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+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
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