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diff --git a/17040.txt b/17040.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..490a9a1 --- /dev/null +++ b/17040.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8530 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Survivor, by E.Phillips Oppenheim + + +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: The Survivor + + +Author: E.Phillips Oppenheim + + + +Release Date: November 10, 2005 [eBook #17040] +Last updated: April 12, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SURVIVOR*** + + +E-text prepared by MRK + + + +THE SURVIVOR + +by + +E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + I. THE SERMON THAT WAS NEVER PREACHED + II. A STRANGE BETROTHAL + III. THE MAN WHO WAS IN A HURRY + IV. EXIT MR. DOUGLAS GUEST + V. HOW THE ADDRESS WAS LOST + VI. THE YOUNG MAN FROM THE COUNTRY HEARS SOME + VII. A NIGHT IN HELL--AND NEXT DAY + VIII. THE AUTHOR OF "NO MAN'S LAND" + IX. THE EDITOR OF THE "IBEX" RECEIVES A STRANGE LETTER + X. A WOMAN OF WHIMS + XI. DOUGLAS GUEST GETS HIS "CHANCE" + XII. THE MAN WHO NEARLY WENT UNDER + XIII. THE FIRST TASTE OF FAME + XIV. A VISITOR FROM SCOTLAND YARD + XV. EMILY DE REUSS TELLS A LIE + XVI. JOAN STRONG, AVENGER + XVII. A PLAIN QUESTION AND A WARNING + XVIII. THE TASTE OF THE LOTUS + XIX. A MAN WITHOUT A PAST + XX. CICELY ASKS A QUESTION + XXI. THE REBELLION OF DREXLEY + XXII. DREXLEY SPEAKS OUT + XXIII. CICELY S SECRET + XXIV. THE COUNTESS, THE COUSIN, AND THE CRITIC + XXV. A TRAGIC INTERRUPTION + XXVI. A VISITOR FOR DOUGLAS JESSON + XXVII. FELLOW-CRIMINALS + XXVIII. THE LITTLE FIGURE IN BLACK + XXIX. JOAN STRONG FINDS HER BROTHER + XXX. DAVID AND JOAN + XXXI. DREXLEY FORESEES DANGER + XXXII. A SUPPER AT THE "MILAN," AND A MEETING + XXXIII. A MISUNDERSTANDING + XXXIV. THE WOOING OF CICELY + XXXV. THE NET OF JOAN'S VENGEANCE + XXXVI. A SCENE AT THE CLUB + XXXVII. CICELY MAKES HER CHOICE + XXXVIII. "SHE WAS A WOMAN: I WAS A COWARD" + XXXIX. A JOURNEY AND A WEDDING + XL. A CALL BEFORE THE CURTAIN + + + + + +THE SURVIVOR + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE SERMON THAT WAS NEVER PREACHED + +A little party of men and women on bicycles were pushing their machines +up the steep ascent which formed the one street of Feldwick village. It +was a Sunday morning, and the place was curiously empty. Their little +scraps of gay conversation and laughter--they were men and women of the +smart world--seemed to strike almost a pagan note in a deep Sabbatical +stillness. They passed the wide open doors of a red brick chapel, and +several of the worshippers within turned their heads. As the last two +of the party went by, the wheezings of a harmonium ceased, and a man's +voice came travelling out to them. The lady rested her hand upon her +host's arm. "Listen," she whispered. + +Her host, Lord of the Manor, Lord Lieutenant of the County, and tenth +Earl of Cumberland, paused readily enough and leaned his machine against +a kerbstone. Bicycling was by no means a favourite pursuit of his, and +the morning for the time of year was warm. + +"Dear lady," he murmured, "shall we go a little nearer and listen to the +words of grace? Anything for a short rest." + +She leaned her own bicycle against the wall. From where she was she +could catch a sideway glimpse of a tall, slight figure standing up +before the handful of people. + +"I should like to go inside," she said, indifferently. "Would they +think it an intrusion?" + +"Certainly not," he answered, with visions of a chair before him. "As a +matter of fact, I have a special invitation to become a member of that +flock--temporarily, at any rate." + +"What do you mean?" she asked. + +"The land here" he answered, "is not entailed, and they are very anxious +to buy this little bit and own their chapel. I had a letter from a +worthy farmer and elder, Gideon Strong, on the matter yesterday. He +wound up by expressing a wish that I might join them in their service +one morning. This is their service, and here we are. Come!" + +They crossed the street, and, to the obvious amazement of the little +congregation, stood in the doorway. A gaunt shepherd, with +weather-marked face and knotted fingers, handed them clumsily a couple +of chairs. Some of the small farmers rose and made a clumsy obeisance +to their temporal lord. Gideon Strong, six feet four, with great unbent +shoulders, and face as hard and rugged as iron, frowned them down, and +showed no signs of noticing his presence. Elsewhere he would have been +one of the first, proud man though he was, to stand bareheaded before +the owner of his farm and half a county, but in the house of God, humble +little building though it was, he reckoned all men equal. + +Praying silently before them, on the eve of his first sermon, a young +man was kneeling. He had seen nothing of these newcomers, but of a +sudden as he knelt there, his thoughts and sensations in strange +confusion, himself half in revolt against what lay before him, there +floated up the little aisle an exquisite perfume of crushed violets, and +he heard the soft rustling of a gown which was surely worn by none of +those who were gathered together to listen to him. He opened his eyes +involuntarily, and met the steady gaze of the lady whose whim it had +been to enter the place. + +He had never seen her before, nor any one like her. Yet he felt that, +in her presence, the task which lay before him had become immeasurably +more difficult. She was a type to him of all those things, the memory +of which he had been strenuously trying to put away from him, the +beautiful, the worldly, the joyous. As he rose slowly to his feet, he +looked half despairingly around. It was a stern religion which they +loved, this handful of weatherbeaten farmers and their underlings. +Their womenkind were made as unlovely as possible, with flat hair, +sombre and ill-made clothes. Their surroundings were whitewashed and +text-hung walls, and in their hearts was the love for narrow ways. He +gave out his text slowly and with heavy heart. Then he paused, and, +glancing once more round the little building, met again the soft, +languid fire of those full dark eyes. This time he did not look away. +He saw a faint interest, a slight pity, a background of nonchalance. +His cheeks flushed, and the fire of revolt leaped through his veins. He +shut up the Bible and abandoned his carefully prepared discourse, in +which was a mention of hellfire and many gloomy warnings, which would +have brought joy to the heart of Gideon Strong, and to each of which he +would slowly and approvingly have nodded his head. He delivered +instead, with many pauses, but in picturesque and even vivid language, a +long and close account of the miracle with which his text was concerned. +In the midst of it there came from outside the tinkling of many bicycle +bells--the rest of the party had returned in search of their host and +his companion. The Earl looked up with alacrity. He was nicely rested +now, and wanted a cigarette. + +"Shall we go?" he whispered. + +She nodded and rose. At the door she turned for a moment and looked +backwards. The preacher was in the midst of an elaborate and +painstaking sifting of evidence as to the season of the year during +which this particular miracle might be supposed to have taken place. +Again their eyes met for a moment, and she went out into the sunlight +with a faint smile upon her lips, for she was a woman who loved to feel +herself an influence, and she was swift to understand. To her it was an +episode of the morning's ride, almost forgotten at dinner-time. To him +it marked the boundary line between the old things and the new. + + + +CHAPTER II + +A STRANGE BETROTHAL + +The room had all the chilly discomfort of the farmhouse parlour, unused, +save on state occasions--a funereal gloom which no sunlight could +pierce, a mustiness which savoured almost of the grave. One by one they +obeyed the stern forefinger of Gideon Strong, and took their seats on +comfortless chairs and the horse-hair sofa. First came John Magee, +factor and agent to the Earl of Cumberland, a great man in the district, +deacon of the chapel, slow and ponderous in his movements. A man of few +words but much piety. After him, with some hesitation as became his +lowlier station, came William Bull, six days in the week his master's +shepherd and faithful servant, but on the seventh an elder of the +chapel, a person of consequence and dignity. Then followed Joan and +Cicely Strong together, sisters in the flesh, but as far apart in kin +and the spirit as the poles of humanity themselves. And lastly, Douglas +Guest. At the head of his shining mahogany table, with a huge Bible +before him on which rested the knuckle of one clenched hand, stood +Gideon Strong, the master of Feldwick Hall Farm. It was at his bidding +that these people had come together; they waited now for him to speak. +His was no common personality. Neat in his dress, precise though local, +with a curious mixture of dialects in his speech, he was feared by every +man in Feldwick, whether he stood over them labouring or prayed amongst +them in the little chapel, where every Sunday he took the principal +place. He was well set-up for all his unusual height and seventy years, +with a face as hard as the ancient rocks which jutted from the +Cumberland hillside, eyes as keen and grey and merciless as though every +scrap of humanity which might ever have lain behind them had long since +died out. Just he reckoned himself and just he may have been, but +neither man nor woman nor child had ever heard a kindly word fall from +his lips. Children ran indoors as he passed, women ceased their +gossiping, men slunk away from a friendly talk as though ashamed. If +ever at harvest or Christmas time the spirit of good fellowship warmed +the hearts of these country folk and loosened their tongues the grim +presence of Gideon Strong was sufficient to check their merriment and +send them silently apart. He had been known to pray that sinners might +meet with the punishment they deserved, both in this world and +hereafter. Such was Gideon Strong. + +He cleared his throat and spoke, addressing the young man who sat on the +corner of the horse-hair sofa, where the shadows of the room were +darkest. + +"Nephew Douglas," he said, "to-day you ha' come to man's estate, and I +ha' summoned those here who will have to do wi' your future to hear +these few words. The charge of you left on my shoulders by your +shiftless parents has been a heavy one, but to-day I am quit of it. The +deacons of Feldwick chapel have agreed to appoint you their pastor, +provided only that they be satisfied wi' your discourse on the coming +Sabbath. See to it, lad, that 'ee preach the word as these good men and +mysen have ever heard it. Let there be no new-fangled ideas in thy +teachings, and be not vain of thy learning, for therein is vanity and +trouble. Dost understand?" "I understand," the young man answered +slowly, and without enthusiasm. + +"Learning and godliness are little akin," said John Magee, in his thin +treble. "See to it, lad, that thou choosest the one which is of most +account." + +"Ay, ay," echoed the shepherd thickly. "Ay, ay!" Douglas Guest answered +nothing. A sudden light had flashed in his dark eyes, and his lips had +parted. But almost at the same moment Gideon Strong stretched out his +hand. + +"Nephew Douglas," he said. "I am becoming an old man, and to-day I will +release myself from the burden of your affairs once and for all. This +is the woman, my daughter Joan, whom I have chosen to wife for thee. +Take her hand and let thy word be pledged to her." + +If silence still reigned in that gloomy apartment, it was because there +were those present whom surprise had deprived of speech. The very image +of her father, Joan looked steadily into her cousin's face without +tremor or nervousness. Her features were shapely enough, but too large +and severe for a woman, her wealth of black hair was brushed fiat back +from her forehead in uncompromising ugliness. Her figure was as +straight as a dart, but without lines or curves, her gown, of homely +stuff and ill-made, completed her unattractiveness. There was neither +blush nor tremor, nor any sign of softening in her cold eyes. Then +Douglas, in whom were already sown the seeds of a passionate discontent +with the narrowing lines of his unlovely life, who on the hillside and +in the sweet night solitudes had taken Shelley to his heart, had lived +with Keats and had felt his pulses beat thickly to the passionate love +music of Tennyson, stood silent and unresponsive. Child of charity he +might be, but the burden of his servitude was fast growing too heavy for +him. So he stood there whilst the old man's eyes flashed like steel, +and Joan's face, in her silent anger, seemed to grow into the likeness +of her father's. + +"Dost hear, nephew Douglas? Take her hands in thine and thank thy God +who has sent thee, a pauper and a youth of ill-parentage, a daughter of +mine for wife." + +Then the young man found words, though they sounded to him and to the +others faint and unimpressive. + +"Uncle," he said, "there has been no word of this nor any thought of it +between Joan and myself. I am not old enough to marry nor have I the +inclination." + +Terrible was the look flashed down upon him from those relentless +eyes-fierce, too, the words of his reply, measured and slow although +they were. + +"There is no need for words between thee and Joan. Choose between my +bidding and the outside o' my doors this night and for ever." + +Even then he might have won his freedom like a man. But the old dread +was too deeply engrafted. The chains of servitude which he and the +whole neighbourhood wore were too heavy to be thrown lightly aside. So +he held out his hand, and Joan's fingers, passive and cold, lay for a +moment in his. The old man watched without any outward sign of +satisfaction. + +"Thou ha' chosen well, nephew Douglas," he said, with marvellous but +quite unconscious irony. "I reckon, too, that we ha' chosen well to +elect you our pastor. Thou wilt have two pounds a week and Bailiff +Morrison's cottage. Neighbour Magee, there is a sup o' ale and some tea +in the kitchen." + +John Magee and William Bull betrayed the first signs of real interest +they had exhibited in the proceedings. One by one they all filed out of +the room save Douglas Guest and Joan. Cicely had flitted away with the +first. They two were alone. He wondered, with a grim sense of the +humour of the thing, whether she was expecting any love-making to follow +upon so strange an engagement. He looked curiously at her. There was +no change in her face nor any sign of softening. + +"I hope you will believe, Joan," he said, taking up a book and looking +for his place, "that I knew nothing of this, and that I am not in any +way responsible for it." + +Her face seemed to darken as she rose and moved towards the door. + +"I am sure of that," she said, stiffly. "I do not blame you." + + * * * * * + +Up into the purer, finer air of the hills-up with a lightening heart, +though still carrying a bitter burden of despondency. Night rested upon +the hilltops and brooded in the valleys. Below, the shadowy landscape +lay like blurred patchwork-still he climbed upwards till Feldwick lay +silent and sleeping at his feet and a flavour of the sea mingled with +the night wind which cooled his cheeks. Then Douglas Guest threw +himself breathless amongst the bracken and gazed with eager eyes +downwards. + +"If she should not come," he murmured. "I must speak to some one or I +shall go mad." + +Deeper fell the darkness, until the shape of the houses below was lost, +and only the lights were visible. Such a tiny little circle they +seemed. He watched them with swelling heart. Was this to be the end of +his dreams, then? Bailiff Morrison's cottage, two pounds a week, and +Joan for his wife? He, who had dreamed of fame, of travel in distant +countries, of passing some day into the elect of those who had written +their names large in the book of life. His heart swelled in passionate +revolt. Even though he might be a pauper, though he owed his learning +and the very clothes in which he stood to Gideon Strong, had any man the +right to demand so huge a sacrifice? He had spoken his mind and his +wishes only to be crushed with cold contempt. To-day his answer had +been given. What was it that Gideon Strong had said? "I have fed you +and clothed you and taught you; I have kept you from beggary and made +you what you are. Now, as my right, I claim your future. Thus and thus +shall it be. I have spoken." + +He walked restlessly to and fro upon the windy hilltop. A sense of +freedom possessed him always upon these heights. The shackles of Gideon +Strong fell away. Food and clothing and education, these were great +things to owe, but life was surely a greater, and life he owed to no man +living--only to God. Was it a thing which he dared misuse?--fritter +helplessly away in this time-forgotten corner of the earth? Life surely +was a precious loan to be held in trust, to be made as full and deep and +fruitful a thing as a man's energy and talent could make it. To Gideon +Strong he owed much, but it was a debt which surely could be paid in +other ways than this. + +He stopped short. A light footstep close at hand startled, then +thrilled him. It was Cicely--hatless, breathless with the climb, and +very fair to see in the faint half-lights. For Cicely, though she was +Gideon Strong's daughter, was not of Feldwick or Feldwick ways, nor were +her gowns simple, though they were fashioned by a village dressmaker. +She had lived all her life with distant relatives near London. Douglas +had never seen her till two months ago, and her coming had been a +curious break in the life at the farm. + +He moved quickly to meet her. For a moment their hands met. Then she +drew away. + +"How good of you, Cicely," he cried. "I felt that I must talk to some +one or go mad." + +She stood for a moment recovering her breath--her bosom rising and +falling quickly under her dark gown, a pink flush in her cheeks. Her +hair, fair and inclined to curliness, had escaped bounds a little, and +she brushed it impatiently back. + +"I must only stay for a moment, Douglas," she said, gravely. "Let us go +down the hill by the Beacon. We shall be on the way home." + +They walked side by side in silence. Neither of them were wholly at +their ease. A new element had entered into their intercourse. The +wonderfully free spirit of comradeship which had sprung up between them +since her coming, and which had been so sweet a thing to him, was for +the moment, at least, interrupted. + +"I want you to tell me, Douglas," she said at last, "exactly how much of +a surprise to-day has been to you." + +"It is easily done," he answered. "Last night I went to your father. I +tried to thank him as well as I was able for all that he has done for +me. I then told him that with every respect for his wishes I did not +feel myself prepared at present to enter the ministry. I showed him my +diplomas and told him of my degrees. I told him what I wished--to +become a schoolmaster, for a year or two, at any rate. Well, he +listened to me in fixed silence. When I had finished he asked, 'Is that +all?' I said, 'Yes,' and he turned his back upon me. 'Your future is +already provided for, Douglas,' he said. 'I will speak to you of it +to-morrow.' Then he walked away. That is all the warning I had." + +"And what about Joan?" + +His face flushed hotly. + +"No word from him, nor any hint of such a thing has ever made me think +of Joan in such a connection. I should have been less surprised if the +ceiling had fallen in upon us." + +She looked at him and nodded gravely. + +"Well," she said, "our oracle has spoken. What are you going to do?" + +"I am going to ask for your advice first," he said. + +"Then you must tell me just how you feel," she said. + +He drew a long breath. + +"There are so many things," he said, speaking softly and half to +himself. "Last week, Cicely, I took a compass and a stick and I walked +across the hills to Rydal Mount, where Wordsworth lived. When I came +back I think that I was quite content to spend all my days here. It is +such a beautiful world. Some day when you have lived here longer, you +will know what I mean--the bondage will fall upon you, too. The +mountains with their tops hidden in soft blue mist, the winds blowing +across the waste places, the wild flowers springing up in unexpected +corners, the little streams tearing down the hillside to flow smoothly +like a belt of beautiful ribbon through the pasture land below. The +love which comes for these things, Cicely, is a strange, haunting thing. +You cannot escape from it. It is a sort of bondage. The winds seem to +tune themselves to your thoughts, the sunlight laughs away your +depression. Listen! Do you hear the sheep-bells from behind the hill +there? Isn't that music? Then the twilight and the darkness! If you +are on the hilltop they seem to steal down like a world of soothing +shadows. Everything that is dreary and sad seems to die away; +everywhere is a beautiful effortless peace. Cicely, I came back from +that tramp and I felt content with my lot, content to live amongst these +country folk, speak to them simply once a week of the God of mysteries, +and spend my days wandering about this little corner of the world +beautiful." + +"Men have lived such lives," she said quietly, "and found happiness." + +"Ay, but there is the other side," he continued, quickly. "Sometimes it +seems as though the love for these things is a beautiful delusion, a +maddening, unreal thing. Then I know that my God is not their God, that +my thoughts would be heresy to them. I feel that I want to cast off the +strange passionate love for the place which holds me here, to go out +into the world and hold my place amongst my fellows. Cicely, surely +where men do great works, where men live and die, that is the proper +place for man? I have no right to fritter away a life in the sensuous +delight of moving amongst beautiful places. I want to come into touch +with my kind, to feel the pulse of humanity, to drink the whole cup of +life with its joys and sorrows. Contemplation should be the end of +life--its evening, not its morning." + +"Douglas," she cried, "you are right. You know that you have power. +Out into the world and use it! Oh, if I were you, if I were a man, I +would not hesitate for a moment." + +His hand fell upon her shoulder. He pointed downwards. + +"How far am I bound," he asked hoarsely, "to do your father's bidding?" + +The glow passed from her cheeks. She moved imperceptibly away from him. + +"Douglas," she said, "it is of that I came to speak to you to-night. +You know that I have a brother who is eternally banished from home, +whose life I honestly believe my father's severity has ruined. I saw +him in London not long ago, and he sent a message to you. It is very +painful for me to even think of it, Douglas, for I always believed my +father to be a just man. He has let you believe that you were a pauper. +My brother told me that it was not true--that there was plenty of money +for your education, and that there should be some to come to you. +There, I have told you! You must go to my father and ask him for the +truth!" + +He was silent for a moment. It was a strange thing to hear. + +"If this is true," he said, "it is freedom." + +"Freedom," she repeated, and glided away from him whilst he stood there +dreaming. + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE MAN WHO WAS IN A HURRY + +He lay back in a corner seat of the carriage, panting, white-faced, +exhausted. His clumsy boots, studded with nails, were wet, and his +frayed black trousers were splashed with mud. In his eyes was the light +of vivid fear, his delicate mouth was twitching still with excitement. +In his ears there rang yet the angry cry of the guard, the shouting of +porters, the excitement of that leap through the hastily-opened carriage +door tingled yet in his veins. Before his eyes there was a mist. He +was conscious indeed that the carriage which he had marked out as being +empty was tenanted by a single person, but he had not even glanced +across towards the occupied seat. What mattered it so long as they were +off? Already the fields seemed flying past the window, and the +telegraph posts had commenced their frantic race. Ten, twenty, forty +miles an hour at least-off on that wonderful run, the pride of the +directors and the despair of rival companies. Nothing could stop them +now. All slower traffic stood aside to let them pass, the express with +her two great engines vomiting fire and smoke, crawling across the map, +flying across bridges and through tunnels from the heart of the country +to the great city. Gradually, and with the exhilaration of their ever +increasing speed, the courage of the man revived, and the blood flowed +once more warmly through his veins. He lifted his head and looked +around him. + +Shock the first came when he realised that he was in a first-class +carriage; shock the second, when he saw that his solitary companion +was a lady. He took in the details of her appearance and +surroundings--wonderful enough to him who had been brought up in a +cottage, and to whom the ways and resources of luxury were all unknown. +Every seat save the one which he occupied was covered with her +belongings. On one was a half-opened dressing-case filled with +gold-topped bottles and emitting a faint, delicate perfume. On another +was a pile of books and magazines, opposite to him a sable-lined coat, +by his side a luncheon basket and long hunting flask. Then his eyes +were caught by an oblong strip of paper pasted across the carriage +window--he read it backwards--"Engaged." What an intrusion! He looked +towards the woman with stammering words of apology upon his lips--but +the words died away. He was tongue-tied. + +He had met the languid gaze of her dark, full eyes, a little +supercilious, a little amused, faintly curious, and his own fell at once +before their calm insolence. She was handsomely dressed. The delicate, +white hand which held her novel was ablaze with many and wonderful +rings. She was evidently tall, without doubt stately. Her black hair, +parted in the middle, drooped a little to the side by her ears, her +complexion, delightfully clear, was of a curious ivory pallor +unassociated with ill-health. She regarded him through a pair of +ivory-handled lorgnettes, which she carelessly closed as he looked +towards her. + +"Will you tell me," she asked quietly, "why you have entered my carriage +which is engaged--and in such an extraordinary manner?" + +He drew a little breath. He had never heard a voice like it +before--soft, musical, and with the slightest suggestion of a foreign +accent. Then he remembered that she was waiting for an answer. He +began his apology. + +"I am sorry--indeed I am very sorry. I had no time to look inside, and +I thought it was an empty carriage--a third-class one, too. It was very +stupid." + +"You appeared to be" she remarked, "in a hurry." + +The faint note of humour in her tone passed undetected by him. + +"I wanted to get away," he said. "I had walked fourteen miles, and +there was no other train. I am very sorry to intrude upon you. The +train was moving when I reached the platform, and I jumped." + +She shrugged her shoulders slightly and raised her book once more. But +from over its top she found herself watching very soon this strange +travelling companion of hers. The trousers above his clumsy boots were +frayed and muddy, his black clothes were shiny and antiquated in +cut--these, and his oddly-arranged white tie, somehow suggested the +cleric. But when she reached his face her eyes lingered there. It +puzzled and in a sense attracted her. His features were cleanly cut and +prominent, his complexion was naturally pale, but wind and sun had +combined to stain his cheeks with a slight healthy tan. His eyes were +deep-set, keen and bright, the eyes of a visionary perhaps, but afire +now with the instant excitement of living. A strange face for a man of +his apparently humble origin. Whence had he come, and where was he +going? The vision of his face as he had leaped into the carriage +floated again before her eyes. Surely behind him were evil things, +before him--what? She took up her novel again, but laid it down almost +immediately. "You are going" she asked, "to London?" + +"To London," he repeated dreamily. "Yes." + +"But your luggage--was that left behind?" + +He smiled. + +"I have no luggage," he said. "You are going up for the day only?" she +hazarded. + +He shook his head. There was a note of triumph almost in his tone. + +"I am going for good," he said. "If wishes count for anything I shall +never set foot within this county again." + +There was a story, she felt sure, connected with this strange +fellow-passenger of hers. She watched him thoughtfully. A human +document such as this was worth many novels. It was not the first time +that he had excited her interest. + +"London" she said, "is a wonderful place for young men." + +He turned a rapt face towards her. The fire seemed leaping out of his +eyes. + +"Others have found it so," he said. "I go to prove their words." + +"You are a stranger there, then?" + +"I have never been further south than this in my life," he replied. "I +know only the London of De Quincey and Lamb-London with the halo of +romance around it." + +She sighed gently. + +"You will find it all so different," she said. "You will be bitterly +disappointed." + +He set his lips firmly together. + +"I have no fear," he said. "I shall find it possible to live there, at +any rate. If I stayed where I was, I must have gone mad." + +"You are going to friends?" she asked. + +He laughed softly. + +"I have not a friend in the world," he said. "In London I do not know a +soul. What matter? There is life to be lived there, prizes to be won. +There is room for every one." + +She half closed her eyes, watching him keenly all the time with an +interest which was certainly not diminished. + +"London is a wonderful city," she said, "but she is not always kind to +the stranger. You have spoken of De Quincey who wove fairy fancies +about her, and Lamb, who was an affectionate stay-at-home, a born +dweller in cities. They were dreamers both, these men. What about +Chatterton?" + +"An unhappy exception," he said. "If only he had lived a few months +longer his sorrows would have been over." + +"To-day," she said, "there are many Chattertons who must die before the +world will listen to them. Are you going to take your place amongst +them?" + +He smiled confidently. + +"Not I," he answered. "I shall work with my hands if men will have none +of my brains. Indeed," he continued, turning towards her with a swift, +transfiguring smile, "I am not a village prodigy going to London with a +pocketful of manuscripts. Don't think that of me. I am going to London +because I have been stifled and choked--I want room to breathe, to see +men and women who live. Oh, you don't know the sort of place I have +come from--the brain poison of it, the hideous sameness and narrowness +of it all." + +"Tell me a little," she said, "and why at last you made up your mind to +leave. It is not so long, you know, since I saw you in somewhat +different guise." + +A quick shiver seemed to pass through him; underneath his tanned skin he +was paler, and the blood in his veins was cold. His eyes, fixed upon +the flying landscape, were set in a fixed, unseeing stare--surely the +fields were peopled with evil memories, and faces in the trees were +mocking him. So he remained for several moments as though in the grip +of a nightmare, and the lady watched him. There was a little tragedy, +then, behind. + +"There was a man once," he said, "who drew a line through his life, and +said to himself that everything behind it concerned some other +person--not him. So with me. Such memories as I have, I shall +strangle. To-day I commence a new life." + +She sighed. + +"One's past" she said, "is not always so easily to be disposed of. +There are ghosts which will haunt us, and sometimes the ghosts are +living figures." + +"Let them come to me," he murmured, "and my fingers shall be upon their +throats. I want no such legacies." + +She shook her head slowly. + +"Ghosts" she said, with a faint smile, "are sometimes very difficult +people to deal with." + + + +CHAPTER IV + +EXIT MR. DOUGLAS GUEST + +Through the heart of England the express tore on--through town and +country, underneath the earth and across high bridges. All the while +the man and the woman talked. To him she was a revelation. Every +moment of his life had been spent in a humdrum seclusion--every moment +of hers seemed to have been lived out to its limit in those worlds of +which he had barely even dreamed. She was older than he had thought +her--thirty, perhaps, or thirty-one--and her speech and gestures every +now and then had a foreign flavour. She talked to him of countries +which he had scarcely dared hope to visit, and of men and women whose +names were as household words. She spoke of them with an ease and +familiarity which betokened close acquaintance--talking to him with a +mixture of kindness and reserve as if he were some strange creature who +had had the good fortune to interest her for the moment, but from whom +at any time she might draw aloof. Every word she spoke he hung upon. +He had come out into the world to seek for adventures--not, indeed, in +the spirit of the modern Don Quixote, tingling only for new sensations +to stimulate; but with the more robust and breezy spirit of his +ancestors, seeking for a fuller life and a healthy excitement, even at +the cost of hard blows and many privations. Surely this was an +auspicious start--an adventure this indeed! During a momentary silence +she looked across at him with genuine curiosity, her eyes half closed, +her brows knitted. What enthusiasm! She was not a vain woman, and she +knew that her personality had little, if anything, to do with the flush +upon his cheeks and the bright light in his eyes. She herself, a much +travelled, a learned, a brilliant, even a famous woman, had become only +lately conscious of a certain jaded weariness in her outlook upon life. +Even the best had begun to pall, the sameness of it had commenced its +fatal work. More than once lately a touch of that heart languor, which +is the fruit of surfeit, had startled her by its numbing and depressing +effect. Here at last was a new type--a man with clean pages before +him--young, emotional, without a doubt intellectual. But for his awful +clothes he was well enough to look upon, he had no affectations, his +instincts were apparently correct. His manners were hoydenish, but +there was nothing of the clown about him. She asked him a direct +question concerning himself. + +"Tell me," she said, "what you really are. A worker, a student--or have +you a trade?" + +He flushed up to his brows. + +"I was brought up" he said, in a low tone, "for the ministry. It was no +choice of mine. I had an uncle and guardian who ruled our household as +he ruled everybody and everything with which he came in contact." + +She was puzzled. To her the word sounded political. + +"The ministry?" + +"Yes. You remember when you first saw me? It was my first appearance. +I was to have been chosen pastor of that church." + +"Oh!" + +She looked at him now with something like amazement. This, then, +accounted for the sombreness of his clothes and his little strip of +white tie. She had only the vaguest ideas as to the conduct of those +various sects to be met with in English villages, but she had certainly +believed that the post of preacher was filled indifferently by any +member of the congregation, and she had looked upon his presence in the +pulpit on that last Sunday as an accident. To associate him with such +an occupation permanently seemed to her little short of the ridiculous. +She laughed softly, showing, for the first time, her brilliantly white +teeth, and his cheeks were stained with scarlet. + +"I do not know why you laugh," he said, with a note of fierceness in his +tone. "It is the part of my life which is behind me. I was brought up +to it, and traditions are hard to break away from. I have been obliged +to live in a little village, to constrain my life between the narrowest +limits, to watch ignorance, and suffer prejudices as deeply rooted as +the hills. But all the same, it is nothing to laugh at. The thing +itself is great and good enough--it is the people who are so hopeless. +No, there is nothing to laugh at," he cried, with a sudden little burst +of excitement, "but may God help the children whose eyes He has opened +and who yet have to pass their lives on the smallest treadmill of the +world." + +"You" she whispered, "have escaped." + +"I have escaped," he murmured, with a sudden pallor, "but not +scatheless." + +There was a silence between them then. She recognised that she had made +a mistake in questioning him about a past which he had already declared +hateful. The terror of an hour or more ago was in his face again. He +was back amongst the shadows whence she had beckoned him. She yawned +and took up her book. + +They stopped at a great station, but the man was in a brown study and +scarcely moved his head. An angry guard came hurrying up to the window, +but a few words from the lady and a stealthily opened purse worked +wonders. They were left undisturbed, and the train glided off. She +laid down her book and spoke again. + +"Do you mind passing me my luncheon basket?" she said, "and opening that +flask of wine? Are you not hungry, too?" + +He shook his head, but when he came to think of it he knew that he was +ravenous. She passed him sandwiches as a matter of course--such +sandwiches as he had never eaten before--and wine which was strange to +him and which ran through his veins like warm magic. Once more the load +of evil memories seemed to pass away from him. He was not so much at +ease eating and drinking with her, but she easily acquired her former +hold upon him. She herself, whose appetite was assumed, watched him, +and wondered more and more. + +Suddenly there came an interruption. The shrill whistling of the +engine, the shutting off of steam, the violent application of the brake. +The train came to a standstill. The man put down the window and looked +out. + +"What is it?" she asked, with admirable nonchalance, making no effort to +leave her seat. + +"I think that there has been an accident to some one," he said. "I will +go and see." + +She nodded. + +"Come back and tell me," she said. "Myself I shall not look. I am not +fond of horrors." + +She took up her book, and he jumped down upon the line and made his way +to where a little group of men were standing in a circle. Some one +turned away with white face as he approached and stopped him. + +"Don't look!--for God's sake, don't look!" he said. "It's too awful. +It isn't fit. Fetch a tarpaulin, some one." + +"Was he run over?" some one asked. "Threw himself from that carriage," +the guard answered, moving his head towards a third-class compartment, +of which the door stood open. "He was dragged half a mile, and--there +isn't much left of him, poor devil," he added, with a little break in +his speech. + +"Does any one know who he was?" the young man asked. + +"No one--nor where he got in." + +"No luggage?" + +"None." + +The young man set his teeth and moved towards the carriage. His hand +stole for a moment to his pocket, then he seemed to pick something up +from the dusty floor. + +"Here's a card," he said to the guard, "on the seat where he was." + +The man took it and spelt the name out. + +"Mr. Douglas Guest," he said. "Well, we shall know who he was, at any +rate. It's lucky you found it, sir. Now we'll get on, if you please." + +A tarpaulin-covered burden was carefully deposited in an empty carriage, +and the little troop of people melted away. She looked up from her book +as he entered. + +"Well?" + +"It was an accident, or a suicide," he said, gravely. "A man threw +himself from an empty carriage in front and was run over. It was a +horrible affair." + +"Do they know who he was?" she asked. + +"There was a card found near him," he answered. "Mr. Douglas Guest. +That was his name." + +Was it his fancy, or did she look at him for a moment more intently +during the momentary silence which followed his speech? It must have +been his fancy. Yet her next words puzzled him. + +"You have not told me yet" she said, "your own name. I should like to +know it." + +He hesitated for a moment. His own name. A name to be kept--to live +and die under--the hall mark of his new identity. How poor his +imagination was. Never an inspiration, and she was watching him. There +was so much in a name, and he must find one swiftly, for Mr. Douglas +Guest was dead. + +"My name is Jesson," he said--"Douglas Jesson." + + + +CHAPTER V + +HOW THE ADDRESS WAS LOST + +And now the end of that journey, never altogether forgotten by either of +them, was close at hand. Tunnels became more frequent, the green fields +gave way to an interminable waste of houses, the gloom of the autumn +afternoon was deepened. The speed of the train decreased, the heart of +Douglas Jesson beat fast with anticipation. For now indeed he was near +the end of his journey, the beginning of his new life. What matter that +the outlook from where he sat was dreary enough. Beyond, there was a +glow in the sky; beyond was an undiscovered world. He was young, and he +came fresh to the fight. The woman who watched him wondered. + +"Will you tell me," she said, "now that you are in London, what will you +do? You have money perhaps, or will you work?" + +"Money," he laughed, gaily at first, but with a chill shiver immediately +afterwards. Yes, he had money. For the moment he had forgotten it. + +"I have a small sum," he said, "just sufficient to last me until I begin +to earn some." + +"And you will earn money--how?" + +"With my pen, I hope," he answered simply. "I have sent several stories +to the _Ibex_. One they accepted, but it has not appeared yet." + +"To make money by writing in London is very difficult they say," she +remarked. + +"Everything in life is difficult," he answered confidently. "I am +prepared for disappointment at first. In the end I have no fears." + +She handed him a card from her dressing-case. + +"Will you come and see me?" she asked. + +"Thank you," he answered hesitatingly. "I will come when I have made a +start." + +"I know a great many people who are literary, including the editor of +the _Ibex_," she said. "I think if you came that I could help you." + +He shook his head. + +"The narrow way for me," he answered smiling. "I am very anxious for +success, but I want to win it myself." + +Her face was clouded. + +"You are a foolish boy," she said. "Believe me that I am offering you +the surest path to success. London is full of young men with talent, +and most days they go hungry." + +He stood up, and, though she was annoyed, the fire in his eyes was good +to look upon. + +"I must take my place with them," he said. "Whatever my destiny may be +I shall find it." + +The final tunnel, and they were gliding into the station alongside the +platform. A tall footman threw open the door of the carriage, and a +lady's maid, with a jewel case in her hand, stared at him with +undisguised curiosity. The lady bade him goodbye kindly, yet with a +note of final dismissal in her tone. He had occupied her time for an +hour or two, and saved her from absolute boredom. The matter was ended +there. Nevertheless, from a quiet corner of the station he watched her +stand listlessly on the platform while her things were being +collected--a tall, distinguished looking figure, and very noticeable +amongst the motley crowd who were streaming from the train. Once he +fancied that her eyes strayed along the way by which he had left. A +moment later she was accosted by a man who had just driven into the +station. She seemed to greet him without enthusiasm. He, on the other +hand, was obviously welcoming her warmly. He too was tall, carefully +dressed and well groomed, middle aged, a type, he supposed, of the men +of her world. There was a few minutes' conversation, then they moved +across the platform to the carriage, which was drawn up waiting. He +handed her in, lingering hat in hand for a moment as though hoping for +an invitation to follow her, which, however, did not come. The carriage +drove off, passing the spot where Douglas had lingered, and it seemed to +him that her eyes, gazing languidly out of the window, met his, and that +she started forward in her seat as though to call to him. But the +carriage received no summons to stop. It rolled out of the station and +turned westwards. Douglas turned and followed it on foot. + + * * * * * + +He walked at first very much like a man in a dream, quite heedless as to +direction, even without any fixed purpose before him. Here he was, +arrived after all at the first stage in his new life. He was a free +man, a living unit in this streaming horde of humanity. Of his old +life, the most pleasant memory which survived was the loneliness of the +hills and moorland high above his village home. Here he had spent whole +nights with nothing but the wind and the stars and the distant sheep +bells to keep him company. Here he had woven many dreams of this future +which lay now actually within his grasp. He had stolen up the mountain +path whilst the little village lay sleeping, and watched the shadows +pass across the hills, and the darkness steal softly down upon the +landscape stretched out like patchwork below. Then with the night and +the absence of all human sounds had come that sweet and mystical sense +of loneliness which had so often brought him peace at a time when the +smallness of the day's events and the tyranny of his home life had +filled him with bitterness. It was here that courage had come to him to +plan out his emancipation, here that he had fed his brain with sweet but +forbidden fruits. Something of that delicious loneliness was upon him +now. He was a wanderer in a new world. What matter though the streets +were squalid, and the men and women against whom he brushed were, for +the most part, poorly dressed and ill looking? He was free. Even his +identity was gone. Douglas Guest was dead, and with his past Douglas +Jesson had nothing to do. + +He wandered on, asking no questions, perfectly content. The great city +expanded before him. Streets became wider, carriages were more +frequent, the faces of the people grew more cheerful. He laughed softly +to himself from sheer lightness of heart. From down a side street he +came into the Strand, and here, for the first time, he noticed that he +himself was attracting some attention. Then he remembered his clothes, +shabby enough, but semi-clerical, and he walked boldly into a large +ready-made clothing establishment, where everything was marked in plain +figures, and where layfigures of gentlemen with waxy faces, attired in +the height of fashion, were gazing blandly out into the world from +behind a huge plate-glass window. He bought a plain blue serge suit, +and begged leave to change in the "trying-on" room. Half an hour later +he walked out again, with his own clothes done up in a bundle, feeling +that his emancipation was now complete. + +The lights of Waterloo Bridge attracted him, and he turned down before +them. From one of the parapets he had his first view of the Thames. He +leaned over, gazing with fascinated eyes at the ships below, dimly seen +now through the gathering darkness, at the black waters in which flashed +the reflection of the long row of lamps. The hugeness of the hotels on +the Embankment, all afire with brilliant illuminations, almost took away +his breath. Whilst he lingered there Big Ben boomed out the hour of +six, and he realised with beating heart that those must be the Houses of +Parliament across on the other side. A cold breeze came up and blew in +his face, but he scarcely heeded it. It was the mother river which +flowed beneath him--the greatest of the world's cities into which he had +come, a wanderer, yet at heart one of her sons. Now at last he was in +touch with his kind. Oh, what a welcome present--how gladly he realised +that henceforth he must date his life from that day. He lifted his +parcel cautiously to the ledge and waited for a moment. There was no +one looking. Now was his time. He let it go, and heard the muffled +splash as it fell upon the water. Not until it had slipped from his +fingers and gone beyond recovery did he realise that the card which she +had given him was carefully tucked away in the breast pocket of the +coat. He knew neither her name nor where to look for her. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE YOUNG MAN FROM THE COUNTRY HEARS SOME NEWS + +"I say, mister." + +Douglas started round, cramped with his long lingering against the stone +wall. A girl was standing by his side. There were roses in her hat and +a suspicion of powder upon her cheeks. + +"Were you speaking to me?" he asked hesitatingly. + +She laughed shortly. + +"No one else within earshot that I know of," she answered. "I saw you +throw that parcel over." + +"I was just wishing," he remarked, "that I could get it back." + +"Well, you are a mug to chuck it over and then want it back. I guess +it's lost now, anyway, unless the river police find it--and that ain't +likely, is it?" + +"I should think not," he answered gravely. "Good evening." He would +have moved away, but she stopped him. "Come, that's not good enough," +she said, in a harder tone. "You ain't going to bluff me. What was in +that parcel, eh?" + +He looked at her in surprise. + +"I don't quite see how it concerns you, anyway," he said, "but I don't +know that I mind telling you that it contained a suit of clothes." + +"Your own?" + +"Yes." + +"What have you been up to?" + +"I am afraid I don't understand you," he said. + +"Oh, rot! People don't sneak their clothes over into the river for +nothing. What are you going to stand me not to tell that bobby, eh?" + +"I really don't care whether you do or not," he answered. "I had a +reason for wanting to get rid of my clothes, but I am afraid you +wouldn't understand it." + +"Well, we'll try the bobby, then," she said. "There's a horrible murder +this morning on the placards. How do I know that you're not the chap? +It looks suspicious when you come out in a new suit of clothes and throw +the old ones into the river. Anyway, the bobby would want to ask you a +few questions about it." + +"Well, you can try him, then," Douglas answered. "I'll wait here while +you fetch him." + +The girl laughed--it was not a pleasant sound. + +"Where'd you be by the time I'd brought him, I'd like to know?" she +remarked. "Never mind. I see you ain't likely to part with a lot. +Stand us a drink, and I won't tell a soul." + +"I would rather not, thanks," Douglas said. "I'll give you the money +for one." + +She looked at him angrily. + +"Too much of a toff, eh? No, you can keep your money. You'll come +along and have one with me, or I'll tell the bobby." + +Douglas hesitated. He thought for a moment of De Quincey's Ann +wandering out of the mists to cross the bridge with weary footsteps, and +turned towards the girl with a courtesy which was almost tenderness. + +"I will come with you if you like," he said, "only--" + +The girl laughed hardly. + +"All right. We'll go to the 'Cross.' The port wine's A1 there. You a +Londoner?" she added, as they turned towards the Strand. + +He shook his head. + +"I have never been in London before to-day," he answered. + +"More fool you to come, then," she said, shortly. "You don't look like +a Cockney. I guess you're a gentleman, aren't you--run away from home +or something?" + +"I have come to live in London," he said, evasively. "I have always +wanted to." + +She shook her head. + +"You'd better have stopped away. You are young, and you look good. +You'll be neither long. Ugh! Here we are." + +He stepped aside and let her pass in first through the swing doors. She +led the way into what was called a private bar. They sat in cushioned +chairs, and Douglas gave his order mechanically. A few feet away, with +only a slim partition between them, was the general room full of men. +The tinkle of glasses and hum of conversation grew louder and louder. +It was a cold evening and a busy time. Douglas sipped his wine in +silence. The girl opposite was humming a tune and beating time with her +foot. She was watching him covertly but not unkindly. + +"He'll be caught right enough. They even know 'is name. Serve 'im +right, too, for it was an 'orrible murder . . . Douglas Guest." + +Douglas started suddenly in his chair, a cry upon his lips, his eyes +almost starting from his head. The girl's gloved hand was pressed +against his mouth and the cry was stifled. Afterwards he remembered all +his life the smell of patchouli or some cheap scent which assailed him +at her near presence. + +"Hush!" she whispered. "Don't be a silly fool." + +He sat back in his chair, pale to the lips, trembling in every limb. +The mirrors, the rows of glasses, the cushioned seats seemed flying +round, there was a buzzing in his ears. Again she rose and poured wine +down his throat. + +"Sit still," she said, hoarsely. "You'll be all right in a moment." + +The whole story, in disconnected patches, came floating in to them. He +heard it, gripping all the while the sides of his chair, struggling with +a deadly faintness. She too listened, watching him carefully all the +time lest he should call out. In their corner they were scarcely to be +seen even from the bar, and she had moved her seat a little so as to +wholly shield him. It sounded bad enough. An old man over sixty, a +farmer living in a northern village, had been found in his bedroom dead. +By his side was a rifled cash box. There had been the best part of a +hundred pounds there, all of which was gone. There were no signs of any +one having broken in, but a young man named Douglas Guest, an inmate of +the house and a distant relative, was missing. The thing was clear +enough. + +Another voice chimed in--its owner possessed a later edition. Only that +night there had been a violent quarrel between the dead man and this +Douglas Guest concerning money. Guest had been seen to enter the London +train secretly at the nearest large station. His arrest was only a +matter of a few hours. The police knew exactly where to put their hands +upon him. A description followed. The girl and her companion exchanged +stealthy glances. + +The buzz of voices continued. Covering Douglas all she could, the girl +called for more wine. The barmaid, seeing his pale face, nodded across +towards him. + +"Your friend don't look well," she said. + +"Had too much yesterday," the girl answered, promptly. "He was fairly +on 'the do,' and he ain't strong. He'll be all right when he gets a +drop of this inside him." + +The barmaid nodded and turned away. The girl made him drink and then +roused him. + +"Can you walk?" she said shortly. "We're best away from here." + +He nodded. + +"Yes." + +She rose and paid for the last drinks. He followed her out on to the +pavement and stood there, dazed, almost helpless. She looked at him +critically. + +"Come, pull yourself together," she said. "You've had a bit of a knock, +I guess, but you don't want to advertise yourself here. Now listen. +You'd best get some quiet lodging and lie low for a bit. I don't know +anything and I don't want to know anything, but it's pretty clear you're +keeping out of the way. I'm not going to take you down my way. For one +thing, you ain't exactly that sort, I should say, and for another, the +coppers are on to us like hot bricks when any one's wanted. Do you know +London at all?" + +"I was never here before this evening," he answered, in a low tone. + +She looked at him critically. + +"You're a bit of a green 'un," she said, bluntly. "You don't need to go +giving yourself away like that, you know. Come along. I'm going to +take you out to a quiet part that'll do for you as well as anywhere." + +He walked by her side passively. Once he stopped and bought an evening +paper, and under the next gas lamp he read a certain paragraph through +carefully. She waited for him without remark. He folded the paper up +after a minute or two and rejoined her. Side by side they threaded +their way along Pall Mall, across the Park and southwards. A walk +which, an hour or two ago, would have filled him with wonder and +delight, he undertook now with purely mechanical movements and unseeing +eyes. When they reached Chelsea she paused. + +"Look here," she said, "are you feeling all right now?" + +He nodded. + +"I am quite myself again," he said, steadily. "I am much obliged to you +for looking after me. You are very kind." + +He drew some gold pieces hesitatingly from his pocket. She motioned him +to replace them. + +"I don't want any money, thanks," she said. "Now listen. That street +there is all lodging-houses. Go and get a room and lie quiet for a bit. +They're used to odd folk down here, and you look like a painter or a +writer. Say you're an actor out of a job, or anything that comes +handy." + +"Thank you," he said. "I understand." + +She turned away. + +"Good night, then." + +"Good night." + +He heard something that sounded like a sob, and the quick rustling of +skirts. He turned round. She was by the corner--out of sight already. +At the bottom of the street was the glitter of a gas lamp reflected from +the walk. He walked down and found himself on Chelsea Embankment. He +made his way to the wall with the gold which she had refused still in +his hand, and without hesitation threw the coins far out into the river. +Then he looked around. There was not a soul in sight. He drew a +handful of money from his pocket and flung it away--a little shower of +gold flashing brightly in the gaslight for a moment. He went through +his pockets carefully and found an odd half sovereign and some silver. +Away they went. Then he moved back to a seat and closed his eyes. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A NIGHT IN HELL--AND NEXT DAY + +There are few men, Douglas had once read, who have not spent one night +of their lives in hell. When morning came he knew that he at least was +amongst the majority. Sleep had never once touched his eyelids--his +most blessed respite had been a few moments of deadly stupor, when the +red fires had ceased to play before his eyes, and the old man's upturned +face had faded away into the chill mists. Yet when at last he rose he +asked himself, with a sudden passionate eagerness, whether after all it +might not have been a terrible dream. He gazed around eagerly looking +for a latticed window with dimity curtains, a blue papered wall hung +with texts, and a low beamed ceiling. Alas! Before him was a +white-shrouded river, around him a wilderness of houses, and a long row +of faintly-burning lights stretched from where he sat all along the +curving embankment. He was wearing unfamiliar clothes, and a doubled-up +newspaper was in his pockets. It was all true then, the flight across +the moor, the strange ride to town, the wild exhilaration of spirits, +and the dull, crushing blow. The girl with the roses--ah, she had been +with him--had brought him here. He remembered the look in her eyes when +she had refused his money. At least he had ridded himself of that. He +tried to stretch himself. He was stiff and sore all over. His head was +throbbing like a steam engine, and he sank back upon the seat in the +throes of a cold, ghastly sickness. He remembered then that he had not +touched food for hours. He remembered too that he had not a penny in +the world. + +For an hour or more he lay there partially unconscious. Physically he +was almost unable to move--his brain, however, was gradually clearing. +After all, perhaps the boldest course was the safest. He would go and +say, "Here am I, Douglas Guest--what do you want with me? It is true +that I took money from the old man, but it was my own. As to his death, +what do I know of that? Who heard me threaten him? Who saw me strike +him? There is no one." + +He staggered up to his feet. The morning had come now, and people had +begun to stir. A few market waggons went rumbling by. There were +milk-carts in the streets, and sleepy-looking servants in print dresses +were showing their heads above the area steps. Douglas moved on with +unsteady footsteps. He passed a policeman who looked at him curiously, +and of whom he felt more than half inclined to ask the way to the +nearest police-station, then walked up into the square, where before him +hung a red lamp from a tall, red brick house with barred windows. He +peered in at the window. A fat sergeant was sitting at the table +yawning, the walls were hung with police bills, the room itself was the +quintessence of discomfort. The place repelled him strongly. He did +not like the look of the sergeant nor his possible quarters. After all, +why need he hurry? The day was young, and it was very unlikely that he +would be recognised. He strolled away with his hands in his pockets, +lighter-hearted with every step which took him away from those barred +windows. + +Across the square, a fat little man was making strenuous efforts to +remove the shutter from in front of his shop. He looked round as +Douglas appeared, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, and +regarded him doubtfully. + +"Will yer lend us a hand, guvnor?" he inquired. + +Douglas was willing enough, and between them the job was soon finished. +The little man, who was a confectioner, explained that he had an +assistant who came from a distance, and whose laziness was most +phenomenal. After this morning, however, his services would be +dispensed with. For once he had gone a little too far. Eight o'clock +and no sign of him. It was monstrous! The little man produced a few +coppers and glanced towards Douglas with some hesitation. + +Douglas laughed softly. + +"I don't want any money, thanks," he said, "but if I could beg a piece +of bread or cake, I'm really hungry." + +The little man nodded and hastened into the shop. Douglas followed him. + +"If you'd care for a cup of milk," he remarked, taking a tin from the +door handle, "we can manage it. No tea yet, I'm afraid." + +"I should enjoy the milk very much if you can spare it." + +He made a curious meal. A little hysterical, but stronger at every +mouthful. The little man watched him covertly. + +"Like a wash?" he inquired. + +"Rather," Douglas answered. After all, it was a good start for the day. + +He walked out of the shop a quarter of an hour later a new man, spruce +and clean, smoking a cigarette, and with the terrors of the night far +behind him. The cold water had been like a sweet, keen tonic to him. +The cobwebs had gone from his brain. Memory had returned. What a fool +he had been. There was no such person as Douglas Guest. Douglas Guest +was dead. What need for him to fear? + +The greatest desire he had now was for a morning newspaper, but though +he tried every pocket several times over he was absolutely penniless. +Then he thought of the Free Libraries--a sudden and delightful +inspiration. A policeman directed him. He entered a handsome building, +and being early had his choice of the great dailies, neatly cut and +arranged upon rollers for him. One by one he read them through with +feverish interest, and when he set them down he laughed softly to +himself. There was not one of them which did not chronicle the death of +Douglas Guest on the Midland Express, and refer to him as the person +wanted for the Feldwick murder. So he was safe, after all. The press +had made it clearer than ever. Douglas Guest was dead. Henceforth he +need have no fear. + +He moved to the tables where the reviews and magazines were, and spent a +pleasant hour or two amongst them. He planned out a new story, saw his +way to a satirical article upon a popular novel, thought of an epigram, +and walked out into the street a few minutes before one with something +of the old exhilaration of spirits dancing through his veins. His +condition of absolute poverty had not yet lost the flavour of novelty. +He even laughed as he realised that again he was hungry and must rely +upon chance for a meal. This time there was no fat confectioner to play +the good Samaritan. But by chance he passed a pawnbroker's shop, and +with a little cry of triumph he dragged a fat, yellow-faced silver watch +from his pocket and stepped blithely inside. He found it valued at much +less than he had expected, but he attempted no bargaining. He walked +out again into the street, a man of means. There were silver coins in +his pocket--enough to last him for a couple of days at least. It was +unexpected fortune. + +He bought some tobacco and cigarette papers and rolled himself a +cigarette. Then he stepped out in the direction of the Strand, where he +imagined the restaurants mostly lay. He passed St. James's Palace, up +St. James's Street and into Piccadilly. For a while he forgot his +hunger. There was so much that was marvellous, so much to admire. +Burlington House was pointed out by a friendly policeman; he passed into +the courtyard where the pigeons were feeding, and looked around him with +admiration which was tempered almost with awe. On his way out he again +addressed the policeman. + +"I want to have some lunch somewhere," he said. "I can only spend about +two shillings, and I want the best I can get for the money. I wonder +whether you could direct me." + +The policeman smiled. + +"There's only one place for you, sir," he said, "and it's lucky as I can +direct you there. You go to Spargetti's in Old Compton Street, off Soho +Square. I've heard that there's no West-End place to touch it--and they +do you the whole lot for two bob, including a quarter flask of wine. +I've a brother-in-law as keeps the books there, and I have it from him, +sir, that there ain't such value for money in the whole country. And +there's this about it, sir," he added confidentially, "you can eat +what's set before you. It ain't like some of these nasty, low, foreign +eating-'ouses where you daren't touch rabbit, and the soup don't seem +canny. There's plenty like that, but not Spargetti's. You're all right +there, sir." + +Douglas went off, fortified with many directions, and laughing heartily. +He found Spargetti's, and seated himself at a tiny table in a long low +room, blue already with cigarette smoke. They brought him such a +luncheon as he had never eaten before. Grated macaroni in his soup, +watercress and oil with his chicken, a curious salad and a wonderful +cheese. Around him was the constant hum of gay conversation. Every one +save himself seemed to have friends here, and many of them. It was +indeed a very ordinary place, a cosmopolitan eating-house, good of its +sort, and with an excellent connection of lighthearted but impecunious +foreigners, who made up with the lightness of their spirits for the +emptiness of their purses. To Douglas, whose whole upbringing and +subsequent life had been amongst the dreariest of surroundings, there +was something about it all peculiarly fascinating. The air of pleasant +abandonment, the subtle aroma of gaiety allied with irresponsibility, +the strange food and wine, well cooked and stimulating, delighted him. +His sole desire now was for a companion. If only those men--artists, he +was sure they were--would draw him into their conversation. He had +plenty to say. He was ready to be as merry as any of them. A faint +sense of loneliness depressed him for a moment as he looked from one to +another of the long tables. All his life he had been as one removed +from his fellows. He was weary of it. Surely it must be nearly at an +end now. Some of the children of the great mother city would hold out +their hands to him. It was not alms he needed. It was a friend. + +"Good morning." + +Douglas looked up quickly. A newcomer had taken the vacant place at his +table. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE AUTHOR OF "NO MAN'S LAND" + +Douglas returned his greeting cordially. His _vis-a-vis_ drew the menu +towards him and studied it with interest. Setting it down he screwed a +single eyeglass into his eye and beamed over at Douglas. + +"Is the daily grind O. K.?" he inquired suavely. + +Douglas was disconcerted at being unable to answer a question so +pleasantly asked. + +"I--beg your pardon," he said, doubtfully. "I'm afraid I don't quite +understand." + +The newcomer waved his hand to some acquaintances and smiled cheerfully. + +"I see you're a stranger here," he remarked. "There's a _table-d'hote_ +luncheon for the modest sum of eighteenpence, which is the cheapest way +to feed, if it's decent. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't. I +thought perhaps you might have sampled it." + +"I believe I have," Douglas answered. "I told the waiter to bring me +the ordinary lunch, and I thought it was very good indeed." + +"Then I will risk it. Henri. Come here, you scamp." + +He gave a few orders to the waiter, who treated him with much respect. +Then he turned again to Douglas. + +"You have nearly finished," he said. "Please don't hurry. I hate to +eat alone. It is a whim of mine. If I eat alone I read, and if I read +I get dyspepsia. Try the oat biscuits and the Camembert." + +Douglas did as the newcomer had suggested. + +"I am in no hurry," he said. "I have nothing to do, nor anywhere to +go." + +"Lucky man!" + +"You speak as though that were unusual," Douglas laughed, "but I was +just thinking that every one here seems to be in the same state. Some +one once told me that London was a city of sadness. Who could watch the +people here and say so?" + +The newcomer screwed in his eyeglass and looked deliberately round the +room. + +"Well," he said, "this is a resort of the poor, and the poor are seldom +sad. It is the unfortunate West-Enders who carry the burdens of wealth +and the obligation of position, who have earned for us the reproach of +dulness. Here we are on the threshold of Bohemia. Long life and health +to it." + +He drank a glass of Chianti with the air of a connoisseur tasting some +rare vintage. + +Douglas laughed softly. + +"If the people here are poor," he said, "what about me? I pawned my +watch because I had had nothing to eat since yesterday." + +His new friend sighed and stuck his fork into an olive. + +"What affluence," he sighed, meditatively. "I have not possessed a +watch for a year, and I've only ninepence in my pocket. They give me +tick here. Foolish Spargetti. Long may their confidence last!" + +A companion in impecuniosity. Douglas looked at his neat clothes and +the flower in his buttonhole, and wondered. + +"But you have the means of making money if you care to." + +"Have I?" The eyeglass was carefully removed, the small wizened face +assumed a lugubrious aspect. "My friend," he said, "in a measure it is +true--but such a small measure. A cold-blooded and unappreciative +editor apprises my services at the miserable sum of three pounds a week. +I have heard of people who have lived upon that sum, but I must confess +that I never met one." + +"You are a writer, then?" Douglas exclaimed, eagerly. + +"I am a sort of hack upon the staff of the _Ibex_. They set me down in +a corner of the office and throw me scraps of work, as you would bones +to a dog. It is not dignified, but one must eat and drink--not to +mention smoking. Permit me, by-the-bye, to offer you a cigarette, and +to recommend the coffee. I taught Spargetti how to make it myself." + +Douglas was listening with flushed cheeks. The _Ibex_! What a +coincidence! + +"You are really on the staff of the _Ibex_?" he exclaimed. + +The other nodded. + +"I hold exactly the position," he said, "that I have described to you. +My own impression is, that without me the _Ibex_ would not exist for a +month. That is where the editor and I differ, unfortunately." + +"It seems so odd," Douglas said. "Some time ago I sent a story to the +_Ibex_, and it was accepted. I have been looking for it to appear every +week." + +The shrewd little eyes twinkled into his. + +"What was the title?" + +"'No Man's Land.' Douglas Jesson was the name." + +The newcomer filled Douglas's glass with Chianti from his own modest +flask. + +"Waiter," he said, "bring more wine. My friend, Douglas Jesson, we must +drink together. I remember your story, for I put the blue chalk on it +myself and took it up to Drexley. It is a meeting this, and we must +celebrate. Your story will probably be used next week." + +Douglas's eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed. The flavour of +living was sweet upon his palate. Here he was, who, only twelve hours +ago, had gone skulking in the shadows looking out upon life with +terrified eyes, tempted even to self-destruction, suddenly in touch once +more with the things that were dear to him, realising for the first time +some of the dreams which had filled his brain in those long, sleepless +nights upon the hill-top. He was a wanderer in Bohemia, welcomed by an +older spirit. Surely fortune had commenced at last to smile upon him. + +"You are on a visit here?" his new friend asked, "or have you come to +London for good?" + +"For good, I trust," Douglas answered, smiling, "for I have burned my +boats behind me." + +"My name is Rice, yours I know already," the other said. "By-the-bye, I +noticed that the postmark of your parcel was Feldwick in the Hills, +somewhere in Cumberland, I think. Have you seen the papers during the +last few days?" + +Douglas's left hand gripped the table, and the flush of colour, which +the wine and excitement had brought into his cheeks, faded slowly away. +The pleasant hum of voices, the keen joy of living, which, a moment +before, had sent his blood flowing to a new music, left him. +Nevertheless he controlled himself and answered steadily. + +"I have had nothing else to do during the last few days but read the +papers." + +"You know about the murder, then?" + +"Yes." + +Mr. Rice was interested. He passed his cigarette case across the table +and called for Kummel. + +"I wonder," he said, "did you know the man Guest--Douglas Guest?" + +Douglas shook his head. + +"Very slightly," he said. "I lived some distance away, and they were +not sociable people." + +"Murders as a rule," Rice continued, leaning back in his chair, "do not +interest me. This one did. Why? I don't know. I hate to have reasons +for everything. But to me there were many interesting points about this +one. First, now--" + +He rattled on until his voice seemed like a far distant echo to Douglas, +who sat with white face and averted eyes, struggling hard for composure. +From the murder he passed on to the tragedy on the railway train. + +"You know," he said, "I cannot help thinking that the police were a +little hasty in assuming that the man was Douglas Guest." + +"An envelope was found upon him and a handkerchief with his initials," +Douglas said, looking up, "besides the card. He was known too to have +taken that train. Surely that was evidence enough?" + +"It seems so," Rice answered, "and yet--But never mind. I see that I am +boring you. We will talk of something else, or rather I must talk of +nothing else, for my time is up," he added, glancing at the clock. +"When are you going to look up Drexley?" + +"When is the best time to catch him?" Douglas asked. + +"Now, as easily as any," Rice answered. "Come along with me, and I will +show you the way and arrange that he sees you." + +Douglas stood up and ground his heel into the floor. Perish those +hateful fears--that fainting sense of terror! Douglas Guest was dead. +For Douglas Jesson there was a future never more bright than now. + +"Come," he said. "You must drink with me once. Waiter, two more +liqueurs." + +"Success," Rice cried, lifting his glass, "to your interview with +Drexley! He's not a bad chap, although he has his humours." + +Douglas drained his glass to the dregs--but he drank to a different +toast. The two men left the place together. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE EDITOR OF THE _IBEX_ RECEIVES A STRANGE LETTER + +The editor of the _Ibex_ sat at a long table in his sanctum paying some +perfunctory attentions to a huge pile of letters which had come in by +the afternoon mail. Most of them he threw on one side for his "sub," a +few he opened himself and tossed into a basket for further attention +later on. It was a task which he never entered upon with much +enthusiasm, for he was a man who hated detail. His room itself +disclosed the man. It was a triumph of disorder. Books and magazines +were scattered all over the floor. The proof sketch of a wonderful +poster took up one side of the wall, leaning against the others were +sketches, pictures, golf clubs, and huge piles of books of reference. +His table was a bewilderment, his mantelpiece a nightmare. Only before +him, in a handsome frame of dark wood, was the photograph of a woman +round which a little space had been cleared. There was never so much +chaos but that the picture was turned where the light fell best upon it; +the dirt might lie thick upon every inch in the room, but every morning +a silk handkerchief carefully removed from the glass-mounting every +disfiguring speck. Yet the man himself seemed to have little enough +sentiment about him. His shoulders were broad and his head massive. A +short-cut beard concealed his chin, but his mouth was of iron and his +eyes were hard and keen. He was of no more than the average stature by +reason of his breadth and girth; he seemed even to fall short of it, +which was not however the case. A man not easily led or controlled, a +man of passions and prejudices, emphatically not a man to be trifled +with or ignored. + +In the midst of the pile of letters he came upon one at the sight of +which his indifference vanished as though by magic. It was a heavy, +square envelope, a coronet upon the flap, addressed to David Drexley, +Esq., in a handwriting distinctly feminine. He singled it out from the +rest, held it for a moment between his thumb and broad forefinger, and +then turned his chair round, abandoning the rest of his correspondence +as a matter of infinitesimal consequence. A letter from her was by no +means an everyday affair, for she was a woman of caprices, as who should +know better than he? There were weeks during which it was her pleasure +to hold herself aloof from him--and others--when the servants who denied +her shook their heads to all questions, and letters met with no +response. What should he find inside, he wondered? An invitation, or a +reproof. He had tried so hard to see her lately. He was in no hurry +to open it. He had grown to expect very little from her. While it was +unopened there was at least the pleasure of expectancy. He traced the +letters over. There was the same curl of the S, the same finely formed +capitals, the same deliberate and firm dash after the address. Then a +thought came to him. It was Wednesday, the night on which she often saw +her friends. Surely this was a summons. He might see her within a few +hours. He tore open the envelope and read:-- + +"No. 20, GROSVENOR ST., + +"Wednesday. + +"My FRIEND,--SO often I have bidden you find work for the young people +in whom I have interested myself, that my present charge upon your +good-nature will doubtless seem strange to you. Yet I am as much in +earnest now as then, and for the favour of granting what I now ask I +shall be equally grateful. There is a young man named Jesson who has +sent you a story, and who hopes to secure more work from you. It is not +my wish that he should have it at present, and with regard to the work +which you have already accepted, please let its production be delayed as +long as possible, and payment for it made on the smallest possible +scale. You will wonder at this, I know. Never mind. Do as I ask and I +will explain later. + +"That reminds me that I have seen nothing of you lately. This evening I +shall be at home from ten to eleven. If your engagements permit of your +coming to see me, I may perhaps be able to take you into my confidence. +If you should come, bring with you the manuscript of this boy's story +that I may judge for myself if the _Ibex_ will be the loser. Yours most +truly, + +"EMILY DE REUSS." + +Drexley glanced through the letter rapidly, read it again more +carefully, and then turned with a perplexed face to a little telephone +which stood upon his table. He summoned his manager, an untidy-looking +person with crumpled hair and inkstained fingers which he seemed +perpetually attempting to conceal. + +"Mr. Warmington, is that Jesson story set up?" the editor inquired. + +"Yes, sir. I understand that those were your instructions." + +Drexley nodded. + +"Well, I shall want it kept back for a bit," he said. "You can take +another story of about the same length from the accepted chest." + +The manager stared. + +"We've nothing else as good," he remarked. "You said yourself that +Jesson's story was the best bit of work we'd had in for a long time." + +Drexley frowned and turned back to his letters. + +"Never mind that," he said. "I've good reasons for what I'm telling you +to do. Jesson's story is not to appear until I give the word." + +The manager withdrew without a word. Drexley went on with his +correspondence. In a few minutes there was another knock at his door. +He looked up annoyed. Some one else, no doubt, to protest against the +exclusion of Jesson's story. Rice was standing upon the threshold, and +behind him a younger man, tall, with clustering hair and brilliant eyes, +cheeks on which the tan still lingered, ill-clad but personable. + +"I've brought Mr. Jesson in to see you, sir," Rice said, breezily. "I +found him at Spargetti's, struck up an acquaintance and brought him +along. I thought you'd like to have a talk with him about some more +work." + +Drexley for a moment was as speechless as Douglas was nervous. Rice, +blandly unconscious of anything unusual, wheeled up a chair for the +latter and sauntered towards the door. + +"I'd like to have a word with you before you go, Jesson," he said. +"Will you look in at my room?" + +Douglas murmured an inarticulate assent, and Rice departed. Then he +looked up at the man who so far had only bidden him a mechanical good +morning, and wondered a little at the heavy frown upon his face. +Perhaps his introduction had been a little unceremonious, but surely he +could not be blamed for that. + +Drexley pulled himself together. The thing was awkward, but it must be +faced. + +"You have come to see us about your story, I suppose, Mr. Jesson?" he +began. "A very fair story indeed for a beginner, as I suppose you are. +I am hoping that some day we may be able to make use of it for the +_Ibex_." + +Douglas looked up quickly. + +"I understood Mr. Rice that you were using it in the next issue of the +magazine," he said. + +"The next issue!" Drexley shook his head. + +"I am afraid that is quite out of the question," he said. "You see our +arrangements are all made a very long time ahead, and we have short +stories enough on hand now to last us nearly two years. Of course if +you care to leave yours with us, I think I can promise you that it shall +appear some time, but exactly when, I should not care to say. It would +be quite impossible to fix a date." + +Douglas was bewildered--speechless. He did his best, however, to remain +coherent. + +"Mr. Rice certainly told me," he said, "that it was in type and would +appear at once. He seemed to think, too, that if I saw you you might +give me some more work. I am living in London now, and I hoped that it +might be possible for me to make some money by my pen." + +Drexley was silent for several moments. For the first time in his life +he glanced across at the photograph which stood upon his table with +something like impatience. + +"I am afraid that I cannot offer you much encouragement," he said. "If +ever a market in the world was overcrowded, the literary market of +to-day is in that state. If you like to leave your story it shall +appear some time or other--I cannot promise when--and when we are able +to use it we will pay you according to our usual standard. More I +cannot say at present." + +Douglas rose up with a sense of sick disappointment at his heart, but +with a firm determination also to carry himself like a man. + +"I am much obliged to you," he said. "I will think the matter over and +let you know." + +Drexley watched the struggle. He, too, had been young, and he hated +himself. + +"You had better leave us your address," he said. "We will let you know, +then, if we see a chance of using more of your work." + +Douglas hesitated. + +"When I have an address," he said, "I will write to you. At present I +have not made my arrangements in London." + +Drexley let him go, despising himself, with a vague feeling of +irritation, too, against the beautiful face which smiled at him from his +table. Douglas's one idea was to get out of the place. He had no wish +to see Rice or any one. But on the landing he came face to face with +the latter, who had not as yet gone into his room. + +"Hullo," he exclaimed. "You're soon off. Have you finished with 'the +chief' already?" + +Douglas nodded with tightening lips. + +"He hadn't much to say to me," he answered. "Good afternoon." + +Rice let his hand fall upon the other's shoulder. + +"I don't understand," he said. "Here, come into my room for a minute." + +Douglas yielded, and Rice listened to the description of his interview, +his little wizened face puckered up with astonishment. When he had +finished he thrust a box of cigarettes towards his visitor and rose from +his chair. + +"Here," he said, "just wait here a moment. I must have a word with the +chief." + +He turned out. He was gone for several minutes. When he returned his +face was grave and puzzled. + +"Jesson," he said, "I'll be frank with you. Either the chief's gone off +his nut, or you managed to offend him somehow. I can't understand it a +bit, I'll confess. I'm fairly staggered." + +"I hadn't a chance to offend him," Douglas said. "He simply sat on me." + +Rice walked up and down the room. + +"I wish you'd leave me your address," he said. "I'd like to look into +this a bit." + +Douglas sighed. + +"I can only tell you" he said, "what I told Mr. Drexley. At present I +haven't one. Good afternoon." + +Rice walked with him to the door. + +"Jesson," he said, "I want you to promise me something." + +"Well?" + +"You're a bit down on your luck. If things go badly you'll give me a +look up. I can always raise a bit, and I think your word's all right. +I tell you this, on my honour. Only yesterday 'the chief' asked for +the proof of your story himself. It was down to appear without fail +this next week. We've very few manuscripts in hand--never had +fewer--and they've been so short of good fiction. What's gone wrong I +don't know, but you leave it to me and I'll find out. You'll let me +hear from you, eh?" + +Douglas nodded drearily. + +"Thanks," he said. "I won't forget." + +He walked away briskly enough, but without any definite idea as to his +destination. Rice returned to his room and smoked a whole cigarette +before he touched his work. + + + +CHAPTER X + +A WOMAN OF WHIMS + +Drexley had found his way to her side at last. As usual her rooms were +full, and to-night of people amongst whom he felt himself to some extent +an alien. For Drexley was not of the fashionable world--not even of the +fashionable literary world. At heart he was a Bohemian of the old type. +He loved to spend his days at work, and his evenings at a certain +well-known club, where evening dress was abhorred, and a man might sit, +if he would, in his shirt sleeves. Illimitable though her tact, even +Emily de Reuss, the Queen of London hostesses, never succeeded in making +him feel altogether at home in her magnificent rooms. To-night he felt +more at sea even than usual. Generally she had bidden him come to her +when she entertained the great cosmopolitan world of art-toilers. +To-night she was at home to another world--the strictly exclusive world +of rank and fashion. Drexley wandering about, seeing never a face he +knew, felt ill at ease, conscious of his own deficiency in dress and +deportment, in a world where form was the one material thing, and a +studhole shirt or an ill-cut waistcoat were easy means of acquiring +notoriety. He wandered from room to room, finding nowhere any one to +speak to, conscious of a good deal of indifferent scrutiny, hating +himself for coming, hating, too, the bondage which had made him glad to +come. Then suddenly he came face to face with his hostess, and with a +few graceful words of apology she had left her escort and taken his arm. + +"I am afraid you are being bored," she said, quietly. "I am sorry. I +only remembered that people were coming to-night. Janette was out, and +I had quite forgotten who had had cards. I wanted to see you, too." + +"I am a little out of place here," he answered. "That is all. Now that +I have seen you, you can explain your note, and I can go away." + +She seemed in no hurry. + +"I know," she said, "that you are dying for your smoky little club, your +Scotch whiskey and your pipe. Never mind, it is well for you sometimes +to be disciplined." + +"At the present moment," he said, "I long for nothing beyond what I +have." + +She turned to look at him with an amused smile. The lights flashed on +the diamonds around her throat, and the glittering spangles upon her +black dress. Truly a wonderfully beautiful woman--a divine figure, and +a dress, which scarcely a woman who had looked at it had not envied. + +"You are getting wonderfully apt, my grim friend," she said, "at those +speeches which once you affected to despise." + +"It was never the speeches I despised," he answered bluntly, "it was the +insincerity." + +"And you, I suppose, are the only sincere man who makes them. My +friend, that little speech errs on the other side, does it not?" + +He frowned impatiently. + +"You have many guests," he said, "who will be looking for you. Let me +know why you made me treat that young man so badly, and then go away. + +"Have you treated him badly then?" she asked. + +"Very. I recalled my acceptance of his story, and declined to discuss +future work with him. I have deprived the _Ibex_ of a contributor who +might possibly have become a very valuable one, and I have gone back +upon my word. I want to know why." + +"I am afraid," she said softly, "that it was for me." + +"For you," he answered, "of course. But your letter hinted at an +explanation." + +"Explanations" she yawned, "are so tedious." + +"Tell me, at least," he said, "how the poor young idiot offended you." + +"Offended me! Scarcely that." + +"You are not a woman" he said, "to interfere in anything without a +cause." + +"I am a woman of whim," she said. "You have told me so many times." + +"You are a very wonderful woman," he said softly, "and you know very +well that your will is quite sufficient for me. Yet you are also a +generous woman. I have many a time had to stand godfather to your +literary foundlings. You have never yet exercised the contrary +privilege. I have done a mean thing and an ungenerous thing, and though +I would do it again at your bidding, again and again, I should like an +excuse--if there is any excuse." + +"I am so sorry," she said. "There will be no excuse for you. I, too, +have been mean and ungenerous--but I should be the same again. I took +some interest in that young man, and I offered him my help. He coolly +declined it--talked of succeeding by his own exertions. So priggish, +you know, and I felt bound to let him see that the path to literary fame +was not altogether the pleasant highway he seemed to expect." + +"That was all?" + +"Everything." + +"He wounded your vanity; you stoop to retaliate." + +She beamed upon him. + +"How nice of you to be so candid. I value frankness from my friends +more than anything in the world. + +"It is the exact truth!" + +"It was unworthy of you," he said shortly. + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +"You think much too well of me," she said. "You know I am a woman to +the finger tips." + +"I don't call that a womanly action," he said. + +"Ah! that is because you know nothing of women." There was a moment's +silence. From a distant room, dimly seen through a vista of curved and +pillared archways, a woman's voice came pealing out to them, the +passionate climax of an Italian love song, the voice of a prima donna of +world-wide fame. A storm of applause was echoed through the near rooms, +a buzz of appreciative criticism followed. Drexley rose up from the +seat where he had been sitting. + +"Thank you," he said. "I have learned what I wanted to know. I will go +now. Good evening." + +She stood by his side--as tall as he--and looked at him curiously. It +was as though she were seeking to discover from his face how much his +opinion of her had altered. But if so, she was disappointed. His face +was inscrutable. + +"You are angry with me?" + +"I have no right to be that." + +"Annoyed?" + +"Not with you." + +"After all," she said, "there is no harm done. He will come to me, and +then I shall see that his future is properly shaped. If he is what I +have an idea that he may be, I shall be of far greater help to him than +ever you could have been." + +But Drexley was silent. He was thinking then of her _proteges_. Had +they, after all, been such brilliant successes? One or two were doing +fairly well, from a pecuniary point of view--but there were others! She +read his thought, and a faint spot of colour burned for a moment on her +cheek. She was very nearly angry. What a bear, a brute! + +"I know what you were thinking of," she said coldly. "It is not +generous of you. I did all I could for poor Austin, and as for +Fennel--well, he was mad." + +"You are the kind of woman," he said, looking her suddenly full in the +face, "who deals out kindnesses to men which they would often be much +better without. You are generous, great-hearted, sympathetic, else I +would not speak like this to you. But you have a devil's gift +somewhere. You make the most unlikely men your slaves--and you send +them mad with kindness. + +"You are neither fair nor reasonable," she answered. "You talk as +though I were Circe behind a bar. Such rubbish." + +"I never insinuated that it was wilful," he said sadly. "I believe in +you. I know that you are generous. Only--you are very beautiful, and +at times you are too kind." + +"My hateful sex!" she exclaimed dolefully. "Why can't men forget it +sometimes? Isn't it a little hard upon me, my friend? I am, you know, +very rich, and I have influence. Nothing interests me so much as +helping on a little young people who have gifts. Isn't it a little hard +that I should I have to abandon what surely isn't a mischievous thing to +do because one of the young men has been foolish enough to fancy himself +in love with me?" + +They were interrupted. She turned to bid him good night. + +"At least," she said smiling, "I will be very careful indeed with this +boy." + +"If he comes to you!" + +"If he comes," she repeated, with an odd little smile at the corner of +her lips. + + * * * * * + +Drexley walked through the crowded streets to his club, where his +appearance in such unwonted garb was hailed with a storm of applause and +a good deal of chaff. He held his own as usual, lighted his pipe, and +played a game of pool. But all the same he was not quite himself. +There was the old restlessness hot in his blood, and a strong sense of +dissatisfaction with himself. Later on, Rice was brought in by a +friend, and he drew him on one side. + +"Rice," he said abruptly, "about that young fellow you brought to see me +to-day--" + +Rice looked his chief full in the face. + +"Well?" he said simply. + +"I don't want to altogether lose sight of him. You haven't his address +by any chance, have you?" + +"I only wish I had," Rice answered shortly. "May be there by now." + +He pointed out of the window to where the Thames, black and sullen, but +lit with a thousand fitful lights, flowed sullenly seaward. Drexley +shuddered. + +"Don't talk rot, Rice," he said. + +"Oh, I don't know," the younger man answered. "You gave him a knockdown +blow, and an unexpected one. + +"I was sorry," Drexley said, awkwardly. "In the conduct of the magazine +I have to sometimes consider other people. I am not wholly my own +master." + +Rice, who knew who the "other people" were, muttered a curse between his +teeth. Drexley turned frowning away. + +"At any rate, if you hear anything of him," he said, "let me know." + +"Does the Countess de Reuss intend to be kind to him?" Rice asked. + +"Go to the devil!" Drexley answered savagely. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +DOUGLAS GUEST GETS HIS "CHANCE" + +There followed a time then when the black waters of nethermost London +closed over Douglas's head. He struggled and fought to the last gasp, +but in the end the great stream carried him away on her bosom, and with +scarcely a sob he watched all those wonderful rose-coloured dreams of +his fade away into empty space. He was one of the flotsam and jetsam of +life. No one would have the work of his brains, and his unskilled hands +failed to earn anything for him save a few dry crusts. He had made +desperate efforts to win a hearing. Whilst his few pence lasted, and +his inkpot was full, he wrote several short stories, and left them here +and there at the offices of various magazines. He had no permanent +address, he would call for the reply, he said; and so he did, till his +coat burst at the seams and his boots gave out. Then he gave it up in +despair. It was his work that was wrong, he told himself. What had +seemed well enough to him amongst the Cumberland hills was crude and +amateurish here. He was a fool ever to have reckoned himself a writer. +It was the _Ibex_ which had misled him. He cursed the _Ibex_, its +editor, and all connected with it. That was at the time when he had +sunk lowest, when it seemed to him, who, only a few days ago, had looked +out upon life a marvellous panorama of life and colour and things +beautiful, that death after all was the one thing to be desired. Yet he +carried himself bravely through those evil days. Every morning he +stripped and swam in the Serpentine, stiff enough often after a night +spent out of doors, but ever with that vigorous desire for personal +cleanliness which never left him even at the worst. As soon as his +clothes fell into rags about him he presented the strange appearance of +a tramp whose face and hands were spotless, and who carried himself even +till towards the end with a sort of easy grace as though he were indeed +only masquerading. But there came a time when the luck of the loafer +went against him. From morning to night he tramped the streets, willing +to work even till his back was broken, but unable to earn a copper. The +gnawings of hunger roused something of the wild beast in him. A fiercer +light burned in his eyes, his thin lips curled into hard, stern lines. +He loitered about the Strand, and the crowds of theatre-goers in their +evening dresses, borne backwards and forwards in cabs and carriages, and +crowding the pavements also, stirred in him a slow, passionate anger. +The bitter inequalities of life, its flagrant and rank injustices, he +seemed for the first time to wholly realise. A Banquo amongst the gay +stream of people who brushed lightly against him every moment. He lost +for the time that admirable gift of sympathetic interest in his fellows +which had once been his chief trait. His outlook upon life was changed. +To the world which had misused him so he showed an altered front. He +scowled at the men, and kept his face turned from the women. What had +they done, these people, that they should be well-dressed and merry, +whilst the aching in his bones grew to madness, and hunger gnawed at his +life strings. One night, with twitching fingers and face drawn white +with pain, he turned away from the crowded streets towards Westminster, +sank into a seat, and, picking up the half of a newspaper, read the smug +little account of a journalist who had spent a few hours a day perhaps +in the slums. As he read he laughed softly to himself, and then, +clutching the paper in his hands, he walked away to the Embankment, up +Northumberland Avenue, and into the Strand. After a few inquiries he +found the offices of the newspaper, and marched boldly inside. A vast +speculation, the enterprise of a millionaire, the _Daily Courier_, though +it sold for a halfpenny, was housed in a palace. In a gothic chamber, +like the hall of a chapel, hung with electric lights and filled with a +crowd of workers and loungers, Douglas stood clutching the fragment of +newspaper still in his hand, looking around for some one to address +himself to--a strange figure in his rags, wan, starving, but something +of personal distinction still clinging to him. A boy looked over a +mahogany partition at him and opened a trap window. + +"Well?" he asked sharply. "Do you want papers to sell? This is the +wrong entrance for that, you know." + +"I want to see some one in authority," Douglas said; "the sub-editor, if +possible." + +It was a democratic undertaking, this newspaper, with its vast +circulation and mighty staff, and visitors of all sorts daily crossed +its threshold. Yet this man's coat hung about him in tatters, and his +boots were almost soleless. The boy hesitated. + +"What business?" he asked curtly. + +"I will explain it--to him--in a moment," Douglas answered. "If he is +busy, one of the staff will do. I am in no hurry. I can wait." + +The boy closed the trapdoor and withdrew. In a few minutes a young man, +smartly dressed, with sparse moustache and a pince-nez, came out of a +door opposite to Douglas. + +"Want to see me?" he inquired tersely. "I'm an assistant editor." + +Douglas held out the fragment of paper. + +"I've just read that," he said. "Picked it up on a seat." + +The man glanced at it and nodded. + +"Well?" + +"It's badly done," Douglas said, bluntly. "The man's only sat down on +the outside of the thing and sketched. It isn't real. It couldn't be. +No one can write of starvation who merely sees it written in the faces +of other people. No one can write of the homeless who is playing at +vagabondage." + +The assistant editor looked his visitor up and down, and nodded quietly. + +"Well?" + +"If this sort of thing is likely to interest your readers," Douglas +said, "give me pen and paper and I will write of the thing as it is. I +am homeless, and I am starving. The loneliness that your man writes of +so prettily, I will set down in black and white. Man, I am starving +now, and I will write it down so that every one who reads shall +understand. I have slept under arches and on seats, I have lain +dreaming with the rain beating in my face, and I have seen strange +things down in the underneath life where hell is. Give me a chance and +I will set down these things for you, as no one has ever set them down +before." + +Douglas gave a little lurch, swayed, and recovered himself with an +effort. The sub-editor looked at him with interest. + +"Do you drink?" he asked quietly. + +"No," Douglas answered. "I'm faint for want of food, that's all. Give +me pen and ink, and if you can use what I write, pay me for it. You +don't stand to lose anything, and I'm--I'm--" + +The sub-editor took a small piece of gold from his pocket and +interrupted him. + +"That's all right," he said. "We'll see what you can do anyway. But +you must have something to eat first. Let me give you this on account; +now go straight away and get a feed and a glass of wine. I'll have a +room ready for you when you get back." + +Douglas drew a little breath. His fingers closed upon the piece of +gold. There was a glare in his eyes which was almost wolfish. He had +dared to let his thoughts rest for a moment upon food. He, who was +fighting the last grim fight against starvation. He spoke in a whisper, +for his voice was almost gone. + +"How do you know that I shall come back?" + +"I am content to risk it," the sub-editor answered, smiling. "Come back +in an hour's time and ask for Mr. Rawlinson." + +Douglas staggered out, speechless. There was a sob sticking in his +throat and a mist of tears before his eyes. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE MAN WHO NEARLY WENT UNDER + +At midnight a man sat writing at a desk in a corner of a great room full +of hanging lights, a hive of industry. All around him was the clicking +of typewriters, the monotonous dictation of reporters, the tinkling of +telephone bells. When they had set him down here, they had asked him +whether the noises would disturb him, but he had only smiled grimly. +They brought him pen and paper and a box of cigarettes--which he +ignored. Then they left him alone, and no sound in the great room was +more constant than the scratching of his pen across the paper. + +As the first page fluttered from his fingers he bent for a moment his +head, and his pen was held in nerveless fingers. Since he had come to +London, sanguine, buoyant, light-hearted, this was the first time he had +written a line for which he expected payment. The irony of it was borne +in upon him with swift, unresisting agony. This was the first fruit of +his brain, this passionate rending aside of the curtain, which hung like +a shroud before the grim horrors of that seething lower world of misery. +In his earlier work there had been a certain delicate fancifulness, an +airy grace of diction and description, a very curious heritage of a man +brought up in the narrowest of lines, where every influence had been a +constraint. There was nothing of that in the words which were leaping +now hot from his heart. Yet he knew very well that he was writing as a +man inspired. + +That was his only pause. Midnight struck, one and two o'clock, but his +pen only flew the faster. Many curious glances were cast upon him, the +man in rags with the burning eyes, who wrote as though possessed by some +inexorcisable demon. At last Rawlinson came softly to his side and took +up a handful of the wet sheets. He was smoking a cigarette, for his own +labours were nearly over, but as he read it burned out between his +fingers. He beckoned to another man, and silently passed him some of +the sheets. They drew a little on one side. + +"Wonderful," the other man whispered, in a tone of rare enthusiasm. +"Who on earth is he?" + +Rawlinson shook his head. + +"No idea. He came here like that--nearly fainted before my eyes--wanted +to write something in Austin's line--looked as though he could do it +too. I gave him half a sovereign to get something to eat, and told him +to come back. There he's been ever since--nearly three hours. What a +study for one of those lurid sketches of Forbes' as he sits now." + +"I never read anything like it," the newcomer said. "He's a magnificent +find. How on earth did a man who can do work like that get into such a +state?" + +Rawlinson shrugged his shoulders. + +"Who can tell. Not drink, I should say. Laziness perhaps, or ill-luck. +I only know that to-night he has written his way on to the staff of this +paper." + +The other man was watching Douglas as though fascinated. + +"He has written his way into greater things," he murmured. "It makes +one feel like a hackneyed 'penny-a-liner' to read work like that." + +"He's about done up," Rawlinson said. "Do you think I ought to stop +him?" + +"Not likely. If there's such a thing in the world as inspiration he's +got it now. Don't miss a line. Let him write till he faints, but have +some one watch him and give him a stiff whiskey and soda directly he +stops." + +"I shall stay myself," Rawlinson said. "It's an 'off' day to-morrow, +anyhow. Come and have a drink." + +From behind and below came the roar of machinery, rolls of wet proofs +came flooding into the room at every moment. Now and then a hansom set +down a belated reporter, who passed swiftly in to his work, taking off +his coat as he went. Outside the sparrows began to chirp, dawn +lightened the sky, and strange gleams of light stole into the vast room. +Then suddenly from Douglas's desk came a sound. + +Rawlinson rushed up too late to save him. Douglas had swayed for a +moment and then fallen over sideways. He lay upon the ground a huddled +heap, white and motionless. + +They laid him flat upon his back, undid his clothing, and sent for a +doctor. A window a few yards away was thrown up and a rush of cold, +fresh air streamed into the room. But for all they could do Douglas +never moved, and his face was like the face of a dead man. Rawlinson +stood up, horribly anxious, and gave way to the doctor, who felt his +heart and looked grave. For an hour the pendulum swung backwards and +forwards between life and death. Then the doctor stood up with a sigh +of relief. + +"He'll do now," he said; "but it was a narrow squeak." + +"Exhaustion?" Rawlinson asked. + +"Starvation," the doctor answered grimly. "The man has been sober all +his life, and a careful liver, or he would be dead now. What are you +going to do with him? It'll take him a day or two to pull round." + +"Whatever you advise," Rawlinson answered. + +"Has he any money?" + +"You can treat him as though he were a millionaire," Rawlinson answered. +"Give him every chance. The _Daily Courier_ pays cheerfully." + + * * * * * + +They moved him into the private ward of a great hospital, where patients +with complicated disorders and bottomless purses were sometimes treated, +but where never before a man had come suffering from starvation. +Everything that science and careful nursing could do, was done for him, +and in a few days be astonished them all by sitting up in bed suddenly +and demanding to know what had happened. He listened without emotion, +he heard the generous message from the _Daily Courier_ which, a month ago, +would have set every pulse in his body tingling with excitement, without +comment. He grew rapidly stronger, but side by side with his physical +improvement came a curious mental lassitude, a weariness of mind which +made him content to lie and watch the housetops and the clouds, with +never a desire to move nor to step back once more into life. The old +enthusiasms seemed chilled out of him. They showed him his work in +print, told him that he had stirred millions of his fellow-creatures as +nothing of the sort had ever done before, that everywhere people were +talking of him and his wonderful work. He only smiled faintly and +looked once more at the clouds. They left paper and pens upon his +table. He looked at them without interest, and they remained untouched, +Rawlinson himself called daily to inquire, and one day the doctor sent +for him. + +"Your _protege_ is physically all right now," he said. "He is suffering +simply from shock. I should say that he had a fearful time struggling +before he went down, and it will be a matter of time before he's himself +again. + +"All right," Rawlinson said. "Do all you can for him." + +"I was going to suggest," the doctor said, "that one of us puts it +delicately to him that he's a considerable expense to you. It needs +something like that to stir him up. He could put on his hat and walk +out of the place to-morrow if he liked." + +"Not for the world," Rawlinson answered promptly. "If he was costing us +fifty guineas a week instead of ten, we should be perfectly satisfied. +Let him stay till he feels like moving. Then we'll send him to the sea, +if he'll go." + +The doctor laughed. + +"You're great people, Rawlinson," he said. "Not many philanthropists +like you." + +"It's not philanthropy," the sub-editor answered. "If you asked me to +put into L. s. d. what those articles were worth to us, I couldn't tell +you. But I can tell you this. We've paid thousands down more than +once, for an advertisement which wasn't worth half so much as those few +sheets of manuscript. We've an endless purse, but there's a short +supply of what we want to buy--originality. If we come across it we +don't let it go easily, I can tell you." + +So Douglas was left undisturbed. Then one morning he woke up to find +his room a bower of roses, roses whose perfume and beauty took his +breath away. The nurse, who had tended a prince, said she had never +seen anything like them before. Douglas looked at them for a while +fascinated, stooped down and bathed his face in the blossoms. When he +spoke there was a change. One sense at least was revived in him--his +love for things beautiful. + +"Where did they come from?" he asked. + +The nurse smiled. + +"A lady heft them yesterday," she said. "She drove up and stayed for +some time with the doctor. I believe that she is coming again to-day." + +Douglas made no remark. Only the nurse smiled as she noticed him linger +a little over his dressing, and look for the first time with interest at +the clothes which had been sent in for him. Towards midday he grew +restless. Early in the afternoon there was a soft tap at the door. + +"May I come in?" + +The nurse opened the door. There was a rustle of draperies, and to +Douglas it seemed as though the room was suddenly full of wonderful +colour. A new life flowed in his veins. It was Emily de Reuss who came +towards him with outstretched hands. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE FIRST TASTE OF FAME + +At first he scarcely recognised her. He had seen her last in furs, +to-day she seemed like a delicate dream of Springtime. She wore a white +spotless muslin gown, whose exquisite simplicity had been the triumph of +a French artiste. Her hat, large and drooping, was a vision of pink +roses and soft creamy lace. There was a dainty suggestion of colour +about her throat--only the sunlight seemed to discover when she moved +the faint glinting green beneath the transparent folds of her gown. + +She came over to Douglas with outstretched hands, and he was bewildered, +for she had not smiled upon him like this once during that long journey +to London. + +"So it is I who have had to come to you," she exclaimed, taking his +hands in hers. "May I sit down and talk for a little while? I am so +glad--every one is glad--that you are better." + +He laughed, a little oddly. + +"Every one? Why I could count on the fingers of one hand the people +with whom I have spoken since I came to London." + +She nodded. + +"Yes," she said, "but to-day you could not count in an hour the people +who know you. You are very fortunate. You have made a wonderful start. +You have got over all your difficulties so easily." + +"So easily?" He smiled again and then shuddered. She looked into his +face, and she too felt like shuddering. + +"You do not know," he said. "No one will ever know what it is like--to +go under--to be saved as it were by a miracle." + +"You suffered, I know," she murmured, "but you gained a wonderful +experience." + +"You do not understand," he said, in a low tone. "No one will ever +understand." + +"You could have saved yourself so much," she said regretfully, "if you +had kept your promise to come and see me. + +"I could not," he answered. "I lost your address. It went into the +Thames with an old coat the very night I reached London. But for that I +should have come and begged from you." + +"You would have made me famous," she answered laughing. "I should have +claimed the merit of discovering you." + +He looked puzzled. + +"Of course you know," she said, "how every one has been reading those +wonderful articles of yours in the Courier? You are very fortunate. +You have made a reputation at one sitting." + +He shook his head. + +"A fleeting one, I am afraid. I can understand those articles seeming +lifelike. You see I wrote them almost literally with my blood. It was +my last effort. I was starving, poisoned with horrors, sick to death of +the brutality of life." + +"Things had gone so hardly with you then?" she murmured. + +He nodded. + +"From the first. I came to London as an adventurer, it is true. I knew +no one, and I had no money. But the editor of the _Ibex_ had written me +kindly, had accepted a story and asked for more. Yet when I went to see +him he seemed to have forgotten or repented. He would not give me a +hearing. Even the story he had accepted he told me he could not use for +a long time--and I was relying upon the money for that. That was the +beginning of my ill-luck, and afterwards it never left me." + +She sat for a moment with a look in her deep, soft eyes which he could +not understand. Afterwards he thought of it and wondered. It passed +away very soon, and she bent towards him with her face full of sympathy. + +"It has left you now," she said softly, "and for ever. Do you know I +have come to take you for a drive? The doctor says that it will do you +good." + +With a curious sense of unreality he followed her downstairs, and took +the vacant seat in the victoria. It was all so much like a dream, like +one of those wonderful visions which had come to him at times in the +days of his homeless wanderings. Surely it was an illusion. The +luxurious carriage, the great horses with their silver-mounted harness, +the servants in their smart liveries, and above all, this beautiful +woman, who leaned back at his side, watching him often with a sort of +gentle curiosity. At first he sat still, quite dazed, his senses a +little numbed, the feeling of unreality so strong upon him that he was +almost tongue-tied. But presently the life of the streets awakened him. +It was all so fascinating and alluring. They were in a part of London +of which he had seen little--and that little from the gutters. To-day +in the brilliant sunshine, in clothes better than any he had ever worn +before, and side by side with a woman whom every one seemed honoured to +know, he looked upon it with different eyes. They drove along Bond +Street at a snail's pace and stopped for a few minutes at one of the +smaller galleries, where she took him in to see a wonderful Russian +picture, about which every one was talking. Fancying that he looked +tired she insisted upon tea, and they stopped at some curious little +rooms, and sat together at a tiny table drinking tea with sliced lemons, +and eating strawberries such as he had never seen before. Then on again +to the Park, where they pulled up under the trees, and she waved +constantly away the friends who would have surrounded her carriage. One +or two would not be denied, and to all of them she introduced +Jesson--the young writer--they had seen that wonderful work of his in +the _Daily Courier_, of course? He took no part in any conversation more +than he could help, leaning back amongst the cushions with the white +lace of her parasol close to his cheek, watching the faces of the men +and women who streamed by, and the great banks of rhododendrons dimly +seen lower down through the waving green trees. The murmur of pleasant +conversation fell constantly upon his ears--surely that other world was +part of an evil dream, a relic of his delirium. Heaven and hell could +never exist so close together. But by-and-bye, when they drove off she +herself brought the truth home to him. + +"Do you know," she said, "this afternoon I have had an idea? Some day I +hope so much that it may come true. Do you mind if I tell it you? It +concerns yourself." + +"Tell me, of course," he said. + +"You have written so wonderfully of that terrible world beneath--that +world whose burden we would all give so much to lighten. You have +written so vividly that every one knows that you yourself have been +there. Presently--not now, of course--but some day I would have you +write of life as we see it about us to-day--of the world beautiful--and +I would have you illustrate it as one who has lived in it, drunk of its +joys, even as one of its happiest children. Think what a wealth of +great experiences must lie between the two extremes! It is what you +would wish for--you, to whom the study of your fellow-creatures is the +chosen pursuit of life." + +He smiled at her thoughtfully. + +"I do not know," he replied, "but I should think very few in this world +are ever permitted to pass behind both canopies. To me it seems +impossible that I should have ceased so suddenly to be a denizen of the +one, and even more impossible that I should ever have caught a glimpse +of the other." + +"You will not always say so," she murmured. "You have everything in +your favour now--youth, strength, experience, and reputation." + +"Even then," he answered, "I doubt whether I still possess the capacity +for happiness. I feel at times as though what had gone before had +frozen the blood in my veins." + +"Your friends" she said, "must make up to you for the past. +Forgetfulness is sometimes hardly won, but it is never an +impossibility." + +"My friends? My dear lady, I do not possess one." + +She raised her parasol. Her wonderful eyes sought his, her +delicately-gloved hand rested for a moment lightly upon his palm. + +"And what am I?" she asked softly. + +He was only human, and his heart beat the faster for that gentle touch +and the gleam in her eyes. She was so beautiful, so unlike any other +woman with whom he had ever spoken. + +"Have I any right to call you my friend?" he faltered. + +"Have you any right," she answered brightly, "to call me anything +else?" + +"I wonder what makes you so kind to me," he said. + +"I liked you from the moment you jumped into the railway carriage" she +replied, "in those ridiculous clothes, and with a face like a ghost. +Then I liked your independence in refusing to come and be helped along, +and since I have read your--but we won't talk about that, only if you +have really no friends, let me be your first." + +No wonder his brain felt a little dizzy. They were driving through the +great squares now, and already he began to wonder with a dull regret how +much longer it was to last. Then at a corner they came face to face +with Drexley. He was walking moodily along, but at the sight of them he +stopped short upon the pavement. Emily de Reuss bowed and smiled. +Drexley returned the salute with a furious glance at her companion. He +felt like a man befooled. Douglas, too, sat forward in the carriage, a +bright spot of colour in his cheeks. + +"You know that man?" he said. + +She assented quietly. + +"Yes, I have met him. He is the editor of the _Ibex_." + +Douglas remembered the bitterness of that interview and Rice's +amazement, but he said nothing. He leaned back with half closed eyes. +After all perhaps it had been for the best. Yet Drexley's black look +puzzled him. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A VISITOR FROM SCOTLAND YARD + +The carriage pulled up before one of the handsomest houses in London. +Douglas, brought back suddenly to the present, realised that this +wonderful afternoon was at an end. The stopping of the carriage seemed +to him, in a sense, symbolical. The interlude was over. He must go +back to his brooding land of negatives. + +"It has been very kind of you to come and see me, and to take me out," +he said. + +She interrupted the words of farewell which were upon his lips. + +"Our little jaunt is not over yet," she remarked, smiling. "We are +going to have dinner together--you and I alone, and afterwards I will +show you that even a town house can sometimes boast of a pleasant +garden. You needn't look at your clothes. We shall be alone, and you +will be very welcome as you are." + +They passed in together, and Douglas was inclined to wonder more than +ever whether this were not a dream, only that his imagination could +never have revealed anything like this to him. Outside the +hall-porter's office was a great silver bowl sprinkled all over with the +afternoon's cards and notes. A footman with powdered hair admitted +them, another moved respectfully before them, and threw open the door of +the room to which Emily de Reuss led him. He had only a mixed +impression of pale and beautiful statuary, drooping flowers with strange +perfumes, and the distant rippling of water; then he found himself in a +tiny octagonal chamber draped in yellow and white--a woman's den, cosy, +dainty, cool. She made him sit in an easy-chair, which seemed to sink +below him almost to the ground, and moved herself to a little +writing-table. + +"There is just one message I must send" she said, "to a stupid house +where I am half expected to dine. It will not take me half a minute." + +He sat still, listening mechanically to the sound of her pen scratching +across the paper. A tiny dachshund jumped into his lap, and with a +little snort of content curled itself up to sleep. He let his hand +wander over its sleek satin coat--the touch of anything living seemed to +inspire him with a more complete confidence as to the permanent and +material nature of his surroundings. Meanwhile, Emily de Reuss wrote +her excuses to a Duchess--a dinner-party of three weeks' +standing--knowing all the while that she was guilty of an unpardonable +social offence. She sealed her letter and touched a bell by her side. +Then she came over to him. + +"Now I am free" she announced, "for a whole evening. How delightful! +What shall we do? I am ordering dinner at eight. Would you like to +look at my books, or play billiards, or sit here and talk? The garden I +am going to leave till afterwards. I want you to see it at its best." + +"I should like to see your books," he replied. + +She rose and moved towards the door. + +"I am not certain," she said, "whether you will care for my library. +You will think it perhaps too modern. But there will be books there +that you will like, I am sure of that." + +Douglas had never seen or dreamed of anything like it. The room was +ecclesiastical in shape and architecture, fluted pillars supported an +oak-beamed ceiling, and at its upper end was a small organ. But it was +its colour scheme which was so wonderful. The great cases which came +out in wings into the room were white. Everything was white--the rugs, +the raised frescoes on the walls, the chairs and hangings. + +She watched his face, and assuming an apologetic attitude, said, "it is +unusual--and untraditional, I know, but I wanted something different, +and mine is essentially a modern library. In this country there is so +much to depress one, and one's surroundings, after all, count for much. +That is my poetry recess. You seem to have found your way there by +instinct." + +"I think it is charming," he remarked. "Only at first it takes your +breath away. But what beautiful editions." + +He hesitated, with his hand upon a volume. She laughed at him and took +it down herself. Perhaps she knew that her arm was shapely. At least +she let it remain for a moment stretched out as though to reach the next +volume. + +"I always buy _editions de luxe_ when they are to be had," she said. "A +beautiful book deserves a beautiful binding and paper. I believe in the +whole effect. It is not fair to Ruskin to read him in paper covers, and +fancy Le Gallienne in an eighteenpenny series." + +"You have Pater!" he exclaimed; "and isn't that a volume of De +Maupassant's?" + +His fingers shook with eagerness. She put a tiny volume into his hands. +He shook back the hair from his head and forgot that he had ever been +ill, that he had ever suffered, that he had ever despaired. For the +love of books was in his blood, and his tongue was loosened. For the +first time in his life he knew the full delight of a sympathetic +listener. They entered upon a new relationship in those few minutes. + +The summons for dinner found them still there. Douglas, with a faint +flush in his cheeks and brilliant eyes; she, too, imbued with a little +of his literary excitement. She handed him over to a manservant, who +offered him dress clothes, and waited upon him with the calm, dexterous +skill of a well-trained valet. He laughed softly to himself as he +passed down the broad stairs. Surely he had wandered through dreamland +into some corner of the Arabian Nights?--else he had passed from one +extreme of life to the other with a strange, almost magical, celerity. + +Dinner surprised him by being so pleasantly homely. A single trim +maidservant waited upon them, a man at the sideboard opened the wine, +carved, and vanished early in the repast. Over a great bowl of +clustering roses he could see her within a few feet of him, plainly +dressed in black lace with a band of velvet around her white neck, her +eyes resting often upon him full of gentle sympathy. They talked of the +books they had been looking at, a conversation all the while without +background or foreground. Only once she lifted her glass, which had +just been filled, and looked across to him. + +"To the city--beautiful," she said softly. "May the day soon come when +you shall write of it--and forget!" + +He drank the toast fervently. But of the future then he found it hard +to think. The transition to this from his days of misery had been too +sudden. As yet his sense of proportion had not had time to adjust +itself. Behind him were nameless horrors--that he had a future at all +was a fact which he had only recognised during the last few hours. + +Afterwards they sat in low chairs on a terrace with coffee on a small +round table between them, a fountain playing beneath, beyond, the trees +of the park, the countless lights of the streets, and the gleaming fires +of innumerable hansoms. It was the London of broad streets, opulent, +dignified, afire for pleasure. Women were whirled by, bright-eyed, +bejewelled, softly clad in white feathers and opera cloaks; men hatless, +immaculate as regards shirt-fronts and ties, well-groomed, the best of +their race. Wonderful sight for Douglas, fresh from the farmhouse +amongst the hills, the Scotch college, the poverty-stricken seminary. +Back went his thoughts to that dreary past, and though the night was hot +he shivered. She looked at him curiously. + +"You are cold?" + +He shook his head. + +"I was thinking," he answered. + +She laid her fingers upon his arm, a touch so thrilling and yet so +delicate. + +"Don't you know," she said, "that of all philosophies the essence is to +command one's thoughts, to brush away the immaterial, the unworthy, the +unhappy. Try and think that life starts with you from to-day. You are +one of those few, those very few people, Douglas Jesson, who have before +them a future. Try and keep yourself master of it." + +A servant stepped out on to the balcony and stood respectfully before +them. She looked up frowning. + +"What is it, Mason?" she asked. "I told you that I was not seeing any +one at all to-night." + +"The person, madame," he answered, "is from Scotland Yard, and he says +that his business is most important. He has called twice before. He +begged me to give you his card, and to say that he will wait until you +can find it convenient to spare him a few minutes." She looked at the +card-- + +"Mr. Richard Grey, + from Scotland Yard." + +Then she rose regretfully. + +"What the man can possibly want with me," she said, "Heaven only knows. +You will smoke a cigarette, my friend, till I return. I shall not be +long." + +He stood up to let her pass, untroubled--not sorry for a moment's +solitude. It was not until she had gone that a thought flashed into his +mind, which stopped his heart from beating and brought a deadly +faintness upon him. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +EMILY DE REUSS TELLS A LIE + +A tall, thin man with grave eyes and pale cheeks rose to meet Emily de +Reuss when she entered the sitting-room into which he had been shown. +She regarded him with faint curiosity. She concluded that he had called +upon her with reference to one of her servants. She had a large +household, and it was possible that some of the members of it had fallen +under police supervision. She only regretted that he had not chosen +some other evening. + +"The Countess de Reuss, I believe?" + +She assented. A nod was quite sufficient. + +"I have been instructed to call and ask you a few questions with +reference to your journey from Accreton on February 10th last," he +continued. "I am sorry to trouble you, but from information which we +have received, it seemed possible that you might be able to help us." + +She stood quite still, not a muscle in her colourless face twitched or +moved in any way. She showed little of her surprise, none of her +intense and breathless interest. The man looked at her in admiration. +She was politely interested--also acquiescent. + +"I remember my journey from Accreton perfectly well," she said. "But I +cannot see that anything in connection with it can possibly be of +interest to Scotland Yard. Perhaps you will be a little more explicit." + +The man bowed. + +"You had a travelling companion, we are given to understand. A young +man who entered your carriage at the last moment," he added. + +"I had a travelling companion, it is true," she admitted slowly. "It is +also true that he entered my carriage at the last moment. But how that +can possibly concern you, I cannot imagine." + +"We should like to know his name," the man said. + +Emily de Reuss shook her head slowly. + +"I really am afraid," she replied, "that I cannot tell you that." + +"He was a stranger, then--you did not know him before?" the man asked +quickly. + +"On the contrary," she answered, shaking her head, "he was an old +friend." + +The man's face fell. Obviously he was disappointed. She toyed with a +bracelet for a moment and then yawned. + +"If he was an old friend," Mr. Grey said, "why will you not give me his +name?" + +"If you will show me a sufficient reason why I should," she answered, "I +will not hesitate. But you force me to ask you directly, what possible +concern can it be of yours?" + +"Your ladyship may remember," he said, "that there was a shocking +accident upon the train?" + +She assented with a little shudder. + +"Yes, I remember that." + +"A man threw himself from the train and was crushed to death. His body +was quite unrecognisable, but from some papers found upon or near him, +it was concluded that his name was Douglas Guest." + +"I remember hearing that, too," she agreed. + +"Well, there seems to have been plenty of reason for Mr. Douglas Guest +to have committed suicide, as I daresay you know, if ever you read the +papers." + +"I never by any chance open an English one," she said. + +"Then you probably didn't hear of a murder in a Cumberland village the +night before. No? Well there was one, and the man who was wanted for +it was--Mr. Douglas Guest." + +"The man who threw himself from the carriage window?" + +"Apparently, yes. We made searching inquiries into the matter, and we +came to the conclusion that Douglas Guest was the man, and that he had +either committed suicide, or been killed in trying to jump from the +train. We were disposed, therefore, to let the matter drop until a few +days ago, when we had a visit from a Miss Strong, who proved to be the +daughter of the old farmer who was murdered. She seemed to have got +hold of an idea that Douglas Guest had by some means foisted his +identity on to the dead man, and was still alive. She absolutely denied +that a part of the clothing which was preserved had ever belonged to +Douglas Guest, and she worked upon 'the chief' to such an extent that he +told me off to see this through." + +"I still do not see," she said, "in what way I am concerned in this." + +"It was your fellow-passenger, Countess, not yourself, concerning whom +we were curious. We hoped that you might be able to give us some +information. We understood that he joined the train hurriedly. If you +like I will read you a description of Douglas Guest." + +Emily de Reuss looked him in the face and shrugged her shoulders. + +"My good man," she said, "it is not necessary. I am not in the least +interested in the young man, and when I tell you that I went to the +trouble and expense of engaging a compartment you will perhaps +understand that I should not for a moment have tolerated any intrusion +on the part of a stranger. The gentleman who accompanied me to London +was one of the house party at Maddenham Priory, and an old friend." + +The officer closed his notebook with a little sigh and bowed. + +"It only remains for me," he said, "to express to your ladyship my +regrets at having troubled you in the matter. Personally, your +statement confirms my own view of the case. The young lady is +excitable, and has been deceived." + +Emily de Reuss inclined her head, and touched the knob of an electric +bell. At the door the officer turned back. + +"It would perhaps be as well," he said, "if you would favour us with the +name of the gentleman who was your companion." + +She hesitated. + +"I think it quite unnecessary," she answered. "I have certain reasons, +not perhaps very serious ones, but still worth consideration, for not +publishing it abroad who my companion was. It must be sufficient for +you that he was one of my fellow-guests at Maddenham Priory, and a +friend for whom I can vouch." + +The servant was at the door. Mr. Grey bowed. + +"As your ladyship wishes, of course," he said. + + * * * * * + +Emily de Reuss made no immediate movement to rejoin her guest. She was +a woman of nerve and courage, but this had rather taken her breath away. +She had had no time for thought. She had answered as though by +instinct. It was only now that she realised what she had done. She had +lied deliberately, had placed herself, should the truth ever be known, +in an utterly false if not a dangerous position, for the sake of a boy +of whose antecedents she knew nothing, and on whom rested, at any rate, +the shadow of a very ugly suspicion. She had done this, who frankly +owned to an absorbing selfishness, whose conduct of life ever gravitated +from the centre of self. After all, what folly! She had been generous +upon impulse. How ridiculous! + +She walked slowly out to where Douglas sat waiting. She came upon him +like a ghost in the dim light, and when the soft rustling of her gown +announced her presence, he started violently, and turned a bloodless +face with twitching lips and eager eyes to hers. The sight of it was a +shock to her. He had been living in fear, then--her falsehoods for his +sake had been necessary. + +"Has he gone?" he asked incoherently. + +"Yes." + +"Was it--about me?" + +"Yes." + +"You'd better tell me," he begged. + +She sat down by his side and glanced around. They were alone and out of +earshot from the windows. + +"My visitor," she said, "was a detective--from Scotland Yard. He came +to know if I could give him any information about my fellow--passenger +from Accreton on February 10th." + +"Why? Why did he want to know?" + +"There was a murder, he said--a Cumberland farmer, and a young man named +Douglas Guest was missing." + +"Douglas Guest" he said, hoarsely, "was in that train. He was killed. +It was in the papers." + +"So the detective believed," she said, "but a daughter of the murdered +man--" + +"Ah!" + +"--Has taken up the case and positively refused to identify some of the +clothing belonging to the dead man. There was some talk of a young man, +who answered to the description of Douglas Guest, having forced himself +into my carriage. The man came to ask me about this." + +"And you told him--what?" + +She adjusted a bracelet carefully, her beautiful eyes fixed upon his +haggard face. + +"I told him a lie," she answered. "I told him that my companion was a +fellow-guest at the house where I had been staying." + +A little sob of relief broke in his throat. He seized her hand in his +and pressed it to his lips. It seemed to her that the touch was of +fire. She looked at him thoughtfully. + +"You are Douglas Guest, then?" she asked, quietly. + +"I am," he answered. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +JOAN STRONG, AVENGER + +At an attic window, from which stretched a Babylonic wilderness of +slated roofs and cowled chimney pots, two girls were sitting. The tan +of the wind and the sun was upon their cheeks, their clothes lacked the +cheap smartness of the Londoner. They were both in mourning for their +father, Gideon Strong. + +"Suicide, nay! I'll never believe that it was Douglas," Joan declared +firmly. "Nay, but I know the lad too well. He was ever pining for +London, for gay places and the stir of life. There was evil in his +blood. It was the books he read, and the strange taste he had for +solitude. What else? But he'd not the pluck of a rabbit. He never +killed himself--not he! He's a living man to-day, and as I'm a living +woman I'll drop my hand upon his shoulder before long." + +"God forbid it!" Cicely cried fervently. "Please God if it was Douglas +who sinned so grievously that he may be dead." + +Joan rose slowly to her feet. In her sombre garb, fashioned with almost +pitiless severity, her likeness to her father became almost striking. +There were the same high cheek-bones, the heavy eyebrows, the mouth of +iron. The blood of many generations of stern yeomen was in her veins. + +"'Tis well for you, Cicely," she said, and her voice, metallic enough at +all times, seemed, for the bitterness of it, to bite the close air like +a rasp. "'Tis well enough for you, Cicely, who had but little to do +with him, but do you forget that I was his affianced wife? I have stood +up in the Meeting House at Feldwick, and we prayed together for grace. +The hypocrite. The abandoned wastrel. That he, who might have been the +pastor of Feldwick, ay, and have been chosen to serve in the towns even, +should have wandered so miserably." + +The younger girl was watching a smoke-begrimed sparrow on the sill with +eyes at once vacant and tender. She was slighter and smaller than her +sister, of different complexion, with soft, grey eyes and a broad, +humorous mouth. Her whole expression was kindly. She had a delicate +prettiness of colouring, and a vivacity which seemed to place her +amongst a different order of beings. Never were sisters more like and +unlike in this world. + +"Sometimes," she said reflectively, "I have wondered whether Father was +not very hard upon Douglas. He was so different from everybody else +there, so fond of books and pictures, clever people, and busy places. +There was no one in Feldwick with whom he could have had any tastes at +all in common--not a scholar amongst the lot of us." + +Joan frowned heavily. Her dark brows contracted, the black eyes +flashed. + +"Pictures and books," she muttered. "What has a minister of the gospel +to do with these? Douglas Guest had chosen his path in life." + +"Nay," Cicely interrupted eagerly. "It was chosen for him. He was +young, and Father was very stern and obstinate, as who should know +better than ourselves, Joan? Douglas never seemed happy after he came +back from college. His life was not suitable for him." + +Joan was slowly getting angry. + +"Not suitable for him?" she retorted. "What folly! Who was he, to pick +and choose? It was rare fortune for him that father should have brought +him up as he did. You'll say next that I was forced on him, that he +didna ask me to be his wife--ay, and stand hand in hand with me before +all of them. You've forgotten it, maybe." + +But Cicely, to whom that day had been one of agony, marked with a black +stone, never to be forgotten, shook her head with a little shudder. + +"I'm sure I never hinted at it, Joan," she said; "but for all you can +say, I believe he's dead." + +"Maybe," Joan answered coldly, "but I'm not yet believing it. It's led +astray I believe he was, and heavy's the penalty he'll have to pay. +It's my notion he's alive in this city, and that's why I'm here. It'll +be a day of reckoning when we meet him, but it'll come, Cicely. I've +dreamed of it, and it'll come. I'll never bend the knee at Meeting till +I've found him." + +Cicely shuddered. + +"It'll never bring poor Father back to life," she murmured. "You'd best +go back to Feldwick, Joan. There's the farm--you and Reuben Smith could +work it well enough. Folks there will think you're out of your mind +staying on here in London." + +"Folks may think what they will," she answered savagely. "I'll not go +back till Douglas Guest hangs." + +"Then may you never see Feldwick again," Cicely prayed. + +"You're but a poor creature yourself," Joan cried, turning upon her with +a sudden passion. "You would have him go unpunished then, robber, +murderer, deceiver. Oh, don't think that I never saw what was in your +mind. I know very well what brings you here now. You want to save him. +I saw it all many a time at Feldwick, but you've none so much to flatter +yourself about. He took little enough notice of me, and none at all of +you. He deceived us all, and as I'm a living woman he shall suffer for +it." + +Cicely rose up with pale face. + +"Joan," she said, "you are talking of the dead." + +But Joan only scoffed. She was a woman whose beliefs once allowed to +take root in the mind were unassailable, proof against probability, +proof against argument. Douglas Guest was alive, and it was her mission +to bid him stand forth before the world. She was the avenger--she +believed in herself. The spirit of the prophetess was in her veins. +She grew more tolerant towards her younger sister. After all she was of +weaker mould. How should she see what had come even to her only as an +inspiration? + +"Come, Cicely," she said, "I'm not for bandying words with you. The +world is wide enough for both of us. Let us live at peace towards one +another, at any rate. There's tea coming--poor stuff enough, but it's +city water and city milk. You shall sit down and tell me what has +brought you here, for it's not only to see me, I guess." + +The tea was brought; they sat and discussed their plans. Cicely had +followed her sister to London, utterly unable to live any longer in a +place so full of horrible memories. They had a little money--Cicely, +almost enough to live on, but she wanted work. Joan listened, but for +her part she had little to say. Only as the clock drew near seven +o'clock she grew restless. Her attention wandered. She looked often +towards the window. + +"You'll stay the night here anyhow, sister?" she said at last. + +"Why, I'd counted on it," Cicely admitted. + +"Well, that's settled then. This is mostly the time I go out. Are you +going with me, or will you rest a bit?" + +Cicely rose up briskly. + +"I'll come along," she said. "A walk will do me good. The air's so +cruel close up here." + +Joan hesitated. + +"I'm a fast walker," she said, "and I go far." + +But Cicely, who divined something of the truth, hesitated no longer, not +even for a second. + +"I will come," she said. + + * * * * * + +They passed out into the streets, and the younger girl knew from the +first that their walk was a quest. They chose the most frequented +thoroughfares, and where the throng was thickest there only they +lingered. There was a new look in the face of the elder girl, a grim +tightening of the lips, a curious doggedness about the jaws, a light in +the black eyes which made her sister shudder to look upon. For there +were in Joan Strong, daughter of many generations of north country +yeomen, the possibilities of tragedy, a leaven of that passionate +resistless force, which when once kindled is no more to be governed than +the winds. Narrow she was, devoid of imagination, and uneducated, yet, +married to the man whom she had boldly and persistently sought after, +she would have been a faithful housewife, after the fashion of her kind. +But with the tragedy in her home, the desertion of the man whom she had +selected for her husband, another woman had leaped into life. Something +in her nature had been touched which, in an ordinary case, would have +lain dormant for ever. Cicely knew it and was terrified. This was her +sister, and yet a stranger with whom she walked, this steadfast, +untiring figure, ever with her eyes mutely questioning the passing +throngs. They had become a great way removed during these last few +weeks, and, save her sister, there was no one else left in the world. +With aching feet and tears in her eyes, Cicely kept pace as well as she +could with the untiring, relentless figure by her side. Many people +looked at them curiously--the tall, Cassandra-like figure of the elder +woman, and the pretty, slight girl struggling to keep pace with her, her +lips quivering, her eyes so obviously full of fear. The loiterers on +the pavement stared. Joan's fierce, untiring eyes took no more notice +of them than if they had been dumb figures. Cicely was continually +shrinking back from glances half familiar, half challenging. More than +once they were openly accosted, but Joan swept such attempts away with +stony indifference. For hour after hour they walked steadily on--then, +with a little sob of relief, Cicely saw at last that they had reached +their own street. The elder girl produced a key and drew a long sigh. +Then she looked curiously down at her companion. + +"You'll go back to Feldwick to-morrow, or maybe Saturday, Cicely," she +said. "You understand now?" + +"How long--will this go on?" + +Joan drew herself up. The fierceness of the prophetess was in her dark +face. + +"Till my hands are upon him," she said. "Till I have dragged him out +from the shadows of this hateful city." + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A PLAIN QUESTION AND A WARNING + +Douglas Jesson had his opportunity, accepted it and became one of the +elect. He passed on to the staff of the Courier, where his work was +spasmodic and of a leisurely character, but always valuable and +appreciated. His salary, which was liberal, seemed to him magnificent. +Besides, he had the opportunity of doing other work. All the magazines +were open to him, although he was tied down to write for no other +newspaper. The passionate effort of one night of misery had brought him +out for ever from amongst the purgatory of the unrecognised. For his +work was full of grit, often brilliant, never dull. Even Drexley, who +hated him, admitted it. Emily de Reuss was charmed. + +Douglas's first visit was to Rice, whom he dragged out with him to +lunch, ordering such luxuries as were seldom asked for at Spargetti's. +They lingered over their cigarettes and talked much. Yet about Rice +there was a certain restraint, the more noticeable because of his host's +gaiety. Douglas, well-dressed, debonair, with a flower in his +buttonhole, and never a wrinkle upon his handsome face, was in no humour +for reservations. He filled his companion's glass brimful of wine, and +attacked him boldly. + +"I want to know," he said, "what ails my philosophic friend. Out with +it, man. Has Drexley been more of a bear than usual, or has Spargetti +ceased his credit?" + +"Neither," Rice answered, smiling. "Drexley is always a bear, and +Spargetti's credit is a thing which not one of the chosen has ever seen +the bottom of." + +"Then what in the name of all that is unholy," Douglas asked, "ails +you?" + +Rice lighted a cigarette, glanced around, and leaned over the table. + +"You, my friend and host. You are upon my mind. I will confess." + +Douglas nodded and waited. Rice seemed to find it not altogether easy +to continue. He dropped his voice. The question he asked was almost a +whisper. + +"Is your name really Douglas Jesson--or is it Douglas Guest?" + +Douglas gasped and clutched for a moment at the tablecloth. The room +was suddenly spinning round and round, the faces of the people were +shrouded in mist, his newly-acquired strength was all engrossed in a +desperate struggle against that sickening sensation of fainting. Rice's +voice seemed to come to him from a long way off. + +"Drink your wine, man--quick." + +Mechanically he obeyed. He set the glass down empty. Once more the +faces in the restaurant were clear, the mists had passed away. But the +keen joy of living no longer throbbed in his pulses. + +"How did you know?" he asked, hoarsely. + +"From the story you sent us," Rice answered. "At first you wrote on the +title-page Douglas Guest as the author. Then apparently you changed +your mind, crossed it out, and substituted Douglas Jesson, which we took +to be a nom-de-plume, especially as you gave us for your address +initials to a post-office." + +"Did any one else see it?" + +"Not unless Drexley did. He has never spoken to me about it." + +Douglas drank more wine. He was unused to it, and the colour mounted to +his pale cheeks. + +"You have asked me a question," he said, "and it is answered. What +else?" + +"Nothing," Rice said slowly. "It is no concern of mine. + +"You are not anxious, then," Douglas said, "to earn a hundred pounds +reward?" + +"I think if I were you," Rice said, "I would get the Courier to send you +abroad. They would do it in a minute." + +"Abroad?" Douglas looked across the table questioningly. It was a new +idea to him. "Yes. You could visit odd places and write impressions of +them. Yours is just the style for that sort of thing--quick and +nervous, you know, and lots of colour. People are rabid for anything of +that sort just now. Take my tip. Suggest it to Rawlinson." + +"I think I will," Douglas said. "Yes, it is a good idea. I wonder--" + +Rice leaned once more across the table. + +"You wonder what the Countess de Reuss will say. Is that it?" + +Douglas nodded. + +"I should consult her, of course." + +A rare seriousness fell upon Rice. The nonchalance, which was the most +pronounced of his mannerisms, had fallen away. It was a new man +speaking. One saw, as it were for the first time, that his hair was +grey, and that the lines on his face were deeply engraven. + +"My young friend," he said, "I want you to listen to me. I am twice +your age. I have seen very much more of the world than you. Years ago +I had a friend--Silverton. He was about your age--clever, ambitious, +good-looking. He scored a small success--a poem, I think it was--and +some one took him one day to call on Emily de Reuss. I do not know +where he is now, but two months ago I met him in rags, far advanced in +consumption, an utter wreck bodily and mentally. Yet when I spoke one +word of her he struck me across the lips. To-day I suppose he is +dead--pauper's funeral and all that sort of thing, without a doubt. I +have taken his case first because he reminded me of you. He had come +from the north somewhere, and he was about your age. But he is only one +of a score. There is Drexley, a broken man. Once he wrote prose, which +of its sort was the best thing going. To-day he is absolutely +nerveless. He cannot write a line, and he is drinking heavily. That he +has not gone under altogether is simply because as yet he has not +received his final dismissal. He still has his uses, so he is allowed +to hang on a little longer. Now, Douglas Jesson, listen to one who +knows. What you are and who you are--well, no matter. I liked you when +we met here, and you have a splendid opportunity before you. Listen. +Emily de Reuss will care nothing for your safety. She will oppose your +going abroad. You are her latest plaything. She is not weary of you +yet, so she will not let you go. Be a man, and do the sensible thing. +Too many have been her victims. It may make your heart ache a little; +you may fancy yourself a little ungracious. Never mind. You will save +your life and your soul. Go abroad as soon as Rawlinson will send you." + +Rice's words were too impressive to be disregarded altogether. They +stirred up in Douglas's mind a vague uneasiness, but his sense of +loyalty to the woman who had befriended him was unshaken. Rice was led +away by his feelings for his friend. + +"Rice," he said, "I know you're speaking what you believe. I can't +quite accept it all. Never mind. I'll remember everything you've said. +I'm not quite a boy, you know, and I don't wear my heart upon my +sleeve." + +"Hard to convince, as they all are," Rice said, with a wintry smile. +"Never mind. I'll do my best to save you. Listen to this. Do you know +why Drexley behaved so disgracefully to you about your story?" + +Douglas looked up eagerly. The thing had always puzzled him. + +"No. Why?" + +"Because he had orders from Emily de Reuss to do so. She had given you +her address and bidden you go and see her. You never went. So she +wrote Drexley to give you no encouragement. It was your punishment. +You were to go to her." + +"I don't believe it," Douglas declared hotly. + +"Then you don't believe me," Rice said quietly, "for on my honour I tell +you that I have seen the letter." + +Douglas leaned his head upon his hand. + +"I'm sorry," he said, wearily. "I believe absolutely in you, but I +believe also in her. There must be some misunderstanding." + +Rice rose up. Douglas had paid the bill long ago. A waiter, overcome +with the munificence of his tip, brought them their hats and preceded +them, smiling, to the door. They passed out into the street, and the +fresh air was grateful to them both. Rice passed his arm through his +companion's. + +"I want you to give me just an hour," he said--"no more." + +Douglas nodded, and they made their way through a maze of squares and +streets southwards. At last Rice stopped before a house in a terrace of +smoke-begrimed tenements, and led the way inside. They mounted flight +after flight of stairs, pausing at last before a door on the topmost +floor. Rice threw it open, and motioned his companion to follow him in. + +It was a small chamber, bare and gaunt, without ornament or luxury, +without even comfort. The furniture was the poorest of its sort, the +scrap of carpet was eked out with linoleum from which the pattern had +long been worn. There was only one thing which could be said in its +favour--the room was clean. Rice leaned against the mantelpiece, +watching his companion's face. + +"My friend," he said, "I have brought you here because I wanted you to +see my home. Shall I tell you why? Because it is exactly typical of my +life. Bare and empty, comfortless, with never a bright spot nor a ray +of hope. There is nothing here to dazzle you, is there? All that you +can remark in its favour is that it is tolerably clean--all in my life +that I can lay claim to is that I have managed to preserve a moderate +amount of self-respect. This is my life, my present and my future. I +wanted you to see it." + +Douglas was puzzled. He scarcely knew what to say, but instinctively he +felt that Rice's purpose in bringing him here had not yet been +explained. So he waited. + +"I have told you," Rice continued, "of Drexley and of poor young +Silverton. I have told you that there have been many others. I have +told you that she even tried to do you ill that you might be numbered +amongst her victims. Now I tell you what as yet I have told no man. I, +too, was once the most pitiful of her slaves." + +"You?" + +A sharp, staccato cry broke from Douglas's lips. He had not expected +this. Rice was suddenly an older man. The careless front he showed to +the world was gone. He was haggard, weary, elderly. It was a rare +moment with him. + +"I made a brave start," he continued--"like you. Some one took me to +her house. I made an epigram that pleased her; I passed at once into +the circle of her intimates. She flattered me, dazzled me, fed my +ambition and my passion. I told her of the girl whom I loved, whom I +was engaged to marry. She was on the surface sympathetic; in reality +she never afterwards let pass an opportunity of making some scathing +remark as to the folly of a young man sacrificing a possibly brilliant +future for the commonplace joys of domesticity. I became even as the +rest. My head was turned; my letters to Alice became less frequent; +every penny of the money I was earning went to pay my tailor's bills, +and to keep pace with the life which, as her constant companion, I was +forced to live. All the while the girl who trusted me never complained, +but was breaking her heart. They sent for me--she was unwell. I had +promised to take Emily upon the river, and she declined to let me off. +I think that evening some premonition of the truth came to me. We saw a +child drowned--I watched Emily's face. She looked at the corpse without +a shudder, with frank and brutal curiosity. She had never seen anything +really dead,--it was quite interesting. Well, I hurried back to my +rooms, meaning to catch a night train into Devonshire. On the +mantelpiece was a telegram which had come early in the morning. Alice +was worse--their only hope was in my speedy coming. I dashed into a +hansom, but on the step another telegram was handed to me. Alice was +dead. I had not seen her for ten months, and she was dead." + +There was an odd, strained silence. Douglas walked away to the window +and gazed with misty eyes over a wilderness of housetops. Rice's head +had fallen forward upon his arms. It was long before he spoke again. +When he did his tone was changed. + +"For days I was stupefied. Then habit conquered. I went to her. I +hoped for sympathy--she laughed at me. It was for the best. Then I +told her truths, and she flung them back at me. I knew then what manner +of woman she was--without heart, vain, callous, soulless. It is the +sport of her life to play with, and cast aside when she is weary of +them, the men whom she thinks it worth while to make her slaves. A +murderess is a queen amongst the angels to her; it is the souls of men +she destroys, and laughs when she sees them sink down into hell. My +eyes were opened, but it was too late. I had lost the girl who loved +me, and whom I loved. I was head over ears in debt, my work had +suffered from constant attendance upon her, I lost my position, and +every chance I ever had in life went with it. I have become an ill-paid +hack, and even to-day I am not free from debt after years of struggling. +Douglas Jesson, I have never spoken of these things to any breathing +man, but every word is the gospel truth." + +Then again there was a silence, for dismay had stolen into the heart of +the man who listened. For Douglas knew that the bonds were upon him +too, though they had lain upon his shoulders like silken threads. Rice +came over to him and laid his hand almost affectionately upon his arm. + +"Douglas," he said, "you are man enough to strike a blow for your life. +You know that I have spoken truth to you." + +"I know it." + +"You will be your own man." + +Douglas turned upon him with blazing eyes. + +"Rice," he cried, "you are a brick. I'll do it. I'll go to her now." + +He went out with a brief farewell. Rice sat down upon his one cane +chair, and folded his arms. The room seemed very empty. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE TASTE OF THE LOTUS + +Douglas was kept waiting for a minute or two in the long, cool +drawing-room at Grosvenor Square. The effect of Rice's story was still +strong upon him. The perfume of the flowers, the elegance of the room, +and its peculiar atmosphere of taste and luxury irritated rather than +soothed him. Even the deference which the servants had shown him, the +apologetic butler, her ladyship's own maid with a special message, +acquired new significance now, looking at things from Rice's point of +view. There was so much in his own circumstances which had lent weight +to what he had been told. He was earning a good deal of money, but he +was spending more. Emily had insisted upon rooms of her own choosing in +a fashionable neighbourhood, and had herself selected the +furniture--which was not yet paid for. She had insisted gently but +firmly upon his going to the best tailors. The little expeditions in +which he had been permitted to act as her escort, the luncheons and +dinners at restaurants, although they were not many, were expensive. +Yes, Rice was right. To be near Emily de Reuss was to live within a +maze of fascination, but the end to it could only be the end of the +others. Already he was in debt, a trifle behind with his work--a trifle +less keen about it. Already the memory of his sufferings seemed to lie +far back in another world--his realisation of them had grown faint. +There was something paralysing about the atmosphere of pleasure with +which she knew so well how to surround herself. + +The door opened and she came in, a dream of spotless muslin and glinting +colours. She came over to him with outstretched hands and a brilliant +smile upon her lips. + +"How is it, my friend," she cried, "that you always come exactly when I +want you? You must be a very clever person. I have to go for a minute +or two to the stupidest of garden parties at Surbiton. You shall drive +with me, and afterwards, if you like, we will come back by Richmond and +dine. What do you say?" + +"Delightful," he answered, "and if I were an idle man nothing in the +world would give me more pleasure. But this afternoon I must not think +of it. I am behind with my work already. I only came round for a few +minutes' talk with you." + +She looked at him curiously. She was not used to be denied. + +"Surely," she said, "your work is not so important as all that?" + +"I am afraid," he said, "that lately I have been forgetting how +important my work really is. That is precisely what I came to talk to +you about." + +She sat down composedly, but he fancied that her long, dark eyes had +narrowed a little, and the smile had gone from her face. + +"You will think I am ungrateful, I am afraid," he began, "but, do you +know, I am losing hold upon my work, and I have come to the conclusion +that I am giving a good deal too much of my time to going out. Thanks +to you, I seem to have invitations for almost every day--I go to polo +matches, to river parties, to dinners and dances, I do everything except +work. You know that I have made a fair start, and I feel that I ought +to be making some uses of my opportunities. Besides--I may be quite +frank with you, I know--I am spending a great deal more than I am +earning, and that won't do, will it?" + +She came over and sat by his side on the couch. There was not the +slightest sign of disapproval in her manner. + +"Do you know, that sounds very sensible, Douglas my friend," she said, +quietly. "I should hate to think that I was selfish in liking to have +you with me so much, and your work is the first thing, of course. Only +you mustn't forget this. Your profession is settled now irrevocably. +You will be a writer, and a famous writer, and one reason why I have +procured all these invitations for you, and encouraged you to accept +them, has been because I want you to grasp life as a whole. You think +that you are idling now. You are not. Every new experience you gain is +of value to you. Hitherto you have only seen life through dun-coloured +spectacles. I want you also to understand the other side. It is your +business to know and grasp it from all points. Can't you see that I +have found it a pleasure to help you to see that side of which you were +ignorant?" + +"That is all very true," he answered, "only I have already had more +opportunities than most men. Don't you think yourself that it is almost +time I buckled to and started life more seriously?" + +"It is for you to say," she answered quietly. "You know better than I. +If you have work in your brain and you are weary of other things--well, +_au revoir_, and good luck to you. Only you will come and see me now +and then, and tell me how you are getting on, for I shall be a little +lonely just at first." + +She looked at him with eyes a trifle dim, and Douglas felt his heart +beat thickly, and the memory of Rice's passionate words seemed suddenly +weak. + +"I shall come and see you always," he said, "as often as you would have +me come. You know that." + +She shook her head as though but half convinced. Then she rose to her +feet. + +"There is just one thing I should like to ask you," she said. "This new +resolution of yours--did you come by it alone, or has any one been +advising you?" + +Douglas hesitated. + +"I have been talking to a man," he admitted, "who certainly seemed to +think that I was neglecting my work." + +"Will you tell me who it was?" + +Douglas looked into her face and became suddenly grave. The eyes were +narrower and brighter, a glint of white teeth showed through the +momentarily parted lips. A tiny spot of colour burned in her +cheeks--something of the wild animal seemed suddenly to have leaped up +in her. Yet how beautiful she was! + +"I cannot do that," he faltered. + +"Then it was some one who spoke to you of me," she continued calmly. +"You need not trouble to contradict me. Hadn't you better hurry away +before I have the chance to do you any harm? There is one young man I +know, of a melodramatic turn of mind, who persists in looking upon me as +a sort of siren, calling my victims on to the rocks. I expect that is +the person with whom you have been talking. Douglas Jesson, I think +that I am a little disappointed in you." + +She stood up and smoothed out her skirts thoughtfully. + +He was very near at that moment throwing all thoughts of Rice's words to +the winds, and retracting all that he had said. After all, it was she +who had brought him back from death. Whatever his future might be, he +owed it to her. She looked into his eyes and felt that she had +conquered. Yet the very fascination of that smile which parted her lips +was like a chill warning to him. + +"I will tell you who it was who has been talking to me," he said. "It +is a clerk of Drexley's, a man named Rice." + +She nodded. + +"I thought so. Poor boy. He will never forgive me." + +"For what?" Douglas asked quickly. That was the crux of the whole +matter. + +"For his own folly," she answered quietly. "I was good to him--helped +him in many ways. He tried to make love to me. I had to send him away, +of course. That is the worst of you young men. If a woman tries to +help you, you seem to think it your duty to fall in love with her. What +is she to do then?" + +"Can't a woman--always make it clear--if she wants to--that that sort of +thing is not permitted?" + +"Do you think that she can? Do you think that she knows what she wishes +herself until the last moment, until it is too late?" + +Douglas rose up a little unsteadily. + +"Take my own case," he cried, with a sudden little burst of passion. +"You are the most beautiful woman whom I have ever seen, you are kind to +me, you suffer me to be your companion. Yet if I commit the folly of +falling in love with you, you will dismiss me in a moment without a +sigh. I am only an ordinary being. Don't you think that I am wise if I +try to avoid running such a risk?" + +She laughed softly. + +"What a calculating mortal. Is this all the effect of Mr. Rice's +warning?" + +Well, isn't it truth? + +She shook her head. + +"I can't pretend to say. Do any of us really know, I wonder, what we +would do under any given circumstances? I wish you would tell me +exactly what your friend complained of in my treatment of him." + +"He spoke--not only of himself," Douglas answered. "There was a man +called Silverton." + +"What?" + +He looked across at her in swift surprise. It seemed to him that her +anger had suddenly changed into a wonderful and speechless terror. Her +left hand was buried in the sofa cushions, the pupils of her eyes were +dilated, she was bloodless to the lips. When she spoke it was hard to +recognise her voice. + +"What of him? What did he know? What did he tell you--of him?" + +Douglas's expression of blank surprise seemed an immense relief to her. + +"Only--something like what he told me of himself. He also was foolish +enough to fall in love with you, and--" + +She rose suddenly and held out her hand. + +"Come, my friend," she said, "I have had enough of this. Take me out to +my carriage. I think you are very wise to avoid such a dangerous +person." + +She swept out of the room before him, and down the broad stairs. A +footman stood by the side of her victoria until she had settled herself +in the most comfortable corner. Then he mounted the box, and she leaned +for a moment forward. + +"You won't come?" she asked, with a slight gesture of invitation towards +the vacant seat. + +But Douglas, to whom the invitation seemed, in a sense, allegorical, +shook his head. He pointed eastwards. + +"The taste of the lotus is sweet," he said, "but one must live." + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +A MAN WITHOUT A PAST + +Whether Rice's point of view and judgment upon Emily de Reuss were +prejudiced or not, Douglas certainly passed from her influence into a +more robust and invigorating literary life. He gave up his expensive +chambers, sold the furniture, reorganised his expenses, and took a +single room in a dull little street off the Strand. Rice, aided by a +few friends, and also by Douglas's own growing reputation, secured his +admission into the same Bohemian club to which he and Drexley belonged. +For the first time, Douglas began to meet those who were, strictly +speaking, his fellows, and the wonderful good comradeship of his +newly-adopted profession was a thing gradually revealed to him. He made +many friends, studied hard, and did some brilliant work. He abandoned, +upon calmer reflection, the idea of going abroad, and was given to +understand that his position on the Courier might be regarded as a +permanency. He saw his future gradually defined in clearer colours--it +became obvious to him that his days of struggling were past and over. +He had won his place within the charmed circle of those who had been +tried and proved. Only there was always at the bottom of his heart a +secret dread, a shadowy terror, most often present when he found himself +alone with Rice or Emily de Reuss. It seemed to him that their eyes +were perpetually questioning him, and there was one subject which both +religiously and fearfully avoided. + +He was popular enough amongst the jovial, lighthearted circle of his +fellow-workers and club companions, yet he himself was scarcely of their +disposition. His attitude towards life was still serious, he carried +always with him some suggestions of a past which must ever remain an +ugly and fearsome thing. His sense of humour was unlimited--in repartee +he easily held his own. He was agreeable to everybody, but he never +sought acquaintances, and avoided intimacies. More especially was he +averse to any mention of his earlier days. + +Speedwell, sub-editor of the _Minute_, buttonholed him one day at the +club, and led him into a corner. + +"You are the very man I wanted to see, Jesson," he exclaimed. "Have a +drink?" + +"I've just dined, thanks," Douglas answered. "What can I do for you?" + +"I'm giving some space in my rag," Speedwell explained, blandly, "to a +series of memoirs on prominent journalists of the day, and I want to +include you." + +"I'm sure you're very kind," Douglas answered, "but you can't be in +earnest. To begin with, I'm not a prominent journalist, and I don't +suppose I ever shall be--" + +"Well, you're a bit of a miracle, you know," Speedwell interrupted. +"You've come to the front so quickly, and you've a method of your +own--the staccato, nervous style, you know, with lots of colour and +dashes. I wish I'd a man on the staff who could do it. Still, that's +neither here nor there, and you needn't think I'm hinting, for I tell +you frankly the _Minute_ can't afford large-salaried men. What I want +from you is a photograph, and just a little sketch of your early +life--where you were born, and where you went to school, and that sort +of thing. It mayn't do you much good, but it can't do you any harm, and +I'll be awfully obliged." + +Douglas was silent for a moment. The whole panorama of that joyless +youth of his seemed suddenly stretched out before him. He saw himself +as boy, and youth, and man; the village school changed into the +sectarian university, where the great highroad to knowledge was rank +with the weeds of prejudice. He saw himself back again at the +farmhouse, he felt again the vague throbbings of that discontent which +had culminated in a tragedy. He was suddenly white almost to the lips, +a mist seemed to hang about the room, and the cheerful voices of the men +playing pool came to him like a dirge from the far distance. Speedwell, +waiting in vain for his answer, looked at him in surprise. + +"Aren't you well, old chap?" he asked. "You look as though you'd seen a +ghost." + +Douglas pulled himself together with an effort. + +"I'm not quite the thing," he said. "Late, last night, I suppose. I'm +sure it's very good of you to think of me, Speedwell, but I'd rather you +left me out." + +"Why?" + +"You see I'm really only a novice--quite a beginner, and I don't feel +I've the right to be included." + +"That" Speedwell answered, "is our business. You didn't come to us--I +came to you. All you have to do is to answer a few questions, and let +me have that photo." + +Douglas shook his head. + +"You must please excuse me, Speedwell," he said. "It's very kind of +you, but to tell you the truth, there are certain painful incidents in +connection with my life before I came to London which I am anxious to +forget. I do not choose to have a past at all." + +Speedwell shrugged his shoulders and lit a cigarette. He was none too +well pleased. + +"You can't expect," he remarked, "to become famous and remain at the +same time unknown. There is a great and growing weakness on the part of +the public to-day for personalities. I suppose it is the spread of +American methods in journalism which is responsible for it. Some day +your chroniclers will help themselves to your past, whether you will or +not." + +Douglas rose up with an uneasy laugh. + +"It will be an evil day for them," he said; "perhaps for me. But at +least I will not anticipate it." + +He wandered restlessly from room to room of the club, returning the +greetings of his acquaintances with a certain vagueness, lingering +nowhere for more than a moment or two. Finally, he took his hat from +the rack and walked out into the street. Fronting him was the Thames. +He leaned against the iron railing and looked out across the dusty, +sun-baked gardens to where the river flowed down between the bridges. +Something of the despair, which had so nearly broken his heart a short +while since, seemed again to lay tormenting clutches upon him. After +all, was not a man for ever the slave of his past? No present success, +no future triumphs could ever wholly free him from the memory of that +one merciless hour. As a rule his thoughts recoiled shuddering from +even the slightest lingering about it. To-night there swept in upon him +with irresistible force a crowd of vivid memories. He saw the quaint +old village, its grey stone houses dotted about the hillside, the +farmhouse which had been his home--bare, gaunt, everything outside and +in typical of the man who ruled there and over the little neighbourhood, +a tyrant and a despot. The misery of those days laid hold of him, He +turned away from the railings and walked Strandwards, past the door of +his lodgings and round many side streets, grimy and unpretentious. He +walked like a man possessed, but his memories had taken firm hold of +him, shadowy but inexorcisable fiends. It was Cicely now who was +walking by his side, and his heart was beating with something of the old +stir. What a change her coming had made in that strange corner of the +world. Cicely, with her dainty figure and bright, sunny smile, +wonderfully light-hearted, a gleam of brilliant colour thrown across +their grey life. She loved poetry too, the hills, the sunsets, and +those long walks across the purple moorland. It was a wonderful +companionship into which they had drifted. He was her refuge in a life +which she frankly declared to be insupportable. She was a revelation to +him--the first he had had--of delicate femininity, full ever of +suggestions of that wonderful world beyond, of which at that time he had +only dared to dream. It was she who had kindled his ambitions, who had +preached to him silently, but with convincing eloquence, of the glories +of freedom, the heritage of his manhood. And all the while Joan, from +apart, was watching them. No word crossed her lips, yet often on their +return from a day's rambling he caught a look in her eyes which amazed +him. Gideon Strong went his way unseeing, stern, and unbending as ever +even to his younger daughter, but in those days there was thunder always +in the air. Douglas remembered the sensation and shuddered. Once he +had come across Joan and her sister together suddenly, and had found it +hard work to keep from a shriek of terror. There was a light in Joan's +eyes--it seemed to him that he had seen it there often lately. Was +there another Joan whom he did not know? + +He walked on, grim, pale, chilled. The time when he would lie awake in +his little oak-beamed chamber and thoughts of Cicely would soothe him to +sleep with pleasant fancies was gone. He thought of her now without +emotion--no longer the memory of those walks thrilled his pulses. He +knew very well that never again would his heart beat the quicker for her +coming, never again, even though the memory of that terrible night could +be swept away, would her coming bring joy to him. Firmly though his +feet were planted upon the ladder, it seemed to him then in that gloomy +mood that every step must take him further away from any chance of that +wonderful happiness, so intangible, yet so sweet an adjunct to life. +For he was following like a doomed creature in the wake of Drexley, and +Rice, and those others. Too late had come his warning. The woman of +whom he never dared to think was surely a sorceress. She was only a +woman--scarcely even beautiful, yet the world of her sex had become to +Douglas Guest as a thing that was not. He turned at last back into the +Strand. He would go to his rooms and work for a while. But as he +walked slowly down, jostled by many passers-by, still not wholly +detached from that phantasmal past, there came upon him a shock so +sudden and so overwhelming that the very pavement seemed to yawn at his +feet. Towards him two women were slowly walking, holding their own in +the press of the crowd, one with horrified eyes already fastened upon +him, the other as yet unconscious of his presence. Nearer and nearer +they came, and although every impulse of his body bade him fly, his +limbs were rigid and every muscle seemed frozen. For the women were +Joan and her sister Cicely. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +CICELY ASKS A QUESTION + +After all, it was the woman who sought him who passed him by, her +unwilling companion who recognised him at once, in spite of his altered +dress and bearing. They were swallowed up in the crowd before Douglas +had recovered himself. Something in Cicely's terrified gaze had +instantly checked his first instinct which prompted him to accost them. +They were gone, leaving him alike speechless and bewildered. He +staggered into a small restaurant, and sitting at an unoccupied table, +called for a bottle of wine. + +With the first draught his courage returned, his mental perspective +commenced to rearrange itself. Cicely and Joan were in London, Cicely +had seen him, Joan had not. From the first he had realised that there +was danger to him in this encounter. Cicely had seen him, but she had +made no motion of recognition, she had obviously refrained from telling +her sister of his near presence. From this he concluded that whilst she +believed in him and was still his friend, Joan was his enemy. He rolled +a cigarette with nervous fingers, and lighted it. Did Joan suspect that +he was still alive? and was she looking for him? To the world in +general Douglas Guest was dead. How was it with these two girls? There +were various small reasons why they might be inclined to doubt what to +other people would seem obvious. He recalled Joan's face, grim and +forbidding enough, almost a tragical figure in her black garb, as severe +and sombre as a country dressmaker could fashion it. He must get to +know these things. He must find Cicely. He walked thoughtfully back to +the offices of the Courier, where he found some work, which, for the +time, completely engrossed him. + +The next morning the following advertisement appeared in most of the +London newspapers. + +"To C. S. I must see you. British Museum to-day at six." + +For three days Douglas watched in vain. On the fourth his heart gave a +great leap, for a sombre little figure stepped out from an omnibus at +the corner of Russell Square and stood hesitatingly upon the pavement, +looking in through the iron bars at the Museum. He came across the +street to her boldly--she turned and saw him. After all, their greeting +approached the conventional. He remembered to raise his hat--she held +out her hand--would have withdrawn it, but found it already clasped in +his. + +"Cicely. How good of you. You saw my advertisement?" + +"Yes." + +"And you saw me in the Strand, but you would not speak to me. Was that +because of Joan?" + +"Yes." + +"I want to talk to you," he said. "I have so much to say." + +She raised her eyes to his, and he saw for the first time how much +thinner she was. + +"Douglas," she said, "there is something I must ask you first of all +before I stay with you for a moment. Must I put it into words?" + +"I do not think you need, Cicely," he answered. "I went to your +father's room that night beyond a doubt, but I never raised my hand +against him. I should have very hard work to prove it, I fancy, but I +am wholly innocent of his death--innocent, that is to say, so far as any +direct action of mine was concerned." + +She drew a long deep breath of relief. Then she looked up to him with a +beautiful smile. + +"Douglas," she said, "I was sure of it, yet it is a great weight from my +heart to hear you say so. Now, can you take me somewhere where we can +talk? I am afraid of the streets. I will tell you why afterwards." + +He called a hansom and handed her in. After a moment's hesitation he +gave the address of the restaurant where he had first met Rice. + +"It is only a shabby little place," he explained to her, apologetically, +"but we can talk there freely." + +"Anywhere," she answered; "how strange it seems to be here--in London +with you." + +There was a sense of unreality about it to him, but he only laughed. + +"Now tell me about Joan." + +She hesitated. + +"It will not be pleasant." + +"I do not deserve that it should be," he answered gravely. + +"She has always been quite sure that it was not you who was killed in +the railway accident. She even imbued me with that belief." + +"Her instinct there, at any rate, was true enough," he answered. + +"She also believes," Cicely continued, more slowly, "that you robbed and +murdered Father." + +Douglas shivered. It was hard even now to recall that night unmoved. +"Well?" + +"She has made up her mind that you are in London, and that sooner or +later she will find you." + +"And if she does?" + +"She has been to Scotland Yard. They will arrest you." + +The cab pulled up with a jerk, and a commissionaire threw open the +apron. Douglas handed his companion out, and they entered the +restaurant together. In a distant corner they found a table to +themselves, and he ordered dinner. + +"Well, we are safe from Joan here for a little time, at any rate," he +said, laughing. "Are you living with her, then?" + +Cicely nodded. + +"Yes. We have left the farm. There was very little money, you know, +after all, and Joan and I will have to take situations. At present we +are living upon our capital in the most shameful way. I am afraid she +is completely absorbed by one idea--it is horrible." + +"It is odd that she should be so vindictive," he said, wearily. + +Cicely shrugged her shoulders. She was intensely interested in the +little brown pot of soup which the waiter had brought them. + +"Joan is very peculiar," she said. "When I think of her I feel like a +doll. She is as strong as steel. I think that she cared for you, +Douglas, and, putting aside everything else, you behaved shamefully to +her." + +"She is not like other women," he answered decidedly. "Her caring for +me was not a matter of sentiment. Her father ordered, and she obeyed. +She knew quite well that it was exactly the same with me. I have never +uttered a word of affection to her in my life. Our engagement was an +utter farce." + +"Still I believe she cared," Cicely continued; "and I believe that, +apart from anything else, a sort of slow anger towards you is rankling +in her heart all the time." + +"I was a coward," Douglas said decidedly. "Even now I cannot understand +why for a moment I ever accepted such an impossible situation." + +Cicely showed all her teeth--she had fine, white teeth--in a brilliant +smile. + +"Joan would be quite handsome," she said, "if she were decently +dressed." + +"Some people might think so," he answered. "She wouldn't be my style. +I think I agreed, because in those days we all seemed to do exactly what +your Father ordered. Besides, the thing was sprung upon me so suddenly. +It took my breath away. + +"That was rather like Father," she remarked. "He liked taking us by +storm. Now I want to hear how you have got on, and what you are doing. +Let us drop the past for a little while, at any rate." + +He poured her out a glass of wine, and found time to notice how pretty +she was, with her slightly flushed cheeks and bright eyes. + +"I am on a newspaper," he said, "the _Daily Courier_. I got on quite by +chance, and they are going to keep me." + +She looked at him with keen interest. + +"How delightfully fortunate!" she exclaimed. "It is what you wanted all +your life, isn't it? And the _Ibex_ story? + +"Will appear next month. I have lots of orders for others too. The +first thing I wrote for the Courier was quite successful." + +She looked at him wistfully. "Couldn't you send it to me?" she asked. + +He took out pencil and paper. + +"Of course. Give me your address." + +She began, but stopped short with a little cry. + +"Whatever am I doing!" she exclaimed. "Why, Douglas, you mustn't think +of writing nor of sending anything to me. Joan might see it, and she +would know your handwriting in a moment." + +He paused with the pencil in his hand. + +"That's rather a nuisance," he said. "Isn't there somewhere else I can +write?" + +She shook her head regretfully. + +"I'm afraid not." + +"It is rather ridiculous," he said frowning. "I don't want to go about +in fear and trembling all my life. Don't you think that if I were to +see her or write to you I could convince--" + +She stopped him, horrified. + +"Douglas," she said, "you don't understand Joan. I am not sure that +even I, who live with her, do. She reminds me sometimes of those women +of the French revolution. There is a light in her eyes when she speaks +of you, which makes me shiver. Stay in London if you must, but pray +always that chance may not bring you two together." + +He answered her with an affectation of lightness, but her words were not +without effect upon him. He paid the bill and she lowered her veil. +Out in the street he would have called a hansom, but she checked him. + +"An omnibus, if you please, Douglas!" she exclaimed. "Joan would never +forgive me the extravagance if she saw me in a cab. I can find one at +the corner, and I should feel so much more comfortable if you would +leave me here." + +He looked down at her and realised once more the dainty Watteau--like +grace of her oval face and slim, supple figure. He thought of the days +when they had stolen out together on to the hillside, oftenest in the +falling twilight, sometimes even in the grey dawn, and his heart beat +regretfully. How was it that in those days he had never more fully +realised her charms? + +"I hate letting you go alone," he said, truthfully; "and I certainly +cannot let you go like this, without any idea as to your whereabouts." + +"We are staying in Wensum Street," she said. "I tell you that you may +avoid the neighbourhood. If I am to see you again, it certainly must +not be there." + +"Why not here?" he urged; "next Thursday night--say at half-past six. I +must not lose sight of you again--so soon." + +She raised her eyes quickly. It was pleasant to her to think that he +cared. + +"I think I could manage that," she said, softly. + +Douglas went off to his club with a keen sense of having acquired a new +interest in life. He was in that mood when companionship of some sort +is a necessity. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE REBELLION OF DREXLEY + +"You think," Drexley said, his deep, bass voice trembling with +barely-restrained passion, "that we are all your puppets--that you have +but to touch the string and we dance to your tune. Leave young Jesson +alone, Emily. He has been man enough to strike out a line for himself. +Let him keep to it. Give him a chance." + +She shrugged her shoulders and smiled upon him sweetly. She always +preferred Drexley in his less abject moods. + +"You have seen him lately, my friend?" she inquired. "He is well, I +hope?" + +"Yes, he is well," Drexley answered, bitterly. "Living, like a sensible +man, honestly by the labour of his brain, the friend and companion of +men--not the sycophant of a woman. I envy him." + +She pointed lazily towards the door. + +"He was man enough to choose for himself," she said; "so may you. To +tell you the truth, my dear friend, when you weary me like this, I feel +inclined to say--go, and when I say go--it is for always." + +Then there came into his face something which she had seen there once +before, and which ever since she had recalled with a vague +uneasiness--the look murderous. The veins in his forehead became like +whipcord--there was a red flash in his eyes. Yet his self-control was +marvellous. His voice, when he spoke, seemed scarcely to rise above a +whisper. + +"For always?" he surmised--"it would be rest at least. You are not an +easy task-mistress, Emily." + +Her momentary fear of him evaporated almost as quickly as it had been +conceived. She stood with her hand on the bell. "I think," she said, +"that you had better go to your club." + +He held out a protesting hand--tamed at any rate for the moment. + +"You were speaking of Jesson," he said. "Well?" + +She moved her finger from the bell, conscious that the crisis was past. +She might yet score a victory. + +"Yes, I was speaking of Jesson," she continued, lazily. "As you +remark--none too politely, by-the-bye--he has decided to do without my +help. I have no objection to that. I admire independence in a man. +Yet when he spoke to me from his point of view I am afraid that I was +rude. We parted, at any rate, abruptly. I have been thinking it over +and I am sorry for it. I should like to let him know that on the whole +I approve of his intention." + +"Write and tell him to come and see you then," Drexley said, gruffly. +"He can't refuse--poor devil." + +The beautifully-shaped eyebrows of the Countess de Reuss were a trifle +uplifted. Yet she smiled faintly. + +"No," she said, "he could not refuse. But it is not quite what I want. +If I write to him he will imagine many things." + +"What do you want me to do?" he asked brusquely. + +"You see him often at the club?" + +"Yes." + +"Go there to-night. Say that we have spoken of him; hint that this +absolute withdrawal from my house must appear ungrateful--has seemed so +to me. I shall be at home alone a week to-night. Do you understand?" + +"I understand, at least, that I am not to come and see you a week +to-night," he answered with a harsh laugh. + +"That is quite true, my friend," she said, "but what of it? You have +no special claim, have you, to monopolise my society?--you nor any man. +You are all my friends." + +There was a knock at the door--a maid entered. + +"Her ladyship will excuse me," she said, "but she is dining at +Dowchester House to-night at eight o'clock." + +Emily rose and held out her hand to Drexley. + +"Quite right, Marie," she said. "I see that I must hurry. You will +remember, my friend." + +"I will remember," he answered quietly. + +He walked eastwards across the park, not briskly as a strong man with +the joy of living in his veins, but with slow, dejected footsteps, his +great shoulders bent, his heart heavy. Physically he was sound enough, +yet the springs of life seemed slack, and a curious lassitude, a +weariness of heart and limbs came over him as he passed through the +crowds of well-dressed men, his fellows, yet, to his mind, creatures of +some other world. He sank into an empty seat, and watched them with +lack-lustre eyes. Why had this thing come to him, he wondered, of all +men? He was middle-aged, unimaginative, shrewd and well balanced in his +whole outlook upon life. Three years ago no man in the world would have +appeared less likely to become the wreck he now felt himself--three +years ago he had met Emily de Reuss. With a certain fierce eagerness he +set himself to face his position. Surely he was still a man? Escape +must lie some way. Then he laughed softly and bitterly to himself. +Yes, there was escape--escape through the small blue hole in the +forehead, which more than once he had pictured to himself lately with +horrid reality when fingering his revolver--escape in the arms of the +sea which he still loved, for in his day he had been a mighty swimmer. +There were no other means save such as these. Long ago he had wearied +of asking himself what manner of woman this was, whose lips he had never +touched, yet whose allurements seemed to have that touch of wonderful +magic which ever postpones, never forbids. He only knew 'that she was +to him as she was to those others--only with him the struggle was +fiercer. There were times as now, when his love seemed turned to fury. +She seemed to him then like some beautiful but unclean animal who fed +upon the souls of men. He burned to seize her in his arms, to cover her +face with hot kisses, and then to press his fingers around that delicate +white throat until the music of her death cry should set him free for +ever. But when his thoughts led him hitherwards a cold fear gave him +strength to break away--for with them came the singing in his ears, the +lights before his eyes, the airiness of heart and laughter which go +before madness. He sprang to his feet, steadied himself for a moment, +and walked rapidly onwards. The momentary exhilaration died slowly +away--the old depression settled down upon his spirits. Yet when he +reached the club he was breathless, and the hand which lighted a cigar +in the hall shook. + +On the stairs he met an acquaintance. + +"Going to dine, Drexley?" + +"No, I don't think so," he answered blankly. "Do you know if Jesson is +in the club?" + +"Haven't seen him. Come and have a drink. You look a bit shaky." + +Drexley shook his head. He wanted to drink, but not with any thoughts +of good fellowship in his heart. His was a fiercer desire--the craving +for mad blood or the waters of Lethe. He chose a quiet corner in the +reading room, and rang for brandy. + +Meanwhile Douglas came blithely down the Strand, a smile upon his lips, +a crowd of pleasant thoughts in his brain. To think that little Cicely +should have grown so pretty. How pleased she had been to see him, and +how she had enjoyed their little dinner. Next week would be something +to look forward to. He would look out some of his work which he knew +would interest her. After all, it had been she who had been the first +person in the world to say a word of encouragement to him. + +In the hall of the club some one shouted that Drexley had been inquiring +for him. He ordered some coffee and made his way up into the +writing-room. Drexley was there waiting, his head drooped upon his +folded arms. He looked up as Douglas entered. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +DREXLEY SPEAKS OUT + +Douglas halted in the middle of the room. He knew Drexley but slightly, +and his appearance was forbidding. Drexley waved him to a chair and +looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, but his tone was steady enough. + +"They told me downstairs that you were inquiring for me," Douglas said. + +Drexley nodded. + +"Yes. Sit down, will you. I have a sort of message, and there is +something I wanted to say." + +A waiter brought Douglas his coffee, and being in an extravagant mood he +ordered a liqueur. + +"What'll you have?" he asked. + +Drexley hesitated, but finally shook his head. + +"No more," he said. "A cigar, if you like." + +Even then Drexley shrank from his task. Their chairs were close +together and the room empty--yet for the first ten minutes they spoke of +alien subjects, till a suggestive pause from Douglas and a glance at his +watch made postponement no longer possible. Then, blowing out fierce +clouds of tobacco smoke, he plunged into his subject. + +"I've come," he said, "from Emily de Reuss. No, don't interrupt me. +I've a sort of message for you which isn't to be delivered as a message +at all. I'm to drop a hint to you that she would like you to go and see +her, that your refusal to do so would be a little ungracious, because +she came and saw you when you were ill. I'm to let you think that she's +feeling a little hurt at your behaviour, and finally to work you up into +going. Do you see?" + +"Not altogether," Douglas answered, laughing. + +"Well, it isn't altogether a laughing matter," Drexley said, grimly. +"I've got rid of my message. Now I'm going to speak to you on my own +account. You're young and you haven't seen much of life. You are no +more capable of understanding a woman like Emily de Reuss than you are +of talking Hindustanee. For the matter of that neither am I, nor any of +us. Any ordinary words which I could use about her must sound +ridiculous because of their inadequacy. However, to make myself +understood I must try. She is not only a beautiful woman of unlimited +wealth and social position, but she has, when she chooses to use them, +the most extraordinary powers of attracting people to her. She might +exercise these gifts upon men of her own social rank who are, as a rule, +of slighter character, and whose experience of the best of her sex is of +course larger than ours. She prefers, however, to stoop into another +world for her victims--into our world." + +"Why victims?" Douglas asked. "Isn't that rather an extreme view of the +case?" + +"It is a mild view," Drexley said. "I will justify it afterwards. In +the first place, I believe that she has genuine literary tastes, and a +delight for the original in any shape or form. The men in her own rank +of life would neither afford her any pleasure nor would they be for a +moment content with the return which she is prepared to offer for their +devotion. So she has chosen her victims, or, as you would say, friends, +from amongst our men--at least with a more robust virility and more +limited expectation. You will admit that so far I have spoken without +bias." + +"In the main, yes," Douglas answered. + +"There are women," Drexley said, "who are very beautiful and very +attractive, who admit at times to their friendship men with whom +anything but friendship would be impossible, and who contrive to +insinuate in some subtle way that their personality is for themselves +alone, or for some other chosen one. How it's done, I don't know, but I +believe there are plenty of women who do know, and who are able to +preserve unbroken friendships with men who, but for the exercise of that +gift, must inevitably fall in love with them. And there are also +women," Drexley continued, with voice not quite so steady, "who have the +opposite gift, who are absolutely heartless, wholly unscrupulous, as +cold as adders, and who are continually promising with their eyes, and +lips, and their cursed manner what they never intend to give. They will +take a strong man and break him upon the wheel, the wreck of whose life +is a glorification to their vanity. And of this type is Emily de +Reuss." + +Douglas was embarrassed--vaguely uneasy. The memory of Rice's words +came flooding back to him. Whatever else was true, this man's +sufferings were real indeed. To him she had never been anything but a +most charming benefactor. In a momentary fit of introspection he told +himself, then, that her sex had scarcely ever troubled him. + +"I think I know, Mr. Drexley," he said, "why you have spoken to me like +this, and I can assure you that I am grateful. If Emily de Reuss is +what you say, I am very sorry, for I have never received anything but +kindness from her. So far as regards anything else, I do not think that +I am in any sort of danger. I will confess to you that I am ambitious. +I have not the slightest intention of falling a victim to Emily de +Reuss, or any other woman." + +Drexley took up his cigar and relit it. + +"You speak," he said, "exactly as I should have done years ago. Yet you +are fortunate--so far." + +"With regard to next Thursday," Douglas added, "I could not go, in any +case, as I have an engagement." + +"I may tell her that?" Drexley said, looking at him keenly. "I may tell +her that you cannot come on Thursday because you have an engagement?" + +"Certainly. You may add, if you like, that I have drifted so far into +Bohemianism that I am not a fit subject for social civilities. She was +very kind to me indeed, and if ever she wishes me to go and see her I +will go, of course. But fashionable life, as a whole, has no +attractions for me. I am happier where I am." + +Drexley stood up and held out his hand. + +"I congratulate you," he said. "Don't think I'm an absolute driveller, +but don't forget what I've said, if even at present the need for a +warning doesn't exist. I'm one of her literary _proteges_, you see--and +there have been others--and I am what you see me." + +Douglas hesitated. + +"Surely with you," he said, "it isn't too late?" + +Drexley looked up. There was the dull hopelessness of despair in his +bloodshot eyes. Douglas, who had never seen anything like it before, +felt an unaccountable sense of depression sweep in upon him. + +"I am her bondman," he said, "body and soul. I could not tell you at +this moment whether I hate her or love her the more; but I could not +live without seeing her." + +Douglas passed upstairs to his billiards with a grim vision before his +eyes. Drexley was a broken man--of that there was no doubt. He knew +that his warning was kindly meant, but many times, both during that +evening and afterwards, he regretted that he had ever heard it. He had +come into the club almost lighthearted, thinking only of Cicely and of +the pleasant days of companionship which might still be theirs. He left +it at midnight vaguely restless and disturbed, with the work of weeks +destroyed. Emily de Reuss had regained her old place without the +slightest effort. Surely it was a hopeless struggle. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +CICELY'S SECRET + +A hard week's work left Douglas little time for outside thoughts. +Besides his daily articles for the Courier, which in themselves were no +inconsiderable task, he had begun at last the novel, the plot of which +had for long been simmering in his brain. He had certainly received +every encouragement. Rawlinson, who had insisted upon seeing the +opening chapters, had at once made him an offer for the story, and the +publishing house with which he was connected, although of only recent +development, had already made a name and attained a unique position. He +gave up the club, and worked steadily every night at his rooms, +resolutely thrusting aside all alien thoughts, and immensely relieved to +find the excitement of literary creation gradually attaining its old +hold upon him. He took his meals at a shabby little restaurant, which +none of his associates frequented, declined all invitations, and retired +for the next seven days into an obscurity from which nothing could tempt +him. There came no word from Emily de Reuss, for which he was thankful, +and when he left the office at six o'clock on Thursday evening, and +lighting a cigarette strolled through a network of streets towards the +restaurant where he was to meet Cicely, he had very much the feeling of +a schoolboy whose tasks were laid aside and whose holiday lay before +him. + +Cicely was there already, looking wonderfully bright and pretty, wearing +a new hat and a black and white dress, which, after her country-made +mourning, seemed positively smart. Douglas drew her hand through his +arm as they entered the room, and felt a pleasant sensation of +proprietorship at her laughing surrender. He chose a table where they +would least likely be disturbed, and imperilled his reputation with the +smiling waiter by ignoring the inevitable Chianti and calling for +champagne. Cicely reproved him for his extravagance, but sipped her +wine with the air of a connoisseur. + +"I couldn't help it," he said, smiling. "You know I've years of +parsimony and misery to make up for yet. This new life is so +delightful, and since you have come--well, I couldn't help celebrating. +Besides, you know, I'm earning quite a good deal of money, and I've +started the novel at last." + +"Tell me about it," she begged, with sparkling eyes. + +"Presently," he answered, "Eat your fish now, please. Over our coffee I +will tell you the first chapter. And what excuse have you for wearing a +new frock to dazzle the eyes of a lonely bachelor with?" + +"Like it?" she asked, turning round on her chair towards him. + +"Immensely." + +"I made it myself," she said, continuing her dinner, "all since last +Thursday, too." + +"Wonderful," he exclaimed, looking at her once more with admiration. +"You must be worn out. Let me fill your glass." + +"Oh, I rather like dressmaking," she said. "Joan's disapprobation was +much more trying." + +"And how is she?" + +"Better, I believe, and inclined to be more sensible," she answered +cheerfully. "She has given up those horrid walks, and is thinking about +taking a situation. I can't tell you how grateful I am." + +"So am I," he answered fervently. + +They avoided, by mutual though unspoken consent, any further reference +to a subject so near akin to grave matters. She was satisfied with +Douglas's declaration of innocence--he was only anxious to forget his +whole past, and that chapter of it in special. So they passed on to +lighter subjects, discussed the people who entered and passed out, +praised the dinner and marvelled at its cheapness. They watched the +head waiter, with his little black imperial and beady eyes, a miracle of +suaveness, deftness, and light-footedness, one moment bowing before a +newcomer, his face wreathed with smiles, the next storming with +volubility absolutely indescribable at a tardy waiter, a moment later +gravely discussing the wine list with a _bon viveur_, and offering +confidential and wholly disinterested advice. It was all ordinary +enough perhaps, but a chapter out of real life. Their pleasure was +almost the pleasure of children. + +Later she grew confidential. + +"Douglas," she said, "I am going to tell you a secret." + +"If there is anything I thoroughly enjoy after a good dinner," he +remarked, fishing an olive out of the dish, "it is a secret." + +"You mustn't laugh." + +"I'll be as sober as a judge," he promised. + +"You know I shall have to earn my own living. We have really very +little money and we must, both of us, do something. Now I have been +trying to do in earnest what I have done for my own pleasure all my +life. Do you know what that is?" + +"I think I can guess," he answered, smiling. + +"Yes, I told you once--writing children's fairy stories. Now I don't +want you to be bothered about it, but I do wish you could give me an +idea where to send them." + +"You have some written?" + +She smiled. + +"I have two in that little parcel there." + +He broke the string and took one out. It was very neatly typewritten, +and a quick glance down the page pleased him. + +"Who typed it for you?" he asked. + +"Did it myself," she answered. "I learnt shorthand, you know, years +ago, and I bought a typewriter last week. I thought if nothing else +turned up, I might earn a little that way." + +"You are certainly not one of the helpless sort of young women," he +said. "Will you let me have the stories for a few days?" + +"Will it bother you?" she asked wistfully. + +"Well, I don't think so," he assured her. "I won't let it." + +Drexley, a little gaunt and pale, but more carefully dressed than usual +in evening clothes, passed their table, looking for a vacant seat. +Douglas touched his arm. + +"Sit here, Drexley," he said. "We're off in a minute, and then you can +have the whole table." + +Drexley thanked him and surrendered his hat and coat to the waiter. +Douglas leaned across to Cicely. + +"Cicely," he said, "let me introduce Mr. Drexley to you. Mr. +Drexley--Miss Strong. Mr. Drexley will probably be my first victim on +your behalf." + +Cicely blushed and looked timidly up at the tall, bearded man, who was +regarding her with some interest. He smiled kindly and held out his +hand. + +"I am very pleased to know you, Miss Strong," he said. "May I ask in +what way I am to suffer on your behalf?" + +"You have the misfortune, sir," Douglas said, "to be the editor of a +popular magazine, and you are consequently never safe from the literary +aspirant. I am one, Miss Strong is another." + +"Oh, Mr. Drexley," she exclaimed, in some confusion, "please don't +listen to him. I have never tried to do anything except children's +fairy stories, and I'm sure they're not half good enough for the _Ibex_. +I brought Douglas two to look at, but I'm not sure that they're any good +at all. I meant to offer them to a children's paper." + +"Nevertheless, if you will allow me," Drexley said, stretching out his +hand, "I will take them with me and judge for myself. If I can use +them, Miss Strong, it will be a pleasure to me to do so; if I cannot, I +may be able to make some suggestion as to their disposal." + +"It's awfully good of you, Drexley," Douglas declared, but Drexley was +bowing to Cicely. All the gratitude the heart of man could desire was +in those soft brown eyes and flushed cheeks. + +"I see you've nearly finished," Drexley said. "I am only in time to +offer you liqueurs. I always take a _fin_ instead of a savoury, and I +shall take the liberty of ordering one for you, Jesson, and a _creme de +menthe_ for Miss Strong." + +"You're very good," Douglas answered. + +The order was given to the head-waiter himself, who stood by Drexley's +chair. Drexley raised his little glass and bowed to the girl. + +"I drink your health, Miss Strong," he said, gravely, "and yours, +Jesson. May I find your stories as good as I expect to." + +Cicely smiled back at him. Her face was scarlet, for the coupling of +their names, and Drexley's quiet smile, was significant. But Douglas +only laughed gaily as he reached for his hat, and drew Cicely's feather +boa around her with a little air of protection. + +"Good night, Drexley," he said. + +And Drexley, rising to his feet, bowed gravely, looking into the girl's +face with a light in his eyes which ever afterwards haunted her when his +name was mentioned--a light, half wistful, half kindly. For several +minutes after they had left, he sat looking idly at the "bill of fare" +with the same look on his face. There had been no such chance of +salvation for him. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE COUNTESS, THE COUSIN, AND THE CRITIC + +Out in the streets they paused. A theatre or any place of amusement was +out of the question, for Cicely dared not stay out later than half-past +nine. Then a luminous idea came to Douglas. + +"Why on earth shouldn't you come to my rooms?" he asked. "I can give +you some decent coffee and read you the first chapter of my novel." + +She hesitated, but barely for a moment. + +"It sounds delightful," she admitted. "I'll come. Glad to. Isn't it +lovely to be in this great city, and to know what freedom is--to do what +seems well and hear nothing of that everlasting 'other people say'?" + +"It's magnificent," he answered. + +He beckoned a hansom, handed her in, and somehow forgot to release her +hand. The wheels were rubber-tyred and the springs easy. They glided +into the sea of traffic with scarcely a sense of movement. + +"Life," he said, "is full of new sensations," holding her fingers a +little tighter. + +"It is our extreme youth," she murmured, gently but firmly withdrawing +them. "In a year's time all this will seem crude to you." + +"In a year's time," he answered, looking down at her, suddenly +thoughtful, "I will remind you of that speech." + +She sighed, but her gravity was only for a moment. She was chattering +again gaily by the time they reached the street where Douglas's rooms +were. He led her up the stairs, ill-carpeted and narrow. His room had +never seemed so small and shabby as when at last they reached it and he +threw the door open. + +She walked at once to the window. The Houses of Parliament, +Westminster, the Thames, were all visible. A hundred lights flashed +upon the embankments and across the bridges, away opposite, a revolving +series of illuminations proclaimed the surpassing quality of a +well-known whiskey. Westwards, a glow of fire hung over the city from +Leicester Square and the theatres. She gazed at it all, fascinated. + +"What a wonderful view, Douglas!" she exclaimed. He rose up, hot from +his struggles with a refractory lamp, and came to her side. A sound of +bubbling and a pleasant smell of coffee proclaimed the result of his +labours. + +"I have never yet tired of looking at it," he answered. "I have no +blind, as you see, and at night I have had my writing-table here and the +window open. Listen." + +He threw up the sash. A deep, monotonous roar, almost like the incoming +tide of the sea, fell upon their ears. + +"You hear it," he said. "That is life, that rolling of wheels, the +falling of a thousand footsteps upon the pavement, men and women going +to their pleasures, the outcasts and the parasites bearing them company. +It is like the sea. It is always there. It is the everbeating pulse of +humanity." + +He closed the window and led her to an easy chair. + +"Cissy," he said, "do you know, this is what we always talked of, that I +should write a story and read it first to you? Do you remember?" + +"Yes," she answered softly, "I remember." + +"We didn't anticipate this." He looked around. "Don't judge me +altogether by my surroundings. To tell you the truth, when I started I +went too much to the other extreme. I discovered I had made a mistake, +so I sold up and found myself in debt. I am earning plenty of money, +but I have to economise to get clear. This novel is going to set me +straight." + +He took some loose pages up in his hand. She looked over his shoulder. + +"You haven't improved a bit in your writing," she exclaimed. "Do let me +type it for you." + +"You shall, with pleasure," he answered. "I believe you're the only +person who could read it." + +She laughed and took her coffee from him. + +"Please light a cigarette," she begged. "I loathe the taste, but the +perfume is delightful." + +He obeyed her, and she arranged the lamp so that the light fell upon the +sheets which he had gathered up into his hand. Then she leaned back in +her chair and listened. + + * * * * * + +"Well?" + +She sat up and faced him, her face flushed with excitement, her eyes +flashing soft fires. + +"There is nothing I can say beyond this," she cried: "it is the sort of +book which I always hoped and believed that one day you would write." + +"You like it?" + +"Like is no word. It is magnificent." + +He laughed at her. + +"If all my critics were like you." + +She sighed. + +"I am only afraid of one thing," she said. "When it is finished and +published you will be a great man. You will be so far off. I think I +wish that it were not quite so clever. It makes me feel lonely." + +He came over and sat upon the arm of her chair. She was very sweet, +very dainty, very pretty. + +"Cissy," he said, "you need never be afraid of that. Whatever might +happen in the future, I shall never enjoy an evening more than this one. +It rests with you to say whether we may not have many more." + +"With me?" + +She looked up at him quickly. From where he sat he could see her bosom +rising and falling quickly. Then he started suddenly away--Cicely sat +up in terror, grasping the sides of her chair. There was a sharp knock +at the closed door. + +"Is Mr. Jesson in?" a soft voice asked. + +"Who is it?" Douglas cried, in blank amazement. + +The door opened, and a woman, in a long opera cloak and rustling skirt +gathered up in her hands, glided in. It was the Countess de Reuss. + + * * * * * + +She stood in a little halo of lamplight, a diamond star flashing in her +hair, and her neck ablaze with gems. She was dressed to make her bow +presently in the presence of Royalty, her dress _decollete_, her figure +superb, her jewels famous throughout the world. Cicely looked at her +and gasped--Douglas was speechless. She herself maintained a +magnificent composure, although she had, as a matter of fact, received a +shock. + +"I admit, my friend," she said, holding out her hand to Douglas, "that +my visit is unusual, but I can assure you that I am not a ghost. Try my +fingers, they are very real." + +Douglas recovered himself and drew a long breath. + +"I am very glad to see you," he said, "but if I had had any idea that +you really wished to see me I would have spared you the trouble of +coming to such an outlandish place." + +"Oh, I can assure you that I have rather enjoyed it," she answered him. +"My coachman believes that I am mad, and my maid is sure of it. Won't +you introduce me to your friend--your sister, perhaps?" + +Douglas preserved his composure. + +"This is my cousin, Cicely Strong," he said, "the Countess de Reuss. +The Countess de Reuss was very kind to me, Cicely, when I was ill. I +think I told you about her." + +Cicely was timid and nervous, nor did she at all understand the +situation. + +The Countess nodded to her kindly. + +"You have a very clever relation," she said. "We are all expecting +great things from him. Now let me tell you, Douglas, why I have come. +There are two men coming to see me to-morrow whom you positively must +meet. One is Mr. Anderson, who owns the great Provincial Syndicate of +Newspapers, and pays enormous prices for letters from London, the other +is an American. I've asked them purposely for you, and you see I've +taken some pains to make sure of your coming." + +"It is very good of you," Douglas replied. "I will come, of course, +with pleasure." + +"At eight o'clock," she said, gathering up her skirts into her hand. +"Now, good-by, young people." + +She nodded pleasantly and turned away. Douglas took the lamp and +hurried to the door. + +"You will let me see you to your carriage," he said. + +"Cissy, I shall only be a moment. Do you mind the darkness?" + +She answered him blithely. The Countess laid her delicate fingers upon +his arm, and held up her skirts till he could see her shapely feet with +diamond buckles carefully feeling for each stair. + +"My friend," she exclaimed, "what ill taste you have shown. You are +abominably lodged." + +"I am not a chooser," he answered; "but at least here I can pay my way." + +She laughed at him. + +"Bourgeois." + +"Maybe. I believe my ancestors were shopkeepers." + +"And the little cousin?" she said, looking at him sideways. + +"She is the dearest little girl in the world," he answered, heartily. + +"I am not sure that I approve of her, though," the Countess said gaily, +"not, at any rate, if it has been she who has kept you away from me all +this time." + +There was a more personal note in her conversation, the touch of her +fingers upon his arm was warm and firm. Thinking of these things, +Douglas did not hear the rustle of a skirt behind him as they stepped +out upon the pavement. The Countess saw it and kept him talking there +lightly for a moment. When at last she let him go, and he ran upstairs, +he nearly dropped the lamp he was carrying in surprise. For his little +room was empty. Cicely was gone. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +A TRAGIC INTERRUPTION + +"So you see, my friend Douglas, we must dine alone. Try to look as +though the calamity were not so great." + +The frown did not pass from Douglas's face, although he made the answer +which was expected of him. In a sense he felt that he had been trapped. +Opposite to him was Emily de Reuss in her favourite attitude, leaning a +little forward, her hands clasped around her right knee, rocking herself +backwards and forwards with a slow, rhythmical motion. She wore a gown +of vivid scarlet, soft yet brilliant in its colouring. Her arms and +shoulders were bare, and a string of pearls around the neck was her only +ornament. Dressed exactly as she now was, he had once told her with +honest and boyish frankness that she was the most beautiful woman he had +ever seen. That she, whose wardrobe was a miracle, and jewel-case the +envy of every woman in London, should have chosen to appear to-night in +precisely the same toilette, was at the same time an embarrassment and a +warning to him. The image of Drexley rose up, the sound of his +despairing warning seemed still in his ears. There was a colour in her +cheeks, a light in her eyes--subtle indications that his visit was a +thing looked forward to, no ordinary occasion. They were in one of the +smaller rooms; outside a round table was laid for dinner in the +palm-lined conservatory. Presently they sat there together; through the +glass was a dazzling view of blue sky, starlit and clear; within, a +vista of exotics, whose perfume hung heavy upon the air. Great palms +were above their heads, the silver waters of a fountain rose and fell a +few feet behind. They were served by a single servant in the de Reuss +liveries of grey and silver; everything on the table was daintily +fashioned and perfect of its sort. To Douglas, who at heart was +passionately fond of beautiful things, it seemed after his gloomy garret +a retaste of paradise. Champagne was served to them in a long glass jug +of Venetian workmanship, rendered cloudy by the ice, like frosted ware. +Emily herself filled his glass and pledged him a toast. + +"To the novel," she cried. "May it be as successful in literature as +your other work has been in journalism! And Douglas, of course you've +dedicated it to me." + +"I haven't imposed a dedication upon any one," he answered. "Aren't +they out of date?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. Her elbows were both on the table, and she +leaned across towards him. + +"Tell me about your story," she begged. "There is fruit coming, and +coffee. Let me fill your glass and you shall tell me of what things you +have written, evil or good, the things which are, or the things which +should be." + +She raised the jug and the wine fell in a Little yellow shower into his +foaming glass. He raised it to his lips thoughtfully. + +"It is wonderful," he said, "that you should be so interested." + +"In the man or his story?" + +"In either," he answered. "As a story-writer I am altogether unproven. +My novel may prove an utter failure." + +She shook her head. + +"You are not of the race of men who fail, my dear Douglas," she said. +"I think that that is why I like you.', + +"I have been as near failure as any man can go," he said. + +"It is over," she answered. "Now tell me of your story." + +He told her its outline. She listened with slowly nodding head, +grasping every point quickly, electrically, sympathetically. His slight +awkwardness in speaking of his own work passed away. He expatiated, was +coherent and convincing. More than once she interrupted him. Her +insight was almost miraculous. She penetrated with perfect ease beneath +his words, analysed his motives with him, showed him a psychological +weakness in the workings of one of his characters. She was liberal with +her praise, called his characters by their christian names as though +they were old friends, suggested other moves across the chessboard of +his plot, until he felt that he and she, and those dear puppets of his +own creations, were denizens together of some fairy and ethereal world, +wandering through the fascinating maze of imaginative life. It was +almost an intoxication, this wonderfully stimulating contact with a mind +so receptive, so brilliant, so sympathetic. He forgot his garret, +Cicely, the drear past, the passionate warnings of Drexley and Rice. As +a weaver of stories he was in his first youth. He had peopled but few +worlds with those wonderfully precious creations--the children of the +brain. They were as dear to him as the offspring of his own flesh and +blood could ever be. Hitherto they had been the mysterious but +delightful companions of his solitude. There was a peculiar pleasure in +finding that another, too, could realise them. They seemed indeed to +pass, as they two sat there and talked of them, into an actual and +material existence, to have taken to themselves bodily shapes, the dear +servants of his will, delightful puppets of his own creation. The +colour mounted into his cheeks, and the fire of hot life flashed through +his pulses. He drank wine again, conscious only of a subtle and +quickening happiness, a delicious sense of full and musical life. + +"You have given me a wonderful idea of your story," she murmured. +"Nothing has charmed me so much for a long while. Now the only thing +which I am curious about is the style." + +"The style," he repeated. "I don't think I have ever thought of that." + +"And yet," she said, "you must have modified your usual style. Your +journalistic work, I think, is wonderful--strong, full of life and +colour, lurid, biting, rivetting. Yet I doubt whether one could write a +novel like that." + +"You can scarcely expect a hack journalist," he said, with a smile, "to +write with the elegance of a Walter Pater. Yet of course I have taken +pains--and there is a good deal of revision to be done." + +She shook her head softly. + +"Revision" she said, "never affects style. The swing of a good story is +never so good as in the first writing of it. Ah, here is Mr. +Anderson." + +An elderly gentleman was ushered in to them. He carried his hat with +him, and had the appearance of a man in a hurry. He greeted Emily with +courtesy, Douglas with interest. + +"I've looked in for a moment," he said; "carriage waiting at the +door--got to speak at the Institute of Journalists and catch the +midnight train home. So this is Mr. Jesson, eh?" + +Douglas admitted the fact, and the newcomer eyed him keenly. + +"Will you write me a London letter of a thousand words three times a +week for ten pounds?" he asked abruptly. + +"Certainly, if you think I can send you what you want," Douglas answered +promptly. + +"The Countess answers for it that you can. I've seen your work in the +Courier. It's exactly what I wish for--pithy, to the point, crisp and +interesting. Never be beguiled into a long sentence, abjure politics as +much as possible, and read other London letters that you may learn what +to avoid. I can't give you better advice than this." + +"I'll try," Douglas declared, laughing. + +The elderly gentleman picked up his hat, declined coffee vigorously, and +liqueurs scornfully. + +"Ten pounds a week," he said, "three months notice either side, and no +work of the same sort for any other country paper. I'll be frank with +you. I shall sell the letters out, and make a profit on 'em. A dozen +newspapers'll take them. Good-night. Address here." + +He laid down a card and disappeared. Douglas looked at his companion +and laughed. They sat upon a lounge placed back between the fountain +and the palms, and drank their coffee. Douglas lit a cigarette. + +"Why, I'm a rich man," he exclaimed. "I suppose it's all right." + +"Oh, it's quite genuine," she said, "but you ought to have asked more +money. Mr. Anderson is very odd, but he's honest and liberal, and a +great friend of mine. + +"Ten pounds seemed such wealth," he said, with a sudden thought that his +days in a garret were over when he chose. + +"It is very little," she repeated. "I could have got you more. Still +there are some other things I have in view for you." + +A sudden wave of gratitude made him ashamed that he had ever for a +moment listened to Drexley the lunatic, and Rice, miserable croaker. He +held out his hand to her. + +"I owe you so much," he said. "I shall never be half grateful enough." + +She held his fingers--surely no woman's hand was ever so delicately +shaped, so soft, so electric. His fingers remained, only now they +enclosed hers. + +"I do not want any word of thanks from you," she said. "Only I should +like you to remember that I have tried to do what little I could for +you." + +Still their hands lingered together, and Douglas was thrilled through +all his senses by the touch of her fingers, and the soft, dark fire of +her eyes. He held his breath for a moment--the splashing of the +fountain alone broke a silence eloquent enough, so fascinating indeed +that he felt his breath tighten in his throat, and a sudden +overmastering desire to seize the embrace which some unspoken instinct +seemed to denote awaited him. Afterwards he always felt that if no +untoward thing had come then the story of his after life would surely +have been painted in other colours. But there came an interruption +altogether unexpected, marvellous, tragical. Their hands were still +joined, he had turned slightly towards her so that his eyes looked into +hers, they were face to face with one of those psychological crises +which, since the days of primitiveness, have made man's destiny and +woman's vocation. Ever afterwards a thought of that moment brought +thrilling recollections--there was the suspense, the footstep outside, +the crashing of a pistol shot through the glass. Douglas leaped to his +feet with a cry of horror. Emily had sunk back upon her seat, a red +spot upon one of her beautiful shoulders, her cheeks slowly paling into +unconsciousness. There was a smell of gunpowder in the air, a little +cloud of smoke hanging around, and he had one single photographic +glimpse of a man's face, haggard, unkempt, maniacal, pressed against the +broken pane of glass whence the shot had come. A moment afterwards, +when the place was full of servants, and one had run for a doctor, he +rushed outside, backwards and forwards like a madman, looking in the +shrubs, the arbour, behind seats, everywhere. But of the man who had +fired that shot there was no trace. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +A VISITOR FOR DOUGLAS JESSON + +There followed for Douglas a period of much anxiety, days of fretful +restlessness, sleepless nights full of vague and shadowy dejection. +Emily de Reuss was ill, too ill to see him or any one. All callers +were denied. Daily he left flowers and messages for her--there was no +response save a repetition to him always of the doctor's peremptory +instructions. The Countess was to see no one, to receive no letters, to +be worried by no messages. Absolute quiet was necessary. Her nerves +had received a severe shock. Neither from the papers, in the +fashionable columns of which he read regretful accounts of her +indisposition, nor from the servants who answered his continual +inquiries, was there ever the slightest reference to the tragical nature +of it. It was obvious that she had recovered consciousness sufficiently +to lay her commands upon those few who must have known, and that they +had been faithful. Her illness was announced as due to a combination of +a fashionable malady and a severe nervous breakdown. Yet the memory of +that other thing was ever before him, the fierce, white face with the +blazing eyes pressed against the glass, the flash, the wreath of smoke, +the faint, exciting smell of gunpowder, and the spot of blood upon that +alabaster shoulder. It had been murder attempted at least. No +occupation could distract his thoughts from that. The horror of it +seemed ever chilling his veins. He longed to share his knowledge with +some one, to talk it over with her. Neither was possible. Solitude had +never oppressed him more. He grew daily more nervous and hysterical. + +For he was all the while tormented by fears and suspicions which stalked +ever by his side, grim and ghostly phantoms. Those wan features and +dark, starving eyes had kindled within him from the first, a hideous +sense of familiarity--against which he fought indeed but ever vainly. +Once before he had seen them, and it was at the moment when his own life +had first come into touch with things tragical. Yet if his memory +served him truthfully, he was surely face to face with an insoluble +enigma. What had Emily de Reuss to do with such a man as this? + +As the days passed by leaving the situation unchanged, he made a great +effort to put all these harrowing speculations away, to devote himself +once more to his work, which was beginning to weigh heavily upon him. +In a measure he was successful. He was able to perform such tasks as +fell to his lot during office hours with his usual exactitude, though +everything he wrote was marked at this time with a certain nervous +energy, which, without detracting from its literary value, was a sure +indication of his own mental state. But it was after the day's work was +over that his sufferings commenced in earnest. A vigorous distaste for +the society of his fellows asserted itself. Night after night, his +solitary dinner hastily snatched at an obscure restaurant, he spent +alone in his gaunt sitting-room, his work neglected, his face turned +westwards, his luminous eyes ever fascinated by the prospect which +stretched from the dark street beneath to the murky horizon. Night +after night his imagination peopled with shadows and spectres the great +city, whose lights cast a deep glow upon the brooding clouds, and whose +ceaseless roar of life seemed ever in his ears. Before him lay the +unwritten pages of his novel, through the open window came the sobbing +and wailing, the joy and excitement, the ever ringing chorus of life +which, if only he could interpret it, must make him famous for ever. +Night after night he listened, and drank it in greedily, thrilled +through all his senses by this near contact with the great throbbing +heart of the world. Yet his pen was idle. More than ever he realised +that he had a long apprenticeship to serve. There came a time when he +threw down his manuscript and wandered out into the streets. By such +means alone could he gain knowledge and the power of knowledge. + +Emily de Reuss was still denied to him, Cicely seemed to have passed of +her own will entirely out of his life. In those days, either might +easily have obtained an empire over him, for he was in a keenly +impressionable stage of living, passing through one of those crises +which, in men of more experience, come earlier in life. He was full of +emotions struggling for expression--it seemed to him, at last, that in +solitude he would never find an outlet for them. If he had known where +to look he would have sought for Cicely at all risks. He even looked +for her nightly at the spot of their first meeting--but always in vain. +It was as though she had vanished into thin air. By chance he heard of +her at last. She had sent some work to Drexley which he had decided to +accept. He spoke warmly of it, but when Douglas asked for her address +he shook his head. It had come to him with the proviso of anonymous +publication, and his own secrecy as to her whereabouts. He was able to +tell Douglas nothing, refused even when he was pressed. Douglas left +him with an angry exclamation upon his lips. + +His solitude became intolerable. One night he looked out his dress +clothes and dined at a large cosmopolitan restaurant, where men and +women of all sorts were gathered together. Then for the first time he +realised something of the tawdriness of this life of pleasure, which +seemed ever calling to him through the open windows of his lonely room. +He had a small table to himself, ordered his dinner with care, and drank +champagne to bring his spirits so far as possible into touch with the +general atmosphere. There was music playing all the while, and the +ripple of gay feminine voices fell constantly upon his ears. Women were +all around him, gaily dressed and bejewelled, a soft, voluptuous wave of +enjoyment seemed floating about the place, enfolding them all--save him. +For as he watched and listened his face grew darker and his heart +heavier. He felt himself out of place, outside the orbit of these +people, very little in sympathy with them. He looked at the woman +sitting at the next table, elegantly dressed, laden with jewels, whose +laughter was incessant and speeches pointless--her companion found her +interesting enough, but Douglas was conscious of nothing save her +restless desire to please, her little bursts of frivolous mirth and an +ugly twitch of her lips which every now and then revolted him. It was a +chance, perhaps, or a mood, which made him look out upon a scene, +ordinary enough and inoffensive, through dun-coloured spectacles. He +paid his bill and walked thoughtfully homeward, thankful for the cool +night air which fanned his forehead. He even entered his bare +sitting-room and threw up the window with a positive feeling of relief. + +He brought out his work, lighted a cigarette and sat there smoking +thoughtfully. The match which kindled his lamp showed him a large +square envelope on his mantelpiece. He tore it open and drew out a +letter. It was from Emily. + +He read it eagerly. Whatever its message, it seemed a relief to him +just then to know that his suspense was to be ended. + +"My FRIEND,--I am suffering from a slight accident--you alone know the +nature of it--and from a shock, the nature of which you cannot +understand. I am better, but my doctor is an old woman. He insists +upon sending me away. I am going--never mind where. It may be that we +shall not meet again for some time. I want you to think of me, my dear +Douglas, as kindly as you can. It seems to me that I am a very +unfortunate woman. Those whom I would befriend usually end by regarding +me as their worst enemy. Do not you also lose faith in me. Some day I +shall return, and I hope to find you famous. Work at your novel, +dedicate it, if no one who has more right to such an honour has come +into your life, to me, and, whatever you do, remember that I am always +your friend and that your success will be as dear to me as to yourself. + +"EMILY DE REUSS." + +Precisely the moment when such a thought came to him, he could not say, +but before he had finished reading his attention was partially +distracted by a curious and instinctive conviction. He felt that he was +not alone--that the solitude of his chamber, high up in the building and +cut off, as it were, from the world, had been broken. He ceased +reading, and although he was no coward he could feel his heart beating. +He felt a strange reluctance to turn round. Then the silence was +broken. Close to his left ear sounded the click of a revolver, and a +man's voice came to him from out of the shadows. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +FELLOW-CRIMINALS + +"Stand precisely as you are, Douglas Guest. If you turn your head, or +take a single step towards me, you are a dead man." + +Douglas was not a coward, and the sound of a human voice dispelled in a +moment the vague fears which had caused his heart to leap. He remained +immovable. + +"Under those circumstances," he answered steadily, "I can assure you +that I have not the slightest intention of moving. Who are you, and +what do you want with me?" + +A hard little laugh. Again the click of a revolver. + +"I want from you several things. First of all, and most important, the +address of the writer of that letter which you have just been reading." + +"That's precisely," Douglas said, "what I should like to know myself. +The lady does not give it." + +"You are very near death, Douglas Guest. Her address? + +"I am not in the habit of swearing," Douglas answered, "but upon my oath +it is not in this letter. Upon my oath I do not know it." + +He caught the sound of a sob, but when he would have turned his head +there came again the sharp click of the revolver and an angry +exclamation from his unseen adversary. + +"Stand as you are. If by chance you should see my face I will shoot +you. I have killed men before, and I have no love for you." + +Then Douglas knew that his assailant, if not a lunatic, was surely +verging upon madness. He looked towards the door--the distance was too +far. No answer occurred to him which seemed discreet, so he remained +silent. + +"As to her state of health, Douglas Guest. She has been ill." + +"I know nothing save that she is better." + +"Have you seen her since?" + +"You were with her when she was taken ill?" + +"I was," Douglas answered. + +"You know the circumstances?" + +"I know," Douglas said, "that she was the victim of a cowardly and +infamous attempt at assassination." + +There came a mocking little laugh. Douglas never turned his head, but +he felt instinctively that his life was in danger--that a finger was +laid upon the trigger of that revolver. + +"You are a brave man, Douglas Guest." + +"Braver at least," Douglas answered, "than the man who shoots at women +and runs away." + +There was the sound of a scornful laugh, a step upon the floor. His +unbidden guest was coming from out of the shadows. + +"You need fear no longer. I am known to you, I see. I have put my +revolver away. You and I will talk for a while." + +Douglas turned round with a little breath of relief. Yes, it was the +man whom he had expected to see, pale as death, with sunken eyes +encircled with deep, black lines, one little spot of colour flaring on +his cheeks, shabbily dressed, yet carrying in his personality still the +traces of refinement. He dropped into the one easy chair, and Douglas +watched him half fascinated. + +"You have become" he continued, leaning his head upon his bony fingers, +"a man of letters, I believe. I congratulate you. You have stepped +into the whirlpool from which no man can retrace his steps. Yet even +this is better, is it not, than the Methodism? You were not cut out, I +think, for a parson." + +"Never mind me and my affairs," Douglas said hoarsely. "I want to have +nothing to do with you. I wish you no harm--only I beg that you will +leave this room, and that I may never see you again." + +The newcomer did not move. + +"That is all very well, Mr. Guest," he said, "but I fancy that last +time we met it was as fellow-criminals, eh?" + +"We were both trying to rob your father," Douglas answered slowly, "but +there was a difference. The money I wanted, and took was mine--ay, and +more besides. He had no right to withhold it. As for you--" + +"Well, he was my father, and of his own will he had never given me a +halfpenny in my life. Surely I had a right to something?" + +"Let the robbery go," Douglas said, leaning across the table. "It's +true that I took but my own--but no more of that. At least I never +raised my hand against him." + +The man in the chair beat with the tips of his fingers upon the table by +his side. He spoke in a dull, unemotional tone. + +"Perhaps not, but while you robbed he slept. I was as gentle as you and +quieter, but in the midst of it he woke up, and I found his eyes wide +open, watching me. I saw his fingers stiffen--in a moment he would have +been upon me--so I struck him down. You heard him call and came back. +Yet we neither of us thought him dead. I did not wish to kill him. +Do you remember how we stood side by side and shuddered? + +"Don't!" Douglas cried sharply. "Don't. I wish you would go away." + +The man in the chair took no notice. There was a retrospective light in +his dark eyes. He tapped upon the table again with his skinny +forefinger. + +"Just a little blue mark upon his temple," he continued, in the same +hard, emotionless voice. "We stood and looked at it, you and I. It was +close upon morning then, you know--it seemed to grow light as we stood +there, didn't it? You tried to bring him to. I knew that it was no +use. I knew then that he was dead." + +Douglas reeled where he stood, and every atom of colour had left his +cheeks. + +"I wish you would go away, or be silent," he moaned. "You will send me +mad--as you are." + +Then the man in the chair smiled, and awful though his impassiveness had +been, that smile was worse. + +"It is not I who will send you mad," he said. "She will do it in good +time. She has done it to others--she has done it to me. That is why I +tried to kill her. That is why I may not rest until I have killed her. +Don't you know why I wanted that money? She was at the Priory, and I +walked there, to see her for a moment, to hear her voice. I hid in the +grounds--it was two days before I saw her. Then she shrank away from me +as though I were some unclean animal. She would not look at me, nor +suffer me to speak. I had no right, she said, to come into her presence +in such a state. I was to come decently dressed, in my right mind--then +she might talk with me. But a creature in rags! It wasn't kind, was +it? I had waited so long, and I was what she had made me. So I went +across the hills to Feldwick, and I wrote a note to my father. He tore +it into small pieces unread. So I came by night, a thief, and you also +were there by night, a thief. The same night, too. It was queer. + +"I do not want to hear any more," Douglas said, with a shiver. "I +thought that you were dead." + +"I have an excellent recipe for immortality," was the slow, bitter +answer. "I desire to die." + +"There are your sisters," Douglas said slowly. "They are in London. +After all, you did not mean to kill him." + +The man shook his head. + +"I have no sisters," he said, "nor any kin." + +"Why not Africa, and a fresh start?" Douglas said. "I am poor, but I +can help you, and I can borrow a bit--enough for your passage and +clothes, at any rate." + +No thanks--no sign even of having heard. The man had moved to the +window. He seemed fascinated by the view. There was a silence between +them. Then he waved his hand towards that red glow which hung like a +mist of fire over the city. + +"A cauldron," he muttered, "a seething cauldron of stinking vice and +imperishable iniquity. Once I lodged somewhere near here. I have stood +at a window like this by the hour, and my heart has leaped like a boy's +at the sound of that roar. Douglas, those old Methodists up in the +hill-village were not so far from the truth--not so far from the truth, +after all. How I laughed when they wagged their old grey heads and told +me that the great South road was the road to Hell." + +Life is what we make it, here or in the hills Douglas said, with a +sententiousness which sounded to himself like ugly irony. + +The man at the window drew himself up. For a moment there was a gleam +of the old self. + +"For the cattle, ay, Douglas," he answered. "For such as you and me, it +is what the woman makes it. I'm going. I've no ill-will towards you, +but if you hinder or follow me, I'll shoot you like a dog." + +So he passed out and was lost in the byways. Douglas remained sitting +at the window with folded arms. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE LITTLE FIGURE IN BLACK + +A season of intense depression, almost of melancholia, came to Douglas. +He grew more reserved than ever with his colleagues on the staff of the +Courier, who regretted his aloofness and would gladly have drawn him +into the ranks of their pleasant comradeship. He avoided the club, +where his absence was commented upon, and where he was in a fair way to +become a popular member. On the threshold of his ambitions, when the +way seemed fair before him, life had suddenly become distasteful. With +a fierce effort of concentration he continued to work at his novel, +which yet progressed but slowly. He spent much time sitting alone, +pondering upon subjects which, from such a standpoint as his present +one, seemed terrible enough. He had seen a good deal of the underneath +life of London, had himself suffered bitterly, and he began to think of +the city which now sheltered him as a city of lost souls drifting +onwards to a mysterious and awful goal. Though he had thrown away in +the moment of his revolt the shackles of his creed, the religious sense +was still strong in him. In those dark days it became almost a torment. +He felt that he too was going under. The springs of his ambition, his +lusty love of living and fighting grew weak, as physically his muscles +grew flaccid. He thought often of Strong--broken on the wheel, a +creature hopelessly lost. Was he drifting towards this? One night a +strange, sickly excitement came over him while he sat with the pen in +his hand. His head swam, and voices which he had almost forgotten rang +in his ears. Little specks of red fire danced before his eyes--he lost +hold upon his consciousness--he was doubtful even of his own identity. +He had become a unit, a lost unit, and for a moment or two he babbled +like a child. He set his teeth, walked swiftly up and down the room, +struggled and recovered himself. Yet he felt as though a dark wave had +broken over his head, and he were still amongst the tumbling waters. He +stood before the window and cried out a passionate prayer--to what God +he scarcely knew--yet it soothed him. He put on his hat hastily and +walked out into the streets. + +Afterwards he knew that he had stood that night in deadly danger. A +wild craving to escape from himself and his solitude by some unusual +means, beat against the walls of his heart. So far in life, from early +boyhood to manhood, a vigorous love for things beautiful, an intense +self-respect, an Epicureanism half instinctive, half inculcated by his +country life and innate spirituality, had kept him from even the thought +of things evil. Yet to-night the mainspring of his life was out of +gear. It was distraction, instant and immediate, he craved for--of any +kind, almost at any cost. He walked blindly, and a curious sense of +irresponsibility possessed him. The lights of a little restaurant +flared in his face--he entered, and called for wine. He sat at a small +table with champagne before him, and the men and women who crowded the +place looked at him curiously. Doggedly he filled his glass and drank. +Some one came and spoke to him--from whom at another time he would have +turned away, kindly enough, but as from a leper. He shared his wine, +talked purposelessly, and listened. A luminous moment came, however; he +paid his bill, and walked firmly from the place. In the Strand the +church bells were ringing, for it was Sunday. He turned westwards and +walked rapidly towards Westminster. + +Even in the porch he hesitated. Since he had left he had never entered +a church nor chapel. The sound of the organ came pealing out to +him--others were passing in, in a little stream; soon he, too, found +himself in one of the back seats. + + * * * * * + +Two hours later he walked out into the cool night air a new man, with +head erect, his brain clear, swept clean of many sickly phantoms. His +virility was renewed, he looked out once more upon life with eyes +militant and brave heart. He was full of the sense of having passed +through some purging and beneficent experience. It was not that his +religious belief or disbeliefs had been affected, or even quickened by +anything he had heard--yet, from first to last, those two hours had been +full of delight to him. The vast, dimly-lit building, with its imposing +array of statuary, shadowy figures of great statesmen, soldiers, and +priests seen by him then, as it chanced, for the first time, woke him at +once from his lethargy. Religion seemed brought in a single moment into +touch with the great things of life. There were men there who had been +creedless, but great; genius was honoured side by side with sanctity. +The rolling music, the pure, fresh voices of the boys appealed to his +sense of the beautiful, as those historical associations reawakened his +ambition. The white-robed priest, who stood in the centre of the great +building, yet whose voice without effort seemed able to penetrate to its +furthest corner, seemed both in his personal self and in his scholarly +diction exquisitely in accord with his great surroundings. Without a +manuscript, with scarcely a note, he stood there, calm and imposing, the +prototype of the modern priest, pleading against worldliness for the +sake of beauty and of God. With delicately chosen words and exquisite +imagery, the calm enthusiasm of the orator, always self-controlled and +sweetly convincing, seemed to Douglas like the transmutation of a +beautiful picture into a beautiful poem, instinct with life, vivid and +thrilling. He stayed till the sermon was over and the solemn words of +the benediction pronounced, till the deep, throbbing notes of the organ +rang down the emptying aisles. Then he walked out into the streets a +saner and a better man. + +The life tingled in his veins as he walked slowly back into pagan +London. Here the great restaurants, brilliantly lighted, reminded him +that all day he had eaten nothing. He jumped into a hansom and was +driven to his rooms, kept the man while he changed his clothes, and +drove to Piccadilly. Here he entered a famous restaurant, known to him +only by name, found a small table and ordered his dinner with care. He +leaned back and looked out upon the throng with a kindly human interest. +He had the feeling of having returned once more into touch with his +kind. A faint smile was upon his lips, too long suppressed; as he ate +and drank, the heavy barrier which had come between him and the garden +of his imagination seemed to glide apart. He saw away into the future +of the life-story which he was writing. New images sprang up and the +old ones became once more pliant and supple. Difficulties fell away--a +singular clearness of perception seemed to come to him in those few +minutes. The joy of life was in his heart, the zest of it between his +teeth. He felt the unaccustomed colour in his cheeks, and an +acquaintance who paused to shake hands was astonished at his affability. +The gay music sounded strangely to his ears after the great organ notes, +but, in its way, it too was beautiful. Life was meant to be beautiful. +He had never before felt so sure of it. + +The men and women who dine in public at the restaurant of the moment are +usually at their best. Douglas was astonished at the beauty of the +women, their dresses and jewellery, and the flowers with which their +tables were smothered. The gaiety of the place was infectious. He too +began to desire a companion. He thought of Emily de Reuss--how well she +would look at his table, with her matchless art of dressing and +wonderful pearls; he fancied, too, without vanity, that she would +approve of his companionship in his present mood. And from Emily de +Reuss his thoughts wandered on to Cicely. They were the only two women +who had ever held any place in his life. He contrasted them, and grew +thoughtful. + +Later, he paid his bill, lighted a cigar and strolled homewards. +Already his brain was at work. The scenes of his story lay stretched +invitingly before him--it seemed that he would only have to take up his +pen and write until exhaustion came. He turned off the Strand, humming +softly to himself, so wrapt in his world of teeming fancies that he did +not notice the little figure in sober black, who looked eagerly into his +face as she approached. He would have passed on but for her timid word +of remonstrance. + +"Douglas." + +Then he stopped short. It was Cicely. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +JOAN STRONG FINDS HER BROTHER + +Douglas threw away his cigar and held out both his hands. The trouble +passed from Cicely's face. His tone was full of pleasure and his eyes +were radiant. + +"What fortune, Cissy," he cried. "You were the last person in my +thoughts. Thank God that I have found you again." + +"You are sure you wanted to see me?" she asked, with some timidity. + +"Absolutely," he answered. + +"I was foolish to run away--that evening." + +"It was too bad of you--and to keep away." + +"I think that your visitor frightened me, Douglas." + +He laughed. + +"Then you need have no more fears," he said. "She has gone abroad." + +"Do you have many--ladies to see you?" she asked. + +"She has never been before or since," he answered. + +Cicely laughed. + +"I was foolish," she said. "I will ask no more questions." + +They had reached the railings, and he pointed downwards to the gardens +below. + +"There is an empty seat," he said. "Shall we go there and sit down?" + +She nodded. + +"Anywhere. Joan is out. I need not go home for an hour." + +"Still," he asked, with a grim smile, "searching?" + +Cicely did not smile. It was the tragedy of her life to see her sister, +once devoted purely to domestic interests, quick-tongued, cleanly, +severe, calvinistic, spend fruitless hours day by day seeking a futile +vengeance. Joan she had always thought of as a typical farmer's +housewife--severe with her tongue perhaps, shrewd, and a trifle of a +scold. But this woman who walked the streets of London in her solemn +black clothes, pale-faced, untiring, ever with that same glitter in her +eyes, was a revelation. She turned to Douglas suddenly. + +"Douglas," she said, "did Joan care for you very much?" + +"I should not have said so," he answered. "She was willing to marry me +when your father ordered it. You know what our engagement was like. We +were called into the parlour the Sunday morning before I--I--you +remember my trial Sunday at Feldwick? + +"Well, he just turned to Joan and said, 'Joan, it is my will that you +marry Douglas.' She was evidently prepared, for she held out her hand to +me. + +"'I am willing, Douglas,' she said. That was all. As for me, I was +certainly weak, but for the life of me I could think of nothing to say. +Then the chapel bell began to ring, and we were hurried away, and your +father solemnly announced our engagement as the people came together. +There was not any lovemaking, if that is what you mean." + +"Yet, I think," she said, "that Joan must have cared. I sometimes think +that it is not the man whom she believes to have killed Father, for whom +she seeks--it is for the man who slighted her." + +"I hope," he said, gravely, "that she may never find either. Let us +forget that such a person exists." + +"Willingly," she answered, with a little shrug of the shoulders. "What +shall we talk about?" + +"Ourselves." + +"First of all then, why are you in evening dress on a Sunday?" + +"Been out to dinner," he answered. "Let me tell you all about it." + +He tried to let her understand something of the period of depression +through which he had passed, and he found her, as ever, wonderfully +sympathetic, quick to comprehend, keenly interested. They talked of his +novel, he told her of his new ideas, of the fancies which had come +dancing into his brain during the last few hours. But she was perhaps +more moved than at any time, when he spoke of that wonderful visit of +his to the Abbey. He tried to make her feel what it had meant to him, +and in a measure he succeeded. Suddenly he stopped--almost in the +middle of a sentence. He was astonished to realise how pretty she was. + +"Now tell me about yourself," he said. "Have you sent anything to +Drexley yet?" + +She nodded. + +"I think Mr. Drexley is quite the nicest man I know," she declared +gaily. "I sent him three little fairy tales, and last week he sent me a +cheque for them and asked for more. And do you know what he said, +Douglas? I asked him to let me have his honest opinion as to whether I +could make enough to live on by such work as I sent him, and he replied +that there could be no possible doubt about it. He wants me to write +something longer." + +He took her hand--which she yielded to him frankly--and forgot to +restore it. He was honestly delighted. He noticed too that her fingers +were very shapely and their touch--she had withdrawn her gloves--a +pleasant thing. + +"Cissy," he said, "I must see more of you. We are comrades and +fellow-workers. We have begun to do the things we talked about up +amongst the hills in the old days. Do you remember how we lay in the +heather and the dreams we had? Actually I believe that they are coming +true." + +Her dark eyes were soft with reminiscences and her face was brilliant +with smiles. + +"It sounds delightful, cousin Douglas," she replied. "Oh, if only Joan +would come to her senses. It seems like a thunderbolt always hanging +over us. I believe that if she were to see us together she would go +mad." + +"I have little to reproach myself with as regards Joan," he said. "Of +course that night must always be a black chapter in my life. I could +not get to London without money, and I took only a part of what was my +own. I need not tell you, Cicely, that I never raised my hand against +your father." + +Her fingers closed upon his. + +"I believe you, Douglas, but there is something I must ask." + +"Whilst we are talking of it ask me. Then we will put the subject away +for ever." + +"Do you know who it was?" + +His face grew very pale and stern. + +"I believe I do," he answered. + +"And you are shielding him? Your silence is shielding him, is it not?" + +"I am doing more," he said. "I destroyed my own identity, and the +Douglas Guest of Feldwick is an accounted murderer by others besides +Joan. I can tell you only this, Cissy. I did it because it seemed to +me the best and the most merciful thing to be done." + +She looked at him gravely. + +"He was my father, Douglas, and though I am not like Joan, yet I too +would have justice done." + +"There are things," he added, "which you do not know. There are things +which I pray that you may never know." + +"It is hard to understand," she said. + +"It is better not to understand," he answered. "It is even better for +Joan to believe what she does. That is all I can tell you." + +They sat in silence for a while. There was a frown on Cicely's face. +She was not wholly satisfied. And from the river, with its fringe of +yellow lights, came the whistling of tugs as they passed out on their +way to the ocean, and the flashing of strange illuminations on her dark +bosom. + +Then suddenly Cicely started forward on the seat, her fingers seized his +arm with a feverish grip. She gazed with distended eyes at the grim +form coming slowly along in the centre of the asphalted path. It was +Joan who came towards them. Their surprise was too great--her coming +too sudden for words. Only Douglas felt a small hand steal into his, +and Cicely, in spite of her mortal terror, experienced a pleasant sense +of protection as those strong fingers closed over hers. + +Joan was fifty yards away, level with another seat, on which a solitary +man had been sitting in a slouching attitude. As she drew near him the +two who were watching with fascinated eyes saw him draw himself upright +and then shrink suddenly back. But he was too late. Joan's eyes had +lighted upon him. She stopped short, the man's attempt at evasion was +obvious. In a moment she was at his side. + +"David," she cried. "David!" + +He rose up, and would have slunk off, but she caught him by the arm. He +shook her away, but there was no escape. He looked around like a hunted +animal. She sat down by his side, and he was a prisoner. + +"Come," Douglas whispered. + +They rose up and went off together. + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +DAVID AND JOAN + +"Joan." + +"Well, David?" + +"You have had your way with me. I have suffered you to bring me here, +to make me eat and drink. Now I am ready to go. + +"But where? You do not look as though you had any settled lodging. We +can find you a room here for awhile. You have not told me yet how it is +that you are alive after all." + +He pushed back a mass of tangled hair and looked at her grimly. + +"So it was Father who told you that I was dead, eh?" + +"Four years ago, David; ay, and more than that." + +"He was a very hard man," David Strong said. "Four years ago I wrote to +him--I had a chance--I wanted a few pounds only, to make a decent +appearance. That was his answer. To me there came none." + +"He did what he believed to be right," Joan said. "You disobeyed him in +going away." + +"It is true," he answered. + +The man began to move about the room, glancing every now and then +towards the door with a certain restlessness. He had come once more +under the influence of the one person who in his earlier life had always +dominated him. She had brought him along, unwilling and feebly +protesting. He began to wonder how he should get away. + +"You will stay here, David," she said. "You have not yet seen Cicely." + +He shook his head. + +"No. I am not fit for the company of respectable people. You do not +know how low I have fallen. I have lost my caste. I live only for one +purpose. When that is accomplished I mean to die." + +"That is very foolish talk for a man," she remarked calmly. "I, too, +have a purpose in life, but when it is accomplished I mean to live on, +to live more fully." + +He smiled mockingly. + +"There is yet nothing of kinship between us," he said, "for between your +purpose and mine there could be no more comparison than between a street +puddle and Feldwick Farm. It is a life I seek." + +"I would to God, David," she cried fiercely, "that it were the same +life. For at the end of my purpose is death." + +He gazed at her speechless. For the first time the change in her was +brought home to him. The stern lines in her face had become rigid and +cruel, a new light shone in her eyes. Joan, the domineering, had become +Joan the tragical. He listened to her fascinated--and his limbs shook +with fear. + +"Can you wonder what it is, David? You have tasted the bitterness of +strange happenings, and you have almost forgotten your name and whence +you came. It is your task which I have made mine. Yet it is not too +late for you, if you will help." + +"Speak out," he whispered, hoarsely. + +"You knew of Father's death?" + +"You knew that he was robbed and murdered?" + +The man who was lurking so far as he could in the shadows of the room +said nothing--but his eyes seemed to become like balls of red fire, and +his livid cheeks were horrible to look upon. Even Joan was startled. + +"You knew of these things, David?" she cried. + +"Ay," he answered, "I knew. What of it?" + +"Can you ask? You have drifted far away from us, David, yet you, too, +are a Strong and the last of our race. He was murdered, and as yet the +man who slew him goes unpunished. Can you ask me then what should be +the purpose of my life? It is to see him hang." + +She had risen to her feet, a grim, threatening figure in the unshaded +lamplight. The yellow glare fell upon her hard, set face, her tightly +compressed lips and black eyebrows. Of a sudden David realised her +strange and wonderful likeness to the dead man. His own bloodless lips +parted, and the room rang with horrid laughter, surely the laughter of a +lunatic. + +"Oh, it is a wonderful purpose that," he cried. "To see him hang--hang +by the neck. Bah! What concern of yours, Joan, is it, I wonder?" + +"I am his daughter." + +"And I his son. And, listen, my sister, here is news for you. It was +no living man at whose door his death lies, but at a woman's. A +woman's, I tell you. You understand? I swear it." + +She looked at him doubtfully. Surely he was raving. + +"A woman's, David?" + +"Ay, a woman's. And there are others too--her victims. Look at me. I +myself am one. Her victim, body and soul corrupt. If one could only +reach her throat." + +Even Joan shuddered at the look which seemed to her devilish, Joan, +whose nerves were of iron, and in whom herself the lust for vengeance +was as the cry for blood. Yet this was not possible. + +"I think that you are raving," she said. "Did you not know that Douglas +Guest disappeared that night, and was never more heard of--ay, that +there was money missing?" + +"Douglas Guest took but his own," he answered. "It is the woman who is +guilty." + +She was bewildered. + +"Woman, David? Why, there was none who would have harmed a hair of his +head." + +Again he laughed, and again she turned pale with the horror of that +unearthly merriment. + +"You see but a little way, sister Joan," he said, "and the vengeance you +cry for is in other hands. As for Douglas Guest, leave him alone. He +is as guiltless as you are." + +"You have told me so much," she said firmly, "you must tell me more. +How comes it that you know these things?" + +He shuddered. His lips moved but she did not catch the sound of words. +He was apparently in a state of collapse. She reached brandy from a +cupboard and forced some between his teeth. + +"Be strong, David," she whispered, "and tell me of these things." + +He sat up, and with his incoherent words came the birth to her of a new +and horrible suspicion. + +"I had to have money," he muttered. "She drove me to it. She turned me +away. I was in rags, an ill-looking object. But I never meant that. +Douglas was before me, and he knows it." + +His head fell back, he was unconscious. Joan rang the bell, and sent +the maid for a doctor. Yet when he recovered and learnt what she had +done he refused flatly to see him. + +"A doctor" he muttered, "would feel my forehead and ask me questions. +Their madhouses are full enough without me. I've work to do yet." + +She spoke to him soothingly as to a child. + +"David," she said, "we have a little money--not much, but such as it is +you must share. I cannot have you go about starved or in rags." + +He staggered up. + +"I'm off. Keep your money. I've no use for it." + +She stood in front of the door, her jaws were set and there was a +bright, hard light in her eyes. + +"You'll not go yet," she said. "You've a secret you're keeping from me. +It's my concern as well as yours. We'll talk of it together, David." + +"I'll talk of it with no living soul," he answered thickly. "Out of my +way." + +But Joan neither moved nor quailed. + +"They will have it that Douglas Guest was killed," she said. "I have +never believed it. I do not believe it now. He is keeping out of the +way because of what he did that night." + +"Ay," he muttered. "Likely enough." + +"We must find him," she continued. "Day by day we have searched. You +shall help. If he be not guilty he knows the truth, and he hides. So I +say that if he lives we must find him." + +"Guilty enough," he muttered. "He is in her toils. Let me pass, sister +Joan." + +"You have seen him?" she cried. "You know that he is alive?" + +"Ay, alive," he answered. "He's alive." + +"You have seen him?" + +"Yes." + +"Tell me where and when." "By chance," he said hesitating--"in the +streets." + +She wrung her hands. + +"Have I not walked the streets," she moaned, "till my feet have been +sore with blisters and my head dizzy! Yet I have never met him." + +He stood with his hand upon his chin, thinking as well as he might. +What did he owe to Douglas Guest, the friend of Emily de Reuss, +successful where he had failed? Had he not seen their hands joined? He +drew a breath which sounded like a hiss. + +"I thought," he muttered, "that it had been a woman, yet--who knows? It +may have been Douglas Guest--and Joan, there was truth in your thought. +He lives. I cannot tell you where. I cannot help you find him, for I +have another task. Yet he lives. I tell you that. Now let me go." + +Her eyes flashed with something which was like joy. She had forgotten +David's wandering words. All the time her instincts had been true. + +"Let me go, Joan." + +She laid her hands upon his shoulders. + +"We are brother and sister," she said, "and what is mine is yours. Stay +and share with me. Share the little we have, and let Cissy nurse +you--ay, and share our vengeance." + +She was flung on one side. Off her guard for a moment, he had pushed +past her with unexpected strength. + +"David!" she cried. "David!" + +But she heard only his footsteps upon the stairs, swift and stealthy. +In the hall he turned and looked up at her. She was leaning over the +banisters. + +"Take some money, at least," she said. "See, I have dropped my purse." + +He watched it where it lay within a few feet of him, burst open with the +drop, and with the gleam of gold showing from one of the compartments. +He made no movement to pick it up. It seemed to her that as he passed +out he shrank from it. From the window she watched him turn the corner +of the street and vanish in the shadows. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +DREXLEY FORESEES DANGER + +It was house-dinner night at the club, and there was a larger gathering +even than usual. Douglas was there, light-hearted and in capital +spirits, taking his first holiday for a week. Things were going well +enough with him now. His novel was nearly finished, and the last few +articles he had written for the Courier had brought a special visit from +Rawlinson, who had patted him on the back and raised his salary. He +felt like a man who had buffeted his way through the rough waters into +the smooth shelter of the harbour--already he had almost forgotten how +near they had come to closing over his head. Spring was coming, and the +love of life was once more hot in his veins. Westwards, the chestnuts +were budding and the lilac was in blossom. London was beginning to +raise herself with a great yawn, and to remember that at this season of +the year, at least, she had a place amongst the beautiful cities of the +world. Douglas, good-natured always, to-night particularly happy, saw +Drexley standing alone as usual by the terrace window, and crossed over +to his side. + +"Play me a game of billiards, Drexley," he exclaimed. "I've only half +an hour to spare." + +Drexley turned his head only just sufficiently to see who it was that +addressed him. + +"Is that you, Jesson?" he said. "No thanks. I gave up billiards long +ago." + +Douglas remained by his side. + +"They tell me," he remarked, "that two years ago you were the best +player in the club. Why don't you keep it up?" + +"Lost interest," was the brief reply. "You can't do things well that +you don't care about, can you?" + +Douglas forgot to answer. He was aware that his companion was watching +some one--a shabby, wan figure leaning over the palisading which +bordered the terrace below. His own heart gave a throb. He knew at +once who it was. + +"David!" he exclaimed. + +Drexley turned upon him sharply. + +"You know him?" + +Douglas nodded. + +"Yes," he said. "It is David Strong. He is mad." + +"You know that it was he--" + +"Yes." Drexley drew a long breath. + +"Look at him," he said, softly. "To-night he is safe--quite harmless. +Some one has been giving him money. He is quite drunk. Thank God!" + +Douglas stared at him--surprised. + +"Drunk," Drexley explained, quietly, "he is safe. He will curl down in +some odd corner somewhere soon and sleep till morning. There are other +times when I have followed him about for hours, when I have seen the +knife bulge in his pocket, and known that murder was in his heart. I +have dogged him about the streets then till daylight--from her house to +theatre steps, to concert rooms, restaurants, and private houses. +Anywhere, where he imagined that she might be. I have seen him loiter +about the pavements for hours, when the canvas archway and awning has +been put out from one of the great West-end houses, just in the hope +that she might be amongst the guests. So far he has been unlucky, but +some day I feel that for all my watching they will meet, and then may +God help her! You have influence over her, Jesson. I wish you would +persuade her to have him put under restraint. She could identify him +quite well as the man who shot at her on the terrace of her house, and +so could you. Or if she will not do this, she might keep away from +England for a few more months." + +"Influence over her," Douglas repeated, with a sudden bitterness in his +tone. "I have so much, that although I was with her on that terrible +evening, and have written to her time after time, I have never had a +line from her since she left England." + +Drexley laughed oddly. + +"You, too," he exclaimed. "Your day is over then. Well, it was a short +and a merry one. You bear it well, my young friend." + +Douglas shrugged his shoulders, but avoided Drexley's earnest gaze. + +"Emily de Reuss was very kind to me," he said, "but she is not the only +woman in the world." "For those who have known her," Drexley said, "none +can come after." + +"Then I must be one of those who have never known her," Douglas +answered, with a lightness which sounded natural enough, "for I am going +to take the most charming little girl in London to the theatre +to-night." + +Drexley pointed downwards. The slouching figure which they had been +watching had half collapsed against the railings. He was obviously +overpowered with drink. + +"He was once like that," Drexley said, "as young and eager and confident +as you. When she was first unkind, he laughed and tried a week in +Paris. But he came back. Always there is the coming back. It was the +same with young Morrison--with me--it will be the same with you. It +creeps into the blood, and no man's will, nor any other woman's, can rid +you of it." + +Douglas had already repented of that instinct of good nature which had +led him to address Drexley. A spectre which for months he had been +doing his best to stifle was stalking once more by his side. + +He turned away abruptly. + +"Well," he said, "I think you're talking rot. I shall go down and see +whether anything can be done for that poor wretch there." + +Drexley turned and clutched him by the shoulder. + +"Don't," he said. "At least, listen to me for a moment. Strong was in +my office once. I knew him at his best, I watched his decline, I have +known him always. He's absolutely beyond help from you or me, or any +living person. Three times I have given him the money to emigrate, and +he has pocketed it and laughed at me. He has no conscience nor any +sense of honour. His life, or what is left of it, is a desire--a desire +to kill. He would take your money and spend it in bribing servants or +in procuring fresh weapons. In any case it would go towards helping him +in his horrible purpose. Propose to kill him, if you like, and I am +with you at all risks. But don't go near him, don't give him money." + +Douglas lit a cigarette and turned his back to the window. + +"Very well," he said. "I will forget him. You had better do the same." + +Drexley nodded slowly. + +"For to-night, perhaps," he said. "To-morrow it will begin again. I +watch him all my spare time. Even then I scarcely dare open a morning +paper." + +Douglas looked at him suddenly, moved by the man's wonderful +faithfulness. Of his own sufferings he seemed oblivious. + +"What are you going to do to-night, Drexley?" he asked. + +Drexley shrugged his shoulders. + +"Sit about here," he answered. "Smoke and drink, I suppose, till +eleven, and then go home. Not that I'm complaining. There's nothing +else I care to do." + +Douglas laid his hand upon his shoulder. + +"Look here," he said. "I've an idea. I'm taking Miss Strong and a +friend to the 'Gaiety.' We want a fourth, and I was just looking round +for a man. Come with us." + +Drexley laughed grimly. + +"You're talking nonsense," he said. "Very good of you, of course," he +added, "but you must please excuse me. That sort of thing's not in my +way at all." + +Douglas was persistent. + +"There's no reason why it shouldn't be in your way," he said. "You know +Miss Strong, and I'll look after the other girl. I've a fancy to have +you come." + +Drexley took up a paper. + +"Go and pick up one of the young men," he said. "There are plenty of +them who will be glad to spend the evening with Miss Strong. As for me, +it's out of the question. I should only be a wet blanket." + +"You or no one, Drexley," Douglas said, taking out his watch. "Look +here. You've twenty minutes to change your clothes. The girls are +calling here at eight o'clock. Hurry, please." + +"I shall do nothing of the sort," Drexley snorted. "There's Molyneux. +Ask him. I've an engagement later on." + +Douglas took out his watch again. + +"You've only eighteen minutes now," he said. "I know you'll keep them +waiting." + + * * * * * + +For the first half an hour it was doubtful whether the evening was going +to be a success. Drexley was gloomy, and had not altogether lost the +air of having been forced to do something which bored him. He was +polite, but monosyllabic and gloomy, and his interest in the play was +obviously feigned. Douglas wisely left him to Cicely, and devoted +himself to her little friend, and he soon had the pleasure of seeing +Drexley thaw. Cicely only laughed at his momentary lapses, and she was +far too charming a companion to be ignored. Before the first act was +ended she had conquered. Drexley was watching her with a quiet smile +upon his lips, amused at her eagerness, answering her many questions +readily. In the corridor after the play was over he touched Douglas on +the shoulder. + +"You are all coming to the 'Milan' to supper with me," he said. "Miss +Strong and I arranged it, after the second act, and I sent a +commissionaire down for a table." + +Cicely laughed up at him. + +"Isn't it delightful?" she exclaimed. "Milly and I are so hungry, and +we're dying to see the 'Milan.' Will you bring Milly in another hansom?" + +Douglas nodded and lit a cigarette. He wondered whether, after all, +this experiment was going to be such a brilliant success. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +A SUPPER AT THE "MILAN," AND A MEETING + +Drexley, a travelled man of fastidious tastes and with ample means to +gratify them, proved a delightful host. In his earlier days he had been +a constant diner-out; he understood the ordering of impromptu meals, and +he had that decision and air which inspires respect even in a +head-waiter. He marshalled his little party to the table reserved for +them, waved away the _table d'hote_ card, and ordered his dishes and +wine with excellent judgment and consideration for the tastes of his +guests. It was all most delightful--delightfully novel to Cicely and +her friend, delightful to Drexley, who was amazed to find that the power +of enjoyment still remained with him. The soft strains of music rose +and fell from a small but perfectly chosen Hungarian band out on the +balcony, the hum of conversation grew louder and merrier at every +moment, the champagne flashed in their glasses, and a younger Drexley +occupied the place of their kindly but taciturn host. Douglas, to whom +fell the entertaining of Cicely's friend, was honestly delighted at the +change. But in the midst of it came a crushing blow. Emily de Reuss +walked into the room. + +As usual she was marvellously dressed, a stately glittering figure in a +gown of shimmering black which seemed at every moment on fire. Her +beautiful neck and shoulders were uncovered and undecorated; she walked +between a grey-headed man, who wore the orders of an ambassador and a +blue sash on his evening clothes, and his wife. Every one turned to +look at her, every one was watching when she stopped for a moment before +Drexley's table, but every one did not see the flash in her eyes and the +sudden tightening of her lips as she recognised the little party. Yet +she was graciousness itself to them, and Douglas was the only one who +noticed that first impulse of displeasure. She rested her fingers +almost affectionately on Drexley's shoulder, and the new flush of colour +in his cheeks faded into sallowness at her touch. + +"Here are two at least of my friends who have proved faithless," she +said, lightly. "I have been abroad for--ah! how long it seems--one, +two, three months, and neither of you has bidden me welcome back to this +wonderful city." + +"We are not magicians," Douglas answered, "and as yet I am sure there is +no paper which has chronicled your return. Only yesterday I was told +that you were at Vienna." + +"Never," she said, smiling into his face, "never under any circumstances +believe anything anybody ever says about me. I have to tell that to my +friends, in order that I may keep them. Tell me, have you begun the +country letters yet for Mr. Anderson?" + +"I send my first one away on Thursday," Douglas answered. + +"You will send me a proof?" + +"If I may, with pleasure." + +She turned to Drexley. + +"And you, my friend," she said, "how have things gone with you? The +_Ibex_ is as good as ever. I bought this month's at a kiosk in Buda. You +must get Mr. Jesson to write you more stories as good as 'No Man's +Land.'" + +Drexley looked up at her with a grim smile twitching at the corners of +his lips. + +"Yes," he said, quietly. "It was a good story, although I am afraid we +rather humbugged Jesson about it. I'm not at all sure that he'll trust +us with another." + +She returned Drexley's look with a stare of non-comprehension. It was +the first sign of revolt from one in whom she had thought all along such +a thing dead. Then with a pleasant nod to Douglas she passed on, +threading her way slowly amongst the tables to where her friends were +waiting. It was not until after she had gone that the two men realised +how utterly she had ignored their two companions. + +They took up the thread of their conversation--and it was the unexpected +which intervened. Drexley relaxed still further; there was a quiet +humour in everything he said; he took upon his shoulders the whole +entertainment of the little party. The coming of Emily de Reuss might +well have been a matter of indifference to him. With Douglas it was +strangely different. To him she had never seemed more beautiful; the +fascination of her near presence, her voice, her exquisite toilette +crept into his blood. He was silent at first, a bright light gleamed in +his eyes, he watched her continually. A sense of aloofness crept over +him. He spoke and ate mechanically, scarcely noticing that he was +drinking a good deal more wine than usual. Once he glanced quickly at +Cicely; her cheeks were flushed, and she was looking her best--he saw +only her imperfections. Her prettiness, after all, was ordinary; her +simple evening gown, even to his inexperienced eyes, suggested the home +dressmaker; that slight tenderness for her which only a few days ago had +seemed such a pleasant thing seemed suddenly swept away in the broad +flood of a passion against which unconsciously he had long been +struggling. He forced himself after a while to share in their +conversation, he joined in their laughter and listened to Drexley's +stories, but all the time with a sense of inward excitement which he +found it hard to conceal. Coffee and cigarettes were served at +Drexley's suggestion out in the palm court attached to the restaurant. +Afterwards, when the girls rose to leave, Douglas was conscious for the +first time of a look of reproach in Cicely's dark eyes. He pretended to +ignore it--he felt that any sort of response just then was impossible. +The girls refused any escort home. They drove away in a hansom, and +Drexley remained upon the pavement listening to the echo of their +farewell speeches as to a very pleasant thing. He turned back with a +rare smile upon his lips and laid his hand upon Douglas's shoulder. + +"Your cousin is charming, Jesson," he said. "I'll never be able to +thank you enough for this evening. For the first time I have felt that +after all there may be a chance for me." + +"I'm very glad," Douglas answered--"very glad indeed." + +Drexley looked at him curiously. + +"You're not quite yourself this evening, Jesson," he remarked. + +"I'm all right. Which way are you going--to the club?" + +Drexley shook his head. + +"Back to my rooms," he answered. "I shall have a pipe and go to bed. I +haven't slept well lately. To-night I think I shall." + +They were parted by a stream of outcoming people, and Douglas took +advantage of the opportunity to slip away. A little way along the +street a small brougham, which was very familiar to him, was waiting. + +"Twenty, Grosvenor Square," he said, hailing a hansom. + +He was driven through the seething streets, along Piccadilly, all on +fire with its streams of people, carriages, and brilliant lights, and, +arriving at the corner of the Square, jumped out. He walked slowly up +and down the pavement. He could feel his heart thumping with +excitement; his cheeks were burning with an unusual colour. He cursed +himself for coming, yet the sound of every carriage which turned the +corner sent the blood leaping through his veins. He cursed himself for +a fool, but waited with the eagerness of a boy, and when her brougham +came into sight he was conscious of an acute thrill of excitement which +turned him almost dizzy. Supposing--she were not alone? He forgot to +draw back into the shadows, as at first had been his intention, but +stood in the middle of the pavement, so that the footman, who jumped +down to open the carriage door, looked at him curiously. She was within +a few feet of him when she stepped out. + +"Douglas!" she exclaimed. "Is that you?" + +"May I come in, or is it too late?" + +She looked into his face, and the ready assent died away upon her lips. +He noticed her hesitation, but remained silent. + +"Of course," she said, slowly. "What have you done with your friends?" + +"They have gone home," he answered, shortly. "I came on here. I wanted +to see you." + +They passed into the house and to her little sitting-room, where a couch +was drawn up before a tiny fire of cedar wood, and her maid was waiting. +Emily dismissed her almost at once, and, throwing herself down, lighted +a cigarette. + +"Sit down, my friend, and smoke," she said. "I will tell you, if you +like, about my travels, and then I must hear about the novel." + +But Douglas came over and stood by her side. His eyes were burning with +fire, and his voice was tremulous with emotion as he replied. + +"Afterwards. I have something else to say to you first." + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +A MISUNDERSTANDING + +The cigarette dropped from her fingers; she sat up. Then he saw that +she too was agitated. There was an unusual spot of colour in her +cheeks, her breathing was certainly less regular. The variance from her +habitual placidity encouraged him. He scarcely hesitated for a moment. + +"You'll think I'm insane," he began. "I don't care. There's Drexley, +heartbroken, that other poor wretch mad, and others that they have told +me of. Do you know that these men are your victims, Emily de Reuss?" + +"My--victims?" + +"Ay. Now listen. I will absolve you from blame. I will say that the +fault was theirs, that your kindness was meant for kindness and nothing +else, a proof, if you will, of a generous nature. What does it matter? +These men have poured out their lives upon the altar of your vanity. +They have given you their love, and you have given them--nothing. I +honestly believe nothing. I will believe that theirs was the fault, +that you are not heartless nor vain nor indifferent. Only I am not +going to be as these men, Emily. I love you--no one but you, you +always, and you shall be mine, or I will leave your doors for ever, and +crush down every thought of you. A curse upon friendship and such +rubbish. You are a beautiful woman, far above me--but at least I am a +man--and I love you--and I will have you for my own or no other woman." + +He bent down, snatched hold of her hands and drew her face towards his. +His heart leaped in quick, fierce beats. At least she was not +indifferent. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes marvellously soft. +She did not repulse him, nor did she yield herself at once to his +embrace. She looked up at him with wet eyes and a curious smile. + +"My friend," she said, "do you wish to take me by storm. What is all +this you are saying--and why do you look so fierce?" + +"Because I am desperate, dear," he answered. "Because I am alone with +you, the woman I love, and because a single word from you can open the +gates of Heaven for me. Don't think I am too rough. I will not hold +you for a moment if you bid me let you go. See, you are free. Now you +shall answer me or I will read your silence as I choose--and--" + +His arms were around her waist. Her face was turned away, but he saw +the glitter of a tear in her eyes, and he was very bold. He kissed it +away. + +"Emily," he cried, "you care for me--a little. You are not heartless. +Dear, I will wait for you as long as you like." + +She unclasped his hands and drew a little away from him. But he did not +lose heart, for though her smile was a wistful one, her eyes were soft +with unshed tears, and her face was the face of a woman. + +"Douglas," she said, "will you listen to me for a moment? You spoke of +those other men, you charged me with heartlessness. Perhaps you were +right. What then?" + +The brutal selfishness of love and of youth swept from his memory +Strong's broken life and Drexley's despair. + +"Nothing," he cried, "so long as you will care for me. I am not your +judge. I want you--you, Emily, and your love. To-night I care for +nothing else." + +She laid her soft fingers upon his eager face, half caressingly, half in +repulse. + +"I never wished them harm," she said. "I was interested in their work, +and to me they were merely units. So they called me heartless. I was +only selfish. I let them come to me because I like clever people about +me, and society requires just such an antidote. When they made love to +me I sent them away or bade them remain as friends. But that does not +necessarily mean that I am without a heart." + +"I never want to think of them again," he murmured. "All that I want in +this world is that you tell me that you care for me." + +She looked into his face, eager, passionate, almost beautiful in its +intensity, and smiled. Only the smile covered a sigh. + +"If I tell you that, Douglas," she said, "will it be kindness, I wonder? +I wonder!" + +"Say it, and I will forget everything else in the world," he begged. + +"Then I think that I do--care for you, Douglas, if--" + +He stopped her words--she gave herself up for a moment to that long, +passionate kiss. Then she withdrew herself. But for him the whole +world was lit with happiness. He had heard the words which more than +anything else he desired to hear. She could never take them back. Her +melancholy was a miasma. He would laugh it away with her. + +"Douglas," she said, "it was because I fancied that you were beginning +to care for me and because I knew that I cared for you that I went +away--not because I was afraid." + +He looked puzzled. Then he spoke slowly. + +"Emily, is it because I am poor and unknown? I am no fit husband for +you, I know. Yet I love you, and, if you care, I will make you happy." + +"It is not that," she answered. + +He rose to his feet. A darker shade was upon his face and his eyes were +lit with fire. A new look of resolution was in his face. His lower +jaws were knit together with a sullen strength. + +"Emily," he said, "there is nothing in this world which I will suffer to +come between you and me. I have been lonely all my days--fatherless, +motherless, friendless. Now I have found you, and I know how bitterly I +must have suffered. If there are battles to fight I will fight them, if +you would have me famous first, I will make myself famous, but no power +in this world or any other shall take you away from me again. Tell me +what it is you fear. Why do you hesitate? I am a man, and your lover, +and I can bear to hear anything. But you belong to me. Remember that. +I won't part with you. I won't be denied . . . and I love you so +much, Emily." + +She rose, too, and her arms went round his neck. She drew his lips to +hers and kissed him. + +"There," she murmured. "You talk as I love to hear a man talk . . . +and--I too have been very lonely sometimes, Douglas." + +"You have had so many friends, such a beautiful life," he answered. + +She smiled at him. + +"Dear," she said, "do you think any of these things are worth a moment's +consideration to a woman against the love of the man she cares for? We +are all the same, though some of us do not wear our hearts upon our +sleeves. The longing for love is always there, and the women who go +hungry for it through life are the women to be pitied. Douglas, I would +change places with that simple, dark-eyed little girl you were with this +evening if--if I could marry you to-morrow. Is that too bold?" + +He started away. A sudden fear wrenched at his heartstrings. He looked +at her wildly. + +"Do you mean that you will not be my wife--that you care for me, but not +enough to marry me?" he cried. She shook her head slowly. + +"No, dear," she said, "for if I were a princess and you were a +shopkeeper I would marry you, and be proud of my husband. Don't think +so meanly of me as that. There is another--a more powerful reason." + +"Tell it me," he begged; "don't keep me in suspense." + +She thrust her arm through his and led him gently to the sofa. + +"Douglas, won't you trust me? I want to keep my secret for a little +while. Listen. It shall not keep us apart, but I cannot be your wife +yet, dearly though I would love to be." + +The old mistrust blazed up in the man. Drexley's cynicism, Strong's +ravings came back to him. He, too, was to be fooled. Her love was a +pretence. He was simply a puppet, to yield her amusement and to be +thrown aside. + +"The truth!" he cried, roughly. "Emily, remember that I have seen men +made mad for love of you, have heard them curse your deceit and +heartlessness. I'll forget it all, but you must trust me. Prove to me +that you cannot marry me, and I'll wait, I'll be your slave, my life +shall be yours to do what you will with. But I'll have the truth. I'll +have no lonely nights when doubts of you creep like hideous phantoms +about the room, and Drexley and Strong come mocking me. Oh, forgive me, +but you don't know what solitude is. Be merciful, Emily. Trust me." + +She had turned white. The hands she held out to him trembled. + +"Douglas," she cried, "if you have any love for me at all you must have +faith in me too. It shall not be for long. In less than a year you +shall know everything, and until then you shall see me when you will, +you shall be the dearest person in the world to me." + +"I want the truth," he pleaded. "Emily, if you send me away you'll send +me into hell. I daren't have any doubts. They'd drive me mad. Be +merciful, tell me everything." + +She was very white, very cold, yet her voice shook with passion. + +"Douglas, you have called me heartless. You were nearer the truth than +you thought, perhaps. You are the first man whom I have ever cared for, +it is all new to me. Don't make me crush it. Don't destroy what seems +like a beautiful dream. You can be patient for a little while, can you +not? You shall be my dearest friend, my life shall be moulded as you +will--listen, I will swear that no one in this world shall ever have a +single word of love from me save you. Don't wreck our lives, dear, just +from an impulse. Do you know you have saved me from a nightmare? I am +older than you, Douglas, and I was beginning to wonder, to fear, whether +I might not be one of those poor, unfortunate creatures to whom God has +never given the power to love anything--and life sometimes was so cold +and lonely. You could light it all for me, dear, with your love. You +have shown me how different it could be. Don't go away. + +"It is an easy thing I ask," he cried, hoarsely. "I have given you my +whole love--my whole life. I want yours." + +"You are the only man, dear," she answered, "whom I have ever loved, and +I do love you." + +"Your life too, every corner of it. I want it swept clear of shadows. +You need have no fear. If you were a murderess, or if every day of it +was black with sin, my love could never alter," he cried. + +"Dearest," she whispered, "haven't I told you that you shall take my +life into your keeping and do with it what you will?" + +He unwound her arms. + +"And the past?" + +"Everything you shall know--there's nothing terrifying--save that one +thing--and that before long." + +"Is it like this," he cried, "that you have kept men in chains +before--watched them go mad for sport? I'll not be your slave, +Emily--shut out from your confidence--waiting day by day for God knows +what." + +She drew herself up. A storm of passion blazed in her face. The new +tenderness which had so transfigured it, had passed away. + +"Then go!" she ordered, pointing to the door. "You make a mockery of +what you call love. I never wish to see you again, Douglas Jesson." + +He stood facing her for a moment without movement. Then he turned and +walked slowly out of the house. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +THE WOOING OF CICELY + +The completion of Douglas Jesson's novel was the principal event of the +following week. There had come no word from Emily de Reuss, nor had +Douglas himself sought her. Better, he told himself, to face his +suffering like a man, grapple with it once and for all, than to become +even as Drexley and those others, who had never found strength to +resist. She was beautiful, magnetic, fascinating, and he loved her; on +the other hand there was his self-respect and the strength of his +manhood. He was young, he had courage and a career--surely the battle +would go for him. But the days which followed were weary and the nights +were pitiless. + +He finished his novel, doggedly and conscientiously. The great +publishing house who had been waiting for it had pledged themselves to +produce it within a month, and Douglas was everywhere pursued with +little bundles of proofs requiring immediate attention. These and his +work at the _Courier_ kept him fairly occupied during the day, but the +night time was fast becoming a season of terror. He tried theatres, +music halls, the club--all vainly. For there were always the silent +hours before the dawn, when distraction was impossible--hours when he +lay with hot, wide-open eyes and looked back upon that little scene--saw +Emily with her hands outstretched towards him, and that new light upon +her face, heard her changed tone, saw the wonderful light in her eyes, +felt the thrilling touch of her lips. After all, was he not a fool--a +quixote--he, to dare to make terms with her who offered him her +love--he, unknown, poor, of humble birth--she an aristocrat to the +finger-tips, rich, beautiful, famous. What a gulf between them. She +had stretched out her hands to help him across, and he had lingered +bargaining. He leaped from his couch and stood before his window. He +would go to her at once--her love he would have on any terms until she +was weary of him, and the measure of his life should be the measure of +those days. He would have his day and die. Then the empty streets, the +curling white mists, the chill vaporous breeze, and the far-off sickly +lights gleaming down the riverside reminded him that many hours must +come before he could see her. And with the later morning came fresh +resolutions--the moment of weakness was gone. + +One night he did an act of charity. He brought home to his rooms a +homeless wanderer whom he had found discharged from a night in the +cells, gave him his own bedroom and sent for a doctor and nurse. From +them he learnt that so far as Emily de Reuss was concerned, there was +nothing more to be feared from David Strong. His days were numbered at +last, and the end was very near. So Douglas would hear nothing of a +hospital, and spent weary nights at the dying man's side. For which, +and his act of charity, he had soon an ample reward. + +One morning a grinning youth invaded his sanctum at the Courier with the +information that a lady wished to see him. The walls spun round and his +heart leaped with delirious hope. But when he reached the waiting-room +it was Cicely who rose smiling to greet him, Cicely in the smartest +clothes she had ever worn, and a new hat, looking as dainty and pretty +as a picture. But it was Cicely--not the woman for whose coming he +would have given years of his life. + +She herself was too happy to notice the sudden fall in his countenance. +Her piquant little face was beaming. She held out a pearl-gloved hand +to him. + +"Douglas," she exclaimed. "I have come to take you out to lunch. It +was a bargain, remember. I have just drawn a cheque from the _Ibex_ for +twenty pounds." + +"Twenty pounds," he repeated, with mock reverence. "Heavens! what +affluence. Will you walk round with me and wait while I change?" + +"Why, yes. I came early in case you wanted to go to your rooms first. +Do you know, I've been to the 'Milan' and chosen my table. There's a +lovely band playing, and it's all quite a fairy tale, isn't it?" + +He laughed, and they went out together into the street. She looked at +him with sudden gravity. "You're not well, Douglas." "Never better," he +assured her gaily. She shook her head. "You haven't been worrying +about Joan?" + +"Never think of her," he answered truthfully. She sighed. + +"I wish I didn't. Douglas, I didn't mean to talk of this just now, for +it's a horrid subject, and to-day is a _fete_ day. But supposing Joan +finds you out. Could she make them arrest you?" + +"Not a doubt about it," he answered, "if she chose." + +"And afterwards?" + +"Well, it wouldn't be pleasant," he admitted. "I think I should get out +of it, but it might be awkward. And in getting out of it, I might +perhaps bring more pain upon Joan than any she has suffered yet." + +"Did any one kill Father, Douglas?" + +He hesitated. + +"I didn't." + +"Do you know who did?" + +"I'm afraid I can guess." + +She was silent for a moment. Then they turned off into the side street +where his rooms were, and she passed her arm through his. + +"There, now I'm going to banish that and all unpleasant subjects," she +declared. "Do you know, I feel ridiculously light-hearted to-day, +Douglas. I warn you that I shall be a frivolous companion." + +"You'll be a very welcome one," he answered. "There was never a time +when I wanted you so much. I've finished my novel and I have a fit of +the blues." + +"It is your own fault," she said. "It is because you have not been to +see me for a fortnight." + +"And I wonder how much you have missed me all that fortnight. Tell me +what you have been doing." + +She looked at him sideways. He almost fancied that she was blushing. + +"Tuesday night Mr. Drexley took me out to dinner, and we went to the +Lyceum," she said. + +He stopped short upon the pavement. + +"What?" + +She looked up at him demurely. + +"Why, you don't mind, do you, Douglas? Mr. Drexley is a friend of +yours, isn't he? He has been so kind." + +"The devil he has!" Douglas muttered, amazed. "And how many more times +have you seen him during the fortnight, I wonder?" + +"Well--once or twice," she admitted. + +"Any more dinner parties?" + +"We went to Richmond one afternoon. Mr. Drexley rows so nicely. He +introduced me to his sister." + +"Never knew he had one," Douglas muttered. + +"Here we are. Come in and sit down while I change." + +Douglas was not long over his toilet. When he returned he was inclined +to be thoughtful. For no earthly reason he could think of, Cissy's +friendship with Drexley irritated him. He did not understand it. He +had looked upon Drexley as a man whose emancipation was an +impossibility, for whom there was no hope of any further social life. +Was it possible that he could be seriously attracted by Cicely? He +watched her with this thought all through luncheon, and gradually there +crept into his mind a fuller and more complete appreciation of her +unmistakable charm. All the time she was chattering gaily to him, +chasing away his gloom, forcing him to breathe the atmosphere of gaiety +and light-heartedness which she seemed at once to create and to revel +in. It occurred to him that if ever a girl in the world was created to +save a man from despair, surely she was that one. Dainty, cheerful, +unselfish, with a charming command of language and a piquant wit, Cicely +had made vast strides in self-development since the days when they had +sat together on the Feldwick Hills and talked of that future into which +it seemed then so impossible that they should ever pass. + +"Do you remember," he asked her, "what we used to call the pearl light, +the soft crystalline glow before the sunrise, and how fresh and sweet +the air was when we scrambled up the hill?" + +She nodded thoughtfully. + +"I think very often of those days, and the dreams we used to weave +together. Sometimes I can scarcely believe how near we have come to +realising them. What a wonderfully still, lonely country it was." + +"We used to sit and watch the smoke curl upwards from the cottages one +by one. The farm was always the first." + +"Yes, Joan saw to that." + +"And the nights. Do you remember how sweet the perfumes were--the +heather and the wild thyme? Those long cool nights, Cissy, when we +watched the lights flicker out one by one, and the corncrakes and the +barn owl came and made music for us." + +"It is like a beautiful picture, the memory," she murmured. + +"Build a fence around and keep it," he said. "Life there was an +abstraction, but a beautiful one. London has made man and woman of us, +but are we any happier, I wonder?" + +"I am," she answered simply. + +"You are happy because you have not grasped at shadows," he said, +bitterly. "You have taken the good which has come, and been thankful." + +"And you," she replied, softly, "you are known already. In a few +months' time you will be famous." + +"Ay, but shall I be happy?" he asked himself, only half aloud. + +"If you will," she answered. "If you have spent any of your time +grasping at shadows, be thankful at least that you are man enough to +realise it and put them from you. Life should be a full thing for you. +Douglas, I think that you are wonderful. All that we dreamed of for you +has come true." + +He looked into her face with a sudden intensity--a pretty face enough, +flushed and earnest. + +"Cissy, help me to realise one at least of those dreams. Will you?" + +She looked at him suddenly white, bewildered, a little doubtful. + +"What do you mean, Douglas?" + +"You were very dear to me in those days, Cissy," he said, leaning over +and taking her fingers into his. "You have always been dear to me. Our +plans for the future were always large enough for two. Take me into +yours--come into mine. Can you care for me enough for that?" + +She was silent; her face was averted. They were alone, and his fingers +tightened upon hers. + +"We never spoke of it in words, Cissy," he went on, "but I think we +understood. Will you help me to leave the shadows alone? Will you be +my wife?" + +"You care--enough for that?" she asked, raising her eyes to his +suddenly. + +A moment's wild revolt--a seething flood of emotions sternly repressed. +He met her eyes, and though there was no smile upon his lips, his tone +was firm enough. + +"I care--enough for that, Cissy," he answered. + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +THE NET OF JOAN'S VENGEANCE + +Success--complete, overpowering, unquestioned. Douglas Jesson's novel +was more than the book of the season--it became and still remains a +classic. There is much talk nowadays by minor writers of the difficulty +of making a name, of the inaccessibility of the public. As a matter of +fact there never was a time when good work was so quickly recognised +both by the press and the public, never a novel which sees the light of +day but meets with appreciably more or less than its merits. There was +never a second's hesitation about "The Destiny of Phillip Bourke." The +critics praised and the public bought it. Edition followed edition. +Douglas Jesson took his place without an effort amongst the foremost +writers of the day. + +And this same success brought him face to face with one of the great +crises of his life. It brought Joan to him, successful at last in her +long search. Their interview, which, if unexpected, must surely have +savoured of the dramatic, was reduced more or less to the commonplace, +from the fact that she came to him prepared, already assured of his +identity, for who else could have immortalised so wonderfully the little +hillside village where they had both been brought up? He walked into +the waiting-room at the Courier equally prepared, for he had seen her +pass the window. She turned and faced him as he entered, carefully +closing the door behind him, with a grim smile of triumph about her +thin, set lips. + +"At last, then, Douglas Guest," she exclaimed, laying his book upon the +table. "Are you not weary of skulking under a false name?" + +"I chose it as much for your sake as mine, Joan," he gravely replied. + +Her black eyes flashed hatred and disbelief upon him. + +"You don't imagine that you can make me believe that," she answered, +passionately. "You have fooled many people, but I think your turn has +come at last. I did not come here to listen to any fairy tales." + +"You will forgive me if I ask what you did come for, Joan. I would +rather you had come as a friend, but I fear there is no chance of that." + +She laughed mockingly. + +"I have searched for you many days," she said, "and many nights. I have +ransacked a city which was strange to me; I have walked many hundreds of +miles over its pavements until I have grown sick with disappointments. +And now that I have found you Douglas Guest, you are right when you say +that I do not come as your friend." + +"You had a motive, I presume?" + +"Yes, I had a motive. I wanted to look into your face and tell you that +the net of my vengeance is drawn close about you, and the cords are +gathered in my hands. To-day you are flushed with triumph, to-morrow +you will be pale with fear." + +"Joan," he said, looking across the table into her face, distorted with +passion, "you believe that I killed your father?" + +"Believe? I know it!" + +"Nevertheless I did not raise my hand against him. I took money because +it was my own. I left him sound and well." + +"There are others," she exclaimed scornfully, "who may believe that, but +not many, I should think." + +"Joan," he said earnestly, "you will be a happier woman all your life if +you will listen to me now. Your father was killed that night and +robbed, but not by me. I took twenty pounds, which was not a tithe of +what belonged to me--not a penny more. It was after I had left--" + +"Two in one night?" she interrupted. "It doesn't sound ingenious, +Douglas Guest, though you are welcome, of course, to your own story." + +"Ingenious or not, it is true," he answered. "You are very bitter +against me, and some hard thoughts from you I have certainly deserved. +But of what you think I am not guilty, and unless you want to do a thing +of which you will repent until your dying day, you must put that thought +away from you." + +"Do you think that I am a child?" she asked scornfully. "Do you think +that I am to be put off with such rubbish as that? I made all my +arrangements long ago for when I found you. In less than an hour you +will be in prison." + +"Joan, you are very hard," he said. + +"I loved my father, and I hate you," she returned, passionately. + +He nodded. + +"I misjudged you," he said reflectively. "I never gave you credit for +such tenacity of purpose. I did not think that love or hate would ever +burn their way into your life." + +"Then you were a fool," she answered shortly. "You have never +understood me. Perhaps when you have the rope about your neck you will +read a woman's nature more truthfully." + +"You are very vindictive, Joan." + +"I want justice," she replied sharply, "and I hate you!" + +"Listen," he said. "I am not going to make any attempt to escape. I +will answer this charge of yours when the time comes. Meanwhile there +is something which I want to show you. It will not take long and it may +alter your purpose." + +"Nothing could ever alter my purpose," she remarked emphatically. + +"You cannot tell," he answered. "Now, I declare to you most solemnly +that if you have me arrested before you do what I ask, you will never +cease to repent it all your life." + +"What do you want me to do?" she asked. + +He took down his hat from a peg behind the door. + +"It is something I have to show you. We must go to my rooms. They are +only just the other side of the Strand." + +In absolute silence they walked along together. Joan had but one +fear--the fear which had made her grant his request--and that she put +resolutely behind her. "God was just," she muttered to herself again +and again, and He would not see her cheated of her vengeance. From +behind her thick veil she looked at Douglas. He was pale and serious, +but there was no look of fear in his face. Then he had always been +brave. She remembered that from the old days. He would walk to the +scaffold like that. She shuddered, yet without any thought of +relenting. On the way he met acquaintances and greeted them. Crossing +the Strand he held out his hand to steer her clear of a passing vehicle, +but she shrank away with a little gesture of indignation. When at last +they reached the street where his rooms were, and stopped in front of +the tall, grimy building she addressed him for the first time. + +"What place is this? What are you bringing me here for?" + +"This is where I live," he answered. "There is something in my rooms +which I must show you." + +She stood still, moody and inclined to be suspicious. + +"Why should I trust you? We are enemies, you and I. There may be evil +inside this house for me." + +He threw open the door. + +"You are quite safe," he said curtly, "and you know it. It is for your +good, not mine, that I have brought you here." + +She entered and followed him upstairs. A vague sense of coming trouble +was upon her. She started when Douglas ushered her into a dimly-lighted +room, with a bed in one corner. A hospital nurse rose to meet them, and +looked reproachfully at Douglas. A man was leaning back amongst the +pillows, wild-eyed, and with flaring colour in his cheeks. When he saw +Joan he called out to her. + +"You've come, then," he cried. "You know, Joan, I never meant to do it; +upon my soul, I didn't." + +The nurse bent over him, but he thrust her aside. + +"My sister!" he shouted. "My sister! I must talk with her. Listen, +Joan. I struck only one blow. It was an accident. I shall swear that +it was an accident. I had the money safe--I was ready to go. He was +mad to interfere with me, for I was desperate. It was only one blow--I +wanted to free myself, and down he went like a log. A hard man, too, +and a powerful, but he went down like a log. I didn't want his life. I +wanted money, for I was in rags and she wouldn't look at me. 'Come to +me properly clothed,' she said. I, who had ruined myself for her. +Joan, hist! Come here." + +They were under the spell of his terrible excitement. The nurse fell +back, Joan took her place at his pillow. He gripped her arm with +claw-like fingers, but though he drew her down till his lips nearly +touched her ear, his hoarse whispering was distinctly heard throughout +the room. + +"Two of us--father and son. Will you avenge us, eh? Listen, then. I +will tell you her name. She played with my life and wrecked it, she +took my time, my love, nay life, she gave me nothing. It was she who +poisoned my blood with the lust for gold; it was she who sent me over +the hills to Feldwick. Ay, it was she who nerved me to steal and to +kill. Joan, will you not avenge me and him, for I must die, and it is +she who has killed me--Emily de Reuss. Oh, may the gods, whoever they +be--the gods of the heathen, and the God of the Christian, your God, +Joan, and the God of Justice curse her! If I had lived I should have +killed her. If my fingers--were upon her throat--I could die happy." + +He fell back upon the pillows. Douglas led Joan from the room. She +turned and faced him. + +"Who is this woman?" she asked. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +A SCENE AT THE CLUB + +He made her sit down, for she was white and faint. For the moment he +left her question unanswered. + +"You have learnt the truth, Joan, from his own lips," he said. "I have +a confession signed last week by him before the fever set in. You can +read it if you like." + +"There is no need," she answered. "I have heard enough. Who is this +Emily de Reuss?" + +"She is a very clever woman," he said, "with whom your brother became +most unreasonably infatuated. She took an interest in him, as she has +done in many young literary men. He fell in love with her without any +encouragement, and gave way to his foolishness in a most unwarrantable +manner. He neglected his work to follow her about, lost his position +and his friends--eventually, as you see, his reason. I cannot tell you +any more than that. She was perhaps unwise in her kindness, perhaps a +little vain, inasmuch as she liked to pose as the literary inspirer of +young talent, and to surround herself with worshippers. That is the +extent of her fault. I do not believe that for a moment she +deliberately encouraged him, or was in any way personally responsible +for the wreck of his life." + +"You perhaps know her." + +"I do." + +"Well?" + +"I think that I may say so." + +She rose. + +"Then you can tell her this," she said. "Tell her that before long she +will have a visit from David Strong's sister." Douglas shook his head. +"It is not she who is to blame," he said. She pointed to the room which +they had left. + +"Men do not become like that," she said, "of their own will, or from +their own fault alone. He is mad, and in madness is truth. Did you not +hear him say that it was she who had destroyed him? Am I to lose father +and brother, ay, and husband, Douglas, and sit meekly in my +chimney-corner?" + +"As to the last," he said, "you know that it was your father's doing. I +was nothing to you. He ordered, and we obeyed in those days. He ruled +us like a tyrant. One would not wish to speak evil of the dead, or else +one would surely say that it was he who was responsible for the evil +things which have come upon us. + +"How do you know?" she demanded fiercely. "Were you not my promised +husband?--and you stole away like a coward from the pestilence." + +He was aghast, silent from sheer confusion. This was a point of view +which had never once occurred to him. + +"Am I not a woman?" she continued, with rising passion--"as other women? +You were given to me, you were mine. Why should you steal away like a +thief with never a word, and ignore me wholly as a creature of no worth? +Come, answer me that. Were you not my promised husband?" + +"I never spoke a word of love to you," he said "Your father forced it on +us." + +She leaned over the table towards him. + +"You fool!" she cried. "Do you think life at Feldwick was any more +bearable to me than to you and Cissy, because I wasn't always mooning +about on the hills or reading poetry? You never took the trouble to +find out. You looked upon me as a drudge because I did the work which +was my duty. You were mine, and I wanted you. When you stole away I +hated you. I have tried to hunt you down because I hated you. You have +escaped me now, but I shall hate you always. Remember it, Douglas +Guest. Some day you may yet have cause to." + +She left him speechless, too amazed to think of making her any answer. +It was Joan who had said these things to him, Joan the silent, with her +hard, handsome face and her Lather's dogged silence. Never again would +he believe that he understood anything whatsoever about women. He +walked up and down for a while restlessly, then put on his hat and +walked across to the club. + + * * * * * + +"Let me go, I tell you! By Heaven, there'll be mischief if you don't!" + +Half a dozen of them were holding Drexley--a pitiable sight. His coat +was torn, his eyes seemed starting from his sockets, his breath reeked +of brandy and his face was pale with passion. Opposite him was Douglas, +his cheek bleeding from the sudden blow which Drexley had struck him, +gazing with blank surprise at his late assailant. Some one had told him +that Drexley was there, had been drinking brandy all day and was already +verging on madness, and he had gone at once into the little bar, hoping +to be able to quieten him. But at his first words Drexley had sprung +upon him like a wild animal--nothing but his own great personal strength +and the prompt intervention of all the men who were present had saved +the attack from being a murderous one. There had been no words--no sort +of explanation. None came now--Drexley was furious but silent. + +"I think you had better go away, Jesson," one of the members said. "We +will take him home." + +But Drexley heard and shook his head. He spoke then for the first time. + +"I want a word with Jesson," he said. "I'm sorry I made a fool of +myself. I'm all right now. You needn't hold me." + +They stood away from him. He made no movement. + +"I've a word or two to say to Jesson in private," he said. "No one need +be afraid of me. You can tie my hands if you like, but it isn't +necessary." + +Cleavers, one of the members who had witnessed the assault, shook his +head. + +"I wouldn't trust myself with him if I were you, Jesson," he said. +"He's half mad now, and for some reason or other he's got his knife into +you. You slip off home quietly." + +Jesson looked across the room to Drexley, who was leaning against the +wall with folded arms. + +"Give me your word of honour, Drexley," he said, "and I'll hear what you +have to say." + +"I give it. I swear that I will not lay a finger upon you." + +"Come this way, then," Jesson added. + +He left the room and entered a small committee chamber nearly opposite. +Drexley closed the door but he showed no signs of excitement. + +"Jesson," he began, "I hated you once because I was the poor slave of a +woman who cared nothing for me or any who had gone before me, and who +from the first looked upon you differently. I hated you from the day +Emily de Reuss wrote me, and ordered me to delay your story and deny you +work so that you might be driven to go to her for aid. Then I think I +became apathetic. We drifted together, I tolerated you. The woman I +had worshipped all my life forgot to dole out to me even those few +crumbs of consolation to which I had become accustomed. It was then--I +met--through you--Miss Strong." + +Douglas was suddenly interested. What had Cissy to do with it all? He +put his thought into words. + +"What of that?" he asked. "I don't understand how I have injured you." + +"Oh, you have not injured me," Drexley answered bitterly. "You have +simply stood between me and salvation." + +"You must speak more plainly if you want me to understand you," Douglas +said. + +"There was only one thing in the world which could have saved me from +this--from myself," Drexley continued fiercely. "Call me what hard +names you like. I'll accept them. I wasted half a lifetime only to +find that my folly had been colossal. No other woman but your cousin +has ever been kind to me--she held out her hand and I seemed to see the +light--and then you must come and take her from me." + +Douglas gazed at him in blank amazement. + +"Do you mean to tell me that you care for my cousin--seriously--would +have asked her to marry you?" he exclaimed. "Yes." + +"And she?" + +"She was kind to me. In time I should have won her. I am sure of it." + +Douglas rose from his chair and walked restlessly up and down the room. + +"Drexley," he said, "if only I could have guessed this--if only I could +have had any idea of it!" + +"You couldn't," Drexley answered shortly. "I couldn't myself. I'd have +given the lie to anybody who had dared so much as to hint at it. It was +like a thunderclap to me." + +"You know that I have asked her to be my wife?" "Yes." + +"Listen then," Douglas said, suddenly pausing in his restless walk and +facing his companion. "I will tell you how it came about. You remember +the night that we were at the 'Milan'? + +"Yes." + +"Emily de Reuss was there." + +"Yes." + +"For months I had been steadily trying to forget her. That night the +work of months was undone. She had only to hold out her hands, to speak +for a moment kindly, and the truth seemed to flare out in letters of +fire. I cannot forget her. I never shall be able to forget her. I own +myself, Drexley, one of the vanquished. I love her as I shall never +love any other woman in this world." + +Drexley's face was black with passion, but Douglas would not have him +speak. + +"Wait," he said. "Hear my story first. I left you that night +abruptly--as you know. I went to her. I put aside all false modesty. +I forgot that I was only a journalist with a possible future and no +past--and that she was an aristocrat--my passion carried me away. I +knew only that I was a man and she was the woman I loved. So I pleaded +with her, and at first I thought that I had won." + +"Ah. Others have thought that," Drexley scoffed. + +"She answered me," Douglas continued, in a tone momentarily softened, +"as I would have had her answer me, and for a time I thought that I was +going to be the happiest man in the world. But--afterwards--Drexley, +even at this moment I do not know whether I have not been the most +consummate fool on God's earth." + +"Go on. Speak plainly." + +"I spoke of marriage--she evaded it. There was an obstacle. I begged +for her whole confidence. She withheld it. Then, Drexley, all your +damnable warnings, all that I had ever heard of--her vanity, her +heartlessness, her self-worship, came like madness into my brain. I +refused to trust to my own instincts, I refused to trust her, so she +sent me away. And, Drexley, if she be a true woman then may God help +me, for I need it." + +"She sent you away?" + +"Ay. I spent some miserable days. No word came from her. It was over. +Then it chanced that Cicely came to me. She was sympathetic, bright, +and cheerful. She made me forget for a little while my despair. I have +always been fond of her, I think that she has always been fond of me. +You know the rest." + +"You are going to marry Cicely Strong," Drexley said, slowly. "But you +love Emily de Reuss?" + +Douglas winced. + +"I am afraid--that you are right," he said. + +"And have you told Miss Strong," Drexley continued, "that you are +proposing to marry her, but that you love another woman?" '' + +Douglas looked up frowning. Drexley's tone had become almost +contemptuous. + +"Do you think that you are behaving fairly to her?" he asked. "Remember +that she is not the child with whom you used to talk sentiment in your +little Cumberland village. She is a woman now, with keen +susceptibilities--as little a woman to be trifled with in her way as +Emily de Reuss herself." + +The two men faced one another. Douglas was angry with Drexley, angry +too with himself. + +"I believe you're right, Drexley," he said, with an effort, "but I'm +hanged if I see what business it is of yours." + +"It is the business of any man at any time," Drexley answered softly, +"to speak for the woman whom he loves." + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +CICELY MAKES HER CHOICE + +Society, over whose borders Douglas had once before passed under the +tutelage of Emily de Reuss, opened her doors to him now freely, and +Douglas, convinced that here was a solitude which the four walls of his +chambers in Adam Street, peopled as they were with memories, could never +offer, passed willingly inside. For a week or two he accepted +recklessly whatever hospitalities were offered him, always with an +unacknowledged hope that chance might offer him at least a glimpse of +the woman who was destined to be the one great influence of his life. +He frequented the houses where the possibilities of meeting her seemed +best, and he listened continually and with ill-suppressed eagerness for +any mention of her name. It chanced, however, that even the latter +faint consolation was denied to him, and he neither saw anything of her +at the houses of her friends, nor came across her name in the papers +which, as a rule, never failed to chronicle her doings. At the club +they chaffed him mercilessly--a rabid tuft-hunter, or had he political +ambitions? He chaffed back again and held his own as usual, but not a +soul, save perhaps Drexley, understood him in those days. Then there +came to him one day a sudden fear. She was surely ill--or she had +disappeared. He caught up his hat and coat and walked swiftly to +Grosvenor Square. + +He reached the house and stopped short in front of it. It seemed to him +to have a gloomy, almost an uninhabited appearance. For a few moments +he struggled with himself--with his pride, a vague sense of alarm every +moment growing stronger as the dismantled aspect of the house became +more apparent to him. Then he walked up the steps and rang the bell. + +A servant in plain clothes answered it after a delay which was in itself +significant. He appeared surprised at Douglas's inquiry, knowing him +well as a frequent visitor at the house. The Countess had left for +abroad several days since--he believed for Russia, and for a +considerable time. The servants were all discharged and the house "to +let," he himself remained only as caretaker. Douglas walked back again +into the streets with a heart like lead and a mist before his eyes. She +had taken him at his word then--he had lost her. After all it was the +inevitable. + +Mechanically at first, and afterwards with a purpose, he turned +southwards to the tiny fiat where Cicely had established herself. A +trim little maid-servant showed him into her room, and she welcomed him +with outstretched hands. Yet he saw in the dim lamplight that her +cheeks were pale and there was some measure of restraint in her +greeting. + +"You have come at last, then," she said, gaily enough. "Now you must +let me give you some tea and afterwards you must tell me what you think +of my rooms. Of course, I haven't finished furnishing yet, but they're +nice, aren't they?" + +He looked round approvingly. Everything was very simple but dainty and +comfortable. A vase of beautiful chrysanthemums stood upon her +writing-table, amber and pink and drooping white, they seemed to diffuse +an almost illuminating glow. A tiny tea-table was drawn up before a +bright fire. As he sat down by her side there swept over him once more +a desire, keen, passionate, to escape from the turmoil of the last few +months. Here at least was rest. The very homeliness of the little +scene awoke in him the domestic instinct--heritage of his middle-class +ancestors. Cicely chattered gaily to him. She was very charming in her +dark red dress, and she had so much to say about this sudden fame which +had come to him--so well deserved, so brilliantly won. Her face was +aglow with pleasure, a wave of tenderness swept over him. He felt that +it would be very pleasant to take her into his arms, to forget, with her +little hands in his, those days of madness when he had yielded himself +up to wild and passionate dreams of things impossible. Better to bury +them, to take such measure of happiness as would at least ensure +content. Life would surely be a sweeter and an easier thing lived out +to the light music of the violins, than played to the deep storm +throbbings of the great orchestra. So he broke in upon her laughing +congratulations and faced her gravely. + +"You had my letter, Cicely?" Her face changed, her eyes sought his +nervously. "Yes." "You have thought about it?" "Of nothing else," she +answered. "Well?" + +She leaned over towards him. "It made me at first very angry," she +said. He glanced at her quickly. She held up her hand. + +"Now I am going to explain," she said. "You see, Douglas, when you +asked me to be your wife I believed that you cared for me, +well--altogether--and that you wanted it very much indeed. If I had +known then what your letter has since told me, what do you think that I +should have said to you?" + +"I do want it very much," he repeated softly, "and I have always cared +for you." + +"I believe that you have," she answered, "but in the same way that I +have always cared for you. You do not care for me as you do for Emily +de Reuss, nor do you want me so much as the woman whom you cannot have. +I want to be honest, dear. Perhaps if I loved you and felt that there +was no one else in this world whom I could care for, this might be +enough. I might be content with the chance that the rest would come, +although no woman, Douglas, likes to think herself a makeshift--to be +offered anything less than the whole. You see it is for life, isn't it? +When you asked me, I never dreamed but that so long as you wanted me at +all, you wanted me more than any one else in the world. Now I know that +this was not so. I am only an insignificant little thing, Douglas, and +not fit to be your companion in many ways. But I could not marry you to +think that there would be moments when you and I would stand apart, that +there would be another woman living, whose coming might quicken your +heart, and make the world a more beautiful place for you. Can you +understand that, I wonder?" + +"No," he answered fiercely. "I asked you then, I beg of you now, as an +honest man. If you will have me I will pluck out from my heart every +other memory by the roots--there shall not live in this world any other +woman for me. Nay, it is done already. She has gone for ever." + +"Douglas," she said gently, "there are some things which a woman knows +more about than a man. Listen, and answer truthfully. If she and I +stood before you here, both free, both with our hands stretched out +towards you--ah, I need not go any further, need I? You think that you +have lost her, and you want me to help you to forget. It is too +dangerous an experiment, Douglas. We will leave it alone." + +"I thought," he said slowly, "that you cared for me." + +"As a very, very dear friend and comrade I do indeed," she answered. +"As anything else I might have learnt to--but not now." + +There was a short silence between them. It was not until then, that he +realised how dear during these last few months her companionship had +been to him. He looked into the fire with sad, listless eyes. After +all, what was success worth? He had grasped at the shadow, and Cicely +with her charming little ways, her glorious companionableness and her +dainty prettiness, was lost to him for ever. He had too much +self-restraint to indulge in anything in the nature of recrimination. +In his heart he felt that Drexley had taken his place--and whose the +fault save his own? A sense of intolerable weariness swept over him as +he rose to bid her good-by. Yet he was man enough to show a brave +front. + +"I believe you are right, Cicely," he said. "What I wished for after +all was selfish. Your friendship I know that I may keep." + +"Always," she answered, giving him both her hands. + +On the stairs he passed Drexley with a bunch of violets in his coat and +a new light in his face. A. sudden impulse of anger seized him. The +second cup on the teatray upstairs, the glowing chrysanthemums, the +change in Cicely--here was the meaning of these things. But for him, +she would have been content with what he had to give her. + +"Damn you, Drexley," he muttered . . . but at the foot of the +stairs he looked up. It was only a momentary impulse. It was not in +his nature to grudge any man his salvation. + +"Sorry, old chap," he called up. "Good luck to you." + +He walked down the street with the echo of Drexley's cheerful reply +still in his ears. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +"SHE WAS A WOMAN: I WAS A COWARD!" + +Again Douglas found himself face to face with a future emptied of all +delight, only this time as a saner and an older man. The growth of his +literary powers, an increased virility, following upon the greater +freedom of his life, and the cessation of those haunting fears which had +ever hung like a shadow over his earlier days in London, came to his +aid. All that was best and strongest in his character was called into +action. He faced his future like a brave man determined to make the +most of his days--to make the best use of the powers which he +undoubtedly possessed. He remodelled his manner of living to suit his +altered circumstances, took rooms in Jermyn Street which he furnished +quietly but comfortably, and although he never became a society man, he +went out often and did not indulge in an excess of solitude. He had +grown older and graver, but had lost none of his good looks, and was +particularly careful never to pose as a man of disappointments. Of +Emily de Reuss he saw or heard nothing. She seemed to have vanished +completely from her place in society, and although he ventured to make a +few careful inquiries he never chanced to come across any one who could +tell him anything about her. It was astonishing how soon she was +forgotten, even amongst those who had been her greatest admirers. He +seldom heard her name mentioned, and although he never failed to believe +that she would return some day to London, he set himself as deliberately +as possible to forget her. On the whole, he believed that he was +succeeding very well. He was a favourite amongst women, for he treated +them charmingly, always with a ready and natural gallantry, but always +with the most profound and unvarying respect. Only the very keenest +observers fancied sometimes that they detected the shadow of a past in +his far from cheerless demeanour. For Douglas held his head high, and +met the world which had turned aside to welcome him with outstretched +hands. + +One evening, at a large and crowded reception, a man, whom he knew +slightly, touched him on the shoulder. + +"Guest," he said, "there is a lady with whom I have been talking who +wishes to renew her acquaintance with you. May I take you to her?" + +Douglas murmured a conventional acquiescence and bowed to the +pleasant-faced, grey-headed old lady with a sense of pleasure. + +"I am honoured that you should have remembered me, Duchess," he said. +"It seems quite a long time since I have had the honour of meeting you." + +She made room for him by her side. + +"I am glad to see you again, Mr. Guest," she said pleasantly, "for your +own sake of course, and also because you were a friend of Emily de +Reuss." + +Douglas looked steadily away for a moment. He had not yet come to that +stage when he could speak of her lightly as a casual friend. + +"You have not heard from her lately, I suppose?" the Duchess asked. "I +hear that she writes to no one." + +"I have not heard from her since before she left England," Douglas +answered. + +The Duchess sighed. + +"Poor Emily," she said. "You know I am amongst those few who knew her +well--you also, I think, were one of them. There was no one I was more +fond of--no one whom I have missed so much." + +Again Douglas was silent. Did this woman understand, he wondered. + +"It is a pleasure to me," she continued, "to find some one with whom I +can talk about her--some one who knew and appreciated her." + +"Do you know," he asked, "where she is?" + +"Yes." + +It was amazing what effect the monosyllable had upon him. The mask +which he carried always with him fell suddenly away. He turned upon her +with an abruptness almost disconcerting. His eyes were lit with fire, +and there was a strange flush upon his cheeks. + +"Where," he demanded--"where is she?" The Duchess looked at him with +sympathy. She was a kindly woman, and she had probed his secret long +ago. + +"She is in a little village some five hundred miles across the frontier, +in Siberia. I had imagined that you might have known." + +"Siberia!" He repeated the word in blank amazement. The Duchess nodded. + +"Now I have told you something very interesting," she said, "and in +return I am going to ask you something. You quarrelled with her, did +you not?" + +"Scarcely that. I asked her to marry me," he answered. + +"Which of course was impossible." + +"Impossible? Why?" + +She raised her eyebrows. + +"Is it conceivable," she exclaimed, "that you do not know?" + +"I knew of no other barrier save the difference in our social +positions," he said gravely. + +She was silent for a moment. + +"You did not know, then--be calm, my friend--that Emily had a husband +living?" + +A sharp little cry, almost immediately smothered, broke from his lips. +He looked at his companion aghast. A flood of new light seemed to be +breaking in upon him. + +"Married! Emily married!" he exclaimed. "And she never told me." + +"She probably meant to in her own good time," the Duchess said. "Of +course I do not know how matters were between you, only I fancied that +some change had come to her during the last few months. I hoped that +she was growing to care for somebody. She is too rare a woman to lead +for ever a lonely life." + +"But her husband?" he stammered. + +"She will never do more," the Duchess said gravely, "than look upon his +face through iron bars. He is a prisoner for life in one of the +gloomiest and most impregnable of Siberian fortresses. Some day, if you +like, I will tell you the story of her marriage. It was a most unhappy +one." + +"Tell me now," he begged breathlessly. + +She hesitated. A foreign prince bowed before her, his breast glittering +with orders. She looked up at him smiling. + +"Prince," she said, "Mr. Guest and I are elaborating together the plot +of his next novel, and it is wonderfully fascinating." + +He bowed low and passed on. She turned again to Douglas. + +"I can tell it you," she said, "sufficiently in half a dozen sentences. +Emily was the orphan child of one of the richest and noblest Hungarian +families--the man she married was half a Pole half a Hungarian, poor, +but also of noble family. His life was a network of deceit, he himself +was a conspirator of the lowest order. He married Emily for her +money--that it might be used for what he called the Cause. When she +declined to have anything to do with it he first ill-treated her +shamefully, and afterwards deserted her. Twice he was graciously +pardoned by the Czar, twice he broke his word of honour and plunged +again into infamy. The third time it seemed that nothing could save +him, for he was caught in the act of directing a shameful conspiracy +against the man who had treated him so generously. He was sentenced to +death, but Emily crossed Europe in a special train, and after terrible +difficulties won his life from the Czar herself when every other means +had failed. He was condemned to imprisonment for life, and she gave her +word that she would never ask for any mitigation of that sentence. +Think of the generosity of that action! Although the man had treated +her vilely, and she was young and beautiful, yet she doomed herself to a +perpetual widowhood in order to save his life. I happen to know, too, +that her love for him was wholly dead." + +"It was magnificent," he murmured with something that sounded like a +sob. + +"She came to live in London, where her story was little known. That was +ten years ago. I think that I am almost the only person who knows the +whole truth about her, and if you ask me why I have told you, well, I +can only say that it was by instinct." + +"Duchess," he said, "you have told me the story of a heroine--now let me +tell you the story of a fool. I came to London a very short time ago, +poor, friendless, and untried. She was the only person from whom I +received any spontaneous kindness whatever. She visited me when I was +ill, she asked me to her house, she encouraged me in my work, she showed +me how exquisite a thing the intelligent sympathy of a cultivated woman +can be to a man who is struggling for expression. And in +return--listen. There were others whom she had befriended--like me. +She had keen literary instincts, as you know, and it was her pleasure to +help in any way young beginners. She was also a woman and beautiful. +Some of them lost their heads; two especially. It was their fault--not +hers. They were presumptuous, and she rebuked them. They whined like +whipped curs, went wrong as it chanced afterwards, and were held up to +me as warnings. It was her vanity, they declared, which prompted her +kindness. We were all puppets to her--not men. She had no heart. When +my turn came I should be served like the rest. I loved her, Duchess; +who could help it? and the time came when we stood face to face, and I +saw the woman shining out of her eyes, and the gates of Heaven were +opened to me. Was there ever such transcendental folly as mine? I +locked the gates myself and remained--outside." + +He looked away, and there was a short silence. A woman's song died +sweetly away in an ante-room beyond, the murmur of pleasant conversation +floated once more all around them. The Duchess unfurled a fan of wavy +white feathers and half sheltered him. She only saw the dimness in his +eyes as he went on. + +"Those few minutes," he said, "I cannot speak of. Then there came, by +some hateful chance, a cloud over my happiness. I remembered the +warnings with which I had been pestered; the fool in me spoke whilst the +man was silent. I demanded a pledge from her. I asked her when she +would marry me. She bade me be patient, hinted at an obstacle--some day +I should know everything. The fool in me raved. I demanded her promise +to marry me as a token of her sincerity. Then she answered me as I +deserved. If I did not trust her I might go--and, God help me, I went." + +Again the bitter silence, and again the feathers swelled and waved. The +band was playing softly, waltz music now. The Duchess, who was a +motherly woman, and loved young men, felt her own eyes grow dim. + +"After all," she said, "you must not blame yourself too much. Emily had +her faults like other women. She was a little vain, a little imperious, +not always wise. She should have told you everything." + +Douglas rose and made his adieux. + +"She trusted me once, Duchess, when everything looked against me, and +never even deigned to ask for an explanation. She was a woman. When my +turn came I was a coward." + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +A JOURNEY--AND A WEDDING + +A brilliant and scathing criticism of a successful society play, signed +by Douglas in full, and admitted to the columns of a periodical whose +standing was unique, followed close upon the issue of his novel. His +articles to the Courier were as vivid and characteristic as ever--he had +passed with scarcely an effort after his initial success into the front +ranks of contemporary writers. Of his private sorrows the world knew +nothing, and he carried himself always with an impenetrable front. Yet +after that night he felt that a break in his life was imperative--was a +necessary condition indeed of his sanity. The literary and society +papers chronicled his retirement into the wilds of Devonshire, where he +was reported to be studying the plot of his next novel. As a matter of +fact he had embarked upon a longer journey. + +From Paris, after hours of indecision, he wired to Emily de Reuss at +Molchavano. + +"May I come to you?--DOUGLAS." + +For a week he waited restlessly, a week of weary sightseeing and +abortive attempts at holiday making. No answer came. On the eighth day +he moved on to Vienna and sent another telegram. + +"I am coming to you.--DOUGLAS." + +Still no reply. He waited for a day or two and then moved on to St. +Petersburg. Here he took up his quarters at the Hotel de l'Europe, and +began to make inquiries about the journey across Siberia. From here he +sent another message out over the snowbound wastes. + +"I leave for Molchavano in fourteen days.--DOUGLAS." + + +He made all the preparations for his journey, but on the twelfth day +came word from her. + +"I implore you not to come. Return to London and await my letter." He +travelled back, and those who saw him on his return remarked that the +air of Devonshire had been without its usual benefit so far as he was +concerned. He shut himself up, wrote scarcely a line, waited only for +his letter. It came sooner than he had expected. It contained more +than he had dared to hope, less than he had prayed for. This is what he +read-- + +"THE FORTRESS OF MOLCHAVANO, + +"October 17th. + +"So, Douglas, you have learnt the truth. Well, I am glad of it. You +believe in me now? You always may. Looking back upon our last +interview my only regret is that I did not tell you the whole truth +then. + +"It was foolish of me to withhold it--foolish and inconsequent. Yet I +believe that if I had told you I should not have been here now. So, +after all, I have no regrets. + +"I can hear you ask me then--jealous as ever--what is it that I have +found here to reconcile me so easily to our separation, to an isolation +which is indeed incredible and almost awful? Douglas, it is that I have +found good to do. Everybody, you, I am afraid, included, has always +looked upon me as a very selfish woman, and indeed I have been so most +of the days of my life. Never mind, my chance has come. It was you who +drove me here. Thank you, Douglas. Believe me that I shall bless you +for it so long as I live. + +"Would you care to know anything of my life, I wonder. No? For many +reasons it were best not to tell you too much. The fortress in which I +live--where the walls and floors are of stone, and without, the snow is +deep upon the ground--is only a few yards from the prison where my +husband is kept. I see him for five minutes every day through a window +with iron bars--yet he tells me that the thought of that five minutes +keeps him alive hour by hour, and I am beginning to believe it. For, +Douglas, such monotony as this is a thing outside the imagination. From +the hilltop on which the prison is built I can see for twenty miles, and +there is not a tree, nor a building, not even a rise or fall in the +ground to break the awful and dazzling loneliness of that great field of +snow. Below me are the grim shafts of the mines, down which the +prisoners here go ironed every day. Away on the horizon westwards is +the black line of pine forests, in whose shadows is night everlasting. +A wolf howls beneath my window every night, and for months I have seen +no colour save in an occasionally lurid sunset with crimson afterglow. +In the daytime I help in the hospital--at night I sit before a wood fire +and look out beyond my whitewashed walls across the mighty forest, back +to London, and then, dear, you may know that it is you of whom I am +thinking. + +"Your telegrams reached me together, or I would have stopped you on the +way. I am glad, Douglas, that you know the truth; I am glad that you +have wanted me. Be patient and brave. Life is opening for you through +many avenues. Take what comes to you, and remember that your +development is a holy duty to yourself and your fellows. We are like +two stars, Douglas, who have passed one another in the darkness and +floated away into a great sea of space. The future may be ours again, +but the present is for other things than regrets. There are worlds to +lighten ever, though our shining is a very small thing. Be true to +yourself and to your destiny. + +"I want to be honest with you, Douglas. For the first time in my life I +am willingly suffering privations, I am neglecting my own amusement and +happiness for the sake of others. Yet I am not of the stuff whereof +saints and martyrs are fashioned. This life in time would drive me mad. +You would ask me I know--how long? I answer that I stay here so long as +I can bear it and my health serves. It may be for months, perhaps +years. Yet I promise you this, if it is a promise which you care to +have. When it is ended I will send you word. + +"Until then, Douglas, if you care to have me sign myself so, + +"I am, + +"Your faithful friend, + +"EMILY DE REUSS." + +Douglas drew paper and ink towards him, and wrote back with breathless +haste-- + +"I will do your bidding, and whether it be for a year or twenty years, I +will wait." + + * * * * * + +He carried her letter with him to Cicely's wedding, and they all noticed +with pleasure a new buoyancy in his walk and bearing, a keener light in +his eyes, and the old true ring in his voice. There was never a shadow +of envy in his heart as he watched Drexley's happiness. Joan and he saw +them off at Charing Cross for the Continent, and they walked back to her +rooms together. + +"So you are really going home to Feldwick, Joan?" he asked. + +She nodded. + +"Yes. Since I left it I have done nothing but make mistakes. I think +that the old life is best for me." + +He glanced at her curiously a moment or two later as they crossed the +street. She had grown older during the last few months, and there were +streaks of grey in her hair. Yet the lines in her face were softer, the +narrowness and suspicion were smoothed away; her eyes were still keen, +but with a kindlier light. At her door, where he parted from her, she +looked away across his shoulder. + +"It is a wonderful city, this, Douglas," she said. "It has made a great +man of you and a happy woman of Cissy." + +"And you?" he asked gently. + +"Well, it has taught me a little tolerance, I think," she said. "You +know we Strongs are hill folk, our loves and hates are lasting and +perhaps narrow. I have been a mistaken woman, but I have much to be +thankful for. I came to my senses before any one was made to suffer +through me. So now, good night, and good-by, Douglas. You bear me no +ill-will, I know?" + +"Not a shred," he answered, taking her hand into his. "You will miss +Cissy, I am afraid." + +She sighed, and he saw something in her eyes which haunted him for long +afterwards. + +"Some of us," she said, "are born to be lonely--to see those whom we +care for drift away. There's no help for it, I'm afraid. So good-by, +Douglas, and good fortune to you." + +The door closed sharply upon her sob. Douglas walked slowly away +westwards. + + + +CHAPTER XL + +A CALL BEFORE THE CURTAIN + +They passed out from the stuffy atmosphere of the dimly-lit theatre to +the sunlit squares and streets, Drexley and Douglas arm in arm, the +former voluble, Douglas curiously silent. For it had been an afternoon +of events, the final rehearsal of a play of which great things were +expected, and which was to take London by storm. Drexley had always had +faith in his friend. He believed him to be a clever, even a brilliant, +writer--witty, original, unique in his own vivid and picturesque style. +But even Drexley had never believed him capable of such work as this. +Without the accessories of costume, and lights, and continuity, the +story which flashed out into the shadows of the dark and empty stalls +from the lips of those human puppets, wholly fascinated and completely +absorbed him. Douglas had forsaken all traditions. He had been +fettered with only a small knowledge of the stage and its workings, and +he had escaped the fatal tribute to the conventionalities paid by almost +every contemporary playwright. It was a sweet and passionate story +which leaped out from the lips of those fashionably dressed but earnest +men and women, grandly human, exquisitely told. Here and there the +touches were lurid enough, but there was plenty of graceful relief, +every sentence seemed pervaded with that unerring sense of the truthful +and artistic which was the outcome of the man's genius. Drexley's words +were ready enough in the open streets with the fresh wind in their faces +and the sunshine streaming around. In the theatre and immediately +afterwards in the manager's room, where a famous actress had dispensed +tea, and compliments and congratulations were the order of the day, he +had been spellbound and silent. + +"Douglas," he cried, "already you are known and recognised. To-morrow +you will be famous. You are a genius, man. Nothing like this or +anything approaching it has been produced for years." + +"Don't be too sure, Drexley," Douglas said, smiling. "The public must +decide, you know. They may not like it as you do. A first-night +audience takes strange whims sometimes." + +Drexley shook his head. + +"Disappointed playwrights may tell you so, but don't believe it," he +answered. "A London audience as a rule is absolutely infallible. But +then such a play as this lays itself open to no two opinions. It is of +the best, and the best all can recognise when it is shown them. +To-night will be a great triumph for you. My congratulations you have +already. Cissy and I together will shout them to you later." + +Douglas laughed. + +"Well," he said, "I believe the play will be a success. I have had a +curious sense with me all day that something pleasant is going to +happen. I feel as though fortune had taken me by the hand. What does +it mean, I wonder?" + +Drexley laughed heartily. He had grown years younger. Happiness had +taken hold of him and he was a changed being. + +"A man may doubt his own work sometimes," he said; "but when he has +struck an imperishable and everlasting note of music, well--he hears it +as surely as other people hear it. Until to-night then, my friend." + +Douglas shook him by the hand. + +"There will be some sort of a kickup behind after the show," he +remarked. "Champagne and sandwiches and a little Royalty. Remember +that I am relying upon you to bring Cicely." + +"We are as likely to forget our own existence," Drexley laughed. "For a +few hours then, _au revoir_." + +Douglas walked down the broad street to his rooms, smoking a cigarette +and humming an opera tune. His eyes were bright, his head thrown back; +a touch of the Spring seemed to have found its way into his blood, for +he was curiously lighthearted. He let himself in with a latchkey and +entered his study for a moment or two, intending to dress early and dine +at his club. On his writing-table were several letters, a couple of +cards, and an orange-coloured envelope. He took the latter into his +fingers, hesitated for a moment, and then tore it open. + +"GARD DE NORD, PARIS. + +"I shall arrive at Dover at eight this evening. Will you meet +me?--EMILY." + +Then he knew what this curious premonition of coming happiness had +meant, and his heart leaped like a boy's, whilst the colour burned in +his cheeks. She was coming home, coming back to him, the days of her +exile were over--the days of her exile and his probation. He snatched +at a time-table with trembling fingers, called for his servant, ordered +a hansom. He forgot his play, and did not even send a message to the +theatre. A galloping hansom, with the prospect of a half-sovereign +fare, seemed to him to crawl to Charing Cross like a snail across a +window-pane. He caught the train--had he missed it he would have +ordered out a special--and even the express rushing seawards with mails +and a full load of Continental passengers seemed like a stage-coach. He +paced up and down the narrow corridor till the steward looked at him +curiously, and people began to regard him with suspicion as a possible +criminal. He made himself a nuisance to the ticket-inspector, and when +they waited for ten minutes outside the harbour station he dragged out +his watch every few moments, and made scathing comments upon the railway +company and every one connected with it. Nevertheless, he found himself +in ample time to smoke a dozen spasmodic cigarettes before the stream of +passengers from the boat at last crossed the gangway--and amongst them +Emily de Reuss. + +So little changed--her voice, her smile, even her style of travelling +dress was the same as ever. He held out his hands, and words seemed +ridiculous. Nevertheless, in a moment or two they found themselves +exchanging conventional remarks about the journey, the weather, the +crossing, as he piloted her along the platform to the carriage which he +had reserved. Her maid arranged the wraps and discreetly withdrew. Her +old luxurious habits had evidently survived her exile, for a courier was +in charge of her luggage. She had come, she told him, direct from St. +Petersburg. They sat opposite to one another, whilst all around them +was the bustle of incoming passengers. Conversation was +impossible--silence alone was eloquent. + +"You have changed so little," she said, smiling at him as the train +swept away from the station. + +"And you, surely not at all," he answered. + +"You knew--that he was dead?" she asked softly. + +"The Duchess told me so--six months ago. I wondered why you stayed +there." + +She sighed. + +"I have been a woman of many luxuries," she said, "yet I think the +sweetest of them all I experienced at Molchavano. I really think that I +did a little good. After his death I sent to Petersburg for nurses and +I stayed at the hospital till they came. + +"The luxury of doing good can be indulged in here as well as +Molchavano," he murmured. + + * * * * * + +They were nearing London. Far away on either side was an amphitheatre +of lights. She leaned forward and gazed thoughtfully out of the window. + +"Douglas," she said, "do you remember our first journey together?" + +He laughed. + +"Shall I ever forget it!" + +"How young you were," she murmured--"how eager and how ambitious. Life +was like a fairy tale to you, full of wonderful things which no one +believes in nowadays. I wonder, have you found the truth yet? Have you +learnt your lesson?" + +"Life is more like a fairy tale than ever to-night," he answered gaily. +"As to the rest, I will answer you presently. Only remember, that if I +have jealously preserved a few illusions it is because they are the +flowers which grow along the byeways of life. You may smile at them, if +you will, but not unkindly." + +Their way led past the theatre. He glanced at his watch--the last act +was still in full swing. He pulled the check cord. + +"Do you mind," he asked, "for five minutes? My answer is waiting here." + +"In my travelling dress?" she asked. + +He handed her out. + +"It will not matter," he assured her. "I can find a seat where your +dress will be unnoticed." + +They passed into the stage box, where their entrance, although they kept +as far as possible in the background, excited much comment. They felt +at once that they had come into an atmosphere charged with electric +emotion. Little ripples of excitement were floating through the +theatre. Interest had become strained--almost painful. A brilliant +house had been worked up into a state of breathless absorption. A +little man burst in upon them. + +"Thank God you've come, Guest! They nearly had the house down after the +last act shouting for you. Oh! I beg your pardon." + +He retreated, closing the door. They neither of them noticed him. Up +from the stage the triumphant cry of a great actor, carried away by the +inspiration of a great part, answered her in her lover's own words-- + +"Philosophy is selfishness and ambition a shadow--the lesson of life is +the lesson of love." + +The curtain fell and the storm burst. She looked into his face with a +brilliant smile. + +"I am very sweetly answered, Mr. Author," she said. "Now let me efface +myself." + +Douglas could not escape, for he had been recognised, and the house rang +with his name. He bowed his acknowledgments time after time from the +front of the box, and every one wondered at his late arrival and morning +clothes, and at the woman in a long travelling coat, who sat by his side +half hidden by the curtain. Only the Duchess, whose box was exactly +opposite, and who had remarkably good eyesight, suddenly understood. +She leaned over and waved her hand gaily. + +"Gracious!" she exclaimed. "It's Emily." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SURVIVOR*** + + +******* This file should be named 17040.txt or 17040.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/0/4/17040 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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