be no doubt of that. I wonder +how it is that you don't understand?" + +"But I do understand, dear Mother, only I find it hard to believe +that the time has come for her to take the white veil." + +"Or that it will ever come?" + +"The other day she said in the novitiate she was sure she would go to +hell, and that she wouldn't be able to bear the uncertainty much +longer...." + +"What ever did she mean? You must have misunderstood her, Mother +Hilda." And the Prioress determined to talk to Evelyn "on the first +occasion"--the first occasion with the Prioress meant the very next +minute. So she went in search of her, and finding her by the +fishpond, quite unaware that any one was watching her, the thought +crossed the Prioress's mind that Hilda might be right after all: +Evelyn might be sitting there thinking how, after a short struggle, +the water would end the misery that was consuming her. + +"Evelyn, dear, of what are you thinking?" + +"Only of the fish, dear Mother. You know they are quite deaf; fish +haven't ears. There is a legend, however, of a boy playing the flute +and the fish leaping to listen." + +"If her health doesn't improve," the Prioress said to herself, "we +shall not be able to keep her. + +"Evelyn, dear, you are not looking very well; I am afraid you haven't +been sleeping lately." + +"Last night I hardly closed my eyes, dear Mother, and to-day there is +no reality anywhere. One begins to hate everything--the shapes of the +trees, the colour of the sky." + +"It is just what I suspected," the Prioress said to herself, "she was +thinking of suicide. Suicide in a convent--such a thing has never +happened. Yet why shouldn't such a thing happen? Everything happens +in this world." + +But, notwithstanding some alarming relapses, Evelyn's health +continued to improve, slowly, but it continued to improve; and after +a long day's work in the garden she would talk quite cheerfully, +saying that that night for sure she would get some hours of sleep. +The Prioress listened, saying to herself, "There is no doubt that +manual work is the real remedy, the only remedy." Sister Mary John +was of the same opinion, and the Prioress relied on Sister Mary John +to keep Evelyn hoeing and digging when it was fine, and making nets +in the work-shop when it was wet. She was encouraged to look after +the different pets; and there were a good many to look after; her +three cats occupied a good deal of her time, for the cats were always +anxious to kill her tame birds. One cat had killed several, so the +question had arisen whether he should be drowned in the fishpond or +trained to respect caged birds. The way to do this, Evelyn had been +told, was to put a caged bird on the ground in front of the cat, and, +standing over him with a cane, strike swiftly and severely the moment +the cat crouched to spring. A cat above all other animals hates to be +beaten, for a cat is probably one of the most sagacious animals, more +even than a dog, though he does not care to show it. The beating of +the cat was repellent to Evelyn, but Sister Mary John had no such +scruples, and the beatings proved so efficient that the cat would run +away the moment he was shown a bird in a cage. In turn each of the +cats received its lesson, and henceforth Evelyn's last presents-- +blackbirds, thrushes, linnets, and bull-finches--lived in safety. + +The feeding of these birds and the cleaning of the aviary occupied +two hours a day during the winter. She had also her greenhouse to +attend to; herself and Sister Mary John, with some help from the +outside, had built one, and hot-water pipes had been put in; and her +love of flowers was so great that she would run down the garden even +when the ground was covered with snow to stoke up the fire, if she +thought she had forgotten to do so, saying that they would have no +tulips, or lily of the valley, or azaleas for the altar, if the +temperature were allowed to drop. Her talk was all about her garden, +and when the spring returned she was working there constantly with +Sister Mary John in the morning till the Angelus rang at twelve; then +they went into dinner, and as soon as dinner was over Evelyn returned +with Sister Mary John to the garden and worked till it was time to go +into church for Benediction. Or sometimes they left the garden when +the other nuns went there for recreation, having music to try over, +for now, since she had recovered her health, Evelyn sang every day at +Benediction. + +"There is no reason why she should remain any longer with us," the +Prioress often said, "unless there is some hope of her staying +altogether. You will admit, Hilda, that her health is much improved, +and that she is capable now of arriving at some decision." + +"There is no doubt her health is improving." + +"And her piety--have you noticed it? She almost sets us an example." + +Mother Hilda did not answer, and the Prioress understood her silence +to mean that she would hardly look upon Evelyn as an example for the +convent to follow. + +"Well, something will have to be decided." And one evening the +Prioress asked Mother Philippa and Mother Hilda to her room after +evening prayers. + +"We were talking of Evelyn the other day in the garden, Hilda, and +you admitted that she was in a state now to decide whether she should +go or stay." + +"You mean, dear Mother, that Evelyn must either leave us or join the +community?" + +"Or show some signs that she wishes to join it. Her postulancy has +been unduly prolonged; it is nearly a year since she returned from +Rome, and she was a postulant for six months before that." + +"You think that if she hadn't a vocation she would have left us +before? But are you not forgetting that she was suffering from a +nervous breakdown, and came here with the intention of seeking rest +rather than becoming one of us?" + +"Her health has been mending this long while. Really, Hilda--" + +"I am sorry, Mother, if I seem stubborn." + +"Not stubborn, but I should like to hear you explain your reasons for +thinking Evelyn has not a vocation. And Mother Philippa is most +anxious to hear them, too." + +Mother Philippa listened, thinking of her bed, wondering why Mother +Mary Hilda kept them up by refusing to agree with the Prioress. + +"I am afraid I shall not be able to say anything that will convince +you. I have had some experience--" + +"We know that you are very experienced, otherwise you would not be +the Mistress of the Novices. You don't believe in Evelyn's vocation?" + +"I'm afraid I don't, and--" + +"And what, Mother Hilda? We are here for the purpose of listening to +you. We shall be influenced by everything you say, so pray speak your +mind fully." + +"About Evelyn? But that is just my point; there is nothing for me to +say about her. I hardly know her; she has hardly been in the +novitiate since she returned from Rome." "You think before taking the +veil she should receive more religious instruction from you?" + +"She certainly should. I grant you Evelyn is a naturally pious woman, +and that counts for a great deal; but what I attach importance to is +that she is still alien to the convent, knowing hardly anything of +our rule, of our observances. A novice spends six months in the +novitiate with me learning obedience, how to forget herself, how she +is merely an instrument, and how the greatest purpose of her life is +to obey." + +"It is impossible to overestimate the value of obedience, but there +are some--I will not say who can dispense with obedience, of course +not, but who cannot put off their individualities, who cannot become +the merely typical novice--that one who would tell you, if she were +asked to describe the first six months of her life in the convent, +that all she remembered was a great deal of running up and down +stairs. There are some who may not be moulded, but who mould +themselves; and they are not the worst, sometimes they are the best +nuns. For instance, Sister Mary John--who will doubt her vocation? +And yet there is not a more headstrong nun in our community. I don't +wish to say one word against Sister Mary John, who is an example to +us all; it is only to answer your objection that I mentioned her." + +"Sister Mary John is quite different," Mother Hilda answered. And, +after waiting some moments for Mother Hilda to continue, the Prioress +said: + +"You would wish her, then, to spend some time longer with you in the +novitiate?" + +"I am not sure it would be of any use. There is another matter about +which I hardly like to speak; still, I must remind you that the +convent has never been the same since she came here. She has not been +herself since she came back from Rome, but now she is regaining +herself, and you cannot have failed to notice that both Sister Mary +John and Veronica are drawn towards her. I am sure they are not aware +of it, and would resent my criticism as unjust. Not only Sister Mary +John and Veronica, but all of us; it seems to me that we all talk too +much about her... I am sometimes almost glad that she is so little in +the novitiate. Her influence on such simple-minded young women as +Sister Jerome and Sister Barbara must be harmful--how could it be +otherwise, coming out of another world? and her voice, too--you don't +agree with me?" And Mother Hilda turned to Mother Philippa. Mother +Philippa shook her head, and confessed she had not the slightest +notion of what Mother Hilda meant. + +"But you have, dear Mother?" + +"Yes, I know very well what you mean, only I don't agree with you. +Her singing, of course, gives her an exceptional position in the +convent, but I don't think she avails herself of it; indeed, her +humility has often seemed to me most striking." + +"In that I agree with you," Mother Hilda answered; "so I feel that +perhaps, after all, I may be misjudging her." + +At this concession the Prioress's manner softened at once towards the +Mistress of the Novices. + +"Well, Hilda, come, tell me, have you said everything you have to +say? Have you given us your full reasons for not wishing Evelyn to +take the veil if she should decide to do so? I see you hesitate. I +asked you here to-night so that you might speak your mind. Let +everything be said. There is no use telling me afterwards that you +didn't say things because you thought I wouldn't like to hear them. +Say everything." + +Pressed by the Prioress, Mother Hilda admitted that she was concerned +regarding the motive which actuated the Prioress and Mother Philippa. + +"I include her." + +Mother Philippa looked up suddenly. The Prioress smiled. + +"My motive!" said Mother Philippa. + +"Nothing is farther from my thought than to attribute a wrong motive +to anybody, but I am not quite sure, dear Mother, that you would be +as anxious for Evelyn to join our community if she had no money... +and no voice." + +"Situated as we are, we cannot accept penniless women as choir +sisters. You know that well enough--am I not right, Mother Philippa?" + +And Mother Philippa agreed that no one could be admitted into the +convent as a choir sister unless she brought some money with her. + +"But you hold a different opinion, Hilda?" + +"I understand that we cannot admit as a choir sister a woman who has +no money; but that is quite different from admitting an opera singer +because she has money and can sing for us. It seems to me that nuns +devoted to Perpetual Adoration should not yield themselves to money +considerations." + +"Yield to money considerations--no; but as long as we live upon +earth, we shall live dependent upon money in some form or another. +Our pecuniary embarrassments--you know all about them. I need not +refer to the mortgagee, who, at any moment, may foreclose. Think of +what it would be if this house were to be put up for sale, and we had +all to return to our relations. How many are there who have relations +who would take them in? And the lay sisters--what would become of +them and our duties towards them--they who have worked for us all +these years? Sister Lawrence--would you like to see her on the +roadside, or carried to the workhouse? Spiritual considerations come +first, of course, but we must have a house to live in and a chapel to +pray in. Do you never think of these things, Hilda?" + +"Yes, and I appreciate the anxiety our pecuniary difficulties cause +you, dear Mother. I am not indifferent, I assure you, but I cannot +help feeling that anything were better than we should stop, instead +of going forward, towards the high ideal--" + +"Well, Hilda, are you prepared to risk it? We have a chance of +redeeming the convent from debt--will you accept the responsibility?" + +"Of what, dear Mother?" + +"Of refusing to agree that Evelyn shall be allowed to take the white +veil, if she wishes to take it." + +"But taking the white veil will not enable us to get hold of her +money. We shall have to wait till she is professed." + +"But if she is given the white veil," the Prioress answered sternly, +"she will be induced to remain. The fact of her taking the white veil +is a great inducement, and a year hence who knows--" + +"Well, dear Mother, you will act, I am sure, for the best. Perhaps it +would have been better if you had not consulted me; but, having +consulted me, I had to tell you what I think. I am aware that in +practical matters I am but a very poor judge. Remember, I passed, +like Veronica, from the schoolroom to the convent. But you know the +world." + +"It is very kind of you to admit so much; but it seems to me, Hilda, +you are only admitting that much so as to give a point to your +contention, or what I suppose is your contention--that those who +never knew the world may attain to a more intense spirituality than +poor women such as myself and Mother Philippa here, who did not enter +the convent as early in life as you did... but who renounced the +world." + +The sharp tone of the Prioress's voice, when she mentioned Mother +Philippa's name, awoke the nun, who had been dozing. + +"Well, Mother Philippa, what is your opinion?" + +"It seems to me," the nun answered, now wide awake, "that it is a +matter for Evelyn to decide. You think I was asleep, but I wasn't; I +heard everything you said. You were discussing your own scruples of +conscience, which seem to me quite beside the question. Our +conscience has nothing to do with the matter; it is all a question +for Evelyn to decide herself... as soon as she is well, of course." + +"And she is now quite well. I will see her to-morrow on the subject." + +On this the Prioress rose to her feet, and the other two nuns +understood that the interview was at an end. + +"Dear Mother, I know how great your difficulties are," said Mother +Hilda, "and I am loth to oppose your wishes in anything. I know how +wise you are, how much wiser than we--but however foolishly I may +appear to be acting, you will understand that I cannot act +differently, feeling as I do." + +"I understand that, Hilda; we all must act according to our lights. +And now we must go to bed, we are breaking all the rules of the +house." + + + +XXV + +After breakfast Veronica came to Evelyn, saying that dear Mother +would like to speak to her. Evelyn nodded, and went gaily to see the +Prioress in her room on the ground-floor. Its long French windows, +opening on to the terrace-walk, appealed to her taste; and the +crowded writing-table, on which stood a beautiful crucifix in yellow +ivory. Papers and tin boxes were piled in one corner. But there was +no carpet, and only one armchair, over-worn and shabby. There were +flowers in vases and bowls, and, in a large cage, canaries uttered +their piercing songs. + +"I like your room, dear Mother, and wish you would send for me a +little oftener. All your writing--now couldn't I do some of it for +you?" + +"Yes, Evelyn, I should like to use you sometimes as a secretary... if +you are going to remain with us." + +"I don't know what you mean, Mother." + +"Well, sit down. I have sent for you because I want to have a little +talk with you on this subject." And she spoke of Evelyn's postulancy; +of how long it had lasted. It seemed to the Prioress that it would be +better, supposing Evelyn did not intend to remain with them, for her +to live with them as an oblate, occupying the guest-chamber. + +"Your health doesn't permit much religious instruction; but one of +these days you will realise better than you do now what our life is, +and what its objects are." + +So did the Prioress talk, getting nearer the point towards which she +was making, without, however, pressing Evelyn to answer any direct +question, leading her towards an involuntary decision. + +"But, dear Mother, I am safe here, you know." + +"And yet you fear, my dear child, you have no vocation?" + +"Well, it seems extraordinary that I--" + +"More extraordinary things have happened in the world than that; +besides, there is much time for you to decide. No one proposes that +you should be admitted to the Order to-morrow; such a thing, you +know, is impossible, but the white veil is a great help. Evelyn, +dear, this question has been running in my mind some time back--is it +well for you to remain a postulant any longer? The white veil, again +I say, is such a help." + +"A help for what, dear Mother?" + +"Well, it will tell you if you have a vocation; at the end of the +year you will know much better than you know now." + +"I a nun!" Evelyn repeated. + +"In a year you will be better able to decide. Extraordinary things +have happened." + +"But it would be extraordinary," Evelyn said, speaking to herself +rather than to the nun. + +"I have spoken to Mother Hilda and Mother Philippa on the subject, +and they are agreed that if you are to remain in the convent it would +be better for you to take the white veil." + +"Or do they think that it would be better for me to leave the +convent?" + +"It would be impossible for us to think such a thing, my dear child." + +"But what I would wish to understand, dear Mother, is this--have I to +decide either to leave the convent or to take the white veil?" + +"Oh, no; but you have been so long a postulant." + +"But when I went to Rome my postulancy--" + +"Even so, you have been a postulant for over a year; and, should you +discover that you have no vocation, the fact of having been a novice, +of having worn the white veil, will be a protection to you ever +afterwards, should you return to the world." + +"You think so, dear Mother?" + +And the Prioress read in Evelyn's face that she had touched the right +note. + +"Yes, to have a name, for instance--not only the veil, but the name. +I have been thinking of a name for you--what do you think of +'Teresa'?" + +"Teresa!" Evelyn answered. And her thoughts went to the great nun +whose literature she had first read in the garden outside, when she +walked there as a visitor. It was under a certain tree, where she had +often sat since with Mother Hilda and the novices, that she had first +read the "Autobiography" and "The Way of Perfection." There were the +saints' poems, too; and, thinking of them, a pride awoke in her that +for a time, at least, she should bear the saint's name. The Prioress +was right, the saint's name would fortify her against her enemy; and +her noviceship would be something to look back upon, and the memory +of it would protect her when she left the convent. + +"I am glad that we shall have you, at all events, for some months +more with us--some months more for sure, perhaps always. But take +time to consider it." + +"Dear Mother, I am quite decided." + +"Think it over. You can tell me your decision some time in the +afternoon, or to-morrow." + +It was a few days after that the Prioress took Evelyn up to the +novitiate, where the novices were making the dress that Evelyn was to +wear when she received the white veil. + +"You see, Teresa, we spare no expense or trouble on your dress," said +the Prioress. + +"Oh, it is no trouble, dear Mother." And Sister Angela rose from her +chair and turned the dress right side out and shook it, so that +Evelyn might admire the handsome folds into which the silk fell. + +"And see, here is the wreath," said Sister Jerome, picking up a +wreath of orange-blossoms from a chair. + +"And what do you think of your veil, Sister Teresa? Sister Rufina did +this feather-stitch. Hasn't she done it beautifully?" + +"And Sister Rufina is making your wedding-cake. Mother Philippa has +told her to put in as many raisins and currants as she pleases. Yours +will be the richest cake we have ever had in the convent." Sister +Angela spoke very demurely, for she was thinking of the portion of +the cake that would come to her, and there was a little gluttony in +her voice as she spoke of the almond paste it would have upon it. + +"It is indeed a pity," said Sister Jerome, "that Sister Teresa's +clothing takes place so early in the year." + +"How so, Sister Jerome?" Evelyn asked incautiously. + +"Because if it had been a little later, or if Monsignor had not been +delayed in Rome--I only thought," she added, stopping short, "that +you would like Monsignor to give you the white veil--it would be +nicer for you; or if the Bishop gave it," she added, "or Father +Ambrose. I am sure Sister Veronica never would have been a nun at all +if Father Ambrose had not professed her. Father Daly is such a little +frump." + +"That will do, children; I cannot really allow our chaplain to be +spoken of in that manner." And Mother Hilda looked at Evelyn, +thinking, "Well, the Prioress has had her way with her." + +The recreation-bell rang, and the novices clattered down the stairs +of the novitiate, their childish eagerness rousing Evelyn from the +mild stupor which still seemed to hang about her mind; and she smiled +at the novices and at herself, for suddenly it had all begun to seem +to her like a scene in a play, herself going to take the white veil +and to become a nun, at all events, for a while. "Now, how is all +this to end?" she asked herself. "But what does it matter?" Clouds +seemed to envelop her mind again, and she acquiesced when the +Prioress said: + +"I think your retreat had better begin to-day." + +"When, Mother?" + +"Well, from this moment." + +"If Teresa will come into the garden with me," said Mother Hilda. + +It was impossible for the Prioress to say no, and a slaty blush of +anger came into her cheek. "Hilda will do all she can to prevent +her." Nor was the Prioress wholly wrong in her surmise, for they had +not walked very far before Evelyn admitted that the idea of the white +veil frightened her a great deal. + +"Frightens you, my dear child?" + +"But if I had a vocation I should not feel frightened. Isn't that so, +Mother Hilda?" + +"I shouldn't like to say that, Teresa. One can feel frightened and +yet desire a thing very much; desire and fear are not incompatible." + +Tears glistened in her eyes, and she appealed to Mother Hilda, +saying: + +"Dear Mother, I don't know why I am crying, but I am very unhappy. +There is no reason why I should be, for here I am safe." + +"Will she ever recover her mind sufficiently to know what she is +doing?" Mother Hilda asked herself. + +"It is always," Evelyn said, "as if I were trying to escape from +something." Mother Hilda pressed her to explain. "I cannot explain +myself better than by telling that it is as if the house were burning +behind me, and I were trying to get away." + +That evening Mother Hilda consulted the Prioress, telling her of +Evelyn's tears and confusion. + +"But, Hilda, why do you trouble her with questions as to whether she +would like to be a nun or not? As I have said repeatedly, the veil is +a great help, and, in a year hence, Teresa will know whether she'd +like to join our community. In the meantime, pray let her be in peace +and recover herself." The Prioress's voice was stern. + +"Only this, dear Mother--" + +"The mistake you make, Hilda, seems to me to be that you imagine +every one turns to religion and to the convent for the same reason, +whereas the reasons that bring us to God are widely different. You +are disappointed in Teresa, not because she lacks piety, but because +she is not like Jerome or Angela or Veronica, whom we both know very +well. Each seeks her need in religion, and you are not acquainted +with Teresa's, that is all. Now, Hilda, obedience is the first of all +the virtues, and I claim yours in all that regards Teresa." Mother +Hilda raised her quiet eyes and looked into the Prioress's face, and +then lowered them again. "We should be lacking in our duty," the +Prioress continued, "if we don't try to keep her by all legitimate +means. She will receive the white veil at the end of the week; try to +prepare her for her clothing, instruct her in the rule of our house; +no one can do that as well as you." + +Lifting her eyes again for a moment, Mother Hilda answered that it +should be as the Prioress wished--that she would do her best to +instruct Teresa; and she moved away slowly, the Prioress not seeking +to detain her any longer in her room. + + + +XXVI + +Next day in the novitiate Mother Hilda explained to Evelyn how the +centre of their life was the perpetual adoration of the Blessed +Sacrament exposed on the altar. + +"Our life is a life of expiation; we expiate by our prayers and our +penances and our acts of adoration the many insults which are daily +flung at our divine Lord by those who not only disobey His +commandments, but deny His very presence on our altars. To our +prayers of expiation we add prayers of intercession; we pray for the +many people in this country outside the faith who offend our Lord +Jesus Christ more from ignorance than from malice. All our little +acts of mortification are offered with this intention. From morning +Mass until Benediction our chapel, as you know, is never left empty +for a single instant of the day; two silent watchers kneel before the +Blessed Sacrament, offering themselves in expiation of the sins of +others. This watch before the Blessed Sacrament is the chief duty +laid upon the members of our community. Nothing is ever allowed to +interfere with it. Unfailing punctuality is asked from every one in +being in the chapel at the moment her watch begins, and no excuse is +accepted from those who fail in this respect. Our idea is that all +through the day a ceaseless stream of supplication should mount to +heaven, that not for a single instant should there be a break in the +work of prayer. If our numbers permitted it we should have Perpetual +Adoration by day and night, as in the mother house in France; but +here the bishop only allows us to have exposition once a month +throughout the night, and all our Sisters look forward to this as +their greatest privilege." + +"It is a very beautiful life, Mother Hilda; but I wonder if I have a +vocation?" + +"That is the great question, my dear," and a cloud gathered in Mother +Hilda's face, for it had come into her mind to tell Evelyn that she +hardly knew anything of the religious life as yet; but remembering +her promise to the Prioress, she said: "Obedience is the beginning of +the religious life, and you must try to think that you are a child in +school, with nothing to teach and everything to learn. The +experience of your past life, which you may think entitles you +to consideration--" + +"But, dear Mother, I think nothing of the kind; my whole concern is +to try to forget my past life. Ah, if I could only--" Mother Hilda +wondered what it must be to bring that look of fear into Evelyn's +eyes, but she refrained from questioning her, saying: + +"I beg of you to put all the teachings of the world as far from your +mind as possible. It will only confuse you. What we think wise the +world thinks foolish, and the wisdom of the world is to us a vanity." + +"If it were only a vanity," Evelyn answered. And her thoughts moved +away from the Mother Mistress to herself, wondering how it was that +this conventual life was so sympathetic to her, finding a reason in +the fact that her idea had alienated her from the world; she had come +here in quest of herself, and had found something, not exactly +herself, perhaps, but at all events a refuge from one side of +herself, and many other things--a group of women who thought as she +did. But would the convent always be as necessary to her as it was +to-day? And what a grief it would be to the nuns when the term of her +noviceship ended. Would she find courage to tell them that she did +not wish to take final vows? But she must listen to Mother Hilda who +was instructing her in the virtue of obedience. After obedience came +the rule of silence. + +"But I don't know how the work in the garden will be done if one +isn't allowed to speak." + +"The work in the garden must wait until your retreat is over. Now go, +my dear; I am waiting for Sisters Winifred and Veronica, who are +coming to me for their Latin lesson." + +"May I go into the garden?" + +It amused Evelyn to ask the question, so strange did it seem that she +should ask, like a little child, permission to go into the garden; +and as she went along the passages she began to fear that the old +Evelyn was on her way back, the woman who had disappeared for so many +months. Be that as it may, she was not altogether Sister Teresa on +the day of her clothing, though she tried to imitate the infantile +glee of the novices, and of the nuns too; for they were nearly as +childish as the novices. In spite of herself she wearied of the +babble and the laughter over orange-blossoms and wedding-cake, +especially of Sister Jerome's babble. She was particularly noisy that +afternoon; her unceasing humour had begun to jar, and Evelyn had +begun to feel that she must get away from it all, and she asked leave +to go into the garden. + +Ah, the deep breath she drew! How refreshing it was after the long +time spent in church in the smell of burning wax and incense. "The +incense of the earth is sweeter," she said; and the sound of the wind +in the boughs reminded her of the voice of the priest intoning the +"Veni Creator." "Nature is more musical," and her eyes strayed over +the great park to its rim miles away, indistinct, though the sky was +white as white linen above it, only here and there a weaving of some +faint cream tones amid clouds rising very slowly; a delicious warmth +fell out of the noonday sky, enfolding the earth; and, discomforted +by her habit--a voluminous trailing habit with wide hanging sleeves-- +she stood on the edge of the terrace thinking that the stiff white +head-dress made her feel more like a nun than her vows. + +"Of what am I thinking?" she asked herself, for her thoughts seemed +to go out faintly, like the clouds; she seemed more conscious of the +spring-time than she had ever been before, of a sense of delight +going through her when, before her eyes, the sun came out, lighting +up the distant inter-spaces and the stems of the trees close by. The +ash was coming into leaf, but among the green tufts, every bough +could still be traced. The poplars looked like great brooms, but they +were reddening, and in another week or two would be dark green again. +The season being a little late, the lilacs and laburnums were out +together; pink and white blossoms had begun to light up the close +leafage of the hawthorns, and under the flowering trees grass was +springing up, beautiful silky grass. "There is nothing so beautiful +in the world as grabs," Evelyn thought, "fair spring grass." The +gardener was mowing it between the flower beds, and it lay behind his +hissing scythe along the lawn in irregular lines. + +"There is the first swallow, just come in time to see the tulips, the +tall May tulips which the Dutchmen used to paint." + +So did Evelyn think, and her eyes followed Sister Mary John's +jackdaw. He seemed to know the hour of the day, and was looking out +for his mistress, who generally came out after dinner with food for +him, and speech--the bird seemed to like being spoken to, and always +put his head on one side so that he might listen more attentively. A +little further on Evelyn met three goslings straying under the +flowering laburnums, and she returned them to their mother in the +orchard. Something was moving among the potato ridges, and wondering +what it could be, she discovered the cat playing with the long-lost +tortoise. How funny her great fluffy tom-cat looked, as he sat in +front of the tortoise, tapping its black head whenever it appeared +beyond the shell. All cats are a beautiful shape, but this one was a +beautiful colour, "grey as a cloud at even"; but to leave him playing +with the tortoise would be cruel to the tortoise, so she decided to +carry the cat to the other end of the garden, where the sparrows were +picking up the green peas. + +The pear blossom had disappeared some weeks ago, and now the apple +was in bloom. Some trees were later than others, and there were still +tight pink knots amid the brown boughs. Evelyn sat down and closed +her eyes, so that she might enjoy more intensely the magic of this +Maytime. Every now and again a breeze shook the branches, shedding +white blossom over the bright grass, and faint shadows rushed out and +retreated The sun was swallowed up in a sudden cloud. A dimness came +and a chill, but not for long enduring; the world was lit up, all the +lilac leaves were catching the light and dancing in the breeze. "How +living the world is, no death anywhere." Then her eyes turned to the +convent, for at that moment she caught sight of one of the lay +sisters coming towards her, evidently the bearer of a message. Sister +Agnes had come to tell her that a lady had called to see her. + +"The lady is in the parlour. Mother Hilda is with her" + +"But her name?" + +Sister Agnes could not give Evelyn her visitor's name; but on the way +to the parlour they were met by the Prioress, who told Evelyn that +the lady who had come to see her was a French lady, Mademoiselle +Helbrun. + +"Louise! Dear Mother, she is an actress, one of the women I used to +sing with." + +"Perhaps you had better not see her, and you may count upon me not to +offend her; she will understand that on the day of your clothing--" + +"No, no, dear Mother, I must see her." + +"Teresa, one never uses the word 'must' to the Prioress, nor to any +one in the convent; and on the day of your clothing it seems to me +you might have remembered this first rule of our life." + +"Of course I am very sorry, Mother; but now that she has come I am +afraid it would agitate me more not to see her than to see her. It +was the surprise of hearing her name after such a long while--there +is no reason I can think of--" + +"Teresa, it is for me to think, it is for you to obey." + +"Well, Mother, if you will allow me." + +"Ah, that is better. Of course she has come here to oppose your being +here. How will you answer her?" + +"Louise is an old friend, and knows me well, and will not argue with +me, so it seems to me; and if she should ask me why I'm here and if I +intend to remain, it will be easy for me to answer her, "I am here +because I am not safe in the world." + +"But she'll not understand." + +"Yes she will, Mother. Let me see her." + +"Perhaps you are fight, Teresa; it will be better for you to see her. +But it is strange she should have come this afternoon." + +"Some intuition, some voice must have told her." + +"Teresa, those are fancies; you mustn't let your mind run on such +things." + +They were at the door of the parlour. Evelyn opened it for the +Prioress, allowing her to pass in first. + +"Louise, how good of you to come to see me. How did you find my +address? Did Mérat give it to you?" + +"No, but I have heard--we all know you are thinking of becoming a +nun." + +"If you had been here a little earlier," the Prioress said, "you +would have been in time for Teresa's clothing." And there was an +appeal in the Prioress's voice, the appeal that one Catholic makes to +another. The Prioress, of course, assumed that Louise had been +brought up a Catholic, though very likely she did not practise her +religion; few actresses did. So did the Prioress's thoughts run as +she leaned forward; her voice became winning, and she led Louise to +ask her questions regarding the Order. And she told Louise that it +was a French Order originally, wearying her with the story of the +arrival of the first nuns. "How can Evelyn stop here listening to +such nonsense?" she thought. And then Mother Hilda told Louise about +Evelyn's singing at Benediction, and the number of converts she had +won to the Church of Rome. + +"As no doubt you know. Mademoiselle Helbrun, once people are drawn +into a Catholic atmosphere--" + +"Yes, I quite understand. So you sing every day at Benediction, do +you, Evelyn? You are singing to-day? It will be strange to hear you +singing an 'Ave Maria.'" + +"But, Louise, if I sing an 'O Salutaris,' will you sing Schubert's +'Ave Maria'?" + +"No, you sing Schubert's 'Ave Maria' and I will sing an 'O +Salutaris.'" + +Evelyn turned to the Prioress. + +"Of course, we shall be only too glad if Mademoiselle Helbrun will +sing for us." + +"The last time we saw each other, Louise, was the day of your party +in the Savoy Hotel." + +"Yes, didn't we have fun that day? We were like a lot of children. +But you went away early." + +"Yes, that day I went to Confession to Monsignor." + +"Was it that day? We noticed something strange in you. You seemed to +care less for the stage, to have lost your vocation." + +"We hope she has begun to find her vocation," Mother Hilda answered. + +"But that is just what I mean--in losing her vocation for the stage +she has gained, perhaps, her vocation for the religious life." + +"Vocation for the stage?" + +"Yes, Mother Hilda," the Prioress said, turning to the Mistress of +the Novices, "the word vocation isn't used in our limited sense, but +for anything for which a person may have a special aptitude." + +"That day of your party--dear me, how long ago it seems, Louise! How +much has happened since then? You have sung how many operas? In whose +company are you now?" Before they were aware of it the two singers +had begun to chatter of opera companies and operas. Ulick Dean was +secretary of the opera company with which Louise was travelling. They +were going to America in the autumn. The conversation was taking too +theatrical a turn, and the Prioress judged it necessary to intervene. +And without anybody being able to detect the transition, the talk was +led from America to the Pope and the Papal Choir. + +"May we go into the garden, dear Mother?" Evelyn said, interrupting. +Her interruption was a welcome one; the Prioress in her anxiety to +change the subject had forgotten Mr. Innes's death and Evelyn's +return to Rome. She gave the required permission, and the four women +went out together. + +"Do you think we shall be able to talk alone?" + +"Yes, presently," Evelyn whispered. Soon after, in St. Peter's Walk, +an opportunity occurred. The nuns had dropped behind, and Evelyn led +her friend through the hazels, round by the fish-pond, where they +would be able to talk undisturbed. Evelyn took her friend's arm. +"Dear Louise, how kind of you to come to see me. I thought I was +forgotten. But how did you find me out?" + +"Sir Owen Asher, whom I met in London, told me I would probably get +news of you here." + +Evelyn did not answer. + +"Aren't you glad to see me?" + +"Of course I am. Haven't I said so? Don't you see I am? And you have +brought beautiful weather with you, Louise. Was there ever a more +beautiful day? White clouds rising up in the blue sky like great +ships, sail over sail." + +"My dear Evelyn, I have not come to talk to you about clouds, nor +green trees, though the birds are singing beautifully here, and it +would be pleasant to talk about them if we were going to be alone the +whole afternoon. But as the nuns may come round the corner at any +minute I had better ask you at once if you are going to stop here?" + +"Is that what you have come to ask me?" + +Evelyn got up, though they had only just sat down. + +"Evelyn, dear, sit down. You are not angry with me for asking you +these questions? What do you think I came here for?" + +"You came here, then, as Reverend Mother suspected, to try to +persuade me away? You would like to have me back on the stage?" + +"Of course we should like to have you back among us again. Owen +Asher--" + +"Louise, you mustn't speak to me of my past life." + +"Ulick--" + +"Still less of him. You have come here, sent by Owen Asher or by +Ulick Dean--which is it?" + +"My dear Evelyn, I came here because we have always been friends and +for old friendship's sake--by nobody." + +These words seemed to reassure her, and she sat down by her friend, +saying that if Louise only knew the trouble she had been through. + +"But all that is forgotten... if it can be forgotten. Do you know if +our sins are ever forgotten, Louise?" + +"Sins, Evelyn? What sins? The sin of liking one man a little better +than another?" + +"That is exactly it, Louise. The sin and the shame are in just what +you have said--liking one man better than another. But I wish, +Louise, you wouldn't speak to me of these things, for I'll have to +get up and go back to the convent." + +"Well, Evelyn, let us talk about the white clouds going by, and how +beautiful the wood is when the sun is shining, flecking the ground +with spots of light; birds are singing in the branches, and that +thrush! I have never heard a better one." Louise walked a little way. +Returning to Evelyn quickly, she said, "There are all kinds of birds +here--linnets, robins, yes, and a blackbird. A fine contralto!" + +"But why, Louise, do you begin to talk about clouds and birds?" + +"Well, dear, because you won't talk about our friends." + +"Or is it because you think I must be mad to stay here and to wear +this dress? You are quite wrong if you think such a thing, for it was +to save myself from going mad that I came here." + +"My dear Evelyn, what could have put such ideas into your head?" + +"Louise, we mustn't talk of the past. I can see you are astonished at +this dress, yet you are a Catholic of a sort, but still a Catholic. I +was like you once, only a change came. One day perhaps you will be +like me." + +"You think I shall end in a convent, Evelyn?" + +Evelyn did not answer, and; not knowing exactly what to say next, +Louise spoke of the convent garden. + +"You always used to be fond of flowers. I suppose a great part of +your time is spent in gardening?" + +An angry colour rose into Evelyn's cheek. + +"You don't wish me," she said, "to talk about myself? You think-- +Never mind, I don't care what you think about me." + +Louise assured her that she was mistaken; and in the middle of a long +discourse Evelyn's thoughts seemed suddenly to break away, and she +spoke to Louise of the greenhouse which she had made that winter, +asking her if she would like to come to see it with her. + +"A great deal of it was built with my own hands, Sister Mary John and +I. You don't know her yet; she is our organist, and an excellent +one." + +At that moment Evelyn laid her hand on Louise's arm, and a light +seemed to burst into her face. + +"Listen!" she said, "listen to the bird! Don't you hear him?" + +"Hear what, dear?" + +"The bird in the branches singing the song that leads Siegfried to +Brunnhilde." + +"A bird singing Wagner?" + +"Well, what more natural than that a bird should sing his own song?" + +"But no bird--" A look of wonder, mingled with fear, came into +Louise's face. + +"If you listen, Louise." In the silence of the wood Louise heard +somebody whistling Wagner's music. "Don't you hear it?" + +Louise did not answer at once. Had she caught some of Evelyn's +madness... or was she in an enchanted garden? + +"It is a boy in the park, or one of the nuns." + +"Nuns don't whistle, and the common is hundreds of yards away. And no +boy on the common knows the bird music from 'Siegfried'? Listen, +Louise, listen! There it goes, note for note. Francis is singing well +to-day." + +"Francis!" + +"Look, look, you can see him! Now are you convinced?" + +And the wonder in Louise's face passed into a look of real fear, and +she said: + +"Let us go away." + +"But why won't you listen to Francis? None of my birds sings as he +does. Let me tell you, Louise--" + +But Louise's step hastened. + +"Stop! Don't you hear the Sword motive? That is Aloysius." + +Louise stopped for a moment, and, true enough, there was the Sword +motive whistled from the branches of a sycamore. And Louise began to +doubt her own sanity. + +"You do hear him, I can see you do." + +"What does all this mean?" Louise said to the Reverend Mother, +drawing her aside. "The birds, the birds, Mother Superior, the +birds!" + +"What birds?" + +"The birds singing the motives of 'The Ring.'" + +"You mean Teresa's bullfinches, Mademoiselle Helbrun? Yes, they +whistle very well." + +"But they whistle the motives of 'The Ring!'" + +"Ah! she taught them." + +"Is that all? I thought she and I were mad. You'll excuse me, Mother +Superior? May I ask her about them?" + +"Of course, Mademoiselle Helbrun, you can." And Louise walked on in +front with Evelyn. + +"Mother Superior tells me you have taught bullfinches the motives of +'The Ring,' is it true?" + +"Of course. How could they have learned the motives unless from me?" + +"But why the motives of 'The Ring'?" + +"Why not, Louise? Short little phrases, just suited to a bird." + +"But, dear, you must have spent hours teaching them." + +"It requires a great deal of patience, but when there is a great +whirl in one's head--" + +Evelyn stopped speaking, and Louise understood that she shrank from +the confession that to retain her sanity she had taught bullfinches +to whistle, + +"So she is sane, saner than any of us, for she has kept herself sane +by an effort of her own will," Louise said to herself. + +"Some birds learn much quicker than others; they vary a great deal." + +"My dear Evelyn, it is ever so nice of you. Just fancy teaching +bullfinches to sing the motives of 'The Ring,' It seemed to me I was +in an enchanted garden. But tell me, why, when you had taught them, +did you let them fly away?" + +"Well, you see, they can only remember two tunes. If you teach them a +third they forget the first two, and it seemed a pity to confuse +them." + +"So when a bullfinch knows two motives you let him go? Well, it is +all very simple now you have explained it. They find everything they +want in the garden. The bullfinch is a homely little bird, almost as +domestic as the robin; they just stay here, isn't that it?" + +"Sometimes they go into the park, but they come every morning to be +fed. On the whole, Francis is my best bird; but there is another who +in a way excels him--Timothy. I don't know why we call him Timothy; +it isn't a pretty name, but it seems suited to him because I taught +him 'The Shepherd's Pipe'; and you know how difficult it is, dropping +half a note each time? Yet he knows it nearly all; sometimes he will +whistle it through without a mistake. We could have got a great deal +of money for him if he had been sold, and Reverend Mother wanted me +to sell him, but I wouldn't." + +And Evelyn led Louise away to a far corner. + +"He is generally in this corner; these are his trees." And Evelyn +began to whistle. + +"Does he answer you when you whistle?" + +"No; scraping one's feet against the gravel, some little material +noise, will set him whistling." And Evelyn scraped her feet. "I'm +afraid he isn't here to-day. But there is the bell for Benediction. +We must not keep the nuns waiting." And the singers hurried towards +the convent, where they met the Prioress and the Mistress of the +Novices and Sister Mary John. + +"Dear me, how late you are, Sister!" said Sister Mary John. "I +suppose you were listening to the bullfinches. Aren't they wonderful? +But won't you introduce me to Mademoiselle Helbrun? It would be +delightful, mademoiselle, if you would only sing for us." + +"I shall be very pleased indeed." + +"Well, we have only got two or three minutes to decide what it is to +be. Will you come up to the organ loft?" + +And that afternoon the Wimbledon laity had the pleasure of hearing +two prima donne at Benediction. + + + +XXVII + +One day in the last month of Evelyn's noviceship--for it was the +Reverend Mother's plans to put up Evelyn for election, provided she +could persuade Evelyn to take her final vows--Sister Mary John sat at +the harmonium, her eyes fixed, following Evelyn's voice like one in a +dream. Evelyn was singing Stradella's "Chanson d'Eglise," and when +she, had finished the nun rose from her seat, clasping her friend's +hand, thanking her for her singing with such effusion that the +thought crossed Evelyn's mind that perhaps her friend was giving to +her some part of that love which it was essential to the nun to +believe belonged to God alone; and knowing Sister Mary John so well, +she could not doubt that, as soon as the nun discovered her +infidelity to the celestial Bridegroom, she would separate herself at +once from her. A tenderness in the touch of the hand, an ardour in +the eye, might reveal the secret to her, or very likely a casual +remark from some other nun would awaken her conscience to the danger +--an imaginary danger, of course--but that would not be her idea. +Formal relations would be impossible between them, one of them would +have to leave; and, without this friendship, Evelyn felt she could +not live in the convent. + +The accident she foresaw happened two days after, when sitting in the +library writing. Veronica came in. Evelyn had seen very little of her +lately, and at one time Evelyn, Veronica, and Sister Mary John had +formed a little group, each possessing a quality which attracted the +others; but, insensibly, musical interests and literary interests-- +Sister Mary John had begun to teach Evelyn Latin--had drawn Evelyn +and Sister Mary John together, excluding Veronica a little. This +exclusion was more imaginary than real. But some jealousy of Sister +Mary John had entered her mind; and Evelyn had noticed, though Sister +Mary John had failed to notice, that Veronica had, for some time +past, treated them with little disdainful airs. And now, when she +opened the door, she did not answer Evelyn at once, though Evelyn +welcomed her with a pretty smile, asking her whom she was seeking. +There was an accent of concentrated dislike in Veronica's voice when +Evelyn said she was looking for Sister Mary John. + +"I heard her trampling about the passage just now; she is on her way +here, no doubt, and won't keep you waiting." + +The word "trampling" was understood by Evelyn as an allusion to the +hobnails which Sister Mary John wore in the garden. Veronica often +dropped a rude word, which seemed ruder than it was owing to the +refinement and distinction of her face and her voice. A rude word +seemed incongruous on the lips of this mediæval virgin; and Evelyn +sat nibbling the end of the pen, thinking this jealousy was +dangerous. Sister Mary John only had to hear of it. The door opened +again; this time it was Sister Mary John, who had come to ask Evelyn +what was the matter with Veronica. + +"I passed her in the passage just now, and when I asked her if she +had seen you, she said she really was too busy to speak to me; and, a +moment after, she stood a long while to play with the black kitten, +who was catching flies in the window." + +"There is no doubt that Veronica has changed; lately she has been +rather rude to me." + +"To you, Teresa? Now, what could she be rude about to you?" The nun's +face changed expression, and Evelyn sat reading it, "Do you think she +is jealous of the time we spend together? We have been together a +great deal lately." + +"But it is necessary that we should be--our music." + +"Yes, our music, of course; but I was thinking of other times." + +Evelyn knew that Sister Mary John was thinking of the time they had +spent reading the Breviary together--four great volumes, one for +every season of the year. It was Sister Mary John who had taught her +to appreciate the rich, mysterious tradition of the Church, and how +these books of ritual and observances could satisfy the mind more +than any secular literature. There was always something in the Office +to talk about, something new amid much that remained the same--the +reappearance of a favourite hymn. + +"All the same, Sister, we should not take so much pleasure in each +other's society. Veronica is quite right." + +At that moment Evelyn was called away by the portress, who had come +to tell her that Mother Hilda wanted her in the novitiate, and Sister +Mary John was left thinking in the library that Veronica was +certainly right, and every moment the conviction grew clearer. It +must have been forming in her mind for a long time past, for, within +five minutes after Evelyn had left the room, the nun determined to go +straight to the Prioress and tell her that her life was being +absorbed by Evelyn and beg her to transfer her to the Mother House in +France. Never to see Evelyn again! Her strength almost failed her as +she went towards the door. But what would it profit her to see Evelyn +for a few years if she should lose her for eternity? A little +courage, and they would meet to part no more. In a few years both +would be in heaven. A confusion of thought began in her; she +remembered many things, that she no longer loved Christ as she used +to love him. She no longer stood before the picture in which Christ +took St. Francis in His arms, saying to Christ, "My embrace will be +warmer than his when thou takest me in thy arms." She had often +thought of herself and Evelyn in heaven, walking hand in hand. Once +they had sat enfolded in each other's arms under a flowering +oleander. Christ was watching them! And all this could only point to +one thing, that her love of Evelyn was infringing upon her love of +God. And Evelyn, too, had questioned her love of God as if she were +jealous of it, but she had answered Evelyn that nuns were the brides +of Christ, and must set no measure on their love of God. "There is no +lover," she had said, "like God; He is always by you, you can turn to +Him at any moment. God wishes us to keep all our love for Him." She +had said these things, but how differently she had acted, forgetful +of God, thinking only of Evelyn, and her vows, and not a little of +the woman herself. + +The revelation was very sudden.... Sister Mary John seemed to find +somebody in herself of whom she knew nothing, and a passion in +herself unknown to her before. Therefore, to the Prioress she went at +once to tell her everything. + +"Mother, I have come to ask you if you will transfer me to the Mother +House in France." + +The Reverend Mother repeated the words in astonishment, and listened +to Sister Mary John, who was telling her that she had found herself +in sin. + +"My life is falling to pieces, Mother, and I can only save myself by +going away." + +A shipwreck this was, indeed, for all the Prioress's plans! If Sister +Mary John left, how was Evelyn to be persuaded to take the veil? "At +every moment I am confronted with some unexpected obstacle." She +tried to argue with Sister Mary John; but the nun was convinced she +must go. So the only thing to do was to make terms. + +"Teresa must know nothing of what has happened, on that I insist. +There is too much of this kind of thing going on in my convent; I +have heard of it among the younger nuns, all are thinking of visions. +But among you women, who have been in the convent for many years, I +had thought--" + +"Mother, we are all weak; the flesh errs, and all we can do is to +check ourselves, to pray, and take such measures as will save us from +falling into sin again. Of what you said just now about the younger +nuns I know nothing, nor has any vision been vouchsafed to me, only I +have stumbled." + +The Prioress did not answer; she was thinking how Sister Mary John +might be transferred. + +"Mrs. Cater is going to France next month, you can travel with her." + +"So a month must pass! I thought of leaving to-day or to-morrow, but +I see that is impossible. A month! How shall I endure it?" + +"No one will know," the Prioress answered, with a little vehemence. +"It is a secret between us, I repeat, and I forbid you to tell any +one the reason of your leaving. Teresa will be professed in a few +weeks, I hope; she has reached the critical moment of her life, and +her mind must not be disturbed. The raising of such a question, at +such a time, might be fatal to her vocation." + +The Prioress rose from her chair, and, following Sister Mary John to +the door, impressed upon her again that it was essential that no one +should ever know why she had left the convent. + +"You can tell Teresa before you leave, but she must hear nothing of +it till the moment of your leaving. I give you permission merely to +say goodbye to her on the day you leave, and in the interval you will +see as little of each other as possible." + +But when Sister Mary John said that Sister Elizabeth could accompany +Evelyn as well as she could, the Prioress interrupted her. + +"You must always accompany her when she sings at Benediction; you +must do nothing to let her suspect that you are leaving the convent +on her account. You promise me this? You can tell her what you like, +of course when you are leaving, but not before. Of course, there is +no use arguing with you again, Sister Mary John. You are determined, +I can see that; but I do assure you that your leaving us is a sore +trial to us, more than you think for." + +In the passage Sister Mary John came unexpectedly upon Evelyn +returning from the novitiate. + +"Well, I have got through my Latin lesson, and Mother Hilda is +delighted at my progress. She flatters herself on her instruction, +but any progress I have made is owing to you.... But what is the +matter, Sister? Why do you move away?" Evelyn put her hand on the +nun's shoulder. + +"Don't, Sister; I must go." + +"Why must you go?" + +"Teresa, try to think--" She was about to say "of God, and not of +me," but her senses seemed to swoon a little at that moment, and she +fell into Evelyn's arms. + +"Teresa! Teresa! What is this?" + +It was the Prioress coming from her room. + +"A sudden giddiness, Mother," the nun answered. + +"Just as I was telling her of my Latin lesson in the novitiate, that +I could learn Latin with her better than with Mother Hilda." + +"We met in the passage," Sister Mary John said, moving away. + +"And a sudden giddiness came over her," Evelyn explained. + +"Teresa, Sister Cecilia, who is our sacristan, is a little slow; she +wants help, you are just the one to help her, and come with me." + + + +XXVIII + +And Evelyn followed the Prioress into a fragrance of lavender and +orris-root; she was shown the vestments laid out on shelves, with +tissue-paper between them. The most expensive were the white satin +vestments, and these dated from prosperous times; and she was told +how once poverty had become so severe in the convent that the +question had arisen whether these vestments should be sold, but the +nuns had declared that they preferred bread and water, or even +starvation, to parting with their vestments. + +"These are for the priest," the Prioress said, "these are for the +deacon and subdeacon, and they are used on Easter Sundays, the +professed days of the Sisters, and the visits of the Bishop; and +these vestments with the figure of Our Lady, with a blue medallion in +the centre of the cross, are used for all feasts of the Virgin." + +On another shelf were the great copes, in satin and brocade, gold and +white, with embroidered hoods and orphries, and veils to match; and +the processional banners were stored in tall presses, and with them, +hanging on wire hooks, were the altar-curtains, thick with gold +thread; for the high altar there were curtains and embroidered +frontals, and tabernacle hangings, and these, the Prioress explained, +had to harmonise with the vestments; and the day before Mass for the +Dead the whole altar would have to be stripped after Benediction and +black hangings put up. + +"Cecilia will tell you about the candles. They have all to be of +equal length, Teresa, and it should be your ambition to be +economical, with as splendid a show as possible. No candle should +ever be allowed to burn into its socket, leaving less than the twelve +ordained by the Church for Exposition." + +As soon as the Prioress left them, Sister Cecilia told Evelyn that +she would have to work very hard indeed, for it was the Prioress's +whim not to use the ordinary altar cloths with an embroidered hem, +but always cloths on which lace frontals were lightly tacked; and +Evelyn was warned that the sewing on of the lace, without creasing +the white linen, required great care; and the spilling of a little +wax could not be passed over, the cloth would have to go to the wash. + +It was as she said; they had to work hard, and they were always +behindhand with their work. She learned from Cecilia that, apart from +the canonical directions for Divine Service, there existed an +unwritten code for pious observances--some saints were honoured by +having their banner exhibited during the octave of the feast, while +others were allowed little temporary altars on which some relic could +be exposed. The Sisters themselves were often mistaken regarding what +had been done on previous anniversaries; but the Prioress's memory +was unfailing, and one of the strictest rules of the house was that +the sacristan took orders from none but the Prioress. And when a +discussion arose between Cecilia and Evelyn, one of them went to the +Prioress to ask her to say which was right. + +Sister Cecilia was stupid and slow, and very soon Evelyn had absorbed +most of the work of the sacristy doing it as she pleased, until one +day, the Prioress coming in to see what progress had been made, found +St. Joseph's altar stripped, save for a single pair of candlesticks +and two flower vases filled with artificial flowers. Evelyn was +admonished, but she dared to answer that she was not interested in +St. Joseph, though, of course, he was a worthy man. + +"My dear Teresa, I cannot allow you to speak in this way of St. +Joseph; he is one of the patrons of the convent. Nor can I allow his +altar to be robbed in this fashion. Have you not thought that we are +looking forward to the time when you should be one of us?" + +Behind them stood Sister Cecilia, overcome with astonishment that a +mere novice should dare to speak to the Prioress on terms of +equality. When the Prioress left the room she said: + +"You didn't answer the Prioress just now when she asked if you had +forgotten that you were soon to become one of us." + +"How could I answer... I don't know." + +This answer seemed to exhaust Sister Cecilia's interest in the +question, and, handing Evelyn two more candles, she asked, "Do you +want me any more?" + +On Evelyn saying she did not, she said: + +"Well, then, I may go and meditate in the chapel." + +"On what is she going to meditate?" Evelyn wondered; and from time to +time her eyes went towards the nun, who sat crouched on her haunches, +now and again beating her ears with both hands--a little trick of +hers to scatter casual thoughts, for even sacred things sometimes +suggested thoughts of evil to Sister Cecilia, and her plan to reduce +her thoughts to order was to slap her ears. Evelyn watched her, +wondering what her thoughts might be. Whatever they were, they led +poor Cecilia into disgrace, for that evening she forgot to fill the +lamp which burnt always before the tabernacle, it being the rule that +the Easter light struck on Holy Saturday should be preserved through +the year, each new wick being lighted upon the dying one. And Sister +Cecilia's carelessness had broken the continuity. She was severely +reprimanded, ate her meals that day kneeling on the refectory floor, +and for many a day the shameful occurrence was remembered. And her +place was taken by Veronica, who, delighted at her promotion, wore a +quaint air of importance, hurrying away with a bundle of keys hanging +from her belt by a long chain, amusing Evelyn, who was now under +Veronica's orders. + +"Yes, it is rather strange, isn't it, Sister? But I can't help it. Of +course you ought to be in my place, and I can't think why dear Mother +has arranged it like this." + +Nuns employed in the sacristy might talk, and in a few days +Veronica's nature revealed itself in many little questions. + +"It is strange you should wish to be a nun." + +"But why is it strange, Veronica?" + +"For you are not like any of us, nor has the convent been the same +since you came." + +"Are you sorry that I wish to be a nun?" + +"Sorry, Sister Teresa? No, indeed. God has chosen you from the +beginning as the means He would employ to save us; only I can't see +you as a nun, always satisfied with the life here." + +"Every one doesn't know from childhood what she is going to do. But +you always knew your vocation, Veronica." + +"I cannot imagine myself anything but a nun, and yet I am not always +satisfied. Sometimes I am filled with longings for something which I +cannot live without, yet I do not know what I want. It is an +extraordinary feeling. Do you know what I mean, Sister?" + +"Yes, dear, I think I do." + +"It makes me feel quite faint, and it seizes me so suddenly. I have +wanted to tell you for a long time, only I have not liked to. There +are days when it makes me so restless that I cannot say my prayers, +so I know the feeling must be wrong. Something in the quality of your +voice stirs this feeling in me; your trill brings on this feeling +worse than anything. You don't know what I mean?" + +"Perhaps I do. But why do you ask?" + +"Because your singing seems to affect no one as it does me.... I +thought it might affect you in the same way--what is it?" + +"I wouldn't worry, Veronica, you will get over it; it will pass." + +"I hope it will." Evelyn felt that Veronica had not spoken all her +mind, and that the incident was not closed. The novice's eyes were +full of reverie, and behind her the open press exhaled a fragrance of +lavender. "You see," she said, turning, "Father Ambrose is coming +to-morrow. I wonder what he will think of you? He'll know if you have +a vocation." + +Father Ambrose, an old Carmelite monk and the spiritual adviser of +the Prioress, was known to be a great friend of Veronica's, and +whenever he came to the convent Veronica's excitement started many +little pleasantries among the novices. Next day Evelyn waited for one +of these to arise. She had not long to wait; all the novices and +postulants with Mother Hilda were sitting under the great tree. The +air was warm, and Mother Hilda guided the conversation occasionally. +Every one was anxious to talk, but every one was anxious to think +too, for every one knew she would be questioned by the aged monk, and +that the chance of being accepted as a nun depended, in no small +measure, on his opinion of her vocation. + +"Have you noticed, Sister Teresa, how beaming Sister Veronica has +looked for the last day or two? I can't think what has come to her." + +"Can't you, indeed? You must be very slow. Hasn't she been put into +the sacristy just before Father Ambrose's visit; now she will be able +to put out his vestments herself. You may be sure we shall have the +best vestments out every day, and she will be able to have any amount +of private interviews behind our backs." + +"Now, children, that will do," said Mother Hilda, noticing Veronica's +crimson cheeks as she bent over her work. + +Evelyn wondered, and that evening in the sacristy Veronica broke into +expostulations with an excitement that took Evelyn by surprise. + +"How could I not care for Father Ambrose! I have known him all my +life. Once I was very ill with pleurisy. I nearly died, and Father +Ambrose anointed me, and gave me the last Sacraments. I had not made +my first Communion then. I was only eleven, but they gave me the +Sacrament, for they thought I was dying, and I thought so too, and I +promised our Lord I would be a nun if I got well. I never told any +one except Father Ambrose, and he has helped me all through to keep +my vow, so you see he has been everything to me; I have never loved +any one as I love Father Ambrose. When he comes here I always ask him +for some rule or direction, so that I may have the happiness of +obeying him till his next visit; and it is so trying, is it not, +Sister Teresa, when the novices make their silly little jokes about +it? Of course, they don't understand, they can't; but to me Father +Ambrose means everything I care for; besides, he is really a saint. I +believe he would have been canonised if he had lived in the Middle +Ages. He has promised to profess me. It is wrong, I know, but really +I should hardly care to be professed if Father Ambrose could not be +by. We must have these vestments for him." Evelyn was about to take +them out. "No, allow me." + +Veronica took the vestments out of her hand, a pretty colour coming +into her cheeks as she did so. And Evelyn understood her jealousy, +lest any other hands but hers should lay the vestments out that he +was to wear, and she turned her head so that Veronica might not think +she was being watched. And the little nun was happy in the corner of +the sacristy laying out the vestments, putting the gold chalice for +him to use, and the gold cruets, which Evelyn had never seen used +before." + +"You see, being a monk, he has a larger amice than the ordinary +priest." And Veronica produced a strip of embroidery which she tacked +on the edge of the amice, so that it might give the desired +appearance when the monk drew it over his head on entering or leaving +the sacristy. + +A few days after Evelyn came upon this amice with the embroidery edge +put away in a secret corner, so that it should not be used in the +ordinary way; and, as she stood wondering at the child's love for the +aged monk, Sister Agnes came to tell her she was wanted to bid Sister +Mary John goodbye. + +"To bid Sister Mary John goodbye!" + +"Yes, Sister Teresa, that is what the Prioress told me to tell you." + +Evelyn hurried to the library. Sister Mary John was standing near the +window, and she wore a long black cloak over her habit, and had a +bird-cage in her hand. Evelyn saw the sly jackdaw, with his head on +one side, looking at her. + +"What is the meaning of this, Sister? You don't tell me you are going +away? And for how long?" + +"For ever, Sister; we shall never see each other again. I promised +the Prioress not to tell you before. It was a great hardship, but I +gave my promise, she allowing us to see each other for a few minutes +before I left." + +"I can't take in what you're saying. Going away for ever? Oh, Sister, +this cannot be true!" And Evelyn stood looking at the nun, her eyes +dilated, her fingers crisped as if she would hold Sister Mary John +back. "But what is taking you away?" + +"That is a long story, too long for telling now; besides, you know +it. You know I have been very fond of you, Teresa; too fond of you." + +"So that's it. And how shall I live here without you?" + +"You are going to enter the convent, and as a nun you will learn to +live without me; you will learn to love God better than you do now." + +"One moment; tell me, it is only fair you should tell me, how our +love of each other has altered your love of God?" + +"I can never tell you, Teresa, I can only say that I never +understood, perhaps, as I do now, that nothing must come between the +soul and God, and that there is no room for any other love in our +hearts. We must remember always we are the brides of Christ, you and +I, Sister." + +"But I am not professed, and never shall be." + +"I hope you will, Sister, and that all your love will go to our +crucified Lord." + +They stood holding each other's hands. + +"Won't you let me kiss you before you go?" + +"Please let me go; it will be better not. The carriage is waiting; I +must go." + +"But never, never to see you again!" + +"Never is a long while; too long. We shall meet in heaven, and it +would be unwise to forfeit that meeting for a moment of time on this +earth." + +"A moment of time on this earth," Evelyn answered. She stood looking +out of the window like one dazed; and taking advantage of her +abstraction Sister Mary John left the room. The Prioress came into +the library. + +"Mother, what does this mean? Why did you let her go?" + +The Prioress sat down slowly and looked at Evelyn without speaking. + +"Mother, you might have let her stay, for my sake." + +"I allowed her to see you before she left, and that was the most I +could do, under the circumstances." + +"The most you could do under the circumstances? I don't understand. +Mother, you might have asked her to wait. She acted on impulse." + +"No, Teresa, she came to me some weeks ago to tell me of her +scruples." + +"Scruples! Her love of me, you mean?" + +"I see she has told you. Yes." + +The Prioress was about to ask her about her vows; but the present was +not the moment to do so, and she allowed Evelyn to go back to the +sacristy. + + + +XXIX + +"Veronica, she has gone away for good--gone away to France. All I +could do--Now I am alone here, with nobody." + +"But, Teresa, I don't understand. What are you speaking about?" +Evelyn told her of Sister Miry John's departure. "You cared for her a +great deal, one could see that." + +"Well, she was the one whom I have seen most of since I have been +here... except you, Veronica." A look appeared in the girl's face +which suggested, very vaguely, of course, but still suggested, that +Veronica was jealous of the nun who had gone. Evelyn looked into the +girl's face, trying to read the dream in it, until she forgot +Veronica, and remembered the nun who had gone; and when she awoke +from her dream she saw Veronica still standing before her with a +half-cleaned candlestick in her hand. + +"She seemed so determined, and all I could say only made her more so; +yet I told her I was very fond of her... and she always seemed to +like me. Why should she be so determined?" + +"I should have thought you would have guessed, Teresa." + +Evelyn begged Veronica to explain, but the girl hesitated, looking at +her curiously all the time saying at last: + +"It seems to me there can be only one reason for her leaving, and +that was because she believed you to be her counterpart." + +"Her counterpart--what's that?" + +"Have you been so long in the convent without knowing what a +counterpart is, Teresa? The convent is full of counterparts. Did you +never see one in the garden, in a shady corner? You spent many hours +in the garden. I am surprised. Are you telling the truth, Sister?" + +Evelyn opened her eyes. + +"Telling the truth! But do they come in the summer-time in the +garden, while the sun is out?" + +"Yes, they do; and very often they come to one in the evening... but +more often at night." + +Evelyn stood looking into Veronica's face without speaking, and at +that moment the bell rang. + +"We have only just got time," Veronica said, "to get into chapel." + +"What can she mean? Counterparts visiting the nuns in the twilight... +at night! Who are these counterparts?" Evelyn asked herself. "The +idle fancies of young girls, of course." But she was curious to hear +what these were, and on the first favourable opportunity she +introduced the subject, saying: + +"What did you mean, Veronica, when you said that it was strange I had +been in the convent so long without finding my counterpart?" + +"I didn't say that, Teresa. I said without a counterpart finding you +out, or that is what I meant to say. It is the counterpart which +seeks us, not we the counterpart. It would be wrong for us to seek +one. You know what I said about your singing, how it disturbed me and +prevented me from praying? Well, sometimes a memory of your singing +precedes the arrival of my counterpart." + +"But did you not say that Sister Mary John was my counterpart?" + +Veronica answered that Sister Mary John may have thought so. + +"But she is a choir sister." And to this Veronica did not know what +answer to make. The silence was not broken for a long while, each +continuing her work, wondering when the other would speak. "Have all +the nuns counterparts?" + +"I don't know anything about the choir sisters, but Rufina and Jerome +have. Cecilia is too stupid, and no counterpart ever seems to come to +her. Sister Angela has the most beautiful counterpart in the world, +except mine!" And the girl's eyes lit up. + +Evelyn was on the point of asking her to describe her visitor, but, +fearing to be indiscreet, she asked Veronica to tell her who were the +counterparts, and whence they came. Veronica could tell her nothing, +and, untroubled by theory or scruple, she seemed to drift away-- +perhaps into the arms of her spiritual lover. On rousing her from her +dream Evelyn learnt that Sister Angela, who was fond of reading the +Bible, had discovered many texts anent counter-partial love. Which +these could be Evelyn wondered, and Veronica quoted the words of the +Creed, "Christ descended into hell." + +"But the counterpart doesn't emanate out of hell?" + +A look of pain came into the nun's face, and she reminded Evelyn that +Christ was away for three days between his death and his +resurrection, and there were passages she remembered in Paul, in the +Epistle to the Romans, which seemed to point to the belief that he +descended into hell, at all events that he had gone underground; but +of this Veronica had no knowledge, she could only repeat what Sister +Angela had said--that when Christ descended into hell, the warders of +the gates covered their faces, so frightened were they, not having +had time to lock the gates against him, and all hell was harrowed. +But Christ had walked on, preaching to those men and women who had +been drowned in the Flood, and they had gone up to heaven with him. + +"But, Veronica, those who are in hell never come out of it." + +"No, they never come out of it; only Christ can do all things, and He +descended into hell, not to watch the tortures of the damned--you +couldn't think that, Sister Teresa?--but to save those who had died +before His coming. Once we had a meditation on a subject given to us +by Mother Hilda from one of the Gospels: Three men were seen coming +from a tomb, two supporting a man standing between them, the shadow +of the Cross came from behind; and the heads of two men touched the +sky, but the head of the man they supported passed through the sky, +and far beyond it, for the third man was our Lord coming out of +hell." + +"But, Veronica, you were telling me about the counterparts." + +"Well, Sister Teresa, the counterparts are those whom Christ redeemed +in those three days, and they come and visit every convent." + +"In what guise do they come?" Evelyn asked. And she heard that the +arrival of the counterpart was always unexpected, but was preceded by +an especially happy state of quiet exaltation. + +"Have you never felt that feeling, Sister Teresa? As if one were +detached from everything, and ready to take flight." + +"Yes, dear, I think I know what you mean. But the counterpart is a +sort of marriage, and you know Christ says that there is neither +marriage, nor giving in marriage, when the kingdom of God shall come +to pass." + +"Not giving in marriage," the girl answered, "as is understood in the +world, but we shall all meet in heaven; and the meeting of our +counterpart on earth is but a faint shadow of the joy we shall +experience after death--an indwelling, spirit within spirit, and +nothing external. That is how Mother Hilda teaches St. Teresa when we +read her in the novitiate." + +"Sister Teresa is wonderful--her ravishments when God descended upon +her and she seemed to be borne away. But I didn't think that any one +among you experienced anything like that. It doesn't seem to me that +a counterpart is quite the same; there is something earthly." + +"No, Sister, nothing earthly whatever." + +"But, Veronica, you said that Sister Mary John left the convent +because she believed me to be her counterpart. I am in the world, am +I not?" + +A perplexed look came into Veronica's face, and she said: + +"There are counterparts and counterparts." + +"And you think I am a wicked counterpart? You wouldn't like me to be +yours?" + +"I didn't say that, Sister; only mine is in heaven." + +"And when did he come last to you?" Evelyn asked, as she folded up +the vestments. + +"Teresa, you are folding those vestments wrong. You're not thinking +of what you're doing." And the vestments turned the talk back to +Father Ambrose. + +"Surely the monk isn't the counterpart you were speaking of just +now?" + +"No, indeed, my counterpart is quite different from Father Ambrose; +he is young and beautiful. Father Ambrose has got a beautiful soul, +and I love him very dearly; but my counterpart is, as I have said, in +heaven, Sister." + +The conversation fell, and Evelyn did not dare to ask another +question; indeed, she determined never to speak on the subject again +to Veronica. But a few days afterwards she yielded to the temptation +to speak, or Veronica--she could not tell which was to blame in this +matter, but she found herself listening to Veronica telling how she +had, for weeks before meeting with her counterpart, often felt a soft +hand placed upon her, and the touch would seem so real that she would +forget what she was doing, and look for the hand without being able +to find it. + +"One night it seemed, dear, as if I could not keep on much longer, +and all the time I kept waking up. At last I awoke, feeling very cold +all over; it was an awful feeling, and I was so frightened that I +could hardly summon courage to take my habit from the peg and put it +upon my bed. But I did this, for, if what was coming were a wicked +thought, it would not be able to find me out under my habit. At last +I fell asleep, lying on my back with arms and feet folded, a position +I always find myself in when I awake, no matter in what position I +may go to sleep. Very soon I awoke, every fibre tingling, an +exquisite sensation of glow, and I was lying on my left side +(something I am never able to do), folded in the arms of my +counterpart. I cannot give you any idea of the beauty of his flesh, +and with what joy I beheld and felt it. Luminous flesh, and full of +tints so beautiful that they cannot be imagined. You would have to +see them. And he folded me so closely in his arms, telling me that it +was his coming that had caused the coldness; and then telling of his +love for me, and how he would watch over me and care for me. After +saying that, he folded me so closely that we seemed to become one +person; and then my flesh became beautiful, luminous, like his, and I +seemed to have a feeling of love and tenderness for it. I saw his +face, but it is too lovely to speak about. How could I think such a +visitation sinful? for all my thoughts were of pure love, and he did +not kiss me; but I fell asleep in his arms, and what a sleep I slept +there! When I awoke he was no longer by me." + +"But why should you think it was sinful, dear?" + +"Because our counterpart really is, or should be, Jesus Christ; we +are His brides, and mine was only an angel." + +"But you've said, dear, that those who were drowned in the Flood come +down to those living now upon earth to prepare them--" The sentence +dropped away on Evelyn's lips; she could not continue it, for it +seemed to her disgraceful to draw out this girl into speaking of +things which were sacred to her, and which had a meaning for her that +was pure. Her love was for God, and she was trying to explain; and +the terms open to her were terms of human love, which she, Evelyn, +with a sinful imagination, misconstrued, involuntarily perhaps, but +misconstrued nevertheless. + +At that moment Sister Angela came into the sacristy, and, seeing +Sister Veronica and Teresa looking at each other in silence, a look +of surprise came into her face, and she said: + +"Now, you who are always complaining that the work of the sacristy is +behindhand, Veronica--" + +Veronica awoke from her dream. + +"I know, Sister, we ought not to waste time talking, but Teresa asked +me about my counterpart." Evelyn felt the blood rising to her face, +and she turned away so that Angela might not see it. + +"And you've told her?" + +"Yes. And you, Sister Angela, have got a counterpart; won't you tell +Teresa about him?" + +And then, unable to repress herself at that moment, Evelyn turned to +Angela, saying: + +"It began about Sister Mary John--who left the convent to my great +grief, so Veronica tells me, because she believed herself to be my +counterpart." + +At this, Angela's face grew suddenly very grave, and she said: + +"Of course, Teresa, she would leave the convent if she believed that; +but there was no reason for her believing it?" + +"None," Evelyn answered, feeling a little frightened. "None. But what +do you mean?" + +"Only this, that our counterparts are in heaven; but there are +counterparts and counterparts. One--I cannot explain now, dear, for I +was sent by the Prioress to ask you, Veronica, to go to her room; she +wants to speak to you. And I must go back to the novitiate. I +suppose," she added, "Veronica has told you that our counterparts are +a little secret among ourselves? Mother Hilda knows nothing of them. +It would not do to speak of these visitations; but I never could see +any harm, for it isn't by our own will that the counterpart comes to +us; he is sent." + +Evelyn asked in what Gospel Christ's descent into hell is described, +and heard it was in that of Nicodemus; her estimation of Angela went +up in consequence. Angela was one of the few with intellectual +interests; and it was Evelyn's wish to hear about this Gospel that +led her, a few days afterwards, to walk with Angela and Veronica in +the orchard. Angela was delighted to be questioned regarding her +reading, and she told all she knew about Nicodemus. Veronica walked a +little ahead, plucking the tall grasses and enjoying the beautiful +weather. Evelyn, too, enjoyed the beautiful weather while listening +to the story of the harrowing of hell, as described by Nicodemus. +There were no clouds anywhere, and the sky, a dim blue overhead, +turned to grey as it descended. The June verdure of the park was a +wonderful spectacle, so many were the varying tints of green; only a +few unfledged poplars retained their russet tints. Outside the +garden, along the lanes, all the hedges overflowed with the great +lush of June; nettles and young ivy, buttercups, cow-parsley in +profusion, and in the hedge itself the white blossom of the hawthorn. +"The wild briar," Evelyn said to herself, "preparing its roses for +some weeks later, and in the low-lying lands, where there is a dip in +the fields, wild irises are coming into flower, and under the larches +on the banks women and children spend the long day chattering. Here +we talk of Nicodemus and spiritual loves." + +Angela, an alert young woman, whose walk still retained a dancing +movement, whose face, white like white flowers and lit with laughing +eyes, set Evelyn wondering what strange turn of mind should have +induced her to enter a convent. Locks of soft golden hair escaped +from her hood, intended to grow into long tresses, but she had +allowed her hair to be cut. An ideal young mother, she seemed to +Evelyn to be; and the thought of motherhood was put into Evelyn's +mind by the story Angela was telling, for her counterpart had been +drowned in Noah's deluge when he was four years old. + +"But he is a dear little fellow, and he creeps into my bed, and lies +in my arms; his hair is all curls, and he told me the story of his +drowning, how it happened five thousand years ago. He was carried +away in his cot by the flood, and had floated away, seeing the tops +of trees, until a great brown bear, weary of swimming, laid hold of +the cot and overturned it." + +Veronica, who had heard Nicodemus's description of the harrowing of +hell many times, returned to them, a bunch of wild flowers in her +hand. + +"Are not these Bright Eyes beautiful? They remind me of the eyes of +my baby; his eyes are as blue as these." And she looked into the +little blue flower. "Sister Teresa hasn't yet met a counterpart, but +that is only because she doesn't wish for it; one must pray and +meditate, otherwise one doesn't get one." And Evelyn learned how +Rufina had waited a long time for her counterpart. One day an +extraordinary fluttering began in her breast, and she heard the being +telling her not to forget to warn the doctor that he had grown a +little taller, and had come now to reach the end of toes and fingers. +Evelyn wanted to understand what that meant, but Angela could not +tell her, she could only repeat what Rufina had told her; and a look +of reproval came into Veronica's face when Angela said that when +Rufina was asked what her counterpart was like she said that it was +like having something inside one, and that lately he seemed to be +much in search of her mouth and tongue; and when she asked him what +he was like he replied that he was all a kiss." + +"It really seems to me--" A memory of her past life checked her from +reproving the novices for their conversation; they were innocent +girls, and though their language seemed strange they were innocent at +heart, which was the principal thing, whereas she was not. And the +talk went on now about Sister Cecilia, who had been long praying for +a counterpart, but whose prayers were not granted. + +"She is so stupid; how could a counterpart care about her? What could +he say?" Angela whispered to Veronica, pressing the bunch of flowers +which Veronica had given to her lips. + +"Cecilia isn't pretty. But our counterparts don't seek us for our +beauty," Veronica answered, Evelyn thought a little pedantically, +"otherwise mine never would have found me." And the novices laughed. + +The air was full of larks, some of them lost to view, so high were +they; others, rising from the grass, sang as they rose. + +"Listen to that one, how beautifully that bird sings!" And the three +women stood listening to a heaven full of larks till the Angelus bell +called their thoughts away from the birds. + +"We have been a long time away. Mother Hilda will be looking for us." +And they returned slowly to the Novice Mistress, Evelyn thinking of +Cecilia. "So it was for a counterpart she was praying all that time +in the corner of the chapel; and it was a dream of a counterpart that +caused her to forget to fill the sacred lamp." + + + +XXX + +It was the day of the month when the nuns watched by day and night +before the Sacrament. Cecilia's watch came at dawn, at half-past two, +and the last watcher knocked at her cell in the dusk, telling her she +must get up at once. But Cecilia answered: + +"I cannot get up, Sister, I cannot watch before the Sacrament this +morning." + +"And why, Sister? Are you ill?" + +"Yes, I am very ill." + +"And what has made you ill?" + +"A dream, Sister." + +And seeing it was Angela who had come to awaken her, Cecilia rose +from her pillow, saying, "A horrible dream, not a counterpart like +yours, Angela; oh! I can't think of it! It would be impossible for me +to take my watch." + +And walking down the passage, not knowing what to make of Cecilia's +answers, Angela stopped at Barbara's cell to tell her Cecilia was ill +and could not take her watch that morning. + +"And you must watch for her." + +"Why... what is it?" + +"I can tell you no more, Cecilia's ill." + +And she hurried away to avoid further questions, wondering what +reason stupid Cecilia would give Mother Hilda for her absence from +chapel and the row there would be if she were to tell that a +counterpart had visited her! If she could only get a chance to tell +Cecilia that she must say she was ill! If she didn't--Angela's +thoughts turned to her little counterpart, from whom she might be +separated for ever. No chance of speaking happened as the procession +moved towards the refectory; and after breakfast the novices bent +their heads over their work, when Mother Hilda said: + +"I hear, Cecilia, that you were so ill this morning that you couldn't +take your watch." + +"It wasn't illness--not exactly." + +"What, then?" + +"A bad dream, Mother." + +"It must have been a very bad dream to prevent you from getting up to +take your watch. I'm afraid I don't believe in dreams." The novices +breathed more freely, and their spirits rose when Mother Hilda said, +"The cake was heavy; you must have eaten too much of it. Barbara, you +must take notice of this indigestion, for you are fond of cake." The +novices laughed again, and thought themselves safe. But after +breakfast the Prioress sent for Cecilia, and they saw her leave the +novitiate angry with them all--she had caught sight of their smiles +and dreaded their mockery, and went to the Prioress wondering what +plausible contradiction she could give to Angela's story of the ugly +counterpart, so she was taken aback by the first question. + +"Now, what is it that I hear about a refusal to get up to take your +watch? Such a thing--" + +"Not laziness, Mother. Mother, if you knew what my dream was, you +would understand it was impossible for me to watch before the +Sacrament." + +"A dream!" + +Cecilia didn't answer. + +"You can tell me your dream...I shall be able to judge for myself." + +"No, no; it is too frightful!" And Cecilia fell upon her knees. + +"One isn't responsible for one's dreams." + +"Is that so, Mother? But if one prays?" + +"But you don't pray for dreams?" + +"Not for the dream I had last night." + +"Well, for what did you pray? Praying for dreams, Cecilia, is +entirely contrary to the rule, or to the spirit of the rule." + +"But Veronica, Angela, Rufina--they all pray that their counterparts +may visit them." + +"Counterparts!" the old woman answered. "What are you talking about?" + +"Must I tell you?" + +"Of course you must tell me." + +"But it will seem like spite on my part." + +"Spite! Spite?" + +"Because they have gotten beautiful counterparts through their +prayers, whereas--Oh, Mother, I cannot tell you." + +The Prioress forgot the stupid girl at her feet. + +"Counterparts!" + +"Who visit them." + +"Counterparts visiting them! You don't mean that anybody comes into +the convent?" + +"Only in dreams." + +Cecilia tried to explain, but stumbled in her explanation so often +that the Reverend Mother interrupted her: + +"Cecilia, you are talking nonsense! I have never heard anything like +it before!" + +"But what I am telling you, Mother, is in the gospel Nicodemus--" + +"Gospel of Nicodemus!" + +"The harrowing of hell!" + +"But what has all this got to do--I cannot understand you." + +The story was begun again and again. + +"Veronica's counterpart an angel, with luminous tints in his flesh; +Angela's a child drowned in Noah's flood! But--" The Prioress checked +her words. Had all the novices taken leave of their senses? Had they +gone mad?... It looked like it. Anyhow, this kind of thing must be +put a stop to and at once. She must get the whole truth out of this +stupid girl at her feet, who blubbered out her story, obviously +trying to escape punishment by incriminating others. + +"So you were praying that an angel might visit you; but what came was +quite different?" + +"Mother, Mother!" howled Cecilia; "it was a dwarf, but I didn't want +him in my bed. I've been punished enough.... Anything more horrible--" + +"In your bed!... anything so horrible? What do you mean?" + +"Am I to tell you? Must I?" + +"Certainly." + +"After all, it was only a dream." + +"Go on." + +"First I was awakened by a smell coming down the chimney." + +"But there are no chimneys." + +"I'm telling what I thought. There was a smell, which sometimes +seemed to collect in one corner of the room, sometimes in another. At +last it seemed to come from under the bed and... he crawled out." + +"Who crawled out!" + +"The dwarf--a creature with a huge head and rolling eyes and a great +tongue. That is all I saw, for I was too frightened; I heard him say +he was my counterpart, but I cried out, Mother, that it was not true. +He laughed at me, and said I had prayed for him. Then it seemed, +Mother, I was running away from him, only I was checked at every +moment by the others--Veronica, Barbara, and Angela--who put their +feet out so that I might fall; and they caught me by the arms; and +all were laughing, saying, 'Look at Sister Cecilia's counterpart; she +has got one at last and is running away from him. But he shall get +her; he shall get her.' I ran on until I found myself in a corner, +between two brick walls, and the dwarf standing in front of me, +rolling up his night-shirt in his hands, and telling me he was in +great agony; for his punishment was to swallow all the souls of the +nuns who had made bad Communions, and that I was to come at once with +him. I wouldn't go, but he took me by both hands, dragging me towards +the chapel. I told him Father Daly would sprinkle holy water upon +him; but he didn't seem to mind, Mother. If I hadn't been awakened by +Barbara knocking at my; door I don't know--" + +"Now you see, my dear child, what comes of praying for +counterparts.... This must be seen into at once." + +"But you will not say that I told you?" + +"Cecilia, I have heard enough; it isn't for you to ask me to make any +promises. Be sure, I shall try to act for the best. Mother Hilda and +Mother Philippa know nothing of these stories?" + +"Nothing; it is entirely between the novices." + +"You can go now, and remember not a word of what has passed between +us, not a word." + +"But I must confess to Father Daly. My mind wouldn't be at rest if I +didn't, for the dwarf did take me in his arms." + +"You can confess to Father Daly if you like; but I can't see you have +committed any sin; you've been merely very foolish." And the Prioress +turned towards the window, wondering if she should consult with +Father Daly. The secret would not be kept; Angela and Veronica would +speak about it, and there were others more or less implicated, no +doubt, and these would have recourse to Father Daly for advice, or to +Mother Hilda. + +"Come in. So it is you, Teresa? Disturbing me! No, you are not +disturbing me; I am not busy, and if I were it wouldn't matter. You +want to talk to me. Now, about what?" + +There was only one subject which would cause Evelyn to hesitate, so +the Prioress guessed that she had come to tell her that she wished to +leave the convent. + +"Well, Teresa, be it so; I cannot argue with you any more about a +vocation. I suppose you know best." + +"You seem very sad, Mother?" + +"Yes, I am sad; but you are not the cause of my sadness, though what +you have come to tell me is sad enough. I was just coming to the +conclusion, when you came into the room, that things must take their +course. God is good; his guiding hand is in everything, so I suppose +all that is happening is for the best. But it is difficult to see +whither it is tending, if it be not towards the dissolution of the +Order." + +"The dissolution of the Order, Mother!" + +"Well, if not of its dissolution, at all events of a change in the +rule. You know that many here--Mother Philippa, Sister Winifred, +aided and abetted by Father Daly--are anxious for a school, and we +can only have a school by becoming an active Order. You have helped +us a great deal, and our debts are no longer as pressing as they +were; but we still owe a good deal of money, and as you do not intend +to become a member of the community you will take your money away +with you. And this fact will strengthen the opposition against me." + +The Prioress lay back in her chair, white and frail, exhausted by the +heat. + +"May I pull down the blind, Mother?" + +"Yes, you may, dear; the sun is very hot." + +"Your determination to leave us isn't the only piece of bad news +which reached me this morning. Have you heard of Sister Cecilia's +adventure with her counterpart?" Evelyn nodded and tried to repress a +smile. "It is difficult not to smile, so ridiculous is her story; and +if I didn't look upon the matter as very serious, I shouldn't be able +to prevent myself from smiling." + +"But you will easily be able, Mother, to smile at this nonsense. +Veronica, who is a most pious girl, will not allow her mind to dwell +on counterparts since she knows it to be a sin, or likely to lead to +sin, and Angela and the others--if there are any others--" + +"That will not make an end to the evil. Everything, my dear Teresa, +declines. Ideas, like everything else, have their term of life. +Everything declines, everything turns to clay, and I look upon this +desire for spiritual visitations as a warning that the belief which +led to the founding of this Order has come to an end! From such noble +prayers as led to the founding of this Order we have declined to +prayers for the visitation of counterparts." + +Evelyn was about to interrupt, but the Prioress shook her head, +saying, "Well, if not the whole of the convent, at all events part of +it--several novices." And she told Evelyn the disease would spread +from nun to nun, and that there was no way of checking it. + +"Unless by becoming an active order," Evelyn answered, "founding a +school." + +The old woman rose to her feet instantly, saying that she had spoken +out of a moment of weakness; and that it would be cowardly for her to +give way to Mother Philippa and Sister Winifred; she would never +acquiesce in any alteration of the rule. + +"But you, too," she said, "are inclined towards the school?" + +Evelyn admitted she was thinking of the poor, people whom she had +left to their fate, so that she might save herself from sin; and the +talk of the two women dropped from the impersonal to the personal, +Evelyn telling the Prioress a great deal more of herself than she had +told before, and the Prioress confiding to Evelyn in the end her own +story, a simple one, which Evelyn listened to with tears in her eyes. + +"Before I came here I was married, and before I was married I often +used to come to the convent, for I was fond of the nuns, and was a +pious girl. But after my marriage I was captured by life--the vine of +life grew about me and held me tight. One day, passing by the door of +the convent, my husband said, 'It is lucky that love rescued you, for +when I met you you were a little taken by the convent, and might have +become a nun if you hadn't fallen in love. You might have shut +yourself up there and lived in grey habit and penances!' That day I +wore a grey silk dress, and I remember lifting the skirt up as we +passed the door and hitting the kerbstone with it. 'Shut up in that +prison-house! Did I ever seriously think of such a thing?' These were +my words, but God, in his great goodness and wisdom, resolved to +bring me back. A great deal is required to save our souls, so deeply +are we enmeshed in the delight of life and in the delight of one +another.... God took my husband from me after an illness of three +weeks. That happened forty years ago. I used to sit on the seashore, +crying all day, and my little child used to put his arms about me and +say, 'What is mammie crying for?' Then my child died; seemingly +without any reason, and I felt that I could not live any longer amid +the desires and activities of the world. I'll not try to tell you +what my grief was; you have suffered grief, and can imagine it. +Perhaps you can. I left my home and hurried here. When I saw you +return, soon after your father's death; I couldn't but think of my +own returning. I saw myself in you." + +"But, Mother, do you regret that you came here?" + +The old nun did not answer for some time. + +"It is hard to say, Teresa. There are deceptions everywhere, in the +convent as in the world; and the mediocrity of the Sisters here is +tiresome; one longs for a little more intelligence. And, as I was +saying just now, everything declines; an idea ravels like a sleeve. +Are you happy here?... You are not; I see it in your eyes." + +"The only ones who are happy here," Evelyn answered, "I am sure, are +those like Veronica, who pass from the schoolroom to the novitiate." + +"You think that? But the convent is a great escapement. You came +here, having escaped death only by an accident, and when you went to +Rome to see your father you came back distraught, your mind unhinged, +and it was months before you could believe that your sins could be +forgiven. If you leave here, what will become of you? You will return +to the stage." + +Evelyn smiled sadly. + +"You will meet your lovers again. Temptation will be by you; you are +still a young woman. How old are you, Teresa?" + +"Thirty-eight. But I no longer feel young." + +"Then, do you not think it better to spend the last term with us? I +am an old woman, Teresa, and you are the only friend I have in the +convent, the only one who knows me; it would be a great charity if +you were to remain with me.... But you fear I shall live too long? +No, Teresa, the time will not be very long." + +"Mother, don't talk like that, it only grieves me. As long as you +wish me to stay I'll stay." + +"But if I weren't here you would leave?" Evelyn did not answer. "You +would be very lonely?" + +"Yes, I should be lonely." And then, speaking at the end of a long +silence, she said, "Why did you send away Sister Mary John? She was +my friend, and one must have a friend--even in a convent." + +"Teresa, I begged of her to remain. And you are lonely now without +her?" + +"I should be lonelier, Mother, if you weren't here." + +"We will share our loneliness together." + +Evelyn seemed to acquiesce. + +"My dear child, you are very good; you have a kind heart. One sees it +in your eyes." + +She left the Prioress's room frightened, saying. "Till the Prioress's +death." + + + +XXXI + +Father Daly paced the garden alley, reading his Breviary, and, +catching sight of him, Sister Winifred, a tall, thin woman, with a +narrow forehead and prominent teeth, said to herself, "Now's my +chance." + +"I hope you won't mind my interrupting you, Father, but I have come +to speak to you on a matter of some importance. It will take some +minutes for me to explain it all to you, and in confession, you see, +our time is limited. You know how strict the Prioress is that we +shouldn't exceed our regulation three minutes." + +"I know that quite well," the little man answered abruptly; "a most +improper rule. But we'll not discuss the Prioress, Sister Winifred. +What have you come to tell me?" + +"Well, in a way, it is about the Prioress. You know all about our +financial difficulties, and you know they are not settled yet." + +"I thought that Sister Teresa's singing--" + +"Of course, Sister Teresa's singing has done us a great deal of good, +but the collections have fallen off considerably; and, as for the +rich Catholics who were to pay off our debts, they are like the ships +coming from the East, but whose masts have not yet appeared above the +horizon." + +"But does the Prioress still believe that these rich Catholics will +come to her aid?" + +"Oh, yes, she believes; she tells us that we must pray, and that if +we pray they will come. Well, Father, prayer is very well, but we +must try to help ourselves, and we have been thinking it over; and, +in thinking it over, some of us have come to very practical +conclusions." + +"You have come to the conclusion that perhaps a good deal of time is +wasted in this garden, which might be devoted to good works?" + +"Yes, that has struck us, and we think the best way out of our +difficulties would be a school." + +"A school!" + +"Something must be done," she said, "and we are thinking of starting +a school. We've received a great deal of encouragement. I believe I +could get twenty pupils to-morrow, but Mother Prioress won't hear of +it. She tells us that we are to pray, and that all will come right. +But even she does not depend entirely upon prayer; she depends upon +Sister Teresa's singing." + +"A most uncertain source of income, I should say." + +"So we all think." + +They walked in silence until within a few yards of the end of the +walk; and, just as they were about to turn, the priest said: + +"I was talking at the Bishop's to a priest who has been put in charge +of a parish in one of the poorest parts of South London. There is no +school, and the people are disheartened; and he has gone to live +among them, in a wretched house, in one of the worst slums of the +district. He lives in one of the upper rooms, and has turned the +ground floor, which used to be a greengrocer's shop, into a temporary +chapel and school, and now he is looking for some nuns to help him in +the work. He asked me if I could recommend any, and I thought of you +all here, Sister Winifred, with your beautiful church and garden, +doing, what I call, elegant piety. It has come to seem to me +unbearably sad that you and I and these few here, who could do such +good work, should be kept back from doing it." + +"I am afraid our habit, Father, makes that sort of work out of the +question for us." And Sister Winifred dropped her habit for a moment +and let it trail gracefully. + +"Long, grey habits, that a speck of dirt will stain, are very +suitable to trail over green swards, but not fit to bring into the +houses of the poor, for fear they should be spoiled. "Oh," he cried, +"I have no patience with such rules, such petty observances. I have +often asked myself why the Bishop chose to put me here, where I am +entirely out of sympathy, where I am useless, where there is nothing +for me to do really, except to try to keep my temper. I have spoken of +this matter to no one before, but, since you have come to speak to me, +Sister Winifred, I, too, must speak. Ever since I've been here I've +been longing for some congenial work--work which I could feel I was +intended to do. It seems hard at times to feel one's life slipping +away and the work one could do always withheld from one's reach. You +understand?" + +"Indeed, I do. It is the fate of many of us here, Father Daly." + +"Now, if you could make a new foundation--if some three or four of +you--if the Bishop would send me there." + +"Of course, we might go and do good work in the district you speak +of, but I doubt whether the Bishop would recognise us as a new +foundation." + +"I daresay he wouldn't." And they walked a little way in silence. +"You were telling me of your project for a school, Sister Winifred." + +Sister Winifred entered into the details. But she had unduly excited +Father Daly, and he could not listen. + +"My position here," he said, interrupting her, "is an impossible one. +The only ones here who consider my advice are the lay sisters, the +admirable lay sisters who work from morning till evening, and forego +their prayers lest you should want for anything. You know I'm treated +very nearly with contempt by almost all the choir sisters. You think +I don't know that I am spoken of as a mere secular priest? Every +suggestion of mine meets with a rude answer. You have witnessed a +good deal of this, Sister Winifred. I daresay you've forgotten, but I +remember it all... you have come to speak to me here because the +Prioress will not allow you to spend more than three minutes in the +confessional, arrogating to herself the position of your spiritual +adviser, only allowing to me what is to her no more than the +mechanical act of absolution. In her eyes I am a mere secular priest, +incapable of advising those who live in an Order! Do you think I +haven't noticed her deference to the very slightest word that Father +Ambrose deigns to speak to her? Her rule doesn't apply to his +confessional, only to mine--a rule which I have always regarded as +extremely unorthodox; I don't feel at all sure that the amateur +confessional which she carries on upstairs wouldn't be suppressed +were it brought under the notice of Rome; I have long been determined +to resist it, and I beg of you, Sister Winifred, when you come to me +to confession to stay as long as you think proper. On this matter I +now see that the Prioress and I must come to an understanding." + +"But not a word. Father Daly, must we breathe to her of what I have +come to tell you about. The relaxation of our Order must be referred +to the Bishop, and with your support." + +They walked for some yards in silence, Father Daly reflecting on the +admirable qualities of Sister Winifred, her truthfulness and her +strength of character which had brought her to him; Sister Winifred +congratulating herself on how successfully she had deceived Father +Daly and thinking how she might introduce another subject into the +conversation (a delicate one it was to introduce); so she began to +talk as far away as possible from the subject which she wished to +arrive at. The founders of the Orders seemed to her the point to +start from; the conversation could be led round to the question of +how much time was wasted on meditation; it would be easy to drop a +sly hint that the meditations of the nuns were not always upon the +Cross; she managed to do this so adroitly that Father Daly fell into +the trap at once. + +"Love of God, of course, is eternal; but each age must love God in +its own fashion, and our religious sentiments are not those of the +Middle Ages." The exercises of St. Ignatius did not appeal in the +least to Father Daly, who disapproved of letting one's thoughts brood +upon hell; far better think of heaven. Too much brooding on hell +engenders a feeling of despair, which was the cause of Sister +Teresa's melancholia. Too intense a fear of hell has caused men, so +it is said, to kill themselves. It seems strange, but men kill +themselves through fear of death. "I suppose it is possible that fear +of hell might distract the mind so completely--Well, let us not talk +on these subjects. We were talking of--" The nun reminded the priest +they were talking of the exercises of St. Ignatius. "Let us not speak +of them. St. Ignatius's descriptions of the licking of the flames +round the limbs of the damned may have been suitable in his time, but +for us there are better things in the exercises." + +"But do you not think that the time spent in meditation might be +spent more profitably, Father? I have often thought so." + +"If the meditation were really one." + +"Exactly, Father, but who can further thoughts; thought wanders, and +before one is aware one finds oneself far from the subject of the +meditation." + +"No doubt; no doubt." + +"It was through active work that Sister Teresa was cured." "If any +fact has come to your knowledge, Sister, it is your duty to tell it +to me, the spiritual adviser of the nuns, notwithstanding all the +attempts of the Prioress to usurp my position." + +"Well, Father, if you ask me--" + +"Yes, certainly I ask you." And Sister Winifred told how, through a +dream, Sister Cecilia had been unable to go down from her cell to +watch before the Sacrament. + +"We are not answerable for our dreams," the priest answered. + +"No; but if we pray for dreams?" + +"But Cecilia could not desire such a dream?" + +"Not exactly that dream." And so the story was gradually unfolded to +the priest. + +"What you tell me is very serious. The holy hours which should be +devoted to meditation of the Cross wasted in dreams of counterparts! +A strange name they have given these visitations, some might have +given them a harsher name." Father Daly's thoughts went to certain +literature of the Middle Ages. "The matter is, of course, one that is +not entirely unknown to me; it is one of the traditional sins of the +convent, one of the plagues of the Middle Ages. The early Fathers +suffered from the visits of Succubi. What you tell me is very +alarming. Would it not be well for me to speak to the Prioress on the +subject?" + +"No, on no account." + +"But she must be exceedingly anxious to put a stop to such a +pollution of the meditation?" + +"Yes, indeed, I will say that nobody is more opposed to it; but she +is one of these women who, though she sees that something is wrong, +will not go to the root of the wrong at once. The tendency of her +mind is towards the contemplative, and not towards the active orders, +and she will not give way to the relaxation of the rule. You had +better just take the matter into your hands, feeling sure she will +approve of the action in the end. A word or two on the subject in +your sermon on Sunday would be very timely." + +Father Daly promised to think the matter over, and Sister Winifred +said: + +"But you must know we shall have much opposition?" + +"But who will oppose us?" + +"Those who have succeeded in getting counterparts will not surrender +them easily." And Sister Winifred was persuaded to mention the names +of the nuns incriminated in this traffic with the spirits of the +children who had been drowned in Noah's flood. + +"Beings from the other world!" Father Daly cried, alarmed that not +one of the nuns had spoken on this subject to him in the convent. +"This is the first time a nun has spoken to me--" + +"All will speak to you on this matter when you explain to them the +danger they are incurring--when you tell them in your sermon. There +is the bell; now I must fly. I will tell you more when I come to +confession this afternoon." As she went up the path she resolved to +remain ten minutes in the confessional at least, for such a breach of +the rule would challenge the Prioress's spiritual authority, and in +return for this Father Daly would use his influence with the Bishop +to induce the Prioress to relax the rule of the community. To make +her disobedience more remarkable, she loitered before slipping into +the confessional, and the Prioress, who had just come into the +chapel, noticed her. But without giving it another thought the +Prioress began her prayers. At the end of five minutes, however, she +began to grow impatient, and at the end of ten minutes to feel that +her authority had been set aside. + +"You've been at least ten minutes in the confessional, Sister +Winifred." + +"It is hard, indeed, dear Mother, if one isn't allowed to confess in +peace," Sister Winifred answered. And she tossed her head somewhat +defiantly. + +"All the hopes of my life are at an end," the Prioress said to Mother +Hilda." Every one is in rebellion against me; and this branch of our +Order is about to disappear. I feel sure the Bishop will decide +against us, and what can we do with the school? Sister Winifred will +have to manage it herself. I will resign. It is hard indeed that this +should happen after so many years of struggle; and, after redeeming +the convent from its debts, to be divided in the end." + + + +XXXII + +Next Sunday Father Daly took for his text, "And all nations shall +turn and fear the Lord truly, and shall bury their idols" (Toby xiv. +6). + +"Yes, indeed, we should bury our idols." And then Father Daly asked +if our idols were always external things, made of brass and gold, or +if they were not very often cherished in our hearts--the desires of +the flesh to which we give gracious forms, and which we supply with +specious words; "we think," he said, "to deceive ourselves with those +fair images born of our desires; and we give them names, and +attribute to them the perfections of angels, believing that our +visitations are angels, but are we sure they are not devils?" + +The Prioress raised her eyes, and looked at him long and steadily, +asking herself what he was going to say next. + +He went on to tell how one of the chief difficulties of monastic life +was to distinguish between the good and the evil visitant, between +the angel and the demon; for permission was often given to the demon +to disguise himself as an angel, in order that the nun and the monk +might be approved. Returning then to the text, he told the story of +Tobit and Tobias's son, and how Tobias had to have resort to burning +perfumes in order to save himself from death from the evil spirit, +who, when he smelt the perfume, fled into Egypt and was bound by an +angel. "We, too, must strive to bind the evil spirit, and we can do +so with prayer. We must have recourse to prayer in order to put the +evil spirit to flight. Prayer is a perfume, and it ascends sweeter +than the scent of roses and lilies, greeting God's nostrils, which +are in heaven." + +The Prioress thought this expression somewhat crude, and she again +looked at the preacher long and steadfastly, asking herself if the +text and Father Daly's interpretation of it were merely coincidences, +or if he were speaking from knowledge of the condition of convents... +Cecilia, had she told him everything? The Prioress frowned. Sister +Winifred was careful not to raise her eyes to the preacher, for she +was regretting his words, foreseeing the difficulties they would lead +her into, knowing well that the Prioress would resent this +interference with her authority, and she would have given much to +stop Father Daly; but that, of course, was impossible now, and she +heard him say that the angel who bound the evil spirit in Egypt four +thousand years ago is to-day the symbol of the priest in the +confessional, and it was only by availing themselves of that +Sacrament, not in any invidious sense, but in the fullest possible +sense, confiding their entire souls to the care of their spiritual +adviser, that they could escape from the evil spirits which +penetrated into monasteries to-day no less than before, as they had +always done, from the earliest times; for the more pious men and +women are, the more they retire from the world, the more delicate are +the temptations which the devil invents. Convents dedicate to the +Adoration of the Sacrament, to meditation on the Cross, convents in +which active work is eschewed are especially sought by the evil +spirits, "the larvæ of monasticism," he called them. An abundance of +leisure is favourable to the hatching of these; and he drew a picture +of how the grub first appears, and then the winged moth, sometimes +brown and repellant, sometimes dressed in attractive colours like the +butterfly. The soul follows as a child follows the butterfly, from +flower to flower through the sunshine, led on out of the sunshine +into dark alleys, at the end of which are dangerous places, from +whence the soul may never return again. + +"Nuns and monks of the Middle Ages, those who knew monasticism better +than it ever could be known in these modern days, dreaded these larvæ +more than anything else, and they had methods of destroying them and +repelling the beguilements of evil spirits better than we have, for +the contemplative orders were more kindred to those earlier times +than to-day. Monasticism of today takes another turn. Love of God is +eternal, but we must love God in the idiom and spirit of our time." +And Father Daly believed that there was no surer method of escaping +from the danger than by active work, by teaching, which, he argued, +was not incompatible with contemplation, not carried to excess; and +there were also the poor people, and to work for them was always +pleasing to God. Any drastic changes were, of course, out of the +question, but he had been asked to speak on this subject, and it +seemed to him that they should look to Nature for guidance, and in +Nature they found not revolution but evolution; the law of Nature was +progression. Why should any rule remain for ever the same? It must +progress just as our ideas progress. He wandered on, words coming up +in his mouth involuntarily, saying things which immediately after +they were said he regretted having said, trying to bring his sermon +to a close, unable to do so, obliged, at last, to say hurriedly that +he hoped they would reflect on this matter, and try to remember he +was always at their service and prepared to give them the best +advice. + +As soon as Mass was over Mother Hilda went to the Prioress. "We'll +speak on this matter later." And the Prioress went to her room, +hurriedly. The nuns hung about the cloister, whispering in little +groups, forgetful of the rule; the supporters of the Prioress +indignant with the priest, who had dared to call into question the +spiritual value of their Order, and to tell them it would be more +pleasing to God for them to start a school. It was felt even by the +supporters of the school that the priest had gone too far, not in +advocating the school, but in what he had said regarding the +liability of the contemplative orders to be attacked by demons, for +really what he had said amounted to that. + + + +XXXIII + +When the news arrived that Father Daly had been transferred suddenly +by the Bishop to another parish, Sister Winifred walked about in +terror, expecting every minute to bring her a summons to the +Prioress's room. A shiver went through her when she thought of the +interview which probably awaited her; but as the morning wore away +without any command reaching her, she began to take pleasure in the +hope that she had escaped, and in the belief that the Prioress was +afraid of an explanation. No doubt that was it; and Sister Winifred +picked up courage and the threads of the broken intrigue, resolving +this time to confine herself to laying stress on the necessitous +condition of the convent, which was still in debt, and the +impossibility of Sister Teresa's singing redeeming it entirely. + +It would have been wiser if she had conducted her campaign as she +intended to do, but the temptation was irresistible to point out, +occasionally, that those who did not agree with her were the very +nuns--Angela, Veronica, Rufina, and one or two others--who had +confessed to the sin of praying for the visitations of counterparts +during the hour of meditation and other hours. By doing this she +prejudiced her cause. Her inuendoes reached the ears of the Bishop +and Monsignor Mostyn, who came to the convent to settle the +difficulty of an alteration in the rule; she was severely +reprimanded, and it was decreed that the contemplative Orders were +not out of date, and that nuns should be able to meditate on the +Cross without considering too closely the joys that awaited the +brides of Christ in heaven. St. Teresa's writings were put under ban, +only the older nuns, who would not accept the words of the saint too +literally, being allowed to read them. "Added to which," as Monsignor +said, "the idle thoughts of the novices are occupying too much of our +attention. This is a matter for the spiritual adviser of the novices, +and Father Rawley is one who will keep a strict watch." + +The Bishop concurred with Monsignor, and then applied his mind to the +consideration of the proposed alteration of the rule, deciding that +no alteration could receive his sanction, at all events during the +life of the present Prioress. Sister Winifred was told that the +matter must be dropped for the present. It so happened that Monsignor +came upon her and Evelyn together before the Bishop left; and he +tried to reconcile them, saying that when the Prioress was called to +God--it was only a question of time for all of us, and it didn't seem +probable that she would live very long; of course, it was a very +painful matter, one which they did not care to speak about--but after +her death, if it should be decided that the Order might become a +teaching Order, Sister Teresa would be the person who would be able +to assist Sister Winifred better than any other. + +"But, Monsignor," Evelyn said, "I do not feel sure I've a vocation +for the religious life." + +Out of a shrivelled face pale, deeply-set eyes looked at her, and it +seemed that she could read therein the disappointment he felt that +she was not remaining in the convent. She was sorry she had +disappointed him, for he had helped her; and she left him talking to +Sister Winifred and wandered down the passage, not quite certain +whether he doubted her strength to lead a chaste life in the world, +or could she attribute that change of expression in his eyes to +wounded vanity at finding that the living clay put into his hands was +escaping from them unmoulded... by him? Hard to say. There was a fear +in her heart! Now was it that she might lack the force of character +to leave the convent when the time came... after the Prioress's +death? Life is but a ceaseless uprooting of oneself. Sister Winifred +might be elected.... + +"Who will have the strength to turn the convent into an active Order +when I am gone?" the Prioress often asked Evelyn, who could only +answer her that she hoped she would be with them for many a day yet. +"No, my dear, not for many months. I am a very old woman." She +questioned Evelyn regarding Mother Philippa's administration; and +Evelyn disguised from her the disorder that had come into the +convent, not telling how the nuns spent a great deal of time visiting +each other in their cells, how in the garden some walked on one side +and some on the other, how the bitterest enmities had sprung up. But, +though she was not told these things, the Prioress knew her convent +had fallen into decadence, and sometimes she said: + +"Well, I haven't the strength to restore dignity to this Order; so it +had better disappear, become an active Order. But who among you will +be able to reorganise it? Mother Philippa--what do you think, dear?" + +"Mother Philippa is an excellent woman," Evelyn answered; "but as an +administrator--" + +"You don't believe in her?" + +"Only when she is guided by another, one superior to herself." + +"One who will see that the rule is maintained?" + +Evelyn was thinking of Mother Hilda. + +"Mother Hilda," she said, "seems to me too quiet, too subtle, too +retiring." And the Prioress agreed with her, saying under her breath: + +"She prefers to confine herself to the education of her novices. So +what is to be done?" + +From Mother Hilda Evelyn's thoughts went to Sister Mary John, and it +seemed to her she never realised before the irreparable loss the +convent had sustained. But what was the good in reminding the +Prioress of Sister Mary John? No doubt, lying back there in her +chair, the old mind was thinking of the nun she had lost, and who +would have proved of such extraordinary service in the present +circumstances. While looking at the Prioress, thinking with her (for +it is true the Prioress was thinking of Sister Mary John), Evelyn +understood suddenly, in a single second, that if Sister Mary John had +not left Sister Winifred would not have come forward with the project +of a school, nor would there have been any schism. But in spite of +all her wisdom, the Prioress had not known, until this day, how +dependent they were on Sister Mary John. A great mistake had been +made, but there was no use going into that now. + +A bell rang, and Evelyn said: + +"Now, Mother, will you take my arm and we'll go down to chapel +together?" + +"And after Benediction I will take a turn in the garden with you," +the Prioress said. + +She was so weary of singing Gounod's "Ave Maria" that she accentuated +the vulgarity of the melody, and wondered if the caricature would be +noticed. "The more vulgarly it is sung the more money it draws." And +smiling at the theatrical phrase, which had arisen unexpectedly to +her lips, she went into the garden to join the Prioress. + +"Come this way, dear; I want to talk to you." And the Prioress and +the novice wandered away from the other nuns towards the fish-pond, +and stood listening to the gurgle of the stream and to the whisper of +the woods. An inspiring calm seemed to fall out of the sky, filling +the heart with sympathy, turning all things to one thing, drawing the +earth and sky and thoughts of men and women together. + +"Teresa, dear, when you leave us what do you intend to do? You have +never told me. Do you intend to return to the stage?" + +"Mother, I cannot bear to think of leaving you." The old nun raised +her eyes for a moment, and there was a great sadness in them, for she +felt that without Evelyn her death would be lonely. + +"We came here for the same reason, or very nearly. I stayed, and you +are going." + +"And which do you think is the better part, Mother?" + +The nun did not answer for a long time, and Evelyn's heart seemed to +beat more quickly as she waited for the answer. + +"These are things we shall never know, whether it is better to go or +to stay. All the wisdom of the ages has never solved this question-- +which ever course we take; it costs a great deal to come here." + +"And it costs a great deal to remain in the world. Something terrible +would have happened to me. I should have killed myself. But you know +everything, Mother; there is no use going over that story again." + +"No, there is none. Only one thing remains to be said, Teresa--to +thank you for remaining with me. You are a gift from God, the best I +have received for a long time, and if I reach heaven my prayers will +always be with you." + +"And, Mother, if you reach heaven, will you promise me one thing, +that you will come to me and tell me the truth?" + +"That I promise, and I will keep my promise if I am allowed." + +The ripple of the stream sounded loud in their ears, and the skies +became more lovely as Evelyn and the Prioress thought of the promise +that had been asked and been given. + +"I'll ask you to do some things for me." And she gave Evelyn +instructions regarding her papers. "When you have done all these +things you will leave the convent. You will not be able to remain. I +have seen a great deal of you, more than I saw of any other novice, +and I know you as if you were my own child.... I am very old, and you +are still a young woman." + +"Mother, I am nearly, forty, and my trials are at an end, or nearly." + +"Truly, a great trial. I am old enough now, Teresa, to speak about it +without shame. A great trial, yet one is sorry when it is over. And +you still believe that a calamity would have befallen you?" + +"And a great calamity nearly did befall me." + +They sat side by side, their eyes averted, knowing well that they had +reached a point beyond which words could not carry them. + +"We are always anxious to be understood, every one wants to be +understood. But why? Of what use?" + +"Mother, we must never speak on this subject again, for I love you +very dearly, and it is a great pain to me to think that your death +will set me free." + +"It seems wrong, Teresa, but I wouldn't have you remain in the +convent after me; you are not suited to it. I knew it all the while, +only I tried to keep you. One is never free from temptation. Now you +know everything.... We have been here long enough." + +"We have only been here a few minutes," Evelyn answered; "at least it +has only seemed a few minutes to me. The evening is so beautiful, the +sky is so calm, the sound of the water so extraordinary in the +stillness! Listen to those birds, the chaffinch shrieking in that +aspen, and the thrush singing all his little songs somewhere at the +end of the garden." + +"And there is your bullfinch, dear. He will remain in the convent to +remind them of you when you have left." + +The bird whistled a stave of the Bird Music from "Siegfried," and +then came to their feet to pick. Evelyn threw him some bread, and +they wandered back to the novices, who had forgotten their +differences, and were sitting under their tree with Mother Hilda +discussing a subject of great interest to them. + +"We haven't seen them united before for a long time." + +"That odious Sister Winifred waiting for your death, thinking only of +her school." + +"That is the way of the world, and we find the world everywhere, even +in a convent. Her idea comes before everything else. Only you, +Teresa, are good; you are sacrificing yourself to me; I hope it will +not be for long." + +"But we said, Mother, we wouldn't talk of that any more. Now, what +are the novices so eager about?" + +Sister Agatha ran forward to tell them that it had been suddenly +remembered that the thirtieth of the month would be Sister Bridget's +fortieth anniversary of her vows. + +"Forty years she has been in the convent, and we are thinking that we +might do something to commemorate the anniversary." + +"I should like to see her on an elephant, riding round the garden. +What a spree it would be!" said Sister Jerome. + +The words were hardly out of her mouth when she regretted them, +foreseeing allusions to elephants till the end of her days, for +Sister Jerome often said foolish things, and was greatly quizzed for +them. But the absurdity of the proposal did not seem to strike any +one; only the difficulty of procuring an elephant, with a man who +would know how to manage the animal, was very great. Why not a +donkey? They could easily get one from Wimbledon; the gardener would +bring one. But a donkey ride seemed a strange come-down after an +elephant ride, and an idea had suddenly struck Sister Agatha. + +"Sister Jerome doesn't mean a real elephant, I suppose. We might +easily make a very fine elephant indeed by piling the long table from +the library with cushions, stuffing it as nearly as possible into the +shape of an elephant." + +"And the making of the elephant would be such a lark!" cried Sister +Jerome. + +Mother Hilda raised no objection, and the Prioress and Evelyn walked +aside, saying: + +"Well, it is better they should be making elephants than dreaming of +counterparts." + + + +XXXIV + +The creation of the beast was accomplished in the novitiate, no one +being allowed to see it except the Prioress. The great difficulty was +to find beads large enough for the eyes, and it threatened to +frustrate the making of their beast. But the latest postulant +suggested that perhaps the buttons off her jacket would do, they were +just the thing,' and the legs of the beast were most natural and +life-like; it had even a tail. + +As no one out of the novitiate had seen this very fine beast, the +convent was on tip-toe with excitement, and when, at the conclusion +of dinner, the elephant was wheeled into the refectory, every one +clapped her hands, and there were screams of delight. Then the saddle +was brought in and attached by blue ribbons. Sister Bridget, who did +not seem quite sure that the elephant was not alive, was lifted on it +and held there; and was wheeled round the refectory in triumph, the +novices screaming with delight, the professed, too. Only Evelyn stood +silent and apart, sorry she could not mix with the others, sharing +their pleasures. To stand watching them she felt to be unkind, so she +went into the garden, and wandered to the sundial, whence she could +see Richmond Park; and looking into the distance, hearing the +childish gaiety of the nuns, she remembered Louise's party at the +Savoy Hotel years and years ago. The convent had ceased to have any +meaning for her; so she must return, but not to the mummers, they, +too, had faded out of her life. She did not know whither she was +going, only that she must wander on... as soon as the Prioress died. +The thought caused her to shudder, and, remembering that the old +woman was alone in her room, she went up to ask her if she would care +to come into the garden with her. The Prioress was too weak to leave +her room, but she was glad to have Evelyn, and to listen to her +telling of the great success of the elephant. + +"Of course, my dear, the recreations here must seem to you very +childish. I wonder what your life will be when I'm gone?" + +"To-morrow you will be stronger, and will be able to come into the +garden." + +But the old nun never left her room again, and Evelyn's last memory +of her in the garden was when they had sat by the fish-pond, looking +into the still water, reflecting sky and trees, with a great carp +moving mysteriously through a dim world of water-weed and flower. +There were many other memories of the Prioress which lingered through +many years, memories of an old woman lying back in her chair, frail +and white, slipping quite consciously out of life into death. Every +day she seemed to grow a trifle smaller, till there was hardly +anything left of her. It was terrible to be with her, so conscious +was she that death was approaching, that she and death were drawing +nearer and nearer, and to hear her say, "Four planks are the only +habit I want now." Another time, looking into Evelyn's eyes, she +said, "It is strange that I should be so old and you so young." + +"But I don't feel young, Mother." And every day the old woman grew +more and more dependent upon Evelyn. + +"You are very good to me. Why should you wait here till I am dead? +Only it won't be long, dear. Of what matter to me that the convent +will be changed when I am dead. If I am a celestial spirit, our +disputes--which is the better, prayer or good works--will raise a +smile upon my lips. But celestial spirits have no lips. Why should I +trouble myself? And yet--" + +Evelyn could see that the old woman could not bear to think that her +life's work was to fall to pieces when she was gone. + +"But, dear Mother, we all wish that what we have done shall remain; +and we all wish to be remembered, at least for a little while. There +is nothing more human. And your papers, dear Mother, will have to be +published; they will vindicate you, as nothing else could." + +"But who is to publish them?" the Prioress asked. "They would require +to be gone over carefully, and I am too weak to do that, too weak +even to listen to you reading them." + +Evelyn promised the Prioress again that she would collect all the +papers, and, as far as she could, select those which the Prioress +would herself select; and the promise she could see pleased the dying +woman. It was at the end of the week that the end came. Evelyn sat by +her, holding her hand, and hearing an ominous rattling sound in the +throat, she waited, waited, heard it again, saw the body tremble a +little, and then, getting up, she closed the eyes, said a little +prayer, and went out of the room to tell the nuns of the Prioress's +death, surprised at what seemed to her like indifference, without +tears in her eyes, or any manifestation of grief. There could be +none, for she was not feeling anything; she seemed to herself to be +mechanically performing certain duties, telling Mother Philippa, whom +she met in the passage, in a smooth, even voice, that the Prioress +had died five minutes ago, without any suffering, quite calmly. Her +lack of feeling seemed to her to give the words a strange ring, and +she wondered if Mother Philippa would be stirred very deeply. + +"Dead, Sister, dead? How terrible! None of us there. And the prayers +for the dying not said. Surely, Teresa, you could have sent for us. I +must summon the community at once." And the sub-Prioress hurried +away, feeling already on her shoulders the full weight of the convent +affairs. + +In a few moments the Sisters, with scared faces, were hurrying from +all parts of the house to the room where the Prioress lay dead. +Evelyn felt she could not go back, and she slipped away to look for +Veronica, whom she found in the sacristy. + +"Veronica, dear, it is all over." + +The girl turned towards her and clasped her hands. + +"Auntie is dead," was all she said, and, dropping into a chair, her +tears began to flow. + +"Dear Veronica, we both loved her very much." + +"So we did, Sister; the convent will be very different without her. +Whom will they elect? Sister Winifred very possibly. It won't matter +to you, dear, you will go, and we shall have a school; everything +will be different." + +"But many weeks will pass before I leave. Your aunt asked me to put +her papers in order; I shall be at work in the library for a long +while." + +"Oh, I am so glad, Sister. I thought perhaps you would go at once." +And Veronica dried her tears. "But, dear, we can't talk now. I must +join the others in the prayers for the dead, and there will be so +much to do." + +"We shall have to strip the altar, I suppose?" + +"Oh, yes, the whole chapel--we shall want all our black hangings. But +I must go." + +At that moment a Sister hurried in to say the bell was to be tolled +at once, and Evelyn went with Veronica to the corner of the cloister +where the ropes hung, and stood by listlessly while Veronica dragged +at the heavy rope, leaving a long interval between each clang. + +"Oughtn't we to go up, Sister?" Veronica asked again. + +"No, I can't go back yet," Evelyn answered. And she went into the +garden and followed the winding paths, wondering at the solemn +clanging, for it all seemed so useless. + +The chaplain arrived half an hour afterwards, and next day several +priests came down from London, and there was a great assembly to +chant the Requiem Mass. But Evelyn, though she worked hard at +decorating the altar, was not moved by the black hangings, nor by the +doleful chant, nor by the flutter of the white surplice and the +official drone about the grave. All the convent had followed the +prelates down the garden paths; by the side of the grave Latin +prayers were recited and holy water was sprinkled. On the day the +Prioress was buried there were few clouds in the sky, sunshine was +pretty constant, and all the birds were singing in the trees; every +moment Evelyn expected one of her bullfinches to come out upon a +bough and sing its little stave. If it did, she would take his song +for an omen. But the bullfinches happened to be away, and she wished +that the priests' drone would cease to interrupt the melody of the +birds and boughs. The dear Prioress would prefer Nature's own music, +it was kinder; and the sound of the earth mixed with the stones +falling on the coffin-lid was the last sensation. After it the +prelates and nuns returned to the convent, everybody wondering what +was going to happen next, every nun asking herself who would be +elected Prioress. + +"Dear Mother, it is all over now," Evelyn said to Mother Hilda in the +passage, and the last of the ecclesiastics disappeared through a +doorway, going to his lunch. + +"Yes, dear Teresa, it is all over so far as this world is concerned. +We must think of her now in heaven." + +"And to-morrow we shall begin to think for whom we shall vote--at +least, you will be thinking. I am not a choir sister, and am leaving +you." + +"Is that decided, Teresa?" + +"Yes, I think so. Perhaps now would be the time for me to take off +this habit; I only retained it at the Prioress's wish. But, Mother, +though I have not discovered a vocation, and feel that you have +wasted much time upon me, still, I wouldn't have you think I am +ungrateful." + +"My dear, it never occurred to me to think so." And the two women +walked to the end of the cloister together, Evelyn telling Mother +Hilda about the Prioress and the Prioress's papers. + +And from that day onward, for many weeks, Evelyn worked in the +library, collecting her papers, and writing the memoir of the late +Prioress, which, apparently, the nun had wished her to do, though why +she should have wished it Evelyn often wondered, for if she were a +soul in heaven it could matter to her very little what anybody +thought of her on earth. How a soul in heaven must smile at the +importance attached to this rule and to these exercises! How trivial +it all must seem to the soul!... And yet it could not seem trivial to +the soul, if it be true that by following certain rules we get to +heaven. If it be true! Evelyn's thoughts paused, for a doubt had +entered into her mind--the old familiar doubt, from which no one can +separate herself or himself, from which even the saints could not +escape. Are they not always telling of the suffering doubt caused +them? And following this doubt, which prayers can never wholly +stifle, the old original pain enters the heart. We are only here for +a little while, and the words lose nothing of their original +freshness by repetition; and, in order to drink the anguish to its +dregs, Evelyn elaborated the words, reminding herself that time is +growing shorter every year, even the years are growing shorter. + +"The space is very little between me and the grave." + +Some celebrated words from a celebrated poet, calling attention to +the brevity of life, came into her mind, and she repeated them again +and again, enjoying their bitterness. We like to meditate on death; +even the libertine derives satisfaction from such meditation, and +poets are remembered by their powers of expressing our great sorrow +in stinging terms. "Our lives are not more intense than our dreams," +Evelyn thought; "and yet our only reason for believing life to be +reality is its intensity. Looked at from the outside, what is it but +a little vanishing dust? Millions have preceded that old woman into +the earth, millions shall follow her. I shall be in the earth too--in +how many years? In a few months perhaps, in a few weeks perhaps. +Possibly within the next few days I may hear how long I may expect to +live, for what is more common than to wake with a pain, and on +consulting a doctor to see a grave look come into his face, and to +hear him tell of some mortal disease beyond his knife's reach? Words +come reluctantly to one's tongue. "How long have I to live?" "About a +year, about six months; I cannot say for certain." + +Doctors are answering men and women in these terms every day, and +Evelyn thought of some celebrated sayings that life's mutability has +inspired. She remembered some from the Bible, and some from +Shakespeare; and those she remembered from Fitzgerald, from his "Omar +Khayyam," took her back to the afternoon she spent with Owen by the +Serpentine, to the very day when he gave her the poem to read, +thinking to overcome her scruples with literature. + +"There were no scruples in me then. My own business, 'The Ring,' is +full of the pagan story of life and death. We have babbled about it +ever since, trying to forget or explain it, without, however, doing +either; I tried to forget it on the stage, and did not succeed, but +it was not fear of death that brought me here. The nuns do not +succeed better than I; all screens are unavailing, for the wind is +about everywhere--a cold, searching wind, which prayers cannot keep +out; our doorways are not staunch--the wind comes under the door of +the actress's dressing-room and under the door of the nun's cell in +draughts chilling us to the bone, and then leaving us to pursue our +avocations for a time in peace. The Prioress thought that in coming +here she had discovered a way to heaven, yet she was anxious to +defend herself from her detractors upon earth. If she had believed in +her celestial inheritance she would have troubled very little, and I +should be free to go away now. Perhaps it is better as it is," she +reflected. And it seemed to her that no effort on her part was called +for or necessary. She was certain she was drifting, and that the +current would carry her to the opposite bank in good time; she was +content to wait, for had she not promised the Prioress to perform a +certain task? And it was part of her temperament to leave nothing +undone; she also liked a landmark, and the finishing of her book +would be a landmark. + +She was even a little curious to see what turn the convent affairs +would take, and as she sat biting the end of her pen, thinking, the +sound of an axe awoke her from her reverie. Trees were being felled +in the garden; "and an ugly, red-brick building will be run up, in +which children of city merchants will be taught singing and the +piano." Was it contempt for the world's ignorance in matters of art +that filled her heart? or was she animated with a sublime pity for +those parents who would come to her (if she remained in the convent, +a thing she had no intention of doing) to ask her, Evelyn Innes, if +she thought that Julia would come to something if she were to +persevere, or if Kitty would succeed if she continued to practice +"The Moonlight Sonata," a work of the beauty of which no one in the +convent had any faintest comprehension? She herself had some gifts, +and, after much labour, had brought her gifts to fruition, not to any +splendid, but to some fruition. It was not probable that any one who +came to the convent would do more than she had done; far better to +learn knitting or cooking--anything in the world except music. Her +gift of singing had brought her to this convent. Was it really so? +Was her gift connected in some obscure way with the moral crisis +which had drawn her into this convent? There seemed to be a +connection, only she did not seem to be able to work it out. But +there must be one surely, otherwise her poor people, whom she loved +so dearly, would not have been abandoned. A very cruel abandonment it +was, and she pondered a long while on this subject without arriving +at any other conclusion except that for her to remain in the convent +to teach music to the children of rich merchants, who had villas in +Wimbledon, was out of the question. Her poor people were calling to +her, and the convent had no further concern in her life. Of that she +was sure. It was no longer the same convent. The original aspiration +had declined; the declension had been from the late Prioress to +Sister Winifred, who, knowing that her own election to Prioress was +impossible, had striven to get Mother Philippa elected Prioress and +herself sub-Prioress--a very clever move on her part, for with Mother +Philippa as Prioress the management of the school would be left to +her, and the school was what interested her. Of course, the money +they made would be devoted to building a chapel, or something of that +kind; but it was the making of money which would henceforth be the +pleasure of the convent. Evelyn took a certain pleasure in listening +negligently to Mother Winifred, who seemed unable to resist the +desire to talk to her about vocations whenever they met. From +whatever point they started, the conversation would soon turn upon a +vocation, and Evelyn found herself in the end listening to a story of +some novice who thought she had no vocation and had left the convent, +but had returned. + +"And very often," Mother Winifred would say sententiously, "those who +think themselves most sure of their vocation find themselves without +one." + +And Evelyn would answer, "Those who would take the last place are put +up first--isn't that it, Mother Winifred?" + +Very often as they walked round the great, red-brick building, with +rows of windows on either side facing each other, so that the sky +could be seen through the building, Evelyn said: + +"But do you not regret the trees?" She took pleasure in reminding +every nun that they sacrificed the beauty of the garden in the hope +of making a little money; and these remarks, though they annoyed +Mother Winifred, did not prevent her from speaking with pride of the +school, now rapidly advancing towards completion, nor did Evelyn's +criticism check her admiration of Evelyn herself. It seemed to Evelyn +that Mother Winifred was always paying her compliments, or if she +were not doing that, she would seek opportunities to take Evelyn into +her confidence, telling her of the many pupils they had been +promised, and of the conversions that would follow their teaching. +The girls would be impressed by the quiet beauty of the nun's life; +some of them would discover in themselves vocations for the religious +life, and a great many would certainly go away anxious for +conversion; and, even if their conversions did not happen at once, +though they might be delayed for years, sooner or later many +conversions would be the result of this school. And the result of all +this flummery was: + +"Now, why should you not stay with us, dear, only a little while +longer? It would be such a sad thing if you were to go away, and find +that, after all, you had a vocation for the religious life, for if +you return to us you will have to go through the novitiate again." + +"But, Mother Winifred, you always begin upon the supposition that I +have a vocation. Now, supposing you begin upon the other supposition +--that I have not one." + +Mother Winifred hesitated, and looked sharply at Evelyn; but, unable +to take her advice, on the very next opportunity she spoke to Evelyn +of the vocation which she might discover in herself when it was too +late. + +"You have forgotten what I said, Mother Winifred." + +Mother Winifred laughed, but, undaunted, she soon returned with some +new argument, which had occurred to her in the interval, as she +prayed in church, or in her cell at night, and the temptation to try +the effect of the new argument on Evelyn was irresistible. + +"Dear Sister Teresa--you see the familiar name comes to my tongue +though you have put off the habit--we shall be a long time in +straitened circumstances. A new mortgage has had, as you know, to be +placed on the property in order to get money to build the school; the +school will pay, but not at once." + +Evelyn protested she was not responsible for this new debt. She had +advised the Prioress and Mother Winifred against it, warning them +that she did not intend to remain in the convent. + +"But we always expected that you would remain." + +And in this way Evelyn was made to feel her responsibility so much +that in the end she consented to give up part of her money to the +nuns. So long as she had just enough to live upon it did not matter, +and she owed these nuns a great deal. True that she had paid them ten +times over what she owed them, but still, it was difficult to measure +one's debts in pounds, shillings, and pence. However, that was the +way the nuns wanted her to measure them, and if she could leave them +fifteen hundred pounds--. And as soon as this sum was agreed upon, +Sister Winifred never lost an opportunity of regretting that the +convent was obliged to accept this magnificent donation, hinting that +the Prioress and herself would be willing (and there would be no +difficulty in obtaining the consent of the choir sisters) to accept +Evelyn's services for three years in the school instead of the money. + +"Five hundred a year we shall be paying you, but the value of your +teaching will be very great; mothers will be especially anxious to +send their daughters to our school, so that they may get good singing +lessons from you." + +"And when I leave?" + +"Well, the school will have obtained a reputation by that time. Of +course, you will be a loss, but we must try to do without you." + +"Three years in this convent!" + +"But you are quite free here; you come and go as you please. After +all, your intention in leaving the convent is to teach music. Why not +teach music here?" + +The argument was an ingenious one, but Evelyn did not feel that it +would appeal to her in the least, either to continue living in the +convent after she had finished her book, or to go back to the convent +to give singing lessons three or four times a week. + +It would be preferable for her to give fifteen hundred pounds to the +convent, and so finish with the whole thing; and this she intended to +do, though she put Mother Winifred off with evasion, leaving her +thinking that perhaps after all she would teach for some little while +in the convent. It was necessary to do this, for Mother Winifred +could persuade Mother Philippa as she pleased; and it had occurred to +Evelyn that perhaps Mother Winfred might arrange for her expulsion. +Nothing could be easier than to tell her that somebody's friend was +going to stay with them in the convent, that the guest-room would be +wanted. To leave now would not suit Evelyn at all. The late +Prioress's papers belonged to the convent; and to deceive Mother +Winifred completely Evelyn agreed to give some singing lessons, for +they had already begun to receive pupils, though the school was not +yet finished. + +This teaching proved very irksome to her, for it delayed the +completion of her book, and she often meditated an escape, thinking +how this might be accomplished while the nuns played at ball in the +autumn afternoon. Very often they were all in the garden, all except +Sister Agnes, the portress, and she often left her keys on the nail. +So it would be easy for Evelyn to run down the covered way and take +the keys from the nail and open the door. And the day came when she +could not resist the temptation of opening the door, not with a view +to escape; but just to know what the sensation of the open door was +like. And she stood for some time looking into the landscape, +remembering vaguely, somewhere at the back of her mind, that she +could not take the Prioress's papers with her, they did not belong to +her; the convent could institute an action for theft against her, the +Prioress not having made any formal will, only a memorandum saying +she would like Evelyn to collect her papers. + +So it was necessary for her to lock the gate again, to restore the +keys to the nail, and return to the library. But in a few weeks more +her task would be done, and it would be pleasanter to go away when it +was done; and, as it has already been said, Evelyn liked landmarks. +"To pass out is easy, but the Evelyn that goes out will not be the +same as the Evelyn who came in." And a terror gathered in her mind, +remembering that she was forty, and to begin life again after forty, +and after such an experience as hers, might prove beyond her +strength. Doubts enter into every mind, doubt entered into hers; +perhaps the convent was the natural end of her life, not as a nun, +but as an oblate. The guest-room was a pleasant room, and she could +live more cheaply in the convent than elsewhere. There are cowardly +hours in every life, and there were hours when this compromise +appealed to Evelyn Innes. But if she remained she would have to +continue teaching under Mother Winifred's direction. A little revolt +awoke in her. She could not do that; and she began to think what +would happen to her when she left the convent. There would not be +money enough left her to sit down in a small flat and do nothing; she +would have to work. Well, she would have to do that in any case, for +idleness was not natural to her, and she would have to work for +somebody besides herself--for her poor people--and this she could do +by giving singing lessons. Where? In Dulwich? But to go back to the +house in which she lived her life, to the room which used to be hung +with the old instruments, and to revive her mother's singing classes? +No, she could not begin her life from exactly the same point at which +she left off. And gradually the project formed in her mind of a new +life, a life which would be at once new and old. And the project +seemed to take shape as she wrote the last pages of her memoir of the +late Prioress. + +"It is done, and I have got a right to my own manuscript; they cannot +take that from me." And she went into the sacristy, her manuscript in +her hand. + +The cool, sweet room seemed empty, and Veronica emerged from the +shadow, almost a shadow. There were two windows, lattice panes, and +these let the light fall upon the counter, along which the vestments +were laid for the priest. The oak press was open, and it exhaled an +odour of orris root and lavender, and Veronica, standing beside it, a +bunch of keys at her girdle, once more reminded Evelyn of the +mediæval virgin she had seen in the Rhenish churches. + +"I have finished collecting your aunt's papers." + +"And now you are going to leave us?" + +There was a sob in the girl's voice, and all Evelyn's thoughts about +her seemed to converge and to concentrate. There was the girl before +her who passed through life without knowing it, interested in putting +out the vestments for an old priest, hiding his amice so that no +other hands but hers should touch it; this and the dream of an angel +who visited her in sleep and whose flesh was filled with luminous +tints constituted all she knew of life, all she would ever know. +There were tears in her eyes now, there was a sob in her voice; she +would regret her friend for a day, for a week, and then the convent +life would draw about her like great heavy curtains. Evelyn +remembered how she had told her of a certain restlessness which kept +her from her prayers; she remembered how she had said to her, "It +will pass, everything will pass away." She would become an old nun, +and would be carried to the graveyard just as her aunt had been. When +would that happen? Perhaps not for fifty years. Sooner or later it +would happen. And Evelyn listened to Veronica saying the convent +would never be the same without her, saying: + +"Once you leave us you will never come back." + +"Yes, I shall, Veronica; I shall come once or twice to see you." + +"Perhaps it would be better for you not to come at all," the girl +cried, and turned away; and then going forward suddenly as Evelyn was +about to leave the sacristy, she said: + +"But when are you leaving? When are you leaving?" + +"To-morrow; there is no reason why I should wait any longer." + +"We cannot part like this." And she put down the chalice, and the +women went into a chill wind; the pear-trees were tossing, and there +were crocuses in the bed and a few snowdrops. + +"You had better remain until the weather gets warmer; to leave in +this bleak season! Oh, Sister, how we shall miss you! But you were +never like a nun." + +They walked many times to and fro, forgetful of the bleak wind +blowing. + +"It must be so, you were never like a nun. Of course we all knew, I +at least knew... only we are sorry to lose you." + +The next day a carriage came for Evelyn. The nuns assembled to bid +her goodbye; they were as kind as their ideas allowed them to be, +but, of course, they disapproved of Evelyn going, and the fifteen +hundred pounds she left them did not seem to reconcile them to her +departure. It certainly did not reconcile Mother Winifred, who +refused to come down to wish her goodbye, saying that Evelyn had +deceived them by promising to remain, or at all events led them to +think she would stay with them until the school was firmly +established. Mother Philippa apologised for her, but Evelyn said it +was not necessary. + +"After all, what Mother Winifred says is the truth, only I could not +do otherwise. Now, goodbye, I'll come to see you again, may I not?" + +They did not seem very anxious on this point, and Evelyn thought it +quite possible she might never see the convent again, which had meant +so much to her and which was now behind her. Her thoughts were +already engaged in the world towards which she was going, and +thinking of the etiolated hands of the nuns she remembered the brown +hands of her poor people; it was these hands that had drawn her out +of the convent, so she liked to think; and it was nearly the truth, +not the whole truth, for that we may never know. + + + +XXXV + +The blinds of 27, Berkeley Square were always down, and when Sir +Owen's friends called the answer was invariably the same: "No news of +Sir Owen yet; his letters aren't forwarded; business matters are +attended to by Mr. Watts, the secretary." And Sir Owen's friends went +away wondering when the wandering spirit would die in him. + +It was these last travels, extending over two years, in the Far East, +that killed it; Owen felt sure of that when he entered his house, +glad of its comfort, glad to be home again; and sinking into his +armchair he began to read his letters, wondering how he should answer +the different invitations, for every one was now more than six months +old, some going back as far as eighteen months. It seemed absurd to +write to Lady So-and-so, thanking her for an invitation so long gone +by. All the same, he would like to see her, and all his friends, the +most tedious would be welcome now. He tore open the envelopes, +reading the letters greedily, unsuspicious of one amongst them which +would make him forget the others--a letter from Evelyn. It came at +last under his hand, and having glanced through it he sank back in +his chair, overcome, not so much by surprise that she had left her +convent as at finding that the news had put no great gladness into +his heart, rather, a feeling of disappointment. + +"How little one knows about oneself!" But he wasn't sorry she had +left the convent. A terrible result of time and travel it would be if +his first feeling on opening her letter were one of disappointment. +He was sorry she had been disappointed, and thought for a long time +of that long waste of life, five years spent with nuns. "We are +strange beings, indeed," he said. And getting up, he looked out the +place she wrote from, discovering it to be a Surrey village, probably +about thirty miles from London, with a bad train service; and having +sent a telegram asking if it would suit her for him to go down to see +her next day, he fell back in his chair to think more easily how his +own life had been affected by Evelyn's retreat from the convent; and +again he experienced a feeling of disappointment. "A long waste of +life, not only of her life, but of mine," for he had travelled +thousands of miles... to forget her? Good heavens, no! What would his +life be without remembrance of Evelyn? He had come home believing +himself reconciled to the loss of Evelyn, and willing to live in +memories of her--the management of his estate a sufficient interest +for his life, and his thoughts were already engaged in the building +of a new gatehouse; after all, Riversdale was his business, and he +had come home to work for his successor while cherishing a dream-- +wasn't it strange? But this letter had torn down his dream and his +life was again in pieces. Would he ever be at rest while she was +abroad? Would it not have been better for them both if she had +remained in her convent? The thought seemed odiously selfish. If she +were to read his disappointment on hearing that she was no longer in +the convent? ... Telepathy! There were instances! And his thoughts +drifted away, and he seemed to lose consciousness of everything, +until he was awakened by the butler bringing back her reply. + +Now he would see her in twenty-four hours, and hear from her lips a +story of adventure, for it is an adventure to renounce the world, the +greatest, unless a return to the world be a greater. She had known +both; and it would be interesting to hear her tell both stories--if +she could tell her stories; she might only be half aware of their +interest and importance. + +"God only knows what she is like now! A wreck, a poor derelict woman, +with no life to call her own. The life of an actress which I gave +her, and which was so beautiful, wrecked; and the life of a nun, +which she insisted on striving after, wrecked." A cold, blighting +sorrow like a mist came up, it seemed to penetrate to his very bones, +and he asked why she had left the convent--of what use could she be +out of it?... only to torment him again. Twenty times during the +course of the evening and the next morning he resolved not to go to +see her, and as many times a sudden desire to see her ripped up his +resolution; and he ordered the brougham. "Five years' indulgence in +vigils and abstinences, superstitions must have made a great change +in her; utterly unlike the Evelyn Innes whom I discovered years ago +in Dulwich, the beautiful pagan girl whom I took away to Paris." He +was convinced. But anxious to impugn his conviction, he took her +letter from his pocket, and in it discovered traces, which cheered +him, of the old Evelyn. + +"She must have suffered terribly on finding herself obliged after +five years to retreat, and something of the original spirit was +required for her to fight her way out, for, of course, she was +opposed at every moment." + +The little stations went by one by one: the train stopped nine or ten +times before it reached the penultimate. + +"In the next few minutes I shall see her. She is sure to come to the +station to meet me. If she doesn't I'll go back--what an end that +would be! A strange neighbourhood to choose. Why did she come here? +With whom is she living? In a few minutes I shall know." + +The train began to slacken speed. "Why, there she is on the +platform." The train rushed by her, the first-class carriages +stopping at the other end; and, calling to the porter to take his bag +out of the carriage, he sprang out, tall and thin. "Like one who had +never had the gout," she said, as she hurried to meet him, smiling, +so intimately did his appearance bring back old times. "He is so like +himself, and better dressed than I am; the embroidered waistcoat +still goes in at the waist; and he still wears shirts with mauve +stripes. But he is a good deal greyer... and more wrinkled than I +am." + +"So it is you, Evelyn. Let me look at you." And, holding both her +hands, he stood looking into the face which he had expected to find +so much changed that he hardly found it changed at all, his eyes +passing over, almost without notice, the white hairs among the red, +and the wrinkles about the eyes and forehead, which, however, became +more apparent when she smiled. His touch was more conclusive of +disappointment than his eyes; her hands seemed harder than they used +to be, the knuckles had thickened, and, not altogether liking his +scrutiny, she laughed, withdrawing her hands. + +"Where is your valet, Owen?" + +It was then that he saw that her teeth had aged a little, yellowed a +little; a dark spot menaced the loss of one of the eye-teeth if not +attended to at once. But her figure seemed the same, and to get a +back view he dropped his stick. No, the convent had not bent her; a +tall, erect figure was set off to advantage by a dark blue linen +dress, and the small, well-reared head and its roll of thick hair by +the blue straw hat trimmed with cornflowers. + +"Her appearance is all right; the vent must be in her mind," he said, +preparing himself for a great disillusionment as soon as their talk +passed out of the ordinary ruts. + +"My valet? I didn't bring him. You might not be able to put him up." + +"I shouldn't." + +"But is there any one to carry my bag? I'll carry it myself if you +don't live too far from here." + +"About a mile. We can call at the inn and tell them to send a fly for +your bag--if you don't mind the walk." + +"Mind the walk--and you for companionship? Evelyn, dear, it is +delightful to find myself walking with you, and in the country," he +added, looking round. + +"The country is prettier farther on." + +Owen looked round without, however, being able to give his attention +to the landscape. + +"Prettier farther on? But how long have you been here?" + +"Nearly two years now. And you--when did you return?" + +"How did you know I was away?" + +"You didn't write." + +"I returned yesterday." + +"Yesterday? You only read yesterday my letter written six months +ago." + +"We have so much to talk about, Evelyn, so much to learn from each +other." + +"The facts will appear one by one quite naturally. Tell me, weren't +you surprised to hear I had left the convent? And tell me, weren't +you a little disappointed?" + +"Disappointed, my dear Evelyn? Should I have wired to you, and come +down here if--. It seemed as if the time would never pass." + +"I don't mean that you aren't glad to see me. I can see you are. But +admit that you were disappointed that I hadn't succeeded--" + +"I see what you mean. Well, I was disappointed that you were +disappointed; I admit so much." And, walking up the sunny road, he +wondered how it was that she had been able to guess what his thoughts +were on reading her letter. After all, he was not such a brute as he +had fancied himself, and her divination relieved his mind of the fear +that he lacked natural feeling, since she had guessed that a certain +feeling of disappointment was inevitable on hearing that she had not +been able to follow the chosen path. But how clever of her! What +insight! + +"I hope you don't misunderstand. I cannot put into words the +pleasure--." + +"I quite understand. Even if we turn out of our path sometimes, we +don't like others to vacillate... conversions, divagations, are not +sympathetic." + +"Quite true. The man who knows, or thinks he knows, whither he is +going commands our respect, and we are willing to follow--" + +"Even though he is the stupider?" + +"Which is nearly always." And they ceased talking, each agreeably +surprised by the other's sympathy. + +It was on his lips to say, "We are both elderly people now, and must +cling to each other." But no one cares to admit he is elderly, and he +did not speak the words for his sake and for hers, and he refrained +from asking her further questions about the convent; for he had come +to see a woman, loved for so many years, and who would always be +loved by him, and not to gratify his curiosity; he asked why she had +chosen this distant country to live in. + +"Distant country? You call this country distant? You, who have only +just come back--" + +"Returned yesterday from the Amur." + +"From the Amur? I thought I was _the_ amour." + +"So you are. I am speaking now of a river in Manchuria." + +'Manchuria? But why did you go there?" + +"Oh, my dear Evelyn, we have so much to tell each other that it seems +hopeless. Can you tell me why you--no, don't answer, don't try to +tell why you went to the convent; but tell me why you came to live in +this neighbourhood?" + +"Well, the land is very cheap here, and I wanted a large piece of +ground." + +"Oh, so you've settled here?" + +"Yes; I've built a cottage... But I haven't been able to lay the +garden out yet." + +"Built a cottage?" + +"What is there surprising in that?" + +"Only this, that I returned home resolved to do some building at +Riversdale--a gate lodge," and he talked to her of the gate lodge he +had in mind, until he became aware of the incongruity. "But I didn't +come here to talk to you of gate lodges. Tell me, Evelyn, how do you +spend your time?" + +"I go to town every morning to teach singing; I have singing-classes." + +"So you are a singing-mistress now. Well, everything comes round at +last. Your mother--" + +"Yes, everything comes round again," she said, sighing; "and the +neighbourhood isn't inconvenient. There is a good train in the +morning and a good train in the evening; the one you came by is a +wretched one, but if you had come by the later train you would have +seen less of me. You're not sorry?" + +"My dear Evelyn, don't be affected. I'm trying to take it all in. You +have retreated from the convent, and are now a singing-mistress. Have +you lost your voice?" + +"I'm afraid a good deal of it." And, pointing with her parasol, she +said, "There is the inn; I will tell them to fetch your bag." + +As she went towards the "Stag and Hounds" he congratulated himself +that the earlier woman still subsisted in the later, there could be +no doubt of that, and in sufficient proportion for her to create a +new life, and out of nothing but her own wits, for if she had escaped +from the convent with her intelligence, or part of it, she hadn't +escaped with her money; the nuns had got her money safe enough. She +would be loth to admit it, but it could not be otherwise. So out of +her own wits she had negotiated the purchase of a large piece of +ground (she had said a large piece), and built a cottage, and a very +pretty cottage too, he was sure of that; and his face assumed a blank +expression, for he was away with her in some past time, in the midst +of an architectural discussion. But returning gradually from this +happy past, her intelligence seemed to him like some strong twine or +wire! "How clever of her to have discovered this country where land +was cheap!" And he looked round, seeing its beauty because she lived +in it. Above all, to have found work to do, no easy matter when one +has torn oneself and one's past to shreds, as she had done. No doubt +she was making quite a nice little income by teaching; and, in +increasing admiration, he walked round the dusty inn and the +triangular piece of grass in front of it. A game of bat-and-trap was +in progress, and he conceived a love for that old English game, +though till now he thought it stupid and vulgar. The horse-pond +appealed to him as a picturesque piece of water, and, standing back +from it, he admired the rows of trees on the further bank--pollards +of some kind--and, still more, the reflections of these trees in the +dark green water; and his eyes followed the swallows, dipping and +gliding through the moveless air. A spire showed between the trees, a +girl and some children were gathering wild flowers in the hedgerows. +How like England! But here was Evelyn! + +"Did you ever see a more beautiful evening? And aren't you glad that +the evening in which I see you again is--one would like to call it +beatific, only I don't like the word; it reminds me of the convent +you have left." + +"One goes away in order that one may return home, Owen." + +"Quite true; and all my travels were necessary for me to admire your +long, red road winding gracefully up the hillside between tall +hedges, full of roses, convolvulus, and ivy, under trees throwing a +pleasant shade." And coming suddenly upon an extraordinary fragrance, +he threw up his head, and, with dilated nostrils, cried out, +"Honeysuckle!" + +"Yes, isn't it sweet?" she said. And, standing under a cottage porch, +he thought of the days gone by; and their memory was as overpowering +as the vine. + +"I have brought you no present." + +"Owen, you only returned yesterday." + +"All the same, I should have brought you something. A bunch of wild +flowers I can give you, and I will begin my nosegay with a branch of +this honeysuckle. There are dog-roses in the hedges. I used to send +you expensive flowers, but times have changed." And he insisted on +returning to the brook, having seen, so he said, some forget-me-nots +among the sedges. And with these and some sprays of a little pink +flower, which he told her was the cuckoo-flower, they walked, telling +and asking each other the names of different wayside weeds till they +arrived at the cottage. + +"There is my cottage." + +And Owen saw, some twenty or thirty yards from the roadside, the +white gables of a cottage thrusting over against a space of blue sky. +Flights of swallows flew shrieking past, and the large elms on the +right threw out branches so invitingly that Owen thought of long +hours passed in the shade with books and music; but, despite these +shady elms, the cottage wore a severe air--a severe cottage it was, +if a cottage can be severe. Owen was glad Evelyn hadn't forgotten a +verandah. + +"A verandah always suggests a Creole. But there is no Creole in you." + +"You wouldn't have thought my cottage severe if you hadn't known that +I had come from a convent, Owen. You like it, all the same." + +Owen fell to praising the cottage which he didn't like. + +"On one thing I did insist--that the hall was to be the principal +room. What do you think of it? And tell me if you like the +chimney-piece. There are going to be seats in the windows. Of course, +I +haven't half finished furnishing." And she took him round the room, +telling how lucky she had been picking up that old oak dresser with +handles, everything complete for five pounds ten, and the oak settle +standing in the window for seven. + +"I can't consider the furniture till I have put these flowers in +water." So he fetched a vase and filled it, and when his nosegay had +been sufficiently admired, he said "But, Evelyn, I must give you some +flower-vases.... And you have no writing-table." + +"Not a very good one. You see, I have had to buy so many things." + +"You must let me give you one. The first time you come up to London +we will go round the shops." + +"You'll want to buy me an expensive piece, unsuitable to my cottage, +won't you, Owen?" She led him through the dining-room past the +kitchen, into which they peeped. + +"Eliza's cooking an excellent dinner!" he said. And they went through +the kitchen into the garden. + +"You see what a piece of ground I have. We are enclosing it." And +Owen saw two little boys painting a paling. "Now, do you like the +green? It was too green, but this morning I put a little yellow into +it; it is better now." They walked round the acre of rough ground +overlooking the valley, Owen saying that Evelyn was quite a landed +proprietor. + +"But who are these boys? You have quite a number," he said, coming +upon three more digging, or trying to dig. + +"They are digging the celery-bed." + +"But one is a hunchback, he can't do much work; and that one has a +short leg; the third boy seems all right, but he isn't more than +seven or eight. I am afraid you won't have very much celery this +year." They passed through the wicket into the farther end of +Evelyn's domain, which part projected on the valley, and there they +came upon two more children, one of whom was blind. + +"This poor child--what work can he do?" + +"You'd be surprised; and his ear is excellent. We're thinking of +putting him to piano-tuning." + +"We are thinking?" + +"Yes, Owen; these little boys live here with me in the new wing. I'm +afraid they are not very comfortable there, but they don't complain." + +"Seven little crippled boys, whom you look after!" + +"Six--the seventh is my servant's son; he is delicate, but he isn't a +cripple. We don't call him her son here, she is nominally his aunt." + +"You look after these boys, and go up to London to earn their +living?" + +"I earn sufficient to run my little establishment." + +As they returned to the cottage, one of the boys thrust his spade +into the ground. + +"Please, miss, may we stay up a little longer this evening? It won't +be dark till nine or half-past, miss." + +"Yes, you can stay up." And Owen and Evelyn went into the house. "I +do hope, Owen, that Eliza's cooking will not seem to you too utterly +undistinguished." + +"You have forgotten, Evelyn, that I have been living on hunter's fare +for the last two years." + +At that moment Eliza put the soup-tureen on the table. + +"Why, the soup is excellent! An excellent soup, Eliza!" + +"There is a chicken coming, Sir Owen, and Miss Innes told me to be +sure to put plenty of butter on it before putting it into the oven, +that that was the way you liked it cooked." + +"I am glad you did, Eliza; the buttering of the chicken is what we +always overlook in England. We never seem to understand the part that +good butter plays in cooking; only in England does any one talk of +such a thing as cooking-butter." And he detained Eliza, who fidgeted +before him, thinking of the vegetables waiting in the kitchen, of +what a strange man he was, while he told her that his cook, a +Frenchman, always insisted on having his butter from France, costing +him, Owen, nearly three shillings a pound. + +"Law, Sir Owen!" And Eliza went back to the kitchen to fetch her +vegetables, and Evelyn laughed, saying: + +"You have succeeded in impressing her." + +"You have cooked the chicken excellently well, Eliza, and the butter +you used must have been particularly good," he said, when the servant +returned with the potatoes and brussels sprouts. But he was anxious +for her to leave the room so that he might ask Evelyn if she +remembered the chickens they used to eat in France. + +"Evelyn, dear, shall we ever be in France again?" + +"My poor little boys, what would happen to them while I was away? For +you, who care about sweets, Owen, I'm afraid Eliza will seem a little +behind the times; afraid of a failure, we decided on a rice pudding." + +"Excellent; I should like nothing better." + +Owen was in good humour, and she asked him if he had brought +something to smoke--a cigar. + +"Some cigarettes. I have given up smoking cigars, stinking things!" + +"But you used to be so fond of cigars, Owen?" + +"Oh, a long time ago. Didn't you notice that man in the trap in front +of us as we came from the station? That vile cigar, the whole evening +smelt of it." + +"My dear Owen!" + +Then he got up from the table and went to the piano and waited there +for Evelyn, who was talking to Eliza about the purchase of another +bed and where it should be placed in the dormitory, a matter so +trivial that a dozen words should suffice to settle it, so he +thought; but they kept on talking, and when Eliza left the room she +took up some coarse sewing. To bring her to the piano he struck a few +notes, saying: + +"The Muses are awake, Evelyn." + +"No, Owen, no; I am in no mood for singing." + +When he asked her if she never sang, the answer was, "Sometimes I go +to the piano when I am restless; I sing a little, yes, a little into +my muff; you know what I mean. But this evening I would sooner talk. +You said we had so much to talk about." He admitted she knew what his +feelings were better than he knew them himself. It would be a pity to +waste this evening in music (this evening was consecrate to +themselves), and from talking of Elizabeth and Isolde they drifted +into remembrances of the old days so dear to him. But he had always +reproached Evelyn with a fault, a certain restlessness; it was rare +for her to settle herself down to a nice quiet chat, and this was a +serious fault in a woman, a fault in everybody, for a nice quiet chat +is one of the best things in life. He was prone to admit, however, +that when the mood for a chat was upon her nobody could talk or +listen as she could by a fireside. Yielding to her humour, like a +bird she would talk on and on with an enthusiasm and an interest in +what she was saying which made her a wonder and a delight; and seeing +that by some good fortune he had come upon her in one of these rare +humours, he did not regret her refusal to sing, and watched her at +his feet listening to him with an avidity which was enchanting, +making him feel that there was nothing in the world but he and she. +She had once said, enchanting him with the admission, for it was so +true, that if she were alone with a man for an evening he must hate +her very much if he was not to fall in love with her. On reminding +her of her saying she admitted that she had forgotten it. It seemed +to him that his dead mistress had come to life again. Her eyes shone +with something of their old light, and he said to himself, "The +convent has faded out of her mind and out of her face." +Interpenetrated with her sweet atmosphere, which had for ever haunted +him, he breathed like one who hears music going by. Every moment was +a surprise. The next great surprise being the discovery that the +convent had not quelled the daring of her thought--it came and went +swallow-like, as before. + +"Because there were no men in the convent. Though I am virtuous, +Owen, and must remain so, I can't live without men. If I am deprived +of men's society for a few days I wilt." + +The picture of herself painted in these few words, Evelyn wilting +amid the treble of the nuns like a plant in an uncongenial soil, +delighted Owen, enabling him to forget the sad fact that she was +virtuous and would have to remain so. For she was still his Evelyn, a +hero worshipper, with man for her hero always, even though it were a +priest. A moment of the thought caused him a sigh, but he was in the +seventh heaven when she told him the first letter she had written +when she left the convent was for him. He had maligned her in +thinking the past had no meaning for her. For who was so faithful to +her friends? Again he forgot everything but himself sitting by her, +seeing her bright eyes, listening to her voice, absorbed by her +atmosphere; and talking and listening by turns he was carried away in +a delicious oblivion of everything except the sensation of the +moment. It seemed to him like floating down the current of some +enchanted river; but even in enchanted rivers there are eddies, +otherwise the enchantment of the current and the flowery banks under +which it flows would become monotonous, and presently Owen was caught +in an eddy. The stream flowed gaily while he told her of his +experience in the desert; she was interested in the gazelles and in +the eagles, though qualifying the sport as cruel, and in his +synthesis of the desert--a desire for a drink of clean water. Nor did +she resent his allusion to his meeting with Ulick at Dowlands, +interrupting him, however, to tell him that Ulick had married Louise. + +"Married Louise!" + +Louise! What an evocation of past times was in this name! And their +talk passed into a number of little sallies. + +"Well, he'll spend a great deal of her money for her." + +"No, he is doing pretty well for himself." + +It seemed like listening to a fairy tale to hear that Ulick was doing +very well for himself; and travelling back to the convent, by those +mysterious roads which conversation follows, Owen learned that it was +at the end of the first year of her postulancy that Evelyn had heard +of her father's illness. Up to that moment he had not noticed a +change in her humour, not until he began to question her as to her +reason for suddenly returning from Rome to the convent. It was then +that a strange look came into her face; she got up from her chair and +walked about the room, gloomy and agitated, sitting down in a corner +like one overcome, whelmed in some extraordinary trouble. When he +went to her she crossed the room, settling herself in another corner, +tucking herself away into it. His question had awakened some terrific +memory; and perforce he did not dare to ask her what her trouble was, +none that she could confide to him, that was clear, and he began to +think that it would be better to leave her for a while. He could go +out and speak with the little boys, for a memory like the one which +had laid hold of her must pass away suddenly, and his absence would +help to pass it. If she were not better when he returned it would be +well for him to seek some excuse to sleep at the inn, for her +appearance in the corner frightened him; and standing by the window, +looking into the quiet evening, he railed against his folly. Any one +but himself would have guessed that there was some grave reason for +her life in the convent. Such an end as this to the evening that had +begun so well! "My God, what am I to do!" And, turning impulsively, +he was about to fling himself at her feet, beseeching of her to +confide her trouble, but something in her appearance prevented him, +and in dismay he wondered what he had said to provoke such a change. +What had been said could not be unsaid, the essential was that the +ugly thought upon her like some nightmare should be forgotten. Now +what could he say to win her out of this dreadful gloom? If he were +to play something! + +A very few bars convinced him that music would prove no healer to her +trouble. To lead her thoughts out of this trouble--was there no way? +What had they been talking about? The bullfinches which she had +taught to whistle the motives of "The Ring"; but such a laborious +occupation could only have been undertaken for some definite purpose, +to preserve her sanity, perhaps, and it would be natural for a woman +to resent any mention of mental trouble such as she had suffered from +on her return from Rome. Something had happened to her in Rome--what? +And he sat for a long time, or what seemed to him a long time, +perplexed, fearing to speak lest he might say something to irritate +her, prolonging her present humour. + +"If I had only known, Evelyn, if I had only known!" he said, unable +to resist the temptation of speech any longer. As she did not answer, +he added, after a moment's pause, "I think I shall go out and talk to +those boys." But on his way to the door he stopped. "I wish that brig +had gone down." + +"That brig? What do you mean?" + +"The boat which took me round the world and brought me back, and +which I am going to sell, my travelling days being over." Seeing she +was interested, he continued to tell her how the _Medusa_ had been +declared no longer seaworthy, and of his purchase of another yacht. + +"But you said you wished the brig had gone down." + +And, seizing the pretext, he began to tell her of the first thing +that came into his head; how he had sailed some thousands of miles +from the Cape to the Mauritius, explaining the mysteries of great +circle sailing, and why they had sailed due south, though the +Mauritius was in the north-west, in order that they might catch the +trade winds. Before reaching these there were days when the sailors +did little else but shift the sails, trying to catch every breeze +that fluttered about them, tacking all the while, with nothing to +distract them but the monotonous albatross. The birds would come up +the seas, venturing within a few yards of the vessel, and float away +again, becoming mere specks on the horizon. Again the specks would +begin to grow larger, and the birds would return easily on moveless +wings. + +"When one hears the albatross flies for thousands of miles one +wonders how it could do this without fatigue; but one wonders no +longer when one has seen them fly, for they do not weary themselves +by moving their wings, their wings never move, they float month after +month until the mating instinct begins to stir in them, and then in +couples they float down the seas to the pole. There is nothing so +wonderful as the flight of a bird; and it seemed to me that I never +could weary of watching it. But I did weary of the albatross, and one +night, after praying that I might never see one again, I was awakened +by the pitching of the vessel, by the rattling of ropes, and the +clashing of the blocks against swaying spars. I had been awakened +before by storms at sea. You remember, Evelyn, when I returned to +Dulwich--I had been nearly wrecked off the coast of Marseilles?" +Evelyn nodded. "But the sensation was not like anything I had ever +experienced at sea before, and interested and alarmed I climbed, +catching a rope, steadying myself, reaching the poop somehow." + +"'We're in the trades, Sir Owen!' the man at the helm shouted to me. +'We're making twelve or fourteen knots an hour; a splendid wind!' + +"The sails were set and the vessel leaned to starboard, and then the +rattle of ropes began again and the crashing of the blocks as she +leaned over to port. Such surges, you have no idea, Evelyn, +threatening the brig, but slipping under the keel, lifting her to the +crest of the wave. Caught by the wind for a moment she seemed to be +driven into the depths, her starboard grazing the sea or very nearly. +The spectacle was terrific; the lone stars and the great cloud of +canvas, the whole seeming such a little thing beneath it, and no one +on deck but the helmsman bound to the helm, and well for him--a slip +would have cost him his life, he would have been carried into the +sea. An excellent sailor, yet even he was alarmed at the canvas we +carried, so he confided to me; but my skipper knew his business, a +first-rate man that skipper, the best sailor I have ever met. There +are few like him left, for the art of sailing is nearly a lost art, +and the difficulty of getting men who can handle square sails is +extraordinary. But this one, the last of an old line, came up, crying +out quite cheerfully, "Sir Owen, we're in luck indeed to have caught +the trades so soon." + +"Day after day, night after night, we flew like a seagull. 'Record +sailing,' my skipper often cried to me, telling me the number of +knots we had made in the last four-and-twenty hours." + +"And the albatrosses, I hope you didn't catch one?" + +"One day the skipper suggested that we should, the breast feathers +being very beautiful; and, the wind having slackened a little, a hook +was baited with a piece of salt pork, which the hungry bird seized. +As soon as he was drawn on board he flapped about more helpless than +anything I have ever seen, falling into everything he could fall +into, biting several of the crew. You know the sonnet in which +Baudelaire compares the bird on the wing to the poet with the Muse +beside him, and the albatross on deck to the poet in the +drawing-room. You remember the sonnet, how the sailors teased the bird +with their short black pipes." + +"But the breast feathers?" + +"We didn't kill the bird; I wouldn't allow him to be killed. We threw +him overboard, and down into the sea he went like a log." + +Evelyn asked if he were drowned. + +"Albatrosses don't drown. He swam for a time and fluttered, and at +last succeeded in getting on the wing. I was very glad to see him +float away, and was still more glad a few minutes afterwards, for +before the bird was out of sight a sign appeared in the heavens, and +I began to think of the story of 'The Ancient Mariner.' You know--" + +"Yes, I know the story, how all his misfortunes arose from the +killing of an albatross. But what was the sign?" + +"A dull yellow like a rainbow, only more pointed, and my skipper said +to me, 'Sir Owen, that is one of them hurricanes; if I knew which way +she was going I'd try to get out of the way as fast as I could, for +we shall be torn to pieces in a very few minutes.' I assure you it +was an anxious moment watching that red, yellow light in the sky; it +grew fainter, and eventually disappeared, and the skipper said, 'We +have just missed it.' A few days afterwards we came into the +Mauritius, and the first thing we saw was a great vessel in the +ports, her iron masts twisted and torn just like hairpins, Evelyn. +She had been caught in the tornado, a great three-masted vessel.... +We should have gone down like an open boat." + +"And after you left the Mauritius your destination was--" + +"Borneo, Sumatra, the Malay Archipelago." + +"But what were you seeking in the Malay Archipelago?" + +"What does one ever seek? One seeks, no matter what; and, not being +able to see you, Evelyn, I thought I would try to see everything in +the world." + +"But there is nothing to see in Borneo?" + +"Well, you will laugh when I tell you, but it seemed to me that I'd +like to see the orang-outang in his native forests. I had been to +Greece, and I knew the Italian Renaissance--" + +"And after so much art to see an orang-outang in a tree would be a +new experience, Owen." + +"Soon there will be no more higher apes, if medical science continues +to progress; no more gorillas or chimpanzees." + +"In a world without gorillas life will not be worth living. I quite +understand." + +Owen laughed. + +"I should be sorry for anything to disappear. The poor mother is +speared, for she will fight for her little one; ugly as he may be in +our eyes he is beautiful in hers." + +"But you didn't do this, Owen?" + +"No; after two or three days in a forest one wearies of it; and after +all it wasn't very likely that I should have got a snapshot. The +camera is my weapon." + +"And after the orang-outang which you failed to meet?" + +"I spent some time in Japan." + +"And then?" + +"Well, then, I went to Manchuria, to the Amur, a country almost +forgotten." And he told her how the eagles drove the wild sheep over +the precipices, and of a wolf hunt with eagles." + +"You have seen now everything the world has to show?" + +"Very nearly, and after seeing it all I come back to the one thing +that interests me." + +Tears rose to Evelyn's eyes; such an avowal of love a woman hardly +ever hears. + +The voices of the children playing in the garden reached their ears, +and Evelyn said: + +"They should have been in bed long ago, but, Owen, your being here +makes everything so exceptional." + +"Really? I'm glad of that," he answered shyly, fearing to say +anything which would carry her thoughts back among unpleasant +memories. But it was quite safe to speak of her love of the poor, and +of poor children. "What inspired you to start this home, Evelyn?" + +"Well, you see, I had to have something to work for, some interest; +and not having any children of my own... They really must go to bed." + +"But, Evelyn, why will you interrupt our talk? Let us go on talking; +tell me about the convent. Your adventures are so much more wonderful +than mine. You haven't half told me what there is to tell--the +Prioress and the sub-Prioress, you never liked her?" + +A smile gathered about her lips, and he asked her what she was +smiling at; and it was with some difficulty he persuaded her to tell +him about Sister Winifred and Father Daly." + +"Counterparts! counterparts!" he said. "And Cecilia giving the whole +show away because her counterpart was a dwarf! How could you live +among such babies?" + +"After all, Owen, are they any more babies than we are? Our interests +are just as unreal." + +"Your interest here is not as unreal; their hope is to build a wall +of prayer between a sinful world and the wrath of God. Such silliness +passes out of perception." + +"Your perception? We come into the world with different perceptions; +but do not let us drift into argument, not this evening, Owen." + +"Quite so, let us not drift into argument.... I am sorry you charged +me with being disappointed that you didn't remain in the convent; you +see I didn't know of the wonderful work you were doing here. Your +kindness is more than a nun's kindness." But he feared his casual +words might provoke her, and hastened to ask her about Sister +Winifred, at length persuading her into the admission that Sister +Winifred used to whip the children. + +"I'm sure she liked whipping them. Women who shut themselves out from +life develop cruelty. I can quite understand how she would like to +hear them cry." + +"Tell me more about the nuns." + +"No, Owen, I wouldn't speak ill of the nuns. Don't press me to speak +ill of them. You don't know, Owen, what might have become of me had +it not been for the convent. I don't know what might have become of +me. I might have drifted away and nothing have ever been heard of me +again." A dark look gathered in her face, "vanishing like the shadow +of a black wing over a sunny surface," Owen said to himself, "Now +what has frightened her? Not her love of me, for that love she always +looked on as legitimate." He remembered how she used to cling to that +view, while admitting it to be contrary to the teaching of the +Church. Did she still cling to this belief? "Probably, for we do hot +change our instinctive beliefs," he said, and longed to question her; +but not daring, and, thinking a lighter topic of conversation +desirable, he told her he would like to teach Eliza how to make +coffee. + +"There is only one way of making coffee" he said, and he had learned +the secret from a friend, who had always the best coffee. He had +known him as a bachelor, he had known him as a married man, and +afterwards as a divorced man, but in these different circumstances +the coffee remained the same. So he said, "My good friend how is it +that your cooks make equally good coffee?" And the friend answered +that it was himself who had taught every cook how to make coffee; it +was only a question of boiling water. And, still talking of the +making of coffee, they wandered into the garden and stood watching +the little boys all arow, their heads tucked in for Eliza's son to +jump over them, and they were laughing, enjoying their play, +inspired, no doubt, by the dusk and the mystery of yon great moon +rising out of the end of the grey valley. + +"I'm afraid Jack will hurt the others, or tire them; they really must +go to bed. You'll excuse me, Owen, I shall be back with you in about +half an hour?" + +He strolled through the wicket about the piece of waste ground, +thinking of the change that had come over her when he spoke of her +return from Rome. Possibly she had met Ulick in Rome and had fled +from him, or some other man. But he was not in the least curious to +inquire out her secret, sufficient it was for him to know that her +mood had passed. How suddenly it had passed! And how fortunate his +mention of the yacht! Her attention had suddenly been distracted, now +she was as charming as before... gone to look after those little +boys, to see that their beds were comfortable, and that their +night-shirts had buttons on them. Every day in London their living was +earned in tiresome lessons to pupils who had no gift for singing, but +had to be encouraged for the sake of their money, which was spent on +this hillside. + +"Such is the mysterious way of life. Our rewards are never those we +anticipate, but we are rewarded." + +The money he had spent on her had brought her to this hillside to +attend on six cripples, destitute little boys. After all what better +reward could he have hoped for? But a great part of his love of her +had been lost. Never again would he take her hand or kiss her again. +So his heart filled with a natural sadness and a great tenderness, +and he stood watching the smoke rising from the cottagers' chimneys +straight into the evening air. She had told him that one of her +little boys had come from that village, and to hear how the child had +been adopted he must scramble down this rough path. The moment was +propitious for a chat with the cottagers, whom he would find sitting +at their doors, the men smoking their pipes, the women knitting or +gossiping, "the characteristic end of every day since the beginning +of the world," he said, "and it will be pleasant to read her portrait +in these humble minds." + +"A fine evening, my man?" + +"Fine enough, sir; the wheat rick will be up before the Goodwood +races, the first time for the last thirty years." And the talk turned +on the price of corn and on the coming harvest, and then on Miss +Innes, who sometimes came down to see them and sang songs for the +children. + +"So she sings for the children? She used to do that in Italy." + +"Has she been in Italy, sir?" + +To interest them he told how Evelyn had sung in all the opera houses +of Europe; and then, fearing his confessions were indiscreet, he +asked the woman nearest him if she was the mother of the little boy +Evelyn had taken to live with her. + +"No, sir, 'e is Mrs. Watney's son in the next cottage." And Owen +moved away to interrogate Mrs. Watney, who told him that her son was +not a cripple. + +"'Is limbs be sound enough, only the poor little chap 'ad the +small-pox badly when he was four, and 'as been blind ever since. A +extraordinary 'appy child; and Miss Innes has promised to 'ave him +taught the pianna." + +"A piano-tuner must have a good ear, and Miss Innes says his ear is +perfect. He'll whistle anything he hears." + +Owen bade the cottagers good-night and climbed up the hillside again. +The lights were burning in the boy's dormitory, so Evelyn must still +be there, and finding a large stone among the rough ground where he +could sit he waited for her, interested in the round moon, looking +like the engraved dial of some great clock, and in the grey valley +and the sullen sky passing overhead into a dim blueness, in which he +could detect a star here and there. The evening hummed a little +still, and the sounds of voices, the last sounds to die out of a +landscape, became rare and faint. One by one the gossiping folk under +the hill crept within doors, and Owen was so absorbed by the silence +that he did not hear Evelyn approaching; and when she spoke he hardly +answered her, and she, as if participating already in his emotion, +stood by him, not asking for words from him, looking with him into +the solitude of the valley, seeking to see beyond the veils of blue +mist gathering and blotting out all detail, creeping up intimately +tender. What could he say to her worth saying at such a moment? he +began to ask himself; and just then a song came from a hawthorn +growing by the edge of the hill, a solitary song, mysterious and +strange, a passionate strain which freed their souls, till, walking +about this dusky hillside, the lovers seemed to lose their bodies and +to become all spirit; and they walked on in silence, speech seeming a +sacrilege. + +"So now you are going to settle down at Riversdale; your travels are +over?" + +"Yes, they are over. I shall travel no more. I didn't find what I +sought." + +"And what was that?" + +And her words as she spoke them sounded to Owen passionate, tender, +and melancholy as the nightingale; and his words, too, seemed to +partake of the same passionate melancholy. + +"Forgetfulness of you." + +"So you wished to forget me? I am sorry." + +"Sorry that I haven't forgotten you? That, Evelyn, is impossible for +me to believe; it isn't human to wish ourselves forgotten." + +"No, Owen, I don't wish you to forget me, I am glad you have not; but +I am sorry there was any need for you to seek forgetfulness." + +"And is there any need?" + +"Yes, for the Evelyn you loved died years ago." + +"Oh, Evelyn, don't say that; she is not dead?" + +"Perhaps not altogether, a trace here and there, a slight flavour, +but not a woman who could bring you happiness as you understand +happiness, Owen." + +"All the happiness I ever had I owe to you. How can I thank you for +those ten years?" + +"But you paid for them with a great deal of sorrow." + +"Had it not been for you, Evelyn, I shouldn't have lived at all. How +often have I told you that? I have seen all the world, and yet I have +only seen one thing in the world--you." + +"Owen, you mustn't speak to me like that." + +"While that bird is singing you are afraid to listen to me! How +passionately it sings, but how little it feels compared with what I +am feeling. Why did you say that the Evelyn of old is dead?" + +"Well, Owen, don't you know that we are always dying, always +changing. You are in love, not with me, but with your memory of me." + +"A great deal of my love is memory, of course, still--" + +Words again seemed vain, foolish, even sacrilegious, so little could +he convey to her of what he believed to be the truth, and they walked +in silence through the fragrance of the soft night, thinking of the +colour of the sky, in which the sunset was not yet quite dead. His +memory of his love of this woman long ago in Dulwich, in Paris, and +in all the cities and scenes they had visited together, raised him +above himself; and he felt that her soul mingled with his in an +ecstatic sadness beyond words, but which the nightingale sang +clearly; the stars, too, sang it clearly; and they stood mute in the +midst of the immortal symphony about them. "Evelyn, I love you. How +wonderful our lives have been!" But what use to break the music, +audible and inaudible, with such weak words? The villagers under the +hill could speak as well; the bird in the bush and the stars above it +were speaking for him; and he was content to listen. + +The silence of the night grew more intense, there were millions of +stars, small and great, and the moon now shone amidst them alone, "of +different birth," divided from them for ever as he was divided from +this woman, whose arm touched his as they walked through the +darkness, divided for ever, unable to communicate his soul to hers. +Did she understand what he was feeling--the mystery of their lives +written in the stars, sung by the nightingale and breathed by the +flowers? Did she understand? Had the convent rule left her sufficient +sensibility to understand such simple human truths? + +"How sweetly the tobacco plant smells!" she said. + +"Yes, doesn't it? But what is the meaning of our story? My finding +you at Dulwich--Evelyn, have you ever thought enough about it? How +extraordinary that event was, extraordinary as the stars above us; my +going down that evening and hearing you sing? Do you remember the +look with which you greeted me--do you remember that cup of tea?" + +"It was coffee." + +"And then all our meetings in the garden under the cedar-tree?" + +"You used to say we looked like a picture by Marcus Stone when we sat +under it." + +"Never mind what we looked like. Think of it! Of our journey to +Paris, and my visit to Brussels to hear you sing." + +"And Madame Savelli, who wouldn't let me speak to you; she said I +might tire my voice." + +"Yes, how I hated her and Olive that day! You sang 'Elizabeth,' and +when you walked up, to the sound of flutes and clarionettes,' +seemingly to the stars, there was something in the way you did it +that put a fear into my heart. It was all predestined from the +beginning." + +"So you believe, Owen, that the end is fated, and that I was created +to come back after many wanderings to help these poor little crippled +boys?" + +"Is that the meaning of it all, Evelyn?" + +"Maybe--who knows?--that meaning as well as another." And through the +dusk he could see her eyes shining with something of their old light. + +"Was it fated from the beginning that I should only, meet you here to +part with you again? Is that the meaning you read in the song of the +nightingale, in the stare of the moon and the perfume of the garden? +There is a meaning, Evelyn, in our lives for certain, but are you +reading it aright?" + +For a moment the meaning of their lives seemed clear to them. Life +had a meaning! for a moment, they were both sure of it; they had met +for something, there was a design in life, and though they were +separated on earth they seemed to move in celestial circles, just as +the stars moved in that great design above them, each sphere rolling +on, filled with love for its sister sphere, guided and controlled +each by the other, yet always apart. Owen walked thinking how, +billions of years hence, all those lights might wax into one light, +all souls to one soul, all ends to one end. For one moment he Height +possess Evelyn's soul as he had never been able to possess it on +earth... perhaps. + +"I love you now just as much as I loved you before, perhaps more, for +there is memory to aid me." + +"You are in love with memory, not with me." + +Her words went to his heart, as the thorn of the rose is said to go +to the nightingale's heart, and, unable to answer her, he listened. +"How wonderfully the bird sings, the interpreter of the primal +melancholy from which we never escape... since the beginning of time, +its interpreter." + +"Is he telling his own story, or is he telling ours?" + +"Both, for all love songs are as ours, made of the same intense +passionate melancholy. Why is love the most melancholy of all joys? +With what passionate melancholy he enchants her who is sitting in the +nest close by! The origin of art is sex; woman is a reed, and our +desire--" + +"Hush! Listen to the nightingale! His discourse is better than +yours." + +"How absorbed he is in his song, stave after stave; he seems to say, +'You want more tunes? If that is all, you shall have more.' Hush!" And +they listened to the rich warble, sounding so strange in the midst of +the lonely country. "A love-call of three notes, which he repeats +before passing into cadenzas. Hush!" The bird started again, and this +time as if encouraged by the success of his last efforts. + +"What flutings! What trills! What runs! Pearls and jewels scattered. +Little tunes of three or four notes, casting a spell about the +hillside, followed by passionate cadenzas." + +Another bird answered far away out of the stillness, the same sweet +strain it was; and listening, they seemed to hear the same strain +within their hearts--a silent, mysterious song. All the world seemed +singing the same sweet strain of melancholy, now when the moon passed +out of the dusk--shining high up in the heavens, with stars above and +beneath--Owen thought of some mysterious music-maker. Flocks of +various coloured stars, flaming Jupiter high up in the sky, red Mars +low down in the horizon, the Great Bear beautifully distinct, the +polar star at an angle--the star whereby Owen used to steer. All the +world seemed to be going to the same sweet strain, the soul, +seemingly freed, rose to the lips, and, in her pride, sought words +wherewith to tell the passionate melancholy of the night and of life. +But the soul could not tell it; only the nightingale, who, without +knowing it, was singing what the soul may only feel. + +"The bird is telling me what your voice used to tell me long ago." + +The lovers wandered through the garden, suffused with delicate +scents, and Owen told her of the legend of the nightingale and the +swallow, a legend coming down from some barbaric age, from a king +called Pandion, who, despite his wife's beauty, fell in love with her +sister, and ravished her in some town in Thessaly, the name of which +Owen could not remember. Fearing, however, that his lust would reach +his wife's ears, Pandion cut out the girl's tongue. This barbarous +act, committed before Greece was, had been redeemed by the Grecian +spirit, which had added that the girl; though without tongue to tell +the cruel deed, had, nevertheless, hands wherewith to weave it. The +weft of her misfortune only inspired another barbarous deed: Pandion +killed both sisters and his son Italus. Again the Grecian spirit +touched the legend, changing the tongueless girl into a swallow, a +bird with a little cry, and fleet wings to carry its cry all over the +world, and the unhappy wife into the bird "which sleeps all day and +sings all night." "Sophocles," Owen said, "speaks of the nightingale +as moaning all the night in ivy clusters, moaning or humming. A +strange expression his seems to us, our musical sense being different +from that of the antique world, if the antique world really possessed +any musical sense." The lovers wandered round the house, listening to +the bird's sweet singing, stopping at the hill's steep side so that +they might listen better. + +"Now the bird is telling of sorrows other than ours--isn't that so, +Evelyn? I don't seem to recognise anything of ourselves in its song; +it is singing a new song." + +"Perhaps," Evelyn answered, "now it is singing the sadness of the +mother under the hill for her son." + +"I went to see her, she is not unhappy; she is happy that her son is +With you." + +"But another child died last year; and for her, if she is listening, +the bird is certainly singing the death of that child." + +When they had completed once more the round of the garden, the bird +seemed to have again changed his intervals; a gaiety seemed to have +come into his singing, and Owen said: + +"Now his music is lighter; he is singing an inveigling little story, +the story of first love. Look, Evelyn, do you see that boy and girl +walking under the hedge with their arms entwined? They, too, have +stopped to listen to the nightingale, but the song they really hear +comes out of their own hearts." + +Then the song changed, suddenly acquiring a strange, voluptuous +accent, which carried Owen's thoughts back to a night when he had +been awakened out of his sleep by a woman's voice singing, and, +starting up in bed, he had listened, rousing himself sufficiently +from sleep to distinguish that the voice he was listening to was +Evelyn's. The song was a love-call, and, believing it to be such, he +had thrown aside the curtain, and had found her leaning out of her +window, singing the Star Song, not to the evening star, as in the +opera, but to the morning star shining white like a diamond out of +the dawning of the sky. The valley under the castle walls was +submerged in mist, and the distant hillside was indistinguishable. +The castle seemed to stand by the side of some frozen sea, so intense +was the silence. He had always looked back upon this morning as one +of the great moments of his life, and going to her room like going to +some great religious rite. Each man must worship where he finds the +Godhead. + +"Who knows," he said to Evelyn, "that the bird in the nest close by +does not listen with the same rapture--" + +"As you, in the box, used to listen to me on the stage? For the +comparison to hold good, I should have sung Italian music, roulades. +Listen to those cadenzas!" + +"How melancholy are their gaieties!" + +"Yes, aren't they?" she answered. "How poignant the two notes!--with +which _il commence son grand air_." + +"But our love-call ended years ago," she said, with an accent of +regret in her voice. And they walked towards the house, Owen dreading +that some sudden impulse might throw her into his arms and her mind +might be unhinged again, and he would lose her utterly. So he spoke +to her of the first; thing that came into her mind, and what came +first was a memory of Moschus's lament for Bion and the brevity of +human life as contrasted with the long life of the world. + +"'The mallows wither in the garden, and the green parsley--' how does +it go?" And he tried to remember as they went upstairs. "'The mallows +wither in the garden--' no, that is not how it begins. 'Ah me! when +the mallows wither in the garden, and the green parsley, and the +curled tendrils of the anise, on a later day these live again and +spring in another year; but we men, we, the great and mighty, or +wise, when once we have died in the hollow earth we sleep, gone down +into silence, a fight long and endless and unawakening sleep." + +"Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the Dirge!" + +And Evelyn listened, saying, "How very beautiful! how very +wonderful!" + +"But you believe, Evelyn, that we do live again?" + +"It is too late to argue that question; it is nearly midnight. I hope +you will like your room. Eliza has unstrapped your portmanteau, I +see. Your bed is comfortable, I think." + +It surprised him that she should follow him into his room, and stand +there talking to him, talking even about the bed he was to sleep in. +It would have been easy to lay his hands upon her shoulder, saying, +"Evelyn, are we to be parted?" but something held him back. And he +listened to her story of the buying of the bed, hearing that it had +been forgotten in the interest excited by the rumour of certain +portfolios filled with engravings supposed to be of great value. The +wardrobe, too, had been bought at the same auction, and he looked +into its panels, praising them. + +"But you want more light." She went over and lighted the candles on +the dressing-table, accomplishing the duties of hostess quite +unconcerned, ignoring the past. "One would think she had forgotten +it," he said to himself. "Are we to part like this? But it is for her +to decide. So quiet, so self-contained; it doesn't seem even to occur +to her." He waited, incapable of speech or action, paralysed, till +she bade him good-night. As soon as the door closed, or a moment +after, he began to realise his mistake. What he should have done was +to lay his hand upon her shoulder and lead her to the window-seat, +and sit with her there till a greyness came into the sky and a cold +air rustled in the trees. "Of course, of course," he muttered, for he +could see himself and her in the dawn together, united again and +tasting again in a kiss infinity. In her kiss he had tasted that +unity, that binding together of the mortal to the immortal, of the +finite to the infinite, which Paracelsus--He tried to recall the +words, "He who tastes a crust of bread has tasted of the universe, +even to the furthest star." She had always been his universe, and he +had always believed that she had come out of the star-shine like a +goddess when it pleases Divinity to lie with a mortal. Of this he was +sure, that he had never kissed her except in this belief.... This had +sanctified their love, whereas other men knew love as an animal +satisfaction. It had always seemed to him that there was something +essential in her, something which had always been in human nature and +which always would be. This light, this joy, and this aspiration he +had seen in certain moments: when she walked on the stage as +Elizabeth or Elza, she had always seemed to reflect a little of that +light which floats down through the generations ... illuminating "the +liquid surface of man's life." But a change had come, darkening that +light, causing it to pass, at least into eclipse. He drew his hand +across his eyes--a phase of her life was hidden from him; yet it, +too, may have had a meaning.... We understand so little of life. No, +no, it had no meaning in his mind, and we are only concerned with our +own minds. All the same, the fact remained--she had had to seek rest +in a convent; and the idea that had driven her there, though now +lying at the bottom of her mind, might be brought to the surface--any +chance word; he had had proof. Perhaps it was as well that he had not +laid his hand upon her shoulder and asked her to stay with him, for +by what spectacle of remorse, of terror, might he not have been +confronted to-morrow or the next day? Cured! Nobody is ever cured. +Never again would she be the same woman as had left Dulwich to go to +Paris with him, he knew that well enough; and he, too, was very far +indeed from being the same Owen Asher who had gone to Dulwich to hear +a concert of Elizabethan music. + +A period for every one, for every one a season. The gates of love +open, and we pass into the garden and out of it by another gate, +which never opens for us again. To linger by a closed or a closing +gate is not wise: the tarrying lover is a subject for contempt and +jeers; better to pass out quickly and to fare on, though it requires +courage to fare on through the autumn, knowing that after autumn +comes winter. True, the winds would grow harder. The autumn of their +lives was not over, the skies were still bright above them, and the +winds soft and low. The winds would grow harder, but they must still +fare on through the snow. But there is a joy by the hearth when the +yule-log is burning. So thanking God that he had not attempted to +detain her, he wandered to the window to watch the stars, which +seemed to him like a golden net; and he asked who had cast that net, +and if he and she were parcel of some great draught which, at some +indefinite date, would be drawn out of the depths, and if, when that +time came, they would remember the joy and sorrow they had endured +upon earth, or if all would be swept into forgetfulness. At some +indefinite date they might meet among the stars, but what stellar +infinities might be drawn together mattered little to him; his sole +interest was in this lag end of their journey--if their lives should +be united henceforth or lived separately. + +Nothing repeats itself, so it was well he had not asked her to stay +with him. Of mistress and lover a fitting end had been written long +ago, just as the end of those stars was written long before the stars +came into being; but it might well be that they might take the road, +this lag end of it, together as husband and wife. If he didn't marry +--he could marry nobody but her--what would he do with his life? what +sort of end? He had no heart for further travels, and feared to wear +away the years amid books and pictures, collecting rare porcelain and +French furniture; there is very little else for an old man. With her +the lag end of the journey would be delectable. In the same house +together, leading her in the evenings to the piano! Even if she had +lost part of her voice, sufficient remained to recall the old days +when he used to journey thousands of miles to hear her; and he lay +quite still, listening to the sweet thought of marriage, singing like +a bird in the acacia-tree, trill after trill, and then a run-- +delicious crescendos reaching to the stars, diminuendos sinking into +the valley. + +The bird suddenly ceased, and with its song in his brain Owen dozed, +awakening at dawn, remembering her, how she had built herself a +cottage, and settled her life here among four or five little crippled +boys. Could she undo her life to follow him? Uprooted, transplanted, +her brain might give way again, and this time without hope of +recovery. Or was he cheating himself, trying to find reasons for not +asking her to marry him--perhaps his manifest duty towards her. Owen +looked into his soul, asking himself if he were acting from a selfish +or an unselfish motive. + +Sleep seemed as far away as ever, and, getting out of bed, he drew +the curtains, seeking the landscape, still hidden in the mist, only a +few tree-tops showing over the grey vapour--the valley filled with +it--and over the hidden hill one streak of crimson. A rook cawed and +flew away into the mist, leaving Owen to wonder what the bird's +errand might be; and this rook was followed by others, and seeing +nothing distinctly, and knowing nothing of himself or of this woman +whom he had loved so long, he returned to his bed frightened, +counting his years, asking himself how many more he had to live. + +A knock! Only Eliza bringing his bath water. Good heavens! he had +been asleep. "Eliza, what time is it?" + +"Half-past eight, Sir Owen. Miss Innes will be soon home from Mass to +give the little boys their breakfast." + +"Home from Mass!" he muttered. And he learned from Eliza that Miss +Innes got up every morning at seven, for a Catholic gentleman lived +in the neighbourhood who had a private chaplain. "And she goes to +Mass," Owen muttered, "every morning, and comes back to give the +little boys their breakfast!" + +There was no Catholic gentleman within a mile of Riversdale, he was +thankful to say, and his thankfulness on the point was proof to him +of how years and circumstances had estranged him from Evelyn; for, +though he would not obstruct or forbid, it would be impossible for +him to keep a sneer out of his face when she told him she had been to +the sacraments or refrained from meat on Friday. "What a strange +notion it is to think that a priest can help one," he said, thinking +then that his presence would be a sneer, however he might control his +tongue or his face; she would feel that he held her little +observances in contempt, and her, too, just a little. How could it be +otherwise? How could he admire one who slipped her neck into a +spiritual halter and allowed herself to be led? Yet he loved her--or +was it the memory of their love that he loved? Which? He loved her +when he saw her among the crippled children distributing porridge and +milk, or maybe it was not love, but admiration. + +"My dear, I didn't know you would be down so soon. If you will only +go into the garden and wait for me, I shan't be long." + +"Now then, children, you must hurry with your porridge; Sir Owen is +waiting for his breakfast." + +"My dear Evelyn, I am not in a hurry. Let the children take their +time." + +And he went into the garden to think if life at Riversdale would suit +her as well as this life. It would be impossible for him to accompany +her to chapel, and if he did not do so there would be an +estrangement.... Nor could he allow Riversdale to be turned into an +orphanage. Perhaps he would allow her to do anything; that pleased +her; all the same, she would feel that the permission did not come +out of his instinct, only out of a desire to please her. + +"Well, Owen," she said as soon as he had finished breakfast, "I don't +want to hurry you, but if you are to catch that train we must start +at once." + +It was one of her off days, and she was going to spend it at the +cottage. There were a great many things for her to do. She never had +much time, but she would go to the station with him. + +"But you have already walked two miles." + +"Ah! Eliza has told you?" + +"Yes, that you go to Mass every morning." + +Owen seemed to regret the fact, and when he broke silence again it +was to inquire into the expenses of the orphanage and to deplore the +necessity which governed her life of going to London every day, +returning home late, and he offered her a subscription which would +cover the entire cost. But his offer of money seemed to embarrass +her, and he understood that her pleasure was to go to London to work +for these children, for only in that way could the home be entirely +her own. If she were to accept help from the outside it would drift +away from her and from its original intention, just as the convent +had done. Nor was it very likely that she would care to give up her +work and come to live at Riversdale, as his wife, of course as his +wife, and it would pain her to refuse him.... Better leave things as +they were. + +"You are right," he said, "not to live in London; one avoids a great +deal of loneliness. One is more lonely in London than anywhere I +know. The country is the natural home of man. Man is an arborial +animal," he added, laughing, "and is only happy among trees." + +"And woman, what is she? A material animal?" + +"I suppose so. You have your children; I have my trees." + +The words seemed to have a meaning which eluded them, and they +pondered while they descended the hillside until the piece of +low-lying land came into view and the bridge crossing the sluggish +stream, amid whose rushes he had gathered the wild forget-me-not. As +he was about to speak of them he remembered her singing classes, and +that yester evening had worn away without hearing her sing. "You have +lost all interest in music, I fear. You think of it now as a means of +making money... for your children," he added, so that his words might +not wound her. + +"And you, Owen, does music still interest you,"--she nearly said, +"now that I am out of it?" but stopped, the words on her lips. + +"Yes," he said, "I think it does," and there was an eagerness in his +voice when he said, "I have been trying my hand at composition again, +and I have written a good many songs and some piano pieces, one for +piano and violin." + +"A sonata?" + +"Well, something in that way... not very strict in form perhaps." + +"That doesn't matter." + +"When you come to see me I should like to show you some of my things. +You will come to see me when you are in London... when you have a +moment?" + +"Evelyn always keeps her promises," he said to himself, and he did +not give up hope that she would come to see him, although nearly two +weeks went by without his hearing from her. Then a note came, saying +that she had been kept busy and had not been able to find spare time, +but yesterday a pupil had written saying she would not come to her +lesson, "so now I can come to you." + +"Miss Innes, Sir Owen." + +His face lighted up, and laying his book aside he sprang out of his +chair, and all consciousness of time ceased in his mind till she +began to put on her glove. + +"You have only just arrived, and already you are going." + +"My dear Owen, I have been here an hour, and the time has passed +quickly for you because you have been playing your music over for me +and I have been singing... humming, for it is hardly singing now." + +"I am sorry, Evelyn, the time has seemed so long to you. I didn't +intend to bore you. You said you would like to see some of my music." + +"So I did, Owen, and some of the best things you have composed are +among those you have shown me. Your writing has improved a great +deal." + +"I am so glad you think so. When will you come again?" + +"The first spare hour." + +"Really? You promise." + +They saw each other at intervals. Sometimes the intervals were very +long, and Owen would write to her complaining, and he would get a +note telling that her time was not her own, and that a great deal of +money was necessary for her boys. But she would try to come and see +him next week, and he would write begging her not to disappoint him, +as he was giving a concert and wanted her help to compose the +programme. + +A great deal of time was spent in Berkeley Square, more than she +could afford, trying pieces over; and she would often say, "My dear +Owen, I really must go now or I shall miss my train at Victoria." He +always looked disappointed when she said she was going, and he never +could understand why she would not sing at his concerts. It was very +difficult even to persuade her to come to one. + +"You see, I cannot sleep here, Owen. I have to go to a hotel." + +One day she got a letter from him which she feared to open. "It is to +ask me to help him to compose another programme, and I haven't got a +minute." + +She was mistaken. The letter was to tell her that he had been elected +president of the new choral society... "a group of young musicians." +The envelope enclosed a programme, and she read: "President, Sir Owen +Asher, Bart." "I'm glad, I'm glad," she said as she walked up the +room. "He has some natural talent for music, and if he hadn't been +born a rich man and spent his life doing other things he might have +done something in music. If he had begun younger... if he hadn't met +me... a good many ifs; but there it is, and that is how it has +ended." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sister Teresa, by George Moore + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14614 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8609366 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #14614 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14614) diff --git a/old/14614-8.txt b/old/14614-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ed3e09c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14614-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13338 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sister Teresa, by George Moore + +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: Sister Teresa + +Author: George Moore + +Release Date: January 6, 2005 [EBook #14614] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTER TERESA *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Carol David and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +SISTER TERESA + +BY GEORGE MOORE + +LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN ADELPHI TERRACE + +_First Edition, 1901_ + +_Second Edition (entirely rewritten), 1909_ + + + + +PREFACE + +A weaver goes to the mart with a divided tapestry, and with half in +either hand he walks about telling that whoever possesses one must, +perforce, possess the other for the sake of the story. But +allegories are out of place in popular editions; they require linen +paper, large margins, uncut edges; even these would be insufficient; +only illuminated vellum can justify that which is never read. So +perhaps it will be better if I abandon the allegory and tell what +happened: how one day after writing the history of "Evelyn Innes" +for two years I found myself short of paper, and sought vainly for a +sheet in every drawer of the writing-table; every one had been +turned into manuscript, and "Evelyn Innes" stood nearly two feet +high. + +"Five hundred pages at least," I said, "and only half of my story +finished.... This is a matter, on which I need the publisher's +opinion." + +Ten minutes after I was rolling away in a hansom towards Paternoster +Square, very anxious to persuade him that the way out of my +difficulty would be to end the chapter I was then writing on a full +close. + +"That or a novel of a thousand pages," I said. + +"A novel of a thousand pages!" he answered. "Impossible! We must +divide the book." It may have been to assuage the disappointment he +read on my face that he added, "You'll double your money." + +My publisher had given way too easily, and my artistic conscience +forthwith began to trouble me, and has never ceased troubling me +since that fatal day. The book the publisher puts asunder the author +may not bring together, and I shall write to no purpose in one +preface that "Evelyn Innes" is not a prelude to "Sister Teresa" and +in another that "Sister Teresa" is not a sequel to "Evelyn Innes." +Nor will any statement of mine made here or elsewhere convince the +editors of newspapers and reviews to whom this book will be sent for +criticism that it is not a revised edition of a book written ten +years ago, but an entirely new book written within the last eighteen +months; the title will deceive them, and my new book will be thrown +aside or given to a critic with instructions that he may notice it +in ten or a dozen lines. Nor will the fact that "Evelyn Innes" +occupies a unique place in English literature cause them to order +that the book shall be reread and reconsidered--a unique place I +hasten to add which it may easily lose to-morrow, for the claim made +for it is not one of merit, but of kind. + +"Evelyn Innes" is a love story, the first written in English for +three hundred years, and the only one we have in prose narrative. +For this assertion not to seem ridiculous it must be remembered that +a love story is not one in which love is used as an ingredient; if +that were so nearly all novels would be love stories; even Scott's +historical novels could not be excluded. In the true love story love +is the exclusive theme; and perhaps the reason why love stories are +so rare in literature is because the difficulty of maintaining the +interest is so great; probably those in existence were written +without intention to write love stories. Mine certainly was. The +manuscript of this book was among the printers before it broke on me +one evening as I hung over the fire that what I had written was a +true love story about a man and a woman who meet to love each other, +who are separated for material or spiritual reasons, and who at the +end of the story are united in death or affection, no matter which, +the essential is that they should be united. My story only varies +from the classical formula in this, that the passion of "the lovely +twain" is differentiated. + +It would be interesting to pursue this subject, and there are other +points which it would be interesting to touch upon; there must be a +good deal for criticism in a book which has been dreamed and +re-dreamed for ten years. But, again, of what avail? The book I now +offer to the public will not be read till I am dead. I have written +for posterity if I have written for anybody except myself. The +reflection is not altogether a pleasant one. But there it is; we +follow our instinct for good or evil, but we follow it; and while the +instinct of one man is to regard the most casual thing that comes +from his hand as "good enough," the instinct of another man compels +him to accept all risks, seeking perfection always, although his work +may be lost in the pursuit. + +My readers, who are all Balzacians, are already thinking of Porbus +and Poussin standing before _le chef d'oeuvre Inconnu_ in the studio +of Mabuse's famous pupil--Frenhofer. Nobody has seen this picture +for ten years; Frenhofer has been working on it in some distant +studio, and it is now all but finished. But the old man thinks that +some Eastern woman might furnish him with some further hint, and is +about to start on his quest when his pupil Porbus persuades him that +the model he is seeking is Poussin's mistress. Frenhofer agrees to +reveal his mistress (_i.e._, his picture) on condition that Poussin +persuades his mistress to sit to him for an hour, for he would +compare her loveliness with his art. These conditions having been +complied with, he draws aside the curtain; but the two painters see +only confused colour and incoherent form, and in one corner "a +delicious foot, a living foot escaped by a miracle from a slow and +progressive destruction." + +In the first edition of "Evelyn Innes" (I think the passage has been +dropped out of the second) Ulick Dean says that one should be +careful what one writes, for what one writes will happen. Well, +perhaps what Balzac wrote has happened, and I may have done no more +than to realise one of his most famous characters. + +G.M. + + + +SISTER TERESA + + + +I + +As soon as Mother Philippa came into the parlour Evelyn guessed there +must be serious trouble in the convent. + +"But what is the matter, Mother Philippa?" + +"Well, my dear, to tell you the truth, we have no money at all." + +"None at all! You must have some money." + +"As a matter of fact we have none, and Mother Prioress won't let us +order anything from the tradespeople." + +"Why not?" + +"She will not run into debt; and she's quite right; so we have to +manage with what we've got in the convent. Of course there are some +vegetables and some flour in the house; but we can't go on like this +for long. We don't mind so much for ourselves, but we are so anxious +about Mother Prioress; you know how weak her heart is, and all this +anxiety may kill her. Then there are the invalid sisters, who ought +to have fresh meat." + +"I suppose so," and Evelyn thought of driving to the Wimbledon +butcher and bringing back some joints. + +"But, Mother, why didn't you let me know before? Of course I'll help +you." + +"The worst of it is, Evelyn, we want a great deal of help." + +"Well, never mind; I'm ready to give you a great deal of help... as +much as I can. And here is the Prioress." + +The Prioress stood resting, leaning on the door-handle, and Evelyn +was by her side in an instant. + +"Thank you, my child, thank you," and she took Evelyn's arm. + +"I've heard of your trouble, dear Mother, and am determined to help +you; so you must sit down and tell me about it." + +"Reverend Mother ought not to be about," said Mother Philippa. "On +Monday night she was so ill we had to get up to pray for her." + +"I'm better to-day. If it hadn't been for this new trouble--" As the +Prioress was about to explain she paused for breath, and Evelyn +said: + +"Another time. What does it matter to whom you owe the money? You owe +it to somebody, and he is pressing you for it--isn't that so? Of +course it is, dear Mother. Well, I've come to bring you good news. +You remember my promise to arrange a concert tour as soon as I was +free? Everything has been arranged; we start next Thursday, and with +fair hope of success." + +"How good of you!" + +"You will succeed, Evelyn; and as Mother Philippa says, it is very +good of you." + +The Prioress spoke with hesitation, and Evelyn guessed that the nuns +were thinking of their present necessities. + +"I can let you have a hundred pounds easily, and I could let you have +more if it were not--" The pause was sufficiently dramatic to cause +the nuns to press her to go on speaking, saying that they must know +they were not taking money which she needed for herself. "I wasn't +thinking of myself, but of my poor people; they're so dependent upon +me, and I am so dependent upon them, even more than they are upon +me, for without them there would be no interest in my life, and +nothing for me to do except to sit in my drawing-room and look at the +wall paper and play the piano." + +"We couldn't think of taking money which belongs to others. We shall +put our confidence in God. No, Evelyn, pray don't say any more." + +But Evelyn insisted, saying she would manage in such a way that her +poor people should lack nothing. "Of course they lack a great deal, +but what I mean is, they'll lack nothing they've been in the habit +of receiving from me," and, speaking of their unfailing patience in +adversity, she said: "and their lives are always adversity." + +"Your poor people are your occupations since you left the stage?" + +"You think me frivolous, or at least changeable, Reverend Mother?" + +"No, indeed; no, indeed," both nuns cried together, and Evelyn +thought of what her life had been, how the new occupations which had +come into it contrasted with the old--singing practice in the +morning, rehearsals, performances in the evening, intrigues, +jealousies; and the change seemed so wonderful that she would like +to have spoken of it to the nuns, only that could not be done without +speaking of Owen Asher. But there was no reason for not speaking of +her stage life, the life that had drifted by. "You see, my old +friends are no longer interested in me." A look of surprise came +into the nuns' faces. "Why should they be? They are only interested +in me so long as I am available to fill an engagement. And the +singers who were my friends--what should I speak to them about? Not +of my poor people; though, indeed, many of my friends are very good: +they are very kind to each other." + +"But we mustn't think of taking the money from you that should go to +your poor people." + +"No, no; that is out of the question, dear Mother. As I have told +you, I can easily let you have a hundred pounds; and as for paying +off the debts of the convent--that I look upon as an obligation, as +a _bonne bouche_, I might say. My heart is set on it." "We can +never thank you enough." + +"I don't want to be thanked; it is all pleasure to me to do this for +you. Now goodbye; I'll write to you about the success of the +concerts. You will pray that I may be a great success, won't you? +Much more depends upon your prayers than on my voice." + +Mother Philippa murmured that everything was in God's hands. + +The Prioress raised her eyes and looked at Evelyn questioningly. +"Mother Philippa is quite right. Our prayers will be entirely +pleasing to God; He sent you to us. Without you our convent would be +broken up. We shall pray for you, Evelyn." + + + +II + +The larger part of the stalls was taken up by Lady Ascott's party; +she had a house-party at Thornton Grange, and had brought all her +friends to Edinburgh to hear Evelyn. Added to which, she had written +to all the people she knew living in Edinburgh, and within reach of +Edinburgh, asking them to come to the concert, pressing tickets upon +them. + +"But, my dear, is it really true that you have left the stage? One +never heard of such a thing before. Now, why did you do this? You +will tell me about it? You will come to Thornton Grange, won't you, +and spend a few days with us?" + +But in Thornton Grange Evelyn would meet many of her old friends, and +a slight doubt came into her eyes. + +"No, I won't hear of a refusal. You are going to Glasgow; Thornton +Grange is on your way there; you can easily spend three days with +us. No, no, no, Evelyn, you must come; I want to hear all about your +religious scruples." + +"That is the last thing I should like to speak about. Besides, +religious scruples, dear Lady Ascott--" + +"Well, then, you shan't speak about them at all; nobody will ask you +about them. To tell you the truth, my dear, I don't think my friends +would understand you if you did. But you will come; that is the +principal thing. Now, not another word; you mustn't tire your voice; +you have to sing again." And Lady Ascott returned to the +concert-hall for the second part of the programme. + +After the concert Evelyn was handed a letter, saying that she would +be expected to-morrow at Thornton Grange; the trains were as +follows: if she came by this train she would be in time for tea, and +if she came by the other she would be just in time for dinner. + +"She's a kind soul, and after all she has done it is difficult to +refuse her." So Evelyn sent a wire accepting the invitation.... +Besides, there was no reason for refusing unless--A knock! Her +manager! and he had come to tell her they had taken more money that +night than on any previous night. "Perhaps Lady Ascott may have some +more friends in Glasgow and will write to them," he added as he bade +her good-night. + +"Three hundred pounds! Only a few of the star singers would have +gathered as much money into a hall," and to the dull sound of gold +pieces she fell asleep. But the sound of gold is the sweetest +tribute to the actress's vanity, and this tribute Evelyn had missed +to some extent in the preceding concerts; the others were artistic +successes, but money had not flowed in, and a half-empty +concert-room puts an emptiness into the heart of the concert singer +that nothing else can. But the Edinburgh concert had been different; +people had been more appreciative, her singing had excited more +enthusiasm. Lady Ascott had brought musical people to hear her, and +Evelyn awoke, thinking that she would not miss seeing Lady Ascott +for anything; and while looking forward to seeing her at Thornton +Grange, she thought of the money she had made for the poor nuns, and +then of the money awaiting her in Glasgow.... It would be nice if by +any chance Lady Ascott were persuaded to come to Glasgow for the +concert, bringing her party with her. Anything was possible with +Lady Ascott; she would go anywhere to hear music. + +"But what an evening!" and she watched the wet country. A high wind +had been blowing all day, but the storm had begun in the dusk, and +when she arrived at the station the coachman could hardly get his +horses to face the wind and rain. In answer to her question the +footman told her Thornton Grange was about a mile from the station; +and when the carriage turned into the park she peered through the +wet panes, trying to see the trees which Owen had often said were the +finest in Scotland; but she could only distinguish blurred masses, +and the yellow panes of a parapeted house. + +"How are you, my dear Evelyn? I'm glad to see you. You'll find some +friends here." And Lady Ascott led her through shadowy drawing-rooms +curtained with red silk hangings, filled with rich pictures, china +vases, books, marble consol tables on which stood lamps and tall +candles. Owen came forward to meet her. + +"I am so glad to meet you, Miss Innes! You didn't expect to see me? I +hope you're not sorry." + +"No, Sir Owen, I'm not sorry; but this is a surprise, for Lady Ascott +didn't tell me. Were you at the concert?" + +"No, I couldn't go; I was too ill. It was a privation to remain at +home thinking--What did you sing?" + +Evelyn looked at him shrewdly, believing only a little in his +illness, and nearly convinced he had not gone to the concert because +he wished to keep his presence a secret from her... fearing she +would not come to Thornton Grange if she knew he were there. + +"He missed a great deal; I told him so when I returned," said Lady +Ascott. + +"But what can one do, Miss Innes, when one is ill? The best music in +the world--even your voice when one is ill--. Tell me what you +sang." + +"Evelyn is going to sing at Glasgow; you will be able to go there +with her." + +The servant announced another guest and Lady Ascott went forward to +meet him. Guest after guest, and all were greeted with little cries +of fictitious intimacy; and each in turn related his or her journey, +and the narratives were chequered with the names of other friends +who had been staying in the houses they had just come from. Evelyn +listened, thinking of her poor people, contrasting their +simplicities with the artificialities of the gang--that is how she +put it to herself--which ran about from one house to another, +visiting, calling itself Society, talking always, changing the +conversation rapidly, never interested in any subject sufficiently +to endure it for more than a minute and a half. The life of these +people seemed to Evelyn artificial as that of white mice, coming in +by certain doors, going out by others, climbing poles, engaged in +all kinds of little tricks; yet she was delighted to find herself +among them all again, for her life had been dull and tedious since +she left the convent; and this sudden change, taking her back to art +and to her old friends, was very welcome; and the babble of all +these people about her inveigled her out of her new self; and she +liked to hear about so many people, their adventures, their ideas, +misfortunes, precocious caprices. + +The company had broken up into groups, and one little group, of which +Evelyn was part, had withdrawn into a corner to discuss its own +circle of friends; and all the while Evelyn's face smiled, her eyes +and her lips and her thoughts were atingle. Nonsense! Yes, it was +nonsense! But what delicious nonsense! and she waited for somebody +to speak of Canary--the "love machine," as he was called. No sooner +had the thought come into her mind than somebody mentioned his name, +telling how Beatrice, after sending him away in the luggage-cart, had +yielded and taken him back again. "He is her interest," Evelyn said +to herself, and she heard that Canary still continued to cause +Beatrice great unhappiness; and some interesting stories were told +of her quarrels--all her quarrels were connected with Canary. One of +the most serious was with Miss ----, who had gone for a walk with him +in the morning; and the guests at Thornton Grange were divided +regarding Miss ----'s right to ask Canary to go for a walk with her, +for, of course, she had come down early for the purpose, knowing +well that Beatrice never came downstairs before lunch. + +"Quite so." The young man was listened to, and he continued to argue +for a long while that it was not reasonable for a woman to expect a +man to spend the whole morning reading the _Times_, and that +apparently was what Beatrice wished poor Canary to do until she +chose to come down. Nevertheless, the general opinion was in favour +of Beatrice and against the girl. + +"Beatrice has been so kind to her," and everybody had something to +say on this point. + +"But what happened?" Evelyn asked, and the leader of this +conversation, a merry little face with eyes like wild flowers and a +great deal of shining hair, told of Beatrice's desperate condition +when the news of Miss ----'s betrayal reached her. + +"I went up and found her in tears, her hair hanging down her back, +saying that nobody cared for her. Although she spends three thousand +a year on clothes, she sits up in that bedroom in a dressing-gown +that we have known for the last five years. "Well, Beatrice," I +said, "if you'll only put on a pair of stays and dress yourself and +come downstairs, perhaps somebody will care for you." + +A writer upon economic subjects who trailed a black lock of hair over +a bald skull declared he could see the scene in Beatrice's bedroom +quite clearly, and he spoke of her woolly poodle looking on, trying +to understand what it was all about, and his allusion to the poodle +made everybody laugh, for some reason not very apparent, and Evelyn +wondered at the difference between the people she was now among and +those she had left--the nuns in their convent at the edge of +Wimbledon Common, and her thoughts passing back, she remembered the +afternoon in the Savoy Hotel spent among her fellow-artists. + +Her reverie endured, she did not know how long; only that she was +awakened from it by Lady Ascott, come to tell her it was time to go +upstairs to dress for dinner. Now with whom would she go down? With +Owen, of course, such was the etiquette in houses like Thornton +Grange. It was possible Lady Ascott might look upon them as married +people and send her down with somebody else--one of those young men! +No! The young men would be reserved for the girls. As she suspected, +she went down with Owen. He did not tell her where he had been since +she last saw him; intimate conversation was impossible amid a +glitter of silver dishes and anecdotes of people they knew; but +after dinner in a quiet corner she would hear his story. And as soon +as the men came up from the dining-room Owen went straight towards +her, and she followed him out of hearing of the card-players. + +"At last we are alone. My gracious! how I've looked forward to this +little talk with you, all through that long dinner, and the formal +talk with the men afterwards, listening to infernal politics and +still more infernal hunting. You didn't expect to meet me, did you?" + +"No; Lady Ascott said nothing about your being here when she came to +the concert." + +"And perhaps you wouldn't have come if you had known I was here?" + +"Is that why you didn't come to the concert?" + +"Well, Evelyn, I suppose it was. You'll forgive me the trickery, +won't you?" She took his hand and held it for a moment. "That touch +of your hand means more to me than anything in the world." A cloud +came into her face which he saw and it pained him to see it. "Lady +Ascott wrote saying she intended to ask you to Thornton Grange, so I +wrote at once asking her if she could put me up; she guessed an +estrangement, and being a kind woman, was anxious to put it right." + +"An estrangement, Owen? But there is no estrangement between us?" + +"No estrangement?" + +"Well, no, Owen, not what I should call an estrangement." + +"But you sent me away, saying I shouldn't see you for three months. +Now three months have passed--haven't I been obedient?" + +"Have three months passed?" + +"Yes; It was in August you sent me away and now we are in November." + +"Three months all but a fortnight." + +"The last time I saw you was the day you went to Wimbledon to sing +for the nuns. They have captured you; you are still singing for +them." + +"You mustn't say a word against the nuns," and she told anecdotes +about the convent which interested her, but which provoked him even +to saying under his breath, "Miserable folk!" + +"I won't allow you to speak like that against my friends." + +Owen apologised, saying they had taken her from him. "And you can't +expect me to sympathise with people or with an idea that has done +this? It wouldn't be human, and I don't think you would like me any +better if I did--now would you, Evelyn? Can you say that you would, +honestly, hand upon your heart?--if a heart is beating there still." + +"A heart is beating--" + +"I mean if a human heart is beating." + +"It seems to me, Owen, I am just as human, more human than ever, only +it is a different kind of humanity." + +"Pedantry doesn't suit women, nor does cruelty; cruelty suits no one +and you were very cruel when we parted." + +"Yes, I suppose I was, and it is always wrong to be cruel. But I had +to send you away; if I hadn't I should have been late for the +concert. You don't realise, Owen, you can't realise--" And as she +said those words her face seemed to freeze, and Owen thought of the +idea within her turning her to ice. + +"The wind! Isn't it uncanny? You don't know the glen? One of the most +beautiful in Scotland." And he spoke of the tall pines at the end of +it, the finest he had ever seen, and hoped that not many would be +blown down during the night. "Such a storm as this only happens once +in ten years. Good God, listen!" Like a savage beast the wind seemed +to skulk, and to crouch.... It sprang forward and seized the house +and shook it. Then it died away, and there was stillness for a few +minutes. + +"But it is only preparing for another attack," Evelyn said, and they +listened, hearing the wind far away gathering itself like a robber +band, determined this time to take the castle by assault. Every +moment it grew louder, till it fell at last with a crash upon the +roof. + +"But what a fool I am to talk to you about the wind, not having seen +you for three months! Surely there is something else for us to talk +about?" + +"I would sooner you spoke about the wind, Owen." + +"It is cruel of you to say so, for there is only one subject worth +talking about--yourself. How can I think of any other? When I am +alone in Berkeley Square I can only think of the idea which came +into your head and made a different woman of you." Evelyn refrained +from saying "And a much better woman," and Owen went on to tell how +the idea had seized her in Pisa. "Remember, Evelyn, it played you a +very ugly trick then. I'm not sure if I ought to remind you." + +"You mean when you found me sitting on the wall of an olive-garth? +But there was no harm in singing to the peasants." + +"And when I found you in a little chapel on the way to the +pine-forest--the forest in which you met Ulick Dean. What has become +of that young man?" + +"I don't know. I haven't heard of him." + +"You once nearly went out of your mind on his account." + +"Because I thought he had killed himself." + +"Or because you thought you wouldn't be able to resist him?" + +Evelyn did not answer, and looking through the rich rooms, +unconsciously admiring the gleaming of the red silk hangings in the +lamplight, and the appearance of a portrait standing in the midst of +its dark background and gold frame, she discovered some of the +guests: two women leaning back in a deep sofa amid cushions +confiding to each other the story of somebody's lover, no doubt; and +past them, to the right of a tall pillar, three players looked into +the cards, one stood by, and though Owen and Evelyn were thinking of +different things they could not help noticing the whiteness of the +men's shirt fronts, and the aigrette sprays in the women's hair, and +the shapely folds of the silken dresses falling across the carpet. + +"Not one of these men and women here think as you do; they are +satisfied to live. Why can't you do the same?" + +"I am different from them." + +"But what is there different in you?" + +"You don't think then, Owen, that every one has a destiny?" + +"Evelyn, dear, how can you think these things? We are utterly +unimportant; millions and billions of beings have preceded us, +billions will succeed us. So why should it be so important that a +woman should be true to her lover?" + +"Does it really seem to you an utterly unimportant matter?" + +"Not nearly so important as losing the woman one loves." And looking +into her face as he might into a book, written in a language only a +few words of which he understood, he continued: "And the idea seems +to have absorbed you, to have made its own of you; it isn't +religion, I don't think you are a religious woman. You usen't to be +like this when I took you away to Paris. You were in love with me, +but not half so much in love with me as you are now with this idea, +not so subjugated. Evelyn, that is what it is, you are subjugated, +enslaved, and you can think of nothing else." + +"Well, if that is so, Owen--and I won't say you are utterly wrong-- +why can't you accept things as they are?" + +"But it isn't true, Evelyn? You will outlive this idea. You will be +cured." + +"I hope not." + +"You hope not? Well, if you don't wish to be cured it will be +difficult to cure you. But now, here in this house, where everything +is different, do you not feel the love of life coming back upon you? +And can you accept negation willingly as your fate?" + +Evelyn asked Owen what he meant and he said: + +"Well, your creed is a negative one--that no man shall ever take you +in his arms again, saying, 'Darling, I am so fond of you!' You would +have me believe that you will be true to this creed? But don't I +know how dear that moment is to you? No, you will not always think +as you do now; you will wake up as from a nightmare, you will wake +up." + +"Do you think I shall?" Soon after their talk drifted to Lady Ascott +and to her guests, and Owen narrated the latest intrigues and the +mistake Lady Ascott had been guilty of by putting So-and-so and +So-and-so to sleep in the same corridor, not knowing that their +_liaison_ had been broken off at least three months before. + +"Jim is now in love with Constance." + +"How very horrible!" + +"Horrible? It is that fellow Mostyn who has put these ideas into your +head!" + +"He has put nothing into my head, Owen." + +"Upon my word I believe you're right. It is none of his doing. But he +has got the harvesting; ah, yes, and the nuns, too. You never loved +me as you love this idea, Evelyn?" + +"Do you think not?" + +"When you were studying music in Paris you were quite willing I +should go away for a year." + +"But I repaid you for it afterwards; you can't say I didn't. There +were ten years in which I loved you. How is it you have never +reproached me before?" + +"Why should I? But now I've come to the end of the street; there is a +blank wall in front of me." + +"You make me very miserable by talking like this." + +They sat without speaking, and Lady Ascott's interruption was +welcome. + +"Now, my dear Sir Owen, will you forgive me if I ask Evelyn to sing +for us? You'd like to hear her sing--wouldn't you?" + +Owen sprang to his feet. + +"Of course, of course. Come, Miss Innes, you will sing for us. I have +been boring you long enough, haven't I? And you'll be glad to get to +the piano. Who will accompany you?" + +"You, Sir Owen, if you will be kind enough." + +The card-players were glad to lay down their cards and the women to +cease talking of their friends' love affairs. All the world over it +is the same, a soprano voice subjugating all other interests; +soprano or tenor, baritone much less, contralto still less. Many +came forward to thank her, and, a little intoxicated with her +success, she began to talk to some of her women friends, thinking it +unwise to go back into a shadowy corner with Owen, making herself +the subject of remark; for though her love story with Owen Asher had +long ceased to be talked about, a new interest in it had suddenly +sprung up, owing to the fact that she had sent Owen away, and was +thinking of becoming a nun--even to such an extent her visit to the +convent had been exaggerated; and as the women lagging round her had +begun to try to draw from her an account of the motives which had +induced her to leave the stage, and the moment not seeming opportune, +even if it were not ridiculous at any moment to discuss spiritual +endeavour with these women, she determined to draw a red herring +across the trail. She told them that the public were wearying of +Wagner's operas, taste was changing, light opera was coming into +fashion. + +"And in light opera I should have no success whatever, so I was +obliged to turn from the stage to the concert-room." + +"We thought it was the religious element in Wagner." + +A card party had come from a distant drawing-room and joined in the +discussion regarding the decline of art, and it was agreed that +motor-cars had done a great deal to contribute--perhaps they had +nothing to do with the decline of Wagner--but they had contributed +to the decline of interest in things artistic. This was the opinion +of two or three agreeable, good-looking young men; and Evelyn forgot +the women whom she had previously been talking to; and turning to the +men, she engaged in conversation and talked on and on until the +clock struck eleven. Then the disposition of every one was for bed. +Whispers went round, and Lady Ascott trotted upstairs with Evelyn, +hoping she would find her room comfortable. + +It was indeed a pleasant room, wearing an air of youthfulness, thanks +to its chintz curtains. The sofa was winning and the armchairs +desirable, and there were books and a reading-lamp if Evelyn should +feel disposed to draw the armchair by the fire and read for an hour +before going to bed. The writing-table itself, with its pens and its +blotting-book, and notepaper so prettily stamped, seemed intended to +inveigle the occupant of the room into correspondence with every +friend she had in the world; and Evelyn began to wonder to whom she +might write a letter as soon as Lady Ascott left the room. + +The burning wood shed a pleasant odour which mingled pleasantly with +that of the dressing-table; and she wandered about the room, her +mind filled with vague meditations, studying the old engravings, +principally pictures of dogs and horses, hounds and men, going out +to shoot in bygone costumes, with long-eared spaniels to find the +game for them. There was a multitude of these pictures on the walls, +and Evelyn wondered who was her next-door neighbour. Was it Owen? Or +was he down at the end of the passage? In a house like Thornton +Grange the name of every one was put on his or her door, so that +visitors should not wander into the wrong room by accident, creating +dismay and provoking scandal. Owen, where was he? A prayer was +offered up that he might be at the other end of the house. It would +not be right if Lady Ascott had placed him in the adjoining room, it +really would not be right, and she regretted her visit. What evil +thing had tempted her into this house, where everything was an +appeal to the senses, everything she had seen since she had entered +the house--food, wine, gowns? There was, however, a bolt to her +door, and she drew it, forgetful that sin visits us in solitude, and +more insidiously than when we are in the midst of crowds; and as she +dozed in the scented room, amid the fine linen, silk, and laces, the +sins which for generations had been committed in this house seemed to +gather substance, and even shape; a strange phantasmata trooped past +her, some seeming to bewail their sins, while others indulged +themselves with each other, or turned to her, inciting her to sin +with them, until one of them whispered in her ear that Owen was +coming to her room, and then she knew that at his knock her strength +would fail her, and she would let him in. + +Her temptations disappeared and then returned to her; at last she saw +Owen coming towards her. He leaned over the bed, and she saw his +lips, and his voice sounded in her ears. It told her that he had +been waiting for her; why hadn't she come to his room? And why had +he found her door bolted? Then like one bereft of reason, she +slipped out of bed and went towards the door, seeing him in the +lucidity of her dream clearly at the end of the passage; it was not +until her hand rested on the handle of his door that a singing began +in the night. The first voice was joined by another, and then by +another, and she recognised the hymn, for it was one, the _Veni +Creator_, and the singers were nuns. The singing grew more distinct, +the singers were approaching her, and she retreated before them to +her room; the room filled with plain chant, and then the voices +seemed to die or to be borne away on the wind which moaned about the +eaves and aloft in the chimneys. Turning in her bed, she saw the +dying embers. She was in her room--only a dream, no more. Was that +all? she asked as she lay in her bed singing herself to sleep, into +a sleep so deep that she did not wake from it until her maid came to +ask her if she would have breakfast in her room or if she were going +down to breakfast. + +"I will get up at once, Mérat, and do you look out a train, or ask +the butler to look out one for you; we are going to Glasgow by the +first quick train." + +"But I thought Mademoiselle was going to stay here till Monday." + +"Yes, Mérat, I know, so did I; but I have changed my mind. You had +better begin to pack at once, for there is certain to be a train +about twelve." + +Evelyn saw that the devoted Mérat was annoyed; as well she might be, +for Thornton Grange was a pleasant house for valets and lady's +maids. "Some new valet," Evelyn thought, and she was sorry to drag +Mérat away from him, for Mérat's sins were her own--no one was +answerable for another; there was always that in her mind; and what +applied to her did not apply to anybody else. + +"Dear Lady Ascott, you'll forgive me?" she said during breakfast, +"but I have to go to Glasgow this afternoon. I am obliged to leave +by an early train." + +"Sir Owen, will you try to persuade her? Get her some omelette, and I +will pour out some coffee. Which will you have, dear? Tea or coffee? +Everybody will be so disappointed; we have all been looking forward +to some singing to-night." + +Expostulations and suggestions went round the table, and Evelyn was +glad when breakfast was over; and to escape from all this company, +she accepted Owen's proposal to go for a walk. + +"You haven't seen my garden, or the cliffs? Sir Owen, I count upon +you to persuade her to stay until to-morrow, and you will show her +the glen, won't you? And you'll tell me how many trees we have lost +in last night's storm." + +Owen and Evelyn left the other guests talking of how they had lain +awake last night listening to the wind. + +"Shall we go this way, round by the lake, towards the glen? Lady +Ascott is very disappointed; she said so to me just now." + +"You mean about my leaving?" + +"Yes, of course, after all she had done for you, the trouble she had +taken about the Edinburgh concert. Of course they all like to hear +you sing; they may not understand very well, still they like it, +everybody likes to hear a soprano. You might stay." + +"I'm very sorry, Owen, I'm sorry to disappoint Lady Ascott, who is a +kindly soul, but--well, it raises the whole question up again. When +one has made up one's mind to live a certain kind of life--" + +"But, Evelyn, who is preventing you from living up to your ideal? The +people here don't interfere with you? Nobody came knocking at your +door last night?" + +"No." + +"I didn't come, and I was next door to you. Didn't it seem strange to +you, Evelyn, that I should sleep so near and not come to say +good-night? But I knew you wouldn't like it, so I resisted the +temptation." + +"Was that the only reason?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Of course, I know you wouldn't do anything that would displease me; +you've been very kind, more kind than I deserve, but--" + +"But what?" + +"Well, it's hard to express it. Nothing happened to prevent you?" + +"Prevent me?" + +"I don't mean that you were actually prevented, but was there another +reason?" + +"You mean a sudden scruple of conscience? My conscience is quite +healthy." + +"Then what stayed you was no more than a fear of displeasing me? And +you wanted to come to see me, didn't you?" + +"Of course I did. Well, perhaps there was another reason... only... +no, there was no other reason." + +"But there was; you have admitted that there was. Do tell me." + +And Owen told her that something seemed to have held him back when +the thought came of going to her room. "It was really very strange. +The thought was put into my mind suddenly that it would be better +for me not to go to your room." + +"No more than a sudden thought? But the thought was very clear and +distinct?" + +"Yes; but between waking and sleeping thoughts are unusually +distinct." + +"You don't believe in miracles, Owen?" And she told him of her dream +and her sudden awaking, and the voices heard in her ears at first, +then in the room, and then about the house. "So you see the nuns +kept us apart." + +"And you believe in these things?" + +"How can I do otherwise?" + +Owen sighed, and they walked on a few paces. The last leaves were +dancing; the woods were cold and wet, the heavy branches of the +fir-trees dripping with cold rain, and in the walks a litter of +chestnut-leaves. + +"Not a space of blue in the sky, only grey. It will be drearier still +in Glasgow; you had better stay here," he said, as they walked round +the little lake, watching the water-fowl moving in and out of the +reeds, and they talked for some time of Riversdale, of the lake +there, and the ducks which rose in great numbers and flew round and +round the park, dropping one by one into the water. "You will never +see Riversdale again, perhaps?" + +"Perhaps not," she answered; and hearing her say it, his future life +seemed to him as forlorn as the landscape. + +"What will you do? What will become of you? What strange +transformation has taken place in you?" + +"If--But what is the use of going over it again?" + +"If what?" + +"What would you have me do? Marriage would only ruin you, Owen, make +you very unhappy. Why do you want me to enter on a life which I feel +isn't mine, and which could only end in disaster for both of us." He +asked her why it would end in disaster, and she answered, "It is +impossible to lay bare one's whole heart. When one changes one's +ideas one changes one's friends." + +"Because one's friends are only the embodiment of one's ideas. But I +cannot admit that you would be unhappy as my wife." + +"Everybody is unhappy when they are not doing what Nature intended +them to do." + +"And what did Nature intend you to do? Only to sing operas?" + +"I should be sorry to think Nature intended me for nothing else. +Would you have me go on singing operas? I don't want to appear +unreasonable, but how could I go on singing even if I wished to go +on? The taste has changed; you will admit that light opera is the +fashion, and I shouldn't succeed in light opera. Whatever I do you +praise, but you know in the bottom of your heart there are only a few +parts which I play well. You may deceive yourself, you do so because +you wish to do so, but I have no wish to deceive myself and I know +that I was never a great singer; a good singer, an interesting +singer in certain parts if you like, but no more. You will admit +that?" + +"No, I don't admit anything of the kind. If you leave the stage what +will you do with your time? Your art, your friends--" + +"No one can figure anybody else's life: everybody has interests and +occupations, not things that interest one's neighbour, but things +that interest herself." + +"So it is because light opera has come into fashion again that you +are going to give up singing? Such a thing never happened before: a +woman who succeeded on the stage, who has not yet failed, whose +voice is still fresh, who is in full possession of her art, to say +suddenly, 'Money and applause are nothing to me, I prefer a few +simple nuns to art and society.' Nothing seems to happen in life, +life is always the same; _rien ne change mais pourtant tout arrive_, +even the rare event of a successful actress relinquishing the +stage." + +"It is odd," she said as they followed the path through the wintry +wood, startled now and again by a rabbit at the end of the alley, by +a cock pheasant rising up suddenly out of the yew hedges, and, +beguiled by the beauty of the trees, they passed on slowly, pausing +to think what a splendid sight a certain wild cherry must be in the +spring-time. At the end of the wood Owen returned to the subject of +their conversation. + +"Yes, it is strange that an actress should give up her art." + +"But, Owen, it isn't so strange in my case as in any other; for you +know I was always a hothouse flower. You took me away to Paris and +had me trained regardless of expense, and with your money it was +easy to get an engagement." + +"My money had nothing to do with your engagements." + +"Perhaps not; but I only sang when it pleased me; I could always say, +'Well, my good man, go to So-and-so, she will sing for you any parts +you please'; but I can only sing the parts I like." + +"You think, then, that if you had lived the life of a real actress, +working your way up from the bottom, what has happened wouldn't have +happened; is that what you mean?" + +"It is impossible for me to answer you. One would have to live one's +life over again." + +"I suppose no one will ever know how much depends upon the gift we +bring into the world with us, and how much upon circumstances," and +Owen compared the gift to the father's seed and circumstances to the +mother's womb. + +"So you are quite determined?" And they philosophised as they went, +on life and its meaning, on death and love, admiring the temples +which an eighteenth-century generation had built on the hillsides. +"Here are eight pillars on either side and four at either end, +serving no purpose whatever, not even shelter from the rain. Never +again in this world will people build things for mere beauty," Owen +said, and they passed into the depths of the wood, discovering +another temple, and in it a lad and lass. + +"You see these temples do serve for something. Why are we not +lovers?" And they passed on again, Owen's heart filled with his +sorrow and Evelyn's with her determination. + +She was leaving by the one train, and when they got back to the house +the carriage was waiting for her. + +"Good-bye, Owen." + +"Am I not to see you again?" + +"Yes, you will see me one of these days." + +"And that was all the promise she could make me," he said, rushing +into Lady Ascott's boudoir, disturbing her in the midst of her +letters. "So ends a _liaison_ which has lasted for more than ten +years. Good God, had I known that she would have spoken to me like +this when I saw her in Dulwich!" + +Even so he felt he would have acted just as he had acted, and he went +to his room thinking that the rest of his life would be +recollection. "She is still in the train, going away from me, intent +on her project, absorbed in her desire of a new life ... this +haunting which has come upon her." + + + +III + +And so it was. Evelyn lay back in the corner of the railway carriage +thinking about the poor people, and about the nuns, about herself, +about the new life which she was entering upon, and which was dearer +to her than anything else. She grew a little frightened at the +hardness of her heart. "It certainly does harden one's heart," she +said; "my heart is as hard as a diamond. But is my heart as hard as +a diamond?" The thought awoke a little alarm, and she sat looking +into the receding landscape. "Even so I cannot help it." And she +wondered how it was that only one thing in the world seemed to +matter--to extricate the nuns from their difficulties, that was all. +Her poor people, of course she liked them; her voice, she liked it +too, without, however, being able to feel certain that it interested +her as much as it used to, or that she was not prepared to sacrifice +it if her purpose demanded the sacrifice. But there was no question +of such sacrifice: it was given to her as the means whereby she +might effect her purpose. If the Glasgow concert were as successful +as the Edinburgh, she would be able to bring back some hundreds of +pounds to the nuns, perhaps a thousand. And what a pleasure that +would be to her! + +But the Glasgow concert was not nearly so successful: her manager +attributed the failure to a great strike which had just ended; there +was talk of another strike; moreover her week in Glasgow was a wet +one, and her manager said that people did not care to leave their +houses when it was raining. + +"Or is it," she asked, "because the taste has moved from dramatic +singing to _il bel canto?_ In a few years nobody will want to hear +me, so I must make hay while the sun shines." + +Her next concert succeeded hardly better than the Glasgow concert; +Hull, Leeds, Birmingham were tried, but only with moderate success, +and Evelyn returned to London with very little money for the +convent, and still less for her poor people. + +"It is a disappointment to me, dear Mother?" + +"My dear child, you've brought us a great deal of money, much more +than we expected." + +"But, Mother, I thought I should be able to bring you three thousand +pounds, and pay off a great part of your mortgage." + +"God, my child, seems to have thought differently." + +The door opened. + +"Now who is this? Ah! Sister Mary John." + +"May I come in, dear Mother?" + +"Certainly." + +"You see, I was so anxious to see Miss Innes, to hear about the +concert tour--" + +"Which wasn't a success at all, Sister Mary John. Oh, not at all a +success." + +"Not a success?" + +"Well, from an artistic point of view it was; I brought you some of +the notices," and Evelyn took out of her pocket some hundreds of +cuttings from newspapers. It had not occurred to her before, but now +the thought passed through her mind, formulating itself in this way: +"After all, the mummeress isn't dead in me yet; bringing my notices +to nuns! Dear me! how like me!" And she sat watching the nuns, a +little amused, when the Prioress asked Sister Mary John to read some +passages to her. + +"Now I can't sit here and hear you read out my praises. You can read +them when I am gone. A little more money and a little less praise +would have suited me better, Sister Mary John." + +"Would you care to come into the garden?" the nun asked. "I was just +going out to feed the birds. Poor things! they come in from the +common; our garden is full of them. But what about singing at +Benediction to-day? Would you like to try some music over with me +and forget the birds?" + +"There will be plenty of time to try over music." + +The door opened again. It was the porteress come to say that +Monsignor had just arrived and would like to speak with the +Prioress. + +"But ask him to come in.... Here is a friend of yours, Monsignor. She +has just returned from--" + +"From a disastrous concert tour, having only made four hundred pounds +with six concerts. My career as a prima donna is at an end. The +public is tired of me." + +"The artistic public isn't tired of you," said Sister Mary John. +"Read, Monsignor; she has brought us all her notices." + +"Oh, do take them away, Sister Mary John; you make me ashamed before +Monsignor. Such vanity! What will he think of my bringing my notices +to read to you? But you mustn't think I am so vain as that, +Monsignor; it was really because I thought the nuns would be +interested to hear of the music--and to excuse myself. But you know, +Mother, once I take a project in hand I don't give it up easily. I +have made up my mind to redeem this convent from debt, and it shall +be done. My concert tour was a failure, but I have another idea in +my head; and I came here to tell it to you. I don't know what +Monsignor will think of it. I have been offered a good deal of money +to go to America to sing my own parts, for Wagner is not yet dead in +America." + +"But, Miss Innes, I thought you intended to leave the stage?" + +"I have left the stage, but I intend to go back to it. That is a +point on which I will have to talk to Monsignor." Evelyn waited for +the prelate to speak. + +"Such determination is very unusual, and if the cause be a good one I +congratulate you, Mother Prioress, on your champion who, to defend +you, will start for the New World." + +"Well, Monsignor, unless you repudiate the motives of those who went +to Palestine to fight for the Holy Sepulchre, why should you +repudiate mine?" + +"But I haven't said a word; indeed--" + +"But you will talk to me about it, won't you? For I must have your +opinion before I go, Monsignor." + +"Well, now I think I shall disappear," said Sister Mary John. "I'm +going to feed the birds." + +"But you asked me to go with you." + +"That was before Monsignor came. But perhaps he would like to come +with us. The garden is beautiful and white, and all the birds are +waiting for me, poor darlings!" + +The nuns, Evelyn and Monsignor went down the steps. + +"There is a great deal of snow in the sky yet," said Sister Mary +John, pointing to the yellow horizon. "To-night or to-morrow it will +fall, and the birds will die, if we don't feed them." + +A flock of speckled starlings flew into a tree, not recognising +Evelyn and Monsignor, but the blackbirds and thrushes were tamer and +ran in front, watching the visitors with round, thoughtful eyes, the +beautiful shape of the blackbird showing against the white +background, and everybody admiring his golden bill and legs. The +sparrows flew about Sister Mary John in a little cloud, until they +were driven away by three great gulls come up from the Thames, driven +inland by hard weather. A battle began, the gulls pecking at each +other, wasting time in fighting instead of sharing the bread, only +stopping now and then to chase away the arrogant sparrows. The +robin, the wisest bird, came to Sister Mary John's hand for his +food, preferring the buttered bread to the dry. There were rooks in +the grey sky, and very soon two hovered over the garden, eventually +descending into the garden with wings slanted, and then the seagulls +had to leave off fighting or go without food altogether. A great +strange bird rose out of the bushes, and flew away in slow, heavy +flight. Monsignor thought it was a woodcock; and there were birds +whose names no one knew, migrating birds come from thousands of +miles, from regions where the snow lies for months upon the ground; +and Evelyn and the prelate and the nuns watched them all until the +frosty air reminded the prelate that loitering was dangerous. Sister +Mary John walked on ahead, feeding the birds, forgetful of Monsignor +and Evelyn; a nun saying her rosary stopped to speak to the +Prioress; Evelyn and Monsignor went on alone, and when they came +towards St. Peter's Walk no one was there, and the moment had come, +Evelyn felt, to speak of her project to return to the stage in order +to redeem the convent from debt. + +"You didn't answer me, Monsignor, when I said that I would have to +consult you regarding my return to the stage." + +"Well, my dear child, the question whether you should go back to the +stage couldn't be discussed in the presence of the nuns. Your +motives I appreciate; I need hardly say that. But for your own +personal safety I am concerned. I won't attempt to hide my anxiety +from you." + +"But it is possible to remain on the stage and lead a virtuous life." + +"You have told me yourself that such a thing isn't possible; from +your own mouth I have it." + +Evelyn did not answer, but stood looking at the prelate, biting her +lips, annoyed, finding herself in a dilemma. + +"The motive is everything, Monsignor. I was speaking then of the +stage as a vanity, as a glorification of self." + +"The motive is different, but the temptations remain the same." + +"I'm afraid I can't agree with you. The temptation is in oneself, not +in the stage, and when oneself has changed... and then many things +have happened." + +"You are reconciled to the Church, it is true, and have received the +Sacraments--" + +"More than that, Monsignor, more than that." But it was a long time +before he could persuade her to tell him. "You don't believe in +miracles?" + +"My dear child, my dear child!" + +After that it was impossible to keep herself from speaking, and she +told how, at Thornton Grange, in the middle of the night, she had +heard the nuns singing the _Veni Creator_. + +"The nuns told me, Monsignor, their prayers would save me, and they +were right." + +"But you aren't sure whether you were dreaming or waking." + +"But my experience was shared by Sir Owen Asher, who told me next +morning that he had thought of coming to my room and was +restrained." + +"Did he say that he, too, heard voices?" + +She had to admit that Owen had not said that he had heard voices, +only that a restraint had been put upon him. + +"The restraint need not have been a miraculous one." + +"You think he didn't want to come to see me? I beg your pardon, +Monsignor." + +"There is nothing to beg my pardon for. I am your confessor, your +spiritual adviser, and you must tell everything to me; and it is my +duty to tell you that you place too much reliance upon miracles. +This is not the first time you have spoken to me about miraculous +interposition." + +"But if God is in heaven and His Church upon earth, why shouldn't +there be miracles? Moreover, nearly all the saints are credited with +having performed miracles. Their lives are little more than records +of miracles they have performed." + +"I cannot agree with you in that. Their lives are records of their +love of God, and the prayers they have offered up that God's wrath +may be averted from a sinful world, and the prayers they have +offered up for their souls." + +"What would the Bible be without its miracles? Miracles are recorded +in the Old and in the New Testaments. Surely miracles cannot have +ceased with the nineteenth century? Miracles must be inherent in +religion. To talk of miracles going out of fashion--" + +"But, Miss Innes, I never spoke of miracles going out of fashion. You +misunderstand me entirely. If God wills it, a miracle may happen +to-morrow, in this garden, at any moment. Nobody questions the power +of God to perform a miracle, only we mustn't be too credulous, +accepting every strange event as a miracle; and you, who seemed so +difficult to convince on some points, are ready enough to believe--" + +"You mean, Monsignor, because I experienced much difficulty in +believing that the sins I committed with Owen Asher were equal to +those I committed with Ulick Dean." + +"Yes, that was in my mind; and I doubt very much that you are not of +the same opinion still." + +"Monsignor, I have accepted your opinion that the sin was the same in +either case, and you have told me yourself that to acquiesce is +sufficient. You don't mind my arguing with you a little, because in +doing so I become clear to myself?" + +"On the contrary, I like you to argue with me; only in that way can +you confide all your difficulties to me. I regret that, +notwithstanding my opinion, you still believe you are not putting +yourself in the way of temptation by returning to the stage." + +"I know myself. If I didn't feel sure of myself, Monsignor, I +wouldn't go to America. Obedience is so pleasant, and your ruling is +so sweet--" + +"Nevertheless, you must go your own way; you must relieve this +convent from debt. That is what is in your mind." + +"I am sorry, Monsignor, for I should have liked to have had your +approval." + +"It was not, then, to profit by my advice that you consulted me?" + +Evelyn did not answer, and the singer and the prelate walked on in +silence, seeing Sister Mary John among her blackbirds and thrushes, +sparrows and starlings, accepting her crumbs without fear, no +stranger being by. The starlings, however, again flew into a tree +when they saw Evelyn and Monsignor, and some of the other birds +followed them. + +"The robin follows her like a dog; and what a saucy little bird he +is! Look at him, Monsignor! isn't he pretty, with his red breast and +black, beady eyes?" + +"Last winter, Monsignor, he spent on the kitchen clock. He knows our +kitchen well enough, and will go back there if a thaw does not begin +very quickly. But look," continued Sister Mary John, "I have two +bullfinches following me. Aren't they provoking birds? They don't +build in our garden, where their nests would be safe, stupid birds! +but away in the common. I'd like to have a young bird and teach him +to whistle." + +Evelyn and Monsignor stayed a moment watching the birds, thinking of +other things, and then turned into St. Peter's Walk to continue +their talk. + +"The afternoon is turning cold, and we can't stop out talking in this +garden any longer; but before we go in I beg of you--" + +"To agree that you should return to the stage?" + +"For a few months, Monsignor. I don't want to go to America feeling +that you think I have acted wrongly by going. The nuns will pray for +me, and I believe in their prayers; and I believe in yours, +Monsignor, and in your advice. Do say something kind." + +"You are determined upon this American tour?" + +"I cannot do otherwise. There is nothing else in my head." + +"And you must do something? Well, Miss Innes, let us consider it from +a practical point of view. The nuns want money, it is true; but they +want it at once. Five thousand pounds at the end of next year will +be very little use to them." + +"No, Monsignor, the Prioress tells me--" + +"You are free to dispose of your money in your own way--in the way +that gives you most pleasure." + +"Oh, don't say that, Monsignor. I have had enough pleasure in my +life." And they turned out of St. Peter's Walk, feeling it was +really too cold to remain any longer in the garden. + +"Well, Miss Innes, you are doing this entirely against my advice." + +"I'm sorry, but I cannot help myself; I want to help the nuns. +Everybody wants to do something; and to see one's life slipping +away--" + +"But you've done a great deal." + +"It doesn't seem to me I have done anything. Now that I have become a +Catholic, I want to do something from the Catholic point of view, or +from the religious point of view, if you like. Will you recommend to +me some man of business who will carry out the sale of my house for +me, and settle everything?" + +"So that you may hand over to the nuns the money that the sale of +your pictures and furniture procures at Christie's?" + +"Yes; leaving me just sufficient to go to America. I know I must +appear to you very wilful, but there are certain things one can only +settle for oneself." + +"I can give you the address of my solicitor, a very capable and +trustworthy man, who will carry out your instructions." + +"Thank you, Monsignor; and be sure nothing will happen to me in +America. In six months I shall be back." + +Evelyn went away to Mr. Enterwick, the solicitor Monsignor +recommended, and the following month she sailed for America. + + + +IV + +Her pictures and furniture were on view at Christie's in the early +spring, and all Owen's friends met each other in the rooms and on +the staircase. + +The pictures were to be sold on Saturday, the furniture, china, and +enamels on the following Monday. + +"The pictures don't matter so much, although her own portrait is +going to be sold. But the furniture! Dear God, look at that brute +trying the springs of the sofa where I have sat so often with her. +And there is the chair on which I used to sit listening to her when +she sang. And her piano--why, my God, she is selling her piano!-- +What is to become of that woman? A singer who sells her piano!" + +"My dear friend, I suppose she had to sell everything or nothing?" + +"But she'll have to buy another piano, and she might have kept the +one I gave her. It is extraordinary how religion hardens the heart, +Harding. Do you see that fellow, a great nose, lumpy shoulders, +trousers too short for him, a Hebrew barrel of grease--Rosental. You +know him; I bought that clock from him. He's looking into it to see +if anything has been broken, if it is in as good condition as when +he sold it. The brutes have all joined the 'knock-out,' and there--" + +As he said these words young Mr. Rowe, who believed himself to be +connected with society, and who dealt largely in pictures, without, +however, descending to the vulgarity of shop-keeping (he would +resent being called a picture-dealer), approached and insisted on +Sir Owen listening to the story of his difficulties with some county +councillors who could not find the money to build an art gallery. + +"But I object to your immortality being put on the rates." + +"You write books, Mr. Harding; I can't." + +As soon as he left them, Harding, who knew the dealer kind, the +original stock and the hybrid, told an amusing story of Mr. Rowe's +beginnings; and Owen forgot his sentimental trouble; but the story +was interrupted by Lady Ascott coming down the room followed by her +attendants, her literary and musical critics. + +"Every one of them most interesting, I assure you, Sir Owen. Mr. +Homer has just returned from Italy--" + +"But I know Mr. Homer; we met long ago at Innes' concerts. If I am +not mistaken you were writing a book then about Bellini." + +"Yes, 'His Life and Works.' I've just returned from Italy after two +years' reading in the public libraries." + +Lady Ascott's musical critic was known to Owen by a small book he had +written entitled "A Guide to the Ring." Before he was a Wagnerian he +was the curator of a museum, and Owen remembered how desirous he was +to learn the difference between Dresden and Chelsea china. He had +dabbled in politics and in journalism; he had collected hymns, +ancient and modern, and Owen was not in the least surprised to hear +that he had become the director of a shop for the sale of religious +prints and statues, or that he had joined the Roman Church, and the +group watched him slinking round on the arm of a young man, one who +sang forty-nine songs by all the composers in Europe in exactly the +same manner. + +"He is teaching Botticelli in his three manners," said Lady Ascott, +"and Cyril is thinking of going over to Rome." + +"Asher, let us get away from this culture," Harding whispered. + +"Yes, let's get away from it; I want to show you a table, the one on +which Evelyn used to write her letters. We bought it together at the +Salle Druot." + +"Yes, Asher, yes; but would you mind coming this way, for I see +Ringwood. He goes by in his drooping mantle, looking more like an +umbrella than usual. Lady Ascott has engaged him for the season, and +he goes out with her to talk literature--plush stockings, cockade. +Literature in livery! Ringwood introducing Art!" + +Owen laughed, and begged Harding to send his joke to the comic +papers. + +"An excellent subject for a cartoon." + +"He has stopped again. Now I'm sure he's talking of Sophocles. He +walks on.... I'm mistaken; he is talking about Molière." + +"An excellent idea of yours--'Literature in livery!'" + +"His prose is always so finely spoken, so pompous, that I cannot help +smiling. You know what I mean." + +"I've told you it ought to be sent to the papers. I wish he would +leave that writing-table; and Lady Ascott might at least ask him to +brush his coat." + +"It seems to me so strange that she should find pleasure in such +company." + +"Men who will not cut their hair. How is it?" + +"I suppose attention to externals checks or limits the current of +feeling... or they think so." + +"I am feeling enough, God knows, but my suffering does not prevent me +from selecting my waistcoat and tying my tie." + +Harding's eyes implied acquiescence in the folding of the scarf (it +certainly was admirably done) and glanced along the sleeves of the +coat--a rough material chosen in a moment of sudden inspiration; and +they did not miss the embroidered waistcoat, nor the daring brown +trousers (in admirable keeping withal), turned up at the ends, of +course, otherwise Owen would not have felt dressed; and, still a +little conscious of the assistance his valet had been to him, he +walked with a long, swinging stride which he thought suited him, +stopping now and again to criticise a friend or a picture. + +"There's Merrington. How absurdly he dresses! One would think he was +an actor; yet no man rides better to hounds. Lady Southwick! I must +have a word with her." + +Before leaving Harding he mentioned that she attributed her lapses +from virtue, not to passionate temperament, but to charitable +impulses. "She wouldn't kiss--" and Owen whispered the man's name, +"until he promised to give two thousand pounds to a Home for Girl +Mothers." + +"Now, my dear Lady Southwick, I'm so delighted to see you here. But +how very sad! The greatest singer of our time." + +"She was exceedingly good in two or three parts." + +A dispute arose, in which Owen lost his temper; but, recovering it +suddenly, he went down the room with Lady Southwick to show her a +Wedgewood dessert service which he had bought some years ago for +Evelyn, pressing it upon her, urging that he would like her to have +it. + +"Every time you see it you will think of us," and he turned on his +heel suddenly, fearing to lose Harding, whom he found shaking hands +with one of the dealers, a man of huge girth--"like a waggoner," +Owen said, checking a reproof, but he could not help wishing that +Harding would not shake hands with such people, at all events when +he was with him. + +"These are the Chadwells, whom--" (Harding whispered a celebrated +name) "used to call the most gentlemanly picture-dealers in +Bond-street." Harding spoke to them, Owen standing apart absorbed in +His grief, until the word "Asher" caught his ear. + +"Of whom are you speaking?" + +"Of you, of Sir Owen Asher." And Harding followed Owen, intensely +annoyed. + +"Not even to a gentlemanly picture-dealer should you--" + +"You are entirely wrong; I said 'Sir Owen Asher.'" + +"Very strange you should say 'Sir Owen Asher'; why didn't you say Sir +Owen?" + +Harding did not answer, being uncertain if it would not be better to +drop Asher's acquaintance. But they had known each other always. It +would be difficult. + +"The sale is about to begin," Asher said, and Harding sat down angry +with Asher and interested in the auctioneer's face, created, Harding +thought, for the job... "looking exactly like a Roman bust. Lofty +brow, tight lips, vigilant eyes, voice like a bell.... That damned +fellow Asher! What the hell did he mean--" + +The auctioneer sat at a high desk, high as any pulpit, and in the +benches the congregation crowded--every shade of nondescript, the +waste ground one meets in a city: poor Jews and dealers from the +outlying streets, with here and there a possible artist or +journalist. As the pictures were sold the prices they fetched were +marked in the catalogues, and Harding wondered why. + +Around the room were men and women of all classes; a good many of Sir +Owen's "set" had come--"Society being well represented that day," as +the newspapers would put it. All the same, the pictures were not +selling well, not nearly so well as Owen and Harding anticipated. +Harding was glad of this, for his heart was set on a certain drawing +by Boucher. + +"I would sooner you had it, Harding, than anybody else. It would be +unendurable if one of those picture-dealers should get it; they'd +come round to my house trying to sell it to me again, whereas in +your rooms--" + +"Yes," said Harding, "it will be an excuse to come to see me. Well, +if I can possibly afford it--" + +"Of course you can afford it; I paid eighty-seven pounds for it years +ago; it won't go to more than a hundred. I'd really like you to have +it." + +"Well, for goodness' sake don't talk so loud, somebody will hear +you." + +The pictures went by--portraits of fair ladies and ancient admirals, +landscapes, underwoods and deserts, flower and battle pieces, +pathetic scenes and gallantries. There was a time when every one of +these pictures was the hope and delight of a human being, now they +went by interesting nobody.... + +At last the first of Evelyn's pictures was hoisted on the easel. + +"Good God!" isn't it a miserable sight seeing her pictures going to +whomsoever cares to bid a few pounds. But if I were to buy the whole +collection--" + +"I quite understand, and every one is a piece of your life." + +The pictures continued to go by. + +"I can't stand this much longer." + +"Hush!" + +The Boucher drawing went up. It was turned to the right and to the +left: a beautiful girl lying on her belly, her legs parted slightly. +Therefore the bidding began briskly, but for some unaccountable +reason it died away. "Somebody must have declared it to be a +forgery," Owen whispered to Harding, and a moment after it became +Harding's property for eighty-seven pounds--"The exact sum I paid +for it years ago. How very extraordinary!" + +"A portrait by Manet--a hundred pounds offered, one hundred," and two +grey eyes in a face of stone searched the room for bidders. "One +hundred pounds offered, five, thirty, thirty-five, forty, fifty," +and so on to two hundred. + +"Her portrait will cost me a thousand," Owen whispered to Harding, +and, catching the auctioneer's eyes, he nodded again. Seven hundred. +"Will they never stop bidding? That fellow yonder is determined to +run up the picture." Eight hundred and fifty! The auctioneer raised +his hammer, and the watchful eyes went round the room in search of +some one who would pay another ten pounds for Evelyn's portrait by +Manet. Eight hundred and fifty--eight hundred and fifty. Down came +the hammer. The auctioneer whispered "Sir Owen Asher" to his clerk. + +"It's a mercy I got it for that; I was afraid it would go over the +thousand. Now, come, we have got our two pictures. I'm sick of the +place." + +Harding had thought of staying on, just to see the end of the sale, +but it was easier to yield to Owen than to argue with him; besides, +he was anxious to see how the drawing would look on his wall. Of +course it was a Boucher. Stupid remarks were always floating about +Christie's. But he would know for certain as soon as he saw the +drawing in a new light. + +He was muttering "It is genuine enough," when his servant opened the +door--"Sir Owen Asher." + +"I see you have hung up the drawing. It looks very well, doesn't it. +You'll never regret having taken my advice." + +"Taken your advice!" Harding was about to answer. "But what is the +use in irritating the poor man? He is so much in love he hardly +knows what he is saying. Owen Asher advising me as to what I should +buy!" + +Owen went over and looked into Harding's Ingres. + +"Every time one sees it one likes it better." And they talked about +Ingres for some time, until Owen's thoughts went back to Evelyn, and +looking from the portrait by Ingres to the drawing by Boucher he +seemed suddenly to lose control; tears rose to his eyes, and Harding +watched him, wondering whither Owen's imagination carried him. "Is +he far away in Paris, hearing her sing for the first time to Madame +Savelli? Or is he standing with her looking over the bulwarks of the +_Medusa_, seeing the shape of some Greek island dying in the +twilight?" And Harding did not speak, feeling the lover's meditation +to be sacred. Owen flung himself into an arm-chair, and without +withdrawing his eyes from the picture, said, relying on Harding's +friendship: + +"It is very like her, it is really very like her. I am much obliged +to you, Harding, for having bought it. I shall come here to see it +occasionally." + +"And I'll present you with a key, so that when I am away you can +spend your leisure in front of the picture.... Do you know whom I +shall feel like? Like the friend of King Condules." + +"But she'll not ask you to conspire to assassinate me. My murder +would profit you nothing. All the same, Harding, now I come to think +of it, there's a good deal of that queen in Evelyn, or did she +merely desire to take advantage of the excuse to get rid of her +husband?" + +"Ancient myths are never very explicit; one reads whatever psychology +one likes into them. Perhaps that is why they never grow old." + +The door opened... Harding's servant brought in a parcel of proofs. + +"My dear Asher, the proof of an article has just come, and the editor +tells me he'll be much obliged if I look through it at once." + +"Shall I wait?" + +"Well, I'd sooner you didn't. Correcting a proof with me means a +rewriting, and--" + +"You can't concentrate your thoughts while I am roving about the +room. I understand. Are you dining anywhere?" + +"I'm not engaged." + +The thought crossed Harding's mind when Owen left the room that it +would be better perhaps to write saying that the proofs detained +him, for to spend the evening with Owen would prove wearisome. "No +matter what the subject of conversation may be his mind will go back +to her very soon.... But to leave him alone all the evening would be +selfish, and if I don't dine with him I shall have to dine +alone...." Harding turned to his writing-table, worked on his proof +for a couple of hours, and then went to meet Owen, whom he found +waiting for him at his club. + +"My dear friend, I quite agree with you," he said, sitting down to +the table; "what you want is change." + +"Do you think, Harding, I shall find any interest again in anything?" + +"Of course you will, my dear friend, of course you will." And he +spoke to his friend of ruined palaces and bas-reliefs; Owen listened +vaguely, begging of him at last to come with him. + +"It will give you ideas, Harding; you will write better." + +Harding shook his head, for it did not seem to him to be his destiny +to relieve the tedium of a yachting excursion in the Mediterranean. + + + +V + +"One cannot yacht in the Baltic or in the Gulf of Mexico," Owen said, +and he went to the Mediterranean again to sail about the _Ægean_ +Islands, wondering if he should land, changing his mind, deciding +suddenly that the celebrated site he was going to see would not +interest him. He would stand watching the rocky height dying down, +his eyes fixed on the blue horizon, thinking of some Emperor's +palace amid the Illyrian hills, till, acting on a sudden impulse, he +would call an order to the skipper, an order which he would +countermand next day. A few days after the yacht would sail towards +the Acropolis as though Owen had intended to drop anchor in the +Piræeus. But he was too immersed in his grief, he thought, to be +able to give his attention to ruins, whether Roman or Greek. All the +same, he would have to decide if he would return to the islands. He +did not know them all; he had never been to Samos, famous for its +wine and its women.... The wine cloyed the palate and no woman +charmed him in the dance; and he sailed away wondering how he might +relieve the tedium of life, until one day, after long voyaging, +sufficiently recovered from his grief and himself, he leaned over +the taffrail, this time lost in admiration of the rocks and summits +above Syracuse, the Sicilian coasts carrying his thoughts out of the +present into the past, to those valleys where Theocritus watched his +"visionary flocks." + +"'His visionary flocks,'" he repeated, wondering if the beautiful +phrase had floated accidentally into his mind, hoping that it was +his own, and then abandoning hope, for he had nearly succeeded in +tracing the author of the phrase; but there was a vision in it more +intense than Tennyson's. "Visionary flocks!" For while the shepherds +watched Theocritus dreamed the immortal sheep and goats which tempt +us for an instant to become shepherds; but Owen knew that the real +flocks would seem unreal to him who knew the visionary ones, so he +turned away from the coasts without a desire in his heart to trouble +the shepherds in the valley with an offer of his services, and +walked up and down the deck thinking how he might obtain a +translation of the idyls. + +"Sicily, Sicily!" + +It was unendurable that his skipper should come at such a moment to +ask him if he would like to land at Palermo; for why should he land +in Sicily unless to meet the goatherd who in order to beguile +Thyrsis to sing the song of Daphnis told him that "his song was +sweeter than the music of yonder water that is poured from the high +face of the rock"? It was in Sicily that rugged Polyphemus, peering +over some cliffs, sought to discern Galatea in the foam; but before +Owen had time to recall the myth an indenture in the coast line, +revealing a field, reminded him how Proserpine, while gathering +flowers on the plains of Enna with her maidens, had been raped into +the shadows by the dark god. And looking on these waves, he +remembered that it was over them that Jupiter in the form of a bull, +a garlanded bull with crested horns, had sped, bearing Europa away +for his pleasure. Venus had been washed up by these waves! Poseidon! +Sirens and Tritons had disported themselves in this sea, the bluest +and the beautifullest, the one sea that mattered, more important +than all the oceans; the oceans might dry up to-morrow for all he +cared so long as this sea remained; and with the story of Theseus +and "lonely Ariadne on the wharf at Naxos" ringing in his ears he +looked to the north-east, whither lay the Cyclades and Propontis. +Medea, too, had been deserted--"Medea deadlier than the sea." Helen! +All the stories of the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey" had been lived +about these seas, from the coasts of Sicily to those of Asia Minor, +whence Æneas had made his way to Carthage. Dido, she, too, had been +deserted. All the great love stories of the world had been lived +about these shores and islands; his own story! And he mused for a +long time on the accident--if it were an accident--which had led him +back to this sea. Or had he returned to these shores and islands +merely because there was no other sea in which one could yacht? +Hardly, and he remembered with pleasure that his story differed from +the ancient stories only in this, that Evelyn had fled from him, not +be from her. And for such a woeful reason! That she might repent her +sins in a convent on the edge of Wimbledon Common, whereas Dido was +deserted for-- + +Again his infernal skipper hanging about. This time he had come with +news that the _Medusa_ was running short of provisions. Would Sir +Owen prefer that they should put in at Palermo or Tunis? + +"Tunis, Tunis." + +The steerman put down the helm, and the fore and aft sails went over. +Three days later the _Medusa_ dropped her anchor in the Bay of +Tunis, and his skipper was again asking Owen for orders. + +"Just take her round to Alexandria and wait for me there," he +answered, feeling he would not be free from England till she was +gone. It was his wish to get away from civilisation for a while, to +hear Arabic, to learn it if he could, to wear a bournous, to ride +Arab horses, live in a tent, to disappear in the desert, yes, and to +be remembered as the last lover of the Mediterranean--that would be +_une belle fin de vie, après tout_. + +Then he laughed at his dreams, but they amused him; he liked to look +upon his story as one of the love stories of the world. Rome had +robbed Dido of her lover and him of his mistress. So far as he could +see, the better story was the last, and his thoughts turned +willingly to the Virgil who would arise centuries hence to tell it. +One thing, however, puzzled him. Would the subject-matter he was +creating for the future poet be spoilt if he were to fall in love +with an Arab maiden, some little statuette carved in yellow ivory? +Or would it be enhanced? Would the future Virgil regard her as an +assuagement, a balm? Owen laughed at himself and his dream. But his +mood drifted into sadness; and he asked if Evelyn should be +punished. If so, what punishment would the poet devise for her? In +Theocritus somebody had been punished: a cruel one, who had refused +to relieve the burden of desire even with a kiss, had been killed by +a seemingly miraculous interposition of Love, who, angered at the +sight of the unhappy lover hanging from the neck by the lintel of +the doorpost, fell from his pedestal upon the beloved, while +he stood heart-set watching the bathers in the beautiful +bathing-places. + +But Owen could not bring himself to wish for Evelyn's death by the +falling of a statue of Our Lady or St. Joseph; such a death would be +a contemptible one, and he could not wish that anything contemptible +should happen to her, however cruelly she had made him suffer. No, +he did not wish that any punishment should befall her; the fault was +not hers. And he returned in thought to the end which he had devised +for himself--a passing into the desert, leaving no trace but the +single fact that on a certain day he had joined a caravan. Going +whither? Timbuctoo? To be slain there--an English traveller seeking +forgetfulness of a cruel mistress--would be a romantic end for him! +But if his end were captivity, slavery? His thoughts turned from +Timbuctoo to one of the many oases between Tunis and the Soudan. In +one of these it would be possible to make friends with an Arab +chieftain and to live. But would she, whose body was the colour of +amber, or the desert, or any other invention his fancy might devise, +relieve him from the soul-sickness from which he suffered? It seemed +to him that nothing would. All the same, he would have to try to +forget her, "Evelyn, Evelyn." + +The bournous which his Arab servant brought in at that moment might +help him. A change of language would be a help, and he might become +a Moslem--for he believed in Mohammedanism as much as in +Christianity; and an acceptance of the Koran would facilitate +travelling in the desert. That and a little Arabic, a few mouthfuls, +and no Mahdi would dare to enslave him.... But if he were only sure +that none would! + +Outside horses were stamping, his escort, seven Arab horses with +seven Arabs from the desert, or thereabout, in high-pummelled +saddles, wearing white bournous, their brown, lean hands grasping +long-barrelled guns with small carven stocks. The white Arab which +Owen had purchased yesterday waited, the saddle empty; and, looking +at him before mounting, Owen thought the horse the most beautiful +thing he had ever seen, more like an ornament than a live thing, an +object of luxury rather than of utility. Was he really going to ride +this horse for many hours? To do so seemed like making a drudge of +some beautiful woman. The horse's quarters curved like a woman's, a +woman's skin was hardly finer, nor were a woman's wrists and hands, +though she cared for them ever so much, shaping them with files, and +polishing them with powders, more delicate than the fetlock and hoof +of this wonderful horse. Nor was any woman's eye more beautiful, nor +any woman's ears more finely shaped; and the horse's muzzle came to +such a little point that one would have been inclined to bring him +water in a tumbler. The accoutrements were all Arab; and Owen +admired the heavy bits, furnished with many rings and chains, severe +curbs, demanding the lightest handling, without being able to guess +their use. But in the desert one rides like the Arab, and it would +be ridiculous to go away to the Sahara hanging on to a snaffle like +an Irishman out hunting. + +So he mounted, and the cavalcade started amid much noise and dust, +which followed it until it turned from the road into the scrub. A +heavy dew had fallen during the night, and it glittered like silver +rain, producing a slight mirage, which deceived nobody, but which +prevented Owen from seeing what the country was like, until the sun +shone out. Then he saw that they were crossing an uncultivated +rather than a sterile plain, and the word "wilderness" came up in +his mind, for the only trees and plants he saw were wildings, wild +artichokes, tall stems, of no definite colour, with hairy fruits; +rosemary, lavender and yellow broom, and half-naked bushes stripped +of their foliage by the summer heat, covered with dust; nowhere a +blade of grass--an indurated plain, chapped, rotted by stagnant +waters, burnt again by the sun. And they rode over this plain for +hours, the horses avoiding the baked earth, choosing the softer +places where there was a litter of leaves or moss. Sometimes the +cavalcade divided into twos and threes, sometimes it formed into a +little group riding to the right or left, with Owen and his dragoman +in front, Owen trying to learn Arabic from the dragoman, the lesson +interrupted continually by some new sight: by a cloud of thistledown +hovering over a great purple field, rising and falling, for there +was not wind enough to carry the seed away; by some white vapour on +the horizon, which his dragoman told him was the smoke of Arabs +clearing the scrub. + +"A primitive method, and an easy one, saving the labour of billhook +and axe." About nine o'clock he saw some woods lying to the +north-west. But the horses' heads were turned eastward to avoid an arm +of a great marsh, extending northward to the horizon. It was then +that, wearying of trying to get his tongue round certain Arabic words, +he rode away from his dragoman, and tried to define the landscape as a +painter would; but it was all too vast, and all detail was lost in +the vastness, and all was alike. So, abandoning the pictorial, he +philosophised, discovering the fallacy of the old saying that we owe +everything to the earth, the mother of all. "We owe her very little. +The debt is on her side," he muttered. "It is we who make her so +beautiful, finding in the wilderness a garden and a statue in a +marble block. Man is everything." And the words put the thought into +his mind that although they had been travelling for many hours they +had not yet seen a human being, nor yet an animal. Whither the Arabs +had gone the dragoman could not tell him; he could only say they came +to this plain for the spring pasture; their summer pastures were +elsewhere, and he pointed to an old olive, brown and bent by the +wind, telling Owen it was deemed a sacred tree, to which sterile +women came to hang votive offerings. Owen reined up his horse in +front of it, and they resumed their journey, meeting with nothing +they had not met with before, unless, perhaps, a singular group of +date-palms gathered together at one spot, forerunners of the desert, +keeping each other company, struggling for life in a climate which +was not theirs. + +At eleven o'clock a halt was made in the bed of a great river +enclosed within steep mudbanks, now nearly as dry as the river they +had crossed in the morning; only a few inches of turbid water, at +which a long herd of cattle was drinking when they arrived; the +banks planted with great trees, olives, tamarisks, and masticks. At +three o'clock they were again in the saddle, and they rode on, +leaving to the left an encampment (the dragoman told Owen the name of +the tribe), some wandering horses, and some camels. The camels, who +appeared to have lost themselves, did not gallop away like the +horses, but came forward and peaceably watched the cavalcade +passing, absent-minded, bored ruminants, with something always on +their minds. The sobriety of these animals astonished him. "They're +not greedy, and they are never thirsty. Of what do they remind me?" +And Owen thought for a while, till catching sight of their long +fleecy necks, bending like the necks of birds, and ending in long +flexible lips (it was the lips that gave him the clue he was +seeking), he said, "The Nonconformists of the four-footed world," +and he told his joke to his dragoman, without, however, being able +to make him understand. + +"These Arabs have no sense of humour," he muttered, as he rode away. + +The only human beings he saw on that long day's journey were three +shepherds--two youths and an old man; the elder youth, standing on a +low wall, which might be Roman or Carthaginian, Turkish or Arabian +(an antiquarian would doubtless have evolved the history of four +great nations from it), watched a flock of large-tailed sheep and +black goats, and blew into his flageolet, drawing from it, not +music, only sounds without measure or rhythm, which the wind carried +down the valley, causing the sheep-dog to rise up from the rock on +which he was lying and to howl dismally. Near by the old man walked, +leaning on the arm of the younger brother, a boy of sixteen. Both +wore shepherd's garb--tunics fitting tight to the waist, large +plaited hats, and sandals cut from sheep-skin. The old man's eyes +were weak and red, and he blinked them so constantly that Owen +thought he must be blind; and the boy was so beautiful that one of +the Arabs cried out to him, in the noble form of Arab salutation: + +"Hail to thee, Jacob, son of Isaac; and hail to thy father." + +Owen repeated the names "Jacob!" "Isaac!" a light came into his face, +and he drew himself up in his saddle, understanding suddenly that he +had fallen out of the "Odyssey," landing in the very midst of the +Bible; for there it was, walking about him: Abraham and Isaac, the +old man willing to sacrifice his son to please some implacable God +hidden behind a cloud; Jacob selling his birthright to Esau, the +birthright of camels, sheep, and goats. And down his mind floated the +story of Joseph sold by his brethren, and that of Ruth and Boaz: +"Thy people shall be my people, thy God shall be my God," a story of +corn rather than of flocks and herds. For the sake of Boaz she would +accept Yahveh. But would he accept such a God for Evelyn's sake, and +such a brute?--always telling his people if they continued to adore +him they would be given not only strength to overcome their enemies, +but even the pleasure of dashing out the brains of their enemies' +children against the stones; and thinking of the many apocalyptic +inventions, the many-headed beasts of Isaiah, the Cherubim and +Seraphim, who were not stalwart and beautiful angels, but +many-headed beasts from Babylonia, Owen remembered that these +revolting monsters had been made beautiful in the Ægean: sullen +Astaarte, desiring sacrifice and immolation, had risen from the +waters, a ravishing goddess with winged Loves marvelling about her, +Loves with conches to their lips, blowing the glad news to the world. + +"How the thought wanders!" he said, "A moment ago I was among the +abominations of Isaiah. Now I am back, if not with the Greek Venus, +'whom men no longer call the Erecine,' at all events with an +enchanting Parisian, nearly as beautiful, and more delightful--a +voluptuous goddess, laughing amid her hair, drawn less austerely +than Ingres, but much more firmly than Boucher or Fragonard... a +fragrant goddess." + +And meditating with half his mind, he admired the endurance of his +horse with the other, who, though he could neither trot, nor gallop, +nor walk, could amble deliciously. + +"If not a meditative animal himself, his gait conduces to +meditation," Owen said, and he continued to dream that art could +only be said to have flourished among Mediterranean peoples, until +he was roused from his reverie by his horse, who suddenly pricked up +his ears and broke into a canter. He had been travelling since six +in the morning, and it was now evening; but he was fresh enough to +prick up his ears, scenting, no doubt, an encampment, the ashes of +former fires, the litter left by some wayfarers, desert wanderers, +bedouins, Hebrews. + +Owen began his dream again, and he could do so without danger, for +his horse hardly required the direction of the bridle even in the +thick wood; and while admiring his horse's sagacity in avoiding the +trees he pursued his theological fancies, an admirable stillness +gathering the while, shadows descending, unaccompanied by the +slightest wind, and no sound. Yes, a faint sound! And reigning in +his horse, he listened, and all the Arabs about him listened, to the +babble coming up through the evening--a soft liquid talking like the +splashing of water, or the sound of wings, or the mingling of both, +some language more liquid than Italian. What language was being +spoken over yonder? One of the Arabs answered, "It is the voice of +the lake." + +As the cavalcade rode out of the wood the lake lay a glittering +mirror before Owen, about a mile wide; he could not determine its +length, for the lake disappeared into a distant horizon, into a +semblance of low shores, still as stagnant water, reflecting the +golden purple of the sunset, and covered with millions of waterfowl. +The multitude swimming together formed an indecisive pattern, like a +vague, weedy scum collected on the surface of a marsh. Ducks, teal, +widgeon, coots, and divers were recognisable, despite the distance, +by their prow-like heads, their balance on the water, and their +motion through it, "like little galleys," Owen said. Nearer, in the +reeds agitated with millions of unseen inhabitants, snipe came and +went in wisps, uttering an abrupt cry, going away in a short, +crooked flight and falling abruptly. In the distance he saw grey +herons and ibises from Egypt. The sky darkened, and through the dusk, +from over the hills, thousands of birds continued to arrive, +creating a wind in the poplars. Like an army marching past, +battalion succeeded battalion at intervals of a few seconds; and the +mass, unwinding like a great ribbon, stretched across the lake. Then +the mist gathered, blotting out everything, all noise ceased, and +the lake itself disappeared in the mist. + +Turning in the saddle, Owen saw a hillock and five olive-trees. A +fire was burning. This was the encampment. + + + +VI + +He had undertaken this long journey in the wilderness for the sake of +a few days' falconry, and dreaded a disappointment, for all his life +long, intermittently of course, he had been interested in hawks. As +a boy he had dreamed of training hawks, and remembered one taken by +him from the nest, or maybe a gamekeeper had brought it to him, it +was long ago; but the bird itself was remembered very well, a large, +grey hawk--a goshawk he believed it to be, though the bird is rare +in England. As he lay, seeking sleep, he could see himself a boy +again, going into a certain room to feed his hawk. It was getting +very tame, coming to his wrist, taking food from his fingers, and, +not noticing the open window, he had taken the hawk out of its cage. +Was the hawk kept in a cage or chained to the perch? He could not +remember, but what he did remember, and very well, was the moment +when the bird fluttered towards the window; he could see it resting +on the sill, hesitating a moment, doubting its power of flight. But +it had ventured out in the air and had reached a birch, on which it +alighted. There had been a rush downstairs and out of the house, but +the hawk was no longer in the birch, and was never seen by him +again, yet it persisted in his memory. + +The sport of hawking is not quite extinct in England, and at various +times he had caused inquiries to be made, and had arranged once to +go to the New Forest and on another occasion to Wiltshire. But +something had happened to prevent him going, and he had continued to +dream of hawking, of the mystery whereby the hawk could be called +out of the sky by the lure--some rags and worsted-work in the shape +of a bird whirled in the air at the end of a string. Why should the +hawk leave its prey for such a mock? Yet it did; and he had always +read everything that came under his hand about hawking with a +peculiar interest, and in exhibitions of pictures had always stood a +long time before pictures of hawking, however bad they might be. + +But Evelyn had turned his thoughts from sport to music, and gradually +he had become reconciled to the idea that his destiny was never to +see a hawk strike down a bird. But the occasion long looked for had +come at last, to-morrow morning the mystery of hawking would cease +to be a mystery for him any longer; and as he lay in his tent, +trying to get a few hours' sleep before dawn, he asked himself if +the realisation of his dream would profit him much, only the certain +knowledge that hawks stooped at their prey and returned to the lure; +another mystery would have been unravelled, and there were few left; +he doubted if there was another; all the sights and shows with which +life entices us were known to him, all but one, and the last would +go the way the others had gone. Or perhaps it were wiser to leave +the last mystery unravelled. + +Wrapping himself closer in his blanket he sought sleep again, +striving to quiet his thoughts; but they would not be quieted. All +kinds of vain questions ran on, questions to which the wisest have +never been able to find answers: if it were good or ill-fortune to +have been called out of the great void into life, if the gift of +life were one worth accepting, and if it had come to him in an +acceptable form. That night in his tent it seemed clear that it would +be better to range for ever, from oasis to oasis with the bedouins, +who were on their way to meet him, than to return to civilisation. +Of civilisation it seemed to him that he had had enough, and he +wondered if it were as valuable as many people thought; he had found +more pleasure in speaking with his dragoman, learning Arabic from +him, than in talking to educated men from the universities and such +like. Riches dry up the soul and are an obstacle to the development +of self. If he had not inherited Riversdale and its many occupations +and duties, he would be to-day an instinctive human being instead of +a scrapbook of culture. For a rich man there is no escape from +amusements which do not amuse; Riversdale had robbed him of himself, +of manhood; what he understood by manhood was not brawn, but +instincts, the calm of instincts in contradiction to the agitation of +nerves. It would have been better to have known only the simple +life, the life of these Arabs! Now they were singing about the camp +fires. Queer were the intervals, impossible of notation, but the +rhythms might be gathered... a symphony, a defined scheme.... The +monotony of the chant hushed his thoughts, and the sleep into which +he fell must have been a deep one. + +A long time seemed to have passed between sleeping and waking.... + +Throwing his blanket aside, he seized his revolvers. The night was +filled with cries as if the camp had been attacked. But the +disturbances was caused by the stampeding of the horses; three had +broken their tethers and had gone away, after first tumbling into +the reeds, over the hills, neighing frantically. As his horse was +not one of the three it did not matter; the Arabs would catch their +horses or would fail to catch them, and indifferent he stood watching +the moon hanging low over the landscape, a badly drawn circle, but +admirably soft to look upon, casting a gentle, mysterious light down +the lake. The silence was filled with the lake's warble, and the +ducks kept awake by the moon chattered as they dozed, a soft cooing +chatter like women gossiping; an Arab came from the wood with dry +branches; the flames leaped up, showing through the grey woof of the +tent; and, listening to the crackling, Owen muttered "Resinous +wood... tamarisk and mastic." He fell asleep soon after, and this +time his sleep was longer, though not so deep... He was watching +hawks flying in pursuit of a heron when a measured tramp of hooves +awoke him, and hard, guttural voices. + +"The Arabs have arrived," he said, and drawing aside the curtain of +his tent, he saw at least twenty coming through the blue dusk, white +bournous, scimitars, and long-barrelled guns! "Saharians from the +desert, the true bedouin." + +"The bedouin but not the true Saharian," his dragoman informed him. +And Owen retreated into his tent, thinking of the hawks which the +Arabs carried on their wrists, and how hawking had been declining in +Europe since the sixteenth century. But it still flourished in +Africa, where to-day is the same as yesterday. + +And while thinking of the hawks he heard the voices of the Arabs +growing angrier. Some four or five spurred their horses and were +about to ride away; but the dragoman called after them, and Owen +cried out, "As if it matters to me which hawk is flown first." The +quarrel waxed louder, and then suddenly ceased, and when Owen came +out of his tent he saw an Arab take the latchet of a bird's hood in +his teeth and pull the other end with his right hand. "A noble and +melancholy bird," he said, and he stood a long while admiring the +narrow, flattened head, the curved beak, so well designed to rend a +prey, and the round, clear eye, which appeared to see through him +and beyond him, and which in a few minutes would search the blue air +mile after mile. + +The hawk sprang from the wrist, and he watched the bird flying away, +like a wild bird, down the morning sky, which had begun in orange, +and was turning to crimson. "Never will they get that bird back! You +have lost your hawk," Owen said to the Arab. + +The Arab smiled, and taking a live pigeon out of his bournous, he +allowed it to flutter in the air for a moment, at the end of a +string. A moment was sufficient; the clear round eye had caught +sight of the flutter of wings, and soon came back, sailing past, +high up in the air. + +"A fine flight," the Arab said, "the bird is at pitch; now is the +time to flush the covey." A dog was sent forward, and a dozen +partridges got up. And they flew, the terrible hawk in pursuit, +fearing their natural enemy above them more than any rain of lead. +Owen pressed his horse into a gallop, and he saw the hawk drop out +of the sky. The partridge shrieked, and a few seconds afterwards some +feathers floated down the wind. + +Well, he had seen a falcon kill a partridge, but would the falconer +be able to lure back his hawk? That was what he wanted to see, and, +curious and interested as a boy in his first rat hunt, he galloped +forward until stopped by the falconer, who explained that the moment +was always an anxious one, for were the hawk approached from behind, +or approached suddenly, it "might carry"--that is to say, might bear +away its prey for a hundred yards, and when it had done this once it +would be likely to do so again, giving a good deal of trouble. The +falconer approached the hawk very gently, the bird raised its head to +look at the falconer, and immediately after dipped its beak again +into the partridge's breast. + +Owen expected the bird to fly away, but, continuing to approach, the +falconer stooped and reaching out his hand, drew the partridge +towards him, knowing the hawk would not leave it; and when he had +hold of the jesses, the head was cut from the partridge and opened, +for it is the brain the hawk loves; and the ferocity with which this +one picked out the eye and gobbled it awoke Owen's admiration again. + +"Verily, a thing beyond good and evil, a Nietzschean bird." + +He had seen a hawk flown and return to the lure, he had seen a hawk +stoop at its prey, and had seen a hawk recaptured; so the mystery of +hawking was at an end for him, the mystery had been unravelled, and +now there was nothing for him to do but to watch other birds and to +learn the art of hawking, for every flight would be different. + +The sun had risen, filling the air with a calm, reposeful glow; the +woods were silent, the boughs hung lifeless and melancholy, every +leaf distinct at the end of its stem, weary of its life, "unable to +take any further interest in anything" Owen said, and the cavalcade +rode on in silence. + +"A little too warm the day is, without sufficient zest in it," one of +the falconers remarked, for his hawk was flying lazily, only a few +yards above the ground, too idle to mount the sky, to get at pitch; +and as the bird passed him, Owen admired the thin body, and the +javelin-like head, and the soft silken wings, the feathered thighs, +and the talons so strong and fierce. + +"He will lose his bird if he doesn't get at pitch," the falconer +muttered, and he seemed ashamed of his hawk when it alighted in the +branches, and stood there preening itself in the vague sunlight. But +suddenly it woke up to its duty, and going in pursuit of a +partridge, stooped and brought it to earth. + +"A fine kill; we shall have some better sport with the ducks." + +Owen asked the dragoman to translate what the falconer said. + +"He said it was a fine kill. He is proud of his bird." + +Some Arabs rode away, and Owen heard that a boat would be required to +put up the ducks; and he was told the duck is the swiftest bird in +the air once it gets into flight, but if the peregrine is at pitch +it will stoop, and bring the duck to earth, though the duck is by +five times the heavier bird. The teal is a bird which is even more +difficult for the hawk to overtake, for it rises easier than the +duck; but if the hawk be at pitch it will strike down the quick teal. +One of the Arabs reined in his horse, and following the line of the +outstretched finger Owen saw far away in a small pool or plash of +water three teal swimming. As soon as the hawk swooped the teal +dived, but not the least disconcerted, the hawk, as if understanding +that the birds were going to be put up, rose to pitch and waited, +"quite professional like," Owen said. The beautiful little drake was +picked out of a tuft of alfa-grass. But perhaps it was the snipe that +afforded the best sport. + +At mid-day the falconers halted for rest and a meal, and Owen passed +all the hawks in review, learning that the male, the tercel, is not +so much prized in falconry as the female, which is larger and +fiercer. There was not one Barbary falcon, for on making inquiry +Owen was told that the bird he was looking at was a goshawk, a much +more beautiful hawk it seemed to him than the peregrine, especially +in colour; the wings were not so dark, inclining to slate, and under +the wings the breast was white, beautifully barred. It stood much +higher than the other hawks; and Owen admired the bird's tail, so +long, and he understood how it governed the bird's flight, even +before he was told that if a hawk lost one of its tail feathers it +would not be able to fly again that season unless the feather was +replaced; and the falconer showed Owen a supply of feathers, all +numbered, for it would not do to supply a missing third feather with +a fourth; and the splice was a needle inserted into the ends of the +feathers and bound fast with fine thread. The bird's beauty had not +escaped Owen's notice, but he had been so busy with the peregrines +all the morning that he had not had time to ask why this bird wore +no hood, and why it had not been flown. Now he learnt that the +gosshawk is a short-winged hawk, which does not go up in the air, and +get at pitch, and stoop at its prey like the peregrine, but flies +directly after it, capturing by speed of wing, and is used +principally for ground game, rabbits, and hares. He was told that it +seized the hare or the rabbit by the hind quarters and moved up, +finding the heart and lungs with its talons. So he waited eagerly +for a hare to steal out of the cover; but none appeared, much to the +bird's disappointment--a female, and a very fine specimen, singularly +tame and intelligent. The hawk seemed to understand quite well what +was happening, and watched for an opportunity of distinguishing +herself, looking round eagerly; and so eager was she that sometimes +she fell from the falconer's wrist, who took no notice, but let her +hang until she fluttered up again; and when Owen reproved his +cruelty, he answered: + +"She is a very intelligent bird and will not hang by her legs longer +than she wants to." + +It was in the afternoon that her chance came, and a rare one it was. +Two bustards rose out of a clump of cacti growing about a deserted +hermitage. The meeting of the birds must have been a chance one, for +they went in different directions, and flying swiftly, soon would +have put the desert between themselves, and the falconers, and each +other, if the bird going eastward had not been frightened by the +Arabs coming up from the lake, and, losing its head, it turned back, +and flying heavily over the hawking party, gave the goshawk her +single chance, a chance which was nearly being missed, the hawk not +making up her mind at once to go in pursuit; she had been used for +hunting ground game; and for some little while it was not certain +that the bustard would not get away; this would have been a pity, +for, as Owen learned afterwards, the bird is of great rarity, almost +unknown. + +"She will get him, she will get him!" the falconer cried, seeing his +hawk now flying with determination, and a moment after the bustard +was struck down. + +As far as sport was concerned the flight was not very interesting, +but the bustard is so rarely seen and so wary a bird that even the +Arabs, who are not sportsmen, will talk with interest about it, and +Owen rode up curious to see this almost fabulous bird, known in the +country as the habara, a bird which some ornithologists deny to be +the real bustard. Bustard or no bustard, the bird was very +beautiful, six or seven pounds in weight, the size of a small turkey, +and covered with the most beautiful feathers, pale yellow speckled +with brown, a long neck and a short, strong beak, long black legs +with three toes, the fourth, the spur, missing. That a hawk should +knock over a bustard had not happened often, and he regretted that +he knew not how to save the bird's skin, for though stuffed birds +are an abomination, one need not always be artistic. And there were +plenty at Riversdale. His grandfather had filled many cases, and this +rare bird merited the honour of stuffing. All the same, it would +have to be eaten, and with the trophy hanging on his saddle bow Owen +rode back to the encampment, little thinking he was riding to see +the flight which he had been longing to see all his life. + +One of the falconers had sent up a cast of hawks, and an Arab had +ridden forward in the hope of driving some ducks out of the reeds; +but instead a heron rose and, flopping his great wings, went away, +stately and decorative, into the western sky. The hawks were far +away down on the horizon, and there was a chance that they might +miss him; but the falconer waved his lure, and presently the hawks +came back; it was then only that the heron divined his danger, and +instead of trying to outdistance his pursuers as the other birds had +done, and at the cost of their lives, he flopped his wings more +vigorously, ringing his way up the sky, knowing, whether by past +experience or by instinct, that the hawks must get above him. And +the hawks went up, the birds getting above the heron. Soon the +attack would begin, and Owen remembered that the heron is armed with +a beak on which a hawk might be speared, for is it not recorded that +to defend himself the heron has raised his head and spitted the +descending hawk, the force of the blow breaking the heron's neck and +both birds coming down dead together. + +"Now will this happen?" he asked himself as he watched the birds now +well above the heron. "That one," Owen cried, "is about to stoop." + +And down came the hawk upon the heron, but the heron swerved +cleverly. Owen followed the beautiful shape of the bird's long neck +and beak, and the trailing legs. The second hawk stooped. "Ah! now +he is doomed," Owen cried. But again the heron dodged the hawk +cleverly, and the peregrine fell past him, and Owen saw the tail go +out, stopping the descent. + +Heron and hawks went away towards the desert, Owen galloping after +them, watching the aerial battle from his saddle, riding with loose +rein, holding the rein lightly between finger and thumb, leaving his +horse to pick his way. Again a hawk had reached a sufficient height +and stooped; again the heron dodged, and so the battle continued, +the hawks stooping again and again, but always missing the heron, +until at last, no doubt tired out, the heron failed to turn in time: +heron and hawk came toppling out of the sky together; but not too +quickly for the second hawk, which stooped and grappled the prey in +mid-air. + +Owen touched his horse with the spur; and, his eyes fixed on the spot +where he had seen the heron and hawks falling, he galloped, +regardless of every obstacle, forgetful that a trip would cost him a +broken bone, and that he was a long way from a surgeon. + +But Owen's horse picked his way very cleverly through the numerous +rubble-heaps, avoiding the great stones protruding from the sand.... +These seemed to be becoming more numerous; and Owen reined in his +horse.... He was amid the ruins of a once considerable city, of +which nothing remained but the outlying streets, some doorways, and +many tombs, open every one of them, as if the dead had already been +resurrected. Before him lay the broken lid of a sarcophagus and the +sarcophagus empty, a little sand from the desert replacing the ashes +of the dead man. Owen's horse approached it, mistaking it for a +drinking trough; "and it will serve for one," he said, "in a little +while after the next rainfall. Some broken capitals, fragments of +columns, a wall built of narrow bricks, a few inscriptions... all +that remains of Rome, dust and forgetfulness." + +About him the Arabs were seeking a heron and hawks; a falconer +galloped across the plain, waving a lure, in pursuit of another +hawk, so Owen was informed by his dragoman--as if falcon or heron +could interest him at that moment--and he continued to peer into the +inscription, leaving the Arabs to find the birds. And they were +discovered presently among some marbles, the heron's wings +outstretched in death, the great red wound in its breast making it +seem still more beautiful. + + + +VII + +The lake water was salt, but there was a spring among the hills, and +when the hawks were resting (they rested every second day) Owen +liked to go there and lie under the tamarisks, dreaming of Sicily, +of "the visionary flocks" and their shepherds no less visionary, +comparing the ideal with the real, for before him flocks grazed up +the hillside and his eyes followed the goats straying in quest of +branches, their horns tipped with the wonderful light which threw +everything into relief--the bournous of the passing bedouin, the +woman's veil, whether blue or grey, the queer architecture of the +camels and dromedaries coming up through a fold in the hills from +the lake, following the track of the caravans, their long, bird-like +necks swinging, looking, Owen thought, like a great flock of +migrating ostriches. + +It was pleasant to lie and dream this pastoral country and its +people, seen through a haze of fine weather which looked as if it +would never end. The swallows had just come over and were tired; +Owen was provoking enough to drive them out of the tamarisks just to +see how tired they were, and was sorry for one poor bird which could +hardly keep out of his way. Whence had they come? he asked, +returning to a couch of moss. Had any of them come from Riversdale? +Perhaps some had been hatched under his own eaves? (Any mention of +Riversdale was sufficient to soften Owen's heart.) And now under the +tamarisks his thoughts floated about that bleak house and its +colonnade, thinking of a white swallow which had appeared in the +park one year; friends were staying with him, every one had wanted +to shoot it, but leave had not been granted; and his natural +kindness of heart interested him as he lay in the shade of the +tamarisks, asking himself if the white swallow would appear, +thinking that the bird ought to nod to him as it passed, smiling at +the thought, and the smile dying as his dragoman approached; for he +was coming to teach him Arabic. Owen liked to exercise his +intelligence idly; a number of little phrases had already been picked +up, and his learning he tried on the bedouins as they came up the +hill from the lake, preferring speech with them rather than with his +own people, for his own people might affect to understand him, his +dragoman might have prompted them, whereas the new arrivals afforded +a more certain examination, and Owen was pleased when the bedouin +understood him. + +Next day he was hawking, and the day after he was again under the +tamarisks learning Arabic, and so the days went by between sport and +study without his perceiving them until one morning Owen found the +spring in possession of a considerable caravan, some five and twenty +or thirty camel-drivers and horsemen; and anxious to practise the +last phrases he had acquired, he went forward to meet the Saharians, +for they were easily recognisable as such by the blacker skin and a +pungent blackness in the eyes. The one addressed by Owen delighted +him by answering without hesitation: + +"From Laghouat." + +The hard, guttural sound he gave to the syllables threw the word into +wonderful picturesqueness, enchanting Owen. It was the first time he +had heard an Arab pronounce this word, so characteristically +African; and he asked him to say it again for the pleasure of +hearing it, liking the way the Saharian spoke it, with an accent at +once tender and proud, that of a native speaking of his country to +one who has never seen it. + +"How far away is--?" + +Owen tried to imitate the guttural. + +"Fifteen days' journey." + +"And what is the road like?" + +With the superlative gesture of an Arab the man showed the smooth +road passing by the encampment, moving his arms slowly from east to +west to indicate the circuit of the horizon. + +"That is the Sahara," he added, and Owen could see that for the +bedouin there was nothing in the world more beautiful than empty +space and low horizons. It was his intention to ask what were the +pleasures of the Sahara, but he had come to the end of his Arabic +and turned to his dragoman reluctantly. Dragoman and Saharian +engaged in conversation, and presently Owen learned that the birds in +the desert were sand grouse and blue pigeons, and when the Saharian +gathered that these did not afford sufficient sport he added, not +wishing a stranger should think his country wanting in anything: + +"There are gazelles." + +"But one cannot catch gazelles with hawks." + +"No," the Saharian answered, "but one can catch them with eagles." + +"Eagles!" Owen repeated. "Eagles flying after gazelles!" And he +looked into the Arab's face, lost in wonderment, seeing a +picturesque cavalcade going forth, all the horses beautiful, +champing at their bits. + +"But the Arab is too picturesque," he thought; for Owen, always +captious, was at that moment uncertain whether he should admire or +criticise; and the Arabs sat grandly upright in their high-pummelled +saddles of red leather or blue velvet their slippered feet thrust +into great stirrups. He liked the high-pummelled saddles; they were +comfortable to ride long distances in, and it was doubtless on these +high pummels that the Arabs carried the eagles (it would be +impossible to carry so large a bird on a gloved hand); and criticism +melted into admiration. He could see them riding out with the eagles +tied to the pummels of their saddles, looking into the yellow +desert; the adjective seemed to him vulgar--afterwards he discovered +the desert to be tawny. "It must be a wonderful sight... the gazelle +pursued by the eagle!" So he spoke at once to his dragoman, +telling him that he must prepare for a long march to the desert. + +"To the desert!" the dragoman repeated. + +"Yes, I want to see gazelles hunted by eagles," and the grave Arab +looked into Owen's blonde face, evidently thinking him a petulant +child. + +"But your Excellency--" He began to talk to Owen of the length of the +journey--twenty days at least; they would require seven, eight, or +ten camels; and Owen pointed to the camels of the bedouins from the +Sahara. The dragoman felt sure that his Excellency had not examined +the animals carefully; if his Excellency was as good a judge of +camels as he was of horses, he would see that these poor beasts +required rest; nor were they the kind suited to his Excellency. So +did he talk, making it plain that he did not wish to travel so far, +and when Owen admitted that he had not fixed a time to return to +Tunis the dragoman appeared more unwilling than ever. + +"Well, I must look out for another dragoman"; and remembering that +one of his escort spoke French, and that himself had learned a +little Arabic, he told the dragoman he might return to Tunis. + +"Well, my good man, what do you want me to do?" And seeing that the +matter would be arranged with or without him, the Arab offered his +assistance, which was accepted by Owen, and it now remained for the +new dragoman to pay commission to the last, and for both to arrange +with the Saharians for the purchase of their camels and their +guidance. Laghouat was Owen's destination; from thence he could +proceed farther into the desert and wander among the different +archipelagoes until the summer drove him northward. + +The sale of the camels--if not their sale, their hire--for so many +months was the subject of a long dispute in which Owen was advised +not to interfere. It would be beneath his dignity to offer any +opinion, so under the tamarisks he sat smoking, watching the Arabs +taking each other by the shoulders and talking with an extraordinary +volubility. It amused him to watch two who appeared to have come to +an understanding. "They're saying, 'Was there ever any one so +unreasonable? So-and-so, did you hear what he said?'" Drawing long +pipes from their girdles, these two would sit and smoke in silence +till from the seething crowd a word would reach them, and both would +rush back and engage in the discussion as violently as before. + +Sometimes everything seemed to have been arranged and the dragoman +approached Owen with a proposal, but before the proposal could be +put into words the discussion was renewed. + +"In England such a matter as the sale of a few camels would not +occupy more than half a dozen minutes." + +"All countries have their manners and all have their faults," the +dragoman answered, an answer which irritated Owen; but he had to +conceal his irritation, for to show it would only delay his +departure, and he was tired of hawking, tired of the lake and +anxious to see the great desert and its oases. And he felt it to be +shameful to curse the camels. Poor animals! they had come a long way +and required a few days' rest before beginning their journey +homewards. + +Three days after they were judged to be sufficiently rested; this did +not seem to be their opinion, for they bleated piteously when they +were called upon to kneel down, so that their packs might be put +upon them, and upon inquiring as to the meaning of their bleats Owen +was told they were asking for a cushion--"Put a cushion on my back +to save me from being skinned." + +"Hail to all!" + +And the different caravans turned north and south, Owen riding at the +head of his so that he might think undisturbed, for now that +everything had been decided, he was uncertain if the pleasure he +would get from seeing gazelles torn by eagles, would recompense him +for the trouble, expense, and fatigue of this long journey. He +turned his horse to the right, and moved round in his saddle, so +that he might observe the humps and the long, bird-like necks and the +shuffling gait of the camels. They never seemed to become ordinary to +him, and he liked them for their picturesqueness, deciding that the +word "picturesque" was as applicable to them as the word "beautiful" +is applicable to the horse. He liked to see these Arab horses +champing at their cruel bits, arching their crests; he liked their +shining quarters, his own horse a most beautiful, courageous, and +faithful animal, who would wait for him for hours, standing like a +wooden horse; Owen might let him wander at will: for he would answer +his whistle like a dog and present the left side for him to mount, +from long habit no doubt. And the moment Owen was in the saddle his +horse would draw up his neck and shake all the jingling +accoutrements with which he was covered, arch his neck, and spring +forward; and when he did this Owen always felt like an equestrian +statue. And he admired the camel-drivers, gaunt men so supple at the +knee that they could walk for miles, and when the camel broke into a +trot the camel-driver would trot with him. And the temperance of +these men was equal to that of their beasts, at least on the march; +a handful of flour which the camel-driver would work into a sort of +paste, and a drink from a skin was sufficient for a meal. Running by +the side of their beasts, they urged them forward with strange +cries; and they beguiled the march with songs. His musical instincts +were often awakened by these and by the chants which reached him +through the woof of his tent at night. He fell to dreaming of what a +musician might do with these rhythms until his thoughts faded into a +faint sleep, from which he was awakened suddenly by the neighing of +a horse: one had suddenly taken fire at the scent of a mare which a +breeze had carried through the darkness. + +The first bivouacs were the pleasantest part of his journey, despite +the fact that he could find no answer to the question why. he had +undertaken it, or why he was learning Arabic; all the same, these +days would never be forgotten; and he looked round... especially +these nights, every one distinct in his mind, the place where +yesterday's tent had been pitched, and the place where he had laid +his head a week ago, the stones which three nights ago had prevented +him from sleeping. + +"These experiences will form part of my life, a background, an +escapement from civilisation when I return to it. We must think a +little of the future--lay by a store like the bees"; and next +morning he looked round, his eyes delighting in the beauty of the +light. Truly a light sent from beyond skies in which during the +course of the day every shade of blue could be distinguished. A thin, +white cloud would appear towards evening, stretch like a skein of +white silk across the sky, to gather as the day declined into one +white cloud, which would disappear, little by little, into the +sunset. As Owen rode at the head of his cavalcade he watched this +cloud, growing smaller, and its diminishing often inspired the +thought of a ship entering into a harbour, sail dropping over sail. + +The pale autumn weather continued day after day; everything in the +landscape seemed fixed; and it seemed impossible to believe that +very soon dark clouds would roll overhead, and wind tear the trees, +and floods dangerous to man and horse rush down the peaceful river +beds, now nearly dry, only a trickle of water, losing itself among +sandy reaches. + +During the long march of twenty days the caravan passed through +almost every kind of scenery--long plains in which there was nothing +but reeds and tussocked grass, and these plains were succeeded by +stony hills covered with scrub. Again they caught sight of Arab +fires in the morning like a mist, at night lighting up the horizon; +and a few days afterwards they were riding through an oak forest +whose interspaces were surprisingly like the tapestries at +Riversdale, only no archer came forward to shoot the stag; and he +listened vainly, for the sounds of hunting horns. + +On debouching from the forest they passed through pleasantly watered +valleys, the hillsides of which were cultivated. It was pleasant to +see fields again, though they were but meagre Arab fields. All the +same Owen was glad to see the blue shadows of the woods marking the +edge of these fields, for they carried his thoughts back to England, +to his own fields, and in his mood of mind every remembrance of +England was agreeable. He was beginning to weary of wild nature, so +it was pleasant to see an Arab shepherd emerge from the scrub and +come forward to watch for a moment and then go away to the edge of a +ravine where his goats were browsing, and sit upon a rock, followed +by a yellow dog with a pointed face like a fox. It was pleasant, +too, to discover the tents of the tribe at a little distance, and +the next day to catch sight of a town, climbing a hill so steep that +it was matter for wonderment how camels could be driven through the +streets. + +The same beautiful weather continued--blue skies in which every shade +of blue could be studied; skies filled with larks, the true English +variety, the lark which goes about in couples, mounting the blue +air, singing, as they mounted, a passionate medley of notes, +interrupted by a still more passionate cry of two notes repeated +three or four times, followed again by the same disordered cadenzas. +The robin sings in autumn, and it seemed strange to Owen to hear this +bird singing a solitary little tune just as he sings it in England--a +melancholy little tune, quite different from the lark's passionate +outpouring, just its own quaint little avowal, somewhat +autobiographical, a human little admission that life, after all, is +a very sad thing even to the robin? Why shouldn't it be? for he is a +domestic bird of sedentary habits, and not at all suited to this +African landscape. All the same, it was nice to meet him there. A +blackbird started out of the scrub, chattered, and dived into a +thicket, just as he would in Riversdale. + +"The same things," Owen said, "all the world over." On passing +through a ravine an eagle rose from a jutting scarp; and looking up +the rocks, two or three hundred feet in height, Owen wondered if it +was among these cliffs the bird built its eerie, and how the young +birds were taken by the Arabs. Crows followed the caravan in great +numbers, and these reminded Owen of his gamekeeper, a solid man, six +feet high, with reddish whiskers, the most opaque Englishman Owen had +ever seen. "'We must get rid of some of them,'" Owen muttered, +quoting Burton. "'Terrible destructive, them birds,'" + +Among these remembrances of England, a jackal running across the +path, just as a fox would in England, reminded Owen that he was in +Africa; and though occasionally one meets an adder in England, one +meets them much more frequently in the North of Africa. It was +impossible to say how many Owen had not seen lying in front of his +horse like dead sticks. As the cavalcade passed they would twist +themselves down a hole. As for rats, they seemed to be everywhere, +and at home everywhere, with the adders and with the rabbits; any +hole was good enough for the rat. The lizards were larger and uglier +than the English variety, and Owen never could bring himself to look +upon them with anything but disgust--their blunt head, the viscous +jaws exuding some sort of scum; and he left them to continue their +eternal siesta in the warm sand. + +That evening, after passing through a succession of hills and narrow +valleys, the caravan entered the southern plain, an immense +perspective of twenty or thirty miles; and Owen reined up his horse +and sat at gaze, watching the dim greenness of the alfa-grass +striped with long rays of pale light and grey shadows. But the +extent of the plain could not be properly measured, for the sky was +darkening above the horizon. + +"The rainy season is at hand," Owen said; and he watched the clouds +gathering rapidly into storm in the middle of the sky. Now and +again, when the clouds divided, a glimpse was gotten of a range of +mountains, seven crests--"seven heads," the dragoman called them, +and he told Owen the name in Arabic. These mountains were reached +the following day, and, after passing through numberless defiles, +the caravan debouched on a plain covered with stones, bright as if +they had been polished by hand--a naked country torn by the sun, in +which nothing grew, not even a thistle. In the distance were hills +whose outline zigzagged, now into points like a saw, and now into +long sweeping curves like a scythe; and these hills were full of +narrow valleys, bare as threshing-floors. The heat hung in these +valleys, and Owen rode through them, choking, for the space of a long +windless day, in which nothing was heard except the sound of the +horses' hooves and the caw of a crow flying through the vague +immensity. + +But the ugliness of these valleys was exceeded by the ugliness of the +marsh at whose edge they encamped next day--a black, evil-smelling +marsh full of reeds and nothing more. The question arose whether +potable water would be found, and they all went out, Owen included, +to search for a spring. + +After searching for some time one was found in possession of a number +of grey vultures and enormous crows, ranged in a line along the +edges, and in the distance these seemed like men stooping in a hurry +to drink. It was necessary to fire a gun to disperse these sinister +pilgrims. But in the Sahara a spring is always welcome, even when it +carries a taste of magnesia; and there was one in the water they had +discovered, not sufficient to discourage the camels, who drank +freely enough, but enough to cause Owen to make a wry face after +drinking. All the same, it was better than the water they carried in +the skins. The silence was extraordinary, and, hearing the teeth of +the camels shearing the low bushes of their leaves, Owen looked +round, surprised by the strange resonance of the air and the +peculiar tone of blue in the sky, trivial signs in themselves, but +recognisable after the long drought. He remembered how he had +experienced for the last few days a presentiment that rain was not +far off, a presentiment which he could not attribute to his +imagination, and which was now about to be verified. A large cloud +was coming up, a few heavy drops fell, and during the night the rain +pattered on the canvas; and he fell asleep, hoping that the morning +would be fine, though he had been told the rain would not cease for +days; and they were still several days' journey from Laghouat, where +they would get certain news of eagles and gazelles, for the Arab who +had first told Owen about the gazelle-hunters admitted (Owen cursed +him for not having admitted it before) that the gazelles did not +come down from the hills until after the rains and the new grass +began to spring up. + +All the next day the rain continued. Owen watched it falling into the +yellow sand blown into endless hillocks; "Very drie, very drie," he +said, recalling a phrase of his own north country. Overhead a low +grey sky stooped, with hardly any movement in it, the grey moving +slowly as the caravan struggled on through grey and yellow colour-- +the colour of emptiness, of the very void. It seemed to him that he +could not get any wetter; but there is no end to the amount of +moisture clothes can absorb, a bournous especially, and soon the rain +was pouring down Owen's neck; but he would not be better off if he +ordered the caravan to stop and his servants to pitch his tent under +a sand-dune. Besides, it would be dangerous to do this, for the wind +was rising, and their hope was to reach a caravansary before +nightfall. + +"And it is not yet mid-day," Owen said to himself, thinking of the +endless hours that lay before him, and of his wonderful horse, so +courageous and so patient in adversity, never complaining, though he +sank at every step to over his fetlocks in the sand. Owen wondered +what the animal was thinking about, for he seemed quite cheerful, +neighing when Owen leaned forward and petted him. To lean forward +and stroke his horse's neck, and speak a few words of encouragement +to one who needed no encouragement, was all there was for him to do +during that long day's march. + +"If he could only speak to me," Owen said, feeling he needed +encouragement; and he tried to take refuge in the past, trying to +memorise his life, what it had been from the beginning, just as if +he were going to write a book. When his memory failed him he called +his dragoman and began an Arabic lesson. It is hard to learn Arabic +at any time, and impossible to learn it in the rain; and after +acquiring a few words he would ride up and down, trying the new +phrases upon the camel-drivers, admirable men who never complained, +running alongside of their animals, urging them forward with strange +cries. Owen admired their patience; but their cries in the end +jarred his highly-strong nerves, and he asked himself if it were not +possible for them to drive camels without uttering such horrible +sounds, and appealed to the dragoman, who advised him to allow the +drivers to do their business as they were in the habit of doing it, +for it was imperative they should reach the caravansary that night. +The wind was rising, and storms in the desert are not only +unpleasant, but dangerous. Owen tried to fall asleep in the saddle, +and he almost succeeded in dozing; anyhow, he seemed to wake from +some sort of stupor at the end of the day, just before nightfall, +for he started, and nearly fell, when his dragoman called to him, +telling him they were about to enter the ravine on the borders of +which the caravansary was situated. + +The first thing he saw were three palm-trees, yellow trees torn and +broken, and there were two more a little farther on; and there was a +great noise in their crowns when the caravan drew up before the +walls of the caravansary--five palms, the wind turning their crowns +inside out like umbrellas, horrible and black, standing out in livid +lines upon a sky that was altogether black; four; great walls, and +on two sides of the square an open gallery, a shelter for horses; in +the corner rooms without windows, and open doorways. Owen chose one, +and the dragoman spoke of scorpions and vipers; and well he might do +so, for Owen drove a hissing serpent out of his room immediately +afterwards, killing it in the corridor. And then the question was, +could the doorway be barricaded in such a way as to prevent the +intrusion of further visitors? + +The wind continued to rise, and he lay rolled in his blanket, +uncomfortable, frightened, listening to the wind raging among the +rocks and palms, and, between his short, starting sleeps, wondering +if it would not have been better to lie in the ravine, in some +crevice, rather than in this verminous and viperous place. + +Next day he had an opportunity of contrasting the discomfort of the +caravansary with a bivouac under a rainy sky; for at nightfall, +within two days' journey of Laghouat, the caravan halted in a +desolate valley, shut in between two lines of reddish hills +seemingly as barren as the valley itself. After long searching in +the ravines a little brushwood was collected, and an attempt was made +to light a fire, which was unsuccessful. The only food they had that +night was a few dates and biscuits, and these were eaten under their +blankets in the rain, Owen having discovered that it was wetter in +his tent than without. This discomfort was the most serious he had +experienced, yet he felt it hardly at all, thinking that perhaps it +would have been very little use coming to the desert in a railway +train or in a mail coach. Only by such adventures is travel made +rememberable, and, looking out of his blankets, he was rewarded by a +sight which he felt would not be easily forgotten--the camels on +their knees about the drivers, who were feeding them from their +hands, the poor beasts leaning out their long necks to take what was +given to them--a wretched repast, yet their grunts were full of +satisfaction. + +In the morning, however, they were irritable, and bleated angrily +when asked to kneel down so that their packs might be put upon them; +but in the end they submitted, and Owen noticed a certain strain of +cheerfulness in their demeanour all that day. Perhaps they scented +their destination. Owen's horse certainly scented a stable within a +day's journey of Laghouat, for he pricked up his ears, and there was +nothing else but the instinct of a stable that could have induced +him to do so, for on their left was a sinister mountain--sinister +always, Owen thought, even in the sunlight, but more sinister than +ever in the rainy season, wrapped in a cloud, showing here and there +a peak when the clouds lifted. And no mountain seemed harder to +leave behind than this one. Owen, who knew that Laghouat was not +many miles distant, rode on in front, impatient to see the oasis +rise out of the desert. The wind still raged, driving the sand; and +before him stretched endless hillocks of yellow sand; and he +wandered among these, uncertain whither lay the road, until he +happened upon a little convoy bringing grain to the town. The convoy +turned to the left.... His mistake was that he had been looking to +the right. + +Laghouat, built among rocks, some of which were white, showed up high +above the plain; and, notwithstanding his desire for food and +shelter, he sat on his horse at gaze, interested in the ramparts of +this black town, defended by towers, outlined upon a grey sky. + + + +VIII + +"When a woman has seen the guest she no longer cares for the master." +An old hunter had told him this proverb, a lame, one-eyed man, an +outcast from his tribe, or very nearly, whose wife was so old that +Owen's presence afforded him no cause for jealousy, a friend of the +hunter who owned the eagles, so Owen discovered, but not until the +end of a week's acquaintance, which was strange, for he had seen a +great deal of this man in the last few days. The explanation he gave +one night in the café where Owen went to talk and drink with the +Spahis; coming in suddenly, and taking Owen away into a corner, he +explained that he had not told him before that his friend Tahar, he +who owned the eagles, had gone away to live in another oasis, +because it had not occurred to him that Owen was seeking Tahar, +fancying somehow that it was another--as if there were hundreds of +people in the Sahara who hunted gazelles with eagles! + +"_Grand Dieu_!" and Owen turned to his own dragoman, who happened to +be present. "_A-t-on jamais!_... _Ici depuis trois semaines!_" + +The dragoman, who expected an outburst, reminded Owen of the progress +he had made in Arabic, and of the storms of the last three weeks, +the rain and wind which had made travelling in the desert +impossible, and when Owen spoke of starting on the morrow the +dragoman shook his head, and the wind in the street convinced Owen +that he must remain where he was. + +"_Mais si j'avais su_--" + +The dragoman pointed out to him the terrible weather they had +experienced, and how glad he had been to find shelter in Laghouat. + +"_Oui, Sidna, vous êtes maintenant au comble de regrets, mats pour +rien au monde vous n'auriez fait ces étapes vers le sud_." + +Owen felt that the man was right, though he would not admit it; the +camels themselves could hardly have been persuaded to undertake +another day's march; his horse--well, the vultures might have been +tearing him if he had persevered, so instead of going off in one of +his squibby little rages, which would have made him ridiculous, Owen +suddenly grew sad and invited the hunter to drink with him, and it +was arranged that as soon as the wind dropped the quest for Tahar +should be pursued. + +He would be found in an oasis not more than two days' journey from +Laghouat, so the hunter said, but the dragoman's opinion was that +the old hunter was not very sure; Tahar would be found there, and if +he were not there he was for certain in another oasis three or four +days still farther south. + +"But I cannot travel all over the Sahara in search of eagles." + +"If _Sidna_ would like to return to Tunis?" + +But to return to Tunis would mean returning to England, and Owen felt +that his business in the desert was not yet completed; as well +travel from one oasis to another in quest of eagles as anything +else, and three days afterwards he rode at the head of his caravan, +anxious to reach Ain Mahdy, trying to believe he had grown +interested in the Arab, and would like to see him living under the +rule of his own chief, even though the chief was, to a certain +extent, responsible to the French Government; still, to all intents +and purposes he would be a free Arab. Yes, and Owen thought he would +like to see a Kaid; and wondering what his reception would be like, +he rode through the desert thinking of the Kaid, his eyes fixed on +the great horizons which had re-appeared, having been lost for many +days in mist and rain. + +An exquisite silence vibrated through the great spaces, music for +harps rather than for violins, and Owen rode on, reaching the oasis, +as he had been told he would, at the end of the second day's +journey. When he arrived the Kaid was engaged in administering +justice, and Owen was forced _de faire un peu l'anti-chambre_; but +this was not disagreeable to him. The Arab court-house seemed to him +an excellent place for a lesson in the language; and the case the +Kaid was deciding was to his taste. A man was suing for divorce, and +for reasons which would have astonished Englishmen, and cause the +plaintiff to be hurled out of civilised society; but in the Sahara +the case did not strike anybody as unnatural; and Owen listened to +the woman telling her misfortunes under a veil. But though deeply +interested he was forced to leave the building; the flies plagued +him unendurably, and presently he found the flies had odious +auxiliaries in the carpet, and after explaining his torture to the +dragoman, who was not suffering at all, he left the building and +walked in the street. + +Half an hour after the Kaid came forward to meet him with a little +black sheep in his arms, struggling, frightened at finding itself +captured, bleating painfully. The wool was separated, and Owen was +invited to feel this living flesh, which in a few hours he would be +eating; it would have been impolite to the Kaid to refuse to feel +the sheep's ribs, so Owen complied, though he knew that doing so +would prevent him from enjoying his dinner, and he was very hungry +at the time. The sheep's eyes haunted him all through the meal, and +his pleasure was still further discounted by the news that though +the eagles were at Ain Mahdy, the owner having left them-- + +"Having left them," Owen repeated. "Good God! I was told he was +here." + +"He left here three days ago." + +Owen cursed his friend in Laghouat. If he had only told him in the +beginning of the week! The dragoman answered: + +"_Sidna, vous vous en souvenez_" + +"Speak to me in Arabic, damn you! There is nothing to do here but to +learn Arabic." + +"Quite true, _Sidna_, we shall not be able to start to-morrow; the +rains are beginning again." + +"Was there ever such luck as mine, to come to the desert, where it +never rains, and to find nothing but rain?"--rain which Owen had +never seen equalled except once in Connemara, where he had gone to +fish, and it annoyed him to hear that these torrential rains only +happened once every three or four years in the Sahara. He was too +annoyed to answer his dragoman.... _Enfin_, Tahar had left his +eagles at Ain Mahdy, and Owen fed them morning and evening, gorging +them with food, not knowing that one of the great difficulties is to +procure in the trained eagle sufficient hunger to induce him to +pursue the quarry. It was an accident that some friend of Tahar's +surprised Owen feeding the eagles and warned him. + +"These eagles will not be able to hunt for weeks now." + +Owen cursed himself and the universe, Allah and the God of Israel, +Christ and the prophets. + +"But, _Sidna_, their hunger can be excited by a drug, and this drug +is Tahar's secret." + +"Then to-morrow we start, though there be sand storms or rain storms, +whatever the weather may be." + +The dragoman condoned Owen's mistake in feeding the eagles. + +"The gazelles come down from the mountains after the rains; we shall +catch sight of some on our way." + +A few hours after he rode up to Owen and said, "Gazelles!" + +When he looked to the right of the sunset Owen could see yellow, +spotted with black; something was moving over yonder among the +patches of rosemary and lavender. + +The gazelles were far away when the caravan reached the rosemary, but +their smell remained, overpowering that of the rosemary and +lavender; it seemed as if the earth itself breathed nothing but +musk, and Owen's surprise increased when he saw the Arabs collecting +the droppings, and on asking what use could be made of these he was +told that when they were dried they were burnt as pastilles; when +the animal had been feeding upon rosemary and lavender they gave out +a delicious odour. + +Then the dragoman told Owen to prepare for sand grouse; and a short +while afterwards one of the Arabs cried, "Grouse! Grouse!" and a +pack of thirty or forty flew away, two falling into the sand. + +They came upon a river in flood, and while the Arabs sought a ford +Owen went in search of blue pigeons, and succeeded in shooting +several; and these were plucked and eaten by the camp fire that +night, the coldest he had known in the Sahara. When the fire burnt +down a little he awoke shivering. And he awoke shivering again at +daybreak; and the cavalcade continued its march across a plain, flat +and empty, through which the river's banks wound like a green +ribbon.... Some stunted vegetation rose in sight about midday, and +Owen thought that they were near the oasis towards which they were +journeying; but on approaching he saw that what he had mistaken for +an oasis was but the ruins of one that had perished last year owing +to a great drought, only a few dying palms remaining. Oases die, but +do new ones rise from the desert? he wondered. A ragged chain of +mountains, delightfully blue in the new spring weather, entertained +him all the way across an immense tract of barren country; and at +the end of it his searching eyes were rewarded by a sight of his +destination--some palms showing above the horizon on the evening +sky. + + + +IX + +As the caravan approached the beach he caught sight of an Arab, or +one whom he thought was an Arab, and riding straight up to him, Owen +asked: + +"Do you know Tahar?" + +"The hunter?" + +"Yes," and breathing a sigh, he said he had travelled hundreds of +miles in search of him--"and his eagles." + +"He left here two or three days ago for Ain Mahdy." + +"Left here! Good God!" and Owen threw up his arms. "Left two days +ago, and I have come from Ain Mahdy, nearly from Tunis, in search of +him! We have passed each other in the desert," he said, looking +round the great plain, made of space, solitude, and sun. It had +become odious to him suddenly, and he seemed to forget everything. + +As if taking pity on him, Monsieur Béclère asked him to stay with him +until Tahar returned. + +"We will hunt the gazelles together." + +"That is very kind of you." + +And Owen looked into the face of the man to whom he had introduced +himself so hurriedly. He had been so interested in Tahar, and so +overcame by the news of his absence, that he had not had time to +give a thought to the fact that the conversation was being carried +on in French. Now the thought suddenly came into his mind that the +man he was speaking to was not an Arab but a Frenchman. "He must +certainly be a Frenchman, no one but a Frenchman could express +himself so well in French." + +"You are very kind," he said, and they strolled up the oasis +together, Owen telling Monsieur Béclère that at first he had +mistaken him for an Arab. "Only your shoulders are broader, and you +are not so tall; you walk like an Arab, not quite so loosely, not +quite the Arab shuffle, but still--" + +"A cross between the European spring and the loose Arab stride?" + +"Do you always dress as an Arab?" + +"Yes, I have been here for thirty-one years, ever since I was +fourteen." Owen looked at him. + +"Here, in an oasis?" + +"Yes, in an oasis, a great deal of which I have created for myself. +The discovery of a Roman well enabled me to add many hundred +_hectares_ to my property. + +"The rediscovery of a Roman well!" + +"Yes. If the Sahara is barren, it is because there is no water." Owen +seemed to be on the verge of hearing the most interesting things +about underground lakes only twenty or thirty feet from the surface. +"But I will tell you more about them another time." + +Owen looked at Béclère again, thinking that he liked the broad, flat +strip of forehead between the dark eyebrows, and the dark hair, +streaked with grey, the eyes deep in the head, and of an acrid +blackness like an Arab's; the long, thin nose like an Arab's--a face +which could have had little difficulty in acquiring the Arab cast of +feature; and there had been time enough to acquire it, though +Béclère was not more than forty-five. + +"No doubt you speak Arabic like French." + +"Yes, I speak modern Arabic as easily as French. The language of the +Koran is different." And Béclère explained that there was no writing +done in the dialects. When an Arab wrote to another, he wrote in the +ancient language, which was understood everywhere. + +"You have learned a little Arabic, I see," Béclère said, and Owen +foresaw endless dialogues between himself and Monsieur Béclère, who +would instruct him on all the points which he was interested in. The +orchards they were passing through (apricot, apple, and pear-trees) +were coming into blossom. + +"I had expected oranges and lemons." + +"They don't grow well here, but we have nearly all our own +vegetables--haricot-beans, potatoes, artichokes, peas." + +"Of course there are no strawberries?" + +"No, we don't get any strawberries. There is my house." And within a +grove of beautiful trees, under which one could sit, Owen caught +sight of a house, half Oriental, half European. He admired the flat +roofs and the domes, which he felt sure rose above darkened rooms, +where Béclère and those who lived with him slept in the afternoons. +"You must be tired after your long ride, and would like to have a +bath." + +Owen followed Béclère through a courtyard, where a fountain sang in +dreamy heat and shade, bringing a little sensation of coolness into +the closed room, which did not strike him as being particularly +Moorish, notwithstanding the engraved brass lamps hanging from the +ceiling, and the Oriental carpet on the floor, and the screen inlaid +with mother-of-pearl. Owen did not know whether linen sheets were a +European convention, and could be admitted into an Eastern +dwelling-house, but he was not one of those who thought everything +should be in keeping. He liked incongruities, being an inveterate +romancist and only a bedouin by caprice. One appreciates sheets after +months of pilgrimage, and one appreciates a good meal after having +eaten nothing for a long while better than sand-goose roasted at the +camp fire. More than the pleasure of the table was the pleasure of +conversation with one speaking in his native language. Béclère's mind +interested him; it was so steady, it looked towards one point always. +That was his impression when he left his host after a talk lasting +till midnight; and, thinking of Béclère and his long journey to him, +he sat by his window watching stars of extraordinary brilliancy, and +breathing a fragrance rising from the tropical garden beneath him--a +fragrance which he recognised as that of roses; and this set him +thinking that it was the East that first cultivated roses; and amid +many memories of Persia and her poets, he threw himself into bed, +longing for sleep, for a darkness which, in a few hours, would pass +into a delicious consciousness of a garden under exquisite skies. + +His awakening was even more delightful than he anticipated. The +fragrance that filled his room had a magic in it which he had never +known before, and there was a murmur of doves in the palms and in +the dovecot hanging above the dog-kennel. As he lay between sleeping +and waking, a pair of pigeons flew past his window, their shadows +falling across his bed. An Arab came to conduct him to his bath; and +after bathing he returned to his room, glad to get into its sunlight +again, and to loiter in his dressing, standing by the window, +admiring the garden below, full of faint perfume. The roses were +already in blossom, and through an opening in the ilex-trees he +caught sight of a meadow overflowing with shadow, the shadow of +trees and clouds, and of goats too, for there was a herd feeding and +trying to escape from the shepherd (a young man wearing a white +bournous and a red felt cap) towards the garden, where there were +bushes. On the left, amid a group of palms, were the stables, and +Owen thought of his horse feeding and resting after his long +journey. And there were Béclère's horses too. Owen had not seen them +yet; nor had he seen the dog, nor the pigeons. This oasis was full +of pleasant things to see and investigate, and he hurried through his +meal, longing to get into the open air and to gather some roses. All +about him sounds were hushing, and lights breaking, and shadows +floating, and every breeze was scented. As he followed the +finely-sanded walks, he was startled by a new scent, and with dilating +nostrils tried to catch it, tried to remember if it were mastick or +some resinous fir; and, walking on like one in a trance, he admired +Béclère's taste in the planting of this garden. + +"A strange man, so refined and intelligent--why does he live here?... +Why not?" + +Returning suddenly to the ilex-trees, which he liked better than the +masticks, or the tamarisks, or any fir, he sat down to watch the +meadow, thinking there was nothing in the world more beautiful than +the moving of shadows of trees and clouds over young grass, and +nothing more beautiful than a young shepherd playing a flute: only +one thing more beautiful--a young girl carrying an amphora I She +passed out of the shadows, wearing a scarlet haik and on her arms and +neck a great deal of rough jewellery. + +"She is going to the well," he said. The shepherd stopped playing and +advanced to meet her. Boy and girl stood talking for a little while. +He heard laughter and speech... saw her coming towards him. "She +will follow this path to the house, and I shall see her better." A +little in front of the ilex-trees she stopped to look back upon the +shepherd, leaning the amphora upon her naked hip. The movement +lasted only a moment, but how beautiful it was! On catching sight of +Owen, she passed rapidly up the path, meeting Béclère on his way. + +"Speaking to him in Arabic," Owen said, as he continued to admire the +beautiful face he had just seen--a pointed oval, dark eyes, a small, +fine nose, red lips, and a skin the colour of yellow ivory. "Still a +child and already a woman, not more than twelve or thirteen at the +very most; the sun ripens them quickly." This child recalled a dream +which he had let drop in Tunis--a dream that he might go into the +desert and find an Arab maiden the colour of yellow ivory, and live +with her in an oasis, forgetful.... Only by a woman's help could he +ever forget Evelyn. The old bitterness welled up bitter as ever. +"And I thought she was beginning to be forgotten." + +In his youth he had wearied of women as a child wearies of toys. Few +women had outlasted the pleasure of a night, all becoming equally +insipid and tedious; but since he had met Evelyn he had loved no +other. Why did he love her? How was it he could not put her out of +his mind? Why couldn't he accept an Arab girl--Béclère's girl? She +was younger and more beautiful. If she did not belong to Béclère-- +Owen looked up and watched them, and seeing Béclère glance in the +direction of the shepherd, he added, "Or to the shepherd." + +The girl went into the house, and Béclère came down to meet his +guest, apologising for having left him so long alone.... He talked +to him about the beauty of the morning. The rains were over, or +nearly, but very often they began again. + +"_Cella se pent qu'elle ne soit qu'une courte embellie, mais +profitons en_," and they turned to admire the roses. + +"A beautiful girl, the one you were just speaking to." + +"Yes... yes; she is the handsomest in the oasis, and there are many +handsome girls here. The Arab race is beautiful, male and female. +Her brother, for instance, the shepherd--" + +"Her brother," Owen thought. "Ah!" They stopped to watch the +shepherd, a boy of sixteen. "About two years older than his sister," +Owen remarked, and Béclère acquiesced. The boy had begun to play his +flute again. He played at first listlessly, then with all his soul, +and then with extraordinary passion. Owen watched the balance of his +body and arms, and the movement, extraordinarily voluptuous, of his +neck and head. He played on, his breath coming at times so feebly +that there was hardly any sound at all, at other times awaking music +loud and imperative; and the two men stood listening, for how many +minutes they did not know, but for what seemed to them a long while. +Their reverie stopped when the music ceased. It was then that a +dun-coloured dove with a lilac neck flew through the garden and took +refuge in a palm, seen for a moment as she alighted on the flexible +djerrid on a background of blue air. She disappeared into the heart +of the tree; the leaves were again stirred. She cooed once or twice, +and then there was a hush and a stillness in every leaf. + +"You would like to see my property?" + +Owen said he would like to see all the oasis, or as much as they +could see of it in one day without fatiguing themselves. + +"You can see it all in a day, for it is but a small island, about a +thousand Arabs in the villages." + +"So many as that?" + +"Well, there has to be, in order to save ourselves from the predatory +bands which still exist, for, as I daresay you have already learned, +the Arabs are divided into two classes--the agricultural and the +nomadic. We have to be in sufficient numbers to save ourselves from +the nomads, otherwise we should be pillaged and harried from year's +end to year's end--all our crops and camels taken." + +"Border warfare--the same as existed in England in the Middle Ages." + +Béclère agreed that the unsettled vagrant civilisation which existed +in the North of Africa up to 1830--which in 1860 was beginning to +pass away, and the traces of which still survived in the nineties-- +resembled very much the border forays for which Northumberland is +still famous; and, walking through the palm-groves towards the Arab +village, they talked of the Arab race, listening all the while to +the singing of doves and of streams, Owen listless and happy. + +"But I shall remember her again presently, and the stab will be as +bitter as ever!" + +Béclère did not believe that the Arab race was ever as great a race +as we were inclined to give it credit for being. + +"All the same, if it hadn't been for your ancestors, we might have +all been Moslems now," Owen said, stopping to admire what remained +of the race which had conquered Spain and nearly conquered France. +"Now they are outcasts of our civilisation--but what noble outcasts! +That fellow, he is old, and without a corner, perhaps, where to lay +his head, but he walks magnificently in his ragged bournous. He is +poor, but he isn't a beggar; his life is sordid, but it isn't +trivial; he retains his grand walk and his solemn salute; and if he +has never created an art, himself is proof that he isn't without the +artistic sentiment." + +Béclère looked at Owen in surprise, and Owen, thinking to astonish +him, added: + +"His poverty and his filth are sublime; he is a Jew from Amsterdam +painted by Rembrandt, or a Jew from Palestine described by the +authors of the Pentateuch." + +"The Jew is a tougher fellow to deal with; he cannot be eradicated, +but the Arab was very nearly passing away. If he had insisted on +remaining the noble outcast which you admire, he would not have +survived the Red Indian many hundreds of years. I don't contest +whether to lose him would be a profit or a loss, but when +civilisation comes the native race must accept it or extinction." + +"I suppose you're right," Owen answered, "I suppose you're right." + +And they stopped to look at an Arab town; some of it was in the plain +below, some of it ran up the steep hillside, on the summit of which +was a ruined mosque. + +"Why did they choose to build up such a steep hillside?" + +"The oasis is limited, and the plain is devoted to orchards. Look at +the village! If you were to visit their town, you would not find a +street in which a camel could turn round, hardly any windows, and +the doors always half closed. They are still suspicious of us and +anxious to avoid our inquisition. Yes, that is the characteristic of +the Arab, to conceal himself; and his wife, and his business from +us." + +"One can sympathise with the desire to avoid inquisition, and +notwithstanding the genius of your race--no one is more sympathetic +to you than I am--yet it is impossible not to see that your fault is +red tapeism, and that is what the Arab hates. You see I understand." + +"I don't think I am unsympathetic, and the Arabs don't think it. +Perhaps there is no man in Africa who can travel as securely as I +can--even in the Soudan I should be well received--and what other +European could say as much? There must be something of the Arab in +me, otherwise I shouldn't have lived amongst them so long, nor +should I speak Arabic as easily as I do, nor should I look--remember, +you thought I was an Arab." + +"Yes, at first sight." + +The admission was given somewhat unwillingly, not because Owen saw +Béclère differently, he still saw an Arab exterior, but he had begun +to recognise him as a Frenchman. Race characteristics are generally +imaginary; there are, shall we say, twenty millions of Frenchmen in +France, and every one is different; how therefore is it possible to +speak of race characteristics? Still, if one may differentiate at +all between the French and English races (but is there a French and +English race?) we know there is a negro race because it is black-- +however, if there be any difference between England and France, the +difference is that France is more inclined to pedantry than England. +If one admits any race difference, one may admit this one; and, with +such thoughts in his mind, Owen began to perceive Béclère as the +typical French pedagogue, a clever man, one who if he had remained +in Paris would have become _un membre de l'Institut_. + +Béclère, _un membre de l'Institut_, talking to the beautiful girl +whom Owen had seen that morning! Owen smiled a little under his +moustache, and, as there was plenty of time for meditation while +waiting for Tahar to return from Ain Mahdy, he spent a great deal of +time wondering if any sensual relations existed between Béclère and +this girl. Béclère as a lover appeared to him anomalous and +disparate--that is how Béclère would word it himself, but these +pedants were very often serious sensualists. We easily associate +conventional morality with red-tapeism, for it seems impossible to +believe that the stodgy girl who spends her morning in the British +Museum working at the higher mathematics or Sanscrit is likely to +spend her afternoon in bed, yet this is what happens frequently; the +real sensualist is the pedant; "and, if one wants love, the real +genuine article," whispered a thought, "one must seek it among +clergymen's daughters." + +That girl Béclère's mistress! Why not? The thought pleased and amused +him, reconciled him to Béclère, whom he never should have thought +capable of such fine discrimination. But it did not follow that +because Béclère had chosen a beautiful girl to love he was +susceptible to artistic influences, sculpture excepted. Of the other +arts Owen felt instinctively that Béclère knew nothing; indeed, +yester evening, when he, Owen, had spoken of "The Ring," Béclère had +answered that his business in life had not allowed him to cultivate +musical tastes. He had once liked music, but now it interested him +no longer. + +"Tastes atrophy." + +"Of course they do," Owen had answered, and Béclère's knowledge of +himself propitiated Owen, who recognised a clever man in the remark, +a man of many sympathies, though the exterior was prosaic. All the +same Owen would have wished for some music in the evening, and for +some musical assistance, for while waiting for the eagles to arrive +he spent his time thinking how he might write the songs he heard +every morning among the palm-trees; written down they did not seem +nearly as original as they did on the lips, and Owen suspected his +notation to be deficient. A more skilful musician would be able to +get more of these rhythms on paper than he had been able to do, and +he regretted his failures, for it would be interesting to bring home +some copies of these songs just to show... + +But he would never see her again, so what was the good of writing +down these songs? What was the good of anything? A strange thing +life is, and he paused to consider how the slightest event, the fact +that he was unable to give complete expression on paper to an Arab +rhythm, brought the old pain back again, and every pang of it. Even +the society of Béclère was answerable for his suffering, and he +thought how he must go away and travel again; only open solitude and +wandering with rough men could still his pain; primitive Nature was +the one balm.... That fellow Tahar--why did he delay? Owen thought +of the eagles, the awful bird pursuing the fleeting deer, and +himself riding in pursuit. This was the life that would cure him-- +how soon? In three months? in six? in ten years? It would be strange +if he were to become a bedouin for love of her, and he walked on +thinking how they had lain together one night listening to the +silence, hearing nothing but an acacia moving outside their window. +Béclère was coming towards him and the vision vanished. + +"No news of Tahar yet?" + +"No; you are forgetting that we are living in an oasis, where letters +are not delivered, and where we bring news of ourselves, and where +no news is understood to mean that the spring we were hastening +towards was dry, or that a sand-storm--" + +"Sand-storms are rare at this season of the year." + +"An old bedouin like Tahar is safe enough. To-morrow or the day +after... but I see you are impatient, you are growing tired of my +company." + +Owen assured Béclère he was mistaken, only a sedentary life was +impossible to him, and he was anxious to be off again. + +"So there is something of the wanderer in you, for no business calls +you." + +"No, my agent manages everything for me; it is, I suppose, mere +restlessness." And Owen spoke of going in quest of Tahar. + +"To pass him again in the desert," and they went towards the point +where they might watch for Tahar, Béclère knowing by the sun the +direction in which to look. There was no route, nothing in the empty +space extending from their feet to the horizon--a line inscribed +across the empty sky--nothing to be seen although the sun hung in +the middle of the sky, the rays falling everywhere; it would have +seemed that the smallest object should be visible, but this was not +so--there was nothing. Even when he strained his eyes Owen could not +distinguish which was sand, which was earth, which was stone, even +the colour of the emptiness was undecided. Was it dun? Was it tawny? +Striving to express himself, Owen could find nothing more explicit +to say than that the colour of the desert was the colour of +emptiness, and they sat down trying to talk of falconry. But it was +impossible to talk in front of this trackless plain, _cela coupe la +parole_, flowing away to the south, to the west, to the east, ending-- +it was impossible to imagine it ending anywhere, no more than we +can imagine the ends of the sky; and the desert conveyed the same +impression of loneliness--in a small way, of course--as the great +darkness of the sky; "for the sky," Owen said, half to himself, half +to his companion, "is dark and cold the moment one gets beyond the +atmosphere of the earth." + +"The desert is, at all events, warm," Béclère interjected. + +Hot, trackless spaces, burning solitudes through which nobody ever +went or came. It was the silence that frightened Owen; not even in +the forest, in the dark solitudes avoided by the birds, is there +silence. There is a wind among the tree-tops, and when the wind is +still the branches sway a little; there is nearly always a swaying +among the branches, and even when there is none, the falling of some +giant too old to subsist longer breaks the silence, frightens the +wild beast, who retires growling. The sea conveys the same sense of +primal solitude as the forest, but it is less silent; the sea tears +among the rocks as if it would destroy the land, but when its rage +is over the sea laughs, and leaps, and caresses, and the day after +fawns upon the land, drawing itself up like a woman to her lover, as +voluptuously. Nowhere on earth only in the desert, is there silence; +even in the tomb there are worms, but in some parts of the desert +there are not even worms, the body dries into dust without decaying. +Owen imagined the resignation of the wanderer who finds no water at +the spring, and lies down to die amid the mighty indifference of +sterile Nature; and breaking the silence, somewhat against his will, +he communicated his thoughts to Béclère, that an unhappy man who +dare not take his life could not do better than to lose himself in +the desert. Death would come easily, for seeing nothing in front of +him but an empty horizon, nothing above him but a blank sky, and for +a little shelter a sand dune, which the wind created yesterday and +will uncreate to-morrow he would come to understand all that he need +know regarding his transitory and unimportant life. Does Nature care +whether we live or die? We have heard often that she cares not a jot +for the individual.... But does she care for the race--for mankind +more than for beastkind? His intelligence she smiles at, concerned +with the lizard as much as with the author of "The Ring." Does she +care for either? After all, what is Nature? We use words, but words +mean so little. What do we mean when we speak of Nature? Where does +Nature begin? Where does she end? And God? We talk of God, and we do +not know whether he sleeps, or drinks, or eats, whether he wears +clothes or goes naked; Moses saw his hinder parts, and he used to be +jealous and revengeful; but as man grows merciful God grows merciful +with him, we make him to our own likeness, and spend a great deal of +money on the making. + +"Yes, God is a great expense, but government would be impossible +without him." + +Béclère's answer jarred Owen's mood a little, without breaking it, +however, and he continued to talk of how words like "Nature," and +"God," and "Liberty" are on every lip, yet none is able to define +their meaning. Liberty he instanced as a word around which poems +have been written, "yet no poet could tell what he was writing +about; at best we can only say of liberty that we must surrender +something to gain something; in other words, liberty is a compromise, +for no one can be free to obey every impulse the moment one enters +into his being. + +"Good God, Béclère! it is terrible to think one knows nothing, and +life, like the desert, is full of solitude." + +Béclère did not answer, and, forgetful that it was impossible to +answer a cry of anguish, Owen began to suspect Béclère of thoughts +regarding the perfectibility of mankind, of thinking that with +patience and more perfect administration, &c. But Béclère was +thinking nothing of the kind; he was wondering what sort of reason +could have sent Owen out of England. Some desperate love affair +perhaps, his wife may have run away from him. But he did not try to +draw Owen into confidence, speaking instead of falconry and Tahar's +arrival, which could not be much longer delayed. + +"After all, if you had not missed him in the desert we never should +have known each other." + +"So much was gained, and if you ever come to England--" Béclère +smiled. "So you think we shall never meet again, and that we are +talking out our last talk on the edge of this gulf of sand?" + +"We shall meet again if you come to the desert to hunt with eagles." + +"But you will not come to England?" Béclère did not think it +necessary to answer. "But in France? You will return to France some +day?" + +"Why should I? Whom do I know in France? _Je ne suis plus un des +vôtres. Qu'irais-je y faire?_ But we are not talking for the last +time, Tahar has yet to arrive, he will be here to-morrow and we'll +go hunting; and after our hunting I hope to induce you to stop some +while longer. You see, you haven't seen the desert; the desert isn't +the desert in spring. To see the desert you will have to stop till +July. This sea of sand will then be a ring of fire, and that sky, +now so mild, will be dark blue and the sun will hang like a furnace +in the midst of it. Stay here even till May and you will see the +summer, _chez lui_." + + + +X + +At the beginning of July Owen appeared on the frontiers of Egypt +shrieking for a drink of clean water, and saying that the desire to +drink clean water out of a glass represented everything he had to +say for the moment about the desert; all the same, he continued to +tell of fetid, stale, putrid wells, and of the haunting terror with +which the Saharian starts in the morning lest he should find no +water at the nearest watering-place, only a green scum fouled by the +staling of horses and mules I Owen was as plain-spoken as +Shakespeare, so Harding said once, defending his friend's use of the +word "sweat" instead of "perspiration." There was no doubt the +language was deteriorating, becoming euphonistic; everybody was a +euphonist except Owen, who talked of his belly openly, blurting out +that he had vomited when he should have said he had been sick. There +were occasions when Harding did not spare Owen and laughed at his +peculiarities; but there was always a certain friendliness in his +malice, and Owen admired Harding's intelligence and looked forward +to a long evening with him almost as much as he had looked forward +to a drink of clean water. "It will be delightful to talk again to +somebody who has seen a picture and read a book," he said, leaning +over the taff-rail of the steamer. But this dinner did not happen +the day he arrived in London--Harding was out of town! And Owen +cursed his luck as he walked out of the doorway in Victoria Street. +"Staying with friends in the country!" he muttered. "Good God! will +he never weary of those country houses, tedious beyond measure--with +or without adultery," he chuckled as he walked back to his club +thinking out a full-length portrait of his friend--a small man with +high shoulders, a large overhanging forehead, walking on thin legs +like one on stilts. But Harding's looks mattered little; what people +sought Harding for was not for his personal appearance, nor even for +his writings, though they were excellent, but for his culture. A +curious, clandestine little man with a warm heart despite the +exterior. Owen had seen Harding's eyes nil with tears and his voice +tremble when he recited a beautiful passage of English poetry; a +passionate nature, too, for Harding would fight fiercely for his +ideas, and his life had been lived in accordance with his beliefs. As +the years advanced his imaginative writing had become perhaps a +little didactic; his culture had become more noticeable--Owen +laughed: it pleased him to caricature his friends--and he thought of +the stream of culture which every hostess could turn on when Harding +was her guest. The phrase pleased him: a stream of culture flowing +down the white napery of every country house in England, for Harding +travelled from one to another. Owen had seen him laying his plans at +Nice, beginning his year as an old woman begins a stocking (setting +up the stitches) by writing to Lady So-and-so, saying he was coming +back to England at a certain time. Of course Lady So-and-so would +ask him to stay with her. Then Harding would write to the nearest +neighbour, saying, "I am staying with So-and-so for a week and shall +be going on to the north the week after next--now would it be +putting you to too much trouble if I were to spend the interval with +you?" News of these visits would soon get about, and would suggest +to another neighbour that she might ask him for a week. Harding +would perhaps answer her that he could not come for a week, but if +she would allow him to come for a fortnight he would be very glad +because then he would be able to get on to Mrs.----. In a very short +time January, February, March, and April would be allotted; and Owen +imagined Harding walking under immemorial elms gladdened by great +expanses of park and pleased in the contemplation of swards which +had been rolled for at least a thousand years. "A castellated wall, +a rampart, the remains of a moat, a turreted chamber must stir him +as the heart of the war horse is said to be stirred by a trumpet. He +demands a spire at least of his hostess; and names with a Saxon ring +in them, names recalling deeds of Norman chivalry awaken remote +sympathies, inherited perhaps; sonorous titles, though they be new +ones, are better than plain Mr. and Mrs.; 'ladyship' and 'lordship' +are always pleasing in his ears, and an elaborate escutcheon more +beautiful than a rose. After all, why not admire the things of a +thousand years ago as well as those of yesterday?" Owen continued to +think of Harding's admiration of the past. "It has nothing in common +with the vulgar tuft-hunter, deeply interested in the peerage, +anxious to get on. Harding's admiration of the aristocracy is part +of himself; it proceeds from hierarchical instinct and love of +order. He sees life flowing down the ages, each class separate, each +class dependent upon the other, a homogeneous whole, beautiful on +account of the harmony of the different parts, each melody going +different ways but contributing to the general harmony. He sees life +as classes; tradition is the breath of his nostrils, symbol the +delight of his eyes." Owen's thoughts divagated suddenly, and he +thought of the pain Harding would experience were he suddenly flung +into Bohemian society. He might find great talents there--but even +genius would not compensate him for disorder and licence. The dinner +might be excellent, but he would find no pleasure in it if the host +wore a painting jacket; a spot of ink on the shirt cuff would +extinguish his appetite, and a parlourmaid distress him, three +footmen induce pleasant ease of thought. + +"A man born out of his time, in whom the disintegration of custom, +the fusing of the classes, produces an inner torment." And wondering +how he bore it, Owen began to think of an end for Harding, deciding +that sullen despair would take possession of him if the House of +Lords were seriously threatened. He would leave some seat of ancient +story, and proceed towards the midlands, seeking some blast furnace +wherein to throw himself. "A sort of modern Empedocles." And Owen +laughed aloud, for he was very much amused at his interpretation of +his friend's character. It was one which he did not think even his +friend would resent. "On the contrary, it would amuse him." And he +picked up a newspaper from the club table. + +The first words he saw were "Evelyn Innes in America." "So she has +gone back to the stage, and without writing to me...." He sank back +in his armchair lost in a great bitterness but without resentment. +Next day, acting on a sudden resolve, he started for New York. But +he did not remain there very long, only a few days, returning to +England, exasperated, maddened against himself, unable to explain +the cause of his misfortune to Harding. + +"I suppose you'll use it in a novel some day. I don't care if you do, +but you will never be able to explain how it happened." Harding +followed his friend into the study, thinking of the excellent cigar +which would be given to him more perhaps than of the story--a man +who suddenly finds his will paralysed. "It was just that, paralysis +of will, for after dinner when the time came to go to her I sat +thinking of her, unable to get out of my chair, saying to myself, 'In +five minutes, in five minutes,' and as the minutes went by I looked +at the clock, saying to myself, 'If I don't go now I shall be late.' +I can't explain, but it was almost a relief when I found it was too +late." + +"What I don't understand is why you didn't go next day?" + +"Nor do I; for naturally I wanted to see her, only I couldn't go, +something held me back, and in despair I returned to England, unable +to endure the strain. There you have it, Harding; don't ask me any +more for I can't tell you any more. During the voyage I was near out +of my mind, and could have thrown myself overboard, yet I couldn't +go to see her, though she is the only person I really care to see. +Of course friends are different," he added apologetically. + +"And you could not forget her in the desert?" "No, it only made me +worse. Amid the sands her image would appear more distinct than +ever. Now why is it that one loves one woman more than another, and +what is there in this woman that enchants me, and from whom I cannot +escape in thought?... Yet I didn't go to see her in New York." + +"But would you go if she wrote to you?" "Oh, if she wrote--that would +be different, but she never will. There is no doubt, Harding, love +is a sort of madness, and it takes every man; none can look into his +life without finding that at some time or another he was mad; the +only thing is that it has taken me rather badly, and cure seems +farther off than ever. Why is it, Harding, that a man should love +one woman so much more than another? It certainly isn't because she +has got a prettier face, or a more perfect figure, or a more sensual +temperament; for there is no end to pretty faces, perfect figures, +and sensual temperaments. Evelyn was pretty well furnished with +these things. I am prepared to admit that she was, but of course +there are more beautiful women and more sensual women, more charming +women, cleverer women--I suppose there are--yet no one ever charmed +me, enchanted me--that is the word--like this woman, and I can find +no reason for the enchantment in her or in myself, only this, that +she represents more of the divine essence out of which all things +have come than any other woman." + +"The divine essence?" + +"Well, one has to use these words in order to be understood; but you +know what I mean, Harding, the mystery lying behind all phenomena, the +Breath, esoteric philosophers would say, out of which all things +came, which drew the stars in the beginning out of chaos, creating +myriads of things or the appearance of different things, for there +is only one thing. That is how the mystics talk--isn't it? You know +more about them than I do. If to every man some woman represented +more of this impulse than any other woman, he would be unable to +separate himself from her; she would always be a light in his life +which he would follow, a light in the mind--that is what Evelyn is +to me; I never understood it before, it is only lately--" + +"The desert has turned you into a poet, I see, into a mystic." + +"Hardly that; but in the desert there are long hours and nothing-- +only thought; one has to think, if one isn't a bedouin, just to save +oneself from going mad: the empty spaces, the solitude, the sun! One +of these days when you have finished your books, I should like to +write one with you; my impressions of the desert as I rode from +oasis to oasis, seeking Tahar--" + +"Who was he?" + +"He was the man who had the eagles. Haven't I told you already how--?" + +"Yes, yes, Asher, but tell me did you meet Tahar, and did you see +gazelles hunted?" + +"Yes, and larger deer. My first idea was hawking and we went to a +lake. One of these days I must tell you about that lake, about its +wild fowl, about the buried city and the heron which was killed. We +found it among Roman inscriptions. But to tell of these things--my +goodness, Harding, it would take hours!" + +"Don't try, Asher. Tell me about the gazelles." + +"How we went from oasis to oasis in quest of this man who always +eluded us, meeting him at last in Béclère's oasis. But you haven't +heard about Béclère's, the proprietor, you might say, of one oasis; +he discovered a Roman well, and added thousands of acres; but if I +began to tell about Béclère's we should be here till midnight." + +"I should like to hear about the gazelles first." + +"I never knew you cared so much for sport, Harding; I thought you +would be more interested in the desert itself, and in Béclère's. It +spoils a story to cut it down to a mere sporting episode. There +doesn't seem to be anything to tell now except I tell it at length: +those great birds, nearly three feet high, with long heads like +javelins, and round, clear eyes, and lank bodies, feathered thighs, +and talons that find out instinctively the vital parts, the heart and +the liver; the bird moves up seeking these. And that is what is so +terrible, the cruel instinct which makes every life conditional on +another's death. We live upon dead things, cooked or uncooked." + +"But how are these birds carried?" + +"That is what I asked myself all the way across the desert. The hawks +are carried on the wrist, but a bird three feet high cannot be +carried on the wrist. The eagle is carried on the pummel of the +saddle." + +"And how are the gazelles taken and the eagles recaptured?" + +"They answer to the lure just like a hawk. The gazelles come down +into the desert after the rains to feed among the low bushes, +rosemary and lavender. In the plain, of course, they have no chance, +the bird overtakes them at once; fleet as they are, wings are +fleeter, and they are over-taken with incredible ease, the bird just +flutters after them. But the hunt is more interesting when there are +large rocks between which the gazelles can take cover; then the bird +will alight on the rock and wait for the deer to be driven out, and +the deer dreads the eagle so much that sometimes they won't leave +the rocks, and we pick them up in our hands. The instinct of the +eagle is extraordinary, as you will see; the first gazelle was a +doe, and the eagle swept on in front, and, turning rapidly, flew +straight into the hind's face, the talons gathered up ready to +strangle her. But the buck will sometimes show fight, and, not caring +to face the horns, the eagle will avoid a frontal attack and sweep +round in the rear, attacking the buck in the quarters and riding him +to death, just as a goshawk rides a rabbit, seeking out all the +while the vital parts." + +"But gazelles are such small deer; now it would be more interesting +with larger deer." + +"We killed some larger deer and some sheep, wild sheep I mean, or +goats, it is hard to say which they are; the courage of the birds is +extraordinary, they will attack almost anything, driving the sheep +headlong over the precipices. We caught many a fox. The eagle +strikes the fox with one talon, reserving the other to clutch the +fox's throat when he turns round to bite. Eagles will attack wolves; +wolves are hunted in Mongolia with eagles, the fight must be +extraordinary. One of these days I must go there." + +"If Evelyn Innes doesn't return to you." + +"One must do something," Owen answered. + +"Life would be too tedious if one were not doing something. Have +another cigarette, Harding." And he went to the table and took one +out of a silver box. "Do have one; it comes out of her box, she gave +me this box. You haven't seen the inscription, have you?" And +Harding had to get up and read it; he did this with a lack of +enthusiasm and interest which annoyed Owen, but which did not +prevent him from going to the escritoire and saying, "And in this +pigeon-hole I keep her letters, eight hundred and fifty-three, +extending over a period of ten years. How many letters would that be +a year, Harding?" + +"My dear Asher, I never could calculate anything." "Well, let us +see." Owen took a pencil and did the sum, irritating Harding, who +under his moustache wondered how anybody could be so self-centred, +so blind to the picture he presented. "Eighty-five letters a year, +Harding, more than one a week; that is a pretty good average, for +when I saw her every day I didn't write to her." + +"I should have thought you would write sometimes." + +"Yes, sometimes we used to send each other notes." + +"Will he never cease talking of her?" Harding said to himself; and, +tempted by curiosity, he got up, lighted another cigarette, and sat +down, determined to wait and see. Owen continued talking for the +next half-hour. "True, he hasn't had an opportunity of speaking to +anybody about her for the last year, and is letting it all off upon +me." + +"There is her portrait, Harding; you like it, don't you?" + +Harding breathed again under his moustache. The portrait brought a +new interest into the conversation, for it was a beautiful picture. +A bright face which seemed to have been breathed into a grey +background--a grey so beautiful, Harding had once written, that +every ray of sunlight that came into the room awoke a melody and a +harmony in it, and held the eye subjugated and enchanted. Out of a +grey and a rose tint a permanent music had been made... and, being +much less complete than an old master, it never satisfied. In this +picture there were not one but a hundred pictures. To hang it in a +different place in the room was to recreate it; it never was the +same, whereas the complete portraits of the old masters have this +fault--that they never rise above themselves. But a ray of light set +Evelyn's portrait singing like a skylark--background, face, hair, +dress--cadenza upon cadenza. When the blinds were let down, the music +became graver, and the strain almost a religious one. And these +changes in the portrait were like Evelyn herself, for she varied a +good deal, as Owen had often remarked to Harding; for one reason or +for some other--no matter the reason: suffice it to say that the +picture would be like her when the gold had faded from her hair and +no pair of stays would discover her hips. And now, sitting looking at +it, Owen remembered the seeming accident which had inspired him to +bring Evelyn to see the great painter whose genius it had been to +Owen's credit to recognise always. One morning in the studio Evelyn +had happened to sit on the edge of a chair; the painter had once +seen her in the same attitude by the side of her accompanist, and he +had told her not to move, and had gone for her grey shawl and placed +it upon her shoulders. A friend of Owen's declared the portrait to be +that of a housekeeper on account of the shawl--a strange article of +dress, difficult to associate with a romantic singer. All the same, +Evelyn was very probable in this picture; her past and her future +were in this disconcerting compound of the commonplace and the rare; +and the confusion which this picture created in the minds of Owen's +friends was aggravated by the strange elliptical execution. Owen +admitted the drawing to be not altogether grammatical; one eye was a +little lower than the other, but the eyes were beautifully drawn--the +right eye, for instance, and without the help of any shadow. + +"Look at the face," he said to Harding, "achieved with shadow and +light, the light faintly graduated with a delicate shade of rose." + +He compared the face to a jewel the most beautiful in the world, and +the background to eighteenth-century watered silk. + +"The painter conjures," Harding said, "and she rises out of that grey +background." + +"Quite so, Harding." + +Owen sat, his eyes fixed on the picture, his thoughts far away, +thinking that it would be better, perhaps, if he never saw her +again. Not to see her again! The words sounded very gloomy; for he +was thinking of his ancestors at Riversdale, in their tomb, and +himself going down to join them. + +"I think, Asher, it is getting late; I must go now." + +The friends bade each other good-night among the footmen who closed +the front door. + +In his great, lonely bedroom, full of tall mahogany furniture, Owen +lay down; and he asked himself how it was that he had left America +without seeing her. His journey to America was one of the uncanniest +things that had ever happened in his life. Something seemed to have +kept him from her, and it was impossible for him to determine what +that thing was, whether some sudden weakening of the will in himself +or some spiritual agency. But to believe in the transference of human +thought, and that the nuns could influence his action at three +thousand miles distance, seemed as if he were dropping into some +base superstition. Between sleeping and waking a thought emerged +which kept him awake till morning: "Why had Evelyn returned to the +stage?" When he saw her last at Thornton Grange her retirement +seemed to be definitely fixed. Nothing he could say had been able to +move her. She was going to retire from the stage.... But she had not +done so. Now, who had persuaded her? Was it Ulick Dean? Were these +two in America together? The thought of Evelyn in New York with +Ulick Dean, going to the theatre with her, Ulick sitting in the +stalls, listening, just as he, Owen, had listened to her, became +unendurable; he must have news of her; only from her father could he +get reliable news. So he went to Dulwich, uncertain if he should +send in his card begging for an interview, or if he should just push +past the servant into the music-room, always supposing Innes were at +home. + +"Mr. Innes is at home," the servant-girl answered. + +"Is he in the music-room?" + +"Yes, sir. What name?" + +"No name is necessary. I will announce myself," and he pushed past +the girl.... "Excuse me, Mr. Innes, for coming into your house so +abruptly, but I was afraid you mightn't see me if I sent in my name, +and it would be impossible for me to go back to London without +seeing you. You don't know me." + +"I do. You are Sir Owen Asher." + +"Yes, and have come because I can't live any longer without having +some news of Evelyn. You know my story--how she sent me away. There +is nothing to tell you; she has been here, I know, and has told you +everything. But perhaps you don't know I have just come from the +desert, having gone there hoping to forget her, and have come out of +the desert uncured. You will tell me where she is, won't you?" + +Innes did not answer for some while. + +"My daughter went to America." + +"Yes, I know that. I have just come from there, but I could not see +her. The last time we met was at Thornton Grange, and she told me +she had decided definitely to leave the stage. Now, why should she +have gone back to the stage? That is what I have come to ask you." + +This tall, thin, elderly man, impulsive as a child, wearing his heart +on his sleeve, crying before him like a little child, moved Innes's +contempt as much as it did his pity. "All the same he is suffering, +and it is clear that he loves her very deeply." So perforce he had +to answer that Evelyn had gone to America against the advice of her +confessor because the Wimbledon nuns wanted money. + +"Gone to sing for those nuns!" Owen shrieked. And for three minutes +he blasphemed in the silence of the old music-room, Innes watching +him, amazed that any man should so completely forget himself. How +could she have loved him? + +"She is returning next week; that is all I know of her movements... +Sir Owen Asher." + +"Returning next week! But what does it matter to me whether she +returns or not? She won't see me. Do you think she will, Mr. Innes?" + +"I cannot discuss these matters with you, Sir Owen," and Innes took +up his pen as if anxious for Sir Owen to leave the room so that he +might go on copying. Owen noticed this, but it was impossible for +him to leave the room. For the last twelve years he had been +thinking about Innes, and wanted to tell him how Evelyn had been +loved, and he wanted to air his hatred of religious orders and +religion in general. + +"I am afraid I am disturbing you, but I can't help; it," and he +dropped into a chair. "You have no idea, Mr. Innes, how I loved your +daughter." + +"She always speaks of you very well, never laying any blame upon +you--I will say that." + +"She is a truthful woman. That is the one thing that can be said." + +Innes nodded a sort of acquiescence to this appreciation of his +daughter's character; and Owen could not resist the temptation to +try to take Evelyn's father into his confidence, he had been so long +anxious for this talk. + +"We have all been in love, you see; your love story is a little +farther back than mine. We all know the bitterness of it--don't we?" + +Innes admitted that to know the bitterness of love and its sweetness +is the common lot of all men. The conversation dropped again, and +Owen felt there was to be no unbosoming of himself that afternoon. + +"The room has not changed. Twelve years ago I saw those old +instruments for the first time. Not one, I think, has disappeared. +It was here that I first heard Ferrabosco's pavane." + +Innes remembered the pavane quite well, but refused to allow the +conversation to digress into a description of Evelyn's playing of +the _viola da gamba_. But if they were not to talk about Evelyn +there was no use tarrying any longer in Dulwich; he had learned all +the old man knew about his daughter. He got up.... At that moment +the door opened and the servant announced Mr. Ulick Dean. + +"How do you do, Mr. Innes?" Ulick said, glancing at Owen; and a +suspicion crossed his mind that the tall man with small, inquisitive +eyes who stood watching him must be Owen Asher, hoping that it was +not so, and, at the same time, curious to make his predecessor's +acquaintance; he admitted his curiosity as soon as Innes introduced +him. + +"The moment I saw you, Sir Owen, I guessed that it must be you. I had +heard so much about you, you see, and your appearance is so +distinctive." + +These last words dissipated the gloom upon Owen's face--it is always +pleasing to think that one is distinctive. And turning from Sir Owen +to Innes, Ulick told him how, finding himself in London, he had +availed himself of the opportunity to run down to see him. Owen sat +criticising, watching him rather cynically, interested in his youth +and in his thick, rebellious hair, flowing upwards from a white +forehead. The full-fleshed face, lit with nervous, grey eyes, +reminded Owen of a Roman bust. "A young Roman emperor," he said to +himself, and he seemed to understand Evelyn's love of Ulick. Would +that she had continued to love this young pagan! Far better than to +have been duped by that grey, skinny Christian. And he listened to +Ulick, admiring his independent thought, his flashes of wit. + +Ulick was telling stories of an opera company to which it was likely +he would be appointed secretary. A very unlikely thing indeed to +happen, Owen thought, if the company were assembled outside the +windows, within hearing of the stories which Ulick was telling about +them. Very amusing were the young man's anecdotes and comments, but +it seemed to Owen as if he would never cease talking; and Innes, +though seeming to enjoy the young man's wit, seemed to feel with Owen +that something must be done to bring it to an end. + +"We shall be here all the afternoon listening to you, Ulick. I don't +know if Sir Owen has anything else to do, but I have some parts to +copy; there is a rehearsal to-night." + +Ulick's manner at once grew so serious and formal that Innes feared +he had offended him, and then Owen suddenly realised that they were +both being sent away. In the street they must part, that was Owen's +intention, but before he could utter it Ulick begged of him to wait +a second, for he had forgotten his gloves. Without waiting for an +answer he ran back to the house, leaving Uwen standing on the +pavement, asking himself if he should wait for this impertinent +young man, who took it for granted that he would. + +"You have got your gloves," he said, looking disapprovingly at the +tight kid gloves which Ulick was forcing over his fingers. "Do you +remember the way? As well as I remember, one turns to the right." + +"Yes, to the right." And talking of the old music, of harpsichords +and viols, they walked on together till they heard the whistle of +the train. + +"We have just missed our train." + +There was no use running, and there was no other train for half an +hour. + +"The waiting here will be intolerable," Owen said. "If you would care +for a walk, we might go as far as Peckham. To walk to London would +be too far, though, indeed, it would do both of us good." + +"Yes, the evening is fine--why not walk to London? We can inquire out +the way as we go." + + + +XI + +"A Curious accident our meeting at Innes's." + +"A lucky one for me. Far more pleasant living in this house than in +that horrible hotel." + +Owen was lying back in an armchair, indulging in sentimental +and fatalistic dreams, and did not like this materialistic +interpretation of his invitation to Ulick to come to stay with him +at Berkeley Square. He wished to see the hand of Providence in +everything that concerned himself and Evelyn, and the meeting with +this young man seemed to point to something more than the young man's +comfort. + +"Looked at from another side, our meeting was unlucky. If you hadn't +come in, Innes would have told me more about Evelyn. She must have +an address in London, and he must know it." + +"That doesn't seem so sure. She may intend to live in Dulwich when +she returns from America." + +"I can't see her living with her father; even the nuns seem more +probable. I wonder how it was that all this time you and she never +ran across each other. Did you never write to her?" + +"No; I was abroad a great deal. And, besides, I knew she didn't want +to see me, so what was the good in forcing myself upon her?" + +It was difficult for Owen to reprove Ulick for having left Evelyn to +her own devices. Had he not done so himself? Still, he felt that if +he had remained in England, he would not have been so indifferent; +and he followed his guest across the great tessellated hall towards +the dining-room in front of a splendid servitude. + +The footmen drew back their chairs so that they might sit down with +the least inconvenience possible; and dinner at Berkeley Square +reminded Ulick of some mysterious religious ceremony; he ate, +overawed by the great butler--there was something colossal, +Egyptian, hierarchic about him, and Ulick could not understand how +it was that Sir Owen was not more impressed. + +"Habit," he said to himself. + +At one end of the room there was a great gold screen, and "in a dim, +religious light" the impression deepened; passing from ancient +Thebes to modern France, Ulick thought of a great cathedral. The +celebrant, the deacon and the subdeacon were represented by first +and second footmen, the third footman, who never left the sideboard, +he compared to the acolyte, the voice of the great butler proposing +different wines had a ritualistic ring in it; and, amused by his +conception of dinner in Berkeley Square, Ulick admired Owen's dress. +He wore a black velvet coat, trousers, and slippers. His white +frilled shirt and his pearl studs reminded Ulick of his own plain +shirt with only one stud, and he suspected vulgarity in a single +stud, for it was convenient, and would therefore appeal to waiters +and the middle classes. He must do something on the morrow to redeem +his appearance, and he noticed Owen's cuffs and sleeve-links, which +were superior to his own; and Owen's hands, they, too, were +superior--well-shaped, bony hands, with reddish hair growing about +the knuckles. Owen's nails were beautifully trimmed, and Ulick +determined to go to a manicurist on the morrow. A delicious perfume +emerged when Owen drew his handkerchief from his coat pocket; and all +this personal care reminded Ulick of that time long ago when Owen was +Evelyn's lover and travelled with her from capital to capital, +hearing her sing everywhere. "Now he will never see her again," he +thought, as he followed Owen back to his study, hoping to persuade +him into telling the story of how he had gone down to Dulwich to +write a criticism of Innes's concert, and how he had at once +recognised that Evelyn had a beautiful voice, and would certainly win +a high position on the lyric stage if she studied for it. + +It was a solace to Owen's burdened heart to find somebody who would +listen to him, and he talked on and on, telling of the day he and +Evelyn had gone to Madame Savelli, and how he had had to leave Paris +soon after, for his presence distracted Evelyn's attention from her +singing-lessons. "In a year," Madame Savelli had said, "I will make +something wonderful of her, Sir Owen, if you will only go away, and +not come back for six months." + +"He lives in recollection of that time," Ulick said to himself, "that +is his life; the ten years he spent with her are his life, the rest +counts for nothing." A moment after Owen was comparing himself to a +man wandering in the twilight who suddenly finds a lamp: "A lamp +that will never burn out," Ulick said to himself. "He will take that +lamp into the tomb with him." + +"But I must read you the notices." And going to an escritoire covered +with ormolu--one of those pieces of French furniture which cost +hundreds of pounds--he took out a bundle of Evelyn's notices. "The +most interesting," he said, "were the first notices--before the +critics had made up their mind about her." + +He stopped in his untying of the parcel to tell Ulick about his +journey to Brussels to hear her sing. + +"You see, I had broken my leg out hunting, and there was a question +whether I should be able to get there in time. Imagine my annoyance +on being told I must not speak to her." + +"Who told you that?" + +"Madame Savelli." + +"Oh, I understand I You arrived the very day of her first +appearance?" + +Owen threw up his head and began reading the notices. + +"They are all the same," he said, after reading half a dozen, and +Ulick felt relieved. "But stay, this one is different," and the long +slip dismayed Ulick, who could not feel much interest in the +impression that Evelyn had created as Elsa--he did not know how many +years ago. + +"'Miss Innes is a tall, graceful woman, who crosses the stage with +slow, harmonious movements--any slight quickening of her step +awakening a sense of foreboding in the spectator. Her eyes, too, are +of great avail, and the moment she comes on the stage one is +attracted by their strangeness--grave, mysterious, earnest eyes, +which smile rarely; but when they do smile happiness seems to mount +up from within, illuminating her life from end to end. She will never +be unhappy again, one thinks. It is with her smile she recompenses +her champion knight when he lays low Telramund, and it is with her +smile she wins his love--and ours. We regret, for her sake, there +are so few smiles in Wagner: very few indeed--not one in 'Senta' nor +in 'Elizabeth.'" The newspaper cutting slipped from Owen's hand, and +he talked for a long time about her walk and her smile, and then +about her "Iphigenia," which he declared to be one of the most +beautiful performances ever seen, her personality lending itself to +the incarnation of this Greek idea of fate and self-sacrifice. But +Gluck's music was, in Owen's opinion, old-fashioned even at the time +it was written--containing beautiful things, of course, but somewhat +stiff in the joints, lacking the clear insight and direct expression +of Beethoven's. "One man used to write about her very well, and +seemed to understand her better than any other. And writing about +this performance he says--Now, if I could find you his article." The +search proved a long one, but as it was about to be abandoned Owen +turned up the cutting he was in search of. + +"'Her nature intended her for the representation of ideal heroines +whose love is pure, and it does not allow her to depict the violence +of physical passion and the delirium of the senses. She is an artist +of the peaks, whose feet may not descend into the plain and follow +its ignominious route,' And then here: 'He who has seen her as the +spotless spouse of the son of Parsifal, standing by the window, has +assisted at the mystery of the chaste soul awaiting the coming of +her predestined lover,' And 'He who has seen her as Elizabeth, +ascending the hillside, has felt the nostalgia of the skies awaken +in his heart,' Then he goes on to say that her special genius and +her antecedents led her to 'Fidelio,' and designed her as the +perfect embodiment of Leonore's soul--that pure, beautiful soul made +wholly of sacrifice and love,' But you never saw her as Leonore so +you can form no idea of what she really was," + +"I will read you what she wrote when she was studying 'Fidelio': +'Beethoven's music has nothing in common with the passion of the +flesh; it lives in the realms of noble affections, pity, tenderness, +love, spiritual yearnings for the life beyond the world, and its joy +in the external world is as innocent as a happy child's. It is in +this sense classical--it lives and loves and breathes in spheres of +feeling and thought removed from the ordinary life of men. Wagner's +later work, if we except some scenes from "The Ring"--notably the +scenes between Wotan and Brunnhilde--is nearer to the life of the +senses; its humanity is fresh in us, deep as Brunnhilde's; but +essential man lives in the spirit. The desire of the flesh is more +necessary to the life of the world than the aspirations of the soul, +yet the aspirations of the soul are more human. The root is more +necessary to the plant than its flower, but it is by the flower and +not by the root that we know it." + +"Is it not amazing that a woman who could think like that should be +capable of flinging up her art--the art which I gave her--on account +of the preaching of that wooden-headed Mostyn?" Sitting down +suddenly he opened a drawer, and, taking out her photograph, he +said: "Here she is as Leonore, but you should have seen her in the +part. The photograph gives no idea whatever; you haven't seen her +picture. Come, let me show you her picture: one of the most beautiful +pictures that ---- ever painted; the most beautiful in the room, and +there are many beautiful things in this room. Isn't it extraordinary +that a woman so beautiful, so gifted, so enchanting, so intended by +life for life should be taken with the religious idea suddenly? She +has gone mad without doubt. A woman who could do the things that she +could do to pass over to religion, to scapulars, rosaries, +indulgencies! My God! my God!" and he fell back in his armchair, and +did not speak again for a long time. Getting up suddenly, he said, +"If you want to smoke any more there are cigars on the table; I am +going to bed." + +"Well, it is hard upon him," Ulick said as he took a cigar; and +lighting his candle, he wandered up the great green staircase by +himself, seeking the room he had been given at the end of one of the +long corridors. + + + +XII + +"Did it ever occur to you," Owen said one evening, as the men sat +smoking after dinner, after the servant had brought in the whisky +and seltzer, between eleven and twelve, in that happy hour when the +spirit descends and men and women sitting together are taken with a +desire to communicate the incommunicable part of themselves--"did it +ever occur to you," Owen said, blowing the smoke and sipping his +whisky and seltzer from time to time, "that man is the most +ridiculous animal on the face of this earth?" + +"You include women?" Ulick asked. + +"No, certainly not; women are not nearly so ridiculous, because they +are more instinctive, more like the animals which we call the lower +animals in our absurd self-conceit. As I have often said, women have +never invented a religion; they are untainted with that madness, and +they are not moralists. They accept the religions men invent, and +sometimes they become saints, and they accept our moralities--what +can they do, poor darlings, but accept? But they are not interested +in moralities, or in religions. How can they be? They are the +substance out of which life comes, whereas we are but the spirit, the +crazy spirit--the lunatic crying for the moon. Spirit and substance +being dependent one on the other, concessions have to be made; the +substance in want of the spirit acquiesces, says, 'Very well, I will +be religious and moral too.' Then the spirit and the substance are +married. The substance has been infected--" + +"What makes you say all this, Asher?" + +"Well, because I have just been thinking that perhaps my misfortunes +can be traced back to myself. Perhaps it was I who infected Evelyn." + +"You?" + +"Yes, I may have brought about a natural reaction. For years I was +speaking against religion to her, trying to persuade her; whereas if +I had let the matter alone it would have died of inanition, for she +was not really a religious woman." + +"I see, I see," Ulick answered thoughtfully. + +"Had she met you in the beginning," Owen continued, "she might have +remained herself to the end; for you would have let her alone. +Religion provokes me... I blaspheme; but you are indifferent, you +are not interested. You are splendid, Ulick." + +A smile crossed Ulick's lips, and Owen wondered what the cause of the +smile might be, and would have asked, only he was too interested in +his own thoughts; and the words, "I wonder you trouble about +people's beliefs" turned him back upon himself, and he continued: + +"I have often wondered. Perhaps something happens to one early in +life, and the mind takes a bias. My animosity to religion may have +worn away some edge off her mind, don't you see? The moral idea that +one lover is all right, whereas any transgression means ruin to a +woman, was never invented by her. It came from me; it is impossible +she could have developed that moral idea from within--she was +infected with it." + +"You think so?" Ulick replied thoughtfully, and took another cigar. + +"Yes, if she had met you," Owen continued, returning to his idea. + +"But if she had met me in the beginning you wouldn't have known her; +and you wouldn't consent to that so that she might be saved from +Monsignor?" + +"I'd make many sacrifices to save her from that nightmare of a man; +but the surrender of one's past is unthinkable. The future? Yes. But +there is nothing to be done. We don't know where she is. Her father +said she would be in London at the end of the week; therefore she is +in London now." "If she didn't change her mind." "No, she never +changes her mind about such things; any change of plans always +annoyed her. So she is in London, and we do not know her address. +Isn't it strange? And yet we are more interested in her than in any +other human being." + +"It would be easy to get her address; I suppose Innes would tell us. +I shouldn't mind going down to Dulwich if I were not so busy with +this opera company. The number of people I have to see, +five-and-twenty, thirty letters every day to be written--really I +haven't a minute. But you, Asher, don't you think you might run down +to Dulwich and interview the old gentleman? After all, you are the +proper person. I am nobody in her life, only a friend of a few +months, whereas she owes everything to you. It was you who +discovered her--you who taught her, you whom she loved." + +"Yes, there is a great deal in what you say, Ulick, a great deal in +what you say. I hadn't thought of it in that light before. I suppose +the lot does fall to me by right to go to the old gentleman and ask +him. Before you came we were getting on very well, and he quite +understood my position." + +Several days passed and no step was taken to find Evelyn's address in +London. + +"If I were you, Asher, I would go down to-morrow, for I have been +thinking over this matter, and the company of which I am the +secretary of course cannot pay her what she used to get ten years +ago, but I think my directors would be prepared to make her a very +fair offer, and, after all, the great point would be to get her back +to the stage." + +"I quite agree, Ulick, I quite agree." "Very well, if you think so go +to Dulwich." "Yes, yes, I'll go." And Owen came back that evening, +not with Evelyn's address, but with the news that she was in London, +living in a flat in Bayswater. "Think of that," Owen said, "a flat +in Bayswater after the house I gave her in Park Lane. Think of that! +Devoted to poor people, arranging school treats, and making +clothes." + +"So he wouldn't give you her address?" + +"When I asked him, he said, and not unreasonably, 'If she wanted to +see you she would write.' What could I answer? And to leave a letter +with him for her would serve no purpose; my letter would not +interest her; it might remain unanswered. No, no, mine is the past; +there is no future for me in her life. If anybody could do anything +it is you. She likes you." + +"But, my good friend, I don't know where she is, and you won't find +out." + +"Haven't I been to see her father?" + +"Oh, her father! A detective agency would give us her address within +the next twenty-four hours, and the engagement must be filled up +within a few weeks." + +"I can't go to a detective agency and pay a man to track her out--no, +not for anything." + +"Not even to save her from Monsignor?" + +"Not even that. There are certain things that cannot be done. Let us +say no more." + +A fortnight later Owen was reading in the corner by the window about +five o'clock, waiting for Ulick to come home--he generally came in +for a cup of tea--and hearing a latchkey in the door, he put down +his book. + +"Is Sir Owen in?" + +"Sir Owen is in the study, sir." + +And Ulick came in somewhat hurriedly. There was a light in his eyes +which told Owen that something had happened, something that would +interest him, and nothing could interest him unless news of Evelyn. + +"Have you seen her?" and Owen took off his spectacles. + +"Yes," Ulick answered, "I have seen her." + +"You met her?" + +"Yes." + +"By accident?" + +"Yes." + +"Tell me about it." + +Ulick was too excited to sit down; he walked about the hearthrug in +order to give more emphasis to his story. + +"My hansom turned suddenly out of a large thoroughfare into some mean +streets, and the neighbourhood seemed so sordid that I was just +going to tell the driver to avoid such short cuts for the future +when I caught sight of a tall figure in brown holland. To meet +Evelyn in such a neighbourhood seemed very unlikely, but as the cab +drew nearer I could not doubt that it was she. I put up my stick, but +at that moment Evelyn turned into a doorway." + +"You knocked?" + +Ulick nodded. + +"What sort of place was it?" + +"All noise and dirt; a lot of boys." + +"A school?" + +"It seemed more like a factory. Evelyn came forward and said, 'I will +see you in half an hour, if you will wait for me at my flat,' 'But I +don't know the address,' I said. She gave me the address, Ayrdale +Mansions, and I went away in the cab; and after a good deal of +driving we discovered Ayrdale Mansions, a huge block, all red brick +and iron, a sort of model dwelling-houses, rather better." + +"Good Lord!" + +"I went up a stone staircase." + +"No carpet?" + +"No. Mérat opened the door to me. I told her I had met Miss Innes in +a slum; she followed me into the drawing-room, saying, 'One of these +days Mademoiselle will bring back some horrid things with her.'" + +"Good Lord! Tell me what her rooms were like?" + +"The flat is better than you would expect to find in such a building. +It is the staircase that makes the place look like a model +dwelling-house. There is a drawing-room and a dining-room." + +"What kind of furniture has she in the drawing-room?" + +"An oak settle in the middle of the room and--" + +"That doesn't sound very luxurious." + +"But there are photographs of pictures on the walls, Italian saints, +the Renaissance, you know, Botticelli and Luini; her writing-table +is near the window, and covered with papers; she evidently writes a +great deal. Mérat tells me she spends her evenings writing there +quite contented." + +"That will do about the room; now tell me about herself." + +"She came in looking very like herself." + +"Glad to see you?" + +"I think she was. She didn't seem to have any scruples about seeing +me. Our meeting was pure accident, so she was not responsible." + +"Tell me, what did she look like?" + +"Well, you know her appearance? She hasn't grown stouter her hair +hasn't turned grey." + +"Yet she has changed?" + +"Yes, she has changed; but--I don't know exactly how to word it--an +extraordinary goodness seems to have come into her face. It always +seemed to me that a great deal of her charm was in the kindness +which seemed to float about her and to look out of her eyes, and +that look which you know, or which you don't know--" + +"I know it very well." + +"Well, that look is more apparent than ever. I noticed it especially +as she leaned over the table looking at me." + +"I know, those quiet, kindly eyes, steady as marble. A woman's eyes +are more beautiful than a man's because they are steadier. Yes, it +is impossible to look into her eyes and not to love her; her thick +hair drawn back loosely over the ears. There never was anybody so +winsome as she. You know what I mean?" + +"How he loves her!" Ulick said to himself; "how he loves her! All his +life is reflected in his love of her." + +"Are you going to see her again?" Owen asked suddenly. + +"Well, yes." + +"Did she raise no difficulties?" + +"No." + +"You didn't speak to her about your plans to induce her to accept the +engagement?" + +"Not yet." + +"Shall you?" + +"I suppose so, but I cannot somehow imagine that she will ever go +back to the stage. She said, having made money enough for the nuns, +she had finished with the stage for ever, and was glad of it." + +"Once an idea gets into our minds we become the slaves of it, and her +mind was always more like a man's than a woman's mind." + +This point was discussed, Ulick pretending not to understand Owen's +meaning in order to draw him into confidences. + +"She has asked you to go to see her, so I suppose she likes you. I +wish you well. _Anything_ rather than Monsignor should get her. You +have my best wishes." + +"What does he mean by saying I have his best wishes? Does he mean +that he would prefer me to be her lover, if that would save her from +religion? Would he use me as the cat uses the monkey to pull the +chestnuts out of the fire, and then take them from me." But he did +not question Owen as to his meaning, and showed no surprise when a +few days afterwards Owen came into the drawing-room, interrupting +him in his work, saying: + +"Have you forgotten?" + +"Forgotten what?" + +"Why, that you have an appointment with Evelyn." + +"So I have, so I have!" he said, laying down his pen. "And if I don't +hasten, I shall miss it." + +Owen took his hat, saying, "Your hat wants brushing; you mustn't go +to her with an unbrushed hat." + +Ulick ran away north, casting one glance back. Owen--would he sit in +his study thinking of his lost happiness or would he try to forget +it in some picture-dealer's shop? + + + +XIII + +"Has Mr. Dean come in?" + +"No, Sir Owen." + +"What time is it?" + +"Eight o'clock." + +"Dinner is quite ready?" + +"Quite ready, Sir Owen." + +"I don't think there is any good in waiting. Something must have +detained Mr. Dean." + +"Very well, Sir Owen." + +The butler left the room surprised, for if there was one thing that +Sir Owen hated it was to dine by himself, yet Owen had not screamed +out a single blasphemy, or even muttered a curse, and wondering at +his master's strange resignation, the butler crossed the hall, +hoping Sir Owen's health was not run down. He put the evening paper +by Sir Owen, for there had been some important racing that day, and +sometimes Sir Owen would talk quite affably. There were other times +when he would not say a word, and this was one of them. He pushed +the paper away, and went on eating, irritated by the sound of his +knife and fork on his plate, the only sound in the dining-room, for +the footmen went silently over the thick pile carpet, receiving +their directions by a gesture from the great butler. + +After dinner Owen had recourse to the evening paper, and he read it, +and every other paper in his room, advertisements and all, asking +himself what the devil had happened to Ulick. Some of his operatic +friends must have asked him to dinner. A moment after it seemed to +him that Ulick was treating his house like a hotel. "Damn him! he +might have easily sent me a telegram." At half-past ten the footman +brought in the whisky, and Owen sat sipping his drink, smoking +cigars, and wondering why Ulick had net come home for dinner; and +the clock had struck half-past eleven before Ulick's latchkey was +heard in the door. + +"I hope you didn't wait dinner for me?" + +"We waited a little while. Where have you been?" + +"She asked me to stay to dinner." + +"Oh, she asked you to stay to dinner!" Such a simple explanation of +Ulick's absence Owen hadn't thought of, and, reading his face, Ulick +hastened to tell him that after dinner they had gone to a concert. + +"Well, I suppose you were right to go with her; the concert must have +been a great break in her life.... Sitting there all the evening, +writing letters, trying to get situations for drunken men, girl +mothers, philanthropy of every kind. How she must have enjoyed the +concert! Tell me about it; and tell me how she was dressed." + +Ulick had not remarked Evelyn's dress very particularly, and Owen was +angry with him for only being able to tell him that she wore a pale +silk of a faint greenish colour. + +"And her cloak?" + +"Oh, her cloak was all right; it seemed warm enough." + +Owen wanted to know what jewellery she wore, and complained that she +had sold all the jewellery he had given her for the nuns. Ulick was +really sorry for him. Now, what did she think of the singing? To +please him Ulick attributed all his criticism of the singers to +Evelyn, and Owen said: + +"Extraordinary, isn't it? Did she say that she regretted leaving the +stage? And what did she say about me?" + +Ulick had been expecting this question. + +"She hoped you were very well, and that you did not speak unkindly of +her." + +"Speak unkindly of her!" and Owen's thoughts seemed to fade away. + +Cigar after cigar, drink after drink, until sleep settled in their +eyes, and both went to bed too weary to think of her any more. + +But next day Owen remembered that Ulick had not told him if he had +driven Evelyn home after the concert, and the fact that he had not +mentioned how they had parted was in itself suspicious; and he +determined to question Ulick. But Ulick was seldom in Berkeley +Square; he pleaded as his excuse business appointments; he had +business appointments all over London; Owen listened to his +explanations, and then they talked of other things. In this way Owen +never learnt on what terms Evelyn and Ulick were: whether she wrote +to him, whether they saw each other daily or occasionally. It was +not natural to think that after a dinner and a concert their +intimacy should cease as suddenly as it had begun. No doubt they +dined together in restaurants, and they went to concerts. Every hour +which he spent away from Berkeley Square he spent with her ... +possibly. To find out if this were true he would have to follow +Ulick, and that he couldn't do. He might question him? No, he +couldn't do that. And, sitting alone in his study in the evening, +for Ulick had gone out after dinner, he asked himself if he could +believe that Ulick was with the directors of the opera company. It +was much more likely that he was in the Bayswater flat, trying to +persuade Evelyn to return to the stage. So far he was doing good +work, but the only means he had of persuading her was through her +senses, by making love to her. Her senses had kindled for him once, +why shouldn't they kindle again? It would be a hard struggle between +the flesh and the idea, the idea which urged her in one direction, +and the flesh which drew her in another. Which would prevail? Ulick +was young, and Owen knew how her senses flared up, how certain music +set her senses on fire and certain literature. "All alone in that +flat," and the vision becoming suddenly intense he saw Ulick leading +her to the piano, and heard the music, and saw her eyes lifted as +she had lifted them many times to him--grey marble eyes, which would +never soften for him again. + +He had known her for so many years, and thought of her so intensely +that every feature of her face could be recalled in its minutest +line and expression; not only the general colour of her face, but +the whiteness of the forehead, and where the white skin freckled. +How strange it was that freckles should suit her, though they suited +no other woman! And the blue tints under the eyes, he remembered +them, and how the blue purpled, the rose red in the cheeks, and the +various changes--the greys in the chin, the blue veins reticulating +in the round white neck, and the pink shapes of the ear showing +through the shadow. Her hair was visible to him, its colour in the +light and in the shadow; and her long thin hands, the laces she wore +at the wrists, her rings, the lines of the shoulders, and of the +arms, the breasts--their size, their shape, and their very weight-- +every attitude that her body fell into naturally. From long knowledge +and intense thinking he could see her at will; and there she was at +the end of the sofa crossing and uncrossing her lovely legs, so long +from the knees, showing through the thin evening gown; he thought of +their sweetness and the seduction of the foot advancing, showing an +inch or two beyond the skirt of her dress. And then she drew her +rings from her fingers, dropping them into her lap, and +unconsciously placed them again over the knuckles. + +A great deal he would give--everything--for Ulick's youth, so that he +might charm her again. But of what avail to begin again? Had he not +charmed her before? and had not her love flowed past him like water, +leaving nothing but a memory of it; yet it was all he had--all that +life had given him. And it was so little, because she had never +loved him. Every other quality Nature had bestowed upon her, but not +the capacity for loving. For the first time it seemed to him he had +begun to understand that she was incapable of love--in other words, +of giving herself wholly to anybody. A strange mystery it was that +one who could give her body so unreservedly should be so +parsimonious about her soul. To give her body and retain herself was +her gift, above all other women, thereby remaining always new, +always unexpected, and always desirable. In the few visits to Paris +which had been allowed to him by her, and by Madame Savelli, she had +repaid him for the long abstinences by an extraordinary exaltation +and rapture of body and of intellect, but he had always experienced +a strange alienation, even when he held her in his arms--perhaps +then more than ever did he feel that she never was, and never could +be, his. The thought had always been at the back of his mind: +"Tomorrow I shall be far from her, and she will be interested in +other things. All she can give me is her body--a delicious possession +it is--and a sweet friendliness, a kindliness which sometimes seems +like love, but which is not." Some men would regard her as a cold +sensualist; maybe so, though indeed he did not think that it was so, +for her kindliness precluded such a criticism. But even if it were +so, such superficial thinking about her mattered little to him who +knew her as none other could ever know her, having lived with her +since she was two or three and twenty till five and thirty--thinking +of her always, noting every faintest shade of difference, comparing +one mood with another, learning her as other men learn a difficult +text from some ancient parchment, some obscure palimpsest--that is +what she was, something written over. There was another text which +he had never been able to master; and he sat in his chair conscious +of nothing but some vague pain which--becoming more and more +definite--awoke him at last. Though he had studied her so closely +perhaps he knew as little of her as any one else, as little as she +knew of herself. Of only one thing was there any surety, and that +was she could only be saved by an appeal to the senses. + +So he had done right in encouraging her friendship with Ulick, +sending Ulick to her, putting his natural jealousy aside--preferring +to suffer rather than that she should be lost. God only knew how he +was suffering day by day, hour by hour; but it were better that he +should suffer than that she should be abandoned to the spiritual +constriction of the old Roman python. It was horrible to think, but +the powerful coils would break and crush to pulp; then the beast +would lubricate and swallow. Anything were better than this; Ulick's +kisses would never be more to Evelyn than the passing trance of the +senses; she never would love him as other women loved, giving their +souls: she had never given her soul, why should she give it now? +But, good God! if after some new adventure she should return to the +python? + +His heart failed him; but only for a moment. Ulick might prove to her +the futility of her endeavour to lead a chaste life; and once that +was established she would become the beautiful, enchanting being +that he had known; but she would never return to him. If she only +returned to herself! The spirit of sacrifice tempted him, despite +the suffering he was enduring--a suffering which he compared to +sudden scaldings: he was being scalded to death by degrees, covered +from head to foot with blisters. A telegram in the hall for Ulick, a +hesitation in Ulick's voice, a sudden shifting of the eyes--anything +sufficed--and therewith he was burnt to the bone, far beyond the +bone, into the very vitals. Even now in his study, he waited another +scalding. At any moment Ulick might come in, and though he never +betrayed himself by any word or look, still his presence would +suggest that he had just come from Evelyn. Perhaps he had been +walking with her in the park? But why wait in Berkeley Square? If a +martyrdom of jealousy he must endure, let it be at Riversdale. Out of +sight would not mean out of mind; but he would not be constantly +reminded of his torment; there would be business to attend to which +would distract his mind, and when he returned in a few days to +Berkeley Square merciful Fate would have settled everything: she +would be gone away with Ulick to be cured, or would remain behind, a +living food for the serpent. + +The valet was told that he must be ready to catch the half-past four +train; and Ulick, when he returned from a long walk with Evelyn at +half-past six, learnt that Sir Owen had gone to Riversdale. + +"Sir Owen says, sir, he hopes to see you when he returns." + +But what business had taken Sir Owen out of London, and so suddenly? +The placid domestic could only tell him that Sir Owen often went to +Riversdale on business connected with the estate. "Sir Owen often +gets a wire from his agent." But this sudden call to see his agent +did not strike Ulick as very likely; far more likely that Asher had +gone out of town because he suspected-- + +"Poor chap! it must be dreadful seeing me come in and out of the +house, suspecting every time I am going to or coming from her. But +it was his own will that I should try to get her back to the stage +and away from Monsignor. All the same, it must have been devilishly +unpleasant." Ulick was very sorry for Owen, and hoped that if he did +succeed in tempting Evelyn away from Monsignor Owen would not hate +him for having done so. Nothing is more common than to hate one's +collaborator. Ulick laughed and suddenly grew serious. "His years are +against him. Old age, always a terror, becomes in an affair of this +kind a special terror, for there is no hope; she will never go back +to him, so I might as well get her. If I don't, Monsignor will"; and +a smile appeared again on his face, for he had begun to feel that he +would succeed in persuading Evelyn to accept the engagement, and to +do that would mean taking him on as a lover. + +When he lighted a cigar the conviction was borne in upon him, as the +phrase goes, that to travel in an opera company without a mistress +would be unendurable.... Where could he get one equal to Evelyn? +Nowhere. No one in the company was comparable to her; and of course +he loved her, and she loved him: differently, in some strange way he +feared, but still she loved him, or was attracted to him--it did not +matter which so long as he could succeed in persuading her to accept +the engagement which his directors were most anxious to conclude. As +they walked through Kensington Gardens that afternoon he had noticed +how she had begun to talk suddenly on the question whether it would +be permissible for a woman in certain circumstances to take a second +lover, if her life with her first were entirely broken, and so on. +He had answered perfunctorily, and as soon as possible turned the +conversation upon other things. But it had come back--led back by +her unconsciously to the moral question. So it would seem that she +was coming round. But there was something hysterical, something so +outside of herself--something so irresponsible in her yielding to +him, that he did not altogether like the adventure which he had +undertaken, and asked himself if he loved her sufficiently, finding +without difficulty many reasons for loving her. Nowhere could he +find anybody whom he admired more, or who interested him more. He +had loved her, and they had spent a pleasant time together in that +cottage on the river. A memory of it lit up his sensual imagination, +and he determined to continue the experience just as any other young +man would. Evelyn had denied herself to him in Italy for some +strange reason; whatever that reason was it had been overcome, and +once she yielded herself she was glorious. What happened before +would happen again, and if things did not turn out as pleasantly as +he hoped they would--that is to say, if she would not remain in the +opera company, well, the fault would not be with him. She sang very +well, though not as well as Owen thought; and he went upstairs to +dress for dinner, thinking how pleasant it was to live in Berkeley +Square. + +They were dining together in a restaurant, and as she came forward to +meet him he said to himself, "She looks like accepting the +engagement." And when he spoke about it to her he only reminded her +that by returning to the stage she would be able to make more money +for her poor people, for he felt it were better not to argue. To +take her hand and tell her that it was beautiful was much more in his +line, to put his arm about her when they drove back together in the +hansom, and speak to her of the cottage at Reading--this he could do +very well; and he continued to inflame her senses until she withdrew +herself from his arm, and he feared that he was compromising his +chance of seeing her on the morrow. + +"But you will come to the park, won't you? Remember, it is our last +day together." + +"Not the last," she said, "the last but one. Yes, I will see you +to-morrow. Now goodbye." + +"May I not go upstairs with you?" + +"No, Ulick, I cannot bring you up to my flat; it is too late." + +"Then walk a little way." + +"But if I were to accept that engagement do you think I could remain +a Catholic?" + +Ulick could see no difficulty, and begged of her to explain. + +His question was not answered until they had passed many lamp-posts, +and then as they retraced their steps she said: + +"Travelling about with an opera company do you think I could go to +Mass, above all to Communion?" + +"But you'll be on tour; nobody will know." + +"What shall I do when I return to London?" + +"Why look so far ahead?" + +"All my friends know that I go to Mass." + +"But you can go to Mass all the same and communicate." + +"But if you were my lover?" + +"Would that make any difference?" + +"Of course it would make a difference if I were to continue to go to +Mass and communicate; I should be committing a sacrilege. You cannot +ask me to do that." + +Ulick did not like the earnestness with which she spoke these words. +That she was yielding, however, there could be little doubt, and +whatever doubt remained in his mind was removed on the following day +in the park under the lime-trees, where they had been sitting for +some time, talking indolently--at least, Ulick had been talking +indolently of the various singers who had been engaged. He had done +most of the talking, watching the trees and the spire showing between +them, enjoying the air, and the colour of the day, a little heedless +of his companion, until looking up, startled by some break in her +voice, he saw that she was crying. + +"Evelyn, what is the matter? You are crying. I never saw you cry +before." + +She laughed a little, but there was a good deal of grief in her +laughter, and confessed herself to be very unhappy. Life was proving +too much for her, and when he questioned her as to her meaning, she +admitted in broken answers that his departure with the company was +more than she could bear. + +"Why, then, not come with us? You'll sign the agreement?" + +And they walked towards Bayswater together, talking from time to +time, Ulick trying not to say anything which would disturb her +resolution, though he had heard Owen say that once she had made a +promise she never went back upon it. + +There was all next day to be disposed of, but he would be very busy, +and she would be busy too; she would have to make arrangements, so +perhaps it would be better they should not meet. + +"Then, at the railway station the day after to-morrow," and he bade +her goodbye at her door. + +Owen was in his study writing. + +"I didn't know you had returned, Asher." + +"I came back this afternoon," and he was on the point of adding, "and +saw you with Evelyn as I drove through the park." But the admission +was so painful a one to make that it died upon his lips, finding +expression only in a look of suffering--a sort of scared look, which +told Ulick that something had happened. Could it be that Owen had +seen them in the park sitting under the limes? That long letter on +the writing-table, which Owen put away so mysteriously--could it be +to Evelyn? Ulick had guessed rightly. Owen had seen them in the park, +and he was writing to Evelyn telling her that he could bear a great +deal, but it was cruel and heartless for her to sit with Ulick under +the same trees. He had stopped in the middle of the letter +remembering that it might prevent her from going away with Ulick, +and so throw her back into the power of Monsignor. Even so, he must +write his letter; one has oneself to consider, and he could bear it +no longer. + +"I see you are writing, and I have many letters to write. You will +excuse me?" And Ulick went to his room. After writing his letters, +he sent word to Owen that he was dining out. "He will think I am +dining with her, but no matter; anything is better than that we two +should sit looking at each other all through the evening, thinking +of one thing and unable to speak about it." + +Next day he was out all day transacting business, thinking in the +intervals, "To-morrow morning she will be in the station," sometimes +asking himself if Owen had written to her. + +But the letter he had caught sight of on Owen's table had not been +posted. "After all, what is the good in writing a disagreeable +letter to her? If she is going away with Ulick what does it matter +under what trees they sat?" Yet everything else seemed to him +nothing compared with the fact that she and Ulick had pursued their +courtship under the limes facing the Serpentine; and Owen wondered +at himself. "We are ruled by trifles," he said; all the same he did +not send the letter. + +And that night Owen and Ulick bade each other goodbye for the last +time. + +"Perhaps I shall see you later on in the year; in about six months' +time we shall be back in London." + +Owen could not bring himself to ask if Evelyn had accepted the +engagement--what was the good? To ask would be a humiliation, and he +would know to-morrow; the porter at her flat would tell him whether +she was in London. + + + +XIV + +"Mr. Dean left this morning, Sir Owen." + +The butler was about to add, "He left about an hour ago, in plenty of +time to catch his train," but guessing Sir Owen's humour from his +silence, he said nothing, and left the footman to attend on him. + +"So he has persuaded her to go away with him. ... I wonder--" And +Owen began to think if he should go to Ayrdale Mansions himself to +find out. But if she had not gone away with Ulick, and if he should +meet her in the street, how embarrassing it would be! Of what should +he speak to her? Of the intrigue she had been carrying on with Ulick +Dean? Should he pretend that he knew nothing of it? She would be +ashamed of this renewal of her affection for Ulick, though she had +not gone away with him; and if she had not gone, it would be only on +account of Monsignor. He sat irresolute, his thoughts dropping away +into remembrances of the day before--the two sitting together under +the lime-trees. That was the unendurable bitterness; it was easy to +forgive her Ulick, he was nothing compared to this deliberate +soiling of the past. If she could not have avoided the park, she +might have avoided certain corners sacred to the memory of their +love-story--the groves of limes facing the Serpentine being +especially sacred to his memory. + +"But only man remembers; woman is the grosser animal." And in his +armchair Owen meditated on the coarseness of the female mind, always +careless of detail, even seeming to take pleasure in overlaying the +past with the present. "A mistake," he thought. "We should look upon +every episode as a picture, and each should hang in a place so +carefully appointed that none should do injury to another. But few +of us pay any regard to the hanging of our lives--women none at all. +The canvases are hooked anywhere, any place will suffice, no matter +whether they are hung straight or crooked; and a great many are left +on the floor, their faces turned to the wall; and some are hidden +away in cellars, where no memory ever reaches them. Poor canvases!" +And then, his thoughts reverting suddenly to his proposed visit to +Ayrdale Mansions, he asked himself what answer he could give if he +were asked to explain Ulick's presence at Berkeley Square--proofs of +his approval of Ulick's courtship; his motives would be +misunderstood. Never again would his love of her be believed in. + +"I have been a fool--one always is a fool, and acts wrongly, when one +acts unselfishly. Self is our one guide--when we abandon self, we +abandon the rudder." + +He would have just been content to keep Evelyn as his friend, and she +would have been willing to remain friends with him if he did not +talk against religion, or annoy her by making love to her. "There is +a time for everything," and he thought of his age. Passionate love +should melt into friendship, and her friendship he might have had if +he had thought only of himself; it would have been a worthy crown +for the love he had borne for her during so many years. Now there +was nothing left for him but a nasty sour rind of life to chew to the +end--it was under his teeth, and it was sour enough, and it never +would grow less sour. His sadness grew so deep that he forgot +himself in it, and was awakened by the sound of wheels. + +"Somebody coming to call. I won't see anybody," and he rang the bell. +"I am not at home to anybody." + +"But, Sir Owen, Mr. Dean--" + +"Mr. Dean!" And Owen stood aghast, wondering what could have brought +Ulick back again. + +"Are you at home to Mr. Dean, sir?" + +"Yes, yes," and at the same moment he caught sight of Ulick coming +across the hall. "What has happened?" he said as soon as the door +was closed. + +"She tried to poison herself last night." + +"Tried to poison herself! But she is not dead?" + +"No, she's not dead, and will recover." + +"Tried to poison herself!" + +"Yes, that is what I came back to tell you. We were to have met at +the station, but she didn't turn up; and, after waiting for a +quarter of an hour, I felt something must have happened, and drove +to Ayrdale Mansions." + +"Tried to kill herself!" + +"I'm afraid I have no time to tell you the story. Mérat will be able +to tell it to you better than I. I must get away by the next train. +There is no danger; she will recover." + +"You say she will recover?" and Owen drew his hands across his eyes. +"I'm afraid I can hardly understand." + +"But if you will just take a cab and go up to Ayrdale Mansions, you +will find Mérat, who will tell you everything." + +"Yes, yes. You are sure she will recover?" + +"Quite." + +"But you--you are going away?" + +"I have to, unless I give up my appointment. Of course, I should like +to stay behind; but there is no danger, absolutely none, only an +overdose of chloral." + +"She suffered a great deal from sleeplessness. Perhaps it was an +accident." + +Ulick did not answer, and the elder man drove in one direction and +the younger in another. + +"Mérat, this is terrible!" + +"Won't you come into the drawing-room, Sir Owen?" + +"She is in no danger?" + +"No, Sir Owen." + +"Can I see her?" + +"Yes, of course, Sir Owen; but she is still asleep, and the doctor +says she will not be able to understand or recognise anybody for +some hours. You will see her if you call later." + +"Yes, I'll call later; but first of all, tell me, Mérat, when was the +discovery made?" + +"She left a letter for me to say she was not to be called, and +knowing she had gone out for many hours, and finding her clothes and +her boots wet through, I thought it better not to disturb her. Of +course, I never suspected anything until Mr. Dean came." + +"Yes, she was to meet him at the station." And as he said these words +he remembered that Mérat must know of Evelyn's intimacy with Ulick. +She must have been watching it for the last month, and no doubt +already connected Evelyn's attempted suicide in some way with Mr. +Dean, but the fact that they had arranged to meet at the railway +station did not point to a betrayal. + +"There was no quarrel between them, then, Sir Owen?" + +"None; oh, none, Mérat." + +"It is very strange." + +"Yes, it is very strange, Mérat; we might talk of it for hours +without getting nearer to the truth. So Mr. Dean came here?" + +"Yes. When I opened the door he said, 'Where is mademoiselle?' and I +said, 'Asleep; she left a note that she was not to be called.' +'Then, Mérat, something must have happened, for she was to meet me +at the railway station. We must see to this at once.' Her door was +locked, but Mr. Dean put his shoulder against it. In spite of the +noise, she did not awake--a very few more grains would have killed +her." + +"Grains of what?" + +"Chloral, Sir Owen. We thought she was dead. Mr. Dean went for the +doctor. He looked very grave when he saw her; I could see he thought +she was dead; but after examining her he said, 'She has a young +heart, and will get over it.'" + +"So that is your story, Mérat?" + +"Yes, Sir Owen, that is the story. There is no doubt about it she +tried to kill herself, the doctor says." + +"So, Mérat, you think it was for Mr. Dean. Don't you know +mademoiselle has taken a religious turn?" + +"I know it, Sir Owen." + +And he attributed the present misfortune to Monsignor, who had +destroyed Evelyn's mind with ceremonies and sacraments. + +"Good God! these people should be prosecuted." And he railed against +the prelate and against religion, stopping only now and again when +Mérat went to her mistress's door, thinking she heard her call. "You +say it was between eleven and twelve she came back?" + +"It was after twelve, Sir Owen." + +"Now where could she have been all that time, and in the rain, +thinking how she might kill herself?" + +"It couldn't have been anything else, Sir Owen. Her boots were soaked +through as if she had been in the water, not caring where she went." + +Owen wondered if it were possible she had ventured into the +Serpentine. + +"The park closes at nine, doesn't it, Sir Owen?" They talked of the +possibility of hiding in the park and the keepers not discovering +Evelyn in their rounds; it was quite possible for her to have +escaped their notice if she hid in the bushes about the Long Water. + +"You think, Sir Owen, that she intended to drown herself?" + +"I don't know. You say her boots were wet through. Perhaps she went +out to buy the chloral--perhaps she hadn't enough." + +"Well, Sir Owen, she must have been doubtful if she had enough +chloral to kill herself, for this is what I found." And the maid +took out of her pocket several pairs of garters tied together. + +"You think she tied these together so that she might hang herself?" + +"There is no place she could hang herself except over the banisters. +I thought that perhaps she feared the garters were not strong enough +and she might fall and break her legs." + +"Poor woman! Poor woman!" So if the garters had proved stronger, she +would have strangled there minute by minute. Nothing but religious +mania--that is what drove her to it." + +"I am inclined to think, Sir Owen, it must have been something of +that kind, for of course there were no money difficulties." + +"The agony of mind she must have suffered! The agony of the suicide! +And her agony, the worst of all, for she is a religious woman." Owen +talked of how strange and mysterious are the motives which determine +the lives of human beings. "You see, all her life was in disorder-- +leaving the stage and giving me up. Mérat, there is no use in +disguising it from you. You know all about it. Do you remember when +we met for the first time?" + +"Yes, Sir Owen; indeed I do." And the two stood looking at each +other, thinking of the changes that time had made in themselves. Sir +Owen's figure was thinner, if anything, than before; his face seemed +shrunken, but there were only a few grey hairs, and the maid thought +him still a very distinguished-looking man--old, of course; but +still, nobody would think of him as an old man. Mérat's shoulders +seemed to be higher than they were when he last saw her; she had +developed a bust, and her black dress showed off her hips. Her hair +seemed a little thinner, so she was still typically French; France +looked out of her eyes. "Isn't it strange? The day we first met we +little thought that we would come to know each other so well; and +you have known her always, travelled all over Europe with her. How I +have loved that woman, Mérat! And here you are together, come from +Park Lane to this poor little flat in Bayswater. It is wonderful, +Mérat, after all these years, to be sitting here, talking together +about her whom we both love, you have been very good to her, and have +looked after her well; I shall never forget it to you." + +"I have done my best, Sir Owen; and you know mademoiselle is one of +those whom one cannot help liking." + +"But living in this flat with her, Mérat, you must feel lonely. Do +you never wish for your own country?" + +"But I am with mademoiselle, Sir Owen; and if I were to leave her, no +one else could look after her--at least, not as I can. You see, we +know each other so well, and everything belonging to her interests +me. Perhaps you would like to see her, Sir Owen?" + +"I'd like to see her, but what good would it do me or her? I'll see +her in the evening, when I can speak to her. To see her lying there +unconscious, Mérat--no, it would only put thoughts of death into my +mind; and she will have to die, though she didn't die last night, +just as we all shall have to die--you and I, in a few years we shall +be dead." + +"Your thoughts are very gloomy, Sir Owen." + +"You don't expect me to have gay thoughts to-day, do you, Mérat? So +here is where you live, you and she; and that is her writing-table?" + +"Yes; she sits there in the evening, quite contented, writing +letters." + +"To whom?" Owen asked. "To no one but priests and nuns?" + +"Yes, she is very interested in her poor people, and she has to write +a great many letters on their behalf." + +"I know--to get them work." And they walked round the room. "Well, +Mérat, this isn't what we are accustomed to--this isn't like Park +Lane." + +"Mademoiselle only cares for plain things now; if she had the money +she would spend it all upon her poor people. It was a long time +before I could persuade her to buy the sofa you have been sitting on +just now; she has not had it above two months." + +"And all these clothes, Mérat--what are they?" + +"Oh, I have forgotten to take them away." And Mérat told him that +these were clothes that Evelyn was making for her poor people--for +little boys who were going upon a school-treat, mostly poor Irish; +and Owen picked up a cap from the floor, and a little crooked smile +came into his face when he heard it was intended for Paddy Sullivan. + +"All the same, it is better she should think about poor people than +about religion." + +"Far better, Sir Owen, far better. Sometimes I'm afraid she will +bring back things upon her. She comes back tired and sleeps; but +when she spends her time in churches thinking of her sins, or what +she imagines to be sins, Sir Owen, I hear her walking about her room +at night, and in the morning she tells me she hasn't slept at all." + +"What you tell me is very serious, Mérat. All the same, all the same-- +jackets and coats for Paddy Sullivan's children. Well, it is very +touching. There never was anybody quite so good, do you think there +was, Mérat?" + +"That is the reason why we all love her; and you do, too, Sir Owen, +though you pretend to hate goodness and to despise--" + +"No, Mérat, no. Tell mademoiselle, if she wakes, that I am coming +back to see her this evening late--the later the better, I suppose, +for she is not likely to fall asleep again once she awakes." + +Mérat mentioned between nine and ten o'clock, and, to distract his +thoughts, Owen went to the theatre that evening, and was glad to +leave it at ten, before the play was over. + +"Is she awake?" + +"She has been awake some time. I think you will be able to have a +little talk with her." And Owen stole into the room with so little +noise that Evelyn did not hear him, and all the room was seen and +understood before she turned: the crucifix above the bedstead, the +pious prints, engravings which they had bought in Italy--Botticelli +and Filippo Lippi. She lay in a narrow iron bed, and all the form +that he knew so well covered in a plain nightgown such as he had +never seen before, but in keeping, he thought, with the rest of the +room, and in conformity--such was his impression, there was no time +for thinking--with her present opinions. The smallness of the chest +of drawers surprised him. Where did she keep her clothes? It might +be doubted if she possessed more than two or three gowns. Where were +they hanging? The few chairs and the dressing-table, on which he +caught sight of some ivory brushes he had given her, seemed the only +furniture in the room. + +"Evelyn!" + +"Oh, it is you, Owen. So you have come to see me. You are always +kind." + +"My dear Evelyn, there never can be any question of kindness between +you and me. You will always be Evelyn, and I am only thinking now of +how glad I am to have found you again." + +"Found me again!" And her thoughts seemed to float away, her mind not +being strong enough yet to think connectedly. "How did you hear +about me?" Before he could answer she said, "I suppose Ulick--" And +then, with an effort to remember, she added, "Yes, Mérat told me he +had come here," and the effort seemed to fatigue her. + +"Perhaps it would be better if you didn't talk." + +"Oh, no," she said, taking his hand, detaining it for a moment and +then losing it; "tell me." + +And he told her, speaking very gently so that his voice might not +tire her, that Ulick had called at Berkeley Square. + +"He told me you weren't going away with him." + +A slight shudder passed through Evelyn's face, and she asked, "Where +is Ulick?" + +"He has gone away. If he had stayed he would have lost his post as +secretary to the opera company." + +Evelyn did not appear to hear the explanation, and it was some time +before she said: + +"He has gone away. I don't think we shall see much of him again, +either you or I, Owen." + +Owen did not resist asking if she regretted this, and she answered +that she did not regret it at all. "And now you understand, Owen, +what kind of woman I am; how hopeless everything is." In spite of +herself, a little trace of her old wit returning to her, she added, +"You see what an unfortunate man you are in your choice of a +mistress." + +Owen could not answer; and a moment after he remembered that it is +only those who feel as deeply as Evelyn who can speak as lightly, +otherwise they would not be able to resist the strain; and the +strain was a very terrible one, he could see that, for she turned +over in bed, and a little later he perceived that she had been +crying. Turning suddenly, she exclaimed: + +"Owen, Owen, I am very frightened!" + +"Frightened of what, dear one?" + +"I don't know, Owen, I can't tell you; but I am very frightened, for +he seems not to be very far away and may come again." + +"And who is 'he'?" + +"It is impossible to tell you--a darkness, a shadow that seems always +by me, and who was very near me last night. A little more chloral +and I should not be here talking to you!" + +"It is terrible, Evelyn, terrible! And how should I have lived?" + +"You lived before me and you will live after me. Suicide is a mortal +sin, so Monsignor would tell me. We are forbidden to kill ourselves +even to escape sin, and that seems strange; for how shall I ever +believe that God would not have forgiven me, that he would not have +preferred me to kill myself than to have--?" And her voice died +away, Owen wondered whether for lack of strength or unwillingness to +express herself in words. + +"My dear Evelyn! my dear Evelyn!" + +"You don't understand, Owen; I am so different from what I was once. +I know it, I feel it, the difference, and it can't be helped." + +"But it can be helped, Evelyn. You've been living by yourself, +spending whole days and nights alone, and you've been suffering from +want of sleep--something had to happen; but now that it has happened +you will get quite well, and if you had only done what I asked you +before--if we had been married--I" + +"Don't let us talk about it, Owen; you don't understand how different +I am, how impossible--I--don't want to be unkind, you have been very +good to me always; and, understanding you as I seem to understand +you now, I am sorry you should have made such a bad choice, and that +I was not more satisfactory." + +"But you are perfectly satisfactory, Evelyn. If I am satisfied, who +should have the right to grumble? The pain of losing you is better +than the pleasure of winning anybody else.... So you think, Evelyn, +you will never return to the stage?" + +She did not answer, and, with dilated eyes, she looked through the +room till Owen turned, wondering if he should see anything; and he +was about to ask her if she saw the shadow again which she had +spoken of a while ago, but refrained from speaking, seeing that the +time was not one for questions. + +"Evelyn," he said, "I will come to see you to-morrow. You are tired +to-night." + + + +XV + +"She will fall asleep again, and to-morrow will be quite well. But +what a near escape!" And he lingered with Mérat, feeling it were +better she should know everything, yet loth to tell her that he had +known all the while that Ulick was trying to persuade Evelyn to go +away with him. But Mérat must know that Ulick had been staying at +Berkeley Square. + +"I suppose Monsignor comes here to see her?" + +"He has been here, Sir Owen." + +Owen would have liked to question her, but it did not seem honourable +to do so, and after a little talk about the danger of yielding to +religious impulses, he noticed that Mérat was drifting from him, +evidently thinking such discussions useless. + +On the landing he told her that Ulick had gone away with the opera +company, and that it was not likely that he and mademoiselle would +see each other again. + +"But when Mr. Dean comes back to London?" Mérat answered. + +"Well, hardly even then; after a crisis like this she will not be +anxious to see him. You know, Mérat, he was staying with me at +Berkeley Square; and I knew of his visits here, only it seemed to me +the only way to save her from religion was by getting her to go back +to the stage." + +Owen took breath; he had told his story, or as much as was necessary, +omitting the fact that he was an accomplice in the love-making which +had led to attempted suicide. + +"You don't think I was right?" + +"Well, Sir Owen, you see, I don't think mademoiselle will ever go +back to the stage." + +"You think that, Mérat? Well, then, the only thing to save her from +religion is marriage. I don't mind telling you, nor is there any +need to tell you--you must know--that I have always wanted her to be +my wife, only she would not marry me, and for some reason impossible +to get at." + +"Mademoiselle is like nobody else; _elle avait toujours son idée_." + +"_Parfaitement, comme disent les paysannes de chez vous, d'une bête +qui ne ressemble pas au troupeau et qui allait toujours._" + +"_Oui, mademoiselle a eu toujours son idée_. So Sir Owen thinks it +was fear of going back to the stage that persuaded mademoiselle to--" + +"Something like that, Mérat. She liked Mr. Dean." + +"But you are first in her thoughts, Sir Owen." + +"That isn't astonishing. We have known each other so long. Now, after +what has happened, perhaps she will think differently about +marriage, do you understand, Mérat. She may think differently +to-morrow, for instance, and it would be better for all of us--for +you, for myself, for her. Don't you agree?" + +"Well, Sir Owen, there is nothing I should like more than to see +mademoiselle married, only--" + +"Only you don't think she'll marry me?" + +"_Comme monsieur a dit, elle a eu toujours son idée._" + +"But after the great shock surely she will see that marriage is the +only way." Owen continued to talk of marriage a little while longer, +and all the way home his thoughts ran on his chance of persuading +Evelyn to marry him. It did not seem possible that she could refuse +after the shock. The chances were all with him: he would catch her +in a moment when her faith in religion would be weakened, for she +must see that it had not saved her from attempted suicide; all the +chances were in his favour, and he hardly doubted at all he would be +able to persuade her to marry him. Once she agreed she would carry +it out; nothing she hated as much as any alteration of plan. + +His mind wandered back into the past years, and he recalled little +facts significant of her character. However loud the storm she would +cross the Channel, though there was no reason for it--merely, as she +said, because it had been arranged to cross that day. He could +remember the dress she wore on that occasion, and the expression of +her face. Other instances equally trivial floated into his mind, +every one strangely vivid, delighting him because they were +characteristic of her. If he could only get her to say she would +marry him. It would be unnecessary to explain why he had sent Ulick +to her. Or he might explain. It didn't matter. Ulick would pass out +of their lives, and all this miserable business would be forgotten. + +The quickest way of being married was in a registry office, but would +Evelyn look upon a civil marriage as sufficient? Once the civil +marriage was an accomplished fact, she could be married afterwards +in Church, even in a Catholic church; he would go there if it +pleased her to go. Besides, Evelyn really looked upon marriage more +as a civil than as a religious obligation. His thoughts continued to +chatter, keeping him up late, till long after midnight, and awaking +him early. And the sun seemed to him to have dawned on his wedding +day. But even if they were to be married in a registry office a best +man would be required. So his thoughts went to Harding, whom he knew +to be in London. But Harding would be busy with his writing until +the afternoon, and Owen strode about Bond Street, visiting the shops +of various picture dealers, welcoming any acquaintance whom he +happened to meet, walking to the end of the street with him, and +spending the last hour--from three to four--in the National Gallery, +whither he had gone to see some new acquisitions. But the new +pictures did not interest him. "My thoughts are elsewhere." + +And turning from the new Titian, it seemed to him that he might drive +to Victoria Street; Harding's work must be over for the day. + +"My dear Harding, you don't mind my interrupting you?" And he envied +his friend's interest in his manuscripts when the writer put them +away. + +"You are not disturbing me; my secretary didn't come to-day, and +everything is habit. I can no longer write except by dictation." + +"If I had known that I would have called in the morning." + +"Again some drama in which Evelyn Innes is concerned," Harding said +to himself. + +"Harding, I have come to ask your advice; you'll give me the very +best. But you will have to hear the whole story." + +"Well, I am a story-teller, and like to hear stories." + +Owen told him how he had met Ulick Dean at Innes', and had invited +him to stop at Berkeley Square, and how gradually the idea that he +could make use of Ulick in order to tempt Evelyn back to the stage +had come into his mind. Anything to save her from religion, from +Monsignor. + +Owen caught Harding looking at him from under his shaggy eyebrows, +and anger had begun to colour his cheeks when Harding said: + +"Don't you remember, Asher, coming here a couple of years ago, and--" + +"Yes, I know. You predicted that Ulick Dean and I would become +friends, and you are right; we did." + +"And you preferred that Evelyn should be his mistress rather than +that she shall go over to Monsignor?" + +"I am not ashamed to confess I did; anything seemed better--but there +is no use arguing the point. What I have come to tell you is that +rather than go away with him she tried to kill herself." And he told +Harding the story. + +"What an extraordinary story! But nothing is extraordinary in human +nature. What we consider the normal never happens. Nature's course +is always zigzag, and no one can predict a human action." + +"Well, then, my good friend, when you have done philosophising--I +don't mean to be rude, but you see my nerves have been at strain for +the last four-and-twenty hours; you will excuse me. My notion now is +that everything has happened for the best." And he confided to +Harding his hopes of being able to persuade Evelyn to marry him. +"Only by marriage can she be saved, and I think I can persuade her." +And he babbled about her appearance last night after her long sleep, +comparing her with the portrait in his room. The painter had omitted +nothing of her character; all that had happened he read into the +picture--the restless spiritual eyes, and the large voluptuous +mouth, and the small high temples which Leonardo would like to draw. +The painting of this picture was as illusive as Evelyn herself, the +treatment of the reddish hair and the grey background. + +And Harding listened, saying, "So this is the end." + +"You think she will marry me?" + +"Everything in nature is unexpected, that is all I can tell you. Art +is logic, Nature incoherency." + +"Well, let us hope that Nature will be a little more coherent +to-morrow than she was last night, and that Evelyn will do the right +thing. Women generally marry when it is pressed upon them +sufficiently, don't you think so, Harding?" + +"I hope it will be so, since you desire it." + +"And you will be my best man, won't you?" + +"I shall be only too pleased. Now, if you wait for me while I change +my boots we'll go out together." And the two men crossed the Green +Park talking of the great moral laxity of the time they lived in; +whereas in the eighteenth century men were even accused of boasting +of their successes, now the conditions were reversed, men never +admitting themselves to be anything else but virtuous; women, on the +contrary, publishing their _liaisons_, and taking little pleasure in +them until they were known to everybody. + +"_Liaisons_ have become as official as marriages. Who doesn't know--" +And Harding mentioned a number of celebrated 'affairs' which had +been going on for ten, some twenty years. "The real love affair of +her ladyship now is probably some little tenor or drawing-master, +and Cecil's a little milliner; but her ladyship and Cecil are forced +to keep up appearances, for if they didn't who would talk about them +any more?" + +"You should write that as a short story," Owen suggested. And the two +friends began to argue as to the number of lovers which fell to the +lot of fashionable women, from the age of twenty-three to fifty. Two +or three ladies were mentioned whose _liaisons_ reached a couple of +hundred, and there was another about whom they were not agreed, for +some of her _liaisons_ had lasted so long that Owen did not believe +she had had more than fifty lovers. + +"It is impossible to imagine any time for a young man more propitious +than the present, or any society more agreeable than London. Morals, +as the newspapers would say, are in abeyance, conscience is looked +upon as pedantic, especially in women, and unbecoming." As the two +walked up St. James' Street together, Harding noticed that Owen, +notwithstanding his chatter about morals, was thinking of Evelyn, +and took very little interest in the display of the season--in the +slim nobility of England, fresh from Oxford, all in frock coats for +the first time, delighting in canes, and deerskin gloves, in collars +and ties, the newest fashion, going down the street in pairs, +turning into their clubs, lifting their hats to the women who drove +past in victorias and electric broughams. + +"Never were women more charming than they are now," Owen said, in +order not to appear too much immersed in his own thoughts, and he +picked a woman out, pretending to be interested in her. "That one +leaning a little to the left, her white dog sitting beside her." + +"Like a rose in Maytime." + +"Rather an orchid in a crystal glass." + +Harding accepted the correction. + +"Do you know who she is, Harding?" + +The question was a thoughtless one, for no one knows the whole of the +peerage, not even Harding, and it was painful for him to admit that +he did not know the lady, who happened to be an earl's daughter-- +somebody he really should have known. Not having been born a peer +himself, he had, as a friend once said, resolved to make amends for +the mistake in his birth by never knowing anybody who hadn't a +title. But this criticism was not a just one; Harding was not a +snob. It has already been explained that love of order and tradition +were part of his nature; the reader remembers, no doubt, Harding's +idiosyncrasies, and how little interested he was in writers, and +painters, avoiding always the society of such people. But his face +brightened presently, for a very distinguished woman bowed to him, +and he was glad to tell Owen he was going to stay with her in the +autumn. The Duchess had just returned from Palestine, and it was +beginning to be whispered she had gone there with a young man. The +talk turned again on the morality of London, and exciting stories +were told of a fracas which had occurred between two well-known men. +So their desks had been broken open, and packets of love letters +abstracted. New scandals were about to break to blossom, other +scandals had been nipped in the bud. + +Harding said nothing wittier had been said for many generations than +the _mot_ credited to a young girl, who had described a ball given +that season by the women of forty as "The Hags' Hop." Somebody else +had called it "The Roaring Forties." Which was the better +description of the two? "The Roaring Forties" seemed a little +pretentious, and preference was given to the more natural epigram, +"The Hags' Hop." + +"We were all virtuous in the fifties, now licence has reached its +prime, and we shall fall back soon into decadence." + +Harding, who was something of an historian, was able to illustrate +this prophecy by reference to antiquity. When the life of the senses +and understanding reached its height, as it did in the last stages +of the Roman Empire, a reaction came. St. Francis of Assisi was +succeeded by Alexander VI.; Luther soon followed after. "And in +twenty years hence we shall all become moral again. Good heavens! the +first sign of it has appeared--Evelyn." + +Piccadilly flowed past, the stream of the season, men typical of +England in their age as in their youth, typical of their castles, +their swards, and lofty woods, of their sports and traditions, +hunting, shooting, racing, polo playing; the women, too, typical of +English houses and English parks, but not so typical; only +recognisable by a certain reflected light; an Englishman makes woman +according to his own image and likeness, taking clay often from +America. The narrow pavements of Bond Street were thronged, women +getting out of their carriages, intent on their shopping, bowing to +the men as they ran into the shops, making amends for the sombre +black of the men's coats by a delirium of feathers, skirts, and pink +ankles. And nodding to their friends, bowing to the ladies in the +carriages, Harding and Owen edged their way through the crowd. + +"The street at this hour is like a ballroom, isn't it?" Owen said. "I +want to get some cigars." And they turned into a celebrated store, +where half a dozen assistants were busily engaged in tying up +parcels of five hundred or a thousand cigars, or displaying +neatly-made paper boxes containing a hundred cigarettes. + +"When will men give up smoking pipes, I should like to know?" + +"I thought you were a pipe smoker?" + +"So I was, but I can t bear the smell any longer." + +"Yet you smoke cigars?" + +"Cigars are different." + +"How was it the change came?" + +"I don't know." Owen ordered a thousand cigars to be sent to Berkeley +Square. + +It was late for tea, and still too early for dinner. + +"I am sorry to ask you to dine at such an early hour, but I daresay +we shan't have dinner till half-past seven." + +But Harding remembered his tailor: some trousers. And he led Owen +towards Hanover Square, wondering if Owen would approve of his +choice? + +"It was like you to choose that grey." + +Now what was there to find fault with in the grey he had chosen? They +turned over the tailor's pattern sheet. Daring, in the art of +dressing, is the prescriptive right of the professional just as it +is in writing. Owen was a professional dresser, whereas he, Harding, +was but an amateur; and that was why he had chosen a timid, +insignificant grey. At once Owen discovered a much more effective +cloth; and he chose a coat for Harding, who wanted one--the same +rough material which Harding had often admired on Owen's shoulders. +But would such a dashing coat suit him as well as it did its +originator, and dare he wear the fancy waistcoats Owen was pressing +upon him? + +"They suit you, Asher, but you still go in at the waist, and brown +trousers look well on legs as straight as billiard cues." + +"Is there nothing we can do for you, Sir Owen?" + +Owen spoke about sending back a coat which he was not altogether +satisfied with. + +"Every suit of clothes I have, Harding, costs me fifty pounds." + +Harding raised his thick eyebrows, and Owen explained that only one +suit in six was worth wearing. + +"There is more truth in what you say than appears. I once wore a suit +of clothes for six years! And they were as good as new when--" + +But Owen refused to be interested in Harding's old clothes. "If I'm +not married to-morrow I shall never marry. You don't believe me, +Harding? Now, of what are you thinking? Of that suit of clothes which +you have had for six years or of my marriage--which?" + +At the moment that Owen interrupted him Harding was thinking that +perhaps a woman who had attempted suicide to escape from another man +would not drift as easily into marriage as Owen thought; but, of +course, he did not dare to confess such an opinion. + +"You don't mind dining at half-past seven?" + +"Not in the least, my good friend, not in the least." Going towards +Berkeley Square they continued to speak about Evelyn.... She would +have to refuse Owen to-night or accept him: so he would know his +fate to-night. + +"Just fancy," he said, "to-morrow I am either going to be married +or--" And he stared into the depths of a picture about which he +thought he would like to have Harding's opinion, but it did not matter +what anybody thought of pictures until he knew what Evelyn was going +to do. None had any interest for him; but they could not talk of +Evelyn during dinner, the room being full of servants, and he was +forced to listen to Harding, who was rather tiresome on the subject of +how a collection of pictures had better be formed, and the proposal to +go to France to seek for an Ingres did not appeal to him. + +"I hope you don't mind my smoking a pipe," Harding said as they rose +from table. + +"No," he said, "smoke what you like, I don't care; smoke in my study, +only raise the window. But you'll excuse me, Harding. My appointment +is for eight." + +As he was about to leave the room a footman came in, saying that Miss +Innes' maid would like to see him, and, guessing that something had +happened, Owen said: + +"It is to tell me I'm not to go to see her; something disagreeable +always--" And he left the room abruptly. + +"I have shown the maid into the morning-room, Sir Owen." + +"Now, what is the matter, Mérat?" + +"Perhaps you had better read the letter first, Sir Owen, and then we +can talk." + +"I can't read without my glasses; do you read it, Mérat." Without +waiting for her to answer he returned to the dining-room. "I have +forgotten my glasses, Harding, that is all; you will wait for me." +His hand trembled as he tried to fix the glasses on his nose. + +"MY DEAR OWEN,--I am afraid you will be disappointed, and I am +disappointed too, for I should like to see you; but I think it would +be better, and Monsignor, who was here to-day, thinks it would be +better, that we should not see each other... for the present. I have +recovered a good deal, but am still far from well; my nerves are +shattered. You know I have been through a great deal; and though I am +sure you would have refrained from all allusions to unpleasant +topics, still your presence would remind me too much of what I don't +want to think about. It is impossible for me to explain better. This +letter will seem unkind to you, who do not like unkind letters; but +you will try to understand, and to see things from my point of view, +and not to rave when I tell you that I am going to a convent--not to +be a nun; that, of course, is out of the question; but for rest, and +only among those good women can I find the necessary rest. + +"My first thought was to go to Dulwich to my father, but--well, here +is a piece of news that will interest you--he has been appointed +_capelmeister_ to the Papal choir, the ambition of his life is +fulfilled, and he started at once for Rome. It is possible that +three or four months hence, when he is settled, he will write to ask +me to go out to join him there, and Monsignor would like me to do +this, for, of course, my duty is by my father, who is no longer as +young as he used to be. I don't like to leave him, but the matter +has been carefully considered; he has been here with Monsignor, and +the conclusion arrived at is, that it is better for me to go to the +convent for a long rest. Afterwards ... one never knows; there is no +use making plans. "EVELYN." + +"No use making plans; I should think not, indeed," Owen cried. "Never +will she come out of that convent, Mérat, never! They have got her, +they have got her! You remember the first day we met, you and I, in +the Rue Balzac, and you have been with her ever since; you were with +us in Brussels when she sang 'Elizabeth,' and in Germany--do you +remember the night she sang 'Isolde'? So it has come to this, so it +has come to this; and in spite of all we could do. Do you remember +Italy, Mérat? Good God! Good God!" And he fell into a chair and did +not speak again for some time. "It would have been better if Ulick +Dean had persuaded her to go away with him. It was I who told him to +go to see her and kept him in my house because I knew that this +damned priest would get her in the end." + +"But, Sir Owen, for mademoiselle to be a nun is out of the +question... if you knew what convents were." + +"Oh, Mérat, don't talk to me, don't talk to me; they have got her!" + +Then a sudden idea seized him. + +"Come into the dining-room," he said. "You know Mr. Harding? He is +there." He passed out of the room, leaving the door open for Mérat +to follow through. "Harding, read this letter." He stood watching +Harding while he read; but before Harding was half-way down the page +he said: "You see, she is going into a convent. They have got her, +they have got her! But they shan't get her as long as I have a +shoulder with which to force in a door. The doors of those mansions +where she has gone to live are not very strong, are they, Mérat? She +shall see me; she shall not go to that convent. That blasted priest +shall not get her. Those ghouls of nuns!" And he was about to break +from the room when Mérat threw herself in front of him. + +"Remember, Sir Owen, she has been very ill; remember what has +happened, and if you prevent her from going to the convent--" + +"So, Mérat, you're against me too? You want to drive her into a +convent, do you?" + +"Sir Owen, you hardly know what you are saying. I am thinking of what +might happen if you went to Ayrdale Mansions and forced in the door. +Sir Owen, I beg of you." + +"Then if you oppose me you are responsible. They will get her, I tell +you; those blasted ghouls, haunters of graveyards, diggers of +graves, faint creatures who steal out of the light, mumblers of +prayers! You know, Harding, what I say is true. God!" He raised his +fist in the air and fell back into an armchair, screaming oaths and +blasphemies without sense. It was on Harding's lips to say, "Asher, +you are making a show of yourself." "_Vous vous donnez en spectacle_" +were the words that crossed Mérat's mind. But there was something +noble in this crisis, and Harding admired Owen--here was one who was +not afraid to shriek out and to rage. And what nobler cause for a +man's rage? + +"The woman he loves is about to be taken out of the sunlight into the +grey shadow of the cloister. Why shouldn't he rage?" + +"To sing of death, not of life, and where the intelligence wilts and +bleaches!" he shrieked. "What an awful end! don't you understand? +Devils! devils!" and he slipped from his chair suddenly on to the +hearthrug, and lay there tearing at it with his fingers. The elegant +fribble of St. James' Street had passed back to the primeval savage +robbed of his mate. + +"You give way to your feelings, Asher." + +At these words Asher sprang to his feet, yelling: + +"Why shouldn't I give way to my feelings? You haven't lost the most +precious thing on God's earth. You never cared for a woman as I do; +perhaps you never cared for one at all. You don't look as if you +did." Owen's face wrinkled; he jibbered at one moment like a +demented baboon, at the next he was transfigured, and looked like +some Titan as he strode about the room, swearing that they should +not get her. + +"But it all depends upon herself, Owen; you can do nothing," Harding +said, fearing a tragedy. But Owen did not seem to hear him, he could +only hear his own anger thundering in his heart. At last the storm +seemed to abate a little, and he said that he knew Harding would +forgive him for having spoken discourteously; he was afraid he had +done so just now. + +"But, you know, Harding, I have suspected this abomination; the taint +was in her blood. You know those Papists, Harding, how they cringe, +how shamefaced they are, how low in intelligence. I have heard you +say yourself they have not written a book for the last four hundred +years. Now, why do you defend them?" + +"Defend them, Asher? I am not defending them." + +"Paralysed brains, arrested intelligences." He stopped, choked, +unable to articulate for his haste. "That brute, Monsignor Mostyn-- +at all events I can see him, and kick the vile brute." And taken in +another gust of passion, Owen went towards the door. "Yes, I can +have it out with him." + +"But, Asher, he is an old man; to lay hands upon him would be ruin." + +"What do I care about ruin? I am ruined. They have got her, and her +mind will be poisoned. She will get the abominable ascetic mind. The +pleasure of the flesh transferred! What is legitimate and beautiful +in the body put into the mind, the mind sullied by passions that do +not belong to the mind. That is what papistry is! They will poison +that pure, beautiful woman's mind. That priest has put them up to +it, and he shall pay for it if I can get at him to-night!" Owen broke +away suddenly, leaving Harding and Merat in the dining-room, Harding +regretting that he had accepted Owen's invitation to dinner... If +Asher and Monsignor were to meet that night? Good Lord! ... Owen +would strike him for sure, and a blow would kill the old man. + +"Merat, this is very unfortunate.... Not to be able to control one's +temper. You have known him a long time.... I hope nothing will +happen. Perhaps you had better wait." + +"No, Mr. Harding, I can't wait; I must go back to mademoiselle." And +the two went out together, Harding turning to the right, jumping +into a cab as soon as he could hail one, and Merat getting into +another in order to be in time to save her mistress from her madman +lover. + + + +XVI + +Three hours after Harding and Mérat had left Berkeley Square, Owen +let himself in with his latch-key. He was very pale and very weary, +and his boots and trousers were covered with mud, for he had been +splashing through wet streets, caring very little where he went. At +first he had gone in the direction of the river, thinking to rouse +up Monsignor, and to tell him what he thought of him, perhaps to +give him a good thrashing; but the madness of his anger began to die +long before reaching the river. In the middle of St. James's Park the +hopelessness of any effort on his part to restrain Evelyn became +clear to him suddenly, and he uttered a cry, walking on again, and +on again, not caring whither he walked, splashing on through the +wet, knowing well that nothing could be done, that the inevitable +had happened. + +"It would have been better if she had died," he often said; "it would +have been much better if she had died, for then I should be free, +and she would be free. Now neither is free." + +There were times when he did not think at all, when his mind was +away; and, after a long absence of thought, the memory of how he had +lost her for ever would strike him, and then it seemed as if he +could walk no longer, but would like to lie down and die. All the +same, he had to get home, and the sooner he got home the better, for +there was whisky on the table, and that would dull his memory; and, +tottering along the area railings, he thought of the whisky, +understanding the drunkard for the first time and his temptations. +"Anything to forget the agony of living!" + +Three or four days afterwards he wrote to her from Riversdale. +Something had to be written, though it was not very clear that +anything could be gained by writing, only he felt he must write just +to wish her goodbye, to show that he was not angry, for he would +like her to know that he loved her always; so he wrote: + +"For the last four days I have been hoping to get a letter from you +saying you had changed your mind, and that what was required to +restore you to health was not a long residence in a convent, but the +marriage ceremony. This morning, when my valet told me there were no +letters, I turned aside in bed to weep, and I think I must have lain +crying for hours, thinking how I had lost my friend, the girl whom I +met in Dulwich, whom I took to Paris, the singer whose art I had +watched over. It was a long time before I could get out of bed and +dress myself, and during breakfast tears came into my eyes; it was +provoking, for my servant was looking at me. You know how long he +has been with me, so, yielding to the temptation to tell somebody, I +told him; I had to speak to somebody, and I think he was sorry for +me, and for you. But he is a well-bred servant, and said very +little, thinking it better to leave the room on the first +opportunity. + +"Merat, who brought your letter, told me you said I would understand +why it was necessary for you to go to a convent for rest. Well, in a +way, I do understand, and, in a way, I am glad you are going, for at +all events your decision puts an end to the strife that has been +going on between us now for the last three years. It was first +difficult for me to believe, but I have become reconciled to the +belief that you will never be happy except in a chaste life. I +daresay it would be easy for me, for Ulick, or for some other man +whom you might take a fancy to, to cause you to put your idea behind +you for a time. Your senses are strong, and they overpower you. You +were, on more than one occasion, nearly yielding to me, but if you +had yielded it would have only resulted in another crisis, so I am +glad you did not. It is no pleasure to make love to a woman who +thinks it wrong to allow you to make love to her, and, could I get +you as a mistress, strange as it will seem to you, upon my word, +Evelyn, I don't think I would accept you. I have been through too +much. Of course, if I could get back the old Evelyn, that would be +different, but I am very much afraid she is dead or overpowered; +another Evelyn has been born in you, and it overpowers the old. An +idea has come into your mind, you must obey it, or your life would be +misery. Yes, I understand, and I am glad you are going to the +convent, for I would not see you wretched. When I say I understand, +I only mean that I acquiesce--I shall never cease to wonder how such +a strange idea has come into your mind; but there is no use arguing +that point, we have argued it often enough, God knows! I cannot go +to London to bid you goodbye. Goodbyes are hateful to me. I never go +to trains to see people off, nor down to piers to wave handkerchiefs, +nor do I go to funerals. Those who indulge their grief do so because +their grief is not very deep. I cannot go to London to bid you +goodbye unless you promise to see me in the convent. Worse than a +death-bed goodbye would be the goodbye I should bid you, and it, +too, would be for eternity. But say I can go to see you in the +convent, and I will come to London to see you. + +"Yours, + +"OWEN." + + * * * * * + +"MY DEAR OWEN,--You have written me a beautiful letter. Not one word +of it would I have unwritten, and it is a very great grief to me +that I cannot write you a letter which would please you as much as +your letter pleases me. No woman, since the world began, has had +such a lover as I have had, and yet I am putting him aside. What a +strange fatality! Yet I cannot do otherwise. But there is +consolation for me in the thought that you understand; had it been +otherwise, it would have been difficult for me to bear it. You know +I am not acting selfishly, but because I cannot do otherwise. I have +been through a great deal, Owen, more, perhaps, even than you can +imagine. That night! But we must not speak of it, we must not speak +of it! Rest is required, avoidance of all agitation--that is what +the doctor says, and it agitates me to write this letter. But it must +be done. To see you, to say goodbye to you, would be an agitation +which neither of us could bear, we should both burst into tears; and +for you to come to see me in the convent would be another agitation +which must be avoided. The Prioress would not allow me to see you +alone, if she allowed me to see you at all. No, Owen, don't come to +see me either in London or in the convent. Leave me to work out my +destiny as best I can. In three or four months perhaps I shall have +recovered. Until then, + +"Yours ever, + +"EVELYN." + + + +XVII + +In a letter to Monsignor, Evelyn wrote: + +"I have just sent a letter to my father, in which I tell him, amid +many hopes of a safe arrival in Rome, not unduly tired, and with all +the dear instruments intact, unharmed by rough hands of porters and +Custom House officers, that, one of these days, in three or four +months, when I am well, I look forward to contributing the _viola da +gamba_ part of a sonata to the concert of the old instrumental music +which he will give when he has put his choir in order: you know I +used to play that instrument in my young days. A more innocent wish +never entered into the heart of a human being, you will say, yet +this letter causes me many qualms, for I cannot help thinking that I +have been untruthful; I have--lied is, perhaps, too strong a word-- +but I have certainly equivocated to the Prioress, and deceived her, +I think, though it is possible, wishing to be deceived, she lent +herself to the deception. Now I am preferring an accusation against +the dear Prioress! My goodness, Monsignor, what a strange and +difficult thing life is, and how impossible to tell the exact truth! +If one tries to be exact one ends by entangling the thread, and +getting it into very ugly knots indeed. In trying to tell the truth, +I have been guilty of a calumny against the Prioress, nothing short +of that, Monsignor, nothing short of that--against the dear +Prioress, who deserves better of me, for her kindness towards me +since I have been to the convent has never ceased for a single +instant! + +"One of her many kindnesses is the subject of this letter. When I +arrived here the nuns were not decided, and I was not decided, +whether I should live in the convent as I did before, as a guest, or +whether, in view of the length of my probable residence in the +convent, I should be given the postulant's cap and gown. Mother Mary +Hilda thought it would be dangerous to open the doors of the +novitiate to one who admitted she was entering the religious life +only as an experiment, especially to one like myself, an opera +singer, who, however zealously she might conform to the rule, would +bring a certain atmosphere with her into the novitiate, one which +could not fail to affect a number of young and innocent girls, and +perhaps deleteriously. I think I agree with Mother Mary Hilda. All +this I heard afterwards from Mother Philippa, who, in her homely way, +let out the secret of these secret deliberations to me--how the +Prioress, who desired the investiture, said that every postulant +entered the novitiate as an experiment. 'But believing,' Mother Mary +Hilda interrupted, 'that the experiment will succeed, whereas, in +her case, the postulant does not believe at all.' + +"As it was impossible for the Mothers to decide I was sent for, and +asked whether I thought the experiment would succeed or fail.' But +what experiment?--I had to ask. And the Prioress and Mother Hilda +were not agreed, their points of view were not the same; mine was, +again, a different point of view, mine being, as you know, a +determination to conquer a certain thing in my nature which had +nearly brought about my ruin, and which, if left unchecked, would +bring it about. Room for doubt there was none, and, after such an +escape as mine, one does not hesitate about having recourse to +strong remedies. My remedy was the convent, and, my resolve being to +stay in the convent till I had conquered myself, it did not at the +time seem to me a falsehood to say that I put myself in the hands of +God, and hoped the experiment would succeed. Mother Mary Hilda, who +is very persistent, asked me what I meant by conquering myself, and I +answered, a subjugation of that part of me which was repellent to +God. At these words the Prioress's face lit up, and she said, 'Well, +Mother Hilda, I suppose you are satisfied?' Mother Hilda did not +answer, but I could see that she was not satisfied; and I am not +satisfied either, for I feel that I am deceiving the nuns. + +"But, Monsignor, if a different answer had been given, if I had said +that I looked upon the convent as a refuge where a difficult time +might be passed, two or three months, it does not seem to me that I +would have answered the nuns more truthfully. The Prioress seems to +think with me in this, going so far as to suggest that there are +occasions when we do well not to try to say everything, for the very +simple reason that we do not know everything--even about ourselves; +and she seemed glad that I had not said more, and took me there and +then to her room, and, in the presence of Mother Philippa and Mother +Mary Hilda, said, 'Now, we must hide all this fair hair under a +little cap.' I knelt in front of the Prioress, and she put a white +cap on my head, and pinned a black veil over it; and when she had +done this she drew me to her and kissed me, saying, 'Now you look +like my own child, with all your worldly vanities hidden away. I +believe Monsignor Mostyn would hardly know his penitent in her new +dress.' + +"I think I can see you smile as you read this, and I think I can hear +you thinking, 'Once an actress always an actress.' But there is not +sufficient truth in this criticism to justify it, and if such a +thought does cross your mind, I feel you will suppress it quickly in +justice to me, knowing, as you must know, that a badge gives courage +to the wearer, putting a conviction into the heart that one is not +alone, but a soldier in a great army walking in step towards a +definite end. This sounds somewhat grandiloquent, but it seems to me +somewhat like the truth. Trying to get into step is interesting and +instructive, and the novitiate, though hardly bearable at times, is +better than sitting in the lonely guest-room. Mother Hilda's +instruction in the novitiate seems childish, yet why is it more +childish than a hundred other things? Only because one is not +accustomed to look at life from the point of view of the convent. As +a guest, I felt it to be impossible to remain in the convent for +three months, and it pleased me, I admit it, and interested me, I +admit it, to try to become part of this conventual life, so +different, so strangely different, from the life of the world, so +remote from common sympathies. In speaking of this life, one hardly +knows what words to employ, so inadequate are words to express one's +meaning, or shall I say one's feeling? 'Actress again,' I hear your +thoughts, Monsignor; 'a woman desirous of a new experience, of new +sensations.' No, no, Monsignor, no; but I confess that the pure +atmosphere of the convent is easier and more agreeable to breathe +than the atmosphere of the world and its delight. To her whose quest +is chastity, it is infinitely agreeable to feel that she is living +among chaste women, the chastity of the nuns seems to penetrate and +enfold me. To the hunted animal a sense of safety is perhaps a +greater pleasure than any other, and one is never really unhappy, +however uncomfortable one's circumstances may be, if one is doing +what one wants to do.... But I am becoming sententious." + +In another letter to Monsignor she said: + +"This morning I received a long and delightful letter from my father +telling me about the progress he is making, or I should say the +progress that the choir is making under his direction, and how +convinced he found everybody of the necessity of a musical +reformation of some kind, and how gratifying it was to find them +ready to accept his reading of the old music as the one they had been +waiting for all this time. But, Monsignor, does my father exaggerate? +For all this sounds too delightful to be true. Is it possible that +his ideas meet with no opposition? Or is it that an opposition is +preparing behind an ambuscade of goodwill? Father is such an +optimist that any enthusiasm for his ideas convinces him that +stupidity has ended in the world at last. But you will not be duped, +Monsignor, for Rome is your native city, and his appointment of +_capelmeister_ is owing to you, and the kindly reception of my +father's ideas--if they have been received as he thinks--is also +owing to you. You will not be deceived, as he would easily be, by +specious appearance, and will support him in the struggle that may +be preparing under cover. I know you will. "His letter is entirely +concerned with music; he does not tell me about his daily life, and, +knowing how neglectful he is of material things, thinking only of +his ideas, I am not a little anxious about him: how he is lodged, and +if there is anybody by him who will see that he has regular meals. +He will neglect his meals if he is allowed to neglect them, so, in +the interests of the musical reformation, somebody should be charged +to look after him, and he should not be allowed to overwork himself; +but it will be difficult to prevent this. The most we can hope for +is that he shall get his meals regularly, and that the food be of +good quality and properly cooked. The food here is not very good, nor +very plentiful; to feel always a little hungry is certainly trying, +and the doctor has spoken to the Prioress on the subject, insisting +that nourishing food is necessary to those suffering from nervous +breakdown, and healthy exercise; of healthy exercise there is +plenty, for the nuns dig their own garden; so I am a reformer in a +small way, and I can assure you my reformation is appreciated by the +nuns, who thank me for it; my singing at Benediction is better +appreciated on a full than on an empty stomach, especially when it +is the song that fills the stomach. And it is my singing that +enables Mother Philippa, who looks after the catering, to spend more +money at the baker's and the butcher's. There has been an +improvement, too, in the cooking; a better watch is kept in the +kitchen, and not only my health but the health of the entire +community is improved. + +"We are a little more joyous now than we were, and every day I seem +to be better able to appreciate the happiness of living among people +who share one's ideas. One cannot love those whose ideas are +different, at least I cannot; a mental atmosphere suitable to our +minds is as necessary as fresh air is to our lungs. And I feel it a +great privilege to be allowed to live among chaste women, no longer +to feel sure of my own unworthiness, no longer; it is terrible to +live always at war with oneself. The eyes of the nuns and their +voices exhale an atmosphere in which it seems to me my soul can +rise, and very often as I walk in the garden with them I feel as if +I were walking upon air. Owen Asher used to think that intellectual +conversation kindled the soul; so it does in a way; and great works +of art enkindle the soul and exalt it; but there is another +exaltation of soul which is not discoverable in the intellect, and I +am not sure that it is not the greater: the exaltation of which I +speak is found in obedience, in submission, yes, and in ignorance, +in trying--I will not say to lower oneself--but in trying to bring +oneself within the range of the humble intelligence and to +understand it. And there is plenty of opportunity for this in the +convent. To explain what I mean, and perhaps to pass away the tedium +of an afternoon which seems long drawn out, I will put down here for +you, Monsignor, the conversation, as much as I can remember of it, +which introduced me to the inhabitants of the novitiate. + +"When Mother Hilda recited the Litany of Our Lady, and we had risen +to our feet, she said: + +"'Now, Evelyn, you must be introduced to your sisters--Sister Barbara +I think you have met, as she sings in the choir. This is Sister +Angela; this tall maypole is Sister Winifred, and this little being +here is Sister Jerome, who was the youngest till you came. Aren't +you pleased, Jerome, to have one younger than yourself?' The novices +said, 'How do you do?' and looked shy and awkward for a minute, and +then they forgot me in their anxiety to know whether recreation was +to be spent indoors or out. + +"'Mother, we may go out, mayn't we? Oh, thank you so much, it is such +a lovely evening. We need not wear cloaks, need we? Oh, that is all +right, just our garden shoes.' And there was a general scurry to the +cells for shoes, whilst Mother Hilda and I made our way downstairs, +and by another door, into the still summer evening. + +"'How lovely it is!' I said, feeling that if Mother Hilda and I could +have spent the recreation hour together my first convent evening +would have been happy. But the chattering novices soon caught us up, +and when we were sitting all a-row on a bench, or grouped on a +variety of little wooden stools, they asked me questions as to my +sensations in the refectory, and I could not help feeling a little +jarred by their familiarity. + +"'Were you not frightened when you felt yourself at the head of the +procession? I was,' said Winifred. + +"'But you didn't get through nearly so well as Sister Evelyn; you +turned the wrong way at the end of the passage and Mother had to go +after you,' said Sister Angela. 'We all thought you were going to +run away.' And they went into the details as to how they had felt on +their arrival, and various little incidents were recalled, +illustrating the experience of previous postulants, and these were +productive of much hilarity. + +"'What did you all think of the cake?' said Sister Barbara suddenly. + +"'Was it Angela's cake?' asked Mother Hilda. 'Angela, I really must +congratulate you; you will be quite a distinguished _chef_ in time.' + +"Sister Angela blushed with delight, saying, 'Yes, I made it +yesterday, Mother; but, of course, Sister Rufina stood over me to +see that I didn't forget anything.' + +"'Ah, well, I don't think I cared very much for the flavouring,' said +Sister Barbara in pondering tones. + +"'You seemed to me to be enjoying it very much at the time,' I said, +joining the conversation for the first time; and when I added that +Sister Barbara had eaten four slices of bread and butter the laugh +turned against Barbara, and every one was hilarious. It is evident +that Sister Barbara's appetite is considered an excellent joke in +the novitiate. + +"Of course I marvelled that grown-up women should be so easily +amused, and then remembered a party at the Savoy Hotel (on leaving +it I went to the presbytery to confess to you, Monsignor). I had to +admit to myself that the talk at Louise Helbrun's party did not move +on a higher level; our conversation did not show us to be wiser than +the novices, and our behaviour was certainly less exemplary. +Everything is attitude of mind, and the convent attitude towards life +is curiously sympathetic to me... at present. My doubts lest it +should not always be so is caused by the fury of my dislike to my +former attitude of mind; something tells me that such fury as mine +cannot be maintained, and will be followed by a certain reaction. I +don't mean that I shall ever again return to a life of sin, that +life is done with for ever. Even if I should fall again--the thought +is most painful to me--but even if that should happen it would be a +passing accident, I never could again continue in sin, for the memory +of the suffering sin has caused me would be sure to bring me back +again and force me to take shelter and to repent. + +"I know too much belief in one's own power of resistance is not a +good thing, but I can hardly bear to think of the suffering I +endured during those weeks with Ulick Dean, walking in Hyde Park, +round that Long Water, talking of sin and its pleasures, feeling +every day that I was being drawn a little nearer to the precipice, +that I was losing every day some power of resistance. It is +terrifying to lose sense of the reality of things, to lose one's own +will, to feel that one is merely a stone that has been set rolling. +To feel like this is to experience the obtuse and intense sensations +of nightmare, and this I know well. Have I not told you, Monsignor, +of the dreams from which I suffered, which brought me to you, and +which forced me to confession, those terrific dreams which used to +drive me dazed from my bed, flying through the door of my room into +the passage to wake up before the window, saying to myself: + +"'Oh, my God! it is a dream, it is a dream, thank God, it is only a +dream!' + +"But I must not allow myself to dwell on that time, to do so throws +me back again, and I have almost escaped those fits of brooding in +which I see my soul lost for ever. Sooner than go back to that time +I would become a nun, and remain here until the end of my life, +eating the poorest food, feeling hungry all day; anything were +better than to go back to that time!" + +In another letter she said: + +"I am afraid I shall always continue to be looked upon as an actress +by the Prioress, and St. Teresa's ecstasies and ravishments, with +added miracles and prophecies, would not avail to blot out the +motley which continues in her eyes, though it dropped from me three +years ago. + +"'My dear Evelyn, you have hardly any perception of what our life +is,' she said to me yesterday. 'You know it only from the outside, +you are still an actress, you are acting on a different stage, that +is all.' And it seemed to me that the Prioress thought she was +speaking very wisely, that she flattered herself on her wisdom, and +rejoiced not a little in my discomfiture, visible on my face, for +one cannot control the change of expression, 'which gives one away,' +as the phrase goes. She laughed, and we walked on together, I +genuinely perplexed and pathetically anxious to discover if she had +spoken the truth, fearing lest I might be adapting myself to a new +part, not quite sure, hoping, however, that something new had come +into my life. On such occasions one peers into one's heart, but +however closely I peer it is impossible for me to say that the +Prioress is right or that she was wrong. Everybody will say she is +right, of course, for it is so obvious that a prima donna who +retires to a convent must think of the parts she has played, of her +music, and the applause at the end of every evening, applause +without which she could not live. To say that no thought of my stage +life ever crosses my mind would be to tell a lie that no one would +believe; all thoughts cross one's mind, especially in a convent of a +contemplative Order where the centre of one's life is, as Mother Mary +Hilda would say, the perpetual adoration of the Blessed Sacrament +exposed upon the altar; where, as she teaches, next to receiving +Holy Communion, this hour of prayer and meditation in the presence +of our Lord is the central feature of our spiritual life, the axis +on which our spiritual progress revolves. + +"This was the subject of yesterday's lesson; nevertheless, during the +meditation thoughts came and went, and I found much difficulty in +trying to fix my mind. Perhaps I shall never learn how to meditate +on--shall I say the Cross?--I shall never be able to fix my +attention. Thoughts of the heroes and heroines of legends come and +go in my mind, mixing with thoughts of Christ and His apostles; yet +there is little of me in these flitting remembrances. My stage life +does not interest me any longer, but the Prioress does not see it as +I do, far away, a tiny speck. My art was once very real to me, and I +am surprised, and a little disappointed sometimes, that it should +seem so little now. But what I would not have, if I could change it, +is the persistency with which I remember my lovers; not that I +desire them, oh, no; but in the midst of a meditation on the Cross a +remembrance catches one about the heart, and, closing the eyes, one +tries to forget; and, Monsignor, what is worse than memory is our +powerlessness to regret our sins. We may not wish to sin again, but +we cannot regret that we have sinned. How is one to regret that one +is oneself? For one's past is as much oneself as one's present. Has +any saint attained to such a degree of perfection as to wish his +past had never existed? + +"Another part of my life which I remember very well--much better than +my stage life--is the time I spent working among the poor under your +direction. My poor people are very vivid in my memory; I remember +their kindness to each other, their simplicities, and their +patience. The patience of the poor is divine! But the poor people +who looked to me for help had to be put aside, and that was the +hardest part of my regeneration. Of course I know that I should have +perished utterly if I had not put them aside, but even the thought +of my great escape does not altogether satisfy me, and I would that +I might have escaped without leaving them, the four poor women whom +I took under my special protection, and who came to see me the day +before I came to the convent to ask me not to leave them. Four poor +women, poor beyond poverty, came to ask me not to go into the +convent. 'The convent will be always able to get on without you, +miss.' Such poverty as theirs is silent, they only asked me not to +leave them, not to go to the convent. Among them was poor Lena, a +hunchback seamstress, who has never been able to do more than keep +herself from starving. It is hard that cripples should have to +support themselves. She has, I think, always lived in fear lest she +should not be able to pay for her room at the end of the week, and +her food was never certain. How little it was, yet to get it caused +her hours and hours of weary labour. Three and sixpence a week was +all she could earn. Poor Lena, what has become of her? So little of +the money which my singing brings to the convent would secure her +against starvation, yet I cannot send her a penny. Doesn't it seem +hard, Monsignor? And if she were to die in my absence would not the +memory of my desertion haunt me for ever? Should I be able to forgive +myself? You will answer that to save one's soul is everybody's first +concern, but to sacrifice one's own soul for the poor may not be +theological, but it would be sublime. You who are so kind, +Monsignor, will not reprove me for writing in this strain, writing +heresy to you from a convent devoted to the Perpetual Adoration of +the Sacrament, but you will understand, and will write something +that will hearten me, for I am a little disheartened to-day. You will +write, perhaps, to the Reverend Mother, asking her if I may send Lena +some money; that would be a great boon if she would allow it. In my +anxiety to escape from the consequences of my own sins I had almost +forgotten this poor girl, but yesterday she came into my mind. It +was the lay sisters who reminded me of the poor people I left; the +lay sisters are what is most beautiful in the convent. + +"Yesterday, when the grass was soaked with dew and the crisp leaves +hung in a death-like silence, one of them, Sister Bridget, came down +the path carrying a pail of water, 'going,' she said, answering me, +'to scrub the tiles which covered the late Reverend Mother's grave. +Ah, well, Mother's room must have its weekly turn out.' How +beautiful is the use of the word 'room' in the phrase, and when I +pointed out to her that the tiles were still clean her answer was +that she regarded the task of attending the grave not as a duty but +as a privilege. Dear Sister Bridget, withered and ruddy like an +apple, has worked in the community for nearly thirty years. She has +been through all the early years of struggle: a struggle which has +begun again--a struggle the details of which were not even told her, +and which she has no curiosity to hear. She is content to work on to +the end, believing that it was God's will for her to do so. The lay +sisters can aspire to none of the convent offices; they have none of +the smaller distractions of receiving guests, and instructing +converts and so forth, and not to have as much time for prayer as +they desire is their penance. They are humble folk, who strive in a +humble way to separate themselves from the animal, and they see +heaven from the wash-tub plainly. In the eyes of the world they are +ignorant and simple hearts. They are ignorant, but of what are they +ignorant? Only of the passing show, which every moment crumbles and +perishes. I see them as I write--their ready smiles and their +touching humility. They are humble workers in a humble vineyard, and +they are content that it should be so." + + + +XVIII + +"You see, Evelyn," the Prioress said, "it is contrary to the whole +spirit of the religious life to treat the lay sisters as servants, +and though I am sure you don't intend any unkindness, they have +complained to me once or twice that you order them about." + +"But, my dear Mother, it seems to me that we are all inferior to the +lay sisters. To slight them--" "I am sure you did not do so +intentionally." + +"I said, 'Do hurry up,' but I only meant I was in a hurry. I don't +think anything you could have said could have pained me more than +that you should think I lacked respect for the lay sisters." + +Seeing that Evelyn was hurt the Prioress said: + +"The sisters have no doubt forgotten all about it by now." + +But Evelyn wanted to know which of the sisters had complained, so +that she might beg her pardon. + +"She doesn't want you to beg her pardon." + +"I beg you to allow me, it will be better that I should. The benefit +will be mine." + +The Prioress shook her head, and listened willingly to Evelyn, who +told her of her letter to Monsignor. "Now, wasn't it extraordinary, +Mother, that I should have written like that about Sister Bridget, +and to-day you should tell me that the lay sisters complained about +me? If the complaint had been that I was inclined to put the active +above the contemplative orders and was dissatisfied with our life +here--" + +"Dissatisfied!" the Prioress said. + +"Only this, Mother: I have been reading the story of the Order of the +Little Sisters of the Poor, and it seems to me so wonderful that +everything else, for the moment, seems insignificant." + +The Reverend Mother smiled. + +"Your enthusiasms, my dear Evelyn, are delightful. The last book you +read, the last person you meet--" + +"Do you think I am so frivolous, so changeable as that, dear Mother?" + +"Not changeable, Evelyn, but spontaneous." + +"It would seem to me that everything in me is of slow growth--but why +talk of me when there is Jeanne to talk about; marvellous, +extraordinary, unique--" Evelyn was nearly saying "divine Jeanne," +but she stopped herself in time and substituted the word "saintly." +"No one seems to me more real than this woman, no one in literature; +not Hamlet, nor Don Quixote, not Dante himself starts out into +clearer outline than this poor servant-girl--a goatherd in her +childhood." And to the Prioress, who did not know the story of this +poor woman, Evelyn told it, laying stress--as she naturally would-- +on Jeanne's refusal to marry a young sailor, whom she had been +willing to marry at first, but whom she refused to marry on his +returning after a long voyage. When he asked her for whom she had +refused him, she answered for nobody, only she did not wish to marry, +though she knew of no reason why she should not. It was not caprice +but an instinct which caused Jeanne to leave her sweetheart, and to +go on working in humble service attending on a priest until he died, +then going to live with his sister, remaining with her until she +died, and saving during all these long twenty years only +four-and-twenty pounds--all the money she had when she returned to the +little seaport town whence she had come: a little seaport town where +the aged poor starved in the streets, or in garrets in filth and +vermin, without hope of relief from any one. + +It was to this cruel little village, of which there are many along +the French coast, and along every coast in the world, that Jeanne +returned to rent a garret with an old and bedridden woman, unable to +help herself. Without the poor to help the poor the poor would not +be able to live, and this old woman lived by the work of Jeanne's +hands for many a year, Jeanne going every morning to the +market-place to find some humble employment, finding it sometimes, +returning at other times desperate, but concealing her despair from +her bedridden companion, telling her as gaily as might be that they +would have to do without any dinner that day. So did they live until +two little seamstresses--women inspired by the same pity for the +poor as Jeanne herself--heard of her, and asked the _curé_, in whom +this cruel little village had inspired an equal pity, to send for +Jeanne. She was asked to give her help to those in greater need than +she--the blind beggars and such like who prowled about the walls of +the churches. + +On leaving the priest it is related that she said: "I don't +understand, but I never heard any one speak so beautifully." But +next day when she went to see the priest she understood everything, +sufficient at all events for the day which was to take to her garret +a blind woman whom the seamstresses had discovered in the last +stages of neglect and age. There was the bedridden woman whom Jeanne +supported, and who feared to share Jeanne's charity with another, and +resented the intrusion; she had to be pacified and cajoled with some +little present of food, for the aged and hungry are like animals-- +food appeases them, silences many a growl; and the blind woman was +given a corner in the garret. "But how is she to be fed?" was the +question put to Jeanne next morning, and from that question the +whole Order of the Little Sisters of the Poor started. Jeanne, +inspired suddenly, said, "I will beg for them," and seizing a basket +she went out to beg for broken victuals. + +"There is a genius for many things besides the singing of operas, +painting pictures, and writing books," Evelyn said, "and Jeanne's +genius was for begging for her poor people. And there is nothing +more touching in the world's history than her journey in the +milk-cart to the regatta. You see, dear Mother, she was accustomed to +beg from door to door among squalid streets, stopping a passer-by, +stooping under low doorways, intruding everywhere, daring everything +among her own people, but frightened by the fashionable folk _en +grande toilette_ bent on amusement. It seems that her courage almost +failed her, but grasping the cross which hung round her neck, she +entered a crowd of pleasure-seekers, saying, 'Won't you give me +something for my poor people?' Now, Mother, isn't the story a +wonderful one? for there was genius in this woman, though it was only +for begging: a tall, thin, curious, fantastic figure, considered +simple by some, but gifted for her task which had been revealed to +her in middle age." + +"But why, Evelyn, does that seem to you so strange that her task +should have been revealed to her in middle age?" + +Evelyn looked at the Reverend Mother for a while unable to answer, +then went on suddenly with her tale, telling how that day, at that +very regatta, a man had slapped Jeanne in the face, and she had +answered, "You are perfectly right, a box on the ears is just what +is suited to me; but now tell me what you are going to give me for +my poor people." At another part of the ground somebody had begun to +tease her--some young man, no doubt, in a long fashionable grey +frock-coat with race-glasses hung round his neck, had ventured to +tease this noble woman, to twit her, to jeer and jibe at her +uncouthness, for she was uncouth, and she stood bearing with these +jeers until they apologised to her. "Never mind the apology," she +had answered; "you have had your fun out of me, now give me +something for my poor people." They gave her five francs, and she +said, "At that price you may tease me as much as you please." + +Evelyn asked if it were not extraordinary how an ignorant and uncouth +woman, a goatherd during her childhood, a priest's servant till she +was well on in middle age, should have been able to invent a system +of charity which had penetrated all over Europe. Every moment Evelyn +expected the Prioress to check her, for she was conscious that she +was placing the active orders above the contemplative, Jeanne above +St. Teresa, and, determined to see how far she could go in this +direction without being reproved, she began to speak of how Jeanne, +after having made the beds and cleaned the garret in the morning, +took down a big basket and stood receiving patiently the +remonstrances addressed to her, the blind woman saying, "I am +certain and sure you will forget to ask for the halfpenny a week +which I used to get from the grocery store, you very nearly forgot it +last week, and had to go back for it." "But I'll not make a mistake +this time," Jeanne would answer. Her bed-ridden friend would reprove +her, "But you did forget to ask for my soup." To bear patiently with +all such unjust remonstrances was part of Jeanne's genius, and +Evelyn asked the Reverend Mother if it were not strange that a woman +like Jeanne had never inspired some great literary work. + +"I spoke just now of Hamlet, Don Quixote, but Falstaff himself is not +more real than Jeanne, and her words are always so wonderful, +wonderful as Joan of Arc's. When the old woman used to hide their +food under the bed-clothes and sell it for food for the pigs, +leaving the Little Sisters almost starving, Jeanne used to say, +'So-and-so has not been as nice as usual this afternoon.' How is it, +Mother, that no great writer has ever given us a portrait of Jeanne?" + +"Well, Jeanne, my dear Evelyn, has given us her own portrait. What +can a writer add to what Nature has given? No one has ever yet given +a portrait of a great saint, of St. Teresa--what can any one tell us +that we do not already know?" + +"St. Teresa's life passed in thought, whereas Jeanne's passed in +action." + +"Don't be afraid, Evelyn," the Prioress said, "to say what you mean, +that perhaps the way of the Little Sisters of the Poor is a better +way than ours." + +"It seems so, Mother, doesn't it?" + +"It is permissible to have doubts on such a subject--which is the +better course, mercy or prayer? We have all had our doubts on this +subject, and it is the weakness of our intelligences that causes +these doubts to arise." + +"How is that, Mother?" + +"It is easy to realise the beauty of the relief of material +suffering. The flesh is always with us, and we realise so easily +that it suffers that there are times when relief of suffering seems +to us the only good. But in truth bread and prayer are as necessary +to man, one as the other. You have never heard the story of the +foundation of our Order? It will not appeal to the animal sympathies +as readily as the foundation of the Sisters of the Poor, but I don't +think it is less human." And the Reverend Mother told how in Lyons a +sudden craving for God had occurred in a time of extraordinary +prosperity. Three young women had suddenly wearied of the pleasure +that wealth brought them, and had without intercommunication decided +that the value of life was in foregoing it, that is to say, +foregoing what they had always been taught to consider as life; and +this story reaching as it did to the core of Evelyn's own story, was +listened to by her with great interest, and she heard in the quiet +of the Reverend Mother's large room, in which the silence when the +canaries were not shrilling was intense, how a sign had been +vouchsafed to these three young women, daughters of two bankers and +a silk merchant, and how all three had accepted the signs vouchsafed +to them and become nuns. + +"I am not depreciating the active Orders when I say they are more +easily understood by the average man than--shall I say the Carmelite +or any contemplative Order, our own for example. To relieve +suffering makes a ready appeal to his sympathies, but he is +incapable of realising what the world would be were it not for our +prayers. It would be a desert. In truth the active and the +contemplative Orders are identical, when we look below the surface." + +"How are they identical, Mother?" + +"In this way: the object of the active Orders is to relieve +suffering, but the good they do is not a direct good. There will +always be suffering in the world, the little they relieve is only +like a drop taken out of the ocean. It might even be argued that if +you eliminate on one side the growth is greater on the other; by +preserving the lives of old people one makes the struggle harder for +others. There is as much suffering in the world now as there was +before the Little Sisters began their work--that is what I mean." + +"Then, dear Mother, the Order does not fulfil its purpose." + +"On the contrary, Evelyn, it fulfils its purpose, but its purpose is +not what the world thinks it is; it is by the noble example they set +that the Little Sisters of the Poor achieve their purpose. It is by +forsaking the world that they achieve their purpose, by their +manifestation that the things of this world are not worth +considering. The Little Sisters pray in outward acts, whereas the +contemplative Orders pray only in thought. The purpose, as I have +said, is identical; the creation of an atmosphere of goodness, +without which the world could not exist. There are two atmospheres, +the atmosphere of good and the atmosphere of evil, and both are +created by thought, whether thought in the concrete form of an act +or thought in its purest form--an aspiration. Therefore all those +who devote themselves to prayer, whether their prayers take the form +of good works or whether their prayer passes in thought, collaborate +in the production of a moral atmosphere, and it is the moral +atmosphere which enables man to continue his earthly life. Yourself +is an instance of what I mean. You were inspired to leave the stage, +but whence did that inspiration come? Are you sure that our prayers +had nothing to do with it? And the acts of the Little Sisters of the +Poor all over the world--are you sure they did not influence you?" + +Evelyn thought of Owen's letter, the last he had written to her, for +in it he reminded her that she had nearly yielded to him. But was it +she who had resisted? She attributed her escape rather to a sudden +realisation on his part that she would be unhappy if he persisted. +Now, what was the cause of this sudden realisation, this sudden +scruple? For one seemed to have come into Owen's mind. How wonderful +it would be if it could be attributed to the prayers of the nuns, +for they had promised to pray for her, and, as the Prioress said, +everything in the world is thought: all begins in thought, all +returns to thought, the world is but our thought. + +While she pondered, unable to believe that the nuns' prayers had +saved her, unwilling to discard the idea, the Prioress told of the +three nuns who came to England about thirty years ago to make the +English foundation. But of this part of the story Evelyn lost a +great deal; her interest was not caught again until the Prioress +began to tell how a young girl in society, rich and beautiful, whose +hand was sought by many, came to the rescue of these three nuns with +all her fortune and a determination to dedicate her life to God. Her +story did not altogether catch Evelyn's sympathies, and the Prioress +agreed with Evelyn that her conduct in leaving her aged parents was +open to criticism. We owe something to others, and it appears that +an idea had come into her mind when she was twelve years old that +she would like to be a nun, and though she appeared to like +admiration and to encourage one young man, yet she never really +swerved from her idea, she always told him she would enter a +convent. + +Evelyn did not answer, for she was thinking of the strange threads +one finds in the weft of human life. Every one follows a thread, but +whither do the threads lead? Into what design? And while Evelyn was +thinking the Prioress told how the house in which they were now +living had been bought with five thousand out of the thirty thousand +pounds which this girl had brought to the convent. The late Prioress +was blamed for this outlay. Blame often falls on innocent shoulders, +for how could she have foreseen the increased taxation? how could she +have foreseen that no more rich postulants would come to the +convent, only penniless converts turned out by their relations, and +aged governesses? A great deal of the money had been lost in a +railway, and it was lost at a most unfortunate time, only a few days +before the lawyer had written to say that the Australian mine in +which most of their money was invested had become bankrupt. + +"There was nothing for us to do," the Prioress said, "but to mortgage +the property, and this mortgage is our real difficulty, and its +solution seems as far off as ever. There seems to be no solution. We +are paying penal interest on the money, and we have no security that +the mortgagee will not sell the property. He has been complaining +that he can do better with his money, though we are paying him five +and six per cent. + +"And if he were to sell the property, Mother, you would all have to +go back to your relations?" + +"All of us have not relations, and few have relations who would take +us in. The lay sisters--what is to become of them?--some of them old +women who have given up their lives. Frankly, Evelyn, I am at my +wits' end." + +"But, Mother, have I not offered to lend you the money? It will be a +great pleasure to me to do it, and in some way I feel that I owe the +money." + +"Owe the money, Evelyn?" + +The women sat looking at each other, and at the end of a long silence +the Prioress said: + +"It is impossible for us to take your money, my child?" + +"But something must be done, Mother." + +"If you were staying with us a little longer--" + +"I have made no plans to leave you." And to turn the conversation +from herself Evelyn spoke of the crowds that came to Benediction. + +"To hear you, dear, and when you leave us our congregation will be +the same as it was before, a few pious old Catholic ladies living on +small incomes who can hardly afford to put a shilling into the +plate." Evelyn spoke of the improvement of the choir, and the +Prioress interrupted her, saying, "Don't think for a moment that any +reformation in the singing of the plain chant is likely to bring +people to our church; the Benedictine gradual _versus_ the Ratisbon." +And the Prioress shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. "What has +brought us a congregation is you, my dear--your voice and your story +which is being talked about. The story is going the rounds that you +are going to become a nun, and that interests everybody. An opera +singer entering a convent! Such a thing was never heard of before, +and they come to hear you." + +"But, Mother, I never said I was going to join the Order. I only came +here in the hope--" + +"And I accepted you as a postulant in the hope that you would +persevere. All this seems very selfish, Evelyn. It looks as if we +were only thinking! of your money; but you know it isn't so." + +"Indeed, I do, Mother. I know it isn't so." + +"When are you going to leave us?" + +"Well, nothing is decided. Every day I expect to hear from my father, +and if he wishes--" + +"But if he doesn't require you? By remaining with us you may find you +have a vocation. Other women have persevered and discovered in the +end--" The Prioress's face changed expression, and Evelyn began to +think that perhaps the Prioress had discovered a vocation in +herself, after long waiting, and though she had become Prioress +discovered too late that perhaps she had been mistaken. "You have no +intention of joining the Order?" + +"You mean to become a novice and then to become a nun and live here +with you?" + +"You need say no more." + +"But you don't think I have deceived you, Mother?" + +"No, I don't blame anybody, only a hope has gone. Besides, I at +least, Evelyn, shall be very sorry to part with you, sorry for many +reasons which I may not tell you... in the convent we don't talk of +our past life." And Evelyn wondered what the Prioress alluded to. +"Has she a past like mine? What is her story?" + +The canaries began singing, and they sang so loudly the women could +hardly hear themselves speak. Evelyn got up and waved her +handkerchief at the birds, silencing them. + + * * * * * + +Late that night a telegram came telling Evelyn that her father was +dangerously ill, and she was to start at once for Rome. + + + +XIX + +The wind had gathered the snow into the bushes and all the corners of +the common, and the whole earth seemed but a little brown patch, with +a dead grey sky sweeping by. For many weeks the sky had been grey, +and heavy clouds had passed slowly, like a funeral, above the low +horizon. The wind had torn the convent garden until nothing but a few +twigs remained; even the laurels seemed about to lose their leaves. +The nuns had retreated with blown skirts; Sister Mary John had had to +relinquish her digging, and her jackdaw had sought shelter in the +hen-house. + +One night, when the nuns assembled for evening prayer, the north wind +seemed to lift the roof as with hands; the windows were shaken; the +nuns divined the wrath of God in the wind, and Miss Dingle, who had +learned through pious incantation that the Evil One would attempt a +descent into the convent, ran to warn the porteress of the danger. At +that moment the wind was so loud that the portress listened, +perforce, to the imaginings of Miss Dingle's weak brain, thinking, in +spite of herself, that some communication had been vouchsafed to her. +"Who knows," her thoughts said, "who can say? The ways of Providence +are inscrutable." And she looked at the little daft woman as if she +were a messenger. + +As they stood calculating the strength of the lock and hinges the +door-bell suddenly began to jingle. + +"He wouldn't ring the bell; he would come down the chimney," said +Miss Dingle. + +"But who can it be?" said the portress, "and at this hour." + +"This will save you." Miss Dingle thrust a rosary into the nun's hand +and fled down the passage. "Be sure to throw it over his neck." + +The nun tried to collect her scattered thoughts and her courage. +Again the bell jingled; this time the peal seemed crazier than the +first, and, rousing herself into action, she asked through the +grating who it might be. + +"It is I, Sister Evelyn; open the door quickly, Sister Agnes." + +The nun held the door open, thanking God it was not the devil, and +Evelyn dragged her trunk through the door, letting it drop upon the +mat abruptly. + +"Tell dear Mother I want to speak to her--say that I must see her--be +sure to say that, and I will wait for her in the parlour." + +"There is no light there; I will fetch one." + +"Never mind, don't trouble; I don't want a light. But go to the +Reverend Mother and tell her I must see her before any one else." + +"Of course, Sister Evelyn, of course." And the portress hurried away, +feeling that things had happened in a life which was beyond her life, +beyond its scope. Perhaps Sister Evelyn had come to tell the Prioress +the Pope himself was dead, or had gone mad; something certainly had +happened into which it was no business of hers to inquire. And this +vague feeling sent her running down the passage and up the stairs, +and returning breathless to Evelyn, whom she found in a chair nearly +unconscious, for when she called to her Evelyn awoke as from sleep, +asking where she was. + +"Sister Evelyn, why do you ask? You are in Wimbledon Convent, with +Sister Agnes; what is the matter?" + +"Matter? Nothing and everything." She seemed to recover herself a +little. "I had forgotten, Sister Agnes, I had forgotten. But the +Prioress, where is she?" + +"In her room, and she will see you. But you asked me to go to the +Prioress saying she must see you--have you forgotten, Sister Evelyn? +You know the way to her room?" + +Evelyn did not answer; and feeling perhaps that she might lose her +way in the convent, Sister Agnes said she would conduct her to the +Prioress, and opened the door for her, saying, "Reverend Mother, +Sister Evelyn." + +There was a large fire burning in the room, and Evelyn was conscious +of the warmth, of bodily comfort, and was glad to sit down. + +"You are very cold, my child, you are very cold. Don't trouble to +speak, take your time and get warm first." And Evelyn sat looking +into the fire for a long time. At last she said: + +"It is warm here, Mother, I am so glad to be here. But perhaps you +will turn me away and won't have me. I know you won't, I know you +won't, so why did I come all this long way?" + +"My dear child, why shouldn't we be glad to have you back? We were +sorry to part with you." + +"That was different, that was different." + +These answers, and the manner in which they were spoken even more +than the answers themselves, frightened the Prioress; but unable to +think of what might have happened, she sat wondering, waiting for +Evelyn to reveal herself. The hour was late, and Evelyn showed no +signs of speaking. Perhaps it would be better to ring for one of the +lay sisters, and ask her to show Evelyn to her room. + +"You will stay here to-night?" + +"Yes, if you will allow me." + +"Allow you, my dear child! Why speak in this way?" + +"Oh, Mother, I am done for, I am done for!" + +"You haven't told me yet what has happened." + +Evelyn did not answer; she seemed to have forgotten everything, or to +be thinking of one thing, and unable to detach her thoughts from it +sufficiently to answer the Prioress's question. + +"Your father--" + +"My father is dead," she answered. And the Prioress, imagining her +father's death to be the cause of this mental breakdown, spoke of the +consolations of religion, which no doubt Mr. Innes had received, and +which would enable Mr. Innes's soul to appear before a merciful God +for judgment. + +"There is little in this life, my dear; we should not be sorry for +those who leave it--that is, if they leave it in a proper disposition +of soul." + +"My father died after having received the Sacraments of the Church. +Oh, his death!" And thinking it well to encourage her to speak, the +Prioress said: + +"Tell me, my dear, tell me; I can understand your grief and +sympathise with you; tell me everything." + +And like one awakening Evelyn told how for days he had fluctuated +between life and death, sometimes waking to consciousness, then +falling back into a trance. In spite of the hopes the doctors had +held out to him he had insisted he was dying. + +"'I am worn to a thread,' he said, 'I shall flicker like that candle +when it reaches the socket, and then I shall go out. But I am not +afraid of death: death is a great experience, and we are all better +for every experience. There is only one thing--' + +"He was thinking of his work, he was sorry he was called away before +his work was done; and then he seemed to forget it, to be absorbed in +things of greater importance." + +Sometimes the wind interrupted the Prioress's attention, and she +thought of the safety of her roofs; Evelyn noticed the wind, and her +notice of it served to accentuate her terror. "It is terror," the +Prioress said to herself, "rather than grief." + +"I waited by his bedside seeing the soul prepare for departure. The +soul begins to leave the body several days before it goes; it flies +round and round like a bird that is going to some distant country. I +must tell you all about it, Mother. He lay for hours and hours +looking into a corner of the room. I am sure he saw something there; +and one night I heard him call me. I went to him and asked him what +he wanted; but he lay quiet, looking into the corner of the room, and +then he said, 'The wall has been taken away,' I know he saw something +there. He saw something, he learnt something in that last moment that +we do not know. That last moment is the only real moment of our +lives, the only true moment--all the rest is falsehood, delirium, +froth. The rest of life is contradictions, distractions, and lies, +but in the moment before death I am sure everything becomes quite +clear to us. Then we learn what we are. We do not know ourselves +until then. If I ask who am I, what am I, there is no answer. We do +not believe in ourselves because we do not know who we are; we do not +know enough of ourselves to believe in anything. We do not believe; +we acquiesce that certain things are so because it is necessary to +acquiesce, but we do not believe in anything, not even that we are +going to die, for if we did we should live for death, and not for +life." + +"Your father's death has been a great grief to you; only time will +help you to recover yourself." + +"Recover myself? But I shall never recover, no, Mother, never, never, +never!" + +The Prioress asked when Mr. Innes had died. + +"I can't remember, Mother; some time ago." + +The Prioress asked if he were dead a week. + +"Oh, more than that, more than that." + +"And you have been in Rome ever since? Why did you not come here at +once?" + +"Why, indeed, did I not come here?" was all Evelyn could say. She +seemed to lose all recollection, or at all events she had no wish to +speak, and sat silent, brooding. "Of what is she thinking?" the +Prioress asked herself, "or is she thinking of anything? She seems +lost in a great terror, some sin committed. If she were to confess to +me. Perhaps confession would relieve her." And the Prioress tried to +lead Evelyn into some account of herself, but Evelyn could only say, +"I am done for, Mother, I am done for!" She repeated these words +without even asking the Prioress to say no more: it seemed to her +impossible to give utterance to the terror in her soul. What could +have happened to her?" + +"Did you meet, my child, either of the men whom you spoke to me of?" + +The question only provoked a more intense agony of grief. + +"Mother, Mother, Mother!" she cried, "I am done for! let me go, let +me leave you." + +"But, my child, you can't leave us to-night, it is too late. Why +should you leave us at all?" + +"Why did I ever leave you? But, Mother, don't let us talk any more +about it. I know myself; no one can tell me anything about myself; it +is all clear to me, all clear to me from the beginning; and now, and +now, and now--" + +"But, my child, all sins can be forgiven. Have you confessed?" + +"Yes, Mother, I confessed before I left Italy, and then came on here +feeling that I must see you; I only wanted to see you. Now I must +go." + +"No, my child, you mustn't go; we will talk of this to-morrow." + +"No, let us never talk of it again, that I beseech you, Mother; +promise me that we shall never talk of it again." + +"As you like, as you like. Perhaps every one knows her own soul +best.... It is not for me to pry into yours. You have confessed, and +your grief is great." + +The Prioress went back to her chair, feeling relieved, thinking it +was well that Evelyn had confessed her sin to some Italian priest who +did not know her, for it would be inconvenient for Father Daly to +know Evelyn's story. Evelyn could be of great use to them; it were +well, indeed, that she had not even confessed to her. She must not +leave the convent; and arriving at that conclusion, suddenly she rang +the bell. Nothing was said till the lay sister knocked at the door. +"Will you see, Sister Agnes, that Sister Evelyn's bed is prepared for +her?" + +"In the guest-room or in the novitiate, Reverend Mother?" + +"In the novitiate," the Prioress answered. + +Evelyn had sunk again into a stupor, and, only half-conscious of what +was happening to her, she followed the lay sister out of the +Prioress's room. + +"It is very late," the Prioress said to herself, "all the lights in +the convent should be out; but the rule doesn't apply to me." And she +put more coal on the fire, feeling that she must give all her mind to +the solution of the question which had arisen--whether Evelyn was to +remain with them to-morrow. It had almost been decided, for had she +not told Sister Agnes to take Evelyn to the novitiate? But Evelyn +might herself wish to leave to-morrow, and if so what inducements, +what persuasion, what pressure should be used to keep her? And how +far would she be justified in exercising all her influence to keep +Evelyn? The Prioress was not quite sure. She sat thinking. Evelyn in +her present state of mind could not be thrown out of the convent. The +convent was necessary for her salvation in this world and in the +next. + +"She knows that, and I know it." + +The Prioress's thoughts drifted into recollections of long ago; and +when she awoke from her reverie it seemed that she must have been +dreaming a long while: "too long" she thought; "but I have not +thought of these things for many a year.... Evelyn has confessed, her +sins are behind her, and it would be so inconvenient--" The +Prioress's thoughts faded away; for even to herself she did not like +to admit that it would be inconvenient for Evelyn to confess to +Father Daly the sins she had committed--if she had committed any. +Perhaps it might be all an aberration, an illusion in the interval +between her father's death and her return to the convent. "Her sins +have been absolved, and for guidance she will not turn to Father Daly +but to me." The Reverend Mother reflected that a man would not be +able to help this woman with his advice. She thought of Evelyn's +terror, and how she had cried, "I am done for, I am done for!" She +remembered the tears upon Evelyn's cheeks and every attitude so +explicit of her grief. + +"A penitent if ever there was one, one whom we must help, whom we +must lead back to God. Evelyn must remain in the convent. To-morrow +we must seek to persuade her. But it will not be difficult." Then, +listening to the wind, the Prioress remembered that the convent roof +required re-slating. "Who knows? Perhaps what happened may have been +divinely ordered to bring her back to us? Who knows? who knows?" She +thought of the many other things the convent required: the chapel +wanted re-decorating, and they had to spare every penny they could +from their food and clothing to buy candles for the altar; another +item of expense was the resident chaplain; and when in bed she lay +thinking that perhaps to-morrow she would find a way out of the +difficulty that had puzzled her so long. + + + +XX + +"Yes, dear Mother, if you are willing to keep me I shall be glad to +remain. It is good of you. How kind you all are!" + +Very little more than that she could be induced to say, relapsing, +after a few words, into a sort of stupor or dream, from which very +often it was impossible to rouse her; and the Prioress dreaded these +long silences, and often asked herself what they could mean, if the +cause were a fixed idea... on which she was brooding. Or it might be +that Evelyn's mind was fading, receding. If so, the responsibility of +keeping her in the convent was considerable. A little time would, +however, tell them. Any religious instruction was, of course, out of +the question, and books would be fatal to her. + +"Her mind requires rest," the Prioress said. "Even her music is a +mental excitement." + +"I don't think that," Sister Mary John answered. "And as for work, I +have been thinking I might teach her a little carpentry. If plain +carpentry does not interest her sufficiently, she might learn to work +at the lathe." + +"Your idea is a very good one, Sister Mary John. Go to her at once +and set her to work. It is terrible to think of her sitting brooding, +brooding." + +"But on what is she brooding, dear Mother?" + +"No doubt her father's death was a great shock." + +And Sister Mary John went in search of Evelyn, and found her +wandering in the garden. + +"Of what are you thinking, Sister?" As Evelyn did not answer, Sister +Mary John feared she resented the question. "You don't like me to +walk with you?" + +"Yes I do, I don't mind; but I wonder if the Prioress likes me to be +here. Can you find out for me?" + +"Why should you think we do not wish to have you here?" + +"Well, you see, Sister--oh, it is no use talking." Her thoughts +seemed to float away, and it might be five or ten minutes before she +would speak again. + +"I wish you would come to the woodshed, Sister. If not, I must leave +you." + +"Oh, I'll go to the woodshed with you." + +"And will you help me with my work?" + +"I help you with your work!" + +There was a long, narrow table in the woodshed--some planks laid upon +two tressels; and the walls were piled with all kinds of sawn wood, +deal planks, and rough timber, and a great deal of broken furniture +and heaps of shavings. The woodshed was so full of rubbish of all +kinds that there was only just room enough to walk up and down the +table. Sister Mary John was making at that time a frame for +cucumbers, and Evelyn watched her planing the deal boards, especially +interested when she pushed the plane down the edge of the board, and +a long, narrow shaving curled out of the plane, but asking no +questions. + +"Now, wouldn't you like to do some work on the other side of the +table, Sister?" + +Evelyn did not answer, and it was not that day nor the next, but at +the end of the week, that she was persuaded to take the pincers and +pull the nails out of an old board. + +"And when you have done that, I will show you how to plane it." + +She seemed to have very little strength--or was it will that she +lacked? The pincers often fell from her hands, and she would stand, +lost in reverie. + +"Now, Sister, you have only pulled two nails out of that board in the +last ten minutes; it is really very tiresome of you, and I am waiting +for it." + +"Do you really mean that you are waiting for this board? Do you want +it?" + +"But of course; I shouldn't have asked you to draw the nails out of +it if I didn't," And it was by such subterfuges that she induced +Evelyn to apply herself. "Now, you won't think of anything until you +have drawn out every nail, will you? Promise me." Sister Mary John +put the pincers into her hand, and when the board was free of nails, +it seemed that Evelyn had begun to take an interest in the fate of +the board which she had prepared. She came round the table to watch +Sister Mary John planing it, and was very sorry when the nun's plane +was gapped by a nail which had been forgotten. + +"This iron will have to go to the grinders." + +"I am so sorry, Sister. Will you forgive me?" + +"Yes, I'll forgive you; but you must try to pay attention." + +When the cucumber-frame was finished Sister Mary John was busy making +some kitchen chairs, and the cutting out of the chair-backs moved +Evelyn's curiosity. + +"Shall you really be able to make a chair that one can sit upon?" + +"I hope so." + +"Have you ever made one before?" + +"Well, no, this is my first chair, but I made several stools." + +The mystery of dovetailing was explained to Evelyn, and she learned +that glue was required. + +"Now you may, if you like, melt the glue for me." + +There was a stove in the adjoining shed, and Sister Mary John lighted +a fire and told Evelyn that she was to keep stirring the glue. "And +be sure not to let it burn." But when she came back twenty minutes +after, she found that Evelyn had wandered away from the stove to the +farther end of the shed to watch a large spider. + +"Oh, Sister, just look at the spider! There is a fly in the web; see +how he comes out to seize his prey!" + +"But, my goodness, Evelyn! what about my glue? There it is, all burnt +in the pot, and I shall have to take it to the kitchen and get hot +water and scrape it all out. It is really very tiresome of you." + +When she returned with the glue, Evelyn said: + +"You see, Sister, it is difficult to fix one's thoughts on a +glue-pot; the glue melts so slowly, and, watching the spider, I lost +count of the time. But I think I should like to saw something." + +"That's a very good idea." + +A saw was put into her hand, and half an hour after the sister came +to see how Evelyn had been getting on. "Why, you will be a first-rate +carpenter; you have sawn those boards capitally, wandering a little +from the line, it is true, but you will do better to-morrow." + +Whenever Sister Mary John heard the saw cease she cried out, "Now, +Sister Evelyn, what are you thinking about? You are neglecting your +work." And Evelyn would begin again, and continue until her arm +ached. + +"Here is Mother Abbess." + +"See, dear Mother, what Evelyn has been doing. She sawed this board +through all by herself, and you see she has sawn it quite straight, +and she has learned how to plane a board; and as for glueing, she +does it capitally!" + + + +XXI + +"What are you looking for, Sister Evelyn?" + +"Veronica asked me to go into the garden; I think it was to gather +some laurel-leaves, but I can't remember where they grow." + +"Never mind the leaves, I will gather them for you. Take my spade and +dig a little while. It is pleasanter being in the open air than in +that hot sacristy." + +"But I don't know how to dig. You'll only laugh at me." + +"No, no. See, here is a bed of spring onions, and it wants digging +out. You press the spade in as far as you can, pull down the handle, +and lift out the earth. I shall be some little while away, and I +expect you will have dug some yards. You can dig as far as this. Try, +Evelyn, make up your mind that you will; if you make up your mind, +you will succeed." + +Evelyn promised. + +"But you won't stay a long time, will you?" she called after the nun. +"Now I know why Sister Mary John wears men's boots." And she stooped +to pin up her skirt. + +All the while the sky was clearing, the wind drove the clouds +westward, breaking up the dark masses, scattering, winnowing, letting +the sun through. Delicious was the glow, though it lasted but for a +few minutes--perhaps more delicious because it was so transitory. +Another patch of wind-driven clouds came up, and the world became +cold and grey again. A moment afterwards the clouds passed, the sun +shone out, and the delicious warmth filled mind and body with a +delight that no artificial warmth could; and, to enjoy the glowing of +the sun, Evelyn left her digging, and wandered away through the +garden, stopping now and then to notice the progress of the spring. A +late frost had cut the blossoms of the pear and the cherry; the +half-blown blossom dropped at the touch of the finger, and Evelyn +regretted the frost, thinking of the nets she had made. + +"They'll be of very little use this year." And she wondered if the +currant and gooseberry-bushes had escaped; the apples had, for they +were later, unless there was another frost. "And then my nets will be +of no use at all; and, I have worked so hard at them!" + +The lilac-bushes were not yet in leaf--only some tiny green shoots. +"We shall not have any lilac this year till the middle of May. Was +there ever such a season?" Larks were everywhere, ascending in short +flights, trilling as they ascended; and Evelyn listened to their +singing, thinking it most curious--quaint cadenzas in which a note +was wanting, like in the bagpipes, a sort of aerial bagpipes. But on +a bare bough a thrush sang, breaking out presently into a little tune +of five notes. "Quite a little tune; one would think the bird had +been taught it." She waited for him to sing it again, but, as if not +wishing to waste his song, being a careful bird, he continued a sort +of recitative; then, thinking his listener had waited long enough for +his little aria, he broke out again. "There it is, five notes--a +distinct little tune." Why should he sing and no other thrush sing +it? There was a robin; but he sang the same little roundelay all the +year.... A little, pale-brown bird, fluttering among the bushes, +interested her; but it was some time before she could catch fair +sight of it. "A dear little wren!" she said. "It must have its nest +about here." She sought it, knowing its beautifully woven house, with +one hole, through which the bird passes to feed a numerous progeny, +and expected to find it amid the tangle of traveller's-joy which +covered an old wall. + +In the convent garden there was a beautiful ash-tree, under which +Evelyn had often sat with the nuns during recreation, but it showed +no signs of coming into leaf; and the poplars rose up against the +bright sky, like enormous brooms. The hawthorns had resisted the +frost better than the sycamores. One pitied the sycamore and the +chestnut-trees most of all; and, fearing they would bear no leaves +that year, Evelyn stood with a black and shrivelled leaf in her hand. +"Autumn, before the spring has begun," she said. "But here is Jack." +And she stooped to pick up the great yellow tom-cat, whom she +remembered as a kindly, affectionate animal; but now he ran away from +her, turning to snarl at her. "What can have happened to our dear +Jack?" she asked herself. And Miss Dingle, who had been watching her +from a little distance, cried out: + +"You'll not succeed in catching him; he has been very wicked lately, +and is quite changed. The devil must have got into him, in spite of +the blue ribbon I tied round his neck." + +"How are you, Miss Dingle?" + +Miss Dingle evinced a considerable shyness, and muttered under her +breath that she was very well. She hoped Evelyn was the same; and ran +away a little distance, then stopped and looked back, her curiosity +getting the better of her. "Ordinary conversation does not suit her," +Evelyn said to herself. And, when they were within speaking distance +again, Evelyn asked her what had become of the blue ribbon she had +tied round the cat's neck to save him from the devil. + +"He tore it off--I mean the devil took it off. I can't catch him. If +you'd try?--if you'd get between him and that bush. It is a pity to +see a good cat go to the devil because we can't get a bit of blue +ribbon on his neck." + +Evelyn stood between the cat and the bush, and creeping near, caught +him by the neck, and held him by the forepaws while Miss Dingle tried +to tie the ribbon round his neck; but Jack struggled, and raising one +of his hind paws obliged Evelyn to loose him. + +"There is no use trying; he won't let it be put on his neck." + +"But what will become of him? He will get more and more savage." Miss +Dingle ran after the cat, who put up his tail and trotted away, +eluding her. She came back, telling Evelyn that she might see the +devil if she wished. "That is to say, if you are not afraid. He's in +that corner, and I don't like to go there. I have hunted him out of +these bushes--you need not be afraid, my rosary has been over them +all." + +Evelyn could see that Miss Dingle wished her to exorcise the +dangerous corner, and she offered to do so. + +"You have two rosaries, you might lend me one." + +"No, I don't think I could. I want two, one for each hand, you +see.... I have not seen you in the garden this last day or two. +You've been away, haven't you?" + +"I've been in Rome." + +"In Rome! Then why don't you go and hunt him out... frighten him +away? You don't need a rosary if you have touched the precious +relics. You should be able to drive him out of the garden, and out of +the park too, though the park is a big place. But here comes Sister +Mary John. You will tell me another time if you've brought back +anything that the Pope has worn." + +Sister Mary John came striding over the broken earth, followed by her +jackdaw. The bird stopped to pick up a fat worm, and the nun sent +Miss Dingle away very summarily. + +"I can't have you here, Alice. Go to the summer-house and worry the +devil away with your holy pictures. I've no time for you, dear," she +said to the jackdaw, who had alighted on her shoulder; "and I have +been looking for you everywhere," she said, turning from her bird to +Evelyn. "You promised me--But I suppose digging tired you?" + +"No, it was not that, Sister, only the sun came out and the warmth +was so delicious; I am afraid I am easily beguiled." + +"We are all easily beguiled," Sister Mary John answered somewhat +sharply. "Now we must try to get on with our digging. You can help me +a little with it, can't you?" And looking up and down a plot about +ten yards long and twenty feet wide, protected by a yew-hedge, she +said, "This is the rhubarb-bed. And this piece," she said, walking to +another plot between the yew-hedge and the gooseberry bushes, "will +have to be dug up. We were short of vegetables last year." + +"You speak very lightly, Sister, of so much digging. Do you never get +tired?" So that she might not lose heart altogether, Sister Mary John +told her one of these beds had been dug up in autumn, and that no +more would be required than the hoeing out of the weeds. + +"Is hoeing lighter work than digging?" + +"You will find out soon." Evelyn set to work; but when she had +cleared a large piece of weeds she had to go over the ground again, +having missed a great many. "But you will soon get used to the work. +Now, there's the dinner bell. Are you so tired as all that?" + +"Well, you see, I have never done any digging before." + +After dinner Sister Mary John without further words told her she was +to go in front with the dibble and make holes for the potatoes, for +an absent-minded person could not be trusted with the seed potatoes-- +she would be sure to break the shoots. The next week they were +engaged in sowing French beans and scarlet runners, and Evelyn +thought it rather unreasonable of the sister to expect her to know by +instinct that French beans should not be set as closely together as +the scarlet runners, and she laughed outright when the sister said, +"But surely you know that broad beans must be trodden firmly into the +ground?" Sister Mary John noticed her laugh. "Work in the garden +suits her," she said to herself, "she is getting better; only we must +be careful against a relapse. Now, Evelyn, we must weed the flower +beds, or there will be no flowers for the Virgin in May." And they +weeded and weeded, day after day, filling in the gaps with plants +from the nursery. A few days later came the seed sowing, the +mignonette, sweet pea, stocks, larkspur, poppies, and nasturtiums-- +all of which should have been sown earlier, the nun said, only the +season was so late, and the vegetables had taken all their time. + +"They all like to see flowers on the altar, but not one of them will +tie up her habit and dig, and they are as ignorant as you are, dear." + +"Sister, that is unkind. I have learned as much as can be expected in +a month." + +"You aren't so careless as you were." The two women walked a little +way, and then they sat for a long time looking into the distant park, +enjoying the soft south wind blowing over it. Evelyn would have liked +to have sat there indefinitely, and far too soon did the nun remind +her that time was going by and they must return to their work. "We +have had some warm nights lately and the wallflowers are out; come +and look at them, dear." And forgetful of her, Sister Mary John rose +and went towards the flower garden. Evelyn was too tired to follow, +and she sat watching Sister Mary John, who seemed as much part of the +garden as the wind, or the rain, or the sun. + + + +XXII + +A cold shower struck the windows of the novitiate. + +"Was there ever such weather? Will it never cease raining and +blowing?" the novices cried, and they looked through the panes into +the windy garden. Next day the same dark clouds rolled overhead, with +gleams of sunshine now and then lighting up the garden and the +distant common, where sometimes a horseman was seen galloping at the +close of day, just as in a picture. + +"How wet he will be when he gets home!" a novice would sometimes say, +and the conversation was not continued. + +"I wonder if we shall ever have fine weather again?" broke in +another. + +"One of these days it will cease raining," Mother Hilda said, for she +was an optimist; and very soon she began to be looked upon as a +prophetess, for the weather mended imperceptibly, and one afternoon +the sky was in gala toilette, in veils and laces: a great lady +stepping into her carriage going to a ball could not be more +beautifully attired. An immense sky brushed over with faint wreathing +clouds with blue colour showing through, a blue brilliant as any +enamel worn by a great lady on her bosom; and the likeness of the +clouds to plumes passed through Evelyn's mind, and her eyes wandering +westward, noticed how the sky down there was a rich, almost +sulphurous, yellow; it set off the white and blue aerial +extravagances of the zenith. The garden was still wet and cold, but a +warm air was coming in, and the voices of the nuns and novices +sounded so innocent and free that Evelyn was moved by a sudden +sympathy to join them. + +Under yonder trees the three Mothers were walking, looking towards +Evelyn now and then; she was the subject of their conversation, the +Prioress maintaining it would be a great benefit to her to take the +veil. + +"But, dear Mother, do you think she will ever recover her health +sufficiently for her to decide, and for us to decide, whether she has +a vocation?" Mother Hilda asked. + +"It seems to me that Evelyn is recovering every day. Do you remember +at first whole days passed without her speaking? Now there are times +when she joins in the conversation." + +Mother Mary Hilda did not answer, and a little aggressive glance shot +out of the Prioress's eyes. + +"You don't like to have her in the novitiate. I remember when she +returned from Rome--" + +"It seems to me that it would be just as well for her to live in the +convent as an oblate, occupying the guest-room as before." + +"Now, why do you think that, Hilda? Let us have things precise." + +"Her life as an opera singer clings about her." + +"On the contrary, I cannot discover any trace of her past life in +her. In the chapel she seems very often overcome, and for piety seems +to set an example to us all." + +"You see, dear Mother, I am responsible for the religious education +of some half-dozen young and innocent girls, and, though I like +Evelyn herself very much, her influence--" + +"But what influence? She doesn't speak." + +"No matter; it is known to every one in the convent that she has once +been a singer, though they don't know, perhaps, she was on the stage; +and she creates an atmosphere which I assure you--" + +"Of course, Hilda, you can oppose me; you always oppose. Nothing is +easier than opposition. Your responsibilities, I would not attempt to +deny that they exist, but you seem to forget that I, too, have +responsibilities. The debts of the convent are very pressing. And +Mother Philippa, too, has responsibilities." + +"It would be a great advantage if Evelyn could discover she had a +vocation. Four or five, perhaps six hundred a year--she must have at +least that, for opera singers are very well paid, so I have always +heard--would--" + +"But, Mother Philippa, the whole question is whether Evelyn has a +vocation. We know what the advantages would be," said Mother Hilda in +a low, insinuating voice which always exasperated the Reverend +Mother. + +"I think it would be better to wait," Mother Philippa answered. "You +see, she is suffering from a great mental breakdown; I think she +should have her chance like another." And, turning to the Prioress, +she said, "Dear Mother, do you think when Evelyn recovers her health +sufficiently to arrive at a decision that she will stay with us?" + +"Not if a dead set is made against her, and if she is made to feel +she has no vocation, and that her influence is a pernicious one." + +"Dear Mother, I never said--" + +"Well, don't let us discuss the matter any more for the moment. Of +course, if you decide that Evelyn is not to remain in the novitiate--" + +"It is for you to decide the matter. You are Reverend Mother here, it +is for us to obey; only since you ask me--" + +"Ask you, Hilda? But you tell me nothing. You merely oppose. What is +your dislike to Evelyn?" + +"Dislike!" + +"I am sure there is no dislike on Mother Hilda's part," Mother +Philippa said; "I am quite sure of that, Reverend Mother. Evelyn's +health is certainly improving, and I hope she will soon be able to +sing for us again at Benediction. Haven't you noticed that our +congregation is beginning to fall away? And you won't deny that the +fact that an opera singer wishes to enter our convent gives a +distinction--" + +"It depends, Mother Philippa, in what sense you use the word +'distinction.' But I see you don't agree with me; you think with the +Prioress that Evelyn is--" + +"Don't let us argue this question any more. Hilda, go and tell Evelyn +I want her." + +"How Hilda does try to thwart me, to make things more difficult than +they are!" + +"Evelyn, my dear child, I have sent for you to ask if you feel well +enough to-day to sing for us at Benediction?" + +"Oh, yes, dear Mother, why shouldn't I sing for you? What would you +like me to sing?"' The Prioress hesitated, and then asked Evelyn to +suggest some pieces, and after several suggestions Evelyn said: + +"Perhaps it would be better if I were to call Sister Mary John, if +you will allow me, Mother." And she went away, calling to the other +nun, who came quickly from the kitchen garden in her big boots and +her habit tucked up nearly to her knees, looking very much more like +a labouring woman than a musician. + +"We were talking just now of what Evelyn would sing for us at +Benediction; perhaps you had better go away and discuss the matter +between you." + +"Will you sing Stradella's 'Chanson d'Eglise' or will you sing +Schubert's 'Ave Maria'? Nothing is more beautiful than that." + +"I will sing the 'Ave Maria.'" + +The nun sat down to play it, but she had not played many bars when +Evelyn interrupted her. "The intention of the single note, dear +Sister, the octave you are striking now, has always seemed to me like +a distant bell heard in the evening. Will you play it so." + + + +XXIII + +And the idea of a bell sounding across the evening landscape was in +the mind of the congregation when Sister Mary John played the octave; +and the broken chords she played with her right hand awoke a +sensation of lights dying behind distant hills. + +It is almost night, and amid a lonely landscape a harsh rock appears, +and by it a forlorn woman stands--a woman who is without friend or +any mortal hope--and she commends herself to the care of the Virgin. +She begins to sing softly, tremulous, like one in pain and doubt, +"Ave Maria, hearken to the Virgin's cry." The melody she sings is +rich, even ornate, but the richness of the phrase, with its two +little grace notes, does not mitigate the sorrow at the core; the +rich garb in which the idea is clothed does not rob the song of its +humanity. + +Evelyn's voice filled with the beauty of the melody, and she sang the +phrase which closes the stanza--a phrase which dances like a puff of +wind in an evening bough--so tenderly, so lovingly, that acute tears +trembled under the eyelids. And all her soul was in her voice when +she sang the phrase of passionate faith which the lonely, +disheartened woman sings, looking up from the desert rock. Then her +voice sank into the calm beauty of the "Ave Maria," now given with +confidence in the Virgin's intercession, and the broken chords passed +down the keyboard, uniting with the last note of the solemn octaves, +which had sounded through the song like bells heard across an evening +landscape. + +"How beautifully she sings it!" a man said out loud, and his +neighbour looked and wondered, for the man's eyes were full of tears. + +"You have a beautiful voice, child," said the Prioress when they came +out of church, "and it is a real pleasure to me to hear you sing, and +it will be a greater pleasure when I know that for the future your +great gift will be devoted to the service of God. Shall we go into +the garden for a little walk before supper? We shall have it to +ourselves, and the air will do you good." + +It was the month of June, and the convent garden was in all the +colour of its summer--crimson and pink; and all the scents of the +month, stocks and sweetbriar, were blown up from St. Peter's Walk. In +the long mixed borders the blue larkspurs stood erect between +Canterbury bells and the bush peonies, crimson and pink, and here and +there amid furred leaves, at the end of a long furred stalk, flared +the foolish poppy, roses like pale porcelain clustered along the low +terraced walk and up the house itself, over the stucco walls; but +more beautiful than the roses were the delicate petals of the +clematis, stretched out like fingers upon the walls. + +An old nun was being wheeled up and down the terrace in a bath-chair +by one of the lay sisters, that she might enjoy the sweet air. + +"I must say a word to Sister Lawrence," the Prioress said, "she will +never forgive me if I don't. She is the eldest member of our +community; if she lives another two years, she will complete half a +century of convent life." + +As they drew near Evelyn saw two black eyes in a white, almost +fleshless face. The eyes alone seemed to live, and the shrunken +figure, huddled in many shawls, gave an impression of patriarchal +age. Evelyn saw by her veil that Sister Lawrence was a lay sister, +and the old nun tried to draw herself up in her chair as they +approached, and kissed the hand of the Prioress. + +"Well, Sister, how are you feeling? I have brought you our new +musical postulant to look at. I want to know what you think of her. +You must know, Evelyn," said the Prioress, "that Sister Lawrence is a +great judge of people's vocations; I always consult her about my new +postulants." + +Sister Lawrence took Evelyn's hands between hers and gazed into her +face so earnestly that Evelyn feared her innermost thoughts were +being read. Then, with a little touch of wilfulness, that came oddly +from one so old and venerable, the Sister said: + +"Well, Reverend Mother, she is pretty anyhow, and it is a long time +since we had a pretty postulant." + +"Really, Sister Lawrence, I am ashamed of you," said the Prioress +with playful severity; "Sister Evelyn will be quite disedified." + +"Mother, if I like them to be pretty it is only because they have one +more gift to bring to the feet of our dear Lord. I see in Sister +Evelyn's face that she has a vocation. I believe she is the +providence that God has sent to help us through our difficulties." + +"We are all praying," said the Prioress, "that it may be so." + +"Well, Hilda, you'll agree with me now, I think, that we have every +reason to hope." + +"Hope for what, dear Mother?" + +"That we shall discover a vocation in Evelyn. You heard what Sister +Lawrence said, and she has had great experience." + +"It is possible to God, of course, that an opera singer may find a +vocation for the religious life, and live happily in a community of +nuns devoted to Perpetual Adoration." + +"But you don't believe God desires that such a thing should come to +pass?" + +"I shouldn't like to say that, it would be too presumptuous; but it +would be entirely out of the ordinary course." + +The Prioress began to wonder if Mother Hilda suspected that some +great sin committed while she was in Rome was the cause of Evelyn's +nervous breakdown; and the Mistress of the Novices, as she walked by +the side of the Prioress, began to wonder why the Prioress wished +that Evelyn should become a nun. It might be that the Prioress, who +was a widow, was interested in the miracle of the great shock which +had caused Evelyn to relinquish her career and to turn to the Church! +That might be her motive, she reflected. Those who have lived in the +world are attracted and are interested in each other, and are to some +extent alien to the real nun, to her who never doubts her vocation +from the first and resolves from the first to bring her virginity to +God--it being what is most pleasing to him. It might be that the +Prioress was influenced, unconsciously, of course, by some such +motive; yet it was strange that she should be able to close her eyes +to Evelyn's state of mind. The poor woman was still distracted and +perplexed by a great shock which had happened before she came to the +convent and which had been aggravated by another when she went to +Rome; she had returned to them as to a refuge from herself. Such +mental crises often happened to women of the world, to naturally +pious women; but natural piety did not in the least mean a vocation, +and Mother Hilda had to admit to herself that she could discover no +sign of a vocation in Evelyn. How were it possible to discover one? +She was not herself, and would not be for a long while, if she ever +recovered herself. Mother Prioress had chosen to admit her as a +postulant.... Even that concession Mother Hilda did not look upon +with favour. Why not go one step farther and make Miss Dingle a +postulant? It seemed to her that if Mother Prioress insisted that +Evelyn should take the white veil at present, a very serious step +would be taken. It was the Mistress of the Novices who would be +responsible for Evelyn's instruction, and Evelyn was hardly ever in +the novitiate; she was always singing, or working in the garden. + + + +XXIV + +"I am afraid, dear Mother, her progress towards recovery is slow." + +"I don't agree with you. A great nervous breakdown! That journey to +Rome, only to see her father die before her eyes, was a great shock-- +such a one as it would take anybody a long time to recover from. +Evelyn is very highly-strung, there can be no doubt of that. I wonder +how it is that you don't understand?" + +"But I do understand, dear Mother, only I find it hard to believe +that the time has come for her to take the white veil." + +"Or that it will ever come?" + +"The other day she said in the novitiate she was sure she would go to +hell, and that she wouldn't be able to bear the uncertainty much +longer...." + +"What ever did she mean? You must have misunderstood her, Mother +Hilda." And the Prioress determined to talk to Evelyn "on the first +occasion"--the first occasion with the Prioress meant the very next +minute. So she went in search of her, and finding her by the +fishpond, quite unaware that any one was watching her, the thought +crossed the Prioress's mind that Hilda might be right after all: +Evelyn might be sitting there thinking how, after a short struggle, +the water would end the misery that was consuming her. + +"Evelyn, dear, of what are you thinking?" + +"Only of the fish, dear Mother. You know they are quite deaf; fish +haven't ears. There is a legend, however, of a boy playing the flute +and the fish leaping to listen." + +"If her health doesn't improve," the Prioress said to herself, "we +shall not be able to keep her. + +"Evelyn, dear, you are not looking very well; I am afraid you haven't +been sleeping lately." + +"Last night I hardly closed my eyes, dear Mother, and to-day there is +no reality anywhere. One begins to hate everything--the shapes of the +trees, the colour of the sky." + +"It is just what I suspected," the Prioress said to herself, "she was +thinking of suicide. Suicide in a convent--such a thing has never +happened. Yet why shouldn't such a thing happen? Everything happens +in this world." + +But, notwithstanding some alarming relapses, Evelyn's health +continued to improve, slowly, but it continued to improve; and after +a long day's work in the garden she would talk quite cheerfully, +saying that that night for sure she would get some hours of sleep. +The Prioress listened, saying to herself, "There is no doubt that +manual work is the real remedy, the only remedy." Sister Mary John +was of the same opinion, and the Prioress relied on Sister Mary John +to keep Evelyn hoeing and digging when it was fine, and making nets +in the work-shop when it was wet. She was encouraged to look after +the different pets; and there were a good many to look after; her +three cats occupied a good deal of her time, for the cats were always +anxious to kill her tame birds. One cat had killed several, so the +question had arisen whether he should be drowned in the fishpond or +trained to respect caged birds. The way to do this, Evelyn had been +told, was to put a caged bird on the ground in front of the cat, and, +standing over him with a cane, strike swiftly and severely the moment +the cat crouched to spring. A cat above all other animals hates to be +beaten, for a cat is probably one of the most sagacious animals, more +even than a dog, though he does not care to show it. The beating of +the cat was repellent to Evelyn, but Sister Mary John had no such +scruples, and the beatings proved so efficient that the cat would run +away the moment he was shown a bird in a cage. In turn each of the +cats received its lesson, and henceforth Evelyn's last presents-- +blackbirds, thrushes, linnets, and bull-finches--lived in safety. + +The feeding of these birds and the cleaning of the aviary occupied +two hours a day during the winter. She had also her greenhouse to +attend to; herself and Sister Mary John, with some help from the +outside, had built one, and hot-water pipes had been put in; and her +love of flowers was so great that she would run down the garden even +when the ground was covered with snow to stoke up the fire, if she +thought she had forgotten to do so, saying that they would have no +tulips, or lily of the valley, or azaleas for the altar, if the +temperature were allowed to drop. Her talk was all about her garden, +and when the spring returned she was working there constantly with +Sister Mary John in the morning till the Angelus rang at twelve; then +they went into dinner, and as soon as dinner was over Evelyn returned +with Sister Mary John to the garden and worked till it was time to go +into church for Benediction. Or sometimes they left the garden when +the other nuns went there for recreation, having music to try over, +for now, since she had recovered her health, Evelyn sang every day at +Benediction. + +"There is no reason why she should remain any longer with us," the +Prioress often said, "unless there is some hope of her staying +altogether. You will admit, Hilda, that her health is much improved, +and that she is capable now of arriving at some decision." + +"There is no doubt her health is improving." + +"And her piety--have you noticed it? She almost sets us an example." + +Mother Hilda did not answer, and the Prioress understood her silence +to mean that she would hardly look upon Evelyn as an example for the +convent to follow. + +"Well, something will have to be decided." And one evening the +Prioress asked Mother Philippa and Mother Hilda to her room after +evening prayers. + +"We were talking of Evelyn the other day in the garden, Hilda, and +you admitted that she was in a state now to decide whether she should +go or stay." + +"You mean, dear Mother, that Evelyn must either leave us or join the +community?" + +"Or show some signs that she wishes to join it. Her postulancy has +been unduly prolonged; it is nearly a year since she returned from +Rome, and she was a postulant for six months before that." + +"You think that if she hadn't a vocation she would have left us +before? But are you not forgetting that she was suffering from a +nervous breakdown, and came here with the intention of seeking rest +rather than becoming one of us?" + +"Her health has been mending this long while. Really, Hilda--" + +"I am sorry, Mother, if I seem stubborn." + +"Not stubborn, but I should like to hear you explain your reasons for +thinking Evelyn has not a vocation. And Mother Philippa is most +anxious to hear them, too." + +Mother Philippa listened, thinking of her bed, wondering why Mother +Mary Hilda kept them up by refusing to agree with the Prioress. + +"I am afraid I shall not be able to say anything that will convince +you. I have had some experience--" + +"We know that you are very experienced, otherwise you would not be +the Mistress of the Novices. You don't believe in Evelyn's vocation?" + +"I'm afraid I don't, and--" + +"And what, Mother Hilda? We are here for the purpose of listening to +you. We shall be influenced by everything you say, so pray speak your +mind fully." + +"About Evelyn? But that is just my point; there is nothing for me to +say about her. I hardly know her; she has hardly been in the +novitiate since she returned from Rome." "You think before taking the +veil she should receive more religious instruction from you?" + +"She certainly should. I grant you Evelyn is a naturally pious woman, +and that counts for a great deal; but what I attach importance to is +that she is still alien to the convent, knowing hardly anything of +our rule, of our observances. A novice spends six months in the +novitiate with me learning obedience, how to forget herself, how she +is merely an instrument, and how the greatest purpose of her life is +to obey." + +"It is impossible to overestimate the value of obedience, but there +are some--I will not say who can dispense with obedience, of course +not, but who cannot put off their individualities, who cannot become +the merely typical novice--that one who would tell you, if she were +asked to describe the first six months of her life in the convent, +that all she remembered was a great deal of running up and down +stairs. There are some who may not be moulded, but who mould +themselves; and they are not the worst, sometimes they are the best +nuns. For instance, Sister Mary John--who will doubt her vocation? +And yet there is not a more headstrong nun in our community. I don't +wish to say one word against Sister Mary John, who is an example to +us all; it is only to answer your objection that I mentioned her." + +"Sister Mary John is quite different," Mother Hilda answered. And, +after waiting some moments for Mother Hilda to continue, the Prioress +said: + +"You would wish her, then, to spend some time longer with you in the +novitiate?" + +"I am not sure it would be of any use. There is another matter about +which I hardly like to speak; still, I must remind you that the +convent has never been the same since she came here. She has not been +herself since she came back from Rome, but now she is regaining +herself, and you cannot have failed to notice that both Sister Mary +John and Veronica are drawn towards her. I am sure they are not aware +of it, and would resent my criticism as unjust. Not only Sister Mary +John and Veronica, but all of us; it seems to me that we all talk too +much about her... I am sometimes almost glad that she is so little in +the novitiate. Her influence on such simple-minded young women as +Sister Jerome and Sister Barbara must be harmful--how could it be +otherwise, coming out of another world? and her voice, too--you don't +agree with me?" And Mother Hilda turned to Mother Philippa. Mother +Philippa shook her head, and confessed she had not the slightest +notion of what Mother Hilda meant. + +"But you have, dear Mother?" + +"Yes, I know very well what you mean, only I don't agree with you. +Her singing, of course, gives her an exceptional position in the +convent, but I don't think she avails herself of it; indeed, her +humility has often seemed to me most striking." + +"In that I agree with you," Mother Hilda answered; "so I feel that +perhaps, after all, I may be misjudging her." + +At this concession the Prioress's manner softened at once towards the +Mistress of the Novices. + +"Well, Hilda, come, tell me, have you said everything you have to +say? Have you given us your full reasons for not wishing Evelyn to +take the veil if she should decide to do so? I see you hesitate. I +asked you here to-night so that you might speak your mind. Let +everything be said. There is no use telling me afterwards that you +didn't say things because you thought I wouldn't like to hear them. +Say everything." + +Pressed by the Prioress, Mother Hilda admitted that she was concerned +regarding the motive which actuated the Prioress and Mother Philippa. + +"I include her." + +Mother Philippa looked up suddenly. The Prioress smiled. + +"My motive!" said Mother Philippa. + +"Nothing is farther from my thought than to attribute a wrong motive +to anybody, but I am not quite sure, dear Mother, that you would be +as anxious for Evelyn to join our community if she had no money... +and no voice." + +"Situated as we are, we cannot accept penniless women as choir +sisters. You know that well enough--am I not right, Mother Philippa?" + +And Mother Philippa agreed that no one could be admitted into the +convent as a choir sister unless she brought some money with her. + +"But you hold a different opinion, Hilda?" + +"I understand that we cannot admit as a choir sister a woman who has +no money; but that is quite different from admitting an opera singer +because she has money and can sing for us. It seems to me that nuns +devoted to Perpetual Adoration should not yield themselves to money +considerations." + +"Yield to money considerations--no; but as long as we live upon +earth, we shall live dependent upon money in some form or another. +Our pecuniary embarrassments--you know all about them. I need not +refer to the mortgagee, who, at any moment, may foreclose. Think of +what it would be if this house were to be put up for sale, and we had +all to return to our relations. How many are there who have relations +who would take them in? And the lay sisters--what would become of +them and our duties towards them--they who have worked for us all +these years? Sister Lawrence--would you like to see her on the +roadside, or carried to the workhouse? Spiritual considerations come +first, of course, but we must have a house to live in and a chapel to +pray in. Do you never think of these things, Hilda?" + +"Yes, and I appreciate the anxiety our pecuniary difficulties cause +you, dear Mother. I am not indifferent, I assure you, but I cannot +help feeling that anything were better than we should stop, instead +of going forward, towards the high ideal--" + +"Well, Hilda, are you prepared to risk it? We have a chance of +redeeming the convent from debt--will you accept the responsibility?" + +"Of what, dear Mother?" + +"Of refusing to agree that Evelyn shall be allowed to take the white +veil, if she wishes to take it." + +"But taking the white veil will not enable us to get hold of her +money. We shall have to wait till she is professed." + +"But if she is given the white veil," the Prioress answered sternly, +"she will be induced to remain. The fact of her taking the white veil +is a great inducement, and a year hence who knows--" + +"Well, dear Mother, you will act, I am sure, for the best. Perhaps it +would have been better if you had not consulted me; but, having +consulted me, I had to tell you what I think. I am aware that in +practical matters I am but a very poor judge. Remember, I passed, +like Veronica, from the schoolroom to the convent. But you know the +world." + +"It is very kind of you to admit so much; but it seems to me, Hilda, +you are only admitting that much so as to give a point to your +contention, or what I suppose is your contention--that those who +never knew the world may attain to a more intense spirituality than +poor women such as myself and Mother Philippa here, who did not enter +the convent as early in life as you did... but who renounced the +world." + +The sharp tone of the Prioress's voice, when she mentioned Mother +Philippa's name, awoke the nun, who had been dozing. + +"Well, Mother Philippa, what is your opinion?" + +"It seems to me," the nun answered, now wide awake, "that it is a +matter for Evelyn to decide. You think I was asleep, but I wasn't; I +heard everything you said. You were discussing your own scruples of +conscience, which seem to me quite beside the question. Our +conscience has nothing to do with the matter; it is all a question +for Evelyn to decide herself... as soon as she is well, of course." + +"And she is now quite well. I will see her to-morrow on the subject." + +On this the Prioress rose to her feet, and the other two nuns +understood that the interview was at an end. + +"Dear Mother, I know how great your difficulties are," said Mother +Hilda, "and I am loth to oppose your wishes in anything. I know how +wise you are, how much wiser than we--but however foolishly I may +appear to be acting, you will understand that I cannot act +differently, feeling as I do." + +"I understand that, Hilda; we all must act according to our lights. +And now we must go to bed, we are breaking all the rules of the +house." + + + +XXV + +After breakfast Veronica came to Evelyn, saying that dear Mother +would like to speak to her. Evelyn nodded, and went gaily to see the +Prioress in her room on the ground-floor. Its long French windows, +opening on to the terrace-walk, appealed to her taste; and the +crowded writing-table, on which stood a beautiful crucifix in yellow +ivory. Papers and tin boxes were piled in one corner. But there was +no carpet, and only one armchair, over-worn and shabby. There were +flowers in vases and bowls, and, in a large cage, canaries uttered +their piercing songs. + +"I like your room, dear Mother, and wish you would send for me a +little oftener. All your writing--now couldn't I do some of it for +you?" + +"Yes, Evelyn, I should like to use you sometimes as a secretary... if +you are going to remain with us." + +"I don't know what you mean, Mother." + +"Well, sit down. I have sent for you because I want to have a little +talk with you on this subject." And she spoke of Evelyn's postulancy; +of how long it had lasted. It seemed to the Prioress that it would be +better, supposing Evelyn did not intend to remain with them, for her +to live with them as an oblate, occupying the guest-chamber. + +"Your health doesn't permit much religious instruction; but one of +these days you will realise better than you do now what our life is, +and what its objects are." + +So did the Prioress talk, getting nearer the point towards which she +was making, without, however, pressing Evelyn to answer any direct +question, leading her towards an involuntary decision. + +"But, dear Mother, I am safe here, you know." + +"And yet you fear, my dear child, you have no vocation?" + +"Well, it seems extraordinary that I--" + +"More extraordinary things have happened in the world than that; +besides, there is much time for you to decide. No one proposes that +you should be admitted to the Order to-morrow; such a thing, you +know, is impossible, but the white veil is a great help. Evelyn, +dear, this question has been running in my mind some time back--is it +well for you to remain a postulant any longer? The white veil, again +I say, is such a help." + +"A help for what, dear Mother?" + +"Well, it will tell you if you have a vocation; at the end of the +year you will know much better than you know now." + +"I a nun!" Evelyn repeated. + +"In a year you will be better able to decide. Extraordinary things +have happened." + +"But it would be extraordinary," Evelyn said, speaking to herself +rather than to the nun. + +"I have spoken to Mother Hilda and Mother Philippa on the subject, +and they are agreed that if you are to remain in the convent it would +be better for you to take the white veil." + +"Or do they think that it would be better for me to leave the +convent?" + +"It would be impossible for us to think such a thing, my dear child." + +"But what I would wish to understand, dear Mother, is this--have I to +decide either to leave the convent or to take the white veil?" + +"Oh, no; but you have been so long a postulant." + +"But when I went to Rome my postulancy--" + +"Even so, you have been a postulant for over a year; and, should you +discover that you have no vocation, the fact of having been a novice, +of having worn the white veil, will be a protection to you ever +afterwards, should you return to the world." + +"You think so, dear Mother?" + +And the Prioress read in Evelyn's face that she had touched the right +note. + +"Yes, to have a name, for instance--not only the veil, but the name. +I have been thinking of a name for you--what do you think of +'Teresa'?" + +"Teresa!" Evelyn answered. And her thoughts went to the great nun +whose literature she had first read in the garden outside, when she +walked there as a visitor. It was under a certain tree, where she had +often sat since with Mother Hilda and the novices, that she had first +read the "Autobiography" and "The Way of Perfection." There were the +saints' poems, too; and, thinking of them, a pride awoke in her that +for a time, at least, she should bear the saint's name. The Prioress +was right, the saint's name would fortify her against her enemy; and +her noviceship would be something to look back upon, and the memory +of it would protect her when she left the convent. + +"I am glad that we shall have you, at all events, for some months +more with us--some months more for sure, perhaps always. But take +time to consider it." + +"Dear Mother, I am quite decided." + +"Think it over. You can tell me your decision some time in the +afternoon, or to-morrow." + +It was a few days after that the Prioress took Evelyn up to the +novitiate, where the novices were making the dress that Evelyn was to +wear when she received the white veil. + +"You see, Teresa, we spare no expense or trouble on your dress," said +the Prioress. + +"Oh, it is no trouble, dear Mother." And Sister Angela rose from her +chair and turned the dress right side out and shook it, so that +Evelyn might admire the handsome folds into which the silk fell. + +"And see, here is the wreath," said Sister Jerome, picking up a +wreath of orange-blossoms from a chair. + +"And what do you think of your veil, Sister Teresa? Sister Rufina did +this feather-stitch. Hasn't she done it beautifully?" + +"And Sister Rufina is making your wedding-cake. Mother Philippa has +told her to put in as many raisins and currants as she pleases. Yours +will be the richest cake we have ever had in the convent." Sister +Angela spoke very demurely, for she was thinking of the portion of +the cake that would come to her, and there was a little gluttony in +her voice as she spoke of the almond paste it would have upon it. + +"It is indeed a pity," said Sister Jerome, "that Sister Teresa's +clothing takes place so early in the year." + +"How so, Sister Jerome?" Evelyn asked incautiously. + +"Because if it had been a little later, or if Monsignor had not been +delayed in Rome--I only thought," she added, stopping short, "that +you would like Monsignor to give you the white veil--it would be +nicer for you; or if the Bishop gave it," she added, "or Father +Ambrose. I am sure Sister Veronica never would have been a nun at all +if Father Ambrose had not professed her. Father Daly is such a little +frump." + +"That will do, children; I cannot really allow our chaplain to be +spoken of in that manner." And Mother Hilda looked at Evelyn, +thinking, "Well, the Prioress has had her way with her." + +The recreation-bell rang, and the novices clattered down the stairs +of the novitiate, their childish eagerness rousing Evelyn from the +mild stupor which still seemed to hang about her mind; and she smiled +at the novices and at herself, for suddenly it had all begun to seem +to her like a scene in a play, herself going to take the white veil +and to become a nun, at all events, for a while. "Now, how is all +this to end?" she asked herself. "But what does it matter?" Clouds +seemed to envelop her mind again, and she acquiesced when the +Prioress said: + +"I think your retreat had better begin to-day." + +"When, Mother?" + +"Well, from this moment." + +"If Teresa will come into the garden with me," said Mother Hilda. + +It was impossible for the Prioress to say no, and a slaty blush of +anger came into her cheek. "Hilda will do all she can to prevent +her." Nor was the Prioress wholly wrong in her surmise, for they had +not walked very far before Evelyn admitted that the idea of the white +veil frightened her a great deal. + +"Frightens you, my dear child?" + +"But if I had a vocation I should not feel frightened. Isn't that so, +Mother Hilda?" + +"I shouldn't like to say that, Teresa. One can feel frightened and +yet desire a thing very much; desire and fear are not incompatible." + +Tears glistened in her eyes, and she appealed to Mother Hilda, +saying: + +"Dear Mother, I don't know why I am crying, but I am very unhappy. +There is no reason why I should be, for here I am safe." + +"Will she ever recover her mind sufficiently to know what she is +doing?" Mother Hilda asked herself. + +"It is always," Evelyn said, "as if I were trying to escape from +something." Mother Hilda pressed her to explain. "I cannot explain +myself better than by telling that it is as if the house were burning +behind me, and I were trying to get away." + +That evening Mother Hilda consulted the Prioress, telling her of +Evelyn's tears and confusion. + +"But, Hilda, why do you trouble her with questions as to whether she +would like to be a nun or not? As I have said repeatedly, the veil is +a great help, and, in a year hence, Teresa will know whether she'd +like to join our community. In the meantime, pray let her be in peace +and recover herself." The Prioress's voice was stern. + +"Only this, dear Mother--" + +"The mistake you make, Hilda, seems to me to be that you imagine +every one turns to religion and to the convent for the same reason, +whereas the reasons that bring us to God are widely different. You +are disappointed in Teresa, not because she lacks piety, but because +she is not like Jerome or Angela or Veronica, whom we both know very +well. Each seeks her need in religion, and you are not acquainted +with Teresa's, that is all. Now, Hilda, obedience is the first of all +the virtues, and I claim yours in all that regards Teresa." Mother +Hilda raised her quiet eyes and looked into the Prioress's face, and +then lowered them again. "We should be lacking in our duty," the +Prioress continued, "if we don't try to keep her by all legitimate +means. She will receive the white veil at the end of the week; try to +prepare her for her clothing, instruct her in the rule of our house; +no one can do that as well as you." + +Lifting her eyes again for a moment, Mother Hilda answered that it +should be as the Prioress wished--that she would do her best to +instruct Teresa; and she moved away slowly, the Prioress not seeking +to detain her any longer in her room. + + + +XXVI + +Next day in the novitiate Mother Hilda explained to Evelyn how the +centre of their life was the perpetual adoration of the Blessed +Sacrament exposed on the altar. + +"Our life is a life of expiation; we expiate by our prayers and our +penances and our acts of adoration the many insults which are daily +flung at our divine Lord by those who not only disobey His +commandments, but deny His very presence on our altars. To our +prayers of expiation we add prayers of intercession; we pray for the +many people in this country outside the faith who offend our Lord +Jesus Christ more from ignorance than from malice. All our little +acts of mortification are offered with this intention. From morning +Mass until Benediction our chapel, as you know, is never left empty +for a single instant of the day; two silent watchers kneel before the +Blessed Sacrament, offering themselves in expiation of the sins of +others. This watch before the Blessed Sacrament is the chief duty +laid upon the members of our community. Nothing is ever allowed to +interfere with it. Unfailing punctuality is asked from every one in +being in the chapel at the moment her watch begins, and no excuse is +accepted from those who fail in this respect. Our idea is that all +through the day a ceaseless stream of supplication should mount to +heaven, that not for a single instant should there be a break in the +work of prayer. If our numbers permitted it we should have Perpetual +Adoration by day and night, as in the mother house in France; but +here the bishop only allows us to have exposition once a month +throughout the night, and all our Sisters look forward to this as +their greatest privilege." + +"It is a very beautiful life, Mother Hilda; but I wonder if I have a +vocation?" + +"That is the great question, my dear," and a cloud gathered in Mother +Hilda's face, for it had come into her mind to tell Evelyn that she +hardly knew anything of the religious life as yet; but remembering +her promise to the Prioress, she said: "Obedience is the beginning of +the religious life, and you must try to think that you are a child in +school, with nothing to teach and everything to learn. The +experience of your past life, which you may think entitles you +to consideration--" + +"But, dear Mother, I think nothing of the kind; my whole concern is +to try to forget my past life. Ah, if I could only--" Mother Hilda +wondered what it must be to bring that look of fear into Evelyn's +eyes, but she refrained from questioning her, saying: + +"I beg of you to put all the teachings of the world as far from your +mind as possible. It will only confuse you. What we think wise the +world thinks foolish, and the wisdom of the world is to us a vanity." + +"If it were only a vanity," Evelyn answered. And her thoughts moved +away from the Mother Mistress to herself, wondering how it was that +this conventual life was so sympathetic to her, finding a reason in +the fact that her idea had alienated her from the world; she had come +here in quest of herself, and had found something, not exactly +herself, perhaps, but at all events a refuge from one side of +herself, and many other things--a group of women who thought as she +did. But would the convent always be as necessary to her as it was +to-day? And what a grief it would be to the nuns when the term of her +noviceship ended. Would she find courage to tell them that she did +not wish to take final vows? But she must listen to Mother Hilda who +was instructing her in the virtue of obedience. After obedience came +the rule of silence. + +"But I don't know how the work in the garden will be done if one +isn't allowed to speak." + +"The work in the garden must wait until your retreat is over. Now go, +my dear; I am waiting for Sisters Winifred and Veronica, who are +coming to me for their Latin lesson." + +"May I go into the garden?" + +It amused Evelyn to ask the question, so strange did it seem that she +should ask, like a little child, permission to go into the garden; +and as she went along the passages she began to fear that the old +Evelyn was on her way back, the woman who had disappeared for so many +months. Be that as it may, she was not altogether Sister Teresa on +the day of her clothing, though she tried to imitate the infantile +glee of the novices, and of the nuns too; for they were nearly as +childish as the novices. In spite of herself she wearied of the +babble and the laughter over orange-blossoms and wedding-cake, +especially of Sister Jerome's babble. She was particularly noisy that +afternoon; her unceasing humour had begun to jar, and Evelyn had +begun to feel that she must get away from it all, and she asked leave +to go into the garden. + +Ah, the deep breath she drew! How refreshing it was after the long +time spent in church in the smell of burning wax and incense. "The +incense of the earth is sweeter," she said; and the sound of the wind +in the boughs reminded her of the voice of the priest intoning the +"Veni Creator." "Nature is more musical," and her eyes strayed over +the great park to its rim miles away, indistinct, though the sky was +white as white linen above it, only here and there a weaving of some +faint cream tones amid clouds rising very slowly; a delicious warmth +fell out of the noonday sky, enfolding the earth; and, discomforted +by her habit--a voluminous trailing habit with wide hanging sleeves-- +she stood on the edge of the terrace thinking that the stiff white +head-dress made her feel more like a nun than her vows. + +"Of what am I thinking?" she asked herself, for her thoughts seemed +to go out faintly, like the clouds; she seemed more conscious of the +spring-time than she had ever been before, of a sense of delight +going through her when, before her eyes, the sun came out, lighting +up the distant inter-spaces and the stems of the trees close by. The +ash was coming into leaf, but among the green tufts, every bough +could still be traced. The poplars looked like great brooms, but they +were reddening, and in another week or two would be dark green again. +The season being a little late, the lilacs and laburnums were out +together; pink and white blossoms had begun to light up the close +leafage of the hawthorns, and under the flowering trees grass was +springing up, beautiful silky grass. "There is nothing so beautiful +in the world as grabs," Evelyn thought, "fair spring grass." The +gardener was mowing it between the flower beds, and it lay behind his +hissing scythe along the lawn in irregular lines. + +"There is the first swallow, just come in time to see the tulips, the +tall May tulips which the Dutchmen used to paint." + +So did Evelyn think, and her eyes followed Sister Mary John's +jackdaw. He seemed to know the hour of the day, and was looking out +for his mistress, who generally came out after dinner with food for +him, and speech--the bird seemed to like being spoken to, and always +put his head on one side so that he might listen more attentively. A +little further on Evelyn met three goslings straying under the +flowering laburnums, and she returned them to their mother in the +orchard. Something was moving among the potato ridges, and wondering +what it could be, she discovered the cat playing with the long-lost +tortoise. How funny her great fluffy tom-cat looked, as he sat in +front of the tortoise, tapping its black head whenever it appeared +beyond the shell. All cats are a beautiful shape, but this one was a +beautiful colour, "grey as a cloud at even"; but to leave him playing +with the tortoise would be cruel to the tortoise, so she decided to +carry the cat to the other end of the garden, where the sparrows were +picking up the green peas. + +The pear blossom had disappeared some weeks ago, and now the apple +was in bloom. Some trees were later than others, and there were still +tight pink knots amid the brown boughs. Evelyn sat down and closed +her eyes, so that she might enjoy more intensely the magic of this +Maytime. Every now and again a breeze shook the branches, shedding +white blossom over the bright grass, and faint shadows rushed out and +retreated The sun was swallowed up in a sudden cloud. A dimness came +and a chill, but not for long enduring; the world was lit up, all the +lilac leaves were catching the light and dancing in the breeze. "How +living the world is, no death anywhere." Then her eyes turned to the +convent, for at that moment she caught sight of one of the lay +sisters coming towards her, evidently the bearer of a message. Sister +Agnes had come to tell her that a lady had called to see her. + +"The lady is in the parlour. Mother Hilda is with her" + +"But her name?" + +Sister Agnes could not give Evelyn her visitor's name; but on the way +to the parlour they were met by the Prioress, who told Evelyn that +the lady who had come to see her was a French lady, Mademoiselle +Helbrun. + +"Louise! Dear Mother, she is an actress, one of the women I used to +sing with." + +"Perhaps you had better not see her, and you may count upon me not to +offend her; she will understand that on the day of your clothing--" + +"No, no, dear Mother, I must see her." + +"Teresa, one never uses the word 'must' to the Prioress, nor to any +one in the convent; and on the day of your clothing it seems to me +you might have remembered this first rule of our life." + +"Of course I am very sorry, Mother; but now that she has come I am +afraid it would agitate me more not to see her than to see her. It +was the surprise of hearing her name after such a long while--there +is no reason I can think of--" + +"Teresa, it is for me to think, it is for you to obey." + +"Well, Mother, if you will allow me." + +"Ah, that is better. Of course she has come here to oppose your being +here. How will you answer her?" + +"Louise is an old friend, and knows me well, and will not argue with +me, so it seems to me; and if she should ask me why I'm here and if I +intend to remain, it will be easy for me to answer her, "I am here +because I am not safe in the world." + +"But she'll not understand." + +"Yes she will, Mother. Let me see her." + +"Perhaps you are fight, Teresa; it will be better for you to see her. +But it is strange she should have come this afternoon." + +"Some intuition, some voice must have told her." + +"Teresa, those are fancies; you mustn't let your mind run on such +things." + +They were at the door of the parlour. Evelyn opened it for the +Prioress, allowing her to pass in first. + +"Louise, how good of you to come to see me. How did you find my +address? Did Mérat give it to you?" + +"No, but I have heard--we all know you are thinking of becoming a +nun." + +"If you had been here a little earlier," the Prioress said, "you +would have been in time for Teresa's clothing." And there was an +appeal in the Prioress's voice, the appeal that one Catholic makes to +another. The Prioress, of course, assumed that Louise had been +brought up a Catholic, though very likely she did not practise her +religion; few actresses did. So did the Prioress's thoughts run as +she leaned forward; her voice became winning, and she led Louise to +ask her questions regarding the Order. And she told Louise that it +was a French Order originally, wearying her with the story of the +arrival of the first nuns. "How can Evelyn stop here listening to +such nonsense?" she thought. And then Mother Hilda told Louise about +Evelyn's singing at Benediction, and the number of converts she had +won to the Church of Rome. + +"As no doubt you know. Mademoiselle Helbrun, once people are drawn +into a Catholic atmosphere--" + +"Yes, I quite understand. So you sing every day at Benediction, do +you, Evelyn? You are singing to-day? It will be strange to hear you +singing an 'Ave Maria.'" + +"But, Louise, if I sing an 'O Salutaris,' will you sing Schubert's +'Ave Maria'?" + +"No, you sing Schubert's 'Ave Maria' and I will sing an 'O +Salutaris.'" + +Evelyn turned to the Prioress. + +"Of course, we shall be only too glad if Mademoiselle Helbrun will +sing for us." + +"The last time we saw each other, Louise, was the day of your party +in the Savoy Hotel." + +"Yes, didn't we have fun that day? We were like a lot of children. +But you went away early." + +"Yes, that day I went to Confession to Monsignor." + +"Was it that day? We noticed something strange in you. You seemed to +care less for the stage, to have lost your vocation." + +"We hope she has begun to find her vocation," Mother Hilda answered. + +"But that is just what I mean--in losing her vocation for the stage +she has gained, perhaps, her vocation for the religious life." + +"Vocation for the stage?" + +"Yes, Mother Hilda," the Prioress said, turning to the Mistress of +the Novices, "the word vocation isn't used in our limited sense, but +for anything for which a person may have a special aptitude." + +"That day of your party--dear me, how long ago it seems, Louise! How +much has happened since then? You have sung how many operas? In whose +company are you now?" Before they were aware of it the two singers +had begun to chatter of opera companies and operas. Ulick Dean was +secretary of the opera company with which Louise was travelling. They +were going to America in the autumn. The conversation was taking too +theatrical a turn, and the Prioress judged it necessary to intervene. +And without anybody being able to detect the transition, the talk was +led from America to the Pope and the Papal Choir. + +"May we go into the garden, dear Mother?" Evelyn said, interrupting. +Her interruption was a welcome one; the Prioress in her anxiety to +change the subject had forgotten Mr. Innes's death and Evelyn's +return to Rome. She gave the required permission, and the four women +went out together. + +"Do you think we shall be able to talk alone?" + +"Yes, presently," Evelyn whispered. Soon after, in St. Peter's Walk, +an opportunity occurred. The nuns had dropped behind, and Evelyn led +her friend through the hazels, round by the fish-pond, where they +would be able to talk undisturbed. Evelyn took her friend's arm. +"Dear Louise, how kind of you to come to see me. I thought I was +forgotten. But how did you find me out?" + +"Sir Owen Asher, whom I met in London, told me I would probably get +news of you here." + +Evelyn did not answer. + +"Aren't you glad to see me?" + +"Of course I am. Haven't I said so? Don't you see I am? And you have +brought beautiful weather with you, Louise. Was there ever a more +beautiful day? White clouds rising up in the blue sky like great +ships, sail over sail." + +"My dear Evelyn, I have not come to talk to you about clouds, nor +green trees, though the birds are singing beautifully here, and it +would be pleasant to talk about them if we were going to be alone the +whole afternoon. But as the nuns may come round the corner at any +minute I had better ask you at once if you are going to stop here?" + +"Is that what you have come to ask me?" + +Evelyn got up, though they had only just sat down. + +"Evelyn, dear, sit down. You are not angry with me for asking you +these questions? What do you think I came here for?" + +"You came here, then, as Reverend Mother suspected, to try to +persuade me away? You would like to have me back on the stage?" + +"Of course we should like to have you back among us again. Owen +Asher--" + +"Louise, you mustn't speak to me of my past life." + +"Ulick--" + +"Still less of him. You have come here, sent by Owen Asher or by +Ulick Dean--which is it?" + +"My dear Evelyn, I came here because we have always been friends and +for old friendship's sake--by nobody." + +These words seemed to reassure her, and she sat down by her friend, +saying that if Louise only knew the trouble she had been through. + +"But all that is forgotten... if it can be forgotten. Do you know if +our sins are ever forgotten, Louise?" + +"Sins, Evelyn? What sins? The sin of liking one man a little better +than another?" + +"That is exactly it, Louise. The sin and the shame are in just what +you have said--liking one man better than another. But I wish, +Louise, you wouldn't speak to me of these things, for I'll have to +get up and go back to the convent." + +"Well, Evelyn, let us talk about the white clouds going by, and how +beautiful the wood is when the sun is shining, flecking the ground +with spots of light; birds are singing in the branches, and that +thrush! I have never heard a better one." Louise walked a little way. +Returning to Evelyn quickly, she said, "There are all kinds of birds +here--linnets, robins, yes, and a blackbird. A fine contralto!" + +"But why, Louise, do you begin to talk about clouds and birds?" + +"Well, dear, because you won't talk about our friends." + +"Or is it because you think I must be mad to stay here and to wear +this dress? You are quite wrong if you think such a thing, for it was +to save myself from going mad that I came here." + +"My dear Evelyn, what could have put such ideas into your head?" + +"Louise, we mustn't talk of the past. I can see you are astonished at +this dress, yet you are a Catholic of a sort, but still a Catholic. I +was like you once, only a change came. One day perhaps you will be +like me." + +"You think I shall end in a convent, Evelyn?" + +Evelyn did not answer, and; not knowing exactly what to say next, +Louise spoke of the convent garden. + +"You always used to be fond of flowers. I suppose a great part of +your time is spent in gardening?" + +An angry colour rose into Evelyn's cheek. + +"You don't wish me," she said, "to talk about myself? You think-- +Never mind, I don't care what you think about me." + +Louise assured her that she was mistaken; and in the middle of a long +discourse Evelyn's thoughts seemed suddenly to break away, and she +spoke to Louise of the greenhouse which she had made that winter, +asking her if she would like to come to see it with her. + +"A great deal of it was built with my own hands, Sister Mary John and +I. You don't know her yet; she is our organist, and an excellent +one." + +At that moment Evelyn laid her hand on Louise's arm, and a light +seemed to burst into her face. + +"Listen!" she said, "listen to the bird! Don't you hear him?" + +"Hear what, dear?" + +"The bird in the branches singing the song that leads Siegfried to +Brunnhilde." + +"A bird singing Wagner?" + +"Well, what more natural than that a bird should sing his own song?" + +"But no bird--" A look of wonder, mingled with fear, came into +Louise's face. + +"If you listen, Louise." In the silence of the wood Louise heard +somebody whistling Wagner's music. "Don't you hear it?" + +Louise did not answer at once. Had she caught some of Evelyn's +madness... or was she in an enchanted garden? + +"It is a boy in the park, or one of the nuns." + +"Nuns don't whistle, and the common is hundreds of yards away. And no +boy on the common knows the bird music from 'Siegfried'? Listen, +Louise, listen! There it goes, note for note. Francis is singing well +to-day." + +"Francis!" + +"Look, look, you can see him! Now are you convinced?" + +And the wonder in Louise's face passed into a look of real fear, and +she said: + +"Let us go away." + +"But why won't you listen to Francis? None of my birds sings as he +does. Let me tell you, Louise--" + +But Louise's step hastened. + +"Stop! Don't you hear the Sword motive? That is Aloysius." + +Louise stopped for a moment, and, true enough, there was the Sword +motive whistled from the branches of a sycamore. And Louise began to +doubt her own sanity. + +"You do hear him, I can see you do." + +"What does all this mean?" Louise said to the Reverend Mother, +drawing her aside. "The birds, the birds, Mother Superior, the +birds!" + +"What birds?" + +"The birds singing the motives of 'The Ring.'" + +"You mean Teresa's bullfinches, Mademoiselle Helbrun? Yes, they +whistle very well." + +"But they whistle the motives of 'The Ring!'" + +"Ah! she taught them." + +"Is that all? I thought she and I were mad. You'll excuse me, Mother +Superior? May I ask her about them?" + +"Of course, Mademoiselle Helbrun, you can." And Louise walked on in +front with Evelyn. + +"Mother Superior tells me you have taught bullfinches the motives of +'The Ring,' is it true?" + +"Of course. How could they have learned the motives unless from me?" + +"But why the motives of 'The Ring'?" + +"Why not, Louise? Short little phrases, just suited to a bird." + +"But, dear, you must have spent hours teaching them." + +"It requires a great deal of patience, but when there is a great +whirl in one's head--" + +Evelyn stopped speaking, and Louise understood that she shrank from +the confession that to retain her sanity she had taught bullfinches +to whistle, + +"So she is sane, saner than any of us, for she has kept herself sane +by an effort of her own will," Louise said to herself. + +"Some birds learn much quicker than others; they vary a great deal." + +"My dear Evelyn, it is ever so nice of you. Just fancy teaching +bullfinches to sing the motives of 'The Ring,' It seemed to me I was +in an enchanted garden. But tell me, why, when you had taught them, +did you let them fly away?" + +"Well, you see, they can only remember two tunes. If you teach them a +third they forget the first two, and it seemed a pity to confuse +them." + +"So when a bullfinch knows two motives you let him go? Well, it is +all very simple now you have explained it. They find everything they +want in the garden. The bullfinch is a homely little bird, almost as +domestic as the robin; they just stay here, isn't that it?" + +"Sometimes they go into the park, but they come every morning to be +fed. On the whole, Francis is my best bird; but there is another who +in a way excels him--Timothy. I don't know why we call him Timothy; +it isn't a pretty name, but it seems suited to him because I taught +him 'The Shepherd's Pipe'; and you know how difficult it is, dropping +half a note each time? Yet he knows it nearly all; sometimes he will +whistle it through without a mistake. We could have got a great deal +of money for him if he had been sold, and Reverend Mother wanted me +to sell him, but I wouldn't." + +And Evelyn led Louise away to a far corner. + +"He is generally in this corner; these are his trees." And Evelyn +began to whistle. + +"Does he answer you when you whistle?" + +"No; scraping one's feet against the gravel, some little material +noise, will set him whistling." And Evelyn scraped her feet. "I'm +afraid he isn't here to-day. But there is the bell for Benediction. +We must not keep the nuns waiting." And the singers hurried towards +the convent, where they met the Prioress and the Mistress of the +Novices and Sister Mary John. + +"Dear me, how late you are, Sister!" said Sister Mary John. "I +suppose you were listening to the bullfinches. Aren't they wonderful? +But won't you introduce me to Mademoiselle Helbrun? It would be +delightful, mademoiselle, if you would only sing for us." + +"I shall be very pleased indeed." + +"Well, we have only got two or three minutes to decide what it is to +be. Will you come up to the organ loft?" + +And that afternoon the Wimbledon laity had the pleasure of hearing +two prima donne at Benediction. + + + +XXVII + +One day in the last month of Evelyn's noviceship--for it was the +Reverend Mother's plans to put up Evelyn for election, provided she +could persuade Evelyn to take her final vows--Sister Mary John sat at +the harmonium, her eyes fixed, following Evelyn's voice like one in a +dream. Evelyn was singing Stradella's "Chanson d'Eglise," and when +she, had finished the nun rose from her seat, clasping her friend's +hand, thanking her for her singing with such effusion that the +thought crossed Evelyn's mind that perhaps her friend was giving to +her some part of that love which it was essential to the nun to +believe belonged to God alone; and knowing Sister Mary John so well, +she could not doubt that, as soon as the nun discovered her +infidelity to the celestial Bridegroom, she would separate herself at +once from her. A tenderness in the touch of the hand, an ardour in +the eye, might reveal the secret to her, or very likely a casual +remark from some other nun would awaken her conscience to the danger +--an imaginary danger, of course--but that would not be her idea. +Formal relations would be impossible between them, one of them would +have to leave; and, without this friendship, Evelyn felt she could +not live in the convent. + +The accident she foresaw happened two days after, when sitting in the +library writing. Veronica came in. Evelyn had seen very little of her +lately, and at one time Evelyn, Veronica, and Sister Mary John had +formed a little group, each possessing a quality which attracted the +others; but, insensibly, musical interests and literary interests-- +Sister Mary John had begun to teach Evelyn Latin--had drawn Evelyn +and Sister Mary John together, excluding Veronica a little. This +exclusion was more imaginary than real. But some jealousy of Sister +Mary John had entered her mind; and Evelyn had noticed, though Sister +Mary John had failed to notice, that Veronica had, for some time +past, treated them with little disdainful airs. And now, when she +opened the door, she did not answer Evelyn at once, though Evelyn +welcomed her with a pretty smile, asking her whom she was seeking. +There was an accent of concentrated dislike in Veronica's voice when +Evelyn said she was looking for Sister Mary John. + +"I heard her trampling about the passage just now; she is on her way +here, no doubt, and won't keep you waiting." + +The word "trampling" was understood by Evelyn as an allusion to the +hobnails which Sister Mary John wore in the garden. Veronica often +dropped a rude word, which seemed ruder than it was owing to the +refinement and distinction of her face and her voice. A rude word +seemed incongruous on the lips of this mediæval virgin; and Evelyn +sat nibbling the end of the pen, thinking this jealousy was +dangerous. Sister Mary John only had to hear of it. The door opened +again; this time it was Sister Mary John, who had come to ask Evelyn +what was the matter with Veronica. + +"I passed her in the passage just now, and when I asked her if she +had seen you, she said she really was too busy to speak to me; and, a +moment after, she stood a long while to play with the black kitten, +who was catching flies in the window." + +"There is no doubt that Veronica has changed; lately she has been +rather rude to me." + +"To you, Teresa? Now, what could she be rude about to you?" The nun's +face changed expression, and Evelyn sat reading it, "Do you think she +is jealous of the time we spend together? We have been together a +great deal lately." + +"But it is necessary that we should be--our music." + +"Yes, our music, of course; but I was thinking of other times." + +Evelyn knew that Sister Mary John was thinking of the time they had +spent reading the Breviary together--four great volumes, one for +every season of the year. It was Sister Mary John who had taught her +to appreciate the rich, mysterious tradition of the Church, and how +these books of ritual and observances could satisfy the mind more +than any secular literature. There was always something in the Office +to talk about, something new amid much that remained the same--the +reappearance of a favourite hymn. + +"All the same, Sister, we should not take so much pleasure in each +other's society. Veronica is quite right." + +At that moment Evelyn was called away by the portress, who had come +to tell her that Mother Hilda wanted her in the novitiate, and Sister +Mary John was left thinking in the library that Veronica was +certainly right, and every moment the conviction grew clearer. It +must have been forming in her mind for a long time past, for, within +five minutes after Evelyn had left the room, the nun determined to go +straight to the Prioress and tell her that her life was being +absorbed by Evelyn and beg her to transfer her to the Mother House in +France. Never to see Evelyn again! Her strength almost failed her as +she went towards the door. But what would it profit her to see Evelyn +for a few years if she should lose her for eternity? A little +courage, and they would meet to part no more. In a few years both +would be in heaven. A confusion of thought began in her; she +remembered many things, that she no longer loved Christ as she used +to love him. She no longer stood before the picture in which Christ +took St. Francis in His arms, saying to Christ, "My embrace will be +warmer than his when thou takest me in thy arms." She had often +thought of herself and Evelyn in heaven, walking hand in hand. Once +they had sat enfolded in each other's arms under a flowering +oleander. Christ was watching them! And all this could only point to +one thing, that her love of Evelyn was infringing upon her love of +God. And Evelyn, too, had questioned her love of God as if she were +jealous of it, but she had answered Evelyn that nuns were the brides +of Christ, and must set no measure on their love of God. "There is no +lover," she had said, "like God; He is always by you, you can turn to +Him at any moment. God wishes us to keep all our love for Him." She +had said these things, but how differently she had acted, forgetful +of God, thinking only of Evelyn, and her vows, and not a little of +the woman herself. + +The revelation was very sudden.... Sister Mary John seemed to find +somebody in herself of whom she knew nothing, and a passion in +herself unknown to her before. Therefore, to the Prioress she went at +once to tell her everything. + +"Mother, I have come to ask you if you will transfer me to the Mother +House in France." + +The Reverend Mother repeated the words in astonishment, and listened +to Sister Mary John, who was telling her that she had found herself +in sin. + +"My life is falling to pieces, Mother, and I can only save myself by +going away." + +A shipwreck this was, indeed, for all the Prioress's plans! If Sister +Mary John left, how was Evelyn to be persuaded to take the veil? "At +every moment I am confronted with some unexpected obstacle." She +tried to argue with Sister Mary John; but the nun was convinced she +must go. So the only thing to do was to make terms. + +"Teresa must know nothing of what has happened, on that I insist. +There is too much of this kind of thing going on in my convent; I +have heard of it among the younger nuns, all are thinking of visions. +But among you women, who have been in the convent for many years, I +had thought--" + +"Mother, we are all weak; the flesh errs, and all we can do is to +check ourselves, to pray, and take such measures as will save us from +falling into sin again. Of what you said just now about the younger +nuns I know nothing, nor has any vision been vouchsafed to me, only I +have stumbled." + +The Prioress did not answer; she was thinking how Sister Mary John +might be transferred. + +"Mrs. Cater is going to France next month, you can travel with her." + +"So a month must pass! I thought of leaving to-day or to-morrow, but +I see that is impossible. A month! How shall I endure it?" + +"No one will know," the Prioress answered, with a little vehemence. +"It is a secret between us, I repeat, and I forbid you to tell any +one the reason of your leaving. Teresa will be professed in a few +weeks, I hope; she has reached the critical moment of her life, and +her mind must not be disturbed. The raising of such a question, at +such a time, might be fatal to her vocation." + +The Prioress rose from her chair, and, following Sister Mary John to +the door, impressed upon her again that it was essential that no one +should ever know why she had left the convent. + +"You can tell Teresa before you leave, but she must hear nothing of +it till the moment of your leaving. I give you permission merely to +say goodbye to her on the day you leave, and in the interval you will +see as little of each other as possible." + +But when Sister Mary John said that Sister Elizabeth could accompany +Evelyn as well as she could, the Prioress interrupted her. + +"You must always accompany her when she sings at Benediction; you +must do nothing to let her suspect that you are leaving the convent +on her account. You promise me this? You can tell her what you like, +of course when you are leaving, but not before. Of course, there is +no use arguing with you again, Sister Mary John. You are determined, +I can see that; but I do assure you that your leaving us is a sore +trial to us, more than you think for." + +In the passage Sister Mary John came unexpectedly upon Evelyn +returning from the novitiate. + +"Well, I have got through my Latin lesson, and Mother Hilda is +delighted at my progress. She flatters herself on her instruction, +but any progress I have made is owing to you.... But what is the +matter, Sister? Why do you move away?" Evelyn put her hand on the +nun's shoulder. + +"Don't, Sister; I must go." + +"Why must you go?" + +"Teresa, try to think--" She was about to say "of God, and not of +me," but her senses seemed to swoon a little at that moment, and she +fell into Evelyn's arms. + +"Teresa! Teresa! What is this?" + +It was the Prioress coming from her room. + +"A sudden giddiness, Mother," the nun answered. + +"Just as I was telling her of my Latin lesson in the novitiate, that +I could learn Latin with her better than with Mother Hilda." + +"We met in the passage," Sister Mary John said, moving away. + +"And a sudden giddiness came over her," Evelyn explained. + +"Teresa, Sister Cecilia, who is our sacristan, is a little slow; she +wants help, you are just the one to help her, and come with me." + + + +XXVIII + +And Evelyn followed the Prioress into a fragrance of lavender and +orris-root; she was shown the vestments laid out on shelves, with +tissue-paper between them. The most expensive were the white satin +vestments, and these dated from prosperous times; and she was told +how once poverty had become so severe in the convent that the +question had arisen whether these vestments should be sold, but the +nuns had declared that they preferred bread and water, or even +starvation, to parting with their vestments. + +"These are for the priest," the Prioress said, "these are for the +deacon and subdeacon, and they are used on Easter Sundays, the +professed days of the Sisters, and the visits of the Bishop; and +these vestments with the figure of Our Lady, with a blue medallion in +the centre of the cross, are used for all feasts of the Virgin." + +On another shelf were the great copes, in satin and brocade, gold and +white, with embroidered hoods and orphries, and veils to match; and +the processional banners were stored in tall presses, and with them, +hanging on wire hooks, were the altar-curtains, thick with gold +thread; for the high altar there were curtains and embroidered +frontals, and tabernacle hangings, and these, the Prioress explained, +had to harmonise with the vestments; and the day before Mass for the +Dead the whole altar would have to be stripped after Benediction and +black hangings put up. + +"Cecilia will tell you about the candles. They have all to be of +equal length, Teresa, and it should be your ambition to be +economical, with as splendid a show as possible. No candle should +ever be allowed to burn into its socket, leaving less than the twelve +ordained by the Church for Exposition." + +As soon as the Prioress left them, Sister Cecilia told Evelyn that +she would have to work very hard indeed, for it was the Prioress's +whim not to use the ordinary altar cloths with an embroidered hem, +but always cloths on which lace frontals were lightly tacked; and +Evelyn was warned that the sewing on of the lace, without creasing +the white linen, required great care; and the spilling of a little +wax could not be passed over, the cloth would have to go to the wash. + +It was as she said; they had to work hard, and they were always +behindhand with their work. She learned from Cecilia that, apart from +the canonical directions for Divine Service, there existed an +unwritten code for pious observances--some saints were honoured by +having their banner exhibited during the octave of the feast, while +others were allowed little temporary altars on which some relic could +be exposed. The Sisters themselves were often mistaken regarding what +had been done on previous anniversaries; but the Prioress's memory +was unfailing, and one of the strictest rules of the house was that +the sacristan took orders from none but the Prioress. And when a +discussion arose between Cecilia and Evelyn, one of them went to the +Prioress to ask her to say which was right. + +Sister Cecilia was stupid and slow, and very soon Evelyn had absorbed +most of the work of the sacristy doing it as she pleased, until one +day, the Prioress coming in to see what progress had been made, found +St. Joseph's altar stripped, save for a single pair of candlesticks +and two flower vases filled with artificial flowers. Evelyn was +admonished, but she dared to answer that she was not interested in +St. Joseph, though, of course, he was a worthy man. + +"My dear Teresa, I cannot allow you to speak in this way of St. +Joseph; he is one of the patrons of the convent. Nor can I allow his +altar to be robbed in this fashion. Have you not thought that we are +looking forward to the time when you should be one of us?" + +Behind them stood Sister Cecilia, overcome with astonishment that a +mere novice should dare to speak to the Prioress on terms of +equality. When the Prioress left the room she said: + +"You didn't answer the Prioress just now when she asked if you had +forgotten that you were soon to become one of us." + +"How could I answer... I don't know." + +This answer seemed to exhaust Sister Cecilia's interest in the +question, and, handing Evelyn two more candles, she asked, "Do you +want me any more?" + +On Evelyn saying she did not, she said: + +"Well, then, I may go and meditate in the chapel." + +"On what is she going to meditate?" Evelyn wondered; and from time to +time her eyes went towards the nun, who sat crouched on her haunches, +now and again beating her ears with both hands--a little trick of +hers to scatter casual thoughts, for even sacred things sometimes +suggested thoughts of evil to Sister Cecilia, and her plan to reduce +her thoughts to order was to slap her ears. Evelyn watched her, +wondering what her thoughts might be. Whatever they were, they led +poor Cecilia into disgrace, for that evening she forgot to fill the +lamp which burnt always before the tabernacle, it being the rule that +the Easter light struck on Holy Saturday should be preserved through +the year, each new wick being lighted upon the dying one. And Sister +Cecilia's carelessness had broken the continuity. She was severely +reprimanded, ate her meals that day kneeling on the refectory floor, +and for many a day the shameful occurrence was remembered. And her +place was taken by Veronica, who, delighted at her promotion, wore a +quaint air of importance, hurrying away with a bundle of keys hanging +from her belt by a long chain, amusing Evelyn, who was now under +Veronica's orders. + +"Yes, it is rather strange, isn't it, Sister? But I can't help it. Of +course you ought to be in my place, and I can't think why dear Mother +has arranged it like this." + +Nuns employed in the sacristy might talk, and in a few days +Veronica's nature revealed itself in many little questions. + +"It is strange you should wish to be a nun." + +"But why is it strange, Veronica?" + +"For you are not like any of us, nor has the convent been the same +since you came." + +"Are you sorry that I wish to be a nun?" + +"Sorry, Sister Teresa? No, indeed. God has chosen you from the +beginning as the means He would employ to save us; only I can't see +you as a nun, always satisfied with the life here." + +"Every one doesn't know from childhood what she is going to do. But +you always knew your vocation, Veronica." + +"I cannot imagine myself anything but a nun, and yet I am not always +satisfied. Sometimes I am filled with longings for something which I +cannot live without, yet I do not know what I want. It is an +extraordinary feeling. Do you know what I mean, Sister?" + +"Yes, dear, I think I do." + +"It makes me feel quite faint, and it seizes me so suddenly. I have +wanted to tell you for a long time, only I have not liked to. There +are days when it makes me so restless that I cannot say my prayers, +so I know the feeling must be wrong. Something in the quality of your +voice stirs this feeling in me; your trill brings on this feeling +worse than anything. You don't know what I mean?" + +"Perhaps I do. But why do you ask?" + +"Because your singing seems to affect no one as it does me.... I +thought it might affect you in the same way--what is it?" + +"I wouldn't worry, Veronica, you will get over it; it will pass." + +"I hope it will." Evelyn felt that Veronica had not spoken all her +mind, and that the incident was not closed. The novice's eyes were +full of reverie, and behind her the open press exhaled a fragrance of +lavender. "You see," she said, turning, "Father Ambrose is coming +to-morrow. I wonder what he will think of you? He'll know if you have +a vocation." + +Father Ambrose, an old Carmelite monk and the spiritual adviser of +the Prioress, was known to be a great friend of Veronica's, and +whenever he came to the convent Veronica's excitement started many +little pleasantries among the novices. Next day Evelyn waited for one +of these to arise. She had not long to wait; all the novices and +postulants with Mother Hilda were sitting under the great tree. The +air was warm, and Mother Hilda guided the conversation occasionally. +Every one was anxious to talk, but every one was anxious to think +too, for every one knew she would be questioned by the aged monk, and +that the chance of being accepted as a nun depended, in no small +measure, on his opinion of her vocation. + +"Have you noticed, Sister Teresa, how beaming Sister Veronica has +looked for the last day or two? I can't think what has come to her." + +"Can't you, indeed? You must be very slow. Hasn't she been put into +the sacristy just before Father Ambrose's visit; now she will be able +to put out his vestments herself. You may be sure we shall have the +best vestments out every day, and she will be able to have any amount +of private interviews behind our backs." + +"Now, children, that will do," said Mother Hilda, noticing Veronica's +crimson cheeks as she bent over her work. + +Evelyn wondered, and that evening in the sacristy Veronica broke into +expostulations with an excitement that took Evelyn by surprise. + +"How could I not care for Father Ambrose! I have known him all my +life. Once I was very ill with pleurisy. I nearly died, and Father +Ambrose anointed me, and gave me the last Sacraments. I had not made +my first Communion then. I was only eleven, but they gave me the +Sacrament, for they thought I was dying, and I thought so too, and I +promised our Lord I would be a nun if I got well. I never told any +one except Father Ambrose, and he has helped me all through to keep +my vow, so you see he has been everything to me; I have never loved +any one as I love Father Ambrose. When he comes here I always ask him +for some rule or direction, so that I may have the happiness of +obeying him till his next visit; and it is so trying, is it not, +Sister Teresa, when the novices make their silly little jokes about +it? Of course, they don't understand, they can't; but to me Father +Ambrose means everything I care for; besides, he is really a saint. I +believe he would have been canonised if he had lived in the Middle +Ages. He has promised to profess me. It is wrong, I know, but really +I should hardly care to be professed if Father Ambrose could not be +by. We must have these vestments for him." Evelyn was about to take +them out. "No, allow me." + +Veronica took the vestments out of her hand, a pretty colour coming +into her cheeks as she did so. And Evelyn understood her jealousy, +lest any other hands but hers should lay the vestments out that he +was to wear, and she turned her head so that Veronica might not think +she was being watched. And the little nun was happy in the corner of +the sacristy laying out the vestments, putting the gold chalice for +him to use, and the gold cruets, which Evelyn had never seen used +before." + +"You see, being a monk, he has a larger amice than the ordinary +priest." And Veronica produced a strip of embroidery which she tacked +on the edge of the amice, so that it might give the desired +appearance when the monk drew it over his head on entering or leaving +the sacristy. + +A few days after Evelyn came upon this amice with the embroidery edge +put away in a secret corner, so that it should not be used in the +ordinary way; and, as she stood wondering at the child's love for the +aged monk, Sister Agnes came to tell her she was wanted to bid Sister +Mary John goodbye. + +"To bid Sister Mary John goodbye!" + +"Yes, Sister Teresa, that is what the Prioress told me to tell you." + +Evelyn hurried to the library. Sister Mary John was standing near the +window, and she wore a long black cloak over her habit, and had a +bird-cage in her hand. Evelyn saw the sly jackdaw, with his head on +one side, looking at her. + +"What is the meaning of this, Sister? You don't tell me you are going +away? And for how long?" + +"For ever, Sister; we shall never see each other again. I promised +the Prioress not to tell you before. It was a great hardship, but I +gave my promise, she allowing us to see each other for a few minutes +before I left." + +"I can't take in what you're saying. Going away for ever? Oh, Sister, +this cannot be true!" And Evelyn stood looking at the nun, her eyes +dilated, her fingers crisped as if she would hold Sister Mary John +back. "But what is taking you away?" + +"That is a long story, too long for telling now; besides, you know +it. You know I have been very fond of you, Teresa; too fond of you." + +"So that's it. And how shall I live here without you?" + +"You are going to enter the convent, and as a nun you will learn to +live without me; you will learn to love God better than you do now." + +"One moment; tell me, it is only fair you should tell me, how our +love of each other has altered your love of God?" + +"I can never tell you, Teresa, I can only say that I never +understood, perhaps, as I do now, that nothing must come between the +soul and God, and that there is no room for any other love in our +hearts. We must remember always we are the brides of Christ, you and +I, Sister." + +"But I am not professed, and never shall be." + +"I hope you will, Sister, and that all your love will go to our +crucified Lord." + +They stood holding each other's hands. + +"Won't you let me kiss you before you go?" + +"Please let me go; it will be better not. The carriage is waiting; I +must go." + +"But never, never to see you again!" + +"Never is a long while; too long. We shall meet in heaven, and it +would be unwise to forfeit that meeting for a moment of time on this +earth." + +"A moment of time on this earth," Evelyn answered. She stood looking +out of the window like one dazed; and taking advantage of her +abstraction Sister Mary John left the room. The Prioress came into +the library. + +"Mother, what does this mean? Why did you let her go?" + +The Prioress sat down slowly and looked at Evelyn without speaking. + +"Mother, you might have let her stay, for my sake." + +"I allowed her to see you before she left, and that was the most I +could do, under the circumstances." + +"The most you could do under the circumstances? I don't understand. +Mother, you might have asked her to wait. She acted on impulse." + +"No, Teresa, she came to me some weeks ago to tell me of her +scruples." + +"Scruples! Her love of me, you mean?" + +"I see she has told you. Yes." + +The Prioress was about to ask her about her vows; but the present was +not the moment to do so, and she allowed Evelyn to go back to the +sacristy. + + + +XXIX + +"Veronica, she has gone away for good--gone away to France. All I +could do--Now I am alone here, with nobody." + +"But, Teresa, I don't understand. What are you speaking about?" +Evelyn told her of Sister Miry John's departure. "You cared for her a +great deal, one could see that." + +"Well, she was the one whom I have seen most of since I have been +here... except you, Veronica." A look appeared in the girl's face +which suggested, very vaguely, of course, but still suggested, that +Veronica was jealous of the nun who had gone. Evelyn looked into the +girl's face, trying to read the dream in it, until she forgot +Veronica, and remembered the nun who had gone; and when she awoke +from her dream she saw Veronica still standing before her with a +half-cleaned candlestick in her hand. + +"She seemed so determined, and all I could say only made her more so; +yet I told her I was very fond of her... and she always seemed to +like me. Why should she be so determined?" + +"I should have thought you would have guessed, Teresa." + +Evelyn begged Veronica to explain, but the girl hesitated, looking at +her curiously all the time saying at last: + +"It seems to me there can be only one reason for her leaving, and +that was because she believed you to be her counterpart." + +"Her counterpart--what's that?" + +"Have you been so long in the convent without knowing what a +counterpart is, Teresa? The convent is full of counterparts. Did you +never see one in the garden, in a shady corner? You spent many hours +in the garden. I am surprised. Are you telling the truth, Sister?" + +Evelyn opened her eyes. + +"Telling the truth! But do they come in the summer-time in the +garden, while the sun is out?" + +"Yes, they do; and very often they come to one in the evening... but +more often at night." + +Evelyn stood looking into Veronica's face without speaking, and at +that moment the bell rang. + +"We have only just got time," Veronica said, "to get into chapel." + +"What can she mean? Counterparts visiting the nuns in the twilight... +at night! Who are these counterparts?" Evelyn asked herself. "The +idle fancies of young girls, of course." But she was curious to hear +what these were, and on the first favourable opportunity she +introduced the subject, saying: + +"What did you mean, Veronica, when you said that it was strange I had +been in the convent so long without finding my counterpart?" + +"I didn't say that, Teresa. I said without a counterpart finding you +out, or that is what I meant to say. It is the counterpart which +seeks us, not we the counterpart. It would be wrong for us to seek +one. You know what I said about your singing, how it disturbed me and +prevented me from praying? Well, sometimes a memory of your singing +precedes the arrival of my counterpart." + +"But did you not say that Sister Mary John was my counterpart?" + +Veronica answered that Sister Mary John may have thought so. + +"But she is a choir sister." And to this Veronica did not know what +answer to make. The silence was not broken for a long while, each +continuing her work, wondering when the other would speak. "Have all +the nuns counterparts?" + +"I don't know anything about the choir sisters, but Rufina and Jerome +have. Cecilia is too stupid, and no counterpart ever seems to come to +her. Sister Angela has the most beautiful counterpart in the world, +except mine!" And the girl's eyes lit up. + +Evelyn was on the point of asking her to describe her visitor, but, +fearing to be indiscreet, she asked Veronica to tell her who were the +counterparts, and whence they came. Veronica could tell her nothing, +and, untroubled by theory or scruple, she seemed to drift away-- +perhaps into the arms of her spiritual lover. On rousing her from her +dream Evelyn learnt that Sister Angela, who was fond of reading the +Bible, had discovered many texts anent counter-partial love. Which +these could be Evelyn wondered, and Veronica quoted the words of the +Creed, "Christ descended into hell." + +"But the counterpart doesn't emanate out of hell?" + +A look of pain came into the nun's face, and she reminded Evelyn that +Christ was away for three days between his death and his +resurrection, and there were passages she remembered in Paul, in the +Epistle to the Romans, which seemed to point to the belief that he +descended into hell, at all events that he had gone underground; but +of this Veronica had no knowledge, she could only repeat what Sister +Angela had said--that when Christ descended into hell, the warders of +the gates covered their faces, so frightened were they, not having +had time to lock the gates against him, and all hell was harrowed. +But Christ had walked on, preaching to those men and women who had +been drowned in the Flood, and they had gone up to heaven with him. + +"But, Veronica, those who are in hell never come out of it." + +"No, they never come out of it; only Christ can do all things, and He +descended into hell, not to watch the tortures of the damned--you +couldn't think that, Sister Teresa?--but to save those who had died +before His coming. Once we had a meditation on a subject given to us +by Mother Hilda from one of the Gospels: Three men were seen coming +from a tomb, two supporting a man standing between them, the shadow +of the Cross came from behind; and the heads of two men touched the +sky, but the head of the man they supported passed through the sky, +and far beyond it, for the third man was our Lord coming out of +hell." + +"But, Veronica, you were telling me about the counterparts." + +"Well, Sister Teresa, the counterparts are those whom Christ redeemed +in those three days, and they come and visit every convent." + +"In what guise do they come?" Evelyn asked. And she heard that the +arrival of the counterpart was always unexpected, but was preceded by +an especially happy state of quiet exaltation. + +"Have you never felt that feeling, Sister Teresa? As if one were +detached from everything, and ready to take flight." + +"Yes, dear, I think I know what you mean. But the counterpart is a +sort of marriage, and you know Christ says that there is neither +marriage, nor giving in marriage, when the kingdom of God shall come +to pass." + +"Not giving in marriage," the girl answered, "as is understood in the +world, but we shall all meet in heaven; and the meeting of our +counterpart on earth is but a faint shadow of the joy we shall +experience after death--an indwelling, spirit within spirit, and +nothing external. That is how Mother Hilda teaches St. Teresa when we +read her in the novitiate." + +"Sister Teresa is wonderful--her ravishments when God descended upon +her and she seemed to be borne away. But I didn't think that any one +among you experienced anything like that. It doesn't seem to me that +a counterpart is quite the same; there is something earthly." + +"No, Sister, nothing earthly whatever." + +"But, Veronica, you said that Sister Mary John left the convent +because she believed me to be her counterpart. I am in the world, am +I not?" + +A perplexed look came into Veronica's face, and she said: + +"There are counterparts and counterparts." + +"And you think I am a wicked counterpart? You wouldn't like me to be +yours?" + +"I didn't say that, Sister; only mine is in heaven." + +"And when did he come last to you?" Evelyn asked, as she folded up +the vestments. + +"Teresa, you are folding those vestments wrong. You're not thinking +of what you're doing." And the vestments turned the talk back to +Father Ambrose. + +"Surely the monk isn't the counterpart you were speaking of just +now?" + +"No, indeed, my counterpart is quite different from Father Ambrose; +he is young and beautiful. Father Ambrose has got a beautiful soul, +and I love him very dearly; but my counterpart is, as I have said, in +heaven, Sister." + +The conversation fell, and Evelyn did not dare to ask another +question; indeed, she determined never to speak on the subject again +to Veronica. But a few days afterwards she yielded to the temptation +to speak, or Veronica--she could not tell which was to blame in this +matter, but she found herself listening to Veronica telling how she +had, for weeks before meeting with her counterpart, often felt a soft +hand placed upon her, and the touch would seem so real that she would +forget what she was doing, and look for the hand without being able +to find it. + +"One night it seemed, dear, as if I could not keep on much longer, +and all the time I kept waking up. At last I awoke, feeling very cold +all over; it was an awful feeling, and I was so frightened that I +could hardly summon courage to take my habit from the peg and put it +upon my bed. But I did this, for, if what was coming were a wicked +thought, it would not be able to find me out under my habit. At last +I fell asleep, lying on my back with arms and feet folded, a position +I always find myself in when I awake, no matter in what position I +may go to sleep. Very soon I awoke, every fibre tingling, an +exquisite sensation of glow, and I was lying on my left side +(something I am never able to do), folded in the arms of my +counterpart. I cannot give you any idea of the beauty of his flesh, +and with what joy I beheld and felt it. Luminous flesh, and full of +tints so beautiful that they cannot be imagined. You would have to +see them. And he folded me so closely in his arms, telling me that it +was his coming that had caused the coldness; and then telling of his +love for me, and how he would watch over me and care for me. After +saying that, he folded me so closely that we seemed to become one +person; and then my flesh became beautiful, luminous, like his, and I +seemed to have a feeling of love and tenderness for it. I saw his +face, but it is too lovely to speak about. How could I think such a +visitation sinful? for all my thoughts were of pure love, and he did +not kiss me; but I fell asleep in his arms, and what a sleep I slept +there! When I awoke he was no longer by me." + +"But why should you think it was sinful, dear?" + +"Because our counterpart really is, or should be, Jesus Christ; we +are His brides, and mine was only an angel." + +"But you've said, dear, that those who were drowned in the Flood come +down to those living now upon earth to prepare them--" The sentence +dropped away on Evelyn's lips; she could not continue it, for it +seemed to her disgraceful to draw out this girl into speaking of +things which were sacred to her, and which had a meaning for her that +was pure. Her love was for God, and she was trying to explain; and +the terms open to her were terms of human love, which she, Evelyn, +with a sinful imagination, misconstrued, involuntarily perhaps, but +misconstrued nevertheless. + +At that moment Sister Angela came into the sacristy, and, seeing +Sister Veronica and Teresa looking at each other in silence, a look +of surprise came into her face, and she said: + +"Now, you who are always complaining that the work of the sacristy is +behindhand, Veronica--" + +Veronica awoke from her dream. + +"I know, Sister, we ought not to waste time talking, but Teresa asked +me about my counterpart." Evelyn felt the blood rising to her face, +and she turned away so that Angela might not see it. + +"And you've told her?" + +"Yes. And you, Sister Angela, have got a counterpart; won't you tell +Teresa about him?" + +And then, unable to repress herself at that moment, Evelyn turned to +Angela, saying: + +"It began about Sister Mary John--who left the convent to my great +grief, so Veronica tells me, because she believed herself to be my +counterpart." + +At this, Angela's face grew suddenly very grave, and she said: + +"Of course, Teresa, she would leave the convent if she believed that; +but there was no reason for her believing it?" + +"None," Evelyn answered, feeling a little frightened. "None. But what +do you mean?" + +"Only this, that our counterparts are in heaven; but there are +counterparts and counterparts. One--I cannot explain now, dear, for I +was sent by the Prioress to ask you, Veronica, to go to her room; she +wants to speak to you. And I must go back to the novitiate. I +suppose," she added, "Veronica has told you that our counterparts are +a little secret among ourselves? Mother Hilda knows nothing of them. +It would not do to speak of these visitations; but I never could see +any harm, for it isn't by our own will that the counterpart comes to +us; he is sent." + +Evelyn asked in what Gospel Christ's descent into hell is described, +and heard it was in that of Nicodemus; her estimation of Angela went +up in consequence. Angela was one of the few with intellectual +interests; and it was Evelyn's wish to hear about this Gospel that +led her, a few days afterwards, to walk with Angela and Veronica in +the orchard. Angela was delighted to be questioned regarding her +reading, and she told all she knew about Nicodemus. Veronica walked a +little ahead, plucking the tall grasses and enjoying the beautiful +weather. Evelyn, too, enjoyed the beautiful weather while listening +to the story of the harrowing of hell, as described by Nicodemus. +There were no clouds anywhere, and the sky, a dim blue overhead, +turned to grey as it descended. The June verdure of the park was a +wonderful spectacle, so many were the varying tints of green; only a +few unfledged poplars retained their russet tints. Outside the +garden, along the lanes, all the hedges overflowed with the great +lush of June; nettles and young ivy, buttercups, cow-parsley in +profusion, and in the hedge itself the white blossom of the hawthorn. +"The wild briar," Evelyn said to herself, "preparing its roses for +some weeks later, and in the low-lying lands, where there is a dip in +the fields, wild irises are coming into flower, and under the larches +on the banks women and children spend the long day chattering. Here +we talk of Nicodemus and spiritual loves." + +Angela, an alert young woman, whose walk still retained a dancing +movement, whose face, white like white flowers and lit with laughing +eyes, set Evelyn wondering what strange turn of mind should have +induced her to enter a convent. Locks of soft golden hair escaped +from her hood, intended to grow into long tresses, but she had +allowed her hair to be cut. An ideal young mother, she seemed to +Evelyn to be; and the thought of motherhood was put into Evelyn's +mind by the story Angela was telling, for her counterpart had been +drowned in Noah's deluge when he was four years old. + +"But he is a dear little fellow, and he creeps into my bed, and lies +in my arms; his hair is all curls, and he told me the story of his +drowning, how it happened five thousand years ago. He was carried +away in his cot by the flood, and had floated away, seeing the tops +of trees, until a great brown bear, weary of swimming, laid hold of +the cot and overturned it." + +Veronica, who had heard Nicodemus's description of the harrowing of +hell many times, returned to them, a bunch of wild flowers in her +hand. + +"Are not these Bright Eyes beautiful? They remind me of the eyes of +my baby; his eyes are as blue as these." And she looked into the +little blue flower. "Sister Teresa hasn't yet met a counterpart, but +that is only because she doesn't wish for it; one must pray and +meditate, otherwise one doesn't get one." And Evelyn learned how +Rufina had waited a long time for her counterpart. One day an +extraordinary fluttering began in her breast, and she heard the being +telling her not to forget to warn the doctor that he had grown a +little taller, and had come now to reach the end of toes and fingers. +Evelyn wanted to understand what that meant, but Angela could not +tell her, she could only repeat what Rufina had told her; and a look +of reproval came into Veronica's face when Angela said that when +Rufina was asked what her counterpart was like she said that it was +like having something inside one, and that lately he seemed to be +much in search of her mouth and tongue; and when she asked him what +he was like he replied that he was all a kiss." + +"It really seems to me--" A memory of her past life checked her from +reproving the novices for their conversation; they were innocent +girls, and though their language seemed strange they were innocent at +heart, which was the principal thing, whereas she was not. And the +talk went on now about Sister Cecilia, who had been long praying for +a counterpart, but whose prayers were not granted. + +"She is so stupid; how could a counterpart care about her? What could +he say?" Angela whispered to Veronica, pressing the bunch of flowers +which Veronica had given to her lips. + +"Cecilia isn't pretty. But our counterparts don't seek us for our +beauty," Veronica answered, Evelyn thought a little pedantically, +"otherwise mine never would have found me." And the novices laughed. + +The air was full of larks, some of them lost to view, so high were +they; others, rising from the grass, sang as they rose. + +"Listen to that one, how beautifully that bird sings!" And the three +women stood listening to a heaven full of larks till the Angelus bell +called their thoughts away from the birds. + +"We have been a long time away. Mother Hilda will be looking for us." +And they returned slowly to the Novice Mistress, Evelyn thinking of +Cecilia. "So it was for a counterpart she was praying all that time +in the corner of the chapel; and it was a dream of a counterpart that +caused her to forget to fill the sacred lamp." + + + +XXX + +It was the day of the month when the nuns watched by day and night +before the Sacrament. Cecilia's watch came at dawn, at half-past two, +and the last watcher knocked at her cell in the dusk, telling her she +must get up at once. But Cecilia answered: + +"I cannot get up, Sister, I cannot watch before the Sacrament this +morning." + +"And why, Sister? Are you ill?" + +"Yes, I am very ill." + +"And what has made you ill?" + +"A dream, Sister." + +And seeing it was Angela who had come to awaken her, Cecilia rose +from her pillow, saying, "A horrible dream, not a counterpart like +yours, Angela; oh! I can't think of it! It would be impossible for me +to take my watch." + +And walking down the passage, not knowing what to make of Cecilia's +answers, Angela stopped at Barbara's cell to tell her Cecilia was ill +and could not take her watch that morning. + +"And you must watch for her." + +"Why... what is it?" + +"I can tell you no more, Cecilia's ill." + +And she hurried away to avoid further questions, wondering what +reason stupid Cecilia would give Mother Hilda for her absence from +chapel and the row there would be if she were to tell that a +counterpart had visited her! If she could only get a chance to tell +Cecilia that she must say she was ill! If she didn't--Angela's +thoughts turned to her little counterpart, from whom she might be +separated for ever. No chance of speaking happened as the procession +moved towards the refectory; and after breakfast the novices bent +their heads over their work, when Mother Hilda said: + +"I hear, Cecilia, that you were so ill this morning that you couldn't +take your watch." + +"It wasn't illness--not exactly." + +"What, then?" + +"A bad dream, Mother." + +"It must have been a very bad dream to prevent you from getting up to +take your watch. I'm afraid I don't believe in dreams." The novices +breathed more freely, and their spirits rose when Mother Hilda said, +"The cake was heavy; you must have eaten too much of it. Barbara, you +must take notice of this indigestion, for you are fond of cake." The +novices laughed again, and thought themselves safe. But after +breakfast the Prioress sent for Cecilia, and they saw her leave the +novitiate angry with them all--she had caught sight of their smiles +and dreaded their mockery, and went to the Prioress wondering what +plausible contradiction she could give to Angela's story of the ugly +counterpart, so she was taken aback by the first question. + +"Now, what is it that I hear about a refusal to get up to take your +watch? Such a thing--" + +"Not laziness, Mother. Mother, if you knew what my dream was, you +would understand it was impossible for me to watch before the +Sacrament." + +"A dream!" + +Cecilia didn't answer. + +"You can tell me your dream...I shall be able to judge for myself." + +"No, no; it is too frightful!" And Cecilia fell upon her knees. + +"One isn't responsible for one's dreams." + +"Is that so, Mother? But if one prays?" + +"But you don't pray for dreams?" + +"Not for the dream I had last night." + +"Well, for what did you pray? Praying for dreams, Cecilia, is +entirely contrary to the rule, or to the spirit of the rule." + +"But Veronica, Angela, Rufina--they all pray that their counterparts +may visit them." + +"Counterparts!" the old woman answered. "What are you talking about?" + +"Must I tell you?" + +"Of course you must tell me." + +"But it will seem like spite on my part." + +"Spite! Spite?" + +"Because they have gotten beautiful counterparts through their +prayers, whereas--Oh, Mother, I cannot tell you." + +The Prioress forgot the stupid girl at her feet. + +"Counterparts!" + +"Who visit them." + +"Counterparts visiting them! You don't mean that anybody comes into +the convent?" + +"Only in dreams." + +Cecilia tried to explain, but stumbled in her explanation so often +that the Reverend Mother interrupted her: + +"Cecilia, you are talking nonsense! I have never heard anything like +it before!" + +"But what I am telling you, Mother, is in the gospel Nicodemus--" + +"Gospel of Nicodemus!" + +"The harrowing of hell!" + +"But what has all this got to do--I cannot understand you." + +The story was begun again and again. + +"Veronica's counterpart an angel, with luminous tints in his flesh; +Angela's a child drowned in Noah's flood! But--" The Prioress checked +her words. Had all the novices taken leave of their senses? Had they +gone mad?... It looked like it. Anyhow, this kind of thing must be +put a stop to and at once. She must get the whole truth out of this +stupid girl at her feet, who blubbered out her story, obviously +trying to escape punishment by incriminating others. + +"So you were praying that an angel might visit you; but what came was +quite different?" + +"Mother, Mother!" howled Cecilia; "it was a dwarf, but I didn't want +him in my bed. I've been punished enough.... Anything more horrible--" + +"In your bed!... anything so horrible? What do you mean?" + +"Am I to tell you? Must I?" + +"Certainly." + +"After all, it was only a dream." + +"Go on." + +"First I was awakened by a smell coming down the chimney." + +"But there are no chimneys." + +"I'm telling what I thought. There was a smell, which sometimes +seemed to collect in one corner of the room, sometimes in another. At +last it seemed to come from under the bed and... he crawled out." + +"Who crawled out!" + +"The dwarf--a creature with a huge head and rolling eyes and a great +tongue. That is all I saw, for I was too frightened; I heard him say +he was my counterpart, but I cried out, Mother, that it was not true. +He laughed at me, and said I had prayed for him. Then it seemed, +Mother, I was running away from him, only I was checked at every +moment by the others--Veronica, Barbara, and Angela--who put their +feet out so that I might fall; and they caught me by the arms; and +all were laughing, saying, 'Look at Sister Cecilia's counterpart; she +has got one at last and is running away from him. But he shall get +her; he shall get her.' I ran on until I found myself in a corner, +between two brick walls, and the dwarf standing in front of me, +rolling up his night-shirt in his hands, and telling me he was in +great agony; for his punishment was to swallow all the souls of the +nuns who had made bad Communions, and that I was to come at once with +him. I wouldn't go, but he took me by both hands, dragging me towards +the chapel. I told him Father Daly would sprinkle holy water upon +him; but he didn't seem to mind, Mother. If I hadn't been awakened by +Barbara knocking at my; door I don't know--" + +"Now you see, my dear child, what comes of praying for +counterparts.... This must be seen into at once." + +"But you will not say that I told you?" + +"Cecilia, I have heard enough; it isn't for you to ask me to make any +promises. Be sure, I shall try to act for the best. Mother Hilda and +Mother Philippa know nothing of these stories?" + +"Nothing; it is entirely between the novices." + +"You can go now, and remember not a word of what has passed between +us, not a word." + +"But I must confess to Father Daly. My mind wouldn't be at rest if I +didn't, for the dwarf did take me in his arms." + +"You can confess to Father Daly if you like; but I can't see you have +committed any sin; you've been merely very foolish." And the Prioress +turned towards the window, wondering if she should consult with +Father Daly. The secret would not be kept; Angela and Veronica would +speak about it, and there were others more or less implicated, no +doubt, and these would have recourse to Father Daly for advice, or to +Mother Hilda. + +"Come in. So it is you, Teresa? Disturbing me! No, you are not +disturbing me; I am not busy, and if I were it wouldn't matter. You +want to talk to me. Now, about what?" + +There was only one subject which would cause Evelyn to hesitate, so +the Prioress guessed that she had come to tell her that she wished to +leave the convent. + +"Well, Teresa, be it so; I cannot argue with you any more about a +vocation. I suppose you know best." + +"You seem very sad, Mother?" + +"Yes, I am sad; but you are not the cause of my sadness, though what +you have come to tell me is sad enough. I was just coming to the +conclusion, when you came into the room, that things must take their +course. God is good; his guiding hand is in everything, so I suppose +all that is happening is for the best. But it is difficult to see +whither it is tending, if it be not towards the dissolution of the +Order." + +"The dissolution of the Order, Mother!" + +"Well, if not of its dissolution, at all events of a change in the +rule. You know that many here--Mother Philippa, Sister Winifred, +aided and abetted by Father Daly--are anxious for a school, and we +can only have a school by becoming an active Order. You have helped +us a great deal, and our debts are no longer as pressing as they +were; but we still owe a good deal of money, and as you do not intend +to become a member of the community you will take your money away +with you. And this fact will strengthen the opposition against me." + +The Prioress lay back in her chair, white and frail, exhausted by the +heat. + +"May I pull down the blind, Mother?" + +"Yes, you may, dear; the sun is very hot." + +"Your determination to leave us isn't the only piece of bad news +which reached me this morning. Have you heard of Sister Cecilia's +adventure with her counterpart?" Evelyn nodded and tried to repress a +smile. "It is difficult not to smile, so ridiculous is her story; and +if I didn't look upon the matter as very serious, I shouldn't be able +to prevent myself from smiling." + +"But you will easily be able, Mother, to smile at this nonsense. +Veronica, who is a most pious girl, will not allow her mind to dwell +on counterparts since she knows it to be a sin, or likely to lead to +sin, and Angela and the others--if there are any others--" + +"That will not make an end to the evil. Everything, my dear Teresa, +declines. Ideas, like everything else, have their term of life. +Everything declines, everything turns to clay, and I look upon this +desire for spiritual visitations as a warning that the belief which +led to the founding of this Order has come to an end! From such noble +prayers as led to the founding of this Order we have declined to +prayers for the visitation of counterparts." + +Evelyn was about to interrupt, but the Prioress shook her head, +saying, "Well, if not the whole of the convent, at all events part of +it--several novices." And she told Evelyn the disease would spread +from nun to nun, and that there was no way of checking it. + +"Unless by becoming an active order," Evelyn answered, "founding a +school." + +The old woman rose to her feet instantly, saying that she had spoken +out of a moment of weakness; and that it would be cowardly for her to +give way to Mother Philippa and Sister Winifred; she would never +acquiesce in any alteration of the rule. + +"But you, too," she said, "are inclined towards the school?" + +Evelyn admitted she was thinking of the poor, people whom she had +left to their fate, so that she might save herself from sin; and the +talk of the two women dropped from the impersonal to the personal, +Evelyn telling the Prioress a great deal more of herself than she had +told before, and the Prioress confiding to Evelyn in the end her own +story, a simple one, which Evelyn listened to with tears in her eyes. + +"Before I came here I was married, and before I was married I often +used to come to the convent, for I was fond of the nuns, and was a +pious girl. But after my marriage I was captured by life--the vine of +life grew about me and held me tight. One day, passing by the door of +the convent, my husband said, 'It is lucky that love rescued you, for +when I met you you were a little taken by the convent, and might have +become a nun if you hadn't fallen in love. You might have shut +yourself up there and lived in grey habit and penances!' That day I +wore a grey silk dress, and I remember lifting the skirt up as we +passed the door and hitting the kerbstone with it. 'Shut up in that +prison-house! Did I ever seriously think of such a thing?' These were +my words, but God, in his great goodness and wisdom, resolved to +bring me back. A great deal is required to save our souls, so deeply +are we enmeshed in the delight of life and in the delight of one +another.... God took my husband from me after an illness of three +weeks. That happened forty years ago. I used to sit on the seashore, +crying all day, and my little child used to put his arms about me and +say, 'What is mammie crying for?' Then my child died; seemingly +without any reason, and I felt that I could not live any longer amid +the desires and activities of the world. I'll not try to tell you +what my grief was; you have suffered grief, and can imagine it. +Perhaps you can. I left my home and hurried here. When I saw you +return, soon after your father's death; I couldn't but think of my +own returning. I saw myself in you." + +"But, Mother, do you regret that you came here?" + +The old nun did not answer for some time. + +"It is hard to say, Teresa. There are deceptions everywhere, in the +convent as in the world; and the mediocrity of the Sisters here is +tiresome; one longs for a little more intelligence. And, as I was +saying just now, everything declines; an idea ravels like a sleeve. +Are you happy here?... You are not; I see it in your eyes." + +"The only ones who are happy here," Evelyn answered, "I am sure, are +those like Veronica, who pass from the schoolroom to the novitiate." + +"You think that? But the convent is a great escapement. You came +here, having escaped death only by an accident, and when you went to +Rome to see your father you came back distraught, your mind unhinged, +and it was months before you could believe that your sins could be +forgiven. If you leave here, what will become of you? You will return +to the stage." + +Evelyn smiled sadly. + +"You will meet your lovers again. Temptation will be by you; you are +still a young woman. How old are you, Teresa?" + +"Thirty-eight. But I no longer feel young." + +"Then, do you not think it better to spend the last term with us? I +am an old woman, Teresa, and you are the only friend I have in the +convent, the only one who knows me; it would be a great charity if +you were to remain with me.... But you fear I shall live too long? +No, Teresa, the time will not be very long." + +"Mother, don't talk like that, it only grieves me. As long as you +wish me to stay I'll stay." + +"But if I weren't here you would leave?" Evelyn did not answer. "You +would be very lonely?" + +"Yes, I should be lonely." And then, speaking at the end of a long +silence, she said, "Why did you send away Sister Mary John? She was +my friend, and one must have a friend--even in a convent." + +"Teresa, I begged of her to remain. And you are lonely now without +her?" + +"I should be lonelier, Mother, if you weren't here." + +"We will share our loneliness together." + +Evelyn seemed to acquiesce. + +"My dear child, you are very good; you have a kind heart. One sees it +in your eyes." + +She left the Prioress's room frightened, saying. "Till the Prioress's +death." + + + +XXXI + +Father Daly paced the garden alley, reading his Breviary, and, +catching sight of him, Sister Winifred, a tall, thin woman, with a +narrow forehead and prominent teeth, said to herself, "Now's my +chance." + +"I hope you won't mind my interrupting you, Father, but I have come +to speak to you on a matter of some importance. It will take some +minutes for me to explain it all to you, and in confession, you see, +our time is limited. You know how strict the Prioress is that we +shouldn't exceed our regulation three minutes." + +"I know that quite well," the little man answered abruptly; "a most +improper rule. But we'll not discuss the Prioress, Sister Winifred. +What have you come to tell me?" + +"Well, in a way, it is about the Prioress. You know all about our +financial difficulties, and you know they are not settled yet." + +"I thought that Sister Teresa's singing--" + +"Of course, Sister Teresa's singing has done us a great deal of good, +but the collections have fallen off considerably; and, as for the +rich Catholics who were to pay off our debts, they are like the ships +coming from the East, but whose masts have not yet appeared above the +horizon." + +"But does the Prioress still believe that these rich Catholics will +come to her aid?" + +"Oh, yes, she believes; she tells us that we must pray, and that if +we pray they will come. Well, Father, prayer is very well, but we +must try to help ourselves, and we have been thinking it over; and, +in thinking it over, some of us have come to very practical +conclusions." + +"You have come to the conclusion that perhaps a good deal of time is +wasted in this garden, which might be devoted to good works?" + +"Yes, that has struck us, and we think the best way out of our +difficulties would be a school." + +"A school!" + +"Something must be done," she said, "and we are thinking of starting +a school. We've received a great deal of encouragement. I believe I +could get twenty pupils to-morrow, but Mother Prioress won't hear of +it. She tells us that we are to pray, and that all will come right. +But even she does not depend entirely upon prayer; she depends upon +Sister Teresa's singing." + +"A most uncertain source of income, I should say." + +"So we all think." + +They walked in silence until within a few yards of the end of the +walk; and, just as they were about to turn, the priest said: + +"I was talking at the Bishop's to a priest who has been put in charge +of a parish in one of the poorest parts of South London. There is no +school, and the people are disheartened; and he has gone to live +among them, in a wretched house, in one of the worst slums of the +district. He lives in one of the upper rooms, and has turned the +ground floor, which used to be a greengrocer's shop, into a temporary +chapel and school, and now he is looking for some nuns to help him in +the work. He asked me if I could recommend any, and I thought of you +all here, Sister Winifred, with your beautiful church and garden, +doing, what I call, elegant piety. It has come to seem to me +unbearably sad that you and I and these few here, who could do such +good work, should be kept back from doing it." + +"I am afraid our habit, Father, makes that sort of work out of the +question for us." And Sister Winifred dropped her habit for a moment +and let it trail gracefully. + +"Long, grey habits, that a speck of dirt will stain, are very +suitable to trail over green swards, but not fit to bring into the +houses of the poor, for fear they should be spoiled. "Oh," he cried, +"I have no patience with such rules, such petty observances. I have +often asked myself why the Bishop chose to put me here, where I am +entirely out of sympathy, where I am useless, where there is nothing +for me to do really, except to try to keep my temper. I have spoken of +this matter to no one before, but, since you have come to speak to me, +Sister Winifred, I, too, must speak. Ever since I've been here I've +been longing for some congenial work--work which I could feel I was +intended to do. It seems hard at times to feel one's life slipping +away and the work one could do always withheld from one's reach. You +understand?" + +"Indeed, I do. It is the fate of many of us here, Father Daly." + +"Now, if you could make a new foundation--if some three or four of +you--if the Bishop would send me there." + +"Of course, we might go and do good work in the district you speak +of, but I doubt whether the Bishop would recognise us as a new +foundation." + +"I daresay he wouldn't." And they walked a little way in silence. +"You were telling me of your project for a school, Sister Winifred." + +Sister Winifred entered into the details. But she had unduly excited +Father Daly, and he could not listen. + +"My position here," he said, interrupting her, "is an impossible one. +The only ones here who consider my advice are the lay sisters, the +admirable lay sisters who work from morning till evening, and forego +their prayers lest you should want for anything. You know I'm treated +very nearly with contempt by almost all the choir sisters. You think +I don't know that I am spoken of as a mere secular priest? Every +suggestion of mine meets with a rude answer. You have witnessed a +good deal of this, Sister Winifred. I daresay you've forgotten, but I +remember it all... you have come to speak to me here because the +Prioress will not allow you to spend more than three minutes in the +confessional, arrogating to herself the position of your spiritual +adviser, only allowing to me what is to her no more than the +mechanical act of absolution. In her eyes I am a mere secular priest, +incapable of advising those who live in an Order! Do you think I +haven't noticed her deference to the very slightest word that Father +Ambrose deigns to speak to her? Her rule doesn't apply to his +confessional, only to mine--a rule which I have always regarded as +extremely unorthodox; I don't feel at all sure that the amateur +confessional which she carries on upstairs wouldn't be suppressed +were it brought under the notice of Rome; I have long been determined +to resist it, and I beg of you, Sister Winifred, when you come to me +to confession to stay as long as you think proper. On this matter I +now see that the Prioress and I must come to an understanding." + +"But not a word. Father Daly, must we breathe to her of what I have +come to tell you about. The relaxation of our Order must be referred +to the Bishop, and with your support." + +They walked for some yards in silence, Father Daly reflecting on the +admirable qualities of Sister Winifred, her truthfulness and her +strength of character which had brought her to him; Sister Winifred +congratulating herself on how successfully she had deceived Father +Daly and thinking how she might introduce another subject into the +conversation (a delicate one it was to introduce); so she began to +talk as far away as possible from the subject which she wished to +arrive at. The founders of the Orders seemed to her the point to +start from; the conversation could be led round to the question of +how much time was wasted on meditation; it would be easy to drop a +sly hint that the meditations of the nuns were not always upon the +Cross; she managed to do this so adroitly that Father Daly fell into +the trap at once. + +"Love of God, of course, is eternal; but each age must love God in +its own fashion, and our religious sentiments are not those of the +Middle Ages." The exercises of St. Ignatius did not appeal in the +least to Father Daly, who disapproved of letting one's thoughts brood +upon hell; far better think of heaven. Too much brooding on hell +engenders a feeling of despair, which was the cause of Sister +Teresa's melancholia. Too intense a fear of hell has caused men, so +it is said, to kill themselves. It seems strange, but men kill +themselves through fear of death. "I suppose it is possible that fear +of hell might distract the mind so completely--Well, let us not talk +on these subjects. We were talking of--" The nun reminded the priest +they were talking of the exercises of St. Ignatius. "Let us not speak +of them. St. Ignatius's descriptions of the licking of the flames +round the limbs of the damned may have been suitable in his time, but +for us there are better things in the exercises." + +"But do you not think that the time spent in meditation might be +spent more profitably, Father? I have often thought so." + +"If the meditation were really one." + +"Exactly, Father, but who can further thoughts; thought wanders, and +before one is aware one finds oneself far from the subject of the +meditation." + +"No doubt; no doubt." + +"It was through active work that Sister Teresa was cured." "If any +fact has come to your knowledge, Sister, it is your duty to tell it +to me, the spiritual adviser of the nuns, notwithstanding all the +attempts of the Prioress to usurp my position." + +"Well, Father, if you ask me--" + +"Yes, certainly I ask you." And Sister Winifred told how, through a +dream, Sister Cecilia had been unable to go down from her cell to +watch before the Sacrament. + +"We are not answerable for our dreams," the priest answered. + +"No; but if we pray for dreams?" + +"But Cecilia could not desire such a dream?" + +"Not exactly that dream." And so the story was gradually unfolded to +the priest. + +"What you tell me is very serious. The holy hours which should be +devoted to meditation of the Cross wasted in dreams of counterparts! +A strange name they have given these visitations, some might have +given them a harsher name." Father Daly's thoughts went to certain +literature of the Middle Ages. "The matter is, of course, one that is +not entirely unknown to me; it is one of the traditional sins of the +convent, one of the plagues of the Middle Ages. The early Fathers +suffered from the visits of Succubi. What you tell me is very +alarming. Would it not be well for me to speak to the Prioress on the +subject?" + +"No, on no account." + +"But she must be exceedingly anxious to put a stop to such a +pollution of the meditation?" + +"Yes, indeed, I will say that nobody is more opposed to it; but she +is one of these women who, though she sees that something is wrong, +will not go to the root of the wrong at once. The tendency of her +mind is towards the contemplative, and not towards the active orders, +and she will not give way to the relaxation of the rule. You had +better just take the matter into your hands, feeling sure she will +approve of the action in the end. A word or two on the subject in +your sermon on Sunday would be very timely." + +Father Daly promised to think the matter over, and Sister Winifred +said: + +"But you must know we shall have much opposition?" + +"But who will oppose us?" + +"Those who have succeeded in getting counterparts will not surrender +them easily." And Sister Winifred was persuaded to mention the names +of the nuns incriminated in this traffic with the spirits of the +children who had been drowned in Noah's flood. + +"Beings from the other world!" Father Daly cried, alarmed that not +one of the nuns had spoken on this subject to him in the convent. +"This is the first time a nun has spoken to me--" + +"All will speak to you on this matter when you explain to them the +danger they are incurring--when you tell them in your sermon. There +is the bell; now I must fly. I will tell you more when I come to +confession this afternoon." As she went up the path she resolved to +remain ten minutes in the confessional at least, for such a breach of +the rule would challenge the Prioress's spiritual authority, and in +return for this Father Daly would use his influence with the Bishop +to induce the Prioress to relax the rule of the community. To make +her disobedience more remarkable, she loitered before slipping into +the confessional, and the Prioress, who had just come into the +chapel, noticed her. But without giving it another thought the +Prioress began her prayers. At the end of five minutes, however, she +began to grow impatient, and at the end of ten minutes to feel that +her authority had been set aside. + +"You've been at least ten minutes in the confessional, Sister +Winifred." + +"It is hard, indeed, dear Mother, if one isn't allowed to confess in +peace," Sister Winifred answered. And she tossed her head somewhat +defiantly. + +"All the hopes of my life are at an end," the Prioress said to Mother +Hilda." Every one is in rebellion against me; and this branch of our +Order is about to disappear. I feel sure the Bishop will decide +against us, and what can we do with the school? Sister Winifred will +have to manage it herself. I will resign. It is hard indeed that this +should happen after so many years of struggle; and, after redeeming +the convent from its debts, to be divided in the end." + + + +XXXII + +Next Sunday Father Daly took for his text, "And all nations shall +turn and fear the Lord truly, and shall bury their idols" (Toby xiv. +6). + +"Yes, indeed, we should bury our idols." And then Father Daly asked +if our idols were always external things, made of brass and gold, or +if they were not very often cherished in our hearts--the desires of +the flesh to which we give gracious forms, and which we supply with +specious words; "we think," he said, "to deceive ourselves with those +fair images born of our desires; and we give them names, and +attribute to them the perfections of angels, believing that our +visitations are angels, but are we sure they are not devils?" + +The Prioress raised her eyes, and looked at him long and steadily, +asking herself what he was going to say next. + +He went on to tell how one of the chief difficulties of monastic life +was to distinguish between the good and the evil visitant, between +the angel and the demon; for permission was often given to the demon +to disguise himself as an angel, in order that the nun and the monk +might be approved. Returning then to the text, he told the story of +Tobit and Tobias's son, and how Tobias had to have resort to burning +perfumes in order to save himself from death from the evil spirit, +who, when he smelt the perfume, fled into Egypt and was bound by an +angel. "We, too, must strive to bind the evil spirit, and we can do +so with prayer. We must have recourse to prayer in order to put the +evil spirit to flight. Prayer is a perfume, and it ascends sweeter +than the scent of roses and lilies, greeting God's nostrils, which +are in heaven." + +The Prioress thought this expression somewhat crude, and she again +looked at the preacher long and steadfastly, asking herself if the +text and Father Daly's interpretation of it were merely coincidences, +or if he were speaking from knowledge of the condition of convents... +Cecilia, had she told him everything? The Prioress frowned. Sister +Winifred was careful not to raise her eyes to the preacher, for she +was regretting his words, foreseeing the difficulties they would lead +her into, knowing well that the Prioress would resent this +interference with her authority, and she would have given much to +stop Father Daly; but that, of course, was impossible now, and she +heard him say that the angel who bound the evil spirit in Egypt four +thousand years ago is to-day the symbol of the priest in the +confessional, and it was only by availing themselves of that +Sacrament, not in any invidious sense, but in the fullest possible +sense, confiding their entire souls to the care of their spiritual +adviser, that they could escape from the evil spirits which +penetrated into monasteries to-day no less than before, as they had +always done, from the earliest times; for the more pious men and +women are, the more they retire from the world, the more delicate are +the temptations which the devil invents. Convents dedicate to the +Adoration of the Sacrament, to meditation on the Cross, convents in +which active work is eschewed are especially sought by the evil +spirits, "the larvæ of monasticism," he called them. An abundance of +leisure is favourable to the hatching of these; and he drew a picture +of how the grub first appears, and then the winged moth, sometimes +brown and repellant, sometimes dressed in attractive colours like the +butterfly. The soul follows as a child follows the butterfly, from +flower to flower through the sunshine, led on out of the sunshine +into dark alleys, at the end of which are dangerous places, from +whence the soul may never return again. + +"Nuns and monks of the Middle Ages, those who knew monasticism better +than it ever could be known in these modern days, dreaded these larvæ +more than anything else, and they had methods of destroying them and +repelling the beguilements of evil spirits better than we have, for +the contemplative orders were more kindred to those earlier times +than to-day. Monasticism of today takes another turn. Love of God is +eternal, but we must love God in the idiom and spirit of our time." +And Father Daly believed that there was no surer method of escaping +from the danger than by active work, by teaching, which, he argued, +was not incompatible with contemplation, not carried to excess; and +there were also the poor people, and to work for them was always +pleasing to God. Any drastic changes were, of course, out of the +question, but he had been asked to speak on this subject, and it +seemed to him that they should look to Nature for guidance, and in +Nature they found not revolution but evolution; the law of Nature was +progression. Why should any rule remain for ever the same? It must +progress just as our ideas progress. He wandered on, words coming up +in his mouth involuntarily, saying things which immediately after +they were said he regretted having said, trying to bring his sermon +to a close, unable to do so, obliged, at last, to say hurriedly that +he hoped they would reflect on this matter, and try to remember he +was always at their service and prepared to give them the best +advice. + +As soon as Mass was over Mother Hilda went to the Prioress. "We'll +speak on this matter later." And the Prioress went to her room, +hurriedly. The nuns hung about the cloister, whispering in little +groups, forgetful of the rule; the supporters of the Prioress +indignant with the priest, who had dared to call into question the +spiritual value of their Order, and to tell them it would be more +pleasing to God for them to start a school. It was felt even by the +supporters of the school that the priest had gone too far, not in +advocating the school, but in what he had said regarding the +liability of the contemplative orders to be attacked by demons, for +really what he had said amounted to that. + + + +XXXIII + +When the news arrived that Father Daly had been transferred suddenly +by the Bishop to another parish, Sister Winifred walked about in +terror, expecting every minute to bring her a summons to the +Prioress's room. A shiver went through her when she thought of the +interview which probably awaited her; but as the morning wore away +without any command reaching her, she began to take pleasure in the +hope that she had escaped, and in the belief that the Prioress was +afraid of an explanation. No doubt that was it; and Sister Winifred +picked up courage and the threads of the broken intrigue, resolving +this time to confine herself to laying stress on the necessitous +condition of the convent, which was still in debt, and the +impossibility of Sister Teresa's singing redeeming it entirely. + +It would have been wiser if she had conducted her campaign as she +intended to do, but the temptation was irresistible to point out, +occasionally, that those who did not agree with her were the very +nuns--Angela, Veronica, Rufina, and one or two others--who had +confessed to the sin of praying for the visitations of counterparts +during the hour of meditation and other hours. By doing this she +prejudiced her cause. Her inuendoes reached the ears of the Bishop +and Monsignor Mostyn, who came to the convent to settle the +difficulty of an alteration in the rule; she was severely +reprimanded, and it was decreed that the contemplative Orders were +not out of date, and that nuns should be able to meditate on the +Cross without considering too closely the joys that awaited the +brides of Christ in heaven. St. Teresa's writings were put under ban, +only the older nuns, who would not accept the words of the saint too +literally, being allowed to read them. "Added to which," as Monsignor +said, "the idle thoughts of the novices are occupying too much of our +attention. This is a matter for the spiritual adviser of the novices, +and Father Rawley is one who will keep a strict watch." + +The Bishop concurred with Monsignor, and then applied his mind to the +consideration of the proposed alteration of the rule, deciding that +no alteration could receive his sanction, at all events during the +life of the present Prioress. Sister Winifred was told that the +matter must be dropped for the present. It so happened that Monsignor +came upon her and Evelyn together before the Bishop left; and he +tried to reconcile them, saying that when the Prioress was called to +God--it was only a question of time for all of us, and it didn't seem +probable that she would live very long; of course, it was a very +painful matter, one which they did not care to speak about--but after +her death, if it should be decided that the Order might become a +teaching Order, Sister Teresa would be the person who would be able +to assist Sister Winifred better than any other. + +"But, Monsignor," Evelyn said, "I do not feel sure I've a vocation +for the religious life." + +Out of a shrivelled face pale, deeply-set eyes looked at her, and it +seemed that she could read therein the disappointment he felt that +she was not remaining in the convent. She was sorry she had +disappointed him, for he had helped her; and she left him talking to +Sister Winifred and wandered down the passage, not quite certain +whether he doubted her strength to lead a chaste life in the world, +or could she attribute that change of expression in his eyes to +wounded vanity at finding that the living clay put into his hands was +escaping from them unmoulded... by him? Hard to say. There was a fear +in her heart! Now was it that she might lack the force of character +to leave the convent when the time came... after the Prioress's +death? Life is but a ceaseless uprooting of oneself. Sister Winifred +might be elected.... + +"Who will have the strength to turn the convent into an active Order +when I am gone?" the Prioress often asked Evelyn, who could only +answer her that she hoped she would be with them for many a day yet. +"No, my dear, not for many months. I am a very old woman." She +questioned Evelyn regarding Mother Philippa's administration; and +Evelyn disguised from her the disorder that had come into the +convent, not telling how the nuns spent a great deal of time visiting +each other in their cells, how in the garden some walked on one side +and some on the other, how the bitterest enmities had sprung up. But, +though she was not told these things, the Prioress knew her convent +had fallen into decadence, and sometimes she said: + +"Well, I haven't the strength to restore dignity to this Order; so it +had better disappear, become an active Order. But who among you will +be able to reorganise it? Mother Philippa--what do you think, dear?" + +"Mother Philippa is an excellent woman," Evelyn answered; "but as an +administrator--" + +"You don't believe in her?" + +"Only when she is guided by another, one superior to herself." + +"One who will see that the rule is maintained?" + +Evelyn was thinking of Mother Hilda. + +"Mother Hilda," she said, "seems to me too quiet, too subtle, too +retiring." And the Prioress agreed with her, saying under her breath: + +"She prefers to confine herself to the education of her novices. So +what is to be done?" + +From Mother Hilda Evelyn's thoughts went to Sister Mary John, and it +seemed to her she never realised before the irreparable loss the +convent had sustained. But what was the good in reminding the +Prioress of Sister Mary John? No doubt, lying back there in her +chair, the old mind was thinking of the nun she had lost, and who +would have proved of such extraordinary service in the present +circumstances. While looking at the Prioress, thinking with her (for +it is true the Prioress was thinking of Sister Mary John), Evelyn +understood suddenly, in a single second, that if Sister Mary John had +not left Sister Winifred would not have come forward with the project +of a school, nor would there have been any schism. But in spite of +all her wisdom, the Prioress had not known, until this day, how +dependent they were on Sister Mary John. A great mistake had been +made, but there was no use going into that now. + +A bell rang, and Evelyn said: + +"Now, Mother, will you take my arm and we'll go down to chapel +together?" + +"And after Benediction I will take a turn in the garden with you," +the Prioress said. + +She was so weary of singing Gounod's "Ave Maria" that she accentuated +the vulgarity of the melody, and wondered if the caricature would be +noticed. "The more vulgarly it is sung the more money it draws." And +smiling at the theatrical phrase, which had arisen unexpectedly to +her lips, she went into the garden to join the Prioress. + +"Come this way, dear; I want to talk to you." And the Prioress and +the novice wandered away from the other nuns towards the fish-pond, +and stood listening to the gurgle of the stream and to the whisper of +the woods. An inspiring calm seemed to fall out of the sky, filling +the heart with sympathy, turning all things to one thing, drawing the +earth and sky and thoughts of men and women together. + +"Teresa, dear, when you leave us what do you intend to do? You have +never told me. Do you intend to return to the stage?" + +"Mother, I cannot bear to think of leaving you." The old nun raised +her eyes for a moment, and there was a great sadness in them, for she +felt that without Evelyn her death would be lonely. + +"We came here for the same reason, or very nearly. I stayed, and you +are going." + +"And which do you think is the better part, Mother?" + +The nun did not answer for a long time, and Evelyn's heart seemed to +beat more quickly as she waited for the answer. + +"These are things we shall never know, whether it is better to go or +to stay. All the wisdom of the ages has never solved this question-- +which ever course we take; it costs a great deal to come here." + +"And it costs a great deal to remain in the world. Something terrible +would have happened to me. I should have killed myself. But you know +everything, Mother; there is no use going over that story again." + +"No, there is none. Only one thing remains to be said, Teresa--to +thank you for remaining with me. You are a gift from God, the best I +have received for a long time, and if I reach heaven my prayers will +always be with you." + +"And, Mother, if you reach heaven, will you promise me one thing, +that you will come to me and tell me the truth?" + +"That I promise, and I will keep my promise if I am allowed." + +The ripple of the stream sounded loud in their ears, and the skies +became more lovely as Evelyn and the Prioress thought of the promise +that had been asked and been given. + +"I'll ask you to do some things for me." And she gave Evelyn +instructions regarding her papers. "When you have done all these +things you will leave the convent. You will not be able to remain. I +have seen a great deal of you, more than I saw of any other novice, +and I know you as if you were my own child.... I am very old, and you +are still a young woman." + +"Mother, I am nearly, forty, and my trials are at an end, or nearly." + +"Truly, a great trial. I am old enough now, Teresa, to speak about it +without shame. A great trial, yet one is sorry when it is over. And +you still believe that a calamity would have befallen you?" + +"And a great calamity nearly did befall me." + +They sat side by side, their eyes averted, knowing well that they had +reached a point beyond which words could not carry them. + +"We are always anxious to be understood, every one wants to be +understood. But why? Of what use?" + +"Mother, we must never speak on this subject again, for I love you +very dearly, and it is a great pain to me to think that your death +will set me free." + +"It seems wrong, Teresa, but I wouldn't have you remain in the +convent after me; you are not suited to it. I knew it all the while, +only I tried to keep you. One is never free from temptation. Now you +know everything.... We have been here long enough." + +"We have only been here a few minutes," Evelyn answered; "at least it +has only seemed a few minutes to me. The evening is so beautiful, the +sky is so calm, the sound of the water so extraordinary in the +stillness! Listen to those birds, the chaffinch shrieking in that +aspen, and the thrush singing all his little songs somewhere at the +end of the garden." + +"And there is your bullfinch, dear. He will remain in the convent to +remind them of you when you have left." + +The bird whistled a stave of the Bird Music from "Siegfried," and +then came to their feet to pick. Evelyn threw him some bread, and +they wandered back to the novices, who had forgotten their +differences, and were sitting under their tree with Mother Hilda +discussing a subject of great interest to them. + +"We haven't seen them united before for a long time." + +"That odious Sister Winifred waiting for your death, thinking only of +her school." + +"That is the way of the world, and we find the world everywhere, even +in a convent. Her idea comes before everything else. Only you, +Teresa, are good; you are sacrificing yourself to me; I hope it will +not be for long." + +"But we said, Mother, we wouldn't talk of that any more. Now, what +are the novices so eager about?" + +Sister Agatha ran forward to tell them that it had been suddenly +remembered that the thirtieth of the month would be Sister Bridget's +fortieth anniversary of her vows. + +"Forty years she has been in the convent, and we are thinking that we +might do something to commemorate the anniversary." + +"I should like to see her on an elephant, riding round the garden. +What a spree it would be!" said Sister Jerome. + +The words were hardly out of her mouth when she regretted them, +foreseeing allusions to elephants till the end of her days, for +Sister Jerome often said foolish things, and was greatly quizzed for +them. But the absurdity of the proposal did not seem to strike any +one; only the difficulty of procuring an elephant, with a man who +would know how to manage the animal, was very great. Why not a +donkey? They could easily get one from Wimbledon; the gardener would +bring one. But a donkey ride seemed a strange come-down after an +elephant ride, and an idea had suddenly struck Sister Agatha. + +"Sister Jerome doesn't mean a real elephant, I suppose. We might +easily make a very fine elephant indeed by piling the long table from +the library with cushions, stuffing it as nearly as possible into the +shape of an elephant." + +"And the making of the elephant would be such a lark!" cried Sister +Jerome. + +Mother Hilda raised no objection, and the Prioress and Evelyn walked +aside, saying: + +"Well, it is better they should be making elephants than dreaming of +counterparts." + + + +XXXIV + +The creation of the beast was accomplished in the novitiate, no one +being allowed to see it except the Prioress. The great difficulty was +to find beads large enough for the eyes, and it threatened to +frustrate the making of their beast. But the latest postulant +suggested that perhaps the buttons off her jacket would do, they were +just the thing,' and the legs of the beast were most natural and +life-like; it had even a tail. + +As no one out of the novitiate had seen this very fine beast, the +convent was on tip-toe with excitement, and when, at the conclusion +of dinner, the elephant was wheeled into the refectory, every one +clapped her hands, and there were screams of delight. Then the saddle +was brought in and attached by blue ribbons. Sister Bridget, who did +not seem quite sure that the elephant was not alive, was lifted on it +and held there; and was wheeled round the refectory in triumph, the +novices screaming with delight, the professed, too. Only Evelyn stood +silent and apart, sorry she could not mix with the others, sharing +their pleasures. To stand watching them she felt to be unkind, so she +went into the garden, and wandered to the sundial, whence she could +see Richmond Park; and looking into the distance, hearing the +childish gaiety of the nuns, she remembered Louise's party at the +Savoy Hotel years and years ago. The convent had ceased to have any +meaning for her; so she must return, but not to the mummers, they, +too, had faded out of her life. She did not know whither she was +going, only that she must wander on... as soon as the Prioress died. +The thought caused her to shudder, and, remembering that the old +woman was alone in her room, she went up to ask her if she would care +to come into the garden with her. The Prioress was too weak to leave +her room, but she was glad to have Evelyn, and to listen to her +telling of the great success of the elephant. + +"Of course, my dear, the recreations here must seem to you very +childish. I wonder what your life will be when I'm gone?" + +"To-morrow you will be stronger, and will be able to come into the +garden." + +But the old nun never left her room again, and Evelyn's last memory +of her in the garden was when they had sat by the fish-pond, looking +into the still water, reflecting sky and trees, with a great carp +moving mysteriously through a dim world of water-weed and flower. +There were many other memories of the Prioress which lingered through +many years, memories of an old woman lying back in her chair, frail +and white, slipping quite consciously out of life into death. Every +day she seemed to grow a trifle smaller, till there was hardly +anything left of her. It was terrible to be with her, so conscious +was she that death was approaching, that she and death were drawing +nearer and nearer, and to hear her say, "Four planks are the only +habit I want now." Another time, looking into Evelyn's eyes, she +said, "It is strange that I should be so old and you so young." + +"But I don't feel young, Mother." And every day the old woman grew +more and more dependent upon Evelyn. + +"You are very good to me. Why should you wait here till I am dead? +Only it won't be long, dear. Of what matter to me that the convent +will be changed when I am dead. If I am a celestial spirit, our +disputes--which is the better, prayer or good works--will raise a +smile upon my lips. But celestial spirits have no lips. Why should I +trouble myself? And yet--" + +Evelyn could see that the old woman could not bear to think that her +life's work was to fall to pieces when she was gone. + +"But, dear Mother, we all wish that what we have done shall remain; +and we all wish to be remembered, at least for a little while. There +is nothing more human. And your papers, dear Mother, will have to be +published; they will vindicate you, as nothing else could." + +"But who is to publish them?" the Prioress asked. "They would require +to be gone over carefully, and I am too weak to do that, too weak +even to listen to you reading them." + +Evelyn promised the Prioress again that she would collect all the +papers, and, as far as she could, select those which the Prioress +would herself select; and the promise she could see pleased the dying +woman. It was at the end of the week that the end came. Evelyn sat by +her, holding her hand, and hearing an ominous rattling sound in the +throat, she waited, waited, heard it again, saw the body tremble a +little, and then, getting up, she closed the eyes, said a little +prayer, and went out of the room to tell the nuns of the Prioress's +death, surprised at what seemed to her like indifference, without +tears in her eyes, or any manifestation of grief. There could be +none, for she was not feeling anything; she seemed to herself to be +mechanically performing certain duties, telling Mother Philippa, whom +she met in the passage, in a smooth, even voice, that the Prioress +had died five minutes ago, without any suffering, quite calmly. Her +lack of feeling seemed to her to give the words a strange ring, and +she wondered if Mother Philippa would be stirred very deeply. + +"Dead, Sister, dead? How terrible! None of us there. And the prayers +for the dying not said. Surely, Teresa, you could have sent for us. I +must summon the community at once." And the sub-Prioress hurried +away, feeling already on her shoulders the full weight of the convent +affairs. + +In a few moments the Sisters, with scared faces, were hurrying from +all parts of the house to the room where the Prioress lay dead. +Evelyn felt she could not go back, and she slipped away to look for +Veronica, whom she found in the sacristy. + +"Veronica, dear, it is all over." + +The girl turned towards her and clasped her hands. + +"Auntie is dead," was all she said, and, dropping into a chair, her +tears began to flow. + +"Dear Veronica, we both loved her very much." + +"So we did, Sister; the convent will be very different without her. +Whom will they elect? Sister Winifred very possibly. It won't matter +to you, dear, you will go, and we shall have a school; everything +will be different." + +"But many weeks will pass before I leave. Your aunt asked me to put +her papers in order; I shall be at work in the library for a long +while." + +"Oh, I am so glad, Sister. I thought perhaps you would go at once." +And Veronica dried her tears. "But, dear, we can't talk now. I must +join the others in the prayers for the dead, and there will be so +much to do." + +"We shall have to strip the altar, I suppose?" + +"Oh, yes, the whole chapel--we shall want all our black hangings. But +I must go." + +At that moment a Sister hurried in to say the bell was to be tolled +at once, and Evelyn went with Veronica to the corner of the cloister +where the ropes hung, and stood by listlessly while Veronica dragged +at the heavy rope, leaving a long interval between each clang. + +"Oughtn't we to go up, Sister?" Veronica asked again. + +"No, I can't go back yet," Evelyn answered. And she went into the +garden and followed the winding paths, wondering at the solemn +clanging, for it all seemed so useless. + +The chaplain arrived half an hour afterwards, and next day several +priests came down from London, and there was a great assembly to +chant the Requiem Mass. But Evelyn, though she worked hard at +decorating the altar, was not moved by the black hangings, nor by the +doleful chant, nor by the flutter of the white surplice and the +official drone about the grave. All the convent had followed the +prelates down the garden paths; by the side of the grave Latin +prayers were recited and holy water was sprinkled. On the day the +Prioress was buried there were few clouds in the sky, sunshine was +pretty constant, and all the birds were singing in the trees; every +moment Evelyn expected one of her bullfinches to come out upon a +bough and sing its little stave. If it did, she would take his song +for an omen. But the bullfinches happened to be away, and she wished +that the priests' drone would cease to interrupt the melody of the +birds and boughs. The dear Prioress would prefer Nature's own music, +it was kinder; and the sound of the earth mixed with the stones +falling on the coffin-lid was the last sensation. After it the +prelates and nuns returned to the convent, everybody wondering what +was going to happen next, every nun asking herself who would be +elected Prioress. + +"Dear Mother, it is all over now," Evelyn said to Mother Hilda in the +passage, and the last of the ecclesiastics disappeared through a +doorway, going to his lunch. + +"Yes, dear Teresa, it is all over so far as this world is concerned. +We must think of her now in heaven." + +"And to-morrow we shall begin to think for whom we shall vote--at +least, you will be thinking. I am not a choir sister, and am leaving +you." + +"Is that decided, Teresa?" + +"Yes, I think so. Perhaps now would be the time for me to take off +this habit; I only retained it at the Prioress's wish. But, Mother, +though I have not discovered a vocation, and feel that you have +wasted much time upon me, still, I wouldn't have you think I am +ungrateful." + +"My dear, it never occurred to me to think so." And the two women +walked to the end of the cloister together, Evelyn telling Mother +Hilda about the Prioress and the Prioress's papers. + +And from that day onward, for many weeks, Evelyn worked in the +library, collecting her papers, and writing the memoir of the late +Prioress, which, apparently, the nun had wished her to do, though why +she should have wished it Evelyn often wondered, for if she were a +soul in heaven it could matter to her very little what anybody +thought of her on earth. How a soul in heaven must smile at the +importance attached to this rule and to these exercises! How trivial +it all must seem to the soul!... And yet it could not seem trivial to +the soul, if it be true that by following certain rules we get to +heaven. If it be true! Evelyn's thoughts paused, for a doubt had +entered into her mind--the old familiar doubt, from which no one can +separate herself or himself, from which even the saints could not +escape. Are they not always telling of the suffering doubt caused +them? And following this doubt, which prayers can never wholly +stifle, the old original pain enters the heart. We are only here for +a little while, and the words lose nothing of their original +freshness by repetition; and, in order to drink the anguish to its +dregs, Evelyn elaborated the words, reminding herself that time is +growing shorter every year, even the years are growing shorter. + +"The space is very little between me and the grave." + +Some celebrated words from a celebrated poet, calling attention to +the brevity of life, came into her mind, and she repeated them again +and again, enjoying their bitterness. We like to meditate on death; +even the libertine derives satisfaction from such meditation, and +poets are remembered by their powers of expressing our great sorrow +in stinging terms. "Our lives are not more intense than our dreams," +Evelyn thought; "and yet our only reason for believing life to be +reality is its intensity. Looked at from the outside, what is it but +a little vanishing dust? Millions have preceded that old woman into +the earth, millions shall follow her. I shall be in the earth too--in +how many years? In a few months perhaps, in a few weeks perhaps. +Possibly within the next few days I may hear how long I may expect to +live, for what is more common than to wake with a pain, and on +consulting a doctor to see a grave look come into his face, and to +hear him tell of some mortal disease beyond his knife's reach? Words +come reluctantly to one's tongue. "How long have I to live?" "About a +year, about six months; I cannot say for certain." + +Doctors are answering men and women in these terms every day, and +Evelyn thought of some celebrated sayings that life's mutability has +inspired. She remembered some from the Bible, and some from +Shakespeare; and those she remembered from Fitzgerald, from his "Omar +Khayyam," took her back to the afternoon she spent with Owen by the +Serpentine, to the very day when he gave her the poem to read, +thinking to overcome her scruples with literature. + +"There were no scruples in me then. My own business, 'The Ring,' is +full of the pagan story of life and death. We have babbled about it +ever since, trying to forget or explain it, without, however, doing +either; I tried to forget it on the stage, and did not succeed, but +it was not fear of death that brought me here. The nuns do not +succeed better than I; all screens are unavailing, for the wind is +about everywhere--a cold, searching wind, which prayers cannot keep +out; our doorways are not staunch--the wind comes under the door of +the actress's dressing-room and under the door of the nun's cell in +draughts chilling us to the bone, and then leaving us to pursue our +avocations for a time in peace. The Prioress thought that in coming +here she had discovered a way to heaven, yet she was anxious to +defend herself from her detractors upon earth. If she had believed in +her celestial inheritance she would have troubled very little, and I +should be free to go away now. Perhaps it is better as it is," she +reflected. And it seemed to her that no effort on her part was called +for or necessary. She was certain she was drifting, and that the +current would carry her to the opposite bank in good time; she was +content to wait, for had she not promised the Prioress to perform a +certain task? And it was part of her temperament to leave nothing +undone; she also liked a landmark, and the finishing of her book +would be a landmark. + +She was even a little curious to see what turn the convent affairs +would take, and as she sat biting the end of her pen, thinking, the +sound of an axe awoke her from her reverie. Trees were being felled +in the garden; "and an ugly, red-brick building will be run up, in +which children of city merchants will be taught singing and the +piano." Was it contempt for the world's ignorance in matters of art +that filled her heart? or was she animated with a sublime pity for +those parents who would come to her (if she remained in the convent, +a thing she had no intention of doing) to ask her, Evelyn Innes, if +she thought that Julia would come to something if she were to +persevere, or if Kitty would succeed if she continued to practice +"The Moonlight Sonata," a work of the beauty of which no one in the +convent had any faintest comprehension? She herself had some gifts, +and, after much labour, had brought her gifts to fruition, not to any +splendid, but to some fruition. It was not probable that any one who +came to the convent would do more than she had done; far better to +learn knitting or cooking--anything in the world except music. Her +gift of singing had brought her to this convent. Was it really so? +Was her gift connected in some obscure way with the moral crisis +which had drawn her into this convent? There seemed to be a +connection, only she did not seem to be able to work it out. But +there must be one surely, otherwise her poor people, whom she loved +so dearly, would not have been abandoned. A very cruel abandonment it +was, and she pondered a long while on this subject without arriving +at any other conclusion except that for her to remain in the convent +to teach music to the children of rich merchants, who had villas in +Wimbledon, was out of the question. Her poor people were calling to +her, and the convent had no further concern in her life. Of that she +was sure. It was no longer the same convent. The original aspiration +had declined; the declension had been from the late Prioress to +Sister Winifred, who, knowing that her own election to Prioress was +impossible, had striven to get Mother Philippa elected Prioress and +herself sub-Prioress--a very clever move on her part, for with Mother +Philippa as Prioress the management of the school would be left to +her, and the school was what interested her. Of course, the money +they made would be devoted to building a chapel, or something of that +kind; but it was the making of money which would henceforth be the +pleasure of the convent. Evelyn took a certain pleasure in listening +negligently to Mother Winifred, who seemed unable to resist the +desire to talk to her about vocations whenever they met. From +whatever point they started, the conversation would soon turn upon a +vocation, and Evelyn found herself in the end listening to a story of +some novice who thought she had no vocation and had left the convent, +but had returned. + +"And very often," Mother Winifred would say sententiously, "those who +think themselves most sure of their vocation find themselves without +one." + +And Evelyn would answer, "Those who would take the last place are put +up first--isn't that it, Mother Winifred?" + +Very often as they walked round the great, red-brick building, with +rows of windows on either side facing each other, so that the sky +could be seen through the building, Evelyn said: + +"But do you not regret the trees?" She took pleasure in reminding +every nun that they sacrificed the beauty of the garden in the hope +of making a little money; and these remarks, though they annoyed +Mother Winifred, did not prevent her from speaking with pride of the +school, now rapidly advancing towards completion, nor did Evelyn's +criticism check her admiration of Evelyn herself. It seemed to Evelyn +that Mother Winifred was always paying her compliments, or if she +were not doing that, she would seek opportunities to take Evelyn into +her confidence, telling her of the many pupils they had been +promised, and of the conversions that would follow their teaching. +The girls would be impressed by the quiet beauty of the nun's life; +some of them would discover in themselves vocations for the religious +life, and a great many would certainly go away anxious for +conversion; and, even if their conversions did not happen at once, +though they might be delayed for years, sooner or later many +conversions would be the result of this school. And the result of all +this flummery was: + +"Now, why should you not stay with us, dear, only a little while +longer? It would be such a sad thing if you were to go away, and find +that, after all, you had a vocation for the religious life, for if +you return to us you will have to go through the novitiate again." + +"But, Mother Winifred, you always begin upon the supposition that I +have a vocation. Now, supposing you begin upon the other supposition +--that I have not one." + +Mother Winifred hesitated, and looked sharply at Evelyn; but, unable +to take her advice, on the very next opportunity she spoke to Evelyn +of the vocation which she might discover in herself when it was too +late. + +"You have forgotten what I said, Mother Winifred." + +Mother Winifred laughed, but, undaunted, she soon returned with some +new argument, which had occurred to her in the interval, as she +prayed in church, or in her cell at night, and the temptation to try +the effect of the new argument on Evelyn was irresistible. + +"Dear Sister Teresa--you see the familiar name comes to my tongue +though you have put off the habit--we shall be a long time in +straitened circumstances. A new mortgage has had, as you know, to be +placed on the property in order to get money to build the school; the +school will pay, but not at once." + +Evelyn protested she was not responsible for this new debt. She had +advised the Prioress and Mother Winifred against it, warning them +that she did not intend to remain in the convent. + +"But we always expected that you would remain." + +And in this way Evelyn was made to feel her responsibility so much +that in the end she consented to give up part of her money to the +nuns. So long as she had just enough to live upon it did not matter, +and she owed these nuns a great deal. True that she had paid them ten +times over what she owed them, but still, it was difficult to measure +one's debts in pounds, shillings, and pence. However, that was the +way the nuns wanted her to measure them, and if she could leave them +fifteen hundred pounds--. And as soon as this sum was agreed upon, +Sister Winifred never lost an opportunity of regretting that the +convent was obliged to accept this magnificent donation, hinting that +the Prioress and herself would be willing (and there would be no +difficulty in obtaining the consent of the choir sisters) to accept +Evelyn's services for three years in the school instead of the money. + +"Five hundred a year we shall be paying you, but the value of your +teaching will be very great; mothers will be especially anxious to +send their daughters to our school, so that they may get good singing +lessons from you." + +"And when I leave?" + +"Well, the school will have obtained a reputation by that time. Of +course, you will be a loss, but we must try to do without you." + +"Three years in this convent!" + +"But you are quite free here; you come and go as you please. After +all, your intention in leaving the convent is to teach music. Why not +teach music here?" + +The argument was an ingenious one, but Evelyn did not feel that it +would appeal to her in the least, either to continue living in the +convent after she had finished her book, or to go back to the convent +to give singing lessons three or four times a week. + +It would be preferable for her to give fifteen hundred pounds to the +convent, and so finish with the whole thing; and this she intended to +do, though she put Mother Winifred off with evasion, leaving her +thinking that perhaps after all she would teach for some little while +in the convent. It was necessary to do this, for Mother Winifred +could persuade Mother Philippa as she pleased; and it had occurred to +Evelyn that perhaps Mother Winfred might arrange for her expulsion. +Nothing could be easier than to tell her that somebody's friend was +going to stay with them in the convent, that the guest-room would be +wanted. To leave now would not suit Evelyn at all. The late +Prioress's papers belonged to the convent; and to deceive Mother +Winifred completely Evelyn agreed to give some singing lessons, for +they had already begun to receive pupils, though the school was not +yet finished. + +This teaching proved very irksome to her, for it delayed the +completion of her book, and she often meditated an escape, thinking +how this might be accomplished while the nuns played at ball in the +autumn afternoon. Very often they were all in the garden, all except +Sister Agnes, the portress, and she often left her keys on the nail. +So it would be easy for Evelyn to run down the covered way and take +the keys from the nail and open the door. And the day came when she +could not resist the temptation of opening the door, not with a view +to escape; but just to know what the sensation of the open door was +like. And she stood for some time looking into the landscape, +remembering vaguely, somewhere at the back of her mind, that she +could not take the Prioress's papers with her, they did not belong to +her; the convent could institute an action for theft against her, the +Prioress not having made any formal will, only a memorandum saying +she would like Evelyn to collect her papers. + +So it was necessary for her to lock the gate again, to restore the +keys to the nail, and return to the library. But in a few weeks more +her task would be done, and it would be pleasanter to go away when it +was done; and, as it has already been said, Evelyn liked landmarks. +"To pass out is easy, but the Evelyn that goes out will not be the +same as the Evelyn who came in." And a terror gathered in her mind, +remembering that she was forty, and to begin life again after forty, +and after such an experience as hers, might prove beyond her +strength. Doubts enter into every mind, doubt entered into hers; +perhaps the convent was the natural end of her life, not as a nun, +but as an oblate. The guest-room was a pleasant room, and she could +live more cheaply in the convent than elsewhere. There are cowardly +hours in every life, and there were hours when this compromise +appealed to Evelyn Innes. But if she remained she would have to +continue teaching under Mother Winifred's direction. A little revolt +awoke in her. She could not do that; and she began to think what +would happen to her when she left the convent. There would not be +money enough left her to sit down in a small flat and do nothing; she +would have to work. Well, she would have to do that in any case, for +idleness was not natural to her, and she would have to work for +somebody besides herself--for her poor people--and this she could do +by giving singing lessons. Where? In Dulwich? But to go back to the +house in which she lived her life, to the room which used to be hung +with the old instruments, and to revive her mother's singing classes? +No, she could not begin her life from exactly the same point at which +she left off. And gradually the project formed in her mind of a new +life, a life which would be at once new and old. And the project +seemed to take shape as she wrote the last pages of her memoir of the +late Prioress. + +"It is done, and I have got a right to my own manuscript; they cannot +take that from me." And she went into the sacristy, her manuscript in +her hand. + +The cool, sweet room seemed empty, and Veronica emerged from the +shadow, almost a shadow. There were two windows, lattice panes, and +these let the light fall upon the counter, along which the vestments +were laid for the priest. The oak press was open, and it exhaled an +odour of orris root and lavender, and Veronica, standing beside it, a +bunch of keys at her girdle, once more reminded Evelyn of the +mediæval virgin she had seen in the Rhenish churches. + +"I have finished collecting your aunt's papers." + +"And now you are going to leave us?" + +There was a sob in the girl's voice, and all Evelyn's thoughts about +her seemed to converge and to concentrate. There was the girl before +her who passed through life without knowing it, interested in putting +out the vestments for an old priest, hiding his amice so that no +other hands but hers should touch it; this and the dream of an angel +who visited her in sleep and whose flesh was filled with luminous +tints constituted all she knew of life, all she would ever know. +There were tears in her eyes now, there was a sob in her voice; she +would regret her friend for a day, for a week, and then the convent +life would draw about her like great heavy curtains. Evelyn +remembered how she had told her of a certain restlessness which kept +her from her prayers; she remembered how she had said to her, "It +will pass, everything will pass away." She would become an old nun, +and would be carried to the graveyard just as her aunt had been. When +would that happen? Perhaps not for fifty years. Sooner or later it +would happen. And Evelyn listened to Veronica saying the convent +would never be the same without her, saying: + +"Once you leave us you will never come back." + +"Yes, I shall, Veronica; I shall come once or twice to see you." + +"Perhaps it would be better for you not to come at all," the girl +cried, and turned away; and then going forward suddenly as Evelyn was +about to leave the sacristy, she said: + +"But when are you leaving? When are you leaving?" + +"To-morrow; there is no reason why I should wait any longer." + +"We cannot part like this." And she put down the chalice, and the +women went into a chill wind; the pear-trees were tossing, and there +were crocuses in the bed and a few snowdrops. + +"You had better remain until the weather gets warmer; to leave in +this bleak season! Oh, Sister, how we shall miss you! But you were +never like a nun." + +They walked many times to and fro, forgetful of the bleak wind +blowing. + +"It must be so, you were never like a nun. Of course we all knew, I +at least knew... only we are sorry to lose you." + +The next day a carriage came for Evelyn. The nuns assembled to bid +her goodbye; they were as kind as their ideas allowed them to be, +but, of course, they disapproved of Evelyn going, and the fifteen +hundred pounds she left them did not seem to reconcile them to her +departure. It certainly did not reconcile Mother Winifred, who +refused to come down to wish her goodbye, saying that Evelyn had +deceived them by promising to remain, or at all events led them to +think she would stay with them until the school was firmly +established. Mother Philippa apologised for her, but Evelyn said it +was not necessary. + +"After all, what Mother Winifred says is the truth, only I could not +do otherwise. Now, goodbye, I'll come to see you again, may I not?" + +They did not seem very anxious on this point, and Evelyn thought it +quite possible she might never see the convent again, which had meant +so much to her and which was now behind her. Her thoughts were +already engaged in the world towards which she was going, and +thinking of the etiolated hands of the nuns she remembered the brown +hands of her poor people; it was these hands that had drawn her out +of the convent, so she liked to think; and it was nearly the truth, +not the whole truth, for that we may never know. + + + +XXXV + +The blinds of 27, Berkeley Square were always down, and when Sir +Owen's friends called the answer was invariably the same: "No news of +Sir Owen yet; his letters aren't forwarded; business matters are +attended to by Mr. Watts, the secretary." And Sir Owen's friends went +away wondering when the wandering spirit would die in him. + +It was these last travels, extending over two years, in the Far East, +that killed it; Owen felt sure of that when he entered his house, +glad of its comfort, glad to be home again; and sinking into his +armchair he began to read his letters, wondering how he should answer +the different invitations, for every one was now more than six months +old, some going back as far as eighteen months. It seemed absurd to +write to Lady So-and-so, thanking her for an invitation so long gone +by. All the same, he would like to see her, and all his friends, the +most tedious would be welcome now. He tore open the envelopes, +reading the letters greedily, unsuspicious of one amongst them which +would make him forget the others--a letter from Evelyn. It came at +last under his hand, and having glanced through it he sank back in +his chair, overcome, not so much by surprise that she had left her +convent as at finding that the news had put no great gladness into +his heart, rather, a feeling of disappointment. + +"How little one knows about oneself!" But he wasn't sorry she had +left the convent. A terrible result of time and travel it would be if +his first feeling on opening her letter were one of disappointment. +He was sorry she had been disappointed, and thought for a long time +of that long waste of life, five years spent with nuns. "We are +strange beings, indeed," he said. And getting up, he looked out the +place she wrote from, discovering it to be a Surrey village, probably +about thirty miles from London, with a bad train service; and having +sent a telegram asking if it would suit her for him to go down to see +her next day, he fell back in his chair to think more easily how his +own life had been affected by Evelyn's retreat from the convent; and +again he experienced a feeling of disappointment. "A long waste of +life, not only of her life, but of mine," for he had travelled +thousands of miles... to forget her? Good heavens, no! What would his +life be without remembrance of Evelyn? He had come home believing +himself reconciled to the loss of Evelyn, and willing to live in +memories of her--the management of his estate a sufficient interest +for his life, and his thoughts were already engaged in the building +of a new gatehouse; after all, Riversdale was his business, and he +had come home to work for his successor while cherishing a dream-- +wasn't it strange? But this letter had torn down his dream and his +life was again in pieces. Would he ever be at rest while she was +abroad? Would it not have been better for them both if she had +remained in her convent? The thought seemed odiously selfish. If she +were to read his disappointment on hearing that she was no longer in +the convent? ... Telepathy! There were instances! And his thoughts +drifted away, and he seemed to lose consciousness of everything, +until he was awakened by the butler bringing back her reply. + +Now he would see her in twenty-four hours, and hear from her lips a +story of adventure, for it is an adventure to renounce the world, the +greatest, unless a return to the world be a greater. She had known +both; and it would be interesting to hear her tell both stories--if +she could tell her stories; she might only be half aware of their +interest and importance. + +"God only knows what she is like now! A wreck, a poor derelict woman, +with no life to call her own. The life of an actress which I gave +her, and which was so beautiful, wrecked; and the life of a nun, +which she insisted on striving after, wrecked." A cold, blighting +sorrow like a mist came up, it seemed to penetrate to his very bones, +and he asked why she had left the convent--of what use could she be +out of it?... only to torment him again. Twenty times during the +course of the evening and the next morning he resolved not to go to +see her, and as many times a sudden desire to see her ripped up his +resolution; and he ordered the brougham. "Five years' indulgence in +vigils and abstinences, superstitions must have made a great change +in her; utterly unlike the Evelyn Innes whom I discovered years ago +in Dulwich, the beautiful pagan girl whom I took away to Paris." He +was convinced. But anxious to impugn his conviction, he took her +letter from his pocket, and in it discovered traces, which cheered +him, of the old Evelyn. + +"She must have suffered terribly on finding herself obliged after +five years to retreat, and something of the original spirit was +required for her to fight her way out, for, of course, she was +opposed at every moment." + +The little stations went by one by one: the train stopped nine or ten +times before it reached the penultimate. + +"In the next few minutes I shall see her. She is sure to come to the +station to meet me. If she doesn't I'll go back--what an end that +would be! A strange neighbourhood to choose. Why did she come here? +With whom is she living? In a few minutes I shall know." + +The train began to slacken speed. "Why, there she is on the +platform." The train rushed by her, the first-class carriages +stopping at the other end; and, calling to the porter to take his bag +out of the carriage, he sprang out, tall and thin. "Like one who had +never had the gout," she said, as she hurried to meet him, smiling, +so intimately did his appearance bring back old times. "He is so like +himself, and better dressed than I am; the embroidered waistcoat +still goes in at the waist; and he still wears shirts with mauve +stripes. But he is a good deal greyer... and more wrinkled than I +am." + +"So it is you, Evelyn. Let me look at you." And, holding both her +hands, he stood looking into the face which he had expected to find +so much changed that he hardly found it changed at all, his eyes +passing over, almost without notice, the white hairs among the red, +and the wrinkles about the eyes and forehead, which, however, became +more apparent when she smiled. His touch was more conclusive of +disappointment than his eyes; her hands seemed harder than they used +to be, the knuckles had thickened, and, not altogether liking his +scrutiny, she laughed, withdrawing her hands. + +"Where is your valet, Owen?" + +It was then that he saw that her teeth had aged a little, yellowed a +little; a dark spot menaced the loss of one of the eye-teeth if not +attended to at once. But her figure seemed the same, and to get a +back view he dropped his stick. No, the convent had not bent her; a +tall, erect figure was set off to advantage by a dark blue linen +dress, and the small, well-reared head and its roll of thick hair by +the blue straw hat trimmed with cornflowers. + +"Her appearance is all right; the vent must be in her mind," he said, +preparing himself for a great disillusionment as soon as their talk +passed out of the ordinary ruts. + +"My valet? I didn't bring him. You might not be able to put him up." + +"I shouldn't." + +"But is there any one to carry my bag? I'll carry it myself if you +don't live too far from here." + +"About a mile. We can call at the inn and tell them to send a fly for +your bag--if you don't mind the walk." + +"Mind the walk--and you for companionship? Evelyn, dear, it is +delightful to find myself walking with you, and in the country," he +added, looking round. + +"The country is prettier farther on." + +Owen looked round without, however, being able to give his attention +to the landscape. + +"Prettier farther on? But how long have you been here?" + +"Nearly two years now. And you--when did you return?" + +"How did you know I was away?" + +"You didn't write." + +"I returned yesterday." + +"Yesterday? You only read yesterday my letter written six months +ago." + +"We have so much to talk about, Evelyn, so much to learn from each +other." + +"The facts will appear one by one quite naturally. Tell me, weren't +you surprised to hear I had left the convent? And tell me, weren't +you a little disappointed?" + +"Disappointed, my dear Evelyn? Should I have wired to you, and come +down here if--. It seemed as if the time would never pass." + +"I don't mean that you aren't glad to see me. I can see you are. But +admit that you were disappointed that I hadn't succeeded--" + +"I see what you mean. Well, I was disappointed that you were +disappointed; I admit so much." And, walking up the sunny road, he +wondered how it was that she had been able to guess what his thoughts +were on reading her letter. After all, he was not such a brute as he +had fancied himself, and her divination relieved his mind of the fear +that he lacked natural feeling, since she had guessed that a certain +feeling of disappointment was inevitable on hearing that she had not +been able to follow the chosen path. But how clever of her! What +insight! + +"I hope you don't misunderstand. I cannot put into words the +pleasure--." + +"I quite understand. Even if we turn out of our path sometimes, we +don't like others to vacillate... conversions, divagations, are not +sympathetic." + +"Quite true. The man who knows, or thinks he knows, whither he is +going commands our respect, and we are willing to follow--" + +"Even though he is the stupider?" + +"Which is nearly always." And they ceased talking, each agreeably +surprised by the other's sympathy. + +It was on his lips to say, "We are both elderly people now, and must +cling to each other." But no one cares to admit he is elderly, and he +did not speak the words for his sake and for hers, and he refrained +from asking her further questions about the convent; for he had come +to see a woman, loved for so many years, and who would always be +loved by him, and not to gratify his curiosity; he asked why she had +chosen this distant country to live in. + +"Distant country? You call this country distant? You, who have only +just come back--" + +"Returned yesterday from the Amur." + +"From the Amur? I thought I was _the_ amour." + +"So you are. I am speaking now of a river in Manchuria." + +'Manchuria? But why did you go there?" + +"Oh, my dear Evelyn, we have so much to tell each other that it seems +hopeless. Can you tell me why you--no, don't answer, don't try to +tell why you went to the convent; but tell me why you came to live in +this neighbourhood?" + +"Well, the land is very cheap here, and I wanted a large piece of +ground." + +"Oh, so you've settled here?" + +"Yes; I've built a cottage... But I haven't been able to lay the +garden out yet." + +"Built a cottage?" + +"What is there surprising in that?" + +"Only this, that I returned home resolved to do some building at +Riversdale--a gate lodge," and he talked to her of the gate lodge he +had in mind, until he became aware of the incongruity. "But I didn't +come here to talk to you of gate lodges. Tell me, Evelyn, how do you +spend your time?" + +"I go to town every morning to teach singing; I have singing-classes." + +"So you are a singing-mistress now. Well, everything comes round at +last. Your mother--" + +"Yes, everything comes round again," she said, sighing; "and the +neighbourhood isn't inconvenient. There is a good train in the +morning and a good train in the evening; the one you came by is a +wretched one, but if you had come by the later train you would have +seen less of me. You're not sorry?" + +"My dear Evelyn, don't be affected. I'm trying to take it all in. You +have retreated from the convent, and are now a singing-mistress. Have +you lost your voice?" + +"I'm afraid a good deal of it." And, pointing with her parasol, she +said, "There is the inn; I will tell them to fetch your bag." + +As she went towards the "Stag and Hounds" he congratulated himself +that the earlier woman still subsisted in the later, there could be +no doubt of that, and in sufficient proportion for her to create a +new life, and out of nothing but her own wits, for if she had escaped +from the convent with her intelligence, or part of it, she hadn't +escaped with her money; the nuns had got her money safe enough. She +would be loth to admit it, but it could not be otherwise. So out of +her own wits she had negotiated the purchase of a large piece of +ground (she had said a large piece), and built a cottage, and a very +pretty cottage too, he was sure of that; and his face assumed a blank +expression, for he was away with her in some past time, in the midst +of an architectural discussion. But returning gradually from this +happy past, her intelligence seemed to him like some strong twine or +wire! "How clever of her to have discovered this country where land +was cheap!" And he looked round, seeing its beauty because she lived +in it. Above all, to have found work to do, no easy matter when one +has torn oneself and one's past to shreds, as she had done. No doubt +she was making quite a nice little income by teaching; and, in +increasing admiration, he walked round the dusty inn and the +triangular piece of grass in front of it. A game of bat-and-trap was +in progress, and he conceived a love for that old English game, +though till now he thought it stupid and vulgar. The horse-pond +appealed to him as a picturesque piece of water, and, standing back +from it, he admired the rows of trees on the further bank--pollards +of some kind--and, still more, the reflections of these trees in the +dark green water; and his eyes followed the swallows, dipping and +gliding through the moveless air. A spire showed between the trees, a +girl and some children were gathering wild flowers in the hedgerows. +How like England! But here was Evelyn! + +"Did you ever see a more beautiful evening? And aren't you glad that +the evening in which I see you again is--one would like to call it +beatific, only I don't like the word; it reminds me of the convent +you have left." + +"One goes away in order that one may return home, Owen." + +"Quite true; and all my travels were necessary for me to admire your +long, red road winding gracefully up the hillside between tall +hedges, full of roses, convolvulus, and ivy, under trees throwing a +pleasant shade." And coming suddenly upon an extraordinary fragrance, +he threw up his head, and, with dilated nostrils, cried out, +"Honeysuckle!" + +"Yes, isn't it sweet?" she said. And, standing under a cottage porch, +he thought of the days gone by; and their memory was as overpowering +as the vine. + +"I have brought you no present." + +"Owen, you only returned yesterday." + +"All the same, I should have brought you something. A bunch of wild +flowers I can give you, and I will begin my nosegay with a branch of +this honeysuckle. There are dog-roses in the hedges. I used to send +you expensive flowers, but times have changed." And he insisted on +returning to the brook, having seen, so he said, some forget-me-nots +among the sedges. And with these and some sprays of a little pink +flower, which he told her was the cuckoo-flower, they walked, telling +and asking each other the names of different wayside weeds till they +arrived at the cottage. + +"There is my cottage." + +And Owen saw, some twenty or thirty yards from the roadside, the +white gables of a cottage thrusting over against a space of blue sky. +Flights of swallows flew shrieking past, and the large elms on the +right threw out branches so invitingly that Owen thought of long +hours passed in the shade with books and music; but, despite these +shady elms, the cottage wore a severe air--a severe cottage it was, +if a cottage can be severe. Owen was glad Evelyn hadn't forgotten a +verandah. + +"A verandah always suggests a Creole. But there is no Creole in you." + +"You wouldn't have thought my cottage severe if you hadn't known that +I had come from a convent, Owen. You like it, all the same." + +Owen fell to praising the cottage which he didn't like. + +"On one thing I did insist--that the hall was to be the principal +room. What do you think of it? And tell me if you like the +chimney-piece. There are going to be seats in the windows. Of course, +I +haven't half finished furnishing." And she took him round the room, +telling how lucky she had been picking up that old oak dresser with +handles, everything complete for five pounds ten, and the oak settle +standing in the window for seven. + +"I can't consider the furniture till I have put these flowers in +water." So he fetched a vase and filled it, and when his nosegay had +been sufficiently admired, he said "But, Evelyn, I must give you some +flower-vases.... And you have no writing-table." + +"Not a very good one. You see, I have had to buy so many things." + +"You must let me give you one. The first time you come up to London +we will go round the shops." + +"You'll want to buy me an expensive piece, unsuitable to my cottage, +won't you, Owen?" She led him through the dining-room past the +kitchen, into which they peeped. + +"Eliza's cooking an excellent dinner!" he said. And they went through +the kitchen into the garden. + +"You see what a piece of ground I have. We are enclosing it." And +Owen saw two little boys painting a paling. "Now, do you like the +green? It was too green, but this morning I put a little yellow into +it; it is better now." They walked round the acre of rough ground +overlooking the valley, Owen saying that Evelyn was quite a landed +proprietor. + +"But who are these boys? You have quite a number," he said, coming +upon three more digging, or trying to dig. + +"They are digging the celery-bed." + +"But one is a hunchback, he can't do much work; and that one has a +short leg; the third boy seems all right, but he isn't more than +seven or eight. I am afraid you won't have very much celery this +year." They passed through the wicket into the farther end of +Evelyn's domain, which part projected on the valley, and there they +came upon two more children, one of whom was blind. + +"This poor child--what work can he do?" + +"You'd be surprised; and his ear is excellent. We're thinking of +putting him to piano-tuning." + +"We are thinking?" + +"Yes, Owen; these little boys live here with me in the new wing. I'm +afraid they are not very comfortable there, but they don't complain." + +"Seven little crippled boys, whom you look after!" + +"Six--the seventh is my servant's son; he is delicate, but he isn't a +cripple. We don't call him her son here, she is nominally his aunt." + +"You look after these boys, and go up to London to earn their +living?" + +"I earn sufficient to run my little establishment." + +As they returned to the cottage, one of the boys thrust his spade +into the ground. + +"Please, miss, may we stay up a little longer this evening? It won't +be dark till nine or half-past, miss." + +"Yes, you can stay up." And Owen and Evelyn went into the house. "I +do hope, Owen, that Eliza's cooking will not seem to you too utterly +undistinguished." + +"You have forgotten, Evelyn, that I have been living on hunter's fare +for the last two years." + +At that moment Eliza put the soup-tureen on the table. + +"Why, the soup is excellent! An excellent soup, Eliza!" + +"There is a chicken coming, Sir Owen, and Miss Innes told me to be +sure to put plenty of butter on it before putting it into the oven, +that that was the way you liked it cooked." + +"I am glad you did, Eliza; the buttering of the chicken is what we +always overlook in England. We never seem to understand the part that +good butter plays in cooking; only in England does any one talk of +such a thing as cooking-butter." And he detained Eliza, who fidgeted +before him, thinking of the vegetables waiting in the kitchen, of +what a strange man he was, while he told her that his cook, a +Frenchman, always insisted on having his butter from France, costing +him, Owen, nearly three shillings a pound. + +"Law, Sir Owen!" And Eliza went back to the kitchen to fetch her +vegetables, and Evelyn laughed, saying: + +"You have succeeded in impressing her." + +"You have cooked the chicken excellently well, Eliza, and the butter +you used must have been particularly good," he said, when the servant +returned with the potatoes and brussels sprouts. But he was anxious +for her to leave the room so that he might ask Evelyn if she +remembered the chickens they used to eat in France. + +"Evelyn, dear, shall we ever be in France again?" + +"My poor little boys, what would happen to them while I was away? For +you, who care about sweets, Owen, I'm afraid Eliza will seem a little +behind the times; afraid of a failure, we decided on a rice pudding." + +"Excellent; I should like nothing better." + +Owen was in good humour, and she asked him if he had brought +something to smoke--a cigar. + +"Some cigarettes. I have given up smoking cigars, stinking things!" + +"But you used to be so fond of cigars, Owen?" + +"Oh, a long time ago. Didn't you notice that man in the trap in front +of us as we came from the station? That vile cigar, the whole evening +smelt of it." + +"My dear Owen!" + +Then he got up from the table and went to the piano and waited there +for Evelyn, who was talking to Eliza about the purchase of another +bed and where it should be placed in the dormitory, a matter so +trivial that a dozen words should suffice to settle it, so he +thought; but they kept on talking, and when Eliza left the room she +took up some coarse sewing. To bring her to the piano he struck a few +notes, saying: + +"The Muses are awake, Evelyn." + +"No, Owen, no; I am in no mood for singing." + +When he asked her if she never sang, the answer was, "Sometimes I go +to the piano when I am restless; I sing a little, yes, a little into +my muff; you know what I mean. But this evening I would sooner talk. +You said we had so much to talk about." He admitted she knew what his +feelings were better than he knew them himself. It would be a pity to +waste this evening in music (this evening was consecrate to +themselves), and from talking of Elizabeth and Isolde they drifted +into remembrances of the old days so dear to him. But he had always +reproached Evelyn with a fault, a certain restlessness; it was rare +for her to settle herself down to a nice quiet chat, and this was a +serious fault in a woman, a fault in everybody, for a nice quiet chat +is one of the best things in life. He was prone to admit, however, +that when the mood for a chat was upon her nobody could talk or +listen as she could by a fireside. Yielding to her humour, like a +bird she would talk on and on with an enthusiasm and an interest in +what she was saying which made her a wonder and a delight; and seeing +that by some good fortune he had come upon her in one of these rare +humours, he did not regret her refusal to sing, and watched her at +his feet listening to him with an avidity which was enchanting, +making him feel that there was nothing in the world but he and she. +She had once said, enchanting him with the admission, for it was so +true, that if she were alone with a man for an evening he must hate +her very much if he was not to fall in love with her. On reminding +her of her saying she admitted that she had forgotten it. It seemed +to him that his dead mistress had come to life again. Her eyes shone +with something of their old light, and he said to himself, "The +convent has faded out of her mind and out of her face." +Interpenetrated with her sweet atmosphere, which had for ever haunted +him, he breathed like one who hears music going by. Every moment was +a surprise. The next great surprise being the discovery that the +convent had not quelled the daring of her thought--it came and went +swallow-like, as before. + +"Because there were no men in the convent. Though I am virtuous, +Owen, and must remain so, I can't live without men. If I am deprived +of men's society for a few days I wilt." + +The picture of herself painted in these few words, Evelyn wilting +amid the treble of the nuns like a plant in an uncongenial soil, +delighted Owen, enabling him to forget the sad fact that she was +virtuous and would have to remain so. For she was still his Evelyn, a +hero worshipper, with man for her hero always, even though it were a +priest. A moment of the thought caused him a sigh, but he was in the +seventh heaven when she told him the first letter she had written +when she left the convent was for him. He had maligned her in +thinking the past had no meaning for her. For who was so faithful to +her friends? Again he forgot everything but himself sitting by her, +seeing her bright eyes, listening to her voice, absorbed by her +atmosphere; and talking and listening by turns he was carried away in +a delicious oblivion of everything except the sensation of the +moment. It seemed to him like floating down the current of some +enchanted river; but even in enchanted rivers there are eddies, +otherwise the enchantment of the current and the flowery banks under +which it flows would become monotonous, and presently Owen was caught +in an eddy. The stream flowed gaily while he told her of his +experience in the desert; she was interested in the gazelles and in +the eagles, though qualifying the sport as cruel, and in his +synthesis of the desert--a desire for a drink of clean water. Nor did +she resent his allusion to his meeting with Ulick at Dowlands, +interrupting him, however, to tell him that Ulick had married Louise. + +"Married Louise!" + +Louise! What an evocation of past times was in this name! And their +talk passed into a number of little sallies. + +"Well, he'll spend a great deal of her money for her." + +"No, he is doing pretty well for himself." + +It seemed like listening to a fairy tale to hear that Ulick was doing +very well for himself; and travelling back to the convent, by those +mysterious roads which conversation follows, Owen learned that it was +at the end of the first year of her postulancy that Evelyn had heard +of her father's illness. Up to that moment he had not noticed a +change in her humour, not until he began to question her as to her +reason for suddenly returning from Rome to the convent. It was then +that a strange look came into her face; she got up from her chair and +walked about the room, gloomy and agitated, sitting down in a corner +like one overcome, whelmed in some extraordinary trouble. When he +went to her she crossed the room, settling herself in another corner, +tucking herself away into it. His question had awakened some terrific +memory; and perforce he did not dare to ask her what her trouble was, +none that she could confide to him, that was clear, and he began to +think that it would be better to leave her for a while. He could go +out and speak with the little boys, for a memory like the one which +had laid hold of her must pass away suddenly, and his absence would +help to pass it. If she were not better when he returned it would be +well for him to seek some excuse to sleep at the inn, for her +appearance in the corner frightened him; and standing by the window, +looking into the quiet evening, he railed against his folly. Any one +but himself would have guessed that there was some grave reason for +her life in the convent. Such an end as this to the evening that had +begun so well! "My God, what am I to do!" And, turning impulsively, +he was about to fling himself at her feet, beseeching of her to +confide her trouble, but something in her appearance prevented him, +and in dismay he wondered what he had said to provoke such a change. +What had been said could not be unsaid, the essential was that the +ugly thought upon her like some nightmare should be forgotten. Now +what could he say to win her out of this dreadful gloom? If he were +to play something! + +A very few bars convinced him that music would prove no healer to her +trouble. To lead her thoughts out of this trouble--was there no way? +What had they been talking about? The bullfinches which she had +taught to whistle the motives of "The Ring"; but such a laborious +occupation could only have been undertaken for some definite purpose, +to preserve her sanity, perhaps, and it would be natural for a woman +to resent any mention of mental trouble such as she had suffered from +on her return from Rome. Something had happened to her in Rome--what? +And he sat for a long time, or what seemed to him a long time, +perplexed, fearing to speak lest he might say something to irritate +her, prolonging her present humour. + +"If I had only known, Evelyn, if I had only known!" he said, unable +to resist the temptation of speech any longer. As she did not answer, +he added, after a moment's pause, "I think I shall go out and talk to +those boys." But on his way to the door he stopped. "I wish that brig +had gone down." + +"That brig? What do you mean?" + +"The boat which took me round the world and brought me back, and +which I am going to sell, my travelling days being over." Seeing she +was interested, he continued to tell her how the _Medusa_ had been +declared no longer seaworthy, and of his purchase of another yacht. + +"But you said you wished the brig had gone down." + +And, seizing the pretext, he began to tell her of the first thing +that came into his head; how he had sailed some thousands of miles +from the Cape to the Mauritius, explaining the mysteries of great +circle sailing, and why they had sailed due south, though the +Mauritius was in the north-west, in order that they might catch the +trade winds. Before reaching these there were days when the sailors +did little else but shift the sails, trying to catch every breeze +that fluttered about them, tacking all the while, with nothing to +distract them but the monotonous albatross. The birds would come up +the seas, venturing within a few yards of the vessel, and float away +again, becoming mere specks on the horizon. Again the specks would +begin to grow larger, and the birds would return easily on moveless +wings. + +"When one hears the albatross flies for thousands of miles one +wonders how it could do this without fatigue; but one wonders no +longer when one has seen them fly, for they do not weary themselves +by moving their wings, their wings never move, they float month after +month until the mating instinct begins to stir in them, and then in +couples they float down the seas to the pole. There is nothing so +wonderful as the flight of a bird; and it seemed to me that I never +could weary of watching it. But I did weary of the albatross, and one +night, after praying that I might never see one again, I was awakened +by the pitching of the vessel, by the rattling of ropes, and the +clashing of the blocks against swaying spars. I had been awakened +before by storms at sea. You remember, Evelyn, when I returned to +Dulwich--I had been nearly wrecked off the coast of Marseilles?" +Evelyn nodded. "But the sensation was not like anything I had ever +experienced at sea before, and interested and alarmed I climbed, +catching a rope, steadying myself, reaching the poop somehow." + +"'We're in the trades, Sir Owen!' the man at the helm shouted to me. +'We're making twelve or fourteen knots an hour; a splendid wind!' + +"The sails were set and the vessel leaned to starboard, and then the +rattle of ropes began again and the crashing of the blocks as she +leaned over to port. Such surges, you have no idea, Evelyn, +threatening the brig, but slipping under the keel, lifting her to the +crest of the wave. Caught by the wind for a moment she seemed to be +driven into the depths, her starboard grazing the sea or very nearly. +The spectacle was terrific; the lone stars and the great cloud of +canvas, the whole seeming such a little thing beneath it, and no one +on deck but the helmsman bound to the helm, and well for him--a slip +would have cost him his life, he would have been carried into the +sea. An excellent sailor, yet even he was alarmed at the canvas we +carried, so he confided to me; but my skipper knew his business, a +first-rate man that skipper, the best sailor I have ever met. There +are few like him left, for the art of sailing is nearly a lost art, +and the difficulty of getting men who can handle square sails is +extraordinary. But this one, the last of an old line, came up, crying +out quite cheerfully, "Sir Owen, we're in luck indeed to have caught +the trades so soon." + +"Day after day, night after night, we flew like a seagull. 'Record +sailing,' my skipper often cried to me, telling me the number of +knots we had made in the last four-and-twenty hours." + +"And the albatrosses, I hope you didn't catch one?" + +"One day the skipper suggested that we should, the breast feathers +being very beautiful; and, the wind having slackened a little, a hook +was baited with a piece of salt pork, which the hungry bird seized. +As soon as he was drawn on board he flapped about more helpless than +anything I have ever seen, falling into everything he could fall +into, biting several of the crew. You know the sonnet in which +Baudelaire compares the bird on the wing to the poet with the Muse +beside him, and the albatross on deck to the poet in the +drawing-room. You remember the sonnet, how the sailors teased the bird +with their short black pipes." + +"But the breast feathers?" + +"We didn't kill the bird; I wouldn't allow him to be killed. We threw +him overboard, and down into the sea he went like a log." + +Evelyn asked if he were drowned. + +"Albatrosses don't drown. He swam for a time and fluttered, and at +last succeeded in getting on the wing. I was very glad to see him +float away, and was still more glad a few minutes afterwards, for +before the bird was out of sight a sign appeared in the heavens, and +I began to think of the story of 'The Ancient Mariner.' You know--" + +"Yes, I know the story, how all his misfortunes arose from the +killing of an albatross. But what was the sign?" + +"A dull yellow like a rainbow, only more pointed, and my skipper said +to me, 'Sir Owen, that is one of them hurricanes; if I knew which way +she was going I'd try to get out of the way as fast as I could, for +we shall be torn to pieces in a very few minutes.' I assure you it +was an anxious moment watching that red, yellow light in the sky; it +grew fainter, and eventually disappeared, and the skipper said, 'We +have just missed it.' A few days afterwards we came into the +Mauritius, and the first thing we saw was a great vessel in the +ports, her iron masts twisted and torn just like hairpins, Evelyn. +She had been caught in the tornado, a great three-masted vessel.... +We should have gone down like an open boat." + +"And after you left the Mauritius your destination was--" + +"Borneo, Sumatra, the Malay Archipelago." + +"But what were you seeking in the Malay Archipelago?" + +"What does one ever seek? One seeks, no matter what; and, not being +able to see you, Evelyn, I thought I would try to see everything in +the world." + +"But there is nothing to see in Borneo?" + +"Well, you will laugh when I tell you, but it seemed to me that I'd +like to see the orang-outang in his native forests. I had been to +Greece, and I knew the Italian Renaissance--" + +"And after so much art to see an orang-outang in a tree would be a +new experience, Owen." + +"Soon there will be no more higher apes, if medical science continues +to progress; no more gorillas or chimpanzees." + +"In a world without gorillas life will not be worth living. I quite +understand." + +Owen laughed. + +"I should be sorry for anything to disappear. The poor mother is +speared, for she will fight for her little one; ugly as he may be in +our eyes he is beautiful in hers." + +"But you didn't do this, Owen?" + +"No; after two or three days in a forest one wearies of it; and after +all it wasn't very likely that I should have got a snapshot. The +camera is my weapon." + +"And after the orang-outang which you failed to meet?" + +"I spent some time in Japan." + +"And then?" + +"Well, then, I went to Manchuria, to the Amur, a country almost +forgotten." And he told her how the eagles drove the wild sheep over +the precipices, and of a wolf hunt with eagles." + +"You have seen now everything the world has to show?" + +"Very nearly, and after seeing it all I come back to the one thing +that interests me." + +Tears rose to Evelyn's eyes; such an avowal of love a woman hardly +ever hears. + +The voices of the children playing in the garden reached their ears, +and Evelyn said: + +"They should have been in bed long ago, but, Owen, your being here +makes everything so exceptional." + +"Really? I'm glad of that," he answered shyly, fearing to say +anything which would carry her thoughts back among unpleasant +memories. But it was quite safe to speak of her love of the poor, and +of poor children. "What inspired you to start this home, Evelyn?" + +"Well, you see, I had to have something to work for, some interest; +and not having any children of my own... They really must go to bed." + +"But, Evelyn, why will you interrupt our talk? Let us go on talking; +tell me about the convent. Your adventures are so much more wonderful +than mine. You haven't half told me what there is to tell--the +Prioress and the sub-Prioress, you never liked her?" + +A smile gathered about her lips, and he asked her what she was +smiling at; and it was with some difficulty he persuaded her to tell +him about Sister Winifred and Father Daly." + +"Counterparts! counterparts!" he said. "And Cecilia giving the whole +show away because her counterpart was a dwarf! How could you live +among such babies?" + +"After all, Owen, are they any more babies than we are? Our interests +are just as unreal." + +"Your interest here is not as unreal; their hope is to build a wall +of prayer between a sinful world and the wrath of God. Such silliness +passes out of perception." + +"Your perception? We come into the world with different perceptions; +but do not let us drift into argument, not this evening, Owen." + +"Quite so, let us not drift into argument.... I am sorry you charged +me with being disappointed that you didn't remain in the convent; you +see I didn't know of the wonderful work you were doing here. Your +kindness is more than a nun's kindness." But he feared his casual +words might provoke her, and hastened to ask her about Sister +Winifred, at length persuading her into the admission that Sister +Winifred used to whip the children. + +"I'm sure she liked whipping them. Women who shut themselves out from +life develop cruelty. I can quite understand how she would like to +hear them cry." + +"Tell me more about the nuns." + +"No, Owen, I wouldn't speak ill of the nuns. Don't press me to speak +ill of them. You don't know, Owen, what might have become of me had +it not been for the convent. I don't know what might have become of +me. I might have drifted away and nothing have ever been heard of me +again." A dark look gathered in her face, "vanishing like the shadow +of a black wing over a sunny surface," Owen said to himself, "Now +what has frightened her? Not her love of me, for that love she always +looked on as legitimate." He remembered how she used to cling to that +view, while admitting it to be contrary to the teaching of the +Church. Did she still cling to this belief? "Probably, for we do hot +change our instinctive beliefs," he said, and longed to question her; +but not daring, and, thinking a lighter topic of conversation +desirable, he told her he would like to teach Eliza how to make +coffee. + +"There is only one way of making coffee" he said, and he had learned +the secret from a friend, who had always the best coffee. He had +known him as a bachelor, he had known him as a married man, and +afterwards as a divorced man, but in these different circumstances +the coffee remained the same. So he said, "My good friend how is it +that your cooks make equally good coffee?" And the friend answered +that it was himself who had taught every cook how to make coffee; it +was only a question of boiling water. And, still talking of the +making of coffee, they wandered into the garden and stood watching +the little boys all arow, their heads tucked in for Eliza's son to +jump over them, and they were laughing, enjoying their play, +inspired, no doubt, by the dusk and the mystery of yon great moon +rising out of the end of the grey valley. + +"I'm afraid Jack will hurt the others, or tire them; they really must +go to bed. You'll excuse me, Owen, I shall be back with you in about +half an hour?" + +He strolled through the wicket about the piece of waste ground, +thinking of the change that had come over her when he spoke of her +return from Rome. Possibly she had met Ulick in Rome and had fled +from him, or some other man. But he was not in the least curious to +inquire out her secret, sufficient it was for him to know that her +mood had passed. How suddenly it had passed! And how fortunate his +mention of the yacht! Her attention had suddenly been distracted, now +she was as charming as before... gone to look after those little +boys, to see that their beds were comfortable, and that their +night-shirts had buttons on them. Every day in London their living was +earned in tiresome lessons to pupils who had no gift for singing, but +had to be encouraged for the sake of their money, which was spent on +this hillside. + +"Such is the mysterious way of life. Our rewards are never those we +anticipate, but we are rewarded." + +The money he had spent on her had brought her to this hillside to +attend on six cripples, destitute little boys. After all what better +reward could he have hoped for? But a great part of his love of her +had been lost. Never again would he take her hand or kiss her again. +So his heart filled with a natural sadness and a great tenderness, +and he stood watching the smoke rising from the cottagers' chimneys +straight into the evening air. She had told him that one of her +little boys had come from that village, and to hear how the child had +been adopted he must scramble down this rough path. The moment was +propitious for a chat with the cottagers, whom he would find sitting +at their doors, the men smoking their pipes, the women knitting or +gossiping, "the characteristic end of every day since the beginning +of the world," he said, "and it will be pleasant to read her portrait +in these humble minds." + +"A fine evening, my man?" + +"Fine enough, sir; the wheat rick will be up before the Goodwood +races, the first time for the last thirty years." And the talk turned +on the price of corn and on the coming harvest, and then on Miss +Innes, who sometimes came down to see them and sang songs for the +children. + +"So she sings for the children? She used to do that in Italy." + +"Has she been in Italy, sir?" + +To interest them he told how Evelyn had sung in all the opera houses +of Europe; and then, fearing his confessions were indiscreet, he +asked the woman nearest him if she was the mother of the little boy +Evelyn had taken to live with her. + +"No, sir, 'e is Mrs. Watney's son in the next cottage." And Owen +moved away to interrogate Mrs. Watney, who told him that her son was +not a cripple. + +"'Is limbs be sound enough, only the poor little chap 'ad the +small-pox badly when he was four, and 'as been blind ever since. A +extraordinary 'appy child; and Miss Innes has promised to 'ave him +taught the pianna." + +"A piano-tuner must have a good ear, and Miss Innes says his ear is +perfect. He'll whistle anything he hears." + +Owen bade the cottagers good-night and climbed up the hillside again. +The lights were burning in the boy's dormitory, so Evelyn must still +be there, and finding a large stone among the rough ground where he +could sit he waited for her, interested in the round moon, looking +like the engraved dial of some great clock, and in the grey valley +and the sullen sky passing overhead into a dim blueness, in which he +could detect a star here and there. The evening hummed a little +still, and the sounds of voices, the last sounds to die out of a +landscape, became rare and faint. One by one the gossiping folk under +the hill crept within doors, and Owen was so absorbed by the silence +that he did not hear Evelyn approaching; and when she spoke he hardly +answered her, and she, as if participating already in his emotion, +stood by him, not asking for words from him, looking with him into +the solitude of the valley, seeking to see beyond the veils of blue +mist gathering and blotting out all detail, creeping up intimately +tender. What could he say to her worth saying at such a moment? he +began to ask himself; and just then a song came from a hawthorn +growing by the edge of the hill, a solitary song, mysterious and +strange, a passionate strain which freed their souls, till, walking +about this dusky hillside, the lovers seemed to lose their bodies and +to become all spirit; and they walked on in silence, speech seeming a +sacrilege. + +"So now you are going to settle down at Riversdale; your travels are +over?" + +"Yes, they are over. I shall travel no more. I didn't find what I +sought." + +"And what was that?" + +And her words as she spoke them sounded to Owen passionate, tender, +and melancholy as the nightingale; and his words, too, seemed to +partake of the same passionate melancholy. + +"Forgetfulness of you." + +"So you wished to forget me? I am sorry." + +"Sorry that I haven't forgotten you? That, Evelyn, is impossible for +me to believe; it isn't human to wish ourselves forgotten." + +"No, Owen, I don't wish you to forget me, I am glad you have not; but +I am sorry there was any need for you to seek forgetfulness." + +"And is there any need?" + +"Yes, for the Evelyn you loved died years ago." + +"Oh, Evelyn, don't say that; she is not dead?" + +"Perhaps not altogether, a trace here and there, a slight flavour, +but not a woman who could bring you happiness as you understand +happiness, Owen." + +"All the happiness I ever had I owe to you. How can I thank you for +those ten years?" + +"But you paid for them with a great deal of sorrow." + +"Had it not been for you, Evelyn, I shouldn't have lived at all. How +often have I told you that? I have seen all the world, and yet I have +only seen one thing in the world--you." + +"Owen, you mustn't speak to me like that." + +"While that bird is singing you are afraid to listen to me! How +passionately it sings, but how little it feels compared with what I +am feeling. Why did you say that the Evelyn of old is dead?" + +"Well, Owen, don't you know that we are always dying, always +changing. You are in love, not with me, but with your memory of me." + +"A great deal of my love is memory, of course, still--" + +Words again seemed vain, foolish, even sacrilegious, so little could +he convey to her of what he believed to be the truth, and they walked +in silence through the fragrance of the soft night, thinking of the +colour of the sky, in which the sunset was not yet quite dead. His +memory of his love of this woman long ago in Dulwich, in Paris, and +in all the cities and scenes they had visited together, raised him +above himself; and he felt that her soul mingled with his in an +ecstatic sadness beyond words, but which the nightingale sang +clearly; the stars, too, sang it clearly; and they stood mute in the +midst of the immortal symphony about them. "Evelyn, I love you. How +wonderful our lives have been!" But what use to break the music, +audible and inaudible, with such weak words? The villagers under the +hill could speak as well; the bird in the bush and the stars above it +were speaking for him; and he was content to listen. + +The silence of the night grew more intense, there were millions of +stars, small and great, and the moon now shone amidst them alone, "of +different birth," divided from them for ever as he was divided from +this woman, whose arm touched his as they walked through the +darkness, divided for ever, unable to communicate his soul to hers. +Did she understand what he was feeling--the mystery of their lives +written in the stars, sung by the nightingale and breathed by the +flowers? Did she understand? Had the convent rule left her sufficient +sensibility to understand such simple human truths? + +"How sweetly the tobacco plant smells!" she said. + +"Yes, doesn't it? But what is the meaning of our story? My finding +you at Dulwich--Evelyn, have you ever thought enough about it? How +extraordinary that event was, extraordinary as the stars above us; my +going down that evening and hearing you sing? Do you remember the +look with which you greeted me--do you remember that cup of tea?" + +"It was coffee." + +"And then all our meetings in the garden under the cedar-tree?" + +"You used to say we looked like a picture by Marcus Stone when we sat +under it." + +"Never mind what we looked like. Think of it! Of our journey to +Paris, and my visit to Brussels to hear you sing." + +"And Madame Savelli, who wouldn't let me speak to you; she said I +might tire my voice." + +"Yes, how I hated her and Olive that day! You sang 'Elizabeth,' and +when you walked up, to the sound of flutes and clarionettes,' +seemingly to the stars, there was something in the way you did it +that put a fear into my heart. It was all predestined from the +beginning." + +"So you believe, Owen, that the end is fated, and that I was created +to come back after many wanderings to help these poor little crippled +boys?" + +"Is that the meaning of it all, Evelyn?" + +"Maybe--who knows?--that meaning as well as another." And through the +dusk he could see her eyes shining with something of their old light. + +"Was it fated from the beginning that I should only, meet you here to +part with you again? Is that the meaning you read in the song of the +nightingale, in the stare of the moon and the perfume of the garden? +There is a meaning, Evelyn, in our lives for certain, but are you +reading it aright?" + +For a moment the meaning of their lives seemed clear to them. Life +had a meaning! for a moment, they were both sure of it; they had met +for something, there was a design in life, and though they were +separated on earth they seemed to move in celestial circles, just as +the stars moved in that great design above them, each sphere rolling +on, filled with love for its sister sphere, guided and controlled +each by the other, yet always apart. Owen walked thinking how, +billions of years hence, all those lights might wax into one light, +all souls to one soul, all ends to one end. For one moment he Height +possess Evelyn's soul as he had never been able to possess it on +earth... perhaps. + +"I love you now just as much as I loved you before, perhaps more, for +there is memory to aid me." + +"You are in love with memory, not with me." + +Her words went to his heart, as the thorn of the rose is said to go +to the nightingale's heart, and, unable to answer her, he listened. +"How wonderfully the bird sings, the interpreter of the primal +melancholy from which we never escape... since the beginning of time, +its interpreter." + +"Is he telling his own story, or is he telling ours?" + +"Both, for all love songs are as ours, made of the same intense +passionate melancholy. Why is love the most melancholy of all joys? +With what passionate melancholy he enchants her who is sitting in the +nest close by! The origin of art is sex; woman is a reed, and our +desire--" + +"Hush! Listen to the nightingale! His discourse is better than +yours." + +"How absorbed he is in his song, stave after stave; he seems to say, +'You want more tunes? If that is all, you shall have more.' Hush!" And +they listened to the rich warble, sounding so strange in the midst of +the lonely country. "A love-call of three notes, which he repeats +before passing into cadenzas. Hush!" The bird started again, and this +time as if encouraged by the success of his last efforts. + +"What flutings! What trills! What runs! Pearls and jewels scattered. +Little tunes of three or four notes, casting a spell about the +hillside, followed by passionate cadenzas." + +Another bird answered far away out of the stillness, the same sweet +strain it was; and listening, they seemed to hear the same strain +within their hearts--a silent, mysterious song. All the world seemed +singing the same sweet strain of melancholy, now when the moon passed +out of the dusk--shining high up in the heavens, with stars above and +beneath--Owen thought of some mysterious music-maker. Flocks of +various coloured stars, flaming Jupiter high up in the sky, red Mars +low down in the horizon, the Great Bear beautifully distinct, the +polar star at an angle--the star whereby Owen used to steer. All the +world seemed to be going to the same sweet strain, the soul, +seemingly freed, rose to the lips, and, in her pride, sought words +wherewith to tell the passionate melancholy of the night and of life. +But the soul could not tell it; only the nightingale, who, without +knowing it, was singing what the soul may only feel. + +"The bird is telling me what your voice used to tell me long ago." + +The lovers wandered through the garden, suffused with delicate +scents, and Owen told her of the legend of the nightingale and the +swallow, a legend coming down from some barbaric age, from a king +called Pandion, who, despite his wife's beauty, fell in love with her +sister, and ravished her in some town in Thessaly, the name of which +Owen could not remember. Fearing, however, that his lust would reach +his wife's ears, Pandion cut out the girl's tongue. This barbarous +act, committed before Greece was, had been redeemed by the Grecian +spirit, which had added that the girl; though without tongue to tell +the cruel deed, had, nevertheless, hands wherewith to weave it. The +weft of her misfortune only inspired another barbarous deed: Pandion +killed both sisters and his son Italus. Again the Grecian spirit +touched the legend, changing the tongueless girl into a swallow, a +bird with a little cry, and fleet wings to carry its cry all over the +world, and the unhappy wife into the bird "which sleeps all day and +sings all night." "Sophocles," Owen said, "speaks of the nightingale +as moaning all the night in ivy clusters, moaning or humming. A +strange expression his seems to us, our musical sense being different +from that of the antique world, if the antique world really possessed +any musical sense." The lovers wandered round the house, listening to +the bird's sweet singing, stopping at the hill's steep side so that +they might listen better. + +"Now the bird is telling of sorrows other than ours--isn't that so, +Evelyn? I don't seem to recognise anything of ourselves in its song; +it is singing a new song." + +"Perhaps," Evelyn answered, "now it is singing the sadness of the +mother under the hill for her son." + +"I went to see her, she is not unhappy; she is happy that her son is +With you." + +"But another child died last year; and for her, if she is listening, +the bird is certainly singing the death of that child." + +When they had completed once more the round of the garden, the bird +seemed to have again changed his intervals; a gaiety seemed to have +come into his singing, and Owen said: + +"Now his music is lighter; he is singing an inveigling little story, +the story of first love. Look, Evelyn, do you see that boy and girl +walking under the hedge with their arms entwined? They, too, have +stopped to listen to the nightingale, but the song they really hear +comes out of their own hearts." + +Then the song changed, suddenly acquiring a strange, voluptuous +accent, which carried Owen's thoughts back to a night when he had +been awakened out of his sleep by a woman's voice singing, and, +starting up in bed, he had listened, rousing himself sufficiently +from sleep to distinguish that the voice he was listening to was +Evelyn's. The song was a love-call, and, believing it to be such, he +had thrown aside the curtain, and had found her leaning out of her +window, singing the Star Song, not to the evening star, as in the +opera, but to the morning star shining white like a diamond out of +the dawning of the sky. The valley under the castle walls was +submerged in mist, and the distant hillside was indistinguishable. +The castle seemed to stand by the side of some frozen sea, so intense +was the silence. He had always looked back upon this morning as one +of the great moments of his life, and going to her room like going to +some great religious rite. Each man must worship where he finds the +Godhead. + +"Who knows," he said to Evelyn, "that the bird in the nest close by +does not listen with the same rapture--" + +"As you, in the box, used to listen to me on the stage? For the +comparison to hold good, I should have sung Italian music, roulades. +Listen to those cadenzas!" + +"How melancholy are their gaieties!" + +"Yes, aren't they?" she answered. "How poignant the two notes!--with +which _il commence son grand air_." + +"But our love-call ended years ago," she said, with an accent of +regret in her voice. And they walked towards the house, Owen dreading +that some sudden impulse might throw her into his arms and her mind +might be unhinged again, and he would lose her utterly. So he spoke +to her of the first; thing that came into her mind, and what came +first was a memory of Moschus's lament for Bion and the brevity of +human life as contrasted with the long life of the world. + +"'The mallows wither in the garden, and the green parsley--' how does +it go?" And he tried to remember as they went upstairs. "'The mallows +wither in the garden--' no, that is not how it begins. 'Ah me! when +the mallows wither in the garden, and the green parsley, and the +curled tendrils of the anise, on a later day these live again and +spring in another year; but we men, we, the great and mighty, or +wise, when once we have died in the hollow earth we sleep, gone down +into silence, a fight long and endless and unawakening sleep." + +"Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the Dirge!" + +And Evelyn listened, saying, "How very beautiful! how very +wonderful!" + +"But you believe, Evelyn, that we do live again?" + +"It is too late to argue that question; it is nearly midnight. I hope +you will like your room. Eliza has unstrapped your portmanteau, I +see. Your bed is comfortable, I think." + +It surprised him that she should follow him into his room, and stand +there talking to him, talking even about the bed he was to sleep in. +It would have been easy to lay his hands upon her shoulder, saying, +"Evelyn, are we to be parted?" but something held him back. And he +listened to her story of the buying of the bed, hearing that it had +been forgotten in the interest excited by the rumour of certain +portfolios filled with engravings supposed to be of great value. The +wardrobe, too, had been bought at the same auction, and he looked +into its panels, praising them. + +"But you want more light." She went over and lighted the candles on +the dressing-table, accomplishing the duties of hostess quite +unconcerned, ignoring the past. "One would think she had forgotten +it," he said to himself. "Are we to part like this? But it is for her +to decide. So quiet, so self-contained; it doesn't seem even to occur +to her." He waited, incapable of speech or action, paralysed, till +she bade him good-night. As soon as the door closed, or a moment +after, he began to realise his mistake. What he should have done was +to lay his hand upon her shoulder and lead her to the window-seat, +and sit with her there till a greyness came into the sky and a cold +air rustled in the trees. "Of course, of course," he muttered, for he +could see himself and her in the dawn together, united again and +tasting again in a kiss infinity. In her kiss he had tasted that +unity, that binding together of the mortal to the immortal, of the +finite to the infinite, which Paracelsus--He tried to recall the +words, "He who tastes a crust of bread has tasted of the universe, +even to the furthest star." She had always been his universe, and he +had always believed that she had come out of the star-shine like a +goddess when it pleases Divinity to lie with a mortal. Of this he was +sure, that he had never kissed her except in this belief.... This had +sanctified their love, whereas other men knew love as an animal +satisfaction. It had always seemed to him that there was something +essential in her, something which had always been in human nature and +which always would be. This light, this joy, and this aspiration he +had seen in certain moments: when she walked on the stage as +Elizabeth or Elza, she had always seemed to reflect a little of that +light which floats down through the generations ... illuminating "the +liquid surface of man's life." But a change had come, darkening that +light, causing it to pass, at least into eclipse. He drew his hand +across his eyes--a phase of her life was hidden from him; yet it, +too, may have had a meaning.... We understand so little of life. No, +no, it had no meaning in his mind, and we are only concerned with our +own minds. All the same, the fact remained--she had had to seek rest +in a convent; and the idea that had driven her there, though now +lying at the bottom of her mind, might be brought to the surface--any +chance word; he had had proof. Perhaps it was as well that he had not +laid his hand upon her shoulder and asked her to stay with him, for +by what spectacle of remorse, of terror, might he not have been +confronted to-morrow or the next day? Cured! Nobody is ever cured. +Never again would she be the same woman as had left Dulwich to go to +Paris with him, he knew that well enough; and he, too, was very far +indeed from being the same Owen Asher who had gone to Dulwich to hear +a concert of Elizabethan music. + +A period for every one, for every one a season. The gates of love +open, and we pass into the garden and out of it by another gate, +which never opens for us again. To linger by a closed or a closing +gate is not wise: the tarrying lover is a subject for contempt and +jeers; better to pass out quickly and to fare on, though it requires +courage to fare on through the autumn, knowing that after autumn +comes winter. True, the winds would grow harder. The autumn of their +lives was not over, the skies were still bright above them, and the +winds soft and low. The winds would grow harder, but they must still +fare on through the snow. But there is a joy by the hearth when the +yule-log is burning. So thanking God that he had not attempted to +detain her, he wandered to the window to watch the stars, which +seemed to him like a golden net; and he asked who had cast that net, +and if he and she were parcel of some great draught which, at some +indefinite date, would be drawn out of the depths, and if, when that +time came, they would remember the joy and sorrow they had endured +upon earth, or if all would be swept into forgetfulness. At some +indefinite date they might meet among the stars, but what stellar +infinities might be drawn together mattered little to him; his sole +interest was in this lag end of their journey--if their lives should +be united henceforth or lived separately. + +Nothing repeats itself, so it was well he had not asked her to stay +with him. Of mistress and lover a fitting end had been written long +ago, just as the end of those stars was written long before the stars +came into being; but it might well be that they might take the road, +this lag end of it, together as husband and wife. If he didn't marry +--he could marry nobody but her--what would he do with his life? what +sort of end? He had no heart for further travels, and feared to wear +away the years amid books and pictures, collecting rare porcelain and +French furniture; there is very little else for an old man. With her +the lag end of the journey would be delectable. In the same house +together, leading her in the evenings to the piano! Even if she had +lost part of her voice, sufficient remained to recall the old days +when he used to journey thousands of miles to hear her; and he lay +quite still, listening to the sweet thought of marriage, singing like +a bird in the acacia-tree, trill after trill, and then a run-- +delicious crescendos reaching to the stars, diminuendos sinking into +the valley. + +The bird suddenly ceased, and with its song in his brain Owen dozed, +awakening at dawn, remembering her, how she had built herself a +cottage, and settled her life here among four or five little crippled +boys. Could she undo her life to follow him? Uprooted, transplanted, +her brain might give way again, and this time without hope of +recovery. Or was he cheating himself, trying to find reasons for not +asking her to marry him--perhaps his manifest duty towards her. Owen +looked into his soul, asking himself if he were acting from a selfish +or an unselfish motive. + +Sleep seemed as far away as ever, and, getting out of bed, he drew +the curtains, seeking the landscape, still hidden in the mist, only a +few tree-tops showing over the grey vapour--the valley filled with +it--and over the hidden hill one streak of crimson. A rook cawed and +flew away into the mist, leaving Owen to wonder what the bird's +errand might be; and this rook was followed by others, and seeing +nothing distinctly, and knowing nothing of himself or of this woman +whom he had loved so long, he returned to his bed frightened, +counting his years, asking himself how many more he had to live. + +A knock! Only Eliza bringing his bath water. Good heavens! he had +been asleep. "Eliza, what time is it?" + +"Half-past eight, Sir Owen. Miss Innes will be soon home from Mass to +give the little boys their breakfast." + +"Home from Mass!" he muttered. And he learned from Eliza that Miss +Innes got up every morning at seven, for a Catholic gentleman lived +in the neighbourhood who had a private chaplain. "And she goes to +Mass," Owen muttered, "every morning, and comes back to give the +little boys their breakfast!" + +There was no Catholic gentleman within a mile of Riversdale, he was +thankful to say, and his thankfulness on the point was proof to him +of how years and circumstances had estranged him from Evelyn; for, +though he would not obstruct or forbid, it would be impossible for +him to keep a sneer out of his face when she told him she had been to +the sacraments or refrained from meat on Friday. "What a strange +notion it is to think that a priest can help one," he said, thinking +then that his presence would be a sneer, however he might control his +tongue or his face; she would feel that he held her little +observances in contempt, and her, too, just a little. How could it be +otherwise? How could he admire one who slipped her neck into a +spiritual halter and allowed herself to be led? Yet he loved her--or +was it the memory of their love that he loved? Which? He loved her +when he saw her among the crippled children distributing porridge and +milk, or maybe it was not love, but admiration. + +"My dear, I didn't know you would be down so soon. If you will only +go into the garden and wait for me, I shan't be long." + +"Now then, children, you must hurry with your porridge; Sir Owen is +waiting for his breakfast." + +"My dear Evelyn, I am not in a hurry. Let the children take their +time." + +And he went into the garden to think if life at Riversdale would suit +her as well as this life. It would be impossible for him to accompany +her to chapel, and if he did not do so there would be an +estrangement.... Nor could he allow Riversdale to be turned into an +orphanage. Perhaps he would allow her to do anything; that pleased +her; all the same, she would feel that the permission did not come +out of his instinct, only out of a desire to please her. + +"Well, Owen," she said as soon as he had finished breakfast, "I don't +want to hurry you, but if you are to catch that train we must start +at once." + +It was one of her off days, and she was going to spend it at the +cottage. There were a great many things for her to do. She never had +much time, but she would go to the station with him. + +"But you have already walked two miles." + +"Ah! Eliza has told you?" + +"Yes, that you go to Mass every morning." + +Owen seemed to regret the fact, and when he broke silence again it +was to inquire into the expenses of the orphanage and to deplore the +necessity which governed her life of going to London every day, +returning home late, and he offered her a subscription which would +cover the entire cost. But his offer of money seemed to embarrass +her, and he understood that her pleasure was to go to London to work +for these children, for only in that way could the home be entirely +her own. If she were to accept help from the outside it would drift +away from her and from its original intention, just as the convent +had done. Nor was it very likely that she would care to give up her +work and come to live at Riversdale, as his wife, of course as his +wife, and it would pain her to refuse him.... Better leave things as +they were. + +"You are right," he said, "not to live in London; one avoids a great +deal of loneliness. One is more lonely in London than anywhere I +know. The country is the natural home of man. Man is an arborial +animal," he added, laughing, "and is only happy among trees." + +"And woman, what is she? A material animal?" + +"I suppose so. You have your children; I have my trees." + +The words seemed to have a meaning which eluded them, and they +pondered while they descended the hillside until the piece of +low-lying land came into view and the bridge crossing the sluggish +stream, amid whose rushes he had gathered the wild forget-me-not. As +he was about to speak of them he remembered her singing classes, and +that yester evening had worn away without hearing her sing. "You have +lost all interest in music, I fear. You think of it now as a means of +making money... for your children," he added, so that his words might +not wound her. + +"And you, Owen, does music still interest you,"--she nearly said, +"now that I am out of it?" but stopped, the words on her lips. + +"Yes," he said, "I think it does," and there was an eagerness in his +voice when he said, "I have been trying my hand at composition again, +and I have written a good many songs and some piano pieces, one for +piano and violin." + +"A sonata?" + +"Well, something in that way... not very strict in form perhaps." + +"That doesn't matter." + +"When you come to see me I should like to show you some of my things. +You will come to see me when you are in London... when you have a +moment?" + +"Evelyn always keeps her promises," he said to himself, and he did +not give up hope that she would come to see him, although nearly two +weeks went by without his hearing from her. Then a note came, saying +that she had been kept busy and had not been able to find spare time, +but yesterday a pupil had written saying she would not come to her +lesson, "so now I can come to you." + +"Miss Innes, Sir Owen." + +His face lighted up, and laying his book aside he sprang out of his +chair, and all consciousness of time ceased in his mind till she +began to put on her glove. + +"You have only just arrived, and already you are going." + +"My dear Owen, I have been here an hour, and the time has passed +quickly for you because you have been playing your music over for me +and I have been singing... humming, for it is hardly singing now." + +"I am sorry, Evelyn, the time has seemed so long to you. I didn't +intend to bore you. You said you would like to see some of my music." + +"So I did, Owen, and some of the best things you have composed are +among those you have shown me. Your writing has improved a great +deal." + +"I am so glad you think so. When will you come again?" + +"The first spare hour." + +"Really? You promise." + +They saw each other at intervals. Sometimes the intervals were very +long, and Owen would write to her complaining, and he would get a +note telling that her time was not her own, and that a great deal of +money was necessary for her boys. But she would try to come and see +him next week, and he would write begging her not to disappoint him, +as he was giving a concert and wanted her help to compose the +programme. + +A great deal of time was spent in Berkeley Square, more than she +could afford, trying pieces over; and she would often say, "My dear +Owen, I really must go now or I shall miss my train at Victoria." He +always looked disappointed when she said she was going, and he never +could understand why she would not sing at his concerts. It was very +difficult even to persuade her to come to one. + +"You see, I cannot sleep here, Owen. I have to go to a hotel." + +One day she got a letter from him which she feared to open. "It is to +ask me to help him to compose another programme, and I haven't got a +minute." + +She was mistaken. The letter was to tell her that he had been elected +president of the new choral society... "a group of young musicians." +The envelope enclosed a programme, and she read: "President, Sir Owen +Asher, Bart." "I'm glad, I'm glad," she said as she walked up the +room. "He has some natural talent for music, and if he hadn't been +born a rich man and spent his life doing other things he might have +done something in music. If he had begun younger... if he hadn't met +me... a good many ifs; but there it is, and that is how it has +ended." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sister Teresa, by George Moore + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTER TERESA *** + +***** This file should be named 14614-8.txt or 14614-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/6/1/14614/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Carol David and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/14614-8.zip b/old/14614-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..40fee53 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14614-8.zip diff --git a/old/14614.txt b/old/14614.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6ef1e96 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14614.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13338 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sister Teresa, by George Moore + +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: Sister Teresa + +Author: George Moore + +Release Date: January 6, 2005 [EBook #14614] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTER TERESA *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Carol David and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +SISTER TERESA + +BY GEORGE MOORE + +LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN ADELPHI TERRACE + +_First Edition, 1901_ + +_Second Edition (entirely rewritten), 1909_ + + + + +PREFACE + +A weaver goes to the mart with a divided tapestry, and with half in +either hand he walks about telling that whoever possesses one must, +perforce, possess the other for the sake of the story. But +allegories are out of place in popular editions; they require linen +paper, large margins, uncut edges; even these would be insufficient; +only illuminated vellum can justify that which is never read. So +perhaps it will be better if I abandon the allegory and tell what +happened: how one day after writing the history of "Evelyn Innes" +for two years I found myself short of paper, and sought vainly for a +sheet in every drawer of the writing-table; every one had been +turned into manuscript, and "Evelyn Innes" stood nearly two feet +high. + +"Five hundred pages at least," I said, "and only half of my story +finished.... This is a matter, on which I need the publisher's +opinion." + +Ten minutes after I was rolling away in a hansom towards Paternoster +Square, very anxious to persuade him that the way out of my +difficulty would be to end the chapter I was then writing on a full +close. + +"That or a novel of a thousand pages," I said. + +"A novel of a thousand pages!" he answered. "Impossible! We must +divide the book." It may have been to assuage the disappointment he +read on my face that he added, "You'll double your money." + +My publisher had given way too easily, and my artistic conscience +forthwith began to trouble me, and has never ceased troubling me +since that fatal day. The book the publisher puts asunder the author +may not bring together, and I shall write to no purpose in one +preface that "Evelyn Innes" is not a prelude to "Sister Teresa" and +in another that "Sister Teresa" is not a sequel to "Evelyn Innes." +Nor will any statement of mine made here or elsewhere convince the +editors of newspapers and reviews to whom this book will be sent for +criticism that it is not a revised edition of a book written ten +years ago, but an entirely new book written within the last eighteen +months; the title will deceive them, and my new book will be thrown +aside or given to a critic with instructions that he may notice it +in ten or a dozen lines. Nor will the fact that "Evelyn Innes" +occupies a unique place in English literature cause them to order +that the book shall be reread and reconsidered--a unique place I +hasten to add which it may easily lose to-morrow, for the claim made +for it is not one of merit, but of kind. + +"Evelyn Innes" is a love story, the first written in English for +three hundred years, and the only one we have in prose narrative. +For this assertion not to seem ridiculous it must be remembered that +a love story is not one in which love is used as an ingredient; if +that were so nearly all novels would be love stories; even Scott's +historical novels could not be excluded. In the true love story love +is the exclusive theme; and perhaps the reason why love stories are +so rare in literature is because the difficulty of maintaining the +interest is so great; probably those in existence were written +without intention to write love stories. Mine certainly was. The +manuscript of this book was among the printers before it broke on me +one evening as I hung over the fire that what I had written was a +true love story about a man and a woman who meet to love each other, +who are separated for material or spiritual reasons, and who at the +end of the story are united in death or affection, no matter which, +the essential is that they should be united. My story only varies +from the classical formula in this, that the passion of "the lovely +twain" is differentiated. + +It would be interesting to pursue this subject, and there are other +points which it would be interesting to touch upon; there must be a +good deal for criticism in a book which has been dreamed and +re-dreamed for ten years. But, again, of what avail? The book I now +offer to the public will not be read till I am dead. I have written +for posterity if I have written for anybody except myself. The +reflection is not altogether a pleasant one. But there it is; we +follow our instinct for good or evil, but we follow it; and while the +instinct of one man is to regard the most casual thing that comes +from his hand as "good enough," the instinct of another man compels +him to accept all risks, seeking perfection always, although his work +may be lost in the pursuit. + +My readers, who are all Balzacians, are already thinking of Porbus +and Poussin standing before _le chef d'oeuvre Inconnu_ in the studio +of Mabuse's famous pupil--Frenhofer. Nobody has seen this picture +for ten years; Frenhofer has been working on it in some distant +studio, and it is now all but finished. But the old man thinks that +some Eastern woman might furnish him with some further hint, and is +about to start on his quest when his pupil Porbus persuades him that +the model he is seeking is Poussin's mistress. Frenhofer agrees to +reveal his mistress (_i.e._, his picture) on condition that Poussin +persuades his mistress to sit to him for an hour, for he would +compare her loveliness with his art. These conditions having been +complied with, he draws aside the curtain; but the two painters see +only confused colour and incoherent form, and in one corner "a +delicious foot, a living foot escaped by a miracle from a slow and +progressive destruction." + +In the first edition of "Evelyn Innes" (I think the passage has been +dropped out of the second) Ulick Dean says that one should be +careful what one writes, for what one writes will happen. Well, +perhaps what Balzac wrote has happened, and I may have done no more +than to realise one of his most famous characters. + +G.M. + + + +SISTER TERESA + + + +I + +As soon as Mother Philippa came into the parlour Evelyn guessed there +must be serious trouble in the convent. + +"But what is the matter, Mother Philippa?" + +"Well, my dear, to tell you the truth, we have no money at all." + +"None at all! You must have some money." + +"As a matter of fact we have none, and Mother Prioress won't let us +order anything from the tradespeople." + +"Why not?" + +"She will not run into debt; and she's quite right; so we have to +manage with what we've got in the convent. Of course there are some +vegetables and some flour in the house; but we can't go on like this +for long. We don't mind so much for ourselves, but we are so anxious +about Mother Prioress; you know how weak her heart is, and all this +anxiety may kill her. Then there are the invalid sisters, who ought +to have fresh meat." + +"I suppose so," and Evelyn thought of driving to the Wimbledon +butcher and bringing back some joints. + +"But, Mother, why didn't you let me know before? Of course I'll help +you." + +"The worst of it is, Evelyn, we want a great deal of help." + +"Well, never mind; I'm ready to give you a great deal of help... as +much as I can. And here is the Prioress." + +The Prioress stood resting, leaning on the door-handle, and Evelyn +was by her side in an instant. + +"Thank you, my child, thank you," and she took Evelyn's arm. + +"I've heard of your trouble, dear Mother, and am determined to help +you; so you must sit down and tell me about it." + +"Reverend Mother ought not to be about," said Mother Philippa. "On +Monday night she was so ill we had to get up to pray for her." + +"I'm better to-day. If it hadn't been for this new trouble--" As the +Prioress was about to explain she paused for breath, and Evelyn +said: + +"Another time. What does it matter to whom you owe the money? You owe +it to somebody, and he is pressing you for it--isn't that so? Of +course it is, dear Mother. Well, I've come to bring you good news. +You remember my promise to arrange a concert tour as soon as I was +free? Everything has been arranged; we start next Thursday, and with +fair hope of success." + +"How good of you!" + +"You will succeed, Evelyn; and as Mother Philippa says, it is very +good of you." + +The Prioress spoke with hesitation, and Evelyn guessed that the nuns +were thinking of their present necessities. + +"I can let you have a hundred pounds easily, and I could let you have +more if it were not--" The pause was sufficiently dramatic to cause +the nuns to press her to go on speaking, saying that they must know +they were not taking money which she needed for herself. "I wasn't +thinking of myself, but of my poor people; they're so dependent upon +me, and I am so dependent upon them, even more than they are upon +me, for without them there would be no interest in my life, and +nothing for me to do except to sit in my drawing-room and look at the +wall paper and play the piano." + +"We couldn't think of taking money which belongs to others. We shall +put our confidence in God. No, Evelyn, pray don't say any more." + +But Evelyn insisted, saying she would manage in such a way that her +poor people should lack nothing. "Of course they lack a great deal, +but what I mean is, they'll lack nothing they've been in the habit +of receiving from me," and, speaking of their unfailing patience in +adversity, she said: "and their lives are always adversity." + +"Your poor people are your occupations since you left the stage?" + +"You think me frivolous, or at least changeable, Reverend Mother?" + +"No, indeed; no, indeed," both nuns cried together, and Evelyn +thought of what her life had been, how the new occupations which had +come into it contrasted with the old--singing practice in the +morning, rehearsals, performances in the evening, intrigues, +jealousies; and the change seemed so wonderful that she would like +to have spoken of it to the nuns, only that could not be done without +speaking of Owen Asher. But there was no reason for not speaking of +her stage life, the life that had drifted by. "You see, my old +friends are no longer interested in me." A look of surprise came +into the nuns' faces. "Why should they be? They are only interested +in me so long as I am available to fill an engagement. And the +singers who were my friends--what should I speak to them about? Not +of my poor people; though, indeed, many of my friends are very good: +they are very kind to each other." + +"But we mustn't think of taking the money from you that should go to +your poor people." + +"No, no; that is out of the question, dear Mother. As I have told +you, I can easily let you have a hundred pounds; and as for paying +off the debts of the convent--that I look upon as an obligation, as +a _bonne bouche_, I might say. My heart is set on it." "We can +never thank you enough." + +"I don't want to be thanked; it is all pleasure to me to do this for +you. Now goodbye; I'll write to you about the success of the +concerts. You will pray that I may be a great success, won't you? +Much more depends upon your prayers than on my voice." + +Mother Philippa murmured that everything was in God's hands. + +The Prioress raised her eyes and looked at Evelyn questioningly. +"Mother Philippa is quite right. Our prayers will be entirely +pleasing to God; He sent you to us. Without you our convent would be +broken up. We shall pray for you, Evelyn." + + + +II + +The larger part of the stalls was taken up by Lady Ascott's party; +she had a house-party at Thornton Grange, and had brought all her +friends to Edinburgh to hear Evelyn. Added to which, she had written +to all the people she knew living in Edinburgh, and within reach of +Edinburgh, asking them to come to the concert, pressing tickets upon +them. + +"But, my dear, is it really true that you have left the stage? One +never heard of such a thing before. Now, why did you do this? You +will tell me about it? You will come to Thornton Grange, won't you, +and spend a few days with us?" + +But in Thornton Grange Evelyn would meet many of her old friends, and +a slight doubt came into her eyes. + +"No, I won't hear of a refusal. You are going to Glasgow; Thornton +Grange is on your way there; you can easily spend three days with +us. No, no, no, Evelyn, you must come; I want to hear all about your +religious scruples." + +"That is the last thing I should like to speak about. Besides, +religious scruples, dear Lady Ascott--" + +"Well, then, you shan't speak about them at all; nobody will ask you +about them. To tell you the truth, my dear, I don't think my friends +would understand you if you did. But you will come; that is the +principal thing. Now, not another word; you mustn't tire your voice; +you have to sing again." And Lady Ascott returned to the +concert-hall for the second part of the programme. + +After the concert Evelyn was handed a letter, saying that she would +be expected to-morrow at Thornton Grange; the trains were as +follows: if she came by this train she would be in time for tea, and +if she came by the other she would be just in time for dinner. + +"She's a kind soul, and after all she has done it is difficult to +refuse her." So Evelyn sent a wire accepting the invitation.... +Besides, there was no reason for refusing unless--A knock! Her +manager! and he had come to tell her they had taken more money that +night than on any previous night. "Perhaps Lady Ascott may have some +more friends in Glasgow and will write to them," he added as he bade +her good-night. + +"Three hundred pounds! Only a few of the star singers would have +gathered as much money into a hall," and to the dull sound of gold +pieces she fell asleep. But the sound of gold is the sweetest +tribute to the actress's vanity, and this tribute Evelyn had missed +to some extent in the preceding concerts; the others were artistic +successes, but money had not flowed in, and a half-empty +concert-room puts an emptiness into the heart of the concert singer +that nothing else can. But the Edinburgh concert had been different; +people had been more appreciative, her singing had excited more +enthusiasm. Lady Ascott had brought musical people to hear her, and +Evelyn awoke, thinking that she would not miss seeing Lady Ascott +for anything; and while looking forward to seeing her at Thornton +Grange, she thought of the money she had made for the poor nuns, and +then of the money awaiting her in Glasgow.... It would be nice if by +any chance Lady Ascott were persuaded to come to Glasgow for the +concert, bringing her party with her. Anything was possible with +Lady Ascott; she would go anywhere to hear music. + +"But what an evening!" and she watched the wet country. A high wind +had been blowing all day, but the storm had begun in the dusk, and +when she arrived at the station the coachman could hardly get his +horses to face the wind and rain. In answer to her question the +footman told her Thornton Grange was about a mile from the station; +and when the carriage turned into the park she peered through the +wet panes, trying to see the trees which Owen had often said were the +finest in Scotland; but she could only distinguish blurred masses, +and the yellow panes of a parapeted house. + +"How are you, my dear Evelyn? I'm glad to see you. You'll find some +friends here." And Lady Ascott led her through shadowy drawing-rooms +curtained with red silk hangings, filled with rich pictures, china +vases, books, marble consol tables on which stood lamps and tall +candles. Owen came forward to meet her. + +"I am so glad to meet you, Miss Innes! You didn't expect to see me? I +hope you're not sorry." + +"No, Sir Owen, I'm not sorry; but this is a surprise, for Lady Ascott +didn't tell me. Were you at the concert?" + +"No, I couldn't go; I was too ill. It was a privation to remain at +home thinking--What did you sing?" + +Evelyn looked at him shrewdly, believing only a little in his +illness, and nearly convinced he had not gone to the concert because +he wished to keep his presence a secret from her... fearing she +would not come to Thornton Grange if she knew he were there. + +"He missed a great deal; I told him so when I returned," said Lady +Ascott. + +"But what can one do, Miss Innes, when one is ill? The best music in +the world--even your voice when one is ill--. Tell me what you +sang." + +"Evelyn is going to sing at Glasgow; you will be able to go there +with her." + +The servant announced another guest and Lady Ascott went forward to +meet him. Guest after guest, and all were greeted with little cries +of fictitious intimacy; and each in turn related his or her journey, +and the narratives were chequered with the names of other friends +who had been staying in the houses they had just come from. Evelyn +listened, thinking of her poor people, contrasting their +simplicities with the artificialities of the gang--that is how she +put it to herself--which ran about from one house to another, +visiting, calling itself Society, talking always, changing the +conversation rapidly, never interested in any subject sufficiently +to endure it for more than a minute and a half. The life of these +people seemed to Evelyn artificial as that of white mice, coming in +by certain doors, going out by others, climbing poles, engaged in +all kinds of little tricks; yet she was delighted to find herself +among them all again, for her life had been dull and tedious since +she left the convent; and this sudden change, taking her back to art +and to her old friends, was very welcome; and the babble of all +these people about her inveigled her out of her new self; and she +liked to hear about so many people, their adventures, their ideas, +misfortunes, precocious caprices. + +The company had broken up into groups, and one little group, of which +Evelyn was part, had withdrawn into a corner to discuss its own +circle of friends; and all the while Evelyn's face smiled, her eyes +and her lips and her thoughts were atingle. Nonsense! Yes, it was +nonsense! But what delicious nonsense! and she waited for somebody +to speak of Canary--the "love machine," as he was called. No sooner +had the thought come into her mind than somebody mentioned his name, +telling how Beatrice, after sending him away in the luggage-cart, had +yielded and taken him back again. "He is her interest," Evelyn said +to herself, and she heard that Canary still continued to cause +Beatrice great unhappiness; and some interesting stories were told +of her quarrels--all her quarrels were connected with Canary. One of +the most serious was with Miss ----, who had gone for a walk with him +in the morning; and the guests at Thornton Grange were divided +regarding Miss ----'s right to ask Canary to go for a walk with her, +for, of course, she had come down early for the purpose, knowing +well that Beatrice never came downstairs before lunch. + +"Quite so." The young man was listened to, and he continued to argue +for a long while that it was not reasonable for a woman to expect a +man to spend the whole morning reading the _Times_, and that +apparently was what Beatrice wished poor Canary to do until she +chose to come down. Nevertheless, the general opinion was in favour +of Beatrice and against the girl. + +"Beatrice has been so kind to her," and everybody had something to +say on this point. + +"But what happened?" Evelyn asked, and the leader of this +conversation, a merry little face with eyes like wild flowers and a +great deal of shining hair, told of Beatrice's desperate condition +when the news of Miss ----'s betrayal reached her. + +"I went up and found her in tears, her hair hanging down her back, +saying that nobody cared for her. Although she spends three thousand +a year on clothes, she sits up in that bedroom in a dressing-gown +that we have known for the last five years. "Well, Beatrice," I +said, "if you'll only put on a pair of stays and dress yourself and +come downstairs, perhaps somebody will care for you." + +A writer upon economic subjects who trailed a black lock of hair over +a bald skull declared he could see the scene in Beatrice's bedroom +quite clearly, and he spoke of her woolly poodle looking on, trying +to understand what it was all about, and his allusion to the poodle +made everybody laugh, for some reason not very apparent, and Evelyn +wondered at the difference between the people she was now among and +those she had left--the nuns in their convent at the edge of +Wimbledon Common, and her thoughts passing back, she remembered the +afternoon in the Savoy Hotel spent among her fellow-artists. + +Her reverie endured, she did not know how long; only that she was +awakened from it by Lady Ascott, come to tell her it was time to go +upstairs to dress for dinner. Now with whom would she go down? With +Owen, of course, such was the etiquette in houses like Thornton +Grange. It was possible Lady Ascott might look upon them as married +people and send her down with somebody else--one of those young men! +No! The young men would be reserved for the girls. As she suspected, +she went down with Owen. He did not tell her where he had been since +she last saw him; intimate conversation was impossible amid a +glitter of silver dishes and anecdotes of people they knew; but +after dinner in a quiet corner she would hear his story. And as soon +as the men came up from the dining-room Owen went straight towards +her, and she followed him out of hearing of the card-players. + +"At last we are alone. My gracious! how I've looked forward to this +little talk with you, all through that long dinner, and the formal +talk with the men afterwards, listening to infernal politics and +still more infernal hunting. You didn't expect to meet me, did you?" + +"No; Lady Ascott said nothing about your being here when she came to +the concert." + +"And perhaps you wouldn't have come if you had known I was here?" + +"Is that why you didn't come to the concert?" + +"Well, Evelyn, I suppose it was. You'll forgive me the trickery, +won't you?" She took his hand and held it for a moment. "That touch +of your hand means more to me than anything in the world." A cloud +came into her face which he saw and it pained him to see it. "Lady +Ascott wrote saying she intended to ask you to Thornton Grange, so I +wrote at once asking her if she could put me up; she guessed an +estrangement, and being a kind woman, was anxious to put it right." + +"An estrangement, Owen? But there is no estrangement between us?" + +"No estrangement?" + +"Well, no, Owen, not what I should call an estrangement." + +"But you sent me away, saying I shouldn't see you for three months. +Now three months have passed--haven't I been obedient?" + +"Have three months passed?" + +"Yes; It was in August you sent me away and now we are in November." + +"Three months all but a fortnight." + +"The last time I saw you was the day you went to Wimbledon to sing +for the nuns. They have captured you; you are still singing for +them." + +"You mustn't say a word against the nuns," and she told anecdotes +about the convent which interested her, but which provoked him even +to saying under his breath, "Miserable folk!" + +"I won't allow you to speak like that against my friends." + +Owen apologised, saying they had taken her from him. "And you can't +expect me to sympathise with people or with an idea that has done +this? It wouldn't be human, and I don't think you would like me any +better if I did--now would you, Evelyn? Can you say that you would, +honestly, hand upon your heart?--if a heart is beating there still." + +"A heart is beating--" + +"I mean if a human heart is beating." + +"It seems to me, Owen, I am just as human, more human than ever, only +it is a different kind of humanity." + +"Pedantry doesn't suit women, nor does cruelty; cruelty suits no one +and you were very cruel when we parted." + +"Yes, I suppose I was, and it is always wrong to be cruel. But I had +to send you away; if I hadn't I should have been late for the +concert. You don't realise, Owen, you can't realise--" And as she +said those words her face seemed to freeze, and Owen thought of the +idea within her turning her to ice. + +"The wind! Isn't it uncanny? You don't know the glen? One of the most +beautiful in Scotland." And he spoke of the tall pines at the end of +it, the finest he had ever seen, and hoped that not many would be +blown down during the night. "Such a storm as this only happens once +in ten years. Good God, listen!" Like a savage beast the wind seemed +to skulk, and to crouch.... It sprang forward and seized the house +and shook it. Then it died away, and there was stillness for a few +minutes. + +"But it is only preparing for another attack," Evelyn said, and they +listened, hearing the wind far away gathering itself like a robber +band, determined this time to take the castle by assault. Every +moment it grew louder, till it fell at last with a crash upon the +roof. + +"But what a fool I am to talk to you about the wind, not having seen +you for three months! Surely there is something else for us to talk +about?" + +"I would sooner you spoke about the wind, Owen." + +"It is cruel of you to say so, for there is only one subject worth +talking about--yourself. How can I think of any other? When I am +alone in Berkeley Square I can only think of the idea which came +into your head and made a different woman of you." Evelyn refrained +from saying "And a much better woman," and Owen went on to tell how +the idea had seized her in Pisa. "Remember, Evelyn, it played you a +very ugly trick then. I'm not sure if I ought to remind you." + +"You mean when you found me sitting on the wall of an olive-garth? +But there was no harm in singing to the peasants." + +"And when I found you in a little chapel on the way to the +pine-forest--the forest in which you met Ulick Dean. What has become +of that young man?" + +"I don't know. I haven't heard of him." + +"You once nearly went out of your mind on his account." + +"Because I thought he had killed himself." + +"Or because you thought you wouldn't be able to resist him?" + +Evelyn did not answer, and looking through the rich rooms, +unconsciously admiring the gleaming of the red silk hangings in the +lamplight, and the appearance of a portrait standing in the midst of +its dark background and gold frame, she discovered some of the +guests: two women leaning back in a deep sofa amid cushions +confiding to each other the story of somebody's lover, no doubt; and +past them, to the right of a tall pillar, three players looked into +the cards, one stood by, and though Owen and Evelyn were thinking of +different things they could not help noticing the whiteness of the +men's shirt fronts, and the aigrette sprays in the women's hair, and +the shapely folds of the silken dresses falling across the carpet. + +"Not one of these men and women here think as you do; they are +satisfied to live. Why can't you do the same?" + +"I am different from them." + +"But what is there different in you?" + +"You don't think then, Owen, that every one has a destiny?" + +"Evelyn, dear, how can you think these things? We are utterly +unimportant; millions and billions of beings have preceded us, +billions will succeed us. So why should it be so important that a +woman should be true to her lover?" + +"Does it really seem to you an utterly unimportant matter?" + +"Not nearly so important as losing the woman one loves." And looking +into her face as he might into a book, written in a language only a +few words of which he understood, he continued: "And the idea seems +to have absorbed you, to have made its own of you; it isn't +religion, I don't think you are a religious woman. You usen't to be +like this when I took you away to Paris. You were in love with me, +but not half so much in love with me as you are now with this idea, +not so subjugated. Evelyn, that is what it is, you are subjugated, +enslaved, and you can think of nothing else." + +"Well, if that is so, Owen--and I won't say you are utterly wrong-- +why can't you accept things as they are?" + +"But it isn't true, Evelyn? You will outlive this idea. You will be +cured." + +"I hope not." + +"You hope not? Well, if you don't wish to be cured it will be +difficult to cure you. But now, here in this house, where everything +is different, do you not feel the love of life coming back upon you? +And can you accept negation willingly as your fate?" + +Evelyn asked Owen what he meant and he said: + +"Well, your creed is a negative one--that no man shall ever take you +in his arms again, saying, 'Darling, I am so fond of you!' You would +have me believe that you will be true to this creed? But don't I +know how dear that moment is to you? No, you will not always think +as you do now; you will wake up as from a nightmare, you will wake +up." + +"Do you think I shall?" Soon after their talk drifted to Lady Ascott +and to her guests, and Owen narrated the latest intrigues and the +mistake Lady Ascott had been guilty of by putting So-and-so and +So-and-so to sleep in the same corridor, not knowing that their +_liaison_ had been broken off at least three months before. + +"Jim is now in love with Constance." + +"How very horrible!" + +"Horrible? It is that fellow Mostyn who has put these ideas into your +head!" + +"He has put nothing into my head, Owen." + +"Upon my word I believe you're right. It is none of his doing. But he +has got the harvesting; ah, yes, and the nuns, too. You never loved +me as you love this idea, Evelyn?" + +"Do you think not?" + +"When you were studying music in Paris you were quite willing I +should go away for a year." + +"But I repaid you for it afterwards; you can't say I didn't. There +were ten years in which I loved you. How is it you have never +reproached me before?" + +"Why should I? But now I've come to the end of the street; there is a +blank wall in front of me." + +"You make me very miserable by talking like this." + +They sat without speaking, and Lady Ascott's interruption was +welcome. + +"Now, my dear Sir Owen, will you forgive me if I ask Evelyn to sing +for us? You'd like to hear her sing--wouldn't you?" + +Owen sprang to his feet. + +"Of course, of course. Come, Miss Innes, you will sing for us. I have +been boring you long enough, haven't I? And you'll be glad to get to +the piano. Who will accompany you?" + +"You, Sir Owen, if you will be kind enough." + +The card-players were glad to lay down their cards and the women to +cease talking of their friends' love affairs. All the world over it +is the same, a soprano voice subjugating all other interests; +soprano or tenor, baritone much less, contralto still less. Many +came forward to thank her, and, a little intoxicated with her +success, she began to talk to some of her women friends, thinking it +unwise to go back into a shadowy corner with Owen, making herself +the subject of remark; for though her love story with Owen Asher had +long ceased to be talked about, a new interest in it had suddenly +sprung up, owing to the fact that she had sent Owen away, and was +thinking of becoming a nun--even to such an extent her visit to the +convent had been exaggerated; and as the women lagging round her had +begun to try to draw from her an account of the motives which had +induced her to leave the stage, and the moment not seeming opportune, +even if it were not ridiculous at any moment to discuss spiritual +endeavour with these women, she determined to draw a red herring +across the trail. She told them that the public were wearying of +Wagner's operas, taste was changing, light opera was coming into +fashion. + +"And in light opera I should have no success whatever, so I was +obliged to turn from the stage to the concert-room." + +"We thought it was the religious element in Wagner." + +A card party had come from a distant drawing-room and joined in the +discussion regarding the decline of art, and it was agreed that +motor-cars had done a great deal to contribute--perhaps they had +nothing to do with the decline of Wagner--but they had contributed +to the decline of interest in things artistic. This was the opinion +of two or three agreeable, good-looking young men; and Evelyn forgot +the women whom she had previously been talking to; and turning to the +men, she engaged in conversation and talked on and on until the +clock struck eleven. Then the disposition of every one was for bed. +Whispers went round, and Lady Ascott trotted upstairs with Evelyn, +hoping she would find her room comfortable. + +It was indeed a pleasant room, wearing an air of youthfulness, thanks +to its chintz curtains. The sofa was winning and the armchairs +desirable, and there were books and a reading-lamp if Evelyn should +feel disposed to draw the armchair by the fire and read for an hour +before going to bed. The writing-table itself, with its pens and its +blotting-book, and notepaper so prettily stamped, seemed intended to +inveigle the occupant of the room into correspondence with every +friend she had in the world; and Evelyn began to wonder to whom she +might write a letter as soon as Lady Ascott left the room. + +The burning wood shed a pleasant odour which mingled pleasantly with +that of the dressing-table; and she wandered about the room, her +mind filled with vague meditations, studying the old engravings, +principally pictures of dogs and horses, hounds and men, going out +to shoot in bygone costumes, with long-eared spaniels to find the +game for them. There was a multitude of these pictures on the walls, +and Evelyn wondered who was her next-door neighbour. Was it Owen? Or +was he down at the end of the passage? In a house like Thornton +Grange the name of every one was put on his or her door, so that +visitors should not wander into the wrong room by accident, creating +dismay and provoking scandal. Owen, where was he? A prayer was +offered up that he might be at the other end of the house. It would +not be right if Lady Ascott had placed him in the adjoining room, it +really would not be right, and she regretted her visit. What evil +thing had tempted her into this house, where everything was an +appeal to the senses, everything she had seen since she had entered +the house--food, wine, gowns? There was, however, a bolt to her +door, and she drew it, forgetful that sin visits us in solitude, and +more insidiously than when we are in the midst of crowds; and as she +dozed in the scented room, amid the fine linen, silk, and laces, the +sins which for generations had been committed in this house seemed to +gather substance, and even shape; a strange phantasmata trooped past +her, some seeming to bewail their sins, while others indulged +themselves with each other, or turned to her, inciting her to sin +with them, until one of them whispered in her ear that Owen was +coming to her room, and then she knew that at his knock her strength +would fail her, and she would let him in. + +Her temptations disappeared and then returned to her; at last she saw +Owen coming towards her. He leaned over the bed, and she saw his +lips, and his voice sounded in her ears. It told her that he had +been waiting for her; why hadn't she come to his room? And why had +he found her door bolted? Then like one bereft of reason, she +slipped out of bed and went towards the door, seeing him in the +lucidity of her dream clearly at the end of the passage; it was not +until her hand rested on the handle of his door that a singing began +in the night. The first voice was joined by another, and then by +another, and she recognised the hymn, for it was one, the _Veni +Creator_, and the singers were nuns. The singing grew more distinct, +the singers were approaching her, and she retreated before them to +her room; the room filled with plain chant, and then the voices +seemed to die or to be borne away on the wind which moaned about the +eaves and aloft in the chimneys. Turning in her bed, she saw the +dying embers. She was in her room--only a dream, no more. Was that +all? she asked as she lay in her bed singing herself to sleep, into +a sleep so deep that she did not wake from it until her maid came to +ask her if she would have breakfast in her room or if she were going +down to breakfast. + +"I will get up at once, Merat, and do you look out a train, or ask +the butler to look out one for you; we are going to Glasgow by the +first quick train." + +"But I thought Mademoiselle was going to stay here till Monday." + +"Yes, Merat, I know, so did I; but I have changed my mind. You had +better begin to pack at once, for there is certain to be a train +about twelve." + +Evelyn saw that the devoted Merat was annoyed; as well she might be, +for Thornton Grange was a pleasant house for valets and lady's +maids. "Some new valet," Evelyn thought, and she was sorry to drag +Merat away from him, for Merat's sins were her own--no one was +answerable for another; there was always that in her mind; and what +applied to her did not apply to anybody else. + +"Dear Lady Ascott, you'll forgive me?" she said during breakfast, +"but I have to go to Glasgow this afternoon. I am obliged to leave +by an early train." + +"Sir Owen, will you try to persuade her? Get her some omelette, and I +will pour out some coffee. Which will you have, dear? Tea or coffee? +Everybody will be so disappointed; we have all been looking forward +to some singing to-night." + +Expostulations and suggestions went round the table, and Evelyn was +glad when breakfast was over; and to escape from all this company, +she accepted Owen's proposal to go for a walk. + +"You haven't seen my garden, or the cliffs? Sir Owen, I count upon +you to persuade her to stay until to-morrow, and you will show her +the glen, won't you? And you'll tell me how many trees we have lost +in last night's storm." + +Owen and Evelyn left the other guests talking of how they had lain +awake last night listening to the wind. + +"Shall we go this way, round by the lake, towards the glen? Lady +Ascott is very disappointed; she said so to me just now." + +"You mean about my leaving?" + +"Yes, of course, after all she had done for you, the trouble she had +taken about the Edinburgh concert. Of course they all like to hear +you sing; they may not understand very well, still they like it, +everybody likes to hear a soprano. You might stay." + +"I'm very sorry, Owen, I'm sorry to disappoint Lady Ascott, who is a +kindly soul, but--well, it raises the whole question up again. When +one has made up one's mind to live a certain kind of life--" + +"But, Evelyn, who is preventing you from living up to your ideal? The +people here don't interfere with you? Nobody came knocking at your +door last night?" + +"No." + +"I didn't come, and I was next door to you. Didn't it seem strange to +you, Evelyn, that I should sleep so near and not come to say +good-night? But I knew you wouldn't like it, so I resisted the +temptation." + +"Was that the only reason?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Of course, I know you wouldn't do anything that would displease me; +you've been very kind, more kind than I deserve, but--" + +"But what?" + +"Well, it's hard to express it. Nothing happened to prevent you?" + +"Prevent me?" + +"I don't mean that you were actually prevented, but was there another +reason?" + +"You mean a sudden scruple of conscience? My conscience is quite +healthy." + +"Then what stayed you was no more than a fear of displeasing me? And +you wanted to come to see me, didn't you?" + +"Of course I did. Well, perhaps there was another reason... only... +no, there was no other reason." + +"But there was; you have admitted that there was. Do tell me." + +And Owen told her that something seemed to have held him back when +the thought came of going to her room. "It was really very strange. +The thought was put into my mind suddenly that it would be better +for me not to go to your room." + +"No more than a sudden thought? But the thought was very clear and +distinct?" + +"Yes; but between waking and sleeping thoughts are unusually +distinct." + +"You don't believe in miracles, Owen?" And she told him of her dream +and her sudden awaking, and the voices heard in her ears at first, +then in the room, and then about the house. "So you see the nuns +kept us apart." + +"And you believe in these things?" + +"How can I do otherwise?" + +Owen sighed, and they walked on a few paces. The last leaves were +dancing; the woods were cold and wet, the heavy branches of the +fir-trees dripping with cold rain, and in the walks a litter of +chestnut-leaves. + +"Not a space of blue in the sky, only grey. It will be drearier still +in Glasgow; you had better stay here," he said, as they walked round +the little lake, watching the water-fowl moving in and out of the +reeds, and they talked for some time of Riversdale, of the lake +there, and the ducks which rose in great numbers and flew round and +round the park, dropping one by one into the water. "You will never +see Riversdale again, perhaps?" + +"Perhaps not," she answered; and hearing her say it, his future life +seemed to him as forlorn as the landscape. + +"What will you do? What will become of you? What strange +transformation has taken place in you?" + +"If--But what is the use of going over it again?" + +"If what?" + +"What would you have me do? Marriage would only ruin you, Owen, make +you very unhappy. Why do you want me to enter on a life which I feel +isn't mine, and which could only end in disaster for both of us." He +asked her why it would end in disaster, and she answered, "It is +impossible to lay bare one's whole heart. When one changes one's +ideas one changes one's friends." + +"Because one's friends are only the embodiment of one's ideas. But I +cannot admit that you would be unhappy as my wife." + +"Everybody is unhappy when they are not doing what Nature intended +them to do." + +"And what did Nature intend you to do? Only to sing operas?" + +"I should be sorry to think Nature intended me for nothing else. +Would you have me go on singing operas? I don't want to appear +unreasonable, but how could I go on singing even if I wished to go +on? The taste has changed; you will admit that light opera is the +fashion, and I shouldn't succeed in light opera. Whatever I do you +praise, but you know in the bottom of your heart there are only a few +parts which I play well. You may deceive yourself, you do so because +you wish to do so, but I have no wish to deceive myself and I know +that I was never a great singer; a good singer, an interesting +singer in certain parts if you like, but no more. You will admit +that?" + +"No, I don't admit anything of the kind. If you leave the stage what +will you do with your time? Your art, your friends--" + +"No one can figure anybody else's life: everybody has interests and +occupations, not things that interest one's neighbour, but things +that interest herself." + +"So it is because light opera has come into fashion again that you +are going to give up singing? Such a thing never happened before: a +woman who succeeded on the stage, who has not yet failed, whose +voice is still fresh, who is in full possession of her art, to say +suddenly, 'Money and applause are nothing to me, I prefer a few +simple nuns to art and society.' Nothing seems to happen in life, +life is always the same; _rien ne change mais pourtant tout arrive_, +even the rare event of a successful actress relinquishing the +stage." + +"It is odd," she said as they followed the path through the wintry +wood, startled now and again by a rabbit at the end of the alley, by +a cock pheasant rising up suddenly out of the yew hedges, and, +beguiled by the beauty of the trees, they passed on slowly, pausing +to think what a splendid sight a certain wild cherry must be in the +spring-time. At the end of the wood Owen returned to the subject of +their conversation. + +"Yes, it is strange that an actress should give up her art." + +"But, Owen, it isn't so strange in my case as in any other; for you +know I was always a hothouse flower. You took me away to Paris and +had me trained regardless of expense, and with your money it was +easy to get an engagement." + +"My money had nothing to do with your engagements." + +"Perhaps not; but I only sang when it pleased me; I could always say, +'Well, my good man, go to So-and-so, she will sing for you any parts +you please'; but I can only sing the parts I like." + +"You think, then, that if you had lived the life of a real actress, +working your way up from the bottom, what has happened wouldn't have +happened; is that what you mean?" + +"It is impossible for me to answer you. One would have to live one's +life over again." + +"I suppose no one will ever know how much depends upon the gift we +bring into the world with us, and how much upon circumstances," and +Owen compared the gift to the father's seed and circumstances to the +mother's womb. + +"So you are quite determined?" And they philosophised as they went, +on life and its meaning, on death and love, admiring the temples +which an eighteenth-century generation had built on the hillsides. +"Here are eight pillars on either side and four at either end, +serving no purpose whatever, not even shelter from the rain. Never +again in this world will people build things for mere beauty," Owen +said, and they passed into the depths of the wood, discovering +another temple, and in it a lad and lass. + +"You see these temples do serve for something. Why are we not +lovers?" And they passed on again, Owen's heart filled with his +sorrow and Evelyn's with her determination. + +She was leaving by the one train, and when they got back to the house +the carriage was waiting for her. + +"Good-bye, Owen." + +"Am I not to see you again?" + +"Yes, you will see me one of these days." + +"And that was all the promise she could make me," he said, rushing +into Lady Ascott's boudoir, disturbing her in the midst of her +letters. "So ends a _liaison_ which has lasted for more than ten +years. Good God, had I known that she would have spoken to me like +this when I saw her in Dulwich!" + +Even so he felt he would have acted just as he had acted, and he went +to his room thinking that the rest of his life would be +recollection. "She is still in the train, going away from me, intent +on her project, absorbed in her desire of a new life ... this +haunting which has come upon her." + + + +III + +And so it was. Evelyn lay back in the corner of the railway carriage +thinking about the poor people, and about the nuns, about herself, +about the new life which she was entering upon, and which was dearer +to her than anything else. She grew a little frightened at the +hardness of her heart. "It certainly does harden one's heart," she +said; "my heart is as hard as a diamond. But is my heart as hard as +a diamond?" The thought awoke a little alarm, and she sat looking +into the receding landscape. "Even so I cannot help it." And she +wondered how it was that only one thing in the world seemed to +matter--to extricate the nuns from their difficulties, that was all. +Her poor people, of course she liked them; her voice, she liked it +too, without, however, being able to feel certain that it interested +her as much as it used to, or that she was not prepared to sacrifice +it if her purpose demanded the sacrifice. But there was no question +of such sacrifice: it was given to her as the means whereby she +might effect her purpose. If the Glasgow concert were as successful +as the Edinburgh, she would be able to bring back some hundreds of +pounds to the nuns, perhaps a thousand. And what a pleasure that +would be to her! + +But the Glasgow concert was not nearly so successful: her manager +attributed the failure to a great strike which had just ended; there +was talk of another strike; moreover her week in Glasgow was a wet +one, and her manager said that people did not care to leave their +houses when it was raining. + +"Or is it," she asked, "because the taste has moved from dramatic +singing to _il bel canto?_ In a few years nobody will want to hear +me, so I must make hay while the sun shines." + +Her next concert succeeded hardly better than the Glasgow concert; +Hull, Leeds, Birmingham were tried, but only with moderate success, +and Evelyn returned to London with very little money for the +convent, and still less for her poor people. + +"It is a disappointment to me, dear Mother?" + +"My dear child, you've brought us a great deal of money, much more +than we expected." + +"But, Mother, I thought I should be able to bring you three thousand +pounds, and pay off a great part of your mortgage." + +"God, my child, seems to have thought differently." + +The door opened. + +"Now who is this? Ah! Sister Mary John." + +"May I come in, dear Mother?" + +"Certainly." + +"You see, I was so anxious to see Miss Innes, to hear about the +concert tour--" + +"Which wasn't a success at all, Sister Mary John. Oh, not at all a +success." + +"Not a success?" + +"Well, from an artistic point of view it was; I brought you some of +the notices," and Evelyn took out of her pocket some hundreds of +cuttings from newspapers. It had not occurred to her before, but now +the thought passed through her mind, formulating itself in this way: +"After all, the mummeress isn't dead in me yet; bringing my notices +to nuns! Dear me! how like me!" And she sat watching the nuns, a +little amused, when the Prioress asked Sister Mary John to read some +passages to her. + +"Now I can't sit here and hear you read out my praises. You can read +them when I am gone. A little more money and a little less praise +would have suited me better, Sister Mary John." + +"Would you care to come into the garden?" the nun asked. "I was just +going out to feed the birds. Poor things! they come in from the +common; our garden is full of them. But what about singing at +Benediction to-day? Would you like to try some music over with me +and forget the birds?" + +"There will be plenty of time to try over music." + +The door opened again. It was the porteress come to say that +Monsignor had just arrived and would like to speak with the +Prioress. + +"But ask him to come in.... Here is a friend of yours, Monsignor. She +has just returned from--" + +"From a disastrous concert tour, having only made four hundred pounds +with six concerts. My career as a prima donna is at an end. The +public is tired of me." + +"The artistic public isn't tired of you," said Sister Mary John. +"Read, Monsignor; she has brought us all her notices." + +"Oh, do take them away, Sister Mary John; you make me ashamed before +Monsignor. Such vanity! What will he think of my bringing my notices +to read to you? But you mustn't think I am so vain as that, +Monsignor; it was really because I thought the nuns would be +interested to hear of the music--and to excuse myself. But you know, +Mother, once I take a project in hand I don't give it up easily. I +have made up my mind to redeem this convent from debt, and it shall +be done. My concert tour was a failure, but I have another idea in +my head; and I came here to tell it to you. I don't know what +Monsignor will think of it. I have been offered a good deal of money +to go to America to sing my own parts, for Wagner is not yet dead in +America." + +"But, Miss Innes, I thought you intended to leave the stage?" + +"I have left the stage, but I intend to go back to it. That is a +point on which I will have to talk to Monsignor." Evelyn waited for +the prelate to speak. + +"Such determination is very unusual, and if the cause be a good one I +congratulate you, Mother Prioress, on your champion who, to defend +you, will start for the New World." + +"Well, Monsignor, unless you repudiate the motives of those who went +to Palestine to fight for the Holy Sepulchre, why should you +repudiate mine?" + +"But I haven't said a word; indeed--" + +"But you will talk to me about it, won't you? For I must have your +opinion before I go, Monsignor." + +"Well, now I think I shall disappear," said Sister Mary John. "I'm +going to feed the birds." + +"But you asked me to go with you." + +"That was before Monsignor came. But perhaps he would like to come +with us. The garden is beautiful and white, and all the birds are +waiting for me, poor darlings!" + +The nuns, Evelyn and Monsignor went down the steps. + +"There is a great deal of snow in the sky yet," said Sister Mary +John, pointing to the yellow horizon. "To-night or to-morrow it will +fall, and the birds will die, if we don't feed them." + +A flock of speckled starlings flew into a tree, not recognising +Evelyn and Monsignor, but the blackbirds and thrushes were tamer and +ran in front, watching the visitors with round, thoughtful eyes, the +beautiful shape of the blackbird showing against the white +background, and everybody admiring his golden bill and legs. The +sparrows flew about Sister Mary John in a little cloud, until they +were driven away by three great gulls come up from the Thames, driven +inland by hard weather. A battle began, the gulls pecking at each +other, wasting time in fighting instead of sharing the bread, only +stopping now and then to chase away the arrogant sparrows. The +robin, the wisest bird, came to Sister Mary John's hand for his +food, preferring the buttered bread to the dry. There were rooks in +the grey sky, and very soon two hovered over the garden, eventually +descending into the garden with wings slanted, and then the seagulls +had to leave off fighting or go without food altogether. A great +strange bird rose out of the bushes, and flew away in slow, heavy +flight. Monsignor thought it was a woodcock; and there were birds +whose names no one knew, migrating birds come from thousands of +miles, from regions where the snow lies for months upon the ground; +and Evelyn and the prelate and the nuns watched them all until the +frosty air reminded the prelate that loitering was dangerous. Sister +Mary John walked on ahead, feeding the birds, forgetful of Monsignor +and Evelyn; a nun saying her rosary stopped to speak to the +Prioress; Evelyn and Monsignor went on alone, and when they came +towards St. Peter's Walk no one was there, and the moment had come, +Evelyn felt, to speak of her project to return to the stage in order +to redeem the convent from debt. + +"You didn't answer me, Monsignor, when I said that I would have to +consult you regarding my return to the stage." + +"Well, my dear child, the question whether you should go back to the +stage couldn't be discussed in the presence of the nuns. Your +motives I appreciate; I need hardly say that. But for your own +personal safety I am concerned. I won't attempt to hide my anxiety +from you." + +"But it is possible to remain on the stage and lead a virtuous life." + +"You have told me yourself that such a thing isn't possible; from +your own mouth I have it." + +Evelyn did not answer, but stood looking at the prelate, biting her +lips, annoyed, finding herself in a dilemma. + +"The motive is everything, Monsignor. I was speaking then of the +stage as a vanity, as a glorification of self." + +"The motive is different, but the temptations remain the same." + +"I'm afraid I can't agree with you. The temptation is in oneself, not +in the stage, and when oneself has changed... and then many things +have happened." + +"You are reconciled to the Church, it is true, and have received the +Sacraments--" + +"More than that, Monsignor, more than that." But it was a long time +before he could persuade her to tell him. "You don't believe in +miracles?" + +"My dear child, my dear child!" + +After that it was impossible to keep herself from speaking, and she +told how, at Thornton Grange, in the middle of the night, she had +heard the nuns singing the _Veni Creator_. + +"The nuns told me, Monsignor, their prayers would save me, and they +were right." + +"But you aren't sure whether you were dreaming or waking." + +"But my experience was shared by Sir Owen Asher, who told me next +morning that he had thought of coming to my room and was +restrained." + +"Did he say that he, too, heard voices?" + +She had to admit that Owen had not said that he had heard voices, +only that a restraint had been put upon him. + +"The restraint need not have been a miraculous one." + +"You think he didn't want to come to see me? I beg your pardon, +Monsignor." + +"There is nothing to beg my pardon for. I am your confessor, your +spiritual adviser, and you must tell everything to me; and it is my +duty to tell you that you place too much reliance upon miracles. +This is not the first time you have spoken to me about miraculous +interposition." + +"But if God is in heaven and His Church upon earth, why shouldn't +there be miracles? Moreover, nearly all the saints are credited with +having performed miracles. Their lives are little more than records +of miracles they have performed." + +"I cannot agree with you in that. Their lives are records of their +love of God, and the prayers they have offered up that God's wrath +may be averted from a sinful world, and the prayers they have +offered up for their souls." + +"What would the Bible be without its miracles? Miracles are recorded +in the Old and in the New Testaments. Surely miracles cannot have +ceased with the nineteenth century? Miracles must be inherent in +religion. To talk of miracles going out of fashion--" + +"But, Miss Innes, I never spoke of miracles going out of fashion. You +misunderstand me entirely. If God wills it, a miracle may happen +to-morrow, in this garden, at any moment. Nobody questions the power +of God to perform a miracle, only we mustn't be too credulous, +accepting every strange event as a miracle; and you, who seemed so +difficult to convince on some points, are ready enough to believe--" + +"You mean, Monsignor, because I experienced much difficulty in +believing that the sins I committed with Owen Asher were equal to +those I committed with Ulick Dean." + +"Yes, that was in my mind; and I doubt very much that you are not of +the same opinion still." + +"Monsignor, I have accepted your opinion that the sin was the same in +either case, and you have told me yourself that to acquiesce is +sufficient. You don't mind my arguing with you a little, because in +doing so I become clear to myself?" + +"On the contrary, I like you to argue with me; only in that way can +you confide all your difficulties to me. I regret that, +notwithstanding my opinion, you still believe you are not putting +yourself in the way of temptation by returning to the stage." + +"I know myself. If I didn't feel sure of myself, Monsignor, I +wouldn't go to America. Obedience is so pleasant, and your ruling is +so sweet--" + +"Nevertheless, you must go your own way; you must relieve this +convent from debt. That is what is in your mind." + +"I am sorry, Monsignor, for I should have liked to have had your +approval." + +"It was not, then, to profit by my advice that you consulted me?" + +Evelyn did not answer, and the singer and the prelate walked on in +silence, seeing Sister Mary John among her blackbirds and thrushes, +sparrows and starlings, accepting her crumbs without fear, no +stranger being by. The starlings, however, again flew into a tree +when they saw Evelyn and Monsignor, and some of the other birds +followed them. + +"The robin follows her like a dog; and what a saucy little bird he +is! Look at him, Monsignor! isn't he pretty, with his red breast and +black, beady eyes?" + +"Last winter, Monsignor, he spent on the kitchen clock. He knows our +kitchen well enough, and will go back there if a thaw does not begin +very quickly. But look," continued Sister Mary John, "I have two +bullfinches following me. Aren't they provoking birds? They don't +build in our garden, where their nests would be safe, stupid birds! +but away in the common. I'd like to have a young bird and teach him +to whistle." + +Evelyn and Monsignor stayed a moment watching the birds, thinking of +other things, and then turned into St. Peter's Walk to continue +their talk. + +"The afternoon is turning cold, and we can't stop out talking in this +garden any longer; but before we go in I beg of you--" + +"To agree that you should return to the stage?" + +"For a few months, Monsignor. I don't want to go to America feeling +that you think I have acted wrongly by going. The nuns will pray for +me, and I believe in their prayers; and I believe in yours, +Monsignor, and in your advice. Do say something kind." + +"You are determined upon this American tour?" + +"I cannot do otherwise. There is nothing else in my head." + +"And you must do something? Well, Miss Innes, let us consider it from +a practical point of view. The nuns want money, it is true; but they +want it at once. Five thousand pounds at the end of next year will +be very little use to them." + +"No, Monsignor, the Prioress tells me--" + +"You are free to dispose of your money in your own way--in the way +that gives you most pleasure." + +"Oh, don't say that, Monsignor. I have had enough pleasure in my +life." And they turned out of St. Peter's Walk, feeling it was +really too cold to remain any longer in the garden. + +"Well, Miss Innes, you are doing this entirely against my advice." + +"I'm sorry, but I cannot help myself; I want to help the nuns. +Everybody wants to do something; and to see one's life slipping +away--" + +"But you've done a great deal." + +"It doesn't seem to me I have done anything. Now that I have become a +Catholic, I want to do something from the Catholic point of view, or +from the religious point of view, if you like. Will you recommend to +me some man of business who will carry out the sale of my house for +me, and settle everything?" + +"So that you may hand over to the nuns the money that the sale of +your pictures and furniture procures at Christie's?" + +"Yes; leaving me just sufficient to go to America. I know I must +appear to you very wilful, but there are certain things one can only +settle for oneself." + +"I can give you the address of my solicitor, a very capable and +trustworthy man, who will carry out your instructions." + +"Thank you, Monsignor; and be sure nothing will happen to me in +America. In six months I shall be back." + +Evelyn went away to Mr. Enterwick, the solicitor Monsignor +recommended, and the following month she sailed for America. + + + +IV + +Her pictures and furniture were on view at Christie's in the early +spring, and all Owen's friends met each other in the rooms and on +the staircase. + +The pictures were to be sold on Saturday, the furniture, china, and +enamels on the following Monday. + +"The pictures don't matter so much, although her own portrait is +going to be sold. But the furniture! Dear God, look at that brute +trying the springs of the sofa where I have sat so often with her. +And there is the chair on which I used to sit listening to her when +she sang. And her piano--why, my God, she is selling her piano!-- +What is to become of that woman? A singer who sells her piano!" + +"My dear friend, I suppose she had to sell everything or nothing?" + +"But she'll have to buy another piano, and she might have kept the +one I gave her. It is extraordinary how religion hardens the heart, +Harding. Do you see that fellow, a great nose, lumpy shoulders, +trousers too short for him, a Hebrew barrel of grease--Rosental. You +know him; I bought that clock from him. He's looking into it to see +if anything has been broken, if it is in as good condition as when +he sold it. The brutes have all joined the 'knock-out,' and there--" + +As he said these words young Mr. Rowe, who believed himself to be +connected with society, and who dealt largely in pictures, without, +however, descending to the vulgarity of shop-keeping (he would +resent being called a picture-dealer), approached and insisted on +Sir Owen listening to the story of his difficulties with some county +councillors who could not find the money to build an art gallery. + +"But I object to your immortality being put on the rates." + +"You write books, Mr. Harding; I can't." + +As soon as he left them, Harding, who knew the dealer kind, the +original stock and the hybrid, told an amusing story of Mr. Rowe's +beginnings; and Owen forgot his sentimental trouble; but the story +was interrupted by Lady Ascott coming down the room followed by her +attendants, her literary and musical critics. + +"Every one of them most interesting, I assure you, Sir Owen. Mr. +Homer has just returned from Italy--" + +"But I know Mr. Homer; we met long ago at Innes' concerts. If I am +not mistaken you were writing a book then about Bellini." + +"Yes, 'His Life and Works.' I've just returned from Italy after two +years' reading in the public libraries." + +Lady Ascott's musical critic was known to Owen by a small book he had +written entitled "A Guide to the Ring." Before he was a Wagnerian he +was the curator of a museum, and Owen remembered how desirous he was +to learn the difference between Dresden and Chelsea china. He had +dabbled in politics and in journalism; he had collected hymns, +ancient and modern, and Owen was not in the least surprised to hear +that he had become the director of a shop for the sale of religious +prints and statues, or that he had joined the Roman Church, and the +group watched him slinking round on the arm of a young man, one who +sang forty-nine songs by all the composers in Europe in exactly the +same manner. + +"He is teaching Botticelli in his three manners," said Lady Ascott, +"and Cyril is thinking of going over to Rome." + +"Asher, let us get away from this culture," Harding whispered. + +"Yes, let's get away from it; I want to show you a table, the one on +which Evelyn used to write her letters. We bought it together at the +Salle Druot." + +"Yes, Asher, yes; but would you mind coming this way, for I see +Ringwood. He goes by in his drooping mantle, looking more like an +umbrella than usual. Lady Ascott has engaged him for the season, and +he goes out with her to talk literature--plush stockings, cockade. +Literature in livery! Ringwood introducing Art!" + +Owen laughed, and begged Harding to send his joke to the comic +papers. + +"An excellent subject for a cartoon." + +"He has stopped again. Now I'm sure he's talking of Sophocles. He +walks on.... I'm mistaken; he is talking about Moliere." + +"An excellent idea of yours--'Literature in livery!'" + +"His prose is always so finely spoken, so pompous, that I cannot help +smiling. You know what I mean." + +"I've told you it ought to be sent to the papers. I wish he would +leave that writing-table; and Lady Ascott might at least ask him to +brush his coat." + +"It seems to me so strange that she should find pleasure in such +company." + +"Men who will not cut their hair. How is it?" + +"I suppose attention to externals checks or limits the current of +feeling... or they think so." + +"I am feeling enough, God knows, but my suffering does not prevent me +from selecting my waistcoat and tying my tie." + +Harding's eyes implied acquiescence in the folding of the scarf (it +certainly was admirably done) and glanced along the sleeves of the +coat--a rough material chosen in a moment of sudden inspiration; and +they did not miss the embroidered waistcoat, nor the daring brown +trousers (in admirable keeping withal), turned up at the ends, of +course, otherwise Owen would not have felt dressed; and, still a +little conscious of the assistance his valet had been to him, he +walked with a long, swinging stride which he thought suited him, +stopping now and again to criticise a friend or a picture. + +"There's Merrington. How absurdly he dresses! One would think he was +an actor; yet no man rides better to hounds. Lady Southwick! I must +have a word with her." + +Before leaving Harding he mentioned that she attributed her lapses +from virtue, not to passionate temperament, but to charitable +impulses. "She wouldn't kiss--" and Owen whispered the man's name, +"until he promised to give two thousand pounds to a Home for Girl +Mothers." + +"Now, my dear Lady Southwick, I'm so delighted to see you here. But +how very sad! The greatest singer of our time." + +"She was exceedingly good in two or three parts." + +A dispute arose, in which Owen lost his temper; but, recovering it +suddenly, he went down the room with Lady Southwick to show her a +Wedgewood dessert service which he had bought some years ago for +Evelyn, pressing it upon her, urging that he would like her to have +it. + +"Every time you see it you will think of us," and he turned on his +heel suddenly, fearing to lose Harding, whom he found shaking hands +with one of the dealers, a man of huge girth--"like a waggoner," +Owen said, checking a reproof, but he could not help wishing that +Harding would not shake hands with such people, at all events when +he was with him. + +"These are the Chadwells, whom--" (Harding whispered a celebrated +name) "used to call the most gentlemanly picture-dealers in +Bond-street." Harding spoke to them, Owen standing apart absorbed in +His grief, until the word "Asher" caught his ear. + +"Of whom are you speaking?" + +"Of you, of Sir Owen Asher." And Harding followed Owen, intensely +annoyed. + +"Not even to a gentlemanly picture-dealer should you--" + +"You are entirely wrong; I said 'Sir Owen Asher.'" + +"Very strange you should say 'Sir Owen Asher'; why didn't you say Sir +Owen?" + +Harding did not answer, being uncertain if it would not be better to +drop Asher's acquaintance. But they had known each other always. It +would be difficult. + +"The sale is about to begin," Asher said, and Harding sat down angry +with Asher and interested in the auctioneer's face, created, Harding +thought, for the job... "looking exactly like a Roman bust. Lofty +brow, tight lips, vigilant eyes, voice like a bell.... That damned +fellow Asher! What the hell did he mean--" + +The auctioneer sat at a high desk, high as any pulpit, and in the +benches the congregation crowded--every shade of nondescript, the +waste ground one meets in a city: poor Jews and dealers from the +outlying streets, with here and there a possible artist or +journalist. As the pictures were sold the prices they fetched were +marked in the catalogues, and Harding wondered why. + +Around the room were men and women of all classes; a good many of Sir +Owen's "set" had come--"Society being well represented that day," as +the newspapers would put it. All the same, the pictures were not +selling well, not nearly so well as Owen and Harding anticipated. +Harding was glad of this, for his heart was set on a certain drawing +by Boucher. + +"I would sooner you had it, Harding, than anybody else. It would be +unendurable if one of those picture-dealers should get it; they'd +come round to my house trying to sell it to me again, whereas in +your rooms--" + +"Yes," said Harding, "it will be an excuse to come to see me. Well, +if I can possibly afford it--" + +"Of course you can afford it; I paid eighty-seven pounds for it years +ago; it won't go to more than a hundred. I'd really like you to have +it." + +"Well, for goodness' sake don't talk so loud, somebody will hear +you." + +The pictures went by--portraits of fair ladies and ancient admirals, +landscapes, underwoods and deserts, flower and battle pieces, +pathetic scenes and gallantries. There was a time when every one of +these pictures was the hope and delight of a human being, now they +went by interesting nobody.... + +At last the first of Evelyn's pictures was hoisted on the easel. + +"Good God!" isn't it a miserable sight seeing her pictures going to +whomsoever cares to bid a few pounds. But if I were to buy the whole +collection--" + +"I quite understand, and every one is a piece of your life." + +The pictures continued to go by. + +"I can't stand this much longer." + +"Hush!" + +The Boucher drawing went up. It was turned to the right and to the +left: a beautiful girl lying on her belly, her legs parted slightly. +Therefore the bidding began briskly, but for some unaccountable +reason it died away. "Somebody must have declared it to be a +forgery," Owen whispered to Harding, and a moment after it became +Harding's property for eighty-seven pounds--"The exact sum I paid +for it years ago. How very extraordinary!" + +"A portrait by Manet--a hundred pounds offered, one hundred," and two +grey eyes in a face of stone searched the room for bidders. "One +hundred pounds offered, five, thirty, thirty-five, forty, fifty," +and so on to two hundred. + +"Her portrait will cost me a thousand," Owen whispered to Harding, +and, catching the auctioneer's eyes, he nodded again. Seven hundred. +"Will they never stop bidding? That fellow yonder is determined to +run up the picture." Eight hundred and fifty! The auctioneer raised +his hammer, and the watchful eyes went round the room in search of +some one who would pay another ten pounds for Evelyn's portrait by +Manet. Eight hundred and fifty--eight hundred and fifty. Down came +the hammer. The auctioneer whispered "Sir Owen Asher" to his clerk. + +"It's a mercy I got it for that; I was afraid it would go over the +thousand. Now, come, we have got our two pictures. I'm sick of the +place." + +Harding had thought of staying on, just to see the end of the sale, +but it was easier to yield to Owen than to argue with him; besides, +he was anxious to see how the drawing would look on his wall. Of +course it was a Boucher. Stupid remarks were always floating about +Christie's. But he would know for certain as soon as he saw the +drawing in a new light. + +He was muttering "It is genuine enough," when his servant opened the +door--"Sir Owen Asher." + +"I see you have hung up the drawing. It looks very well, doesn't it. +You'll never regret having taken my advice." + +"Taken your advice!" Harding was about to answer. "But what is the +use in irritating the poor man? He is so much in love he hardly +knows what he is saying. Owen Asher advising me as to what I should +buy!" + +Owen went over and looked into Harding's Ingres. + +"Every time one sees it one likes it better." And they talked about +Ingres for some time, until Owen's thoughts went back to Evelyn, and +looking from the portrait by Ingres to the drawing by Boucher he +seemed suddenly to lose control; tears rose to his eyes, and Harding +watched him, wondering whither Owen's imagination carried him. "Is +he far away in Paris, hearing her sing for the first time to Madame +Savelli? Or is he standing with her looking over the bulwarks of the +_Medusa_, seeing the shape of some Greek island dying in the +twilight?" And Harding did not speak, feeling the lover's meditation +to be sacred. Owen flung himself into an arm-chair, and without +withdrawing his eyes from the picture, said, relying on Harding's +friendship: + +"It is very like her, it is really very like her. I am much obliged +to you, Harding, for having bought it. I shall come here to see it +occasionally." + +"And I'll present you with a key, so that when I am away you can +spend your leisure in front of the picture.... Do you know whom I +shall feel like? Like the friend of King Condules." + +"But she'll not ask you to conspire to assassinate me. My murder +would profit you nothing. All the same, Harding, now I come to think +of it, there's a good deal of that queen in Evelyn, or did she +merely desire to take advantage of the excuse to get rid of her +husband?" + +"Ancient myths are never very explicit; one reads whatever psychology +one likes into them. Perhaps that is why they never grow old." + +The door opened... Harding's servant brought in a parcel of proofs. + +"My dear Asher, the proof of an article has just come, and the editor +tells me he'll be much obliged if I look through it at once." + +"Shall I wait?" + +"Well, I'd sooner you didn't. Correcting a proof with me means a +rewriting, and--" + +"You can't concentrate your thoughts while I am roving about the +room. I understand. Are you dining anywhere?" + +"I'm not engaged." + +The thought crossed Harding's mind when Owen left the room that it +would be better perhaps to write saying that the proofs detained +him, for to spend the evening with Owen would prove wearisome. "No +matter what the subject of conversation may be his mind will go back +to her very soon.... But to leave him alone all the evening would be +selfish, and if I don't dine with him I shall have to dine +alone...." Harding turned to his writing-table, worked on his proof +for a couple of hours, and then went to meet Owen, whom he found +waiting for him at his club. + +"My dear friend, I quite agree with you," he said, sitting down to +the table; "what you want is change." + +"Do you think, Harding, I shall find any interest again in anything?" + +"Of course you will, my dear friend, of course you will." And he +spoke to his friend of ruined palaces and bas-reliefs; Owen listened +vaguely, begging of him at last to come with him. + +"It will give you ideas, Harding; you will write better." + +Harding shook his head, for it did not seem to him to be his destiny +to relieve the tedium of a yachting excursion in the Mediterranean. + + + +V + +"One cannot yacht in the Baltic or in the Gulf of Mexico," Owen said, +and he went to the Mediterranean again to sail about the _AEgean_ +Islands, wondering if he should land, changing his mind, deciding +suddenly that the celebrated site he was going to see would not +interest him. He would stand watching the rocky height dying down, +his eyes fixed on the blue horizon, thinking of some Emperor's +palace amid the Illyrian hills, till, acting on a sudden impulse, he +would call an order to the skipper, an order which he would +countermand next day. A few days after the yacht would sail towards +the Acropolis as though Owen had intended to drop anchor in the +Piraeeus. But he was too immersed in his grief, he thought, to be +able to give his attention to ruins, whether Roman or Greek. All the +same, he would have to decide if he would return to the islands. He +did not know them all; he had never been to Samos, famous for its +wine and its women.... The wine cloyed the palate and no woman +charmed him in the dance; and he sailed away wondering how he might +relieve the tedium of life, until one day, after long voyaging, +sufficiently recovered from his grief and himself, he leaned over +the taffrail, this time lost in admiration of the rocks and summits +above Syracuse, the Sicilian coasts carrying his thoughts out of the +present into the past, to those valleys where Theocritus watched his +"visionary flocks." + +"'His visionary flocks,'" he repeated, wondering if the beautiful +phrase had floated accidentally into his mind, hoping that it was +his own, and then abandoning hope, for he had nearly succeeded in +tracing the author of the phrase; but there was a vision in it more +intense than Tennyson's. "Visionary flocks!" For while the shepherds +watched Theocritus dreamed the immortal sheep and goats which tempt +us for an instant to become shepherds; but Owen knew that the real +flocks would seem unreal to him who knew the visionary ones, so he +turned away from the coasts without a desire in his heart to trouble +the shepherds in the valley with an offer of his services, and +walked up and down the deck thinking how he might obtain a +translation of the idyls. + +"Sicily, Sicily!" + +It was unendurable that his skipper should come at such a moment to +ask him if he would like to land at Palermo; for why should he land +in Sicily unless to meet the goatherd who in order to beguile +Thyrsis to sing the song of Daphnis told him that "his song was +sweeter than the music of yonder water that is poured from the high +face of the rock"? It was in Sicily that rugged Polyphemus, peering +over some cliffs, sought to discern Galatea in the foam; but before +Owen had time to recall the myth an indenture in the coast line, +revealing a field, reminded him how Proserpine, while gathering +flowers on the plains of Enna with her maidens, had been raped into +the shadows by the dark god. And looking on these waves, he +remembered that it was over them that Jupiter in the form of a bull, +a garlanded bull with crested horns, had sped, bearing Europa away +for his pleasure. Venus had been washed up by these waves! Poseidon! +Sirens and Tritons had disported themselves in this sea, the bluest +and the beautifullest, the one sea that mattered, more important +than all the oceans; the oceans might dry up to-morrow for all he +cared so long as this sea remained; and with the story of Theseus +and "lonely Ariadne on the wharf at Naxos" ringing in his ears he +looked to the north-east, whither lay the Cyclades and Propontis. +Medea, too, had been deserted--"Medea deadlier than the sea." Helen! +All the stories of the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey" had been lived +about these seas, from the coasts of Sicily to those of Asia Minor, +whence AEneas had made his way to Carthage. Dido, she, too, had been +deserted. All the great love stories of the world had been lived +about these shores and islands; his own story! And he mused for a +long time on the accident--if it were an accident--which had led him +back to this sea. Or had he returned to these shores and islands +merely because there was no other sea in which one could yacht? +Hardly, and he remembered with pleasure that his story differed from +the ancient stories only in this, that Evelyn had fled from him, not +be from her. And for such a woeful reason! That she might repent her +sins in a convent on the edge of Wimbledon Common, whereas Dido was +deserted for-- + +Again his infernal skipper hanging about. This time he had come with +news that the _Medusa_ was running short of provisions. Would Sir +Owen prefer that they should put in at Palermo or Tunis? + +"Tunis, Tunis." + +The steerman put down the helm, and the fore and aft sails went over. +Three days later the _Medusa_ dropped her anchor in the Bay of +Tunis, and his skipper was again asking Owen for orders. + +"Just take her round to Alexandria and wait for me there," he +answered, feeling he would not be free from England till she was +gone. It was his wish to get away from civilisation for a while, to +hear Arabic, to learn it if he could, to wear a bournous, to ride +Arab horses, live in a tent, to disappear in the desert, yes, and to +be remembered as the last lover of the Mediterranean--that would be +_une belle fin de vie, apres tout_. + +Then he laughed at his dreams, but they amused him; he liked to look +upon his story as one of the love stories of the world. Rome had +robbed Dido of her lover and him of his mistress. So far as he could +see, the better story was the last, and his thoughts turned +willingly to the Virgil who would arise centuries hence to tell it. +One thing, however, puzzled him. Would the subject-matter he was +creating for the future poet be spoilt if he were to fall in love +with an Arab maiden, some little statuette carved in yellow ivory? +Or would it be enhanced? Would the future Virgil regard her as an +assuagement, a balm? Owen laughed at himself and his dream. But his +mood drifted into sadness; and he asked if Evelyn should be +punished. If so, what punishment would the poet devise for her? In +Theocritus somebody had been punished: a cruel one, who had refused +to relieve the burden of desire even with a kiss, had been killed by +a seemingly miraculous interposition of Love, who, angered at the +sight of the unhappy lover hanging from the neck by the lintel of +the doorpost, fell from his pedestal upon the beloved, while +he stood heart-set watching the bathers in the beautiful +bathing-places. + +But Owen could not bring himself to wish for Evelyn's death by the +falling of a statue of Our Lady or St. Joseph; such a death would be +a contemptible one, and he could not wish that anything contemptible +should happen to her, however cruelly she had made him suffer. No, +he did not wish that any punishment should befall her; the fault was +not hers. And he returned in thought to the end which he had devised +for himself--a passing into the desert, leaving no trace but the +single fact that on a certain day he had joined a caravan. Going +whither? Timbuctoo? To be slain there--an English traveller seeking +forgetfulness of a cruel mistress--would be a romantic end for him! +But if his end were captivity, slavery? His thoughts turned from +Timbuctoo to one of the many oases between Tunis and the Soudan. In +one of these it would be possible to make friends with an Arab +chieftain and to live. But would she, whose body was the colour of +amber, or the desert, or any other invention his fancy might devise, +relieve him from the soul-sickness from which he suffered? It seemed +to him that nothing would. All the same, he would have to try to +forget her, "Evelyn, Evelyn." + +The bournous which his Arab servant brought in at that moment might +help him. A change of language would be a help, and he might become +a Moslem--for he believed in Mohammedanism as much as in +Christianity; and an acceptance of the Koran would facilitate +travelling in the desert. That and a little Arabic, a few mouthfuls, +and no Mahdi would dare to enslave him.... But if he were only sure +that none would! + +Outside horses were stamping, his escort, seven Arab horses with +seven Arabs from the desert, or thereabout, in high-pummelled +saddles, wearing white bournous, their brown, lean hands grasping +long-barrelled guns with small carven stocks. The white Arab which +Owen had purchased yesterday waited, the saddle empty; and, looking +at him before mounting, Owen thought the horse the most beautiful +thing he had ever seen, more like an ornament than a live thing, an +object of luxury rather than of utility. Was he really going to ride +this horse for many hours? To do so seemed like making a drudge of +some beautiful woman. The horse's quarters curved like a woman's, a +woman's skin was hardly finer, nor were a woman's wrists and hands, +though she cared for them ever so much, shaping them with files, and +polishing them with powders, more delicate than the fetlock and hoof +of this wonderful horse. Nor was any woman's eye more beautiful, nor +any woman's ears more finely shaped; and the horse's muzzle came to +such a little point that one would have been inclined to bring him +water in a tumbler. The accoutrements were all Arab; and Owen +admired the heavy bits, furnished with many rings and chains, severe +curbs, demanding the lightest handling, without being able to guess +their use. But in the desert one rides like the Arab, and it would +be ridiculous to go away to the Sahara hanging on to a snaffle like +an Irishman out hunting. + +So he mounted, and the cavalcade started amid much noise and dust, +which followed it until it turned from the road into the scrub. A +heavy dew had fallen during the night, and it glittered like silver +rain, producing a slight mirage, which deceived nobody, but which +prevented Owen from seeing what the country was like, until the sun +shone out. Then he saw that they were crossing an uncultivated +rather than a sterile plain, and the word "wilderness" came up in +his mind, for the only trees and plants he saw were wildings, wild +artichokes, tall stems, of no definite colour, with hairy fruits; +rosemary, lavender and yellow broom, and half-naked bushes stripped +of their foliage by the summer heat, covered with dust; nowhere a +blade of grass--an indurated plain, chapped, rotted by stagnant +waters, burnt again by the sun. And they rode over this plain for +hours, the horses avoiding the baked earth, choosing the softer +places where there was a litter of leaves or moss. Sometimes the +cavalcade divided into twos and threes, sometimes it formed into a +little group riding to the right or left, with Owen and his dragoman +in front, Owen trying to learn Arabic from the dragoman, the lesson +interrupted continually by some new sight: by a cloud of thistledown +hovering over a great purple field, rising and falling, for there +was not wind enough to carry the seed away; by some white vapour on +the horizon, which his dragoman told him was the smoke of Arabs +clearing the scrub. + +"A primitive method, and an easy one, saving the labour of billhook +and axe." About nine o'clock he saw some woods lying to the +north-west. But the horses' heads were turned eastward to avoid an arm +of a great marsh, extending northward to the horizon. It was then +that, wearying of trying to get his tongue round certain Arabic words, +he rode away from his dragoman, and tried to define the landscape as a +painter would; but it was all too vast, and all detail was lost in +the vastness, and all was alike. So, abandoning the pictorial, he +philosophised, discovering the fallacy of the old saying that we owe +everything to the earth, the mother of all. "We owe her very little. +The debt is on her side," he muttered. "It is we who make her so +beautiful, finding in the wilderness a garden and a statue in a +marble block. Man is everything." And the words put the thought into +his mind that although they had been travelling for many hours they +had not yet seen a human being, nor yet an animal. Whither the Arabs +had gone the dragoman could not tell him; he could only say they came +to this plain for the spring pasture; their summer pastures were +elsewhere, and he pointed to an old olive, brown and bent by the +wind, telling Owen it was deemed a sacred tree, to which sterile +women came to hang votive offerings. Owen reined up his horse in +front of it, and they resumed their journey, meeting with nothing +they had not met with before, unless, perhaps, a singular group of +date-palms gathered together at one spot, forerunners of the desert, +keeping each other company, struggling for life in a climate which +was not theirs. + +At eleven o'clock a halt was made in the bed of a great river +enclosed within steep mudbanks, now nearly as dry as the river they +had crossed in the morning; only a few inches of turbid water, at +which a long herd of cattle was drinking when they arrived; the +banks planted with great trees, olives, tamarisks, and masticks. At +three o'clock they were again in the saddle, and they rode on, +leaving to the left an encampment (the dragoman told Owen the name of +the tribe), some wandering horses, and some camels. The camels, who +appeared to have lost themselves, did not gallop away like the +horses, but came forward and peaceably watched the cavalcade +passing, absent-minded, bored ruminants, with something always on +their minds. The sobriety of these animals astonished him. "They're +not greedy, and they are never thirsty. Of what do they remind me?" +And Owen thought for a while, till catching sight of their long +fleecy necks, bending like the necks of birds, and ending in long +flexible lips (it was the lips that gave him the clue he was +seeking), he said, "The Nonconformists of the four-footed world," +and he told his joke to his dragoman, without, however, being able +to make him understand. + +"These Arabs have no sense of humour," he muttered, as he rode away. + +The only human beings he saw on that long day's journey were three +shepherds--two youths and an old man; the elder youth, standing on a +low wall, which might be Roman or Carthaginian, Turkish or Arabian +(an antiquarian would doubtless have evolved the history of four +great nations from it), watched a flock of large-tailed sheep and +black goats, and blew into his flageolet, drawing from it, not +music, only sounds without measure or rhythm, which the wind carried +down the valley, causing the sheep-dog to rise up from the rock on +which he was lying and to howl dismally. Near by the old man walked, +leaning on the arm of the younger brother, a boy of sixteen. Both +wore shepherd's garb--tunics fitting tight to the waist, large +plaited hats, and sandals cut from sheep-skin. The old man's eyes +were weak and red, and he blinked them so constantly that Owen +thought he must be blind; and the boy was so beautiful that one of +the Arabs cried out to him, in the noble form of Arab salutation: + +"Hail to thee, Jacob, son of Isaac; and hail to thy father." + +Owen repeated the names "Jacob!" "Isaac!" a light came into his face, +and he drew himself up in his saddle, understanding suddenly that he +had fallen out of the "Odyssey," landing in the very midst of the +Bible; for there it was, walking about him: Abraham and Isaac, the +old man willing to sacrifice his son to please some implacable God +hidden behind a cloud; Jacob selling his birthright to Esau, the +birthright of camels, sheep, and goats. And down his mind floated the +story of Joseph sold by his brethren, and that of Ruth and Boaz: +"Thy people shall be my people, thy God shall be my God," a story of +corn rather than of flocks and herds. For the sake of Boaz she would +accept Yahveh. But would he accept such a God for Evelyn's sake, and +such a brute?--always telling his people if they continued to adore +him they would be given not only strength to overcome their enemies, +but even the pleasure of dashing out the brains of their enemies' +children against the stones; and thinking of the many apocalyptic +inventions, the many-headed beasts of Isaiah, the Cherubim and +Seraphim, who were not stalwart and beautiful angels, but +many-headed beasts from Babylonia, Owen remembered that these +revolting monsters had been made beautiful in the AEgean: sullen +Astaarte, desiring sacrifice and immolation, had risen from the +waters, a ravishing goddess with winged Loves marvelling about her, +Loves with conches to their lips, blowing the glad news to the world. + +"How the thought wanders!" he said, "A moment ago I was among the +abominations of Isaiah. Now I am back, if not with the Greek Venus, +'whom men no longer call the Erecine,' at all events with an +enchanting Parisian, nearly as beautiful, and more delightful--a +voluptuous goddess, laughing amid her hair, drawn less austerely +than Ingres, but much more firmly than Boucher or Fragonard... a +fragrant goddess." + +And meditating with half his mind, he admired the endurance of his +horse with the other, who, though he could neither trot, nor gallop, +nor walk, could amble deliciously. + +"If not a meditative animal himself, his gait conduces to +meditation," Owen said, and he continued to dream that art could +only be said to have flourished among Mediterranean peoples, until +he was roused from his reverie by his horse, who suddenly pricked up +his ears and broke into a canter. He had been travelling since six +in the morning, and it was now evening; but he was fresh enough to +prick up his ears, scenting, no doubt, an encampment, the ashes of +former fires, the litter left by some wayfarers, desert wanderers, +bedouins, Hebrews. + +Owen began his dream again, and he could do so without danger, for +his horse hardly required the direction of the bridle even in the +thick wood; and while admiring his horse's sagacity in avoiding the +trees he pursued his theological fancies, an admirable stillness +gathering the while, shadows descending, unaccompanied by the +slightest wind, and no sound. Yes, a faint sound! And reigning in +his horse, he listened, and all the Arabs about him listened, to the +babble coming up through the evening--a soft liquid talking like the +splashing of water, or the sound of wings, or the mingling of both, +some language more liquid than Italian. What language was being +spoken over yonder? One of the Arabs answered, "It is the voice of +the lake." + +As the cavalcade rode out of the wood the lake lay a glittering +mirror before Owen, about a mile wide; he could not determine its +length, for the lake disappeared into a distant horizon, into a +semblance of low shores, still as stagnant water, reflecting the +golden purple of the sunset, and covered with millions of waterfowl. +The multitude swimming together formed an indecisive pattern, like a +vague, weedy scum collected on the surface of a marsh. Ducks, teal, +widgeon, coots, and divers were recognisable, despite the distance, +by their prow-like heads, their balance on the water, and their +motion through it, "like little galleys," Owen said. Nearer, in the +reeds agitated with millions of unseen inhabitants, snipe came and +went in wisps, uttering an abrupt cry, going away in a short, +crooked flight and falling abruptly. In the distance he saw grey +herons and ibises from Egypt. The sky darkened, and through the dusk, +from over the hills, thousands of birds continued to arrive, +creating a wind in the poplars. Like an army marching past, +battalion succeeded battalion at intervals of a few seconds; and the +mass, unwinding like a great ribbon, stretched across the lake. Then +the mist gathered, blotting out everything, all noise ceased, and +the lake itself disappeared in the mist. + +Turning in the saddle, Owen saw a hillock and five olive-trees. A +fire was burning. This was the encampment. + + + +VI + +He had undertaken this long journey in the wilderness for the sake of +a few days' falconry, and dreaded a disappointment, for all his life +long, intermittently of course, he had been interested in hawks. As +a boy he had dreamed of training hawks, and remembered one taken by +him from the nest, or maybe a gamekeeper had brought it to him, it +was long ago; but the bird itself was remembered very well, a large, +grey hawk--a goshawk he believed it to be, though the bird is rare +in England. As he lay, seeking sleep, he could see himself a boy +again, going into a certain room to feed his hawk. It was getting +very tame, coming to his wrist, taking food from his fingers, and, +not noticing the open window, he had taken the hawk out of its cage. +Was the hawk kept in a cage or chained to the perch? He could not +remember, but what he did remember, and very well, was the moment +when the bird fluttered towards the window; he could see it resting +on the sill, hesitating a moment, doubting its power of flight. But +it had ventured out in the air and had reached a birch, on which it +alighted. There had been a rush downstairs and out of the house, but +the hawk was no longer in the birch, and was never seen by him +again, yet it persisted in his memory. + +The sport of hawking is not quite extinct in England, and at various +times he had caused inquiries to be made, and had arranged once to +go to the New Forest and on another occasion to Wiltshire. But +something had happened to prevent him going, and he had continued to +dream of hawking, of the mystery whereby the hawk could be called +out of the sky by the lure--some rags and worsted-work in the shape +of a bird whirled in the air at the end of a string. Why should the +hawk leave its prey for such a mock? Yet it did; and he had always +read everything that came under his hand about hawking with a +peculiar interest, and in exhibitions of pictures had always stood a +long time before pictures of hawking, however bad they might be. + +But Evelyn had turned his thoughts from sport to music, and gradually +he had become reconciled to the idea that his destiny was never to +see a hawk strike down a bird. But the occasion long looked for had +come at last, to-morrow morning the mystery of hawking would cease +to be a mystery for him any longer; and as he lay in his tent, +trying to get a few hours' sleep before dawn, he asked himself if +the realisation of his dream would profit him much, only the certain +knowledge that hawks stooped at their prey and returned to the lure; +another mystery would have been unravelled, and there were few left; +he doubted if there was another; all the sights and shows with which +life entices us were known to him, all but one, and the last would +go the way the others had gone. Or perhaps it were wiser to leave +the last mystery unravelled. + +Wrapping himself closer in his blanket he sought sleep again, +striving to quiet his thoughts; but they would not be quieted. All +kinds of vain questions ran on, questions to which the wisest have +never been able to find answers: if it were good or ill-fortune to +have been called out of the great void into life, if the gift of +life were one worth accepting, and if it had come to him in an +acceptable form. That night in his tent it seemed clear that it would +be better to range for ever, from oasis to oasis with the bedouins, +who were on their way to meet him, than to return to civilisation. +Of civilisation it seemed to him that he had had enough, and he +wondered if it were as valuable as many people thought; he had found +more pleasure in speaking with his dragoman, learning Arabic from +him, than in talking to educated men from the universities and such +like. Riches dry up the soul and are an obstacle to the development +of self. If he had not inherited Riversdale and its many occupations +and duties, he would be to-day an instinctive human being instead of +a scrapbook of culture. For a rich man there is no escape from +amusements which do not amuse; Riversdale had robbed him of himself, +of manhood; what he understood by manhood was not brawn, but +instincts, the calm of instincts in contradiction to the agitation of +nerves. It would have been better to have known only the simple +life, the life of these Arabs! Now they were singing about the camp +fires. Queer were the intervals, impossible of notation, but the +rhythms might be gathered... a symphony, a defined scheme.... The +monotony of the chant hushed his thoughts, and the sleep into which +he fell must have been a deep one. + +A long time seemed to have passed between sleeping and waking.... + +Throwing his blanket aside, he seized his revolvers. The night was +filled with cries as if the camp had been attacked. But the +disturbances was caused by the stampeding of the horses; three had +broken their tethers and had gone away, after first tumbling into +the reeds, over the hills, neighing frantically. As his horse was +not one of the three it did not matter; the Arabs would catch their +horses or would fail to catch them, and indifferent he stood watching +the moon hanging low over the landscape, a badly drawn circle, but +admirably soft to look upon, casting a gentle, mysterious light down +the lake. The silence was filled with the lake's warble, and the +ducks kept awake by the moon chattered as they dozed, a soft cooing +chatter like women gossiping; an Arab came from the wood with dry +branches; the flames leaped up, showing through the grey woof of the +tent; and, listening to the crackling, Owen muttered "Resinous +wood... tamarisk and mastic." He fell asleep soon after, and this +time his sleep was longer, though not so deep... He was watching +hawks flying in pursuit of a heron when a measured tramp of hooves +awoke him, and hard, guttural voices. + +"The Arabs have arrived," he said, and drawing aside the curtain of +his tent, he saw at least twenty coming through the blue dusk, white +bournous, scimitars, and long-barrelled guns! "Saharians from the +desert, the true bedouin." + +"The bedouin but not the true Saharian," his dragoman informed him. +And Owen retreated into his tent, thinking of the hawks which the +Arabs carried on their wrists, and how hawking had been declining in +Europe since the sixteenth century. But it still flourished in +Africa, where to-day is the same as yesterday. + +And while thinking of the hawks he heard the voices of the Arabs +growing angrier. Some four or five spurred their horses and were +about to ride away; but the dragoman called after them, and Owen +cried out, "As if it matters to me which hawk is flown first." The +quarrel waxed louder, and then suddenly ceased, and when Owen came +out of his tent he saw an Arab take the latchet of a bird's hood in +his teeth and pull the other end with his right hand. "A noble and +melancholy bird," he said, and he stood a long while admiring the +narrow, flattened head, the curved beak, so well designed to rend a +prey, and the round, clear eye, which appeared to see through him +and beyond him, and which in a few minutes would search the blue air +mile after mile. + +The hawk sprang from the wrist, and he watched the bird flying away, +like a wild bird, down the morning sky, which had begun in orange, +and was turning to crimson. "Never will they get that bird back! You +have lost your hawk," Owen said to the Arab. + +The Arab smiled, and taking a live pigeon out of his bournous, he +allowed it to flutter in the air for a moment, at the end of a +string. A moment was sufficient; the clear round eye had caught +sight of the flutter of wings, and soon came back, sailing past, +high up in the air. + +"A fine flight," the Arab said, "the bird is at pitch; now is the +time to flush the covey." A dog was sent forward, and a dozen +partridges got up. And they flew, the terrible hawk in pursuit, +fearing their natural enemy above them more than any rain of lead. +Owen pressed his horse into a gallop, and he saw the hawk drop out +of the sky. The partridge shrieked, and a few seconds afterwards some +feathers floated down the wind. + +Well, he had seen a falcon kill a partridge, but would the falconer +be able to lure back his hawk? That was what he wanted to see, and, +curious and interested as a boy in his first rat hunt, he galloped +forward until stopped by the falconer, who explained that the moment +was always an anxious one, for were the hawk approached from behind, +or approached suddenly, it "might carry"--that is to say, might bear +away its prey for a hundred yards, and when it had done this once it +would be likely to do so again, giving a good deal of trouble. The +falconer approached the hawk very gently, the bird raised its head to +look at the falconer, and immediately after dipped its beak again +into the partridge's breast. + +Owen expected the bird to fly away, but, continuing to approach, the +falconer stooped and reaching out his hand, drew the partridge +towards him, knowing the hawk would not leave it; and when he had +hold of the jesses, the head was cut from the partridge and opened, +for it is the brain the hawk loves; and the ferocity with which this +one picked out the eye and gobbled it awoke Owen's admiration again. + +"Verily, a thing beyond good and evil, a Nietzschean bird." + +He had seen a hawk flown and return to the lure, he had seen a hawk +stoop at its prey, and had seen a hawk recaptured; so the mystery of +hawking was at an end for him, the mystery had been unravelled, and +now there was nothing for him to do but to watch other birds and to +learn the art of hawking, for every flight would be different. + +The sun had risen, filling the air with a calm, reposeful glow; the +woods were silent, the boughs hung lifeless and melancholy, every +leaf distinct at the end of its stem, weary of its life, "unable to +take any further interest in anything" Owen said, and the cavalcade +rode on in silence. + +"A little too warm the day is, without sufficient zest in it," one of +the falconers remarked, for his hawk was flying lazily, only a few +yards above the ground, too idle to mount the sky, to get at pitch; +and as the bird passed him, Owen admired the thin body, and the +javelin-like head, and the soft silken wings, the feathered thighs, +and the talons so strong and fierce. + +"He will lose his bird if he doesn't get at pitch," the falconer +muttered, and he seemed ashamed of his hawk when it alighted in the +branches, and stood there preening itself in the vague sunlight. But +suddenly it woke up to its duty, and going in pursuit of a +partridge, stooped and brought it to earth. + +"A fine kill; we shall have some better sport with the ducks." + +Owen asked the dragoman to translate what the falconer said. + +"He said it was a fine kill. He is proud of his bird." + +Some Arabs rode away, and Owen heard that a boat would be required to +put up the ducks; and he was told the duck is the swiftest bird in +the air once it gets into flight, but if the peregrine is at pitch +it will stoop, and bring the duck to earth, though the duck is by +five times the heavier bird. The teal is a bird which is even more +difficult for the hawk to overtake, for it rises easier than the +duck; but if the hawk be at pitch it will strike down the quick teal. +One of the Arabs reined in his horse, and following the line of the +outstretched finger Owen saw far away in a small pool or plash of +water three teal swimming. As soon as the hawk swooped the teal +dived, but not the least disconcerted, the hawk, as if understanding +that the birds were going to be put up, rose to pitch and waited, +"quite professional like," Owen said. The beautiful little drake was +picked out of a tuft of alfa-grass. But perhaps it was the snipe that +afforded the best sport. + +At mid-day the falconers halted for rest and a meal, and Owen passed +all the hawks in review, learning that the male, the tercel, is not +so much prized in falconry as the female, which is larger and +fiercer. There was not one Barbary falcon, for on making inquiry +Owen was told that the bird he was looking at was a goshawk, a much +more beautiful hawk it seemed to him than the peregrine, especially +in colour; the wings were not so dark, inclining to slate, and under +the wings the breast was white, beautifully barred. It stood much +higher than the other hawks; and Owen admired the bird's tail, so +long, and he understood how it governed the bird's flight, even +before he was told that if a hawk lost one of its tail feathers it +would not be able to fly again that season unless the feather was +replaced; and the falconer showed Owen a supply of feathers, all +numbered, for it would not do to supply a missing third feather with +a fourth; and the splice was a needle inserted into the ends of the +feathers and bound fast with fine thread. The bird's beauty had not +escaped Owen's notice, but he had been so busy with the peregrines +all the morning that he had not had time to ask why this bird wore +no hood, and why it had not been flown. Now he learnt that the +gosshawk is a short-winged hawk, which does not go up in the air, and +get at pitch, and stoop at its prey like the peregrine, but flies +directly after it, capturing by speed of wing, and is used +principally for ground game, rabbits, and hares. He was told that it +seized the hare or the rabbit by the hind quarters and moved up, +finding the heart and lungs with its talons. So he waited eagerly +for a hare to steal out of the cover; but none appeared, much to the +bird's disappointment--a female, and a very fine specimen, singularly +tame and intelligent. The hawk seemed to understand quite well what +was happening, and watched for an opportunity of distinguishing +herself, looking round eagerly; and so eager was she that sometimes +she fell from the falconer's wrist, who took no notice, but let her +hang until she fluttered up again; and when Owen reproved his +cruelty, he answered: + +"She is a very intelligent bird and will not hang by her legs longer +than she wants to." + +It was in the afternoon that her chance came, and a rare one it was. +Two bustards rose out of a clump of cacti growing about a deserted +hermitage. The meeting of the birds must have been a chance one, for +they went in different directions, and flying swiftly, soon would +have put the desert between themselves, and the falconers, and each +other, if the bird going eastward had not been frightened by the +Arabs coming up from the lake, and, losing its head, it turned back, +and flying heavily over the hawking party, gave the goshawk her +single chance, a chance which was nearly being missed, the hawk not +making up her mind at once to go in pursuit; she had been used for +hunting ground game; and for some little while it was not certain +that the bustard would not get away; this would have been a pity, +for, as Owen learned afterwards, the bird is of great rarity, almost +unknown. + +"She will get him, she will get him!" the falconer cried, seeing his +hawk now flying with determination, and a moment after the bustard +was struck down. + +As far as sport was concerned the flight was not very interesting, +but the bustard is so rarely seen and so wary a bird that even the +Arabs, who are not sportsmen, will talk with interest about it, and +Owen rode up curious to see this almost fabulous bird, known in the +country as the habara, a bird which some ornithologists deny to be +the real bustard. Bustard or no bustard, the bird was very +beautiful, six or seven pounds in weight, the size of a small turkey, +and covered with the most beautiful feathers, pale yellow speckled +with brown, a long neck and a short, strong beak, long black legs +with three toes, the fourth, the spur, missing. That a hawk should +knock over a bustard had not happened often, and he regretted that +he knew not how to save the bird's skin, for though stuffed birds +are an abomination, one need not always be artistic. And there were +plenty at Riversdale. His grandfather had filled many cases, and this +rare bird merited the honour of stuffing. All the same, it would +have to be eaten, and with the trophy hanging on his saddle bow Owen +rode back to the encampment, little thinking he was riding to see +the flight which he had been longing to see all his life. + +One of the falconers had sent up a cast of hawks, and an Arab had +ridden forward in the hope of driving some ducks out of the reeds; +but instead a heron rose and, flopping his great wings, went away, +stately and decorative, into the western sky. The hawks were far +away down on the horizon, and there was a chance that they might +miss him; but the falconer waved his lure, and presently the hawks +came back; it was then only that the heron divined his danger, and +instead of trying to outdistance his pursuers as the other birds had +done, and at the cost of their lives, he flopped his wings more +vigorously, ringing his way up the sky, knowing, whether by past +experience or by instinct, that the hawks must get above him. And +the hawks went up, the birds getting above the heron. Soon the +attack would begin, and Owen remembered that the heron is armed with +a beak on which a hawk might be speared, for is it not recorded that +to defend himself the heron has raised his head and spitted the +descending hawk, the force of the blow breaking the heron's neck and +both birds coming down dead together. + +"Now will this happen?" he asked himself as he watched the birds now +well above the heron. "That one," Owen cried, "is about to stoop." + +And down came the hawk upon the heron, but the heron swerved +cleverly. Owen followed the beautiful shape of the bird's long neck +and beak, and the trailing legs. The second hawk stooped. "Ah! now +he is doomed," Owen cried. But again the heron dodged the hawk +cleverly, and the peregrine fell past him, and Owen saw the tail go +out, stopping the descent. + +Heron and hawks went away towards the desert, Owen galloping after +them, watching the aerial battle from his saddle, riding with loose +rein, holding the rein lightly between finger and thumb, leaving his +horse to pick his way. Again a hawk had reached a sufficient height +and stooped; again the heron dodged, and so the battle continued, +the hawks stooping again and again, but always missing the heron, +until at last, no doubt tired out, the heron failed to turn in time: +heron and hawk came toppling out of the sky together; but not too +quickly for the second hawk, which stooped and grappled the prey in +mid-air. + +Owen touched his horse with the spur; and, his eyes fixed on the spot +where he had seen the heron and hawks falling, he galloped, +regardless of every obstacle, forgetful that a trip would cost him a +broken bone, and that he was a long way from a surgeon. + +But Owen's horse picked his way very cleverly through the numerous +rubble-heaps, avoiding the great stones protruding from the sand.... +These seemed to be becoming more numerous; and Owen reined in his +horse.... He was amid the ruins of a once considerable city, of +which nothing remained but the outlying streets, some doorways, and +many tombs, open every one of them, as if the dead had already been +resurrected. Before him lay the broken lid of a sarcophagus and the +sarcophagus empty, a little sand from the desert replacing the ashes +of the dead man. Owen's horse approached it, mistaking it for a +drinking trough; "and it will serve for one," he said, "in a little +while after the next rainfall. Some broken capitals, fragments of +columns, a wall built of narrow bricks, a few inscriptions... all +that remains of Rome, dust and forgetfulness." + +About him the Arabs were seeking a heron and hawks; a falconer +galloped across the plain, waving a lure, in pursuit of another +hawk, so Owen was informed by his dragoman--as if falcon or heron +could interest him at that moment--and he continued to peer into the +inscription, leaving the Arabs to find the birds. And they were +discovered presently among some marbles, the heron's wings +outstretched in death, the great red wound in its breast making it +seem still more beautiful. + + + +VII + +The lake water was salt, but there was a spring among the hills, and +when the hawks were resting (they rested every second day) Owen +liked to go there and lie under the tamarisks, dreaming of Sicily, +of "the visionary flocks" and their shepherds no less visionary, +comparing the ideal with the real, for before him flocks grazed up +the hillside and his eyes followed the goats straying in quest of +branches, their horns tipped with the wonderful light which threw +everything into relief--the bournous of the passing bedouin, the +woman's veil, whether blue or grey, the queer architecture of the +camels and dromedaries coming up through a fold in the hills from +the lake, following the track of the caravans, their long, bird-like +necks swinging, looking, Owen thought, like a great flock of +migrating ostriches. + +It was pleasant to lie and dream this pastoral country and its +people, seen through a haze of fine weather which looked as if it +would never end. The swallows had just come over and were tired; +Owen was provoking enough to drive them out of the tamarisks just to +see how tired they were, and was sorry for one poor bird which could +hardly keep out of his way. Whence had they come? he asked, +returning to a couch of moss. Had any of them come from Riversdale? +Perhaps some had been hatched under his own eaves? (Any mention of +Riversdale was sufficient to soften Owen's heart.) And now under the +tamarisks his thoughts floated about that bleak house and its +colonnade, thinking of a white swallow which had appeared in the +park one year; friends were staying with him, every one had wanted +to shoot it, but leave had not been granted; and his natural +kindness of heart interested him as he lay in the shade of the +tamarisks, asking himself if the white swallow would appear, +thinking that the bird ought to nod to him as it passed, smiling at +the thought, and the smile dying as his dragoman approached; for he +was coming to teach him Arabic. Owen liked to exercise his +intelligence idly; a number of little phrases had already been picked +up, and his learning he tried on the bedouins as they came up the +hill from the lake, preferring speech with them rather than with his +own people, for his own people might affect to understand him, his +dragoman might have prompted them, whereas the new arrivals afforded +a more certain examination, and Owen was pleased when the bedouin +understood him. + +Next day he was hawking, and the day after he was again under the +tamarisks learning Arabic, and so the days went by between sport and +study without his perceiving them until one morning Owen found the +spring in possession of a considerable caravan, some five and twenty +or thirty camel-drivers and horsemen; and anxious to practise the +last phrases he had acquired, he went forward to meet the Saharians, +for they were easily recognisable as such by the blacker skin and a +pungent blackness in the eyes. The one addressed by Owen delighted +him by answering without hesitation: + +"From Laghouat." + +The hard, guttural sound he gave to the syllables threw the word into +wonderful picturesqueness, enchanting Owen. It was the first time he +had heard an Arab pronounce this word, so characteristically +African; and he asked him to say it again for the pleasure of +hearing it, liking the way the Saharian spoke it, with an accent at +once tender and proud, that of a native speaking of his country to +one who has never seen it. + +"How far away is--?" + +Owen tried to imitate the guttural. + +"Fifteen days' journey." + +"And what is the road like?" + +With the superlative gesture of an Arab the man showed the smooth +road passing by the encampment, moving his arms slowly from east to +west to indicate the circuit of the horizon. + +"That is the Sahara," he added, and Owen could see that for the +bedouin there was nothing in the world more beautiful than empty +space and low horizons. It was his intention to ask what were the +pleasures of the Sahara, but he had come to the end of his Arabic +and turned to his dragoman reluctantly. Dragoman and Saharian +engaged in conversation, and presently Owen learned that the birds in +the desert were sand grouse and blue pigeons, and when the Saharian +gathered that these did not afford sufficient sport he added, not +wishing a stranger should think his country wanting in anything: + +"There are gazelles." + +"But one cannot catch gazelles with hawks." + +"No," the Saharian answered, "but one can catch them with eagles." + +"Eagles!" Owen repeated. "Eagles flying after gazelles!" And he +looked into the Arab's face, lost in wonderment, seeing a +picturesque cavalcade going forth, all the horses beautiful, +champing at their bits. + +"But the Arab is too picturesque," he thought; for Owen, always +captious, was at that moment uncertain whether he should admire or +criticise; and the Arabs sat grandly upright in their high-pummelled +saddles of red leather or blue velvet their slippered feet thrust +into great stirrups. He liked the high-pummelled saddles; they were +comfortable to ride long distances in, and it was doubtless on these +high pummels that the Arabs carried the eagles (it would be +impossible to carry so large a bird on a gloved hand); and criticism +melted into admiration. He could see them riding out with the eagles +tied to the pummels of their saddles, looking into the yellow +desert; the adjective seemed to him vulgar--afterwards he discovered +the desert to be tawny. "It must be a wonderful sight... the gazelle +pursued by the eagle!" So he spoke at once to his dragoman, +telling him that he must prepare for a long march to the desert. + +"To the desert!" the dragoman repeated. + +"Yes, I want to see gazelles hunted by eagles," and the grave Arab +looked into Owen's blonde face, evidently thinking him a petulant +child. + +"But your Excellency--" He began to talk to Owen of the length of the +journey--twenty days at least; they would require seven, eight, or +ten camels; and Owen pointed to the camels of the bedouins from the +Sahara. The dragoman felt sure that his Excellency had not examined +the animals carefully; if his Excellency was as good a judge of +camels as he was of horses, he would see that these poor beasts +required rest; nor were they the kind suited to his Excellency. So +did he talk, making it plain that he did not wish to travel so far, +and when Owen admitted that he had not fixed a time to return to +Tunis the dragoman appeared more unwilling than ever. + +"Well, I must look out for another dragoman"; and remembering that +one of his escort spoke French, and that himself had learned a +little Arabic, he told the dragoman he might return to Tunis. + +"Well, my good man, what do you want me to do?" And seeing that the +matter would be arranged with or without him, the Arab offered his +assistance, which was accepted by Owen, and it now remained for the +new dragoman to pay commission to the last, and for both to arrange +with the Saharians for the purchase of their camels and their +guidance. Laghouat was Owen's destination; from thence he could +proceed farther into the desert and wander among the different +archipelagoes until the summer drove him northward. + +The sale of the camels--if not their sale, their hire--for so many +months was the subject of a long dispute in which Owen was advised +not to interfere. It would be beneath his dignity to offer any +opinion, so under the tamarisks he sat smoking, watching the Arabs +taking each other by the shoulders and talking with an extraordinary +volubility. It amused him to watch two who appeared to have come to +an understanding. "They're saying, 'Was there ever any one so +unreasonable? So-and-so, did you hear what he said?'" Drawing long +pipes from their girdles, these two would sit and smoke in silence +till from the seething crowd a word would reach them, and both would +rush back and engage in the discussion as violently as before. + +Sometimes everything seemed to have been arranged and the dragoman +approached Owen with a proposal, but before the proposal could be +put into words the discussion was renewed. + +"In England such a matter as the sale of a few camels would not +occupy more than half a dozen minutes." + +"All countries have their manners and all have their faults," the +dragoman answered, an answer which irritated Owen; but he had to +conceal his irritation, for to show it would only delay his +departure, and he was tired of hawking, tired of the lake and +anxious to see the great desert and its oases. And he felt it to be +shameful to curse the camels. Poor animals! they had come a long way +and required a few days' rest before beginning their journey +homewards. + +Three days after they were judged to be sufficiently rested; this did +not seem to be their opinion, for they bleated piteously when they +were called upon to kneel down, so that their packs might be put +upon them, and upon inquiring as to the meaning of their bleats Owen +was told they were asking for a cushion--"Put a cushion on my back +to save me from being skinned." + +"Hail to all!" + +And the different caravans turned north and south, Owen riding at the +head of his so that he might think undisturbed, for now that +everything had been decided, he was uncertain if the pleasure he +would get from seeing gazelles torn by eagles, would recompense him +for the trouble, expense, and fatigue of this long journey. He +turned his horse to the right, and moved round in his saddle, so +that he might observe the humps and the long, bird-like necks and the +shuffling gait of the camels. They never seemed to become ordinary to +him, and he liked them for their picturesqueness, deciding that the +word "picturesque" was as applicable to them as the word "beautiful" +is applicable to the horse. He liked to see these Arab horses +champing at their cruel bits, arching their crests; he liked their +shining quarters, his own horse a most beautiful, courageous, and +faithful animal, who would wait for him for hours, standing like a +wooden horse; Owen might let him wander at will: for he would answer +his whistle like a dog and present the left side for him to mount, +from long habit no doubt. And the moment Owen was in the saddle his +horse would draw up his neck and shake all the jingling +accoutrements with which he was covered, arch his neck, and spring +forward; and when he did this Owen always felt like an equestrian +statue. And he admired the camel-drivers, gaunt men so supple at the +knee that they could walk for miles, and when the camel broke into a +trot the camel-driver would trot with him. And the temperance of +these men was equal to that of their beasts, at least on the march; +a handful of flour which the camel-driver would work into a sort of +paste, and a drink from a skin was sufficient for a meal. Running by +the side of their beasts, they urged them forward with strange +cries; and they beguiled the march with songs. His musical instincts +were often awakened by these and by the chants which reached him +through the woof of his tent at night. He fell to dreaming of what a +musician might do with these rhythms until his thoughts faded into a +faint sleep, from which he was awakened suddenly by the neighing of +a horse: one had suddenly taken fire at the scent of a mare which a +breeze had carried through the darkness. + +The first bivouacs were the pleasantest part of his journey, despite +the fact that he could find no answer to the question why. he had +undertaken it, or why he was learning Arabic; all the same, these +days would never be forgotten; and he looked round... especially +these nights, every one distinct in his mind, the place where +yesterday's tent had been pitched, and the place where he had laid +his head a week ago, the stones which three nights ago had prevented +him from sleeping. + +"These experiences will form part of my life, a background, an +escapement from civilisation when I return to it. We must think a +little of the future--lay by a store like the bees"; and next +morning he looked round, his eyes delighting in the beauty of the +light. Truly a light sent from beyond skies in which during the +course of the day every shade of blue could be distinguished. A thin, +white cloud would appear towards evening, stretch like a skein of +white silk across the sky, to gather as the day declined into one +white cloud, which would disappear, little by little, into the +sunset. As Owen rode at the head of his cavalcade he watched this +cloud, growing smaller, and its diminishing often inspired the +thought of a ship entering into a harbour, sail dropping over sail. + +The pale autumn weather continued day after day; everything in the +landscape seemed fixed; and it seemed impossible to believe that +very soon dark clouds would roll overhead, and wind tear the trees, +and floods dangerous to man and horse rush down the peaceful river +beds, now nearly dry, only a trickle of water, losing itself among +sandy reaches. + +During the long march of twenty days the caravan passed through +almost every kind of scenery--long plains in which there was nothing +but reeds and tussocked grass, and these plains were succeeded by +stony hills covered with scrub. Again they caught sight of Arab +fires in the morning like a mist, at night lighting up the horizon; +and a few days afterwards they were riding through an oak forest +whose interspaces were surprisingly like the tapestries at +Riversdale, only no archer came forward to shoot the stag; and he +listened vainly, for the sounds of hunting horns. + +On debouching from the forest they passed through pleasantly watered +valleys, the hillsides of which were cultivated. It was pleasant to +see fields again, though they were but meagre Arab fields. All the +same Owen was glad to see the blue shadows of the woods marking the +edge of these fields, for they carried his thoughts back to England, +to his own fields, and in his mood of mind every remembrance of +England was agreeable. He was beginning to weary of wild nature, so +it was pleasant to see an Arab shepherd emerge from the scrub and +come forward to watch for a moment and then go away to the edge of a +ravine where his goats were browsing, and sit upon a rock, followed +by a yellow dog with a pointed face like a fox. It was pleasant, +too, to discover the tents of the tribe at a little distance, and +the next day to catch sight of a town, climbing a hill so steep that +it was matter for wonderment how camels could be driven through the +streets. + +The same beautiful weather continued--blue skies in which every shade +of blue could be studied; skies filled with larks, the true English +variety, the lark which goes about in couples, mounting the blue +air, singing, as they mounted, a passionate medley of notes, +interrupted by a still more passionate cry of two notes repeated +three or four times, followed again by the same disordered cadenzas. +The robin sings in autumn, and it seemed strange to Owen to hear this +bird singing a solitary little tune just as he sings it in England--a +melancholy little tune, quite different from the lark's passionate +outpouring, just its own quaint little avowal, somewhat +autobiographical, a human little admission that life, after all, is +a very sad thing even to the robin? Why shouldn't it be? for he is a +domestic bird of sedentary habits, and not at all suited to this +African landscape. All the same, it was nice to meet him there. A +blackbird started out of the scrub, chattered, and dived into a +thicket, just as he would in Riversdale. + +"The same things," Owen said, "all the world over." On passing +through a ravine an eagle rose from a jutting scarp; and looking up +the rocks, two or three hundred feet in height, Owen wondered if it +was among these cliffs the bird built its eerie, and how the young +birds were taken by the Arabs. Crows followed the caravan in great +numbers, and these reminded Owen of his gamekeeper, a solid man, six +feet high, with reddish whiskers, the most opaque Englishman Owen had +ever seen. "'We must get rid of some of them,'" Owen muttered, +quoting Burton. "'Terrible destructive, them birds,'" + +Among these remembrances of England, a jackal running across the +path, just as a fox would in England, reminded Owen that he was in +Africa; and though occasionally one meets an adder in England, one +meets them much more frequently in the North of Africa. It was +impossible to say how many Owen had not seen lying in front of his +horse like dead sticks. As the cavalcade passed they would twist +themselves down a hole. As for rats, they seemed to be everywhere, +and at home everywhere, with the adders and with the rabbits; any +hole was good enough for the rat. The lizards were larger and uglier +than the English variety, and Owen never could bring himself to look +upon them with anything but disgust--their blunt head, the viscous +jaws exuding some sort of scum; and he left them to continue their +eternal siesta in the warm sand. + +That evening, after passing through a succession of hills and narrow +valleys, the caravan entered the southern plain, an immense +perspective of twenty or thirty miles; and Owen reined up his horse +and sat at gaze, watching the dim greenness of the alfa-grass +striped with long rays of pale light and grey shadows. But the +extent of the plain could not be properly measured, for the sky was +darkening above the horizon. + +"The rainy season is at hand," Owen said; and he watched the clouds +gathering rapidly into storm in the middle of the sky. Now and +again, when the clouds divided, a glimpse was gotten of a range of +mountains, seven crests--"seven heads," the dragoman called them, +and he told Owen the name in Arabic. These mountains were reached +the following day, and, after passing through numberless defiles, +the caravan debouched on a plain covered with stones, bright as if +they had been polished by hand--a naked country torn by the sun, in +which nothing grew, not even a thistle. In the distance were hills +whose outline zigzagged, now into points like a saw, and now into +long sweeping curves like a scythe; and these hills were full of +narrow valleys, bare as threshing-floors. The heat hung in these +valleys, and Owen rode through them, choking, for the space of a long +windless day, in which nothing was heard except the sound of the +horses' hooves and the caw of a crow flying through the vague +immensity. + +But the ugliness of these valleys was exceeded by the ugliness of the +marsh at whose edge they encamped next day--a black, evil-smelling +marsh full of reeds and nothing more. The question arose whether +potable water would be found, and they all went out, Owen included, +to search for a spring. + +After searching for some time one was found in possession of a number +of grey vultures and enormous crows, ranged in a line along the +edges, and in the distance these seemed like men stooping in a hurry +to drink. It was necessary to fire a gun to disperse these sinister +pilgrims. But in the Sahara a spring is always welcome, even when it +carries a taste of magnesia; and there was one in the water they had +discovered, not sufficient to discourage the camels, who drank +freely enough, but enough to cause Owen to make a wry face after +drinking. All the same, it was better than the water they carried in +the skins. The silence was extraordinary, and, hearing the teeth of +the camels shearing the low bushes of their leaves, Owen looked +round, surprised by the strange resonance of the air and the +peculiar tone of blue in the sky, trivial signs in themselves, but +recognisable after the long drought. He remembered how he had +experienced for the last few days a presentiment that rain was not +far off, a presentiment which he could not attribute to his +imagination, and which was now about to be verified. A large cloud +was coming up, a few heavy drops fell, and during the night the rain +pattered on the canvas; and he fell asleep, hoping that the morning +would be fine, though he had been told the rain would not cease for +days; and they were still several days' journey from Laghouat, where +they would get certain news of eagles and gazelles, for the Arab who +had first told Owen about the gazelle-hunters admitted (Owen cursed +him for not having admitted it before) that the gazelles did not +come down from the hills until after the rains and the new grass +began to spring up. + +All the next day the rain continued. Owen watched it falling into the +yellow sand blown into endless hillocks; "Very drie, very drie," he +said, recalling a phrase of his own north country. Overhead a low +grey sky stooped, with hardly any movement in it, the grey moving +slowly as the caravan struggled on through grey and yellow colour-- +the colour of emptiness, of the very void. It seemed to him that he +could not get any wetter; but there is no end to the amount of +moisture clothes can absorb, a bournous especially, and soon the rain +was pouring down Owen's neck; but he would not be better off if he +ordered the caravan to stop and his servants to pitch his tent under +a sand-dune. Besides, it would be dangerous to do this, for the wind +was rising, and their hope was to reach a caravansary before +nightfall. + +"And it is not yet mid-day," Owen said to himself, thinking of the +endless hours that lay before him, and of his wonderful horse, so +courageous and so patient in adversity, never complaining, though he +sank at every step to over his fetlocks in the sand. Owen wondered +what the animal was thinking about, for he seemed quite cheerful, +neighing when Owen leaned forward and petted him. To lean forward +and stroke his horse's neck, and speak a few words of encouragement +to one who needed no encouragement, was all there was for him to do +during that long day's march. + +"If he could only speak to me," Owen said, feeling he needed +encouragement; and he tried to take refuge in the past, trying to +memorise his life, what it had been from the beginning, just as if +he were going to write a book. When his memory failed him he called +his dragoman and began an Arabic lesson. It is hard to learn Arabic +at any time, and impossible to learn it in the rain; and after +acquiring a few words he would ride up and down, trying the new +phrases upon the camel-drivers, admirable men who never complained, +running alongside of their animals, urging them forward with strange +cries. Owen admired their patience; but their cries in the end +jarred his highly-strong nerves, and he asked himself if it were not +possible for them to drive camels without uttering such horrible +sounds, and appealed to the dragoman, who advised him to allow the +drivers to do their business as they were in the habit of doing it, +for it was imperative they should reach the caravansary that night. +The wind was rising, and storms in the desert are not only +unpleasant, but dangerous. Owen tried to fall asleep in the saddle, +and he almost succeeded in dozing; anyhow, he seemed to wake from +some sort of stupor at the end of the day, just before nightfall, +for he started, and nearly fell, when his dragoman called to him, +telling him they were about to enter the ravine on the borders of +which the caravansary was situated. + +The first thing he saw were three palm-trees, yellow trees torn and +broken, and there were two more a little farther on; and there was a +great noise in their crowns when the caravan drew up before the +walls of the caravansary--five palms, the wind turning their crowns +inside out like umbrellas, horrible and black, standing out in livid +lines upon a sky that was altogether black; four; great walls, and +on two sides of the square an open gallery, a shelter for horses; in +the corner rooms without windows, and open doorways. Owen chose one, +and the dragoman spoke of scorpions and vipers; and well he might do +so, for Owen drove a hissing serpent out of his room immediately +afterwards, killing it in the corridor. And then the question was, +could the doorway be barricaded in such a way as to prevent the +intrusion of further visitors? + +The wind continued to rise, and he lay rolled in his blanket, +uncomfortable, frightened, listening to the wind raging among the +rocks and palms, and, between his short, starting sleeps, wondering +if it would not have been better to lie in the ravine, in some +crevice, rather than in this verminous and viperous place. + +Next day he had an opportunity of contrasting the discomfort of the +caravansary with a bivouac under a rainy sky; for at nightfall, +within two days' journey of Laghouat, the caravan halted in a +desolate valley, shut in between two lines of reddish hills +seemingly as barren as the valley itself. After long searching in +the ravines a little brushwood was collected, and an attempt was made +to light a fire, which was unsuccessful. The only food they had that +night was a few dates and biscuits, and these were eaten under their +blankets in the rain, Owen having discovered that it was wetter in +his tent than without. This discomfort was the most serious he had +experienced, yet he felt it hardly at all, thinking that perhaps it +would have been very little use coming to the desert in a railway +train or in a mail coach. Only by such adventures is travel made +rememberable, and, looking out of his blankets, he was rewarded by a +sight which he felt would not be easily forgotten--the camels on +their knees about the drivers, who were feeding them from their +hands, the poor beasts leaning out their long necks to take what was +given to them--a wretched repast, yet their grunts were full of +satisfaction. + +In the morning, however, they were irritable, and bleated angrily +when asked to kneel down so that their packs might be put upon them; +but in the end they submitted, and Owen noticed a certain strain of +cheerfulness in their demeanour all that day. Perhaps they scented +their destination. Owen's horse certainly scented a stable within a +day's journey of Laghouat, for he pricked up his ears, and there was +nothing else but the instinct of a stable that could have induced +him to do so, for on their left was a sinister mountain--sinister +always, Owen thought, even in the sunlight, but more sinister than +ever in the rainy season, wrapped in a cloud, showing here and there +a peak when the clouds lifted. And no mountain seemed harder to +leave behind than this one. Owen, who knew that Laghouat was not +many miles distant, rode on in front, impatient to see the oasis +rise out of the desert. The wind still raged, driving the sand; and +before him stretched endless hillocks of yellow sand; and he +wandered among these, uncertain whither lay the road, until he +happened upon a little convoy bringing grain to the town. The convoy +turned to the left.... His mistake was that he had been looking to +the right. + +Laghouat, built among rocks, some of which were white, showed up high +above the plain; and, notwithstanding his desire for food and +shelter, he sat on his horse at gaze, interested in the ramparts of +this black town, defended by towers, outlined upon a grey sky. + + + +VIII + +"When a woman has seen the guest she no longer cares for the master." +An old hunter had told him this proverb, a lame, one-eyed man, an +outcast from his tribe, or very nearly, whose wife was so old that +Owen's presence afforded him no cause for jealousy, a friend of the +hunter who owned the eagles, so Owen discovered, but not until the +end of a week's acquaintance, which was strange, for he had seen a +great deal of this man in the last few days. The explanation he gave +one night in the cafe where Owen went to talk and drink with the +Spahis; coming in suddenly, and taking Owen away into a corner, he +explained that he had not told him before that his friend Tahar, he +who owned the eagles, had gone away to live in another oasis, +because it had not occurred to him that Owen was seeking Tahar, +fancying somehow that it was another--as if there were hundreds of +people in the Sahara who hunted gazelles with eagles! + +"_Grand Dieu_!" and Owen turned to his own dragoman, who happened to +be present. "_A-t-on jamais!_... _Ici depuis trois semaines!_" + +The dragoman, who expected an outburst, reminded Owen of the progress +he had made in Arabic, and of the storms of the last three weeks, +the rain and wind which had made travelling in the desert +impossible, and when Owen spoke of starting on the morrow the +dragoman shook his head, and the wind in the street convinced Owen +that he must remain where he was. + +"_Mais si j'avais su_--" + +The dragoman pointed out to him the terrible weather they had +experienced, and how glad he had been to find shelter in Laghouat. + +"_Oui, Sidna, vous etes maintenant au comble de regrets, mats pour +rien au monde vous n'auriez fait ces etapes vers le sud_." + +Owen felt that the man was right, though he would not admit it; the +camels themselves could hardly have been persuaded to undertake +another day's march; his horse--well, the vultures might have been +tearing him if he had persevered, so instead of going off in one of +his squibby little rages, which would have made him ridiculous, Owen +suddenly grew sad and invited the hunter to drink with him, and it +was arranged that as soon as the wind dropped the quest for Tahar +should be pursued. + +He would be found in an oasis not more than two days' journey from +Laghouat, so the hunter said, but the dragoman's opinion was that +the old hunter was not very sure; Tahar would be found there, and if +he were not there he was for certain in another oasis three or four +days still farther south. + +"But I cannot travel all over the Sahara in search of eagles." + +"If _Sidna_ would like to return to Tunis?" + +But to return to Tunis would mean returning to England, and Owen felt +that his business in the desert was not yet completed; as well +travel from one oasis to another in quest of eagles as anything +else, and three days afterwards he rode at the head of his caravan, +anxious to reach Ain Mahdy, trying to believe he had grown +interested in the Arab, and would like to see him living under the +rule of his own chief, even though the chief was, to a certain +extent, responsible to the French Government; still, to all intents +and purposes he would be a free Arab. Yes, and Owen thought he would +like to see a Kaid; and wondering what his reception would be like, +he rode through the desert thinking of the Kaid, his eyes fixed on +the great horizons which had re-appeared, having been lost for many +days in mist and rain. + +An exquisite silence vibrated through the great spaces, music for +harps rather than for violins, and Owen rode on, reaching the oasis, +as he had been told he would, at the end of the second day's +journey. When he arrived the Kaid was engaged in administering +justice, and Owen was forced _de faire un peu l'anti-chambre_; but +this was not disagreeable to him. The Arab court-house seemed to him +an excellent place for a lesson in the language; and the case the +Kaid was deciding was to his taste. A man was suing for divorce, and +for reasons which would have astonished Englishmen, and cause the +plaintiff to be hurled out of civilised society; but in the Sahara +the case did not strike anybody as unnatural; and Owen listened to +the woman telling her misfortunes under a veil. But though deeply +interested he was forced to leave the building; the flies plagued +him unendurably, and presently he found the flies had odious +auxiliaries in the carpet, and after explaining his torture to the +dragoman, who was not suffering at all, he left the building and +walked in the street. + +Half an hour after the Kaid came forward to meet him with a little +black sheep in his arms, struggling, frightened at finding itself +captured, bleating painfully. The wool was separated, and Owen was +invited to feel this living flesh, which in a few hours he would be +eating; it would have been impolite to the Kaid to refuse to feel +the sheep's ribs, so Owen complied, though he knew that doing so +would prevent him from enjoying his dinner, and he was very hungry +at the time. The sheep's eyes haunted him all through the meal, and +his pleasure was still further discounted by the news that though +the eagles were at Ain Mahdy, the owner having left them-- + +"Having left them," Owen repeated. "Good God! I was told he was +here." + +"He left here three days ago." + +Owen cursed his friend in Laghouat. If he had only told him in the +beginning of the week! The dragoman answered: + +"_Sidna, vous vous en souvenez_" + +"Speak to me in Arabic, damn you! There is nothing to do here but to +learn Arabic." + +"Quite true, _Sidna_, we shall not be able to start to-morrow; the +rains are beginning again." + +"Was there ever such luck as mine, to come to the desert, where it +never rains, and to find nothing but rain?"--rain which Owen had +never seen equalled except once in Connemara, where he had gone to +fish, and it annoyed him to hear that these torrential rains only +happened once every three or four years in the Sahara. He was too +annoyed to answer his dragoman.... _Enfin_, Tahar had left his +eagles at Ain Mahdy, and Owen fed them morning and evening, gorging +them with food, not knowing that one of the great difficulties is to +procure in the trained eagle sufficient hunger to induce him to +pursue the quarry. It was an accident that some friend of Tahar's +surprised Owen feeding the eagles and warned him. + +"These eagles will not be able to hunt for weeks now." + +Owen cursed himself and the universe, Allah and the God of Israel, +Christ and the prophets. + +"But, _Sidna_, their hunger can be excited by a drug, and this drug +is Tahar's secret." + +"Then to-morrow we start, though there be sand storms or rain storms, +whatever the weather may be." + +The dragoman condoned Owen's mistake in feeding the eagles. + +"The gazelles come down from the mountains after the rains; we shall +catch sight of some on our way." + +A few hours after he rode up to Owen and said, "Gazelles!" + +When he looked to the right of the sunset Owen could see yellow, +spotted with black; something was moving over yonder among the +patches of rosemary and lavender. + +The gazelles were far away when the caravan reached the rosemary, but +their smell remained, overpowering that of the rosemary and +lavender; it seemed as if the earth itself breathed nothing but +musk, and Owen's surprise increased when he saw the Arabs collecting +the droppings, and on asking what use could be made of these he was +told that when they were dried they were burnt as pastilles; when +the animal had been feeding upon rosemary and lavender they gave out +a delicious odour. + +Then the dragoman told Owen to prepare for sand grouse; and a short +while afterwards one of the Arabs cried, "Grouse! Grouse!" and a +pack of thirty or forty flew away, two falling into the sand. + +They came upon a river in flood, and while the Arabs sought a ford +Owen went in search of blue pigeons, and succeeded in shooting +several; and these were plucked and eaten by the camp fire that +night, the coldest he had known in the Sahara. When the fire burnt +down a little he awoke shivering. And he awoke shivering again at +daybreak; and the cavalcade continued its march across a plain, flat +and empty, through which the river's banks wound like a green +ribbon.... Some stunted vegetation rose in sight about midday, and +Owen thought that they were near the oasis towards which they were +journeying; but on approaching he saw that what he had mistaken for +an oasis was but the ruins of one that had perished last year owing +to a great drought, only a few dying palms remaining. Oases die, but +do new ones rise from the desert? he wondered. A ragged chain of +mountains, delightfully blue in the new spring weather, entertained +him all the way across an immense tract of barren country; and at +the end of it his searching eyes were rewarded by a sight of his +destination--some palms showing above the horizon on the evening +sky. + + + +IX + +As the caravan approached the beach he caught sight of an Arab, or +one whom he thought was an Arab, and riding straight up to him, Owen +asked: + +"Do you know Tahar?" + +"The hunter?" + +"Yes," and breathing a sigh, he said he had travelled hundreds of +miles in search of him--"and his eagles." + +"He left here two or three days ago for Ain Mahdy." + +"Left here! Good God!" and Owen threw up his arms. "Left two days +ago, and I have come from Ain Mahdy, nearly from Tunis, in search of +him! We have passed each other in the desert," he said, looking +round the great plain, made of space, solitude, and sun. It had +become odious to him suddenly, and he seemed to forget everything. + +As if taking pity on him, Monsieur Beclere asked him to stay with him +until Tahar returned. + +"We will hunt the gazelles together." + +"That is very kind of you." + +And Owen looked into the face of the man to whom he had introduced +himself so hurriedly. He had been so interested in Tahar, and so +overcame by the news of his absence, that he had not had time to +give a thought to the fact that the conversation was being carried +on in French. Now the thought suddenly came into his mind that the +man he was speaking to was not an Arab but a Frenchman. "He must +certainly be a Frenchman, no one but a Frenchman could express +himself so well in French." + +"You are very kind," he said, and they strolled up the oasis +together, Owen telling Monsieur Beclere that at first he had +mistaken him for an Arab. "Only your shoulders are broader, and you +are not so tall; you walk like an Arab, not quite so loosely, not +quite the Arab shuffle, but still--" + +"A cross between the European spring and the loose Arab stride?" + +"Do you always dress as an Arab?" + +"Yes, I have been here for thirty-one years, ever since I was +fourteen." Owen looked at him. + +"Here, in an oasis?" + +"Yes, in an oasis, a great deal of which I have created for myself. +The discovery of a Roman well enabled me to add many hundred +_hectares_ to my property. + +"The rediscovery of a Roman well!" + +"Yes. If the Sahara is barren, it is because there is no water." Owen +seemed to be on the verge of hearing the most interesting things +about underground lakes only twenty or thirty feet from the surface. +"But I will tell you more about them another time." + +Owen looked at Beclere again, thinking that he liked the broad, flat +strip of forehead between the dark eyebrows, and the dark hair, +streaked with grey, the eyes deep in the head, and of an acrid +blackness like an Arab's; the long, thin nose like an Arab's--a face +which could have had little difficulty in acquiring the Arab cast of +feature; and there had been time enough to acquire it, though +Beclere was not more than forty-five. + +"No doubt you speak Arabic like French." + +"Yes, I speak modern Arabic as easily as French. The language of the +Koran is different." And Beclere explained that there was no writing +done in the dialects. When an Arab wrote to another, he wrote in the +ancient language, which was understood everywhere. + +"You have learned a little Arabic, I see," Beclere said, and Owen +foresaw endless dialogues between himself and Monsieur Beclere, who +would instruct him on all the points which he was interested in. The +orchards they were passing through (apricot, apple, and pear-trees) +were coming into blossom. + +"I had expected oranges and lemons." + +"They don't grow well here, but we have nearly all our own +vegetables--haricot-beans, potatoes, artichokes, peas." + +"Of course there are no strawberries?" + +"No, we don't get any strawberries. There is my house." And within a +grove of beautiful trees, under which one could sit, Owen caught +sight of a house, half Oriental, half European. He admired the flat +roofs and the domes, which he felt sure rose above darkened rooms, +where Beclere and those who lived with him slept in the afternoons. +"You must be tired after your long ride, and would like to have a +bath." + +Owen followed Beclere through a courtyard, where a fountain sang in +dreamy heat and shade, bringing a little sensation of coolness into +the closed room, which did not strike him as being particularly +Moorish, notwithstanding the engraved brass lamps hanging from the +ceiling, and the Oriental carpet on the floor, and the screen inlaid +with mother-of-pearl. Owen did not know whether linen sheets were a +European convention, and could be admitted into an Eastern +dwelling-house, but he was not one of those who thought everything +should be in keeping. He liked incongruities, being an inveterate +romancist and only a bedouin by caprice. One appreciates sheets after +months of pilgrimage, and one appreciates a good meal after having +eaten nothing for a long while better than sand-goose roasted at the +camp fire. More than the pleasure of the table was the pleasure of +conversation with one speaking in his native language. Beclere's mind +interested him; it was so steady, it looked towards one point always. +That was his impression when he left his host after a talk lasting +till midnight; and, thinking of Beclere and his long journey to him, +he sat by his window watching stars of extraordinary brilliancy, and +breathing a fragrance rising from the tropical garden beneath him--a +fragrance which he recognised as that of roses; and this set him +thinking that it was the East that first cultivated roses; and amid +many memories of Persia and her poets, he threw himself into bed, +longing for sleep, for a darkness which, in a few hours, would pass +into a delicious consciousness of a garden under exquisite skies. + +His awakening was even more delightful than he anticipated. The +fragrance that filled his room had a magic in it which he had never +known before, and there was a murmur of doves in the palms and in +the dovecot hanging above the dog-kennel. As he lay between sleeping +and waking, a pair of pigeons flew past his window, their shadows +falling across his bed. An Arab came to conduct him to his bath; and +after bathing he returned to his room, glad to get into its sunlight +again, and to loiter in his dressing, standing by the window, +admiring the garden below, full of faint perfume. The roses were +already in blossom, and through an opening in the ilex-trees he +caught sight of a meadow overflowing with shadow, the shadow of +trees and clouds, and of goats too, for there was a herd feeding and +trying to escape from the shepherd (a young man wearing a white +bournous and a red felt cap) towards the garden, where there were +bushes. On the left, amid a group of palms, were the stables, and +Owen thought of his horse feeding and resting after his long +journey. And there were Beclere's horses too. Owen had not seen them +yet; nor had he seen the dog, nor the pigeons. This oasis was full +of pleasant things to see and investigate, and he hurried through his +meal, longing to get into the open air and to gather some roses. All +about him sounds were hushing, and lights breaking, and shadows +floating, and every breeze was scented. As he followed the +finely-sanded walks, he was startled by a new scent, and with dilating +nostrils tried to catch it, tried to remember if it were mastick or +some resinous fir; and, walking on like one in a trance, he admired +Beclere's taste in the planting of this garden. + +"A strange man, so refined and intelligent--why does he live here?... +Why not?" + +Returning suddenly to the ilex-trees, which he liked better than the +masticks, or the tamarisks, or any fir, he sat down to watch the +meadow, thinking there was nothing in the world more beautiful than +the moving of shadows of trees and clouds over young grass, and +nothing more beautiful than a young shepherd playing a flute: only +one thing more beautiful--a young girl carrying an amphora I She +passed out of the shadows, wearing a scarlet haik and on her arms and +neck a great deal of rough jewellery. + +"She is going to the well," he said. The shepherd stopped playing and +advanced to meet her. Boy and girl stood talking for a little while. +He heard laughter and speech... saw her coming towards him. "She +will follow this path to the house, and I shall see her better." A +little in front of the ilex-trees she stopped to look back upon the +shepherd, leaning the amphora upon her naked hip. The movement +lasted only a moment, but how beautiful it was! On catching sight of +Owen, she passed rapidly up the path, meeting Beclere on his way. + +"Speaking to him in Arabic," Owen said, as he continued to admire the +beautiful face he had just seen--a pointed oval, dark eyes, a small, +fine nose, red lips, and a skin the colour of yellow ivory. "Still a +child and already a woman, not more than twelve or thirteen at the +very most; the sun ripens them quickly." This child recalled a dream +which he had let drop in Tunis--a dream that he might go into the +desert and find an Arab maiden the colour of yellow ivory, and live +with her in an oasis, forgetful.... Only by a woman's help could he +ever forget Evelyn. The old bitterness welled up bitter as ever. +"And I thought she was beginning to be forgotten." + +In his youth he had wearied of women as a child wearies of toys. Few +women had outlasted the pleasure of a night, all becoming equally +insipid and tedious; but since he had met Evelyn he had loved no +other. Why did he love her? How was it he could not put her out of +his mind? Why couldn't he accept an Arab girl--Beclere's girl? She +was younger and more beautiful. If she did not belong to Beclere-- +Owen looked up and watched them, and seeing Beclere glance in the +direction of the shepherd, he added, "Or to the shepherd." + +The girl went into the house, and Beclere came down to meet his +guest, apologising for having left him so long alone.... He talked +to him about the beauty of the morning. The rains were over, or +nearly, but very often they began again. + +"_Cella se pent qu'elle ne soit qu'une courte embellie, mais +profitons en_," and they turned to admire the roses. + +"A beautiful girl, the one you were just speaking to." + +"Yes... yes; she is the handsomest in the oasis, and there are many +handsome girls here. The Arab race is beautiful, male and female. +Her brother, for instance, the shepherd--" + +"Her brother," Owen thought. "Ah!" They stopped to watch the +shepherd, a boy of sixteen. "About two years older than his sister," +Owen remarked, and Beclere acquiesced. The boy had begun to play his +flute again. He played at first listlessly, then with all his soul, +and then with extraordinary passion. Owen watched the balance of his +body and arms, and the movement, extraordinarily voluptuous, of his +neck and head. He played on, his breath coming at times so feebly +that there was hardly any sound at all, at other times awaking music +loud and imperative; and the two men stood listening, for how many +minutes they did not know, but for what seemed to them a long while. +Their reverie stopped when the music ceased. It was then that a +dun-coloured dove with a lilac neck flew through the garden and took +refuge in a palm, seen for a moment as she alighted on the flexible +djerrid on a background of blue air. She disappeared into the heart +of the tree; the leaves were again stirred. She cooed once or twice, +and then there was a hush and a stillness in every leaf. + +"You would like to see my property?" + +Owen said he would like to see all the oasis, or as much as they +could see of it in one day without fatiguing themselves. + +"You can see it all in a day, for it is but a small island, about a +thousand Arabs in the villages." + +"So many as that?" + +"Well, there has to be, in order to save ourselves from the predatory +bands which still exist, for, as I daresay you have already learned, +the Arabs are divided into two classes--the agricultural and the +nomadic. We have to be in sufficient numbers to save ourselves from +the nomads, otherwise we should be pillaged and harried from year's +end to year's end--all our crops and camels taken." + +"Border warfare--the same as existed in England in the Middle Ages." + +Beclere agreed that the unsettled vagrant civilisation which existed +in the North of Africa up to 1830--which in 1860 was beginning to +pass away, and the traces of which still survived in the nineties-- +resembled very much the border forays for which Northumberland is +still famous; and, walking through the palm-groves towards the Arab +village, they talked of the Arab race, listening all the while to +the singing of doves and of streams, Owen listless and happy. + +"But I shall remember her again presently, and the stab will be as +bitter as ever!" + +Beclere did not believe that the Arab race was ever as great a race +as we were inclined to give it credit for being. + +"All the same, if it hadn't been for your ancestors, we might have +all been Moslems now," Owen said, stopping to admire what remained +of the race which had conquered Spain and nearly conquered France. +"Now they are outcasts of our civilisation--but what noble outcasts! +That fellow, he is old, and without a corner, perhaps, where to lay +his head, but he walks magnificently in his ragged bournous. He is +poor, but he isn't a beggar; his life is sordid, but it isn't +trivial; he retains his grand walk and his solemn salute; and if he +has never created an art, himself is proof that he isn't without the +artistic sentiment." + +Beclere looked at Owen in surprise, and Owen, thinking to astonish +him, added: + +"His poverty and his filth are sublime; he is a Jew from Amsterdam +painted by Rembrandt, or a Jew from Palestine described by the +authors of the Pentateuch." + +"The Jew is a tougher fellow to deal with; he cannot be eradicated, +but the Arab was very nearly passing away. If he had insisted on +remaining the noble outcast which you admire, he would not have +survived the Red Indian many hundreds of years. I don't contest +whether to lose him would be a profit or a loss, but when +civilisation comes the native race must accept it or extinction." + +"I suppose you're right," Owen answered, "I suppose you're right." + +And they stopped to look at an Arab town; some of it was in the plain +below, some of it ran up the steep hillside, on the summit of which +was a ruined mosque. + +"Why did they choose to build up such a steep hillside?" + +"The oasis is limited, and the plain is devoted to orchards. Look at +the village! If you were to visit their town, you would not find a +street in which a camel could turn round, hardly any windows, and +the doors always half closed. They are still suspicious of us and +anxious to avoid our inquisition. Yes, that is the characteristic of +the Arab, to conceal himself; and his wife, and his business from +us." + +"One can sympathise with the desire to avoid inquisition, and +notwithstanding the genius of your race--no one is more sympathetic +to you than I am--yet it is impossible not to see that your fault is +red tapeism, and that is what the Arab hates. You see I understand." + +"I don't think I am unsympathetic, and the Arabs don't think it. +Perhaps there is no man in Africa who can travel as securely as I +can--even in the Soudan I should be well received--and what other +European could say as much? There must be something of the Arab in +me, otherwise I shouldn't have lived amongst them so long, nor +should I speak Arabic as easily as I do, nor should I look--remember, +you thought I was an Arab." + +"Yes, at first sight." + +The admission was given somewhat unwillingly, not because Owen saw +Beclere differently, he still saw an Arab exterior, but he had begun +to recognise him as a Frenchman. Race characteristics are generally +imaginary; there are, shall we say, twenty millions of Frenchmen in +France, and every one is different; how therefore is it possible to +speak of race characteristics? Still, if one may differentiate at +all between the French and English races (but is there a French and +English race?) we know there is a negro race because it is black-- +however, if there be any difference between England and France, the +difference is that France is more inclined to pedantry than England. +If one admits any race difference, one may admit this one; and, with +such thoughts in his mind, Owen began to perceive Beclere as the +typical French pedagogue, a clever man, one who if he had remained +in Paris would have become _un membre de l'Institut_. + +Beclere, _un membre de l'Institut_, talking to the beautiful girl +whom Owen had seen that morning! Owen smiled a little under his +moustache, and, as there was plenty of time for meditation while +waiting for Tahar to return from Ain Mahdy, he spent a great deal of +time wondering if any sensual relations existed between Beclere and +this girl. Beclere as a lover appeared to him anomalous and +disparate--that is how Beclere would word it himself, but these +pedants were very often serious sensualists. We easily associate +conventional morality with red-tapeism, for it seems impossible to +believe that the stodgy girl who spends her morning in the British +Museum working at the higher mathematics or Sanscrit is likely to +spend her afternoon in bed, yet this is what happens frequently; the +real sensualist is the pedant; "and, if one wants love, the real +genuine article," whispered a thought, "one must seek it among +clergymen's daughters." + +That girl Beclere's mistress! Why not? The thought pleased and amused +him, reconciled him to Beclere, whom he never should have thought +capable of such fine discrimination. But it did not follow that +because Beclere had chosen a beautiful girl to love he was +susceptible to artistic influences, sculpture excepted. Of the other +arts Owen felt instinctively that Beclere knew nothing; indeed, +yester evening, when he, Owen, had spoken of "The Ring," Beclere had +answered that his business in life had not allowed him to cultivate +musical tastes. He had once liked music, but now it interested him +no longer. + +"Tastes atrophy." + +"Of course they do," Owen had answered, and Beclere's knowledge of +himself propitiated Owen, who recognised a clever man in the remark, +a man of many sympathies, though the exterior was prosaic. All the +same Owen would have wished for some music in the evening, and for +some musical assistance, for while waiting for the eagles to arrive +he spent his time thinking how he might write the songs he heard +every morning among the palm-trees; written down they did not seem +nearly as original as they did on the lips, and Owen suspected his +notation to be deficient. A more skilful musician would be able to +get more of these rhythms on paper than he had been able to do, and +he regretted his failures, for it would be interesting to bring home +some copies of these songs just to show... + +But he would never see her again, so what was the good of writing +down these songs? What was the good of anything? A strange thing +life is, and he paused to consider how the slightest event, the fact +that he was unable to give complete expression on paper to an Arab +rhythm, brought the old pain back again, and every pang of it. Even +the society of Beclere was answerable for his suffering, and he +thought how he must go away and travel again; only open solitude and +wandering with rough men could still his pain; primitive Nature was +the one balm.... That fellow Tahar--why did he delay? Owen thought +of the eagles, the awful bird pursuing the fleeting deer, and +himself riding in pursuit. This was the life that would cure him-- +how soon? In three months? in six? in ten years? It would be strange +if he were to become a bedouin for love of her, and he walked on +thinking how they had lain together one night listening to the +silence, hearing nothing but an acacia moving outside their window. +Beclere was coming towards him and the vision vanished. + +"No news of Tahar yet?" + +"No; you are forgetting that we are living in an oasis, where letters +are not delivered, and where we bring news of ourselves, and where +no news is understood to mean that the spring we were hastening +towards was dry, or that a sand-storm--" + +"Sand-storms are rare at this season of the year." + +"An old bedouin like Tahar is safe enough. To-morrow or the day +after... but I see you are impatient, you are growing tired of my +company." + +Owen assured Beclere he was mistaken, only a sedentary life was +impossible to him, and he was anxious to be off again. + +"So there is something of the wanderer in you, for no business calls +you." + +"No, my agent manages everything for me; it is, I suppose, mere +restlessness." And Owen spoke of going in quest of Tahar. + +"To pass him again in the desert," and they went towards the point +where they might watch for Tahar, Beclere knowing by the sun the +direction in which to look. There was no route, nothing in the empty +space extending from their feet to the horizon--a line inscribed +across the empty sky--nothing to be seen although the sun hung in +the middle of the sky, the rays falling everywhere; it would have +seemed that the smallest object should be visible, but this was not +so--there was nothing. Even when he strained his eyes Owen could not +distinguish which was sand, which was earth, which was stone, even +the colour of the emptiness was undecided. Was it dun? Was it tawny? +Striving to express himself, Owen could find nothing more explicit +to say than that the colour of the desert was the colour of +emptiness, and they sat down trying to talk of falconry. But it was +impossible to talk in front of this trackless plain, _cela coupe la +parole_, flowing away to the south, to the west, to the east, ending-- +it was impossible to imagine it ending anywhere, no more than we +can imagine the ends of the sky; and the desert conveyed the same +impression of loneliness--in a small way, of course--as the great +darkness of the sky; "for the sky," Owen said, half to himself, half +to his companion, "is dark and cold the moment one gets beyond the +atmosphere of the earth." + +"The desert is, at all events, warm," Beclere interjected. + +Hot, trackless spaces, burning solitudes through which nobody ever +went or came. It was the silence that frightened Owen; not even in +the forest, in the dark solitudes avoided by the birds, is there +silence. There is a wind among the tree-tops, and when the wind is +still the branches sway a little; there is nearly always a swaying +among the branches, and even when there is none, the falling of some +giant too old to subsist longer breaks the silence, frightens the +wild beast, who retires growling. The sea conveys the same sense of +primal solitude as the forest, but it is less silent; the sea tears +among the rocks as if it would destroy the land, but when its rage +is over the sea laughs, and leaps, and caresses, and the day after +fawns upon the land, drawing itself up like a woman to her lover, as +voluptuously. Nowhere on earth only in the desert, is there silence; +even in the tomb there are worms, but in some parts of the desert +there are not even worms, the body dries into dust without decaying. +Owen imagined the resignation of the wanderer who finds no water at +the spring, and lies down to die amid the mighty indifference of +sterile Nature; and breaking the silence, somewhat against his will, +he communicated his thoughts to Beclere, that an unhappy man who +dare not take his life could not do better than to lose himself in +the desert. Death would come easily, for seeing nothing in front of +him but an empty horizon, nothing above him but a blank sky, and for +a little shelter a sand dune, which the wind created yesterday and +will uncreate to-morrow he would come to understand all that he need +know regarding his transitory and unimportant life. Does Nature care +whether we live or die? We have heard often that she cares not a jot +for the individual.... But does she care for the race--for mankind +more than for beastkind? His intelligence she smiles at, concerned +with the lizard as much as with the author of "The Ring." Does she +care for either? After all, what is Nature? We use words, but words +mean so little. What do we mean when we speak of Nature? Where does +Nature begin? Where does she end? And God? We talk of God, and we do +not know whether he sleeps, or drinks, or eats, whether he wears +clothes or goes naked; Moses saw his hinder parts, and he used to be +jealous and revengeful; but as man grows merciful God grows merciful +with him, we make him to our own likeness, and spend a great deal of +money on the making. + +"Yes, God is a great expense, but government would be impossible +without him." + +Beclere's answer jarred Owen's mood a little, without breaking it, +however, and he continued to talk of how words like "Nature," and +"God," and "Liberty" are on every lip, yet none is able to define +their meaning. Liberty he instanced as a word around which poems +have been written, "yet no poet could tell what he was writing +about; at best we can only say of liberty that we must surrender +something to gain something; in other words, liberty is a compromise, +for no one can be free to obey every impulse the moment one enters +into his being. + +"Good God, Beclere! it is terrible to think one knows nothing, and +life, like the desert, is full of solitude." + +Beclere did not answer, and, forgetful that it was impossible to +answer a cry of anguish, Owen began to suspect Beclere of thoughts +regarding the perfectibility of mankind, of thinking that with +patience and more perfect administration, &c. But Beclere was +thinking nothing of the kind; he was wondering what sort of reason +could have sent Owen out of England. Some desperate love affair +perhaps, his wife may have run away from him. But he did not try to +draw Owen into confidence, speaking instead of falconry and Tahar's +arrival, which could not be much longer delayed. + +"After all, if you had not missed him in the desert we never should +have known each other." + +"So much was gained, and if you ever come to England--" Beclere +smiled. "So you think we shall never meet again, and that we are +talking out our last talk on the edge of this gulf of sand?" + +"We shall meet again if you come to the desert to hunt with eagles." + +"But you will not come to England?" Beclere did not think it +necessary to answer. "But in France? You will return to France some +day?" + +"Why should I? Whom do I know in France? _Je ne suis plus un des +votres. Qu'irais-je y faire?_ But we are not talking for the last +time, Tahar has yet to arrive, he will be here to-morrow and we'll +go hunting; and after our hunting I hope to induce you to stop some +while longer. You see, you haven't seen the desert; the desert isn't +the desert in spring. To see the desert you will have to stop till +July. This sea of sand will then be a ring of fire, and that sky, +now so mild, will be dark blue and the sun will hang like a furnace +in the midst of it. Stay here even till May and you will see the +summer, _chez lui_." + + + +X + +At the beginning of July Owen appeared on the frontiers of Egypt +shrieking for a drink of clean water, and saying that the desire to +drink clean water out of a glass represented everything he had to +say for the moment about the desert; all the same, he continued to +tell of fetid, stale, putrid wells, and of the haunting terror with +which the Saharian starts in the morning lest he should find no +water at the nearest watering-place, only a green scum fouled by the +staling of horses and mules I Owen was as plain-spoken as +Shakespeare, so Harding said once, defending his friend's use of the +word "sweat" instead of "perspiration." There was no doubt the +language was deteriorating, becoming euphonistic; everybody was a +euphonist except Owen, who talked of his belly openly, blurting out +that he had vomited when he should have said he had been sick. There +were occasions when Harding did not spare Owen and laughed at his +peculiarities; but there was always a certain friendliness in his +malice, and Owen admired Harding's intelligence and looked forward +to a long evening with him almost as much as he had looked forward +to a drink of clean water. "It will be delightful to talk again to +somebody who has seen a picture and read a book," he said, leaning +over the taff-rail of the steamer. But this dinner did not happen +the day he arrived in London--Harding was out of town! And Owen +cursed his luck as he walked out of the doorway in Victoria Street. +"Staying with friends in the country!" he muttered. "Good God! will +he never weary of those country houses, tedious beyond measure--with +or without adultery," he chuckled as he walked back to his club +thinking out a full-length portrait of his friend--a small man with +high shoulders, a large overhanging forehead, walking on thin legs +like one on stilts. But Harding's looks mattered little; what people +sought Harding for was not for his personal appearance, nor even for +his writings, though they were excellent, but for his culture. A +curious, clandestine little man with a warm heart despite the +exterior. Owen had seen Harding's eyes nil with tears and his voice +tremble when he recited a beautiful passage of English poetry; a +passionate nature, too, for Harding would fight fiercely for his +ideas, and his life had been lived in accordance with his beliefs. As +the years advanced his imaginative writing had become perhaps a +little didactic; his culture had become more noticeable--Owen +laughed: it pleased him to caricature his friends--and he thought of +the stream of culture which every hostess could turn on when Harding +was her guest. The phrase pleased him: a stream of culture flowing +down the white napery of every country house in England, for Harding +travelled from one to another. Owen had seen him laying his plans at +Nice, beginning his year as an old woman begins a stocking (setting +up the stitches) by writing to Lady So-and-so, saying he was coming +back to England at a certain time. Of course Lady So-and-so would +ask him to stay with her. Then Harding would write to the nearest +neighbour, saying, "I am staying with So-and-so for a week and shall +be going on to the north the week after next--now would it be +putting you to too much trouble if I were to spend the interval with +you?" News of these visits would soon get about, and would suggest +to another neighbour that she might ask him for a week. Harding +would perhaps answer her that he could not come for a week, but if +she would allow him to come for a fortnight he would be very glad +because then he would be able to get on to Mrs.----. In a very short +time January, February, March, and April would be allotted; and Owen +imagined Harding walking under immemorial elms gladdened by great +expanses of park and pleased in the contemplation of swards which +had been rolled for at least a thousand years. "A castellated wall, +a rampart, the remains of a moat, a turreted chamber must stir him +as the heart of the war horse is said to be stirred by a trumpet. He +demands a spire at least of his hostess; and names with a Saxon ring +in them, names recalling deeds of Norman chivalry awaken remote +sympathies, inherited perhaps; sonorous titles, though they be new +ones, are better than plain Mr. and Mrs.; 'ladyship' and 'lordship' +are always pleasing in his ears, and an elaborate escutcheon more +beautiful than a rose. After all, why not admire the things of a +thousand years ago as well as those of yesterday?" Owen continued to +think of Harding's admiration of the past. "It has nothing in common +with the vulgar tuft-hunter, deeply interested in the peerage, +anxious to get on. Harding's admiration of the aristocracy is part +of himself; it proceeds from hierarchical instinct and love of +order. He sees life flowing down the ages, each class separate, each +class dependent upon the other, a homogeneous whole, beautiful on +account of the harmony of the different parts, each melody going +different ways but contributing to the general harmony. He sees life +as classes; tradition is the breath of his nostrils, symbol the +delight of his eyes." Owen's thoughts divagated suddenly, and he +thought of the pain Harding would experience were he suddenly flung +into Bohemian society. He might find great talents there--but even +genius would not compensate him for disorder and licence. The dinner +might be excellent, but he would find no pleasure in it if the host +wore a painting jacket; a spot of ink on the shirt cuff would +extinguish his appetite, and a parlourmaid distress him, three +footmen induce pleasant ease of thought. + +"A man born out of his time, in whom the disintegration of custom, +the fusing of the classes, produces an inner torment." And wondering +how he bore it, Owen began to think of an end for Harding, deciding +that sullen despair would take possession of him if the House of +Lords were seriously threatened. He would leave some seat of ancient +story, and proceed towards the midlands, seeking some blast furnace +wherein to throw himself. "A sort of modern Empedocles." And Owen +laughed aloud, for he was very much amused at his interpretation of +his friend's character. It was one which he did not think even his +friend would resent. "On the contrary, it would amuse him." And he +picked up a newspaper from the club table. + +The first words he saw were "Evelyn Innes in America." "So she has +gone back to the stage, and without writing to me...." He sank back +in his armchair lost in a great bitterness but without resentment. +Next day, acting on a sudden resolve, he started for New York. But +he did not remain there very long, only a few days, returning to +England, exasperated, maddened against himself, unable to explain +the cause of his misfortune to Harding. + +"I suppose you'll use it in a novel some day. I don't care if you do, +but you will never be able to explain how it happened." Harding +followed his friend into the study, thinking of the excellent cigar +which would be given to him more perhaps than of the story--a man +who suddenly finds his will paralysed. "It was just that, paralysis +of will, for after dinner when the time came to go to her I sat +thinking of her, unable to get out of my chair, saying to myself, 'In +five minutes, in five minutes,' and as the minutes went by I looked +at the clock, saying to myself, 'If I don't go now I shall be late.' +I can't explain, but it was almost a relief when I found it was too +late." + +"What I don't understand is why you didn't go next day?" + +"Nor do I; for naturally I wanted to see her, only I couldn't go, +something held me back, and in despair I returned to England, unable +to endure the strain. There you have it, Harding; don't ask me any +more for I can't tell you any more. During the voyage I was near out +of my mind, and could have thrown myself overboard, yet I couldn't +go to see her, though she is the only person I really care to see. +Of course friends are different," he added apologetically. + +"And you could not forget her in the desert?" "No, it only made me +worse. Amid the sands her image would appear more distinct than +ever. Now why is it that one loves one woman more than another, and +what is there in this woman that enchants me, and from whom I cannot +escape in thought?... Yet I didn't go to see her in New York." + +"But would you go if she wrote to you?" "Oh, if she wrote--that would +be different, but she never will. There is no doubt, Harding, love +is a sort of madness, and it takes every man; none can look into his +life without finding that at some time or another he was mad; the +only thing is that it has taken me rather badly, and cure seems +farther off than ever. Why is it, Harding, that a man should love +one woman so much more than another? It certainly isn't because she +has got a prettier face, or a more perfect figure, or a more sensual +temperament; for there is no end to pretty faces, perfect figures, +and sensual temperaments. Evelyn was pretty well furnished with +these things. I am prepared to admit that she was, but of course +there are more beautiful women and more sensual women, more charming +women, cleverer women--I suppose there are--yet no one ever charmed +me, enchanted me--that is the word--like this woman, and I can find +no reason for the enchantment in her or in myself, only this, that +she represents more of the divine essence out of which all things +have come than any other woman." + +"The divine essence?" + +"Well, one has to use these words in order to be understood; but you +know what I mean, Harding, the mystery lying behind all phenomena, the +Breath, esoteric philosophers would say, out of which all things +came, which drew the stars in the beginning out of chaos, creating +myriads of things or the appearance of different things, for there +is only one thing. That is how the mystics talk--isn't it? You know +more about them than I do. If to every man some woman represented +more of this impulse than any other woman, he would be unable to +separate himself from her; she would always be a light in his life +which he would follow, a light in the mind--that is what Evelyn is +to me; I never understood it before, it is only lately--" + +"The desert has turned you into a poet, I see, into a mystic." + +"Hardly that; but in the desert there are long hours and nothing-- +only thought; one has to think, if one isn't a bedouin, just to save +oneself from going mad: the empty spaces, the solitude, the sun! One +of these days when you have finished your books, I should like to +write one with you; my impressions of the desert as I rode from +oasis to oasis, seeking Tahar--" + +"Who was he?" + +"He was the man who had the eagles. Haven't I told you already how--?" + +"Yes, yes, Asher, but tell me did you meet Tahar, and did you see +gazelles hunted?" + +"Yes, and larger deer. My first idea was hawking and we went to a +lake. One of these days I must tell you about that lake, about its +wild fowl, about the buried city and the heron which was killed. We +found it among Roman inscriptions. But to tell of these things--my +goodness, Harding, it would take hours!" + +"Don't try, Asher. Tell me about the gazelles." + +"How we went from oasis to oasis in quest of this man who always +eluded us, meeting him at last in Beclere's oasis. But you haven't +heard about Beclere's, the proprietor, you might say, of one oasis; +he discovered a Roman well, and added thousands of acres; but if I +began to tell about Beclere's we should be here till midnight." + +"I should like to hear about the gazelles first." + +"I never knew you cared so much for sport, Harding; I thought you +would be more interested in the desert itself, and in Beclere's. It +spoils a story to cut it down to a mere sporting episode. There +doesn't seem to be anything to tell now except I tell it at length: +those great birds, nearly three feet high, with long heads like +javelins, and round, clear eyes, and lank bodies, feathered thighs, +and talons that find out instinctively the vital parts, the heart and +the liver; the bird moves up seeking these. And that is what is so +terrible, the cruel instinct which makes every life conditional on +another's death. We live upon dead things, cooked or uncooked." + +"But how are these birds carried?" + +"That is what I asked myself all the way across the desert. The hawks +are carried on the wrist, but a bird three feet high cannot be +carried on the wrist. The eagle is carried on the pummel of the +saddle." + +"And how are the gazelles taken and the eagles recaptured?" + +"They answer to the lure just like a hawk. The gazelles come down +into the desert after the rains to feed among the low bushes, +rosemary and lavender. In the plain, of course, they have no chance, +the bird overtakes them at once; fleet as they are, wings are +fleeter, and they are over-taken with incredible ease, the bird just +flutters after them. But the hunt is more interesting when there are +large rocks between which the gazelles can take cover; then the bird +will alight on the rock and wait for the deer to be driven out, and +the deer dreads the eagle so much that sometimes they won't leave +the rocks, and we pick them up in our hands. The instinct of the +eagle is extraordinary, as you will see; the first gazelle was a +doe, and the eagle swept on in front, and, turning rapidly, flew +straight into the hind's face, the talons gathered up ready to +strangle her. But the buck will sometimes show fight, and, not caring +to face the horns, the eagle will avoid a frontal attack and sweep +round in the rear, attacking the buck in the quarters and riding him +to death, just as a goshawk rides a rabbit, seeking out all the +while the vital parts." + +"But gazelles are such small deer; now it would be more interesting +with larger deer." + +"We killed some larger deer and some sheep, wild sheep I mean, or +goats, it is hard to say which they are; the courage of the birds is +extraordinary, they will attack almost anything, driving the sheep +headlong over the precipices. We caught many a fox. The eagle +strikes the fox with one talon, reserving the other to clutch the +fox's throat when he turns round to bite. Eagles will attack wolves; +wolves are hunted in Mongolia with eagles, the fight must be +extraordinary. One of these days I must go there." + +"If Evelyn Innes doesn't return to you." + +"One must do something," Owen answered. + +"Life would be too tedious if one were not doing something. Have +another cigarette, Harding." And he went to the table and took one +out of a silver box. "Do have one; it comes out of her box, she gave +me this box. You haven't seen the inscription, have you?" And +Harding had to get up and read it; he did this with a lack of +enthusiasm and interest which annoyed Owen, but which did not +prevent him from going to the escritoire and saying, "And in this +pigeon-hole I keep her letters, eight hundred and fifty-three, +extending over a period of ten years. How many letters would that be +a year, Harding?" + +"My dear Asher, I never could calculate anything." "Well, let us +see." Owen took a pencil and did the sum, irritating Harding, who +under his moustache wondered how anybody could be so self-centred, +so blind to the picture he presented. "Eighty-five letters a year, +Harding, more than one a week; that is a pretty good average, for +when I saw her every day I didn't write to her." + +"I should have thought you would write sometimes." + +"Yes, sometimes we used to send each other notes." + +"Will he never cease talking of her?" Harding said to himself; and, +tempted by curiosity, he got up, lighted another cigarette, and sat +down, determined to wait and see. Owen continued talking for the +next half-hour. "True, he hasn't had an opportunity of speaking to +anybody about her for the last year, and is letting it all off upon +me." + +"There is her portrait, Harding; you like it, don't you?" + +Harding breathed again under his moustache. The portrait brought a +new interest into the conversation, for it was a beautiful picture. +A bright face which seemed to have been breathed into a grey +background--a grey so beautiful, Harding had once written, that +every ray of sunlight that came into the room awoke a melody and a +harmony in it, and held the eye subjugated and enchanted. Out of a +grey and a rose tint a permanent music had been made... and, being +much less complete than an old master, it never satisfied. In this +picture there were not one but a hundred pictures. To hang it in a +different place in the room was to recreate it; it never was the +same, whereas the complete portraits of the old masters have this +fault--that they never rise above themselves. But a ray of light set +Evelyn's portrait singing like a skylark--background, face, hair, +dress--cadenza upon cadenza. When the blinds were let down, the music +became graver, and the strain almost a religious one. And these +changes in the portrait were like Evelyn herself, for she varied a +good deal, as Owen had often remarked to Harding; for one reason or +for some other--no matter the reason: suffice it to say that the +picture would be like her when the gold had faded from her hair and +no pair of stays would discover her hips. And now, sitting looking at +it, Owen remembered the seeming accident which had inspired him to +bring Evelyn to see the great painter whose genius it had been to +Owen's credit to recognise always. One morning in the studio Evelyn +had happened to sit on the edge of a chair; the painter had once +seen her in the same attitude by the side of her accompanist, and he +had told her not to move, and had gone for her grey shawl and placed +it upon her shoulders. A friend of Owen's declared the portrait to be +that of a housekeeper on account of the shawl--a strange article of +dress, difficult to associate with a romantic singer. All the same, +Evelyn was very probable in this picture; her past and her future +were in this disconcerting compound of the commonplace and the rare; +and the confusion which this picture created in the minds of Owen's +friends was aggravated by the strange elliptical execution. Owen +admitted the drawing to be not altogether grammatical; one eye was a +little lower than the other, but the eyes were beautifully drawn--the +right eye, for instance, and without the help of any shadow. + +"Look at the face," he said to Harding, "achieved with shadow and +light, the light faintly graduated with a delicate shade of rose." + +He compared the face to a jewel the most beautiful in the world, and +the background to eighteenth-century watered silk. + +"The painter conjures," Harding said, "and she rises out of that grey +background." + +"Quite so, Harding." + +Owen sat, his eyes fixed on the picture, his thoughts far away, +thinking that it would be better, perhaps, if he never saw her +again. Not to see her again! The words sounded very gloomy; for he +was thinking of his ancestors at Riversdale, in their tomb, and +himself going down to join them. + +"I think, Asher, it is getting late; I must go now." + +The friends bade each other good-night among the footmen who closed +the front door. + +In his great, lonely bedroom, full of tall mahogany furniture, Owen +lay down; and he asked himself how it was that he had left America +without seeing her. His journey to America was one of the uncanniest +things that had ever happened in his life. Something seemed to have +kept him from her, and it was impossible for him to determine what +that thing was, whether some sudden weakening of the will in himself +or some spiritual agency. But to believe in the transference of human +thought, and that the nuns could influence his action at three +thousand miles distance, seemed as if he were dropping into some +base superstition. Between sleeping and waking a thought emerged +which kept him awake till morning: "Why had Evelyn returned to the +stage?" When he saw her last at Thornton Grange her retirement +seemed to be definitely fixed. Nothing he could say had been able to +move her. She was going to retire from the stage.... But she had not +done so. Now, who had persuaded her? Was it Ulick Dean? Were these +two in America together? The thought of Evelyn in New York with +Ulick Dean, going to the theatre with her, Ulick sitting in the +stalls, listening, just as he, Owen, had listened to her, became +unendurable; he must have news of her; only from her father could he +get reliable news. So he went to Dulwich, uncertain if he should +send in his card begging for an interview, or if he should just push +past the servant into the music-room, always supposing Innes were at +home. + +"Mr. Innes is at home," the servant-girl answered. + +"Is he in the music-room?" + +"Yes, sir. What name?" + +"No name is necessary. I will announce myself," and he pushed past +the girl.... "Excuse me, Mr. Innes, for coming into your house so +abruptly, but I was afraid you mightn't see me if I sent in my name, +and it would be impossible for me to go back to London without +seeing you. You don't know me." + +"I do. You are Sir Owen Asher." + +"Yes, and have come because I can't live any longer without having +some news of Evelyn. You know my story--how she sent me away. There +is nothing to tell you; she has been here, I know, and has told you +everything. But perhaps you don't know I have just come from the +desert, having gone there hoping to forget her, and have come out of +the desert uncured. You will tell me where she is, won't you?" + +Innes did not answer for some while. + +"My daughter went to America." + +"Yes, I know that. I have just come from there, but I could not see +her. The last time we met was at Thornton Grange, and she told me +she had decided definitely to leave the stage. Now, why should she +have gone back to the stage? That is what I have come to ask you." + +This tall, thin, elderly man, impulsive as a child, wearing his heart +on his sleeve, crying before him like a little child, moved Innes's +contempt as much as it did his pity. "All the same he is suffering, +and it is clear that he loves her very deeply." So perforce he had +to answer that Evelyn had gone to America against the advice of her +confessor because the Wimbledon nuns wanted money. + +"Gone to sing for those nuns!" Owen shrieked. And for three minutes +he blasphemed in the silence of the old music-room, Innes watching +him, amazed that any man should so completely forget himself. How +could she have loved him? + +"She is returning next week; that is all I know of her movements... +Sir Owen Asher." + +"Returning next week! But what does it matter to me whether she +returns or not? She won't see me. Do you think she will, Mr. Innes?" + +"I cannot discuss these matters with you, Sir Owen," and Innes took +up his pen as if anxious for Sir Owen to leave the room so that he +might go on copying. Owen noticed this, but it was impossible for +him to leave the room. For the last twelve years he had been +thinking about Innes, and wanted to tell him how Evelyn had been +loved, and he wanted to air his hatred of religious orders and +religion in general. + +"I am afraid I am disturbing you, but I can't help; it," and he +dropped into a chair. "You have no idea, Mr. Innes, how I loved your +daughter." + +"She always speaks of you very well, never laying any blame upon +you--I will say that." + +"She is a truthful woman. That is the one thing that can be said." + +Innes nodded a sort of acquiescence to this appreciation of his +daughter's character; and Owen could not resist the temptation to +try to take Evelyn's father into his confidence, he had been so long +anxious for this talk. + +"We have all been in love, you see; your love story is a little +farther back than mine. We all know the bitterness of it--don't we?" + +Innes admitted that to know the bitterness of love and its sweetness +is the common lot of all men. The conversation dropped again, and +Owen felt there was to be no unbosoming of himself that afternoon. + +"The room has not changed. Twelve years ago I saw those old +instruments for the first time. Not one, I think, has disappeared. +It was here that I first heard Ferrabosco's pavane." + +Innes remembered the pavane quite well, but refused to allow the +conversation to digress into a description of Evelyn's playing of +the _viola da gamba_. But if they were not to talk about Evelyn +there was no use tarrying any longer in Dulwich; he had learned all +the old man knew about his daughter. He got up.... At that moment +the door opened and the servant announced Mr. Ulick Dean. + +"How do you do, Mr. Innes?" Ulick said, glancing at Owen; and a +suspicion crossed his mind that the tall man with small, inquisitive +eyes who stood watching him must be Owen Asher, hoping that it was +not so, and, at the same time, curious to make his predecessor's +acquaintance; he admitted his curiosity as soon as Innes introduced +him. + +"The moment I saw you, Sir Owen, I guessed that it must be you. I had +heard so much about you, you see, and your appearance is so +distinctive." + +These last words dissipated the gloom upon Owen's face--it is always +pleasing to think that one is distinctive. And turning from Sir Owen +to Innes, Ulick told him how, finding himself in London, he had +availed himself of the opportunity to run down to see him. Owen sat +criticising, watching him rather cynically, interested in his youth +and in his thick, rebellious hair, flowing upwards from a white +forehead. The full-fleshed face, lit with nervous, grey eyes, +reminded Owen of a Roman bust. "A young Roman emperor," he said to +himself, and he seemed to understand Evelyn's love of Ulick. Would +that she had continued to love this young pagan! Far better than to +have been duped by that grey, skinny Christian. And he listened to +Ulick, admiring his independent thought, his flashes of wit. + +Ulick was telling stories of an opera company to which it was likely +he would be appointed secretary. A very unlikely thing indeed to +happen, Owen thought, if the company were assembled outside the +windows, within hearing of the stories which Ulick was telling about +them. Very amusing were the young man's anecdotes and comments, but +it seemed to Owen as if he would never cease talking; and Innes, +though seeming to enjoy the young man's wit, seemed to feel with Owen +that something must be done to bring it to an end. + +"We shall be here all the afternoon listening to you, Ulick. I don't +know if Sir Owen has anything else to do, but I have some parts to +copy; there is a rehearsal to-night." + +Ulick's manner at once grew so serious and formal that Innes feared +he had offended him, and then Owen suddenly realised that they were +both being sent away. In the street they must part, that was Owen's +intention, but before he could utter it Ulick begged of him to wait +a second, for he had forgotten his gloves. Without waiting for an +answer he ran back to the house, leaving Uwen standing on the +pavement, asking himself if he should wait for this impertinent +young man, who took it for granted that he would. + +"You have got your gloves," he said, looking disapprovingly at the +tight kid gloves which Ulick was forcing over his fingers. "Do you +remember the way? As well as I remember, one turns to the right." + +"Yes, to the right." And talking of the old music, of harpsichords +and viols, they walked on together till they heard the whistle of +the train. + +"We have just missed our train." + +There was no use running, and there was no other train for half an +hour. + +"The waiting here will be intolerable," Owen said. "If you would care +for a walk, we might go as far as Peckham. To walk to London would +be too far, though, indeed, it would do both of us good." + +"Yes, the evening is fine--why not walk to London? We can inquire out +the way as we go." + + + +XI + +"A Curious accident our meeting at Innes's." + +"A lucky one for me. Far more pleasant living in this house than in +that horrible hotel." + +Owen was lying back in an armchair, indulging in sentimental +and fatalistic dreams, and did not like this materialistic +interpretation of his invitation to Ulick to come to stay with him +at Berkeley Square. He wished to see the hand of Providence in +everything that concerned himself and Evelyn, and the meeting with +this young man seemed to point to something more than the young man's +comfort. + +"Looked at from another side, our meeting was unlucky. If you hadn't +come in, Innes would have told me more about Evelyn. She must have +an address in London, and he must know it." + +"That doesn't seem so sure. She may intend to live in Dulwich when +she returns from America." + +"I can't see her living with her father; even the nuns seem more +probable. I wonder how it was that all this time you and she never +ran across each other. Did you never write to her?" + +"No; I was abroad a great deal. And, besides, I knew she didn't want +to see me, so what was the good in forcing myself upon her?" + +It was difficult for Owen to reprove Ulick for having left Evelyn to +her own devices. Had he not done so himself? Still, he felt that if +he had remained in England, he would not have been so indifferent; +and he followed his guest across the great tessellated hall towards +the dining-room in front of a splendid servitude. + +The footmen drew back their chairs so that they might sit down with +the least inconvenience possible; and dinner at Berkeley Square +reminded Ulick of some mysterious religious ceremony; he ate, +overawed by the great butler--there was something colossal, +Egyptian, hierarchic about him, and Ulick could not understand how +it was that Sir Owen was not more impressed. + +"Habit," he said to himself. + +At one end of the room there was a great gold screen, and "in a dim, +religious light" the impression deepened; passing from ancient +Thebes to modern France, Ulick thought of a great cathedral. The +celebrant, the deacon and the subdeacon were represented by first +and second footmen, the third footman, who never left the sideboard, +he compared to the acolyte, the voice of the great butler proposing +different wines had a ritualistic ring in it; and, amused by his +conception of dinner in Berkeley Square, Ulick admired Owen's dress. +He wore a black velvet coat, trousers, and slippers. His white +frilled shirt and his pearl studs reminded Ulick of his own plain +shirt with only one stud, and he suspected vulgarity in a single +stud, for it was convenient, and would therefore appeal to waiters +and the middle classes. He must do something on the morrow to redeem +his appearance, and he noticed Owen's cuffs and sleeve-links, which +were superior to his own; and Owen's hands, they, too, were +superior--well-shaped, bony hands, with reddish hair growing about +the knuckles. Owen's nails were beautifully trimmed, and Ulick +determined to go to a manicurist on the morrow. A delicious perfume +emerged when Owen drew his handkerchief from his coat pocket; and all +this personal care reminded Ulick of that time long ago when Owen was +Evelyn's lover and travelled with her from capital to capital, +hearing her sing everywhere. "Now he will never see her again," he +thought, as he followed Owen back to his study, hoping to persuade +him into telling the story of how he had gone down to Dulwich to +write a criticism of Innes's concert, and how he had at once +recognised that Evelyn had a beautiful voice, and would certainly win +a high position on the lyric stage if she studied for it. + +It was a solace to Owen's burdened heart to find somebody who would +listen to him, and he talked on and on, telling of the day he and +Evelyn had gone to Madame Savelli, and how he had had to leave Paris +soon after, for his presence distracted Evelyn's attention from her +singing-lessons. "In a year," Madame Savelli had said, "I will make +something wonderful of her, Sir Owen, if you will only go away, and +not come back for six months." + +"He lives in recollection of that time," Ulick said to himself, "that +is his life; the ten years he spent with her are his life, the rest +counts for nothing." A moment after Owen was comparing himself to a +man wandering in the twilight who suddenly finds a lamp: "A lamp +that will never burn out," Ulick said to himself. "He will take that +lamp into the tomb with him." + +"But I must read you the notices." And going to an escritoire covered +with ormolu--one of those pieces of French furniture which cost +hundreds of pounds--he took out a bundle of Evelyn's notices. "The +most interesting," he said, "were the first notices--before the +critics had made up their mind about her." + +He stopped in his untying of the parcel to tell Ulick about his +journey to Brussels to hear her sing. + +"You see, I had broken my leg out hunting, and there was a question +whether I should be able to get there in time. Imagine my annoyance +on being told I must not speak to her." + +"Who told you that?" + +"Madame Savelli." + +"Oh, I understand I You arrived the very day of her first +appearance?" + +Owen threw up his head and began reading the notices. + +"They are all the same," he said, after reading half a dozen, and +Ulick felt relieved. "But stay, this one is different," and the long +slip dismayed Ulick, who could not feel much interest in the +impression that Evelyn had created as Elsa--he did not know how many +years ago. + +"'Miss Innes is a tall, graceful woman, who crosses the stage with +slow, harmonious movements--any slight quickening of her step +awakening a sense of foreboding in the spectator. Her eyes, too, are +of great avail, and the moment she comes on the stage one is +attracted by their strangeness--grave, mysterious, earnest eyes, +which smile rarely; but when they do smile happiness seems to mount +up from within, illuminating her life from end to end. She will never +be unhappy again, one thinks. It is with her smile she recompenses +her champion knight when he lays low Telramund, and it is with her +smile she wins his love--and ours. We regret, for her sake, there +are so few smiles in Wagner: very few indeed--not one in 'Senta' nor +in 'Elizabeth.'" The newspaper cutting slipped from Owen's hand, and +he talked for a long time about her walk and her smile, and then +about her "Iphigenia," which he declared to be one of the most +beautiful performances ever seen, her personality lending itself to +the incarnation of this Greek idea of fate and self-sacrifice. But +Gluck's music was, in Owen's opinion, old-fashioned even at the time +it was written--containing beautiful things, of course, but somewhat +stiff in the joints, lacking the clear insight and direct expression +of Beethoven's. "One man used to write about her very well, and +seemed to understand her better than any other. And writing about +this performance he says--Now, if I could find you his article." The +search proved a long one, but as it was about to be abandoned Owen +turned up the cutting he was in search of. + +"'Her nature intended her for the representation of ideal heroines +whose love is pure, and it does not allow her to depict the violence +of physical passion and the delirium of the senses. She is an artist +of the peaks, whose feet may not descend into the plain and follow +its ignominious route,' And then here: 'He who has seen her as the +spotless spouse of the son of Parsifal, standing by the window, has +assisted at the mystery of the chaste soul awaiting the coming of +her predestined lover,' And 'He who has seen her as Elizabeth, +ascending the hillside, has felt the nostalgia of the skies awaken +in his heart,' Then he goes on to say that her special genius and +her antecedents led her to 'Fidelio,' and designed her as the +perfect embodiment of Leonore's soul--that pure, beautiful soul made +wholly of sacrifice and love,' But you never saw her as Leonore so +you can form no idea of what she really was," + +"I will read you what she wrote when she was studying 'Fidelio': +'Beethoven's music has nothing in common with the passion of the +flesh; it lives in the realms of noble affections, pity, tenderness, +love, spiritual yearnings for the life beyond the world, and its joy +in the external world is as innocent as a happy child's. It is in +this sense classical--it lives and loves and breathes in spheres of +feeling and thought removed from the ordinary life of men. Wagner's +later work, if we except some scenes from "The Ring"--notably the +scenes between Wotan and Brunnhilde--is nearer to the life of the +senses; its humanity is fresh in us, deep as Brunnhilde's; but +essential man lives in the spirit. The desire of the flesh is more +necessary to the life of the world than the aspirations of the soul, +yet the aspirations of the soul are more human. The root is more +necessary to the plant than its flower, but it is by the flower and +not by the root that we know it." + +"Is it not amazing that a woman who could think like that should be +capable of flinging up her art--the art which I gave her--on account +of the preaching of that wooden-headed Mostyn?" Sitting down +suddenly he opened a drawer, and, taking out her photograph, he +said: "Here she is as Leonore, but you should have seen her in the +part. The photograph gives no idea whatever; you haven't seen her +picture. Come, let me show you her picture: one of the most beautiful +pictures that ---- ever painted; the most beautiful in the room, and +there are many beautiful things in this room. Isn't it extraordinary +that a woman so beautiful, so gifted, so enchanting, so intended by +life for life should be taken with the religious idea suddenly? She +has gone mad without doubt. A woman who could do the things that she +could do to pass over to religion, to scapulars, rosaries, +indulgencies! My God! my God!" and he fell back in his armchair, and +did not speak again for a long time. Getting up suddenly, he said, +"If you want to smoke any more there are cigars on the table; I am +going to bed." + +"Well, it is hard upon him," Ulick said as he took a cigar; and +lighting his candle, he wandered up the great green staircase by +himself, seeking the room he had been given at the end of one of the +long corridors. + + + +XII + +"Did it ever occur to you," Owen said one evening, as the men sat +smoking after dinner, after the servant had brought in the whisky +and seltzer, between eleven and twelve, in that happy hour when the +spirit descends and men and women sitting together are taken with a +desire to communicate the incommunicable part of themselves--"did it +ever occur to you," Owen said, blowing the smoke and sipping his +whisky and seltzer from time to time, "that man is the most +ridiculous animal on the face of this earth?" + +"You include women?" Ulick asked. + +"No, certainly not; women are not nearly so ridiculous, because they +are more instinctive, more like the animals which we call the lower +animals in our absurd self-conceit. As I have often said, women have +never invented a religion; they are untainted with that madness, and +they are not moralists. They accept the religions men invent, and +sometimes they become saints, and they accept our moralities--what +can they do, poor darlings, but accept? But they are not interested +in moralities, or in religions. How can they be? They are the +substance out of which life comes, whereas we are but the spirit, the +crazy spirit--the lunatic crying for the moon. Spirit and substance +being dependent one on the other, concessions have to be made; the +substance in want of the spirit acquiesces, says, 'Very well, I will +be religious and moral too.' Then the spirit and the substance are +married. The substance has been infected--" + +"What makes you say all this, Asher?" + +"Well, because I have just been thinking that perhaps my misfortunes +can be traced back to myself. Perhaps it was I who infected Evelyn." + +"You?" + +"Yes, I may have brought about a natural reaction. For years I was +speaking against religion to her, trying to persuade her; whereas if +I had let the matter alone it would have died of inanition, for she +was not really a religious woman." + +"I see, I see," Ulick answered thoughtfully. + +"Had she met you in the beginning," Owen continued, "she might have +remained herself to the end; for you would have let her alone. +Religion provokes me... I blaspheme; but you are indifferent, you +are not interested. You are splendid, Ulick." + +A smile crossed Ulick's lips, and Owen wondered what the cause of the +smile might be, and would have asked, only he was too interested in +his own thoughts; and the words, "I wonder you trouble about +people's beliefs" turned him back upon himself, and he continued: + +"I have often wondered. Perhaps something happens to one early in +life, and the mind takes a bias. My animosity to religion may have +worn away some edge off her mind, don't you see? The moral idea that +one lover is all right, whereas any transgression means ruin to a +woman, was never invented by her. It came from me; it is impossible +she could have developed that moral idea from within--she was +infected with it." + +"You think so?" Ulick replied thoughtfully, and took another cigar. + +"Yes, if she had met you," Owen continued, returning to his idea. + +"But if she had met me in the beginning you wouldn't have known her; +and you wouldn't consent to that so that she might be saved from +Monsignor?" + +"I'd make many sacrifices to save her from that nightmare of a man; +but the surrender of one's past is unthinkable. The future? Yes. But +there is nothing to be done. We don't know where she is. Her father +said she would be in London at the end of the week; therefore she is +in London now." "If she didn't change her mind." "No, she never +changes her mind about such things; any change of plans always +annoyed her. So she is in London, and we do not know her address. +Isn't it strange? And yet we are more interested in her than in any +other human being." + +"It would be easy to get her address; I suppose Innes would tell us. +I shouldn't mind going down to Dulwich if I were not so busy with +this opera company. The number of people I have to see, +five-and-twenty, thirty letters every day to be written--really I +haven't a minute. But you, Asher, don't you think you might run down +to Dulwich and interview the old gentleman? After all, you are the +proper person. I am nobody in her life, only a friend of a few +months, whereas she owes everything to you. It was you who +discovered her--you who taught her, you whom she loved." + +"Yes, there is a great deal in what you say, Ulick, a great deal in +what you say. I hadn't thought of it in that light before. I suppose +the lot does fall to me by right to go to the old gentleman and ask +him. Before you came we were getting on very well, and he quite +understood my position." + +Several days passed and no step was taken to find Evelyn's address in +London. + +"If I were you, Asher, I would go down to-morrow, for I have been +thinking over this matter, and the company of which I am the +secretary of course cannot pay her what she used to get ten years +ago, but I think my directors would be prepared to make her a very +fair offer, and, after all, the great point would be to get her back +to the stage." + +"I quite agree, Ulick, I quite agree." "Very well, if you think so go +to Dulwich." "Yes, yes, I'll go." And Owen came back that evening, +not with Evelyn's address, but with the news that she was in London, +living in a flat in Bayswater. "Think of that," Owen said, "a flat +in Bayswater after the house I gave her in Park Lane. Think of that! +Devoted to poor people, arranging school treats, and making +clothes." + +"So he wouldn't give you her address?" + +"When I asked him, he said, and not unreasonably, 'If she wanted to +see you she would write.' What could I answer? And to leave a letter +with him for her would serve no purpose; my letter would not +interest her; it might remain unanswered. No, no, mine is the past; +there is no future for me in her life. If anybody could do anything +it is you. She likes you." + +"But, my good friend, I don't know where she is, and you won't find +out." + +"Haven't I been to see her father?" + +"Oh, her father! A detective agency would give us her address within +the next twenty-four hours, and the engagement must be filled up +within a few weeks." + +"I can't go to a detective agency and pay a man to track her out--no, +not for anything." + +"Not even to save her from Monsignor?" + +"Not even that. There are certain things that cannot be done. Let us +say no more." + +A fortnight later Owen was reading in the corner by the window about +five o'clock, waiting for Ulick to come home--he generally came in +for a cup of tea--and hearing a latchkey in the door, he put down +his book. + +"Is Sir Owen in?" + +"Sir Owen is in the study, sir." + +And Ulick came in somewhat hurriedly. There was a light in his eyes +which told Owen that something had happened, something that would +interest him, and nothing could interest him unless news of Evelyn. + +"Have you seen her?" and Owen took off his spectacles. + +"Yes," Ulick answered, "I have seen her." + +"You met her?" + +"Yes." + +"By accident?" + +"Yes." + +"Tell me about it." + +Ulick was too excited to sit down; he walked about the hearthrug in +order to give more emphasis to his story. + +"My hansom turned suddenly out of a large thoroughfare into some mean +streets, and the neighbourhood seemed so sordid that I was just +going to tell the driver to avoid such short cuts for the future +when I caught sight of a tall figure in brown holland. To meet +Evelyn in such a neighbourhood seemed very unlikely, but as the cab +drew nearer I could not doubt that it was she. I put up my stick, but +at that moment Evelyn turned into a doorway." + +"You knocked?" + +Ulick nodded. + +"What sort of place was it?" + +"All noise and dirt; a lot of boys." + +"A school?" + +"It seemed more like a factory. Evelyn came forward and said, 'I will +see you in half an hour, if you will wait for me at my flat,' 'But I +don't know the address,' I said. She gave me the address, Ayrdale +Mansions, and I went away in the cab; and after a good deal of +driving we discovered Ayrdale Mansions, a huge block, all red brick +and iron, a sort of model dwelling-houses, rather better." + +"Good Lord!" + +"I went up a stone staircase." + +"No carpet?" + +"No. Merat opened the door to me. I told her I had met Miss Innes in +a slum; she followed me into the drawing-room, saying, 'One of these +days Mademoiselle will bring back some horrid things with her.'" + +"Good Lord! Tell me what her rooms were like?" + +"The flat is better than you would expect to find in such a building. +It is the staircase that makes the place look like a model +dwelling-house. There is a drawing-room and a dining-room." + +"What kind of furniture has she in the drawing-room?" + +"An oak settle in the middle of the room and--" + +"That doesn't sound very luxurious." + +"But there are photographs of pictures on the walls, Italian saints, +the Renaissance, you know, Botticelli and Luini; her writing-table +is near the window, and covered with papers; she evidently writes a +great deal. Merat tells me she spends her evenings writing there +quite contented." + +"That will do about the room; now tell me about herself." + +"She came in looking very like herself." + +"Glad to see you?" + +"I think she was. She didn't seem to have any scruples about seeing +me. Our meeting was pure accident, so she was not responsible." + +"Tell me, what did she look like?" + +"Well, you know her appearance? She hasn't grown stouter her hair +hasn't turned grey." + +"Yet she has changed?" + +"Yes, she has changed; but--I don't know exactly how to word it--an +extraordinary goodness seems to have come into her face. It always +seemed to me that a great deal of her charm was in the kindness +which seemed to float about her and to look out of her eyes, and +that look which you know, or which you don't know--" + +"I know it very well." + +"Well, that look is more apparent than ever. I noticed it especially +as she leaned over the table looking at me." + +"I know, those quiet, kindly eyes, steady as marble. A woman's eyes +are more beautiful than a man's because they are steadier. Yes, it +is impossible to look into her eyes and not to love her; her thick +hair drawn back loosely over the ears. There never was anybody so +winsome as she. You know what I mean?" + +"How he loves her!" Ulick said to himself; "how he loves her! All his +life is reflected in his love of her." + +"Are you going to see her again?" Owen asked suddenly. + +"Well, yes." + +"Did she raise no difficulties?" + +"No." + +"You didn't speak to her about your plans to induce her to accept the +engagement?" + +"Not yet." + +"Shall you?" + +"I suppose so, but I cannot somehow imagine that she will ever go +back to the stage. She said, having made money enough for the nuns, +she had finished with the stage for ever, and was glad of it." + +"Once an idea gets into our minds we become the slaves of it, and her +mind was always more like a man's than a woman's mind." + +This point was discussed, Ulick pretending not to understand Owen's +meaning in order to draw him into confidences. + +"She has asked you to go to see her, so I suppose she likes you. I +wish you well. _Anything_ rather than Monsignor should get her. You +have my best wishes." + +"What does he mean by saying I have his best wishes? Does he mean +that he would prefer me to be her lover, if that would save her from +religion? Would he use me as the cat uses the monkey to pull the +chestnuts out of the fire, and then take them from me." But he did +not question Owen as to his meaning, and showed no surprise when a +few days afterwards Owen came into the drawing-room, interrupting +him in his work, saying: + +"Have you forgotten?" + +"Forgotten what?" + +"Why, that you have an appointment with Evelyn." + +"So I have, so I have!" he said, laying down his pen. "And if I don't +hasten, I shall miss it." + +Owen took his hat, saying, "Your hat wants brushing; you mustn't go +to her with an unbrushed hat." + +Ulick ran away north, casting one glance back. Owen--would he sit in +his study thinking of his lost happiness or would he try to forget +it in some picture-dealer's shop? + + + +XIII + +"Has Mr. Dean come in?" + +"No, Sir Owen." + +"What time is it?" + +"Eight o'clock." + +"Dinner is quite ready?" + +"Quite ready, Sir Owen." + +"I don't think there is any good in waiting. Something must have +detained Mr. Dean." + +"Very well, Sir Owen." + +The butler left the room surprised, for if there was one thing that +Sir Owen hated it was to dine by himself, yet Owen had not screamed +out a single blasphemy, or even muttered a curse, and wondering at +his master's strange resignation, the butler crossed the hall, +hoping Sir Owen's health was not run down. He put the evening paper +by Sir Owen, for there had been some important racing that day, and +sometimes Sir Owen would talk quite affably. There were other times +when he would not say a word, and this was one of them. He pushed +the paper away, and went on eating, irritated by the sound of his +knife and fork on his plate, the only sound in the dining-room, for +the footmen went silently over the thick pile carpet, receiving +their directions by a gesture from the great butler. + +After dinner Owen had recourse to the evening paper, and he read it, +and every other paper in his room, advertisements and all, asking +himself what the devil had happened to Ulick. Some of his operatic +friends must have asked him to dinner. A moment after it seemed to +him that Ulick was treating his house like a hotel. "Damn him! he +might have easily sent me a telegram." At half-past ten the footman +brought in the whisky, and Owen sat sipping his drink, smoking +cigars, and wondering why Ulick had net come home for dinner; and +the clock had struck half-past eleven before Ulick's latchkey was +heard in the door. + +"I hope you didn't wait dinner for me?" + +"We waited a little while. Where have you been?" + +"She asked me to stay to dinner." + +"Oh, she asked you to stay to dinner!" Such a simple explanation of +Ulick's absence Owen hadn't thought of, and, reading his face, Ulick +hastened to tell him that after dinner they had gone to a concert. + +"Well, I suppose you were right to go with her; the concert must have +been a great break in her life.... Sitting there all the evening, +writing letters, trying to get situations for drunken men, girl +mothers, philanthropy of every kind. How she must have enjoyed the +concert! Tell me about it; and tell me how she was dressed." + +Ulick had not remarked Evelyn's dress very particularly, and Owen was +angry with him for only being able to tell him that she wore a pale +silk of a faint greenish colour. + +"And her cloak?" + +"Oh, her cloak was all right; it seemed warm enough." + +Owen wanted to know what jewellery she wore, and complained that she +had sold all the jewellery he had given her for the nuns. Ulick was +really sorry for him. Now, what did she think of the singing? To +please him Ulick attributed all his criticism of the singers to +Evelyn, and Owen said: + +"Extraordinary, isn't it? Did she say that she regretted leaving the +stage? And what did she say about me?" + +Ulick had been expecting this question. + +"She hoped you were very well, and that you did not speak unkindly of +her." + +"Speak unkindly of her!" and Owen's thoughts seemed to fade away. + +Cigar after cigar, drink after drink, until sleep settled in their +eyes, and both went to bed too weary to think of her any more. + +But next day Owen remembered that Ulick had not told him if he had +driven Evelyn home after the concert, and the fact that he had not +mentioned how they had parted was in itself suspicious; and he +determined to question Ulick. But Ulick was seldom in Berkeley +Square; he pleaded as his excuse business appointments; he had +business appointments all over London; Owen listened to his +explanations, and then they talked of other things. In this way Owen +never learnt on what terms Evelyn and Ulick were: whether she wrote +to him, whether they saw each other daily or occasionally. It was +not natural to think that after a dinner and a concert their +intimacy should cease as suddenly as it had begun. No doubt they +dined together in restaurants, and they went to concerts. Every hour +which he spent away from Berkeley Square he spent with her ... +possibly. To find out if this were true he would have to follow +Ulick, and that he couldn't do. He might question him? No, he +couldn't do that. And, sitting alone in his study in the evening, +for Ulick had gone out after dinner, he asked himself if he could +believe that Ulick was with the directors of the opera company. It +was much more likely that he was in the Bayswater flat, trying to +persuade Evelyn to return to the stage. So far he was doing good +work, but the only means he had of persuading her was through her +senses, by making love to her. Her senses had kindled for him once, +why shouldn't they kindle again? It would be a hard struggle between +the flesh and the idea, the idea which urged her in one direction, +and the flesh which drew her in another. Which would prevail? Ulick +was young, and Owen knew how her senses flared up, how certain music +set her senses on fire and certain literature. "All alone in that +flat," and the vision becoming suddenly intense he saw Ulick leading +her to the piano, and heard the music, and saw her eyes lifted as +she had lifted them many times to him--grey marble eyes, which would +never soften for him again. + +He had known her for so many years, and thought of her so intensely +that every feature of her face could be recalled in its minutest +line and expression; not only the general colour of her face, but +the whiteness of the forehead, and where the white skin freckled. +How strange it was that freckles should suit her, though they suited +no other woman! And the blue tints under the eyes, he remembered +them, and how the blue purpled, the rose red in the cheeks, and the +various changes--the greys in the chin, the blue veins reticulating +in the round white neck, and the pink shapes of the ear showing +through the shadow. Her hair was visible to him, its colour in the +light and in the shadow; and her long thin hands, the laces she wore +at the wrists, her rings, the lines of the shoulders, and of the +arms, the breasts--their size, their shape, and their very weight-- +every attitude that her body fell into naturally. From long knowledge +and intense thinking he could see her at will; and there she was at +the end of the sofa crossing and uncrossing her lovely legs, so long +from the knees, showing through the thin evening gown; he thought of +their sweetness and the seduction of the foot advancing, showing an +inch or two beyond the skirt of her dress. And then she drew her +rings from her fingers, dropping them into her lap, and +unconsciously placed them again over the knuckles. + +A great deal he would give--everything--for Ulick's youth, so that he +might charm her again. But of what avail to begin again? Had he not +charmed her before? and had not her love flowed past him like water, +leaving nothing but a memory of it; yet it was all he had--all that +life had given him. And it was so little, because she had never +loved him. Every other quality Nature had bestowed upon her, but not +the capacity for loving. For the first time it seemed to him he had +begun to understand that she was incapable of love--in other words, +of giving herself wholly to anybody. A strange mystery it was that +one who could give her body so unreservedly should be so +parsimonious about her soul. To give her body and retain herself was +her gift, above all other women, thereby remaining always new, +always unexpected, and always desirable. In the few visits to Paris +which had been allowed to him by her, and by Madame Savelli, she had +repaid him for the long abstinences by an extraordinary exaltation +and rapture of body and of intellect, but he had always experienced +a strange alienation, even when he held her in his arms--perhaps +then more than ever did he feel that she never was, and never could +be, his. The thought had always been at the back of his mind: +"Tomorrow I shall be far from her, and she will be interested in +other things. All she can give me is her body--a delicious possession +it is--and a sweet friendliness, a kindliness which sometimes seems +like love, but which is not." Some men would regard her as a cold +sensualist; maybe so, though indeed he did not think that it was so, +for her kindliness precluded such a criticism. But even if it were +so, such superficial thinking about her mattered little to him who +knew her as none other could ever know her, having lived with her +since she was two or three and twenty till five and thirty--thinking +of her always, noting every faintest shade of difference, comparing +one mood with another, learning her as other men learn a difficult +text from some ancient parchment, some obscure palimpsest--that is +what she was, something written over. There was another text which +he had never been able to master; and he sat in his chair conscious +of nothing but some vague pain which--becoming more and more +definite--awoke him at last. Though he had studied her so closely +perhaps he knew as little of her as any one else, as little as she +knew of herself. Of only one thing was there any surety, and that +was she could only be saved by an appeal to the senses. + +So he had done right in encouraging her friendship with Ulick, +sending Ulick to her, putting his natural jealousy aside--preferring +to suffer rather than that she should be lost. God only knew how he +was suffering day by day, hour by hour; but it were better that he +should suffer than that she should be abandoned to the spiritual +constriction of the old Roman python. It was horrible to think, but +the powerful coils would break and crush to pulp; then the beast +would lubricate and swallow. Anything were better than this; Ulick's +kisses would never be more to Evelyn than the passing trance of the +senses; she never would love him as other women loved, giving their +souls: she had never given her soul, why should she give it now? +But, good God! if after some new adventure she should return to the +python? + +His heart failed him; but only for a moment. Ulick might prove to her +the futility of her endeavour to lead a chaste life; and once that +was established she would become the beautiful, enchanting being +that he had known; but she would never return to him. If she only +returned to herself! The spirit of sacrifice tempted him, despite +the suffering he was enduring--a suffering which he compared to +sudden scaldings: he was being scalded to death by degrees, covered +from head to foot with blisters. A telegram in the hall for Ulick, a +hesitation in Ulick's voice, a sudden shifting of the eyes--anything +sufficed--and therewith he was burnt to the bone, far beyond the +bone, into the very vitals. Even now in his study, he waited another +scalding. At any moment Ulick might come in, and though he never +betrayed himself by any word or look, still his presence would +suggest that he had just come from Evelyn. Perhaps he had been +walking with her in the park? But why wait in Berkeley Square? If a +martyrdom of jealousy he must endure, let it be at Riversdale. Out of +sight would not mean out of mind; but he would not be constantly +reminded of his torment; there would be business to attend to which +would distract his mind, and when he returned in a few days to +Berkeley Square merciful Fate would have settled everything: she +would be gone away with Ulick to be cured, or would remain behind, a +living food for the serpent. + +The valet was told that he must be ready to catch the half-past four +train; and Ulick, when he returned from a long walk with Evelyn at +half-past six, learnt that Sir Owen had gone to Riversdale. + +"Sir Owen says, sir, he hopes to see you when he returns." + +But what business had taken Sir Owen out of London, and so suddenly? +The placid domestic could only tell him that Sir Owen often went to +Riversdale on business connected with the estate. "Sir Owen often +gets a wire from his agent." But this sudden call to see his agent +did not strike Ulick as very likely; far more likely that Asher had +gone out of town because he suspected-- + +"Poor chap! it must be dreadful seeing me come in and out of the +house, suspecting every time I am going to or coming from her. But +it was his own will that I should try to get her back to the stage +and away from Monsignor. All the same, it must have been devilishly +unpleasant." Ulick was very sorry for Owen, and hoped that if he did +succeed in tempting Evelyn away from Monsignor Owen would not hate +him for having done so. Nothing is more common than to hate one's +collaborator. Ulick laughed and suddenly grew serious. "His years are +against him. Old age, always a terror, becomes in an affair of this +kind a special terror, for there is no hope; she will never go back +to him, so I might as well get her. If I don't, Monsignor will"; and +a smile appeared again on his face, for he had begun to feel that he +would succeed in persuading Evelyn to accept the engagement, and to +do that would mean taking him on as a lover. + +When he lighted a cigar the conviction was borne in upon him, as the +phrase goes, that to travel in an opera company without a mistress +would be unendurable.... Where could he get one equal to Evelyn? +Nowhere. No one in the company was comparable to her; and of course +he loved her, and she loved him: differently, in some strange way he +feared, but still she loved him, or was attracted to him--it did not +matter which so long as he could succeed in persuading her to accept +the engagement which his directors were most anxious to conclude. As +they walked through Kensington Gardens that afternoon he had noticed +how she had begun to talk suddenly on the question whether it would +be permissible for a woman in certain circumstances to take a second +lover, if her life with her first were entirely broken, and so on. +He had answered perfunctorily, and as soon as possible turned the +conversation upon other things. But it had come back--led back by +her unconsciously to the moral question. So it would seem that she +was coming round. But there was something hysterical, something so +outside of herself--something so irresponsible in her yielding to +him, that he did not altogether like the adventure which he had +undertaken, and asked himself if he loved her sufficiently, finding +without difficulty many reasons for loving her. Nowhere could he +find anybody whom he admired more, or who interested him more. He +had loved her, and they had spent a pleasant time together in that +cottage on the river. A memory of it lit up his sensual imagination, +and he determined to continue the experience just as any other young +man would. Evelyn had denied herself to him in Italy for some +strange reason; whatever that reason was it had been overcome, and +once she yielded herself she was glorious. What happened before +would happen again, and if things did not turn out as pleasantly as +he hoped they would--that is to say, if she would not remain in the +opera company, well, the fault would not be with him. She sang very +well, though not as well as Owen thought; and he went upstairs to +dress for dinner, thinking how pleasant it was to live in Berkeley +Square. + +They were dining together in a restaurant, and as she came forward to +meet him he said to himself, "She looks like accepting the +engagement." And when he spoke about it to her he only reminded her +that by returning to the stage she would be able to make more money +for her poor people, for he felt it were better not to argue. To +take her hand and tell her that it was beautiful was much more in his +line, to put his arm about her when they drove back together in the +hansom, and speak to her of the cottage at Reading--this he could do +very well; and he continued to inflame her senses until she withdrew +herself from his arm, and he feared that he was compromising his +chance of seeing her on the morrow. + +"But you will come to the park, won't you? Remember, it is our last +day together." + +"Not the last," she said, "the last but one. Yes, I will see you +to-morrow. Now goodbye." + +"May I not go upstairs with you?" + +"No, Ulick, I cannot bring you up to my flat; it is too late." + +"Then walk a little way." + +"But if I were to accept that engagement do you think I could remain +a Catholic?" + +Ulick could see no difficulty, and begged of her to explain. + +His question was not answered until they had passed many lamp-posts, +and then as they retraced their steps she said: + +"Travelling about with an opera company do you think I could go to +Mass, above all to Communion?" + +"But you'll be on tour; nobody will know." + +"What shall I do when I return to London?" + +"Why look so far ahead?" + +"All my friends know that I go to Mass." + +"But you can go to Mass all the same and communicate." + +"But if you were my lover?" + +"Would that make any difference?" + +"Of course it would make a difference if I were to continue to go to +Mass and communicate; I should be committing a sacrilege. You cannot +ask me to do that." + +Ulick did not like the earnestness with which she spoke these words. +That she was yielding, however, there could be little doubt, and +whatever doubt remained in his mind was removed on the following day +in the park under the lime-trees, where they had been sitting for +some time, talking indolently--at least, Ulick had been talking +indolently of the various singers who had been engaged. He had done +most of the talking, watching the trees and the spire showing between +them, enjoying the air, and the colour of the day, a little heedless +of his companion, until looking up, startled by some break in her +voice, he saw that she was crying. + +"Evelyn, what is the matter? You are crying. I never saw you cry +before." + +She laughed a little, but there was a good deal of grief in her +laughter, and confessed herself to be very unhappy. Life was proving +too much for her, and when he questioned her as to her meaning, she +admitted in broken answers that his departure with the company was +more than she could bear. + +"Why, then, not come with us? You'll sign the agreement?" + +And they walked towards Bayswater together, talking from time to +time, Ulick trying not to say anything which would disturb her +resolution, though he had heard Owen say that once she had made a +promise she never went back upon it. + +There was all next day to be disposed of, but he would be very busy, +and she would be busy too; she would have to make arrangements, so +perhaps it would be better they should not meet. + +"Then, at the railway station the day after to-morrow," and he bade +her goodbye at her door. + +Owen was in his study writing. + +"I didn't know you had returned, Asher." + +"I came back this afternoon," and he was on the point of adding, "and +saw you with Evelyn as I drove through the park." But the admission +was so painful a one to make that it died upon his lips, finding +expression only in a look of suffering--a sort of scared look, which +told Ulick that something had happened. Could it be that Owen had +seen them in the park sitting under the limes? That long letter on +the writing-table, which Owen put away so mysteriously--could it be +to Evelyn? Ulick had guessed rightly. Owen had seen them in the park, +and he was writing to Evelyn telling her that he could bear a great +deal, but it was cruel and heartless for her to sit with Ulick under +the same trees. He had stopped in the middle of the letter +remembering that it might prevent her from going away with Ulick, +and so throw her back into the power of Monsignor. Even so, he must +write his letter; one has oneself to consider, and he could bear it +no longer. + +"I see you are writing, and I have many letters to write. You will +excuse me?" And Ulick went to his room. After writing his letters, +he sent word to Owen that he was dining out. "He will think I am +dining with her, but no matter; anything is better than that we two +should sit looking at each other all through the evening, thinking +of one thing and unable to speak about it." + +Next day he was out all day transacting business, thinking in the +intervals, "To-morrow morning she will be in the station," sometimes +asking himself if Owen had written to her. + +But the letter he had caught sight of on Owen's table had not been +posted. "After all, what is the good in writing a disagreeable +letter to her? If she is going away with Ulick what does it matter +under what trees they sat?" Yet everything else seemed to him +nothing compared with the fact that she and Ulick had pursued their +courtship under the limes facing the Serpentine; and Owen wondered +at himself. "We are ruled by trifles," he said; all the same he did +not send the letter. + +And that night Owen and Ulick bade each other goodbye for the last +time. + +"Perhaps I shall see you later on in the year; in about six months' +time we shall be back in London." + +Owen could not bring himself to ask if Evelyn had accepted the +engagement--what was the good? To ask would be a humiliation, and he +would know to-morrow; the porter at her flat would tell him whether +she was in London. + + + +XIV + +"Mr. Dean left this morning, Sir Owen." + +The butler was about to add, "He left about an hour ago, in plenty of +time to catch his train," but guessing Sir Owen's humour from his +silence, he said nothing, and left the footman to attend on him. + +"So he has persuaded her to go away with him. ... I wonder--" And +Owen began to think if he should go to Ayrdale Mansions himself to +find out. But if she had not gone away with Ulick, and if he should +meet her in the street, how embarrassing it would be! Of what should +he speak to her? Of the intrigue she had been carrying on with Ulick +Dean? Should he pretend that he knew nothing of it? She would be +ashamed of this renewal of her affection for Ulick, though she had +not gone away with him; and if she had not gone, it would be only on +account of Monsignor. He sat irresolute, his thoughts dropping away +into remembrances of the day before--the two sitting together under +the lime-trees. That was the unendurable bitterness; it was easy to +forgive her Ulick, he was nothing compared to this deliberate +soiling of the past. If she could not have avoided the park, she +might have avoided certain corners sacred to the memory of their +love-story--the groves of limes facing the Serpentine being +especially sacred to his memory. + +"But only man remembers; woman is the grosser animal." And in his +armchair Owen meditated on the coarseness of the female mind, always +careless of detail, even seeming to take pleasure in overlaying the +past with the present. "A mistake," he thought. "We should look upon +every episode as a picture, and each should hang in a place so +carefully appointed that none should do injury to another. But few +of us pay any regard to the hanging of our lives--women none at all. +The canvases are hooked anywhere, any place will suffice, no matter +whether they are hung straight or crooked; and a great many are left +on the floor, their faces turned to the wall; and some are hidden +away in cellars, where no memory ever reaches them. Poor canvases!" +And then, his thoughts reverting suddenly to his proposed visit to +Ayrdale Mansions, he asked himself what answer he could give if he +were asked to explain Ulick's presence at Berkeley Square--proofs of +his approval of Ulick's courtship; his motives would be +misunderstood. Never again would his love of her be believed in. + +"I have been a fool--one always is a fool, and acts wrongly, when one +acts unselfishly. Self is our one guide--when we abandon self, we +abandon the rudder." + +He would have just been content to keep Evelyn as his friend, and she +would have been willing to remain friends with him if he did not +talk against religion, or annoy her by making love to her. "There is +a time for everything," and he thought of his age. Passionate love +should melt into friendship, and her friendship he might have had if +he had thought only of himself; it would have been a worthy crown +for the love he had borne for her during so many years. Now there +was nothing left for him but a nasty sour rind of life to chew to the +end--it was under his teeth, and it was sour enough, and it never +would grow less sour. His sadness grew so deep that he forgot +himself in it, and was awakened by the sound of wheels. + +"Somebody coming to call. I won't see anybody," and he rang the bell. +"I am not at home to anybody." + +"But, Sir Owen, Mr. Dean--" + +"Mr. Dean!" And Owen stood aghast, wondering what could have brought +Ulick back again. + +"Are you at home to Mr. Dean, sir?" + +"Yes, yes," and at the same moment he caught sight of Ulick coming +across the hall. "What has happened?" he said as soon as the door +was closed. + +"She tried to poison herself last night." + +"Tried to poison herself! But she is not dead?" + +"No, she's not dead, and will recover." + +"Tried to poison herself!" + +"Yes, that is what I came back to tell you. We were to have met at +the station, but she didn't turn up; and, after waiting for a +quarter of an hour, I felt something must have happened, and drove +to Ayrdale Mansions." + +"Tried to kill herself!" + +"I'm afraid I have no time to tell you the story. Merat will be able +to tell it to you better than I. I must get away by the next train. +There is no danger; she will recover." + +"You say she will recover?" and Owen drew his hands across his eyes. +"I'm afraid I can hardly understand." + +"But if you will just take a cab and go up to Ayrdale Mansions, you +will find Merat, who will tell you everything." + +"Yes, yes. You are sure she will recover?" + +"Quite." + +"But you--you are going away?" + +"I have to, unless I give up my appointment. Of course, I should like +to stay behind; but there is no danger, absolutely none, only an +overdose of chloral." + +"She suffered a great deal from sleeplessness. Perhaps it was an +accident." + +Ulick did not answer, and the elder man drove in one direction and +the younger in another. + +"Merat, this is terrible!" + +"Won't you come into the drawing-room, Sir Owen?" + +"She is in no danger?" + +"No, Sir Owen." + +"Can I see her?" + +"Yes, of course, Sir Owen; but she is still asleep, and the doctor +says she will not be able to understand or recognise anybody for +some hours. You will see her if you call later." + +"Yes, I'll call later; but first of all, tell me, Merat, when was the +discovery made?" + +"She left a letter for me to say she was not to be called, and +knowing she had gone out for many hours, and finding her clothes and +her boots wet through, I thought it better not to disturb her. Of +course, I never suspected anything until Mr. Dean came." + +"Yes, she was to meet him at the station." And as he said these words +he remembered that Merat must know of Evelyn's intimacy with Ulick. +She must have been watching it for the last month, and no doubt +already connected Evelyn's attempted suicide in some way with Mr. +Dean, but the fact that they had arranged to meet at the railway +station did not point to a betrayal. + +"There was no quarrel between them, then, Sir Owen?" + +"None; oh, none, Merat." + +"It is very strange." + +"Yes, it is very strange, Merat; we might talk of it for hours +without getting nearer to the truth. So Mr. Dean came here?" + +"Yes. When I opened the door he said, 'Where is mademoiselle?' and I +said, 'Asleep; she left a note that she was not to be called.' +'Then, Merat, something must have happened, for she was to meet me +at the railway station. We must see to this at once.' Her door was +locked, but Mr. Dean put his shoulder against it. In spite of the +noise, she did not awake--a very few more grains would have killed +her." + +"Grains of what?" + +"Chloral, Sir Owen. We thought she was dead. Mr. Dean went for the +doctor. He looked very grave when he saw her; I could see he thought +she was dead; but after examining her he said, 'She has a young +heart, and will get over it.'" + +"So that is your story, Merat?" + +"Yes, Sir Owen, that is the story. There is no doubt about it she +tried to kill herself, the doctor says." + +"So, Merat, you think it was for Mr. Dean. Don't you know +mademoiselle has taken a religious turn?" + +"I know it, Sir Owen." + +And he attributed the present misfortune to Monsignor, who had +destroyed Evelyn's mind with ceremonies and sacraments. + +"Good God! these people should be prosecuted." And he railed against +the prelate and against religion, stopping only now and again when +Merat went to her mistress's door, thinking she heard her call. "You +say it was between eleven and twelve she came back?" + +"It was after twelve, Sir Owen." + +"Now where could she have been all that time, and in the rain, +thinking how she might kill herself?" + +"It couldn't have been anything else, Sir Owen. Her boots were soaked +through as if she had been in the water, not caring where she went." + +Owen wondered if it were possible she had ventured into the +Serpentine. + +"The park closes at nine, doesn't it, Sir Owen?" They talked of the +possibility of hiding in the park and the keepers not discovering +Evelyn in their rounds; it was quite possible for her to have +escaped their notice if she hid in the bushes about the Long Water. + +"You think, Sir Owen, that she intended to drown herself?" + +"I don't know. You say her boots were wet through. Perhaps she went +out to buy the chloral--perhaps she hadn't enough." + +"Well, Sir Owen, she must have been doubtful if she had enough +chloral to kill herself, for this is what I found." And the maid +took out of her pocket several pairs of garters tied together. + +"You think she tied these together so that she might hang herself?" + +"There is no place she could hang herself except over the banisters. +I thought that perhaps she feared the garters were not strong enough +and she might fall and break her legs." + +"Poor woman! Poor woman!" So if the garters had proved stronger, she +would have strangled there minute by minute. Nothing but religious +mania--that is what drove her to it." + +"I am inclined to think, Sir Owen, it must have been something of +that kind, for of course there were no money difficulties." + +"The agony of mind she must have suffered! The agony of the suicide! +And her agony, the worst of all, for she is a religious woman." Owen +talked of how strange and mysterious are the motives which determine +the lives of human beings. "You see, all her life was in disorder-- +leaving the stage and giving me up. Merat, there is no use in +disguising it from you. You know all about it. Do you remember when +we met for the first time?" + +"Yes, Sir Owen; indeed I do." And the two stood looking at each +other, thinking of the changes that time had made in themselves. Sir +Owen's figure was thinner, if anything, than before; his face seemed +shrunken, but there were only a few grey hairs, and the maid thought +him still a very distinguished-looking man--old, of course; but +still, nobody would think of him as an old man. Merat's shoulders +seemed to be higher than they were when he last saw her; she had +developed a bust, and her black dress showed off her hips. Her hair +seemed a little thinner, so she was still typically French; France +looked out of her eyes. "Isn't it strange? The day we first met we +little thought that we would come to know each other so well; and +you have known her always, travelled all over Europe with her. How I +have loved that woman, Merat! And here you are together, come from +Park Lane to this poor little flat in Bayswater. It is wonderful, +Merat, after all these years, to be sitting here, talking together +about her whom we both love, you have been very good to her, and have +looked after her well; I shall never forget it to you." + +"I have done my best, Sir Owen; and you know mademoiselle is one of +those whom one cannot help liking." + +"But living in this flat with her, Merat, you must feel lonely. Do +you never wish for your own country?" + +"But I am with mademoiselle, Sir Owen; and if I were to leave her, no +one else could look after her--at least, not as I can. You see, we +know each other so well, and everything belonging to her interests +me. Perhaps you would like to see her, Sir Owen?" + +"I'd like to see her, but what good would it do me or her? I'll see +her in the evening, when I can speak to her. To see her lying there +unconscious, Merat--no, it would only put thoughts of death into my +mind; and she will have to die, though she didn't die last night, +just as we all shall have to die--you and I, in a few years we shall +be dead." + +"Your thoughts are very gloomy, Sir Owen." + +"You don't expect me to have gay thoughts to-day, do you, Merat? So +here is where you live, you and she; and that is her writing-table?" + +"Yes; she sits there in the evening, quite contented, writing +letters." + +"To whom?" Owen asked. "To no one but priests and nuns?" + +"Yes, she is very interested in her poor people, and she has to write +a great many letters on their behalf." + +"I know--to get them work." And they walked round the room. "Well, +Merat, this isn't what we are accustomed to--this isn't like Park +Lane." + +"Mademoiselle only cares for plain things now; if she had the money +she would spend it all upon her poor people. It was a long time +before I could persuade her to buy the sofa you have been sitting on +just now; she has not had it above two months." + +"And all these clothes, Merat--what are they?" + +"Oh, I have forgotten to take them away." And Merat told him that +these were clothes that Evelyn was making for her poor people--for +little boys who were going upon a school-treat, mostly poor Irish; +and Owen picked up a cap from the floor, and a little crooked smile +came into his face when he heard it was intended for Paddy Sullivan. + +"All the same, it is better she should think about poor people than +about religion." + +"Far better, Sir Owen, far better. Sometimes I'm afraid she will +bring back things upon her. She comes back tired and sleeps; but +when she spends her time in churches thinking of her sins, or what +she imagines to be sins, Sir Owen, I hear her walking about her room +at night, and in the morning she tells me she hasn't slept at all." + +"What you tell me is very serious, Merat. All the same, all the same-- +jackets and coats for Paddy Sullivan's children. Well, it is very +touching. There never was anybody quite so good, do you think there +was, Merat?" + +"That is the reason why we all love her; and you do, too, Sir Owen, +though you pretend to hate goodness and to despise--" + +"No, Merat, no. Tell mademoiselle, if she wakes, that I am coming +back to see her this evening late--the later the better, I suppose, +for she is not likely to fall asleep again once she awakes." + +Merat mentioned between nine and ten o'clock, and, to distract his +thoughts, Owen went to the theatre that evening, and was glad to +leave it at ten, before the play was over. + +"Is she awake?" + +"She has been awake some time. I think you will be able to have a +little talk with her." And Owen stole into the room with so little +noise that Evelyn did not hear him, and all the room was seen and +understood before she turned: the crucifix above the bedstead, the +pious prints, engravings which they had bought in Italy--Botticelli +and Filippo Lippi. She lay in a narrow iron bed, and all the form +that he knew so well covered in a plain nightgown such as he had +never seen before, but in keeping, he thought, with the rest of the +room, and in conformity--such was his impression, there was no time +for thinking--with her present opinions. The smallness of the chest +of drawers surprised him. Where did she keep her clothes? It might +be doubted if she possessed more than two or three gowns. Where were +they hanging? The few chairs and the dressing-table, on which he +caught sight of some ivory brushes he had given her, seemed the only +furniture in the room. + +"Evelyn!" + +"Oh, it is you, Owen. So you have come to see me. You are always +kind." + +"My dear Evelyn, there never can be any question of kindness between +you and me. You will always be Evelyn, and I am only thinking now of +how glad I am to have found you again." + +"Found me again!" And her thoughts seemed to float away, her mind not +being strong enough yet to think connectedly. "How did you hear +about me?" Before he could answer she said, "I suppose Ulick--" And +then, with an effort to remember, she added, "Yes, Merat told me he +had come here," and the effort seemed to fatigue her. + +"Perhaps it would be better if you didn't talk." + +"Oh, no," she said, taking his hand, detaining it for a moment and +then losing it; "tell me." + +And he told her, speaking very gently so that his voice might not +tire her, that Ulick had called at Berkeley Square. + +"He told me you weren't going away with him." + +A slight shudder passed through Evelyn's face, and she asked, "Where +is Ulick?" + +"He has gone away. If he had stayed he would have lost his post as +secretary to the opera company." + +Evelyn did not appear to hear the explanation, and it was some time +before she said: + +"He has gone away. I don't think we shall see much of him again, +either you or I, Owen." + +Owen did not resist asking if she regretted this, and she answered +that she did not regret it at all. "And now you understand, Owen, +what kind of woman I am; how hopeless everything is." In spite of +herself, a little trace of her old wit returning to her, she added, +"You see what an unfortunate man you are in your choice of a +mistress." + +Owen could not answer; and a moment after he remembered that it is +only those who feel as deeply as Evelyn who can speak as lightly, +otherwise they would not be able to resist the strain; and the +strain was a very terrible one, he could see that, for she turned +over in bed, and a little later he perceived that she had been +crying. Turning suddenly, she exclaimed: + +"Owen, Owen, I am very frightened!" + +"Frightened of what, dear one?" + +"I don't know, Owen, I can't tell you; but I am very frightened, for +he seems not to be very far away and may come again." + +"And who is 'he'?" + +"It is impossible to tell you--a darkness, a shadow that seems always +by me, and who was very near me last night. A little more chloral +and I should not be here talking to you!" + +"It is terrible, Evelyn, terrible! And how should I have lived?" + +"You lived before me and you will live after me. Suicide is a mortal +sin, so Monsignor would tell me. We are forbidden to kill ourselves +even to escape sin, and that seems strange; for how shall I ever +believe that God would not have forgiven me, that he would not have +preferred me to kill myself than to have--?" And her voice died +away, Owen wondered whether for lack of strength or unwillingness to +express herself in words. + +"My dear Evelyn! my dear Evelyn!" + +"You don't understand, Owen; I am so different from what I was once. +I know it, I feel it, the difference, and it can't be helped." + +"But it can be helped, Evelyn. You've been living by yourself, +spending whole days and nights alone, and you've been suffering from +want of sleep--something had to happen; but now that it has happened +you will get quite well, and if you had only done what I asked you +before--if we had been married--I" + +"Don't let us talk about it, Owen; you don't understand how different +I am, how impossible--I--don't want to be unkind, you have been very +good to me always; and, understanding you as I seem to understand +you now, I am sorry you should have made such a bad choice, and that +I was not more satisfactory." + +"But you are perfectly satisfactory, Evelyn. If I am satisfied, who +should have the right to grumble? The pain of losing you is better +than the pleasure of winning anybody else.... So you think, Evelyn, +you will never return to the stage?" + +She did not answer, and, with dilated eyes, she looked through the +room till Owen turned, wondering if he should see anything; and he +was about to ask her if she saw the shadow again which she had +spoken of a while ago, but refrained from speaking, seeing that the +time was not one for questions. + +"Evelyn," he said, "I will come to see you to-morrow. You are tired +to-night." + + + +XV + +"She will fall asleep again, and to-morrow will be quite well. But +what a near escape!" And he lingered with Merat, feeling it were +better she should know everything, yet loth to tell her that he had +known all the while that Ulick was trying to persuade Evelyn to go +away with him. But Merat must know that Ulick had been staying at +Berkeley Square. + +"I suppose Monsignor comes here to see her?" + +"He has been here, Sir Owen." + +Owen would have liked to question her, but it did not seem honourable +to do so, and after a little talk about the danger of yielding to +religious impulses, he noticed that Merat was drifting from him, +evidently thinking such discussions useless. + +On the landing he told her that Ulick had gone away with the opera +company, and that it was not likely that he and mademoiselle would +see each other again. + +"But when Mr. Dean comes back to London?" Merat answered. + +"Well, hardly even then; after a crisis like this she will not be +anxious to see him. You know, Merat, he was staying with me at +Berkeley Square; and I knew of his visits here, only it seemed to me +the only way to save her from religion was by getting her to go back +to the stage." + +Owen took breath; he had told his story, or as much as was necessary, +omitting the fact that he was an accomplice in the love-making which +had led to attempted suicide. + +"You don't think I was right?" + +"Well, Sir Owen, you see, I don't think mademoiselle will ever go +back to the stage." + +"You think that, Merat? Well, then, the only thing to save her from +religion is marriage. I don't mind telling you, nor is there any +need to tell you--you must know--that I have always wanted her to be +my wife, only she would not marry me, and for some reason impossible +to get at." + +"Mademoiselle is like nobody else; _elle avait toujours son idee_." + +"_Parfaitement, comme disent les paysannes de chez vous, d'une bete +qui ne ressemble pas au troupeau et qui allait toujours._" + +"_Oui, mademoiselle a eu toujours son idee_. So Sir Owen thinks it +was fear of going back to the stage that persuaded mademoiselle to--" + +"Something like that, Merat. She liked Mr. Dean." + +"But you are first in her thoughts, Sir Owen." + +"That isn't astonishing. We have known each other so long. Now, after +what has happened, perhaps she will think differently about +marriage, do you understand, Merat. She may think differently +to-morrow, for instance, and it would be better for all of us--for +you, for myself, for her. Don't you agree?" + +"Well, Sir Owen, there is nothing I should like more than to see +mademoiselle married, only--" + +"Only you don't think she'll marry me?" + +"_Comme monsieur a dit, elle a eu toujours son idee._" + +"But after the great shock surely she will see that marriage is the +only way." Owen continued to talk of marriage a little while longer, +and all the way home his thoughts ran on his chance of persuading +Evelyn to marry him. It did not seem possible that she could refuse +after the shock. The chances were all with him: he would catch her +in a moment when her faith in religion would be weakened, for she +must see that it had not saved her from attempted suicide; all the +chances were in his favour, and he hardly doubted at all he would be +able to persuade her to marry him. Once she agreed she would carry +it out; nothing she hated as much as any alteration of plan. + +His mind wandered back into the past years, and he recalled little +facts significant of her character. However loud the storm she would +cross the Channel, though there was no reason for it--merely, as she +said, because it had been arranged to cross that day. He could +remember the dress she wore on that occasion, and the expression of +her face. Other instances equally trivial floated into his mind, +every one strangely vivid, delighting him because they were +characteristic of her. If he could only get her to say she would +marry him. It would be unnecessary to explain why he had sent Ulick +to her. Or he might explain. It didn't matter. Ulick would pass out +of their lives, and all this miserable business would be forgotten. + +The quickest way of being married was in a registry office, but would +Evelyn look upon a civil marriage as sufficient? Once the civil +marriage was an accomplished fact, she could be married afterwards +in Church, even in a Catholic church; he would go there if it +pleased her to go. Besides, Evelyn really looked upon marriage more +as a civil than as a religious obligation. His thoughts continued to +chatter, keeping him up late, till long after midnight, and awaking +him early. And the sun seemed to him to have dawned on his wedding +day. But even if they were to be married in a registry office a best +man would be required. So his thoughts went to Harding, whom he knew +to be in London. But Harding would be busy with his writing until +the afternoon, and Owen strode about Bond Street, visiting the shops +of various picture dealers, welcoming any acquaintance whom he +happened to meet, walking to the end of the street with him, and +spending the last hour--from three to four--in the National Gallery, +whither he had gone to see some new acquisitions. But the new +pictures did not interest him. "My thoughts are elsewhere." + +And turning from the new Titian, it seemed to him that he might drive +to Victoria Street; Harding's work must be over for the day. + +"My dear Harding, you don't mind my interrupting you?" And he envied +his friend's interest in his manuscripts when the writer put them +away. + +"You are not disturbing me; my secretary didn't come to-day, and +everything is habit. I can no longer write except by dictation." + +"If I had known that I would have called in the morning." + +"Again some drama in which Evelyn Innes is concerned," Harding said +to himself. + +"Harding, I have come to ask your advice; you'll give me the very +best. But you will have to hear the whole story." + +"Well, I am a story-teller, and like to hear stories." + +Owen told him how he had met Ulick Dean at Innes', and had invited +him to stop at Berkeley Square, and how gradually the idea that he +could make use of Ulick in order to tempt Evelyn back to the stage +had come into his mind. Anything to save her from religion, from +Monsignor. + +Owen caught Harding looking at him from under his shaggy eyebrows, +and anger had begun to colour his cheeks when Harding said: + +"Don't you remember, Asher, coming here a couple of years ago, and--" + +"Yes, I know. You predicted that Ulick Dean and I would become +friends, and you are right; we did." + +"And you preferred that Evelyn should be his mistress rather than +that she shall go over to Monsignor?" + +"I am not ashamed to confess I did; anything seemed better--but there +is no use arguing the point. What I have come to tell you is that +rather than go away with him she tried to kill herself." And he told +Harding the story. + +"What an extraordinary story! But nothing is extraordinary in human +nature. What we consider the normal never happens. Nature's course +is always zigzag, and no one can predict a human action." + +"Well, then, my good friend, when you have done philosophising--I +don't mean to be rude, but you see my nerves have been at strain for +the last four-and-twenty hours; you will excuse me. My notion now is +that everything has happened for the best." And he confided to +Harding his hopes of being able to persuade Evelyn to marry him. +"Only by marriage can she be saved, and I think I can persuade her." +And he babbled about her appearance last night after her long sleep, +comparing her with the portrait in his room. The painter had omitted +nothing of her character; all that had happened he read into the +picture--the restless spiritual eyes, and the large voluptuous +mouth, and the small high temples which Leonardo would like to draw. +The painting of this picture was as illusive as Evelyn herself, the +treatment of the reddish hair and the grey background. + +And Harding listened, saying, "So this is the end." + +"You think she will marry me?" + +"Everything in nature is unexpected, that is all I can tell you. Art +is logic, Nature incoherency." + +"Well, let us hope that Nature will be a little more coherent +to-morrow than she was last night, and that Evelyn will do the right +thing. Women generally marry when it is pressed upon them +sufficiently, don't you think so, Harding?" + +"I hope it will be so, since you desire it." + +"And you will be my best man, won't you?" + +"I shall be only too pleased. Now, if you wait for me while I change +my boots we'll go out together." And the two men crossed the Green +Park talking of the great moral laxity of the time they lived in; +whereas in the eighteenth century men were even accused of boasting +of their successes, now the conditions were reversed, men never +admitting themselves to be anything else but virtuous; women, on the +contrary, publishing their _liaisons_, and taking little pleasure in +them until they were known to everybody. + +"_Liaisons_ have become as official as marriages. Who doesn't know--" +And Harding mentioned a number of celebrated 'affairs' which had +been going on for ten, some twenty years. "The real love affair of +her ladyship now is probably some little tenor or drawing-master, +and Cecil's a little milliner; but her ladyship and Cecil are forced +to keep up appearances, for if they didn't who would talk about them +any more?" + +"You should write that as a short story," Owen suggested. And the two +friends began to argue as to the number of lovers which fell to the +lot of fashionable women, from the age of twenty-three to fifty. Two +or three ladies were mentioned whose _liaisons_ reached a couple of +hundred, and there was another about whom they were not agreed, for +some of her _liaisons_ had lasted so long that Owen did not believe +she had had more than fifty lovers. + +"It is impossible to imagine any time for a young man more propitious +than the present, or any society more agreeable than London. Morals, +as the newspapers would say, are in abeyance, conscience is looked +upon as pedantic, especially in women, and unbecoming." As the two +walked up St. James' Street together, Harding noticed that Owen, +notwithstanding his chatter about morals, was thinking of Evelyn, +and took very little interest in the display of the season--in the +slim nobility of England, fresh from Oxford, all in frock coats for +the first time, delighting in canes, and deerskin gloves, in collars +and ties, the newest fashion, going down the street in pairs, +turning into their clubs, lifting their hats to the women who drove +past in victorias and electric broughams. + +"Never were women more charming than they are now," Owen said, in +order not to appear too much immersed in his own thoughts, and he +picked a woman out, pretending to be interested in her. "That one +leaning a little to the left, her white dog sitting beside her." + +"Like a rose in Maytime." + +"Rather an orchid in a crystal glass." + +Harding accepted the correction. + +"Do you know who she is, Harding?" + +The question was a thoughtless one, for no one knows the whole of the +peerage, not even Harding, and it was painful for him to admit that +he did not know the lady, who happened to be an earl's daughter-- +somebody he really should have known. Not having been born a peer +himself, he had, as a friend once said, resolved to make amends for +the mistake in his birth by never knowing anybody who hadn't a +title. But this criticism was not a just one; Harding was not a +snob. It has already been explained that love of order and tradition +were part of his nature; the reader remembers, no doubt, Harding's +idiosyncrasies, and how little interested he was in writers, and +painters, avoiding always the society of such people. But his face +brightened presently, for a very distinguished woman bowed to him, +and he was glad to tell Owen he was going to stay with her in the +autumn. The Duchess had just returned from Palestine, and it was +beginning to be whispered she had gone there with a young man. The +talk turned again on the morality of London, and exciting stories +were told of a fracas which had occurred between two well-known men. +So their desks had been broken open, and packets of love letters +abstracted. New scandals were about to break to blossom, other +scandals had been nipped in the bud. + +Harding said nothing wittier had been said for many generations than +the _mot_ credited to a young girl, who had described a ball given +that season by the women of forty as "The Hags' Hop." Somebody else +had called it "The Roaring Forties." Which was the better +description of the two? "The Roaring Forties" seemed a little +pretentious, and preference was given to the more natural epigram, +"The Hags' Hop." + +"We were all virtuous in the fifties, now licence has reached its +prime, and we shall fall back soon into decadence." + +Harding, who was something of an historian, was able to illustrate +this prophecy by reference to antiquity. When the life of the senses +and understanding reached its height, as it did in the last stages +of the Roman Empire, a reaction came. St. Francis of Assisi was +succeeded by Alexander VI.; Luther soon followed after. "And in +twenty years hence we shall all become moral again. Good heavens! the +first sign of it has appeared--Evelyn." + +Piccadilly flowed past, the stream of the season, men typical of +England in their age as in their youth, typical of their castles, +their swards, and lofty woods, of their sports and traditions, +hunting, shooting, racing, polo playing; the women, too, typical of +English houses and English parks, but not so typical; only +recognisable by a certain reflected light; an Englishman makes woman +according to his own image and likeness, taking clay often from +America. The narrow pavements of Bond Street were thronged, women +getting out of their carriages, intent on their shopping, bowing to +the men as they ran into the shops, making amends for the sombre +black of the men's coats by a delirium of feathers, skirts, and pink +ankles. And nodding to their friends, bowing to the ladies in the +carriages, Harding and Owen edged their way through the crowd. + +"The street at this hour is like a ballroom, isn't it?" Owen said. "I +want to get some cigars." And they turned into a celebrated store, +where half a dozen assistants were busily engaged in tying up +parcels of five hundred or a thousand cigars, or displaying +neatly-made paper boxes containing a hundred cigarettes. + +"When will men give up smoking pipes, I should like to know?" + +"I thought you were a pipe smoker?" + +"So I was, but I can t bear the smell any longer." + +"Yet you smoke cigars?" + +"Cigars are different." + +"How was it the change came?" + +"I don't know." Owen ordered a thousand cigars to be sent to Berkeley +Square. + +It was late for tea, and still too early for dinner. + +"I am sorry to ask you to dine at such an early hour, but I daresay +we shan't have dinner till half-past seven." + +But Harding remembered his tailor: some trousers. And he led Owen +towards Hanover Square, wondering if Owen would approve of his +choice? + +"It was like you to choose that grey." + +Now what was there to find fault with in the grey he had chosen? They +turned over the tailor's pattern sheet. Daring, in the art of +dressing, is the prescriptive right of the professional just as it +is in writing. Owen was a professional dresser, whereas he, Harding, +was but an amateur; and that was why he had chosen a timid, +insignificant grey. At once Owen discovered a much more effective +cloth; and he chose a coat for Harding, who wanted one--the same +rough material which Harding had often admired on Owen's shoulders. +But would such a dashing coat suit him as well as it did its +originator, and dare he wear the fancy waistcoats Owen was pressing +upon him? + +"They suit you, Asher, but you still go in at the waist, and brown +trousers look well on legs as straight as billiard cues." + +"Is there nothing we can do for you, Sir Owen?" + +Owen spoke about sending back a coat which he was not altogether +satisfied with. + +"Every suit of clothes I have, Harding, costs me fifty pounds." + +Harding raised his thick eyebrows, and Owen explained that only one +suit in six was worth wearing. + +"There is more truth in what you say than appears. I once wore a suit +of clothes for six years! And they were as good as new when--" + +But Owen refused to be interested in Harding's old clothes. "If I'm +not married to-morrow I shall never marry. You don't believe me, +Harding? Now, of what are you thinking? Of that suit of clothes which +you have had for six years or of my marriage--which?" + +At the moment that Owen interrupted him Harding was thinking that +perhaps a woman who had attempted suicide to escape from another man +would not drift as easily into marriage as Owen thought; but, of +course, he did not dare to confess such an opinion. + +"You don't mind dining at half-past seven?" + +"Not in the least, my good friend, not in the least." Going towards +Berkeley Square they continued to speak about Evelyn.... She would +have to refuse Owen to-night or accept him: so he would know his +fate to-night. + +"Just fancy," he said, "to-morrow I am either going to be married +or--" And he stared into the depths of a picture about which he +thought he would like to have Harding's opinion, but it did not matter +what anybody thought of pictures until he knew what Evelyn was going +to do. None had any interest for him; but they could not talk of +Evelyn during dinner, the room being full of servants, and he was +forced to listen to Harding, who was rather tiresome on the subject of +how a collection of pictures had better be formed, and the proposal to +go to France to seek for an Ingres did not appeal to him. + +"I hope you don't mind my smoking a pipe," Harding said as they rose +from table. + +"No," he said, "smoke what you like, I don't care; smoke in my study, +only raise the window. But you'll excuse me, Harding. My appointment +is for eight." + +As he was about to leave the room a footman came in, saying that Miss +Innes' maid would like to see him, and, guessing that something had +happened, Owen said: + +"It is to tell me I'm not to go to see her; something disagreeable +always--" And he left the room abruptly. + +"I have shown the maid into the morning-room, Sir Owen." + +"Now, what is the matter, Merat?" + +"Perhaps you had better read the letter first, Sir Owen, and then we +can talk." + +"I can't read without my glasses; do you read it, Merat." Without +waiting for her to answer he returned to the dining-room. "I have +forgotten my glasses, Harding, that is all; you will wait for me." +His hand trembled as he tried to fix the glasses on his nose. + +"MY DEAR OWEN,--I am afraid you will be disappointed, and I am +disappointed too, for I should like to see you; but I think it would +be better, and Monsignor, who was here to-day, thinks it would be +better, that we should not see each other... for the present. I have +recovered a good deal, but am still far from well; my nerves are +shattered. You know I have been through a great deal; and though I am +sure you would have refrained from all allusions to unpleasant +topics, still your presence would remind me too much of what I don't +want to think about. It is impossible for me to explain better. This +letter will seem unkind to you, who do not like unkind letters; but +you will try to understand, and to see things from my point of view, +and not to rave when I tell you that I am going to a convent--not to +be a nun; that, of course, is out of the question; but for rest, and +only among those good women can I find the necessary rest. + +"My first thought was to go to Dulwich to my father, but--well, here +is a piece of news that will interest you--he has been appointed +_capelmeister_ to the Papal choir, the ambition of his life is +fulfilled, and he started at once for Rome. It is possible that +three or four months hence, when he is settled, he will write to ask +me to go out to join him there, and Monsignor would like me to do +this, for, of course, my duty is by my father, who is no longer as +young as he used to be. I don't like to leave him, but the matter +has been carefully considered; he has been here with Monsignor, and +the conclusion arrived at is, that it is better for me to go to the +convent for a long rest. Afterwards ... one never knows; there is no +use making plans. "EVELYN." + +"No use making plans; I should think not, indeed," Owen cried. "Never +will she come out of that convent, Merat, never! They have got her, +they have got her! You remember the first day we met, you and I, in +the Rue Balzac, and you have been with her ever since; you were with +us in Brussels when she sang 'Elizabeth,' and in Germany--do you +remember the night she sang 'Isolde'? So it has come to this, so it +has come to this; and in spite of all we could do. Do you remember +Italy, Merat? Good God! Good God!" And he fell into a chair and did +not speak again for some time. "It would have been better if Ulick +Dean had persuaded her to go away with him. It was I who told him to +go to see her and kept him in my house because I knew that this +damned priest would get her in the end." + +"But, Sir Owen, for mademoiselle to be a nun is out of the +question... if you knew what convents were." + +"Oh, Merat, don't talk to me, don't talk to me; they have got her!" + +Then a sudden idea seized him. + +"Come into the dining-room," he said. "You know Mr. Harding? He is +there." He passed out of the room, leaving the door open for Merat +to follow through. "Harding, read this letter." He stood watching +Harding while he read; but before Harding was half-way down the page +he said: "You see, she is going into a convent. They have got her, +they have got her! But they shan't get her as long as I have a +shoulder with which to force in a door. The doors of those mansions +where she has gone to live are not very strong, are they, Merat? She +shall see me; she shall not go to that convent. That blasted priest +shall not get her. Those ghouls of nuns!" And he was about to break +from the room when Merat threw herself in front of him. + +"Remember, Sir Owen, she has been very ill; remember what has +happened, and if you prevent her from going to the convent--" + +"So, Merat, you're against me too? You want to drive her into a +convent, do you?" + +"Sir Owen, you hardly know what you are saying. I am thinking of what +might happen if you went to Ayrdale Mansions and forced in the door. +Sir Owen, I beg of you." + +"Then if you oppose me you are responsible. They will get her, I tell +you; those blasted ghouls, haunters of graveyards, diggers of +graves, faint creatures who steal out of the light, mumblers of +prayers! You know, Harding, what I say is true. God!" He raised his +fist in the air and fell back into an armchair, screaming oaths and +blasphemies without sense. It was on Harding's lips to say, "Asher, +you are making a show of yourself." "_Vous vous donnez en spectacle_" +were the words that crossed Merat's mind. But there was something +noble in this crisis, and Harding admired Owen--here was one who was +not afraid to shriek out and to rage. And what nobler cause for a +man's rage? + +"The woman he loves is about to be taken out of the sunlight into the +grey shadow of the cloister. Why shouldn't he rage?" + +"To sing of death, not of life, and where the intelligence wilts and +bleaches!" he shrieked. "What an awful end! don't you understand? +Devils! devils!" and he slipped from his chair suddenly on to the +hearthrug, and lay there tearing at it with his fingers. The elegant +fribble of St. James' Street had passed back to the primeval savage +robbed of his mate. + +"You give way to your feelings, Asher." + +At these words Asher sprang to his feet, yelling: + +"Why shouldn't I give way to my feelings? You haven't lost the most +precious thing on God's earth. You never cared for a woman as I do; +perhaps you never cared for one at all. You don't look as if you +did." Owen's face wrinkled; he jibbered at one moment like a +demented baboon, at the next he was transfigured, and looked like +some Titan as he strode about the room, swearing that they should +not get her. + +"But it all depends upon herself, Owen; you can do nothing," Harding +said, fearing a tragedy. But Owen did not seem to hear him, he could +only hear his own anger thundering in his heart. At last the storm +seemed to abate a little, and he said that he knew Harding would +forgive him for having spoken discourteously; he was afraid he had +done so just now. + +"But, you know, Harding, I have suspected this abomination; the taint +was in her blood. You know those Papists, Harding, how they cringe, +how shamefaced they are, how low in intelligence. I have heard you +say yourself they have not written a book for the last four hundred +years. Now, why do you defend them?" + +"Defend them, Asher? I am not defending them." + +"Paralysed brains, arrested intelligences." He stopped, choked, +unable to articulate for his haste. "That brute, Monsignor Mostyn-- +at all events I can see him, and kick the vile brute." And taken in +another gust of passion, Owen went towards the door. "Yes, I can +have it out with him." + +"But, Asher, he is an old man; to lay hands upon him would be ruin." + +"What do I care about ruin? I am ruined. They have got her, and her +mind will be poisoned. She will get the abominable ascetic mind. The +pleasure of the flesh transferred! What is legitimate and beautiful +in the body put into the mind, the mind sullied by passions that do +not belong to the mind. That is what papistry is! They will poison +that pure, beautiful woman's mind. That priest has put them up to +it, and he shall pay for it if I can get at him to-night!" Owen broke +away suddenly, leaving Harding and Merat in the dining-room, Harding +regretting that he had accepted Owen's invitation to dinner... If +Asher and Monsignor were to meet that night? Good Lord! ... Owen +would strike him for sure, and a blow would kill the old man. + +"Merat, this is very unfortunate.... Not to be able to control one's +temper. You have known him a long time.... I hope nothing will +happen. Perhaps you had better wait." + +"No, Mr. Harding, I can't wait; I must go back to mademoiselle." And +the two went out together, Harding turning to the right, jumping +into a cab as soon as he could hail one, and Merat getting into +another in order to be in time to save her mistress from her madman +lover. + + + +XVI + +Three hours after Harding and Merat had left Berkeley Square, Owen +let himself in with his latch-key. He was very pale and very weary, +and his boots and trousers were covered with mud, for he had been +splashing through wet streets, caring very little where he went. At +first he had gone in the direction of the river, thinking to rouse +up Monsignor, and to tell him what he thought of him, perhaps to +give him a good thrashing; but the madness of his anger began to die +long before reaching the river. In the middle of St. James's Park the +hopelessness of any effort on his part to restrain Evelyn became +clear to him suddenly, and he uttered a cry, walking on again, and +on again, not caring whither he walked, splashing on through the +wet, knowing well that nothing could be done, that the inevitable +had happened. + +"It would have been better if she had died," he often said; "it would +have been much better if she had died, for then I should be free, +and she would be free. Now neither is free." + +There were times when he did not think at all, when his mind was +away; and, after a long absence of thought, the memory of how he had +lost her for ever would strike him, and then it seemed as if he +could walk no longer, but would like to lie down and die. All the +same, he had to get home, and the sooner he got home the better, for +there was whisky on the table, and that would dull his memory; and, +tottering along the area railings, he thought of the whisky, +understanding the drunkard for the first time and his temptations. +"Anything to forget the agony of living!" + +Three or four days afterwards he wrote to her from Riversdale. +Something had to be written, though it was not very clear that +anything could be gained by writing, only he felt he must write just +to wish her goodbye, to show that he was not angry, for he would +like her to know that he loved her always; so he wrote: + +"For the last four days I have been hoping to get a letter from you +saying you had changed your mind, and that what was required to +restore you to health was not a long residence in a convent, but the +marriage ceremony. This morning, when my valet told me there were no +letters, I turned aside in bed to weep, and I think I must have lain +crying for hours, thinking how I had lost my friend, the girl whom I +met in Dulwich, whom I took to Paris, the singer whose art I had +watched over. It was a long time before I could get out of bed and +dress myself, and during breakfast tears came into my eyes; it was +provoking, for my servant was looking at me. You know how long he +has been with me, so, yielding to the temptation to tell somebody, I +told him; I had to speak to somebody, and I think he was sorry for +me, and for you. But he is a well-bred servant, and said very +little, thinking it better to leave the room on the first +opportunity. + +"Merat, who brought your letter, told me you said I would understand +why it was necessary for you to go to a convent for rest. Well, in a +way, I do understand, and, in a way, I am glad you are going, for at +all events your decision puts an end to the strife that has been +going on between us now for the last three years. It was first +difficult for me to believe, but I have become reconciled to the +belief that you will never be happy except in a chaste life. I +daresay it would be easy for me, for Ulick, or for some other man +whom you might take a fancy to, to cause you to put your idea behind +you for a time. Your senses are strong, and they overpower you. You +were, on more than one occasion, nearly yielding to me, but if you +had yielded it would have only resulted in another crisis, so I am +glad you did not. It is no pleasure to make love to a woman who +thinks it wrong to allow you to make love to her, and, could I get +you as a mistress, strange as it will seem to you, upon my word, +Evelyn, I don't think I would accept you. I have been through too +much. Of course, if I could get back the old Evelyn, that would be +different, but I am very much afraid she is dead or overpowered; +another Evelyn has been born in you, and it overpowers the old. An +idea has come into your mind, you must obey it, or your life would be +misery. Yes, I understand, and I am glad you are going to the +convent, for I would not see you wretched. When I say I understand, +I only mean that I acquiesce--I shall never cease to wonder how such +a strange idea has come into your mind; but there is no use arguing +that point, we have argued it often enough, God knows! I cannot go +to London to bid you goodbye. Goodbyes are hateful to me. I never go +to trains to see people off, nor down to piers to wave handkerchiefs, +nor do I go to funerals. Those who indulge their grief do so because +their grief is not very deep. I cannot go to London to bid you +goodbye unless you promise to see me in the convent. Worse than a +death-bed goodbye would be the goodbye I should bid you, and it, +too, would be for eternity. But say I can go to see you in the +convent, and I will come to London to see you. + +"Yours, + +"OWEN." + + * * * * * + +"MY DEAR OWEN,--You have written me a beautiful letter. Not one word +of it would I have unwritten, and it is a very great grief to me +that I cannot write you a letter which would please you as much as +your letter pleases me. No woman, since the world began, has had +such a lover as I have had, and yet I am putting him aside. What a +strange fatality! Yet I cannot do otherwise. But there is +consolation for me in the thought that you understand; had it been +otherwise, it would have been difficult for me to bear it. You know +I am not acting selfishly, but because I cannot do otherwise. I have +been through a great deal, Owen, more, perhaps, even than you can +imagine. That night! But we must not speak of it, we must not speak +of it! Rest is required, avoidance of all agitation--that is what +the doctor says, and it agitates me to write this letter. But it must +be done. To see you, to say goodbye to you, would be an agitation +which neither of us could bear, we should both burst into tears; and +for you to come to see me in the convent would be another agitation +which must be avoided. The Prioress would not allow me to see you +alone, if she allowed me to see you at all. No, Owen, don't come to +see me either in London or in the convent. Leave me to work out my +destiny as best I can. In three or four months perhaps I shall have +recovered. Until then, + +"Yours ever, + +"EVELYN." + + + +XVII + +In a letter to Monsignor, Evelyn wrote: + +"I have just sent a letter to my father, in which I tell him, amid +many hopes of a safe arrival in Rome, not unduly tired, and with all +the dear instruments intact, unharmed by rough hands of porters and +Custom House officers, that, one of these days, in three or four +months, when I am well, I look forward to contributing the _viola da +gamba_ part of a sonata to the concert of the old instrumental music +which he will give when he has put his choir in order: you know I +used to play that instrument in my young days. A more innocent wish +never entered into the heart of a human being, you will say, yet +this letter causes me many qualms, for I cannot help thinking that I +have been untruthful; I have--lied is, perhaps, too strong a word-- +but I have certainly equivocated to the Prioress, and deceived her, +I think, though it is possible, wishing to be deceived, she lent +herself to the deception. Now I am preferring an accusation against +the dear Prioress! My goodness, Monsignor, what a strange and +difficult thing life is, and how impossible to tell the exact truth! +If one tries to be exact one ends by entangling the thread, and +getting it into very ugly knots indeed. In trying to tell the truth, +I have been guilty of a calumny against the Prioress, nothing short +of that, Monsignor, nothing short of that--against the dear +Prioress, who deserves better of me, for her kindness towards me +since I have been to the convent has never ceased for a single +instant! + +"One of her many kindnesses is the subject of this letter. When I +arrived here the nuns were not decided, and I was not decided, +whether I should live in the convent as I did before, as a guest, or +whether, in view of the length of my probable residence in the +convent, I should be given the postulant's cap and gown. Mother Mary +Hilda thought it would be dangerous to open the doors of the +novitiate to one who admitted she was entering the religious life +only as an experiment, especially to one like myself, an opera +singer, who, however zealously she might conform to the rule, would +bring a certain atmosphere with her into the novitiate, one which +could not fail to affect a number of young and innocent girls, and +perhaps deleteriously. I think I agree with Mother Mary Hilda. All +this I heard afterwards from Mother Philippa, who, in her homely way, +let out the secret of these secret deliberations to me--how the +Prioress, who desired the investiture, said that every postulant +entered the novitiate as an experiment. 'But believing,' Mother Mary +Hilda interrupted, 'that the experiment will succeed, whereas, in +her case, the postulant does not believe at all.' + +"As it was impossible for the Mothers to decide I was sent for, and +asked whether I thought the experiment would succeed or fail.' But +what experiment?--I had to ask. And the Prioress and Mother Hilda +were not agreed, their points of view were not the same; mine was, +again, a different point of view, mine being, as you know, a +determination to conquer a certain thing in my nature which had +nearly brought about my ruin, and which, if left unchecked, would +bring it about. Room for doubt there was none, and, after such an +escape as mine, one does not hesitate about having recourse to +strong remedies. My remedy was the convent, and, my resolve being to +stay in the convent till I had conquered myself, it did not at the +time seem to me a falsehood to say that I put myself in the hands of +God, and hoped the experiment would succeed. Mother Mary Hilda, who +is very persistent, asked me what I meant by conquering myself, and I +answered, a subjugation of that part of me which was repellent to +God. At these words the Prioress's face lit up, and she said, 'Well, +Mother Hilda, I suppose you are satisfied?' Mother Hilda did not +answer, but I could see that she was not satisfied; and I am not +satisfied either, for I feel that I am deceiving the nuns. + +"But, Monsignor, if a different answer had been given, if I had said +that I looked upon the convent as a refuge where a difficult time +might be passed, two or three months, it does not seem to me that I +would have answered the nuns more truthfully. The Prioress seems to +think with me in this, going so far as to suggest that there are +occasions when we do well not to try to say everything, for the very +simple reason that we do not know everything--even about ourselves; +and she seemed glad that I had not said more, and took me there and +then to her room, and, in the presence of Mother Philippa and Mother +Mary Hilda, said, 'Now, we must hide all this fair hair under a +little cap.' I knelt in front of the Prioress, and she put a white +cap on my head, and pinned a black veil over it; and when she had +done this she drew me to her and kissed me, saying, 'Now you look +like my own child, with all your worldly vanities hidden away. I +believe Monsignor Mostyn would hardly know his penitent in her new +dress.' + +"I think I can see you smile as you read this, and I think I can hear +you thinking, 'Once an actress always an actress.' But there is not +sufficient truth in this criticism to justify it, and if such a +thought does cross your mind, I feel you will suppress it quickly in +justice to me, knowing, as you must know, that a badge gives courage +to the wearer, putting a conviction into the heart that one is not +alone, but a soldier in a great army walking in step towards a +definite end. This sounds somewhat grandiloquent, but it seems to me +somewhat like the truth. Trying to get into step is interesting and +instructive, and the novitiate, though hardly bearable at times, is +better than sitting in the lonely guest-room. Mother Hilda's +instruction in the novitiate seems childish, yet why is it more +childish than a hundred other things? Only because one is not +accustomed to look at life from the point of view of the convent. As +a guest, I felt it to be impossible to remain in the convent for +three months, and it pleased me, I admit it, and interested me, I +admit it, to try to become part of this conventual life, so +different, so strangely different, from the life of the world, so +remote from common sympathies. In speaking of this life, one hardly +knows what words to employ, so inadequate are words to express one's +meaning, or shall I say one's feeling? 'Actress again,' I hear your +thoughts, Monsignor; 'a woman desirous of a new experience, of new +sensations.' No, no, Monsignor, no; but I confess that the pure +atmosphere of the convent is easier and more agreeable to breathe +than the atmosphere of the world and its delight. To her whose quest +is chastity, it is infinitely agreeable to feel that she is living +among chaste women, the chastity of the nuns seems to penetrate and +enfold me. To the hunted animal a sense of safety is perhaps a +greater pleasure than any other, and one is never really unhappy, +however uncomfortable one's circumstances may be, if one is doing +what one wants to do.... But I am becoming sententious." + +In another letter to Monsignor she said: + +"This morning I received a long and delightful letter from my father +telling me about the progress he is making, or I should say the +progress that the choir is making under his direction, and how +convinced he found everybody of the necessity of a musical +reformation of some kind, and how gratifying it was to find them +ready to accept his reading of the old music as the one they had been +waiting for all this time. But, Monsignor, does my father exaggerate? +For all this sounds too delightful to be true. Is it possible that +his ideas meet with no opposition? Or is it that an opposition is +preparing behind an ambuscade of goodwill? Father is such an +optimist that any enthusiasm for his ideas convinces him that +stupidity has ended in the world at last. But you will not be duped, +Monsignor, for Rome is your native city, and his appointment of +_capelmeister_ is owing to you, and the kindly reception of my +father's ideas--if they have been received as he thinks--is also +owing to you. You will not be deceived, as he would easily be, by +specious appearance, and will support him in the struggle that may +be preparing under cover. I know you will. "His letter is entirely +concerned with music; he does not tell me about his daily life, and, +knowing how neglectful he is of material things, thinking only of +his ideas, I am not a little anxious about him: how he is lodged, and +if there is anybody by him who will see that he has regular meals. +He will neglect his meals if he is allowed to neglect them, so, in +the interests of the musical reformation, somebody should be charged +to look after him, and he should not be allowed to overwork himself; +but it will be difficult to prevent this. The most we can hope for +is that he shall get his meals regularly, and that the food be of +good quality and properly cooked. The food here is not very good, nor +very plentiful; to feel always a little hungry is certainly trying, +and the doctor has spoken to the Prioress on the subject, insisting +that nourishing food is necessary to those suffering from nervous +breakdown, and healthy exercise; of healthy exercise there is +plenty, for the nuns dig their own garden; so I am a reformer in a +small way, and I can assure you my reformation is appreciated by the +nuns, who thank me for it; my singing at Benediction is better +appreciated on a full than on an empty stomach, especially when it +is the song that fills the stomach. And it is my singing that +enables Mother Philippa, who looks after the catering, to spend more +money at the baker's and the butcher's. There has been an +improvement, too, in the cooking; a better watch is kept in the +kitchen, and not only my health but the health of the entire +community is improved. + +"We are a little more joyous now than we were, and every day I seem +to be better able to appreciate the happiness of living among people +who share one's ideas. One cannot love those whose ideas are +different, at least I cannot; a mental atmosphere suitable to our +minds is as necessary as fresh air is to our lungs. And I feel it a +great privilege to be allowed to live among chaste women, no longer +to feel sure of my own unworthiness, no longer; it is terrible to +live always at war with oneself. The eyes of the nuns and their +voices exhale an atmosphere in which it seems to me my soul can +rise, and very often as I walk in the garden with them I feel as if +I were walking upon air. Owen Asher used to think that intellectual +conversation kindled the soul; so it does in a way; and great works +of art enkindle the soul and exalt it; but there is another +exaltation of soul which is not discoverable in the intellect, and I +am not sure that it is not the greater: the exaltation of which I +speak is found in obedience, in submission, yes, and in ignorance, +in trying--I will not say to lower oneself--but in trying to bring +oneself within the range of the humble intelligence and to +understand it. And there is plenty of opportunity for this in the +convent. To explain what I mean, and perhaps to pass away the tedium +of an afternoon which seems long drawn out, I will put down here for +you, Monsignor, the conversation, as much as I can remember of it, +which introduced me to the inhabitants of the novitiate. + +"When Mother Hilda recited the Litany of Our Lady, and we had risen +to our feet, she said: + +"'Now, Evelyn, you must be introduced to your sisters--Sister Barbara +I think you have met, as she sings in the choir. This is Sister +Angela; this tall maypole is Sister Winifred, and this little being +here is Sister Jerome, who was the youngest till you came. Aren't +you pleased, Jerome, to have one younger than yourself?' The novices +said, 'How do you do?' and looked shy and awkward for a minute, and +then they forgot me in their anxiety to know whether recreation was +to be spent indoors or out. + +"'Mother, we may go out, mayn't we? Oh, thank you so much, it is such +a lovely evening. We need not wear cloaks, need we? Oh, that is all +right, just our garden shoes.' And there was a general scurry to the +cells for shoes, whilst Mother Hilda and I made our way downstairs, +and by another door, into the still summer evening. + +"'How lovely it is!' I said, feeling that if Mother Hilda and I could +have spent the recreation hour together my first convent evening +would have been happy. But the chattering novices soon caught us up, +and when we were sitting all a-row on a bench, or grouped on a +variety of little wooden stools, they asked me questions as to my +sensations in the refectory, and I could not help feeling a little +jarred by their familiarity. + +"'Were you not frightened when you felt yourself at the head of the +procession? I was,' said Winifred. + +"'But you didn't get through nearly so well as Sister Evelyn; you +turned the wrong way at the end of the passage and Mother had to go +after you,' said Sister Angela. 'We all thought you were going to +run away.' And they went into the details as to how they had felt on +their arrival, and various little incidents were recalled, +illustrating the experience of previous postulants, and these were +productive of much hilarity. + +"'What did you all think of the cake?' said Sister Barbara suddenly. + +"'Was it Angela's cake?' asked Mother Hilda. 'Angela, I really must +congratulate you; you will be quite a distinguished _chef_ in time.' + +"Sister Angela blushed with delight, saying, 'Yes, I made it +yesterday, Mother; but, of course, Sister Rufina stood over me to +see that I didn't forget anything.' + +"'Ah, well, I don't think I cared very much for the flavouring,' said +Sister Barbara in pondering tones. + +"'You seemed to me to be enjoying it very much at the time,' I said, +joining the conversation for the first time; and when I added that +Sister Barbara had eaten four slices of bread and butter the laugh +turned against Barbara, and every one was hilarious. It is evident +that Sister Barbara's appetite is considered an excellent joke in +the novitiate. + +"Of course I marvelled that grown-up women should be so easily +amused, and then remembered a party at the Savoy Hotel (on leaving +it I went to the presbytery to confess to you, Monsignor). I had to +admit to myself that the talk at Louise Helbrun's party did not move +on a higher level; our conversation did not show us to be wiser than +the novices, and our behaviour was certainly less exemplary. +Everything is attitude of mind, and the convent attitude towards life +is curiously sympathetic to me... at present. My doubts lest it +should not always be so is caused by the fury of my dislike to my +former attitude of mind; something tells me that such fury as mine +cannot be maintained, and will be followed by a certain reaction. I +don't mean that I shall ever again return to a life of sin, that +life is done with for ever. Even if I should fall again--the thought +is most painful to me--but even if that should happen it would be a +passing accident, I never could again continue in sin, for the memory +of the suffering sin has caused me would be sure to bring me back +again and force me to take shelter and to repent. + +"I know too much belief in one's own power of resistance is not a +good thing, but I can hardly bear to think of the suffering I +endured during those weeks with Ulick Dean, walking in Hyde Park, +round that Long Water, talking of sin and its pleasures, feeling +every day that I was being drawn a little nearer to the precipice, +that I was losing every day some power of resistance. It is +terrifying to lose sense of the reality of things, to lose one's own +will, to feel that one is merely a stone that has been set rolling. +To feel like this is to experience the obtuse and intense sensations +of nightmare, and this I know well. Have I not told you, Monsignor, +of the dreams from which I suffered, which brought me to you, and +which forced me to confession, those terrific dreams which used to +drive me dazed from my bed, flying through the door of my room into +the passage to wake up before the window, saying to myself: + +"'Oh, my God! it is a dream, it is a dream, thank God, it is only a +dream!' + +"But I must not allow myself to dwell on that time, to do so throws +me back again, and I have almost escaped those fits of brooding in +which I see my soul lost for ever. Sooner than go back to that time +I would become a nun, and remain here until the end of my life, +eating the poorest food, feeling hungry all day; anything were +better than to go back to that time!" + +In another letter she said: + +"I am afraid I shall always continue to be looked upon as an actress +by the Prioress, and St. Teresa's ecstasies and ravishments, with +added miracles and prophecies, would not avail to blot out the +motley which continues in her eyes, though it dropped from me three +years ago. + +"'My dear Evelyn, you have hardly any perception of what our life +is,' she said to me yesterday. 'You know it only from the outside, +you are still an actress, you are acting on a different stage, that +is all.' And it seemed to me that the Prioress thought she was +speaking very wisely, that she flattered herself on her wisdom, and +rejoiced not a little in my discomfiture, visible on my face, for +one cannot control the change of expression, 'which gives one away,' +as the phrase goes. She laughed, and we walked on together, I +genuinely perplexed and pathetically anxious to discover if she had +spoken the truth, fearing lest I might be adapting myself to a new +part, not quite sure, hoping, however, that something new had come +into my life. On such occasions one peers into one's heart, but +however closely I peer it is impossible for me to say that the +Prioress is right or that she was wrong. Everybody will say she is +right, of course, for it is so obvious that a prima donna who +retires to a convent must think of the parts she has played, of her +music, and the applause at the end of every evening, applause +without which she could not live. To say that no thought of my stage +life ever crosses my mind would be to tell a lie that no one would +believe; all thoughts cross one's mind, especially in a convent of a +contemplative Order where the centre of one's life is, as Mother Mary +Hilda would say, the perpetual adoration of the Blessed Sacrament +exposed upon the altar; where, as she teaches, next to receiving +Holy Communion, this hour of prayer and meditation in the presence +of our Lord is the central feature of our spiritual life, the axis +on which our spiritual progress revolves. + +"This was the subject of yesterday's lesson; nevertheless, during the +meditation thoughts came and went, and I found much difficulty in +trying to fix my mind. Perhaps I shall never learn how to meditate +on--shall I say the Cross?--I shall never be able to fix my +attention. Thoughts of the heroes and heroines of legends come and +go in my mind, mixing with thoughts of Christ and His apostles; yet +there is little of me in these flitting remembrances. My stage life +does not interest me any longer, but the Prioress does not see it as +I do, far away, a tiny speck. My art was once very real to me, and I +am surprised, and a little disappointed sometimes, that it should +seem so little now. But what I would not have, if I could change it, +is the persistency with which I remember my lovers; not that I +desire them, oh, no; but in the midst of a meditation on the Cross a +remembrance catches one about the heart, and, closing the eyes, one +tries to forget; and, Monsignor, what is worse than memory is our +powerlessness to regret our sins. We may not wish to sin again, but +we cannot regret that we have sinned. How is one to regret that one +is oneself? For one's past is as much oneself as one's present. Has +any saint attained to such a degree of perfection as to wish his +past had never existed? + +"Another part of my life which I remember very well--much better than +my stage life--is the time I spent working among the poor under your +direction. My poor people are very vivid in my memory; I remember +their kindness to each other, their simplicities, and their +patience. The patience of the poor is divine! But the poor people +who looked to me for help had to be put aside, and that was the +hardest part of my regeneration. Of course I know that I should have +perished utterly if I had not put them aside, but even the thought +of my great escape does not altogether satisfy me, and I would that +I might have escaped without leaving them, the four poor women whom +I took under my special protection, and who came to see me the day +before I came to the convent to ask me not to leave them. Four poor +women, poor beyond poverty, came to ask me not to go into the +convent. 'The convent will be always able to get on without you, +miss.' Such poverty as theirs is silent, they only asked me not to +leave them, not to go to the convent. Among them was poor Lena, a +hunchback seamstress, who has never been able to do more than keep +herself from starving. It is hard that cripples should have to +support themselves. She has, I think, always lived in fear lest she +should not be able to pay for her room at the end of the week, and +her food was never certain. How little it was, yet to get it caused +her hours and hours of weary labour. Three and sixpence a week was +all she could earn. Poor Lena, what has become of her? So little of +the money which my singing brings to the convent would secure her +against starvation, yet I cannot send her a penny. Doesn't it seem +hard, Monsignor? And if she were to die in my absence would not the +memory of my desertion haunt me for ever? Should I be able to forgive +myself? You will answer that to save one's soul is everybody's first +concern, but to sacrifice one's own soul for the poor may not be +theological, but it would be sublime. You who are so kind, +Monsignor, will not reprove me for writing in this strain, writing +heresy to you from a convent devoted to the Perpetual Adoration of +the Sacrament, but you will understand, and will write something +that will hearten me, for I am a little disheartened to-day. You will +write, perhaps, to the Reverend Mother, asking her if I may send Lena +some money; that would be a great boon if she would allow it. In my +anxiety to escape from the consequences of my own sins I had almost +forgotten this poor girl, but yesterday she came into my mind. It +was the lay sisters who reminded me of the poor people I left; the +lay sisters are what is most beautiful in the convent. + +"Yesterday, when the grass was soaked with dew and the crisp leaves +hung in a death-like silence, one of them, Sister Bridget, came down +the path carrying a pail of water, 'going,' she said, answering me, +'to scrub the tiles which covered the late Reverend Mother's grave. +Ah, well, Mother's room must have its weekly turn out.' How +beautiful is the use of the word 'room' in the phrase, and when I +pointed out to her that the tiles were still clean her answer was +that she regarded the task of attending the grave not as a duty but +as a privilege. Dear Sister Bridget, withered and ruddy like an +apple, has worked in the community for nearly thirty years. She has +been through all the early years of struggle: a struggle which has +begun again--a struggle the details of which were not even told her, +and which she has no curiosity to hear. She is content to work on to +the end, believing that it was God's will for her to do so. The lay +sisters can aspire to none of the convent offices; they have none of +the smaller distractions of receiving guests, and instructing +converts and so forth, and not to have as much time for prayer as +they desire is their penance. They are humble folk, who strive in a +humble way to separate themselves from the animal, and they see +heaven from the wash-tub plainly. In the eyes of the world they are +ignorant and simple hearts. They are ignorant, but of what are they +ignorant? Only of the passing show, which every moment crumbles and +perishes. I see them as I write--their ready smiles and their +touching humility. They are humble workers in a humble vineyard, and +they are content that it should be so." + + + +XVIII + +"You see, Evelyn," the Prioress said, "it is contrary to the whole +spirit of the religious life to treat the lay sisters as servants, +and though I am sure you don't intend any unkindness, they have +complained to me once or twice that you order them about." + +"But, my dear Mother, it seems to me that we are all inferior to the +lay sisters. To slight them--" "I am sure you did not do so +intentionally." + +"I said, 'Do hurry up,' but I only meant I was in a hurry. I don't +think anything you could have said could have pained me more than +that you should think I lacked respect for the lay sisters." + +Seeing that Evelyn was hurt the Prioress said: + +"The sisters have no doubt forgotten all about it by now." + +But Evelyn wanted to know which of the sisters had complained, so +that she might beg her pardon. + +"She doesn't want you to beg her pardon." + +"I beg you to allow me, it will be better that I should. The benefit +will be mine." + +The Prioress shook her head, and listened willingly to Evelyn, who +told her of her letter to Monsignor. "Now, wasn't it extraordinary, +Mother, that I should have written like that about Sister Bridget, +and to-day you should tell me that the lay sisters complained about +me? If the complaint had been that I was inclined to put the active +above the contemplative orders and was dissatisfied with our life +here--" + +"Dissatisfied!" the Prioress said. + +"Only this, Mother: I have been reading the story of the Order of the +Little Sisters of the Poor, and it seems to me so wonderful that +everything else, for the moment, seems insignificant." + +The Reverend Mother smiled. + +"Your enthusiasms, my dear Evelyn, are delightful. The last book you +read, the last person you meet--" + +"Do you think I am so frivolous, so changeable as that, dear Mother?" + +"Not changeable, Evelyn, but spontaneous." + +"It would seem to me that everything in me is of slow growth--but why +talk of me when there is Jeanne to talk about; marvellous, +extraordinary, unique--" Evelyn was nearly saying "divine Jeanne," +but she stopped herself in time and substituted the word "saintly." +"No one seems to me more real than this woman, no one in literature; +not Hamlet, nor Don Quixote, not Dante himself starts out into +clearer outline than this poor servant-girl--a goatherd in her +childhood." And to the Prioress, who did not know the story of this +poor woman, Evelyn told it, laying stress--as she naturally would-- +on Jeanne's refusal to marry a young sailor, whom she had been +willing to marry at first, but whom she refused to marry on his +returning after a long voyage. When he asked her for whom she had +refused him, she answered for nobody, only she did not wish to marry, +though she knew of no reason why she should not. It was not caprice +but an instinct which caused Jeanne to leave her sweetheart, and to +go on working in humble service attending on a priest until he died, +then going to live with his sister, remaining with her until she +died, and saving during all these long twenty years only +four-and-twenty pounds--all the money she had when she returned to the +little seaport town whence she had come: a little seaport town where +the aged poor starved in the streets, or in garrets in filth and +vermin, without hope of relief from any one. + +It was to this cruel little village, of which there are many along +the French coast, and along every coast in the world, that Jeanne +returned to rent a garret with an old and bedridden woman, unable to +help herself. Without the poor to help the poor the poor would not +be able to live, and this old woman lived by the work of Jeanne's +hands for many a year, Jeanne going every morning to the +market-place to find some humble employment, finding it sometimes, +returning at other times desperate, but concealing her despair from +her bedridden companion, telling her as gaily as might be that they +would have to do without any dinner that day. So did they live until +two little seamstresses--women inspired by the same pity for the +poor as Jeanne herself--heard of her, and asked the _cure_, in whom +this cruel little village had inspired an equal pity, to send for +Jeanne. She was asked to give her help to those in greater need than +she--the blind beggars and such like who prowled about the walls of +the churches. + +On leaving the priest it is related that she said: "I don't +understand, but I never heard any one speak so beautifully." But +next day when she went to see the priest she understood everything, +sufficient at all events for the day which was to take to her garret +a blind woman whom the seamstresses had discovered in the last +stages of neglect and age. There was the bedridden woman whom Jeanne +supported, and who feared to share Jeanne's charity with another, and +resented the intrusion; she had to be pacified and cajoled with some +little present of food, for the aged and hungry are like animals-- +food appeases them, silences many a growl; and the blind woman was +given a corner in the garret. "But how is she to be fed?" was the +question put to Jeanne next morning, and from that question the +whole Order of the Little Sisters of the Poor started. Jeanne, +inspired suddenly, said, "I will beg for them," and seizing a basket +she went out to beg for broken victuals. + +"There is a genius for many things besides the singing of operas, +painting pictures, and writing books," Evelyn said, "and Jeanne's +genius was for begging for her poor people. And there is nothing +more touching in the world's history than her journey in the +milk-cart to the regatta. You see, dear Mother, she was accustomed to +beg from door to door among squalid streets, stopping a passer-by, +stooping under low doorways, intruding everywhere, daring everything +among her own people, but frightened by the fashionable folk _en +grande toilette_ bent on amusement. It seems that her courage almost +failed her, but grasping the cross which hung round her neck, she +entered a crowd of pleasure-seekers, saying, 'Won't you give me +something for my poor people?' Now, Mother, isn't the story a +wonderful one? for there was genius in this woman, though it was only +for begging: a tall, thin, curious, fantastic figure, considered +simple by some, but gifted for her task which had been revealed to +her in middle age." + +"But why, Evelyn, does that seem to you so strange that her task +should have been revealed to her in middle age?" + +Evelyn looked at the Reverend Mother for a while unable to answer, +then went on suddenly with her tale, telling how that day, at that +very regatta, a man had slapped Jeanne in the face, and she had +answered, "You are perfectly right, a box on the ears is just what +is suited to me; but now tell me what you are going to give me for +my poor people." At another part of the ground somebody had begun to +tease her--some young man, no doubt, in a long fashionable grey +frock-coat with race-glasses hung round his neck, had ventured to +tease this noble woman, to twit her, to jeer and jibe at her +uncouthness, for she was uncouth, and she stood bearing with these +jeers until they apologised to her. "Never mind the apology," she +had answered; "you have had your fun out of me, now give me +something for my poor people." They gave her five francs, and she +said, "At that price you may tease me as much as you please." + +Evelyn asked if it were not extraordinary how an ignorant and uncouth +woman, a goatherd during her childhood, a priest's servant till she +was well on in middle age, should have been able to invent a system +of charity which had penetrated all over Europe. Every moment Evelyn +expected the Prioress to check her, for she was conscious that she +was placing the active orders above the contemplative, Jeanne above +St. Teresa, and, determined to see how far she could go in this +direction without being reproved, she began to speak of how Jeanne, +after having made the beds and cleaned the garret in the morning, +took down a big basket and stood receiving patiently the +remonstrances addressed to her, the blind woman saying, "I am +certain and sure you will forget to ask for the halfpenny a week +which I used to get from the grocery store, you very nearly forgot it +last week, and had to go back for it." "But I'll not make a mistake +this time," Jeanne would answer. Her bed-ridden friend would reprove +her, "But you did forget to ask for my soup." To bear patiently with +all such unjust remonstrances was part of Jeanne's genius, and +Evelyn asked the Reverend Mother if it were not strange that a woman +like Jeanne had never inspired some great literary work. + +"I spoke just now of Hamlet, Don Quixote, but Falstaff himself is not +more real than Jeanne, and her words are always so wonderful, +wonderful as Joan of Arc's. When the old woman used to hide their +food under the bed-clothes and sell it for food for the pigs, +leaving the Little Sisters almost starving, Jeanne used to say, +'So-and-so has not been as nice as usual this afternoon.' How is it, +Mother, that no great writer has ever given us a portrait of Jeanne?" + +"Well, Jeanne, my dear Evelyn, has given us her own portrait. What +can a writer add to what Nature has given? No one has ever yet given +a portrait of a great saint, of St. Teresa--what can any one tell us +that we do not already know?" + +"St. Teresa's life passed in thought, whereas Jeanne's passed in +action." + +"Don't be afraid, Evelyn," the Prioress said, "to say what you mean, +that perhaps the way of the Little Sisters of the Poor is a better +way than ours." + +"It seems so, Mother, doesn't it?" + +"It is permissible to have doubts on such a subject--which is the +better course, mercy or prayer? We have all had our doubts on this +subject, and it is the weakness of our intelligences that causes +these doubts to arise." + +"How is that, Mother?" + +"It is easy to realise the beauty of the relief of material +suffering. The flesh is always with us, and we realise so easily +that it suffers that there are times when relief of suffering seems +to us the only good. But in truth bread and prayer are as necessary +to man, one as the other. You have never heard the story of the +foundation of our Order? It will not appeal to the animal sympathies +as readily as the foundation of the Sisters of the Poor, but I don't +think it is less human." And the Reverend Mother told how in Lyons a +sudden craving for God had occurred in a time of extraordinary +prosperity. Three young women had suddenly wearied of the pleasure +that wealth brought them, and had without intercommunication decided +that the value of life was in foregoing it, that is to say, +foregoing what they had always been taught to consider as life; and +this story reaching as it did to the core of Evelyn's own story, was +listened to by her with great interest, and she heard in the quiet +of the Reverend Mother's large room, in which the silence when the +canaries were not shrilling was intense, how a sign had been +vouchsafed to these three young women, daughters of two bankers and +a silk merchant, and how all three had accepted the signs vouchsafed +to them and become nuns. + +"I am not depreciating the active Orders when I say they are more +easily understood by the average man than--shall I say the Carmelite +or any contemplative Order, our own for example. To relieve +suffering makes a ready appeal to his sympathies, but he is +incapable of realising what the world would be were it not for our +prayers. It would be a desert. In truth the active and the +contemplative Orders are identical, when we look below the surface." + +"How are they identical, Mother?" + +"In this way: the object of the active Orders is to relieve +suffering, but the good they do is not a direct good. There will +always be suffering in the world, the little they relieve is only +like a drop taken out of the ocean. It might even be argued that if +you eliminate on one side the growth is greater on the other; by +preserving the lives of old people one makes the struggle harder for +others. There is as much suffering in the world now as there was +before the Little Sisters began their work--that is what I mean." + +"Then, dear Mother, the Order does not fulfil its purpose." + +"On the contrary, Evelyn, it fulfils its purpose, but its purpose is +not what the world thinks it is; it is by the noble example they set +that the Little Sisters of the Poor achieve their purpose. It is by +forsaking the world that they achieve their purpose, by their +manifestation that the things of this world are not worth +considering. The Little Sisters pray in outward acts, whereas the +contemplative Orders pray only in thought. The purpose, as I have +said, is identical; the creation of an atmosphere of goodness, +without which the world could not exist. There are two atmospheres, +the atmosphere of good and the atmosphere of evil, and both are +created by thought, whether thought in the concrete form of an act +or thought in its purest form--an aspiration. Therefore all those +who devote themselves to prayer, whether their prayers take the form +of good works or whether their prayer passes in thought, collaborate +in the production of a moral atmosphere, and it is the moral +atmosphere which enables man to continue his earthly life. Yourself +is an instance of what I mean. You were inspired to leave the stage, +but whence did that inspiration come? Are you sure that our prayers +had nothing to do with it? And the acts of the Little Sisters of the +Poor all over the world--are you sure they did not influence you?" + +Evelyn thought of Owen's letter, the last he had written to her, for +in it he reminded her that she had nearly yielded to him. But was it +she who had resisted? She attributed her escape rather to a sudden +realisation on his part that she would be unhappy if he persisted. +Now, what was the cause of this sudden realisation, this sudden +scruple? For one seemed to have come into Owen's mind. How wonderful +it would be if it could be attributed to the prayers of the nuns, +for they had promised to pray for her, and, as the Prioress said, +everything in the world is thought: all begins in thought, all +returns to thought, the world is but our thought. + +While she pondered, unable to believe that the nuns' prayers had +saved her, unwilling to discard the idea, the Prioress told of the +three nuns who came to England about thirty years ago to make the +English foundation. But of this part of the story Evelyn lost a +great deal; her interest was not caught again until the Prioress +began to tell how a young girl in society, rich and beautiful, whose +hand was sought by many, came to the rescue of these three nuns with +all her fortune and a determination to dedicate her life to God. Her +story did not altogether catch Evelyn's sympathies, and the Prioress +agreed with Evelyn that her conduct in leaving her aged parents was +open to criticism. We owe something to others, and it appears that +an idea had come into her mind when she was twelve years old that +she would like to be a nun, and though she appeared to like +admiration and to encourage one young man, yet she never really +swerved from her idea, she always told him she would enter a +convent. + +Evelyn did not answer, for she was thinking of the strange threads +one finds in the weft of human life. Every one follows a thread, but +whither do the threads lead? Into what design? And while Evelyn was +thinking the Prioress told how the house in which they were now +living had been bought with five thousand out of the thirty thousand +pounds which this girl had brought to the convent. The late Prioress +was blamed for this outlay. Blame often falls on innocent shoulders, +for how could she have foreseen the increased taxation? how could she +have foreseen that no more rich postulants would come to the +convent, only penniless converts turned out by their relations, and +aged governesses? A great deal of the money had been lost in a +railway, and it was lost at a most unfortunate time, only a few days +before the lawyer had written to say that the Australian mine in +which most of their money was invested had become bankrupt. + +"There was nothing for us to do," the Prioress said, "but to mortgage +the property, and this mortgage is our real difficulty, and its +solution seems as far off as ever. There seems to be no solution. We +are paying penal interest on the money, and we have no security that +the mortgagee will not sell the property. He has been complaining +that he can do better with his money, though we are paying him five +and six per cent. + +"And if he were to sell the property, Mother, you would all have to +go back to your relations?" + +"All of us have not relations, and few have relations who would take +us in. The lay sisters--what is to become of them?--some of them old +women who have given up their lives. Frankly, Evelyn, I am at my +wits' end." + +"But, Mother, have I not offered to lend you the money? It will be a +great pleasure to me to do it, and in some way I feel that I owe the +money." + +"Owe the money, Evelyn?" + +The women sat looking at each other, and at the end of a long silence +the Prioress said: + +"It is impossible for us to take your money, my child?" + +"But something must be done, Mother." + +"If you were staying with us a little longer--" + +"I have made no plans to leave you." And to turn the conversation +from herself Evelyn spoke of the crowds that came to Benediction. + +"To hear you, dear, and when you leave us our congregation will be +the same as it was before, a few pious old Catholic ladies living on +small incomes who can hardly afford to put a shilling into the +plate." Evelyn spoke of the improvement of the choir, and the +Prioress interrupted her, saying, "Don't think for a moment that any +reformation in the singing of the plain chant is likely to bring +people to our church; the Benedictine gradual _versus_ the Ratisbon." +And the Prioress shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. "What has +brought us a congregation is you, my dear--your voice and your story +which is being talked about. The story is going the rounds that you +are going to become a nun, and that interests everybody. An opera +singer entering a convent! Such a thing was never heard of before, +and they come to hear you." + +"But, Mother, I never said I was going to join the Order. I only came +here in the hope--" + +"And I accepted you as a postulant in the hope that you would +persevere. All this seems very selfish, Evelyn. It looks as if we +were only thinking! of your money; but you know it isn't so." + +"Indeed, I do, Mother. I know it isn't so." + +"When are you going to leave us?" + +"Well, nothing is decided. Every day I expect to hear from my father, +and if he wishes--" + +"But if he doesn't require you? By remaining with us you may find you +have a vocation. Other women have persevered and discovered in the +end--" The Prioress's face changed expression, and Evelyn began to +think that perhaps the Prioress had discovered a vocation in +herself, after long waiting, and though she had become Prioress +discovered too late that perhaps she had been mistaken. "You have no +intention of joining the Order?" + +"You mean to become a novice and then to become a nun and live here +with you?" + +"You need say no more." + +"But you don't think I have deceived you, Mother?" + +"No, I don't blame anybody, only a hope has gone. Besides, I at +least, Evelyn, shall be very sorry to part with you, sorry for many +reasons which I may not tell you... in the convent we don't talk of +our past life." And Evelyn wondered what the Prioress alluded to. +"Has she a past like mine? What is her story?" + +The canaries began singing, and they sang so loudly the women could +hardly hear themselves speak. Evelyn got up and waved her +handkerchief at the birds, silencing them. + + * * * * * + +Late that night a telegram came telling Evelyn that her father was +dangerously ill, and she was to start at once for Rome. + + + +XIX + +The wind had gathered the snow into the bushes and all the corners of +the common, and the whole earth seemed but a little brown patch, with +a dead grey sky sweeping by. For many weeks the sky had been grey, +and heavy clouds had passed slowly, like a funeral, above the low +horizon. The wind had torn the convent garden until nothing but a few +twigs remained; even the laurels seemed about to lose their leaves. +The nuns had retreated with blown skirts; Sister Mary John had had to +relinquish her digging, and her jackdaw had sought shelter in the +hen-house. + +One night, when the nuns assembled for evening prayer, the north wind +seemed to lift the roof as with hands; the windows were shaken; the +nuns divined the wrath of God in the wind, and Miss Dingle, who had +learned through pious incantation that the Evil One would attempt a +descent into the convent, ran to warn the porteress of the danger. At +that moment the wind was so loud that the portress listened, +perforce, to the imaginings of Miss Dingle's weak brain, thinking, in +spite of herself, that some communication had been vouchsafed to her. +"Who knows," her thoughts said, "who can say? The ways of Providence +are inscrutable." And she looked at the little daft woman as if she +were a messenger. + +As they stood calculating the strength of the lock and hinges the +door-bell suddenly began to jingle. + +"He wouldn't ring the bell; he would come down the chimney," said +Miss Dingle. + +"But who can it be?" said the portress, "and at this hour." + +"This will save you." Miss Dingle thrust a rosary into the nun's hand +and fled down the passage. "Be sure to throw it over his neck." + +The nun tried to collect her scattered thoughts and her courage. +Again the bell jingled; this time the peal seemed crazier than the +first, and, rousing herself into action, she asked through the +grating who it might be. + +"It is I, Sister Evelyn; open the door quickly, Sister Agnes." + +The nun held the door open, thanking God it was not the devil, and +Evelyn dragged her trunk through the door, letting it drop upon the +mat abruptly. + +"Tell dear Mother I want to speak to her--say that I must see her--be +sure to say that, and I will wait for her in the parlour." + +"There is no light there; I will fetch one." + +"Never mind, don't trouble; I don't want a light. But go to the +Reverend Mother and tell her I must see her before any one else." + +"Of course, Sister Evelyn, of course." And the portress hurried away, +feeling that things had happened in a life which was beyond her life, +beyond its scope. Perhaps Sister Evelyn had come to tell the Prioress +the Pope himself was dead, or had gone mad; something certainly had +happened into which it was no business of hers to inquire. And this +vague feeling sent her running down the passage and up the stairs, +and returning breathless to Evelyn, whom she found in a chair nearly +unconscious, for when she called to her Evelyn awoke as from sleep, +asking where she was. + +"Sister Evelyn, why do you ask? You are in Wimbledon Convent, with +Sister Agnes; what is the matter?" + +"Matter? Nothing and everything." She seemed to recover herself a +little. "I had forgotten, Sister Agnes, I had forgotten. But the +Prioress, where is she?" + +"In her room, and she will see you. But you asked me to go to the +Prioress saying she must see you--have you forgotten, Sister Evelyn? +You know the way to her room?" + +Evelyn did not answer; and feeling perhaps that she might lose her +way in the convent, Sister Agnes said she would conduct her to the +Prioress, and opened the door for her, saying, "Reverend Mother, +Sister Evelyn." + +There was a large fire burning in the room, and Evelyn was conscious +of the warmth, of bodily comfort, and was glad to sit down. + +"You are very cold, my child, you are very cold. Don't trouble to +speak, take your time and get warm first." And Evelyn sat looking +into the fire for a long time. At last she said: + +"It is warm here, Mother, I am so glad to be here. But perhaps you +will turn me away and won't have me. I know you won't, I know you +won't, so why did I come all this long way?" + +"My dear child, why shouldn't we be glad to have you back? We were +sorry to part with you." + +"That was different, that was different." + +These answers, and the manner in which they were spoken even more +than the answers themselves, frightened the Prioress; but unable to +think of what might have happened, she sat wondering, waiting for +Evelyn to reveal herself. The hour was late, and Evelyn showed no +signs of speaking. Perhaps it would be better to ring for one of the +lay sisters, and ask her to show Evelyn to her room. + +"You will stay here to-night?" + +"Yes, if you will allow me." + +"Allow you, my dear child! Why speak in this way?" + +"Oh, Mother, I am done for, I am done for!" + +"You haven't told me yet what has happened." + +Evelyn did not answer; she seemed to have forgotten everything, or to +be thinking of one thing, and unable to detach her thoughts from it +sufficiently to answer the Prioress's question. + +"Your father--" + +"My father is dead," she answered. And the Prioress, imagining her +father's death to be the cause of this mental breakdown, spoke of the +consolations of religion, which no doubt Mr. Innes had received, and +which would enable Mr. Innes's soul to appear before a merciful God +for judgment. + +"There is little in this life, my dear; we should not be sorry for +those who leave it--that is, if they leave it in a proper disposition +of soul." + +"My father died after having received the Sacraments of the Church. +Oh, his death!" And thinking it well to encourage her to speak, the +Prioress said: + +"Tell me, my dear, tell me; I can understand your grief and +sympathise with you; tell me everything." + +And like one awakening Evelyn told how for days he had fluctuated +between life and death, sometimes waking to consciousness, then +falling back into a trance. In spite of the hopes the doctors had +held out to him he had insisted he was dying. + +"'I am worn to a thread,' he said, 'I shall flicker like that candle +when it reaches the socket, and then I shall go out. But I am not +afraid of death: death is a great experience, and we are all better +for every experience. There is only one thing--' + +"He was thinking of his work, he was sorry he was called away before +his work was done; and then he seemed to forget it, to be absorbed in +things of greater importance." + +Sometimes the wind interrupted the Prioress's attention, and she +thought of the safety of her roofs; Evelyn noticed the wind, and her +notice of it served to accentuate her terror. "It is terror," the +Prioress said to herself, "rather than grief." + +"I waited by his bedside seeing the soul prepare for departure. The +soul begins to leave the body several days before it goes; it flies +round and round like a bird that is going to some distant country. I +must tell you all about it, Mother. He lay for hours and hours +looking into a corner of the room. I am sure he saw something there; +and one night I heard him call me. I went to him and asked him what +he wanted; but he lay quiet, looking into the corner of the room, and +then he said, 'The wall has been taken away,' I know he saw something +there. He saw something, he learnt something in that last moment that +we do not know. That last moment is the only real moment of our +lives, the only true moment--all the rest is falsehood, delirium, +froth. The rest of life is contradictions, distractions, and lies, +but in the moment before death I am sure everything becomes quite +clear to us. Then we learn what we are. We do not know ourselves +until then. If I ask who am I, what am I, there is no answer. We do +not believe in ourselves because we do not know who we are; we do not +know enough of ourselves to believe in anything. We do not believe; +we acquiesce that certain things are so because it is necessary to +acquiesce, but we do not believe in anything, not even that we are +going to die, for if we did we should live for death, and not for +life." + +"Your father's death has been a great grief to you; only time will +help you to recover yourself." + +"Recover myself? But I shall never recover, no, Mother, never, never, +never!" + +The Prioress asked when Mr. Innes had died. + +"I can't remember, Mother; some time ago." + +The Prioress asked if he were dead a week. + +"Oh, more than that, more than that." + +"And you have been in Rome ever since? Why did you not come here at +once?" + +"Why, indeed, did I not come here?" was all Evelyn could say. She +seemed to lose all recollection, or at all events she had no wish to +speak, and sat silent, brooding. "Of what is she thinking?" the +Prioress asked herself, "or is she thinking of anything? She seems +lost in a great terror, some sin committed. If she were to confess to +me. Perhaps confession would relieve her." And the Prioress tried to +lead Evelyn into some account of herself, but Evelyn could only say, +"I am done for, Mother, I am done for!" She repeated these words +without even asking the Prioress to say no more: it seemed to her +impossible to give utterance to the terror in her soul. What could +have happened to her?" + +"Did you meet, my child, either of the men whom you spoke to me of?" + +The question only provoked a more intense agony of grief. + +"Mother, Mother, Mother!" she cried, "I am done for! let me go, let +me leave you." + +"But, my child, you can't leave us to-night, it is too late. Why +should you leave us at all?" + +"Why did I ever leave you? But, Mother, don't let us talk any more +about it. I know myself; no one can tell me anything about myself; it +is all clear to me, all clear to me from the beginning; and now, and +now, and now--" + +"But, my child, all sins can be forgiven. Have you confessed?" + +"Yes, Mother, I confessed before I left Italy, and then came on here +feeling that I must see you; I only wanted to see you. Now I must +go." + +"No, my child, you mustn't go; we will talk of this to-morrow." + +"No, let us never talk of it again, that I beseech you, Mother; +promise me that we shall never talk of it again." + +"As you like, as you like. Perhaps every one knows her own soul +best.... It is not for me to pry into yours. You have confessed, and +your grief is great." + +The Prioress went back to her chair, feeling relieved, thinking it +was well that Evelyn had confessed her sin to some Italian priest who +did not know her, for it would be inconvenient for Father Daly to +know Evelyn's story. Evelyn could be of great use to them; it were +well, indeed, that she had not even confessed to her. She must not +leave the convent; and arriving at that conclusion, suddenly she rang +the bell. Nothing was said till the lay sister knocked at the door. +"Will you see, Sister Agnes, that Sister Evelyn's bed is prepared for +her?" + +"In the guest-room or in the novitiate, Reverend Mother?" + +"In the novitiate," the Prioress answered. + +Evelyn had sunk again into a stupor, and, only half-conscious of what +was happening to her, she followed the lay sister out of the +Prioress's room. + +"It is very late," the Prioress said to herself, "all the lights in +the convent should be out; but the rule doesn't apply to me." And she +put more coal on the fire, feeling that she must give all her mind to +the solution of the question which had arisen--whether Evelyn was to +remain with them to-morrow. It had almost been decided, for had she +not told Sister Agnes to take Evelyn to the novitiate? But Evelyn +might herself wish to leave to-morrow, and if so what inducements, +what persuasion, what pressure should be used to keep her? And how +far would she be justified in exercising all her influence to keep +Evelyn? The Prioress was not quite sure. She sat thinking. Evelyn in +her present state of mind could not be thrown out of the convent. The +convent was necessary for her salvation in this world and in the +next. + +"She knows that, and I know it." + +The Prioress's thoughts drifted into recollections of long ago; and +when she awoke from her reverie it seemed that she must have been +dreaming a long while: "too long" she thought; "but I have not +thought of these things for many a year.... Evelyn has confessed, her +sins are behind her, and it would be so inconvenient--" The +Prioress's thoughts faded away; for even to herself she did not like +to admit that it would be inconvenient for Evelyn to confess to +Father Daly the sins she had committed--if she had committed any. +Perhaps it might be all an aberration, an illusion in the interval +between her father's death and her return to the convent. "Her sins +have been absolved, and for guidance she will not turn to Father Daly +but to me." The Reverend Mother reflected that a man would not be +able to help this woman with his advice. She thought of Evelyn's +terror, and how she had cried, "I am done for, I am done for!" She +remembered the tears upon Evelyn's cheeks and every attitude so +explicit of her grief. + +"A penitent if ever there was one, one whom we must help, whom we +must lead back to God. Evelyn must remain in the convent. To-morrow +we must seek to persuade her. But it will not be difficult." Then, +listening to the wind, the Prioress remembered that the convent roof +required re-slating. "Who knows? Perhaps what happened may have been +divinely ordered to bring her back to us? Who knows? who knows?" She +thought of the many other things the convent required: the chapel +wanted re-decorating, and they had to spare every penny they could +from their food and clothing to buy candles for the altar; another +item of expense was the resident chaplain; and when in bed she lay +thinking that perhaps to-morrow she would find a way out of the +difficulty that had puzzled her so long. + + + +XX + +"Yes, dear Mother, if you are willing to keep me I shall be glad to +remain. It is good of you. How kind you all are!" + +Very little more than that she could be induced to say, relapsing, +after a few words, into a sort of stupor or dream, from which very +often it was impossible to rouse her; and the Prioress dreaded these +long silences, and often asked herself what they could mean, if the +cause were a fixed idea... on which she was brooding. Or it might be +that Evelyn's mind was fading, receding. If so, the responsibility of +keeping her in the convent was considerable. A little time would, +however, tell them. Any religious instruction was, of course, out of +the question, and books would be fatal to her. + +"Her mind requires rest," the Prioress said. "Even her music is a +mental excitement." + +"I don't think that," Sister Mary John answered. "And as for work, I +have been thinking I might teach her a little carpentry. If plain +carpentry does not interest her sufficiently, she might learn to work +at the lathe." + +"Your idea is a very good one, Sister Mary John. Go to her at once +and set her to work. It is terrible to think of her sitting brooding, +brooding." + +"But on what is she brooding, dear Mother?" + +"No doubt her father's death was a great shock." + +And Sister Mary John went in search of Evelyn, and found her +wandering in the garden. + +"Of what are you thinking, Sister?" As Evelyn did not answer, Sister +Mary John feared she resented the question. "You don't like me to +walk with you?" + +"Yes I do, I don't mind; but I wonder if the Prioress likes me to be +here. Can you find out for me?" + +"Why should you think we do not wish to have you here?" + +"Well, you see, Sister--oh, it is no use talking." Her thoughts +seemed to float away, and it might be five or ten minutes before she +would speak again. + +"I wish you would come to the woodshed, Sister. If not, I must leave +you." + +"Oh, I'll go to the woodshed with you." + +"And will you help me with my work?" + +"I help you with your work!" + +There was a long, narrow table in the woodshed--some planks laid upon +two tressels; and the walls were piled with all kinds of sawn wood, +deal planks, and rough timber, and a great deal of broken furniture +and heaps of shavings. The woodshed was so full of rubbish of all +kinds that there was only just room enough to walk up and down the +table. Sister Mary John was making at that time a frame for +cucumbers, and Evelyn watched her planing the deal boards, especially +interested when she pushed the plane down the edge of the board, and +a long, narrow shaving curled out of the plane, but asking no +questions. + +"Now, wouldn't you like to do some work on the other side of the +table, Sister?" + +Evelyn did not answer, and it was not that day nor the next, but at +the end of the week, that she was persuaded to take the pincers and +pull the nails out of an old board. + +"And when you have done that, I will show you how to plane it." + +She seemed to have very little strength--or was it will that she +lacked? The pincers often fell from her hands, and she would stand, +lost in reverie. + +"Now, Sister, you have only pulled two nails out of that board in the +last ten minutes; it is really very tiresome of you, and I am waiting +for it." + +"Do you really mean that you are waiting for this board? Do you want +it?" + +"But of course; I shouldn't have asked you to draw the nails out of +it if I didn't," And it was by such subterfuges that she induced +Evelyn to apply herself. "Now, you won't think of anything until you +have drawn out every nail, will you? Promise me." Sister Mary John +put the pincers into her hand, and when the board was free of nails, +it seemed that Evelyn had begun to take an interest in the fate of +the board which she had prepared. She came round the table to watch +Sister Mary John planing it, and was very sorry when the nun's plane +was gapped by a nail which had been forgotten. + +"This iron will have to go to the grinders." + +"I am so sorry, Sister. Will you forgive me?" + +"Yes, I'll forgive you; but you must try to pay attention." + +When the cucumber-frame was finished Sister Mary John was busy making +some kitchen chairs, and the cutting out of the chair-backs moved +Evelyn's curiosity. + +"Shall you really be able to make a chair that one can sit upon?" + +"I hope so." + +"Have you ever made one before?" + +"Well, no, this is my first chair, but I made several stools." + +The mystery of dovetailing was explained to Evelyn, and she learned +that glue was required. + +"Now you may, if you like, melt the glue for me." + +There was a stove in the adjoining shed, and Sister Mary John lighted +a fire and told Evelyn that she was to keep stirring the glue. "And +be sure not to let it burn." But when she came back twenty minutes +after, she found that Evelyn had wandered away from the stove to the +farther end of the shed to watch a large spider. + +"Oh, Sister, just look at the spider! There is a fly in the web; see +how he comes out to seize his prey!" + +"But, my goodness, Evelyn! what about my glue? There it is, all burnt +in the pot, and I shall have to take it to the kitchen and get hot +water and scrape it all out. It is really very tiresome of you." + +When she returned with the glue, Evelyn said: + +"You see, Sister, it is difficult to fix one's thoughts on a +glue-pot; the glue melts so slowly, and, watching the spider, I lost +count of the time. But I think I should like to saw something." + +"That's a very good idea." + +A saw was put into her hand, and half an hour after the sister came +to see how Evelyn had been getting on. "Why, you will be a first-rate +carpenter; you have sawn those boards capitally, wandering a little +from the line, it is true, but you will do better to-morrow." + +Whenever Sister Mary John heard the saw cease she cried out, "Now, +Sister Evelyn, what are you thinking about? You are neglecting your +work." And Evelyn would begin again, and continue until her arm +ached. + +"Here is Mother Abbess." + +"See, dear Mother, what Evelyn has been doing. She sawed this board +through all by herself, and you see she has sawn it quite straight, +and she has learned how to plane a board; and as for glueing, she +does it capitally!" + + + +XXI + +"What are you looking for, Sister Evelyn?" + +"Veronica asked me to go into the garden; I think it was to gather +some laurel-leaves, but I can't remember where they grow." + +"Never mind the leaves, I will gather them for you. Take my spade and +dig a little while. It is pleasanter being in the open air than in +that hot sacristy." + +"But I don't know how to dig. You'll only laugh at me." + +"No, no. See, here is a bed of spring onions, and it wants digging +out. You press the spade in as far as you can, pull down the handle, +and lift out the earth. I shall be some little while away, and I +expect you will have dug some yards. You can dig as far as this. Try, +Evelyn, make up your mind that you will; if you make up your mind, +you will succeed." + +Evelyn promised. + +"But you won't stay a long time, will you?" she called after the nun. +"Now I know why Sister Mary John wears men's boots." And she stooped +to pin up her skirt. + +All the while the sky was clearing, the wind drove the clouds +westward, breaking up the dark masses, scattering, winnowing, letting +the sun through. Delicious was the glow, though it lasted but for a +few minutes--perhaps more delicious because it was so transitory. +Another patch of wind-driven clouds came up, and the world became +cold and grey again. A moment afterwards the clouds passed, the sun +shone out, and the delicious warmth filled mind and body with a +delight that no artificial warmth could; and, to enjoy the glowing of +the sun, Evelyn left her digging, and wandered away through the +garden, stopping now and then to notice the progress of the spring. A +late frost had cut the blossoms of the pear and the cherry; the +half-blown blossom dropped at the touch of the finger, and Evelyn +regretted the frost, thinking of the nets she had made. + +"They'll be of very little use this year." And she wondered if the +currant and gooseberry-bushes had escaped; the apples had, for they +were later, unless there was another frost. "And then my nets will be +of no use at all; and, I have worked so hard at them!" + +The lilac-bushes were not yet in leaf--only some tiny green shoots. +"We shall not have any lilac this year till the middle of May. Was +there ever such a season?" Larks were everywhere, ascending in short +flights, trilling as they ascended; and Evelyn listened to their +singing, thinking it most curious--quaint cadenzas in which a note +was wanting, like in the bagpipes, a sort of aerial bagpipes. But on +a bare bough a thrush sang, breaking out presently into a little tune +of five notes. "Quite a little tune; one would think the bird had +been taught it." She waited for him to sing it again, but, as if not +wishing to waste his song, being a careful bird, he continued a sort +of recitative; then, thinking his listener had waited long enough for +his little aria, he broke out again. "There it is, five notes--a +distinct little tune." Why should he sing and no other thrush sing +it? There was a robin; but he sang the same little roundelay all the +year.... A little, pale-brown bird, fluttering among the bushes, +interested her; but it was some time before she could catch fair +sight of it. "A dear little wren!" she said. "It must have its nest +about here." She sought it, knowing its beautifully woven house, with +one hole, through which the bird passes to feed a numerous progeny, +and expected to find it amid the tangle of traveller's-joy which +covered an old wall. + +In the convent garden there was a beautiful ash-tree, under which +Evelyn had often sat with the nuns during recreation, but it showed +no signs of coming into leaf; and the poplars rose up against the +bright sky, like enormous brooms. The hawthorns had resisted the +frost better than the sycamores. One pitied the sycamore and the +chestnut-trees most of all; and, fearing they would bear no leaves +that year, Evelyn stood with a black and shrivelled leaf in her hand. +"Autumn, before the spring has begun," she said. "But here is Jack." +And she stooped to pick up the great yellow tom-cat, whom she +remembered as a kindly, affectionate animal; but now he ran away from +her, turning to snarl at her. "What can have happened to our dear +Jack?" she asked herself. And Miss Dingle, who had been watching her +from a little distance, cried out: + +"You'll not succeed in catching him; he has been very wicked lately, +and is quite changed. The devil must have got into him, in spite of +the blue ribbon I tied round his neck." + +"How are you, Miss Dingle?" + +Miss Dingle evinced a considerable shyness, and muttered under her +breath that she was very well. She hoped Evelyn was the same; and ran +away a little distance, then stopped and looked back, her curiosity +getting the better of her. "Ordinary conversation does not suit her," +Evelyn said to herself. And, when they were within speaking distance +again, Evelyn asked her what had become of the blue ribbon she had +tied round the cat's neck to save him from the devil. + +"He tore it off--I mean the devil took it off. I can't catch him. If +you'd try?--if you'd get between him and that bush. It is a pity to +see a good cat go to the devil because we can't get a bit of blue +ribbon on his neck." + +Evelyn stood between the cat and the bush, and creeping near, caught +him by the neck, and held him by the forepaws while Miss Dingle tried +to tie the ribbon round his neck; but Jack struggled, and raising one +of his hind paws obliged Evelyn to loose him. + +"There is no use trying; he won't let it be put on his neck." + +"But what will become of him? He will get more and more savage." Miss +Dingle ran after the cat, who put up his tail and trotted away, +eluding her. She came back, telling Evelyn that she might see the +devil if she wished. "That is to say, if you are not afraid. He's in +that corner, and I don't like to go there. I have hunted him out of +these bushes--you need not be afraid, my rosary has been over them +all." + +Evelyn could see that Miss Dingle wished her to exorcise the +dangerous corner, and she offered to do so. + +"You have two rosaries, you might lend me one." + +"No, I don't think I could. I want two, one for each hand, you +see.... I have not seen you in the garden this last day or two. +You've been away, haven't you?" + +"I've been in Rome." + +"In Rome! Then why don't you go and hunt him out... frighten him +away? You don't need a rosary if you have touched the precious +relics. You should be able to drive him out of the garden, and out of +the park too, though the park is a big place. But here comes Sister +Mary John. You will tell me another time if you've brought back +anything that the Pope has worn." + +Sister Mary John came striding over the broken earth, followed by her +jackdaw. The bird stopped to pick up a fat worm, and the nun sent +Miss Dingle away very summarily. + +"I can't have you here, Alice. Go to the summer-house and worry the +devil away with your holy pictures. I've no time for you, dear," she +said to the jackdaw, who had alighted on her shoulder; "and I have +been looking for you everywhere," she said, turning from her bird to +Evelyn. "You promised me--But I suppose digging tired you?" + +"No, it was not that, Sister, only the sun came out and the warmth +was so delicious; I am afraid I am easily beguiled." + +"We are all easily beguiled," Sister Mary John answered somewhat +sharply. "Now we must try to get on with our digging. You can help me +a little with it, can't you?" And looking up and down a plot about +ten yards long and twenty feet wide, protected by a yew-hedge, she +said, "This is the rhubarb-bed. And this piece," she said, walking to +another plot between the yew-hedge and the gooseberry bushes, "will +have to be dug up. We were short of vegetables last year." + +"You speak very lightly, Sister, of so much digging. Do you never get +tired?" So that she might not lose heart altogether, Sister Mary John +told her one of these beds had been dug up in autumn, and that no +more would be required than the hoeing out of the weeds. + +"Is hoeing lighter work than digging?" + +"You will find out soon." Evelyn set to work; but when she had +cleared a large piece of weeds she had to go over the ground again, +having missed a great many. "But you will soon get used to the work. +Now, there's the dinner bell. Are you so tired as all that?" + +"Well, you see, I have never done any digging before." + +After dinner Sister Mary John without further words told her she was +to go in front with the dibble and make holes for the potatoes, for +an absent-minded person could not be trusted with the seed potatoes-- +she would be sure to break the shoots. The next week they were +engaged in sowing French beans and scarlet runners, and Evelyn +thought it rather unreasonable of the sister to expect her to know by +instinct that French beans should not be set as closely together as +the scarlet runners, and she laughed outright when the sister said, +"But surely you know that broad beans must be trodden firmly into the +ground?" Sister Mary John noticed her laugh. "Work in the garden +suits her," she said to herself, "she is getting better; only we must +be careful against a relapse. Now, Evelyn, we must weed the flower +beds, or there will be no flowers for the Virgin in May." And they +weeded and weeded, day after day, filling in the gaps with plants +from the nursery. A few days later came the seed sowing, the +mignonette, sweet pea, stocks, larkspur, poppies, and nasturtiums-- +all of which should have been sown earlier, the nun said, only the +season was so late, and the vegetables had taken all their time. + +"They all like to see flowers on the altar, but not one of them will +tie up her habit and dig, and they are as ignorant as you are, dear." + +"Sister, that is unkind. I have learned as much as can be expected in +a month." + +"You aren't so careless as you were." The two women walked a little +way, and then they sat for a long time looking into the distant park, +enjoying the soft south wind blowing over it. Evelyn would have liked +to have sat there indefinitely, and far too soon did the nun remind +her that time was going by and they must return to their work. "We +have had some warm nights lately and the wallflowers are out; come +and look at them, dear." And forgetful of her, Sister Mary John rose +and went towards the flower garden. Evelyn was too tired to follow, +and she sat watching Sister Mary John, who seemed as much part of the +garden as the wind, or the rain, or the sun. + + + +XXII + +A cold shower struck the windows of the novitiate. + +"Was there ever such weather? Will it never cease raining and +blowing?" the novices cried, and they looked through the panes into +the windy garden. Next day the same dark clouds rolled overhead, with +gleams of sunshine now and then lighting up the garden and the +distant common, where sometimes a horseman was seen galloping at the +close of day, just as in a picture. + +"How wet he will be when he gets home!" a novice would sometimes say, +and the conversation was not continued. + +"I wonder if we shall ever have fine weather again?" broke in +another. + +"One of these days it will cease raining," Mother Hilda said, for she +was an optimist; and very soon she began to be looked upon as a +prophetess, for the weather mended imperceptibly, and one afternoon +the sky was in gala toilette, in veils and laces: a great lady +stepping into her carriage going to a ball could not be more +beautifully attired. An immense sky brushed over with faint wreathing +clouds with blue colour showing through, a blue brilliant as any +enamel worn by a great lady on her bosom; and the likeness of the +clouds to plumes passed through Evelyn's mind, and her eyes wandering +westward, noticed how the sky down there was a rich, almost +sulphurous, yellow; it set off the white and blue aerial +extravagances of the zenith. The garden was still wet and cold, but a +warm air was coming in, and the voices of the nuns and novices +sounded so innocent and free that Evelyn was moved by a sudden +sympathy to join them. + +Under yonder trees the three Mothers were walking, looking towards +Evelyn now and then; she was the subject of their conversation, the +Prioress maintaining it would be a great benefit to her to take the +veil. + +"But, dear Mother, do you think she will ever recover her health +sufficiently for her to decide, and for us to decide, whether she has +a vocation?" Mother Hilda asked. + +"It seems to me that Evelyn is recovering every day. Do you remember +at first whole days passed without her speaking? Now there are times +when she joins in the conversation." + +Mother Mary Hilda did not answer, and a little aggressive glance shot +out of the Prioress's eyes. + +"You don't like to have her in the novitiate. I remember when she +returned from Rome--" + +"It seems to me that it would be just as well for her to live in the +convent as an oblate, occupying the guest-room as before." + +"Now, why do you think that, Hilda? Let us have things precise." + +"Her life as an opera singer clings about her." + +"On the contrary, I cannot discover any trace of her past life in +her. In the chapel she seems very often overcome, and for piety seems +to set an example to us all." + +"You see, dear Mother, I am responsible for the religious education +of some half-dozen young and innocent girls, and, though I like +Evelyn herself very much, her influence--" + +"But what influence? She doesn't speak." + +"No matter; it is known to every one in the convent that she has once +been a singer, though they don't know, perhaps, she was on the stage; +and she creates an atmosphere which I assure you--" + +"Of course, Hilda, you can oppose me; you always oppose. Nothing is +easier than opposition. Your responsibilities, I would not attempt to +deny that they exist, but you seem to forget that I, too, have +responsibilities. The debts of the convent are very pressing. And +Mother Philippa, too, has responsibilities." + +"It would be a great advantage if Evelyn could discover she had a +vocation. Four or five, perhaps six hundred a year--she must have at +least that, for opera singers are very well paid, so I have always +heard--would--" + +"But, Mother Philippa, the whole question is whether Evelyn has a +vocation. We know what the advantages would be," said Mother Hilda in +a low, insinuating voice which always exasperated the Reverend +Mother. + +"I think it would be better to wait," Mother Philippa answered. "You +see, she is suffering from a great mental breakdown; I think she +should have her chance like another." And, turning to the Prioress, +she said, "Dear Mother, do you think when Evelyn recovers her health +sufficiently to arrive at a decision that she will stay with us?" + +"Not if a dead set is made against her, and if she is made to feel +she has no vocation, and that her influence is a pernicious one." + +"Dear Mother, I never said--" + +"Well, don't let us discuss the matter any more for the moment. Of +course, if you decide that Evelyn is not to remain in the novitiate--" + +"It is for you to decide the matter. You are Reverend Mother here, it +is for us to obey; only since you ask me--" + +"Ask you, Hilda? But you tell me nothing. You merely oppose. What is +your dislike to Evelyn?" + +"Dislike!" + +"I am sure there is no dislike on Mother Hilda's part," Mother +Philippa said; "I am quite sure of that, Reverend Mother. Evelyn's +health is certainly improving, and I hope she will soon be able to +sing for us again at Benediction. Haven't you noticed that our +congregation is beginning to fall away? And you won't deny that the +fact that an opera singer wishes to enter our convent gives a +distinction--" + +"It depends, Mother Philippa, in what sense you use the word +'distinction.' But I see you don't agree with me; you think with the +Prioress that Evelyn is--" + +"Don't let us argue this question any more. Hilda, go and tell Evelyn +I want her." + +"How Hilda does try to thwart me, to make things more difficult than +they are!" + +"Evelyn, my dear child, I have sent for you to ask if you feel well +enough to-day to sing for us at Benediction?" + +"Oh, yes, dear Mother, why shouldn't I sing for you? What would you +like me to sing?"' The Prioress hesitated, and then asked Evelyn to +suggest some pieces, and after several suggestions Evelyn said: + +"Perhaps it would be better if I were to call Sister Mary John, if +you will allow me, Mother." And she went away, calling to the other +nun, who came quickly from the kitchen garden in her big boots and +her habit tucked up nearly to her knees, looking very much more like +a labouring woman than a musician. + +"We were talking just now of what Evelyn would sing for us at +Benediction; perhaps you had better go away and discuss the matter +between you." + +"Will you sing Stradella's 'Chanson d'Eglise' or will you sing +Schubert's 'Ave Maria'? Nothing is more beautiful than that." + +"I will sing the 'Ave Maria.'" + +The nun sat down to play it, but she had not played many bars when +Evelyn interrupted her. "The intention of the single note, dear +Sister, the octave you are striking now, has always seemed to me like +a distant bell heard in the evening. Will you play it so." + + + +XXIII + +And the idea of a bell sounding across the evening landscape was in +the mind of the congregation when Sister Mary John played the octave; +and the broken chords she played with her right hand awoke a +sensation of lights dying behind distant hills. + +It is almost night, and amid a lonely landscape a harsh rock appears, +and by it a forlorn woman stands--a woman who is without friend or +any mortal hope--and she commends herself to the care of the Virgin. +She begins to sing softly, tremulous, like one in pain and doubt, +"Ave Maria, hearken to the Virgin's cry." The melody she sings is +rich, even ornate, but the richness of the phrase, with its two +little grace notes, does not mitigate the sorrow at the core; the +rich garb in which the idea is clothed does not rob the song of its +humanity. + +Evelyn's voice filled with the beauty of the melody, and she sang the +phrase which closes the stanza--a phrase which dances like a puff of +wind in an evening bough--so tenderly, so lovingly, that acute tears +trembled under the eyelids. And all her soul was in her voice when +she sang the phrase of passionate faith which the lonely, +disheartened woman sings, looking up from the desert rock. Then her +voice sank into the calm beauty of the "Ave Maria," now given with +confidence in the Virgin's intercession, and the broken chords passed +down the keyboard, uniting with the last note of the solemn octaves, +which had sounded through the song like bells heard across an evening +landscape. + +"How beautifully she sings it!" a man said out loud, and his +neighbour looked and wondered, for the man's eyes were full of tears. + +"You have a beautiful voice, child," said the Prioress when they came +out of church, "and it is a real pleasure to me to hear you sing, and +it will be a greater pleasure when I know that for the future your +great gift will be devoted to the service of God. Shall we go into +the garden for a little walk before supper? We shall have it to +ourselves, and the air will do you good." + +It was the month of June, and the convent garden was in all the +colour of its summer--crimson and pink; and all the scents of the +month, stocks and sweetbriar, were blown up from St. Peter's Walk. In +the long mixed borders the blue larkspurs stood erect between +Canterbury bells and the bush peonies, crimson and pink, and here and +there amid furred leaves, at the end of a long furred stalk, flared +the foolish poppy, roses like pale porcelain clustered along the low +terraced walk and up the house itself, over the stucco walls; but +more beautiful than the roses were the delicate petals of the +clematis, stretched out like fingers upon the walls. + +An old nun was being wheeled up and down the terrace in a bath-chair +by one of the lay sisters, that she might enjoy the sweet air. + +"I must say a word to Sister Lawrence," the Prioress said, "she will +never forgive me if I don't. She is the eldest member of our +community; if she lives another two years, she will complete half a +century of convent life." + +As they drew near Evelyn saw two black eyes in a white, almost +fleshless face. The eyes alone seemed to live, and the shrunken +figure, huddled in many shawls, gave an impression of patriarchal +age. Evelyn saw by her veil that Sister Lawrence was a lay sister, +and the old nun tried to draw herself up in her chair as they +approached, and kissed the hand of the Prioress. + +"Well, Sister, how are you feeling? I have brought you our new +musical postulant to look at. I want to know what you think of her. +You must know, Evelyn," said the Prioress, "that Sister Lawrence is a +great judge of people's vocations; I always consult her about my new +postulants." + +Sister Lawrence took Evelyn's hands between hers and gazed into her +face so earnestly that Evelyn feared her innermost thoughts were +being read. Then, with a little touch of wilfulness, that came oddly +from one so old and venerable, the Sister said: + +"Well, Reverend Mother, she is pretty anyhow, and it is a long time +since we had a pretty postulant." + +"Really, Sister Lawrence, I am ashamed of you," said the Prioress +with playful severity; "Sister Evelyn will be quite disedified." + +"Mother, if I like them to be pretty it is only because they have one +more gift to bring to the feet of our dear Lord. I see in Sister +Evelyn's face that she has a vocation. I believe she is the +providence that God has sent to help us through our difficulties." + +"We are all praying," said the Prioress, "that it may be so." + +"Well, Hilda, you'll agree with me now, I think, that we have every +reason to hope." + +"Hope for what, dear Mother?" + +"That we shall discover a vocation in Evelyn. You heard what Sister +Lawrence said, and she has had great experience." + +"It is possible to God, of course, that an opera singer may find a +vocation for the religious life, and live happily in a community of +nuns devoted to Perpetual Adoration." + +"But you don't believe God desires that such a thing should come to +pass?" + +"I shouldn't like to say that, it would be too presumptuous; but it +would be entirely out of the ordinary course." + +The Prioress began to wonder if Mother Hilda suspected that some +great sin committed while she was in Rome was the cause of Evelyn's +nervous breakdown; and the Mistress of the Novices, as she walked by +the side of the Prioress, began to wonder why the Prioress wished +that Evelyn should become a nun. It might be that the Prioress, who +was a widow, was interested in the miracle of the great shock which +had caused Evelyn to relinquish her career and to turn to the Church! +That might be her motive, she reflected. Those who have lived in the +world are attracted and are interested in each other, and are to some +extent alien to the real nun, to her who never doubts her vocation +from the first and resolves from the first to bring her virginity to +God--it being what is most pleasing to him. It might be that the +Prioress was influenced, unconsciously, of course, by some such +motive; yet it was strange that she should be able to close her eyes +to Evelyn's state of mind. The poor woman was still distracted and +perplexed by a great shock which had happened before she came to the +convent and which had been aggravated by another when she went to +Rome; she had returned to them as to a refuge from herself. Such +mental crises often happened to women of the world, to naturally +pious women; but natural piety did not in the least mean a vocation, +and Mother Hilda had to admit to herself that she could discover no +sign of a vocation in Evelyn. How were it possible to discover one? +She was not herself, and would not be for a long while, if she ever +recovered herself. Mother Prioress had chosen to admit her as a +postulant.... Even that concession Mother Hilda did not look upon +with favour. Why not go one step farther and make Miss Dingle a +postulant? It seemed to her that if Mother Prioress insisted that +Evelyn should take the white veil at present, a very serious step +would be taken. It was the Mistress of the Novices who would be +responsible for Evelyn's instruction, and Evelyn was hardly ever in +the novitiate; she was always singing, or working in the garden. + + + +XXIV + +"I am afraid, dear Mother, her progress towards recovery is slow." + +"I don't agree with you. A great nervous breakdown! That journey to +Rome, only to see her father die before her eyes, was a great shock-- +such a one as it would take anybody a long time to recover from. +Evelyn is very highly-strung, there can be no doubt of that. I wonder +how it is that you don't understand?" + +"But I do understand, dear Mother, only I find it hard to believe +that the time has come for her to take the white veil." + +"Or that it will ever come?" + +"The other day she said in the novitiate she was sure she would go to +hell, and that she wouldn't be able to bear the uncertainty much +longer...." + +"What ever did she mean? You must have misunderstood her, Mother +Hilda." And the Prioress determined to talk to Evelyn "on the first +occasion"--the first occasion with the Prioress meant the very next +minute. So she went in search of her, and finding her by the +fishpond, quite unaware that any one was watching her, the thought +crossed the Prioress's mind that Hilda might be right after all: +Evelyn might be sitting there thinking how, after a short struggle, +the water would end the misery that was consuming her. + +"Evelyn, dear, of what are you thinking?" + +"Only of the fish, dear Mother. You know they are quite deaf; fish +haven't ears. There is a legend, however, of a boy playing the flute +and the fish leaping to listen." + +"If her health doesn't improve," the Prioress said to herself, "we +shall not be able to keep her. + +"Evelyn, dear, you are not looking very well; I am afraid you haven't +been sleeping lately." + +"Last night I hardly closed my eyes, dear Mother, and to-day there is +no reality anywhere. One begins to hate everything--the shapes of the +trees, the colour of the sky." + +"It is just what I suspected," the Prioress said to herself, "she was +thinking of suicide. Suicide in a convent--such a thing has never +happened. Yet why shouldn't such a thing happen? Everything happens +in this world." + +But, notwithstanding some alarming relapses, Evelyn's health +continued to improve, slowly, but it continued to improve; and after +a long day's work in the garden she would talk quite cheerfully, +saying that that night for sure she would get some hours of sleep. +The Prioress listened, saying to herself, "There is no doubt that +manual work is the real remedy, the only remedy." Sister Mary John +was of the same opinion, and the Prioress relied on Sister Mary John +to keep Evelyn hoeing and digging when it was fine, and making nets +in the work-shop when it was wet. She was encouraged to look after +the different pets; and there were a good many to look after; her +three cats occupied a good deal of her time, for the cats were always +anxious to kill her tame birds. One cat had killed several, so the +question had arisen whether he should be drowned in the fishpond or +trained to respect caged birds. The way to do this, Evelyn had been +told, was to put a caged bird on the ground in front of the cat, and, +standing over him with a cane, strike swiftly and severely the moment +the cat crouched to spring. A cat above all other animals hates to be +beaten, for a cat is probably one of the most sagacious animals, more +even than a dog, though he does not care to show it. The beating of +the cat was repellent to Evelyn, but Sister Mary John had no such +scruples, and the beatings proved so efficient that the cat would run +away the moment he was shown a bird in a cage. In turn each of the +cats received its lesson, and henceforth Evelyn's last presents-- +blackbirds, thrushes, linnets, and bull-finches--lived in safety. + +The feeding of these birds and the cleaning of the aviary occupied +two hours a day during the winter. She had also her greenhouse to +attend to; herself and Sister Mary John, with some help from the +outside, had built one, and hot-water pipes had been put in; and her +love of flowers was so great that she would run down the garden even +when the ground was covered with snow to stoke up the fire, if she +thought she had forgotten to do so, saying that they would have no +tulips, or lily of the valley, or azaleas for the altar, if the +temperature were allowed to drop. Her talk was all about her garden, +and when the spring returned she was working there constantly with +Sister Mary John in the morning till the Angelus rang at twelve; then +they went into dinner, and as soon as dinner was over Evelyn returned +with Sister Mary John to the garden and worked till it was time to go +into church for Benediction. Or sometimes they left the garden when +the other nuns went there for recreation, having music to try over, +for now, since she had recovered her health, Evelyn sang every day at +Benediction. + +"There is no reason why she should remain any longer with us," the +Prioress often said, "unless there is some hope of her staying +altogether. You will admit, Hilda, that her health is much improved, +and that she is capable now of arriving at some decision." + +"There is no doubt her health is improving." + +"And her piety--have you noticed it? She almost sets us an example." + +Mother Hilda did not answer, and the Prioress understood her silence +to mean that she would hardly look upon Evelyn as an example for the +convent to follow. + +"Well, something will have to be decided." And one evening the +Prioress asked Mother Philippa and Mother Hilda to her room after +evening prayers. + +"We were talking of Evelyn the other day in the garden, Hilda, and +you admitted that she was in a state now to decide whether she should +go or stay." + +"You mean, dear Mother, that Evelyn must either leave us or join the +community?" + +"Or show some signs that she wishes to join it. Her postulancy has +been unduly prolonged; it is nearly a year since she returned from +Rome, and she was a postulant for six months before that." + +"You think that if she hadn't a vocation she would have left us +before? But are you not forgetting that she was suffering from a +nervous breakdown, and came here with the intention of seeking rest +rather than becoming one of us?" + +"Her health has been mending this long while. Really, Hilda--" + +"I am sorry, Mother, if I seem stubborn." + +"Not stubborn, but I should like to hear you explain your reasons for +thinking Evelyn has not a vocation. And Mother Philippa is most +anxious to hear them, too." + +Mother Philippa listened, thinking of her bed, wondering why Mother +Mary Hilda kept them up by refusing to agree with the Prioress. + +"I am afraid I shall not be able to say anything that will convince +you. I have had some experience--" + +"We know that you are very experienced, otherwise you would not be +the Mistress of the Novices. You don't believe in Evelyn's vocation?" + +"I'm afraid I don't, and--" + +"And what, Mother Hilda? We are here for the purpose of listening to +you. We shall be influenced by everything you say, so pray speak your +mind fully." + +"About Evelyn? But that is just my point; there is nothing for me to +say about her. I hardly know her; she has hardly been in the +novitiate since she returned from Rome." "You think before taking the +veil she should receive more religious instruction from you?" + +"She certainly should. I grant you Evelyn is a naturally pious woman, +and that counts for a great deal; but what I attach importance to is +that she is still alien to the convent, knowing hardly anything of +our rule, of our observances. A novice spends six months in the +novitiate with me learning obedience, how to forget herself, how she +is merely an instrument, and how the greatest purpose of her life is +to obey." + +"It is impossible to overestimate the value of obedience, but there +are some--I will not say who can dispense with obedience, of course +not, but who cannot put off their individualities, who cannot become +the merely typical novice--that one who would tell you, if she were +asked to describe the first six months of her life in the convent, +that all she remembered was a great deal of running up and down +stairs. There are some who may not be moulded, but who mould +themselves; and they are not the worst, sometimes they are the best +nuns. For instance, Sister Mary John--who will doubt her vocation? +And yet there is not a more headstrong nun in our community. I don't +wish to say one word against Sister Mary John, who is an example to +us all; it is only to answer your objection that I mentioned her." + +"Sister Mary John is quite different," Mother Hilda answered. And, +after waiting some moments for Mother Hilda to continue, the Prioress +said: + +"You would wish her, then, to spend some time longer with you in the +novitiate?" + +"I am not sure it would be of any use. There is another matter about +which I hardly like to speak; still, I must remind you that the +convent has never been the same since she came here. She has not been +herself since she came back from Rome, but now she is regaining +herself, and you cannot have failed to notice that both Sister Mary +John and Veronica are drawn towards her. I am sure they are not aware +of it, and would resent my criticism as unjust. Not only Sister Mary +John and Veronica, but all of us; it seems to me that we all talk too +much about her... I am sometimes almost glad that she is so little in +the novitiate. Her influence on such simple-minded young women as +Sister Jerome and Sister Barbara must be harmful--how could it be +otherwise, coming out of another world? and her voice, too--you don't +agree with me?" And Mother Hilda turned to Mother Philippa. Mother +Philippa shook her head, and confessed she had not the slightest +notion of what Mother Hilda meant. + +"But you have, dear Mother?" + +"Yes, I know very well what you mean, only I don't agree with you. +Her singing, of course, gives her an exceptional position in the +convent, but I don't think she avails herself of it; indeed, her +humility has often seemed to me most striking." + +"In that I agree with you," Mother Hilda answered; "so I feel that +perhaps, after all, I may be misjudging her." + +At this concession the Prioress's manner softened at once towards the +Mistress of the Novices. + +"Well, Hilda, come, tell me, have you said everything you have to +say? Have you given us your full reasons for not wishing Evelyn to +take the veil if she should decide to do so? I see you hesitate. I +asked you here to-night so that you might speak your mind. Let +everything be said. There is no use telling me afterwards that you +didn't say things because you thought I wouldn't like to hear them. +Say everything." + +Pressed by the Prioress, Mother Hilda admitted that she was concerned +regarding the motive which actuated the Prioress and Mother Philippa. + +"I include her." + +Mother Philippa looked up suddenly. The Prioress smiled. + +"My motive!" said Mother Philippa. + +"Nothing is farther from my thought than to attribute a wrong motive +to anybody, but I am not quite sure, dear Mother, that you would be +as anxious for Evelyn to join our community if she had no money... +and no voice." + +"Situated as we are, we cannot accept penniless women as choir +sisters. You know that well enough--am I not right, Mother Philippa?" + +And Mother Philippa agreed that no one could be admitted into the +convent as a choir sister unless she brought some money with her. + +"But you hold a different opinion, Hilda?" + +"I understand that we cannot admit as a choir sister a woman who has +no money; but that is quite different from admitting an opera singer +because she has money and can sing for us. It seems to me that nuns +devoted to Perpetual Adoration should not yield themselves to money +considerations." + +"Yield to money considerations--no; but as long as we live upon +earth, we shall live dependent upon money in some form or another. +Our pecuniary embarrassments--you know all about them. I need not +refer to the mortgagee, who, at any moment, may foreclose. Think of +what it would be if this house were to be put up for sale, and we had +all to return to our relations. How many are there who have relations +who would take them in? And the lay sisters--what would become of +them and our duties towards them--they who have worked for us all +these years? Sister Lawrence--would you like to see her on the +roadside, or carried to the workhouse? Spiritual considerations come +first, of course, but we must have a house to live in and a chapel to +pray in. Do you never think of these things, Hilda?" + +"Yes, and I appreciate the anxiety our pecuniary difficulties cause +you, dear Mother. I am not indifferent, I assure you, but I cannot +help feeling that anything were better than we should stop, instead +of going forward, towards the high ideal--" + +"Well, Hilda, are you prepared to risk it? We have a chance of +redeeming the convent from debt--will you accept the responsibility?" + +"Of what, dear Mother?" + +"Of refusing to agree that Evelyn shall be allowed to take the white +veil, if she wishes to take it." + +"But taking the white veil will not enable us to get hold of her +money. We shall have to wait till she is professed." + +"But if she is given the white veil," the Prioress answered sternly, +"she will be induced to remain. The fact of her taking the white veil +is a great inducement, and a year hence who knows--" + +"Well, dear Mother, you will act, I am sure, for the best. Perhaps it +would have been better if you had not consulted me; but, having +consulted me, I had to tell you what I think. I am aware that in +practical matters I am but a very poor judge. Remember, I passed, +like Veronica, from the schoolroom to the convent. But you know the +world." + +"It is very kind of you to admit so much; but it seems to me, Hilda, +you are only admitting that much so as to give a point to your +contention, or what I suppose is your contention--that those who +never knew the world may attain to a more intense spirituality than +poor women such as myself and Mother Philippa here, who did not enter +the convent as early in life as you did... but who renounced the +world." + +The sharp tone of the Prioress's voice, when she mentioned Mother +Philippa's name, awoke the nun, who had been dozing. + +"Well, Mother Philippa, what is your opinion?" + +"It seems to me," the nun answered, now wide awake, "that it is a +matter for Evelyn to decide. You think I was asleep, but I wasn't; I +heard everything you said. You were discussing your own scruples of +conscience, which seem to me quite beside the question. Our +conscience has nothing to do with the matter; it is all a question +for Evelyn to decide herself... as soon as she is well, of course." + +"And she is now quite well. I will see her to-morrow on the subject." + +On this the Prioress rose to her feet, and the other two nuns +understood that the interview was at an end. + +"Dear Mother, I know how great your difficulties are," said Mother +Hilda, "and I am loth to oppose your wishes in anything. I know how +wise you are, how much wiser than we--but however foolishly I may +appear to be acting, you will understand that I cannot act +differently, feeling as I do." + +"I understand that, Hilda; we all must act according to our lights. +And now we must go to bed, we are breaking all the rules of the +house." + + + +XXV + +After breakfast Veronica came to Evelyn, saying that dear Mother +would like to speak to her. Evelyn nodded, and went gaily to see the +Prioress in her room on the ground-floor. Its long French windows, +opening on to the terrace-walk, appealed to her taste; and the +crowded writing-table, on which stood a beautiful crucifix in yellow +ivory. Papers and tin boxes were piled in one corner. But there was +no carpet, and only one armchair, over-worn and shabby. There were +flowers in vases and bowls, and, in a large cage, canaries uttered +their piercing songs. + +"I like your room, dear Mother, and wish you would send for me a +little oftener. All your writing--now couldn't I do some of it for +you?" + +"Yes, Evelyn, I should like to use you sometimes as a secretary... if +you are going to remain with us." + +"I don't know what you mean, Mother." + +"Well, sit down. I have sent for you because I want to have a little +talk with you on this subject." And she spoke of Evelyn's postulancy; +of how long it had lasted. It seemed to the Prioress that it would be +better, supposing Evelyn did not intend to remain with them, for her +to live with them as an oblate, occupying the guest-chamber. + +"Your health doesn't permit much religious instruction; but one of +these days you will realise better than you do now what our life is, +and what its objects are." + +So did the Prioress talk, getting nearer the point towards which she +was making, without, however, pressing Evelyn to answer any direct +question, leading her towards an involuntary decision. + +"But, dear Mother, I am safe here, you know." + +"And yet you fear, my dear child, you have no vocation?" + +"Well, it seems extraordinary that I--" + +"More extraordinary things have happened in the world than that; +besides, there is much time for you to decide. No one proposes that +you should be admitted to the Order to-morrow; such a thing, you +know, is impossible, but the white veil is a great help. Evelyn, +dear, this question has been running in my mind some time back--is it +well for you to remain a postulant any longer? The white veil, again +I say, is such a help." + +"A help for what, dear Mother?" + +"Well, it will tell you if you have a vocation; at the end of the +year you will know much better than you know now." + +"I a nun!" Evelyn repeated. + +"In a year you will be better able to decide. Extraordinary things +have happened." + +"But it would be extraordinary," Evelyn said, speaking to herself +rather than to the nun. + +"I have spoken to Mother Hilda and Mother Philippa on the subject, +and they are agreed that if you are to remain in the convent it would +be better for you to take the white veil." + +"Or do they think that it would be better for me to leave the +convent?" + +"It would be impossible for us to think such a thing, my dear child." + +"But what I would wish to understand, dear Mother, is this--have I to +decide either to leave the convent or to take the white veil?" + +"Oh, no; but you have been so long a postulant." + +"But when I went to Rome my postulancy--" + +"Even so, you have been a postulant for over a year; and, should you +discover that you have no vocation, the fact of having been a novice, +of having worn the white veil, will be a protection to you ever +afterwards, should you return to the world." + +"You think so, dear Mother?" + +And the Prioress read in Evelyn's face that she had touched the right +note. + +"Yes, to have a name, for instance--not only the veil, but the name. +I have been thinking of a name for you--what do you think of +'Teresa'?" + +"Teresa!" Evelyn answered. And her thoughts went to the great nun +whose literature she had first read in the garden outside, when she +walked there as a visitor. It was under a certain tree, where she had +often sat since with Mother Hilda and the novices, that she had first +read the "Autobiography" and "The Way of Perfection." There were the +saints' poems, too; and, thinking of them, a pride awoke in her that +for a time, at least, she should bear the saint's name. The Prioress +was right, the saint's name would fortify her against her enemy; and +her noviceship would be something to look back upon, and the memory +of it would protect her when she left the convent. + +"I am glad that we shall have you, at all events, for some months +more with us--some months more for sure, perhaps always. But take +time to consider it." + +"Dear Mother, I am quite decided." + +"Think it over. You can tell me your decision some time in the +afternoon, or to-morrow." + +It was a few days after that the Prioress took Evelyn up to the +novitiate, where the novices were making the dress that Evelyn was to +wear when she received the white veil. + +"You see, Teresa, we spare no expense or trouble on your dress," said +the Prioress. + +"Oh, it is no trouble, dear Mother." And Sister Angela rose from her +chair and turned the dress right side out and shook it, so that +Evelyn might admire the handsome folds into which the silk fell. + +"And see, here is the wreath," said Sister Jerome, picking up a +wreath of orange-blossoms from a chair. + +"And what do you think of your veil, Sister Teresa? Sister Rufina did +this feather-stitch. Hasn't she done it beautifully?" + +"And Sister Rufina is making your wedding-cake. Mother Philippa has +told her to put in as many raisins and currants as she pleases. Yours +will be the richest cake we have ever had in the convent." Sister +Angela spoke very demurely, for she was thinking of the portion of +the cake that would come to her, and there was a little gluttony in +her voice as she spoke of the almond paste it would have upon it. + +"It is indeed a pity," said Sister Jerome, "that Sister Teresa's +clothing takes place so early in the year." + +"How so, Sister Jerome?" Evelyn asked incautiously. + +"Because if it had been a little later, or if Monsignor had not been +delayed in Rome--I only thought," she added, stopping short, "that +you would like Monsignor to give you the white veil--it would be +nicer for you; or if the Bishop gave it," she added, "or Father +Ambrose. I am sure Sister Veronica never would have been a nun at all +if Father Ambrose had not professed her. Father Daly is such a little +frump." + +"That will do, children; I cannot really allow our chaplain to be +spoken of in that manner." And Mother Hilda looked at Evelyn, +thinking, "Well, the Prioress has had her way with her." + +The recreation-bell rang, and the novices clattered down the stairs +of the novitiate, their childish eagerness rousing Evelyn from the +mild stupor which still seemed to hang about her mind; and she smiled +at the novices and at herself, for suddenly it had all begun to seem +to her like a scene in a play, herself going to take the white veil +and to become a nun, at all events, for a while. "Now, how is all +this to end?" she asked herself. "But what does it matter?" Clouds +seemed to envelop her mind again, and she acquiesced when the +Prioress said: + +"I think your retreat had better begin to-day." + +"When, Mother?" + +"Well, from this moment." + +"If Teresa will come into the garden with me," said Mother Hilda. + +It was impossible for the Prioress to say no, and a slaty blush of +anger came into her cheek. "Hilda will do all she can to prevent +her." Nor was the Prioress wholly wrong in her surmise, for they had +not walked very far before Evelyn admitted that the idea of the white +veil frightened her a great deal. + +"Frightens you, my dear child?" + +"But if I had a vocation I should not feel frightened. Isn't that so, +Mother Hilda?" + +"I shouldn't like to say that, Teresa. One can feel frightened and +yet desire a thing very much; desire and fear are not incompatible." + +Tears glistened in her eyes, and she appealed to Mother Hilda, +saying: + +"Dear Mother, I don't know why I am crying, but I am very unhappy. +There is no reason why I should be, for here I am safe." + +"Will she ever recover her mind sufficiently to know what she is +doing?" Mother Hilda asked herself. + +"It is always," Evelyn said, "as if I were trying to escape from +something." Mother Hilda pressed her to explain. "I cannot explain +myself better than by telling that it is as if the house were burning +behind me, and I were trying to get away." + +That evening Mother Hilda consulted the Prioress, telling her of +Evelyn's tears and confusion. + +"But, Hilda, why do you trouble her with questions as to whether she +would like to be a nun or not? As I have said repeatedly, the veil is +a great help, and, in a year hence, Teresa will know whether she'd +like to join our community. In the meantime, pray let her be in peace +and recover herself." The Prioress's voice was stern. + +"Only this, dear Mother--" + +"The mistake you make, Hilda, seems to me to be that you imagine +every one turns to religion and to the convent for the same reason, +whereas the reasons that bring us to God are widely different. You +are disappointed in Teresa, not because she lacks piety, but because +she is not like Jerome or Angela or Veronica, whom we both know very +well. Each seeks her need in religion, and you are not acquainted +with Teresa's, that is all. Now, Hilda, obedience is the first of all +the virtues, and I claim yours in all that regards Teresa." Mother +Hilda raised her quiet eyes and looked into the Prioress's face, and +then lowered them again. "We should be lacking in our duty," the +Prioress continued, "if we don't try to keep her by all legitimate +means. She will receive the white veil at the end of the week; try to +prepare her for her clothing, instruct her in the rule of our house; +no one can do that as well as you." + +Lifting her eyes again for a moment, Mother Hilda answered that it +should be as the Prioress wished--that she would do her best to +instruct Teresa; and she moved away slowly, the Prioress not seeking +to detain her any longer in her room. + + + +XXVI + +Next day in the novitiate Mother Hilda explained to Evelyn how the +centre of their life was the perpetual adoration of the Blessed +Sacrament exposed on the altar. + +"Our life is a life of expiation; we expiate by our prayers and our +penances and our acts of adoration the many insults which are daily +flung at our divine Lord by those who not only disobey His +commandments, but deny His very presence on our altars. To our +prayers of expiation we add prayers of intercession; we pray for the +many people in this country outside the faith who offend our Lord +Jesus Christ more from ignorance than from malice. All our little +acts of mortification are offered with this intention. From morning +Mass until Benediction our chapel, as you know, is never left empty +for a single instant of the day; two silent watchers kneel before the +Blessed Sacrament, offering themselves in expiation of the sins of +others. This watch before the Blessed Sacrament is the chief duty +laid upon the members of our community. Nothing is ever allowed to +interfere with it. Unfailing punctuality is asked from every one in +being in the chapel at the moment her watch begins, and no excuse is +accepted from those who fail in this respect. Our idea is that all +through the day a ceaseless stream of supplication should mount to +heaven, that not for a single instant should there be a break in the +work of prayer. If our numbers permitted it we should have Perpetual +Adoration by day and night, as in the mother house in France; but +here the bishop only allows us to have exposition once a month +throughout the night, and all our Sisters look forward to this as +their greatest privilege." + +"It is a very beautiful life, Mother Hilda; but I wonder if I have a +vocation?" + +"That is the great question, my dear," and a cloud gathered in Mother +Hilda's face, for it had come into her mind to tell Evelyn that she +hardly knew anything of the religious life as yet; but remembering +her promise to the Prioress, she said: "Obedience is the beginning of +the religious life, and you must try to think that you are a child in +school, with nothing to teach and everything to learn. The +experience of your past life, which you may think entitles you +to consideration--" + +"But, dear Mother, I think nothing of the kind; my whole concern is +to try to forget my past life. Ah, if I could only--" Mother Hilda +wondered what it must be to bring that look of fear into Evelyn's +eyes, but she refrained from questioning her, saying: + +"I beg of you to put all the teachings of the world as far from your +mind as possible. It will only confuse you. What we think wise the +world thinks foolish, and the wisdom of the world is to us a vanity." + +"If it were only a vanity," Evelyn answered. And her thoughts moved +away from the Mother Mistress to herself, wondering how it was that +this conventual life was so sympathetic to her, finding a reason in +the fact that her idea had alienated her from the world; she had come +here in quest of herself, and had found something, not exactly +herself, perhaps, but at all events a refuge from one side of +herself, and many other things--a group of women who thought as she +did. But would the convent always be as necessary to her as it was +to-day? And what a grief it would be to the nuns when the term of her +noviceship ended. Would she find courage to tell them that she did +not wish to take final vows? But she must listen to Mother Hilda who +was instructing her in the virtue of obedience. After obedience came +the rule of silence. + +"But I don't know how the work in the garden will be done if one +isn't allowed to speak." + +"The work in the garden must wait until your retreat is over. Now go, +my dear; I am waiting for Sisters Winifred and Veronica, who are +coming to me for their Latin lesson." + +"May I go into the garden?" + +It amused Evelyn to ask the question, so strange did it seem that she +should ask, like a little child, permission to go into the garden; +and as she went along the passages she began to fear that the old +Evelyn was on her way back, the woman who had disappeared for so many +months. Be that as it may, she was not altogether Sister Teresa on +the day of her clothing, though she tried to imitate the infantile +glee of the novices, and of the nuns too; for they were nearly as +childish as the novices. In spite of herself she wearied of the +babble and the laughter over orange-blossoms and wedding-cake, +especially of Sister Jerome's babble. She was particularly noisy that +afternoon; her unceasing humour had begun to jar, and Evelyn had +begun to feel that she must get away from it all, and she asked leave +to go into the garden. + +Ah, the deep breath she drew! How refreshing it was after the long +time spent in church in the smell of burning wax and incense. "The +incense of the earth is sweeter," she said; and the sound of the wind +in the boughs reminded her of the voice of the priest intoning the +"Veni Creator." "Nature is more musical," and her eyes strayed over +the great park to its rim miles away, indistinct, though the sky was +white as white linen above it, only here and there a weaving of some +faint cream tones amid clouds rising very slowly; a delicious warmth +fell out of the noonday sky, enfolding the earth; and, discomforted +by her habit--a voluminous trailing habit with wide hanging sleeves-- +she stood on the edge of the terrace thinking that the stiff white +head-dress made her feel more like a nun than her vows. + +"Of what am I thinking?" she asked herself, for her thoughts seemed +to go out faintly, like the clouds; she seemed more conscious of the +spring-time than she had ever been before, of a sense of delight +going through her when, before her eyes, the sun came out, lighting +up the distant inter-spaces and the stems of the trees close by. The +ash was coming into leaf, but among the green tufts, every bough +could still be traced. The poplars looked like great brooms, but they +were reddening, and in another week or two would be dark green again. +The season being a little late, the lilacs and laburnums were out +together; pink and white blossoms had begun to light up the close +leafage of the hawthorns, and under the flowering trees grass was +springing up, beautiful silky grass. "There is nothing so beautiful +in the world as grabs," Evelyn thought, "fair spring grass." The +gardener was mowing it between the flower beds, and it lay behind his +hissing scythe along the lawn in irregular lines. + +"There is the first swallow, just come in time to see the tulips, the +tall May tulips which the Dutchmen used to paint." + +So did Evelyn think, and her eyes followed Sister Mary John's +jackdaw. He seemed to know the hour of the day, and was looking out +for his mistress, who generally came out after dinner with food for +him, and speech--the bird seemed to like being spoken to, and always +put his head on one side so that he might listen more attentively. A +little further on Evelyn met three goslings straying under the +flowering laburnums, and she returned them to their mother in the +orchard. Something was moving among the potato ridges, and wondering +what it could be, she discovered the cat playing with the long-lost +tortoise. How funny her great fluffy tom-cat looked, as he sat in +front of the tortoise, tapping its black head whenever it appeared +beyond the shell. All cats are a beautiful shape, but this one was a +beautiful colour, "grey as a cloud at even"; but to leave him playing +with the tortoise would be cruel to the tortoise, so she decided to +carry the cat to the other end of the garden, where the sparrows were +picking up the green peas. + +The pear blossom had disappeared some weeks ago, and now the apple +was in bloom. Some trees were later than others, and there were still +tight pink knots amid the brown boughs. Evelyn sat down and closed +her eyes, so that she might enjoy more intensely the magic of this +Maytime. Every now and again a breeze shook the branches, shedding +white blossom over the bright grass, and faint shadows rushed out and +retreated The sun was swallowed up in a sudden cloud. A dimness came +and a chill, but not for long enduring; the world was lit up, all the +lilac leaves were catching the light and dancing in the breeze. "How +living the world is, no death anywhere." Then her eyes turned to the +convent, for at that moment she caught sight of one of the lay +sisters coming towards her, evidently the bearer of a message. Sister +Agnes had come to tell her that a lady had called to see her. + +"The lady is in the parlour. Mother Hilda is with her" + +"But her name?" + +Sister Agnes could not give Evelyn her visitor's name; but on the way +to the parlour they were met by the Prioress, who told Evelyn that +the lady who had come to see her was a French lady, Mademoiselle +Helbrun. + +"Louise! Dear Mother, she is an actress, one of the women I used to +sing with." + +"Perhaps you had better not see her, and you may count upon me not to +offend her; she will understand that on the day of your clothing--" + +"No, no, dear Mother, I must see her." + +"Teresa, one never uses the word 'must' to the Prioress, nor to any +one in the convent; and on the day of your clothing it seems to me +you might have remembered this first rule of our life." + +"Of course I am very sorry, Mother; but now that she has come I am +afraid it would agitate me more not to see her than to see her. It +was the surprise of hearing her name after such a long while--there +is no reason I can think of--" + +"Teresa, it is for me to think, it is for you to obey." + +"Well, Mother, if you will allow me." + +"Ah, that is better. Of course she has come here to oppose your being +here. How will you answer her?" + +"Louise is an old friend, and knows me well, and will not argue with +me, so it seems to me; and if she should ask me why I'm here and if I +intend to remain, it will be easy for me to answer her, "I am here +because I am not safe in the world." + +"But she'll not understand." + +"Yes she will, Mother. Let me see her." + +"Perhaps you are fight, Teresa; it will be better for you to see her. +But it is strange she should have come this afternoon." + +"Some intuition, some voice must have told her." + +"Teresa, those are fancies; you mustn't let your mind run on such +things." + +They were at the door of the parlour. Evelyn opened it for the +Prioress, allowing her to pass in first. + +"Louise, how good of you to come to see me. How did you find my +address? Did Merat give it to you?" + +"No, but I have heard--we all know you are thinking of becoming a +nun." + +"If you had been here a little earlier," the Prioress said, "you +would have been in time for Teresa's clothing." And there was an +appeal in the Prioress's voice, the appeal that one Catholic makes to +another. The Prioress, of course, assumed that Louise had been +brought up a Catholic, though very likely she did not practise her +religion; few actresses did. So did the Prioress's thoughts run as +she leaned forward; her voice became winning, and she led Louise to +ask her questions regarding the Order. And she told Louise that it +was a French Order originally, wearying her with the story of the +arrival of the first nuns. "How can Evelyn stop here listening to +such nonsense?" she thought. And then Mother Hilda told Louise about +Evelyn's singing at Benediction, and the number of converts she had +won to the Church of Rome. + +"As no doubt you know. Mademoiselle Helbrun, once people are drawn +into a Catholic atmosphere--" + +"Yes, I quite understand. So you sing every day at Benediction, do +you, Evelyn? You are singing to-day? It will be strange to hear you +singing an 'Ave Maria.'" + +"But, Louise, if I sing an 'O Salutaris,' will you sing Schubert's +'Ave Maria'?" + +"No, you sing Schubert's 'Ave Maria' and I will sing an 'O +Salutaris.'" + +Evelyn turned to the Prioress. + +"Of course, we shall be only too glad if Mademoiselle Helbrun will +sing for us." + +"The last time we saw each other, Louise, was the day of your party +in the Savoy Hotel." + +"Yes, didn't we have fun that day? We were like a lot of children. +But you went away early." + +"Yes, that day I went to Confession to Monsignor." + +"Was it that day? We noticed something strange in you. You seemed to +care less for the stage, to have lost your vocation." + +"We hope she has begun to find her vocation," Mother Hilda answered. + +"But that is just what I mean--in losing her vocation for the stage +she has gained, perhaps, her vocation for the religious life." + +"Vocation for the stage?" + +"Yes, Mother Hilda," the Prioress said, turning to the Mistress of +the Novices, "the word vocation isn't used in our limited sense, but +for anything for which a person may have a special aptitude." + +"That day of your party--dear me, how long ago it seems, Louise! How +much has happened since then? You have sung how many operas? In whose +company are you now?" Before they were aware of it the two singers +had begun to chatter of opera companies and operas. Ulick Dean was +secretary of the opera company with which Louise was travelling. They +were going to America in the autumn. The conversation was taking too +theatrical a turn, and the Prioress judged it necessary to intervene. +And without anybody being able to detect the transition, the talk was +led from America to the Pope and the Papal Choir. + +"May we go into the garden, dear Mother?" Evelyn said, interrupting. +Her interruption was a welcome one; the Prioress in her anxiety to +change the subject had forgotten Mr. Innes's death and Evelyn's +return to Rome. She gave the required permission, and the four women +went out together. + +"Do you think we shall be able to talk alone?" + +"Yes, presently," Evelyn whispered. Soon after, in St. Peter's Walk, +an opportunity occurred. The nuns had dropped behind, and Evelyn led +her friend through the hazels, round by the fish-pond, where they +would be able to talk undisturbed. Evelyn took her friend's arm. +"Dear Louise, how kind of you to come to see me. I thought I was +forgotten. But how did you find me out?" + +"Sir Owen Asher, whom I met in London, told me I would probably get +news of you here." + +Evelyn did not answer. + +"Aren't you glad to see me?" + +"Of course I am. Haven't I said so? Don't you see I am? And you have +brought beautiful weather with you, Louise. Was there ever a more +beautiful day? White clouds rising up in the blue sky like great +ships, sail over sail." + +"My dear Evelyn, I have not come to talk to you about clouds, nor +green trees, though the birds are singing beautifully here, and it +would be pleasant to talk about them if we were going to be alone the +whole afternoon. But as the nuns may come round the corner at any +minute I had better ask you at once if you are going to stop here?" + +"Is that what you have come to ask me?" + +Evelyn got up, though they had only just sat down. + +"Evelyn, dear, sit down. You are not angry with me for asking you +these questions? What do you think I came here for?" + +"You came here, then, as Reverend Mother suspected, to try to +persuade me away? You would like to have me back on the stage?" + +"Of course we should like to have you back among us again. Owen +Asher--" + +"Louise, you mustn't speak to me of my past life." + +"Ulick--" + +"Still less of him. You have come here, sent by Owen Asher or by +Ulick Dean--which is it?" + +"My dear Evelyn, I came here because we have always been friends and +for old friendship's sake--by nobody." + +These words seemed to reassure her, and she sat down by her friend, +saying that if Louise only knew the trouble she had been through. + +"But all that is forgotten... if it can be forgotten. Do you know if +our sins are ever forgotten, Louise?" + +"Sins, Evelyn? What sins? The sin of liking one man a little better +than another?" + +"That is exactly it, Louise. The sin and the shame are in just what +you have said--liking one man better than another. But I wish, +Louise, you wouldn't speak to me of these things, for I'll have to +get up and go back to the convent." + +"Well, Evelyn, let us talk about the white clouds going by, and how +beautiful the wood is when the sun is shining, flecking the ground +with spots of light; birds are singing in the branches, and that +thrush! I have never heard a better one." Louise walked a little way. +Returning to Evelyn quickly, she said, "There are all kinds of birds +here--linnets, robins, yes, and a blackbird. A fine contralto!" + +"But why, Louise, do you begin to talk about clouds and birds?" + +"Well, dear, because you won't talk about our friends." + +"Or is it because you think I must be mad to stay here and to wear +this dress? You are quite wrong if you think such a thing, for it was +to save myself from going mad that I came here." + +"My dear Evelyn, what could have put such ideas into your head?" + +"Louise, we mustn't talk of the past. I can see you are astonished at +this dress, yet you are a Catholic of a sort, but still a Catholic. I +was like you once, only a change came. One day perhaps you will be +like me." + +"You think I shall end in a convent, Evelyn?" + +Evelyn did not answer, and; not knowing exactly what to say next, +Louise spoke of the convent garden. + +"You always used to be fond of flowers. I suppose a great part of +your time is spent in gardening?" + +An angry colour rose into Evelyn's cheek. + +"You don't wish me," she said, "to talk about myself? You think-- +Never mind, I don't care what you think about me." + +Louise assured her that she was mistaken; and in the middle of a long +discourse Evelyn's thoughts seemed suddenly to break away, and she +spoke to Louise of the greenhouse which she had made that winter, +asking her if she would like to come to see it with her. + +"A great deal of it was built with my own hands, Sister Mary John and +I. You don't know her yet; she is our organist, and an excellent +one." + +At that moment Evelyn laid her hand on Louise's arm, and a light +seemed to burst into her face. + +"Listen!" she said, "listen to the bird! Don't you hear him?" + +"Hear what, dear?" + +"The bird in the branches singing the song that leads Siegfried to +Brunnhilde." + +"A bird singing Wagner?" + +"Well, what more natural than that a bird should sing his own song?" + +"But no bird--" A look of wonder, mingled with fear, came into +Louise's face. + +"If you listen, Louise." In the silence of the wood Louise heard +somebody whistling Wagner's music. "Don't you hear it?" + +Louise did not answer at once. Had she caught some of Evelyn's +madness... or was she in an enchanted garden? + +"It is a boy in the park, or one of the nuns." + +"Nuns don't whistle, and the common is hundreds of yards away. And no +boy on the common knows the bird music from 'Siegfried'? Listen, +Louise, listen! There it goes, note for note. Francis is singing well +to-day." + +"Francis!" + +"Look, look, you can see him! Now are you convinced?" + +And the wonder in Louise's face passed into a look of real fear, and +she said: + +"Let us go away." + +"But why won't you listen to Francis? None of my birds sings as he +does. Let me tell you, Louise--" + +But Louise's step hastened. + +"Stop! Don't you hear the Sword motive? That is Aloysius." + +Louise stopped for a moment, and, true enough, there was the Sword +motive whistled from the branches of a sycamore. And Louise began to +doubt her own sanity. + +"You do hear him, I can see you do." + +"What does all this mean?" Louise said to the Reverend Mother, +drawing her aside. "The birds, the birds, Mother Superior, the +birds!" + +"What birds?" + +"The birds singing the motives of 'The Ring.'" + +"You mean Teresa's bullfinches, Mademoiselle Helbrun? Yes, they +whistle very well." + +"But they whistle the motives of 'The Ring!'" + +"Ah! she taught them." + +"Is that all? I thought she and I were mad. You'll excuse me, Mother +Superior? May I ask her about them?" + +"Of course, Mademoiselle Helbrun, you can." And Louise walked on in +front with Evelyn. + +"Mother Superior tells me you have taught bullfinches the motives of +'The Ring,' is it true?" + +"Of course. How could they have learned the motives unless from me?" + +"But why the motives of 'The Ring'?" + +"Why not, Louise? Short little phrases, just suited to a bird." + +"But, dear, you must have spent hours teaching them." + +"It requires a great deal of patience, but when there is a great +whirl in one's head--" + +Evelyn stopped speaking, and Louise understood that she shrank from +the confession that to retain her sanity she had taught bullfinches +to whistle, + +"So she is sane, saner than any of us, for she has kept herself sane +by an effort of her own will," Louise said to herself. + +"Some birds learn much quicker than others; they vary a great deal." + +"My dear Evelyn, it is ever so nice of you. Just fancy teaching +bullfinches to sing the motives of 'The Ring,' It seemed to me I was +in an enchanted garden. But tell me, why, when you had taught them, +did you let them fly away?" + +"Well, you see, they can only remember two tunes. If you teach them a +third they forget the first two, and it seemed a pity to confuse +them." + +"So when a bullfinch knows two motives you let him go? Well, it is +all very simple now you have explained it. They find everything they +want in the garden. The bullfinch is a homely little bird, almost as +domestic as the robin; they just stay here, isn't that it?" + +"Sometimes they go into the park, but they come every morning to be +fed. On the whole, Francis is my best bird; but there is another who +in a way excels him--Timothy. I don't know why we call him Timothy; +it isn't a pretty name, but it seems suited to him because I taught +him 'The Shepherd's Pipe'; and you know how difficult it is, dropping +half a note each time? Yet he knows it nearly all; sometimes he will +whistle it through without a mistake. We could have got a great deal +of money for him if he had been sold, and Reverend Mother wanted me +to sell him, but I wouldn't." + +And Evelyn led Louise away to a far corner. + +"He is generally in this corner; these are his trees." And Evelyn +began to whistle. + +"Does he answer you when you whistle?" + +"No; scraping one's feet against the gravel, some little material +noise, will set him whistling." And Evelyn scraped her feet. "I'm +afraid he isn't here to-day. But there is the bell for Benediction. +We must not keep the nuns waiting." And the singers hurried towards +the convent, where they met the Prioress and the Mistress of the +Novices and Sister Mary John. + +"Dear me, how late you are, Sister!" said Sister Mary John. "I +suppose you were listening to the bullfinches. Aren't they wonderful? +But won't you introduce me to Mademoiselle Helbrun? It would be +delightful, mademoiselle, if you would only sing for us." + +"I shall be very pleased indeed." + +"Well, we have only got two or three minutes to decide what it is to +be. Will you come up to the organ loft?" + +And that afternoon the Wimbledon laity had the pleasure of hearing +two prima donne at Benediction. + + + +XXVII + +One day in the last month of Evelyn's noviceship--for it was the +Reverend Mother's plans to put up Evelyn for election, provided she +could persuade Evelyn to take her final vows--Sister Mary John sat at +the harmonium, her eyes fixed, following Evelyn's voice like one in a +dream. Evelyn was singing Stradella's "Chanson d'Eglise," and when +she, had finished the nun rose from her seat, clasping her friend's +hand, thanking her for her singing with such effusion that the +thought crossed Evelyn's mind that perhaps her friend was giving to +her some part of that love which it was essential to the nun to +believe belonged to God alone; and knowing Sister Mary John so well, +she could not doubt that, as soon as the nun discovered her +infidelity to the celestial Bridegroom, she would separate herself at +once from her. A tenderness in the touch of the hand, an ardour in +the eye, might reveal the secret to her, or very likely a casual +remark from some other nun would awaken her conscience to the danger +--an imaginary danger, of course--but that would not be her idea. +Formal relations would be impossible between them, one of them would +have to leave; and, without this friendship, Evelyn felt she could +not live in the convent. + +The accident she foresaw happened two days after, when sitting in the +library writing. Veronica came in. Evelyn had seen very little of her +lately, and at one time Evelyn, Veronica, and Sister Mary John had +formed a little group, each possessing a quality which attracted the +others; but, insensibly, musical interests and literary interests-- +Sister Mary John had begun to teach Evelyn Latin--had drawn Evelyn +and Sister Mary John together, excluding Veronica a little. This +exclusion was more imaginary than real. But some jealousy of Sister +Mary John had entered her mind; and Evelyn had noticed, though Sister +Mary John had failed to notice, that Veronica had, for some time +past, treated them with little disdainful airs. And now, when she +opened the door, she did not answer Evelyn at once, though Evelyn +welcomed her with a pretty smile, asking her whom she was seeking. +There was an accent of concentrated dislike in Veronica's voice when +Evelyn said she was looking for Sister Mary John. + +"I heard her trampling about the passage just now; she is on her way +here, no doubt, and won't keep you waiting." + +The word "trampling" was understood by Evelyn as an allusion to the +hobnails which Sister Mary John wore in the garden. Veronica often +dropped a rude word, which seemed ruder than it was owing to the +refinement and distinction of her face and her voice. A rude word +seemed incongruous on the lips of this mediaeval virgin; and Evelyn +sat nibbling the end of the pen, thinking this jealousy was +dangerous. Sister Mary John only had to hear of it. The door opened +again; this time it was Sister Mary John, who had come to ask Evelyn +what was the matter with Veronica. + +"I passed her in the passage just now, and when I asked her if she +had seen you, she said she really was too busy to speak to me; and, a +moment after, she stood a long while to play with the black kitten, +who was catching flies in the window." + +"There is no doubt that Veronica has changed; lately she has been +rather rude to me." + +"To you, Teresa? Now, what could she be rude about to you?" The nun's +face changed expression, and Evelyn sat reading it, "Do you think she +is jealous of the time we spend together? We have been together a +great deal lately." + +"But it is necessary that we should be--our music." + +"Yes, our music, of course; but I was thinking of other times." + +Evelyn knew that Sister Mary John was thinking of the time they had +spent reading the Breviary together--four great volumes, one for +every season of the year. It was Sister Mary John who had taught her +to appreciate the rich, mysterious tradition of the Church, and how +these books of ritual and observances could satisfy the mind more +than any secular literature. There was always something in the Office +to talk about, something new amid much that remained the same--the +reappearance of a favourite hymn. + +"All the same, Sister, we should not take so much pleasure in each +other's society. Veronica is quite right." + +At that moment Evelyn was called away by the portress, who had come +to tell her that Mother Hilda wanted her in the novitiate, and Sister +Mary John was left thinking in the library that Veronica was +certainly right, and every moment the conviction grew clearer. It +must have been forming in her mind for a long time past, for, within +five minutes after Evelyn had left the room, the nun determined to go +straight to the Prioress and tell her that her life was being +absorbed by Evelyn and beg her to transfer her to the Mother House in +France. Never to see Evelyn again! Her strength almost failed her as +she went towards the door. But what would it profit her to see Evelyn +for a few years if she should lose her for eternity? A little +courage, and they would meet to part no more. In a few years both +would be in heaven. A confusion of thought began in her; she +remembered many things, that she no longer loved Christ as she used +to love him. She no longer stood before the picture in which Christ +took St. Francis in His arms, saying to Christ, "My embrace will be +warmer than his when thou takest me in thy arms." She had often +thought of herself and Evelyn in heaven, walking hand in hand. Once +they had sat enfolded in each other's arms under a flowering +oleander. Christ was watching them! And all this could only point to +one thing, that her love of Evelyn was infringing upon her love of +God. And Evelyn, too, had questioned her love of God as if she were +jealous of it, but she had answered Evelyn that nuns were the brides +of Christ, and must set no measure on their love of God. "There is no +lover," she had said, "like God; He is always by you, you can turn to +Him at any moment. God wishes us to keep all our love for Him." She +had said these things, but how differently she had acted, forgetful +of God, thinking only of Evelyn, and her vows, and not a little of +the woman herself. + +The revelation was very sudden.... Sister Mary John seemed to find +somebody in herself of whom she knew nothing, and a passion in +herself unknown to her before. Therefore, to the Prioress she went at +once to tell her everything. + +"Mother, I have come to ask you if you will transfer me to the Mother +House in France." + +The Reverend Mother repeated the words in astonishment, and listened +to Sister Mary John, who was telling her that she had found herself +in sin. + +"My life is falling to pieces, Mother, and I can only save myself by +going away." + +A shipwreck this was, indeed, for all the Prioress's plans! If Sister +Mary John left, how was Evelyn to be persuaded to take the veil? "At +every moment I am confronted with some unexpected obstacle." She +tried to argue with Sister Mary John; but the nun was convinced she +must go. So the only thing to do was to make terms. + +"Teresa must know nothing of what has happened, on that I insist. +There is too much of this kind of thing going on in my convent; I +have heard of it among the younger nuns, all are thinking of visions. +But among you women, who have been in the convent for many years, I +had thought--" + +"Mother, we are all weak; the flesh errs, and all we can do is to +check ourselves, to pray, and take such measures as will save us from +falling into sin again. Of what you said just now about the younger +nuns I know nothing, nor has any vision been vouchsafed to me, only I +have stumbled." + +The Prioress did not answer; she was thinking how Sister Mary John +might be transferred. + +"Mrs. Cater is going to France next month, you can travel with her." + +"So a month must pass! I thought of leaving to-day or to-morrow, but +I see that is impossible. A month! How shall I endure it?" + +"No one will know," the Prioress answered, with a little vehemence. +"It is a secret between us, I repeat, and I forbid you to tell any +one the reason of your leaving. Teresa will be professed in a few +weeks, I hope; she has reached the critical moment of her life, and +her mind must not be disturbed. The raising of such a question, at +such a time, might be fatal to her vocation." + +The Prioress rose from her chair, and, following Sister Mary John to +the door, impressed upon her again that it was essential that no one +should ever know why she had left the convent. + +"You can tell Teresa before you leave, but she must hear nothing of +it till the moment of your leaving. I give you permission merely to +say goodbye to her on the day you leave, and in the interval you will +see as little of each other as possible." + +But when Sister Mary John said that Sister Elizabeth could accompany +Evelyn as well as she could, the Prioress interrupted her. + +"You must always accompany her when she sings at Benediction; you +must do nothing to let her suspect that you are leaving the convent +on her account. You promise me this? You can tell her what you like, +of course when you are leaving, but not before. Of course, there is +no use arguing with you again, Sister Mary John. You are determined, +I can see that; but I do assure you that your leaving us is a sore +trial to us, more than you think for." + +In the passage Sister Mary John came unexpectedly upon Evelyn +returning from the novitiate. + +"Well, I have got through my Latin lesson, and Mother Hilda is +delighted at my progress. She flatters herself on her instruction, +but any progress I have made is owing to you.... But what is the +matter, Sister? Why do you move away?" Evelyn put her hand on the +nun's shoulder. + +"Don't, Sister; I must go." + +"Why must you go?" + +"Teresa, try to think--" She was about to say "of God, and not of +me," but her senses seemed to swoon a little at that moment, and she +fell into Evelyn's arms. + +"Teresa! Teresa! What is this?" + +It was the Prioress coming from her room. + +"A sudden giddiness, Mother," the nun answered. + +"Just as I was telling her of my Latin lesson in the novitiate, that +I could learn Latin with her better than with Mother Hilda." + +"We met in the passage," Sister Mary John said, moving away. + +"And a sudden giddiness came over her," Evelyn explained. + +"Teresa, Sister Cecilia, who is our sacristan, is a little slow; she +wants help, you are just the one to help her, and come with me." + + + +XXVIII + +And Evelyn followed the Prioress into a fragrance of lavender and +orris-root; she was shown the vestments laid out on shelves, with +tissue-paper between them. The most expensive were the white satin +vestments, and these dated from prosperous times; and she was told +how once poverty had become so severe in the convent that the +question had arisen whether these vestments should be sold, but the +nuns had declared that they preferred bread and water, or even +starvation, to parting with their vestments. + +"These are for the priest," the Prioress said, "these are for the +deacon and subdeacon, and they are used on Easter Sundays, the +professed days of the Sisters, and the visits of the Bishop; and +these vestments with the figure of Our Lady, with a blue medallion in +the centre of the cross, are used for all feasts of the Virgin." + +On another shelf were the great copes, in satin and brocade, gold and +white, with embroidered hoods and orphries, and veils to match; and +the processional banners were stored in tall presses, and with them, +hanging on wire hooks, were the altar-curtains, thick with gold +thread; for the high altar there were curtains and embroidered +frontals, and tabernacle hangings, and these, the Prioress explained, +had to harmonise with the vestments; and the day before Mass for the +Dead the whole altar would have to be stripped after Benediction and +black hangings put up. + +"Cecilia will tell you about the candles. They have all to be of +equal length, Teresa, and it should be your ambition to be +economical, with as splendid a show as possible. No candle should +ever be allowed to burn into its socket, leaving less than the twelve +ordained by the Church for Exposition." + +As soon as the Prioress left them, Sister Cecilia told Evelyn that +she would have to work very hard indeed, for it was the Prioress's +whim not to use the ordinary altar cloths with an embroidered hem, +but always cloths on which lace frontals were lightly tacked; and +Evelyn was warned that the sewing on of the lace, without creasing +the white linen, required great care; and the spilling of a little +wax could not be passed over, the cloth would have to go to the wash. + +It was as she said; they had to work hard, and they were always +behindhand with their work. She learned from Cecilia that, apart from +the canonical directions for Divine Service, there existed an +unwritten code for pious observances--some saints were honoured by +having their banner exhibited during the octave of the feast, while +others were allowed little temporary altars on which some relic could +be exposed. The Sisters themselves were often mistaken regarding what +had been done on previous anniversaries; but the Prioress's memory +was unfailing, and one of the strictest rules of the house was that +the sacristan took orders from none but the Prioress. And when a +discussion arose between Cecilia and Evelyn, one of them went to the +Prioress to ask her to say which was right. + +Sister Cecilia was stupid and slow, and very soon Evelyn had absorbed +most of the work of the sacristy doing it as she pleased, until one +day, the Prioress coming in to see what progress had been made, found +St. Joseph's altar stripped, save for a single pair of candlesticks +and two flower vases filled with artificial flowers. Evelyn was +admonished, but she dared to answer that she was not interested in +St. Joseph, though, of course, he was a worthy man. + +"My dear Teresa, I cannot allow you to speak in this way of St. +Joseph; he is one of the patrons of the convent. Nor can I allow his +altar to be robbed in this fashion. Have you not thought that we are +looking forward to the time when you should be one of us?" + +Behind them stood Sister Cecilia, overcome with astonishment that a +mere novice should dare to speak to the Prioress on terms of +equality. When the Prioress left the room she said: + +"You didn't answer the Prioress just now when she asked if you had +forgotten that you were soon to become one of us." + +"How could I answer... I don't know." + +This answer seemed to exhaust Sister Cecilia's interest in the +question, and, handing Evelyn two more candles, she asked, "Do you +want me any more?" + +On Evelyn saying she did not, she said: + +"Well, then, I may go and meditate in the chapel." + +"On what is she going to meditate?" Evelyn wondered; and from time to +time her eyes went towards the nun, who sat crouched on her haunches, +now and again beating her ears with both hands--a little trick of +hers to scatter casual thoughts, for even sacred things sometimes +suggested thoughts of evil to Sister Cecilia, and her plan to reduce +her thoughts to order was to slap her ears. Evelyn watched her, +wondering what her thoughts might be. Whatever they were, they led +poor Cecilia into disgrace, for that evening she forgot to fill the +lamp which burnt always before the tabernacle, it being the rule that +the Easter light struck on Holy Saturday should be preserved through +the year, each new wick being lighted upon the dying one. And Sister +Cecilia's carelessness had broken the continuity. She was severely +reprimanded, ate her meals that day kneeling on the refectory floor, +and for many a day the shameful occurrence was remembered. And her +place was taken by Veronica, who, delighted at her promotion, wore a +quaint air of importance, hurrying away with a bundle of keys hanging +from her belt by a long chain, amusing Evelyn, who was now under +Veronica's orders. + +"Yes, it is rather strange, isn't it, Sister? But I can't help it. Of +course you ought to be in my place, and I can't think why dear Mother +has arranged it like this." + +Nuns employed in the sacristy might talk, and in a few days +Veronica's nature revealed itself in many little questions. + +"It is strange you should wish to be a nun." + +"But why is it strange, Veronica?" + +"For you are not like any of us, nor has the convent been the same +since you came." + +"Are you sorry that I wish to be a nun?" + +"Sorry, Sister Teresa? No, indeed. God has chosen you from the +beginning as the means He would employ to save us; only I can't see +you as a nun, always satisfied with the life here." + +"Every one doesn't know from childhood what she is going to do. But +you always knew your vocation, Veronica." + +"I cannot imagine myself anything but a nun, and yet I am not always +satisfied. Sometimes I am filled with longings for something which I +cannot live without, yet I do not know what I want. It is an +extraordinary feeling. Do you know what I mean, Sister?" + +"Yes, dear, I think I do." + +"It makes me feel quite faint, and it seizes me so suddenly. I have +wanted to tell you for a long time, only I have not liked to. There +are days when it makes me so restless that I cannot say my prayers, +so I know the feeling must be wrong. Something in the quality of your +voice stirs this feeling in me; your trill brings on this feeling +worse than anything. You don't know what I mean?" + +"Perhaps I do. But why do you ask?" + +"Because your singing seems to affect no one as it does me.... I +thought it might affect you in the same way--what is it?" + +"I wouldn't worry, Veronica, you will get over it; it will pass." + +"I hope it will." Evelyn felt that Veronica had not spoken all her +mind, and that the incident was not closed. The novice's eyes were +full of reverie, and behind her the open press exhaled a fragrance of +lavender. "You see," she said, turning, "Father Ambrose is coming +to-morrow. I wonder what he will think of you? He'll know if you have +a vocation." + +Father Ambrose, an old Carmelite monk and the spiritual adviser of +the Prioress, was known to be a great friend of Veronica's, and +whenever he came to the convent Veronica's excitement started many +little pleasantries among the novices. Next day Evelyn waited for one +of these to arise. She had not long to wait; all the novices and +postulants with Mother Hilda were sitting under the great tree. The +air was warm, and Mother Hilda guided the conversation occasionally. +Every one was anxious to talk, but every one was anxious to think +too, for every one knew she would be questioned by the aged monk, and +that the chance of being accepted as a nun depended, in no small +measure, on his opinion of her vocation. + +"Have you noticed, Sister Teresa, how beaming Sister Veronica has +looked for the last day or two? I can't think what has come to her." + +"Can't you, indeed? You must be very slow. Hasn't she been put into +the sacristy just before Father Ambrose's visit; now she will be able +to put out his vestments herself. You may be sure we shall have the +best vestments out every day, and she will be able to have any amount +of private interviews behind our backs." + +"Now, children, that will do," said Mother Hilda, noticing Veronica's +crimson cheeks as she bent over her work. + +Evelyn wondered, and that evening in the sacristy Veronica broke into +expostulations with an excitement that took Evelyn by surprise. + +"How could I not care for Father Ambrose! I have known him all my +life. Once I was very ill with pleurisy. I nearly died, and Father +Ambrose anointed me, and gave me the last Sacraments. I had not made +my first Communion then. I was only eleven, but they gave me the +Sacrament, for they thought I was dying, and I thought so too, and I +promised our Lord I would be a nun if I got well. I never told any +one except Father Ambrose, and he has helped me all through to keep +my vow, so you see he has been everything to me; I have never loved +any one as I love Father Ambrose. When he comes here I always ask him +for some rule or direction, so that I may have the happiness of +obeying him till his next visit; and it is so trying, is it not, +Sister Teresa, when the novices make their silly little jokes about +it? Of course, they don't understand, they can't; but to me Father +Ambrose means everything I care for; besides, he is really a saint. I +believe he would have been canonised if he had lived in the Middle +Ages. He has promised to profess me. It is wrong, I know, but really +I should hardly care to be professed if Father Ambrose could not be +by. We must have these vestments for him." Evelyn was about to take +them out. "No, allow me." + +Veronica took the vestments out of her hand, a pretty colour coming +into her cheeks as she did so. And Evelyn understood her jealousy, +lest any other hands but hers should lay the vestments out that he +was to wear, and she turned her head so that Veronica might not think +she was being watched. And the little nun was happy in the corner of +the sacristy laying out the vestments, putting the gold chalice for +him to use, and the gold cruets, which Evelyn had never seen used +before." + +"You see, being a monk, he has a larger amice than the ordinary +priest." And Veronica produced a strip of embroidery which she tacked +on the edge of the amice, so that it might give the desired +appearance when the monk drew it over his head on entering or leaving +the sacristy. + +A few days after Evelyn came upon this amice with the embroidery edge +put away in a secret corner, so that it should not be used in the +ordinary way; and, as she stood wondering at the child's love for the +aged monk, Sister Agnes came to tell her she was wanted to bid Sister +Mary John goodbye. + +"To bid Sister Mary John goodbye!" + +"Yes, Sister Teresa, that is what the Prioress told me to tell you." + +Evelyn hurried to the library. Sister Mary John was standing near the +window, and she wore a long black cloak over her habit, and had a +bird-cage in her hand. Evelyn saw the sly jackdaw, with his head on +one side, looking at her. + +"What is the meaning of this, Sister? You don't tell me you are going +away? And for how long?" + +"For ever, Sister; we shall never see each other again. I promised +the Prioress not to tell you before. It was a great hardship, but I +gave my promise, she allowing us to see each other for a few minutes +before I left." + +"I can't take in what you're saying. Going away for ever? Oh, Sister, +this cannot be true!" And Evelyn stood looking at the nun, her eyes +dilated, her fingers crisped as if she would hold Sister Mary John +back. "But what is taking you away?" + +"That is a long story, too long for telling now; besides, you know +it. You know I have been very fond of you, Teresa; too fond of you." + +"So that's it. And how shall I live here without you?" + +"You are going to enter the convent, and as a nun you will learn to +live without me; you will learn to love God better than you do now." + +"One moment; tell me, it is only fair you should tell me, how our +love of each other has altered your love of God?" + +"I can never tell you, Teresa, I can only say that I never +understood, perhaps, as I do now, that nothing must come between the +soul and God, and that there is no room for any other love in our +hearts. We must remember always we are the brides of Christ, you and +I, Sister." + +"But I am not professed, and never shall be." + +"I hope you will, Sister, and that all your love will go to our +crucified Lord." + +They stood holding each other's hands. + +"Won't you let me kiss you before you go?" + +"Please let me go; it will be better not. The carriage is waiting; I +must go." + +"But never, never to see you again!" + +"Never is a long while; too long. We shall meet in heaven, and it +would be unwise to forfeit that meeting for a moment of time on this +earth." + +"A moment of time on this earth," Evelyn answered. She stood looking +out of the window like one dazed; and taking advantage of her +abstraction Sister Mary John left the room. The Prioress came into +the library. + +"Mother, what does this mean? Why did you let her go?" + +The Prioress sat down slowly and looked at Evelyn without speaking. + +"Mother, you might have let her stay, for my sake." + +"I allowed her to see you before she left, and that was the most I +could do, under the circumstances." + +"The most you could do under the circumstances? I don't understand. +Mother, you might have asked her to wait. She acted on impulse." + +"No, Teresa, she came to me some weeks ago to tell me of her +scruples." + +"Scruples! Her love of me, you mean?" + +"I see she has told you. Yes." + +The Prioress was about to ask her about her vows; but the present was +not the moment to do so, and she allowed Evelyn to go back to the +sacristy. + + + +XXIX + +"Veronica, she has gone away for good--gone away to France. All I +could do--Now I am alone here, with nobody." + +"But, Teresa, I don't understand. What are you speaking about?" +Evelyn told her of Sister Miry John's departure. "You cared for her a +great deal, one could see that." + +"Well, she was the one whom I have seen most of since I have been +here... except you, Veronica." A look appeared in the girl's face +which suggested, very vaguely, of course, but still suggested, that +Veronica was jealous of the nun who had gone. Evelyn looked into the +girl's face, trying to read the dream in it, until she forgot +Veronica, and remembered the nun who had gone; and when she awoke +from her dream she saw Veronica still standing before her with a +half-cleaned candlestick in her hand. + +"She seemed so determined, and all I could say only made her more so; +yet I told her I was very fond of her... and she always seemed to +like me. Why should she be so determined?" + +"I should have thought you would have guessed, Teresa." + +Evelyn begged Veronica to explain, but the girl hesitated, looking at +her curiously all the time saying at last: + +"It seems to me there can be only one reason for her leaving, and +that was because she believed you to be her counterpart." + +"Her counterpart--what's that?" + +"Have you been so long in the convent without knowing what a +counterpart is, Teresa? The convent is full of counterparts. Did you +never see one in the garden, in a shady corner? You spent many hours +in the garden. I am surprised. Are you telling the truth, Sister?" + +Evelyn opened her eyes. + +"Telling the truth! But do they come in the summer-time in the +garden, while the sun is out?" + +"Yes, they do; and very often they come to one in the evening... but +more often at night." + +Evelyn stood looking into Veronica's face without speaking, and at +that moment the bell rang. + +"We have only just got time," Veronica said, "to get into chapel." + +"What can she mean? Counterparts visiting the nuns in the twilight... +at night! Who are these counterparts?" Evelyn asked herself. "The +idle fancies of young girls, of course." But she was curious to hear +what these were, and on the first favourable opportunity she +introduced the subject, saying: + +"What did you mean, Veronica, when you said that it was strange I had +been in the convent so long without finding my counterpart?" + +"I didn't say that, Teresa. I said without a counterpart finding you +out, or that is what I meant to say. It is the counterpart which +seeks us, not we the counterpart. It would be wrong for us to seek +one. You know what I said about your singing, how it disturbed me and +prevented me from praying? Well, sometimes a memory of your singing +precedes the arrival of my counterpart." + +"But did you not say that Sister Mary John was my counterpart?" + +Veronica answered that Sister Mary John may have thought so. + +"But she is a choir sister." And to this Veronica did not know what +answer to make. The silence was not broken for a long while, each +continuing her work, wondering when the other would speak. "Have all +the nuns counterparts?" + +"I don't know anything about the choir sisters, but Rufina and Jerome +have. Cecilia is too stupid, and no counterpart ever seems to come to +her. Sister Angela has the most beautiful counterpart in the world, +except mine!" And the girl's eyes lit up. + +Evelyn was on the point of asking her to describe her visitor, but, +fearing to be indiscreet, she asked Veronica to tell her who were the +counterparts, and whence they came. Veronica could tell her nothing, +and, untroubled by theory or scruple, she seemed to drift away-- +perhaps into the arms of her spiritual lover. On rousing her from her +dream Evelyn learnt that Sister Angela, who was fond of reading the +Bible, had discovered many texts anent counter-partial love. Which +these could be Evelyn wondered, and Veronica quoted the words of the +Creed, "Christ descended into hell." + +"But the counterpart doesn't emanate out of hell?" + +A look of pain came into the nun's face, and she reminded Evelyn that +Christ was away for three days between his death and his +resurrection, and there were passages she remembered in Paul, in the +Epistle to the Romans, which seemed to point to the belief that he +descended into hell, at all events that he had gone underground; but +of this Veronica had no knowledge, she could only repeat what Sister +Angela had said--that when Christ descended into hell, the warders of +the gates covered their faces, so frightened were they, not having +had time to lock the gates against him, and all hell was harrowed. +But Christ had walked on, preaching to those men and women who had +been drowned in the Flood, and they had gone up to heaven with him. + +"But, Veronica, those who are in hell never come out of it." + +"No, they never come out of it; only Christ can do all things, and He +descended into hell, not to watch the tortures of the damned--you +couldn't think that, Sister Teresa?--but to save those who had died +before His coming. Once we had a meditation on a subject given to us +by Mother Hilda from one of the Gospels: Three men were seen coming +from a tomb, two supporting a man standing between them, the shadow +of the Cross came from behind; and the heads of two men touched the +sky, but the head of the man they supported passed through the sky, +and far beyond it, for the third man was our Lord coming out of +hell." + +"But, Veronica, you were telling me about the counterparts." + +"Well, Sister Teresa, the counterparts are those whom Christ redeemed +in those three days, and they come and visit every convent." + +"In what guise do they come?" Evelyn asked. And she heard that the +arrival of the counterpart was always unexpected, but was preceded by +an especially happy state of quiet exaltation. + +"Have you never felt that feeling, Sister Teresa? As if one were +detached from everything, and ready to take flight." + +"Yes, dear, I think I know what you mean. But the counterpart is a +sort of marriage, and you know Christ says that there is neither +marriage, nor giving in marriage, when the kingdom of God shall come +to pass." + +"Not giving in marriage," the girl answered, "as is understood in the +world, but we shall all meet in heaven; and the meeting of our +counterpart on earth is but a faint shadow of the joy we shall +experience after death--an indwelling, spirit within spirit, and +nothing external. That is how Mother Hilda teaches St. Teresa when we +read her in the novitiate." + +"Sister Teresa is wonderful--her ravishments when God descended upon +her and she seemed to be borne away. But I didn't think that any one +among you experienced anything like that. It doesn't seem to me that +a counterpart is quite the same; there is something earthly." + +"No, Sister, nothing earthly whatever." + +"But, Veronica, you said that Sister Mary John left the convent +because she believed me to be her counterpart. I am in the world, am +I not?" + +A perplexed look came into Veronica's face, and she said: + +"There are counterparts and counterparts." + +"And you think I am a wicked counterpart? You wouldn't like me to be +yours?" + +"I didn't say that, Sister; only mine is in heaven." + +"And when did he come last to you?" Evelyn asked, as she folded up +the vestments. + +"Teresa, you are folding those vestments wrong. You're not thinking +of what you're doing." And the vestments turned the talk back to +Father Ambrose. + +"Surely the monk isn't the counterpart you were speaking of just +now?" + +"No, indeed, my counterpart is quite different from Father Ambrose; +he is young and beautiful. Father Ambrose has got a beautiful soul, +and I love him very dearly; but my counterpart is, as I have said, in +heaven, Sister." + +The conversation fell, and Evelyn did not dare to ask another +question; indeed, she determined never to speak on the subject again +to Veronica. But a few days afterwards she yielded to the temptation +to speak, or Veronica--she could not tell which was to blame in this +matter, but she found herself listening to Veronica telling how she +had, for weeks before meeting with her counterpart, often felt a soft +hand placed upon her, and the touch would seem so real that she would +forget what she was doing, and look for the hand without being able +to find it. + +"One night it seemed, dear, as if I could not keep on much longer, +and all the time I kept waking up. At last I awoke, feeling very cold +all over; it was an awful feeling, and I was so frightened that I +could hardly summon courage to take my habit from the peg and put it +upon my bed. But I did this, for, if what was coming were a wicked +thought, it would not be able to find me out under my habit. At last +I fell asleep, lying on my back with arms and feet folded, a position +I always find myself in when I awake, no matter in what position I +may go to sleep. Very soon I awoke, every fibre tingling, an +exquisite sensation of glow, and I was lying on my left side +(something I am never able to do), folded in the arms of my +counterpart. I cannot give you any idea of the beauty of his flesh, +and with what joy I beheld and felt it. Luminous flesh, and full of +tints so beautiful that they cannot be imagined. You would have to +see them. And he folded me so closely in his arms, telling me that it +was his coming that had caused the coldness; and then telling of his +love for me, and how he would watch over me and care for me. After +saying that, he folded me so closely that we seemed to become one +person; and then my flesh became beautiful, luminous, like his, and I +seemed to have a feeling of love and tenderness for it. I saw his +face, but it is too lovely to speak about. How could I think such a +visitation sinful? for all my thoughts were of pure love, and he did +not kiss me; but I fell asleep in his arms, and what a sleep I slept +there! When I awoke he was no longer by me." + +"But why should you think it was sinful, dear?" + +"Because our counterpart really is, or should be, Jesus Christ; we +are His brides, and mine was only an angel." + +"But you've said, dear, that those who were drowned in the Flood come +down to those living now upon earth to prepare them--" The sentence +dropped away on Evelyn's lips; she could not continue it, for it +seemed to her disgraceful to draw out this girl into speaking of +things which were sacred to her, and which had a meaning for her that +was pure. Her love was for God, and she was trying to explain; and +the terms open to her were terms of human love, which she, Evelyn, +with a sinful imagination, misconstrued, involuntarily perhaps, but +misconstrued nevertheless. + +At that moment Sister Angela came into the sacristy, and, seeing +Sister Veronica and Teresa looking at each other in silence, a look +of surprise came into her face, and she said: + +"Now, you who are always complaining that the work of the sacristy is +behindhand, Veronica--" + +Veronica awoke from her dream. + +"I know, Sister, we ought not to waste time talking, but Teresa asked +me about my counterpart." Evelyn felt the blood rising to her face, +and she turned away so that Angela might not see it. + +"And you've told her?" + +"Yes. And you, Sister Angela, have got a counterpart; won't you tell +Teresa about him?" + +And then, unable to repress herself at that moment, Evelyn turned to +Angela, saying: + +"It began about Sister Mary John--who left the convent to my great +grief, so Veronica tells me, because she believed herself to be my +counterpart." + +At this, Angela's face grew suddenly very grave, and she said: + +"Of course, Teresa, she would leave the convent if she believed that; +but there was no reason for her believing it?" + +"None," Evelyn answered, feeling a little frightened. "None. But what +do you mean?" + +"Only this, that our counterparts are in heaven; but there are +counterparts and counterparts. One--I cannot explain now, dear, for I +was sent by the Prioress to ask you, Veronica, to go to her room; she +wants to speak to you. And I must go back to the novitiate. I +suppose," she added, "Veronica has told you that our counterparts are +a little secret among ourselves? Mother Hilda knows nothing of them. +It would not do to speak of these visitations; but I never could see +any harm, for it isn't by our own will that the counterpart comes to +us; he is sent." + +Evelyn asked in what Gospel Christ's descent into hell is described, +and heard it was in that of Nicodemus; her estimation of Angela went +up in consequence. Angela was one of the few with intellectual +interests; and it was Evelyn's wish to hear about this Gospel that +led her, a few days afterwards, to walk with Angela and Veronica in +the orchard. Angela was delighted to be questioned regarding her +reading, and she told all she knew about Nicodemus. Veronica walked a +little ahead, plucking the tall grasses and enjoying the beautiful +weather. Evelyn, too, enjoyed the beautiful weather while listening +to the story of the harrowing of hell, as described by Nicodemus. +There were no clouds anywhere, and the sky, a dim blue overhead, +turned to grey as it descended. The June verdure of the park was a +wonderful spectacle, so many were the varying tints of green; only a +few unfledged poplars retained their russet tints. Outside the +garden, along the lanes, all the hedges overflowed with the great +lush of June; nettles and young ivy, buttercups, cow-parsley in +profusion, and in the hedge itself the white blossom of the hawthorn. +"The wild briar," Evelyn said to herself, "preparing its roses for +some weeks later, and in the low-lying lands, where there is a dip in +the fields, wild irises are coming into flower, and under the larches +on the banks women and children spend the long day chattering. Here +we talk of Nicodemus and spiritual loves." + +Angela, an alert young woman, whose walk still retained a dancing +movement, whose face, white like white flowers and lit with laughing +eyes, set Evelyn wondering what strange turn of mind should have +induced her to enter a convent. Locks of soft golden hair escaped +from her hood, intended to grow into long tresses, but she had +allowed her hair to be cut. An ideal young mother, she seemed to +Evelyn to be; and the thought of motherhood was put into Evelyn's +mind by the story Angela was telling, for her counterpart had been +drowned in Noah's deluge when he was four years old. + +"But he is a dear little fellow, and he creeps into my bed, and lies +in my arms; his hair is all curls, and he told me the story of his +drowning, how it happened five thousand years ago. He was carried +away in his cot by the flood, and had floated away, seeing the tops +of trees, until a great brown bear, weary of swimming, laid hold of +the cot and overturned it." + +Veronica, who had heard Nicodemus's description of the harrowing of +hell many times, returned to them, a bunch of wild flowers in her +hand. + +"Are not these Bright Eyes beautiful? They remind me of the eyes of +my baby; his eyes are as blue as these." And she looked into the +little blue flower. "Sister Teresa hasn't yet met a counterpart, but +that is only because she doesn't wish for it; one must pray and +meditate, otherwise one doesn't get one." And Evelyn learned how +Rufina had waited a long time for her counterpart. One day an +extraordinary fluttering began in her breast, and she heard the being +telling her not to forget to warn the doctor that he had grown a +little taller, and had come now to reach the end of toes and fingers. +Evelyn wanted to understand what that meant, but Angela could not +tell her, she could only repeat what Rufina had told her; and a look +of reproval came into Veronica's face when Angela said that when +Rufina was asked what her counterpart was like she said that it was +like having something inside one, and that lately he seemed to be +much in search of her mouth and tongue; and when she asked him what +he was like he replied that he was all a kiss." + +"It really seems to me--" A memory of her past life checked her from +reproving the novices for their conversation; they were innocent +girls, and though their language seemed strange they were innocent at +heart, which was the principal thing, whereas she was not. And the +talk went on now about Sister Cecilia, who had been long praying for +a counterpart, but whose prayers were not granted. + +"She is so stupid; how could a counterpart care about her? What could +he say?" Angela whispered to Veronica, pressing the bunch of flowers +which Veronica had given to her lips. + +"Cecilia isn't pretty. But our counterparts don't seek us for our +beauty," Veronica answered, Evelyn thought a little pedantically, +"otherwise mine never would have found me." And the novices laughed. + +The air was full of larks, some of them lost to view, so high were +they; others, rising from the grass, sang as they rose. + +"Listen to that one, how beautifully that bird sings!" And the three +women stood listening to a heaven full of larks till the Angelus bell +called their thoughts away from the birds. + +"We have been a long time away. Mother Hilda will be looking for us." +And they returned slowly to the Novice Mistress, Evelyn thinking of +Cecilia. "So it was for a counterpart she was praying all that time +in the corner of the chapel; and it was a dream of a counterpart that +caused her to forget to fill the sacred lamp." + + + +XXX + +It was the day of the month when the nuns watched by day and night +before the Sacrament. Cecilia's watch came at dawn, at half-past two, +and the last watcher knocked at her cell in the dusk, telling her she +must get up at once. But Cecilia answered: + +"I cannot get up, Sister, I cannot watch before the Sacrament this +morning." + +"And why, Sister? Are you ill?" + +"Yes, I am very ill." + +"And what has made you ill?" + +"A dream, Sister." + +And seeing it was Angela who had come to awaken her, Cecilia rose +from her pillow, saying, "A horrible dream, not a counterpart like +yours, Angela; oh! I can't think of it! It would be impossible for me +to take my watch." + +And walking down the passage, not knowing what to make of Cecilia's +answers, Angela stopped at Barbara's cell to tell her Cecilia was ill +and could not take her watch that morning. + +"And you must watch for her." + +"Why... what is it?" + +"I can tell you no more, Cecilia's ill." + +And she hurried away to avoid further questions, wondering what +reason stupid Cecilia would give Mother Hilda for her absence from +chapel and the row there would be if she were to tell that a +counterpart had visited her! If she could only get a chance to tell +Cecilia that she must say she was ill! If she didn't--Angela's +thoughts turned to her little counterpart, from whom she might be +separated for ever. No chance of speaking happened as the procession +moved towards the refectory; and after breakfast the novices bent +their heads over their work, when Mother Hilda said: + +"I hear, Cecilia, that you were so ill this morning that you couldn't +take your watch." + +"It wasn't illness--not exactly." + +"What, then?" + +"A bad dream, Mother." + +"It must have been a very bad dream to prevent you from getting up to +take your watch. I'm afraid I don't believe in dreams." The novices +breathed more freely, and their spirits rose when Mother Hilda said, +"The cake was heavy; you must have eaten too much of it. Barbara, you +must take notice of this indigestion, for you are fond of cake." The +novices laughed again, and thought themselves safe. But after +breakfast the Prioress sent for Cecilia, and they saw her leave the +novitiate angry with them all--she had caught sight of their smiles +and dreaded their mockery, and went to the Prioress wondering what +plausible contradiction she could give to Angela's story of the ugly +counterpart, so she was taken aback by the first question. + +"Now, what is it that I hear about a refusal to get up to take your +watch? Such a thing--" + +"Not laziness, Mother. Mother, if you knew what my dream was, you +would understand it was impossible for me to watch before the +Sacrament." + +"A dream!" + +Cecilia didn't answer. + +"You can tell me your dream...I shall be able to judge for myself." + +"No, no; it is too frightful!" And Cecilia fell upon her knees. + +"One isn't responsible for one's dreams." + +"Is that so, Mother? But if one prays?" + +"But you don't pray for dreams?" + +"Not for the dream I had last night." + +"Well, for what did you pray? Praying for dreams, Cecilia, is +entirely contrary to the rule, or to the spirit of the rule." + +"But Veronica, Angela, Rufina--they all pray that their counterparts +may visit them." + +"Counterparts!" the old woman answered. "What are you talking about?" + +"Must I tell you?" + +"Of course you must tell me." + +"But it will seem like spite on my part." + +"Spite! Spite?" + +"Because they have gotten beautiful counterparts through their +prayers, whereas--Oh, Mother, I cannot tell you." + +The Prioress forgot the stupid girl at her feet. + +"Counterparts!" + +"Who visit them." + +"Counterparts visiting them! You don't mean that anybody comes into +the convent?" + +"Only in dreams." + +Cecilia tried to explain, but stumbled in her explanation so often +that the Reverend Mother interrupted her: + +"Cecilia, you are talking nonsense! I have never heard anything like +it before!" + +"But what I am telling you, Mother, is in the gospel Nicodemus--" + +"Gospel of Nicodemus!" + +"The harrowing of hell!" + +"But what has all this got to do--I cannot understand you." + +The story was begun again and again. + +"Veronica's counterpart an angel, with luminous tints in his flesh; +Angela's a child drowned in Noah's flood! But--" The Prioress checked +her words. Had all the novices taken leave of their senses? Had they +gone mad?... It looked like it. Anyhow, this kind of thing must be +put a stop to and at once. She must get the whole truth out of this +stupid girl at her feet, who blubbered out her story, obviously +trying to escape punishment by incriminating others. + +"So you were praying that an angel might visit you; but what came was +quite different?" + +"Mother, Mother!" howled Cecilia; "it was a dwarf, but I didn't want +him in my bed. I've been punished enough.... Anything more horrible--" + +"In your bed!... anything so horrible? What do you mean?" + +"Am I to tell you? Must I?" + +"Certainly." + +"After all, it was only a dream." + +"Go on." + +"First I was awakened by a smell coming down the chimney." + +"But there are no chimneys." + +"I'm telling what I thought. There was a smell, which sometimes +seemed to collect in one corner of the room, sometimes in another. At +last it seemed to come from under the bed and... he crawled out." + +"Who crawled out!" + +"The dwarf--a creature with a huge head and rolling eyes and a great +tongue. That is all I saw, for I was too frightened; I heard him say +he was my counterpart, but I cried out, Mother, that it was not true. +He laughed at me, and said I had prayed for him. Then it seemed, +Mother, I was running away from him, only I was checked at every +moment by the others--Veronica, Barbara, and Angela--who put their +feet out so that I might fall; and they caught me by the arms; and +all were laughing, saying, 'Look at Sister Cecilia's counterpart; she +has got one at last and is running away from him. But he shall get +her; he shall get her.' I ran on until I found myself in a corner, +between two brick walls, and the dwarf standing in front of me, +rolling up his night-shirt in his hands, and telling me he was in +great agony; for his punishment was to swallow all the souls of the +nuns who had made bad Communions, and that I was to come at once with +him. I wouldn't go, but he took me by both hands, dragging me towards +the chapel. I told him Father Daly would sprinkle holy water upon +him; but he didn't seem to mind, Mother. If I hadn't been awakened by +Barbara knocking at my; door I don't know--" + +"Now you see, my dear child, what comes of praying for +counterparts.... This must be seen into at once." + +"But you will not say that I told you?" + +"Cecilia, I have heard enough; it isn't for you to ask me to make any +promises. Be sure, I shall try to act for the best. Mother Hilda and +Mother Philippa know nothing of these stories?" + +"Nothing; it is entirely between the novices." + +"You can go now, and remember not a word of what has passed between +us, not a word." + +"But I must confess to Father Daly. My mind wouldn't be at rest if I +didn't, for the dwarf did take me in his arms." + +"You can confess to Father Daly if you like; but I can't see you have +committed any sin; you've been merely very foolish." And the Prioress +turned towards the window, wondering if she should consult with +Father Daly. The secret would not be kept; Angela and Veronica would +speak about it, and there were others more or less implicated, no +doubt, and these would have recourse to Father Daly for advice, or to +Mother Hilda. + +"Come in. So it is you, Teresa? Disturbing me! No, you are not +disturbing me; I am not busy, and if I were it wouldn't matter. You +want to talk to me. Now, about what?" + +There was only one subject which would cause Evelyn to hesitate, so +the Prioress guessed that she had come to tell her that she wished to +leave the convent. + +"Well, Teresa, be it so; I cannot argue with you any more about a +vocation. I suppose you know best." + +"You seem very sad, Mother?" + +"Yes, I am sad; but you are not the cause of my sadness, though what +you have come to tell me is sad enough. I was just coming to the +conclusion, when you came into the room, that things must take their +course. God is good; his guiding hand is in everything, so I suppose +all that is happening is for the best. But it is difficult to see +whither it is tending, if it be not towards the dissolution of the +Order." + +"The dissolution of the Order, Mother!" + +"Well, if not of its dissolution, at all events of a change in the +rule. You know that many here--Mother Philippa, Sister Winifred, +aided and abetted by Father Daly--are anxious for a school, and we +can only have a school by becoming an active Order. You have helped +us a great deal, and our debts are no longer as pressing as they +were; but we still owe a good deal of money, and as you do not intend +to become a member of the community you will take your money away +with you. And this fact will strengthen the opposition against me." + +The Prioress lay back in her chair, white and frail, exhausted by the +heat. + +"May I pull down the blind, Mother?" + +"Yes, you may, dear; the sun is very hot." + +"Your determination to leave us isn't the only piece of bad news +which reached me this morning. Have you heard of Sister Cecilia's +adventure with her counterpart?" Evelyn nodded and tried to repress a +smile. "It is difficult not to smile, so ridiculous is her story; and +if I didn't look upon the matter as very serious, I shouldn't be able +to prevent myself from smiling." + +"But you will easily be able, Mother, to smile at this nonsense. +Veronica, who is a most pious girl, will not allow her mind to dwell +on counterparts since she knows it to be a sin, or likely to lead to +sin, and Angela and the others--if there are any others--" + +"That will not make an end to the evil. Everything, my dear Teresa, +declines. Ideas, like everything else, have their term of life. +Everything declines, everything turns to clay, and I look upon this +desire for spiritual visitations as a warning that the belief which +led to the founding of this Order has come to an end! From such noble +prayers as led to the founding of this Order we have declined to +prayers for the visitation of counterparts." + +Evelyn was about to interrupt, but the Prioress shook her head, +saying, "Well, if not the whole of the convent, at all events part of +it--several novices." And she told Evelyn the disease would spread +from nun to nun, and that there was no way of checking it. + +"Unless by becoming an active order," Evelyn answered, "founding a +school." + +The old woman rose to her feet instantly, saying that she had spoken +out of a moment of weakness; and that it would be cowardly for her to +give way to Mother Philippa and Sister Winifred; she would never +acquiesce in any alteration of the rule. + +"But you, too," she said, "are inclined towards the school?" + +Evelyn admitted she was thinking of the poor, people whom she had +left to their fate, so that she might save herself from sin; and the +talk of the two women dropped from the impersonal to the personal, +Evelyn telling the Prioress a great deal more of herself than she had +told before, and the Prioress confiding to Evelyn in the end her own +story, a simple one, which Evelyn listened to with tears in her eyes. + +"Before I came here I was married, and before I was married I often +used to come to the convent, for I was fond of the nuns, and was a +pious girl. But after my marriage I was captured by life--the vine of +life grew about me and held me tight. One day, passing by the door of +the convent, my husband said, 'It is lucky that love rescued you, for +when I met you you were a little taken by the convent, and might have +become a nun if you hadn't fallen in love. You might have shut +yourself up there and lived in grey habit and penances!' That day I +wore a grey silk dress, and I remember lifting the skirt up as we +passed the door and hitting the kerbstone with it. 'Shut up in that +prison-house! Did I ever seriously think of such a thing?' These were +my words, but God, in his great goodness and wisdom, resolved to +bring me back. A great deal is required to save our souls, so deeply +are we enmeshed in the delight of life and in the delight of one +another.... God took my husband from me after an illness of three +weeks. That happened forty years ago. I used to sit on the seashore, +crying all day, and my little child used to put his arms about me and +say, 'What is mammie crying for?' Then my child died; seemingly +without any reason, and I felt that I could not live any longer amid +the desires and activities of the world. I'll not try to tell you +what my grief was; you have suffered grief, and can imagine it. +Perhaps you can. I left my home and hurried here. When I saw you +return, soon after your father's death; I couldn't but think of my +own returning. I saw myself in you." + +"But, Mother, do you regret that you came here?" + +The old nun did not answer for some time. + +"It is hard to say, Teresa. There are deceptions everywhere, in the +convent as in the world; and the mediocrity of the Sisters here is +tiresome; one longs for a little more intelligence. And, as I was +saying just now, everything declines; an idea ravels like a sleeve. +Are you happy here?... You are not; I see it in your eyes." + +"The only ones who are happy here," Evelyn answered, "I am sure, are +those like Veronica, who pass from the schoolroom to the novitiate." + +"You think that? But the convent is a great escapement. You came +here, having escaped death only by an accident, and when you went to +Rome to see your father you came back distraught, your mind unhinged, +and it was months before you could believe that your sins could be +forgiven. If you leave here, what will become of you? You will return +to the stage." + +Evelyn smiled sadly. + +"You will meet your lovers again. Temptation will be by you; you are +still a young woman. How old are you, Teresa?" + +"Thirty-eight. But I no longer feel young." + +"Then, do you not think it better to spend the last term with us? I +am an old woman, Teresa, and you are the only friend I have in the +convent, the only one who knows me; it would be a great charity if +you were to remain with me.... But you fear I shall live too long? +No, Teresa, the time will not be very long." + +"Mother, don't talk like that, it only grieves me. As long as you +wish me to stay I'll stay." + +"But if I weren't here you would leave?" Evelyn did not answer. "You +would be very lonely?" + +"Yes, I should be lonely." And then, speaking at the end of a long +silence, she said, "Why did you send away Sister Mary John? She was +my friend, and one must have a friend--even in a convent." + +"Teresa, I begged of her to remain. And you are lonely now without +her?" + +"I should be lonelier, Mother, if you weren't here." + +"We will share our loneliness together." + +Evelyn seemed to acquiesce. + +"My dear child, you are very good; you have a kind heart. One sees it +in your eyes." + +She left the Prioress's room frightened, saying. "Till the Prioress's +death." + + + +XXXI + +Father Daly paced the garden alley, reading his Breviary, and, +catching sight of him, Sister Winifred, a tall, thin woman, with a +narrow forehead and prominent teeth, said to herself, "Now's my +chance." + +"I hope you won't mind my interrupting you, Father, but I have come +to speak to you on a matter of some importance. It will take some +minutes for me to explain it all to you, and in confession, you see, +our time is limited. You know how strict the Prioress is that we +shouldn't exceed our regulation three minutes." + +"I know that quite well," the little man answered abruptly; "a most +improper rule. But we'll not discuss the Prioress, Sister Winifred. +What have you come to tell me?" + +"Well, in a way, it is about the Prioress. You know all about our +financial difficulties, and you know they are not settled yet." + +"I thought that Sister Teresa's singing--" + +"Of course, Sister Teresa's singing has done us a great deal of good, +but the collections have fallen off considerably; and, as for the +rich Catholics who were to pay off our debts, they are like the ships +coming from the East, but whose masts have not yet appeared above the +horizon." + +"But does the Prioress still believe that these rich Catholics will +come to her aid?" + +"Oh, yes, she believes; she tells us that we must pray, and that if +we pray they will come. Well, Father, prayer is very well, but we +must try to help ourselves, and we have been thinking it over; and, +in thinking it over, some of us have come to very practical +conclusions." + +"You have come to the conclusion that perhaps a good deal of time is +wasted in this garden, which might be devoted to good works?" + +"Yes, that has struck us, and we think the best way out of our +difficulties would be a school." + +"A school!" + +"Something must be done," she said, "and we are thinking of starting +a school. We've received a great deal of encouragement. I believe I +could get twenty pupils to-morrow, but Mother Prioress won't hear of +it. She tells us that we are to pray, and that all will come right. +But even she does not depend entirely upon prayer; she depends upon +Sister Teresa's singing." + +"A most uncertain source of income, I should say." + +"So we all think." + +They walked in silence until within a few yards of the end of the +walk; and, just as they were about to turn, the priest said: + +"I was talking at the Bishop's to a priest who has been put in charge +of a parish in one of the poorest parts of South London. There is no +school, and the people are disheartened; and he has gone to live +among them, in a wretched house, in one of the worst slums of the +district. He lives in one of the upper rooms, and has turned the +ground floor, which used to be a greengrocer's shop, into a temporary +chapel and school, and now he is looking for some nuns to help him in +the work. He asked me if I could recommend any, and I thought of you +all here, Sister Winifred, with your beautiful church and garden, +doing, what I call, elegant piety. It has come to seem to me +unbearably sad that you and I and these few here, who could do such +good work, should be kept back from doing it." + +"I am afraid our habit, Father, makes that sort of work out of the +question for us." And Sister Winifred dropped her habit for a moment +and let it trail gracefully. + +"Long, grey habits, that a speck of dirt will stain, are very +suitable to trail over green swards, but not fit to bring into the +houses of the poor, for fear they should be spoiled. "Oh," he cried, +"I have no patience with such rules, such petty observances. I have +often asked myself why the Bishop chose to put me here, where I am +entirely out of sympathy, where I am useless, where there is nothing +for me to do really, except to try to keep my temper. I have spoken of +this matter to no one before, but, since you have come to speak to me, +Sister Winifred, I, too, must speak. Ever since I've been here I've +been longing for some congenial work--work which I could feel I was +intended to do. It seems hard at times to feel one's life slipping +away and the work one could do always withheld from one's reach. You +understand?" + +"Indeed, I do. It is the fate of many of us here, Father Daly." + +"Now, if you could make a new foundation--if some three or four of +you--if the Bishop would send me there." + +"Of course, we might go and do good work in the district you speak +of, but I doubt whether the Bishop would recognise us as a new +foundation." + +"I daresay he wouldn't." And they walked a little way in silence. +"You were telling me of your project for a school, Sister Winifred." + +Sister Winifred entered into the details. But she had unduly excited +Father Daly, and he could not listen. + +"My position here," he said, interrupting her, "is an impossible one. +The only ones here who consider my advice are the lay sisters, the +admirable lay sisters who work from morning till evening, and forego +their prayers lest you should want for anything. You know I'm treated +very nearly with contempt by almost all the choir sisters. You think +I don't know that I am spoken of as a mere secular priest? Every +suggestion of mine meets with a rude answer. You have witnessed a +good deal of this, Sister Winifred. I daresay you've forgotten, but I +remember it all... you have come to speak to me here because the +Prioress will not allow you to spend more than three minutes in the +confessional, arrogating to herself the position of your spiritual +adviser, only allowing to me what is to her no more than the +mechanical act of absolution. In her eyes I am a mere secular priest, +incapable of advising those who live in an Order! Do you think I +haven't noticed her deference to the very slightest word that Father +Ambrose deigns to speak to her? Her rule doesn't apply to his +confessional, only to mine--a rule which I have always regarded as +extremely unorthodox; I don't feel at all sure that the amateur +confessional which she carries on upstairs wouldn't be suppressed +were it brought under the notice of Rome; I have long been determined +to resist it, and I beg of you, Sister Winifred, when you come to me +to confession to stay as long as you think proper. On this matter I +now see that the Prioress and I must come to an understanding." + +"But not a word. Father Daly, must we breathe to her of what I have +come to tell you about. The relaxation of our Order must be referred +to the Bishop, and with your support." + +They walked for some yards in silence, Father Daly reflecting on the +admirable qualities of Sister Winifred, her truthfulness and her +strength of character which had brought her to him; Sister Winifred +congratulating herself on how successfully she had deceived Father +Daly and thinking how she might introduce another subject into the +conversation (a delicate one it was to introduce); so she began to +talk as far away as possible from the subject which she wished to +arrive at. The founders of the Orders seemed to her the point to +start from; the conversation could be led round to the question of +how much time was wasted on meditation; it would be easy to drop a +sly hint that the meditations of the nuns were not always upon the +Cross; she managed to do this so adroitly that Father Daly fell into +the trap at once. + +"Love of God, of course, is eternal; but each age must love God in +its own fashion, and our religious sentiments are not those of the +Middle Ages." The exercises of St. Ignatius did not appeal in the +least to Father Daly, who disapproved of letting one's thoughts brood +upon hell; far better think of heaven. Too much brooding on hell +engenders a feeling of despair, which was the cause of Sister +Teresa's melancholia. Too intense a fear of hell has caused men, so +it is said, to kill themselves. It seems strange, but men kill +themselves through fear of death. "I suppose it is possible that fear +of hell might distract the mind so completely--Well, let us not talk +on these subjects. We were talking of--" The nun reminded the priest +they were talking of the exercises of St. Ignatius. "Let us not speak +of them. St. Ignatius's descriptions of the licking of the flames +round the limbs of the damned may have been suitable in his time, but +for us there are better things in the exercises." + +"But do you not think that the time spent in meditation might be +spent more profitably, Father? I have often thought so." + +"If the meditation were really one." + +"Exactly, Father, but who can further thoughts; thought wanders, and +before one is aware one finds oneself far from the subject of the +meditation." + +"No doubt; no doubt." + +"It was through active work that Sister Teresa was cured." "If any +fact has come to your knowledge, Sister, it is your duty to tell it +to me, the spiritual adviser of the nuns, notwithstanding all the +attempts of the Prioress to usurp my position." + +"Well, Father, if you ask me--" + +"Yes, certainly I ask you." And Sister Winifred told how, through a +dream, Sister Cecilia had been unable to go down from her cell to +watch before the Sacrament. + +"We are not answerable for our dreams," the priest answered. + +"No; but if we pray for dreams?" + +"But Cecilia could not desire such a dream?" + +"Not exactly that dream." And so the story was gradually unfolded to +the priest. + +"What you tell me is very serious. The holy hours which should be +devoted to meditation of the Cross wasted in dreams of counterparts! +A strange name they have given these visitations, some might have +given them a harsher name." Father Daly's thoughts went to certain +literature of the Middle Ages. "The matter is, of course, one that is +not entirely unknown to me; it is one of the traditional sins of the +convent, one of the plagues of the Middle Ages. The early Fathers +suffered from the visits of Succubi. What you tell me is very +alarming. Would it not be well for me to speak to the Prioress on the +subject?" + +"No, on no account." + +"But she must be exceedingly anxious to put a stop to such a +pollution of the meditation?" + +"Yes, indeed, I will say that nobody is more opposed to it; but she +is one of these women who, though she sees that something is wrong, +will not go to the root of the wrong at once. The tendency of her +mind is towards the contemplative, and not towards the active orders, +and she will not give way to the relaxation of the rule. You had +better just take the matter into your hands, feeling sure she will +approve of the action in the end. A word or two on the subject in +your sermon on Sunday would be very timely." + +Father Daly promised to think the matter over, and Sister Winifred +said: + +"But you must know we shall have much opposition?" + +"But who will oppose us?" + +"Those who have succeeded in getting counterparts will not surrender +them easily." And Sister Winifred was persuaded to mention the names +of the nuns incriminated in this traffic with the spirits of the +children who had been drowned in Noah's flood. + +"Beings from the other world!" Father Daly cried, alarmed that not +one of the nuns had spoken on this subject to him in the convent. +"This is the first time a nun has spoken to me--" + +"All will speak to you on this matter when you explain to them the +danger they are incurring--when you tell them in your sermon. There +is the bell; now I must fly. I will tell you more when I come to +confession this afternoon." As she went up the path she resolved to +remain ten minutes in the confessional at least, for such a breach of +the rule would challenge the Prioress's spiritual authority, and in +return for this Father Daly would use his influence with the Bishop +to induce the Prioress to relax the rule of the community. To make +her disobedience more remarkable, she loitered before slipping into +the confessional, and the Prioress, who had just come into the +chapel, noticed her. But without giving it another thought the +Prioress began her prayers. At the end of five minutes, however, she +began to grow impatient, and at the end of ten minutes to feel that +her authority had been set aside. + +"You've been at least ten minutes in the confessional, Sister +Winifred." + +"It is hard, indeed, dear Mother, if one isn't allowed to confess in +peace," Sister Winifred answered. And she tossed her head somewhat +defiantly. + +"All the hopes of my life are at an end," the Prioress said to Mother +Hilda." Every one is in rebellion against me; and this branch of our +Order is about to disappear. I feel sure the Bishop will decide +against us, and what can we do with the school? Sister Winifred will +have to manage it herself. I will resign. It is hard indeed that this +should happen after so many years of struggle; and, after redeeming +the convent from its debts, to be divided in the end." + + + +XXXII + +Next Sunday Father Daly took for his text, "And all nations shall +turn and fear the Lord truly, and shall bury their idols" (Toby xiv. +6). + +"Yes, indeed, we should bury our idols." And then Father Daly asked +if our idols were always external things, made of brass and gold, or +if they were not very often cherished in our hearts--the desires of +the flesh to which we give gracious forms, and which we supply with +specious words; "we think," he said, "to deceive ourselves with those +fair images born of our desires; and we give them names, and +attribute to them the perfections of angels, believing that our +visitations are angels, but are we sure they are not devils?" + +The Prioress raised her eyes, and looked at him long and steadily, +asking herself what he was going to say next. + +He went on to tell how one of the chief difficulties of monastic life +was to distinguish between the good and the evil visitant, between +the angel and the demon; for permission was often given to the demon +to disguise himself as an angel, in order that the nun and the monk +might be approved. Returning then to the text, he told the story of +Tobit and Tobias's son, and how Tobias had to have resort to burning +perfumes in order to save himself from death from the evil spirit, +who, when he smelt the perfume, fled into Egypt and was bound by an +angel. "We, too, must strive to bind the evil spirit, and we can do +so with prayer. We must have recourse to prayer in order to put the +evil spirit to flight. Prayer is a perfume, and it ascends sweeter +than the scent of roses and lilies, greeting God's nostrils, which +are in heaven." + +The Prioress thought this expression somewhat crude, and she again +looked at the preacher long and steadfastly, asking herself if the +text and Father Daly's interpretation of it were merely coincidences, +or if he were speaking from knowledge of the condition of convents... +Cecilia, had she told him everything? The Prioress frowned. Sister +Winifred was careful not to raise her eyes to the preacher, for she +was regretting his words, foreseeing the difficulties they would lead +her into, knowing well that the Prioress would resent this +interference with her authority, and she would have given much to +stop Father Daly; but that, of course, was impossible now, and she +heard him say that the angel who bound the evil spirit in Egypt four +thousand years ago is to-day the symbol of the priest in the +confessional, and it was only by availing themselves of that +Sacrament, not in any invidious sense, but in the fullest possible +sense, confiding their entire souls to the care of their spiritual +adviser, that they could escape from the evil spirits which +penetrated into monasteries to-day no less than before, as they had +always done, from the earliest times; for the more pious men and +women are, the more they retire from the world, the more delicate are +the temptations which the devil invents. Convents dedicate to the +Adoration of the Sacrament, to meditation on the Cross, convents in +which active work is eschewed are especially sought by the evil +spirits, "the larvae of monasticism," he called them. An abundance of +leisure is favourable to the hatching of these; and he drew a picture +of how the grub first appears, and then the winged moth, sometimes +brown and repellant, sometimes dressed in attractive colours like the +butterfly. The soul follows as a child follows the butterfly, from +flower to flower through the sunshine, led on out of the sunshine +into dark alleys, at the end of which are dangerous places, from +whence the soul may never return again. + +"Nuns and monks of the Middle Ages, those who knew monasticism better +than it ever could be known in these modern days, dreaded these larvae +more than anything else, and they had methods of destroying them and +repelling the beguilements of evil spirits better than we have, for +the contemplative orders were more kindred to those earlier times +than to-day. Monasticism of today takes another turn. Love of God is +eternal, but we must love God in the idiom and spirit of our time." +And Father Daly believed that there was no surer method of escaping +from the danger than by active work, by teaching, which, he argued, +was not incompatible with contemplation, not carried to excess; and +there were also the poor people, and to work for them was always +pleasing to God. Any drastic changes were, of course, out of the +question, but he had been asked to speak on this subject, and it +seemed to him that they should look to Nature for guidance, and in +Nature they found not revolution but evolution; the law of Nature was +progression. Why should any rule remain for ever the same? It must +progress just as our ideas progress. He wandered on, words coming up +in his mouth involuntarily, saying things which immediately after +they were said he regretted having said, trying to bring his sermon +to a close, unable to do so, obliged, at last, to say hurriedly that +he hoped they would reflect on this matter, and try to remember he +was always at their service and prepared to give them the best +advice. + +As soon as Mass was over Mother Hilda went to the Prioress. "We'll +speak on this matter later." And the Prioress went to her room, +hurriedly. The nuns hung about the cloister, whispering in little +groups, forgetful of the rule; the supporters of the Prioress +indignant with the priest, who had dared to call into question the +spiritual value of their Order, and to tell them it would be more +pleasing to God for them to start a school. It was felt even by the +supporters of the school that the priest had gone too far, not in +advocating the school, but in what he had said regarding the +liability of the contemplative orders to be attacked by demons, for +really what he had said amounted to that. + + + +XXXIII + +When the news arrived that Father Daly had been transferred suddenly +by the Bishop to another parish, Sister Winifred walked about in +terror, expecting every minute to bring her a summons to the +Prioress's room. A shiver went through her when she thought of the +interview which probably awaited her; but as the morning wore away +without any command reaching her, she began to take pleasure in the +hope that she had escaped, and in the belief that the Prioress was +afraid of an explanation. No doubt that was it; and Sister Winifred +picked up courage and the threads of the broken intrigue, resolving +this time to confine herself to laying stress on the necessitous +condition of the convent, which was still in debt, and the +impossibility of Sister Teresa's singing redeeming it entirely. + +It would have been wiser if she had conducted her campaign as she +intended to do, but the temptation was irresistible to point out, +occasionally, that those who did not agree with her were the very +nuns--Angela, Veronica, Rufina, and one or two others--who had +confessed to the sin of praying for the visitations of counterparts +during the hour of meditation and other hours. By doing this she +prejudiced her cause. Her inuendoes reached the ears of the Bishop +and Monsignor Mostyn, who came to the convent to settle the +difficulty of an alteration in the rule; she was severely +reprimanded, and it was decreed that the contemplative Orders were +not out of date, and that nuns should be able to meditate on the +Cross without considering too closely the joys that awaited the +brides of Christ in heaven. St. Teresa's writings were put under ban, +only the older nuns, who would not accept the words of the saint too +literally, being allowed to read them. "Added to which," as Monsignor +said, "the idle thoughts of the novices are occupying too much of our +attention. This is a matter for the spiritual adviser of the novices, +and Father Rawley is one who will keep a strict watch." + +The Bishop concurred with Monsignor, and then applied his mind to the +consideration of the proposed alteration of the rule, deciding that +no alteration could receive his sanction, at all events during the +life of the present Prioress. Sister Winifred was told that the +matter must be dropped for the present. It so happened that Monsignor +came upon her and Evelyn together before the Bishop left; and he +tried to reconcile them, saying that when the Prioress was called to +God--it was only a question of time for all of us, and it didn't seem +probable that she would live very long; of course, it was a very +painful matter, one which they did not care to speak about--but after +her death, if it should be decided that the Order might become a +teaching Order, Sister Teresa would be the person who would be able +to assist Sister Winifred better than any other. + +"But, Monsignor," Evelyn said, "I do not feel sure I've a vocation +for the religious life." + +Out of a shrivelled face pale, deeply-set eyes looked at her, and it +seemed that she could read therein the disappointment he felt that +she was not remaining in the convent. She was sorry she had +disappointed him, for he had helped her; and she left him talking to +Sister Winifred and wandered down the passage, not quite certain +whether he doubted her strength to lead a chaste life in the world, +or could she attribute that change of expression in his eyes to +wounded vanity at finding that the living clay put into his hands was +escaping from them unmoulded... by him? Hard to say. There was a fear +in her heart! Now was it that she might lack the force of character +to leave the convent when the time came... after the Prioress's +death? Life is but a ceaseless uprooting of oneself. Sister Winifred +might be elected.... + +"Who will have the strength to turn the convent into an active Order +when I am gone?" the Prioress often asked Evelyn, who could only +answer her that she hoped she would be with them for many a day yet. +"No, my dear, not for many months. I am a very old woman." She +questioned Evelyn regarding Mother Philippa's administration; and +Evelyn disguised from her the disorder that had come into the +convent, not telling how the nuns spent a great deal of time visiting +each other in their cells, how in the garden some walked on one side +and some on the other, how the bitterest enmities had sprung up. But, +though she was not told these things, the Prioress knew her convent +had fallen into decadence, and sometimes she said: + +"Well, I haven't the strength to restore dignity to this Order; so it +had better disappear, become an active Order. But who among you will +be able to reorganise it? Mother Philippa--what do you think, dear?" + +"Mother Philippa is an excellent woman," Evelyn answered; "but as an +administrator--" + +"You don't believe in her?" + +"Only when she is guided by another, one superior to herself." + +"One who will see that the rule is maintained?" + +Evelyn was thinking of Mother Hilda. + +"Mother Hilda," she said, "seems to me too quiet, too subtle, too +retiring." And the Prioress agreed with her, saying under her breath: + +"She prefers to confine herself to the education of her novices. So +what is to be done?" + +From Mother Hilda Evelyn's thoughts went to Sister Mary John, and it +seemed to her she never realised before the irreparable loss the +convent had sustained. But what was the good in reminding the +Prioress of Sister Mary John? No doubt, lying back there in her +chair, the old mind was thinking of the nun she had lost, and who +would have proved of such extraordinary service in the present +circumstances. While looking at the Prioress, thinking with her (for +it is true the Prioress was thinking of Sister Mary John), Evelyn +understood suddenly, in a single second, that if Sister Mary John had +not left Sister Winifred would not have come forward with the project +of a school, nor would there have been any schism. But in spite of +all her wisdom, the Prioress had not known, until this day, how +dependent they were on Sister Mary John. A great mistake had been +made, but there was no use going into that now. + +A bell rang, and Evelyn said: + +"Now, Mother, will you take my arm and we'll go down to chapel +together?" + +"And after Benediction I will take a turn in the garden with you," +the Prioress said. + +She was so weary of singing Gounod's "Ave Maria" that she accentuated +the vulgarity of the melody, and wondered if the caricature would be +noticed. "The more vulgarly it is sung the more money it draws." And +smiling at the theatrical phrase, which had arisen unexpectedly to +her lips, she went into the garden to join the Prioress. + +"Come this way, dear; I want to talk to you." And the Prioress and +the novice wandered away from the other nuns towards the fish-pond, +and stood listening to the gurgle of the stream and to the whisper of +the woods. An inspiring calm seemed to fall out of the sky, filling +the heart with sympathy, turning all things to one thing, drawing the +earth and sky and thoughts of men and women together. + +"Teresa, dear, when you leave us what do you intend to do? You have +never told me. Do you intend to return to the stage?" + +"Mother, I cannot bear to think of leaving you." The old nun raised +her eyes for a moment, and there was a great sadness in them, for she +felt that without Evelyn her death would be lonely. + +"We came here for the same reason, or very nearly. I stayed, and you +are going." + +"And which do you think is the better part, Mother?" + +The nun did not answer for a long time, and Evelyn's heart seemed to +beat more quickly as she waited for the answer. + +"These are things we shall never know, whether it is better to go or +to stay. All the wisdom of the ages has never solved this question-- +which ever course we take; it costs a great deal to come here." + +"And it costs a great deal to remain in the world. Something terrible +would have happened to me. I should have killed myself. But you know +everything, Mother; there is no use going over that story again." + +"No, there is none. Only one thing remains to be said, Teresa--to +thank you for remaining with me. You are a gift from God, the best I +have received for a long time, and if I reach heaven my prayers will +always be with you." + +"And, Mother, if you reach heaven, will you promise me one thing, +that you will come to me and tell me the truth?" + +"That I promise, and I will keep my promise if I am allowed." + +The ripple of the stream sounded loud in their ears, and the skies +became more lovely as Evelyn and the Prioress thought of the promise +that had been asked and been given. + +"I'll ask you to do some things for me." And she gave Evelyn +instructions regarding her papers. "When you have done all these +things you will leave the convent. You will not be able to remain. I +have seen a great deal of you, more than I saw of any other novice, +and I know you as if you were my own child.... I am very old, and you +are still a young woman." + +"Mother, I am nearly, forty, and my trials are at an end, or nearly." + +"Truly, a great trial. I am old enough now, Teresa, to speak about it +without shame. A great trial, yet one is sorry when it is over. And +you still believe that a calamity would have befallen you?" + +"And a great calamity nearly did befall me." + +They sat side by side, their eyes averted, knowing well that they had +reached a point beyond which words could not carry them. + +"We are always anxious to be understood, every one wants to be +understood. But why? Of what use?" + +"Mother, we must never speak on this subject again, for I love you +very dearly, and it is a great pain to me to think that your death +will set me free." + +"It seems wrong, Teresa, but I wouldn't have you remain in the +convent after me; you are not suited to it. I knew it all the while, +only I tried to keep you. One is never free from temptation. Now you +know everything.... We have been here long enough." + +"We have only been here a few minutes," Evelyn answered; "at least it +has only seemed a few minutes to me. The evening is so beautiful, the +sky is so calm, the sound of the water so extraordinary in the +stillness! Listen to those birds, the chaffinch shrieking in that +aspen, and the thrush singing all his little songs somewhere at the +end of the garden." + +"And there is your bullfinch, dear. He will remain in the convent to +remind them of you when you have left." + +The bird whistled a stave of the Bird Music from "Siegfried," and +then came to their feet to pick. Evelyn threw him some bread, and +they wandered back to the novices, who had forgotten their +differences, and were sitting under their tree with Mother Hilda +discussing a subject of great interest to them. + +"We haven't seen them united before for a long time." + +"That odious Sister Winifred waiting for your death, thinking only of +her school." + +"That is the way of the world, and we find the world everywhere, even +in a convent. Her idea comes before everything else. Only you, +Teresa, are good; you are sacrificing yourself to me; I hope it will +not be for long." + +"But we said, Mother, we wouldn't talk of that any more. Now, what +are the novices so eager about?" + +Sister Agatha ran forward to tell them that it had been suddenly +remembered that the thirtieth of the month would be Sister Bridget's +fortieth anniversary of her vows. + +"Forty years she has been in the convent, and we are thinking that we +might do something to commemorate the anniversary." + +"I should like to see her on an elephant, riding round the garden. +What a spree it would be!" said Sister Jerome. + +The words were hardly out of her mouth when she regretted them, +foreseeing allusions to elephants till the end of her days, for +Sister Jerome often said foolish things, and was greatly quizzed for +them. But the absurdity of the proposal did not seem to strike any +one; only the difficulty of procuring an elephant, with a man who +would know how to manage the animal, was very great. Why not a +donkey? They could easily get one from Wimbledon; the gardener would +bring one. But a donkey ride seemed a strange come-down after an +elephant ride, and an idea had suddenly struck Sister Agatha. + +"Sister Jerome doesn't mean a real elephant, I suppose. We might +easily make a very fine elephant indeed by piling the long table from +the library with cushions, stuffing it as nearly as possible into the +shape of an elephant." + +"And the making of the elephant would be such a lark!" cried Sister +Jerome. + +Mother Hilda raised no objection, and the Prioress and Evelyn walked +aside, saying: + +"Well, it is better they should be making elephants than dreaming of +counterparts." + + + +XXXIV + +The creation of the beast was accomplished in the novitiate, no one +being allowed to see it except the Prioress. The great difficulty was +to find beads large enough for the eyes, and it threatened to +frustrate the making of their beast. But the latest postulant +suggested that perhaps the buttons off her jacket would do, they were +just the thing,' and the legs of the beast were most natural and +life-like; it had even a tail. + +As no one out of the novitiate had seen this very fine beast, the +convent was on tip-toe with excitement, and when, at the conclusion +of dinner, the elephant was wheeled into the refectory, every one +clapped her hands, and there were screams of delight. Then the saddle +was brought in and attached by blue ribbons. Sister Bridget, who did +not seem quite sure that the elephant was not alive, was lifted on it +and held there; and was wheeled round the refectory in triumph, the +novices screaming with delight, the professed, too. Only Evelyn stood +silent and apart, sorry she could not mix with the others, sharing +their pleasures. To stand watching them she felt to be unkind, so she +went into the garden, and wandered to the sundial, whence she could +see Richmond Park; and looking into the distance, hearing the +childish gaiety of the nuns, she remembered Louise's party at the +Savoy Hotel years and years ago. The convent had ceased to have any +meaning for her; so she must return, but not to the mummers, they, +too, had faded out of her life. She did not know whither she was +going, only that she must wander on... as soon as the Prioress died. +The thought caused her to shudder, and, remembering that the old +woman was alone in her room, she went up to ask her if she would care +to come into the garden with her. The Prioress was too weak to leave +her room, but she was glad to have Evelyn, and to listen to her +telling of the great success of the elephant. + +"Of course, my dear, the recreations here must seem to you very +childish. I wonder what your life will be when I'm gone?" + +"To-morrow you will be stronger, and will be able to come into the +garden." + +But the old nun never left her room again, and Evelyn's last memory +of her in the garden was when they had sat by the fish-pond, looking +into the still water, reflecting sky and trees, with a great carp +moving mysteriously through a dim world of water-weed and flower. +There were many other memories of the Prioress which lingered through +many years, memories of an old woman lying back in her chair, frail +and white, slipping quite consciously out of life into death. Every +day she seemed to grow a trifle smaller, till there was hardly +anything left of her. It was terrible to be with her, so conscious +was she that death was approaching, that she and death were drawing +nearer and nearer, and to hear her say, "Four planks are the only +habit I want now." Another time, looking into Evelyn's eyes, she +said, "It is strange that I should be so old and you so young." + +"But I don't feel young, Mother." And every day the old woman grew +more and more dependent upon Evelyn. + +"You are very good to me. Why should you wait here till I am dead? +Only it won't be long, dear. Of what matter to me that the convent +will be changed when I am dead. If I am a celestial spirit, our +disputes--which is the better, prayer or good works--will raise a +smile upon my lips. But celestial spirits have no lips. Why should I +trouble myself? And yet--" + +Evelyn could see that the old woman could not bear to think that her +life's work was to fall to pieces when she was gone. + +"But, dear Mother, we all wish that what we have done shall remain; +and we all wish to be remembered, at least for a little while. There +is nothing more human. And your papers, dear Mother, will have to be +published; they will vindicate you, as nothing else could." + +"But who is to publish them?" the Prioress asked. "They would require +to be gone over carefully, and I am too weak to do that, too weak +even to listen to you reading them." + +Evelyn promised the Prioress again that she would collect all the +papers, and, as far as she could, select those which the Prioress +would herself select; and the promise she could see pleased the dying +woman. It was at the end of the week that the end came. Evelyn sat by +her, holding her hand, and hearing an ominous rattling sound in the +throat, she waited, waited, heard it again, saw the body tremble a +little, and then, getting up, she closed the eyes, said a little +prayer, and went out of the room to tell the nuns of the Prioress's +death, surprised at what seemed to her like indifference, without +tears in her eyes, or any manifestation of grief. There could be +none, for she was not feeling anything; she seemed to herself to be +mechanically performing certain duties, telling Mother Philippa, whom +she met in the passage, in a smooth, even voice, that the Prioress +had died five minutes ago, without any suffering, quite calmly. Her +lack of feeling seemed to her to give the words a strange ring, and +she wondered if Mother Philippa would be stirred very deeply. + +"Dead, Sister, dead? How terrible! None of us there. And the prayers +for the dying not said. Surely, Teresa, you could have sent for us. I +must summon the community at once." And the sub-Prioress hurried +away, feeling already on her shoulders the full weight of the convent +affairs. + +In a few moments the Sisters, with scared faces, were hurrying from +all parts of the house to the room where the Prioress lay dead. +Evelyn felt she could not go back, and she slipped away to look for +Veronica, whom she found in the sacristy. + +"Veronica, dear, it is all over." + +The girl turned towards her and clasped her hands. + +"Auntie is dead," was all she said, and, dropping into a chair, her +tears began to flow. + +"Dear Veronica, we both loved her very much." + +"So we did, Sister; the convent will be very different without her. +Whom will they elect? Sister Winifred very possibly. It won't matter +to you, dear, you will go, and we shall have a school; everything +will be different." + +"But many weeks will pass before I leave. Your aunt asked me to put +her papers in order; I shall be at work in the library for a long +while." + +"Oh, I am so glad, Sister. I thought perhaps you would go at once." +And Veronica dried her tears. "But, dear, we can't talk now. I must +join the others in the prayers for the dead, and there will be so +much to do." + +"We shall have to strip the altar, I suppose?" + +"Oh, yes, the whole chapel--we shall want all our black hangings. But +I must go." + +At that moment a Sister hurried in to say the bell was to be tolled +at once, and Evelyn went with Veronica to the corner of the cloister +where the ropes hung, and stood by listlessly while Veronica dragged +at the heavy rope, leaving a long interval between each clang. + +"Oughtn't we to go up, Sister?" Veronica asked again. + +"No, I can't go back yet," Evelyn answered. And she went into the +garden and followed the winding paths, wondering at the solemn +clanging, for it all seemed so useless. + +The chaplain arrived half an hour afterwards, and next day several +priests came down from London, and there was a great assembly to +chant the Requiem Mass. But Evelyn, though she worked hard at +decorating the altar, was not moved by the black hangings, nor by the +doleful chant, nor by the flutter of the white surplice and the +official drone about the grave. All the convent had followed the +prelates down the garden paths; by the side of the grave Latin +prayers were recited and holy water was sprinkled. On the day the +Prioress was buried there were few clouds in the sky, sunshine was +pretty constant, and all the birds were singing in the trees; every +moment Evelyn expected one of her bullfinches to come out upon a +bough and sing its little stave. If it did, she would take his song +for an omen. But the bullfinches happened to be away, and she wished +that the priests' drone would cease to interrupt the melody of the +birds and boughs. The dear Prioress would prefer Nature's own music, +it was kinder; and the sound of the earth mixed with the stones +falling on the coffin-lid was the last sensation. After it the +prelates and nuns returned to the convent, everybody wondering what +was going to happen next, every nun asking herself who would be +elected Prioress. + +"Dear Mother, it is all over now," Evelyn said to Mother Hilda in the +passage, and the last of the ecclesiastics disappeared through a +doorway, going to his lunch. + +"Yes, dear Teresa, it is all over so far as this world is concerned. +We must think of her now in heaven." + +"And to-morrow we shall begin to think for whom we shall vote--at +least, you will be thinking. I am not a choir sister, and am leaving +you." + +"Is that decided, Teresa?" + +"Yes, I think so. Perhaps now would be the time for me to take off +this habit; I only retained it at the Prioress's wish. But, Mother, +though I have not discovered a vocation, and feel that you have +wasted much time upon me, still, I wouldn't have you think I am +ungrateful." + +"My dear, it never occurred to me to think so." And the two women +walked to the end of the cloister together, Evelyn telling Mother +Hilda about the Prioress and the Prioress's papers. + +And from that day onward, for many weeks, Evelyn worked in the +library, collecting her papers, and writing the memoir of the late +Prioress, which, apparently, the nun had wished her to do, though why +she should have wished it Evelyn often wondered, for if she were a +soul in heaven it could matter to her very little what anybody +thought of her on earth. How a soul in heaven must smile at the +importance attached to this rule and to these exercises! How trivial +it all must seem to the soul!... And yet it could not seem trivial to +the soul, if it be true that by following certain rules we get to +heaven. If it be true! Evelyn's thoughts paused, for a doubt had +entered into her mind--the old familiar doubt, from which no one can +separate herself or himself, from which even the saints could not +escape. Are they not always telling of the suffering doubt caused +them? And following this doubt, which prayers can never wholly +stifle, the old original pain enters the heart. We are only here for +a little while, and the words lose nothing of their original +freshness by repetition; and, in order to drink the anguish to its +dregs, Evelyn elaborated the words, reminding herself that time is +growing shorter every year, even the years are growing shorter. + +"The space is very little between me and the grave." + +Some celebrated words from a celebrated poet, calling attention to +the brevity of life, came into her mind, and she repeated them again +and again, enjoying their bitterness. We like to meditate on death; +even the libertine derives satisfaction from such meditation, and +poets are remembered by their powers of expressing our great sorrow +in stinging terms. "Our lives are not more intense than our dreams," +Evelyn thought; "and yet our only reason for believing life to be +reality is its intensity. Looked at from the outside, what is it but +a little vanishing dust? Millions have preceded that old woman into +the earth, millions shall follow her. I shall be in the earth too--in +how many years? In a few months perhaps, in a few weeks perhaps. +Possibly within the next few days I may hear how long I may expect to +live, for what is more common than to wake with a pain, and on +consulting a doctor to see a grave look come into his face, and to +hear him tell of some mortal disease beyond his knife's reach? Words +come reluctantly to one's tongue. "How long have I to live?" "About a +year, about six months; I cannot say for certain." + +Doctors are answering men and women in these terms every day, and +Evelyn thought of some celebrated sayings that life's mutability has +inspired. She remembered some from the Bible, and some from +Shakespeare; and those she remembered from Fitzgerald, from his "Omar +Khayyam," took her back to the afternoon she spent with Owen by the +Serpentine, to the very day when he gave her the poem to read, +thinking to overcome her scruples with literature. + +"There were no scruples in me then. My own business, 'The Ring,' is +full of the pagan story of life and death. We have babbled about it +ever since, trying to forget or explain it, without, however, doing +either; I tried to forget it on the stage, and did not succeed, but +it was not fear of death that brought me here. The nuns do not +succeed better than I; all screens are unavailing, for the wind is +about everywhere--a cold, searching wind, which prayers cannot keep +out; our doorways are not staunch--the wind comes under the door of +the actress's dressing-room and under the door of the nun's cell in +draughts chilling us to the bone, and then leaving us to pursue our +avocations for a time in peace. The Prioress thought that in coming +here she had discovered a way to heaven, yet she was anxious to +defend herself from her detractors upon earth. If she had believed in +her celestial inheritance she would have troubled very little, and I +should be free to go away now. Perhaps it is better as it is," she +reflected. And it seemed to her that no effort on her part was called +for or necessary. She was certain she was drifting, and that the +current would carry her to the opposite bank in good time; she was +content to wait, for had she not promised the Prioress to perform a +certain task? And it was part of her temperament to leave nothing +undone; she also liked a landmark, and the finishing of her book +would be a landmark. + +She was even a little curious to see what turn the convent affairs +would take, and as she sat biting the end of her pen, thinking, the +sound of an axe awoke her from her reverie. Trees were being felled +in the garden; "and an ugly, red-brick building will be run up, in +which children of city merchants will be taught singing and the +piano." Was it contempt for the world's ignorance in matters of art +that filled her heart? or was she animated with a sublime pity for +those parents who would come to her (if she remained in the convent, +a thing she had no intention of doing) to ask her, Evelyn Innes, if +she thought that Julia would come to something if she were to +persevere, or if Kitty would succeed if she continued to practice +"The Moonlight Sonata," a work of the beauty of which no one in the +convent had any faintest comprehension? She herself had some gifts, +and, after much labour, had brought her gifts to fruition, not to any +splendid, but to some fruition. It was not probable that any one who +came to the convent would do more than she had done; far better to +learn knitting or cooking--anything in the world except music. Her +gift of singing had brought her to this convent. Was it really so? +Was her gift connected in some obscure way with the moral crisis +which had drawn her into this convent? There seemed to be a +connection, only she did not seem to be able to work it out. But +there must be one surely, otherwise her poor people, whom she loved +so dearly, would not have been abandoned. A very cruel abandonment it +was, and she pondered a long while on this subject without arriving +at any other conclusion except that for her to remain in the convent +to teach music to the children of rich merchants, who had villas in +Wimbledon, was out of the question. Her poor people were calling to +her, and the convent had no further concern in her life. Of that she +was sure. It was no longer the same convent. The original aspiration +had declined; the declension had been from the late Prioress to +Sister Winifred, who, knowing that her own election to Prioress was +impossible, had striven to get Mother Philippa elected Prioress and +herself sub-Prioress--a very clever move on her part, for with Mother +Philippa as Prioress the management of the school would be left to +her, and the school was what interested her. Of course, the money +they made would be devoted to building a chapel, or something of that +kind; but it was the making of money which would henceforth be the +pleasure of the convent. Evelyn took a certain pleasure in listening +negligently to Mother Winifred, who seemed unable to resist the +desire to talk to her about vocations whenever they met. From +whatever point they started, the conversation would soon turn upon a +vocation, and Evelyn found herself in the end listening to a story of +some novice who thought she had no vocation and had left the convent, +but had returned. + +"And very often," Mother Winifred would say sententiously, "those who +think themselves most sure of their vocation find themselves without +one." + +And Evelyn would answer, "Those who would take the last place are put +up first--isn't that it, Mother Winifred?" + +Very often as they walked round the great, red-brick building, with +rows of windows on either side facing each other, so that the sky +could be seen through the building, Evelyn said: + +"But do you not regret the trees?" She took pleasure in reminding +every nun that they sacrificed the beauty of the garden in the hope +of making a little money; and these remarks, though they annoyed +Mother Winifred, did not prevent her from speaking with pride of the +school, now rapidly advancing towards completion, nor did Evelyn's +criticism check her admiration of Evelyn herself. It seemed to Evelyn +that Mother Winifred was always paying her compliments, or if she +were not doing that, she would seek opportunities to take Evelyn into +her confidence, telling her of the many pupils they had been +promised, and of the conversions that would follow their teaching. +The girls would be impressed by the quiet beauty of the nun's life; +some of them would discover in themselves vocations for the religious +life, and a great many would certainly go away anxious for +conversion; and, even if their conversions did not happen at once, +though they might be delayed for years, sooner or later many +conversions would be the result of this school. And the result of all +this flummery was: + +"Now, why should you not stay with us, dear, only a little while +longer? It would be such a sad thing if you were to go away, and find +that, after all, you had a vocation for the religious life, for if +you return to us you will have to go through the novitiate again." + +"But, Mother Winifred, you always begin upon the supposition that I +have a vocation. Now, supposing you begin upon the other supposition +--that I have not one." + +Mother Winifred hesitated, and looked sharply at Evelyn; but, unable +to take her advice, on the very next opportunity she spoke to Evelyn +of the vocation which she might discover in herself when it was too +late. + +"You have forgotten what I said, Mother Winifred." + +Mother Winifred laughed, but, undaunted, she soon returned with some +new argument, which had occurred to her in the interval, as she +prayed in church, or in her cell at night, and the temptation to try +the effect of the new argument on Evelyn was irresistible. + +"Dear Sister Teresa--you see the familiar name comes to my tongue +though you have put off the habit--we shall be a long time in +straitened circumstances. A new mortgage has had, as you know, to be +placed on the property in order to get money to build the school; the +school will pay, but not at once." + +Evelyn protested she was not responsible for this new debt. She had +advised the Prioress and Mother Winifred against it, warning them +that she did not intend to remain in the convent. + +"But we always expected that you would remain." + +And in this way Evelyn was made to feel her responsibility so much +that in the end she consented to give up part of her money to the +nuns. So long as she had just enough to live upon it did not matter, +and she owed these nuns a great deal. True that she had paid them ten +times over what she owed them, but still, it was difficult to measure +one's debts in pounds, shillings, and pence. However, that was the +way the nuns wanted her to measure them, and if she could leave them +fifteen hundred pounds--. And as soon as this sum was agreed upon, +Sister Winifred never lost an opportunity of regretting that the +convent was obliged to accept this magnificent donation, hinting that +the Prioress and herself would be willing (and there would be no +difficulty in obtaining the consent of the choir sisters) to accept +Evelyn's services for three years in the school instead of the money. + +"Five hundred a year we shall be paying you, but the value of your +teaching will be very great; mothers will be especially anxious to +send their daughters to our school, so that they may get good singing +lessons from you." + +"And when I leave?" + +"Well, the school will have obtained a reputation by that time. Of +course, you will be a loss, but we must try to do without you." + +"Three years in this convent!" + +"But you are quite free here; you come and go as you please. After +all, your intention in leaving the convent is to teach music. Why not +teach music here?" + +The argument was an ingenious one, but Evelyn did not feel that it +would appeal to her in the least, either to continue living in the +convent after she had finished her book, or to go back to the convent +to give singing lessons three or four times a week. + +It would be preferable for her to give fifteen hundred pounds to the +convent, and so finish with the whole thing; and this she intended to +do, though she put Mother Winifred off with evasion, leaving her +thinking that perhaps after all she would teach for some little while +in the convent. It was necessary to do this, for Mother Winifred +could persuade Mother Philippa as she pleased; and it had occurred to +Evelyn that perhaps Mother Winfred might arrange for her expulsion. +Nothing could be easier than to tell her that somebody's friend was +going to stay with them in the convent, that the guest-room would be +wanted. To leave now would not suit Evelyn at all. The late +Prioress's papers belonged to the convent; and to deceive Mother +Winifred completely Evelyn agreed to give some singing lessons, for +they had already begun to receive pupils, though the school was not +yet finished. + +This teaching proved very irksome to her, for it delayed the +completion of her book, and she often meditated an escape, thinking +how this might be accomplished while the nuns played at ball in the +autumn afternoon. Very often they were all in the garden, all except +Sister Agnes, the portress, and she often left her keys on the nail. +So it would be easy for Evelyn to run down the covered way and take +the keys from the nail and open the door. And the day came when she +could not resist the temptation of opening the door, not with a view +to escape; but just to know what the sensation of the open door was +like. And she stood for some time looking into the landscape, +remembering vaguely, somewhere at the back of her mind, that she +could not take the Prioress's papers with her, they did not belong to +her; the convent could institute an action for theft against her, the +Prioress not having made any formal will, only a memorandum saying +she would like Evelyn to collect her papers. + +So it was necessary for her to lock the gate again, to restore the +keys to the nail, and return to the library. But in a few weeks more +her task would be done, and it would be pleasanter to go away when it +was done; and, as it has already been said, Evelyn liked landmarks. +"To pass out is easy, but the Evelyn that goes out will not be the +same as the Evelyn who came in." And a terror gathered in her mind, +remembering that she was forty, and to begin life again after forty, +and after such an experience as hers, might prove beyond her +strength. Doubts enter into every mind, doubt entered into hers; +perhaps the convent was the natural end of her life, not as a nun, +but as an oblate. The guest-room was a pleasant room, and she could +live more cheaply in the convent than elsewhere. There are cowardly +hours in every life, and there were hours when this compromise +appealed to Evelyn Innes. But if she remained she would have to +continue teaching under Mother Winifred's direction. A little revolt +awoke in her. She could not do that; and she began to think what +would happen to her when she left the convent. There would not be +money enough left her to sit down in a small flat and do nothing; she +would have to work. Well, she would have to do that in any case, for +idleness was not natural to her, and she would have to work for +somebody besides herself--for her poor people--and this she could do +by giving singing lessons. Where? In Dulwich? But to go back to the +house in which she lived her life, to the room which used to be hung +with the old instruments, and to revive her mother's singing classes? +No, she could not begin her life from exactly the same point at which +she left off. And gradually the project formed in her mind of a new +life, a life which would be at once new and old. And the project +seemed to take shape as she wrote the last pages of her memoir of the +late Prioress. + +"It is done, and I have got a right to my own manuscript; they cannot +take that from me." And she went into the sacristy, her manuscript in +her hand. + +The cool, sweet room seemed empty, and Veronica emerged from the +shadow, almost a shadow. There were two windows, lattice panes, and +these let the light fall upon the counter, along which the vestments +were laid for the priest. The oak press was open, and it exhaled an +odour of orris root and lavender, and Veronica, standing beside it, a +bunch of keys at her girdle, once more reminded Evelyn of the +mediaeval virgin she had seen in the Rhenish churches. + +"I have finished collecting your aunt's papers." + +"And now you are going to leave us?" + +There was a sob in the girl's voice, and all Evelyn's thoughts about +her seemed to converge and to concentrate. There was the girl before +her who passed through life without knowing it, interested in putting +out the vestments for an old priest, hiding his amice so that no +other hands but hers should touch it; this and the dream of an angel +who visited her in sleep and whose flesh was filled with luminous +tints constituted all she knew of life, all she would ever know. +There were tears in her eyes now, there was a sob in her voice; she +would regret her friend for a day, for a week, and then the convent +life would draw about her like great heavy curtains. Evelyn +remembered how she had told her of a certain restlessness which kept +her from her prayers; she remembered how she had said to her, "It +will pass, everything will pass away." She would become an old nun, +and would be carried to the graveyard just as her aunt had been. When +would that happen? Perhaps not for fifty years. Sooner or later it +would happen. And Evelyn listened to Veronica saying the convent +would never be the same without her, saying: + +"Once you leave us you will never come back." + +"Yes, I shall, Veronica; I shall come once or twice to see you." + +"Perhaps it would be better for you not to come at all," the girl +cried, and turned away; and then going forward suddenly as Evelyn was +about to leave the sacristy, she said: + +"But when are you leaving? When are you leaving?" + +"To-morrow; there is no reason why I should wait any longer." + +"We cannot part like this." And she put down the chalice, and the +women went into a chill wind; the pear-trees were tossing, and there +were crocuses in the bed and a few snowdrops. + +"You had better remain until the weather gets warmer; to leave in +this bleak season! Oh, Sister, how we shall miss you! But you were +never like a nun." + +They walked many times to and fro, forgetful of the bleak wind +blowing. + +"It must be so, you were never like a nun. Of course we all knew, I +at least knew... only we are sorry to lose you." + +The next day a carriage came for Evelyn. The nuns assembled to bid +her goodbye; they were as kind as their ideas allowed them to be, +but, of course, they disapproved of Evelyn going, and the fifteen +hundred pounds she left them did not seem to reconcile them to her +departure. It certainly did not reconcile Mother Winifred, who +refused to come down to wish her goodbye, saying that Evelyn had +deceived them by promising to remain, or at all events led them to +think she would stay with them until the school was firmly +established. Mother Philippa apologised for her, but Evelyn said it +was not necessary. + +"After all, what Mother Winifred says is the truth, only I could not +do otherwise. Now, goodbye, I'll come to see you again, may I not?" + +They did not seem very anxious on this point, and Evelyn thought it +quite possible she might never see the convent again, which had meant +so much to her and which was now behind her. Her thoughts were +already engaged in the world towards which she was going, and +thinking of the etiolated hands of the nuns she remembered the brown +hands of her poor people; it was these hands that had drawn her out +of the convent, so she liked to think; and it was nearly the truth, +not the whole truth, for that we may never know. + + + +XXXV + +The blinds of 27, Berkeley Square were always down, and when Sir +Owen's friends called the answer was invariably the same: "No news of +Sir Owen yet; his letters aren't forwarded; business matters are +attended to by Mr. Watts, the secretary." And Sir Owen's friends went +away wondering when the wandering spirit would die in him. + +It was these last travels, extending over two years, in the Far East, +that killed it; Owen felt sure of that when he entered his house, +glad of its comfort, glad to be home again; and sinking into his +armchair he began to read his letters, wondering how he should answer +the different invitations, for every one was now more than six months +old, some going back as far as eighteen months. It seemed absurd to +write to Lady So-and-so, thanking her for an invitation so long gone +by. All the same, he would like to see her, and all his friends, the +most tedious would be welcome now. He tore open the envelopes, +reading the letters greedily, unsuspicious of one amongst them which +would make him forget the others--a letter from Evelyn. It came at +last under his hand, and having glanced through it he sank back in +his chair, overcome, not so much by surprise that she had left her +convent as at finding that the news had put no great gladness into +his heart, rather, a feeling of disappointment. + +"How little one knows about oneself!" But he wasn't sorry she had +left the convent. A terrible result of time and travel it would be if +his first feeling on opening her letter were one of disappointment. +He was sorry she had been disappointed, and thought for a long time +of that long waste of life, five years spent with nuns. "We are +strange beings, indeed," he said. And getting up, he looked out the +place she wrote from, discovering it to be a Surrey village, probably +about thirty miles from London, with a bad train service; and having +sent a telegram asking if it would suit her for him to go down to see +her next day, he fell back in his chair to think more easily how his +own life had been affected by Evelyn's retreat from the convent; and +again he experienced a feeling of disappointment. "A long waste of +life, not only of her life, but of mine," for he had travelled +thousands of miles... to forget her? Good heavens, no! What would his +life be without remembrance of Evelyn? He had come home believing +himself reconciled to the loss of Evelyn, and willing to live in +memories of her--the management of his estate a sufficient interest +for his life, and his thoughts were already engaged in the building +of a new gatehouse; after all, Riversdale was his business, and he +had come home to work for his successor while cherishing a dream-- +wasn't it strange? But this letter had torn down his dream and his +life was again in pieces. Would he ever be at rest while she was +abroad? Would it not have been better for them both if she had +remained in her convent? The thought seemed odiously selfish. If she +were to read his disappointment on hearing that she was no longer in +the convent? ... Telepathy! There were instances! And his thoughts +drifted away, and he seemed to lose consciousness of everything, +until he was awakened by the butler bringing back her reply. + +Now he would see her in twenty-four hours, and hear from her lips a +story of adventure, for it is an adventure to renounce the world, the +greatest, unless a return to the world be a greater. She had known +both; and it would be interesting to hear her tell both stories--if +she could tell her stories; she might only be half aware of their +interest and importance. + +"God only knows what she is like now! A wreck, a poor derelict woman, +with no life to call her own. The life of an actress which I gave +her, and which was so beautiful, wrecked; and the life of a nun, +which she insisted on striving after, wrecked." A cold, blighting +sorrow like a mist came up, it seemed to penetrate to his very bones, +and he asked why she had left the convent--of what use could she be +out of it?... only to torment him again. Twenty times during the +course of the evening and the next morning he resolved not to go to +see her, and as many times a sudden desire to see her ripped up his +resolution; and he ordered the brougham. "Five years' indulgence in +vigils and abstinences, superstitions must have made a great change +in her; utterly unlike the Evelyn Innes whom I discovered years ago +in Dulwich, the beautiful pagan girl whom I took away to Paris." He +was convinced. But anxious to impugn his conviction, he took her +letter from his pocket, and in it discovered traces, which cheered +him, of the old Evelyn. + +"She must have suffered terribly on finding herself obliged after +five years to retreat, and something of the original spirit was +required for her to fight her way out, for, of course, she was +opposed at every moment." + +The little stations went by one by one: the train stopped nine or ten +times before it reached the penultimate. + +"In the next few minutes I shall see her. She is sure to come to the +station to meet me. If she doesn't I'll go back--what an end that +would be! A strange neighbourhood to choose. Why did she come here? +With whom is she living? In a few minutes I shall know." + +The train began to slacken speed. "Why, there she is on the +platform." The train rushed by her, the first-class carriages +stopping at the other end; and, calling to the porter to take his bag +out of the carriage, he sprang out, tall and thin. "Like one who had +never had the gout," she said, as she hurried to meet him, smiling, +so intimately did his appearance bring back old times. "He is so like +himself, and better dressed than I am; the embroidered waistcoat +still goes in at the waist; and he still wears shirts with mauve +stripes. But he is a good deal greyer... and more wrinkled than I +am." + +"So it is you, Evelyn. Let me look at you." And, holding both her +hands, he stood looking into the face which he had expected to find +so much changed that he hardly found it changed at all, his eyes +passing over, almost without notice, the white hairs among the red, +and the wrinkles about the eyes and forehead, which, however, became +more apparent when she smiled. His touch was more conclusive of +disappointment than his eyes; her hands seemed harder than they used +to be, the knuckles had thickened, and, not altogether liking his +scrutiny, she laughed, withdrawing her hands. + +"Where is your valet, Owen?" + +It was then that he saw that her teeth had aged a little, yellowed a +little; a dark spot menaced the loss of one of the eye-teeth if not +attended to at once. But her figure seemed the same, and to get a +back view he dropped his stick. No, the convent had not bent her; a +tall, erect figure was set off to advantage by a dark blue linen +dress, and the small, well-reared head and its roll of thick hair by +the blue straw hat trimmed with cornflowers. + +"Her appearance is all right; the vent must be in her mind," he said, +preparing himself for a great disillusionment as soon as their talk +passed out of the ordinary ruts. + +"My valet? I didn't bring him. You might not be able to put him up." + +"I shouldn't." + +"But is there any one to carry my bag? I'll carry it myself if you +don't live too far from here." + +"About a mile. We can call at the inn and tell them to send a fly for +your bag--if you don't mind the walk." + +"Mind the walk--and you for companionship? Evelyn, dear, it is +delightful to find myself walking with you, and in the country," he +added, looking round. + +"The country is prettier farther on." + +Owen looked round without, however, being able to give his attention +to the landscape. + +"Prettier farther on? But how long have you been here?" + +"Nearly two years now. And you--when did you return?" + +"How did you know I was away?" + +"You didn't write." + +"I returned yesterday." + +"Yesterday? You only read yesterday my letter written six months +ago." + +"We have so much to talk about, Evelyn, so much to learn from each +other." + +"The facts will appear one by one quite naturally. Tell me, weren't +you surprised to hear I had left the convent? And tell me, weren't +you a little disappointed?" + +"Disappointed, my dear Evelyn? Should I have wired to you, and come +down here if--. It seemed as if the time would never pass." + +"I don't mean that you aren't glad to see me. I can see you are. But +admit that you were disappointed that I hadn't succeeded--" + +"I see what you mean. Well, I was disappointed that you were +disappointed; I admit so much." And, walking up the sunny road, he +wondered how it was that she had been able to guess what his thoughts +were on reading her letter. After all, he was not such a brute as he +had fancied himself, and her divination relieved his mind of the fear +that he lacked natural feeling, since she had guessed that a certain +feeling of disappointment was inevitable on hearing that she had not +been able to follow the chosen path. But how clever of her! What +insight! + +"I hope you don't misunderstand. I cannot put into words the +pleasure--." + +"I quite understand. Even if we turn out of our path sometimes, we +don't like others to vacillate... conversions, divagations, are not +sympathetic." + +"Quite true. The man who knows, or thinks he knows, whither he is +going commands our respect, and we are willing to follow--" + +"Even though he is the stupider?" + +"Which is nearly always." And they ceased talking, each agreeably +surprised by the other's sympathy. + +It was on his lips to say, "We are both elderly people now, and must +cling to each other." But no one cares to admit he is elderly, and he +did not speak the words for his sake and for hers, and he refrained +from asking her further questions about the convent; for he had come +to see a woman, loved for so many years, and who would always be +loved by him, and not to gratify his curiosity; he asked why she had +chosen this distant country to live in. + +"Distant country? You call this country distant? You, who have only +just come back--" + +"Returned yesterday from the Amur." + +"From the Amur? I thought I was _the_ amour." + +"So you are. I am speaking now of a river in Manchuria." + +'Manchuria? But why did you go there?" + +"Oh, my dear Evelyn, we have so much to tell each other that it seems +hopeless. Can you tell me why you--no, don't answer, don't try to +tell why you went to the convent; but tell me why you came to live in +this neighbourhood?" + +"Well, the land is very cheap here, and I wanted a large piece of +ground." + +"Oh, so you've settled here?" + +"Yes; I've built a cottage... But I haven't been able to lay the +garden out yet." + +"Built a cottage?" + +"What is there surprising in that?" + +"Only this, that I returned home resolved to do some building at +Riversdale--a gate lodge," and he talked to her of the gate lodge he +had in mind, until he became aware of the incongruity. "But I didn't +come here to talk to you of gate lodges. Tell me, Evelyn, how do you +spend your time?" + +"I go to town every morning to teach singing; I have singing-classes." + +"So you are a singing-mistress now. Well, everything comes round at +last. Your mother--" + +"Yes, everything comes round again," she said, sighing; "and the +neighbourhood isn't inconvenient. There is a good train in the +morning and a good train in the evening; the one you came by is a +wretched one, but if you had come by the later train you would have +seen less of me. You're not sorry?" + +"My dear Evelyn, don't be affected. I'm trying to take it all in. You +have retreated from the convent, and are now a singing-mistress. Have +you lost your voice?" + +"I'm afraid a good deal of it." And, pointing with her parasol, she +said, "There is the inn; I will tell them to fetch your bag." + +As she went towards the "Stag and Hounds" he congratulated himself +that the earlier woman still subsisted in the later, there could be +no doubt of that, and in sufficient proportion for her to create a +new life, and out of nothing but her own wits, for if she had escaped +from the convent with her intelligence, or part of it, she hadn't +escaped with her money; the nuns had got her money safe enough. She +would be loth to admit it, but it could not be otherwise. So out of +her own wits she had negotiated the purchase of a large piece of +ground (she had said a large piece), and built a cottage, and a very +pretty cottage too, he was sure of that; and his face assumed a blank +expression, for he was away with her in some past time, in the midst +of an architectural discussion. But returning gradually from this +happy past, her intelligence seemed to him like some strong twine or +wire! "How clever of her to have discovered this country where land +was cheap!" And he looked round, seeing its beauty because she lived +in it. Above all, to have found work to do, no easy matter when one +has torn oneself and one's past to shreds, as she had done. No doubt +she was making quite a nice little income by teaching; and, in +increasing admiration, he walked round the dusty inn and the +triangular piece of grass in front of it. A game of bat-and-trap was +in progress, and he conceived a love for that old English game, +though till now he thought it stupid and vulgar. The horse-pond +appealed to him as a picturesque piece of water, and, standing back +from it, he admired the rows of trees on the further bank--pollards +of some kind--and, still more, the reflections of these trees in the +dark green water; and his eyes followed the swallows, dipping and +gliding through the moveless air. A spire showed between the trees, a +girl and some children were gathering wild flowers in the hedgerows. +How like England! But here was Evelyn! + +"Did you ever see a more beautiful evening? And aren't you glad that +the evening in which I see you again is--one would like to call it +beatific, only I don't like the word; it reminds me of the convent +you have left." + +"One goes away in order that one may return home, Owen." + +"Quite true; and all my travels were necessary for me to admire your +long, red road winding gracefully up the hillside between tall +hedges, full of roses, convolvulus, and ivy, under trees throwing a +pleasant shade." And coming suddenly upon an extraordinary fragrance, +he threw up his head, and, with dilated nostrils, cried out, +"Honeysuckle!" + +"Yes, isn't it sweet?" she said. And, standing under a cottage porch, +he thought of the days gone by; and their memory was as overpowering +as the vine. + +"I have brought you no present." + +"Owen, you only returned yesterday." + +"All the same, I should have brought you something. A bunch of wild +flowers I can give you, and I will begin my nosegay with a branch of +this honeysuckle. There are dog-roses in the hedges. I used to send +you expensive flowers, but times have changed." And he insisted on +returning to the brook, having seen, so he said, some forget-me-nots +among the sedges. And with these and some sprays of a little pink +flower, which he told her was the cuckoo-flower, they walked, telling +and asking each other the names of different wayside weeds till they +arrived at the cottage. + +"There is my cottage." + +And Owen saw, some twenty or thirty yards from the roadside, the +white gables of a cottage thrusting over against a space of blue sky. +Flights of swallows flew shrieking past, and the large elms on the +right threw out branches so invitingly that Owen thought of long +hours passed in the shade with books and music; but, despite these +shady elms, the cottage wore a severe air--a severe cottage it was, +if a cottage can be severe. Owen was glad Evelyn hadn't forgotten a +verandah. + +"A verandah always suggests a Creole. But there is no Creole in you." + +"You wouldn't have thought my cottage severe if you hadn't known that +I had come from a convent, Owen. You like it, all the same." + +Owen fell to praising the cottage which he didn't like. + +"On one thing I did insist--that the hall was to be the principal +room. What do you think of it? And tell me if you like the +chimney-piece. There are going to be seats in the windows. Of course, +I +haven't half finished furnishing." And she took him round the room, +telling how lucky she had been picking up that old oak dresser with +handles, everything complete for five pounds ten, and the oak settle +standing in the window for seven. + +"I can't consider the furniture till I have put these flowers in +water." So he fetched a vase and filled it, and when his nosegay had +been sufficiently admired, he said "But, Evelyn, I must give you some +flower-vases.... And you have no writing-table." + +"Not a very good one. You see, I have had to buy so many things." + +"You must let me give you one. The first time you come up to London +we will go round the shops." + +"You'll want to buy me an expensive piece, unsuitable to my cottage, +won't you, Owen?" She led him through the dining-room past the +kitchen, into which they peeped. + +"Eliza's cooking an excellent dinner!" he said. And they went through +the kitchen into the garden. + +"You see what a piece of ground I have. We are enclosing it." And +Owen saw two little boys painting a paling. "Now, do you like the +green? It was too green, but this morning I put a little yellow into +it; it is better now." They walked round the acre of rough ground +overlooking the valley, Owen saying that Evelyn was quite a landed +proprietor. + +"But who are these boys? You have quite a number," he said, coming +upon three more digging, or trying to dig. + +"They are digging the celery-bed." + +"But one is a hunchback, he can't do much work; and that one has a +short leg; the third boy seems all right, but he isn't more than +seven or eight. I am afraid you won't have very much celery this +year." They passed through the wicket into the farther end of +Evelyn's domain, which part projected on the valley, and there they +came upon two more children, one of whom was blind. + +"This poor child--what work can he do?" + +"You'd be surprised; and his ear is excellent. We're thinking of +putting him to piano-tuning." + +"We are thinking?" + +"Yes, Owen; these little boys live here with me in the new wing. I'm +afraid they are not very comfortable there, but they don't complain." + +"Seven little crippled boys, whom you look after!" + +"Six--the seventh is my servant's son; he is delicate, but he isn't a +cripple. We don't call him her son here, she is nominally his aunt." + +"You look after these boys, and go up to London to earn their +living?" + +"I earn sufficient to run my little establishment." + +As they returned to the cottage, one of the boys thrust his spade +into the ground. + +"Please, miss, may we stay up a little longer this evening? It won't +be dark till nine or half-past, miss." + +"Yes, you can stay up." And Owen and Evelyn went into the house. "I +do hope, Owen, that Eliza's cooking will not seem to you too utterly +undistinguished." + +"You have forgotten, Evelyn, that I have been living on hunter's fare +for the last two years." + +At that moment Eliza put the soup-tureen on the table. + +"Why, the soup is excellent! An excellent soup, Eliza!" + +"There is a chicken coming, Sir Owen, and Miss Innes told me to be +sure to put plenty of butter on it before putting it into the oven, +that that was the way you liked it cooked." + +"I am glad you did, Eliza; the buttering of the chicken is what we +always overlook in England. We never seem to understand the part that +good butter plays in cooking; only in England does any one talk of +such a thing as cooking-butter." And he detained Eliza, who fidgeted +before him, thinking of the vegetables waiting in the kitchen, of +what a strange man he was, while he told her that his cook, a +Frenchman, always insisted on having his butter from France, costing +him, Owen, nearly three shillings a pound. + +"Law, Sir Owen!" And Eliza went back to the kitchen to fetch her +vegetables, and Evelyn laughed, saying: + +"You have succeeded in impressing her." + +"You have cooked the chicken excellently well, Eliza, and the butter +you used must have been particularly good," he said, when the servant +returned with the potatoes and brussels sprouts. But he was anxious +for her to leave the room so that he might ask Evelyn if she +remembered the chickens they used to eat in France. + +"Evelyn, dear, shall we ever be in France again?" + +"My poor little boys, what would happen to them while I was away? For +you, who care about sweets, Owen, I'm afraid Eliza will seem a little +behind the times; afraid of a failure, we decided on a rice pudding." + +"Excellent; I should like nothing better." + +Owen was in good humour, and she asked him if he had brought +something to smoke--a cigar. + +"Some cigarettes. I have given up smoking cigars, stinking things!" + +"But you used to be so fond of cigars, Owen?" + +"Oh, a long time ago. Didn't you notice that man in the trap in front +of us as we came from the station? That vile cigar, the whole evening +smelt of it." + +"My dear Owen!" + +Then he got up from the table and went to the piano and waited there +for Evelyn, who was talking to Eliza about the purchase of another +bed and where it should be placed in the dormitory, a matter so +trivial that a dozen words should suffice to settle it, so he +thought; but they kept on talking, and when Eliza left the room she +took up some coarse sewing. To bring her to the piano he struck a few +notes, saying: + +"The Muses are awake, Evelyn." + +"No, Owen, no; I am in no mood for singing." + +When he asked her if she never sang, the answer was, "Sometimes I go +to the piano when I am restless; I sing a little, yes, a little into +my muff; you know what I mean. But this evening I would sooner talk. +You said we had so much to talk about." He admitted she knew what his +feelings were better than he knew them himself. It would be a pity to +waste this evening in music (this evening was consecrate to +themselves), and from talking of Elizabeth and Isolde they drifted +into remembrances of the old days so dear to him. But he had always +reproached Evelyn with a fault, a certain restlessness; it was rare +for her to settle herself down to a nice quiet chat, and this was a +serious fault in a woman, a fault in everybody, for a nice quiet chat +is one of the best things in life. He was prone to admit, however, +that when the mood for a chat was upon her nobody could talk or +listen as she could by a fireside. Yielding to her humour, like a +bird she would talk on and on with an enthusiasm and an interest in +what she was saying which made her a wonder and a delight; and seeing +that by some good fortune he had come upon her in one of these rare +humours, he did not regret her refusal to sing, and watched her at +his feet listening to him with an avidity which was enchanting, +making him feel that there was nothing in the world but he and she. +She had once said, enchanting him with the admission, for it was so +true, that if she were alone with a man for an evening he must hate +her very much if he was not to fall in love with her. On reminding +her of her saying she admitted that she had forgotten it. It seemed +to him that his dead mistress had come to life again. Her eyes shone +with something of their old light, and he said to himself, "The +convent has faded out of her mind and out of her face." +Interpenetrated with her sweet atmosphere, which had for ever haunted +him, he breathed like one who hears music going by. Every moment was +a surprise. The next great surprise being the discovery that the +convent had not quelled the daring of her thought--it came and went +swallow-like, as before. + +"Because there were no men in the convent. Though I am virtuous, +Owen, and must remain so, I can't live without men. If I am deprived +of men's society for a few days I wilt." + +The picture of herself painted in these few words, Evelyn wilting +amid the treble of the nuns like a plant in an uncongenial soil, +delighted Owen, enabling him to forget the sad fact that she was +virtuous and would have to remain so. For she was still his Evelyn, a +hero worshipper, with man for her hero always, even though it were a +priest. A moment of the thought caused him a sigh, but he was in the +seventh heaven when she told him the first letter she had written +when she left the convent was for him. He had maligned her in +thinking the past had no meaning for her. For who was so faithful to +her friends? Again he forgot everything but himself sitting by her, +seeing her bright eyes, listening to her voice, absorbed by her +atmosphere; and talking and listening by turns he was carried away in +a delicious oblivion of everything except the sensation of the +moment. It seemed to him like floating down the current of some +enchanted river; but even in enchanted rivers there are eddies, +otherwise the enchantment of the current and the flowery banks under +which it flows would become monotonous, and presently Owen was caught +in an eddy. The stream flowed gaily while he told her of his +experience in the desert; she was interested in the gazelles and in +the eagles, though qualifying the sport as cruel, and in his +synthesis of the desert--a desire for a drink of clean water. Nor did +she resent his allusion to his meeting with Ulick at Dowlands, +interrupting him, however, to tell him that Ulick had married Louise. + +"Married Louise!" + +Louise! What an evocation of past times was in this name! And their +talk passed into a number of little sallies. + +"Well, he'll spend a great deal of her money for her." + +"No, he is doing pretty well for himself." + +It seemed like listening to a fairy tale to hear that Ulick was doing +very well for himself; and travelling back to the convent, by those +mysterious roads which conversation follows, Owen learned that it was +at the end of the first year of her postulancy that Evelyn had heard +of her father's illness. Up to that moment he had not noticed a +change in her humour, not until he began to question her as to her +reason for suddenly returning from Rome to the convent. It was then +that a strange look came into her face; she got up from her chair and +walked about the room, gloomy and agitated, sitting down in a corner +like one overcome, whelmed in some extraordinary trouble. When he +went to her she crossed the room, settling herself in another corner, +tucking herself away into it. His question had awakened some terrific +memory; and perforce he did not dare to ask her what her trouble was, +none that she could confide to him, that was clear, and he began to +think that it would be better to leave her for a while. He could go +out and speak with the little boys, for a memory like the one which +had laid hold of her must pass away suddenly, and his absence would +help to pass it. If she were not better when he returned it would be +well for him to seek some excuse to sleep at the inn, for her +appearance in the corner frightened him; and standing by the window, +looking into the quiet evening, he railed against his folly. Any one +but himself would have guessed that there was some grave reason for +her life in the convent. Such an end as this to the evening that had +begun so well! "My God, what am I to do!" And, turning impulsively, +he was about to fling himself at her feet, beseeching of her to +confide her trouble, but something in her appearance prevented him, +and in dismay he wondered what he had said to provoke such a change. +What had been said could not be unsaid, the essential was that the +ugly thought upon her like some nightmare should be forgotten. Now +what could he say to win her out of this dreadful gloom? If he were +to play something! + +A very few bars convinced him that music would prove no healer to her +trouble. To lead her thoughts out of this trouble--was there no way? +What had they been talking about? The bullfinches which she had +taught to whistle the motives of "The Ring"; but such a laborious +occupation could only have been undertaken for some definite purpose, +to preserve her sanity, perhaps, and it would be natural for a woman +to resent any mention of mental trouble such as she had suffered from +on her return from Rome. Something had happened to her in Rome--what? +And he sat for a long time, or what seemed to him a long time, +perplexed, fearing to speak lest he might say something to irritate +her, prolonging her present humour. + +"If I had only known, Evelyn, if I had only known!" he said, unable +to resist the temptation of speech any longer. As she did not answer, +he added, after a moment's pause, "I think I shall go out and talk to +those boys." But on his way to the door he stopped. "I wish that brig +had gone down." + +"That brig? What do you mean?" + +"The boat which took me round the world and brought me back, and +which I am going to sell, my travelling days being over." Seeing she +was interested, he continued to tell her how the _Medusa_ had been +declared no longer seaworthy, and of his purchase of another yacht. + +"But you said you wished the brig had gone down." + +And, seizing the pretext, he began to tell her of the first thing +that came into his head; how he had sailed some thousands of miles +from the Cape to the Mauritius, explaining the mysteries of great +circle sailing, and why they had sailed due south, though the +Mauritius was in the north-west, in order that they might catch the +trade winds. Before reaching these there were days when the sailors +did little else but shift the sails, trying to catch every breeze +that fluttered about them, tacking all the while, with nothing to +distract them but the monotonous albatross. The birds would come up +the seas, venturing within a few yards of the vessel, and float away +again, becoming mere specks on the horizon. Again the specks would +begin to grow larger, and the birds would return easily on moveless +wings. + +"When one hears the albatross flies for thousands of miles one +wonders how it could do this without fatigue; but one wonders no +longer when one has seen them fly, for they do not weary themselves +by moving their wings, their wings never move, they float month after +month until the mating instinct begins to stir in them, and then in +couples they float down the seas to the pole. There is nothing so +wonderful as the flight of a bird; and it seemed to me that I never +could weary of watching it. But I did weary of the albatross, and one +night, after praying that I might never see one again, I was awakened +by the pitching of the vessel, by the rattling of ropes, and the +clashing of the blocks against swaying spars. I had been awakened +before by storms at sea. You remember, Evelyn, when I returned to +Dulwich--I had been nearly wrecked off the coast of Marseilles?" +Evelyn nodded. "But the sensation was not like anything I had ever +experienced at sea before, and interested and alarmed I climbed, +catching a rope, steadying myself, reaching the poop somehow." + +"'We're in the trades, Sir Owen!' the man at the helm shouted to me. +'We're making twelve or fourteen knots an hour; a splendid wind!' + +"The sails were set and the vessel leaned to starboard, and then the +rattle of ropes began again and the crashing of the blocks as she +leaned over to port. Such surges, you have no idea, Evelyn, +threatening the brig, but slipping under the keel, lifting her to the +crest of the wave. Caught by the wind for a moment she seemed to be +driven into the depths, her starboard grazing the sea or very nearly. +The spectacle was terrific; the lone stars and the great cloud of +canvas, the whole seeming such a little thing beneath it, and no one +on deck but the helmsman bound to the helm, and well for him--a slip +would have cost him his life, he would have been carried into the +sea. An excellent sailor, yet even he was alarmed at the canvas we +carried, so he confided to me; but my skipper knew his business, a +first-rate man that skipper, the best sailor I have ever met. There +are few like him left, for the art of sailing is nearly a lost art, +and the difficulty of getting men who can handle square sails is +extraordinary. But this one, the last of an old line, came up, crying +out quite cheerfully, "Sir Owen, we're in luck indeed to have caught +the trades so soon." + +"Day after day, night after night, we flew like a seagull. 'Record +sailing,' my skipper often cried to me, telling me the number of +knots we had made in the last four-and-twenty hours." + +"And the albatrosses, I hope you didn't catch one?" + +"One day the skipper suggested that we should, the breast feathers +being very beautiful; and, the wind having slackened a little, a hook +was baited with a piece of salt pork, which the hungry bird seized. +As soon as he was drawn on board he flapped about more helpless than +anything I have ever seen, falling into everything he could fall +into, biting several of the crew. You know the sonnet in which +Baudelaire compares the bird on the wing to the poet with the Muse +beside him, and the albatross on deck to the poet in the +drawing-room. You remember the sonnet, how the sailors teased the bird +with their short black pipes." + +"But the breast feathers?" + +"We didn't kill the bird; I wouldn't allow him to be killed. We threw +him overboard, and down into the sea he went like a log." + +Evelyn asked if he were drowned. + +"Albatrosses don't drown. He swam for a time and fluttered, and at +last succeeded in getting on the wing. I was very glad to see him +float away, and was still more glad a few minutes afterwards, for +before the bird was out of sight a sign appeared in the heavens, and +I began to think of the story of 'The Ancient Mariner.' You know--" + +"Yes, I know the story, how all his misfortunes arose from the +killing of an albatross. But what was the sign?" + +"A dull yellow like a rainbow, only more pointed, and my skipper said +to me, 'Sir Owen, that is one of them hurricanes; if I knew which way +she was going I'd try to get out of the way as fast as I could, for +we shall be torn to pieces in a very few minutes.' I assure you it +was an anxious moment watching that red, yellow light in the sky; it +grew fainter, and eventually disappeared, and the skipper said, 'We +have just missed it.' A few days afterwards we came into the +Mauritius, and the first thing we saw was a great vessel in the +ports, her iron masts twisted and torn just like hairpins, Evelyn. +She had been caught in the tornado, a great three-masted vessel.... +We should have gone down like an open boat." + +"And after you left the Mauritius your destination was--" + +"Borneo, Sumatra, the Malay Archipelago." + +"But what were you seeking in the Malay Archipelago?" + +"What does one ever seek? One seeks, no matter what; and, not being +able to see you, Evelyn, I thought I would try to see everything in +the world." + +"But there is nothing to see in Borneo?" + +"Well, you will laugh when I tell you, but it seemed to me that I'd +like to see the orang-outang in his native forests. I had been to +Greece, and I knew the Italian Renaissance--" + +"And after so much art to see an orang-outang in a tree would be a +new experience, Owen." + +"Soon there will be no more higher apes, if medical science continues +to progress; no more gorillas or chimpanzees." + +"In a world without gorillas life will not be worth living. I quite +understand." + +Owen laughed. + +"I should be sorry for anything to disappear. The poor mother is +speared, for she will fight for her little one; ugly as he may be in +our eyes he is beautiful in hers." + +"But you didn't do this, Owen?" + +"No; after two or three days in a forest one wearies of it; and after +all it wasn't very likely that I should have got a snapshot. The +camera is my weapon." + +"And after the orang-outang which you failed to meet?" + +"I spent some time in Japan." + +"And then?" + +"Well, then, I went to Manchuria, to the Amur, a country almost +forgotten." And he told her how the eagles drove the wild sheep over +the precipices, and of a wolf hunt with eagles." + +"You have seen now everything the world has to show?" + +"Very nearly, and after seeing it all I come back to the one thing +that interests me." + +Tears rose to Evelyn's eyes; such an avowal of love a woman hardly +ever hears. + +The voices of the children playing in the garden reached their ears, +and Evelyn said: + +"They should have been in bed long ago, but, Owen, your being here +makes everything so exceptional." + +"Really? I'm glad of that," he answered shyly, fearing to say +anything which would carry her thoughts back among unpleasant +memories. But it was quite safe to speak of her love of the poor, and +of poor children. "What inspired you to start this home, Evelyn?" + +"Well, you see, I had to have something to work for, some interest; +and not having any children of my own... They really must go to bed." + +"But, Evelyn, why will you interrupt our talk? Let us go on talking; +tell me about the convent. Your adventures are so much more wonderful +than mine. You haven't half told me what there is to tell--the +Prioress and the sub-Prioress, you never liked her?" + +A smile gathered about her lips, and he asked her what she was +smiling at; and it was with some difficulty he persuaded her to tell +him about Sister Winifred and Father Daly." + +"Counterparts! counterparts!" he said. "And Cecilia giving the whole +show away because her counterpart was a dwarf! How could you live +among such babies?" + +"After all, Owen, are they any more babies than we are? Our interests +are just as unreal." + +"Your interest here is not as unreal; their hope is to build a wall +of prayer between a sinful world and the wrath of God. Such silliness +passes out of perception." + +"Your perception? We come into the world with different perceptions; +but do not let us drift into argument, not this evening, Owen." + +"Quite so, let us not drift into argument.... I am sorry you charged +me with being disappointed that you didn't remain in the convent; you +see I didn't know of the wonderful work you were doing here. Your +kindness is more than a nun's kindness." But he feared his casual +words might provoke her, and hastened to ask her about Sister +Winifred, at length persuading her into the admission that Sister +Winifred used to whip the children. + +"I'm sure she liked whipping them. Women who shut themselves out from +life develop cruelty. I can quite understand how she would like to +hear them cry." + +"Tell me more about the nuns." + +"No, Owen, I wouldn't speak ill of the nuns. Don't press me to speak +ill of them. You don't know, Owen, what might have become of me had +it not been for the convent. I don't know what might have become of +me. I might have drifted away and nothing have ever been heard of me +again." A dark look gathered in her face, "vanishing like the shadow +of a black wing over a sunny surface," Owen said to himself, "Now +what has frightened her? Not her love of me, for that love she always +looked on as legitimate." He remembered how she used to cling to that +view, while admitting it to be contrary to the teaching of the +Church. Did she still cling to this belief? "Probably, for we do hot +change our instinctive beliefs," he said, and longed to question her; +but not daring, and, thinking a lighter topic of conversation +desirable, he told her he would like to teach Eliza how to make +coffee. + +"There is only one way of making coffee" he said, and he had learned +the secret from a friend, who had always the best coffee. He had +known him as a bachelor, he had known him as a married man, and +afterwards as a divorced man, but in these different circumstances +the coffee remained the same. So he said, "My good friend how is it +that your cooks make equally good coffee?" And the friend answered +that it was himself who had taught every cook how to make coffee; it +was only a question of boiling water. And, still talking of the +making of coffee, they wandered into the garden and stood watching +the little boys all arow, their heads tucked in for Eliza's son to +jump over them, and they were laughing, enjoying their play, +inspired, no doubt, by the dusk and the mystery of yon great moon +rising out of the end of the grey valley. + +"I'm afraid Jack will hurt the others, or tire them; they really must +go to bed. You'll excuse me, Owen, I shall be back with you in about +half an hour?" + +He strolled through the wicket about the piece of waste ground, +thinking of the change that had come over her when he spoke of her +return from Rome. Possibly she had met Ulick in Rome and had fled +from him, or some other man. But he was not in the least curious to +inquire out her secret, sufficient it was for him to know that her +mood had passed. How suddenly it had passed! And how fortunate his +mention of the yacht! Her attention had suddenly been distracted, now +she was as charming as before... gone to look after those little +boys, to see that their beds were comfortable, and that their +night-shirts had buttons on them. Every day in London their living was +earned in tiresome lessons to pupils who had no gift for singing, but +had to be encouraged for the sake of their money, which was spent on +this hillside. + +"Such is the mysterious way of life. Our rewards are never those we +anticipate, but we are rewarded." + +The money he had spent on her had brought her to this hillside to +attend on six cripples, destitute little boys. After all what better +reward could he have hoped for? But a great part of his love of her +had been lost. Never again would he take her hand or kiss her again. +So his heart filled with a natural sadness and a great tenderness, +and he stood watching the smoke rising from the cottagers' chimneys +straight into the evening air. She had told him that one of her +little boys had come from that village, and to hear how the child had +been adopted he must scramble down this rough path. The moment was +propitious for a chat with the cottagers, whom he would find sitting +at their doors, the men smoking their pipes, the women knitting or +gossiping, "the characteristic end of every day since the beginning +of the world," he said, "and it will be pleasant to read her portrait +in these humble minds." + +"A fine evening, my man?" + +"Fine enough, sir; the wheat rick will be up before the Goodwood +races, the first time for the last thirty years." And the talk turned +on the price of corn and on the coming harvest, and then on Miss +Innes, who sometimes came down to see them and sang songs for the +children. + +"So she sings for the children? She used to do that in Italy." + +"Has she been in Italy, sir?" + +To interest them he told how Evelyn had sung in all the opera houses +of Europe; and then, fearing his confessions were indiscreet, he +asked the woman nearest him if she was the mother of the little boy +Evelyn had taken to live with her. + +"No, sir, 'e is Mrs. Watney's son in the next cottage." And Owen +moved away to interrogate Mrs. Watney, who told him that her son was +not a cripple. + +"'Is limbs be sound enough, only the poor little chap 'ad the +small-pox badly when he was four, and 'as been blind ever since. A +extraordinary 'appy child; and Miss Innes has promised to 'ave him +taught the pianna." + +"A piano-tuner must have a good ear, and Miss Innes says his ear is +perfect. He'll whistle anything he hears." + +Owen bade the cottagers good-night and climbed up the hillside again. +The lights were burning in the boy's dormitory, so Evelyn must still +be there, and finding a large stone among the rough ground where he +could sit he waited for her, interested in the round moon, looking +like the engraved dial of some great clock, and in the grey valley +and the sullen sky passing overhead into a dim blueness, in which he +could detect a star here and there. The evening hummed a little +still, and the sounds of voices, the last sounds to die out of a +landscape, became rare and faint. One by one the gossiping folk under +the hill crept within doors, and Owen was so absorbed by the silence +that he did not hear Evelyn approaching; and when she spoke he hardly +answered her, and she, as if participating already in his emotion, +stood by him, not asking for words from him, looking with him into +the solitude of the valley, seeking to see beyond the veils of blue +mist gathering and blotting out all detail, creeping up intimately +tender. What could he say to her worth saying at such a moment? he +began to ask himself; and just then a song came from a hawthorn +growing by the edge of the hill, a solitary song, mysterious and +strange, a passionate strain which freed their souls, till, walking +about this dusky hillside, the lovers seemed to lose their bodies and +to become all spirit; and they walked on in silence, speech seeming a +sacrilege. + +"So now you are going to settle down at Riversdale; your travels are +over?" + +"Yes, they are over. I shall travel no more. I didn't find what I +sought." + +"And what was that?" + +And her words as she spoke them sounded to Owen passionate, tender, +and melancholy as the nightingale; and his words, too, seemed to +partake of the same passionate melancholy. + +"Forgetfulness of you." + +"So you wished to forget me? I am sorry." + +"Sorry that I haven't forgotten you? That, Evelyn, is impossible for +me to believe; it isn't human to wish ourselves forgotten." + +"No, Owen, I don't wish you to forget me, I am glad you have not; but +I am sorry there was any need for you to seek forgetfulness." + +"And is there any need?" + +"Yes, for the Evelyn you loved died years ago." + +"Oh, Evelyn, don't say that; she is not dead?" + +"Perhaps not altogether, a trace here and there, a slight flavour, +but not a woman who could bring you happiness as you understand +happiness, Owen." + +"All the happiness I ever had I owe to you. How can I thank you for +those ten years?" + +"But you paid for them with a great deal of sorrow." + +"Had it not been for you, Evelyn, I shouldn't have lived at all. How +often have I told you that? I have seen all the world, and yet I have +only seen one thing in the world--you." + +"Owen, you mustn't speak to me like that." + +"While that bird is singing you are afraid to listen to me! How +passionately it sings, but how little it feels compared with what I +am feeling. Why did you say that the Evelyn of old is dead?" + +"Well, Owen, don't you know that we are always dying, always +changing. You are in love, not with me, but with your memory of me." + +"A great deal of my love is memory, of course, still--" + +Words again seemed vain, foolish, even sacrilegious, so little could +he convey to her of what he believed to be the truth, and they walked +in silence through the fragrance of the soft night, thinking of the +colour of the sky, in which the sunset was not yet quite dead. His +memory of his love of this woman long ago in Dulwich, in Paris, and +in all the cities and scenes they had visited together, raised him +above himself; and he felt that her soul mingled with his in an +ecstatic sadness beyond words, but which the nightingale sang +clearly; the stars, too, sang it clearly; and they stood mute in the +midst of the immortal symphony about them. "Evelyn, I love you. How +wonderful our lives have been!" But what use to break the music, +audible and inaudible, with such weak words? The villagers under the +hill could speak as well; the bird in the bush and the stars above it +were speaking for him; and he was content to listen. + +The silence of the night grew more intense, there were millions of +stars, small and great, and the moon now shone amidst them alone, "of +different birth," divided from them for ever as he was divided from +this woman, whose arm touched his as they walked through the +darkness, divided for ever, unable to communicate his soul to hers. +Did she understand what he was feeling--the mystery of their lives +written in the stars, sung by the nightingale and breathed by the +flowers? Did she understand? Had the convent rule left her sufficient +sensibility to understand such simple human truths? + +"How sweetly the tobacco plant smells!" she said. + +"Yes, doesn't it? But what is the meaning of our story? My finding +you at Dulwich--Evelyn, have you ever thought enough about it? How +extraordinary that event was, extraordinary as the stars above us; my +going down that evening and hearing you sing? Do you remember the +look with which you greeted me--do you remember that cup of tea?" + +"It was coffee." + +"And then all our meetings in the garden under the cedar-tree?" + +"You used to say we looked like a picture by Marcus Stone when we sat +under it." + +"Never mind what we looked like. Think of it! Of our journey to +Paris, and my visit to Brussels to hear you sing." + +"And Madame Savelli, who wouldn't let me speak to you; she said I +might tire my voice." + +"Yes, how I hated her and Olive that day! You sang 'Elizabeth,' and +when you walked up, to the sound of flutes and clarionettes,' +seemingly to the stars, there was something in the way you did it +that put a fear into my heart. It was all predestined from the +beginning." + +"So you believe, Owen, that the end is fated, and that I was created +to come back after many wanderings to help these poor little crippled +boys?" + +"Is that the meaning of it all, Evelyn?" + +"Maybe--who knows?--that meaning as well as another." And through the +dusk he could see her eyes shining with something of their old light. + +"Was it fated from the beginning that I should only, meet you here to +part with you again? Is that the meaning you read in the song of the +nightingale, in the stare of the moon and the perfume of the garden? +There is a meaning, Evelyn, in our lives for certain, but are you +reading it aright?" + +For a moment the meaning of their lives seemed clear to them. Life +had a meaning! for a moment, they were both sure of it; they had met +for something, there was a design in life, and though they were +separated on earth they seemed to move in celestial circles, just as +the stars moved in that great design above them, each sphere rolling +on, filled with love for its sister sphere, guided and controlled +each by the other, yet always apart. Owen walked thinking how, +billions of years hence, all those lights might wax into one light, +all souls to one soul, all ends to one end. For one moment he Height +possess Evelyn's soul as he had never been able to possess it on +earth... perhaps. + +"I love you now just as much as I loved you before, perhaps more, for +there is memory to aid me." + +"You are in love with memory, not with me." + +Her words went to his heart, as the thorn of the rose is said to go +to the nightingale's heart, and, unable to answer her, he listened. +"How wonderfully the bird sings, the interpreter of the primal +melancholy from which we never escape... since the beginning of time, +its interpreter." + +"Is he telling his own story, or is he telling ours?" + +"Both, for all love songs are as ours, made of the same intense +passionate melancholy. Why is love the most melancholy of all joys? +With what passionate melancholy he enchants her who is sitting in the +nest close by! The origin of art is sex; woman is a reed, and our +desire--" + +"Hush! Listen to the nightingale! His discourse is better than +yours." + +"How absorbed he is in his song, stave after stave; he seems to say, +'You want more tunes? If that is all, you shall have more.' Hush!" And +they listened to the rich warble, sounding so strange in the midst of +the lonely country. "A love-call of three notes, which he repeats +before passing into cadenzas. Hush!" The bird started again, and this +time as if encouraged by the success of his last efforts. + +"What flutings! What trills! What runs! Pearls and jewels scattered. +Little tunes of three or four notes, casting a spell about the +hillside, followed by passionate cadenzas." + +Another bird answered far away out of the stillness, the same sweet +strain it was; and listening, they seemed to hear the same strain +within their hearts--a silent, mysterious song. All the world seemed +singing the same sweet strain of melancholy, now when the moon passed +out of the dusk--shining high up in the heavens, with stars above and +beneath--Owen thought of some mysterious music-maker. Flocks of +various coloured stars, flaming Jupiter high up in the sky, red Mars +low down in the horizon, the Great Bear beautifully distinct, the +polar star at an angle--the star whereby Owen used to steer. All the +world seemed to be going to the same sweet strain, the soul, +seemingly freed, rose to the lips, and, in her pride, sought words +wherewith to tell the passionate melancholy of the night and of life. +But the soul could not tell it; only the nightingale, who, without +knowing it, was singing what the soul may only feel. + +"The bird is telling me what your voice used to tell me long ago." + +The lovers wandered through the garden, suffused with delicate +scents, and Owen told her of the legend of the nightingale and the +swallow, a legend coming down from some barbaric age, from a king +called Pandion, who, despite his wife's beauty, fell in love with her +sister, and ravished her in some town in Thessaly, the name of which +Owen could not remember. Fearing, however, that his lust would reach +his wife's ears, Pandion cut out the girl's tongue. This barbarous +act, committed before Greece was, had been redeemed by the Grecian +spirit, which had added that the girl; though without tongue to tell +the cruel deed, had, nevertheless, hands wherewith to weave it. The +weft of her misfortune only inspired another barbarous deed: Pandion +killed both sisters and his son Italus. Again the Grecian spirit +touched the legend, changing the tongueless girl into a swallow, a +bird with a little cry, and fleet wings to carry its cry all over the +world, and the unhappy wife into the bird "which sleeps all day and +sings all night." "Sophocles," Owen said, "speaks of the nightingale +as moaning all the night in ivy clusters, moaning or humming. A +strange expression his seems to us, our musical sense being different +from that of the antique world, if the antique world really possessed +any musical sense." The lovers wandered round the house, listening to +the bird's sweet singing, stopping at the hill's steep side so that +they might listen better. + +"Now the bird is telling of sorrows other than ours--isn't that so, +Evelyn? I don't seem to recognise anything of ourselves in its song; +it is singing a new song." + +"Perhaps," Evelyn answered, "now it is singing the sadness of the +mother under the hill for her son." + +"I went to see her, she is not unhappy; she is happy that her son is +With you." + +"But another child died last year; and for her, if she is listening, +the bird is certainly singing the death of that child." + +When they had completed once more the round of the garden, the bird +seemed to have again changed his intervals; a gaiety seemed to have +come into his singing, and Owen said: + +"Now his music is lighter; he is singing an inveigling little story, +the story of first love. Look, Evelyn, do you see that boy and girl +walking under the hedge with their arms entwined? They, too, have +stopped to listen to the nightingale, but the song they really hear +comes out of their own hearts." + +Then the song changed, suddenly acquiring a strange, voluptuous +accent, which carried Owen's thoughts back to a night when he had +been awakened out of his sleep by a woman's voice singing, and, +starting up in bed, he had listened, rousing himself sufficiently +from sleep to distinguish that the voice he was listening to was +Evelyn's. The song was a love-call, and, believing it to be such, he +had thrown aside the curtain, and had found her leaning out of her +window, singing the Star Song, not to the evening star, as in the +opera, but to the morning star shining white like a diamond out of +the dawning of the sky. The valley under the castle walls was +submerged in mist, and the distant hillside was indistinguishable. +The castle seemed to stand by the side of some frozen sea, so intense +was the silence. He had always looked back upon this morning as one +of the great moments of his life, and going to her room like going to +some great religious rite. Each man must worship where he finds the +Godhead. + +"Who knows," he said to Evelyn, "that the bird in the nest close by +does not listen with the same rapture--" + +"As you, in the box, used to listen to me on the stage? For the +comparison to hold good, I should have sung Italian music, roulades. +Listen to those cadenzas!" + +"How melancholy are their gaieties!" + +"Yes, aren't they?" she answered. "How poignant the two notes!--with +which _il commence son grand air_." + +"But our love-call ended years ago," she said, with an accent of +regret in her voice. And they walked towards the house, Owen dreading +that some sudden impulse might throw her into his arms and her mind +might be unhinged again, and he would lose her utterly. So he spoke +to her of the first; thing that came into her mind, and what came +first was a memory of Moschus's lament for Bion and the brevity of +human life as contrasted with the long life of the world. + +"'The mallows wither in the garden, and the green parsley--' how does +it go?" And he tried to remember as they went upstairs. "'The mallows +wither in the garden--' no, that is not how it begins. 'Ah me! when +the mallows wither in the garden, and the green parsley, and the +curled tendrils of the anise, on a later day these live again and +spring in another year; but we men, we, the great and mighty, or +wise, when once we have died in the hollow earth we sleep, gone down +into silence, a fight long and endless and unawakening sleep." + +"Begin, ye Sicilian Muses, begin the Dirge!" + +And Evelyn listened, saying, "How very beautiful! how very +wonderful!" + +"But you believe, Evelyn, that we do live again?" + +"It is too late to argue that question; it is nearly midnight. I hope +you will like your room. Eliza has unstrapped your portmanteau, I +see. Your bed is comfortable, I think." + +It surprised him that she should follow him into his room, and stand +there talking to him, talking even about the bed he was to sleep in. +It would have been easy to lay his hands upon her shoulder, saying, +"Evelyn, are we to be parted?" but something held him back. And he +listened to her story of the buying of the bed, hearing that it had +been forgotten in the interest excited by the rumour of certain +portfolios filled with engravings supposed to be of great value. The +wardrobe, too, had been bought at the same auction, and he looked +into its panels, praising them. + +"But you want more light." She went over and lighted the candles on +the dressing-table, accomplishing the duties of hostess quite +unconcerned, ignoring the past. "One would think she had forgotten +it," he said to himself. "Are we to part like this? But it is for her +to decide. So quiet, so self-contained; it doesn't seem even to occur +to her." He waited, incapable of speech or action, paralysed, till +she bade him good-night. As soon as the door closed, or a moment +after, he began to realise his mistake. What he should have done was +to lay his hand upon her shoulder and lead her to the window-seat, +and sit with her there till a greyness came into the sky and a cold +air rustled in the trees. "Of course, of course," he muttered, for he +could see himself and her in the dawn together, united again and +tasting again in a kiss infinity. In her kiss he had tasted that +unity, that binding together of the mortal to the immortal, of the +finite to the infinite, which Paracelsus--He tried to recall the +words, "He who tastes a crust of bread has tasted of the universe, +even to the furthest star." She had always been his universe, and he +had always believed that she had come out of the star-shine like a +goddess when it pleases Divinity to lie with a mortal. Of this he was +sure, that he had never kissed her except in this belief.... This had +sanctified their love, whereas other men knew love as an animal +satisfaction. It had always seemed to him that there was something +essential in her, something which had always been in human nature and +which always would be. This light, this joy, and this aspiration he +had seen in certain moments: when she walked on the stage as +Elizabeth or Elza, she had always seemed to reflect a little of that +light which floats down through the generations ... illuminating "the +liquid surface of man's life." But a change had come, darkening that +light, causing it to pass, at least into eclipse. He drew his hand +across his eyes--a phase of her life was hidden from him; yet it, +too, may have had a meaning.... We understand so little of life. No, +no, it had no meaning in his mind, and we are only concerned with our +own minds. All the same, the fact remained--she had had to seek rest +in a convent; and the idea that had driven her there, though now +lying at the bottom of her mind, might be brought to the surface--any +chance word; he had had proof. Perhaps it was as well that he had not +laid his hand upon her shoulder and asked her to stay with him, for +by what spectacle of remorse, of terror, might he not have been +confronted to-morrow or the next day? Cured! Nobody is ever cured. +Never again would she be the same woman as had left Dulwich to go to +Paris with him, he knew that well enough; and he, too, was very far +indeed from being the same Owen Asher who had gone to Dulwich to hear +a concert of Elizabethan music. + +A period for every one, for every one a season. The gates of love +open, and we pass into the garden and out of it by another gate, +which never opens for us again. To linger by a closed or a closing +gate is not wise: the tarrying lover is a subject for contempt and +jeers; better to pass out quickly and to fare on, though it requires +courage to fare on through the autumn, knowing that after autumn +comes winter. True, the winds would grow harder. The autumn of their +lives was not over, the skies were still bright above them, and the +winds soft and low. The winds would grow harder, but they must still +fare on through the snow. But there is a joy by the hearth when the +yule-log is burning. So thanking God that he had not attempted to +detain her, he wandered to the window to watch the stars, which +seemed to him like a golden net; and he asked who had cast that net, +and if he and she were parcel of some great draught which, at some +indefinite date, would be drawn out of the depths, and if, when that +time came, they would remember the joy and sorrow they had endured +upon earth, or if all would be swept into forgetfulness. At some +indefinite date they might meet among the stars, but what stellar +infinities might be drawn together mattered little to him; his sole +interest was in this lag end of their journey--if their lives should +be united henceforth or lived separately. + +Nothing repeats itself, so it was well he had not asked her to stay +with him. Of mistress and lover a fitting end had been written long +ago, just as the end of those stars was written long before the stars +came into being; but it might well be that they might take the road, +this lag end of it, together as husband and wife. If he didn't marry +--he could marry nobody but her--what would he do with his life? what +sort of end? He had no heart for further travels, and feared to wear +away the years amid books and pictures, collecting rare porcelain and +French furniture; there is very little else for an old man. With her +the lag end of the journey would be delectable. In the same house +together, leading her in the evenings to the piano! Even if she had +lost part of her voice, sufficient remained to recall the old days +when he used to journey thousands of miles to hear her; and he lay +quite still, listening to the sweet thought of marriage, singing like +a bird in the acacia-tree, trill after trill, and then a run-- +delicious crescendos reaching to the stars, diminuendos sinking into +the valley. + +The bird suddenly ceased, and with its song in his brain Owen dozed, +awakening at dawn, remembering her, how she had built herself a +cottage, and settled her life here among four or five little crippled +boys. Could she undo her life to follow him? Uprooted, transplanted, +her brain might give way again, and this time without hope of +recovery. Or was he cheating himself, trying to find reasons for not +asking her to marry him--perhaps his manifest duty towards her. Owen +looked into his soul, asking himself if he were acting from a selfish +or an unselfish motive. + +Sleep seemed as far away as ever, and, getting out of bed, he drew +the curtains, seeking the landscape, still hidden in the mist, only a +few tree-tops showing over the grey vapour--the valley filled with +it--and over the hidden hill one streak of crimson. A rook cawed and +flew away into the mist, leaving Owen to wonder what the bird's +errand might be; and this rook was followed by others, and seeing +nothing distinctly, and knowing nothing of himself or of this woman +whom he had loved so long, he returned to his bed frightened, +counting his years, asking himself how many more he had to live. + +A knock! Only Eliza bringing his bath water. Good heavens! he had +been asleep. "Eliza, what time is it?" + +"Half-past eight, Sir Owen. Miss Innes will be soon home from Mass to +give the little boys their breakfast." + +"Home from Mass!" he muttered. And he learned from Eliza that Miss +Innes got up every morning at seven, for a Catholic gentleman lived +in the neighbourhood who had a private chaplain. "And she goes to +Mass," Owen muttered, "every morning, and comes back to give the +little boys their breakfast!" + +There was no Catholic gentleman within a mile of Riversdale, he was +thankful to say, and his thankfulness on the point was proof to him +of how years and circumstances had estranged him from Evelyn; for, +though he would not obstruct or forbid, it would be impossible for +him to keep a sneer out of his face when she told him she had been to +the sacraments or refrained from meat on Friday. "What a strange +notion it is to think that a priest can help one," he said, thinking +then that his presence would be a sneer, however he might control his +tongue or his face; she would feel that he held her little +observances in contempt, and her, too, just a little. How could it be +otherwise? How could he admire one who slipped her neck into a +spiritual halter and allowed herself to be led? Yet he loved her--or +was it the memory of their love that he loved? Which? He loved her +when he saw her among the crippled children distributing porridge and +milk, or maybe it was not love, but admiration. + +"My dear, I didn't know you would be down so soon. If you will only +go into the garden and wait for me, I shan't be long." + +"Now then, children, you must hurry with your porridge; Sir Owen is +waiting for his breakfast." + +"My dear Evelyn, I am not in a hurry. Let the children take their +time." + +And he went into the garden to think if life at Riversdale would suit +her as well as this life. It would be impossible for him to accompany +her to chapel, and if he did not do so there would be an +estrangement.... Nor could he allow Riversdale to be turned into an +orphanage. Perhaps he would allow her to do anything; that pleased +her; all the same, she would feel that the permission did not come +out of his instinct, only out of a desire to please her. + +"Well, Owen," she said as soon as he had finished breakfast, "I don't +want to hurry you, but if you are to catch that train we must start +at once." + +It was one of her off days, and she was going to spend it at the +cottage. There were a great many things for her to do. She never had +much time, but she would go to the station with him. + +"But you have already walked two miles." + +"Ah! Eliza has told you?" + +"Yes, that you go to Mass every morning." + +Owen seemed to regret the fact, and when he broke silence again it +was to inquire into the expenses of the orphanage and to deplore the +necessity which governed her life of going to London every day, +returning home late, and he offered her a subscription which would +cover the entire cost. But his offer of money seemed to embarrass +her, and he understood that her pleasure was to go to London to work +for these children, for only in that way could the home be entirely +her own. If she were to accept help from the outside it would drift +away from her and from its original intention, just as the convent +had done. Nor was it very likely that she would care to give up her +work and come to live at Riversdale, as his wife, of course as his +wife, and it would pain her to refuse him.... Better leave things as +they were. + +"You are right," he said, "not to live in London; one avoids a great +deal of loneliness. One is more lonely in London than anywhere I +know. The country is the natural home of man. Man is an arborial +animal," he added, laughing, "and is only happy among trees." + +"And woman, what is she? A material animal?" + +"I suppose so. You have your children; I have my trees." + +The words seemed to have a meaning which eluded them, and they +pondered while they descended the hillside until the piece of +low-lying land came into view and the bridge crossing the sluggish +stream, amid whose rushes he had gathered the wild forget-me-not. As +he was about to speak of them he remembered her singing classes, and +that yester evening had worn away without hearing her sing. "You have +lost all interest in music, I fear. You think of it now as a means of +making money... for your children," he added, so that his words might +not wound her. + +"And you, Owen, does music still interest you,"--she nearly said, +"now that I am out of it?" but stopped, the words on her lips. + +"Yes," he said, "I think it does," and there was an eagerness in his +voice when he said, "I have been trying my hand at composition again, +and I have written a good many songs and some piano pieces, one for +piano and violin." + +"A sonata?" + +"Well, something in that way... not very strict in form perhaps." + +"That doesn't matter." + +"When you come to see me I should like to show you some of my things. +You will come to see me when you are in London... when you have a +moment?" + +"Evelyn always keeps her promises," he said to himself, and he did +not give up hope that she would come to see him, although nearly two +weeks went by without his hearing from her. Then a note came, saying +that she had been kept busy and had not been able to find spare time, +but yesterday a pupil had written saying she would not come to her +lesson, "so now I can come to you." + +"Miss Innes, Sir Owen." + +His face lighted up, and laying his book aside he sprang out of his +chair, and all consciousness of time ceased in his mind till she +began to put on her glove. + +"You have only just arrived, and already you are going." + +"My dear Owen, I have been here an hour, and the time has passed +quickly for you because you have been playing your music over for me +and I have been singing... humming, for it is hardly singing now." + +"I am sorry, Evelyn, the time has seemed so long to you. I didn't +intend to bore you. You said you would like to see some of my music." + +"So I did, Owen, and some of the best things you have composed are +among those you have shown me. Your writing has improved a great +deal." + +"I am so glad you think so. When will you come again?" + +"The first spare hour." + +"Really? You promise." + +They saw each other at intervals. Sometimes the intervals were very +long, and Owen would write to her complaining, and he would get a +note telling that her time was not her own, and that a great deal of +money was necessary for her boys. But she would try to come and see +him next week, and he would write begging her not to disappoint him, +as he was giving a concert and wanted her help to compose the +programme. + +A great deal of time was spent in Berkeley Square, more than she +could afford, trying pieces over; and she would often say, "My dear +Owen, I really must go now or I shall miss my train at Victoria." He +always looked disappointed when she said she was going, and he never +could understand why she would not sing at his concerts. It was very +difficult even to persuade her to come to one. + +"You see, I cannot sleep here, Owen. I have to go to a hotel." + +One day she got a letter from him which she feared to open. "It is to +ask me to help him to compose another programme, and I haven't got a +minute." + +She was mistaken. The letter was to tell her that he had been elected +president of the new choral society... "a group of young musicians." +The envelope enclosed a programme, and she read: "President, Sir Owen +Asher, Bart." "I'm glad, I'm glad," she said as she walked up the +room. "He has some natural talent for music, and if he hadn't been +born a rich man and spent his life doing other things he might have +done something in music. If he had begun younger... if he hadn't met +me... a good many ifs; but there it is, and that is how it has +ended." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sister Teresa, by George Moore + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTER TERESA *** + +***** This file should be named 14614.txt or 14614.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/6/1/14614/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Carol David and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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