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diff --git a/18086-h/18086-h.htm b/18086-h/18086-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..af748d1 --- /dev/null +++ b/18086-h/18086-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9261 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Dozen Ways Of Love, by Lily Dougall</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + hr.smler { width: 10%; } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .center {text-align: center;} + + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem div {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + + + /* index*/ + + div.index ul { list-style: none; } + div.index ul li span.mono {font-family: monospace;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; } + pre {font-size: 75%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Dozen Ways Of Love, by Lily Dougall</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: A Dozen Ways Of Love</p> +<p>Author: Lily Dougall</p> +<p>Release Date: March 30, 2006 [eBook #18086]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DOZEN WAYS OF LOVE***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Martin Pettit,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net/">http://www.pgdp.net/</a>)<br /> + from page images generously made available by<br /> + Early Canadiana Online<br /> + (<a href="http://www.canadiana.org/eco/index.html">http://www.canadiana.org/eco/index.html</a>)</h3> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="10" style="background-color: #ccccff;"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Images of the original pages are available through + Early Canadiana Online. See + <a href="http://www.canadiana.org/ECO/ItemRecord/27354?id=1773fdb4bf2c6d8f"> + http://www.canadiana.org/ECO/ItemRecord/27354?id=1773fdb4bf2c6d8f</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>A</h3> + +<h1>DOZEN WAYS OF LOVE</h1> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>L. DOUGALL</h2> + +<h4>AUTHOR OF 'BEGGARS ALL,' 'THE ZEITGEIST,' 'THE MADONNA OF A DAY,' ETC.</h4> + +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>LONDON</h3> + +<h3>ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK</h3> + +<h3>1897</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h4>TO</h4> + +<h3>M. S. E.</h3> + +<h4>WITHOUT WHOSE AID, I THINK, MY BOOKS WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN WRITTEN</h4> + +<hr /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="index"> +<ul> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#I">I.</a></span> <span class="smcap">Young Love</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#II">II.</a></span> <span class="smcap">A Marriage made in Heaven</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#III">III.</a></span> <span class="smcap">Thrift</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#IV">IV.</a></span> <span class="smcap">A Taint in the Blood</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#Chapter_I"><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></a></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#Chapter_II"><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></a></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#Chapter_III"><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></a></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#Chapter_IV"><span class="smcap">Chapter IV</span></a></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#V">V.</a></span> <span class="smcap">'Hath not a Jew Eyes?'</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#VI">VI.</a></span> <span class="smcap">A Commercial Traveller</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#VII">VII.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Syndicate Baby</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#VIII">VIII.</a></span> <span class="smcap">Witchcraft</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#IX">IX.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Girl who believed in the Saints</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#X">X.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Pauper's Golden Day</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#XI">XI.</a></span> <span class="smcap">The Soul of a Man</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#Chapter_AI"><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></a></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#Chapter_AII"><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></a></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#Chapter_AIII"><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></a></li> +<li><span class="mono"> <a href="#XII">XII.</a></span> <span class="smcap">A Freak of Cupid</span></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#Chapter_BI"><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></a></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#Chapter_BII"><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></a></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#Chapter_BIII"><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></a></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#Chapter_BIV"><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></a></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#Chapter_BV"><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span></a></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#Chapter_BVI"><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></a></li> +<li><span class="mono"> </span> <a href="#ADVERTISEMENTS"><span class="smcap">Advertisements</span></a></li> +</ul> +</div> + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<h3>YOUNG LOVE</h3> + +<p>It was after dark on a November evening. A young woman came down the +main street of a small town in the south of Scotland. She was a +maid-servant, about thirty years old; she had a pretty, though rather +strong-featured, face, and yellow silken hair. When she came toward the +end of the street she turned into a small draper's shop. A middle-aged +woman stood behind the counter folding her wares.</p> + +<p>'Can ye tell me the way to Mistress Macdonald's?' asked the maid.</p> + +<p>'Ye'll be a stranger.' It was evident that every one in those parts knew +the house inquired for.</p> + +<p>The maid had a somewhat forward, familiar manner; she sat down to rest. +'What like is she?'</p> + +<p>The shopkeeper bridled. 'Is it Mistress Macdonald?' There was reproof in +the voice. 'She is much respectet—none more so. It would be before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> you +were born that every one about here knew Mistress Macdonald.'</p> + +<p>'Well, what family is there?' The maid had a sweet smile; her voice fell +into a cheerful coaxing tone, which had its effect.</p> + +<p>'Ye'll be the new servant they'll be looking for. Is it walking ye are +from the station? Well, she had six children, had Mistress Macdonald.'</p> + +<p>'What ages will they be?'</p> + +<p>The woman knit her brows; the problem set her was too difficult. 'I +couldna tell ye just exactly. There's Miss Macdonald—she that's at home +yet; she'll be over fifty.'</p> + +<p>'Oh!' The maid gave a cheerful note of interested understanding. 'It'll +be her perhaps that wrote to me; the mistress'll be an old lady.'</p> + +<p>'She'll be nearer ninety than eighty, I'm thinking.' There was a +moment's pause, which the shop-woman filled with sighs. 'Ye'll be aware +that it's a sad house ye're going to. She's verra ill is Mistress +Macdonald. It's sorrow for us all, for she's been hale and had her +faculties. She'll no' be lasting long now, I'm thinking.'</p> + +<p>'No,' said the maid, with good-hearted pensiveness; 'it's not in the +course of nature that she should.' She rose as she spoke, as if it +behoved her to begin her new duties with alacrity, as there might not +long be occasion for them. She put another question<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> before she went. +'And who will there be living in the house now?'</p> + +<p>'There's just Miss Macdonald that lives with her mother; and there's +Mistress Brown—she'll be coming up most of the days now, but she dinna +live there; and there's Ann Johnston, that's helping Miss Macdonald with +the nursing—she's been staying at the house for a year back. That's all +that there'll be of them besides the servants, except that there's Dr. +Robert. His name is Macdonald, too, ye know; he's a nephew, and he's the +minister o' the kirk here. He goes up every day to see how his aunt's +getting on. I'm thinking he'll be up there now; it's about his time for +going.'</p> + +<p>The maid took the way pointed out to her. Soon she was walking up a +gravel path, between trim, old-fashioned laurel hedges. She stood at the +door of a detached house. It was an ordinary middle-class +dwelling—comfortable, commodious, ugly enough, except that stolidity +and age did much to soften its ugliness. It had, above all, the air of +being a home—a hospitable open-armed look, as if children had run in +and out of it for years, as if young men had gone out from it to see the +world and come back again to rest, as if young girls had fluttered about +it, confiding their sports and their loves to its ivy-clad walls. Now +there hung about it a silence and sobriety that were like the shadows of +coming oblivion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> The gas was turned low in the hall. The old-fashioned +omnibus that came lumbering from the railway with a box for the new maid +seemed to startle the place with its noise.</p> + +<p>In the large dining-room four people were sitting in dreary discussion. +The gas-light flared upon heavy mahogany furniture, upon red moreen +curtains and big silver trays and dishes. By the fire sat the two +daughters of the aged woman. They both had grey hair and wrinkled faces. +The married daughter was stout and energetic; the spinster was thin, +careworn and nervous. Two middle-aged men were listening to a complaint +she made; the one was Robert Macdonald the minister, the other was the +family doctor.</p> + +<p>'It's no use Robina's telling me that I must coax my mother to eat, as +if I hadn't tried that'—the voice became shrill—'I've begged her, and +prayed her, and reasoned with her.'</p> + +<p>'No, no, Miss Macdonald—no, no,' said the doctor soothingly. 'You've +done your best, we all understand that; it's Mistress Brown that's +thinking of the situation in a wrong light; it's needful to be plain and +to say that Mistress Macdonald's mind is affected.'</p> + +<p>Robina Brown interposed with indignation and authority.</p> + +<p>'My mother has always had her right mind; she's been losing her memory. +All aged people lose their memories.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>The minister spoke with a meditative interest in a psychological +phenomenon. 'Ay, she's been losing it backwards; she forgot who we were +first, and remembered us all as little children; then she forgot us and +your father altogether. Latterly she's been living back in the days when +her father and mother were living at Kelsey Farm. It's strange to hear +her talk. There's not, as far as I know, another being on this wide +earth of all those that came and went to Kelsey Farm that is alive now.'</p> + +<p>Miss Macdonald wiped her eyes; her voice shook as she spoke; the +nervousness of fatigue and anxiety accentuated her grief. 'She was +asking me how much butter we made in the dairy to-day, and asking if the +curly cow had her calf, and what Jeanie Trim was doing.'</p> + +<p>'Who was Jeanie Trim?' asked the minister.</p> + +<p>'How should I know? I suppose she was one of the Kelsey servants.'</p> + +<p>'Curious,' ejaculated the minister. 'This Jeanie will have grown old and +died, perhaps, forty years ago, and my aunt's speaking of her as if she +was a young thing at work in the next room!'</p> + +<p>'And what did you say to Mistress Macdonald?' the doctor asked, with a +cheerful purpose in his tone.</p> + +<p>'I explained to her that her poor head was wandering.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, now, but, Miss Macdonald, I'm thinking if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> I were you I would tell +her that the curly cow had her calf.'</p> + +<p>'I never'—tearfully—'told my mother a falsehood in my life, except +when I was a very little girl, and then'—Miss Macdonald paused to wipe +her eyes—'she spoke to me so beautifully out of the Bible about it.'</p> + +<p>The married sister chimed in mournfully, 'How often have I heard my +mother say that not one of her children had ever told her a lie!'</p> + +<p>'Yes, yes, but——' There was a tone in the doctor's voice as if he +would like to have used a strong word, but he schooled himself.</p> + +<p>'It's curious the notion she has got of not eating,' broke in the +minister. 'I held the broth myself, but she would have none of it.'</p> + +<p>In the next room the flames of a large fire were sending reflections +over the polished surfaces of massive bedroom furniture. The wind blew +against this side of the house and rattled the windows, as if angry to +see the picture of luxury and warmth within. It was a handsome stately +room, and all that was in it dated back many a year. In a chintz +arm-chair by the fireside its mistress sat—a very old lady, but there +was still dignity in her pose. Her hair, perfectly white, was still +plentiful; her eye had still something of brightness, and there was upon +the aged features the cast of thought and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> habitual look of +intelligence. Beside her upon a small table were such accompaniments of +age as daughter and nurse deemed suitable—the large print Bible, the +big spectacles and caudle cup. The lady sat looking about her with a +quick restless expression, like a prisoner alert to escape; she was tied +to her chair—not by cords—by the failure of muscular strength; but +perhaps she did not know that. She eyed her attendant with bright +furtive glances, as if the meek sombre woman who sat sewing beside her +were her jailer.</p> + +<p>The party in the dining-room broke up their vain discussion, and came +for another visit of personal inspection.</p> + +<p>'Mother, this is the doctor come to see you. Do you not remember the +doctor?'</p> + +<p>The old lady looked at all four of them brightly enough. 'I haena the +pleasure of remembering who ye are, but perhaps it will return to me.' +There was restrained politeness in her manner.</p> + +<p>The doctor spoke. 'It's a very bad tale I'm hearing about you to-day, +that you've begun to refuse your meat. A person of your experience, +Mistress Macdonald, ought to know that we must eat to live.' He had a +basin of food in his hand. 'Now just to please me, Mistress Macdonald.'</p> + +<p>The old dame answered with the air that a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> naughty child or a pouting +maiden might have had. 'I'll no eat it—tak' it away! I'll no eat it. +Not for you, no—nor for my mither there'—she looked defiantly at her +grey-haired daughter—'no, nor for my father himself!'</p> + +<p>'Not a mouthful has passed her lips to-day,' moaned Miss Macdonald. She +wrung excited hands and stepped back a pace into the shadow; she felt +too modest to pose as her mother's mother before the curious eyes of the +two men.</p> + +<p>The old lady appeared relieved when the spinster was out of her sight. +'I don't know ye, gentlemen, but perhaps now my mither's not here, ye'll +tell me who it was that rang the door-bell a while since.'</p> + +<p>The men hesitated. They were neither of them ready with inventions.</p> + +<p>She leaned towards the doctor, strangely excited. 'Was it Mr. Kinnaird?' +she whispered.</p> + +<p>The doctor supposed her to be frightened. 'No, no,' he said in cheerful +tones; 'you're mistaken—it wasn't Kinnaird.'</p> + +<p>She leaned back pettishly. 'Tak' away the broth; I'll no' tak' it!'</p> + +<p>The discomfited four passed out of the room again. The women were +weeping; the men were shaking their heads.</p> + +<p>It was just then that the new servant passed into the sick-room, bearing +candles in her hands.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Jeanie, Jeanie Trim,' whispered the old lady. The whisper had a +sprightly yet mysterious tone in it; the withered fingers were put out +as if to twitch the passing skirt as the housemaid went by.</p> + +<p>The girl turned and bent a look—strong, helpful, and kindly—upon this +fine ruin of womanhood. The girl had wit 'Yes, ma'am?' she answered +blithely.</p> + +<p>'I'll speak with ye, Jeanie, when this woman goes away; it's her that my +mither's put to spy on me.'</p> + +<p>The nurse retired into the shadow of the wardrobe.</p> + +<p>'She's away now,' said the maid.</p> + +<p>'Jeanie, is it Mr. Kinnaird?'</p> + +<p>'Well, now, would you like it to be Mr. Kinnaird?' The maid spoke as we +speak to a familiar friend when we have joyful news.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Jeanie Trim, ye know well that I've longed sair for him to come +again!'</p> + +<p>The maid set down her candles, and knelt down by the old dame's knee, +looking up with playful face.</p> + +<p>'Well, now, I'll tell ye something. He came to see ye this afternoon.'</p> + +<p>'Did he, Jeanie?' The withered face became all wreathed with smiles; the +old eyes danced with joy. 'What did ye say to him?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, well, I just said'—hesitation—'I said he was to come back again +to-morrow.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>'My father doesn't know that he's been here?' There was apprehension in +the whisper.</p> + +<p>'Not a soul knows but meself.'</p> + +<p>'Ye didna tell him I'd been looking for him, Jeanie Trim?'</p> + +<p>'Na, na, I made out that ye didna care whether he came or not.'</p> + +<p>'But he wouldna be hurt in his mind, would he? I'd no like him to be +affronted.'</p> + +<p>'It's no likely he was affronted when he said he'd come back to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>The smile of satisfaction came again.</p> + +<p>'Did he carry his silver-knobbed cane and wear his green coat, Jeanie?'</p> + +<p>'Ay, he wore his green coat, and he looked as handsome a man as ever I +saw in my life.'</p> + +<p>The coals in the grate shot up a sudden brilliant flame that eclipsed +the soft light of the candles and set strange shadows quivering about +the huge bed and wardrobe and the dark rosewood tables. The winsome +young woman at her play, and the old dame living back in a tale that was +long since told, exchanged nods and smiles at the thought of the +handsome visitor in his green coat. The whisper of the aged voice came +blithely—</p> + +<p>'Ay, he is that, Jeanie Trim; as handsome a man as ever trod!'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + +<p>The maid rose, and passing out observed the discarded basin of broth.</p> + +<p>'What's this?' she said. 'Ye'll no be able to see Mr. Kinnaird to-morrow +if ye don't take yer soup the night.'</p> + +<p>'Gie it to me, Jeanie Trim; I thought he wasna coming again when I said +I wouldna.'</p> + +<p>The nurse slipped out of the shadow of the wardrobe and went out to tell +that the soup was being eaten.</p> + +<p>'Kinnaird,' repeated the minister meditatively. 'I never heard my aunt +speak the name.'</p> + +<p>'Kinnaird,' repeated the daughters; and they too searched in their +memories.</p> + +<p>'I can remember my grandfather and my grandmother—the married daughter +spoke incredulously—'there was never a gentleman called Kinnaird that +any of the family had to do with. I'm sure of that, or I'd have as much +as heard the name.'</p> + +<p>The minister shook his head, discounting the certainty.</p> + +<p>'Maybe John will remember the name; your father, and your grandfather +too, had great talks with him when he was a lad. I'll write a line and +ask him. Poor William or Thomas might have known, if they had lived.'</p> + +<p>William and Thomas, grey-haired men, respected fathers of families, had +already been laid by the side<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> of their father in the burying-ground. +John lived in a distant country, counting himself too feeble now to +cross the seas. The daughters, the younger members of this flock, were +passing into advanced years. The mother sat by her fireside, and smiled +softly to herself as she watched the dancing flame, and thought that her +young lover would return on the morrow.</p> + +<p>The days went on.</p> + +<p>'I cannot think it right to tamper with my mother in this false way.' +The spinster daughter spoke tearfully.</p> + +<p>'Would you rather see Mistress Macdonald die of starvation?' The doctor +spoke sharply; he was tired of the protest. The doctor approved of the +new maid. 'She's a wise-like body,' he said; 'let her have her way.'</p> + +<p>'Don't you know us, mother?' the daughters would ask patiently, sadly, +day by day. But she never knew them; she only mistook one or the other +of them at times for her own mother, of whom she stood in some awe.</p> + +<p>'Surely ye've not forgotten Ann Johnston, ma'am?' the nurse would ask, +carefully tending her old mistress.</p> + +<p>The force of long habit had made the old lady patient and courteous, but +no answering gleam came in her face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Ye know who I am?' the new maid would cry in kindly triumph.</p> + +<p>'Oh, ay, I know you, Jeanie Trim.'</p> + +<p>'And now, look, I brought you a fine cup of milk, warm from the byre.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I canna tak' it; I'm no thinking that I care about eating the day.'</p> + +<p>'Well, but I want to tell ye'—with an air of mystery. 'Who d'ye think's +downstairs? It's Mr. Kinnaird himself.'</p> + +<p>'Did he come round by the yard to the dairy door?'</p> + +<p>'That he did; and all to ask how ye were the day.'</p> + +<p>The sparkle of the eye returned, and the smile that almost seemed to +dimple the wrinkled cheek.</p> + +<p>'And I hope ye offered him something to eat, Jeanie; it's a long ride he +takes.'</p> + +<p>'Bread and cheese, and a cup of milk just like this.'</p> + +<p>'What did he say? Did he like what ye gave him?'</p> + +<p>'He said a sup of milk sudna cross his lips till you'd had a cupful the +like of his; so I brought it in to ye. You'd better make haste and take +it up.'</p> + +<p>'Did he send ye wi' the cup, Jeanie Trim?'</p> + +<p>'Ay, he did that; and not a bit nor sup will he tak till ye've drunk it +all, every drop.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>With evident delight the cup was drained.</p> + +<p>'Ye told him I was ailing and couldna see him the day, Jeanie?'</p> + +<p>'Maybe ye'll see him to-morrow.' The maid stooped and folded the white +shawl more carefully over the dame's breast, and smiled in protective +kindly fashion. She had a good heart and a womanly, motherly touch, +although many a mistress had called her wilful and pert.</p> + +<p>There were times when the minister came and sat himself behind his +aunt's chair to watch and to listen. He was a meditative man, and wrote +many an essay upon modern theology, but here he found food for +meditation of another sort.</p> + +<p>There was no being in the world that he reverenced as he had reverenced +this aged lady. In his childhood she had taught him to lisp the measures +of psalm and paraphrase; in his youth she had advised him with shrewdest +wisdom; in his ministerial life she had been to him a friend, always +holding before him a greater spiritual height to be attained, and +now—— He thought upon his uncle as he had known him, a very reverent +elder of the kirk, a man who had led a long and useful life, and to whom +this woman had rendered wifely devotion. He thought upon his cousins, in +whose lives their mother's life had seemed unalterably bound up. He +would at times emerge from his corner, and, sitting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> down beside the +lady, would take her well-worn Bible and read to her such passages as he +knew were graven deep upon her heart by scenes of joy or sorrow, parting +or meeting, or the very hours of birth or death, in the lives that had +been dearer to her than her own. He was not an emotional man, but yet +there was a ringing pathos in his voice as he read the rhythmic words. +At such times she would sit as if voice and rhythm soothed her, or she +would bow her head solemnly at certain pauses, as if accustomed to agree +to the sentiment expressed. Heart and thought were not awake to him, nor +to the book he read, nor to the memories he tried to arouse. The fire of +the lady's heart sprang up only for one word, that word a name, the name +of a man of whose very existence, it seemed, no trace was left in all +that country-side.</p> + +<p>The minister would retreat out of the lady's range of vision; and so +great did his curiosity grow that he instigated the maid to ask certain +questions as she played at the game of the old love-story in her +sprightly, pitying way.</p> + +<p>'Now I'll tell ye a thing that I want to know,' said the maid, pouring +tea in a cup. 'What's his given name? Will ye tell me that?'</p> + +<p>'Is it Mr. Kinnaird ye mean?'</p> + +<p>'It's Mr. Kinnaird's christened name that I'm speering for.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + +<p>'An' I canna tell ye that, for he never told it to me. It'd be no place +of mine to ask him before he chose to speak o' it himsel'.'</p> + +<p>'Did ye never see a piece of paper that had his name on it, or a card, +maybe?'</p> + +<p>'I dinna mind that I have, Jeanie. He's a verra fine gentleman; it's +just Mr. Kinnaird that he's called.'</p> + +<p>'What for will ye no let me tell the master that he comes every day?'</p> + +<p>'Ye must no tell my father, Jeanie Trim'—querulously. 'No, no; nor my +mither. They'll maybe be telling him to bide away.'</p> + +<p>'Why would they be telling him to bide away?'</p> + +<p>'Tuts! How can I tell ye why, when I dinna ken mysel'? Why will ye fret +me? I'll tak' no more tea. Tak' it away!'</p> + +<p>'I tell ye he'll ask me if ye took it up. He's waiting now to hear that +ye took a great big piece of bread tae it. He'll no eat the bread and +cheese I've set before him till ye've eaten this every crumb.'</p> + +<p>'Is that sae? Well, I maun eat it, for I wouldna have him wanting his +meat.'</p> + +<p>The meal finished, the maid put on her most winsome smile.</p> + +<p>'Now and I'll tell ye what I'll do; I'll go back to Mr. Kinnaird, and +I'll tell him ye sent yer <i>love</i> tae him.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Ye'll no do sic a thing as that, Jeanie Trim!' All the dignity and +authority of her long womanhood returned in the impressive air with +which she spoke. 'Ye'll no do sic a thing as that, Jeanie Trim! It's no +for young ladies to be sending sic messages to a gentleman, when he +hasna so much as said the word "love."'</p> + +<p>Had he ever said the word 'love,' this Kinnaird, whose memory was a +living presence in the chamber of slow death? The minister believed that +he had not. There was no annal in the family letters of his name, +although other rejected suitors were mentioned freely. Had he told his +love by look or gesture, and left it unspoken, or had look and gesture +been misunderstood, and the whole slight love-story been born where it +had died, in the heart of the maiden? 'Where it had died!'—it had not +died. Seventy years had passed, and the love-story was presently +enacting itself, as all past and all future must for ever be enacting to +beings for whom time is not. Then, too, where was he who, by some means, +whether of his own volition or not, had become so much a part of the +pulsing life of a young girl that, when all else of life passed from her +with the weight of years, her heart still remained obedient to him? +Where was he? Had his life gone out like the flame of a candle when it +is blown? Or, if he was anywhere in the universe of living spirits, was +he conscious of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> the power which he was wielding? Was it a triumph to +him to know that he had come, gay and debonair, in the bloom of his +youth, into this long-existing sanctuary of home, and set aside, with a +wave of his hand, husband, children, and friends, dead and living?</p> + +<p>Whatever might be the psychical aspects of the case, one thing was +certain, that the influence of Kinnaird—Kinnaird alone of all those who +had entered into relations with the lady—was useful at this time to +come between her and the distressing symptoms that would have resulted +from the mania of self-starvation. For some months longer she lived in +comfort and good cheer. This clear memory of her youth was oddly +interwoven with the forgetful dulness of old age, like a golden thread +in a black web, like a tiny flame on the hearth that shoots with +intermittent brilliancy into darkness. She was always to see her lover +upon the morrow; she never woke to the fact that 'to-day' lasted too +long, that a winter of morrows had slipped fruitless by.</p> + +<p>The interviews between Jeanie Trim and Kinnaird were not monotonous. All +else was monotonous. December, January, February passed away. The +mornings and the evenings brought no change outwardly in the sick-room, +no change to the appearance of the fine old face and still stately +figure, suggested<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> no variety of thought or emotion to the lady's +decaying faculties; but at the hours when she sat and contentedly ate +the food that the maid brought her, her mental vision cleared as it +focused upon the thought of her heart's darling. It was she whose +questions suggested nearly all the variations in the game of imagination +which the young woman so aptly played.</p> + +<p>'Was he riding his black mare, Jeanie Trim?'</p> + +<p>'I didna see the beast. He stood on his feet when he was tapping at the +door.'</p> + +<p>'Whisht! Ye could tell if he wore his boots and spurs, an' his drab +waistcoat, buttoned high?'</p> + +<p>'Now that ye speak of it, those were the very things he wore.'</p> + +<p>'It'd be the black mare he was riding, nae doubt; he'll have tied her to +the gate in the lane.' Or again: 'Was it in the best parlour that ye saw +him the day? He'd be drinking tea wi' my mither.'</p> + +<p>'That he was; and she smiling tae him over the dish of tea.'</p> + +<p>'Ay, he looks fine and handsome, bowing to my mither in the best +parlour, Jeanie Trim. Did ye notice if he wore silk stockings?'</p> + +<p>'Fine silk stockings he wore.'</p> + +<p>'And his green coat?'</p> + +<p>'As green and smart as a bottle when ye polish, it with a cloth.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Did ye notice the fine frills that he has to his shirt? I've tried to +make my father's shirts look as fine, but they never have the same +look.' The hands of the old dame would work nervously, as if eager to +get at the goffering-irons and try once more. 'An' he'd lay his hat on +the floor beside him; it's a way he has. Did my mither tell him that I +was ailing? His eyes would be shining the while. Do ye notice how his +eyes shine, Jeanie?'</p> + +<p>'Ay, do I; his eyes shine and his hair curls.'</p> + +<p>'Ye're mistaken there, his hair doesna curl, Jeanie Trim—ye've no' +obsairved rightly; his hair is brown and straight; it's his beard and +whiskers that curl. Eh! but they're bonny! There's a colour and shine in +the curl that minds me of the lights I can see in the old copper kettle +when my mither has it scoured and hung up on the nail; but his hair is +plain brown.'</p> + +<p>'He's a graun' figure of a man!' cried the blithe maid, ever +sympathetic.</p> + +<p>'Tuts! What are ye saying, Jeanie! He's no' a great size at all; the +shortest of my brithers is bigger than him! Ye might even ca' him a wee +man; it's the spirit that he has wi' it that I like.'</p> + +<p>Thus, by degrees, touch upon touch, the portrait of Kinnaird was +painted, and whatever misconceptions they might form of him were +corrected one by one. There was little incident depicted, yet the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +figure of Kinnaird was never drawn passive, but always in action.</p> + +<p>'Did my father no' offer to send him home in the spring-cart? It's sair +wet for him to be walking in the wind and the rain the day.' Or: 'He had +a fine bloom on his cheeks, I'll warrant, when he came in through this +morning's bluster of wind.' Or again: 'He'll be riding to the hunt with +my father to-day; have they put their pink coats on, Jeanie Trim?'</p> + +<p>The relations between Kinnaird and the father and mother appeared to be +indefinite rather than unfriendly. There were times, it is true, when he +came round by the dairy and gave private messages to Jeanie Trim, but at +other times he figured as one of the ordinary guests of a large and +hospitable household. No special honour seemed to be paid him; there was +always the apprehension in the love-sick girl's heart that such timely +attentions as the offer of proper refreshment or of the use of the +spring-cart might be lacking. The parents were never in the daughter's +confidence. She always feared their interference. There was no beginning +to the story, no crisis, no culmination.</p> + +<p>'Now tell me when ye first saw Mr. Kinnaird?' asked the maid.</p> + +<p>But to this there was no answer. It had not been love at first sight, +its small beginnings had left<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> no impression; nor was there ever any +mention of a change in the relation, or of a parting, only that +suggestion of a long and weary waiting, given in the beginning of this +phase of memory, when she refused to touch her food, and said she was +'sair longing' to see him again.</p> + +<p>The household at Kelsey Farm had flourished in the palmy days of +agriculture. Hunters had been kept and pink coats worn, and the mother, +of kin with the neighbouring gentry, had kept her carriage to ride in. +There had been many pleasures, no doubt, for the daughter of such a +house, but only one pleasure remained fixed on her memory, the pleasure +of seeing Kinnaird's eyes shining upon her. These days of the lady's +youth had happened at a time when religion, if strong, was a sombre +thing; and to those who held the pleasures of life in both hands, it was +little more than a name and a rite. So it came to pass that no religious +sentiment was stirred with the thought of this old joy and succeeding +sorrow.</p> + +<p>The minister never failed to read some sacred texts when he sat beside +her; and when he found himself alone with the old dame, he would kneel +and pray aloud in such simple words as he thought she might understand. +He did it more to ease his own heart because of the love he bore her +than because he supposed that it made any difference in the sight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> of +God whether she heard him or not. He was past the prime of life, and had +fallen into pompous and ministerial habits of manner, but in his heart +he was always pondering to find what the realities of life might be; he +seldom drew false conclusions, although to many a question he was +content to find no answer. He wore a serious look—people seldom knew +what was passing in his mind; the doctor began to think that he was +anxious for the safety of the old dame's soul.</p> + +<p>'I am not without hope of a lucid interval at the end,' he said; 'there +is wonderful vitality yet, and it's little more than the power of memory +that is impaired.'</p> + +<p>At this hope the daughters caught eagerly. They were plain women, narrow +and dull, but their mother had been no ordinary woman; her power of love +had created in them an affection for her which transcended ordinary +filial affection. They had inherited from her such strong domestic +feelings that they felt her defection from all family ties for the sake +of the absent father and brothers, felt it with a poignancy which the +use and wont of those winter months did not seem to blunt.</p> + +<p>No sudden shock or fit came to bring about the end. Gradually the old +dame's strength failed. There came an hour in the spring time—it was +the midnight hour of an April night—when she lay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> upon her bed, sitting +up high against white pillows, gasping for the last breaths that she +would ever draw. They had drawn aside the old-fashioned bed-curtains, so +that they hung like high dark pillars at the four posts. They had opened +wide the windows, and the light spring wind blew through the room fresh +with the dews of night. Outside, the moon was riding among her clouds; +the night was white. The budding trees shook their twigs together in the +garden. Inside the room, firelight and lamplight, each flickering much +because of the wind, mingled with the moonlight, but did not wholly +obscure its misty presence. They all stood there—the minister, the +doctor, the grey-haired daughters sobbing, looking and longing for one +glance of recognition, the nurse, and the new maid.</p> + +<p>They all knelt, while the minister said a prayer.</p> + +<p>'She's looking differently now,' whispered the home-keeping daughter. +She had drawn her handkerchief from her eyes, and was looking with awed +solicitude at her mother's face.</p> + +<p>'Yes, there's a change coming,' said the married daughter; her large +bosom heaved out the words with excited emotion.</p> + +<p>'Speak to her of my father—it will bring her mind back again,' they +appealed to the minister, pushing him forward to do what they asked.</p> + +<p>The minister took the lady's hands in his, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> spoke out clearly and +strongly in her ear; but he spoke not, at first, of husband or children, +but of the Son of God.</p> + +<p>Memories that had lain asleep so long seemed slowly to awaken for one +last moment.</p> + +<p>'You know what I am saying, auntie?' The minister spoke strongly, as to +one who was deaf.</p> + +<p>There was a smile on the handsome old face.</p> + +<p>'Ay, I know weel: "The Lord is my Shepherd; I shallna want ... though I +walk through the valley o' the shadow of death."'</p> + +<p>'My uncle, and Thomas, and William have gone before you, auntie.'</p> + +<p>'Ay'—with a satisfied smile—'they've gone before.'</p> + +<p>'You know who I am?' he said again.</p> + +<p>She knew him, and took leave of him. She took leave of each of her +daughters, but in a calm, weak way, as one who had waded too far into +the river of death to be much concerned with the things of earth.</p> + +<p>The doctor pressed her hand, and the faithful nurse. The minister, +feeling that justice should be done to one whose wit had brought great +relief, bid the maid go forward.</p> + +<p>She was weeping, but she spoke in the free, caressing way that she had +used so long.</p> + +<p>'Ye know who I am, ma'am?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>The dying eyes looked her full in the face, but gave no recognition.</p> + +<p>'It's Jeanie Trim.'</p> + +<p>'Na, na, I remember a Jeanie Trim long syne, but you're not Jeanie +Trim!'</p> + +<p>The maid drew back discomfited.</p> + +<p>The minister began to repeat a psalm that she loved. The daughters sat +on the bedside, holding her hands. So they waited, and she seemed to +follow the meaning of the psalm as it went on, until suddenly——</p> + +<p>She turned her head feebly towards a space by the bed where no one +stood. She drew her aged hands from her daughters', and made as if to +stretch them out to a new-comer. She smiled.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Kinnaird!' she murmured; then she died.</p> + +<p>'You might have thought that he was there himself,' said the daughters, +awestruck.</p> + +<p>And the minister said within himself, 'Who knows but that he was +there?'</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<h3>A MARRIAGE MADE IN HEAVEN</h3> + +<p>In the backwoods of Canada, about eighty miles north of Lake Ontario, +there is a chain of three lakes, linked by the stream of a rapid river, +which leads southward from the heart of a great forest. The last of the +three lakes is broad, and has but a slow current because of a huge dam +which the early Scottish settlers built across its mouth in order to +form a basin to receive the lumber floated down from the lakes above. +Hence this last lake is called Haven, which is also the name of the +settlement at the side of the dam. The worthy Scotsmen, having set up a +sawmill, built a church beside it, and by degrees a town and a +schoolhouse. The wealth of the town came from the forest. The half-breed +Indian lumber-men, toiling anxiously to bring their huge tree-trunks +through the twisting rapids, connected all thoughts of rest and plenty +with the peaceful Haven Lake and the town where they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> received their +wages; and, perhaps because they received their first ideas of religion +at the same place, their tripping tongues to this day call it, not +'Haven,' but 'Heaven.'</p> + +<p>The town throve apace in its early days, and no one in it throve better +than Mr. Reid, who kept the general shop. He was a cheerful soul; and it +was owing more to his wife's efforts than his own that his fortune was +made, for she kept more closely to the shop and had a sharper eye for +the pence.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reid was not cheerful; she was rather of an acrid disposition. +People said that there was only one subject on which the shopkeeper and +his wife agreed, that was as to the superiority of their daughter in +beauty, talent, and amiability, over all other young women far or near. +In their broad Scotch fashion they called this daughter Eelan, and the +town knew her as 'Bonnie Eelan Reid'; everyone acknowledged her charms, +although there might be some who would not acknowledge her preeminence.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Reid carried their pride in their daughter to a great +extent, for they sent her to a boarding-school in the town of Coburgh, +which was quite two days' journey to the south. When she came back from +this educating process well grown, healthy, handsome, and, in their +eyes, highly accomplished, the parents felt that there was no rank<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> in +the Canadian world beyond their daughter's reach, if it should be her +pleasure to attain it.</p> + +<p>'It wouldn't be anything out of the way even,' chuckled the happy Mr. +Reid, 'if our Eelan should marry the Governor-General.'</p> + +<p>'Tuts, father, Governors!' said his wife scornfully, not because she had +any inherent objection to Governors as sons-in-law, but because she +usually cried down what her husband said.</p> + +<p>'The chief difficulty would be that they are usually married before they +come to this country—aren't they, father?' Eelan spoke with a twinkling +smile. She did not choose to explain to any one what she really thought; +she had fancies of her own, this pretty backwoods maiden.</p> + +<p>'Well, well, there are lads enough in town, and I'll warrant she'll pick +and choose,' said the jolly father in a resigned tone. He was not +particular as to a Governor, after all.</p> + +<p>That conversation happened when Eelan first came home; but a year or two +after, the family conferences took a more serious tone. She had learnt +to keep her father's books in the shop, and had become deft at +housework; but there was no prospect of her settling in a house of her +own; many of the best young men in the place had offered themselves as +lovers and been refused.</p> + +<p>'Oh! what's the use o' talking, father,' cried Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> Reid; 'if the girl +won't, she won't, and that's all.—But I can tell <i>you</i>, Eelan Reid, +that all your looks and your manners won't save you from being an old +maid, if you turn your back on the men.'</p> + +<p>'I wasn't talking,' said Mr. Reid humbly; 'I was only saying to the +lassie that I didn't want her to hurry; but I'd be right sorry when I'm +getting old not to have some notion where I was going to leave my +money—it'll more than last out Eelan's day, if it's rightly taken care +of.'</p> + +<p>'But I can't marry unless I should fall in love,' said Eelan wistfully. +Her parents had a vague notion that this manner of expressing herself +was in some way a proof of her high accomplishments.</p> + +<p>Life was by no means dull in the little town. There were picnics in +summer, sleigh-drives in winter, dances, and what not; and Eelan was no +recluse. Still, she loved the place better than the people, and there +was not a spot of ground in the neighbourhood that she did not know by +heart.</p> + +<p>In summer, the sparkling water of the lake rippled under a burning sun, +and the thousand tree-trunks left floating in it, held near to the edge +by the floating boom of logs, became hot and dry on the upper side, +while the green water-moss caught them from beneath. It was great fun +for the school children to scamper out daringly on these floating fields +of lumber; and Eelan liked to go with them,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> and sometimes walk far out +alone along the edge of the boom. She would listen to the birds singing, +the children shouting, to the whir of the saws in the mill, and the +plash of the river falling over the dam; and she would feel that it was +enough delight simply to live without distressing herself about marriage +yet awhile.</p> + +<p>When winter came, Eelan was happier still. All the roughness and +darkness of the earth was lost in a downy ocean of snow. Where the +waterfall had been there was a fairy palace of icicles glancing in the +sun, and smooth white roads were made across the frozen lake. Eelan +never drew back dazzled from the glittering landscape; she was a child +of the winter, and she loved its light. She would often harness her +father's horse to the old family sleigh and drive alone across the lake. +She took her snow-shoes with her, and, leaving the horse at some +friendly farmhouse, she would tramp into the woods over the trackless +snow. The girl would stand still and look up at the solemn pines and +listen, awed by their majestic movement and the desolate loveliness all +around. At such time, if the thought of marriage came, she did not put +it aside with the light fancy that she wished still to remain free; she +longed, in the drear solitude, for some one to sympathise with her, some +one who could explain the meaning of the wordless thoughts that welled +up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> within her, the vague response of her heart to the mystery of +external beauty. Alas! among all her suitors there was not such a +friend.</p> + +<p>There was no one else in the town who cared for country walks as Eelan +did—at least, no one but the schoolmaster. She met him occasionally, +walking far from home; he was a quaint, old-looking man, and she thought +he had a face like an angel's. She might have wished sometimes to stop +and speak to him, but when they met he always appeared to have his eyes +resting on the distant horizon, and his mind seemed wrapped in some +learned reverie, to the oblivion of outward things. The schoolmaster +lived in the schoolhouse on the bank of the curving river, a bit below +the waterfall. He took up his abode there a few months before Eelan Reid +came home from school. He had come from somewhere nearer the centres of +education—had been imported, so to speak, for the special use of Haven +Settlement, for the leading men of the place were a canny set and knew +the worth of books. His testimonials had told of a higher standard of +scholarship than was usual in such schools, and the keen Scots had +snapped at the chance and engaged him without an interview; but when he +arrived they had been grievously disappointed. He was a gentle, +unsophisticated man, shy as a girl, and absent-minded withal.</p> + +<p>'Aweel, I'll not say but he'll do to put sums and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> writing into the +youngsters' heads and teach them to spout their poems; but he's not just +what I call a <i>man</i>.' This was the opinion which Macpherson, the portly +owner of the mill, had delivered to his friends.</p> + +<p>'There's something lacking, I'm thinking,' said one; 'he's thirty-six +years old, and to see him driving his cow afield, you'd say he was +sixty, and him not sickly either.'</p> + +<p>'I doubt he's getting far too high a salary,' said Macpherson solemnly. +'To pass examinations is all very well; but he's not got the grit in him +that I'd like to see.'</p> + +<p>So they had called a school committee meeting, and suggested to the new +schoolmaster, as delicately as they could, that they were much +disappointed with his general manner and appearance, but that, as he had +come so far, they were graciously willing to keep him if he would +consent to take a lower salary than that first agreed on. At this the +schoolmaster grew very red, and, with much stammering, he managed to +make a speech. He said that he liked the wildness and extreme beauty of +the country, and the children appeared to him attractive; he did not +wish to go away; and as to salary, he would take what they thought him +worth.</p> + +<p>In this way they closed the bargain with him on terms quite satisfactory +to themselves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + +<p>'But hoots,' said the stout Macpherson as he ambled home from the +meeting, 'I've only half a respect for a man that can't stand up for +himself;' and this sentiment was more or less echoed by them all.</p> + +<p>Happily, the schoolmaster did not desire society. The minister's wife +asked him to tea occasionally; and he confided to her that, up to that +time, he had always lived with his mother, and that it was because of +her death that he had left his old home, where sad memories were too +great a strain upon him, and come farther west. No one else took much +notice of him, partly because he took no notice of them. At the ladies' +sewing meeting the doctor's wife looked round the room with an injured +air and asked: 'How is it possible to ask a gentleman to tea when you +know that he'll meet you in the street next morning and won't remember +who you are?'</p> + +<p>'A lady who respected herself couldn't do it,' replied Mrs. Reid +positively; and then in an undertone she remarked to herself, 'The +gaby!'</p> + +<p>Miss Ann Blakely pursed her lips and craned her thin neck over her work. +'As to that I don't know, Mrs. Reid; no one could visit the school, as I +have done, and fail to observe that the youth of the town are more +obedient than formerly. In my opinion, a gentleman who can command the +respect of the growing masculine mind——' She finished the sentence +only by an expressive wave of her head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>'There is much truth in Miss Blakely's remark,' said a timid little +mother of six sons.</p> + +<p>People married early, as a general thing, in Haven Settlement, and Miss +Blakely, having been accidentally overlooked, had, before he came, +indulged in some soft imaginations of her own with regard to the new +schoolmaster; like others, she was disappointed in him; but she had not +yet decided 'whether,' to use her own phrase, 'he would not, after all, +be better than none.' She poised this question in her mind with a nice +balancing of reasons for and against for about three years, and the man +who was thus the object of her interest continued to live peacefully, +ignorant alike of hostile criticism and tender speculation.</p> + +<p>It was a terrible day for the schoolmaster when the honest widow who +lived with him as housekeeper was called by the death of a +daughter-in-law to go and keep the house of her son in another town. She +could only tell of her intention two weeks before it was necessary to +leave; and very earnestly did the schoolmaster consult with her in the +interval as to what he could possibly do to supply her place, for +servants in Haven Settlement were rare luxuries.</p> + +<p>'I don't know, I'm sure, sir, what you can do,' said Mrs. Sims +hopelessly. 'The girls in these parts are far too proud to be hired to +work in a house. Why, the best folks in town mostly does their own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +work; there's Mrs. Reid, so rich, just has a woman to do the charing; +and Eelan—that's the beauty, you know—makes the pies and keeps the +house spick-and-span. But you couldn't keep your own house clean, could +you, sir?—let alone the meals; and you wouldn't live long if you hadn't +<i>them</i>.'</p> + +<p>As the days wore on, the schoolmaster became more urgent in his appeals +for advice, but he did not get encouragement to expect to find a servant +of any sort, for the widow was too sincere to suggest hope when she felt +none, and the difficulty was not an easy one to solve. She made various +inquiries among her friends. It was suggested that the master should go +to 'the boarding-house,' which was a large barn-like structure, in which +business men who did not happen to have families slept in uncomfortable +rooms and dined at a noisy table. Mrs. Sims reported this suggestion +faithfully, and added: 'But it's my belief it would kill you outright.'</p> + +<p>The schoolmaster looked at his books and the trim arrangements of his +neat house, and negatived the proposition with more decision than he had +ever shown before.</p> + +<p>After a while, Mrs. Sims received another idea of quite a different +nature; but she did not report this so hastily—it required more +finesse. It was entrusted to her care with many injunctions to be +'tactful,' and it was suggested that if there was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> mess made of it, it +would be her fault. The idea was nothing less than that it would be +necessary for the master to marry; and it was the gaunt Miss Ann Blakely +herself who confided to his present housekeeper that she should have no +objections to become his bride, provided he wrote her a pretty enough, +humble sort of letter that she could show to her friends.</p> + +<p>'For, mind you, I'd not go cheap to the like of him,' she said, raising +an admonishing finger, as she took leave of her friend: 'I'd rather +remain single, far.'</p> + +<p>'I think he could write the letter,' replied Mrs. Sims; 'leastways, if +he can't do that, I don't know what he can do, poor man.'</p> + +<p>Having been solemnly enjoined to be careful, Mrs. Sims thought so long +over what she was to say before she said it, that she made herself quite +nervous, and when she began, she forgot the half. Over her sewing in the +sitting-room one evening she commenced the subject with a flustered +little run of words. 'I'm sure such an amiable man as you are, sir, +almost three years I've been in this house and never had a word from +you, not one word'—it is to be remarked that the widow did not intend +to assert that the schoolmaster had been mute—'and you are nice in all +your ways, too; if I do say it, quite the gentleman.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Oh!' said the schoolmaster, in a tone of surprise, not because he had +heard what she said, but because he was surprised that she should begin +to talk to him when he was correcting his books.</p> + +<p>'And not a servant to be had far or near,' she went on with agitated +volubility; 'and as for another like myself, of course that's too much +to be hoped for.' She did not say this out of conceit, but merely as +representing the actual state of affairs.</p> + +<p>The schoolmaster began to look frightened. He was not a matter-of-fact +person, but, as long as a man is a man, the prospect of being left +altogether without his meals must be appalling.</p> + +<p>'So, why you shouldn't get married, I don't know.' She added this in +tremulous excitement, speaking in an argumentative way, as if she had +led him by an ordered process of thought to an inevitable conclusion.</p> + +<p>'Oh!' exclaimed the schoolmaster in surprise again, this time because he +<i>had</i> heard what was said.</p> + +<p>The worst was over now; and Mrs. Sims, having once suggested the +desperate idea of the necessity of marriage, could proceed more calmly. +She found, however, that she had to explain the notion at length before +he could at all grasp it, and then she was obliged to urge its necessity +for some time before he was willing to consider it. He became agitated +in his turn, and, rising, walked up and down the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> room, his arms folded +and an absent look in his eyes, as though he were thinking of things +farther off.</p> + +<p>'I do not mind telling you, for I believe you are a motherly woman, Mrs. +Sims, that it is not the first time that the thought of marriage has +crossed my mind' (with solemn hesitation). 'I <i>have</i> thought of it +before; but I have always been hindered from giving it serious +consideration from the belief that no woman would be willing to—ah—to +marry me.'</p> + +<p>'Well, of course there's some truth in that, sir,' said his faithful +friend, reluctantly obliged by her conscience to say what she thought.</p> + +<p>'Just so, Mrs. Sims,' said the schoolmaster with a patient sigh; 'and +therefore, perhaps it will be unnecessary to discuss the subject +further.'</p> + +<p>'Still, there's no accounting for tastes; there might be some found that +would.'</p> + +<p>'It would not be necessary to find more than one,' said he, with a quiet +smile.</p> + +<p>'No, that's true, sir, which makes the matter rather easier. It's always +been my belief that while there is life there is hope.'</p> + +<p>'True, true,' he replied; and then he indulged in a long fit of musing, +which she more than suspected had little to do with the immediate +bearing of the subject on his present case. It was necessary to rouse +him, for there was no time to be lost.</p> + +<p>'Of course I don't say that there's many that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> would have you; there's +girls enough—but laws! they'd all make game of you if you were to go +a-courting to them, and, I take it, courting's not the sort of thing +you're cleverest at.'</p> + +<p>'True,' said the schoolmaster again, and again he sighed.</p> + +<p>'But now, a good sensible woman, like Miss Blakely, as would keep you +and your house clean and tidy, not to speak of cooking—I make bold to +say you couldn't do better than to get such a one, if she might be so +minded.'</p> + +<p>'Who is Miss Blakely?' he asked wonderingly.</p> + +<p>'It's her that visits the school so often; you've seen her time and +again.'</p> + +<p>'I recollect,' he said; 'but I have not spoken much with her.'</p> + +<p>'That's just what I said,' she observed triumphantly. 'You'd be no more +up to courting than cows are up to running races. Now, as to Miss +Blakely, not being as young as some, nor to say good-looking, she might +not stand on the ceremony of much courting; if you just wrote her one +letter, asking her quite modest, and putting in a few remarks about +flowers and that sort of thing, as you could do so well, being clever at +writing, I give it as my opinion it's not unlikely she'd take you out of +hand; not every one would, of course, but she has a kind heart, has Miss +Blakely.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Kind is she?' said he, with a tone of interest; 'and sweet-tempered?'</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sims said more in favour of the scheme; it required that she should +say much, for the schoolmaster was not to be easily persuaded. She had, +however, three strong arguments in its favour, which she reiterated +again and again, with more and more assurance of certitude as she warmed +to the subject. The first point was, that if he did not marry, he must +either starve at home or go to the boarding-house, and at the latter +place she assured him again, as she had done at first, he would probably +soon die. Her second point was, that no one else would be willing to +marry him except Miss Blakely; and her third—although in this matter +she expressed herself with some mysterious caution—that Miss Blakely +would marry him if asked. Mrs. Sims bridled her head, spoke in lower +tones than was her wont, and said that she had the secret of Miss +Blakely's partiality from good authority. She sighed; and he heard her +murmur over her sewing that the heart was always young. In fact, without +saying it in so many words, she gave her listener to understand clearly +that Miss Blakely had conceived a very lively affection for him. And +this last, if she had but known it, was the only argument that carried +weight, for the schoolmaster could have faced either the prospect of +starvation or a lingering death in the rude noise<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> of a boarding-house; +but he was tender-hearted, and, moreover, he had a beautiful soul, and +supposed all women to be like his mother, whom he had loved with all his +strength.</p> + +<p>'You'd better make haste, sir,' said Mrs. Sims, 'for I must leave on +Thursday, and now it's Saturday night. There's not overmuch time for +everything—although, indeed, Mrs. Graham, that goes out charing, might +come in and make you your meals for a week, though it will cost you half +a quarter's salary, charing is that expensive in these parts.'</p> + +<p>The schoolmaster proceeded to think over the matter—that is to say, he +proceeded to muse over it; by which process he did not face the facts as +they were—did not become better acquainted with the real Miss Blakely, +but made some sort of progress in another way, for he conjured up an +ideal Miss Blakely, gentle and good, cheerful, with intellectual tastes +like his own, a person who, like himself, had not fared very happily in +the world until now, and for whom his love and protection would make a +paradise. It did occur to him, occasionally, that the picture he was +drawing might not be quite correct, and at those times he would seek +Mrs. Sims, and ask a few questions of this oracle by way of adjusting +his own ideas to the truth. Poor Mrs. Sims, between her extreme honesty +and her desire to see the schoolmaster, whom she really loved, assured +of future<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> comfort, had much ado to be 'tactful' and say the right +thing. She naturally regarded comfort as pertaining solely to the outer +man, and fully believed that this marriage was the best step he could +take; so her answers, when they could not be satisfactory, were vague.</p> + +<p>'How can you doubt, sir, that you'll be much happier with a wife to cook +your meals regular, and no more bother about changements all your life? +I'm sure if I were you, sir, I wouldn't hesitate between the joys of +matrimony and single life.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps not, Mrs. Sims; but I, being I, do hesitate. It is a very +important step to take, just because, as you say, there will be no more +change.'</p> + +<p>'And it's just you that have been telling me that the very thing you +dislike most in this world is change. And there are other advantages, +too, in having kith and kin, for it's lonesome without when you're old; +and just think how beautiful for a wife to weep over you when you're +a-dying—and she'll do all that, Miss Blakely will, sir; I'm sure, as +her friend, I can answer for it.'</p> + +<p>'The wills above be done,' murmured the schoolmaster, 'but I would fain +die a dry death.'</p> + +<p>Time pressed; the schoolmaster procrastinated; the very evening before +the widow's departure had arrived, and yet nothing was done. Then it +happened, as is frequently the case when the mind is balancing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> between +two opinions, that a very small circumstance determined him to write the +all-important note. The circumstance was none other than his having a +convenient opportunity of sending it; for to him, as to many other +unpractical minds, the small difficulties in the way of any action had +as great a deterring power as more important considerations. Miss +Blakely happened to live on the other side of the town, and though the +master walked much farther than that himself every day, he felt that in +this case it would hardly be dignified to be his own messenger.</p> + +<p>It was early in the evening, and the master's window was open to the +soft spring air that came in full of the freshness of young leaves and +the joyous splash of the flooded river. Two of his schoolboys were +loitering under the window, wishing to speak to him, yet too bashful; he +got up and sat on the window-sill, smiled at them, and they smiled back. +They had a tale to tell; but, as it was of a somewhat delicate nature +and hard to explain, he had to listen very patiently. They had a +dollar—a brown and green paper dollar—which they gave him with an air +of solemn importance. They said that they and some of their comrades had +been a long way from home gathering saxifrage, and that they had met one +of the young ladies of the town. She had her arms full of flowers, and +her pocket quite full of moss, so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> full that she had had to take her +purse and handkerchief out and hold them in her hand with the flowers +because the moss was wet. When she came upon them, they were trying to +get some saxifrage that was on a ledge of rock; they could only climb +half-way up the rock, and were none of them tall enough to reach it; so +she put down all her flowers and things and climbed up and got it for +them; but in the meantime one of them opened the purse and took out the +dollar. She never found it out, and went away.</p> + +<p>'Not either of you?' said the schoolmaster.</p> + +<p>'No, sir; one of the other fellows did it. But he's sorry, and wants to +give it back; so we said that we would tell you, and perhaps you would +give it to her.'</p> + +<p>'Why couldn't you go and give it to her, just as you have given it to +me?'</p> + +<p>'Because we knew you'd b'lieve us that it was just the way we said; and +her folks, you know, might think we'd done it when we said we hadn't. +Or, mother said, if you didn't want to be troubled, perhaps you'd just +write a line to say how it was, and we'll go and leave it at the house +after dark and come away quick.'</p> + +<p>The master had no objection to this; so he brought the boys in and got +out his best note-paper—he was fastidious about some things—and wrote +a note beginning 'Dear Madam,' telling in a few lines that the money had +been stolen and restored.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + +<p>'What is the lady's name?' he asked, taking up the envelope.</p> + +<p>'It was Eelan Reid, sir; Mr. Reid's daughter that keeps the shop.'</p> + +<p>So the schoolmaster wrote 'Miss Eelan Reid' in a fair round hand, and +then he paused for a moment. He was making up his mind to the +all-decisive action.</p> + +<p>'Perhaps you can wait for another note and take that for me at the same +time,' he said. He gave them some picture papers to look at. Then he +wrote the note of such moment to himself, beginning, as before, 'Dear +Madam,' and doing his best to follow the many instructions which the +faithful Mrs. Sims had given him. It was a curious specimen of +literature, in which a truly elegant mind and warm heart were veiled, +but not hidden, by an embarrassed attempt at conventional phrases—a +letter that most women would laugh at, and that the best women would +reverence. He addressed that envelope too, and sealed the notes and sent +away the boys.</p> + +<p>There was no sleep for the schoolmaster that night. With folded arms he +paced his room in restless misery. Now that the die was cast, the ideal +Miss Blakely faded from his mind; he felt instinctively that she was +mythical. He saw clearly that he had forfeited the best possibilities of +life for the sake of temporary convenience, that he had sold his +birthright for a mess of pottage.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>The long night passed at length, as all nights pass. The sun rose over +purple hills to glow upon the spring-stirred forest and to send golden +shafts deep down into the clear heart of lake and stream. The fallen +beauty of past woodland summers had tinged the water till it glowed like +nut-brown wine; so brown it was that the pools of the river, where it +swirled and rushed past the schoolhouse bend, seemed to greet the sun +with the soft dark glances of fawn-eyed water-sprites. The glorious sky, +the tender colours of the budding wood, the very dandelions on the +untrimmed bank, contrived their hues to accord and rejoice with the +laughing water, and the birds swelled out its song. In the rapture of +spring and of morning there was no echo of grief; for the unswerving law +of nature, moving through the years, had set each thing in its right +home. It is only the perplexed soul that is forced to choose its own way +and suffer from the choice, and the song of our life is but set to the +accompaniment of a sad creed if we may not trust that, above our human +wills, there is a Power able to overrule the mistakes of true hearts, to +lead the blind by unseen paths, and save the simple from their own +simplicity.</p> + +<p>Very early in the morning the schoolmaster, haggard and worn, slipped +out of his own door to refresh himself in the sunlight that gleamed down +upon his bit of green through the budding willow trees<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> that grew by the +river-side. He stood awhile under the bending boughs, watching the full +stream as it tossed its spray into the lap of the flower-fringed shore. +He looked, as he stood there, like a ghost of the preceding night, +caught against his will and embraced by the joyous morning. Just then he +had a vision.</p> + +<p>A girl came towards him across the grass and stood a few paces distant. +The slender willow twigs, with their hanging catkins and tiny golden +leaves, made a sort of veil between them. She was very beautiful, at +least so the schoolmaster thought; perhaps she was the personification +of the morning, perhaps she was a wood-nymph—it did not matter much; he +felt, in his excitement and exhaustion, that her beauty and grace were +not real, but only an hallucination of moving sun and shade. She took +the swaying willow-twigs in her pretty hands and looked through them at +him and stroked the downy flowers.</p> + +<p>'Why did you send me that letter?' she said at last, with a touch of +severity in her voice.</p> + +<p>'The letter,' he stammered, wondering what she could mean.</p> + +<p>He remembered, with a sort of dull return of consciousness, that he +<i>was</i> guilty of having sent a letter—terribly guilty in his own +estimation—but it was sent to Miss Blakely, and this was not Miss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +Blakely. That one letter had so completely absorbed all his mind that he +had quite forgotten any others that he might have written in the course +of his whole life.</p> + +<p>'Do not be angry with me,' he said imploringly. He had but one idea, +that was, to keep this radiant dream of beauty with him as long as +possible.</p> + +<p>'I'm not angry; I am not angry at all—indeed'—and here she looked down +at the twigs in her hand and began pulling the young leaves rather +roughly—'I am not sure but that I am rather pleased. I have so often +met you in the woods, you know; only I didn't know that you had ever +noticed me.'</p> + +<p>'I never did,' said the schoolmaster; but happily his nervous lips gave +but indistinct utterance to the words, and his tone was pathetic. She +thought he had only made some further pleading.</p> + +<p>'I—I—I like you very much,' she said. 'I suppose, of course, everybody +will be very much surprised, and mother may not be pleased, you know, +just at first; but she's good and dear, mother is, in spite of what she +says; and father will be glad about anything that pleases me.'</p> + +<p>He did not understand what she said; but he felt distressed at the +moment to notice that she was twisting the tender willow leaves, albeit +he saw that she only did so because, in her embarrassment, her fingers +worked unconsciously. He came forward and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> took her hands gently, to +disentangle them from the twigs. She let them lie in his, and looked up +in his face and smiled.</p> + +<p>'I will try to be a good wife, and manage all the common things, and not +tease you to be like other men, if you will sometimes read your books to +me and explain to me what life means, and why it is so beautiful, and +why things are as they are.'</p> + +<p>'I'm afraid I don't understand these matters myself very well,' he said; +'but we can talk about them together.'</p> + +<p>While he held her hands, she drooped her head till it touched his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>He had kissed no one since his mother died, and the great joy that took +possession of his heart brought, by its stimulus, a sudden knowledge of +what had really happened to his mind. In a marvellously tender way, for +a man who could not go a-courting, he put his hand under the pretty chin +and looked down wonderingly, reverently, at the serious upturned face. +'And this is bonnie Eelan Reid?'</p> + +<p>Then Eelan, thinking that he was teasing her gently for being so easily +won when she had gained the reputation of being so proud, cast down her +eyes and blushed.</p> + +<p>So they were married, and lived happily, very happily, although they had +their sorrows, as others<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> have. The schoolmaster was man enough to keep +the knowledge of his blunder a secret between himself and God.</p> + +<p>As for Miss Blakely, she never quite understood who had stolen the +dollar, or when, or where; but she was glad to get it back. She never +forgave Mrs. Sims for having managed her trust so ill, although the +widow declared, with tears in her eyes, that she had done her best.</p> + +<p>'He would have taken in the knowingest person, he would indeed, Ann +Blakely; and, to my notion, a straightforward woman like you is well +quit of a man who, while he looked so innocent, could act so deep.'</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<h3>THRIFT</h3> + +<p>The end of March had come. The firm Canadian snow roads had suddenly +changed their surface and become a chain of miniature rivers, lakes +interspersed by islands of ice, and half-frozen bogs.</p> + +<p>A young priest had started out of the city of Montreal to walk to the +suburb of Point St. Charles. He was in great haste, so he kilted up his +long black petticoats and hopped and skipped at a good pace. The hard +problems of life had not as yet assailed him; he had that set of the +shoulders that belongs to a good conscience and an easy mind; his face +was rosy-cheeked and serene.</p> + +<p>Behind him lay the hill-side city, with its grey towers and spires and +snow-clad mountain. All along his way budding maple trees swayed their +branches overhead; on the twigs of some there was the scarlet moss of +opening flowers, some were tipped with red buds and some were grey. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +March wind was surging through them; the March clouds were flying above +them,—light grey clouds with no rain in them,—veil above veil of mist, +and each filmy web travelling at a different pace. The road began as a +street, crossed railway tracks and a canal, ran between fields, and +again entered between houses. The houses were of brick or stone, poor +and ugly; the snow in the fields was sodden with water; the road——</p> + +<p>'I wish that the holy prophet Elijah would come to this Jordan with his +mantle,' thought the priest to himself.</p> + +<p>This was a pious thought, and he splashed and waded along +conscientiously. He had been sent on an errand, and had to return to +discharge a more important duty in the same afternoon.</p> + +<p>The suburb consisted chiefly of workmen's houses and factories, but +there were some ambitious-looking terraces. The priest stopped at a +brick dwelling of fair size. It had an aspect of flaunting +respectability; lintel and casements were shining with varnish; cheap +starched curtains decked every window. When the priest had rung a bell +which jingled inside, the door was opened by a young woman. She was not +a servant, her dress was fur-belowed and her hair was most elaborately +arranged. She was, moreover, evidently Protestant; she held the door and +surveyed the visitor with an air that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> was meant to show easy +independence of manner, but was, in fact, insolent.</p> + +<p>The priest had a slip of paper in his hand and referred to it. 'Mrs. +O'Brien?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'I'm not Mrs. O'Brien,' said the young woman, looking at something which +interested her in the street.</p> + +<p>A shrill voice belonging, as it seemed, to a middle-aged woman, made +itself heard. 'Louisy, if it's a Cath'lic priest, take him right in to +your gran'ma; it's him she's expecting.'</p> + +<p>A moment's stare of surprise and contempt, and the young woman led the +way through a gay and cheaply furnished parlour, past the door of a best +bedroom which stood open to shew the frills on the pillows, into a room +in the back wing. She opened the door with a jerk and stared again as +the priest passed her. She was a handsome girl; the young priest did not +like to be despised; within his heart he sighed and said a short prayer +for patience.</p> + +<p>He entered a room that did not share the attempt at elegance of the +front part of the house; plain as a cottage kitchen, it was warm and +comfortable withal. The large bed with patchwork quilt stood in a +corner; in the middle was an iron stove in which logs crackled and +sparkled. The air was hot and dry, but the priest, being accustomed to +the atmosphere of stoves, took no notice, in fact, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> noticed nothing +but the room's one inmate, who from the first moment compelled his whole +attention.</p> + +<p>In a wooden arm-chair, dressed in a black petticoat and a scarlet +bedgown, sat a strong old woman. Weakness was there as well as strength, +certainly, for she could not leave her chair, and the palsy of +excitement was shaking her head, but the one idea conveyed by every +wrinkle of the aged face and hands, by every line of the bowed figure, +was strength. One brown toil-worn hand held the head of a thick +walking-stick which she rested on the floor well in front of her, as if +she were about to rise and walk forward. Her brown face—nose and chin +strongly defined—was stretched forward as the visitor entered; her +eyes, black and commanding, carried with them something of that +authoritative spell that is commonly attributed to a commanding mind. +Great physical size or power this woman apparently had never had, but +she looked the very embodiment of a superior strength.</p> + +<p>'Shut the door! shut the door behind ye!' These were the first words +that the youthful confessor heard, and then, as he advanced, 'You're +young,' she said, peering into his face. Without a moment's intermission +further orders were given him: 'Be seated; be seated! Take a chair by +the fire and put up your wet feet. It is from Father M'Leod of St. +Patrick's Church that ye've come?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>The young man, whose boots were well soaked with ice-water, was not loth +to put them up on the edge of the stove. It was not at all his idea of a +priestly visit to a woman who had represented herself as dying, but it +is a large part of wisdom to take things as they come until it is +necessary to interfere.</p> + +<p>'You wrote, I think, to Father M'Leod, saying that as the priests of +this parish are French and you speak English——'</p> + +<p>Some current of excitement hustled her soul into the midst of what she +had to say.</p> + +<p>''Twas Father Maloney, him that had St. Patrick's before Father M'Leod, +who married me; so I just thought before I died I'd let one of ye know a +thing concerning that marriage that I've never told to mortal soul. Sit +ye still and keep your feet to the fire; there's no need for a young man +like you to be taking your death with the wet because I've a thing to +say to ye.'</p> + +<p>'You are not a Catholic now,' said he, raising his eyebrows with +intelligence as he glanced at a Bible and hymn-book that lay on the +floor beside her.</p> + +<p>He was not unaccustomed to meeting perverts; it was impossible to have +any strong emotion about so frequent an occurrence. He had had a long +walk and the hot air of the room made him somewhat sleepy; if it had not +been for the fever and excite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>ment of her mind he might not have picked +up more than the main facts of all she said. As it was, his attention +wandered for some minutes from the words that came from her palsied +lips. It did not wander from her; he was thinking who she might be, and +whether she was really about to die or not, and whether he had not +better ask Father M'Leod to come and see her himself. This last thought +indicated that she impressed him as a person of more importance and +interest than had been supposed when he had been sent to hear her +confession.</p> + +<p>All this time, fired by a resolution to tell a tale for the first and +last time, the old woman, steadying as much as she might her shaking +head, and leaning forward to look at the priest with bleared yet +flashing eyes, was pouring out words whose articulation was often +indistinct. Her hand upon her staff was constantly moving, as if she +were about to rise and walk; her body seemed about to spring forward +with the impulse of her thoughts, the very folds of the scarlet bedgown +were instinct with excitement.</p> + +<p>The priest's attention returned to her words.</p> + +<p>'Yes, marry and marry and marry—that's what you priests in my young +days were for ever preaching to us poor folk. It was our duty to +multiply and fill the new land with good Cath'lics. Father Maloney, that +was his doctrine, and me a young girl just come out from the old country +with my parents,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> and six children younger than me. Hadn't I had enough +of young children to nurse, and me wanting to begin life in a new place +respectable, and get up a bit in the world? Oh, yes! but Father Maloney +he was on the look-out for a wife for Terry O'Brien. He was a widow man +with five little helpless things, and drunk most of the time was Terry, +and with no spirit in him to do better. Oh! but what did that matter to +Father Maloney when it was the good of the Church he was looking for, +wanting O'Brien's family looked after? O'Brien was a good, kind fellow, +so Father Maloney said, and you'll never hear me say a word against +that. So Father Maloney got round my mother and my father and me, and +married me to O'Brien, and the first year I had a baby, and the second +year I had another, so on and so on, and there's not a soul in this +world can say but that I did well by the five that were in the house +when I came to it.</p> + +<p>'Oh! "house"!—-- d'ye think it was one house he kept over our heads? +No, but we moved from one room to another, not paying the rent. Well, +and what sort of a training could the children get? Father Maloney he +talked fine about bringing them up for the Church. Did he come in and +wash them when I was a-bed? Did he put clothes on their backs? No, and +fine and angry he was when I told him that that was what he ought to +have done!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> Oh! but Father Maloney and I went at it up and down many a +day, for when I was wore out with the anger inside me, I'd go and tell +him what I thought of the marriage he'd made, and in a passion he'd get +at a poor thing like me teaching him duty.</p> + +<p>'Not that I ever was more than half sorry for the marriage myself, +because of O'Brien's children, poor things, that he had before I came to +them. Likely young ones they were too, and handsome, what would they +have done if I hadn't been there to put them out of the way when O'Brien +was drunk, and knocking them round, or to put a bit of stuff together to +keep them from nakedness?</p> + +<p>'"Well," said Father Maloney to me, "why isn't it to O'Brien that you +speak with your scolding tongue?" Faix! and what good was it to spake to +O'Brien, I'd like to know? Did you ever try to cut water with a knife, +or to hurt a feather-bed by striking at it with your fist? A nice +good-natured man was Terry O'Brien—I'll never say that he wasn't +that,—except when he was drunk, which was most of the time—but he'd no +more backbone to him than a worm. That was the sort of husband Father +Maloney married me to.</p> + +<p>'The children kept a-coming till we'd nine of them, that's with the five +I found ready to hand; and the elder ones getting up and needing to be +set out in the world, and what prospect was there for them? What<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> could +I do for them? Me always with an infant in my arms! Yet 'twas me and no +other that gave them the bit and sup they had, for I went out to work; +but how could I save anything to fit decent clothes on them, and it +wasn't much work I could do, what with the babies always coming, and +sick and ailing they were half the time. The Sisters would come from the +convent to give me charity. 'Twas precious little they gave, and +lectured me too for not being more submiss'! And I didn't want their +charity; I wanted to get up in the world. I'd wanted that before I was +married, and now I wanted it for the children. Likely girls the two +eldest were, and the boy just beginning to go the way of his father.'</p> + +<p>She came to a sudden stop and breathed hard; the strong old face was +still stretched out to the priest in her eagerness; the staff was +swaying to and fro beneath the tremulous hand. She had poured out her +words so quickly that there was in his chest a feeling of answering +breathlessness, yet he still sat regarding her placidly with the +serenity of healthy youth.</p> + +<p>She did not give him long rest. 'What did I see around me?' she +demanded. 'I saw people that had begun life no better than myself +getting up and getting up, having a shop maybe, or sending their +children to the "Model" School to learn to be teachers,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> or getting them +into this business or that, and mine with never so much as knowing how +to read, for they hadn't the shoes to put on——</p> + +<p>'And I had it in me to better them and myself. I knew I'd be strong if +it wasn't for the babies, and I knew, too, that I'd do a kinder thing +for each child I had, to strangle it at it's birth than to bring it on +to know nothing and be nothing but a poor wretched thing like Terry +O'Brien himself——'</p> + +<p>At the word 'strangle' the young priest took his feet from the ledge in +front of the fire and changed his easy attitude, sitting up straight and +looking more serious.</p> + +<p>'It's not that I blamed O'Brien over much, he'd just had the same sort +of bringing up himself and his father before him, and when he was sober +a very nice man he was; it was spiritiness he lacked; but if he'd had +more spiritiness he'd have been a wickeder man, for what is there to +give a man sense in a rearing like that? If he'd been a wickeder man I'd +have had more fear to do with him the thing I did. But he was just a +good sort of creature without sense enough to keep steady, or to know +what the children were wanting; not a notion he hadn't but that they'd +got all they needed, and I had it in me to better them. Will ye dare to +say that I hadn't?</p> + +<p>'After Terry O'Brien went I had them all set out in the world, married +or put to work with the best,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> and they've got ahead. All but O'Brien's +eldest son, every one of them have got ahead of things. I couldn't put +the spirit into <i>him</i> as I could into the littler ones and into the +girls. Well, but he's the only black sheep of the seven, for two of them +died. All that's living but him are doing well, doing well' (she nodded +her head in triumph), 'and their children doing better than them, as +ought to be. Some of them ladies and gentlemen, real quality. Oh! ye +needn't think I don't know the difference' (some thought expressed in +his face had evidently made its way with speed to her brain)—'my +daughter that lives here is all well enough, and her girl handsome and +able to make her way, but I tell you there's some of my grandchildren +that's as much above her in the world as she is above poor Terry +O'Brien—young people that speak soft when they come to see their poor +old grannie and read books, oh! I know the difference; oh! I know very +well—not but what my daughter here is well-to-do, and there's not one +of them all but has a respect for me.' She nodded again triumphantly, +and her eyes flashed. 'They know, they know very well how I set them out +in the world. And they come back for advice to me, old as I am, and see +that I want for nothing. I've been a <i>good</i> mother to them, and a good +mother makes good children and grandchildren too.'</p> + +<p>There was another pause in which she breathed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> hard; the priest grasped +the point of the story; he asked—</p> + +<p>'What became of O'Brien?'</p> + +<p>'I drowned him.'</p> + +<p>The priest stood up in a rigid and clerical attitude.</p> + +<p>'I tell ye I drowned him.' She had changed her attitude to suit his; and +with the supreme excitement of telling what she had never told, there +seemed to come to her the power to sit erect. Her eagerness was not that +of self-vindication; it was the feverish exaltation with which old age +glories over bygone achievement.</p> + +<p>'I'd never have thought of it if it hadn't been O'Brien himself that put +it into my head. But the children had a dog, 'twas little enough they +had to play with, and the beast was useful in his way too, for he could +mind the baby at times; but he took to ailing—like enough it was from +want of food, and I was for nursing him up a bit and bringing him round, +but O'Brien said that he'd put him into the canal. 'Twas one Sunday that +he was at home sober—for when he was drunk I could handle him so that +he couldn't do much harm. So says I, "And why is he to be put in the +canal?"</p> + +<p>'Says he, "Because he's doing no good here."</p> + +<p>'So says I, "Let the poor beast live, for he does no harm."</p> + +<p>'Then says he, "But it's harm he does taking the children's meat and +their place by the fire."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>'And says I, "Are ye not afraid to hurry an innocent creature into the +next world?" for the dog had that sense he was like one of the children +to me.</p> + +<p>'Then said Terry O'Brien, for he had a wit of his own, "And if he's an +innocent creature he'll fare well where he goes."</p> + +<p>'Then said I, "He's done his sins, like the rest of us, no doubt."</p> + +<p>'Then says he, "The sooner he's put where he can do no more the better."</p> + +<p>'So with that he put a string round the poor thing's neck and took him +away to where there was holes in the ice of the canal, just as there is +to-day, for it was the same season of the year, and the children all +cried; and thinks I to myself, "If it was the dog that was going to put +their father into the water they would cry less." For he had a peevish +temper in drink, which was most of the time.</p> + +<p>'So then, I knew what I would do. 'Twas for the sake of the children +that were crying about me that I did it, and I looked up to the sky and +I said to God and the holy saints that for Terry O'Brien and his +children 'twas the best deed I could do; and the words that we said +about the poor beast rang in my head, for they fitted to O'Brien +himself, every one of them.</p> + +<p>'So you see it was just the time when the ice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> was still thick on the +water, six inches thick maybe, but where anything had happened to break +it the edges were melting into large holes. And the next night when it +was late and dark I went and waited outside the tavern, the way O'Brien +would be coming home.</p> + +<p>'He was just in that state that he could walk, but he hadn't the sense +of a child, and we came by the canal, for there's a road along it all +winter long, but there were places where if you went off the road you +fell in, and there were placards up saying to take care. But Terry +O'Brien hadn't the sense to remember them. I led him to the edge of a +hole, and then I came on without him. He was too drunk to feel the pain +of the gasping. So I went home.</p> + +<p>'There wasn't a creature lived near for a mile then, and in the morning +I gave out that I was afraid he'd got drowned, so they broke the ice and +took him up. And there was just one person that grieved for Terry +O'Brien. Many's the day I grieved for him, for I was accustomed to have +him about me, and I missed him like, and I said in my heart, "Terry, +wherever ye may be, I have done the best deed for you and your children, +for if you were innocent you have gone to a better place, and if it were +sin to live as you did, the less of it you have on your soul the better +for you; and as for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> children, poor lambs, I can give them a start +in the world now I am rid of you!" That's what I said in my heart to +O'Brien at first—when I grieved for him; and then the years passed, and +I worked too hard to be thinking of him.</p> + +<p>'And now, when I sit here facing the death for myself, I can look out of +my windows there back and see the canal, and I say to Terry again, as if +I was coming face to face with him, that I did the best deed I could do +for him and his. I broke with the Cath'lic Church long ago, for I +couldn't go to confess; and many's the year that I never thought of +religion. But now that I am going to die I try to read the books my +daughter's minister gives me, and I look to God and say that I've sins +on my soul, but the drowning of O'Brien, as far as I know right from +wrong, isn't one of them.'</p> + +<p>The young priest had an idea that the occasion demanded some strong form +of speech. 'Woman,' he said, 'what have you told me this for?'</p> + +<p>The strength of her excitement was subsiding. In its wane the +afflictions of her age seemed to be let loose upon her again. Her words +came more thickly, her gaunt frame trembled the more, but not for one +moment did her eye flinch before his youthful severity.</p> + +<p>'I hear that you priests are at it yet. "Marry and marry and marry," +that's what ye teach the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> poor folks that will do your bidding, "in +order that the new country may be filled with Cath'lics," and I thought +before I died I'd just let ye know how one such marriage turned; and as +he didn't come himself you may go home and tell Father M'Leod that, God +helping me, I have told you the truth.'</p> + +<p>The next day an elderly priest approached the door of the same house. +His hair was grey, his shoulders bent, his face was furrowed with those +benign lines which tell that the pain which has graven them is that +sympathy which accepts as its own the sorrows of others. Father M'Leod +had come far because he had a word to say, a word of pity and of +sympathy, which he hoped might yet touch an impenitent heart, a word +that he felt was due from the Church he represented to this wandering +soul, whether repentance should be the result or not.</p> + +<p>When he rang the bell it was not the young girl but her mother who +answered the door; her face, which spoke of ordinary comfort and good +cheer, bore marks of recent tears.</p> + +<p>'Do you know,' asked the Father curiously, 'what statement it was that +your mother communicated to my friend who was here yesterday?'</p> + +<p>'No, sir, I do not.'</p> + +<p>'Your mother was yesterday in her usual health and sound mind?' he +interrogated gently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>'She was indeed, sir,' and she wiped a tear.</p> + +<p>'I would like to see your mother,' persisted he.</p> + +<p>'She had a stroke in the night, sir; she's lying easy now, but she knows +no one, and the doctor says she'll never hear or see or speak again.'</p> + +<p>The old man sighed deeply.</p> + +<p>'If I may make so bold, sir, will you tell me what business it was my +mother had with the young man yesterday or with yourself?'</p> + +<p>'It is not well that I should tell you,' he replied, and he went +away.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<h3>A TAINT IN THE BLOOD</h3> + +<h3><a name="Chapter_I" id="Chapter_I"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></h3> + +<p>The curate was walking on the cliffs with his lady-love. All the sky was +grey, and all the sea was grey. The soft March wind blew over the rocky +shore; it could not rustle the bright green weed that hung wet from the +boulders, but it set all the tufts of grass upon the cliffs nodding to +the song of the ebbing tide. The lady was the vicar's daughter; her name +was Violetta.</p> + +<p>'Let us stand still here,' said the curate, 'for there is something I +must say to you to-day.' So they stood still and looked at the sea.</p> + +<p>'Violetta,' said the curate, 'you cannot be ignorant that I have long +loved you. Last night I took courage and told your father of my hope and +desire that you should become my wife. He told me what I did not know, +that you have already tasted the joy of love<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> and the sorrow of its +disappointment. I can only ask you now if this former love has made it +impossible that you should love again.'</p> + +<p>'No,' she answered; 'for although I loved and sorrowed then with all the +strength of a child's heart, still it was only as a child, and that is +past.'</p> + +<p>'Will you be my wife?' said the curate.</p> + +<p>'I cannot choose but say "yes," I love you so much.'</p> + +<p>Then they turned and went back along the cliffs, and the curate was very +happy. 'But tell me,' he said, 'about this other man that loved you.'</p> + +<p>'His name was Herbert. He was the squire's son. He loved me and I loved +him, but afterwards we found that his mother had been mad——' Violetta +paused and turned her sweet blue eyes upon the sea.</p> + +<p>'So you could not marry?' said the curate.</p> + +<p>'No,' said Violetta, casting her eyes downward, 'because the taint of +madness is a terrible thing.' She shuddered and blushed.</p> + +<p>'And you loved him?'</p> + +<p>'Dearly, dearly,' said Violetta, clasping her hands. 'But madness in the +blood is too terrible; it is like the inheritance of a curse.'</p> + +<p>'He went away?' said the curate.</p> + +<p>'Yes, Herbert went away; and he died. He loved me so much that he +died.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I do not wonder at that,' said the curate, 'for you are very lovely, +Violetta.'</p> + +<p>They walked home hand in hand, and when they had said good-bye under the +beech trees that grew by the vicarage gate, the curate went down the +street of the little town. The shop-keepers were at their doors +breathing the mild spring air. The fishermen had hung their nets to dry +in the market-place near the quay. The western cloud was turning +crimson, and the steep roofs and grey church-tower absorbed in sombre +colours the tender light. The curate was going home to his lodgings, but +he bethought him of his tea, and turned into the pastry-cook's by the +way.</p> + +<p>'Have you any muffins, Mrs. Yeander?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'No, sir,' said the portly wife of the baker, in a sad tone, 'they're +all over.'</p> + +<p>'Crumpets?' said he.</p> + +<p>'Past and gone, sir,' said the woman with a sigh. She had a coarsely +poetical cast of mind, and commonly spoke of the sale of her goods as +one might speak of the passing of summer flowers. The curate was turning +away.</p> + +<p>'I would make bold, sir,' said the woman, 'to ask if you've heard that +we've let our second-floor front for a while. It's a great thing for us, +sir, as you know, to 'ave it let, not that you'll approve the person as +'as took it.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Oh!' said the curate, 'how is that?'</p> + +<p>'He's the new Jewish rabbi, sir, being as they've opened the place of +their heathenish worship again. It's been shut this two year, for want +of a Hebrew to read the language.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, no, Mrs. Yeander; you're quite mistaken in calling the Jews +heathens.'</p> + +<p>'The meeting-place is down by the end of the street, sir—a squarish +sort of house. It's not been open in your time; likely you'll not know +it. The new rabbi's been reading a couple of weeks to them. They do say +it's awful queer.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, indeed!' said the curate; 'what are their hours of service?'</p> + +<p>'Well, to say the truth, sir, they'll soon be at it now, for it's Friday +at sunset they've some antics or other in the place. The rabbi's just +gone with his book.'</p> + +<p>'I think I'll look them up, and see what they're at,' said he, going +out.</p> + +<p>He was a thin, hard-working man. His whole soul was possessed by his +great love for Violetta, but even the gladness of its success could not +turn him from his work. When the day was over he would indulge in +brooding on his joy; until then the need of the world pressed. He +stepped out again into the evening glow. The wind had grown stronger, +and he bent his head forward and walked against it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> towards the west. He +felt a sudden sympathy for this stranger who had come to minister in his +own way to the few scattered children of the Jews who were in the town. +He knew the unjust sentiment with which he would be surrounded as by an +atmosphere. The curate was broad in his views. 'All nations and all +people,' thought he, 'lust for an excuse to deem their neighbour less +worthy than themselves, that they may oppress him. This is the +selfishness which is the cause of all sin and is the devil.' When he got +to this point in his thoughts he came to a sudden stand and looked up. +'But, thank God,' he said to himself, 'the True Life is still in the +world, and as we resist the evil we not only triumph ourselves, but make +the triumph of our children sure.' So reasoned the curate; he was a +rather fanatical fellow.</p> + +<p>The people near gave him 'good-day' when they saw him stop. All up and +down the street the children played with shrill noises and pattering +feet. The sunset cloud was brighter, and the dark peaked roofs of tile +and thatch and slate, as if compelled to take some notice of the fire, +threw back the red where, here and there, some glint of moisture gave +reflection to the coloured light. He had come near the end of the town, +and, where the houses opened, the red sky was fretted with dark twigs +and branches of elm trees which grew on the grassy slope of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> cliff. +The elm trees were in the squire's park, and the curate looked at them +sadly and thought of Herbert who had died.</p> + +<p>Up a little lane at the end of the street he found the entrance to a low +square hall. There was a small ante-room to the place of service, and in +this a dull-looking man was seated polishing a candlestick. He was a +crossing-sweeper by trade and a friend of the curate.</p> + +<p>'Well, Issachar; so you've got your synagogue open again!'</p> + +<p>The man Issachar made some sound meant for a response, but not +intelligible.</p> + +<p>'How many Jews will there be in the town?'</p> + +<p>'Twenty that are heads of families, and two grown youths,' said +Issachar.</p> + +<p>'That's enough to keep up a service, for some of them will be rich?'</p> + +<p>'Some are very rich,' said Issachar, wrinkling his face with +satisfaction when he said the words.</p> + +<p>'Then how is it you don't always keep up the service?'</p> + +<p>But Issachar had no explanation to give. He polished his candlestick the +more vigorously, and related at some length what he knew of the present +reader, which was, in fact, nothing, except that he was a foreigner and +had only offered to read while he was visiting the town.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I have come for the service,' said the curate.</p> + +<p>'Better not,' said Issachar; 'it's short to-night, and there'll not be +many.'</p> + +<p>The curate answered by opening the inner door and entering. There were +some high pews up and down the sides of the room. There was a curtain at +the farther end and a reading desk in the centre, both of which were +enclosed in a railing ornamented by brass knobs, and in which were set +high posts supporting gas-lamps, nine in all, which were lit, either for +heat or ceremony, and turned down to a subdued light. The evening light +entered through the domed roof. Hebrew texts which the curate could not +decipher were painted on the dark walls. He took off his hat reverently +and sat down. There was no one there. He felt very much surprised at +finding himself alone. To his impressible nervous nature it seemed that +he had suddenly entered a place far removed in time and space from the +every-day life with which he was so familiar. He sat a long time; it was +cold, and the evening light grew dim, and yet no one came. Issachar +entered now and then, and made brief remarks about sundry things as he +gave additional polish to the knobs on the railing, but he always went +out again.</p> + +<p>At length a side door opened and the reader came in from his vestry. He +had apparently waited in hope of a congregation, but now came in to +perform<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> his duty without their aid. Perhaps he was not so much +disappointed as the curate was. It would have been very difficult to +tell from looking at him what his emotions were. He was a stout large +man with a coarse brown beard. There was little to be seen of his face +but the hair upon it, and one gathered the suggestion, although it was +hard to know from what, that the man and his beard were not as clean as +might be. He wore a black gown and an ordinary high silk hat, although +pushed much farther back on his head than an Englishman would have worn +it. He walked heavily and clumsily inside the railing, and stood before +the desk, slowly turning over backward the leaves of the great book. +Then suddenly he began to chant in the Hebrew tongue. His voice fell +mellow and sweet upon the silence, filling it with drowsy sound, as the +soft music of a humble-bee will suddenly fill the silence of a woodland +glade. There was no thought, only feeling, conveyed by the sound.</p> + +<p>Issachar had gone out, and the Anglican priest sat erect, gazing at the +Jew through the fading light, his attention painfully strained by the +sense of loneliness and surprise. From mere habit he supposed the chant +to be an introduction to a varied service, but no change came. On and on +and on went the strange music, like a potent incantation, the big Jew +swaying his body slightly with the rhythm, and at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> long intervals came +the whisper of paper with the turning of the leaf.</p> + +<p>The curate gazed and wondered until he forgot himself. Then he tried +with an effort to recall who he was, and where he was, and all the +details of the busy field of labour he had left just outside the door. +He wished that the walls of the square room were not so thick, that some +sound from the town might come in and mingle with the chant. He strained +his ear in vain to catch a word of the Hebrew which might be +intelligible to him. He wondered much what sort of a man this Jew might +be, actuated by what motives, impelled by what impulses to his lonely +task. All the sorrow of a hope deferred through ages, and a long torture +patiently borne, seemed gathered in the cadence; but the man—surely the +man was no refined embodiment of the high sentiment of his psalm! And +still the soft rich voice chanted the unknown language, and the daylight +grew more dim.</p> + +<p>The curate was conscious that again he tried to remember who he was, and +where; and then the surroundings of the humble synagogue fell away, and +he himself was standing looking at a jewel. It was a purple stone, +oval-shaped and polished, perhaps about as large as the drop of dew +which could hang in a harebell's heart. The stone was the colour of a +harebell, and there was a ray of light in it, as if in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> the process of +its formation the jewel had caught sight of a star, and imprisoned the +tiny reflection for ever within itself. The curate moved his head from +side to side to see if the ray within the stone would remain still, but +it did not, turning itself to meet his eye as if the tiny star had a +life and a light of its own. Then he looked at the setting, for the +stone was set in steel. A zigzag-barred steel frame held it fast, and +outside the zigzag bars there was a smooth ring, with some words cut +upon it in Hebrew. The characters were very small; he knew, rather than +saw, that they were Hebrew; but he did not know what they meant. All +this time he had been stooping down, looking at this thing as if it lay +very near the ground. Then suddenly he noticed upon what it was lying. +There was a steel chain fastened to it, and the chain was around the +neck of a woman who lay upon the earth; the jewel was upon her breast. +But how white and cold the breast was! Surely there was no life in it. +And he observed with horror that the garments which had fallen back were +oozing with water, and that the hair was wet. He hardly saw the face; +for a moment he thought he saw it, and that it was the face of a Jewess, +young and beautiful, but the vision passed from him. The chant had +ceased, and the rabbi was kissing his book.</p> + +<p>Very solemnly the Jew bowed himself three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> times and kissed the book, +and then in the twilight of the nine dim lamps he stumbled out and shut +the door, without giving a glance to his one listener.</p> + +<p>As for the young Christian priest, he was panic-stricken. When our +senses themselves deceive us we are cut off from our cheerful belief in +the reality of material things, or forced to face the unpleasant fact +that we hold no stable relationship to them. He rushed out into the +street. Issachar was at the entrance as he passed, and he fancied he saw +the face of the reader peeping at him from the vestry window, but he +crushed his hat hard down on his head and strode away, courting the +bluster of the wind, striving by the energy of action to cast off the +trance that seemed to enslave him.</p> + +<p>When he reached his own door he found the baker's wife sitting on the +doorstep. It was quite dusk; perhaps that was the reason he did not +recognise her at first.</p> + +<p>'La, sir, I found them two muffins lying unbeknown in the corner of the +shelf, so I brought them round, thinking you mightn't 'ave 'ad your +tea.'</p> + +<p>'Muffins?' said the curate, as if he were not quite sure what muffins +might be. Then he began to wonder if he was really losing his wits, and +he plunged into talk with the woman, saying anything and everything to +convince himself that he was not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> asleep or mad. 'Do you know, Mrs. +Yeander, that I am going to be married?'</p> + +<p>'Well, I am sure, sir,' said she, curtseying and smiling. 'It's a great +compliment to me to hear it from your own lips; not that it's +unexpected. Miss Violetta's a sweet saint, just like her ma, she is, an' +her ma's a saint if there ever was one. Mr. Higgs, the verger, says that +to see her pray that length of time on her knees after the service is +over in church is a touching sight.'</p> + +<p>'But I don't think Miss Violetta is like her mother,' said the curate.</p> + +<p>'Well no, sir; now that you mention it, perhaps she's not—at least, not +in looks. But lor' sir, she's wonderful like her ma when it comes to +paying a bill, not but what they're to be respected for keeping a heye +on the purse. I often tell Yeander that if we were a bit more saving, +like the vicar's lady, we'd lay by a bit for our old age.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, Mrs. Yeander, yes; that would be an excellent plan,' said the +curate, fumbling with his latch-key in the door. 'Suppose you come in +and make my tea for me, Mrs. Yeander. I'm all alone to-night.'</p> + +<p>'I bethought I might do that, sir, when I came along. Yeander was in the +shop, and I said, Mrs. Jones having gone to see her son, that you'd 'ave +no one, so I just says to Yeander, "I'll step round, an' if I'm asked +I'll make tea."'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<p>The curate lit his lamp and poked his fire, and the portly woman began +to toast his muffins. The flame lit up the placid wrinkles of her face +as she knelt before it:</p> + +<p>'But I don't think Miss Violetta is in the least like her mother,' said +he again.</p> + +<p>'Lor' sir, don't you? Well, you ought to know best. They do say what's +bred in the bone comes out in the flesh; but it'll be none the worse for +you if she looks sharp after the spending. You're not much given to +saving.'</p> + +<p>The curate walked nervously up and down his small room.</p> + +<p>'Make the tea strong to-night,' he said.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Higgs, the verger, do hate the vicar's lady, sir—he do, and no +mistake—but he says anybody could see with 'alf a heye that she was a +real saint. The subscriptions she puts down to missions and church +restorings—it's quite wonderful.'</p> + +<p>The curate ran his hand wearily through his hair. He felt called upon to +say something. 'I have the highest respect for Mrs. Moore,' he began. 'I +know her to be a most devoted helpmeet to the vicar, and a truly good +woman. At the same time'—he coughed—'at the same time, I should wish +to say distinctly that after being niggardly in her domestic affairs, +which is unfortunately the case, I do not think it adds to her stock of +Christian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> virtues to give the money thus saved to church work.'</p> + +<p>The curate cleared his throat. It was because he was flying from himself +that he had let the woman talk until this speech of his had been made +necessary; but at all times his humble friends in this town were well +nigh irrepressible in their talk. This woman was in full tide now.</p> + +<p>'They do say, sir, there's a difference between honest saving and greed. +Mr. Higgs said to Yeander one day, says he, "Mrs. Moore's folks far back +made their money by sharp trading, and greed's in the family, and it's +the worst sort of greed, for it grasps both at 'eaven and earth, both at +this life and the 'eavenly. And," says he, "no one could doubt that the +lady's that way constituted that she couldn't cut a loaf of bread in +'alf without giving herself the largest share, even if it were the bread +of life."'</p> + +<p>'My good Mrs. Yeander——' began the curate in stern rebuke.</p> + +<p>'Oh, no, sir, Mr. Higgs don't mean no harm. He only gets that riled at +Mrs. Moore sometimes that he kind of lets off to Yeander and me.'</p> + +<p>'And I don't think, Mrs. Yeander,' said the curate, for the third time, +'that Miss Violetta is at all like her mother.'</p> + +<p>'She's young yet, sir,' said the woman. Then she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> went away, leaving the +curate to interpret her last remark as he chose.</p> + +<hr class='smler' /> +<h3><a name="Chapter_II" id="Chapter_II"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> II</h3> + +<p>About a week after that there was a fine dinner given at the vicarage to +welcome the curate into the family. The old squire was invited, but he +refused to come. Violetta's mamma wrote and asked some of her relatives +to come down from town. 'Our chosen son-in-law is not rich,' she wrote, +'but he comes of an old family, and that is a great thing. Dear Violetta +will, of course, inherit my own fortune, which will be ample for them, +and his good connections, with God's blessing, will complete their +happiness.' So they came down. There was the vicar's brother, who was a +barrister, and his wife. Then there were two sisters of Mrs. Moore, who +were both very rich. One was an old maid, and one was married to a +dean—she brought her husband. 'You see,' said Violetta's mamma to the +curate, 'our relatives are all either law or clergy.'</p> + +<p>There were very grand preparations made for the dinner, and Mrs. Higgs, +the wife of the verger, came to the curate's rooms the day before and +took away his best clothes, that she might see they were well brushed +for the occasion. She did up his collar and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> wristbands herself, and +gave them a fine gloss. Higgs brought them back just in time for the +dinner.</p> + +<p>'It's just about five years since they had such a turn-out at the +vicarage,' said Higgs in a crisp little voice. 'Miss Violetta was +nineteen then; she'll be twenty-four now.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said the curate absently; 'what was up then?'</p> + +<p>''Twas a dinner much of a muchness to this. Mrs. Higgs, she was just +reminding me of it. But that was in honour of Mr. Herbert, of the 'All. +You'll 'ave heard of him?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, yes,' said the curate, 'all that was very sad.'</p> + +<p>'The more so,' said Higgs briskly, 'that when it was broke hoff, Mr. +Herbert died of love. He went to some foreign countries and took up with +low company, and there he died. Squire hasn't held his head up straight +since that day.'</p> + +<p>'All that was before I came,' said the curate very gravely, for he did +not know exactly what to say.</p> + +<p>'Lor' bless you, sir,' said Higgs, 'I was in no way blaming you. There's +no blame attaching to any, that I know; squire's wife was as mad as a +hare. Miss Violetta, she cried her pretty eyes nigh out for Mr. Herbert; +it's time she'd another.'</p> + +<p>The curate went to the dinner, and it was a very fine affair indeed. +Violetta wore a silk gown and looked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> charming. She does not look a day +older than she did when I saw her five years ago,' said the dean to the +curate, meaning to be very polite, but the curate did not smile at the +compliment.</p> + +<p>'How fine your flowers are!' said the maiden aunt to Violetta. 'Where +did you get them, my dear?'</p> + +<p>'The squire sent them to me,' said Violetta, with a droop of her eyelids +which made her look more charming than ever. Then they had dinner, and +after dinner Violetta gave them some music. It was sacred music, for +Mrs. Moore did not care for anything else.</p> + +<p>When the song was over Mrs. Moore said to the curate, 'It has been my +wish to give dear Violetta a little gift as a slight remembrance of this +happy occasion, and I thought that something of my own would be more +valuable than——' Here the mother's voice broke with very natural +emotion, and she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. 'You must excuse +me,' she murmured, 'she is such a dear—such a very dear girl, and she +is our only child.'</p> + +<p>'Indeed, I can well understand,' said he, with earnest sympathy.</p> + +<p>'Such a dear—such a very dear girl,' murmured Mrs. Moore again. Then +she rose and embraced Violetta and wept, and the aunts all shed tears, +and the vicar coughed. Violetta's own blue eyes over-flowed with very +pretty tears.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>The curate felt very uncomfortable indeed, and said again that he quite +understood, and that it was quite natural. The dean and the barrister +both said what they ought. The dean remarked that these dear parents +ought not to sorrow at losing a daughter, but rejoice at finding a son. +The barrister pointed out that as the bride was only expected to move +into the next house but one after her marriage, all talk of parting was +really quite absurd. The vicar did not say anything; he rarely did when +his wife was present. Then Mrs. Moore became more composed, and put a +ring on her daughter's finger. The curate did not see the ring at the +moment. He was leaning against the mantel-shelf, feeling very much +overcome by the responsibility of his new happiness.</p> + +<p>'Oh, mamma, how lovely!' cried Violetta. 'How perfectly beautiful!'</p> + +<p>'A star-amethyst!' said the barrister in a tone of surprise.</p> + +<p>'Is it a star-amethyst indeed?' said the dean, looking over the +shoulders of the group with his double eye-glass. 'I am not aware that I +ever saw one before; they are a very rare and beautiful sort of gem.'</p> + +<p>'Where did you get it, sister Matilda?' asked the maiden aunt.</p> + +<p>Now, although Mrs. Moore was in a most gracious humour, she never liked +being asked questions at any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> time. 'I am surprised that you should ask +me that, Eliza. I have had it for many years.'</p> + +<p>'But you must have got it somewhere at the beginning of the years,' +persisted Eliza, who was of a more lively disposition.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Moore gave her a severe glance for the frivolous tone of her +answer. 'I was just about to explain that this stone has been lying for +years among the jewellery which poor uncle Ford bequeathed to me. I +thought it a pity that such a beautiful stone should lie unnoticed any +longer.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, a great pity!' they all cried.</p> + +<p>'I should not have supposed that poor dear uncle Ford possessed such a +rare thing,' said the wife of the dean.</p> + +<p>'It is very curious you never mentioned it before,' said Eliza.</p> + +<p>But Eliza was not in favour.</p> + +<p>'Not at all,' said Mrs. Moore; 'I take very little interest in such +things. Life is too short to allow our attention to be diverted from +serious things by mere ornaments.'</p> + +<p>'That is very true,' said the dean.</p> + +<p>Violetta broke through the little circle to show her lover the ring. +'Look,' she said, holding up her pretty hand. 'Isn't it lovely? Isn't +mamma very kind?'</p> + +<p>The curate turned his eyes from the fire with an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> effort. He had been +listening to all they said in a state of dreamy surprise. He did not +wish to look at the stone, and the moment he saw it he perceived it was +what he had seen before. It was not exactly the same shade of purple, +but it appeared to him that he had seen it before by daylight, and now +the lamps were lit. It was the same shape and size, and the tiny +interior star was the same. He moved his head from side to side to see +if the ray moved to meet his eye, and he found that it did so. He looked +at Violetta. How beautiful she was in her white gown, with her little +hand uplifted to display the shining stone, and her face upturned to +his! The soft warm curve of the delicate breast and throat, the red lips +that seemed to breathe pure kisses and holy words, the tender eyes +shining like the jewel, dewy with the sacred tears she had been +shedding, and the yellow hair, smooth, glossy, brushed saintly-wise on +either side of the nunlike brow—all this he looked at, and his senses +grew confused. The sad rise and fall of the Hebrew chant was in his ears +again; the bright room and the people were not there, but the chant +seemed in some strange way to rise up in folds of darkness and surround +Violetta like a frame; and everything else was dark and filled with the +music, except Violetta, who stood there white and shining, holding up +the ring for him to look at; and at her feet lay that other woman, wet +and dead, with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> same stone in the steel chain at her throat. 'Isn't +it lovely? Isn't mamma very kind?' Violetta was saying.</p> + +<p>'My dear, I think he is ill,' said the vicar.</p> + +<p>They took him by the arm, putting him on a chair, and fetched water and +a glass of wine. He heard them talking together.</p> + +<p>'I daresay it has been too much for him,' said the dean. 'Joy is often +as hard to bear as grief.'</p> + +<p>'He is such a fellow for work,' said the vicar, 'I never knew any one +like him.'</p> + +<p>The curate sat up quite straight. 'Did any of you ever see an amethyst +like this set in steel?'</p> + +<p>'In steel? What an odd idea!' said the maiden aunt.</p> + +<p>'He is not quite himself yet,' said the dean in a low voice, tapping her +on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>'I think it would be very inappropriate, indeed very wrong, to set a +valuable stone in any of the baser metals,' said Mrs. Moore. She spoke +as if the idea were a personal affront to herself, but then she had an +immense notion of her own importance, and always looked upon all +wrong-doing as a personal grievance.</p> + +<p>'Whatever made you think of it?' asked Violetta.</p> + +<p>'I daresay it was rather absurd,' said the curate meekly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<p>'By no means,' said the barrister; 'the idea of making jewellery +exclusively of gold is modern and crude. In earlier times many beautiful +articles of personal ornamentation were made of brass and even of iron.'</p> + +<p>'Mamma,' said Violetta, 'I remember one day seeing a curious old thing +in the bottom of your dressing-case. It looked as if it might be made of +steel. It was a very curious old thing—chain, and a pendant with some +inscription round it.'</p> + +<p>'Did you?' said Mrs. Moore. 'I have several old trinkets. I do not know +to which you refer.'</p> + +<p>She bade Violetta ring for tea. 'I am sure you will be the better for a +cup of tea,' she said, turning to the curate.</p> + +<p>'I am quite well,' he replied. 'I think, if you will excuse me, I will +walk home at once; the air will do me good.'</p> + +<p>But they would not hear of his walking home. They made him drink tea and +sit out the evening with them. Violetta gave them some more music; and +they all made themselves exceedingly agreeable. When the evening was +over they sent the curate home in the carriage.</p> + +<hr class='smler' /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="Chapter_III" id="Chapter_III"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> III</h3> + +<p>The night was frosty, calm, and clear, and quite light, for the March +moon was just about to rise from the eastern sea.</p> + +<p>When the carriage set him down at his own door the curate had no mind to +go in. He waited till the sound of the horse's feet had died away, and +then he walked back down the empty street. The town was asleep; his +footsteps echoed sharply from roofs and walls.</p> + +<p>He was not given to morbid fancies or hallucinations, and he was +extremely annoyed at what had taken place. Twice in the last eight days +he had been the subject of a waking dream, and now he was confronted +with what seemed an odd counterpart of his vision in actual fact. It was +no doubt a mere coincidence, but it was a very disagreeable one. Of +course if he saw the old trinket described by Violetta, the chances were +that it would be quite different from the setting of the stone which the +dead woman wore; but even if the two were exactly the same, what +difference could it make? A dream is nothing, and that which appears in +a dream is nothing. The coincidence had no meaning.</p> + +<p>He turned by the side of the church down the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> lane which led to the +little quay. The tide was halfway up the dark weed, and the +fishing-boats were drawn near to the quay, ready for the cruise at dawn; +their dark furled sails were bowing and curtseying to one another with +all ceremony, like ghosts at a stately ball. To the east and south lay +the sea, vacant, except that on the eastern verge stood a palace of +cloud, the portals of which were luminous with the light from within, +and now they were thrown open with a golden flash, and yellow rays shot +forth into the upper heavens, spreading a clear green light through the +deep midnight of the sky where the other worlds wandered. Then the +yellow moon came from her palace, wrapping herself at first with a +mantle of golden mist, as if—Godiva-like—she shrank from loosening her +garments; but the need of the darkling earth pressed upon her, and she +dropped her covering and rode forth in nakedness.</p> + +<p>Everything was more lovely now, for there was light to see the +loveliness. The bluff wind that came from the bosom of the sea seemed +only to tell of a vast silence and a world asleep. The rocky shore, with +its thin line of white breakers, stretched round to the west. About a +mile away there was a rugged headland, with some crags at its feet, +which had been broken off and rolled down into the sea by the Frost +Demon of bygone years. The smallest was farthest out, and wedged behind +it and sheltered by it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> the black hulk of a wrecked vessel. This +outermost rock lay so that it broke the waves as they came against the +wreck, and each was thrown high in a white jet and curl of spray, and +fell with a low sob back into the darkness of the sea.</p> + +<p>The curate turned and walked toward the headland on the cliff path where +he had walked a week before with Violetta. The cliffs were completely +desolate, except for some donkeys browsing here and there, their brown +hair silvered by the frost. There was a superstition in the town that +the place was haunted on moonlight nights by the spirit of a woman who +had perished in the wreck. It had been a French vessel, wrecked five +years before, and all on board were drowned—six men and one woman, the +wife of the skipper. They had all been buried in one grave in the little +cemetery that was on the top of the headland; and it was easy to see how +the superstition of the haunting came about, for as the curate watched +the spray on the rock near the wreck rise up in the moonlight and fall +back into the sea, he could almost make himself believe that he saw in +it the supple form of a woman with uplifted hands, praying heaven for +rescue.</p> + +<p>The wind was pretty rough when he got to the head of land, and he walked +up among the graves to find a place where he might be sheltered and yet +have advantage of the view. He knew that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> close by the edge of the +cliff, over the grave of the shipwrecked people, stood a marble cross, +large enough to shelter a man somewhat if he leaned against it. Upon +this cross was a long inscription giving a touching account of the +wreck, and stating that it was erected by Matilda Moore, wife of the +vicar, out of grief for the sad occurrence, and with an earnest prayer +for the unknown bereaved ones.</p> + +<p>The curate was rather fond of reading this inscription, as we all are +apt to be fond of going over words which, although perfectly familiar to +us, still leave some space for curiosity concerning their author and +origin, and he was wondering idly as he walked whether there would be +light enough from the moon to read them now. The wind came, like the +moonlight, from the south-east, and he walked round by the western side +of the graveyard in order to come up the knoll on which the cross stood +by the sheltered side. Everything around him was intensely bleak and +white, for the moon, having left the horizon, had lost her golden light, +and the colouring of the night had toned down to white and purple. +Patches of wild white cloud were scudding across the pallid purple sky +beneath the stars, and there was a silver causeway across the purple +sea. The purple was not unlike that of an amethyst. The cliffs sloped +back to the town; the boats and peaked roofs and church tower were seen +by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> sharp outline of their masses of light and shade. The street +lamps were not lit in the town because of the moon, and only in two or +three places there was the warm glow of a casement fringed with the rays +of a midnight candle. To the left of the cliffs, close to the town, were +the trees of the squire's park and the roof of the Hall. Perhaps it was +because the curate was looking at these things, as he walked among the +graves, that he did not look at the monument towards which he was making +way, until he came within half a dozen yards of it; then he suddenly saw +that there was another man leaning against it, half hid in the shadow. +He stopped at once and stood looking.</p> + +<p>The man had thrown his arms backward over the arms of the cross, and was +leaning, half hanging, upon it; the young priest was inexpressibly +shocked and startled by the attitude. He knew that none of the humbler +inhabitants of the town would venture near such a place at such a time, +nor could he think of any one else who was likely to be there. Besides, +although he could not see the stranger distinctly, he himself was +standing in full moonlight, and yet the man in the shadow of the cross +made no sign of seeing him. At that moment he would gladly have gone +home without asking further question, but that would have looked as if +he were afraid.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<p>He tried a chance remark. 'It is a fine night,' he said, as lightly as +might be.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said the other, and moved his arms from the arms of the cross. It +was only one word, but the curate recognised the soft voice at once. It +was the Jewish rabbi.</p> + +<p>'I was at one of your services the other day,' he said, advancing +nearer.</p> + +<p>'Yes.'</p> + +<p>'I felt sorry your people did not turn out better.'</p> + +<p>There was no answer.</p> + +<p>'It is a very cold wind,' said the curate. 'I hardly know why I came out +so far.'</p> + +<p>'Shall I tell you?' asked the Jew softly. He spoke good English, but +very slowly, and with some foreign accent.</p> + +<p>'Certainly, if you can.'</p> + +<p>'I desired very much to see you.'</p> + +<p>'But you did not tell me, so that could not be the reason. Your will +could not influence my mind. I assure you I came of my own free will; it +would be terrible if one man should be at the mercy of another's +caprice.'</p> + +<p>'Be it so; let us call it chance then. I desired that you should come, +and you came.'</p> + +<p>'But you do not think that you have a power over other men like that?'</p> + +<p>'I do not know; I find that with some men such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> correspondence between +my will and their thoughts and actions is not rare; but I could not +prove that it is not chance. It makes no difference to me whether it be +chance or not. I have been thinking of you very much, desiring your aid, +and twice you have come to me—as you say—of your own free will.'</p> + +<p>'If you have such a power, you may be responsible for a very +disagreeable dream I had in your synagogue the other day.'</p> + +<p>'What was the dream?'</p> + +<p>'Nay, if you created it you should be able to tell me what it was.'</p> + +<p>'I have no idea what it was; if I influenced your imagination I did so +unconsciously.'</p> + +<p>There was about this Jew such a complete gentleness and repose, such +earnestness without eagerness, such self-confidence without +self-assertion, that the curate's heart warmed to him instinctively.</p> + +<p>'I believe you are an honest Christian,' said the Jew very simply.</p> + +<p>'I hope honest Christians are not rare.'</p> + +<p>'I think a wholly honest man is very rare, because to see what is honest +it is necessary to look at things without self-interest or desire.'</p> + +<p>'I am certainly not such a man. The most I can say is that I try to be +more honest every day.'</p> + +<p>'That is very well said,' said the Jew. 'If you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> had believed in your +own honesty, I should have doubted it.' Then, in a very simple and quiet +way, he told the curate a strange story.</p> + +<p>He said that he lived in Antwerp. They were five in one family—the +parents, a sister and brother, and himself. His father and brother did +business with the English ships, but he was a teacher and reader in the +synagogue. There had been in their family a very sacred heirloom in the +form of an amulet or charm. Their forefathers had believed that it came +from Jerusalem before their nation lost the holy city; but he himself +did not think that this could be true; he only knew that it was ancient, +and possessed very valuable properties as a talisman to those who knew +how to use it. About five years before, his sister, who was beautiful +and wayward, had loved and married a French sea-captain. The father +cursed his daughter, but the mother could not let her go from them under +the fear of this curse, and she hung the amulet about her neck as a +safeguard. Alas for such safeguard! in a few weeks the captain's ship +was wrecked, and all on her were drowned. He said that it was that same +ship which lay near them, a wreck among the waves, and his sister lay +buried beneath their feet.</p> + +<p>The family did not hear of the wreck till some time after the burial, +and then they knew for the first time what their mother had done with +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> amulet. His brother came over at once to this town to seek it, but +in vain. The people said they had not seen the necklace; that it had +certainly not been buried with the girl. The people seemed simple and +honest; the brother was a shrewd man, and he believed that they spoke +the truth. He returned home, in distress; they could not tell what to +think, for they knew their sister would not have dared to take off the +necklace, and the chain was too strong to be broken by the violence of +the waves.</p> + +<p>Some months after they heard that there was a young Englishman dying in +Antwerp who came from this town. The name of the town was graven on +their hearts, and they went to see him. He was a mere boy, a pretty boy, +and when they asked him about the wreck he became excited in his +weakness and fever, and told them all the story of it as he had seen it +with his own eyes.</p> + +<p>It was an October afternoon. A storm had been lowering and partially +breaking over the town for three days, and that day there was a glare of +murky light from the cloud that made the common people think that the +end of the world was come. When the ship struck, the fisher-people ran +out of the town to the shore nearest her, and this boy would have run +out with them and been among the foremost but that a very pious and +charitable lady of the place had besought him to take her with him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +There was a great rain and wind, and it was with difficulty that he led +the lady out and helped her down to the shore. By that time the wreck +had been dashed to pieces, and the fishermen were bringing in the dead +bodies of the crew. There was a woman among them, and when they brought +her body in, they did not lay it with the bodies of the sailors, but +carried it respectfully and laid it close to the lady who stood in the +shelter of some rocks. The wet clothes had fallen back from her +breast—the boy remembered it well, for it had been his first sight of +death, and his heart was touched by the girl's youth and beauty. He had +not seen her again, for he had gone to help with the boats, and the +fishermen's wives had run at the lady's bidding and brought coverings to +wrap her in.</p> + +<p>The Jewish father then told the dying man about the amulet. He said +that, to the best of his memory, some such thing had been about the neck +of the dead girl, but that he was certain that none of the fisher-people +would have been bad enough to steal from the dead. They entreated him to +think well what he said, and to consider again if there was no doubtful +character there who might have had the opportunity and the baseness to +commit the crime. At that the dying man fell into profound thought, and +when he looked at them again the fever-flush had mounted to his face, +and there was a light in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> his eyes. He told them that if there was any +one upon the shore that day who would have done such a thing it was the +very rich and pious lady that he himself had taken to the wreck. She had +been alone with the body when she sent the other women for wrappings. +They thought that perhaps his mind was wandering, and left him, +promising to return next day; but when they came again he was dead.</p> + +<p>'I have learned since I came here,' said the Jew, 'that he was the son +of the old man who lives in the great house down there among the trees.'</p> + +<p>They both looked down at the park. The leafless elms stood up like giant +feathers in the white mist of the moonbeams, and the chimney-stacks of +the house threw a deep shadow on the shining roof.</p> + +<p>'But we felt,' said the Jew, 'that even if the judgment of the dying boy +were a true one, and this lady had committed the crime, we still had no +evidence against her, and that whoever was wicked enough to steal would +certainly deny the act, and conceal that which was stolen. Hopeless as +it seemed to wait, doing nothing, our only chance of redress would be +lost by making any inquiry which might frighten her. We sent a message +to the goldsmith in London who mends her jewels, asking him to watch for +this necklace, and so we waited. At last we heard news. An amethyst +which we do not doubt is ours came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> to the goldsmith to be put in a +ring; but there was no necklace with it. I came here to see if I could +do something, but I have been here for some time and can devise no plan. +If she still possess the other part, to speak would be to cause its +destruction, and how can I find out without asking if she still has by +her the thing that would prove her crime? Do not be angry with me when I +tell you this. Remember it was not I who presumed to suspect the wife of +your priest, but the English boy, who knew her well.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said the curate, 'I shall remember that.' He had grown tired of +standing in the wind, and had sat down on the frosty grass below the +cross. The blast was very cold, and he crouched down to avoid it, +hugging his knees with his hands.</p> + +<p>'You are about to be united to the family,' said the Jew; 'perhaps you +have seen the stone. Will you, for the sake of that justice which we all +hope for, try to find out for me if the other part of the amulet still +exists? I will give you a drawing of it, and if you find it as I +describe, you will know that my tale is true. Remember this—that we +have no wish to make the wrong public or punish the wrong-doer. We only +want to obtain our property.'</p> + +<p>'Have you got a drawing of it now?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I have it here.'</p> + +<p>The curate rose up and took the paper. He lit a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> match, and held its +tiny red flame in the shelter of the stone. The paper was soiled and +untidily folded, but the drawing was clear. It took but a glance to +satisfy him that what he had seen in his dream was but the reflection in +his own thought of the idea in the Jew's mind. He did not stop to ask +any explanation of the fact; the fact itself pressed too hard upon him. +While the match was still burning he mechanically noticed the Jew's +face, as it leaned over the paper near his own—not a handsome face, but +gentle and noble in its expression. Then the match went out; it dropped +from his hand, a tiny spark, into the grass, and for a moment +illuminated the blades among which it fell.</p> + +<hr class='smler' /> +<h3><a name="Chapter_IV" id="Chapter_IV"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> IV</h3> + +<p>The two men walked back over the bleak cliffs together, and for the +greater part of the way in silence; at last the curate spoke. He told +the Jew quite truly that he believed the vicar's wife had his jewel, and +that he supposed she must have come by it according to his worst +suspicions. 'But,' he added, 'I believe she is a good woman.'</p> + +<p>The other looked at him in simple surprise. 'That is very curious,' he +said.</p> + +<p>'Let us not try to find out her secret by prying;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> let us go to her +to-morrow, and tell her openly what we think. You fear that she will +deny her action; I have no such fear; and if she does not stand our +test, I give you my word for it, you shall not be the loser.'</p> + +<p>'I have put my case in your hands,' said the Jew. 'I will do as you +say.'</p> + +<p>They turned into the sleeping town; but when they reached the place of +parting the curate put his hand on the Jew's arm and said, 'I should not +have your forbearance. If some one unconnected with myself had wronged +me so, at the same time making profession of religion, I should think +she deserved both disgrace and punishment.'</p> + +<p>'And that she shall have, but not from us,' he replied. 'The sin will +surely be visited on her and on her children.'</p> + +<p>'Surely not on the children,' said the curate. 'You cannot believe that. +It would be unjust.'</p> + +<p>'You have seen but little of the world if you do not know that such is +the law. The vagabond who sins from circumstances may have in him the +making of a saint, and his children may be saints; but with those who +sin in spite of the good around them it is not so. For them and for +their children is the curse.'</p> + +<p>'God cannot punish the innocent for the guilty,' said the priest +passionately.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Surely not; for that is the punishment—that they are not innocent. The +children of the proud are proud; the children of the cruel, cruel; and +the children of the dishonest are dishonest, unto the third and fourth +generation. Fight against it as they may, they cannot see the difference +between right and wrong; they can only, by struggling, come <i>nearer</i> to +the light. Do you call this unjust of God? Is it unjust that the +children of the mad are mad, and the children of the virtuous virtuous.'</p> + +<p>'You take from us responsibility if we inherit sin.'</p> + +<p>'Nay, I increase responsibility. If we inherit obliquity of conscience, +we are the more responsible for acting not as seems right in our own +eyes, the more bound to restrain and instruct ourselves, for by this +doctrine is laid upon us the responsibility of our children and +children's children, that they may be better, not worse, than we.'</p> + +<p>All night long the curate paced up and down his room. The dawn came and +he saw the fishermen hurry away to the boats at the quay. The sunrise +came with its dull transient light upon the rain cloud. When the morning +advanced he went for the Jew, and they walked down the street in the +driving rain. The wet paving-stones and roofs reflected the grey light +of the clouds which hurried overhead. The ruddy-twigged beech trees at +the vicarage gate were shaken and buffeted by the storm.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> The two men +shook their dripping hats as they entered the house. They were received +in a private parlour, which was filled with objects of art and devotion. +Very blandly did the good wife of the vicar greet them, yet with +business-like condescension.</p> + +<p>The Jew, in a few very simple words, told the story of his sister's +death and the loss of the amulet. He told the peculiar value of the +amulet, and added, 'I have reason, madam, to believe that it has come +into your possession. If so, and if you have it still by you, I entreat +that you will give it to me at once, for to you it can only be a pretty +trinket, and to us it is like a household god.'</p> + +<p>She looked at the Jew with evident emotion. 'I cannot tell you how it +grieves me to hear you speak as if you attributed to any inanimate +object the saving power which belongs to God alone,' she said. 'Think +for a moment, only think, how dishonouring such a superstition is to the +Creator.'</p> + +<p>'Madam!' said the Jew in utmost surprise.</p> + +<p>'Consider how wrong such a superstition is,' she said. 'What virtue can +there be in a stone, or a piece of metal, or an inscription? None. They +are as dead and powerless as the idols of the heathen; and to put the +faith in any such thing that we ought to put in God's providence, is to +dishonour Him. It grieves me to think that you, or any other intelligent +man, could believe in such a superstition.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Madam,' said the Jew again, 'these things are as we think of them. You +think one way and I another.'</p> + +<p>'But you think wrongly. I would have you see your error, and turn from +it. Can you believe in the Christian faith and yet——'</p> + +<p>'I am a Jew,' he said.</p> + +<p>'A Jew!' she exclaimed. She began to preach against that error also; +entering into a long argument in a dull dogmatic way, but with an +earnestness which held the two men irresolute with wonder and surprise.</p> + +<p>'It would seem, madam,' said the Jew, after she had talked much, 'that +you desire greatly to set an erring world to rights again.'</p> + +<p>'And should we not all desire that?' she asked, unconscious of the +irony. 'For what else are we placed in the world but to pass on to +others the light that God has entrusted to us?'</p> + +<p>'I verily believe, madam,' said he seriously, 'that you think exactly +what you say, and that you desire greatly to do me good. But, putting +these questions aside, will you tell me if you have this ornament which +I venerate?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, I have it.'</p> + +<p>'You took it from the breast of my sister when she lay dead upon your +shore?'</p> + +<p>'I unfastened it from her neck, and have kept it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> with the greatest +care. It was an ornament which was quite unsuitable to your sister's +station in life. I could not have allowed any of our poor women to see +such a valuable stone on the neck of a girl like themselves in station; +it would have given them false ideas, and I am careful to teach them +simplicity in dress. In England we do not approve of people of your +class wearing jewellery.'</p> + +<p>The curate put his arms on the table and bowed his head on his hands.</p> + +<p>'Be that as it may,' said the Jew, rising, 'I will thank you if you will +give me my property now and let me go.'</p> + +<p>'I cannot give it to you.' She was a little flustered in her manner, but +not much. 'It would be against my conscience to give you what you would +use profanely. Providence has placed it in my care, and I am responsible +for its use. If I gave it to you it would be tempting you to sin.'</p> + +<p>He sat down again and looked at her with wonder in his soft brown eyes. +'You have had the stone taken out,' he said, 'and set in a ring.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, and I have given it to my daughter, so that it is no longer mine +to return to you. You must be aware that the marble cross stone I set up +over your sister's grave cost me much more than the value of this stone. +I am very much surprised that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> you should ask me to give it back. Surely +any real feeling of gratitude for what I did for her would prompt you to +be glad that you have something to give me in return.' She paused, then +harped again upon the other string. 'But under any circumstances I could +not feel justified in giving you anything that you would put to a bad +use.'</p> + +<p>'That you have stolen my property does not make it yours to withhold, +whatever may be your sentiments concerning it.'</p> + +<p>'"Stolen!" I do not understand you when you use such a word. Do you +think it possible that I should steal? I took the chain from your +sister's neck with the highest motives. Do not use such a word as +"stolen" in speaking to me.'</p> + +<p>'Truly, madam,' he said, 'you could almost persuade me that you are in +the right, and that I insult you.'</p> + +<p>She looked at him stolidly, although evidently not without some inward +apprehension. It was a piteous sight—the poor distorted reasoning +faculty grovelling as a slave to the selfish will.</p> + +<p>'I cannot give you back the amethyst,' she said, 'for I have given it +away; but if you will promise me never again to regard it as having any +value as an amulet or talisman, I will give you the necklace, and I will +pay you something to have another stone put in.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<p>The curate looked up. 'Get him the necklace and Violetta's ring,' he +said, 'and we will go.'</p> + +<p>A man had arisen within the curate who was stronger than his +self-control. They might have argued with her for ever: he frightened +her into compliance. He took her by the arm and turned her to the door.</p> + +<p>'There is not a man, woman or child in this town,' he said, 'who shall +not hear of this affair if you delay another moment to get him the chain +and the ring. It is due to his charity if the matter is concealed then.'</p> + +<p>When she was gone the Jew was disposed to make remarks. 'I truly +believe,' he said, 'that it is as you say, that this woman is very +virtuous in the sight of her own conscience.'</p> + +<p>A servant brought them a packet. The Jew opened it, taking out the chain +and the ring reverently and putting them in his breast. Then they went +out into the wind and the rain.</p> + +<p>The Jew went to his native city, and the curate accompanied him as far +as London. There he said good-bye to him as to a friend. He did not +return at once to his parish, but found a substitute to do his work +there, and went inland for a month, seeking by change and relaxation to +attain to the true judgment of calm pulses and quiet nerves. It was in +April and in Lent that he returned.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> + +<p>Higgs, the irrepressible, received him with joy. 'It's you that are the +good sight for sore eyes,' he said. 'Not but what we've been 'aving an +uncommon peaceful time for Lent. The vicar's lady she's took bad and +took to bed.'</p> + +<p>The curate reproved the wicked Higgs, but he inquired after the health +of the invalid.</p> + +<p>'I hope Mrs. Moore is not very ill?'</p> + +<p>'Bless you, no, sir; she's 'ale and 'earty. Cook says she's sure she've +fell out with some one. That's her way; she takes to bed when she've +fell out with any one. It makes them repent of their sins.'</p> + +<p>A soft grey mist lay over land and sea. The church and vicarage were +grey and wet. The beeches at the vicarage gate had broken forth in a +myriad buds of silver green, and all the buds were tipped with water, +and the grey stems were stained and streaked. The yew trees in the +churchyard were bedewed with tiny drops. At the little gate that led +from the vicarage into the churchyard, between the yew trees and the +beeches, the curate waited for Violetta, after evensong. She came out of +the old grey porch and down the path between the graves and the yew +trees with her prayer-book in her hand. She looked like an Easter lily +that holds itself in bud till the sadness of Lent is past, so pure, so +modest, such a perfect thing from the hand of God.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + +<p>She stopped and started when she saw her lover, and then greeted him +with a little smile, but blent with some reproachful dignity.</p> + +<p>'I am glad you have come at last, for I have been wanting to speak to +you. Poor mamma has been very poorly and ill. It has grieved her very +much indeed that you should have so misunderstood her motives, and +treated her so rudely. Mamma takes things like that most deeply to +heart.'</p> + +<p>'She told you why I treated her rudely?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, she told me, but she did not tell papa anything about it; it would +only vex papa and do no good. Mamma told me to tell you that she had +made up her mind to forgive you, and to say no more about it, although +she was deeply grieved that you should have so misunderstood her.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said the curate vaguely, for he did not know what else to say.</p> + +<p>'Of course, as to the necklace, it may be a matter of opinion as to +whether mamma judged rightly or not; but no one who knows her could +doubt that her one desire was to do what was right. It is quite true +what she says: that the stone was most unsuitable to the station of +those people; every one says that the man was a very common and +vulgar-looking person; and of course to regard such a thing with +superstitious veneration is a very great sin, from which she saved them +as long as she kept it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> Mamma says of course she knew she ran the risk +of being misunderstood in acting as she did, but she thought it her duty +to run that risk if by that means she could save anything that God had +entrusted to her keeping from being misused. You know what mamma is; +there is nothing she would not do if she thought it right.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' he said again, as though simply admitting that he had heard what +she said.</p> + +<p>'So I think we had better not say anything more about it. I know you +will see that it is wisest to say nothing to papa or any one else. +People think so differently about such things that it would only cause +needless argument, and give poor mamma more pain when she has already +suffered so much.'</p> + +<p>'You may trust me. I will never mention the matter to your father, or to +any one else. No one shall ever hear of it through me.'</p> + +<p>'I was sure that you would see that it is wisest not to; I told mamma +so. When she is better, and you have shown her that you regret having +misunderstood her, we shall all be very happy again.' She held up her +pretty face for a kiss.</p> + +<p>No one could see them except the chattering starlings in the church +tower, for they stood in the soft mist between the dewy yew trees and +the red-budding hedge by the vicarage lawn. The beech<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> trees stretched +out their graceful twigs above them, the starlings talked to one another +rather sadly, and far off through the stillness of the mist came the +sound of the tide on the shore. The curate was very pale and grave. His +tall frame trembled like a sick woman's as he stooped to give Violetta +that kiss. He took her hands in his for a moment, and then he clasped +her in his arms, lifting her from the grass and embracing her in a +passion of tenderness and love. Then he put her from him.</p> + +<p>'Violetta, it is amiable of you, and loyal, to excuse and defend your +mother, but tell me—tell me, as you speak before God, that you do not +think as you have spoken. You are a woman now, with a soul of your own; +tell me you know that to take this necklace and to keep it secretly was +a terrible sin.'</p> + +<p>'Indeed'—with candour—'I do not think anything of the sort. I think it +is wicked of you to slander mamma in that way. And if you want to know +what I think'—with temper now—'I think it was most unkind of you to +give away my ring. After it had been given to me on such an occasion, +too, it was priceless to us, but we could easily have paid that vulgar +man all it was worth to him.'</p> + +<p>'I will not argue with you. I perceive now that that would do no good.' +There was a heart-broken tone in his voice that frightened Violetta. 'I +will—I will only say—<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>—'</p> + +<p>'What?' she asked. The thin sharp sound in her voice was a note of +alarm.</p> + +<p>'I will not marry you,' moaned the curate.</p> + +<p>'Not marry me!' she exclaimed in astonishment.</p> + +<p>'I love you. I shall always love you. No other woman shall ever be my +wife; but I will never marry you; and I shall go away and leave you free +to forget me.'</p> + +<p>'But why? What have I done?' she asked, her breath catching her tones.</p> + +<p>'You have done nothing, my poor, poor girl; but—oh, my darling, I would +gladly die if by dying I could open your eyes to see the simple +integrity of unselfishness!'</p> + +<p>'It is very absurd for you to speak of unselfishness at the very moment +when you are selfishly giving me so much pain,' she cried, defiant.</p> + +<p>He bent his head and covered his face with his hands.</p> + +<p>She stood and looked at him, her cheeks flushed and her breast heaving +with a great anger.</p> + +<p>'Good-bye, Violetta,' he said, and turned slowly away.</p> + +<p>'I never heard of anything so dishonourable,' she cried.</p> + +<p>And that was what the world said; the curate was in disgrace with +society for the rest of his life.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<h3>'HATH NOT A JEW EYES?'</h3> + +<p>Mr. Saintou the hairdresser was a Frenchman, therefore his English +neighbours regarded him with suspicion. He was also exceedingly stout, +and his stoutness had come upon him at an unbecomingly early age, so +that he had long been the object of his neighbours' merriment. When to +these facts it is added that, although a keen and prosperous business +man, he had attained the age of fifty without making any effort to +marry, enough will have been said to show why he was disliked.</p> + +<p>Why was he not married? Were English women not good enough for him? The +pretty milliner across the street had been heard to remark in his +presence that she should never refuse a man simply because he was a +foreigner. Or if he did not want an English wife, why did he not import +one from Paris with his perfumes? No, there was no reason for his +behaviour,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> and Mr. Saintou was the object of his neighbours' aversion.</p> + +<p>Neighbours are often wrong in their estimates. In the heart of this +shrewd and stout French hairdresser there lay the rare capacity for one +supreme and lasting affection. Mr. Saintou's love story was in the past, +and it had come about in this way.</p> + +<p>One day when the hairdresser was still a young man, not long after he +had first settled in Albert Street, the door of his shop opened, and a +young woman came in. Her figure was short and broad, and she was lame, +walking with a crutch. Her face and features were large and peculiarly +frank in expression; upon her head was a very large hat. When she spoke, +it was with a loud staccato voice; her words fell after one another like +hailstones in a storm, there was no breathing space between them.</p> + +<p>'I want Mr. Saintou.'</p> + +<p>'What may I have the pleasure of showing madame?'</p> + +<p>'Good gracious, I told you I wanted to be shown Mr. Saintou. Are you Mr. +Saintou? None of your assistants for me; I want my hair cut.'</p> + +<p>The hairdresser laid his hand upon his heart, as though to point out his +own identity. He bowed, and as even at that age he was very stout, the +effort of the bow caused his small eyes to shut and open themselves +again. There was nothing staccato about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> the manner of the hairdresser, +he had carefully cultivated that address which he supposed would be most +soothing to those who submitted themselves to his operations.</p> + +<p>'Very well,' said the little lady, apparently satisfied with the +identification, 'I want my hair cut. It is like a sheaf of corn. It is +like a court train. It is like seven horses' manes tied together, if +they were red. It is like a comet's tail.'</p> + +<p>It is probable that the hairdresser only took in that part of this +speech upon which he was in the habit of concentrating his attention, +and that the force of the similes which followed one another like +electric shocks escaped him altogether. He was about to show the new +customer into the ladies' room, where his staid and elderly sister was +accustomed to officiate, but she drew back with decision.</p> + +<p>'No, not at all; I have come to have my hair cut by Mr. Saintou, and I +want to have it done in the room with the long row of chairs where the +long row of men get shaved every morning. I told my sister I should sit +there. You have no men in at this time of day, have you, Mr. Saintou? +Now I shall sit here in the middle chair, and you shall wash my hair. My +father is the baker round the corner. He makes good bread; do you wash +people's hair as well? Will you squirt water on it with that funny tube? +Will you put it in my eyes? Now, I am up on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> chair. Don't put the +soap in my eyes, Mr. Saintou.'</p> + +<p>Saintou was not a man easily surprised. 'Permit me, mademoiselle, would +it not be better to remove the hat? Mon Dieu! Holy Mary, what hair!' For +as the Eastern women carry their burdens on the crown of the head to +ease the weight, so, when the large hat was off, it appeared that the +baker's daughter carried her hair.</p> + +<p>'Like the hair of a woman on a hair-restorer bottle, if it were red,' +remarked the girl in answer to the exclamation.</p> + +<p>'No, mademoiselle, no, it is not red. Mon Dieu! it is not red. Holy +Mary! it is the colour of the sun. Mon Dieu, what hair!' As he untwined +the masses, it fell over the long bib, over the high chair, down till it +swept the floor, in one unbroken flood of light.</p> + +<p>'Wash it, and cut it, and let me go home to make my father's dinner,' +said the quick voice with decision. 'My father is the baker round the +corner, and he takes his dinner at two.'</p> + +<p>'Is it that mademoiselle desires the ends cut?' asked the hairdresser, +resuming his professional manner.</p> + +<p>'Which ends?'</p> + +<p>'Which ends?' he exclaimed, baffled. 'Mon Dieu! these ends,' and he +lifted a handful of the hair on the floor and held it before the eyes of +the girl.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Good Heavens, no! Do you think I am going to pay you for cutting those +ends? It's the ends at the top I want cut. Lighten it; that's what I +want. Do you think I am a woman in a hairdresser's advertisement to sit +all day looking at my hair? I have to get my father's dinner. Lighten +it, Mr. Saintou; cut it off; that's what I want.'</p> + +<p>'Mon Dieu, no!' Saintou again relapsed from the hairdresser into the +man. He too could have decision. He leant against the next chair and set +his lips very firmly together. 'By all that is holy, no,' he said; 'you +may get some villain Englishman to cut that hair, but me, never.'</p> + +<p>'You speak English very well, Mr. Saintou. Have you been long in the +country? Well, wash the hair then, and be done. Don't put the soap in my +eyes.'</p> + +<p>Saintou was in ecstasies. He touched the hair reverently as one would +touch the garments of a saint. He laid aside his ordinary brushes and +sponges, and going into the shop he brought thence what was best and +newest. Do not laugh at him. Have we not all at some time in our lives +met with what seemed the embodiment of our ideal; have we not set aside +for the time our petty economies and reserves, and brought forth +whatever we had that was best, of thought, or smiles, or vesture?</p> + +<p>'Ah, mademoiselle,' he said, 'to take care of such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> hair for ever—that +would be heaven. I am a Frenchman; I have a soul; I can feel.'</p> + +<p>'Should you be afraid to die a sudden death, Mr. Saintou?' said the +quick voice from the depths of a shower of water.</p> + +<p>'Ciel! We do not speak of such things, mademoiselle. There will come a +time, I know, when my hair will turn grey; then for the sake of my +profession I shall be obliged to dye it. There will come a time after +that when I shall die; but we do not even think of these things, it is +better not.'</p> + +<p>'But should you be afraid to die now?' persisted the girl.</p> + +<p>'Very much afraid,' said the hairdresser candidly.</p> + +<p>'Then don't feel, Mr. Saintou. I never feel. I make it the business of +my life not to feel. They tell me there is something wrong at my heart, +and that if I ever feel either glad or sorry I shall go off, pop, like a +crow from a tree when it is shot, like a spark that falls into water.'</p> + +<p>The hairdresser meditated upon this for some time. He did not believe +her. He had drawn the bright hair back now from the water, and was +fondling it with his whitest and softest towels.</p> + +<p>'Who was it that said to mademoiselle that her heart was bad?'</p> + +<p>'Good gracious, Mr. Saintou, my heart is not bad.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> I know my catechism +and go to church, and cook my father's dinner every day, and a very good +dinner it is too. What put it into your head that I had a bad heart?'</p> + +<p>'Pardon! mademoiselle; I mistake. Who told mademoiselle that she was +sick at heart?'</p> + +<p>'Good gracious heavens! I am not sick at heart. To be sure my mother is +dead, and my sister is ill, and my father is as cross as two sticks, but +for all that I am not heart-sick. I like this world very well, and when +I feel sad I put more onions into the soup.'</p> + +<p>Saintou went on with his work for some time in silence, then he tried +again. 'You say I speak good English, and I flatter myself I have the +accent very well, but what avails if I cannot make you understand? Was +it a good doctor who said mademoiselle's heart was affected; touched, I +might say?'</p> + +<p>There was a shout of laughter from under the shower of gold.</p> + +<p>'My heart touched! One would think I was in love. No, my heart is not +touched yet; least of all by you, Mr. Saintou.</p> + +<p class='center'>'Least of all by you,<br />Mr. Saintou.'</p> + +<p>She repeated this last rhyming couplet with a quaint musical intonation, +as though it was the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> refrain of a song, and after her voice and +laughter had died away she went on nodding her head in time to the +brushing as if she were singing it over softly to herself. This +distressed the hairdresser not a little, and he remained silent.</p> + +<p>'What shall I pay you, Mr. Saintou?' said the little lady, when the +large hat was once more on the head.</p> + +<p>'If mademoiselle would but come again,' said the hairdresser, putting +both hands resolutely behind his back.</p> + +<p>'When I come again I shall pay you both for that time and this,' she +said, with perhaps more tact than could have been expected of her. 'And +if you want to live long, Mr. Saintou, don't feel. If I should feel I +should die off, quick, sharp, like a moth that flies into the candle.' +She made a little gesture with her hand, as if to indicate the ease and +suddenness with which the supposed catastrophe was to take place, and +hobbled down the street. Saintou stood in the doorway looking after her, +and his heart went from him.</p> + +<p>He sent her flowers—flowers that a duchess might have been proud to +receive. He sent them more than once, and they were accepted; he argued +much from that. He made friends with the baker in order that he might +bow to him morning and evening. Then he waited. He said to himself,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +'She is English. If I go to see her, if I put my hand on my heart and +weep, she will jeer at me; but if I wait and work for her in silence, +then she will believe.' He made a parlour for her in the room above his +shop; and every week, as he had time and money, he went out to choose +some ornament for it. His maiden sister watched these actions with +suspicion, threw scornful looks at when he observed her watchfulness, +and lent a kindly helping hand when he was out of sight. The parlour +grew into a shrine ready for its divinity, and the hairdresser worked +and waited in silence. In this he made a mistake, but he feared her +laughter.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the girl also waited. She could not go back to the +hairdresser's shop lest she should seem to invite a renewal of those +attentions which had given her the sweet surprise of love. The law of +her woman's nature stood like a lion in the path. She waited through the +months of the dreary winter till the one gleam of sunshine which had +come into her hard young life had faded, till the warmth it had kindled +in her heart died—as a lamp's flame dies for lack of oil; died—as a +flower dies in the drought; died into anger for the man who had +disturbed her peace, and when she thought she cared for him no more she +went again to get her hair cut.</p> + +<p>'You have come,' said Saintou; but the very strength of his feeling made +him grave.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Good gracious, yes, I have come to have my hair cut. You would not cut +it when I was here, and I have been very poorly these three months. I +could not come out, so the other day I had my sister cut it off. My +father wanted to send for you, but I said "no," and, oh, my! it looks +just as if a donkey had come behind and mistaken it for hay.'</p> + +<p>How quickly a train of thought can flash through the brain! Saintou +asked himself if he loved the girl or the hair, and his heart answered +very sincerely that the hair, divine as it was, had been but the outward +sign which led him to love the inward grace of the girl.</p> + +<p>'Mademoiselle ought not to have said "no"; I should have come very +willingly and would have cut her hair, if I had known it must be so.'</p> + +<p>'I made my sister cut it, but it's frightful. It looks as if one had +tried to mow a lawn with a pair of scissors, or shear a sheep with a +penknife.'</p> + +<p>'I will make all that right,' said Saintou soothingly; 'I will make it +all right. Just in a moment I will make it very nice.'</p> + +<p>Yes, it was too true, the hair was gone; and very barbarously it had +been handled. 'I shall make it all right,' he said cheerfully; 'I shall +trim it beautifully for mademoiselle. Ah, the beautiful colour is there +all the same.'</p> + +<p>'As red as a sunset or a geranium,' she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>'You do not believe that,' sighed Saintou. He trimmed the hair very +tenderly, and curled it softly round the white face, till it looked like +a great fair marigold just beginning to curl in its petals for the +night. He worked slowly, for he had something he wanted to say, and when +his work was done he summoned up courage and said it. He told her his +hopes and fears. He told her the story blunderingly enough, but it had +its effect.</p> + +<p>'Mon Dieu!' said Saintou, but he said it in a tone that made his sister, +who was listening to every word through the door, leave that occupation +and dart in to his assistance.</p> + +<p>'Qu'elle est morte,' was her brief stern comment. And so it was. The +baker's daughter had felt, and she had died.</p> + +<p>'This is not wholly unexpected,' said the baker sadly, when he came to +carry away the corpse of his daughter. 'We all expected it,' said the +neighbours; 'she had heart disease.' And they talked their fill, and +never discovered the truth it would have pleased them best to talk +about.</p> + +<p>The short hair curled softly about the face of the dead girl as she lay +in her coffin, and Saintou paid heavily for masses for her sweet soul. +When they had laid her in the churchyard he came home, and took the key, +and went into the little parlour all alone. She had never seen it. She +had never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> even heard of it. It is sad to bury a baby that is dead; it +is sadder, if we but knew it, to bury in darkness and silence a child +that has never lived. A joy that has gone from us for ever is a jewel +that trembles like a tear on Sorrow's breast, but the brightest stars in +her diadem are the memories of hopes that have passed away unrealised +and untold. Ah well, perhaps the gay trappings of the little room, by +their daily influence on his life, drew him nearer to heaven. He gave +the key to his sister afterwards, and they used the room as their own; +but that day he locked himself in alone, and, hiding his face in the +cushions of her chair, he wept as only a strong man can weep.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<h3>A COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER</h3> + +<p>Mam'selle Zilda Chaplot keeps the station hotel at St. Armand, in the +French country.</p> + +<p>The hotel is like a wooden barn with doors and windows, not a very large +barn either. The station is merely a platform of planks between the +hotel and the rails. The railroad is roughly made; it lies long and +straight in a flat land, snow-clad in winter, very dusty in the summer +sun, and its line is only softened by a long row of telegraph poles, +which seem to waver and tremble as the eye follows their endless +repetition into the distance. In some curious way their repetition lends +to the stark road a certain grace.</p> + +<p>When Zilda Chaplot was young there were fewer wires on these telegraph +poles, fewer railway-lines opposite the station, fewer houses in St. +Armand, which lies half a mile away. The hotel itself is the same, but +in those days it was not painted yellow, as it is now, and was not half +so well kept. The world<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> has progressed by twenty years since mam'selle +was a girl, and, also, she owns the place herself now, and is a much +better inn-keeper than was her father.</p> + +<p>Mam'selle Chaplot is a very active person, tall, and somewhat stout. Her +complexion is brown; her eyes are very black; over them there is a +fringe of iron-grey hair, which she does up in curl-papers every night, +and which, in consequence, stands in very tight little curls all day.</p> + +<p>Mam'selle Chaplot minds her affairs well; she has a keen eye to the main +chance. She is sometimes sharp, a trifle fiery, but on the whole she is +good-natured. There are lines about the contour of her chin, and also +where the neck sweeps upward, which suggest a more than common power of +satisfaction in certain things, such as dinners and good sound sleep, +and good inn-keeping—yes, and in spring flowers, and in autumn leaves +and winter sunsets. Zilda Chaplot was formed for pleasure, yet there is +no tendency latent in her which could have made her a voluptuary. There +are some natures which have so nice a proportion of faculties that they +are a law of moderation to themselves. They take such keen delight in +small pleasures that to them a little is enough.</p> + +<p>The world would account Mam'selle Chaplot to have had a life of toil and +stern limitations; a prosperous life, truly, for no one could see her +without observing her prosperity, but still a hard dry life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> Even her +neighbours, whose ideas of enjoyment do not soar above the St. Armand +level, think that her lot would be softer if she married. Many of the +men have offered marriage, not with any disinterested motive, it is +true, but with kindly intent. They have been set aside like children who +make requests unreasonable, but so natural for them to make that the +request is hardly worth noticing. The women relatives of these rejected +suitors have boasted to mam'selle of their own domestic joys, and have +drawn the contrast of her state in strong colour. Zilda only says +'Chut!' or she lifts her chin a little, so that the pretty upward sweep +of the neck is apparent, and lets them talk. Mam'selle is not the woman +to be turned out of her way by talk.</p> + +<p>The way of single blessedness is not chosen by Zilda Chaplot because of +any fiction of loyalty to a quondam lover. Her mind is such that she +could not have invented obligations for herself, because she has not the +inventive faculty. No, it is simply this: Mam'selle Chaplot loved once, +and was happy; her mind still hugs the memory of that happiness with +exultant reserve; it is enough; she does not desire other happiness of +that sort.</p> + +<p>When she looks out on the little station platform and sees the loungers +upon it, once and again she lets her busy mind stop in its business to +think of some one else she was once accustomed to see there. When<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> she +looks with well-practised critical eye down the hotel dining-room, which +is now quite clean and orderly, when she is scolding a servant, or +serving a customer, her mind will revert to the room in its former rough +state, and she will remember another customer who used to eat there. +When the spring comes, and far and near there is the smell of wet moss, +and shrubs on the wide flat land shoot forth their leaves, and the +fields are carpeted with violets, then mam'selle looks round and hugs +her memories, and thinks to herself, 'Ah! well, I have had my day.' And +because of the pleasant light of that day she is content with the +present twilight, satisfied with her good dinners and her good +management.</p> + +<p>This is the story of what happened twenty years ago.</p> + +<p>St. Armand is in the French country which lies between the town of +Quebec and the townships where the English settlements are. At that time +the railway had not been very long in existence; two trains ran +southward from the large towns in the morning, and two trains ran +northward to the large towns in the evening; besides these, there was +just one local train which came into St. Armand at noon, and passengers +arriving at noon were obliged to wait for the evening train to get on +farther.</p> + +<p>There were not many passengers by this short local line. Even on the +main line there was little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> traffic that affected St. Armand. Yet most +of the men of the place found excuse of business or pleasure to come and +watch the advent of the trains. The chief use of the station platform +seemed to be for these loungers; the chief use of the bar at the hotel +was to slake their thirst, although they were not on the whole an +intemperate lot. They stood about in homespun clothes and smoked. A +lazy, but honest set of humble-minded French papists were the men at St. +Armand.</p> + +<p>It was on the station platform that Zilda Chaplot came out in society, +as the phrase might be. She was not a child, for when her father took +the place she was twenty-four. There was red in her cheeks then, and the +lashes of her eyes were long; her hair was not curled, for it was not +the fashion, but brushed smoothly back from broad low brows. She was +tall, and not at all thin. She was very strong, but less active in those +days, as girls are often less active than women. When Zilda had leisure +she used to stand outside the hotel and watch the men on the platform. +She was always calm and dignified, a little stupid perhaps. She did not +attract a great deal of attention from them.</p> + +<p>They were all French at St. Armand, but most of the strangers which +chance brought that way spoke English, so that the St. Armand folks +could speak English also.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + +<p>Anything which is repeated at appreciable intervals has to occur very +often before the unscientific mind will perceive the law of its +repetition. There was a little red-haired Englishman, John Gilby by +name, who travelled frequently that way. It was a good while before the +loungers at the station remarked that upon a certain day in the week he +always arrived by the local train and waited for the evening train to +take him on to Montreal. It was, in fact, Gilby himself who pointed out +to them the regularity of his visits, for he was of a social +disposition, and could not spend more than a few afternoons at that dull +isolated station without making friends with some one. He travelled for +a firm in Montreal; it was his business to make a circuit of certain +towns and villages in a certain time. He had no business at St. Armand, +but fate and the ill-adjusted time-table decreed that he should wait +there.</p> + +<p>This little red-haired gentleman—for gentleman, in comparison with the +St. Armand folk he certainly was—was a thorough worldling in the sense +of knowing the world somewhat widely, and corresponding to its ways, +although not to its evil deeds. Indeed, he was a very good sort of man, +but such a worldling, with his thick gold chain, and jaunty clothes, and +quick way of adjusting himself to passing circumstances, that it was +some time before his good-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>natured sociableness won in the least upon +the station loungers. They held aloof, as from an explosive, not knowing +when it would begin to emit sparks. He was short in stature, much +shorter than the hulking fellows who stood and surveyed him through the +smoke of their pipes, but he had such a cocky little way with him that +he overawed them much more than a big man would have done. Out of sheer +dulness he took to talking to Zilda.</p> + +<p>Zilda stood with her back against the wall.</p> + +<p>'Fine day,' said Gilby, stopping beside her.</p> + +<p>'Oui, monsieur.'</p> + +<p>Gilby had taken his cigar from his mouth, and held it between two +fingers of his right hand. Her countrymen commonly held their pipes +between their thumb and finger. To Zilda, Gilby's method appeared +astonishingly elegant, but she hardly seemed to observe it.</p> + +<p>'You have a flat country here,' said he, looking round at the dry summer +fields; 'rather dull, isn't it?'</p> + +<p>'Oui, monsieur.'</p> + +<p>'Don't you speak English?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, sir,' said Zilda.</p> + +<p>This was not very interesting for Gilby. He had about him a good deal of +the modern restlessness that cannot endure one hour without work or +amusement. He made further efforts to make up to the men; he asked them +questions with patronising<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> kindness, he gave them scraps of information +upon all subjects of temporary interest, with a funny little air of +pompous importance. When by mere force of habit they grew more familiar +with him, he would strut up and engage them in long conversations, +listen to all they said with consummate good nature, giving his opinion +in return. He was wholly unconscious that he looked like a bantam +crowing to a group of larger and more sleepy fowls, but the Frenchmen +perceived the likeness.</p> + +<p>As the months wore on he did them good. They needed waking up, those men +who lounged at the station, and he had some influence in that direction; +not much, of course, but every traveller has some influence, and his was +of a lively, and, on the whole, of a beneficial sort. The men brought +forth a mood to greet him which was more in correspondence with his own.</p> + +<p>When winter came the weather was very bleak; deep snow was all around. +Gilby disliked the closeness of the hotel, which was sealed to the outer +air.</p> + +<p>'Whew!' he would say, 'you fellows, let us do something to keep +ourselves warm.' And after much exercise of his will, which was strong, +he actually had the younger men all jumping with him from a wood pile +near the platform to see who could jump farthest. He was not very young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +himself; he was about thirty, and rather bald; the men who were with him +were much younger, but he thought nothing of that. He led them on, and +incited them to feats much greater than his own, with boisterous +challenges and loud bravos. Before he jumped himself he always made mock +hesitation for their amusement, swinging his arms, and apparently +bracing himself for the leap. Perhaps the deep frost of the country made +him frisky because he was not accustomed to it; perhaps it was always +his nature to be noisy and absurd when he tried to be amusing. Certain +it was that it never once occurred to him that under the French +politeness with which he was treated, under the sincere liking which +they really grew to have for him, there was much quiet amusement at his +expense. It was just as well that he did not know, for he would have +been terribly affronted; as it was, he remained on the best of terms +with them to the end.</p> + +<p>The feeling of amusement found vent in his absence in laughter and +mimicry. Zilda joined in this mimicry; she watched the Frenchmen strut +along the platform in imitation of Gilby, and smiled when their +imitation was good. When it was poor she cried, 'Non, ce n'est pas comme +ça,' and she came out from the doorway and showed them how to do it. Her +imitation was very good indeed, and excited much laughter. This showed +that Zilda had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> waked into greater vivacity. Six months before she +could not have done so good a piece of acting.</p> + +<p>Zilda's exhibition would go further than this. Excited by success, she +would climb the wood pile, large and heavy as she was, and, standing +upon its edge, would flap her arms and flutter back in a frightened +manner and brace herself to the leap, as Gilby had done. She was aided +in this representation by her familiarity with the habits of chickens +when they try to get down from a high roost. The resemblance struck her; +she would cry aloud to the men—</p> + +<p>'Voici Monsieur Geelby, le poulet qui a peur de descendre!'</p> + +<p>The fact that at the thought of mimicking Gilby Zilda was roused to an +unwarranted glow of excitement showed, had any one been wise enough to +see it, that she felt some inward cause of pleasurable excitement at the +mention of his name. A narrow nature cannot see absurdity in what it +loves, but Zilda's nature was not narrow. She had learnt to love little +Gilby in a fond, deep, silent way that was her fashion of loving.</p> + +<p>He had explained to her the principles of ventilation and why he +disliked close waiting-rooms. Zilda could not make her father learn the +lesson, but it bore fruit afterwards when she came into power. Gilby had +explained other things to her, small practical things, such as some +points in English<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> grammar, some principles of taste in woman's dress, +how to choose the wools for her knitting, how to make muffins for his +tea. It was his kindly, conceited, didactic nature that made him +instruct whenever he talked to her. Zilda learned it all, and learned +also to admire and love the author of such wisdom.</p> + +<p>It was not his fault; it was not hers. It was the result of his gorgeous +watch-chain and his fine clothes and his worldly knowledge, and also of +the fact that because of his strict notions and conceited pride it never +occurred to him to be gallant or to make love to her. Zilda, the +hotel-keeper's daughter, was accustomed to men who offered her light +gallantry. It was because she did not like such men that she learned to +love—rather the better word might be, to adore—little John Gilby. From +higher levels of taste he would have been seen to be, in external +notions, a common little man, but from Zilda's standpoint, even in +matters of outward taste he was an ideal; and Zilda, placed as she was, +quickly perceived, what those who looked down upon him might not have +discovered, that the heart of him was very good. 'Mon Dieu, but he is +good!' she would say to herself, which was simply the fact.</p> + +<p>All winter long Gilby came regularly. Zilda was happy in thinking of him +when he was gone, happy in expecting him when he was coming, happy in +making fun of him so that no one ever suspected<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> her affection. All that +long winter, when the snow was deep in the fields, and the engines +carried snow-ploughs, and the loungers about the station wore buffalo +coats, Zilda was very happy. Gilby wore a dogskin cap and collar and +cuffs; Zilda thought them very becoming. Then spring came, and Gilby +wore an Inverness cape, which was the fashion in those days. Zilda +thought that little Gilby looked very fascinating therein, although she +remarked to her father that one could only know he was there because the +cape strutted. Then summer came and Gilby wore light tweed clothes. The +Frenchmen always wore their best black suits when they travelled. Zilda +liked the light clothes best.</p> + +<p>Then there came a time when Gilby did not come. No one noticed his +absence at first but Zilda. Two weeks passed and then they all spoke of +it. Then some one in St. Armand ascertained that Gilby had had a rise in +the firm in which he was employed, that he sat in an office all day and +did not travel any more. Zilda heard the story told, and commented upon, +and again talked over, in the way in which such matters of interest are +slowly digested by the country intellect.</p> + +<p>Alas! then Zilda knew how far she had travelled along a flowery path +which, as it now seemed to her, led to nowhere. It was not that she had +wanted to marry Gilby; she had not thought of that as possible;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> it was +only that her whole nature summed itself up in an ardent desire that +things should be as they had been, that he should come there once a +week, and talk politics with her father and other men, and set the boys +jumping, and eat the muffins he had taught her to make for his tea. And +if this might not be, she desired above all else to see him again, to +have one more look at him, one more smile from him of which she could +take in the whole value, knowing it to be the last. How carelessly she +had allowed him to go, supposing that he would return! It was not her +wish to express her affection or sorrow in any way; it was not her +nature to put her emotions into words; but ah, holy saints! just to see +him again, and at least take leave of him with her eyes!</p> + +<p>It was very sad that he should simply cease to come, yet that she knew +was just what was natural; a man does not bid adieux to a railway +station, and Zilda knew that she was, as it were, only part of the +station furniture. She resented nothing; she had nothing to resent.</p> + +<p>So the winter came again, and Christmas, and again the days grew longer +over the snowfields. Zilda always looked for the sunsets now, for she +had been taught that they were beautiful. She cultivated geraniums and +petunias in pots at her windows, just as she had done for many winters, +but she would stop oftener to admire the flowers now.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + +<p>The men had taken again to congregating in the hot close bar-room, or +huddling together in their buffalo coats, smoking in the outer air. +Zilda looked at the wood pile, from which no one jumped now, with weary +eyes. It had grown intolerable to her that now no one ever mentioned +Gilby; she longed intensely to hear his name or to speak it. She dared +not mention him gravely, soberly, because she was conscious of her +secret which no one suspected. But it was open to her to revive the +mimicry. 'Voici Monsieur Geelby,' she would cry, and pass along the +station platform with consequential gait. A great laugh would break from +the station loungers. 'Encore,' they cried, and Zilda gave the encore.</p> + +<p>There was only one other relief she found from the horrible silence +which had settled down upon her life concerning the object of her +affection. At times when she lay awake in the quiet night, or at such +times as she found herself within the big stone church of St. Armand, +she prayed that the good St. Anne would intercede for her, that she +might see 'Monsieur Geelby' once more.</p> + +<p>This big church of St. Armand has a great pointed roof of shining tin. +It is a bright and conspicuous object always in that landscape; under +summer and winter sun it glistens like some huge lighthouse reflector. +Ever since, whenever Zilda goes out on the station platform, for a +breath of air, for a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> moment's rest and refreshing, or, on business +intent, to chide the loungers there, the roof of this church, at a +half-mile's distance, twinkles brightly before her eyes, set in green +fields or in a snow-buried world; and every time it catches her eye it +brings to her mind more or less distinctly that she has in her own way +tested religion and found it true, because the particular boon which she +had demanded at this time was granted.</p> + +<p>It was a happy morn of May; the snow had just receded from the land, +leaving it very wet, and Spring was pushing on all the business she had +to do with almost visible speed. The early train came in from Montreal +as usual, and who should step out of it but Gilby himself! He was a +little stouter, a little more bald, but he skipped down upon the +platform, radiant as to smile and the breadth of his gold watch-chain, +and attired in a check coat which Zilda thought was the most perfect +thing in costume which she had ever beheld.</p> + +<p>In a flash of thought it came to Zilda that there would be more than a +momentary happiness for her. 'Ah, Monsieur Geelby, do you know that the +river has cut into the line three miles away, and that this train can go +no farther till it is mended.'</p> + +<p>Gilby was distinctly annoyed; he had indeed left town by the earlier of +the two morning trains in order to stop an hour and take breakfast at +St. Armand;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> he had been glad of the chance of doing that, of seeing +Chaplot and his daughter and the others; but to be stopped at St. Armand +a whole day—he made exhibition of his anger, which Zilda took very +meekly. Why had the affair not been telegraphed? Why were busy men like +himself brought out of the city when they could not get on to do their +work?</p> + +<p>There were other voices besides Gilby's to rail; there were other voices +besides Zilda's to explain the disaster. In the midst of the babel Zilda +slipped away to make muffins hastily for Gilby's breakfast. Her heart +was singing within her, but it was a tremulous song, half dazed with +delight, half frightened, fearing that with his great cleverness he +would see some way to proceed on his journey although she saw none.</p> + +<p>When she came out of the kitchen with the muffins in her hand her +sunshine suddenly clouded. Gilby, unconscious that a special breakfast +was preparing for him, had hastily swallowed coffee and walked on to the +site of the breakdown to see for himself how long the mending would +take.</p> + +<p>It was as if one, looking through long hours for the ending of night, +had seen the sunrise, only to see the light go out suddenly again in +darkness. Zilda felt that her heart was broken. Her disappointment grew +upon her for an hour, then she could no longer keep back the tears; +because she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> had no place in which to weep, she began to walk away from +the hotel down the line. There was no one to notice her going; she was +as free to go and come as the wild canaries that hopped upon the budding +bramble vines growing upon the railway embankment, or the blue-breasted +swallows that sat on the telegraph wire.</p> + +<p>At first she only walked to hide her tears; then gradually the purpose +formed within her to go on to the break in the road. There was no reason +why she should not go to see the mishap. Truly there had been many a +breakdown on this road before and Zilda had never stirred foot to +examine them, but now she walked on steadily. Her fear told her that +Gilby might find some means of getting on to the next station, some +engine laden with supplies for the workmen from the other station might +take him back with it. If so, what good would this her journey do? Ah, +but perhaps the good God would allow her to see him first, or—well, she +walked on, reason or no reason.</p> + +<p>The sun was high, the blue of the sky seemed a hundred miles in depth, +and not wisp or feather of cloud in it anywhere! Where the flat fields +were untilled they were very green, a green that was almost yellow, it +was so bright. Within the strip of railway land a tangle of young bushes +grew, and on every twig buds were bursting. About a mile back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> from the +road, on either side, fir woods stood, the trees in close level phalanx. +Everywhere over the land birds big and little were fluttering and +flying.</p> + +<p>Zilda did not notice any of these things; she had only learned to +observe two things in nature, both of which Gilby had pointed out to +her—the red or yellow rose of the winter sunset, the depth of colour in +the petals of her flowers. Nature was to her like a language of which +she had only been told the meaning of two words. In the course of the +next month she learned the meaning of a few more; she never made further +progress, but what she learned she learned.</p> + +<p>The river which, farther on, had done damage to the line, here ran close +to it for some distance, consequently Zilda came to the river before she +reached the scene of the disaster. The river banks at this season were +marshy, green like plush or velvet when it is lifted dripping from green +vats of the brightest dye. There were some trees by the river bank, +maples and elms, and every twig was tipped with a crimson gem. Zilda did +not see the beauty of the river bank either; she regarded nothing until +she came to a place where a foot-track was beaten down the side of the +embankment, as if apparently to entice walkers to stray across a bit of +the meadow and so cut off a large curve of the line. At this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> point +Zilda heard a loud chirpy voice calling,'Hi! hi! who's there? Is any one +there?'</p> + +<p>Zilda did not know from whence the voice came, but she knew from whom it +came. It was Gilby's voice, and she stopped, her soul ravished by the +music. All the way along, bobolinks, canaries, and song-sparrows had +been singing to her, the swallows and red-throats had been talking; +everywhere among the soft spongy mosses, the singing frog of the +Canadian spring had been filling the air with its one soft whistling +note. Zilda had not heard them, but now she stopped suddenly with head +bent, listening eager, enraptured.</p> + +<p>'Hi! hi!' called the voice again. 'Is any one there?'</p> + +<p>Zilda went down the bank halfway among the bushes and looked over. She +saw Gilby sitting at the edge of the meadow almost in the river water. +She saw at once that something was wrong. His attitude was as natural as +he could make it, such an attitude as a proud man might assume when pain +is chaining him in an awkward position, but Zilda saw that he was +injured. Her heart gave a great bound of pleasure. Ah! her bird was +wounded in the wing; she had him now, for a time at least.</p> + +<p>'You! Mam'selle Zilda,' he said in surprise; 'how came you here?'</p> + +<p>'I wished to see the broken road, monsieur.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> There was nothing in her +voice or manner then or at any other time to indicate that she took a +special interest in him.</p> + +<p>'Do you often take such long walks?' he asked with curiosity.</p> + +<p>Zilda shrugged her shoulders. 'Sometimes; why not?'</p> + +<p>She could not have told why she dissembled; it was instinct, just as it +was the instinct of his proud little spirit to hate to own that he was +helpless. 'Look here,' he said, 'I slipped on the bank—and I—I think I +have sprained my ankle.'</p> + +<p>'Oui, monsieur,' said Zilda.</p> + +<p>Her manner evinced no surprise; her stolidity was grateful to him.</p> + +<p>Stooping down, she took his foot in her hand, gently, but as firmly as +if it had been a horse's hoof. She straightened it, unlaced his muddy +boot, and with strong hands tore the slit further open until she could +take it off.</p> + +<p>'Look here,' he said, with a little nervous shout of laughter, 'do you +not know you are hurting me?' It was the only wince he gave, although he +was faint with pain.</p> + +<p>'Oui, monsieur'—with a smile as firm and gentle as her touch.</p> + +<p>She took off her hat, and, heedless of the ribbon upon it, filled it +with water again and again and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> drenched the swollen leg. It was so +great a relief to him that he hardly noticed that she stood ankle-deep +in the river to do it. She wore a little red tartan shawl upon her +shoulders, and she dipped this also in the river, binding it round and +round the ankle, and tying it tight with her own boot-lace.</p> + +<p>'Thank you,' said he; 'you are really very good, Mam'selle Zilda.'</p> + +<p>She stood beside him; she was radiantly happy, but she did not show it +much. She had him there very safe; it mattered less to her how to get +him away; yet in a minute she said—</p> + +<p>'Monsieur had better move a little higher up; he is very uncomfortable.'</p> + +<p>He knew that much better than she, but he had borne all the pain he +could just then. He nodded as if in dismissal of the idea. 'Presently. +But, in the meantime, Zilda, sit down and see what a beautiful place +this is; you have not looked at it.'</p> + +<p>So she found a stone to sit on, and immediately her eyes were opened and +she saw the loveliness around her.</p> + +<p>The river was not a very broad one, but ah! how blue it was, with a +glint of gold on every wave. The trees that stood upon either bank cast +a lacework of shadow upon the carpet of moss and violets beneath them. +The buds of the maples were red. On a tree near them a couple of male +canaries, bright gold in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> the spring season, were hopping and piping; +then startled, they flew off in a straight line over the river to the +other shore.</p> + +<p>'See them,' said Gilby; 'they look like streaks of yellow light!'</p> + +<p>'I see,' said Zilda, and she did see for the first time.</p> + +<p>Now Gilby had a certain capacity for rejoicing in the beauties of +nature; it was overlaid with huge conceit in his own taste and +discernment and a love of forcing his observations on other people, but +the flaws in his character Zilda was not in a position to see. The good +in him awakened in her a higher virtue than she would otherwise have +known; she was unconscious of the rest, just as eyes which can see form +and not colour are unconscious of the bad blending of artificial hues.</p> + +<p>Presently Zilda rose up. 'I will make monsieur more comfortable,' she +said, and she lifted him to a drier place upon the bank.</p> + +<p>This was mortifying to little Gilby; his manner was quite huffy for some +minutes after.</p> + +<p>Zilda had her own ideas of what she would do. She presently left him +alone and walked on swiftly to the place of the breakdown. There she +borrowed a hand-car; it was a light one that could be worked easily by +two men, and Zilda determined to work it alone. While she was coming +back along the iron<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> road on the top of the narrow embankment, Gilby +could see her from where he sat—a stalwart young woman in homespun +gown, stooping and rising with regular toilsome movement as she worked +the rattling machine that came swiftly nearer.</p> + +<p>When the carriage thus provided for him was close at hand, the almost +breathless Zilda actually proposed to exert her strength to carry Gilby +up to it. He insisted upon hopping on one foot supported by her arm; he +did not feel the slightest inclination to lean upon her more than was +needful, he was too self-conscious and proud. Even after she had placed +him on the car, he kept up an air of offence for a long time just +because she had proved her strength to be so much greater than his own. +His little rudenesses of this sort did not disturb Zilda's tranquillity +in the least.</p> + +<p>Gilby sat on the low platform of the hand-car. He looked like a bantam +cock whose feathers were much ruffled. Zilda worked at the handles of +the machine; she was very large and strong, all her attitudes were +statuesque. The May day beamed on the flat spring landscape through +which they were travelling; the beam found a perfect counterpart in the +joy of Zilda's heart.</p> + +<p>So she brought Gilby safely to the hotel and installed him in the best +room there. The sprain was a very bad one. Gilby was obliged to lie +there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> for a month. Sometimes his friends came out from the town to see +him, but not very often, and they did not stay long. Zilda cooked for +him, Zilda waited upon him, Zilda conversed with him in the afternoons +when he needed amusement. This month was the period of her happiness.</p> + +<p>When he was going home, Gilby felt really very grateful to the girl. He +had not the slightest thought of making love to her; he felt too +strongly on the subject of his dignity and his principles for that; but +although he haggled with Chaplot over the bill, he talked in a bombastic +manner about making Zilda a present.</p> + +<p>It did not distress Zilda that he should quarrel with her father's bill; +she had no higher idea in character than that each should seek his own +in all things; but when Gilby talked of giving her a present she shrank +instinctively with an air of offence. This air of offence was the one +betrayal of her affection which he could observe, and he did not gather +very much of the truth from it.</p> + +<p>'I will give you a watch, Zilda,' he said, 'a gold watch; you will like +that.'</p> + +<p>'No, monsieur.' Zilda's face was flushed and her head was high in the +air.</p> + +<p>'I will give you a ring; you would like that—a golden ring.'</p> + +<p>'No, monsieur; I would not like it at all.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gilby retired from the discussion that day feeling some offence and a +good deal of consternation. He thought the best thing would be to have +nothing more to do with Zilda; but the next day, in the bustle of his +departure, remembering all she had done for him, he relented entirely, +and he gave her a kiss.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, when the train was at the station, and Chaplot and Zilda had +put his bags and his wraps beside him on a cushioned seat, Gilby turned +and with great politeness accosted two fine ladies who were travelling +in the same carriage and with whom he had a slight acquaintance. His +disposition was at once genial and vain; he had been so long absent from +the familiar faces of the town that his heart warmed to the first +townsfolk he saw; but he was also ambitious: he wished to appear on good +terms with these women, who were his superiors in social position.</p> + +<p>They would not have anything to do with him, which offended him very +much; they received his greeting coldly and turned away; they said +within themselves that he was an intolerably vulgar little person.</p> + +<p>But all her life Zilda Chaplot lived a better and happier woman because +she had known him.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<h3>THE SYNDICATE BABY</h3> + +<p>Some miles above the city of La Motte, the blue Merrian river widens +into the Lake of St. Jean. In the Canadian summer the shores of this +lake are as pleasant a place for an outing as heart could desire. The +inhabitants of the city build wooden villas there, and spend the long +warm days in boats upon the water. The families that live in these +wooden villas do not take boarders; that was the origin of 'The +Syndicate.' It consisted of some two dozen bachelors who were obliged to +sit upon office stools all day in the hot city. 'If,' said they, 'we +could live upon the lake, we could have our morning swim and our evening +sail; and the trains would take us in and out of the city.'</p> + +<p>The one or two uncomfortable hotels of this region were already +overcrowded, so these bachelors said to each other—'Go to; we will put +our pence together,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> and build us a boat-house with an upper story, and +live therein.'</p> + +<p>They bought a bit of the beach for a trifle of money. They built a +boat-house, of which the upper half was one long dormitory, with a great +balcony at the end over the water which served as kitchen and +dining-hall. The ground floor was the lake itself, and each man who +could buy a boat tethered it there. The property, boats excepted, was in +common. By and by they bought a field in which they grew vegetables; +later they bought two cows and a pasture. The produce of the herd and +the farm helped to furnish forth the table. This accretion of wealth +took several years; some of the older men grew richer, and took to +themselves wives and villas; the ranks were always filled up by more +impecunious bachelors. The bachelors called themselves 'The Syndicate.'</p> + +<p>The plan worked well, chiefly because of the fine air and the sunshine, +the warm starry nights, and, above all, the witchery of the lake, which +is to every man who has spent days and nights upon it like a mystical +lady-love, ever changeful and ever charming. Then, too, there was the +contrast with the hot city; the sense of need fulfilled makes men +good-natured. The one servant of the establishment, an old man who made +the beds and the dinners, was not a professional cook; the meals were +often indifferent;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> yet the Syndicate did not quarrel among themselves.</p> + +<p>Some outlet for temper perhaps was needful. At any rate they had one +outside quarrel with an old Welshman named Johns, a farmer of great +importance in the place, who had sold them the land and tried, in their +opinion, to cheat them afterwards about the boundaries. Their united +rage waxed hot against Johns, and he, on his side, did nothing to +propitiate. The quarrel came to no end; it was a feud. 'Esprit de +corps,' like the fumes of wine, gives men a wholly unreasonable sense of +complacence in themselves and their belongings, whatever the belongings +may happen to be. The Syndicate learned to cherish this feud as a +valuable possession.</p> + +<p>The Syndicate, as has been seen, had one house, one servant, and one +enemy. It also had one Baby. The Baby was the youngest member of the +community, a pretty boy who by some chance favour had obtained a bed in +the dormitory at the hoyden age of nineteen. He had a tendency to +chubbiness, and his moustache, when it did come, was merely a silken +whisp, hardly visible. He did some fagging in return for the +extraordinary favour of adoption. The Baby from the first was entirely +accustomed to being 'sat upon.' He had no unnecessary independence of +mind. At twenty-one he still continued to be 'Baby.'</p> + +<p>All the affairs of the Syndicate flourished, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>cluding the feud with +the neighbouring landowner. All went well with the men and their boats +and the Baby, until, at length, upon one fateful day for the latter, +there came a young person to the locality who made an addition to the +household of Farmer Johns.</p> + +<p>'Old Johns has got a niece,' said the bachelors sitting at dinner, as if +the niece had come fresh to the world as babies do, and had not held the +same relation to old Johns for twenty-five years. Still, it was true she +had never been in the old man's possession before, and now she had +arrived at his house, a sudden vision of delight as seen from the road +or on the verandah.</p> + +<p>Now Helen Johns was a beauty; no one unbiassed by the party spirit of a +time-honoured feud would have denied that. She was not, it is true, of +the ordinary type of beauty, whose chief ornament is an effort at +captivation. She did not curl her hair; she did not lift her eyes and +smile when she was talking to men; she did not trouble herself to put on +her prettiest gown when the evening train came in, bringing the +bachelors from the city. She was tall—five foot eight in her stockings; +all her muscles were well developed; there was nothing sylph-like about +her waist, but all her motions had a strong, gentle grace of their own +that bespoke health and dignity. She had a profession, too, which was +much beneath most of the be-crimped and smile-wreathed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> maidens who +basked in the favour of the bachelors. She had been to New York and had +learned to teach gymnastics, the very newest sort; 'Delsart' or +'Emerson,' or some such name, attached to the rhythmic motions she +performed. The Syndicate had no opportunity to criticise the gymnastic +performance, for they had not the honour of her acquaintance; they +criticised everything else, the smooth hair, the high brow, the +well-proportioned waist, the profession; they decided that she was not +beautiful.</p> + +<p>There were, roughly speaking, two classes of girls in this summer +settlement, each held in favour by the Syndicate men according as +personal taste might dispose. There were the girls who in a cheerful +manner were ever to be found walking or boating in such hours and places +as would assuredly bring them into contact with the happy bachelors, and +there were those who would not 'for the world' have done such a thing, +who sedulously shunned such paths, and had to be much sought after +before they were found. Now it chanced that Helen Johns was seen to row +alone in her uncle's boat right across the very front of the Syndicate +boat-house, at the very hour when the assembled members were eating +roast beef upon the verandah above and arriving at their decisions +concerning her, and she did not look as if she cared in the least +whether twenty-four pair of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> eyes were bent upon her or not. To be sure, +it was her nearest way home from the post-office across the bay, and the +post came in at this evening hour. No one could find any fault, not even +any of the bachelors, but none the less did the affront sink deep into +their hearts. It added a new zest to the old feud. 'We do not see that +she is beautiful,' they cried over their dinner. 'We should not care for +Helen of Troy if she looked like that.'</p> + +<p>The Baby dissented; the Baby actually had the 'cheek' to say, right +there aloud at the banquet, that he might not be a man of taste, but, +for his part, he thought she looked 'the jolliest girl' he had ever +seen. In his heart he meant that he thought she looked like a goddess or +an angel (for the Baby was a reverent youth), but he veiled his real +feeling under this reticent phrase.</p> + +<p>One and all they spoke to him, spoke loudly, spoke severely. 'Baby,' +they said, 'if you have any dealings with the niece of Farmer Johns +we'll kick you out of this.'</p> + +<p>It was a romantic situation; love has proverbially thriven in the +atmosphere of a family feud. The Baby felt this, but he felt also that +he could not run the risk of being kicked out of the Syndicate. The Baby +did sums in a big hot bank all day; he had no dollars to spare, there +was no other place upon the lake where he could afford to live, and he +had a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> canoe of his own which his uncle had given him. Hiawatha did not +love the darling of his creation more than the Baby loved his cedar-wood +canoe. All this made him conceal carefully that mysterious sensation of +unrestful delight which he experienced every time he saw Miss Helen +Johns. This, at least, in the first stage of his love-sickness.</p> + +<p>Fate was hard; she led the Baby, all cheerful and unsuspecting, to spend +an evening at a picnic tea in a wood a mile or more from the shore. +Mischievous Fate! She led him to flirt frivolously until long after dark +with a girl that he cared nothing at all about, and then whispered in +his ear that he would get home the quicker if in the obscurity he ran +across the Johns' farm. Fate, laughing in her sleeve, led him to pass +with noiseless footsteps quite near the house itself; then she was +content to leave him to his own devices, for through the open window he +caught sight of Helen Johns doing her gymnastics. Her figure was all +aglow with the yellow lamplight; she was happy in the poetry of her +motions and in the delight that the family circle took in watching them. +The Baby was in the dark and the falling dew; he was uncomfortable, for +he had to stand on tiptoe, but nothing would have induced him to ease +his strained attitude. The pangs of a fierce discontent took possession +of his breast.</p> + +<p>Art was consulted in the gymnasium in which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> Miss Johns had studied; the +theory was that only that which is beautiful is healthful. Sometimes she +poised herself on tiptoe with one arm waved toward heaven, an angel all +ready, save the wings, for aerial flight. Sometimes she seemed to hover +above the ground like a running Mercury. Sometimes she stood, a hand +behind her ear, listening as a maid might who was flying from danger in +some enchanted land. Often she waved her hands slowly as if weaving a +spell.</p> + +<p>A spell was cast over the soul of the Baby; he held himself against the +extreme edge of a verandah; his mouth remained open as if he were +drinking in the beams from the bright interior and all the beautiful +pictures that they brought with them. It was only when the show was over +that he noiselessly relaxed his strained muscles, and crept away over +the dew-drenched grass, hiding under the shadow of maple boughs, guilty +trespasser that he was.</p> + +<p>After that, one evening, Farmer Johns and his niece had an errand to +run; at a house about two miles away on the other side of the bay there +was a parcel which it was their duty to fetch. They had started out in +the calm white light of summer twilight; a slight wind blew, just enough +to take their sail creeping over the rippled water, no more. The lake +within a mile of the shore was thickly strewn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> with small yachts, boats, +and canoes. Upon the green shore the colours of the gaily painted villas +could still be seen among the trees, and most conspicuous of all the +great barn-like boat-house of the Syndicate, which was painted red. By +and by the light grew dimmer and stars came out in the sky; then one +could no longer distinguish the outline of the shore, but in every +window a light twinkled, like a fallen star.</p> + +<p>Helen sat in the side of the tiny ship as near the prow as might be; her +uncle sat at the tiller and managed the sails. They were a silent pair, +the one in a suit of tweeds with a slouch hat, the other in a muslin +gown with a veil of black lace wrapped about her head.</p> + +<p>The sailing of the boat was an art which Helen had not exerted herself +to understand; she only knew that every now and then there was a minute +of bluster and excitement when her uncle shouted to her, and she was +obliged to cower while the beam and the sail swung over her head with a +sound of fluttering wind. When she was allowed to take her seat after +this little hurly-burly the two lighthouses upon the lake and all the +lights upon the shore had performed a mysterious dance; they all lay in +different places and in different relation to one another. She had not +learned to know the different lights. When dusk came she was lost to her +own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> knowledge. She only knew that the sweet air blew upon her face and +that she trusted her uncle.</p> + +<p>The moonless night closed in. Now and then, as they passed a friendly +craft, evening greetings were spoken across the dark space. By the time +they got to the place for which they were bound they were floating +almost alone upon the black water.</p> + +<p>Johns descended into a small boat and secured the sailing-boat to the +buoy which belonged to the house whither he was going, or rather, he +thought that he secured it.</p> + +<p>Helen heard the plash of his oars until he landed. The shore was but +twenty yards away, but she could hardly see it. The sail hung limp, +wrinkled, and motionless. She began to sing, and there alone in the +darkness she fell in love with her own voice, and sang on and on, +thinking only of the music.</p> + +<p>Her uncle was long in coming; she became conscious of movement in the +water, like the swell of waves outside rolling into the cove. She heard +the sound of swaying among all the trees on the shore. She looked up and +saw that the stars of one half the sky were obscured, that the darkness +was rolling onward toward those that were still shining.</p> + +<p>She stopped her own singing, and the song of the waters beneath her prow +was curiously like the familiar sound when the boat was in motion. She +strained her eyes, but could not see how far she was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> from the near +shore. She looked on the other side and it seemed to her that the lights +on the home-ward side of the bay were moving. That meant that she was +moving, at what speed and in what direction she had no means of knowing.</p> + +<p>She stood up, lifted her arms in the air and shouted for help; again and +again her shouts rang out, and she did not wait to hear an answer. She +thought that the masters of other boats had seen the storm coming and +gone into shore.</p> + +<p>She was out now full in the whistling wind and the boat was leaping. Her +throat was hoarse with calling, her eyes dazzled by straining.</p> + +<p>When she turned in despair from scanning the shore she saw a sight that +was very strange. At the tiller where her uncle ought to have been, and +just in the attitude in which he always stood, was a slight white +figure. A new sort of fear took possession of Helen; at first she could +not speak or move, but kept her eyes wide open lest the ghostly thing +should come near her unawares.</p> + +<p>This illusion might be a forerunner of the death to which she was +hastening, the Angel of Death himself steering her to destruction!</p> + +<p>Then in a strange voice came the familiar shout, the warning to hold +down her head. The sail swung over in the customary way; every movement +of the figure at the helm was so familiar and natural that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> comfort +began to steal into her heart. Plainly, whoever had taken command of the +drifting craft knew his business; might it not be an angel of life, and +not of death?</p> + +<p>Now in plain sober reality, as her pulses ceased to dance so wildly, +Helen could not believe that her companion was angel or spirit. One does +not believe in such companionship readily.</p> + +<p>She scrambled to her knees and steadied herself by the seat. 'Who are +you?' she asked.</p> + +<p>The figure made a gesture that seemed like a signal of peace, but no +answer was given.</p> + +<p>The lights upon her own part of the shore were now not far distant. She +looked above and saw breaks in the darkness that had hidden the stars; +the clouds were passing over.</p> + +<p>The squall that was taking them upon their journey was still whistling +and blowing, but she feared its force less as she realised that she was +nearing home.</p> + +<p>She desired greatly to work herself along the boat and touch the sailor +curiously with her hand, but she was afraid to do it, and that for two +reasons: if he was a spirit she had reason for shrinking from such +contact, and if he was a man—well, in that case she also saw +objections.</p> + +<p>The man at the helm dropped the sail; for a minute or two he stood not +far from Helen as he busied himself with it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Who are you?' she asked again, but she still had not courage to put out +her hand and touch him.</p> + +<p>There was a little wooden wharf upon the shore, and to this the sailor +held the boat while Helen sprung out. Her feet were no sooner safe upon +it than the boat was allowed to move away. She saw the black mast and +the white figure recede together and disappear in the darkness.</p> + +<p>Johns had to walk home by the shore, and in no small anxiety. When he +saw that his niece was safe he chuckled over her in burly fashion.</p> + +<p>'Then I suppose,' he said, 'that some fellow got aboard her between the +puffs of wind. I hope it was none of those Syndicate men; they're a fast +lot. What was his name? What had he to say for himself?'</p> + +<p>'She was flying far too fast for any one to get aboard,' asserted Helen. +'I don't know what his name was; he didn't say anything; I don't know +where he went to.'</p> + +<p>Then the uncle suggested toddy in an undertone to his wife. The aunt +looked over her spectacles with solicitude, and then arose and put her +niece to bed.</p> + +<p>When Helen was left alone she lay looking out at the stars that again +were shining; she wondered and wondered; perhaps the reason that she +came to no definite conclusion was that she liked the state of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> wonder +better. Helen was a modern girl; she had friends who were spiritualists, +friends who were theosophists, friends who were 'high church' and +believed in visions of angels.</p> + +<p>In the morning Johns' boat was found tethered as usual to the buoy in +front of his house.</p> + +<p>Long before this the Syndicate had suspected the Baby's attachment. The +strength of that attachment they did not suspect in the least; never +having seen depths in the Baby, they supposed there were none. They had +fallen into the habit of taking the Baby by the throat and asking him in +trenchant tones, 'Have you spoken to her?' The Baby found it convenient +to be able to give a truthful negative, not that he would have minded +fibbing in the least, but in this case the fib would certainly have been +detected; he could not expect his goddess to enter into any clandestine +parley and keep his secret.</p> + +<p>Had the Baby taken the matter less to heart he would have been more rash +in asserting his independence, but he meditated some great step and 'lay +low.' What or when the irrevocable move was to be he had no definite +idea, the thought of it was only as yet an exalted swelling of mind and +heart.</p> + +<p>There was a period, after the affair of the boat, when he spent a good +deal of time haunting the sacred precincts of the house where Helen +lived. The precincts consisted of a dusty lane, a flat, ugly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> fenced +field where a cow and a horse grazed, and a place immediately about the +house covered with thick grass and shaded by maple trees. There were +some shrubs too, behind which one could hide if necessary, but they were +prickly, uncomfortable to nestle against, and the unmown grass absorbed +an immense quantity of dew. In imagination, however, the Baby wandered +on pastoral slopes and in classic shades. At first he paid his visits at +night when the family were asleep, and he slipped about so quietly that +no one but the horse and the cow need know where he went or what he did. +At length, however, he grew more bold, and took his way across the maple +grove going and coming from other evening errands. Trespassing is not +much of a fault at the lake of St. Jean. The Baby became expert in +dodging hastily by, with his eyes upon the windows; the dream of his +life was to see the gymnastics performed again; at length it was +realised.</p> + +<p>The thing we desire most is often the thing that brings us woe.</p> + +<p>The Baby caught sight of Helen practising her beautiful attitudes. He +hung on to a rail of the verandah, and gazed and gazed. Then he took his +life in his hand, as it were, and swung himself up on the verandah; he +moved like a cat, for he supposed that the stalwart Johns was within. +From this better point of view, peeping about, he now surveyed the whole +interior of the small drawing-room. What was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> his joy to find that there +was no family circle of spectators; Helen was exercising herself alone! +He hugged to himself the idea that the gracious little spectacle was all +his own.</p> + +<p>Now, as it happened, the Baby in his secret hauntings of this house had +not been so entirely unseen as he supposed. Certainly Johns had never +caught sight of him or he would have been made aware of it, but Helen, +since the night of the boating mystery, had more than once caught sight +of a white figure passing among the maple shadows. These glimpses had +added point and colour to all the mystical fancies that clustered round +the helmsman of the yacht. She hardly believed that some guardian spirit +was protecting her in visible semblance, or that some human Prince +Charming, more kingly and wise than any man that she had yet seen, had +chosen this peculiar mode of courting her; but her wish was the father +of thoughts that fluttered between these two explanations, and hope was +fed by the conviction that no man who could see her every day if he +chose would behave in this romantic manner.</p> + +<p>So upon this evening it happened that when Helen, poised upon her toes +and beating the time of imaginary music with her waving hand, caught +sight of the Baby's white flannels through the dark window pane, she +recognised the figure of her dreams and, having<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> long ago made up her +mind what to do when she had the chance, she ran to the French window +without an instant's delay, and let herself out of it with graceful +speed.</p> + +<p>The Baby, panic-stricken, felt but one desire, that she might never know +who had played the spy. He threw himself over the verandah rail with an +acrobat's skill, and with head in front and nimble feet he darted off +under the maple trees: but he had to reckon with an agile maiden. Helen +had grown tired of a fruitless dream. A crescent moon gave her enough +light to pursue; lights of friendly houses on all sides assured her of +safety.</p> + +<p>Over the log fence into the pasture vaulted the Baby, convinced now that +he had escaped. Vain thought! He had not considered the new education. +Over the fence vaulted Helen as lightly: in a minute the Baby heard her +on his track.</p> + +<p>The cow and the horse had never before seen so pretty a chase. There was +excitement in the air and they sniffed it; they were both young and they +began to run too. The sound of heavy galloping filled the place.</p> + +<p>Of the two sides of the field which lay farthest from the house, one +looked straight over to the glaring Syndicate windows, and one to the +rugged bank that rose from the shore. The Baby's one mad desire was to +conceal his identity. He made for the dark<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> shore. Another fence, he +thought, or the rocks of the bank, would surely deter her flying feet.</p> + +<p>They both vaulted the second fence. The Baby still kept his distance +ahead, but when he heard that she too sprang over, a fear for her safety +darted across his excited brain. Would those cantering animals jump +after and crush her beneath their feet, or would she fall on the rocks +of the shore which he was going to leap over? The Baby intended to leap +the shore and lose his identity by a swim in the black water.</p> + +<p>It was this darting thought of anxiety for Helen that made him hesitate +in his leap. Too late to stop, the hesitation was fatal to fair +performance. The Baby came down on the shore with a groan, his leg under +him and his head on the earth.</p> + +<p>He saw Helen pause beside him, deliberately staring through the dim +light.</p> + +<p>'I'm not hurt,' said the Baby, because he knew that he was.</p> + +<p>'You are only the Syndicate Baby!' she exclaimed with interrogatory +indignation.</p> + +<p>'I'm going to cut the Syndicate; I'll never have anything more to do +with them, Miss Johns.'</p> + +<p>Helen did not understand the significance of this eager assurance.</p> + +<p>The Baby's brain became clear; he tried to rise, but could not.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Are you not hurt?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'Oh! no, not at all, Miss Johns' (he spoke with eager, youthful +politeness); 'it's only—it's only that I've doubled my leg and can't +quite get up.'</p> + +<p>The Baby was pretty tough; a few bumps and breaks were matters of small +importance to him; his employers had already bargained with him not to +play football as he gained so many holidays in bandages thereby. Just +now he was quick enough to take in the situation: Helen despised him, it +was neck or nothing, he must do all his pleading once for all, and the +compensation for a broken leg was this, that she could not have the +inhumanity to leave him till he declared himself fit to be left. He +pulled himself round, and straightened the leg before him as he sat.</p> + +<p>Helen was not accustomed to falls and injuries; she was shocked and +pitiful, but she was stern too; she felt that she had the right.</p> + +<p>'I'm very sorry; I will go and get some one to help you, but you know +it's entirely your own fault. What have you been behaving in this way +for?'</p> + +<p>'If you'd only believe me,' pleaded the Baby, 'I—I—you really can have +no idea, Miss Johns——'</p> + +<p>If she could have seen how white and earnest his young face was she +might have listened to him, but the light was too dim.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I want to know this' (severely), 'Was it you who got on to our sailing +boat that other night?'</p> + +<p>'I thought you were alarmed, Miss Johns, and in a rather—rather +dangerous situation.' The Baby was using his prettiest tones, such as he +used when he went out to a dance.</p> + +<p>If she could have known how heroic it was to utter these mincing accents +over a broken leg she might have been touched; but she did not even know +that the leg was broken. She went on rigidly, 'How could you get aboard +when she was sailing so fast? Where did you come from?'</p> + +<p>'Oh! it wasn't difficult at all, I assure you, Miss Johns; I only got on +between the gusts of the wind. I swam from the Syndicate boat. You know, +of course, one of us must have gone when we heard you singing out for +help, and I was only too happy, frightfully happy, I am sure—and it was +nothing at all to do. If you were much here, and saw us swimming and +boating, you'd see fellows do that sort of thing every day.'</p> + +<p>It was a delicate instinct that made him underrate the feat he had +performed, for he would have been so glad to have her feel under the +slightest obligation to him; but as far as her perceptions were +concerned, the beauty of his sentiment was lost, for when he said that +the thing that he had done was easy, she believed him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>She still interrogated. 'Why did you not speak and tell me who you +were?'</p> + +<p>There had been an ostensible and a real reason for this conduct on the +Baby's part. The first was the order which his friends in the Syndicate +boat had called after him as he jumped into the water, the second he +spoke out now for the first time to Helen.</p> + +<p>'I didn't speak, Miss Johns, because I—I <i>couldn't</i>. Oh! you have no +idea—really, you know, if you'd only believe me—I love you so much, +Miss Johns, I couldn't say anything or I'd have said more than I ought, +the sort of thing I'm saying now, you know.'</p> + +<p>'Tut!' said Helen sharply, 'what rubbish!'</p> + +<p>'Oh! but Miss Johns—yes, I knew you would think it was all rot and that +sort of thing; that was the reason I didn't say it in the boat, and that +is the reason I've never dared to ask to be introduced to you, Miss +Johns. It wasn't that I cared for the Syndicate. You see, the worst of +it is, I'm so confoundedly poor; they give me no sort of a screw at all +at the bank, I do assure you. But, Miss Johns, my uncle is one of the +directors; he's sure to give me a leg up before very long, and if you +only knew—oh! really if you only knew——,' words failed him quite when +he tried to describe the strength of his devotion. He only sat before +her, supporting him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>self with both hands on the ground and looking up +with a face that had no rounded outline now, but was white, passionate +and pathetic; he could only murmur, 'really, really—if you only +knew——'</p> + +<p>The darkness barred her vision and the extravagant words in the boyish +voice sounded ridiculous to her.</p> + +<p>'I will believe you,' she said, 'if you want me to, but it doesn't make +any difference; I am sorry you are hurt, and sorry you have taken this +fancy for me. I think you will find some other girl very soon whom you +will like better; I hope you will. There isn't' (she was becoming +vehement), 'there isn't the slightest atom of use in your caring for +me.'</p> + +<p>'Isn't there?' asked the Baby despairingly. 'I wish you would say that +you will think over it, Miss Johns; I wish you would say that I might +know you and come and see you sometimes. I'd cut the Syndicate and make +it up with your uncle.'</p> + +<p>'It wouldn't be the slightest use,' she repeated excitedly.</p> + +<p>'Of course if you go on saying that, I sha'n't bore you any more, but +do, Miss Johns, do, do just think a minute before you say it again.'</p> + +<p>A note in his voice touched her at last; she paused for the required +minute and then answered gently; her gentleness carried conviction. 'I +could never care for you. You are not at all the sort of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> man I could +ever care for, and I am going back to New York in a few days, so you +won't be troubled by seeing me any more.'</p> + +<p>When Helen rushed breathless to the door of the Syndicate boat-house and +told of the accident, the bachelors went out in a body and bore the Baby +home.</p> + +<p>They petted him until he was on his feet again. They gained some vague +knowledge of his interview with Helen, and he kept a very distinct +remembrance of it. Both he and they believed that his first attempt at +love had come to nothing, but that was a mistake.</p> + +<p>The Baby had loved with some genuine fervour, and his grief made a man +of him.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<h3>WITCHCRAFT</h3> + +<p>A young minister was walking through the streets of a small town in the +island of Cape Breton. The minister was only a theological student who +had been sent to preach in this remote place during his summer holiday. +The town was at once very primitive and very modern. Many log-houses +still remained in it; almost all the other houses were built of wood. +The little churches, which represented as many sects, looked like the +churches in a child's Dutch village. The town hall had only a brick +facing. On the hillsides that surrounded the town far and wide were many +fields, in which the first stumps were still standing, charred by the +fires that had been kindled to kill them. There were also patches of +forest still to be seen among these fields, where the land had not yet +been cleared. In spite of all this, the town was very advanced, every +improvement being of the newest kind because so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> recently achieved. Upon +huge ungainly tree-trunks roughly erected along the streets, electric +lamps hung, and telephone wires crossed and recrossed one another from +roof to roof. There was even an electric tram that ran straight through +the town and some distance into the country on either side. The general +store had a gaily dressed lay figure in its window,—a female +figure,—and its gown was labelled 'The Latest Parisian Novelty.'</p> + +<p>The theological student was going out to take tea. He was a tall, active +fellow, and his long strides soon brought him to a house a little way +out of the town, which was evidently the abode of some degree of taste +and luxury. The house was of wood, painted in dull colours of red and +brown; it had large comfortable verandahs under shingled roofs. Its +garden was not old-fashioned in the least; but though it aspired to +trimness the grass had not grown there long enough to make a good lawn, +so the ribbon flower-beds and plaster vases of flowers lacked the +green-velvet setting that would have made them appear better. The +student was the less likely to criticise the lawn because a very pretty, +fresh-looking girl met him at the gate.</p> + +<p>She was really a fine girl. Her dress showed rather more effort at +fashion than was quite in keeping with her very rural surroundings, and +her speech and accent betrayed a childhood spent among<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> uneducated folk +and only overlaid by more recent schooling. Her face had the best parts +of beauty: health and good sense were written there, also flashes of +humour and an habitual sweet seriousness. She had chanced to be at the +gate gathering flowers. Her reception of the student was frank, and yet +there was just a touch of blushing dignity about it which suggested that +she took a special interest in him. The student also, it would appear, +took an interest in her, for, on their way to the house, he made a +variety of remarks upon the weather which proved that he was a little +excited and unable to observe that he was talking nonsense.</p> + +<p>In a little while the family were gathered round the tea-table. The +girl, Miss Torrance by name, sat at the head of the table. Her father +was a banker and insurance agent. He sat opposite his eldest daughter +and did the honours of the meal with the utmost hospitality, yet with +reserve of manner caused by his evident consciousness that his grammar +and manners were not equal to those of his children and their guest. +There were several daughters and two sons younger than Miss Torrance. +They talked with vivacity.</p> + +<p>The conversation soon turned upon the fact that the abundant supply of +cream to which the family were accustomed was not forthcoming. +Strawberries were being served with the tea; some sort of cold pudding +was also on the table; and all this to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> eaten without cream,—these +young people might have been asked to go without their supper, so +indignant they were.</p> + +<p>Now, Mr. Torrance had been decorously trying to talk of the young +minister's last sermon and of the affairs of the small Scotch church of +which he was an elder, and Miss Torrance was ably seconding his effort +by comparing the sentiments of the sermon to a recent magazine article, +but against her will she was forced to attend to the young people's +clamour about the cream.</p> + +<p>It seemed that Trilium, the cow, had recently refused to give her milk. +Mary Torrance was about eighteen; she suddenly gave it as her opinion +that Trilium was bewitched; there was no other explanation, she said, no +other possible explanation of Trilium's extraordinary conduct.</p> + +<p>A flush mounted Miss Torrance's face; she frowned at her sister when the +student was not looking.</p> + +<p>'It's wonderful, the amount of witchcraft we have about here, Mr. +Howitt,' said the master of the house tentatively to the minister.</p> + +<p>Howitt had taken Mary's words in jest. He gave his smooth-shaven face +the twist that with him always expressed ideas wonderful or grotesque. +It was a strong, thin face, full of intelligence.</p> + +<p>'I never could have conceived anything like it,' said he. 'I come across +witch tales here, there,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> everywhere; and the marvellous thing is, some +of the people really seem to believe them.'</p> + +<p>The younger members of the Torrance family fixed their eyes upon him +with apprehensive stare.</p> + +<p>'You can't imagine anything more degrading,' continued the student, who +came from afar.</p> + +<p>'Degrading, of course.' Mr. Torrance sipped his tea hastily. 'The Cape +Breton people are superstitious, I believe.'</p> + +<p>An expression that might have betokened a new resolution appeared upon +the fine face of the eldest daughter.</p> + +<p>'<i>We</i> are Cape Breton people, father,' she said, with dignified +reproach. 'I hope'—here a timid glance, as if imploring support—'I +hope we know better than to place any real faith in these degrading +superstitions.'</p> + +<p>Howitt observed nothing but the fine face and the words that appeared to +him natural.</p> + +<p>Torrance looked at them both with the air of an honest man who was still +made somewhat cowardly by new-fashioned propriety.</p> + +<p>'I never put much o' my faith in these things myself,' he said at last +in broad accents, 'still,'—an honest shake of the head—'there's queer +things happens.'</p> + +<p>'It is like going back to the Middle Ages'—Howitt was still +impervious—'to hear some of these poor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> creatures talk. I never thought +it would be my lot to come across anything so delightfully absurd.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps for the sake of the ministry ye'd better be careful how ye say +your mind about it,' suggested Mr. Torrance; 'in the hearing of the poor +and uneducated, of course, I mean. But if ye like to make a study o' +that sort of thing, I'd advise ye to go and have a talk with Mistress +Betty M'Leod. She's got a great repertory of tales, has Mistress Betty.'</p> + +<p>Mary spoke again. Mary was a young woman who had the courage of her +opinions. 'And if you go to Mistress M'Leod, Mr. Howitt, will you just +be kind enough to ask her how to cure poor Trilium? and don't forget +anything of what she says.'</p> + +<p>Miss Torrance gave her sister a word of reproof. There was still upon +her face the fine glow born of a new resolution never again to listen to +a word of witchcraft.</p> + +<p>As for Howitt, there came across his clever face the whimsical look +which denoted that he understood Mary's fun perfectly. 'I will go +to-morrow,' he cried. 'When the wise woman has told me who has bewitched +Trilium, we will make a waxen figure and stick pins in it.'</p> + +<p>The next day Howitt walked over the hills in search of Mistress Betty +M'Leod. The lake of the Bras d'Or held the sheen of the western sun in +its breast. The student walked upon green slopes far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> above the water, +and watched the outline of the hills on the other side of the inlet, and +thought upon many things. He thought upon religion and philosophy, for +he was religious and studious; he thought upon practical details of his +present work, for he was anxious for the welfare of the souls under his +charge; but on whatever subject his thoughts dwelt, they came back at +easy intervals to the fair, dignified face of his new friend, Miss +Torrance.</p> + +<p>'There's a fine girl for you,' he said to himself repeatedly, with +boyish enthusiasm. He thought, too, how nobly her life would be spent if +she chose to be the helpmeet of a Christian minister. He wondered +whether Mary could take her sister's place in the home circle. Yet with +all this he made no decision as to his own course. He was discreet, and +in minds like his decisions upon important matters are fruits of slow +growth.</p> + +<p>He came at last to a farm, a very goodly farm for so hilly a district. +It lay, a fertile flat, in a notch of the green hillside. When he +reached the house yard he asked for Mistress Betty M'Leod, and was led +to her presence. The old dame sat at her spinning-wheel in a farm +kitchen. Her white hair was drawn closely, like a thin veil, down the +sides of her head and pinned at the back. Her features were small, her +eyes bright; she was not unlike a squirrel in her sharp little movements +and quick glances.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> She wore a small shawl pinned around her spare +shoulders. Her skirts fell upon the treadle of the spinning-wheel. The +kitchen in which she sat was unused; there was no fire in the stove. The +brick floor, the utensils hanging on the walls, had the appearance of +undisturbed rest. Doors and windows were open to the view of the green +slopes and the golden sea beneath them.</p> + +<p>'You come from Canada,' said the old dame. She left her spinning with a +certain interested formality of manner.</p> + +<p>'From Montreal,' said he.</p> + +<p>'That's the same. Canada is a terrible way off.'</p> + +<p>'And now,' he said, 'I hear there are witches in this part of the land.' +Whereupon he smiled in an incredulous cultured way.</p> + +<p>She nodded her head as if she had gauged his thought. 'Ay, there's many +a minister believes in them if they don't let on they do. I mind——'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said he.</p> + +<p>'I mind how my sister went out early one morning, and saw a witch +milking one of our cows.'</p> + +<p>'How did you know she was a witch?'</p> + +<p>'Och, she was a neighbour we knew to be a witch real well. My sister +didn't anger her. It's terrible unlucky to vex them. But would you +believe it? as long as we had that cow her cream gave no butter. We had +to sell her and get another.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> And one time—it was years ago, when +Donald and me was young—the first sacrament came round——'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said he, looking sober.</p> + +<p>'And all the milk of our cows would give hardly any butter for a whole +year! And at house-cleaning time, there, above the milk shelves, what +did they find but a bit of hair rope! Cows' and horses' hair it was. Oh, +it was terrible knotted, and knotted just like anything! So then of +course we knew.'</p> + +<p>'Knew what?'</p> + +<p>'Why, that the milk was bewitched. We took the rope away. Well, that +very day more butter came at the churning, and from that time on, more, +but still not so much as ought by rights to have come. Then, one day, I +thought to unknot the rope, and I undid, and undid, and undid. Well, +when I had got it undone, that day the butter came as it should!'</p> + +<p>'But what about the sacrament?' asked he.</p> + +<p>'That was the time of the year it was. Oh, but I could tell you a sad, +sad story of the wickedness of witches. When Donald and me was young, +and had a farm up over on the other hill, well, there was a poor widow +with seven daughters. It was hard times then for us all, but for her, +she only had a bit of flat land with some bushes, and four cows and some +sheep, and, you see, she sold butter to put meat in the children's +mouths. Butter was all she could sell.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Well, there came to live near her on the hill an awful wicked old man +and woman. I'll tell you who their daughter is: she's married to Mr. +M'Curdy, who keeps the store. The old man and his wife were awful wicked +to the widow and the fatherless. I'll tell you what they did. Well, the +widow's butter failed. Not one bit more could she get. The milk was just +the same, but not one bit of butter. "Oh," said she, "it's a hard world, +and me a widow!" But she was a brave woman, bound to get along some way. +So, now that she had nothing to sell to buy meal, she made curds of the +milk, and fed the children on that.</p> + +<p>'Well, one day the old man came in to see her in a neighbouring way, and +she, being a good woman,—oh, but she was a good woman!—set a dish of +curds before him. "Oh," said he, "these are very fine curds!" So he went +away, and next day she put the rennet in the milk as usual, but not a +bit would the curd come. "Oh," said she, "but I must put something in +the children's mouths!" She was a fine woman, she was. So she kept the +lambs from the sheep all night, and next morning she milked the sheep. +Sheep's milk is rich, and she put rennet in that, and fed the children +on the curd.</p> + +<p>'So one day the old man came in again. He was a wicked one; he was +dreadful selfish; and as he was there, she, being a hospitable woman, +gave him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> some of the curd. "That's good curd," said he. Next day, when +she put the rennet in the sheep's milk, not a bit would the curd come. +She felt it bitterly, poor woman; but she had a fine spirit, and she fed +the children on a few bits of potato she had growing.</p> + +<p>'Well, one day, the eldest daughter got up very early to spin—in the +twilight of the dawn it was—and she looked out, and there was the old +woman coming from her house on the hill, with a shawl over her head and +a tub in her arms. Oh, but she was a really wicked one! for I'll tell +you what she did. Well, the girl watched and wondered, and in the +twilight of the dawn she saw the old woman crouch down by one of the +alder bushes, and put her tub under it, and go milking with her hands; +and after a bit she lifted her tub, that seemed to have something in it, +and set it over against another alder bush, and went milking with her +hands again. So the girl said, "Mother, mother, wake up, and see what +the neighbour woman is doing!" So the mother looked out, and there, in +the twilight of the dawn, she saw her four cows in the bit of land, +among the alder bushes, and the old neighbour woman milking away at a +bush. And then the old woman moved her tub likewise to another bush, and +likewise, and likewise, until she had milked four bushes, and she took +up her tub, and it seemed awful heavy, and she had her shawl over it, +and was going up the hill.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>'So the mother said to the girl, "Run, run, and see what she has got in +it." For they weren't up to the ways of witches, and they were +astonished like. But the girl, she said, "Oh, mother, I don't like." +Well, she was timid, anyway, the eldest girl. But the second girl was a +romping thing, not afraid of anything, so they sent her. By this time +the wicked old woman was high on the hill; so she ran and ran, but she +could not catch her before she was in at her own door; but that second +girl, she was not afraid of anything, so she runs in at the door, too. +Now, in those days they used to have sailing-chests that lock up; they +had iron bars over them, so you could keep anything in that was a +secret. They got them from the ships, and this old woman kept her milk +in hers. So when the girl bounced in at the door, there she saw that +wicked old woman pouring milk out of the tub into her chest, and the +chest half full of milk, and the old man looking on! So then, of course +they knew where the good of their milk had gone.'</p> + +<p>The story was finished. The old dame looked at the student and nodded +her head with eyes that awaited some expression of formal disapproval.</p> + +<p>'What did they know?' asked he.</p> + +<p>'Know! Oh, why, that the old woman was an awful wicked witch, and she'd +taken the good of their milk.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, indeed!' said the student; and then,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> 'But what became of the widow +and the seven daughters?'</p> + +<p>'Well, of course she had to sell her cows and get others, and then it +was all right. But that old man and his wife were that selfish they'd +not have cared if she'd starved. And I tell you, it's one of the things +witches can do, to take the good out of food, if they've an eye to it; +they can take every bit of nouriture out of it that's in it. There were +two young men that went from here to the States—that's Boston, ye know. +Well, pretty soon one, that was named M'Pherson, came back, looking so +white-like and ill that nothing would do him any good. He drooped and he +died. Well, years after, the other, whose name was McVey, came back. He +was of the same wicked stock as the old folks I've been telling ye of. +Well, one day, he was in low spirits like, and he chanced to be talking +to my father, and says he, "It's one of the sins I'll have to 'count for +at the Judgment that I took the good out of M'Pherson's food till he +died. I sat opposite to him at the table when we were at Boston +together, and I took the good out of his food, and it's the blackest sin +I done," said he.</p> + +<p>'Oh, they're awful wicked people, these witches! One of them offered to +teach my sister how to take the good out of food, but my sister was too +honest; she said, "I'll learn to keep the good of my own, if ye like."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +However, the witch wouldn't teach her that because she wouldn't learn +the other. Oh, but I cheated a witch once. Donald, he brought me a pound +of tea. 'Twasn't always we got tea in those days, so I put it in the tin +box; and there was just a little over, so I was forced to leave that in +the paper bag. Well, that day a neighbour came in from over the hill. I +knew fine she was a witch; so we sat and gossiped a bit; she was a real +pleasant woman, and she sat and sat, and the time of day went by. So I +made her a cup of tea, her and me; but I used the drawing that was in +the paper bag. Said she, "I just dropped in to borrow a bit of tea going +home, but if that's all ye have"—Oh, but I could see her eyeing round; +so I was too sharp for her, and I says, "Well, I've no more in the paper +just now, but if ye'll wait till Donald comes, maybe he'll bring some." +So she saw I was too sharp for her, and away she went. If I'd as much as +opened the tin, she'd have had every grain of good out of it with her +eyes.'</p> + +<p>At first the student had had the grave and righteous intention of +denouncing the superstition, but gradually he had perceived that to do +so would be futile. The artistic soul of him was caught by the curious +recital. He remembered now the bidding of Mary Torrance, and thought +with pleasure that he would go back and repeat these strange stories to +Miss Torrance, and smile at them in her company.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Now, for instance,' he said aloud, 'if a good cow, that is a great pet +in the family, should suddenly cease to give her milk, how would you set +about curing her?'</p> + +<p>The dame's small bright eyes grew keener. She moved to her +spinning-wheel and gave it a turn. 'Ay,' she said, 'and whose is the +cow?'</p> + +<p>He was not without a genuine curiosity. 'What would you do for <i>any</i> cow +in that case?'</p> + +<p>'And is it Torrance's cow?' asked Mistress Betty. 'Och, but I know it's +Torrance's cow that ye're speiring for.'</p> + +<p>The young minister was recalled to a sense of his duty. He rose up with +brisk dignity. 'I only asked you to see what you would say. I do not +believe the stories you have been telling me.'</p> + +<p>She nodded her head, taking his assertion as a matter of course. 'But +I'll tell you exactly what they must do,' she said. 'Ye can tell Miss +Torrance she must get a pound of pins.'</p> + +<p>'A pound of pins!' said he.</p> + +<p>'Ay, it's a large quantity, but they'll have them at the store, for it's +more than sometimes they're wanted—a time here, a time there—against +the witches. And she's to boil them in whatever milk the cow gives, and +she's to pour them boiling hot into a hole in the ground; and when she's +put the earth over them, and the sod over that, she's to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> tether the +animal there, and milk it there, and the milk will come right enough.'</p> + +<p>While the student was making his way home along the hillside, through +field and forest, the long arm of the sea turned to red and gold in the +light of the clouds which the sun had left behind when it sank down over +the distant region that the Cape Breton folk call Canada.</p> + +<p>The minister meditated upon what he had heard, but not for long. He +could not bring his mind into such attitude towards the witch-tales as +to conceive of belief in them as an actual part of normal human +experience. Insanity, or the love of making a good story out of notions +which have never been seriously entertained, must compose the warp and +woof of the fabric of such strange imaginings. It is thus we account for +most experiences we do not understand.</p> + +<p>The next evening the Torrance family were walking to meeting. The +student joined himself to Miss Torrance. He greeted her with the +whimsical look of grave humour. 'You are to take a pound of pins,' he +said.</p> + +<p>'I do not believe it would do any good,' she interrupted eagerly.</p> + +<p>It struck him as very curious that she should assert her unbelief. He +was too nonplussed to go on immediately. Then he supposed it was part of +the joke, and proceeded to give the other details.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Mr. Howitt,'—a tremulous pause,—'it is very strange about poor +Trilium, she has always been such a good, dear cow; the children are +very fond of her, and my mother was very fond of her when she was a +heifer. The last summer before she died, Trilium fed out of mother's +hand, and now—she's in perfect health as far as we can see, but father +says that if she keeps on refusing to give her milk he will be obliged +to sell her.'</p> + +<p>Miss Torrance, who was usually strong and dignified, spoke now in a very +appealing voice.</p> + +<p>'Couldn't you get an old farmer to look at her, or a vet?'</p> + +<p>'But why do you think she has suddenly stopped giving milk?' persisted +the girl.</p> + +<p>'I am very sorry, but I really don't know anything about animals,' said +he.</p> + +<p>'Oh, then if you don't know anything about them——' She paused. There +had been such an evident tone of relief in her voice that he wondered +much what would be coming next. In a moment she said, 'I quite agreed +with you the other night when you said the superstition about witchcraft +was degrading.'</p> + +<p>'No one could think otherwise.' He was much puzzled at the turn of her +thought.</p> + +<p>'Still, of course, <i>about animals</i>, old people like Mistress Betty +M'Leod may know something.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> + +<p>As they talked they were walking down the street in the calm of the +summer evening to the prayer meeting. The student's mind was intent upon +his duties, for, as they neared the little white-washed church, many +groups were seen coming from all sides across the grassy space in which +it stood. He was an earnest man, and his mind became occupied with the +thought of the spiritual needs of these others who were flocking to hear +him preach and pray.</p> + +<p>Inside the meeting-room, unshaded oil lamps flared upon a congregation +most serious and devout. The student felt that their earnestness and +devotion laid upon him the greater responsibility; he also felt much +hindered in his speech because of their ignorance and remote ways of +thought. It was a comfort to him to feel that there was at least one +family among his hearers whose education would enable them to understand +him clearly. He looked with satisfaction at the bench where Mr. Torrance +sat with his children. He looked with more satisfaction to where Miss +Torrance sat at the little organ. She presided over it with dignity and +sweet seriousness. She drew music even out of its squeaking keys.</p> + +<p>A few days after that prayer meeting the student happened to be in the +post-office. It was a small, rough place; a wooden partition shut off +the public<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> from the postmistress and her helpers. He was waiting for +some information for which he had asked; he was forced to stand outside +the little window in this partition. He listened to women's voices +speaking on the other side, as one listens to that which in no way +concerns oneself.</p> + +<p>'It's just like her, stuck up as she is since she came from school, +setting herself and her family up to be better than other folks.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps they were out of them at the store,' said a gentler voice.</p> + +<p>'Oh, don't tell me. It's on the sly she's doing it, and then pretending +to be grander than other folks.'</p> + +<p>Then the postmistress came to the window with the required information. +When she saw who was there, she said something else also.</p> + +<p>'There's a parcel come for Miss Torrance,—if you happen to be going up +that way,' the postmistress simpered.</p> + +<p>The student became aware for the first time that his friendship with +Miss Torrance was a matter of public interest. He was not entirely +displeased. 'I will take the parcel,' he said.</p> + +<p>As he went along the sunny road, he felt so light-hearted that, hardly +thinking what he did, he began throwing up the parcel and catching it +again in his hands. It was not large; it was very tightly done up in +thick paper, and had an ironmonger's label<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> attached; so that, though he +paid small attention, it did not impress him as a thing that could be +easily injured. Something, however, did soon make a sharp impression +upon him; once as he caught the parcel he felt his hand deeply pricked. +Looking closely, he saw that a pin was working its way through the thick +paper. After that he walked more soberly, and did not play ball. He +remembered what he had heard at the post-office. The parcel was +certainly addressed to Miss Torrance. It was very strange. He remembered +with displeasure now the assumption of the postmistress that he would be +glad to carry this parcel.</p> + +<p>He delivered the pound of pins at the door without making a call. His +mind had never come to any decision with regard to his feeling for Miss +Torrance, and now he was more undecided than ever. He was full of +curiosity about the pins. He found it hard to believe that they were to +be used for a base purpose, but suspicion had entered his mind. The +knowledge that the eyes of the little public were upon him made him +realise that he could not continue to frequent the house merely to +satisfy his curiosity.</p> + +<p>He was destined to know more.</p> + +<p>That night, long after dark, he was called to visit a dying man, and the +messenger led him somewhat out of the town.</p> + +<p>He performed his duty to the dying with wistful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> eagerness. The spirit +passed from earth while he yet knelt beside the bed. When he was +returning home alone in the darkness, he felt his soul open to the power +of unseen spirit, and to him the power of the spiritual unseen was the +power of God.</p> + +<p>Walking on the soft, quiet road, he came near the house where he had +lately loved to visit, and his eye was arrested by seeing a lantern +twinkling in the paddock where Trilium grazed. He saw the forms of two +women moving in its little circle of light; they were digging in the +ground.</p> + +<p>He felt that he had a right to make sure of the thing he suspected. The +women were not far from a fence by which he could pass, and he did pass +that way, looking and looking till a beam of the lantern fell full on +the bending faces. When he saw that Miss Torrance was actually there, he +went on without speaking.</p> + +<p>After that two facts became known in the village, each much discussed in +its own way; yet they were not connected with each other in the common +mind. One was that the young minister had ceased to call frequently upon +Miss Torrance; the other, that Trilium, the cow, was giving her +milk.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<h3>THE GIRL WHO BELIEVED IN THE SAINTS</h3> + +<p>Marie Verine was a good girl, but she was not beautiful or clever. She +lived with her mother in one flat of an ordinary-looking house in a +small Swiss town. Had they been poorer or richer there might have been +something picturesque about their way of life, but, as it was, there was +nothing. Their pleasures were few and simple; yet they were happier than +most people are—but this they did not know.</p> + +<p>'It is a pity we are not richer and have not more friends,' Madame +Verine would remark, 'for then we could perhaps get Marie a husband; as +it is, there is no chance.'</p> + +<p>Madame Verine usually made this remark to the Russian lady who lived +upstairs. The Russian lady had a name that could not be pronounced; she +spoke many languages, and took an interest in everything. She would +reply<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>'No husband! It is small loss. I have seen much of the world.'</p> + +<p>Marie had seen little of the world, and she did not believe the Russian +lady. She never said anything about it, except at her prayers, and then +she used to ask the saints to pray for her that she might have a +husband.</p> + +<p>Now, in a village about half a day's journey from the town where Marie +dwelt, there lived a young girl whose name was Céleste. Her mother had +named her thus because her eyes were blue as the sky above, and her face +was round as the round moon, and her hair and eyelashes were like +sunbeams, or like moonlight when it shines in yellow halo through the +curly edges of summer clouds. The good people of this village were a +hard-working, hard-headed set of men and women. While Céleste's father +lived they had waxed proud about her beauty, for undoubtedly she was a +credit to the place; but when her parents died, and left her needy, they +said she must go to the town and earn her living.</p> + +<p>Céleste laughed in her sleeve when they told her this, because young +Fernand, the son of the inn-keeper, had been wooing and winning her +heart, in a quiet way, for many a day; and now she believed in him, and +felt sure that he would speak his love aloud and take her home to his +parents. To be sure, it was unknown in that country for a man who had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +money to marry a girl who had none; but Fernand was strong to work and +to plan; Céleste knew that he could do what he liked.</p> + +<p>It was the time when the April sun smiles upon the meadow grass till it +is very green and long enough to wave in the wind, and all amongst it +the blue scilla flowers are like dewdrops reflecting the blue that hangs +above the gnarled arms of the still leafless walnut trees. The cottage +where Céleste lived was out from the village, among the meadows, and to +the most hidden side of it young Fernand came on the eve of the day on +which she must leave it for ever. Very far off the snow mountains had +taken on their second flush of evening red before he came, and Céleste +had grown weary waiting.</p> + +<p>'Good-bye,' said Fernand. He was always a somewhat stiff and formal +young man, and to-night he was ill at ease.</p> + +<p>'But,' cried Céleste—and here she wept—'you have made me love you. I +love no one in the world but you.'</p> + +<p>'You are foolish,' said he. 'It is, of course, a pity that we must part, +but it cannot be helped. You have no dowry, not even a small one. It +would be unthrifty for the son of an innkeeper to marry a girl without a +sou. My parents would not allow me to act so madly!' and his manner +added—'nor would I be so foolish myself.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<p>Next day Céleste went up to the town, and went into the market-place to +be hired as a servant.</p> + +<p>This was the day of the spring hiring. Many servants were wanting work, +and they stood in the market-place. All around were the old houses of +the square; there was the church and the pastor's house, and the house +and office of the notary, and many other houses standing very close +together, with high-peaked roofs and gable windows. The sun shone down, +lighting the roofs, throwing eaves and niches into strong shadow, +gleaming upon yellow bowls and dishes, upon gay calicoes, upon cheese +and sausages, on all bright things displayed on the open market-stalls, +and upon the faces of the maid-servants who stood to be hired. Many +ladies of the town went about seeking servants: among them was Madame +Verine, and the Russian lady and Marie were with her. When they came in +front of Céleste they all stopped.</p> + +<p>'Ah, what eyes!' said the Russian lady—'what simple, innocent, trustful +eyes! In these days how rare!'</p> + +<p>'She is like a flower,' said Marie.</p> + +<p>Now, they quickly found out that Céleste knew very little about the work +she would have to do; it was because of this she had not yet found a +mistress.</p> + +<p>'I myself would delight to teach her,' cried the Russian lady.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + +<p>'And I,' cried Marie. So Madame Verine took her home.</p> + +<p>They taught Céleste many things. Marie taught her to cook and to sew; +the Russian lady taught her to write and to cipher, and was surprised at +the progress she made, especially in writing. Céleste was the more +interesting to them because there was just a shade of sadness in her +eye. One day she told Marie why she was sad; it was the story of +Fernand, how he had used her ill.</p> + +<p>'What a shame!' cried Marie, when the brief facts were repeated.</p> + +<p>'It is the way of the country,' said the Russian lady. 'These Swiss +peasants, who have so fair a reputation for sobriety, are mercenary +above all: they have no heart.'</p> + +<p>Céleste lived with Madame Verine for one year. At the end of that time +Madame Verine arose one morning to find the breakfast was not cooked, +nor the fire lit. In the midst of disorder stood Céleste, with flushed +cheeks and startled eyes, and a letter in her hand.</p> + +<p>'Ah, madam,' she faltered, 'what a surprise! The letter, it is from +monsieur the notary, who lives in the market-place, and to me, +madam—<i>to me</i>!'</p> + +<p>When Madame Verine took the letter she found told therein that an aunt +of Céleste, who had lived far off in the Jura, was dead, and had left to +Céleste<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> a little fortune of five thousand francs, which was to be paid +to her when she was twenty-one, or on her marriage day.</p> + +<p>'Ah,' cried Céleste, weeping, 'can it be true? Can it be true?'</p> + +<p>'Of course, since monsieur the notary says so.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, madam; let me run and see monsieur the notary. Let me just ask him, +and hear from his lips that it is true!'</p> + +<p>So she ran out into the town, with her apron over her head, and Marie +made the breakfast.</p> + +<p>The Russian lady came down to talk it over. 'The pretty child is +distraught, and at <i>so small</i> a piece of good fortune!' said she.</p> + +<p>But when Céleste came in she was more composed. 'It is true,' she said, +with gentle joy, and she stood before them breathless and blushing.</p> + +<p>'It will be three years before you are twenty-one,' said Madame Verine; +'you will remain with me.'</p> + +<p>'If you please, madam, no,' said Céleste, modestly casting down her +eyes; 'I must go to my native village.'</p> + +<p>'How!' they cried. 'To whom will you go?'</p> + +<p>Céleste blushed the more deeply, and twisted her apron. 'I have good +clothes; I have saved my year's wages. I will put up at the inn. The +wife of the innkeeper will be a mother to me now I can pay for my +lodging.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + +<p>At which Madame Verine looked at the Russian lady, and that lady looked +at her, and said behind her hand, 'Such a baby, and so clever! It is the +mere instinct of wisdom; it cannot be called forethought.'</p> + +<p>It is to be observed that, all the world over, however carefully a +mistress may guard her maid-servant, no great responsibility is felt +when the engagement is broken. Madame Verine shrugged her shoulders and +got another servant. Céleste went down to her village.</p> + +<p>After that, when Marie walked in the market-place, she used to like to +look at the notary's house, and at him, if she could espy him in the +street. The house was a fine one, and the notary, in spite of iron-grey +hair and a keen eye, good-looking; but that was not why Marie was +interested; it was because he and his office seemed connected with the +romance of life—with Céleste's good fortune.</p> + +<p>When summer days grew long, Madame Verine, her friend and daughter, took +a day's holiday, and out of good nature they went to see Céleste.</p> + +<p>'Céleste lives like a grand lady now,' cried the innkeeper's wife, on +being questioned. 'She will have me take her coffee to her in bed each +morning.'</p> + +<p>'The wages she has saved will not hold out long,' said the visitors.</p> + +<p>'When that is finished she gives us her note of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> hand for the money she +will get when she is married. She has shown us the notary's letter. It +is certainly a tidy sum she will have, and our son has some thoughts of +marrying.'</p> + +<p>They saw Céleste, who was radiant; they saw young Fernand, who was +paying his court to her. They returned home satisfied.</p> + +<p>It was not long after that when one morning Céleste came into Madame +Verine's house; she was weeping on account of the loss of some of her +money. She had come up to town, she said, to buy her wedding clothes, +for which the notary had been so good as to advance her a hundred +francs, but her pocket had been picked in the train. The money was +gone—quite gone—alas!</p> + +<p>So tearful was she that they lent her some money—not much, but a +little. Then she dried her eyes, and said she would also get some things +on credit, promising to pay in a month, for it was then she was to be +married. At the end of the day she came back gaily to show her +treasures.</p> + +<p>'When the rejoicings of your wedding are over,' said Madame Verine, 'and +your husband brings you to town to claim the money, you may stay here in +the upper room of this house—it is an invitation.'</p> + +<p>In a month came the wedding pair, joyful and blooming. The Russian lady +made them a supper.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> They lodged in an attic room that Madame Verine +rented. In the morning they went out, dressed in their best, to see the +notary.</p> + +<p>An hour later Madame Verine sat in her little salon. The floor was of +polished wood; it shone in the morning light; so did all the polished +curves of the chairs and cabinets. Marie was practising exercises on the +piano.</p> + +<p>They heard a heavy step on the stair. The bridegroom came into the room, +agitated, unable to ask permission to enter. He strode across the floor +and sat down weakly before the ladies.</p> + +<p>They thought he had been drinking wine, but this was not so, although +his eye was bloodshot and his voice unsteady.</p> + +<p>'Can you believe it!' he cried, 'the notary never wrote letters to her; +there was no aunt; there is no money!'</p> + +<p>'It is incredible,' said Madame Verine, and then there was a pause of +great astonishment.</p> + +<p>'It is impossible!' cried the Russian lady, who had come in.</p> + +<p>'It is true,' said the bridegroom hoarsely; and he wept.</p> + +<p>And now Céleste herself came into the house. She came within the room, +and looked at the ladies, who stood with hands upraised, and at her +weeping husband. If you have ever enticed a rosy-faced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> child to bathe +in the sea, and seen it stand half breathless, half terrified, yet +trying hard to be brave, you know just the expression that was on the +face of the child-like deceiver. With baby-like courage she smiled upon +them all.</p> + +<p>Now the next person who entered the room was the notary himself. He was +a gentleman of manners; he bowed with great gallantry to the ladies, not +excepting Céleste.</p> + +<p>'She is a child, and has had no chance to learn the arts of cunning,' +cried the Russian lady, who had thought that she knew the world.</p> + +<p>The notary bowed to her in particular. 'Madam, the true artist is born, +not made.'</p> + +<p>Then he looked at Céleste again. There were two kinds of admiration in +his glance—one for her face, the other for her cleverness. He looked at +the weeping husband with no admiration at all, but the purpose in his +mind was steady as his clear grey eye, unmoved by emotion.</p> + +<p>'I have taken the trouble to walk so far,' said he, 'to tell this young +man what, perhaps, I ought to have mentioned when he was at my office. +Happily, the evil can be remedied. It is the law of our land that if the +fortune has been misrepresented, a divorce can be obtained.'</p> + +<p>Céleste's courage vanished with her triumph. She covered her face. The +husband had turned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> round; he was looking eagerly at the notary and at +his cowering bride.</p> + +<p>'Ah, Heaven!' cried the two matrons, 'must it be?'</p> + +<p>'I have walked so far to advise,' said the notary.</p> + +<p>All this time Marie was sitting upon the piano-stool; she had turned it +half-way round so that she could look at the people. She was not pretty, +but, as the morning light struck full upon her face, she had the +comeliness that youth and health always must have; and more than that, +there was the light of a beautiful soul shining through her eyes, for +Marie was gentle and submissive, but her mind and spirit were also +strong; the individual character that had grown in silence now began to +assert itself with all the beauty of a new thing in the world. Marie had +never acted for herself before.</p> + +<p>She began to speak to the notary simply, eagerly, as one who could no +longer keep silence.</p> + +<p>'It would be wrong to separate them, monsieur.'</p> + +<p>Madame Verine chid Marie; the notary, no doubt just because he was a man +and polite, answered her.</p> + +<p>'This brave young fellow does not deserve to be thus fooled. I shall be +glad to lend him my aid to extricate himself.'</p> + +<p>'He does deserve it,' cried Marie. 'Long ago he pretended to have love +for her, just for the pleasure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> of it, when he had not—that is worse +than pretending to have money! And in any case, it is a <i>wicked</i> law, +monsieur, that would grant a divorce when they are married, and—look +now—left to himself he will forgive her, but he is catching at what you +say. You have come here to tempt him! You dare not go on, monsieur!'</p> + +<p>'Dare not, mademoiselle?' said the notary, with a superior air.</p> + +<p>'No, monsieur. Think of what the good God and the holy saints would say! +This poor girl has brought much punishment on herself, but—ah, +monsieur, think of the verdict of Heaven!'</p> + +<p>'Mademoiselle,' said the notary haughtily, 'I was proposing nothing but +justice; but it is no affair of mine.' And with that he went out +brusquely—very brusquely for a gentleman of such polite manners.</p> + +<p>'I am astonished at you, Marie,' said Madame Verine. This was true, but +it was meant as a reproach.</p> + +<p>'She is beside herself with compassion,' said the Russian lady; 'but +that is just what men of the world despise most.'</p> + +<p>Then Marie went to her room weeping, and the two ladies talked to +Céleste till her soft face had hard lines about the mouth and her eyes +were defiant. Young Fernand slipped out and went again to the +market-place.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I come to ask your aid, monsieur the notary.'</p> + +<p>'I do not advise you.'</p> + +<p>'But, monsieur, to whom else can I apply?'</p> + +<p>'I am too busy,' said the notary.</p> + +<p>Fernand and Céleste walked back to their village, hand in hand, both +downcast, both peevish, but still together.</p> + +<p>Now the notary was not what might be called a bad man himself, but he +believed that the world was very bad. He had seen much to confirm this +belief, and had not looked in the right place to find any facts that +would contradict it. This belief had made him hard and sometimes even +dishonest in his dealings with men; for what is the use of being good in +a world that can neither comprehend goodness nor admire it? On the +whole, the notary was much better satisfied with himself than with human +nature around him, although, if he had only known it, he himself had +grown to be the reflex—the image as in a mirror—of what he thought +other men were; it is always so. There was just this much truth in him +at the bottom of his scorn and grumbling—he flattered himself that if +he could see undoubted virtue he could admire it; and there was in him +that possibility of grace.</p> + +<p>After he left Madame Verine's door he thought with irritation of the +girl who had rebuked him. Then he began to remember that she was only a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +woman and very young, and she had appealed to his heart—ah, yes, he had +a heart. After all, he was not sure but that her appeal was charming. +Then he thought of her with admiration. This was not the result of +Marie's words—words in themselves are nothing; it is the personality of +the speaker that makes them live or die, and personality is strongest +when nourished long in virtue and silence and prayer. When it came to +pass that the notary actually did the thing Marie told him to do, he +began to think of her even with tenderness in his heart.</p> + +<p>Now a very strange thing happened. In about a week the notary called on +Madame Verine a second time; he greeted her with all ceremony, and then +he sat down on a little stiff chair and explained his business in his +own brief, dry way.</p> + +<p>Marie was not there. The little <i>salon</i>, all polished and shining, gave +faint lights and shadows in answer to every movement of its inmates. +Madame Verine, in a voluminous silk gown, sat all attention, looking at +the notary; she thought he was a very fine man, quite a great personage, +and undoubtedly handsome.</p> + +<p>'Madam,' began he, 'I am, as you know, at middle age, yet a bachelor, +and the reason, to be plain with you, is that I have not believed in +women. Pardon me, I would not be rude, but I am a business man. I have +no delusions left, yet it has occurred to me that a young woman who +would make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> the lives of the saints her rule of life—I do not believe +in such things myself, but—in short, madam, I ask for your daughter in +marriage.'</p> + +<p>He said it as if he was doing quite a kind thing, as, indeed, he thought +he was. Madame Verine thought so too, and with great astonishment, and +even some apologies, gave away her daughter with grateful smiles.</p> + +<p>Marie was married to the notary, and he made her very happy. At first +she was happy because he had good manners and she had such a loving +heart that she loved him. After a few years he found out that she was +too good for him, and then he became a better man.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<h3>THE PAUPERS' GOLDEN DAY</h3> + +<p>Betty Lamb was a comely girl; she was big to look at, being tall and +strong. She was never plump; she was never well clothed, not even in the +best days of her youth. She had been brought up in the work-house; after +that she belonged to no one. Her mind was a little astray: she had +strong, rude, strange ideas of her own; she would not be humble and work +day in, day out, like other folk, and for that reason she never throve +in the world. She lived here and there, and did this and that. All the +town knew her; she was just 'Betty Lamb'; no one expected aught of her.</p> + +<p>It was a small town in the west of Scotland. On different sides of it +long lanes of humble cottages straggled out into the fields; the +cottages had grey stone walls and red tiled roofs. There were new grey +churches in the town, and big buildings, and streets of shops. The +people in those days thought these very fine; they thought less about +the real glory of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> the town—a ruined abbey which stood upon an open +heath just beyond the houses.</p> + +<p>Three walls, two high gothic windows with the slender mullions unbroken, +a few stately columns broken off at different heights from the ground, +and one fragment of the high arch of the nave standing up against the +sky in exquisite outline—these formed the ruin. It was built of the red +sandstone that in its age takes upon it a delicate bloom of pink and +white; it looked like a jewel in the breast of the grey hill country. +Furze grew within the ruin and for acres on all sides. Sheep and goats +came nibbling against the old altar steps. A fringe of wallflower and +grass grew upon the top of the highest arch and down the broken +fragments of the wall.</p> + +<p>All around the stately hills looked down upon the town and the ruin, and +the sky that bent over was more often than not full of cloud, soft and +grey.</p> + +<p>Betty Lamb was getting on to middle age, about thirty, when she had a +baby. They had put her again in the poorshouse, but she rose when her +baby was but a day old and went away from the place.</p> + +<p>It was summer time then; the sky relented somewhat; there was sunshine +between the showers, and sometimes a long fair week of silvery weather, +when a white haze of lifting moisture rose ever, like incense, from the +hills, and the light shone white upon the yellow bloom of the furze.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> + +<p>Betty Lamb found the ambry niche in the wall of the ruin at the side of +the place where the altar had been. She laid her baby there. That was +his cradle, and by sunlight and moonlight she was heard singing loud +songs to him. The people were afraid of going too near her at that time. +'It is dangerous,' said they, 'to touch an animal when she has her young +with her.'</p> + +<p>As years went on Betty Lamb and her little boy spent summer after summer +upon the moor. The child was not christened, unless, indeed, the dew +falling from the sacred stones and the pity of God for fatherless +innocents had christened him. In this world, at least, his name was +written in no book of life, for he had no name.</p> + +<p>He grew to be a little lithe lad. Then it was that in every pickle of +mischief where a little lad could be this elf-child, with his black eyes +and curly auburn hair, was to be found. So maddening indeed were his +naughty tricks that the townspeople spoke not so often of beating him, +as they would have beaten a human child, but of wringing his neck like a +young thing that had no right to live. Yet it was more often in word +than in deed that punishment of any sort was inflicted, for the +preliminary stage was perforce, 'first catch your boy,' and that was far +from easy.</p> + +<p>Even when the catching was accomplished the beating did not always come. +One day the minister<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> of the Kirk looked out upon his glebe. His +favourite cow, with a bridle in her mouth, was being galloped at +greatest speed around the field, Betty's lad standing tip-toe upon her +back. The minister, with the agility which unbounded wrath gave him, +caught the boy' and swung his cane.</p> + +<p>'I am going to thrash you,' said he.</p> + +<p>'Ay, ye maun do that.' The small face was drawn to the aspect of a grave +judge—'ye maun do that; it's yer juty.'</p> + +<p>The minister, who had looked upon his intention rather in the light of +natural impulse, felt the less inclination for the task. 'Are you not +afraid of being beaten?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Aweel'—an air of profound reflection—'I'm thinking I can even it ony +day wi' ridin' on a coo's back when she'll rin like yon.'</p> + +<p>The sunlight of habitual benevolence began to break through the cloud of +wrath upon the good minister's face. 'If I let you off, laddie, what +will you do for me in return?'</p> + +<p>An answering gleam of generosity broke upon the sage face of the child. +'I'll fair teach ye how to dae't ye'sel'.'</p> + +<p>The lad grew apace. The neighbours said that he showed 'a caring' for +his mother, but no one held toward him a helping hand. They were so sure +that no good could come of him or of her. The mother had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> taken to +drink, and one day it was found that the lad was gone. Just as he had +often slipped from the grasp of one or other of the angry townsmen, +dodged, darted, and disappeared for the moment, so now it seemed that he +had slipped from the grasp of the town, run quickly and disappeared. No +one knew why he had gone, or whither, or to what end.</p> + +<p>Betty Lamb remained in the town, a fine figure of a woman, but bowed in +the shoulders, dirty, and clad in rags. At last, when her strong +defiance of poverty and need would no longer serve her, she was seen to +go about from door to door in the early dawn, raking among the ashes for +such articles as she chose to put in an old sack and carry upon her +back. The townsfolk honestly thought that all had been done that could +be done to make a decent woman of her, and now in her old age she must +needs go down to the gutter.</p> + +<p>One day a man came to the town with circus pictures and a bucket of +paste. He pasted his pictures upon all the blank spaces of walls which +he could find. Great was the joy of the children who stood and stared, +their little hearts made glad by novelty and colour. Great was the +surprise of the older folk, who said, 'It is a new thing in the world +when so great a show as this comes out of the accustomed track of shows +to erect its tent in our small town!' Yet so it was; from some whim of +the manager, or of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> some one who had the ear of the manager, the thing +was decreed.</p> + +<p>Upon these circus pictures there figured, in a series of many wonderful +harlequin attitudes, a certain Signor Lambetti. Very foreign was the +curl of his hair and the waxen ends of his moustache; very magnificent +was his physique; he wore the finest of silken tights and crimson small +clothes, and medals were depicted hanging upon his breast.</p> + +<p>When at length the circus came for that one night's entertainment and +the huge tent was set up upon the common not far from the old red ruin, +all the town flocked to see the brilliant spectacle. The minister was +there, and what was more, his wife and daughters too; they were far +grander than he was, and wore silken furbelows and fringed shawls. The +minister paid for the best seats for them to sit in. All the shopkeepers +were there; every man, woman and child in all the town who could find as +much as sixpence to pay for standing room was there. But the strangest +circumstance was that before the show began a man went out from the +brightly-lit doorway and called in a loud voice to the beggars and +little ragged boys and girls who had come to survey the tent on the +outside, and he brought them all in and gave them a good part of the +tent to sit in, although they had not sixpence to pay, nor even a penny.</p> + +<p>Ah! in those days it was a very grand sight.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> There were elephants who +performed tricks, and camels who walked about with men and bundles on +their backs just as they do in eastern deserts, and there were wonderful +ladies who dressed and behaved like fairies, and who rode standing +tip-toe on the backs of horses and jumped through swinging rings. But +the crowd had not read the circus bills and the newspapers from all the +neighbouring cities for nothing. They were a canny Scotch crowd; they +were not to be taken in by mere glitter, no, not the smallest barefoot +boy nor the most wretched beggar, for they knew very well that the real +crisis of the evening was to be the appearance of Signor Lambetti, and +the word 'wonderful' was not to be spoken until his feats began to be +performed.</p> + +<p>At length he came outside the curtain upon which all eyes had long been +fixed. The curl of his hair and the waxed ends of his moustache proved +him to be beyond doubt from foreign parts. He was indeed a most grand +and handsome gentleman. His dress was, if anything, more superb than it +had been in the pictures; all his well-formed muscles showed through the +silken gauze that he wore. His velvet trappings were trimmed with gold +lace and his medals shone like gold.</p> + +<p>He walked upon a tight rope away up in the peaked roof of the tent; he +held a wand in his hand by which to balance himself and in the other +hand a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> cup of tea which he drank in the very middle of his walk; +tossing it off, bowing to the crowd below, and bringing the cup and +saucer to the other end in safety.</p> + +<p>The crowd gave deep sighs, partly of satisfaction for being permitted to +see so wonderful a sight, partly out of relief for the safety of the +performer. 'Ay me,' they said to one another, 'did ye ever see the licht +o' that?' It meant more from them than the loudest clamour of applause, +yet they applauded also.</p> + +<p>Then Signor Lambetti, looking quite as fresh and jaunty as at first, +ascended a small platform, standing out upon it in the full light of all +the lamps. He made a little speech to the effect that he was now going +to perform a feat which was so difficult and dangerous that hitherto he +had kept it solely for the benefit of crowned heads, before whom on many +occasions he had had the privilege of appearing. He said, in an airy +way, that the reason he did the town the honour of beholding this most +wonderful of all his feats was merely that he had taken a liking to the +place.</p> + +<p>'Ay, but he's grond,' said the little barefoot boys to one another as +they huddled against the front of the stand allotted to them. 'Ay me, +but he's grond'; and all the rest of the townsfolk said the same to +themselves or each other, but they expressed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> it in all the different +ways of that dignified caution common to the Scotch.</p> + +<p>There was a series of swings, one trapeze fixed higher than another, +like a line of gigantic steps, to the very pinnacle of the tent. 'The +Signor' announced that he was going to swing himself up upon these +hanging bars until he reached the topmost, and from that he would leap +through the air down, down into the lighted abyss below, and catch a +rope that was stretched at the foot of the Grand Stand.</p> + +<p>Merely to hear him tell what he was going to do made the crowd draw +breath with thrills of joyful horror.</p> + +<p>Up and up he went, swinging himself with lissome grace, raising each +trapeze with the force of his swing until he could reach the one above +it.</p> + +<p>He looked smaller as he travelled higher in his wonderful flying +progress. The little boys had not breath left now even to say, 'Ay me, +but he's grond.' There was silence among all the crowd.</p> + +<p>To every one in all that crowd—to all except one—the spectacle was +that of a strange man performing a strange feat; one poor woman present +saw a different sight, one alone in all that crowd knew that the acrobat +was not a stranger.</p> + +<p>In a corner of the beggars' gallery sat Betty Lamb. Dirty and clothed in +rags as she was, she held up her head at this hour with the old queenly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +defiance of her youthful days. Her eyes, bleared and sunken, had +descried her son; her mother's heart, mad though all pronounced her to +be, had vibrated to the first sound of her son's voice. She knew him as +certainly as if she had seen him standing before her again, the little +lad of past years, or the infant cradled in the ambry of the ruined +chancel.</p> + +<p>The monarchs of whom Lambetti had been glibly speaking were not more +noble in rank or more surrounded with glory in the thought of Betty Lamb +than was this hero of the circus, and he her son! What constitutes +glory? Is it not made up of the glare of lamps and the wearing of +shining clothes, the shout of a thousand voices in applause, the glance +of a thousand eyes in admiration, and the renown that spreads into the +newspapers? In the mind of Betty Lamb there was no room for gradations; +she knew glory, she knew shame; she herself had sunk to shame; but now +that was past, her son had attained to glory, and her soul went out, as +it were, from the circumstances of her own degradation and accepted his +glory as her own.</p> + +<p>They said (the townsfolk said) that Betty Lamb had not lacked +opportunity. Ah well, God knows better than we what to each soul may be +its opportunity.</p> + +<p>Betty Lamb watched her son in his perilous upward flight, and, for the +first time in her life,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> prayed that Heaven would forgive her misdeeds. +By some inborn instinct she assumed that it was this prayer she must +pray in order to obtain that desire of her eyes, his safety. When he +reached the highest swing, when he made his leap from that awful height +and caught the lower rope, there had come a change in Betty Lamb's soul. +It had seemed hours, nay, years to her, the space of time in which he +was swinging himself up and leaping down. Perhaps, half-witted as she +had been, this was in reality her life, not the other that for sixty +years she had been visibly living. She saw that his eye was fixed upon +her; she knew that the kisses were thrown to her. She rose and walked +erect, in her heart a new sense of responsibility and of the value of +life.</p> + +<p>Next day in Betty Lamb's cellar-room a shadow darkened the doorway, and +her son stood before her. He did not kiss her—that had not been their +way, even when he was an infant and she had sung her songs to him in the +lonely ruin—but he bowed to her with all the foreign graces that he had +learned, just as if she were one of the queens before whom he had +performed. She feasted her eyes upon him.</p> + +<p>He looked round upon the cellar. 'You must not live here any longer,' +said he.</p> + +<p>For the first time in her life humility reigned in her heart and she +resigned her gypsy freedom. 'I'm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> thinking,' she replied modestly, 'that +it's nae fit for the mither of sich as ye are noo.'</p> + +<p>With the minister Lambetti left money that would defray the expenses of +a decent habitation for his mother, and, to the wonder of all, from that +day forth the mother lived in it decently. She was even charitable with +her little store; she was even known to raise the fallen.</p> + +<p>When she was dead Lambetti was dead too. He had lived his life fast, +and, if gold be of worth, it seemed as if he had lived it to some +purpose. Lambetti left money to the town, money for two purposes which +in due time the long-headed townsmen carried into effect. An asylum was +built upon the moor; it is called 'Betty Lamb's Home for the Young and +the Aged.' The old Abbey also was walled in; lawns and flower beds were +spread about the broken stones, and where the walls might totter they +were supported. The honour of this change too is ascribed to the famous +son of Betty Lamb, who had no name but his mother's.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> + +<h3>THE SOUL OF A MAN</h3> + +<h3><a name="Chapter_AI" id="Chapter_AI"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></h3> + +<p>A man was standing on one of the highroads in the south of +Gloucestershire. He was a man of science; his tools and specimens were +in his hand, and he was leaning against the wayside paling, enjoying a +well-earned rest. A long flock of birds fluttered over the autumn +fields; beneath them a slow ploughman trudged with his horses, breaking +the yellow stubble. The sky hung low, full of sunshine yet full of +haze—an atmosphere of blue flame, and the earth was bright with the +warm autumn colours of woods and hedgerow.</p> + +<p>Just as the birds were flying past, a young woman came by upon the road, +treading with quick powerful step upon the fallen leaves. She was a poor +woman; her beauty, which would have been almost perfect in a simpler +gown, was marred by garments cut in cheap conformity to fashionable +dress. It could not be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> hidden, however, and her large symmetrical +figure, swinging as she walked, attracted the attention of the man; as +he stood there, leaning against the paling, he felt by no means +disinclined to while away his hour of rest by a few soft words with the +comely stranger. If he had put his thoughts into words, he would have +held it as good luck that she had come to amuse his leisure, thinking +very little about luck as it concerned her. His dog lying at his feet +stirred to look at the woman, and the man, following the same instinct +of nature, accosted her.</p> + +<p>'Can you tell me, my girl, what time it is?'</p> + +<p>She stopped short and looked at him. 'That I can't, sir,' she said in +clear hearty tones, and turned to continue her walk.</p> + +<p>'But tell me what time you think it is, my good girl; I am not good at +reading the sun.'</p> + +<p>She turned again, and looked at him with a longer pause, but, if there +was suspicion or disapproval in her thoughts, she expressed nothing in +her face.</p> + +<p>'Yer a gent; I'd 'a thought ye'd 'a had a watch.'</p> + +<p>'But mine is at the watchmaker's getting mended,' he said with a smile. +He was neither young nor handsome, but he was clever, and that goes +further than either in dealing with a woman.</p> + +<p>She still stood staring at him in rude independence.</p> + +<p>'The shadows is longer 'an they was a while by; mebbe it's three.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> + +<p>He sighed and shifted his position wearily against the paling, as though +faint with fatigue.</p> + +<p>'You can't tell me of any place near where I can get something to eat? I +have been working hard since daybreak, and now I am out of my reckoning, +and tired and hungry.' He glanced down at his tools and earth-stained +clothes.</p> + +<p>He won his wish; the woman, who would not have tarried a moment for +selfish pleasure, remained out of generous pity.</p> + +<p>'I've the piece mother put up, mebbe it's big enou' for we two.'</p> + +<p>'But I could not think of taking your luncheon,' he exclaimed, with a +gallantry that was meant to be impressive, but was quite lost on his +practical companion. She proceeded to open her parcel and examine the +contents to see whether or not there was enough for two. He also +examined it critically with his eyes, in some alarm at her prompt +response to his appeal, but the thick slices of bread and meat, if not +dainty, were clean, and of excellent quality.</p> + +<p>She took the largest and thickest bit and thrust it into his hand, very +much as a mother would feed her child with the portion she considered +its fair share.</p> + +<p>''Ere, ye may 'ev that, fur I shan't want it.'</p> + +<p>'You are very kind,' he said, with a touch of sarcasm too fine for her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<p>It appeared that, having taken out the food, she thought well to make +her own meal, for she went a few steps farther on, and, sitting down on +the grass with her back to the paling, began to eat. A large tuft of +weeds grew midway between him and her. Truly we can foresee consequences +but a very little way in our dealings with a fellow-creature, and this +man, as he stood munching his bread, uncertain how to proceed in winning +favour from the bold beauty, was hardly pleased with the result of his +encounter. His dog went and laid its head upon her knee, and she fed it +with crumbs; its master, after watching them a minute, stepped out on +the road with the intention of sitting down between them and the weeds. +As he did so he caught sight, as he thought, of a man seated in the very +place he intended to occupy. So strong was the impression that he +started and stared; but again, as before, there was no one to be seen. +The sunshine was bright upon all things; the palings were so far apart +that he could see everything in the fields behind; there was no one far +or near but the ploughman at half a field's distance, and they two, and +the dog.</p> + +<p>The woman turned coolly round and looked through the paling, as if she +supposed he had seen something behind her. 'Was't a haër?' she asked, +eyeing him with interest; 'ye ain't feared o' the like o' that?'</p> + +<p>'No, it was not a hare; I did not see a hare.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> + +<p>'What was't ye seed then?' she asked, looking at him with bold +determination.</p> + +<p>'What did I see?' he repeated vaguely, 'I saw nothing.'</p> + +<p>'Thought ye looked as if ye'd seed something',' she remarked +incredulously, and then went on eating and feeding the dog, as +indifferent to his presence as she was to the presence of the weeds.</p> + +<p>'Are you going far to-night?' he asked at length, thinking he would make +more progress toward friendship before he sat down.</p> + +<p>'To th' town.'</p> + +<p>'Indeed, as far as that! Which town, may I ask?' he said, with +mechanical politeness, for his mind was running on what he had seen.</p> + +<p>'Yer a fool and noä mistake,' she replied with emphasis. 'There's but +one town wi'in a walk.'</p> + +<p>'On the contrary, I am considered a man of great learning,' he replied, +with more eager self-assertion than he could hitherto have believed +possible under the circumstances.</p> + +<p>'Is't larning ye've got?' she asked, with much greater interest than she +had before evinced.</p> + +<p>'Yes; I am a man who spends his life seeking for knowledge.'</p> + +<p>'Are ye wiser ner parson?'</p> + +<p>'Very much wiser,' replied the man of science, with honest conviction.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> + +<p>She looked much more impressed than he had hoped; and thinking that he +had made himself sufficiently interesting, he began to speak about her +own affairs, supposing they would please her better.</p> + +<p>'You are not a married woman?' he said, looking at her ringless hand.</p> + +<p>'Married or no,' she replied, 'it's nowt to you.'</p> + +<p>'I beg your pardon; everything which concerns such a beautiful woman +must be of interest to me.'</p> + +<p>At that she laughed outright in hard derision, and went on eating her +bread and meat.</p> + +<p>'But won't you tell me if you are married or not?' he pleaded, pursuing +a subject which he thought must interest her. He was surprised to see +the sudden expression of womanly sorrow that came over her face, giving +her eyes new depth and light. She answered him sadly, looking past him +into the sunny distance—</p> + +<p>'No, nor like to be.'</p> + +<p>'I must disagree with you there. If you are not married yet, I am sure +you will be very soon. I never saw a more likely lassie than yourself.'</p> + +<p>Manlike, he was quite unconscious of the consummate impertinence of the +form this compliment had taken; but afterwards he realised it when his +idle words recurred to his mind.</p> + +<p>She turned her eyes full upon him, and said with energy: 'Ye know nowt +at all about it;' and then added more meditatively, 'neither do +parson.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> + +<p>She had been so absorbed in her thoughts for a few minutes that she had +ceased to stroke the dog, and, resenting this, it raised its silky head +from her lap and laid it upon her breast. Thus reminded, she smiled down +into the eyes of the dog and caressed it, pressing its head closer +against her bosom. The man stood a few paces away, watching these two +beautiful creatures as they sat in the hazy autumn sunlight, with their +background of weeds and moss-grown paling. He felt baffled and +perplexed, for he knew that he stood apart, excluded from their +companionship by something he could not define. So intolerable did this +feeling become that he resolved to break through it, and made a hasty +movement to sit down beside them; but, as he stepped forward, he was +suddenly aware that there was another man in the place he would have +taken, embracing and protecting the girl. He swore a loud oath, and +flung himself backwards to stand by the hedge on the opposite side of +the road, that he might the better review the situation. It was all as +it had been before—that quiet autumn landscape—only the woman appeared +much interested in his sudden movements.</p> + +<p>'What was't ye seed; was't a snaïke?' she inquired loudly, at the same +time moving her skirts to look for that dangerous reptile.</p> + +<p>'No,' he shouted, putting his whole energy into the word.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> + +<p>'What was't ye seed, cutting them capers as if ye was shot, an' saying +o' words neyther fit fur heaven above nor earth beneath?'</p> + +<p>So loudly did she ask, and so resolutely did she wait for an answer, +that he was forced into speech. 'I don't know,' he said, with another +oath, milder than the first.</p> + +<p>'Well, sure enow,' she said, still speaking loudly, ''ere's somethin' +awful queer, ye says yer a man that's got larning more ner parson, an' +ye sees somethin', an' can't tell what ye's seed. That's twice this +short while; are ye often took bad the like o' that?'</p> + +<p>The bold derision of this speech fell without effect upon its object, +because he perceived a gleam of mischievous intelligence in her eyes +which she had intended to conceal, but she was no adept in the art of +concealment. The conviction that the woman knew perfectly what he had +seen and did not in reality despise him for his conduct, took the sting +from her jeers but did not make his position pleasanter. The repeated +shock to his nerves had produced a chilly feeling of depression and +almost fear, which he could not immediately shake off, and he stood back +against the opposite hedge, with his half-eaten bread in his hand, +conscious that he looked and felt more like a whipped schoolboy than, as +he had fondly imagined when he first stopped the woman, the hero of a +rural love scene. That was nothing; he was, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> he had described +himself, a man who devoted his life to the search for knowledge, and +personal consciousness was almost lost in the intense curiosity which +the circumstances had aroused in him. With the trained mind of one +accustomed to investigation, he instantly perceived that his only clue +to the explanation of the phenomenon lay in the personality of the +woman. His one eager desire was to probe her thought through and +through, but how was he to approach the interior portals of a mind +guarded by a will as free and strong as his own? He would fain have +bound down her will with strong cords and analysed the secrets of her +mind with ruthless vivisection. But how? His tact, trained by all the +subtleties of a life cast in cultured social relations, was unequal to +the occasion, and, fearing to lose ground by a false step, he remained +silent.</p> + +<p>The woman finished eating and shook herself free of the crumbs. He +supposed, almost with a sense of desperation, that she was about to +leave him before he could begin his inquiry, but instead of moving she +motioned him to come near, and he went, and stood on the road in front +of her.</p> + +<p>'Ye says yer a man o' larning, an' I b'lieves ye, she began.</p> + +<p>He was about to reply that he was only a seeker after truth, but he was +checked by the knowledge that she would accept no answer she could not +under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>stand. He fell back on the truth as it was to her, and said +simply, 'Yes.'</p> + +<p>'I wants to ask ye two questions; will ye answer like an honest man?'</p> + +<p>She had laid aside all her loud rudeness, and was speaking with intense +earnestness—an earnestness that won his entire respect.</p> + +<p>'I will indeed answer you honestly, if I can answer.'</p> + +<p>'Then tell me this—What's the soäl o' a man?'</p> + +<p>He stood with lips sealed, partly by surprise at the question, and +partly by self-acknowledged ignorance of the answer.</p> + +<p>'The soäl o' a man,' she repeated more distinctly, 'ye knows what I mean +surely?'</p> + +<p>Yes, he knew what she meant, but he knew also that his own most honest +convictions hovered between a materialist philosophy and faith in the +spiritual unseen. If at that moment he could have decided between the +two he would gladly have done so, for the sake of the eager woman +sitting at his feet, but he knew that he did not know which was the +truth.</p> + +<p>She, still labouring under the impression that she had not made her +meaning plain, endeavoured to explain. 'Ye knows when a man dies, +there's two parts to him; one they buries, and one goes—' she pointed +upward with her thumb, not irreverently, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> as merely wishing to +indicate a fact without the expense of words.</p> + +<p>'Yes, I understand what you mean,' he said slowly, 'and under that +theory, the soul——'</p> + +<p>'Under what?' she said sharply.</p> + +<p>'I mean that if you say the soul is divided from the body at death——'</p> + +<p>'But it is—ain't it?' she interrupted.</p> + +<p>'Yes, it is,' he said, feeling that it was better to perjure himself +than to shake her faith.</p> + +<p>'Go on,' she said, 'for parson says the soäl is the thing inside that +thinks; but when a man's luny, ye knows—off his head like—has he no +soäl then? I've looked i' the Catechis', an' i' Bible, an' i' +Prayer-book, an' fur the life o' me, I doän't know.'</p> + +<p>'I don't wonder at that,' he said, with mechanical compassion, casting +about in his mind for some possible motive for her extraordinary +vehemence.</p> + +<p>He felt as certain, standing there, that this was a true woman, true to +all the highest attributes of her nature, as if he had been able to +weigh all the acts of her life and find none of them wanting. In the +midst of his perplexity he found time to ask himself whence he had this +knowledge. Did he read it in the lines of her face, or was it some +unseen influence of her mind upon his own? He had only time to question, +not to answer, for she looked up in his face with the trust and +expectation of a child, awaiting his words.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> + +<p>He spoke. 'You say when a man dies he is divided into two parts—the +body that rots and the part "that lives elsewhere."' He was speaking +very slowly and distinctly. 'If that part of a man which lives goes to +Heaven, where everything is quite different from this, he could have no +use for most of his thoughts—what we call opinions, for they are formed +on what he sees, and hears, and feels here. Look here!'—he held out his +arm and moved it up and down from the elbow—'there are nerves and +muscles; behind them is something we call life—we don't know what it +is. And behind your thoughts and feeling there is the same life—we +don't know what it is. The part of you that you say goes to Heaven must +be that life. If you ask me what I think, I think the greater part of +what you call mind is part of your body. If your body can live a spirit +life, so can it; but it would need as much changing first.'</p> + +<p>It was most extraordinary to him to see the avidity with which she drank +in his words, and also the intelligence with which she seemed to master +them, for she cried—</p> + +<p>'What's i' the soäl then? When ye <i>will</i> to do a thing agen all costs, +is that i' the soäl?'</p> + +<p>'Certainly the spirit must be the self, and the will, as far as we know, +is that self—more that self than anything else is.' He spoke in the +pleased<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> tone of a schoolmaster who finds that the mind beneath his +touch is being moulded into the right shape; and besides he supposed he +could question her next.</p> + +<p>'I <i>knowed</i> that,' she said, with an intensity of conviction that +confounded her listener, 'I <i>knowed</i> the soäl was will.'</p> + +<p>'It must be intelligence, and will, and probably memory,' he said, +beguiled into the idea that she was interested in the nicety of his +theory, 'but not in any sense that activity of mind which shows itself +in the opinions most men conceive so important.'</p> + +<p>But of this she took no heed. 'When a man's off his head or par'lysed, +wi' no more life in him than babe unborn—yet when he's living and not +dead—where's his soäl then? Parson he says the soäl's sleeping inside +him afore going to glory, like a grub afore it turns into a fly; but I +asked him how he knowed, and he just said he knowed, an' I mun b'lieve, +and that's no way to answer an honest woman.'</p> + +<p>'He did not really know.'</p> + +<p>'Well, tell what you knows,' she said.</p> + +<p>'Indeed, I do not know anything about it.'</p> + +<p>'Ye doän't know!'</p> + +<p>'I do not know.'</p> + +<p>The animation of hope slowly faded from her face, giving place to a look +of bitter disappointment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> It was as if a little child, suddenly denied +some darling wish, should have strength to restrain its tears and mutely +acquiesce in the inevitable.</p> + +<p>'Then there's nowt to say,' she said, rising, sullen in the first moment +of pain.</p> + +<p>'But you'll tell me why you have asked?' he begged; 'I am very sorry +indeed that I cannot answer.'</p> + +<p>'Noä, I'll not tell ye, fur it's no concern o' yours; but thank ye +kindly, sir, all the same. Yer an honest man. Good-day.'</p> + +<p>With that she walked resolutely away, nor would she accept his offer of +payment for the food she had given. He stood and watched her, feeling +checkmated, until he saw her exchange greetings with the ploughman, who +reached the end of his furrow as she passed the side of the field. +Seeing this, he took up his specimens and walked slowly in the same +direction, waiting for the ploughman's next return. As he stood at the +hedge he noticed that the labourer, who appeared to be a middle-aged man +of average intelligence, surveyed him with more than ordinary interest.</p> + +<p>'Good-day,' he said.</p> + +<p>'Good-day, sir.' There was a clank of the chains, a shout and groan to +the horses, and they stopped beside the hedge.</p> + +<p>'Can you tell me the name of the young woman who passed down the road +just now?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Jen Wilkes, sir; "Jen o' the glen" they calls 'er, for she lives in the +holler down there, a bit by on the town road, out of West Chilton.'</p> + +<p>'She has not lived here long, surely; she seems a north country woman by +her speech.'</p> + +<p>'Very like, sir; it's a while by sin' she came with 'er mother to live +i' Chilton.'</p> + +<p>It was evident that the ploughman had much more to say, and that he +wished to say it, but his words did not come easily.</p> + +<p>'Can you tell me anything more about her?' The man rubbed his coarse +beard down upon his collar, and clanked his chains, and made guttural +sounds to his horses, which possibly explained to them the meaning he +did not verbally express. Then he looked up and made a facial +contortion, which clearly meant that there was more to be said +concerning Jen if any one could be found brave enough to say it.</p> + +<p>'I feel assured she is everything that is good and respectable.'</p> + +<p>At this the ploughman could contain himself no longer, but heaving up +one shoulder and looking round to see that there was no one to hear, he +blurted out—''Ave you seen 'er shadder, sir?'</p> + +<p>'Her what?'</p> + +<p>''Er shadder. I seen you so long with 'er on the road I thought maybe +you'd tried to 'ave a kiss.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> Gentlemen mostly thinks a sight of Jen's +looks; an' it ain't no harm as I knows on to kiss a tidy girl, if +y'ain't married, or th' missus don't object.'</p> + +<p>'And if I did, what has that to do with it? What do you mean by her +shadow?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I dunno; I h'ain't seen nothing myself; but they says, whenever any +has tried to be friendly with 'er, they's seed something not just o' the +right sort. They calls it 'er shadder—but I dunno, I h'ain't seen +nothing myself.'</p> + +<p>When we are suddenly annoyed, by whatever cause, we are apt to vent our +annoyance upon the person nearest to us; and at this unlooked-for +corroboration of his unpleasant vision, the gentleman said rudely, +'You're not such a fool as to believe such confounded trash as that, are +you?'</p> + +<p>'No sir, I'm no fool,' said the ploughman sulkily, starting his horses +to go up the furrow. In vain the other called out an attempted apology, +and tried to delay him; the accustomed shout and clank of the chains was +all he got in answer. The birds that had settled upon the field rose +again at the return of the horses, and curveted in a long fluttering +line above their heads. The man on the road turned reluctantly away, +and, too perplexed almost for thought, walked off to catch his +home-bound train.</p> + +<hr class='smler' /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="Chapter_AII" id="Chapter_AII"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></h3> + +<p>The man of science, Skelton by name, passed some seven days in business +and pleasure at home among men of his own class, and then, impelled by +an intolerable curiosity, he went to seek the home of the woman with +whom he had so strange a meeting. Concerning the mad delusion from which +he had suffered in her presence, his mind would give him no rest. Some +further effort he must make to understand the cause of an experience +which he could not reason from his memory. The effort might be futile; +he could form no plan of action; yet he found himself again upon the +highroad which led from the nearest station to the village of West +Chilton.</p> + +<p>The autumn leaf that had bedecked the trees was lying upon the ground, +its brightness soiled and tarnished. The cloud rack hung above, a vault +of gloom in which the upper winds coursed sadly.</p> + +<p>'This is the field,' said Skelton within himself. 'The ploughman has +finished his work, but the crows are still flapping about it. I wonder +if they are the same crows! That is the clump of weeds by which she sat; +it was as red as flame then, but now it is colourless as the cinders of +a fire that is gone out.'</p> + +<p>His words were like straws, showing the current of his thoughts.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + +<p>Just then in the west the cloud masses in the horizon, being moved by +the winds, rent asunder, exposing the land to the yellow blaze of the +setting sun. The distant hills stood out against the glow in richer +blue, and far and near the fields took brighter hues—warm brown of +earth ready to yield the next harvest, yellow of stubble lands at rest, +bright green of slopes that fed the moving cows. There were luminous +shadows, too, that gathered instantly in the copses, as if they were the +forms of dryads who could sport unseen in the murk daylight, but must +fly under each shrub for refuge in the sudden sunshine. Close at his +feet lay the patch of cabbages—purple cabbages they were, throwing back +from each glossy leaf and stalk infinite gradations of crimson light. +Parts of the leaves were not glossy but were covered with opaque bloom +of tender blue, and here and there a leaf had been broken, disclosing +scarlet veins. They were very beautiful—Skelton stood looking down into +their depth of colour.</p> + +<p>It had been difficult for him to conjecture a possible cause for the +phantom he had thought he saw a week before, but one theory which had +floated in his mind had been that from these cabbages, which had lain a +trifle too long in sun and moisture; gases might have arisen which had +disturbed his senses. It was true that his theory did not account for +other instances of the same optical delusion to which the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> talk of the +ploughman had seemed to point, but Skelton could not bring himself to +attach much importance to his words. He meditated on them now as he +stood.</p> + +<p>'I dare not go to the young woman and ask her to show me her "shadder." +If she knew I was here she would only try to defeat my purpose. I <i>can</i> +only interview her neighbours; and this first rustic whom I questioned +shut himself up like an oyster; if all the rest act in this way, what +can I do? And if I can hear all the vulgar superstition there is to be +heard, will there be in the whole of it the indication of a single +fact?'</p> + +<p>So he mused by the road-side while the sun hung in the dream temple of +fire made by the chasm of cloud. Then the earth moved onward into the +night, and he walked on upon his curious errand.</p> + +<p>The darkness of evening had already fallen, and he was still about a +mile from the village when he discerned a woman coming towards him on +the road. It was the very woman about whom his mind was occupied. There +was a house at one side; the gate leading to it was close to him, and, +not wishing to be recognised at the moment, he turned in through it to +wait in the darkness of some garden shrubs till she had passed.</p> + +<p>But she did not pass. She came up, walking more and more slowly, till +she stood on the road outside<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> the gate. She looked up and down the road +with a hesitating air, and then, clasping her hands behind her, leaned +back against a heavy gate-post and composed herself to wait. There was +light enough to see her, for there was a moon behind the clouds, and +also what was left of the daylight in the west was glimmering full upon +her. The house was close to the road—apparently an old +farmstead—turning blank dark walls and roofs to them, so that it was +evidently uninhabited or else inhabited only at the other side. The +young woman looked up at it, apparently not without distrust, but even +to her keen scrutiny there was no sign of life. For the rest, the road +lay through a glen, the village was out of sight, and the hills around +them were like the hills in Hades—silent, shadowy and cold.</p> + +<p>It seemed an unearthly thing that she should have come there to stand +and lean against the gate, as if to shut him into his self-sought trap; +and there was no impatience about this woman—she stood quite still in +that dark, desolate place, as though she was perfectly contented to wait +and wait—for what? how long?—these were the questions he asked +himself. Was this dark house the abode of evil spirits with which she +was in league? and if so, what result would accrue to him? There are +circumstances which suggest fantastic speculations to the most learned +man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> + +<p>At length he heard a footfall. He could not tell where at first, but, as +it approached, he saw a countryman in a carter's blouse coming across +the opposite field. He got through the hedge and came toward the gate. +Then the girl spoke in her strong voice and north-country accent, but +Skelton would hardly have known the voice again, it was so soft and sad.</p> + +<p>'I've been waiting on ye, Johnnie; some women thinks shame to be first +at the trysting, but that's not me when I loves ye true.'</p> + +<p>At this Skelton by an impulse of honour thought to pass out of ear-shot, +and then another motive held him listening. He thought of the ghostly +thing he had seen by this girl, of the wild tale the ploughman had told. +The passion of investigation, which had grown lusty by long exercise, +rose within him triumphing over his personal inclinations. Too much was +at stake to miss a chance like this. Honour in this situation seemed +like a flimsy sentiment. He waited for the answer of the girl's lover +with breathless interest.</p> + +<p>The man was evidently a fine young fellow, tall and strong, and when he +spoke it was not without a touch of manly indignation in his tone.</p> + +<p>'If you love me true, Jen, I can't think what the meaning of your doings +is. It's two years since you came to live in the glen, and you can't say +as you've<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> not understood my meaning plain since the first I saw you; +it's to take you to church and take care of you as a woman ought to be +took care of by a man. And you know I could do it, Jen, for my wages is +good; but you've shied an' shied whenever you've seen me, and baulked +an' baulked when you couldn't shy, so as no skittish mare is half so +bad.'</p> + +<p>'Because, Johnnie, I wouldn't ha' yer heart broke the way mine is. I +loved ye too true for that.'</p> + +<p>'But what's to hinder that we may be like other folks is? There's +troubles comes to all, but we can bear them like the rest. What's to +hinder? I thought there was some one else, an' that you didn't like. God +knows, Jen, if that 'ad been the way, I'd never 'ev troubled you again; +but last night when we heard your mother was took bad, an' mother an' me +stepped round to see what we could do, an' you let on as you did 'ave a +caring for me, I says,—"Let's be cried in the church," so as your +mother could die happy, if die she must. But when you says, "no," and as +you'd meet me here an' tell me why, I was content to wait an' come here; +an' now what I want to know is—why? what's to hinder, Jen?'</p> + +<p>'Ye knows as well as me the tales about me, Johnnie.'</p> + +<p>'Tales!' said the young man passionately; 'what tales? All along I've +knocked down any man as 'ud say a word against you.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Ay, but the women, Johnnie; ye couldn't knock them down; that's why a +woman's tale's allus the worst.'</p> + +<p>'An' what can they say? the worst is that if any man comes nigh you for +a kiss or the like o' that—and no offence, Jen, but you're an uncommon +tidy girl to kiss—he sees another man betwixt himself an' you. Fools +they be to believe such trash! If you'd give me the leave—which I'm not +the fellow to take without you say the word—I'd soon show as no shadder +'ud come betwixt.'</p> + +<p>He came a step nearer, reproachful in his frank respect, as if he would +claim the liberty he asked; but she drew back, holding up her hand to +ward him off.</p> + +<p>'I believe you half believe the nonsense yourself, Jen.'</p> + +<p>'Heaven knows, Johnnie, I've reason to b'lieve it weel, none knows +better ner me. It's that I've comed to tell ye to-night; an' there's +nowt fur it but we mun part. An' if I trouble yer peace staying here i' +the glen, I'll go away out o' yer sight. It wasn't a wish o' mine to +bring ye trouble. None knows better ner me how hard trouble's to bear.'</p> + +<p>Her voice trembled as if with some physical pain; he only answered by a +sound of incredulous surprise.</p> + +<p>'I'll tell ye the whole on't, Johnnie. Ye sees,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> we lived i' +Yarm—mother and me. Mother, she sewed books fur a book-binding man; an' +we'd a little coming in as father'd saved. Well, mother, she was feared +lest I'd fall into rough ways like, an' she kep' me in a good bit, an' +there was a man as helped i' the book-binding——' she stopped, and then +said half under her breath—</p> + +<p>'His name was Dan'el, Dan'el McGair, it was.'</p> + +<p>'Go on, Jen.'</p> + +<p>'He was a leän man and white to look at. He was very pious, and knowed +lots o' things. Least, I don't know if he was pious, fur he didn't go to +church, but he'd his own thoughts o' things, an' he was steady, an' kep' +himself to himself. He niver telled me his thoughts o' things—he said +it 'ud unsettle me like—but he taught me reading; an' mother, she liked +his coming constant to see us. As fur as I knows, he was a good man; but +I tell ye, Johnnie, that man had a will—whatsoever thing Dan'el McGair +wanted, that thing he mun have, if he died i' the getting. He was about +forty, an' I was nigh on twenty; it was after he'd taught me reading, +an' whenever I'd go out here or there, or do this or that he didn't +like, he'd turn as white as snow, an' tremble like a tree-stem i' the +wind, an' dare me to do anything as he didn't like. Ye sees he allus had +that power over mother to make her think like him, but I wouldn't give +in to him. If I'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> gived in—well, I doänt know what 'ud 'a comed. God +knows what did come were bad enow.' She stopped speaking and toed the +damp ground—crushing her boot into the frosty mud and drawing it +backwards and forwards as she stood against the gate.</p> + +<p>'Go on, Jen.'</p> + +<p>'Ye sees, what he willed to get, that he mun have, an' at the end he +willed to have me—mind, body, an' soäl. He'd 'a had me, only I made a +stand fur my life. Mother, she was all on his side, only she didn't want +fur me to do what I wouldn't; but she cried like, an' talked o' his +goodness—an' Dan'el, he wouldn't ask out an' out, or I could 'a told +him my mind an' 'a done wi' it; but he went on giving us, an' paying +things, an' mother she took it all, till I was fairly mad wi' the shame +an' anger on't. I doänt say as I acted as I ought; I knowed I'd a power +over him to drive him wild like wi' a smile or a soft word, an' power's +awful dangerous fur a young thing—it's like as if God gave the wind a +will o' its own, an' didn't howd it in His own hand. Then I was feared +o' Dan'el's power over mother, an' give in times when I ought to 'a held +my own. An' I liked to have him fur a sarvint to me, an' I led him on +like. So it went on—he niver doubted I'd marry wi' him, an' I held out +fur my life. Then at th' end, some words we had made things worse. 'Twas +i' spring—i' March I think—he walked out miles<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> an' miles on the bad +roads to bring me the first flowers. I was book-binding then, out late +at night, an' I comed home to find he'd left them fur me—snowdrops they +was, an' moss wi' a glint o' green light on't, like sun shining through +th' trees; an' there was a grey pigeon's feather he'd picked up +somewheres, all clean and unroughed, like a bit o' the sky at th' dawn; +an' there was a twig wi' a wee pink toädstood on't, all pink an' red. +The sight o' them fairly made me mad. 'Twas bad enow to buy me wi' munny +an' the things munny can buy, but it seemed he'd take the very thoughts +o' God A'mighty and use them to get his will. I were mad; but if he'd +comed to our house I couldn't 'a spoke fur mother's being there; so I +just took them bits o' Spring i' my hand, an' went out i' the dark to +his house, an' went into his room, an' threw 'em on the floor, an' +stamped 'em wi' my foot, an' I told him how he'd sneaked round to bind +me to him, an' as how I'd die first. I was mad, an' talked till I +couldn't speak fur my voice give out, an' that wasn't soon. He just sat +still hearing me, but he was white, an' shook like a man wi' the palsy. +They said he'd had fits once an' that made him nervous, but I didn't +think o' him like that. He was strong, fur he could make most all men do +as he wanted. He was spoiling my life wi' his strength, an' I didn't +think o' him as weakly. When I'd raged at him an'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> couldn't say more, I +went out an' was going home i' the dark, howding by the wall, as weak as +a baby; an' just afore I got home, I seed him stand just in front' o' +me. I thought he'd runned after me—mebbe he did—but I've thought +since, mebbe not, that his body mayn't 'a been there at all; but anyway +I seed him stand just afore me, wi' his eyes large and like fire, an' +him all white and trembling. He said, "I tell ye, Jen, I will have ye +mine, an' as long as I live no other man shall," an' wi' that I went +past him into the house.'</p> + +<p>'Go on, Jen,' said the carter.</p> + +<p>'All I knows is that the word he spoke was a true word. Next day they +comed and telled us he was found all par'lysed in his chair, an' he +couldn't move nor speak. From that time the doctors 'ud sometimes come +from a long way off; they said as there was somethin' strange about his +sickness. I doänt know what they said, I niver seed him again. There's +part o' him lies i' the bed, an' the parish feeds him, an' the doctors +they talk about him. I niver seed him again sin' that night, but I knows +what he said was true, an' there's many a man as 'as seed him anear me +sin' that day. I tell ye, Johnnie, there's trouble to face i' this world +worse ner death,—not worse ner our own death, fur that's most times a +good thing, but worse ner the death o' them we love most true—an' worse +ner parting i' this world,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> Johnnie, an' worse <i>a'most</i> than sin itself; +but, thank God, not <i>quite</i> worse ner sin. But I never knowed, lad, how +bad my own trouble was—though it's a'most drove me hard at times, not +recking much what I said or did—I niver knowed, my lad, how bad it was +till I knowed it was yer trouble too.'</p> + +<p>The young carter stood quite silent. His blue blouse glimmered white in +the darkness and flapped a little in the wind, but he stood still as a +rock, with his strong arms crossed upon his breast, and the silence +seemed filled with the expression of thoughts for which words would have +been useless. It was evident that her strong emotion had brought to his +mind a conviction of the truth of her words which could not have been +conveyed by the words alone. So they stood there, he and she, in all the +rugged power of physical strength, confronted with their life's problem. +At last, after they had been silent a long time, and it seemed that he +had said many things, and that she had answered him, he appeared +suddenly to sum up his thoughts to their conclusion, and stretched out +both his strong arms to take her and all her griefs into his heart. It +seemed in the darkness as though he did clasp her and did not, for she +gave a low terrible cry and fled from him—a cry such as a spirit might +give who, having ascended to Heaven's gate with toil and prayer, falls +backward into Hell; and she ran from him—it seemed that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> with only her +human strength she could not have fled so fast. He followed her, dashing +with all his strength into the darkness. They went towards the village, +and in the mud their footfalls were almost silent.</p> + +<p>The listener came out of his hiding and went back on the road by which +he had come.</p> + +<hr class='smler' /> +<h3><a name="Chapter_AIII" id="Chapter_AIII"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></h3> + +<p>Next morning Skelton travelled northward to Yarm. After some difficulty +he succeeded in discovering the paralytic whom he sought. The medical +interest which had at first been aroused by the case appeared to have +died away; and it was only after some time spent in interviewing +officials that he at last found the man, Daniel McGair. A parish +apothecary had him in charge. The apothecary was a coarse good-natured +fellow, one of that class of ignorant men upon whose brains the dregs of +a refined agnosticism have settled down in the form of arrogant +assumption. He had enough knowledge of the external matters of science +to know, upon receiving Skelton's card, that he was receiving a visitor +of distinction. 'Yes, sir,' he said, leading the way out of the +dispensary, 'I'll exhibit the case. I don't know that there's much +that's remarkable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> about it. Of course, to us who take an interest in +science, all these things are interesting in their way.'</p> + +<p>It was quite clear he did not know in what way the most special interest +accrued to this case.</p> + +<p>'No sir, he ain't in the Union; he saved, and bought his cottage before +his stroke, so that's where he is. He ain't got no kith or kin, as far +as we know.'</p> + +<p>It was bright noonday when they walked through the narrow streets of +mean houses, passing among the numerous children which swarm in such +localities. The sun was shining, the children were shouting, the women +were gossiping at their doors, when the apothecary stopped at a low +one-roomed cottage, the home of Daniel McGair. He opened the door with a +key and went in, as though the house were empty.</p> + +<p>It was a plain bare room; there was no curtain on the window and the sun +shone in. There was a smouldering fire in the grate, a bookshelf on one +side, still holding its dusty and unused volumes; there was an +arm-chair—was that the chair in which he had sat to see his love-gifts +trampled down, in which he had received that mysterious stroke from the +unseen enemy? There was also a table in the room, and a chest, and, in +the corner, a pallet-bed, upon which lay the withered body of a man. +That was all, except some prints that hung upon the wall, dusty and +lifeless-looking. Such changes do years<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> of disuse make in dwellings +which, when inhabited, have been replete with human interest. Even yet +there was abundant indication that the room had once been the abode of +one who put much of his own personality into his surroundings. The chair +and the chest were carved with a rude device—the Devil grappling with +the Son of God. The prints were crude allegorical representations of +Life and Death. The books were full of the violent polemic of the +Reformation. A flowerpot stood on the window-sill; perhaps ten years ago +it had had a flower in it, but now it held the apothecary's empty +phials. Everything proclaimed the room tenantless.</p> + +<p>Skelton walked to the bed and looked down upon it with profound +curiosity. Only the head lay above the coverlet; withered and shrunken +it was, yet the brow was high, and it was plain that the features had +been fine and strong, betokening the once keen and sensitive +nerve—there was nothing sensitive now; all thought and feeling had for +ever fled. The half-shut lids disclosed the vacant eyes; the hair lay +clammy and matted on the wrinkled brow; there was nothing of life left +but the breath.</p> + +<p>'It's my opinion, sir, that he'll live out his natural time. It's a +theory of mine that we are all born with a certain length of life in us, +and, barring accident, that time we'll live. Well, of course this man +had the accident of his stroke, which by rights<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> ought to have done for +him, but by some fluke he weathered it, and now he'll live out his time. +If one could find out his ancestors and see how long they each lived, +with a little calculation I could tell you how long he'd lie there.' +With that the apothecary poked his patient in the cheek, and jerked him +by the arm, to show Skelton how completely consciousness was gone. He +would have treated a corpse with more respect: the lowest of us has some +reverence for death.</p> + +<p>Just then the door, which had been left ajar, was pushed open, and a +slight, sweet-faced woman came in from the street. She was evidently a +district Bible-reader, but, although perceiving that she had entered a +house where she was not needed, she advanced as far as the bed and +looked down upon it with a passion of tenderness and pity depicted on +her face.</p> + +<p>'Bless you, mum, he ain't suff'ring,' said the apothecary.</p> + +<p>'I was thinking of his soul, not of his body,' she said. 'I was +wondering if he had been prepared to meet his Creator.'</p> + +<p>'Where do you suppose his soul is?' asked Skelton curiously. He asked +the question in all reverence; she was not a lady apparently, only a +working woman, but there was about her the strong majesty of a noble +life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> + +<p>'He is not dead yet,' she replied with evident astonishment.</p> + +<p>'Lor, mum,' said the apothecary, 'his brain ain't in working order just +at present, and as for his spirit apart from his body, that's an unknown +quantity we scientific men don't deal in.'</p> + +<p>She looked at them both with a look of indescribable compassion, and +went away. Skelton would fain have followed the woman out into the sunny +street, but he remained to pay that courtesy which was due to the +brusque good nature of his companion.</p> + +<p>After examining the room and finding nothing more of interest, he went +and talked over the physical circumstances of the case with the parish +doctor. He did not gain much information about the patient's diseased +body, and naturally none whatever concerning the whereabouts of his +soul. The peculiar interest of the case he did not mention to any one. +Afterwards he went back to the neighbourhood by himself, and +endeavoured, as quietly as possible, to find out what traces the man's +past life had left upon the minds of his neighbours. Ten years bring +more change to any community than we are apt to suppose; and among the +poor, where rude necessity rules rather than choice, there is more +change than among the rich. There were a few who had seen McGair moving +up and down the streets, and knew him to have been a book-binder by +trade.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> One or two remembered the widow Wilkes and her daughter, and +could affirm that they had been friends of McGair and had moved away +after his illness. Whither they had gone no one knew.</p> + +<p>When there was nothing more to be seen or heard at Yarm, Skelton went +home. Again he threw himself into all the daily interests of his life in +order that he might think the more dispassionately of the circumstances +of this strange case. In truth it was not now entirely out of curiosity +that he was tempted to think of it; his sympathy had been stirred by the +courage and sorrow of the woman whom he had so idly accosted on that +bright autumn day only a few weeks before. She had appealed to him +because he had knowledge. Was all his knowledge, then, powerless to help +her? He believed that the shadowy appearance which dogged her footsteps +could only be some projection of mind, whether or not its cause was the +strong will of the paralytic transcending the ordinary limits of time +and space, he could not tell. Certainly no discussion as to its nature +and origin could in any way aid its victim, and he could only fall back +upon the comfort material kindness and sympathy could give. At last he +went down once more to West Chilton, this time for the express purpose +of seeing Jen.</p> + +<p>He found the cottage in the glen road near the village, and his knock +was answered by Jen herself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> She recognised him instantly, but was too +pre-occupied to take much interest in the fact of his coming. He learned +that her mother had just died, and that the neighbours were in the +house, keeping vigil during the few sad days preceding the burial. It +was evident that there was little real sympathy between them and the +bereaved daughter, so he easily persuaded her to come out and walk a bit +up the road with him. She did so, evidently supposing that he had some +business with her, but too deeply buried in her sorrow to inquire what +it was.</p> + +<p>They came to the house by the roadside where he had last seen her and +she had been unconscious of his presence. The place seemed to rouse her +from the dulness of grief, and she suddenly raised her head, like a +beautiful animal scenting some cause of excitement, and stood still, +looking round with brightened eyes, taking long deep breaths in the pure +frosty air. No doubt she had passed the same road many times since the +tryst, but the mind which has lately stood face to face with death +perceives more clearly the true relations of all things to itself; and, +in this spot, among all life's shiftings of the things that seem and are +not, she had stood and wrestled with the reality of her ghostly bondage.</p> + +<p>All about them the hills were covered with the year's first snow. How +bright the light was upon their heights! how soft the shadows that +gathered in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> their slopes! The fields were white also, and the +hedgerows. Above them the sky was veiled with snow clouds, soft and +grey, except that at the verge of east and west there were faint +metallic lines, such as one sees upon clouds across snowfields, like the +pale reflections of a distant fire. Jen had come to a full stop now. She +raised her hands to her face and sobbed out like a little child.</p> + +<p>Skelton stood by her, feeling his own feebleness. 'I know you are in +great trouble,' he said.</p> + +<p>Her sobs did not last long; she soon mastered them, not by any art of +concealment but by rude force. Then standing shame-faced, with +half-averted head, she wiped her eyes with her apron.</p> + +<p>'Yes, sir, I'm in great trouble, greater ner ye can know, fur death's +neither here nor there—it's living that's hard. Parson, he speaks out +about preparing to die, but to my mind it takes a sight more preparing +to know how to go on living.'</p> + +<p>'I know that you have greater trouble than your mother's death. I know +that you love a young man who loves you, and also what it is that you +think keeps you apart from him.'</p> + +<p>'And how do you know that, sir?' she asked, still with averted face.</p> + +<p>Then he confessed, humbly enough, just how he did know it, and all that +he knew, and told her about his visit to Yarm. When he spoke of Yarm +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> his visit to Daniel McGair she turned and looked full at him, +drinking in every word with hungry curiosity.</p> + +<p>'Yes, sir, we left the place, an' I haven't heard o' him this nine year, +but I knowed he wasn't dead.'</p> + +<p>'How did you know that, Jen?'</p> + +<p>'Because, sir, when God A'mighty sees fit that he should die, I'll be +free o' him, that's all.'</p> + +<p>'And aren't you going to marry?'</p> + +<p>'Noä, sir. Johnnie an' me has talked it over, an' he says as how he'll +wait till such time as I'm free. An' I didn't say "no" to him, fur when +one knows what it is to love true, sir, one knows well it's noä use to +say as this thing's best or t'other, but just it's like being taken up +like a leaf by the wind an' moved whether one will or no. There's just +this diff'rence betwixt true love an' the common kind—the common kind +o' love moves ye i' the wrong way, an' true love i' the right; fur it's +a true word the blessed St. John said when he said that love is God.'</p> + +<p>'Did St. John say that?' said Skelton.</p> + +<p>'Yes, sir, I read it to mother just afore she died. An' Johnnie's gone +across the sea, sir, wi' his mother; he got a right good chance to +better hisself, an' I made him go. His ship sailed the day after +Christmas; an' I said, "Johnnie, I'll bide here, an' God 'ull take care +o' me as well as ye could yerself;" an' I said, "Johnnie, I'll pray +every day, night an' morning,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> that if ye can forget me, ye will; for if +ye can forget, then yer love's not o' the right sort, as I could take, +or God 'ud want ye to give; and if ye can't forget, then there's nowt to +say but as I'll bide here." An' I said, sir, as he munna think as loving +him made me sad, fur I was a big sight happier to love him, if he +forgets or if he comes again.'</p> + +<p>'Will you live here; Jen, where the neighbours distrust you?'</p> + +<p>'It 'ud just be the same any other place, sir, an' here I can work i' +the fields, spring and harvest, an' earn my own bread. I know the +fields, sir, an' the hills—they's like friends to me now, an' I knows +the dumb things about, an' they all knows me. It's a sight o' help one +can get, sir, when one's down wi' the sorrow o' all the world lying on +the heart, to have a kind look an' a word wi' the dogs an' cows when +they comes down the hills fur the milking. An' the children they mostly +lets come to me now, though they kep 'em from me at first.</p> + +<p>Then he told her that he had come a long way on purpose to see if he +could help her; that he felt ashamed of having listened to her story, +and that it would give him happiness in some way or other to make her +life more easy. He explained that he had a great deal of money and many +friends, and could easily give her anything that these could procure. In +saying this he did not disguise from himself for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> a moment that his +motive was mixed, and that he desired to gain some hold over her, such +as benevolence could give, that he might further examine the problem of +her extraordinary misfortune. Even as he spoke he marvelled at the +strength of his respect for her, which could so outweigh his own +interest as to make it impossible that he should interfere in her +affairs otherwise than with all deference, as if she were a lady.</p> + +<p>When he had made it quite clear to her that he was able and willing to +give her anything she should ask, she thought of his words a while, and +then answered—</p> + +<p>'I thank ye, sir, but there's nowt ye can do o' that sort, fur if there +was I'd take it from Johnnie an' none other. But there's one thing I'll +ask, sir, an' wi' all yer kind offers ye can't but agree to it, fur it's +not much. Ye've found out this tale o' my life; there's none else as +knows it, save mother lying dead, an' Johnnie I telled fur love's sake, +an' him as lies palsied i' Yarm—God A'mighty only knows, sir, what +Dan'el McGair could tell on't—but this I ask, sir,—that ye'll keep all +ye knows an' say nowt. I did Dan'el a great wrong, for I smiled on him +whiles for the sake o' power; not but what he did me a worse wrong, so +far worse that whiles I think no woman has so sore a life as me; but I +did do him wrong, sir, and fur that reason I'll not ha' his name<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> blazed +abroad, hanging on to a tale as 'ud buzz i' the ears o' all. To tell it +'ud not make <i>my</i> life worse but better, fur now them as sees this thing +says dark things, an' speaks o' the devil an' worse. The times ha' been +when I cursed God an' prayed to die, but, thank Heaven, when I learned +what love was, I learned as God A'mighty can love us in spite o' our +wrong-doing, an' the pain it brings. Th' use o' such sore pain as mine, +sir, isna fur us to say, or to think great things to bear it patient; +but the use o' life, sir, to my thinking, is to keep all His creatures +from pain if we can, an' to take God's love like the sunshine, an' be +thankful. So I'll ask ye to keep what ye knows o' this tale an' not +speak on't, an' go no more to Yarm; an' if ye'll give me yer hand on +that, sir, I'll thank ye kindly.'</p> + +<p>So he gave her his hand on it, and went away.</p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> + +<h3>A FREAK OF CUPID</h3> + +<h3><a name="Chapter_BI" id="Chapter_BI"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></h3> + +<p>The earth was white, the firmament was white, the plumage of the wind +was white. The wind flew between curling drift and falling cloud, +brushing all comers with its feathers of light dry snow. At the sides of +the road the posts and bars of log-fences stood above the drifts; on the +side of the hill the naked maple trees formed a soft brush of grey; just +in sight, and no more, the white tin roof and grey walls of a huge +church and a small village were visible; all else was unbroken snow. The +surface of an ice-covered lake, the sloping fields, the long straight +road between the fences, were as pure, in their far-reaching whiteness, +as the upper levels of some cloud in shadeless air.</p> + +<p>A young Englishman was travelling alone through this region. He had set +out from the village and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> was about to cross the lake. A shaggy pony, a +small sleigh, a couple of buffalo-robes and a portmanteau formed his +whole equipment. The snow was light and dry; the pony trotted, although +the road was soft; the young man, wrapped in his fur-lined coat, had +little to do in driving.</p> + +<p>In England no one would set out in such a storm; but this traveller had +learned that in Canada the snowy vast is regarded as a plaything, or a +good medium of transit, or at the worst, an encumbrance to be plodded +through as one plods through storms of rain. He had found that he was +not expected to remain at an inn merely because it snowed, and, being a +man of spirit, he had on this day, as on others, done what was expected +of him.</p> + +<p>To-day, in the snow and wind, there was a slight difference from the +storms of other days. The innkeeper, who had given him his horse an hour +before by the walls of the great tin-roofed church, had looked at the +sky and the snow, and asked if he knew the road well; but this had been +accepted as an ignorant distrust of the foreign gentleman. Having +learned his lesson, that through falling snow he must travel, into the +heart of this greater snowstorm he travelled, valiant, if somewhat +doubtful.</p> + +<p>When he descended upon the ice of the lake he was no longer accompanied +by the grey length of the log-fences. This road across the lake had been +well<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> tracked after former snowfalls, and so the untrodden snow rose +high on either side; branches of fir and cedar, stuck at short intervals +in these snow walls, marked out the way. The pony ceased to trot. The +driver was only astonished that this cessation of speed had not come +sooner.</p> + +<p>Standing up in his sleigh and looking round he could see two or three +other sleighs travelling across nearer the village. The village he could +no longer see, scarcely even the hill, nor was there any communication +over the deep untrodden snow between his road and that other on which +there were travellers.</p> + +<p>Another hour passed, and now, as he went on slowly up the length of the +lake, all sound and sight of other sleighs were lost. The cloud was not +dark; the snow fell in such small flakes that it did not seem that even +an infinite number of them could bury the world; the wind drifting them +together, though strong, was not boisterous; the March evening did not +soon darken: and yet there was something in the determined action of +cloud and wind and snow, making the certainty that night would come with +no abatement, which caused even the inexperienced Englishman to perceive +that he was passing into the midst of a heavy storm.</p> + +<p>As is frequently the case with travellers, he had certain directions +concerning the road which appeared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> to be adequate until he was actually +confronted with that small portion of the earth's surface to which it +was necessary to apply them. He was to take the first road which crossed +his, running from side to side of the lake; but the first cross track +appeared to him so narrow and so deeply drifted that he did not believe +it to be the public road he sought. 'Some farm, hidden in the level +maple bush just seen through the falling snow, sends an occasional cart +to the village by this by-path,' so he reassured himself; and the pony, +who had spied the track first and paused to have time to consider it, at +the word of command obediently plodded its continuous route. A quarter +of a mile farther on the traveller saw something on the road in front; +as the sound of his pony's jangling bells approached, a horse lifted its +head and shook its own bells. The horse, the sleigh which it ought to +have been drawing, were standing still, full in the centre of the road. +The first thought, that it was cheering to come upon the trace of +another wayfarer, was checked by the gloomy idea that some impassable +drift must bar the way.</p> + +<p>The other sleigh was a rough wooden platform on runners. Upon it a man, +wrapped in a ragged buffalo-skin, lay prostrate. The Englishman jumped +to the ground and waded till he could lay his hand upon the recumbent +figure.</p> + +<p>At the touch the man jumped fiercely, and shook<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> himself from sleep. +Warm, luxurious sleep, only that, seemed to have enthralled him. His +cheeks were red, his aquiline nose, red also, suggested some amount of +strong drink; but his black eyes were bright, showing that the senses +were wholly alive. He looked defiant, inquiring. He was a +French-Canadian, apparently a <i>habitant</i>, but he understood the English +questions addressed to him. The curious thing was that he seemed to have +no reason for stopping. When he had with difficulty made way for the +gentleman to pass him on the road, he followed slowly, as it seemed +reluctantly. A mile farther on the Englishman, now far in front, +suspected that the other had again stopped, and wondered much. The man's +face had impressed him; the high cheek bones, the aquiline nose, the +clearness of the eye and complexion—these had not expressed dull folly.</p> + +<p>Now the Englishman came to another cross road, wider but more deeply +drifted than the track he was on. He turned into it and ploughed the +drifts. When he reached the shore, where the land undulated, the drifts +were still deeper. There were no trees here; he could see no house; +there was hardly any evidence, except the evergreen branches stuck in +the sides, that the road had ever been trodden. The March dusk had now +fallen, yet not darkly. The full moon was beyond the clouds, and +whatever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> wave of light came from declining day or rising night was held +in by, and reflected softly from, the storm of pearl. After some debate +he turned back to the lake and his former road. It must lead somewhere; +he pressed steadily on toward the western end of the lake.</p> + +<p>The western shore was level; he hardly knew when he was upon the land. +The glimmering night blinded the traveller; no ray of candle light was +in sight. He began to think that he was destined to see his horse slowly +buried, and himself to fight, as long as might be, a losing battle with +the fiends of the air.</p> + +<p>At last the plodding pony stopped again resolutely. Long lines of +Lombardy poplars here met the road. They were but as the ghosts of +trees; their stately shape, their regular succession, inspired him with +some sentiment of romance which he did not stay to define. He dimly +discerned shrubs as if planted in a pleasure-ground. Wading and fumbling +he found a paling and a gate. The pony turned off the high road with +renewed courage in its motion; the Englishman, letting loose the rein, +found himself drawn slowly up a long avenue of the ghostly poplar trees. +The road was straight, the land was flat, the poplars were upright. The +simplicity affected him with the notion that he was coming to an +enchanted palace. The pony approached the door of a large house, dim<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> to +the sight; its huge pointed tin roof, its stone sides, mantled as they +were with snowflakes and fringed with icicles at eaves and lintels, +hardly gave a dark outline in the glimmering storm. The rays of light +which twinkled through chinks of shutters might be analogous to the +stars produced by a stunned brain; it seemed to the Englishman that if +he went up and tried to knock on the door the ghostly house, the ghostly +poplar avenue, would vanish. The thought was born of the long monotony +of a danger which had called for no activity of brain or muscle on his +part. The pony knew better; it stopped before the door.</p> + +<p>The traveller stood in a small porch raised a step or two from the +ground. The door was opened by a middle-aged Frenchwoman clad in a +peasant's gown of bluish-grey. Behind her, holding a lamp a little above +her head, stood a young girl, large, womanly in form, with dimpled +softness of face, and dressed in a rich but quaint garment of amber +colour. With raised and statuesque wrist she held the lamp aloft to keep +the light from dazzling her eyes. She was looking through the doorway +with the quiet interest of responsibility, nothing of which was +expressed in the servant's furrowed countenance.</p> + +<p>'Is the master of the house at home?'</p> + +<p>'There is no master.'</p> + +<p>The girl spoke with a mellow voice and with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> manner of soft dignity; +yet, having regarded the stranger, there leaped into her face, as it +seemed to him, behind the outward calm of the dark eyes and dimpling +curves, a certain excited interest and delight. The current of thought +thus revealed contrasted with the calm which she instinctively turned to +him, as the words which an actor speaks aside contrast with those which +are not soliloquy.</p> + +<p>With more hesitation, more obvious modesty, he said—</p> + +<p>'May I speak to the mistress of the house?'</p> + +<p>'I am the mistress.'</p> + +<p>He could but look upon her more intently. She could not have been more +than eighteen years of age. Her hair had the soft and loose manner of +lying upon her head that is often seen in hair which has, till lately, +been allowed to hang loose to the winds. Her dress, folded over the full +bosom and sweeping to the ground in ample curves, was, little as he +could have described a modern fashion, even to his eyes evidently +fantastic—such as a child might don at play. Above all, as evidence of +her youth, there was that inward quiver of delight at his appearance and +presence, veiled perfectly, but seen behind the veil, as one may detect +glee rising in the heart of a child even though it be upon its formal +behaviour.</p> + +<p>'Can you tell me if there is any house within<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> reach where I can stop +for the night?' He gave a succinct account of his journey, the lost +road, the increasing storm. 'My horse is dead tired, but it might go a +mile or so farther.'</p> + +<p>The serving-woman, evincing some little curiosity, received from the +girl an interpretation in low and rapid French. The woman expressed by +her gestures some pity for man and beast. The girl replied with gentle +brevity—</p> + +<p>'We know that the roads are snowed up. The next house is three miles +farther on.'</p> + +<p>He hesitated, but his necessity was obvious.</p> + +<p>'I am afraid I must beg for a night's shelter.'</p> + +<p>He had been wondering a good deal what she would say, how she would +accede, and then he perceived that her dignity knew no circumlocution. +'I will send the man for your horse.' She said it with hardly a moment's +pause.</p> + +<p>The woman gave him a small broom, an implement to the use of which he +had grown accustomed, and disappeared upon the errand. The girl stood +still in her statuesque pose of light-bearer. The young man busied +himself in brushing the snow from cap and coat and boots. As he brushed +himself he felt elation in the knowledge, not ordinarily uppermost, that +he was a good-looking fellow and a gentleman.</p> + +<hr class='smler' /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="Chapter_BII" id="Chapter_BII"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></h3> + +<p>'My name is Courthope.' The visitor, denuded of coat and cap, presented +his card, upon which was written, 'Mr. George Courthope.'</p> + +<p>He began telling his hostess whence he came and what was his business. A +quarry which a dead relative had bequeathed to him had had sufficient +attraction to bring him across the sea and across this railless region. +His few words of self-introduction were mingled with and followed by +regrets for his intrusion, expressions of excessive gratitude. All the +time his mind was questioning amazedly.</p> + +<p>By the time the speeches which he deemed necessary were finished, he had +followed the girl into a spacious room, furnished in the large gay style +of the fifties, brilliantly lit, as if for a festival, and warmed by a +log fire of generous dimensions. Having led him in, listening silently +the while, and put her additional lamp upon the table, she now spoke, +with no <i>empressement</i>, almost with a manner of <i>insouciance</i>.</p> + +<p>'You are perfectly welcome; my father would never have wished his house +to be inhospitable.'</p> + +<p>With her words his own apologies seemed to lose their significance; he +felt a little foolish, and she,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> with some slight evidence of childish +awkwardness, seemed to seek a pretext for short escape.</p> + +<p>'I will tell my sister.' These words came with more abruptness, as if +the interior excitement was working itself to the surface.</p> + +<p>The room was a long one. She went out by a door at the farther end, and, +as with intense curiosity he watched her quickly receding form, he +noticed that when she thought herself out of his sight she entered the +other room with a skip. At that same end of the room hung a full-length +portrait of a gentleman. It was natural that Courthope should walk +towards it, trying to become acquainted with some link in the train of +circumstances which had raised this enchanted palace in the wilderness; +he had not followed to hear, but he overheard.</p> + +<p>'Eliz, it's a <i>real</i> young man!'</p> + +<p>'No! you are only making up, and' (here a touch of querulousness) 'I've +often told you that I don't like make-ups that one wants too much to be +true. I'll only have the Austens and Sir Charles and Evelina and——'</p> + +<p>'Eliz! He's <i>not</i> a make-up; the fairies have sent him to our party. +Isn't it just fairilly entrancing? He has a curly moustache and a nice +nose. He's English, like father. He says "cawn't," and "shawn't," and +"heah," and "theyah,"—genuine, no affectation. Oh' (here came a little +gurgle of joy), 'and to-night,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> too! It's the first <i>perfectly</i> joyful +thing that has <i>ever</i> come to us.'</p> + +<p>Courthope moved quietly back and stood before the blazing logs, looking +down into them with a smile of pure pleasure upon his lips.</p> + +<p>It was not long before the door, which she had left ajar, was re-opened, +and a light-wheeled chair was pushed into the room. It contained a +slight, elfin-like girl, white-faced, flaxen-haired, sharp-featured, and +arrayed in gorgeous crimson. The elder sister pushed from behind. The +little procession wore an air of triumphant satisfaction, still tempered +by the proprieties.</p> + +<p>'This is my sister,' said the mistress of the house.</p> + +<p>'I am very glad to see you, Mr. Courthope.' The tones of Eliz were sharp +and thin. She was evidently acting a part, as with the air of a very +grand lady she held out her hand.</p> + +<p>He was somewhat dazzled. He felt it not inappropriate to ask if he had +entered fairyland. Eliz would have answered him with fantastic +affirmative, but the elder sister, like a sensible child who knew better +how to arrange the game, interposed.</p> + +<p>'I'll explain it to you. Eliz and I are giving a party to-night. There +hasn't been any company in the house since father died four years ago, +and we know he wouldn't like us to be dull, so when our stepmother went +out, and sent word that she couldn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> come back to-night, we decided to +have a grand party. There are only to be play-people, you know; all the +people in Miss Austen's books are coming, and the nice ones out of <i>Sir +Charles Grandison</i>.'</p> + +<p>She paused to see if he understood.</p> + +<p>'Are the <i>Mysteries of Udolpho</i> invited?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'No, the others we just chose here and there, because we liked +them—Evelina, although she was rather silly and we told her that we +couldn't have Lord Ormond, and Miss Matty and Brother Peter out of +<i>Cranford</i>, and Moses Wakefield, because we liked him best of the +family, and the Portuguese nun who wrote the letters. We thought we +would have liked to invite the young man in <i>Maud</i> to meet her, but we +decided we should have to draw the line somewhere and leave out the +poetry-people.'</p> + +<p>The girl, leaning her forearms slightly on the back of her sister's +chair, gave the explanation in soft, business-like tones, and there was +only the faintest lurking of a smile about the corners of her lips to +indicate that she kept in view both reality and fantasy.</p> + +<p>'I think that I shall have to ask for an introduction to the Portuguese +nun,' said Courthope; 'the others, I am happy to say, I have met +before.'</p> + +<p>A smile of approval leapt straight out of her dark eyes into his, as if +she would have said: 'Good boy! you have read quite the right sort of +books!'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p> + +<p>Eliz was not endowed with the same well-balanced sense of proportion; +for the time the imaginary was the real.</p> + +<p>'The only question that remains to be decided,' she cried, 'is what +<i>you</i> would prefer to be. We will let you choose—Bingley, or Darcy, +or——'</p> + +<p>'It would be fair to tell him,' said the other, her smile broadening +now, 'that it's only the elderly people and notables who have been +invited to dinner, the young folks are coming in after; so if you are +hungry——' Her soft voice paused, as if suspended in mid-air, allowing +him to draw the inference.</p> + +<p>'It depends entirely on who you are, who I would like to be.' He did not +realise that there was undue gallantry in his speech; he felt exactly +like another child playing, loyally determined to be her mate, whatever +the character that might entail. 'I will even be the idiotic Edward if +you are Eleanor Dashwood.'</p> + +<p>Her chin was raised just half-an-inch higher; the smile that had been +peeping from eyes and dimples seemed to retire for the moment.</p> + +<p>'Oh, we,' she said, 'are the hostesses. My sister is Eliz King and I am +Madge King, and I think you had better be a real person too; just a Mr. +Courthope, come in by accident.'</p> + +<p>'Well, then, he can help us in the receiving and chatting to them.' Eliz +was quite reconciled.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p> + +<p>He felt glad to realise that his mistake had been merely playful. 'In +that case, may I have dinner without growing grey?' He asked it of +Madge, and her smile came back, so readily did she forget what she had +hardly consciously perceived.</p> + +<p>When the sharp-voiced little Eliz had been wheeled into the dining-room +to superintend some preparations there before the meal was ready, +Courthope could again break through the spell that the imaginary +reception imposed. He came from his dressing-room to find Madge at the +housewifely act of replenishing the fire. Filled with curiosity, +unwilling to ask questions, he remarked that he feared she must often +feel lonely, that he supposed Mrs. King did not often make visits +unaccompanied by her daughters.</p> + +<p>'She does not, worse luck!' Madge on her knees replied with childish +audacity.</p> + +<p>'I hope when she returns she may not be offended by my intrusion.'</p> + +<p>'Don't hope it,'—she smiled—'such hope would be vain.'</p> + +<p>He could not help laughing.</p> + +<p>'Is it dutiful then of you'—he paused—'or of me?'</p> + +<p>'Which do you prefer—to sleep in the barn, or that I should be +undutiful and disobey my stepmother?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p> + +<p>In a minute she gave her chin that lift in the air that he had seen +before.</p> + +<p>'You need not feel uncomfortable about Mrs. King; the house is really +mine, not hers, and father always had his house full of company. I am +doing my duty to him in taking you in, and in making a feast to please +Eliz when the stepmother happens to be away and I can do it peaceably. +And when she happens to be here I do my duty to him by keeping the peace +with her.'</p> + +<p>'Is she unkind to you?' he asked, with the ready, overflowing pity that +young men are apt to give to pretty women who complain.</p> + +<p>But she would have him know that she had not complained.</p> + +<p>There was no bitterness in her tone—her philosophy of life was all +sweetness. 'No! Bless her! God made her, I suppose, just as He made us; +so, according to the way she is made, she packs away all the linen and +silver, she keeps this room shut up for fear it will get worn out, and +we never see any visitors. But to-day she went away to St. Philippe to +see a dying man—I think she was going to convert him or something; but +he took a long time to die; and now we may be snowed up for days, and we +are going to have a perfectly glorious time.' She added hospitably, 'You +need not feel under the slightest obligation, for it gives us pleasure +to have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> you, and I know that father would have taken you in.'</p> + +<p>Courthope rose up and followed her glance, almost an adoring glance, to +the portrait he had before observed. He went and stood again face to +face with it.</p> + +<p>A goodly man was painted there, dressed in a judge's robe. Courthope +read the lineaments by the help of the living interpretation of the +daughter's likeness. Benevolence in the mouth, a love of good cheer and +good friends in the rounded cheeks, a lurking sense of the poetry of +life in the quiet eyes, and in the brow reason and a keen sense of right +proportion dominant. He would have given something to have exchanged a +quiet word with the man in the portrait, whose hospitality, living after +him, he was now receiving.</p> + +<p>Madge had been arranging the logs to her satisfaction, she would not +accept Courthope's aid, and now she told him who were going to dine with +them. She had great zest for the play.</p> + +<p>'Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, of course, and we thought we might have Mr. +Knightley, because he is a squire and not so very young, even though he +is not yet married. Miss Bates, of course, and the Westons. Mrs. +Dashwood has declined, of which we are rather glad, but we are having +Mrs. Jennings.' So she went on with her list. 'We could not help asking +Sir<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> Charles with Lord and Lady G——, because he is so important; but +Grandmamma Shirley is "mortifying" at present. She wrote that she could +not stand "so rich a regale." Sir Hargrave Pollexfen will come +afterwards with Harriet, and I am thankful to say that Lady Clementina +is not in England at present, so could not be invited.' She stopped, +looking up at him freshly to make a comment. 'Don't you detest Lady +Clementina?'</p> + +<p>When they went into the dining-room, the choice spirits deemed worthy to +be at the board were each introduced by name to the Lady Eliz, who +explained that because of her infirmities she had been unable to have +the honour of receiving them in the drawing-room. She made appropriate +remarks, inquiring after the relatives of each, offering congratulations +or condolences as the case demanded. It was cleverly done. Courthope +stood aside, immensely entertained, and when at last he too began to +offer spirited remarks to the imaginary guests, he went up in favour so +immensely that Eliz cried, 'Let Mr. Courthope take the end of the table. +Let Mr. Courthope be father. It's much nicer to have a master of the +house.' She began at once introducing him to the invisible guests as her +father, and Madge, if she did not like the fancy, did not cross her +will. There was in Madge's manner a large good-humoured tolerance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> + +<p>The table was long, and amply spread with fine glass and silver; nothing +was antique, everything was in the old-fashioned tasteless style of a +former generation, but the value of solid silver was not small. The +homely serving-woman in her peasant-like dress stood aside, submissive, +as it seemed, but ignorant of how to behave at so large a dinner. +Courthope, who in a visit to the stables had discovered that this +Frenchwoman with her husband and one young daughter were at present the +whole retinue of servants, wondered the more that such precious articles +as the young girls and the plate should be safe in so lonely a place.</p> + +<p>Madge was seated at the head of the table, Courthope at the foot; Eliz +in her high chair had been wheeled to the centre of one side. Madge, +playing the hostess with gentle dignity, was enjoying herself to the +full, a rosy, cooing sort of joy in the play, in the feast that she had +succeeded in preparing, in her amusement at the literary sallies of +Eliz, and, above all perhaps, in the company of the new and unexpected +playmate to whom, because of his youth, she attributed the same perfect +sympathy with their sentiments which seemed to exist between themselves. +Courthope felt this—he felt that he was idealised through no virtue of +his own; but it was a delightful sensation, and brought out the best +that was in him of wit and pure joyfulness. To Eliz<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> the creatures of +her imagination were too real for perfect pleasure; her face was tense, +her eyes shot sparkles of light, her voice was high, for her the +entertainment of the invisible guests involved real responsibility and +effort.</p> + +<p>'Asides are allowed, of course?' said Eliz, as if pronouncing a +debatable rule at cards.</p> + +<p>'Of course,' said Madge, 'or we could not play.'</p> + +<p>'It's the greatest fun,' cried Eliz, 'to hear Sir Charles telling Mr. +John Knightley about the good example that a virtuous man ought to set. +With "hands and eyes uplifted" he is explaining the duty he owes to his +Maker. It's rare to see John Knightley's face. I seated them on purpose +with only Miss Matty between them, because I knew she wouldn't +interrupt.'</p> + +<p>Courthope saw the smile in Madge's eyes was bent upon him as she said +softly, 'You won't forget that you have Lady Catherine de Bourg at your +right hand to look after. I can see that brother Peter has got his eye +upon her, and I don't know how she would take the "seraphim" story.'</p> + +<p>'If she begins any of her dignified impertinence here,' he answered, 'I +intend to steer her into a conversation with Charlotte, Lady G——.'</p> + +<p>Courthope had a turkey to carve. He was fain to turn from the guests to +ask advice as to its anatomy of Madge, who was carving a ham and +assuring Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> Woodhouse that it was 'thrice baked, exactly as Serle +would have done it.'</p> + +<p>'Stupid!—it was apples that were baked,' whispered Eliz.</p> + +<p>'You see,' said Madge, when she had told him how to begin upon the +turkey, 'we wondered very much what a dinner of "two full courses" might +be, and where the "corner dishes" were to be set. We did not quite +know—do you?'</p> + +<p>'You must not have asides that are not about the people,' cried Eliz +intensely. 'Catherine Moreland's mother is talking common sense to +General Tilney and Sir Walter Eliot, and there'll be no end of a row in +a minute if you don't divert their attention.'</p> + +<p>Eliz had more than once to call the other two to account for talking +privately adown the long table.</p> + +<p>'What a magnificent ham!' he exclaimed. 'Do you keep pigs?'</p> + +<p>Madge had a frank way of giving family details. 'It was once a <i>dear</i> +little pig, and we wanted to teach it to take exercise by running after +us when we went out, but the stepmother, like Bunyan, "penned it"—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class='stanza'><div>'"Until at last it came to be,</div> +<div>For length and breadth, the bigness which you see."'</div></div> +</div> + +<p>More than once he saw Madge's quick wit twinkle through her booklore. +When he was looking ruefully<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> at a turkey by no means neatly carved, she +gave the comforting suggestion, '"'Tis impious in a good man to be +sad."'</p> + +<p>'I thought it one of the evidences of piety.'</p> + +<p>'It is true that he was "Young" who said it, but so are we; let us +believe it fervently.'</p> + +<p>When Madge swept across the drawing-room, with her amber skirts +trailing, and Eliz had been wheeled in, they received the after-dinner +visitors. Courthope could almost see the room filled with the quaint +creations to whom they were both bowing and talking incessantly.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Courthope—Miss Jane Fairfax—I believe you have met before.' +Madge's voice dropped in a well-feigned absorption in her next guest; +but she soon found time again to whisper to him a long speech which Miss +Bates had made to Eliz. Soon afterwards she came flying to him in the +utmost delight to repeat what she called a "lovely sneap" which Lady +G—— had given to Mrs. Elton; nor did she forget to tell him that Emma +Woodhouse was explaining to the Portuguese nun her reasons for deciding +never to marry. 'Out of sheer astonishment she appears to become quite +tranquillised,' said Madge, as if relating an important fact.</p> + +<p>His curiosity concerning this nun grew apace, for she seemed a favourite +with both the girls.</p> + +<p>When it was near midnight the imaginary pageant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> suddenly came to an +end, as in all cases of enchantment. Eliz grew tired; one of the lamps +smoked and had to be extinguished; the fire had burned low. Madge +declared that the company had departed.</p> + +<p>She went out of the room to call the servant, but in a few minutes she +came back discomfited, a little pout on her lips. 'Isn't it tiresome! +Mathilde and Jacques Morin have gone to bed.'</p> + +<p>'It is just like them,' fretted Eliz.</p> + +<p>At the fretful voice Madge's face cleared. 'What does it matter?' she +cried. 'We are perfectly happy.'</p> + +<p>She lifted the lamp with which he had first seen her, and commenced an +inspection of doors and shutters. It was a satisfaction to Courthope to +see the house. It was a French building, as were all the older houses in +that part of the country, heavily built, simple in the arrangements of +its rooms. Every door on the lower floor stood open, inviting the heat +of a large central stove. Insisting upon carrying the lamp while Madge +made her survey, he was introduced to a library at the end of the +drawing-room, to a large house-place or kitchen behind the dining-room; +these with his own room made the square of the lower story. A wing +adjoining the further side was devoted to the Morins. Having performed +her duty as householder, Madge said good-night.</p> + +<p>'We have enjoyed it ever so much more because<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> you were here.' She held +out her hand; her face was radiant; he knew that she spoke the simple +truth.</p> + +<p>She lifted the puny Eliz in her arms and proceeded to walk slowly up the +straight staircase which occupied one half of the long central hall. The +crimson scarfs hanging from Eliz, the length of her own silk gown, +embarrassed her; she stopped a moment on the second step, resting her +burden upon one lifted knee to clutch and gather the gorgeous raiment in +her hand.</p> + +<p>'You see we put on mother's dresses, that have always been packed away +in the garret.'</p> + +<p>Very simply she said this to Courthope, who stood holding a lamp to +light them in their ascent. He waited until the glinting colours of +their satins, the slow motion of the burden-bearer's form, reached the +top and were lost in the shadows of an open door.</p> + +<hr class='smler' /> +<h3><a name="Chapter_BIII" id="Chapter_BIII"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></h3> + +<p>Courthope opened the shutters of his window to look out upon the night; +they were heavy wooden shutters clasped with an iron clasp. A French +window he could also open; outside that a temporary double window was +fixed in the casement with light hooks at the four corners. The wind was +still blustering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> about the lonely house, and, after examining the +twilight of the snow-clad night attentively, he perceived that snow was +still falling. He thought he could almost see the drifts rising higher +against the out-buildings.</p> + +<p>Two large barns stood behind the house; from these he judged that the +fields around were farmed.</p> + +<p>It was considerations concerning the project of his journey the next day +which had made him look out, and also a restless curiosity regarding +every detail of the <i>ménage</i> whose young mistress was at once so +child-like and so queenlike. While looking out he had what seemed a +curious hallucination of a dark figure standing for a moment on the top +of the deep snow. As he looked more steadily the figure disappeared. All +the outlines at which he looked were chaotic to the sight, because of +the darkness and the drifting snow, and the light which was behind him +shimmering upon the pane. If half-a-dozen apparitions had passed in the +dim and whirling atmosphere of the yards, he would have supposed that +they were shadows formed by the beams of his lamp, being interrupted +here and there by the eddying snow where the wind whirled it most +densely. He did not close his shutters, he even left his inner window +partially open, because, unaccustomed to a stove, he felt oppressed by +its heat. When he threw himself down, he slept deeply, as men sleep +after days among snow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>fields, when a sense of entire security is the +lethargic brain's lullaby.</p> + +<p>He was conscious first of a dream in which the sisters experienced some +imminent danger; he heard their shrieks piercing the night. He woke to +feel snow and wind driving upon his face, to realise a half-waking +impression that a man had passed through his room, to know that the +screams of a woman's voice were a reality. As he sprang for his clothes +he saw that the window was wide open, the whole frame of the outer +double glass having been removed, but the screams of terror he heard +were within the house. Opening the door to the dark hall he ran, guided +by the sound, to the foot of the staircase which the girls had ascended, +then up its long straight ascent. He took its first steps in a bound, +but, as his brain became more perfectly awake, confusion of thought, +wonder, a certain timidity because now the screaming had ceased, caused +him to slacken his pace. He was thus hesitating in the darkness when he +found himself confronted by Madge King. She stood majestic in grey +woollen gown, candle in hand, and her dark eyes blazed upon him in +terror, wrath and indignation.</p> + +<p>It seemed for a moment that she could not speak; some movement passed +over the white sweep of her throat and the full dimpling lips, and +then—</p> + +<p>'Go down!' She would have spoken to a dog<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> with the same authority, but +never with such contemptuous wrath. 'Go down at once! How dare you!'</p> + +<p>Abashed, knowing not what he might have done to offend, Courthope fell +back a step against the wall of the staircase. From within the room Eliz +cried, 'Is he there? Come in and lock the door, Madge, or he'll kill +you!' The voice, sharp, high with terror, rose at the end, and burst +into one of those piercing shrieks which seemed to fill the night, as +the voices of some small insects have the power to make the welkin ring +in response.</p> + +<p>Before Courthope could find a word to utter, another light was thrown +upon him from a lamp at the foot of the stair. It was held by Jacques +Morin, grey-haired, stooping, dogged. The Morin family—man, wife and +daughter—were huddling close together. They, too, were all looking at +him, not with the wrath and contempt to which Madge had risen, but with +cunning desire for revenge, mingled with the cringing of fear. There was +a minute's hush, too strong for expression, in which each experienced +more intensely the shock of the mysterious alarm.</p> + +<p>It was Madge who broke the silence. Her voice rang clear, although +vibrating.</p> + +<p>'Jacques Morin, he came into our room to rob!' She pointed at +Courthope.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p> + +<p>The thin voice of Eliz came in piercing parenthesis: 'I saw him in the +closet, and when I screamed he ran.'</p> + +<p>Madge began again. 'Jacques Morin, what part of the house is open? I +feel the wind.' All the time Madge kept her eyes upon Courthope, as upon +some wild animal whose spring she hoped to keep at bay.</p> + +<p>That she should appeal to this dull, dogged French servant for +protection against him, who only desired to risk his life to serve her, +was knowledge of such intense vexation that Courthope could still find +no word, and her fixed look of wrath did actually keep him at bay. It +took from him, by some sheer physical power which he did not understand, +the courage with which he would have faced a hundred Morins.</p> + +<p>When Jacques Morin began to speak, his wife and daughter took courage +and spoke also; a babel of French words, angry, terrified, arose from +the group, whose grey night-clothes, shaken by their gesticulations, +gave them a half-frenzied appearance.</p> + +<p>In the midst of their talking Courthope spoke to Madge at last. 'I ran +up to protect you when I heard screams; I did not wake till you +screamed. Some one has entered the house. He has entered by the window +in my room; I found it open.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> + +<p>With his own words the situation became clear to him. He saw that he +must hunt for the house-breaker. He began to descend the stairs.</p> + +<p>The Morin girl screamed and ran. Morin, producing a gun from behind his +back, pointed it at Courthope, and madam, holding the lamp, squared up +behind her husband with the courage of desperation.</p> + +<p>It was not this fantastic couple that checked Courthope's downward rush, +but Madge's voice.</p> + +<p>'Keep still!' she cried, in short strong accents of command.</p> + +<p>Eliz, becoming aware of his movement, shrieked again.</p> + +<p>Courthope, now defiant and angry, turned towards Madge, but, even as he +waited to hear what she had to say, reflected that her interest could +not suffer much by delay, for the thief, if he escaped, could make but +small speed in the drifting storm over roads which led to no near place +of escape or hiding.</p> + +<p>It was the judge's daughter which Courthope now saw in Madge—the desire +to estimate evidence, the fearless judgment.</p> + +<p>'We took you in last night, a stranger; and now we have been robbed, +which never happened before in all our lives. My sister says it was you +she saw in our room. As soon as I could get the candle lit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> I found you +here, and Jacques Morin says that you have opened your window so that +you would be able to escape at once. What is the use of saying that you +are not a robber?'</p> + +<p>He made another defiant statement of his own version of the story.</p> + +<p>The girl had given some command in French to Morin; to Courthope she +spoke again in hasty sentences, reiterating the evidence against him. +Her manner was a little different now—it had not the same +straightforward air of command. He began to hope that he might persuade +her, and then discovered suddenly that she had been deliberately +riveting his attention while the command which he had not understood was +being obeyed. A noose of rope was thrown round his arms and instantly +tightened; with a nimbleness which he had not expected Morin knotted it +fast. Courthope turned fiercely; for a moment he struggled with all his +force, bearing down upon Morin from his greater height, so that they +both staggered and reeled to the foot of the stair. At his violence the +voices of the Morin women, joined by that of Eliz, were lifted in such +wild terror that a few moments were sufficient to bring Courthope to +reason. He spoke to Madge with haughty composure.</p> + +<p>'Tell him to untie this rope at once. There is some villain about the +house who may do you the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> greatest injury; you are mad to take from me +the power of arresting him.'</p> + +<p>Madam Morin, seeing the prisoner secured, hastened with her lamp to his +bedroom.</p> + +<p>Madge, feeling herself safer now, came a little way down the stair with +her candle. 'How can we tell what you would do next?' she asked. 'And I +have the household to protect; it is not for myself that I am afraid.'</p> + +<p>The anger that he had felt toward her died out suddenly.</p> + +<p>It was not for herself that she was afraid! She stood a few steps above +him; her little candle, flashing its rays into the darkness of the upper +and lower halls, made walls and balustrades seem vast by its flickering +impotence to oust the darkness. Surely this girl, towering in her +sweeping robe and queenly pose, was made to be loved of men and gods! +Hero, carrying her vestal taper in the temple recesses, before ever +Leander had crossed the wave, could not have had a larger or more noble +form, a more noble and lovely face.</p> + +<p>Well, if she chose to tie his arms he would have preferred to have them +tied, were it not for the maddening thought that more miscreants than +one might be within reach of her, and that they would, if skilled, find +the whole household an easy prey.</p> + +<p>Madam Morin came back from the room with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> the open window, making +proclamation in the most excited French.</p> + +<p>'What do they say?' asked Courthope of Madge.</p> + +<p>The Morin girl was following close to her mother, and Jacques Morin was +eagerly discussing their information.</p> + +<p>Madge passed Courthope in silence. They all went to the window to see; +Courthope, following in the most absurd helplessness, trailing the end +of his binding-cord behind him, brought up the rear of the little +procession. Madge walked straight on into his room, where Madam Morin +was again opening the window-shutters.</p> + +<p>'They say,' said Madge to Courthope, 'that you have had an accomplice, +and that he is gone again; they saw his snow-shoe tracks.'</p> + +<p>He begged her to make sure that the man was gone, to let him look at the +tracks himself and then to search the house thoroughly. Outside the +window the same chaotic sweep and whirl of the atmosphere prevailed. It +was difficult, even holding a lantern outside, to see, but they did see +that a track had come up to the window and again turned from it. After +that they all searched the house, Courthope allowed to be of the +company, apparently because he could thus be watched. The thief of the +night had come and gone; some silver and jewellery which had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> +stored in a closet adjoining the bedroom of the sisters had been taken.</p> + +<p>Courthope understood very little of the talk that went on. At length, to +his great relief, Madge gave her full attention to him in parley.</p> + +<p>'Won't you believe that I know nothing whatever of the doings of this +sneak-thief?'</p> + +<p>Some of her intense excitement had passed away, succeeded by distress, +discouragement, and perhaps perplexity, but that last she did not +express to him. She leaned against the wall as she listened to him with +white face.</p> + +<p>'We never took in any one we didn't know anything about before, and we +never were robbed before.' She added, 'We treated you kindly; how could +you have done it? If you did it'—his heart leaped at the 'if' as at a +beam of sunshine on a rainy day—'you must have known all about us, +although I can't think how; you must have known where we kept things, +and that mamma had taken our other man-servant away. You must have +brought your accomplice to hide in the barn and do the work while you +played the gentleman! That is what Jacques Morin says; he says no one +but a child would have taken you in as I did, and that you might have +murdered us all. They are very angry with me.'</p> + +<p>There was conflict in her manner; a few words would be said haughtily, +as to some one not worthy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> of her notice, and then again a few words as +to a friend. He saw that this conflict of her mind was increasing as she +stood face to face with him, and with that consolation he submitted, at +her request, to be more securely bound—the rope twisted round and +round, binding his arms to his sides. It was a girl's device; he made no +complaint.</p> + +<p>It seemed that Morin had no thought of following the thief; his +faithfulness was limited to such service as he considered necessary, and +was of a cowardly rather than a valiant sort. Courthope, when his first +eagerness to seek passed off, was comforted by reflecting that, had he +himself been free, it would have been futile for him to attempt such a +quest while darkness lay over the land in which he was a stranger.</p> + +<p>He was allowed to rest on the settle in the large inner kitchen, +securely locked in, and so near Morin's room that his movements could be +overheard. There, still in bonds, he spent the rest of the night.</p> + +<hr class='smler' /> +<h3><a name="Chapter_BIV" id="Chapter_BIV"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter</span> IV</h3> + +<p>When the March morning shone clear and white through the still-falling +snow, and the Morins began to bustle about their work for the day, the +mental atmosphere in the kitchen seemed to have lost something of the +excited alarm that had prevailed in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> night. Courthope arose; the +garments which he had donned in the night with frantic speed clothed but +did not adorn him; he knew that he must present a wild appearance, and +the domestic clothes-line, bound round and round his arms, prevented him +from so much as pushing back the locks of hair which straggled upon his +brow. He was rendered on the whole helpless; however murderous might be +his heart, a tolerably safe companion. He interested himself by +considering how Samson-like he could be in breaking the cords, or, even +tied, how vigorously he could kick Morin, if he were not a girl's +prisoner. He reflected with no small admiration upon the quick resource +and decision that she had displayed; how, in spite of her almost +child-like frankness, she had beguiled him into turning his back to the +noose when a supposed necessity pressed her. He meditated for a few +minutes upon other girls for whom he had experienced a more or less +particular admiration, and it seemed to him that the characters of these +damsels became wan and insipid by comparison. He began to have a +presentiment that Love was now about to strike in earnest upon the harp +of his life, but he could not think that the circumstances of this +present attraction were propitious. What could he say to this girl, so +adorably strong-minded, to convince her of his claim to be again treated +as a man and a brother? Letters? He had offered them to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> her last night, +and she had replied that any one could write letters. Should he show +that he was not penniless? She might tell him in the same tone that it +was wealth ill-gotten. It was no doubt her very ignorance of the world +that, when suspicion had once occurred, made her reject as unimportant +these evidences of his respectability, but he had no power to give her +the eyes of experience.</p> + +<p>These thoughts tormented him as he stood looking out of the window at +the ever-increasing volume of the snow. How long would he be detained a +prisoner in this house, and, when the roads were free, how could he find +for Madge any absolute proof of his innocence? The track of the midnight +thief was lost for ever in the snow; if he had succeeded in escaping as +mysteriously as he had come—but here Courthope's mind refused again to +enter upon the problem of the fiend-like enemy and the impassable +snowfields, which in the hours of darkness he had already given up, +perceiving the futility of his speculation until further facts were +known.</p> + +<p>Courthope strolled through the rooms, the doors of which were now open. +Morin permitted this scant liberty chiefly, the prisoner thought, +because of a wholesome fear of being kicked. In the library at the back +of the drawing-room he found amusement in reading the titles of the +books down one long shelf and up another. Every book to which Madge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> had +had access had an interest for him. Three cases were filled with books +of law and history; there was but one from which the books had of late +been frequently taken. It was filled with romance and poetry, nothing so +late as the middle of the present century, nothing that had not some +claim upon educated readers, and yet it was a motley collection. Upon +the front rim of the upper shelf some one, perhaps the dead father in +his invalid days, had carved a motto with a knife, the motto that is +also that of the British arms. It might have been done out of mere +patriotism; it might have had reference to this legacy of books left to +the child-maidens, for whom, it seemed, other companionship had not been +provided.</p> + +<p>At length Courthope realised that there was one book which he greatly +desired to take from the shelf. The Morin daughter was dusting in the +room, and, with some blandishments, he succeeded in persuading her to +lay it open upon the table where he could peruse it. To his great +amusement he observed that she was very careful not to come within a +yard or two of him, darting back when he approached, evidently thinking +that the opening of the book might be a ruse to attack her by a sudden +spring. At first the curious consciousness produced by this damsel's +awkward gambols of fear so absorbed him that he could not fix his +attention upon the book;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> flashes of amusement and of grave annoyance +chased themselves through his mind like sunshine and shadow over +mountains on a showery day; he knew not which was the more rational +mood. Then, attempting the book again, and turning each leaf with a good +deal of contortion and effort, he became absorbed. It was the <i>Letters +of a Portuguese Nun</i>, and in the astonishment of its perusal he forgot +the misfortune that had befallen the household, and his own discomfort +and ignominy. The Morin girl had left him in the room, shutting the +door.</p> + +<p>An hour passed—it might have been about nine of the clock—when +Courthope began to be roused from his absorption in the book by a sound +in the next room. It was a low uncertain sound, but evidently that of +sobbing and tears. He stopped, listened; his heart was wrung with pity. +It was not the sharp little Eliz who cried like that! He knew such sobs +did not come from the stormy and uncontrolled bosoms of the French +servants. He was convinced that it was Madge who was weeping, that she +was in the long drawing-room, where the portrait of the judge hung near +the door.</p> + +<p>He went nearer the door. His excited desire to offer her some sympathy, +to comfort, or if possible to help, became intolerable. So conscious was +he of a common interest between them that not for a moment did the sense +of prying enter his mind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p> + +<p>He heard then a few words whispered as if to the portrait: 'Father, oh, +father, we were so happy with him! It is almost the only time that we +have been quite happy since you went away.'</p> + +<p>The sense of the broken whispers came tardily to Courthope's +understanding through the smothering door. The handle of the door was on +a level with the hands that were bound to his sides; he turned himself +in order to bring his fingers near it.</p> + +<p>Before he touched it he heard Madge sob and whisper again: 'I was so +happy, father; I thought it was such fun he had come. I like gentlemen, +and we never, never see any except the ones that come out of books.'</p> + +<p>To Courthope it suddenly seemed that the whole universe must have been +occupied with purpose to bring him here in order to put an end to her +gloom and flood her life with sunshine; the universe could not be foiled +in its attempt. Young love argues from effect to cause, and so limitless +seemed the strength of his sentiment that the simplicity of her mind and +the susceptibility of her girlhood were to him like some epic poem which +arouses men to passion and strong deeds. Ignominiously bound as he was, +his heart lightened; all doubt of his mission to love her and its +ultimate success passed from him. He turned the handle and pushed the +door half open.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p> + +<p>The long drawing-room was almost dark; the shutters had not been opened; +the furniture remained as it had stood when the brilliant assembly of +the previous evening had broken up; the large fireplace was full of +ashes; the atmosphere was deadly cold. Courthope stood in the streak of +light which entered with him. Upon the floor, crouching, her cheek +leaning against the lower part of her father's picture, was Madge King. +She was dressed in a blanket coat; moccasins were upon her feet; a fur +cap lay upon the ground beside her. At the instant of his entrance she +lifted her bare head, and across the face flushed with tears and prayers +there flashed the look of haughty intolerance of his presence. She had +thought that he was locked up in one of the kitchens; she told him so, +intensely offended that he should see her tears. It was for that reason +that she did not rise or come to the light, only commanding and +imploring him to be gone.</p> + +<p>'I am quite helpless, even if I wanted to harm you.' He spoke +reproachfully, knowing instinctively that if she pitied him she would +accept his pity.</p> + +<p>'You have harmed us enough already,' she sighed; 'all the rest of our +silver, all my dear father's silver is gone. We found that out this +morning, for what we had used for the feast had been put in a basket +until we could store it away; it is all taken.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p> + +<p>He was shocked and enraged to hear of this further loss. He did not +attempt to reason with her; he had ceased to reason with himself.</p> + +<p>'You trusted me when you let me in last night,' he said. 'Don't you +think that you would have had some perception of it last night if I had +been entirely unworthy? Think what an utter and abominable villain I +must be to have accepted your hospitality—to have been so very happy +with you——' So he went on appealing to her heart from the sentiments +that arose in his own.</p> + +<p>Madge listened only for a reasonable period; she rose to her feet. 'I +must go,' she said.</p> + +<p>He found that she proposed to walk on snow-shoes three miles to the +nearest house, which belonged to a couple of parish priests, where she +would be certain of obtaining a messenger to carry the news of the +robbery to the telegraph station. She could not be brought even to +discuss the advisability of her journey; Morin could not be sent, for +the servants and Eliz would go mad with terror if left alone.</p> + +<p>To Courthope's imagination her journey seemed to be an abandonment of +herself to the utmost danger. If between the two houses she failed to +make progress over high drifts and against a heavy gale, what was to +hinder her from perishing? Then, too, there was that villain, who had +seemed to stalk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> forth from the isolated house afar into the howling +night as easily as the Frankenstein demon, and might even now be +skulking near—a dangerous devil—able to run where others must trudge +toilsomely.</p> + +<p>Madge, it seemed, had only come to that room to make her confession and +invoke protection at the shrine of the lost father; she was ready to set +forth without further delay. She would not, in spite of his most +eloquent pleading, set Courthope at liberty to make of him either +messenger or companion.</p> + +<p>'The evidence,' she said sadly, 'is all against you. I am very sorry.'</p> + +<p>A wilder unrest and vexation at his position returned upon his heart +because of the lightening that had come with the impulse of love. That +impulse still remained, an under-current of calm, a knowledge that his +will and the power of the world were at one, such as men only feel when +they yield themselves to some sudden conversion; but above this +new-found faith the cross-currents of strife now broke forth again. Thus +he raged—</p> + +<p>'What was the use of my coming here? Why should the Fates have sent me +here if I cannot go this errand for you, or if I cannot go with you to +protect you? If this beast is walking about on snow-shoes, how do you +know that he will not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> attack you as soon as you are out of sight of the +house?'</p> + +<p>She seemed to realise that it was strange to be discussing her own +safety with her prisoner. Very curious was the conflict in her face; her +strong natural companionableness, her suspicion of him, and her sense of +the dignity which her situation demanded, contending together. It seemed +easier for her to disregard his words than to give all the answers which +her varying feelings would prompt. She was tying on a mink cap by +winding a woollen scarf about her head.</p> + +<p>'Miss Madge! Miss King! It is perfectly intolerable! It—it is +intolerable!' He stepped nearer as he spoke. A thought came over him +that even the conventional title of 'Miss' which he had given her was +wholly inappropriate in a situation so strong—that he and she, merely +as man and woman, as rational beings, were met together in a wilderness +where conventions were folly. 'I cannot allow you to risk your life in +this way.' There was a tense emphasis in his words; he felt the natural +authority of the protector over the tender thing to be protected, the +intimate authority which stress of circumstance may give.</p> + +<p>She dropped her hands from tying the scarf under her chin, returning for +his words a look of mingled curiosity, indecision, and distrust.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p> + +<p>Quick as she looked upon him, his mind's eye looked upon himself; there +he stood in grotesque undress, bound around with the cords of an +extraordinary disgrace. He blamed himself at the moment for not having +had his hair cut more recently, for he knew that it stood in a wild +shock above his head, and he felt that it dangled in his eyes. Then a +gust of emotion, the momentary desire for laughter or groans of +vexation, rose and choked his utterance, and in the minute that he was +mute the girl, sitting down upon a low stool, began tightening the +strings of her moccasins, which, after the first putting on, had relaxed +with the warmth of the feet. Her business-like preparations for the road +maddened him.</p> + +<p>'Don't you see,' he said, 'what disgrace you are heaping upon me? What +right have you to deny to me, a gentleman and your guest, the right to +serve and protect you? Consider to what wretchedness you consign me if I +am left here to think of you fighting alone with this dangerous storm, +or attacked by blackguards who we know may not be far away!'</p> + +<p>She said in a quiet, practical, girlish way, 'It was I who was +responsible for letting you in last night, and then this happened—this +most unheard-of thing. We never heard of any but a petty theft ever +committed in this whole region before. Now I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> am bound to keep you here +until we can hear where father's silver is.'</p> + +<p>'You don't believe that I have done it! I am sure you do not' (he +believed what he said). 'Why haven't you the courage to act upon your +conviction? You will never regret it.'</p> + +<p>'Eliz says that she saw you quite distinctly.'</p> + +<p>'Eliz is a little fool,' were the words that arose within him, but what +he said was, 'Your sister is excitable and nervous; she saw the thief +undoubtedly, and by some miserable freak of fortune he may have +resembled me.'</p> + +<p>'Does that seem at all likely?'</p> + +<p>'Well, then, there was no resemblance, and she fancied it.'</p> + +<p>She stood up, looking harassed, but without relenting. 'I must go—there +is nothing else to be done. Do you think I would stay here when a day +might make all the difference in recovering the things which belonged to +my father? Do you think that I am going to lose the things that belonged +to him just because I am too much of a coward to go out and give the +alarm?'</p> + +<p>She walked away from him resolutely, but the thought of the lost +treasures and all the dear memories that in her mind were identified +with them seemed to overcome her. She drew her hand hastily across her +eyes, and then, to his dismay, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> sorrow for her loss emphasised her +wavering belief in his guilt; for the first time he realised how strong +that sorrow was. Impelled by emotion she turned again and came +shrinkingly back into his presence.</p> + +<p>'I have not reproached you,' she said, 'because I thought it would be +mean in case you had not done it; but it seems that you must have done +it. Won't you tell me where the other man has taken our things? They +cannot be of any value to you compared with their value to us; and, oh, +indeed I would much rather give you as much money as you could possibly +make out of them, and more too, if you would only tell me which way this +man has gone, and send word to him that he must give them back! I will +pledge you my word of honour that——'</p> + +<p>For the first time he was offended with her. He stepped back with a +gesture of pride, which in a moment he saw she had construed into +unwillingness to give the booty up.</p> + +<p>'I could promise to give you the money; I could promise that you should +not be tracked and arrested. I have enough in the savings-bank of my own +that I could get out without our lawyer or mamma knowing, and you don't +know how dear, how very dear, everything that belonged to father is to +Eliz and me. If you wait here tied until my stepmother comes she will +not give any money to get the things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> back; she would not care if you +kept them, so long as she could punish you.'</p> + +<p>Every word of her gentle pleading made the insult deeper and more gross, +and the fact that she was who she was only made the hurt to his pride +the sorer. He would not answer; he would not explain; he would let her +think what she liked; it is the way of the injured heart.</p> + +<p>Angry, and confirmed in her suspicion, she too turned proudly away. He +saw her, as she crossed the hall, take up a pair of snow-shoes that she +had left leaning against the wall, and without further farewell to any +one turn toward the front door.</p> + +<p>He knew then what he must do. Without inward debate, without even +weighing what his act's ultimate consequences might be, he followed her.</p> + +<p>'I will do what you ask. I give you my word of honour—and there is +honour, you know, even among thieves—that I will do all in my power to +bring back everything that has been stolen. Give me snow-shoes. Keep my +horse and my watch and my luggage as surety that I mean what I say. I +cannot promise that I can get back the silver from the other man, but I +will do far more than you can do. I will do more than any one else could +do. If it is within my power I will bring it back to you.'</p> + +<p>She considered for a little time whether she would trust him or not. It +seemed, curiously<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> enough, that from first to last she had never +distrusted her first instinct with regard to his character, but that her +child-like belief that in the unknown world all things were possible, +allowed her to believe also in his criminality. Now that he had, as she +thought, made his confession and promised restitution, it was perhaps +the natural product of her conflicting thoughts and feelings that she +should trust to his oft-repeated vows, and make the paction with him.</p> + +<p>She did not consult the Morins; perhaps she knew that she would only +provoke their opposition, or perhaps she knew that they would only be +too glad to get rid of the man they feared, caring for nothing but the +actual safety of the lives in the household. She brought him his coat +and cap and also a man's moccasins and snow-shoes. With a courage that, +because somewhat shy and trembling, evoked all the more his admiration, +she untied the first knot of his rope, unwound the coil, and then untied +the last knot. The process was slow because of the trembling of her +fingers, which he felt but could not see. She stood resolute, making him +dress for the storm upon the threshold of the door. He did not know how +to strap on the snow-shoes. She watched his first attempt with great +curiosity; looking up, he was made the more determined to succeed with +them by seeing the pain of incredulity returning to her eyes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span></p> + +<p>'How do you expect me to know how to manage things that I have never +handled in my life before?'</p> + +<p>'But if you don't know how to put them on how can you walk in them?'</p> + +<p>'I have seen men walk in them, and there are a great many things we can +do when something depends upon it.'</p> + +<p>She directed him how to cross and tie the straps; she continued to watch +him, increasing anxiety betraying itself in her face.</p> + +<p>The snow was so light that even the snow-shoes sank some four or five +inches. It was just below the porch that he had tied his straps, and +when he first moved forward he trod with one shoe on the top of the +other. He had not expected this; he felt that no further progress was +within the bounds of possibility. For some half minute he stood, his +back to the door, his face turned to the illimitable region of drifts +and feathery air, unable to conceive how to go forward and without a +thought of turning back. When his pulses were surging and tingling with +the discomfort of her gaze, he heard the door shut sharply. Perhaps she +thought that he was shamming and was determined not to yield again; +perhaps—and this seemed even worse—she had been overcome in the midst +of her stern responsibility by the powers of laughter; perhaps, horrid +thought, she had gone for Morin to bid him again throw the noose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> over +his treacherous shoulders. The last thought pricked him into motion. By +means of his reason he discovered that if he was to make progress at all +the rackets must not overlap one another as he trod; his next effort was +naturally to walk with his feet so wide apart that the rackets at their +broadest could not interfere. The result was that in a few moments he +became like a miniature Colossus of Rhodes, fixed again so that he could +not move, his feet upon platforms at either side of a harbour of snow.</p> + +<p>He heard the door open now again sharply, and he felt certain, yes, +certain, that the lasso was on its way through the air; this time he was +not going to submit. As men do unthinkingly what they could in no way do +by thought, he found himself facing the door, his snow-shoes truly +inextricably mixed with one another, but still he had turned round. +There was no rope, no Morin; Madge was standing alone upon the outer +step of the porch, her face aflame with indignation.</p> + +<p>'This is either perfect folly or you have deceived me,' she cried.</p> + +<p>'I shall learn how to use them in a minute,' he said humbly. He was +conscious as he spoke that his twisted legs made but an unsteady +pedestal, that the least push would have sent him headlong into the +drift.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p> + +<p>'How could you say that you would go?' she asked fiercely.</p> + +<p>He looked down at his feet as schoolboys do when chidden, but for +another reason. The question as to whether or not he could get his +snow-shoes headed again in the right direction weighed like lead upon +his heart.</p> + +<p>'I thought that I could walk upon these things,' he said, and he added, +with such determination as honour flying from shame only knows, 'and I +will walk on them and do your errand.'</p> + +<p>With that, by carefully untwisting his legs, he faced again in the right +direction, but, having lifted his right foot too high in the untwisting +process, he found that the slender tail of its snow-shoe stuck down in +the snow, setting the shoe pointing skyward and his toe, tied by the +thongs, held prisoner about a foot above the snow. He tried to kick, but +the shoe became more firmly embedded. He lost his balance, and only by a +wild fling of his body, in which his arms went up into the air, did he +regain his upright position. The moment of calm which succeeded produced +from him another remark.</p> + +<p>'It seems to me that you have got me now in closer bonds than before.' +As he spoke he turned his glance backward and saw that comment of his +was needless.</p> + +<p>The girl had at last yielded to laughter. Worn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> out, no doubt, by a +long-controlled excitement, laughter had now entirely overcome her. +Leaning her head on her hand and her shoulders against a pillar of the +porch, she was shaking visibly from head to foot, and the effort she +made to keep the sound of her amusement within check only seemed to make +its hold upon her more absolute.</p> + +<p>'I don't wonder you laugh,' he said, feebly beginning to laugh himself a +little.</p> + +<p>But she did not make the slightest reply. Her face was crimson; the +ripples of her laughter went over her form as ripples of wind over a +young tree.</p> + +<p>He was forced to leave her thus. By a miracle of determination, as it +seemed, he freed his right shoe and made slow and wary strides forward. +He saw that he had exaggerated the width of his snow-shoes, but his +progress now was still made upon the plan of keeping his feet wide +apart, although not too wide for motion. He knew that this was not the +right method; he knew that she peered at him between her fingers and was +more convulsed with laughter at his every step. He was thankful to think +that the falling flakes must soon begin to obscure his figure, but he +did not dare to try another plan of walking while she watched, lest she +should see him stop again.</p> + +<hr class='smler' /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="Chapter_BV" id="Chapter_BV"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span></h3> + +<p>Courthope had struck across to the main road at right angles to the +poplar avenue. The poplars stood slim, upright, more like a stiff and +regular formation of feathery seaweed growing out of a frozen ocean than +like trees upon a plain. He was nearing a grove of elm and birch which +he had not seen the evening before; by the almost hidden rails of the +fence there were half-buried shrubs. So dry, so hard, so absolutely +without bud or sere leaf was the interlacing outline of the trees and +shrubs, that they too seemed to be some strange product of this new sort +of ocean; they did not remind him of verdant glades. Not that beauty was +absent, nor charm, but the scene was strange, very strange; the domain +of the laughing princess, on whom he had turned his back, was, in the +daylight, more than ever an enchanted land which he could fancy to be +unknown in story and until now unexplored by man. Such ideas only came +to him by snatches; the rest of him, mind and body, was summed up in a +fierce determination to catch the thief and bring back his spoils. +Whether by this he would prove himself honest or guilty, he neither knew +nor felt that he cared.</p> + +<p>Gradually, as he thought less about his snow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span>-shoes, he found that the +wide lateral swing which he had been giving to his leg was unneeded. +Strange as it seemed, the large rackets did not interfere when he took +an ordinary step. Having made this pleasant discovery he quickened +speed. He did not know whether the girl had stopped laughing and had +gone into the house again, but he knew that the falling snow and the +branches of the trees must now hinder her from seeing him distinctly.</p> + +<p>In a moment he was glad of this, for, becoming incautious, he fell.</p> + +<p>Both arms, put out to save himself, were embedded to the very shoulder +straight down in snow that offered no bottom to his touch; when his next +impulse was to move knees and feet he found that the points of his +snow-shoes were dug deep, and his toes, tied to them, held the soles of +his feet in the same position.</p> + +<p>What cursed temerity had made him confess to a criminal act in order to +be allowed to come on this fool's errand? Fool, indeed, had he been to +suppose that he could walk upon a frozen cloud without falling through! +Such were Courthope's reflections.</p> + +<p>By degrees he got himself up, but only by curling himself round and +taking off his snow-shoes. By degrees he got the snow-shoes put on +again, and mounted out of the hole which he had made, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> snow +adhering to all his garments and snow melting adown his neck and wrists. +He now realised that he had spent nearly half an hour in walking not a +quarter of a mile. With this cheerless reflection as a companion he went +doggedly on, choosing now the drifted main road for a path.</p> + +<p>Having left behind him the skeleton forms of the trees, he was trudging +across an open plain, flat almost as the surface of the lake which he +had traversed yesterday. Sometimes the fences at the side of the road +were wholly hidden, more often they showed the top of their posts or +upper bar; sometimes he could see cross-fences, as if outlining fields, +so that he supposed he still walked through lands farmed from the lonely +stone house, that he was still upon his lady's domain. He meditated upon +her, judging that she was sweet beyond compare, although why he thought +so, after her mistrust and derision, was one of those secrets which the +dimpled Cupid only could explain. He was forced to acknowledge the fact +that thus he did think, because here he was walking, whither he hardly +knew, how he hardly knew, battling with the gale, hustled roughly by its +white wings, in danger at every turn of falling off the two small moving +rafts of his shoes into a sea in which no man could swim very long. He +wondered, should his snow-shoes break, if he would be able to flounder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> +to the rim of the fence? How long could he sit there? Certainly it would +seem, looking north and south and east and west, that he would need to +sit as long as the life in him might endure the frost.</p> + +<p>At length a shed or small barn met his eye. His own approach seemed to +have been heard and answered from within; the neigh of a horse greeted +him. At first he supposed that some horses belonging to the house were +stabled here, and neglected because the roads were impassable; then he +judged that so slight a shed could not be intended for a stable.</p> + +<p>He answered the animal's cry by seeking the door. Against it the drift +was not deep, for, as it opened on the sheltered side, he had only the +snowfall to scrape away. The door, which had very recently been freed +from its crust of frost, yielded easily. He found a brown shaggy horse +tied within, and beside it a sleigh, such as he had frequently seen, a +mere platform of wood upon runners. Otherwise the shed was empty. +Courthope was quickly struck by the recognition of something which set +his memory working. The old buffalo-skin on the sleigh was such as was +common, but the way it was stretched upon a heap of sacks made him +remember the sleigh that he had yesterday passed upon the river, and the +keen sinister face of the driver, which had ill contrasted with his +apparent sleep and stupidity.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span></p> + +<p>Courthope tossed aside the skin with a jerk. A rum bottle, a small hoard +of frozen bread and bacon, a heavy blanket folded beneath, all seemed to +prove that the driver had made provision for a longer journey. The horse +had no food before it; no blanket was upon its back. Probably its driver +had not intended to leave it here so long. Where was the driver? This +quickly became in Courthope's mind the all-important question. Why had +he been skulking on the most lonely part of the lake? And now, recalling +again the man's face, he believed that he had had an evil design.</p> + +<p>Courthope pursued his way; for, whether the thief had gone farther or +remained in this vicinity, it was evidently desirable to have help from +the nearest neighbours to seek and capture him. Courthope soon reached +what seemed to be a dip or hollow in the plain; in this the wind had +been very busy levelling the surface with the higher ground. At first he +supposed that, for some reason, road and fences had come to an abrupt +ending; then he discovered that he merely walked higher above the +natural level. The thought came to him that if here he should break his +snow-shoes there would not even be the neighbouring fence-top on which +to perch and freeze.</p> + +<p>Suddenly all his attention was concentrated upon a dark something, like +a bit of cloth fallen in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> snow. As he came close and touched the +cloth he found it to be the covering of a basket almost buried; pushing +away the snow-crusted covering and feeling with eager fingers among the +icy contents, he quickly knew that this was no other than the stolen +silver of which he was in quest. A thrill of gratitude to Fortune for so +kindly a freak had hardly passed through his mind before his eye sought +a depression in the snow just beyond. He saw now that a man was lying +there. The head resting upon an arm was but slightly covered with snow; +the whole form had sunk by its own heat into a cavity like a grave.</p> + +<p>Courthope lifted the head; the face was that of the man whom he had seen +yesterday upon the river. The arms, when he raised them, fell again to +the snow like lead, yet he perceived that life was not extinct. Even in +the frost the odour of rum was to be perceived, and breath, although so +feeble as to be unseen, still passed in and out of the tightly-drawn +nostrils. The touch, that would have been reverent to a corpse, was now +rough. He shook the fallen man and shouted. He raised him to a sitting +posture, but finding that, standing as he did upon soft snow, to lift +him was impossible, he laid him again in the self-made grave. That +posture at least would be most conducive to the continued motion of the +heart.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span></p> + +<p>Standing upon the other side of the body, Courthope's shoe struck upon +another hard object which he found to be a case, stolen locked as it +was, which contained, no doubt, the other valuables whose loss Madge had +first discovered. The wretch, weighted by a burden in each hand, had +apparently missed his way when endeavouring to return to the shed in +which he had left his horse, and wandering in circles, perhaps for +hours, had evidently succumbed to drink and to cold, caught as in a trap +by the unusual violence of the storm.</p> + +<p>There was nothing to be done but return to the house for Morin's aid, +and, lifting the handles of basket and case in either hand, Courthope +doubled back upon his own track, thankful that he had already attained +to some skill in snow-shoeing. As he neared the house his heart beat +high at the excitement of seeing Madge's delight. He closely scanned the +windows, even the tiny windows in the pointed tin roof, but no eager +eyes were on the look-out.</p> + +<p>Loudly he thumped upon the heavy front door. There was somewhat of a +bustle inside at the knock. The snow-bound household collected quickly +at the welcome thought of a message from the outside world. When the +door was opened Madge and the Morins were there to behold Courthope +carrying the plunder. He perceived at once that his guilt, if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> doubted +before, was now proved beyond all doubt. There was a distinct measure of +reserve in the satisfaction they expressed. Madge especially was very +grave, with a strong flavour of moral severity in her words and +demeanour.</p> + +<p>Courthope explained to her that the other man was dying in the snow, +that if his life was to be saved no time must be lost. She repeated the +story in French to Morin, and thereupon arose high words from the +Frenchman. Madge looked doubtfully at Courthope, and then she +interpreted.</p> + +<p>It seemed that the Frenchman's desire was to put him out again and lock +up the house, leaving the two accomplices to shift for themselves as +best they might. Courthope urged motives of humanity. He described the +man and his condition.</p> + +<p>At length he prevailed. Madge insisted that if Morin did not go she +would. In a few moments both she and Morin were preparing to set out.</p> + +<p>It seemed useless for Courthope to precede them; he went into the +dining-room, demanding food of Madam Morin.</p> + +<p>He found that Eliz had been carried down and placed in her chair in the +midst of domestic activities.</p> + +<p>As soon as she spied him, being in a nervous, hysterical state, she +opened her mouth and shrieked sharply; the shriek at this time had more +the tone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> of a child's anger than of a woman's fear. With a strong sense +of humour he sat down at the table, and she, realising that he was not +immediately dangerous, railed upon him.</p> + +<p>'Viper in the bosom!' said Eliz.</p> + +<p>Courthope, almost famished, ate fast.</p> + +<p>'Daughter of the horse-leech crying "give," and sucking blood from the +hand it gives!' she continued.</p> + +<p>'Sir Charles Grandison would never have kicked a man when he was down,' +he said. 'He would have tried to do good even to the viper he had +nourished.'</p> + +<p>The memory of Sir Charles's well-known method even with the most +villainous, appeared to distract her attention for a moment.</p> + +<p>'And then they all sent for him and confessed and made amends, just as I +have done,' Courthope went on; but the fact that a laugh was gleaming in +his eyes enraged the little cripple.</p> + +<p>'How dare you talk to me, sitting there pretending to be a gentleman!'</p> + +<p>'I would rather be allowed to make a better toilet if my reputation were +to rest upon a pretence. I never heard of a gentlemanly villain who went +about without collar and cuffs, and had not been allowed access to his +hair-brush.'</p> + +<p>'A striped jacket and shaved head is generally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> what he goes about in +after he's unmasked. If I had been Madge I would not have let you off.'</p> + +<p>'Come, remember how sorry Elizabeth Bennett was when she found she had +given way to prejudice. If I remember right she lay awake many nights.'</p> + +<p>'Are you adding insult to injury by insinuating that either of us might +bestow upon you——?'</p> + +<p>'Oh! certainly not, I merely wish to suggest that a young lady +possessing lively talents and "remarkably fine eyes" might yet make +great mistakes in her estimate of the masculine character.'</p> + +<p>The cripple, who perhaps had never before heard her one beautiful +feature praised by masculine lips, was obliged to harden herself.</p> + +<p>'Accomplished wretch!' she cried, in accents worthy of an irate Pamela.</p> + +<p>'Do you suppose it was the last time I was serving my term in gaol that +I read our favourite novels?' he asked.</p> + +<p>By this time Morin had passed out of the door to put on his snow-shoes, +and Courthope, who had swallowed only as much food as was necessary to +keep him from starvation, turned out to repeat the process of putting on +his, this time more deftly.</p> + +<p>Morin had a toboggan upon which were piled such necessaries as Madge had +collected. They began their march three abreast into the storm.</p> + +<p>They went a long way without conversation, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> yet Courthope found in +this march keen enjoyment. His heart was absurdly light. To have +performed so considerable a service for Madge, now to be walking beside +her on an errand of mercy, was as much joy as the present hour could +hold.</p> + +<p>It was difficult for him to keep up with the others, yet in doing so +there was the pleasure of the athlete in having acquired a new mastery +over his muscles; and the fascination of being at home in the snow as a +sea-bird is at home in the surf, which is the chief element of delight +in all winter sports, was his for the first time. With the drunken +wretch who was almost frozen he felt small sympathy, but he had the +sense that all modern men have on such occasions, that he ought to be +concerned, which kept him grave.</p> + +<p>The other two were not light-hearted. Morin, dragging the toboggan +behind him and walking with his grey head bent forward to the gale, was +sullen at being driven in the service of thieves; afraid lest some +sinister design was still intended, he cast constant glances of cunning +suspicion at Courthope. As for Madge, she appeared grave and +pre-occupied beyond all that was natural to her, suffering, he feared, +from the pain of her first disillusionment. This was a suffering that he +was hardly in a position to take seriously, and yet his heart yearned +over her. He thought also that she was pondering over the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> problem of +her next responsibility, and the evidence of this came sooner than he +had expected.</p> + +<p>When they got to the place where his first track diverged straight to +the shed, she and Morin stopped to exchange remarks; they evidently +perceived in this the clearest evidence of all against him. Had he not +gone straight to the place where the accomplice had agreed to wait? Then +Madge fell back a little to where he was now plodding in the rear. She +accosted him in the soft tones that had from the first so charmed him, +contrasting with her sister's voice as the tones of a reed-pipe contrast +with those from metal, or as the full voice of the cuckoo with the +shrill chirp of the sparrow. The soft voice was very serious, the manner +more than sedate, the words studied.</p> + +<p>'I am afraid that nothing that I can say will persuade you to alter a +way of life which you seem to have chosen, but it seems to me very sad +that one of your ability should so degrade himself.'</p> + +<p>She stopped with a little gasp for breath, as if frightened at her own +audacity. Her manner and phrases were an evident imitation of the way in +which she had heard advice bestowed upon vagrant or criminal by the +benevolent judge whose memory she so tenderly cherished. It was second +nature to her to act as she fancied he would have acted. Courthope +composed himself to receive the judicial<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> admonition with becoming +humility; his whole sympathy was with her, his mind was aglow with the +quaint humour of it.</p> + +<p>'You must know,' rebuked Madge, 'how very wrong it is; and it is not +possible that you could have difficulty in getting some honest +employment.'</p> + +<p>'It is very kind of you to interest yourself in me.' He kept his eyes +upon the ground.</p> + +<p>'I do not know, of course, what led you to begin a life of crime, or in +what way you found out what houses in this country were worth robbing, +but I fear you must have led a wicked life for a long time' (she was +very severe now). 'You are young yet; why should you carry on your +nefarious schemes in a new country, where, if you would, you could +easily reform?' (Again a little gasp for breath.) 'I have promised to +let you go without giving you into the hands of the law. I am afraid I +did a selfish and weak thing, because others may suffer from your +crimes, and I wish you could take this opportunity, which my leniency +gives you, and try to reform before you have lost your reputation as +well as your character.'</p> + +<p>'It is very kind of you,' he murmured again; and still as he walked he +looked upon his feet. He had no thought now of again denying his guilt; +having denied and, as she thought, confessed, he felt that to change<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> +once more would only evoke her greater scorn. 'Let be,' his heart said. +'Let come what will, I will not confuse her further to-day.'</p> + +<hr class='smler' /> +<h3><a name="Chapter_BVI" id="Chapter_BVI"></a><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></h3> + +<p>They passed the shed, making a straight march, as swift as might be, for +the fallen man; but before they reached him they saw some one coming, a +black, increasing form in the snowy distance. Morin hesitated. If the +thief had arisen, strong and able-bodied, it was clear that they had +again been tricked for an evil purpose. Even Madge looked alarmed, and +they both raised a halloo in the <i>patois</i> of the region. The answer that +came across the reach of the storm cheered them.</p> + +<p>The new-comer, a messenger from the nearest village, became voluble as +soon as he was within speaking distance. He addressed Madge in broken +English, but so quickly and with so strong a French accent that +Courthope only gathered part of his errand. He had come, it seemed, from +the stepmother to tell something concerning a certain Xavier, who had +been sent to them the evening before. Before he had finished calling, +Madge and Morin had come to the place where the thief lay, and, looking +down upon him, Madge gave a little cry.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span></p> + +<p>The new-comer came up. He looked as if he might be of the grade of a +notary's clerk or a country chemist. He did not seem surprised to see +who the man was. He began at once with great activity to chafe his hands +and face with handfuls of the snow. Madge and Morin were also active +with the restoratives. The thief was lifted and laid upon the toboggan. +They trod the snow all about to know that nothing remained, and found +only a corkless flask containing a few drops of rum. They were all so +busy that Courthope had little to do; he stood aside, wondering above +all at the way they rubbed the man with the snow, and at the +astonishment that Madge expressed. The stranger was very nimble and very +talkative; pouring out words now in French to Madge, he walked with her +in all haste to the shed from which the horse again whinnied. Morin, +awakening to a sense of urgency, started at a trot, dragging the +toboggan behind him; it sank heavily in snow so light. Courthope lent a +hand to the loop of rope by which it was drawn. He too essayed the trot +of the Canadian. He was growing proficient, and if he did not succeed in +keeping up the running pace, he managed to go more quickly than before. +They made fair progress. Looking back, Courthope saw Madge and the +stranger emerge upon the road with the little horse. He had not time to +look back often to see how they helped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> it to make its way. They were +still some distance behind when he and Morin reached the house.</p> + +<p>The man called Xavier was carried into the kitchen amid wild +exclamations from the Morin women. As they all continued the work of +restoring him with a hearty goodwill and an experience of which +Courthope could not boast, he was glad to betake himself to his own +room, wondering whether he was now a thief or a gentleman in the eyes of +this small snow-bound world. There was, in any case, no one at leisure +to prohibit him from making free with his own possessions.</p> + +<p>When he was dressed a certain shyness prohibited him from entering the +dining-room in which he heard Madge, Eliz, and the stranger talking +French together. He betook himself to the library, to the <i>Letters of +the Portuguese Nun</i> and an easy-chair. They might oust him with +severity, but it was as well to enjoy a short interval of luxury. The +room was warmed with a stove; the book was in the old-fashioned type; an +almost sleepless night was behind him; soon he slept.</p> + +<p>It was almost midday when he slept; the afternoon was advancing when he +awakened. Madam Morin was standing beside him arranging a tray of food +upon the table.</p> + +<p>'Eh!' she said, and smiled upon him.</p> + +<p>Then she pointed to the food, and demanded in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> pantomime if it suited +him. Courthope concluded that he had ceased to be in disgrace. He would +rather, much rather, have been summoned to a family meal, but that was +not his lot. He had taken many things philosophically in the course of +recent hours, and he took this also. What right had he to intrude +himself? He ate his meal alone. His roving glance soon brought him +pleasure, for he found that some one had tip-toed into the room while he +slept and laid the choicest volumes of romance near his chair.</p> + +<p>The wind had dropped, the snow had ceased falling. Before Courthope had +finished his luncheon the young man who looked like a notary's clerk +came in, using his broken English. He remarked that the storm was over +and that they were now going to get out a double team to plough through +the road. He suggested that Courthope should help him to drive it, and +to transport the prisoner to the gaol in the village. One man must be +left to protect the young ladies and the house; one man must help him +with the team and its burden. The speaker shrugged his shoulders, +suggesting that it would be more suitable for Morin to remain, and said +that for his part he would be much obliged and honoured if Courthope +would accompany him. Here some plain and easy compliments were thrown in +about Courthope's strength and the generous activity he had displayed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> +but not a word concerning his temporary disgrace; if this man knew of it +he did not regard it as of any importance.</p> + +<p>He was a matter-of-fact young man, not much interested in Courthope as a +stranger, immensely interested in the fact of the theft and all that +concerned it. At the slightest question he poured out excited +information. Xavier had been a servant in the house. Mrs. King, who was +religious and zealous, had found in him a convert. He had become a +Protestant to please her. (At this point the narrator shrugged his +shoulders again.) Then Xavier had asked higher wages; upon that there +was a quarrel, and he had left.</p> + +<p>The speaker's scanty English was of the simplest. He said, 'Xavier is a +very bad man, much worse than our people usually are. This winter he +went to the city and got his wits sharpened, and when he came back he +made a scheme. He sent word to Mrs. King that his old father was dying +and would like to be converted too. Mrs. King travels at once with a +horse and the strongest servant-man. The old father takes a long time to +die, so Xavier comes here yesterday to say she will stay all night; but +when he did not come back, his wife she got frightened, and she told +that the old man was not going to die, that she was afraid there was a +scheme. Now we have Xavier very safe. He may get five years.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span></p> + +<p>Upon Courthope's inquiring after the health of the thief, he was told +that beyond being severely frost-bitten he was little the worse. He was +again drunk with the stimulants that the Morins had poured down his +throat. The visitor ended the interview by saying that if Courthope +would be good enough to drive the team through the drifts his own horse +and sleigh would be sent after him the next day. Courthope inquired what +was the wish of the young mistress of the house. The other replied that +mademoiselle approved of his plan. It was evident that poor Madge was no +longer the mistress; the clerk was an emissary of Mrs. King's, and as +such he had taken the control. Still, as he was an amiable and capable +person, Courthope fell in with his suggestion, inwardly vowing that soon +of some domain, if not of this one, Madge should again be queen.</p> + +<p>Courthope received a message to the effect that the young ladies wished +to see him. There was something in the formal wording of this message, +coming after his solitary meal, which made him know that they were ill +at ease, that they had taken their mistake more deeply to heart than he +would have wished. He had no sooner entered the room where Madge stood +than he wished he were well out of it again, so far did his sympathy +with her discomfort transcend his own pleasure at being in her +presence.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span></p> + +<p>Madge stood, as upon the first night, behind her sister's chair. Eliz +looked frightened and excited, yet as half enjoying the novel +excitement. Madge, pale-faced and distressed, showed only too plainly +that she had need of all the courage she possessed to lift her eyes to +his. Yet she was not going to shirk her duty; she was going to make her +apology, and the apology of the household, just as the judge, her +father, would have wished to have it made.</p> + +<p>It was a little speech, conned beforehand, which she spoke—a quaint +mixture of her own girlish wording and the formal phrases which she felt +the occasion demanded. Courthope never knew precisely what she said. His +feelings were up and in tumult, like the winds on a gusty day, and he +was embarrassed for her embarrassment, while he smiled for the very joy +of it all.</p> + +<p>Madge confessed with grief that Eliz had mistaken Xavier for Courthope. +She said the man from the village had shown them what folly it was to +suppose that the gentleman could be Xavier's accomplice. She begged that +same gentleman's pardon very humbly. At the end he heard some words +faltered: she wished it was in their power 'to make any amends.'</p> + +<p>Almost before she ceased speaking he took up the word, and his own voice +sounded to him merry and bold in comparison with her soft distressful +speech;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> but he could not help that, he must speak with such powers as +nature gave him.</p> + +<p>'There are two ways by which you can make amends, and first I would beg +that none of our friends who were here last night should be told of it. +I should not like to think that Emma and Elizabeth, and Evelina or +Marianna Alcoforado should ever hear that I was taken for a thief.'</p> + +<p>'You are laughing at us,' said Eliz sharply. 'We know that you will go +away and make fun of us to all your friends.'</p> + +<p>'If I do you will have one way of punishing me that would give me more +pain than I could well endure, you can shut me out next time I come to +ask for shelter.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, but you can't come again,' said Eliz, with vibrating note of fierce +discontent; 'our stepmother will be here.'</p> + +<p>He looked at Madge.</p> + +<p>'I was going to say that the other way in which you could make amends +would be to give me leave to come back; and if <i>you</i> give me leave I +will come, even if it be necessary, to that end, to get an introduction +from all the clergy in Great Britain, or from the Royal Family.'</p> + +<p>A ray of hope shot into Madge's dark eyes, the first glimmer of a smile +began to show through her distress.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span></p> + +<p>'It is an old adage that "where there is a will there is a way," and did +I not walk on your most impossible snow-shoes and bring back your +silver?'</p> + +<p>Madge looked down, a pretty red began to mantle her pale face, and, as +if the angels who manage the winds and clouds did not wish that the +blush of so dear a maiden should betray too much, a ray of scarlet light +from the sinking sun just then came winging through the dispersing +storm-clouds and caused all the white snow-world to redden, and dyed the +frost-flowers on the window-pane, and, entering where the pane was bare, +lit all the room with soft vermilion light. So, in the wondrous blush of +the white world, the girl's cheeks glowed and yet did not confess too +much.</p> + +<p>'You will allow me to send in your compliments and inquire after Mr. +Woodhouse as I pass?' This was Courthope's farewell to Eliz, and she +called joyfully in reply:—</p> + +<p>'You need not send back his message, for we shall know that they are +"all very indifferent."'</p> + +<p>Into the scarlet shining of the western sun, an omen of fair weather and +delight, Courthope set forth again from the square tin-roofed house, +'leaving,' as the saying is, 'his heart behind him.' The large +farm-horses, restive from long confinement and stimulated by the frost, +shook their bells with energy. The Morin women displayed such goodwill<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> +and even tenderness in their attentions to the comfort of the second +prisoner, in whom they had found an old friend, that, tied in a blanket +and lying full length on the straw of a box-sleigh, he looked content +with himself and the world, albeit he had not as yet returned from the +happy roving-places of the drunken brain. The talkative clerk was glad +enough to give Courthope the reins of the masterful horses; he sat on +one edge of the blue-painted box and Courthope on the other; thus they +started, bravely plunging into the drifts between the poplars. The +drifts were all tinged with pink; the poplars, intercepting the red +light upon their slender upright boughs, cast, each of them, a clear +shadow that seemed to lie in endless length athwart the glowing sward.</p> + +<p>Courthope looked back at the house which had been so dim and +phantom-like the night before; the red sun lit the icicles that hung +from eaves and lintels, tinged the drifts, glowed upon the windows as if +with light from within, and turned the steep tin roof into a gigantic +rose; but all his glance was centred upon his lady-love, who stood, +regardless of the cold, at the entrance of the drift-encircled porch and +watched them as long as the sunlight lay upon the land. Was she looking +at the plunging sleigh and at its driver, or at the chasms of light in +the rent cloud beyond? His heart told him, as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> drove on into the very +midst of the sunset which had embraced the glistening land, that the +maid, although not regardless of the outer glory, only rejoiced in its +beauty because the vision of her heart was focused upon him. His heart, +in telling him this, taught him no pride, for had he not learned in the +same small space of time only to count himself rich in what she gave?</p> + +<p>Slow was the progress of the great horses; they passed the grove of high +elms and birches that, dressed in the snowflakes that had lodged in +boughs and branches when the wind dropped, stood up clear against the +gulfs of blue that now opened above and beyond. Then the house was +hidden, and after that, by degrees, the light of the sunset passed away.</p> + +<h3>THE END.</h3> + + +<p class='center'><i>Printed by</i> R. & R. <span class="smcap">Clark, Limited</span>, <i>Edinburgh</i>.</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="ADVERTISEMENTS" id="ADVERTISEMENTS"></a>ADVERTISEMENTS</h2> + +<hr class='smler' /> + +<h2>A MAN OF HONOUR.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> H. C. IRWIN.</h3> + +<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.</p> + +<p>'We have read many and many a story of the Indian Mutiny, but Mr. +Irwin's tale has novelty all its own.'—<i>Glasgow Herald.</i></p> + +<p>'Much good and careful work marks "A Man of Honour." H. C. Irwin is a +writer of thought and culture, who uses his experience of foreign travel +to admirable purpose in an interesting book.'—<i>Black and White.</i></p> + +<p>'All the characters are clearly presented, and you have no difficulty in +knowing whether you like them or not; and that is a commendation in +itself.'—<i>National Observer.</i></p> + +<p>'The novel is well written, vigorous, and interesting, and will well +repay reading, especially to those who like breezy, outdoor, active +existence.'—<i>Scotsman.</i></p> + +<p>'The interest is well sustained throughout, and once fairly embarked on +the story, it requires no slight moral effort to lay down the book +before finishing it.'—<i>Literary World.</i></p> + +<p>'The description of Indian politics and events during the Mutiny years +is well done, and the account of the battle of Chillianwallah and the +time immediately preceding it is excellent'—<i>Standard.</i></p> + +<p>'The literary qualities of the book are high, and the story itself has +great merit and power, and can be heartily recommended as a book very +well worth reading.'—<i>Aberdeen Free Press.</i></p> + +<p>'Essentially interesting and well written.'—<i>British Review.</i></p> + +<p>'A cleaner book, and one more free, in spite of its <i>motif</i>, from the +trail of the sex-serpent, we scarcely remember to have read.... We need +more such idealists ... to show us some of the good that is left in the +world.'—<i>Blackwood's Magazine.</i></p> + +<p>'The picture furnished of India, of its people and their ways, and of +the terrible experiences of the Mutiny period, is an admirable bit of +strong literary work.'—<i>Belfast News Letter.</i></p> + +<p>'It is a platitude that, to be worth reading, a Mutiny story must be +unquestionably good. The standard is high, but Mr. Irwin's book comes up +to it, and fully satisfies the most exacting test'—<i>The Pioneer, +Allahabad.</i></p> + +<h3>A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE LIFEGUARDSMAN.</h2> + +<h3>ADAPTED FROM SCHIMMEL'S 'DE KAPTEIN VAN DE LIJFGARDE.'</h3> + +<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.</p> + +<p>'It is a work of remarkable power and sustained interest. Right to the +end the interest is maintained, and it is not over-estimating the work +to say that few historical novels published within recent years are +superior to this adaptation of the Dutchman's story.'—<i>Scotsman.</i></p> + +<p>'It is primarily a romance, a story of thrilling adventure, and moves +forward with dramatic spirit from point to point.'—<i>Illustrated London +News.</i></p> + +<p>'We have no other novel giving so intimate an account of how things fell +out, and what obscure events and persons helped and hindered the +overthrow of James II. But the chief interest of the book turns round +the private person, the Lifeguardsman, not all a hero, mistaken, erring, +unfortunate, yet a brave man, and of the kind that stirs our sympathies +more than do immaculate heroes.'—<i>Bookman.</i></p> + +<p>'The work is characterised by great dash and vigour, and the principal +characters in the story are strongly drawn, while the incidents are +woven so skilfully together that the reader is carried with absorbing +interest to the close.'—<i>Western Times.</i></p> + +<p>'English readers are under a considerable debt of gratitude to the +anonymous translator who has given them a version in the vernacular of +Schimmel's "De Kaptein van de Lijfgarde." "The Lifeguardsman" is a +historical novel of very unusual power and fidelity. In detail and habit +the scenes and people of that troublous period are "reconstituted" here +with remarkable skill.'—<i>Belfast Northern Whig.</i></p> + +<p>'We do not often get the pleasure of handling such a lively and +thrilling story, and can feel a due measure of gratitude for the +anonymous "mere adapter" to whose discernment and enterprise we are +indebted for having brought it to our notice.'—<i>Literary World.</i></p> + + +<h3>A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h2>A JAPANESE MARRIAGE</h2> + +<h3>By DOUGLAS SLADEN.</h3> + +<h3>FIFTH THOUSAND.</h3> + +<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, boards, price 2s.; or in cloth, price 2s. 6d.</p> + +<p>I. <span class="smcap">Zangwill</span>, in the <i>Pall Mall Magazine</i>, says: 'Bryn, the +heroine, is a charming creature, and some of the scenes with her +half-crazed dying sister reveal strong imaginative power.'</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Lynn Linton</span>, in the <i>Queen</i>, says: 'Another Little Dear +has for her main quality unselfishness, penetrated through and through +by love. Such a character is Mary Avon in Douglas Sladen's striking +novel, "A Japanese Marriage."'</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Silas K. Hocking</span>, in the <i>Family Circle</i>: 'The stupidity, not +to say immorality, of the English law, which prevents marriage with the +deceased wife's sister, has rarely been more strikingly illustrated than +in Mr. Douglas Sladen's clever novel, "A Japanese Marriage." I could +wish the whole bench of bishops would read, mark, learn, and inwardly +digest this sparkling and entertaining story.'</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Helen Mathers</span>, in the <i>Literary World</i>, writes: 'Philip and +Bryn—these two are so interesting and so true to life, the Japanese +background against which they move in such noble but intensely human +fashion is so exquisite, that the dullest of us must feel keen pleasure +when we mingle intimately with the little people who have quite recently +asserted their right to be reckoned with the greatest upon earth.'</p> + +<p>G. A., in the <i>Westminster Gazette</i>, says: 'Mr. Douglas Sladen's first +novel is a distinct success. To begin with, he has managed to capture a +real live heroine, as charming and convincing a pretty girl as we have +met with for years. Her flesh-and-blood reality is quite undeniable. She +imposes herself upon one from the very first; she is winning and +genuine, and as fresh as a daisy.'</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Gilbert Burgess</span>, in the <i>Illustrated London News</i>: 'This time +it is the woes of the deceased wife's sister which are brought before us +in a narrative that is invariably picturesque, and, especially as to the +latter half of the volume, is of considerable humour and pathos.'</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Norman Gale</span>, in the <i>Literary World</i>: 'Bryn, a girl beautiful +exceedingly, only a little past twenty years of age—"sweet and twenty" +indeed!—loving Philip purely, and purely loved by him in return, living +alone with a young widower. The moment when Bryn proves her love is a +most exciting one, and shows that Mr. Sladen is a master of vivid +recital.'</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Jas. Stanley Little</span>, in the <i>Academy</i>: 'He writes with +knowledge and freshness of a country and a people as full of interest as +Japan and the Japanese.'</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Marion Hepworth Dixon</span>, in the <i>Englishwoman</i>: 'A story +strikingly told and animated with the doings of English residents in +Japan.'</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Richard le Gallienne</span>, in the <i>Star</i>: 'An exceedingly sprightly +and readable novel.'</p> + +<h3>A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h2>MERE STORIES.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Mrs</span>. W. K. CLIFFORD.</h3> + +<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, paper covers, in the style of a French novel, price 2s.</p> + +<p>'Mrs. W. K. Clifford's "Mere Stories" is not only notable for the +excellence and uniform interest of the stories it contains, but also for +the novelty of its shape—that of the yellow French novel pure and +simple. The innovation deserves encouragement. You do not want, at this +time of day, an introduction to Mrs. Clifford's many good qualities. She +has become one of those few writers of English fiction no one of whose +books one can afford to leave unread.'—<i>Review of Reviews.</i></p> + +<p>'They are neatly and incisively written, with an unfailing strain of +humour running through them. Altogether, this is a volume to read, and +we like its get-up—in paper covers on the French model, only neater and +more substantial.'—<i>Daily Mail.</i></p> + +<p>'In type, make-up, and size, it is exactly the volume to buy at the +book-stall and slip into such convenient receptacle as you may chance to +carry with you in the railway carriage. It costs you no more than a few +illustrated papers, and is more handy to bestow when you have read it. +As for the contents, they are eight slight stories, in Mrs. Clifford's +best manner. Yet, simple and unpretending as they are, they contain the +real novelist's touch. There is nature, drama, character, in these short +histories, and, above all, that command of simple pathos which Mrs. +Clifford has more than most writers. We do not know many living writers +who could have done either so well.'—<i>St. James's Gazette.</i></p> + +<hr class='smler' /> + +<h3>UNIFORM WITH 'MERE STORIES,'</h3> + +<h2>THE LAST TOUCHES.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By Mrs</span>. W. K. CLIFFORD.</h3> + +<p>'Much skill is devoted to the narration of all these +stories.'—<i>Saturday Review.</i></p> + +<p>'Many of them surpass even "Aunt Anne" and "Mrs. Keith's Crime" in +terseness and brilliant originality.'—<i>Morning Post.</i></p> + +<p>'One reads them from beginning to end enchanted.'—<i>National Review.</i></p> + +<p>'There is some very pretty and delicate work in them, which the literary +world would be the poorer for losing.'—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p> + +<p>'Indeed, in every story there are touches of wonderful cleverness, signs +of clear insight, of fresh and just observation.'—<i>Speaker.</i></p> + +<p>'Two or three of the stories reach an uncommon level of thought and +expression.'—<i>Standard.</i></p> + +<p>'But they are all good, all original, all distinctive, and we advise +readers to take care not to miss them.'—<i>Guardian.</i></p> + +<h3>A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h2>THE DREAM-CHARLOTTE.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.</h3> + +<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.</p> + +<p>'Miss Betham-Edwards is on her own special ground in her new novel, +which she calls "The Dream-Charlotte." Provincial France of the +Revolution time she knows with a detailed knowledge few other English +writers, if any, possess. It is a first-rate novel for youth, because of +its irresistible, contagious youthfulness; and its wholesome +enthusiasms.'—<i>The Sketch.</i></p> + +<p>'An historical novel of a thoroughly legitimate kind, for the picture +and the character are brought before us with sufficient vividness, yet +mainly through the words and thoughts of the fictitious heroine, and +through her close sympathy with her friend.'—<i>Athenæum.</i></p> + +<p>'A tale of rare imaginative beauty. Needless to say, the literary charm +of the book is great, and the atmosphere of the story true to its +historical setting.'—<i>Dundee Advertiser.</i></p> + +<p>'No living writer is so thoroughly at home in describing French life as +Miss Edwards is, or better able to give a life-like picture of the +social condition of France at the period of Charlotte Corday's daring +deed.'—<i>Hastings Observer.</i></p> + +<hr class='smler' /> + +<h2>THE CURB OF HONOUR.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.</h3> + +<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.</p> + +<p>'The descriptions of scenery in the Pyrenees are very attractive, and +the author has been most skilful in her delineations of the characters +of the leading actors.'—<i>Literary World.</i></p> + +<p>'The concluding chapter is a piece of masterly tragi-comedy. When I say +that this scene is suggestive of Balzac, I mean a high +compliment.'—<i>Academy.</i></p> + +<p>'Miss Betham-Edwards is a popular favourite of longstanding. She loves +to take her readers into some quiet corner of France, and her gift of +picturesque description is such that her tales seldom fail to yield +interest and recreation.'—<i>Times.</i></p> + +<h3>A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h2>AN ISLE IN THE WATER.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> KATHARINE TYNAN (<span class="smcap">Mrs</span>. Hinkson).</h3> + +<h3>AUTHOR OF 'OH, WHAT A PLAGUE IS LOVE!'</h3> + +<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.</p> + +<p>'Here, among the hosts of ladies who write with care and inelegance, +comes a woman artist. "An Isle in the Water" is a collection of fifteen +well-conceived and excellently-finished Irish stories, for which it +would be hard to find anything to say but praise. They are all extremely +short for the force of their effect, and every touch tells; they are +gracefully phrased without an appearance of artifice, subtly expressed +without a suspicion of affectation.'—<i>Saturday Review.</i></p> + +<p>'I venture to assert that in any one of its fifteen tales there is a +finer rendering of the very essence of Irish life and character than in +any half-dozen of the books which are responsible for the conception of +the conventional Pat or Biddy which has had such a long and prosperous +vogue on this side of the Channel. The book owes its momentum to its +fascinating and powerful rendering of the pathos and the tragedy of the +simple lives with which the writer deals. But this fascination and power +are far too obvious to stand in need of celebration.'—<i>New Age.</i></p> + +<p>'Any faults the book may have are redeemed by a page torn from the +authoress's own heart. "Changing the Nurseries" is a chapter no woman, +mother, or maid could read without a lump in her throat. The strong +maternal element, which is the chief virtue of the Irish, is rife in it, +and the thousand and one little trivialities that our life is made up of +are admirably commented upon.'—<i>St. James's Budget.</i></p> + +<hr class='smler' /> + +<h2>OH, WHAT A PLAGUE IS LOVE!</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">By</span> KATHARINE TYNAN (<span class="smcap">Mrs</span>. HINKSON).</h3> + +<p class='center'>Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.</p> + +<p>'This sparkling story has such freshness as suggests a draught new-drawn +from Paphian wells. It is, in fact, a vivacious little comedy, agreeably +diversified with threatenings of tragedy, and radiant with humour from +first to last.'—<i>Daily Chronicle.</i></p> + +<p>'Mrs. Hinkson is lively and pleasant in her domestic story—purely +English this time—which relates the misgivings and manœuvrings of a +family of young grown-up people who are ever on the watch for the +amorous proclivities of a light-hearted father.'—<i>National Observer.</i></p> + +<p>'Leigh Hunt would have delighted in Mrs. Hinkson. He knew how to value +high spirit in a writer, and the gaiety of this cheerful story would +have charmed him immensely.'—<i>Saturday Review.</i></p> + +<h3>A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.</h3> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DOZEN WAYS OF LOVE***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 18086-h.txt or 18086-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/0/8/18086">http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/0/8/18086</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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