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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Antony Gray,--Gardener, by Leslie Moore
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Antony Gray,--Gardener
+
+Author: Leslie Moore
+
+Release Date: August 10, 2008 [EBook #26241]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANTONY GRAY,--GARDENER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+ANTONY GRAY,--GARDENER
+
+BY
+LESLIE MOORE
+
+AUTHOR OF "THE PEACOCK FEATHER," "THE JESTER,"
+"THE WISER FOLLY," ETC.
+
+G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
+NEW YORK AND LONDON
+The Knickerbocker Press
+1917
+
+----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Copyright, 1917
+by
+LESLIE MOORE
+
+The Knickerbocker Press, New York
+
+----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+To
+MRS. BARTON
+
+----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+CONTENTS
+
+ CHAPTER                              PAGE
+Prologue                                 1
+      I.  The Letter                    17
+     II.  Memories                      24
+    III.  Quod Scriptum est             31
+     IV.  The Lady of the Blue Book     38
+      V.  A Friendship                  44
+     VI.  At Teneriffe                  52
+    VII.  England                       64
+   VIII.  The Amazing Conditions        70
+     IX.  The Decision                  79
+      X.  An English Cottage            86
+     XI.  Doubts                        98
+    XII.  Concerning Michael Field     102
+   XIII.  A Discovery                  109
+    XIV.  Honor Vincit                 117
+     XV.  In the Garden                123
+    XVI.  A Meeting                    132
+   XVII.  At the Manor House           139
+  XVIII.  A Dream and Other Things     149
+    XIX.  Trix on the Scene            161
+     XX.  Moonlight and Theories       168
+    XXI.  On the Moorland              183
+   XXII.  An Old Man in a Library      192
+  XXIII.  Antony Finds a Glove         201
+   XXIV.  An Interest in Life          206
+    XXV.  Prickles                     212
+   XXVI.  An Offer and a Refusal       227
+  XXVII.  Letters and Mrs. Arbuthnot   237
+ XXVIII.  For the Day Alone            256
+   XXIX.  In the Church Porch          260
+    XXX.  A Question of Importance     277
+   XXXI.  Midnight Reflections         284
+  XXXII.  Sunlight and Happiness       290
+ XXXIII.  Trix Seeks Advice            294
+  XXXIV.  An Amazing Suggestion        302
+   XXXV.  Trix Triumphant              312
+  XXXVI.  An Old Man Tells his Story   319
+ XXXVII.  The Importance of Trifles    330
+XXXVIII.  A Footstep on the Path       334
+  XXXIX.  On the Old Foundation        341
+Epilogue                               347
+
+----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ANTONY GRAY,--GARDENER
+
+PROLOGUE
+
+
+March had come in like a lion, raging, turbulent. Throughout the day the
+wind had torn spitefully at the yet bare branches of the great elms in
+the park; it had rushed in insensate fury round the walls of the big grey
+house; it had driven the rain lashing against the windows. It had sent
+the few remaining leaves of the old year scudding up the drive; it had
+littered the lawns with fragments of broken twigs; it had beaten yellow
+and purple crocuses prostrate to the brown earth.
+
+Against the distant rocky coast the sea had boomed like the muffled
+thunder of guns; it had flung itself upon the beach, dragging the stones
+back with it in each receding wave, their grinding adding to the crash of
+the waters. Nature had been in her wildest mood, a thing of mad fury.
+
+With sundown a calm had fallen. The wind, tired of its onslaught, had
+sunk suddenly to rest. Only the sea beat and moaned sullenly against the
+cliffs, as if unwilling to subdue its anger. Yet, for all that, a note of
+fatigue had entered its voice.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+An old man was sitting in the library of the big grey house. A shaded
+reading lamp stood on a small table near his elbow. The light was thrown
+upon an open book lying near it, and on the carved arms of the oak chair
+in which the man was sitting. It shone clearly on his bloodless old
+hands, on his parchment-like face, and white hair. A log fire was burning
+in a great open hearth on his right. For the rest, the room was a place
+of shadows, deepening to gloom in the distant corners, a gloom emphasized
+by the one small circle of brilliant light, and the red glow of the fire.
+Book-cases reached from floor to ceiling the whole length of two walls,
+and between the three thickly curtained windows of the third. In the
+fourth wall were the fireplace and the door.
+
+There was no sound to break the silence. The figure in the oak chair sat
+motionless. He might have been carved out of stone, for any sign of life
+he gave. He looked like stone,--white and black marble very finely
+sculptured,--white marble in head and hands, black marble in the piercing
+eyes, the long satin dressing-gown, the oak of the big chair. Even his
+eyes seemed stone-like, motionless, and fixed thoughtfully on space.
+
+To those perceptive of "atmosphere" there is a subtle difference in
+silence. There is the silence of woods, the silence of plains, the
+silence of death, the silence of sleep, and the silence of wakefulness.
+This silence was the last named. It was a silence alert, alive, yet very
+still.
+
+A slight movement in the room, so slight as to be almost imperceptible,
+roused him to the present. Life sprang to his eyes, puzzled, questioning;
+his body motionless, they turned towards the middle window of the three,
+from whence the movement appeared to have come. It was not repeated. The
+old utter silence lay upon the place; yet Nicholas Danver kept his eyes
+upon the curtain.
+
+The minutes passed. Then once more came that almost imperceptible
+movement.
+
+Nicholas Danver's well-bred old voice broke the silence.
+
+"Why not come into the room?" it suggested quietly. There was a gleam of
+ironical humour in his eyes.
+
+The curtains swung apart, and a man came from between them. He stood
+blinking towards the light.
+
+"How did you know I was there, sir?" came the gruff inquiry.
+
+"I didn't know," said Nicholas, accurately truthful. "I merely guessed."
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"Well?" said Nicholas watching the man keenly. "By the way, I suppose you
+know I am entirely at your mercy. I could ring this bell," he indicated
+an electric button attached to the arm of his chair, "but I suppose it
+would be at least three minutes before any one came. Yes," he continued
+thoughtfully, "allowing for the distance from the servants' quarters, I
+should say it would be at least three minutes. You could get through a
+fair amount of business in three minutes. Was it the candlesticks you
+wanted?" He looked towards a pair of solid silver candlesticks on the
+mantelpiece. "They are cumbersome, you know. Or the miniatures? There are
+three Cosways and four Engleharts. I should recommend the miniatures."
+
+"I wanted to see you," said the man bluntly.
+
+"Indeed!" Nicholas's white eyebrows rose the fraction of an inch above
+his keen old eyes. "An unusual hour for a visit, and--an unusual
+entrance, if I might make the suggestion."
+
+"There'd never have been a chance of seeing you if I had come any other
+way." There was a hint of bitterness in the words.
+
+Nicholas looked straight at him.
+
+"Who are you?" he asked.
+
+"Job Grantley," was the reply. "I live down by the Lower Acre."
+
+"Ah! One of my tenants."
+
+"Yes, sir, one of your tenants."
+
+"And--?" suggested Nicholas urbanely.
+
+"I'm to turn out of my cottage to-morrow," said the man briefly.
+
+"Indeed!" The pupils of Nicholas's eyes contracted. "May I ask why that
+information should be of interest to me?"
+
+"It's of no interest to you, sir, and we know it. You never hear a word
+of what happens outside this house."
+
+"Mr. Spencer Curtis conducts my business," said Nicholas politely.
+
+"We know that too, sir, and we know the way it is conducted. It's an iron
+hand, and a heart like flint. It's pay or go, and not an hour's grace."
+
+"You can hardly expect him to give you my cottages rent free," suggested
+Nicholas suavely.
+
+The man winced.
+
+"No, sir. But where a few weeks would make all the difference to a man,
+where it's a matter of a few shillings standing between home and the
+roadside--" he broke off.
+
+Nicholas was silent.
+
+"I thought perhaps a word to you, sir," went on the man half wistfully.
+"We're to go to-morrow if I can't pay, and I can't. A couple of weeks
+might have made all the difference. It was for the wife I came, sneaking
+up here like a thief. She's lost two little ones; they never but opened
+their eyes on the world to shut them again. I'm glad on it now. But women
+aren't made that way. There's another coming. She's not strong. I doubt
+but the shock'll not take her and the little one too. Better for them
+both if it does. A man can face odds, and remake his life if he is a
+man--" he stopped.
+
+Still there was silence.
+
+"I was a fool to come," said the man drearily. "'Twas the weather did it
+in the end. I'd gone mad-like listening to the wind and rain, and
+thinking of her and the child that was to be--" again he stopped.
+
+Nicholas was watching him from under the penthouse of his eyebrows.
+Suddenly he spoke.
+
+"How soon could you pay your rent?" he demanded.
+
+"In a fortnight most like, sir. Three weeks for certain."
+
+"Have you told Mr. Curtis that?"
+
+"I have, sir. But it's the tick of time, or out you go."
+
+"Have you ever been behindhand before?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"How has it happened now?" The questions came short, incisive.
+
+The man flushed.
+
+"How has it happened now?" repeated Nicholas distinctly.
+
+"I lent a bit, sir."
+
+"To whom?"
+
+"Widow Thisby. She's an old woman, sir."
+
+"Tell me the whole story," said Nicholas curtly.
+
+Again the flush rose to the man's face.
+
+"Her son got into a bit of trouble, sir. It was a matter of a sovereign
+or going to gaol. He's only a youngster, and the prison smell sticks.
+Trust folk for nosing it out. He's got a chance now, and will be sending
+his mother a trifle presently."
+
+"Then I suppose she'll repay you?"
+
+Job fidgeted with his cap.
+
+"Well, sir, I don't suppose it'll be more'n a trifle he'll send; and
+she's got her work cut out to make both ends meet."
+
+"Then I suppose you _gave_ her the money?"
+
+Job shifted his feet uneasily.
+
+"How did you intend to raise the money due for your rent, then?" demanded
+Nicholas less curtly.
+
+Job left off fidgeting. He felt on safer ground here.
+
+"It just meant a bit extra saved from each week," he said eagerly. "You
+can do it if you've time. Boiling water poured into the morning teapot
+for evenings, and knock off your bit of bacon, and--well, there's lots of
+ways, sir, and women is wonderful folk for managing, the best ones. Where
+it's thought and trouble they'll do it, and they'd be using strength too
+if they'd got it, but some of them hasn't."
+
+"Hmm," said Nicholas. He put up his hand to his mouth. "So you _gave_
+money you knew would never be repaid, knowing, too, that it meant
+possible homelessness."
+
+"You'd have done it yourself if you'd been in my place," said the man
+bluntly.
+
+"Should I?" said Nicholas half ironically. "I very much doubt it. Also
+what right had you to gamble with your wife's happiness? You knew the
+risk you ran. You knew the--er, the rule regarding the rents. Job
+Grantley, you were a fool."
+
+Again the colour rushed to the man's face.
+
+"May be, sir. I'll allow it sounds foolishness, but--oh Lord, sir,
+where's the use o' back-thinking now. I reckon you'd never do a hand's
+turn for nobody if you spent your time looking backward and forrard at
+your jobs." He stopped, his chin quivering.
+
+"Job Grantley, you were a fool." Nicholas repeated the words with even
+deliberation.
+
+The man moved silently towards the window. There was a clumsy dignity
+about his figure.
+
+"Stop," said Nicholas. "Job Grantley, you _are_ a fool."
+
+The man turned round.
+
+"Go to that drawer," ordered Nicholas, "and bring me a pocket-book you
+will find there."
+
+Mechanically the man did as he was bidden. Nicholas took the book.
+
+"Now then," he said opening it, "how much will put you right?"
+
+The man stared.
+
+"I--oh, sir."
+
+"How much will put you right?" demanded Nicholas.
+
+"A pound, sir. The month's rent is due to-morrow."
+
+Nicholas raised his eyebrows.
+
+"Humph. Not much to stand between you and--hell. I've no doubt you did
+consider it hell. We each have our own interpretation of that cheerful
+abode."
+
+He turned the papers carefully.
+
+"Now look here," he said suddenly, "there's five pounds. It's for
+yourselves, mind. No more indiscriminate bestowal of charity, you
+understand. You begin your charity at home. Do you follow me?"
+
+The man took the money in a dazed fashion. He was more than half
+bewildered at the sudden turn in events.
+
+"I'll repay you faithfully, sir. I'll----"
+
+"Damn you," broke in Nicholas softly, "who talked about repayment? Can't
+I make a present as well as you, if I like? Besides I owe you something
+for this ten minutes. They have been interesting. I don't get too many
+excitements. That'll do. I don't want any thanks. Be off with you. Better
+go by the window. There might be a need of explanations if you tried a
+more conventional mode of exit now. That'll do, that'll do. Go, man."
+
+Two minutes later Nicholas was looking again towards the curtains behind
+which Job Grantley had vanished.
+
+"Now, was I the greater fool?" he said aloud. There was an odd, mocking
+expression in his eyes.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ten minutes later he pressed the electric button attached to the arm of
+his chair. His eyes were on his watch which he held in his hand. As the
+library door opened, he replaced it in his pocket.
+
+"Right to the second," he laughed. "Ah, Jessop."
+
+The man who entered was about fifty years of age, or thereabouts,
+grey-haired, clean-shaven. His face was cast in the rigid lines peculiar
+to his calling. Possibly they relaxed when with his own kind, but one
+could not feel certain of the fact.
+
+"Ah, Jessop, do you know Job Grantley by sight?"
+
+For one brief second Jessop stared, amazement fallen upon him. Then the
+mask of impenetrability was on again.
+
+"Job Grantley, yes, sir."
+
+"What is he like?"
+
+"Tallish man, sir; wears corduroys. Dark hair and eyes; looks straight at
+you, sir."
+
+"Hmm. Very good. Perhaps I wasn't a fool," he was thinking.
+
+"Do you know Mr. Curtis?" he demanded.
+
+"Yes, sir." This came very shortly.
+
+"Should you call him--er, a hard man?" asked Nicholas smoothly.
+
+Again amazement fell on Jessop's soul, revealing itself momentarily in
+his features. And again the amazement was concealed.
+
+"He's a good business man, sir," came the cautious reply.
+
+"You mean--?" suggested Nicholas.
+
+"A good business man isn't ordinarily what you'd call tender-like," said
+Jessop grimly.
+
+Nicholas flashed a glance of amusement at him.
+
+"I suppose not," he replied dryly.
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"Do the tenants ever ask to see me?" demanded Nicholas.
+
+"They used to, sir. Now they save their shoe-leather coming up the
+drive."
+
+"Ah, you told them--?"
+
+"Your orders, sir. You saw no one."
+
+"I see." Nicholas's fingers were beating a light tattoo on the arm of his
+chair. "Well, those are my orders. That will do. You needn't come again
+till I ring."
+
+Jessop turned towards the door.
+
+"Oh, by the way," Nicholas's voice arrested him on the threshold, "I
+fancy the middle window is unlatched."
+
+Jessop returned and went behind the curtains.
+
+"It was, wasn't it?" asked Nicholas as he emerged.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Jessop left the room.
+
+"Now how on earth did he know that?" he queried as he walked across the
+hall.
+
+The curtains had been drawn when Nicholas had been carried into the room.
+The knowledge, for a man unable to move from his chair, seemed little
+short of uncanny.
+
+"_A man can face odds if he is a man, and remake his life._"
+
+The words repeated themselves in Nicholas's brain. Each syllable was like
+the incisive tap of a hammer. They fell on a wound lately dealt.
+
+A little scene, barely ten days old, reconstructed itself in his memory.
+The stage was the one he now occupied; the position the same. But another
+actor was present, a big rugged man, clad in a shabby overcoat,--a man
+with keen eyes, a grim mouth, and flexible sensitive hands.
+
+"I regret to tell you that, humanly speaking, you have no more than a
+year to live."
+
+The man had looked past him as he spoke the words. He had had his back to
+the light, but Nicholas had seen something almost inscrutable in his
+expression.
+
+Nicholas's voice had followed close upon the words, politely ironical.
+
+"Personally I should have considered it a matter for congratulation
+rather than regret," he had suggested.
+
+There had been the fraction of a pause. Then the man's voice had broken
+the silence.
+
+"Do you?"
+
+"I do. What has my life been for fifteen years?" Nicholas had demanded.
+
+"What you have made of it," had been the answer.
+
+"What God or the devil has made of it, aided by Baccarat--poor beast,"
+Nicholas had retorted savagely.
+
+"The devil, possibly," the man had replied, "but aided and abetted by
+yourself."
+
+"Confound you, what are you talking about?" Nicholas had cried.
+
+The man had still looked towards the book-cases.
+
+"Listen," he had said. "For fifteen years you have lived the life of a
+recluse--a useless recluse, mind you. And why? Because of pride,--sheer
+pride. Those who had known you in the strength of your manhood, those who
+had known you as Nick the dare-devil, should never see the broken
+cripple. Pride forbade it. You preferred to run to cover, to lie hidden
+there like a wounded beast, rather than face, like a man, the odds that
+were against you,--heavy odds, I'll allow."
+
+Nicholas's eyes had blazed.
+
+"How dare you!" he had shouted.
+
+"You've a year left," went on the man calmly. "I should advise you to see
+what use you can make of it."
+
+"The first use I'll make of it is to order you from the house. You can go
+at once." Nicholas had pointed towards the door.
+
+The man had got up.
+
+"All right," he had said, looking at him for the first time in the last
+ten minutes. "But don't forget. You've got the year, you know."
+
+"To hell with the year," said Nicholas curtly.
+
+"Damn the fellow," he had said as the door had closed behind him. But the
+very truth of the words had left a wound,--a clean-cut wound however.
+There was never any bungling where Doctor Hilary was concerned.
+
+And now incisive, sharp, came the taps of the hammer on it, taps dealt by
+Job Grantley's chance words.
+
+"Confound both the men," he muttered. "But the fellow deserved the five
+pounds. It was the first interest I've had for fifteen years. The kind of
+entrance I'd have made myself, too; or perhaps mine would have been even
+a bit more unusual, eh, Nick the dare-devil!"
+
+It was the old name again. He had never earned it through the least
+malice, however. Fool-hardiness perhaps, added to indomitable high
+spirits and good health, but malice, never.
+
+How Father O'Brady had chuckled over the prank that had first earned him
+the title,--the holding up of the coach that ran between Byestry and
+Kingsleigh, Nick at the head of a band of half a dozen young scapegraces
+clad in black masks and huge hats, and armed with old pistols purloined
+from the historic gun-room of the old Hall! It had been a leaf from the
+book of Claude Duval with a slight difference.
+
+Nick had re-acted the scene for him. He was an inimitable mimic. He had
+taken off old Lady Fanshawe's cackling fright to the life. As the
+stoutest and oldest dowager of the lot he had obliged her to dance a
+minuet with him, the terrified coachman, postilion, and solitary male
+passenger covered by his companions' pistols the while. The fluttered
+younger occupants of the coach had frankly envied the terrified dowager,
+yet Nick had bestowed but the most perfunctory of glances upon them, and
+that for a reason best known to himself.
+
+Later the truth of the affair had leaked out, and Lady Fanshawe could
+never chaperon one of her numerous nieces to a ball, without being
+besieged by young men imploring the favour of a dance. Being a sporting
+old lady--when not out of her wits with terror--she had taken it all in
+good part. Once, even, she had danced the very same minuet with Nick, the
+whole ballroom looking on and applauding.
+
+It had been the first of a series of pranks each madder than the last,
+but each equally light-hearted and gay.
+
+That is till Cecilia Lester married Basil Percy.
+
+The world, namely the small circle in which Cecilia and Nick moved, had
+heard of the marriage with amazement. If Nick was amazed he did not show
+it, but his pranks held less of gaiety, more of a grim foolhardiness.
+Father O'Brady no longer chuckled over their recitation. Maybe because
+they mainly reached his ears from outside sources. Nick, who was not of
+his fold, seldom sought his society in these days. Later he heard them
+not at all, being removed to another mission.
+
+And then, at last, came the day when Nick played his final prank in the
+hunting field,--his maddest prank, in which Baccarat failed him. The
+horse was shot where he lay. His rider was carried home half dead; and
+half dead, literally, he had been for fifteen years.
+
+And there was yet one more year left to him.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Nicholas sat gazing at the fire.
+
+His brain was extraordinarily alert. There was a dawning humour waking in
+his eyes, a hint of the bygone years' devil-may-careness. The old Nick
+was stirring within him, roused by the little blows of that sentence.
+
+Suddenly a flash of laughter illuminated his whole face. He brought his
+hand down on the arm of his chair.
+
+"By gad, I've got it, and Hilary's the man to help me."
+
+It was characteristic of Nicholas to forget his own share in that little
+ten-day-old scene. Also it may be safely averred that Doctor Hilary would
+be equally forgetful.
+
+Nicholas still sat gazing into the fire, chuckling every now and then to
+himself. It was midnight before he rang for Jessop. The ringing had been
+preceded by one short sentence.
+
+"By gad, Nick the dare-devil, the scheme's worthy of the old days."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE LETTER
+
+
+Antony was sitting on the stoep of his bungalow. The African sun was
+bathing the landscape in a golden glory. Before him lay his garden, a
+medley of brilliant colour. Just beyond it was a field of green Indian
+corn, scintillating to silver as a little breeze swept its surface.
+Beyond it again lay the vineyard, and the thatched roof of an old Dutch
+farmhouse half hidden among trees. Farther off still rose the mountains,
+golden in the sunlight.
+
+It was the middle of the afternoon. Silence reigned around, broken only
+by the occasional chirp of a grasshopper, the muffled note of a frog, the
+twitter of the canaries among the cosmos, or the rustle of the reed
+curtain which veiled the end of the stoep.
+
+The reed curtain veiled the bathroom, a primitive affair, the bath
+consisting of half an old wine vat, filled with velvety mountain water,
+conducted thither by means of a piece of hose-piping attached to the
+solitary water tap the estate possessed. It was emptied by means of a
+bung fixed in the lower part of the vat, the water affording irrigation
+for the garden.
+
+Antony sat very still. His coat lay beside him on the stoep. A small
+wire-haired puppy named Josephus mounted guard upon it. Woe betide the
+person other than Antony's self who ventured to lay finger on the
+garment. There would be a bristling of short wiry white hair, a showing
+of baby white teeth, and a series of almost incredibly vicious growls.
+Josephus permitted no man to take liberties with his master's property,
+nor indeed with his ridiculously dignified small self. Antony was the
+sole exception to his rule. But then was not he a king among men, a
+person whose word was law, whose caress a benediction, whose blow a thing
+for which to demand mute pardon? You knew it was deserved, though the
+knowledge might possibly at times be vague, since your wisdom was as yet
+but puppy wisdom.
+
+Now and again Josephus hung out a pink tongue, a tongue which demanded
+milk in a saucer. He knew tea-time to the second,--ordinarily speaking
+that is to say. He could not accustom himself to that extra half-hour's
+delay which occurred on mail days, a delay caused by Riffle, the coloured
+boy, having to walk to the village to fetch the post. The walk was seldom
+entirely fruitless. Generally there was a newspaper of sorts;
+occasionally--very occasionally--a letter. Josephus knew that the click
+of the garden gate heralded the swift arrival of tea, but it was not
+always easy to realize on which days that click was to be expected.
+
+Antony gazed at the scintillating field of corn. The sight pleased him.
+There is always a glory in creation, even if it be creation by proxy, so
+to speak. At all events he had been the human agent in the matter. He had
+ploughed the brown earth; he had cast the yellow seed, trudging the
+furrows with swinging arm; he had dug the little trenches through which
+the limpid mountain water should flow to the parched earth; he had
+watched the first hint of green spreading like a light veil; he had seen
+it thicken, carpeting the field; and now he saw the full fruit of his
+labours. Strong and healthy it stood before him, the soft wind rippling
+across its surface, silvering the green.
+
+The click of the garden gate roused him from his contemplation. Josephus
+cocked one ear, his small body pleasurably alert.
+
+Antony turned his head. Mail day always held possibilities, however
+improbable, an expectation unknown to those to whom the sound of the
+postman's knock comes in the ordinary course of events. Riffle appeared
+round the corner of the stoep. Had you seen him anywhere but in Africa,
+you would have vowed he was a good-looking Italian. A Cape coloured boy
+he was truly, and that, mark you, is a very different thing from Kaffir.
+
+"The paper, master, and a letter," he announced with some importance.
+Then he disappeared to prepare the tea for which Josephus's doggy soul
+was longing.
+
+Antony turned the letter in his hands. It must be confessed it was a
+disappointment. It was obviously a business communication. Both envelope
+and clerkly writing made that fact apparent. It was a drop to earth after
+the first leap of joy that had heralded Riffle's announcement. It was
+like putting out your hand to greet a friend, and meeting--a commercial
+traveller.
+
+Antony smiled ruefully. Yet, after all, it was an English commercial
+traveller. That fact stood for something. It was, at all events, a faint
+breath of the Old Country. In England the letter had been penned, in
+England it had been posted, from England it had come to him. Yet who on
+earth had business affairs to communicate to him!
+
+He broke the seal.
+
+Amazement fell upon him with the first words he read. By the end of the
+perusal his brain was whirling. It was incredible, astounding. He stared
+out into the sunshine. Surely he was dreaming. It must be a joke of
+sorts, a laughable hoax. Yet there was no hint of joking in the concise
+communication, in the small clerkly handwriting, in the business-like
+letter-paper, a letter-paper headed by the name of a most respectable
+firm of solicitors.
+
+"Well, I'm jiggered," declared Antony to the sunshine. And he fell to a
+second perusal of the letter. Here is what he read:
+
+
+"Dear Sir,
+
+"We beg to inform you that under the terms of the will of the late Mr.
+Nicholas Danver of Chorley Old Hall, Byestry, in the County of Devon, you
+are left sole legatee of his estate and personal effects estimated at an
+income of some twelve thousand pounds per annum, subject, however, to
+certain conditions, which are to be communicated verbally to you by us.
+
+"In order that you may be enabled to hear the conditions without undue
+inconvenience to yourself, we have been authorized to defray any expenses
+you may incur either directly or indirectly through your journey to
+England, and--should you so desire--your return journey. We enclose
+herewith cheque for one hundred pounds on account.
+
+"As the property is yours only upon conditions, we must beg that you will
+make no mention of this communication to any person whatsoever until such
+time as you have been made acquainted with the said conditions. We should
+be obliged if you would cable to us your decision whether or no you
+intend to hear them, and--should the answer be in the affirmative--the
+approximate date we may expect you in England.
+
+                                                "Yours obediently,
+                                                      "Henry Parsons."
+
+
+And the paper was headed, Parsons & Glieve, Solicitors.
+
+Nicholas Danver. Where had he heard that name before? What faint cord of
+memory did it strike? He sought in vain for the answer. Yet somehow, at
+sometime, surely he had heard it! Again and again he seemed on the verge
+of discovering the clue, and again and again it escaped him, slipping
+elusive from him. It was tantalizing, annoying. With a slight mental
+effort he abandoned the search. Unpursued, the clue might presently
+return to him.
+
+Riffle reappeared on the stoep bearing a tea-tray. Josephus sat erect.
+For full ten minutes his brown eyes gazed ardently towards the table.
+What had happened? What untoward event had occurred? Antony was oblivious
+of his very existence. Munching bread and butter, drinking hot tea
+himself, he appeared entirely to have forgotten that a thirsty and
+bewilderedly disappointed puppy was gazing at him from the harbourage of
+his old coat. At length the neglect became a thing not to be borne.
+Waving a deprecating paw, Josephus gave vent to a pitiful whine.
+
+Antony turned. Then realization dawned on him. He grasped the milk jug.
+
+"You poor little beggar," he laughed. "It's not often you get neglected.
+But it's not often that bombshells in the shape of ordinary, simple,
+harmless-looking letters fall from the skies, scattering extraordinary
+contents and my wits along with them. Here you are, you morsel of injured
+patience."
+
+Josephus lapped, greedily, thirstily, till the empty saucer circled on
+the stoep under the onslaughts of his small pink tongue.
+
+Antony had again sunk into a reverie, a reverie which lasted for another
+fifteen minutes or so. At last he roused himself.
+
+"Josephus, my son," he announced solemnly, "there are jobs to be done,
+and in spite of bombshells we'd better do them, and leave Arabian Night
+wonders for further contemplation this evening."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+MEMORIES
+
+
+Some four hours later, Antony, once more in his deck-chair on the stoep,
+set himself to review the situation. Shorn of its first bewilderment it
+resolved itself into the fact that he, Antony Gray, owner of a small farm
+on the African veldt, which farm brought him in a couple of hundred a
+year or thereabouts, was about to become the proprietor of an estate
+valued at a yearly income of twelve thousand,--subject, however, to
+certain conditions. And in that last clause lay the possible fly in the
+ointment. What conditions?
+
+Antony turned the possibilities in his mind.
+
+Matrimony with some lady of Nicholas Danver's own choosing? He dismissed
+the idea. It savoured too much of early Victorian melodrama for the
+prosaic twentieth century. The support of some antediluvian servant or
+pet? Possibly. But then it would hardly be necessary to require verbal
+communication of such a condition; a brief written statement to the
+effect would have sufficed. The house ghost-haunted; a yearly exorcising
+of the restless spirit demanded? Again too melodramatic. A promise to
+live on the estate, and on the estate alone? Far more probable.
+
+Well, he'd give that fast enough. The veldt-desire had never gripped him
+as it is declared to grip those who have found a home in Africa. Behind
+the splendour, the pageantry, the vastness, he had always felt a hint of
+something sinister, something cruel; a spirit, perhaps of evil, ever
+wakeful, ever watching. Now and again a sound, a scent would make him
+sick with longing, with longing for an English meadow, for the clean
+breath of new-mown hay, for the fragrance of June roses, for the song of
+the thrush, and the sweet piping of the blackbird.
+
+He had crushed down the longing as sentimental. Having set out on a path
+he would walk it, till such time as Fate should clearly indicate another
+signpost. He saw her finger now, and welcomed the direction of its
+pointing. At all events he might make venture of the new route,--an
+Arabian Night's path truly, gold-paved, mysterious. If, after making some
+steps along it, he should discover a barrier other than he had a mind to
+surmount, he could always return to the old road. Fate might point, but
+she should never push him against his will. Thus he argued, confident
+within his soul. He had the optimism, the trust of youth to his balance.
+He had not yet learned the deepest of Fate's subtleties, the apparent
+candour which conceals her tricks.
+
+He gazed out into the night, ruminative, speculative. The breeze which
+had rippled across the Indian corn during the day had sunk to rest. The
+darkened field lay tranquil under the stars big and luminous. From far
+across the veldt came the occasional beating of a buzzard's wings, like
+the beating of muffled drums. A patch of gum trees to the right, beyond
+the garden, stood out black against the sky.
+
+Nicholas Danver. The name repeated itself within his brain, and then,
+with it, came a sudden flash of lucid memory lighting up a long forgotten
+scene.
+
+He saw a small boy, a very small boy, tugging, pulling, and twisting at a
+tough gorse stick on a moorland. He felt the clenching of small teeth,
+the bruised ache of small hands, the heat of the small body, the
+obstinate determination of soul. A slight sound had caused the boy to
+turn, and he had seen a man on a big black horse, watching him with
+laughing eyes.
+
+"You'll never break that," the man had remarked amused.
+
+"I've got to. I've begun," had been the small boy's retort. And he had
+returned to the onslaught, regardless of the watching man.
+
+Ten minutes had ended in an exceedingly heated triumph. The boy had sunk
+upon the grass, sucking a wounded finger. The mood of determination had
+passed with the victory. He had been too shy to look at the rider on the
+black horse. But the gorse stick had lain on the ground beside him.
+
+"Shake hands," the man had said.
+
+And the boy had scrambled to his feet to extend a grubby paw.
+
+"What's your name?" the man had demanded.
+
+"Antony Gray."
+
+"Not Richard Gray's son?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+The man had burst into a shout of laughter.
+
+"Where is your father?"
+
+"In London."
+
+"Well, tell him his son is a chip of the old block, and Nicholas Danver
+says so. Ask him if he remembers the coach road from Byestry to
+Kingsleigh. Good-bye, youngster."
+
+And Nicholas had ridden away.
+
+It was astonishing in what detail the scene came back to him. He could
+smell the hot aromatic scent of the gorse and wild thyme. He could hear
+the humming of the bees above the heather. He could see the figure on the
+black horse growing speck-like in the distance as he had gazed after it.
+
+The whole thing pieced itself together. He remembered that he had gone to
+that cottage on the moorland with his nurse to recover after measles. He
+remembered that his father had said that the air of the place would make
+a new boy of him. He remembered his father's laugh, when, later, the tale
+of the meeting had been recounted to him.
+
+"Good old Nick," he had said. "One loses sight of the friends of one's
+boyhood as one grows older, more's the pity. I must write to old Nick."
+
+There the incident had closed. Yet clearly as the day on which it had
+occurred, a day now twenty-five years old, it repainted itself on
+Antony's brain, as he sat on the stoep, gazing out into the African
+night.
+
+It never occurred to him to wonder why Nicholas should have left him his
+money and property. That he had done so was marvellous, truly; his
+reasons for doing so were not even speculated upon. Antony had a
+childlike faculty for accepting facts as they presented themselves to
+him, with wonderment, pleasure, frank disapprobation, or stoicism, as the
+case might be. The side issues, which led to the presentation of the
+facts, were, generally speaking, the affair of others rather than his
+own; and, as such, were no concern of his. It was not that he
+deliberately refused to consider them, but merely that being no concern
+of his, it never occurred to him to do so. He walked his own route,
+sometimes singing, sometimes dreaming, sometimes amusedly silent, and
+always working. Work had been of necessity from the day his father's
+death had summoned him hurriedly from college. A quixotic, and, it is to
+be feared, culpable generosity on Richard Gray's part had left his son
+penniless.
+
+Antony had accepted the fact stoically, and even cheerfully. He had
+looked straight at the generosity, denying the culpability, thereby
+preserving what he valued infinitely more than lands or gold--his
+father's memory, thus proving himself in very truth his son. He had no
+ties to bind him; he was an only child, and his mother was long since
+dead. He set out on his own route, a route which had led him far, and
+finally had landed him, some five years previously, on the African veldt,
+where he had become the owner of the small farm he now occupied.
+
+After all, there had been compensations in the life. All unconsciously
+he had taken for his watch-word the cry: "I will succeed in spite of
+..." rather than the usual old lament: "I could succeed if...."
+Naturally there had been difficulties. He had considered them
+grave-eyed and silent; he had tackled them smiling and singing. Inwardly
+he was the same Antony who had conquered the gorse-stick on the
+moorland; outwardly--well, he didn't make the fight so obvious. That
+was all the difference.
+
+And now, sitting on the stoep with the silence of the African night
+around him, he tried to shape his plans, to bring them forth from the
+glamour of the marvellous which had enshrouded them, to marshal them up
+into coherent everyday form. But the glamour refused to be dispelled.
+Everything, the smallest and most prosaic detail, stood before him bathed
+in its light. It was all so gorgeously unexpected, so--so stupendously
+mysterious.
+
+And through all the glamour, the unexpectedness, and the mystery, there
+was sounding an ever-repeated chord of music, composed of the notes of
+youth, happiness, memory, desire, and expectation. And, thus combined,
+they struck the one word--England.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+QUOD SCRIPTUM EST
+
+
+The _Fort Salisbury_ was cutting her way through the translucent green
+water. Cape Town, with Table Mountain and the Lion's Head beyond it, was
+vanishing into the increasing distance.
+
+Antony had taken his passage on the _Fort Salisbury_ for three reasons:
+number one, she was the first boat sailing from Cape Town after he had
+dispatched his momentous cablegram; number two, he had a certain
+diffidence regarding the expenditure of other people's money, and his
+passage on the _Fort Salisbury_ would certainly be lower than on a mail
+boat; number three, a curious and altogether unaccountable impulse had
+impelled him to the choice. This reason had, perhaps unconsciously,
+weighed with him considerably more than the other two. He often found
+instinct throwing itself into the balance for or against the motives of
+mere reason. When it was against mere reason, matters occasionally
+complicated themselves in his mind. It had been a comfort to find, in
+this case, reason on the same side of the scale as instinct.
+
+Antony, leaning on the rail of the upper deck, was content, blissfully
+content. The sole speck that marred his entire enjoyment was the fact
+that the rules of the boat had separated him, _pro tem_, from an
+exceedingly perplexed and distressed puppy. It was the perplexity and
+distress of the said puppy that caused the speck, rather than the
+separation. Antony, with the vaster wisdom vouchsafed to humans, knew the
+present separation to be of comparatively short duration, and to be
+endured in the avoidance of a possibly infinitely longer one. Not so
+Josephus. He suffered in silence, since his deity had commanded the
+silence, but the perplexed grief in his puppy heart found an echo in
+Antony's.
+
+It was a faint echo, however. Time and a daily visit would bring
+consolation to Josephus; and, for himself, the present adventure--it was
+an adventure--was all-absorbing and delicious. He revelled in it like a
+schoolboy on a holiday. He watched the sparkling water, the tiny rippling
+waves; he felt the freshness of the sea breeze, and the throb of the
+engine like a great living heart in the body of the boat. The fact that
+there were other people on her decks concerned him not at all. Those who
+have travelled a good deal become, generally speaking, one of two
+types,--the type that is quite enormously interested in everyone, and the
+type that is entirely indifferent to any one. Antony was of this last
+type. He had acquired a faculty for shutting his mental, and to a great
+degree, his physical eyes to his human fellows, except in so far as sheer
+necessity compelled. Naturally this did not make for popularity; but,
+then, Antony did not care much for popularity. The winning of it would
+have been too great an effort for his nature; the retaining of it, even
+more strenuous. Of course the whole thing is entirely a question of
+temperament.
+
+A few of the other passengers looked somewhat curiously at the tall lean
+man gazing out to sea; but, as he was so obviously oblivious of their
+very existence, so entirely absorbed in his contemplation of the ocean,
+they left him undisturbed.
+
+It was not till the dressing bugle sounded that he roused himself, and
+descended to his cabin. It was a matter for his fervent thanksgiving that
+he had found himself the sole occupant of the tiny two-berthed
+apartment.
+
+He arrayed himself with scrupulous care. Only the most stringent
+exigencies of time and place--though they for a while had been
+frequent--had ever caused him to forego the ceremonial of donning dress
+clothes for dinner, though no eyes but his own should behold him.
+Latterly there had been Riffle and then Josephus to behold, and the
+former to marvel. Josephus took it, puppy-like, as a matter of course.
+
+There were not a vast number of passengers on the boat. Of the four
+tables in the dining saloon, Antony found only two fully laid, and a
+third partially so. His own place was some three seats from the captain's
+left. The chair on the captain's right was, as yet, unoccupied. For the
+rest, with but one or two exceptions at the other tables, the passengers
+had already put in an appearance. The almost entire absence of wind, the
+smoothness of the ocean, had given courage even to those the most
+susceptible to the sea's malady. It would have required a really vivid
+imagination to have perceived any motion in the boat other than the
+throbbing of her engines.
+
+Antony slipped into his seat, and a steward placed a plate of clear soup
+before him. In the act of taking his first spoonful, he paused, his eyes
+arrested by the sight of a woman advancing towards the chair on the
+captain's right.
+
+At the first glance, Antony saw that she was a tall woman, dressed in
+black unrelieved save for ruffles of soft creamy lace at her throat and
+wrists. Presently he took in further details, the dark chestnut of her
+hair, the warm ivory of her skin, the curious steady gravity of her
+eyes--grey or violet, he was not sure which,--the straight line of her
+eyebrows, the delicate chiselling of her nose, and the red-rose of her
+mouth. And yet, in spite of seeing the details, they were submerged in
+the personality which had first arrested him. Something within him told
+him as clearly as spoken words, that here, in her presence, lay the
+explanation of the instinct which had prompted him to take his passage on
+this boat.
+
+An odd little thrill of unaccountable excitement ran through him. He felt
+like a man who had been shown a page in his own life-book, and who found
+the words written thereon extraordinarily and amazingly interesting. He
+found himself longing, half-inarticulately, to turn the leaf; and, yet,
+he knew that Time's hand alone could do this. He could only read as far
+as the end of the open page before him. And that page but recorded the
+fact of her presence.
+
+Once, during the repast, her eyes met his, steady, grave, and yet with a
+little note of half interrogation in them. Again Antony felt that odd
+little thrill run through him, this time intensified, while his heart
+beat and pounded under his immaculate white shirt-front.
+
+Perhaps it is a mercy that shirt-fronts, to say nothing of other things,
+do hide the vagaries of our hearts. It would be a sorry thing for us if
+the world at large could perceive them,--the joy, the anguish, the
+remorse, and the bitter little disappointments. Yes, above all, the
+bitter little disappointments, the cause possibly so trivial, so childish
+almost, yet the hurt, the wound, so very real, the pain so horribly
+poignant. It is the little stab which smarts the most; the blow which
+accompanies the deeper wound, numbs in its very delivery.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Later, in the moonlit darkness, Antony found himself again on deck, and
+again leaning by the rail. Yet this time he had that page from his
+life-book for company; and, marvelling, he perused the written words
+thereon. It was extraordinary that they should hold such significance for
+him. And why for him alone? he queried. Might not another, others even,
+have read the selfsame words?
+
+With the thought came a pang of something akin to jealousy at his heart.
+He wanted the words for himself, written for him alone. And yet it was
+entirely obvious, considering the number at the table, that they must
+have been recorded for others also, since, as already mentioned, they but
+recorded the fact of her presence. But did they hold the same
+significance for the others? There was the question, and there possibly,
+nay probably, lay the comfort. Also, what lay on the other side of the
+page? Unanswerable at the moment.
+
+He looked down at the gliding water, alive, alight with brilliant
+phosphorus. A step behind him made his heart leap. He did not turn, but
+he was conscious of a figure on his right, also looking down upon the
+water. Suddenly there was a faint flutter of drapery, and the breeze sent
+a trail of something soft and silky across his eyes.
+
+"Oh, I am sorry," said a voice in the darkness.
+
+Antony turned.
+
+"The wind caught it," she explained apologetically, tucking the chiffon
+streamer within her cloak.
+
+Now, it is quite certain that Antony had here an opportunity to make one
+of those little ordinary pleasant remarks that invariably lead to a
+conversation, but none presented itself to his mind. He could do nothing
+but utter the merest formal, though of course polite, acknowledgment of
+her apology, his brain seeking wildly for further words the while. It
+found none.
+
+She gave him a little bow, courteous and not at all unfriendly, and moved
+away across the deck. Antony looked after her figure receding in the
+darkness.
+
+"Oh, you idiot," he groaned within his heart, "you utter and double-dyed
+idiot."
+
+He looked despairingly down at the water, and from it to the moonlit sky.
+Fate, so he mused ruefully, writes certain sentences in our life-book,
+truly; but it behoves each one of us to fill in between the lines. And he
+had filled in--nothing.
+
+An hour or so later he descended dejectedly to his cabin.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE LADY OF THE BLUE BOOK
+
+
+He saw her at breakfast the next morning; and again, later, sitting on a
+deck-chair, with a book.
+
+Once more he cursed his folly of the previous evening. A word or two
+then, no matter how trivial their utterance, and the barriers of
+convention would have been passed. Even should Fate throw a like
+opportunity in his path again, it was entirely improbable that she would
+choose the same hour. She is ever chary of exact repetitions. And, if his
+stammering tongue failed in speech with the soft darkness to cover its
+shyness, how was it likely it would find utterance in the broad light of
+day? The Moment--he spelled it with a capital--had passed, and would
+never again recur. Therefore he seated himself on his own deck-chair,
+some twenty paces from her, and began to fill his pipe, gloomily enough.
+Yet, in spite of gloom, he watched her,--surreptitiously of course. There
+was no ill-bred staring in his survey.
+
+She was again dressed in black, but this time the lace ruffles had given
+place to soft white muslin cuffs and collar. Her dark hair was covered by
+a broad-brimmed black hat. She was leaning back in her chair as she read,
+the book lying on her lap. Suddenly the gravity of her face relaxed. A
+smile rippled across it like a little breeze across the surface of some
+lake. The smile broke into silent laughter. Antony found himself smiling
+in response.
+
+She looked up from her book, and out over the sun-kissed water, the
+amusement still trembling on her lips and dancing in her eyes.
+
+"I wonder," reflected Antony watching her, "what she has been reading."
+
+For some ten minutes she sat gazing at the sunshine. Then she rose from
+her chair, placed her book upon it, and went towards the stairway which
+led to the lower deck.
+
+Antony looked at the empty chair--empty, that is, except for a pale blue
+cushion and a deeper blue book. On the back of the chair, certain letters
+were painted,--P. di D.
+
+Antony surveyed them gravely. The first letter really engrossed his
+attention. The last was merely an adjunct. The first would represent--or
+should represent--the real woman. He marshalled every possibility before
+him, merely to dismiss them: Patience, Phyllis, Prudence, Priscilla,
+Perpetua, Penelope, Persis, Phoebe, Pauline,--none were to his mind. The
+last appeared to him the most possible, and yet it did not truly belong.
+So he summed up its fitness. Yet, for the life of him, he could find no
+other. He had run through the whole gamut attached to the initial, so he
+told himself. Curiosity, or interest, call it what you will, fell back
+baffled.
+
+He got up from his chair, and began to pace the deck. Passing her chair,
+he gazed again upon the letters painted thereon, as if challenging them
+to disclose the secret. Inscrutable, they stared back blankly at him.
+
+Turning for the third time, he perceived that she had returned on deck.
+She was carrying a small bag of old gold brocade. She was in the chair
+once more as he came alongside of her; but the blue book had slipped to
+the ground. He bent to pick it up, involuntarily glancing at the title as
+he handed it to her. _Dream Days_. It fitted into his imaginings of her.
+
+"Do you know it?" she queried, noticing his glance.
+
+"No," replied Antony, turning the book in his hands.
+
+"Oh, but you should," she smiled back at him. "That is if you have the
+smallest memory of your own childhood. I was just laughing over 'death
+letters' ten minutes ago."
+
+"Death letters?" queried Antony perplexed, the while his heart was
+singing a little paean of joy at the vagaries of Fate's methods.
+
+"Yes; a will or testament. But a death letter is so infinitely more
+explanatory. Don't you think, so?"
+
+Antony laughed.
+
+"Of course," he agreed, light breaking in upon him.
+
+"Take the book if you care to," she said. "I know it nearly by heart. But
+I had it by me, and brought it on deck to look at it again. I didn't want
+to get absorbed in anything entirely new. It takes one's mind from all
+this, and seems a loss." A little gesture indicated sunshine, sea, and
+sky.
+
+"Yes," agreed Antony, "it's waste of time to read in the open." And then
+he stopped. "Oh, I didn't mean--" he stammered, glancing down at the
+book, and perceiving ungraciousness in his words.
+
+"Oh, yes, you did," she assured him smiling, "and it was quite true, and
+not in the least rude. Read it in your berth some time; you can do it
+there with an easy conscience."
+
+She gave him a little nod, which might have been considered dismissal or
+a hint of emphasis. Antony, being of course aware that she could not
+possibly find it the same pleasure to talk to him as he found it to talk
+to her, took it as dismissal. With a word of thanks he moved off down the
+deck, the blue book in his hands.
+
+He found a retired spot forward on the boat. A curious shyness prevented
+him from returning to his own deck-chair, and reading the book within
+sight of her. In spite of his little remark against reading in the open,
+he was longing to make himself acquainted with the contents immediately.
+Had it not been her recommendation? Death letters! He laughed softly and
+joyously. He had never even given the things a thought before, and here,
+twice within ten days, they had been brought to his notice in a fashion
+that, to his mind, fell little short of the miraculous. And it is not at
+all certain that he did not consider their second queer little entry on
+the scene the more miraculous of the two.
+
+He opened the book, and there, facing him from the fly-leaf, was the
+answer to the question he had erstwhile sought to fathom,--Pia di
+Donatello. His lips formed the syllables, dwelling with pleasure on the
+first three little letters--Pia. Oh, it was right, it was utterly and
+entirely right. Every other possibility vanished before it into the
+remotest background, unthinkable in the face of what was. Pia di
+Donatello! Again he repeated the musical syllables. And yet--and
+yet--he'd have sworn she was English. There wasn't the faintest trace of
+a foreign accent in her speech. If anything, there was a hint of
+Irish,--the soft intonation of the Emerald Isle. Her colouring, too, was
+Irish, the blue-black hair, the dark violet eyes--he had discovered that
+they were violet; looking, for all the world, as if they had been put in
+with a smutty finger, as the saying goes. He revolved the problem in his
+mind, and a moment later came upon the solution, so he told himself. An
+Irish mother, and an Italian father, so he decreed, metaphorically
+patting himself on the back the while for his perspicacity.
+
+The problem settled, he turned himself to the contents of the book as set
+forth by the author thereof, rather than the three words inscribed on the
+fly-leaf by the owner. They were not hard of digestion. The print was
+large, the matter light. Anon he came to Mutabile Semper and the death
+letters, and, having read them, and laughed in concord with the erstwhile
+laugh of the book's owner, he closed the pages, and gazed out upon the
+sunshine and the water.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+A FRIENDSHIP
+
+
+Emerson has written a discourse on friendship. It is beautifully worded,
+truly; it is full of a noble and high-minded philosophy. Doubtless it
+will appeal quite distinctly to those souls who, although yet on this
+earth-plane, have already partly cast off the mantle of flesh, and have
+found their paths to lie in the realm of spirit. Even to those, and it is
+by far the greater majority, who yet walk humdrumly along the world's
+great highway, the kingdom of the spirit perceived by them as in a glass
+darkly rather than by actual light shed upon them from its realm, it may
+bring some consolation during the absence of a friend. But for the
+general run of mankind it is set on too lofty a level. It lacks the
+warmth for which they crave, the personality and intercourse.
+
+"I do then, with my friends as I do with my books," he says. "I would
+have them where I can find them, but I seldom use them."
+
+Now, it is very certain that, for the majority of human beings, the
+friendliest books are worn with much handling. If we picture for a moment
+the bookshelves belonging to our childish days, we shall at once mentally
+discover our old favourites. They have been used so often. They have been
+worn in our service. No matter how well we know the contents, we turn to
+them again and again; there is a very joy in knowing what to expect. Time
+does not age nor custom stale the infinite variety.
+
+Thus it is in our childish days. And are not the majority of us still
+children? Should our favourite books be placed out of our reach, should
+it be impossible for us to turn their pages, it is certain that we would
+feel a loss, a gap. Were we old enough to comprehend Emerson's
+philosophy, we might endeavour to buoy ourselves up with the thought that
+thus we were at one with him in his nobility and loftiness of sentiment.
+And yet there would be something childish and pathetic in the endeavour,
+by reason of its very unreality. Certainly if Providence should, either
+directly or indirectly, separate us from our friends, by all means let us
+accept the separation bravely. It cannot destroy our friendship. But
+seldom to use our friends, from the apparently epicurean point of view of
+Emerson, would be a forced and unnatural doctrine to the majority, as
+unnatural as if a child should bury Hans Andersen's fairy tales for fear
+of tiring of them. It would savour more of present and actual distaste,
+than the love which fears its approach. There is the familiarity which
+breeds contempt, truly; but there is also the familiarity which daily
+ties closer bonds, draws to closer union.
+
+Antony had established a friendship with the lady of the blue book. The
+book had been responsible for its beginning. With Emerson's definition of
+friendship he would probably have been largely in harmony; not so in his
+treatment of it. With the following, he would have been at one, with the
+exception of a word or so:--"I must feel pride in my friend's
+accomplishments as if they were mine,--wild, delicate, throbbing property
+in his virtues. I feel as warmly when he is praised, as the lover when he
+hears applause of his engaged maiden. We over-estimate the conscience of
+our friend. His goodness seems better than our goodness, his nature
+finer, his temptations less. Everything that is his, his name, his form,
+his dress, books, and instruments, fancy enhances. Our own thought sounds
+new and larger from his mouth."
+
+Most true, Antony would have declared, if you will eliminate
+"over-estimate," and substitute "is" for "seems."
+
+Unlike Emerson, he made no attempt to analyse his friendship. He accepted
+it as a gift from the gods. Maybe somewhere in his inner consciousness,
+barely articulate even to his own heart, he dreamt of it as a foundation
+to something further. Yet for the present, the foundation sufficed.
+Death-letters--he laughed joyously at the coincidence--had laid the first
+stone, and each day placed others in firm and secure position round it.
+The building was largely unconscious. It is the way with true friendship.
+The life, also, conduced to it. There are fewer barriers of convention on
+board ship than in any other mode of living. Mrs. Grundy, it is to be
+supposed, suffers from sea-sickness, and does not care for this method of
+travelling. In fact, it would appear that she seldom does travel, but
+chooses by preference small country towns, mainly English ones, for her
+place of residence.
+
+The days were days of sunshine and colour, the changing colour of sea
+and sky; the nights were nights of mystery, veiled in purple,
+star-embroidered.
+
+One day Pia made clear to him the explanation of her Irish colouring and
+her Italian surname. Her mother, she told him, was Irish; her father,
+English. Her baptismal name had been chosen by an Italian godmother. She
+was eighteen when she married the Duc di Donatello. On their wedding day,
+when driving from the church, the horses had bolted. She had been
+uninjured; he had received serious injuries to his head and spine. He had
+lived for seven years as a complete invalid, totally paralysed, but fully
+conscious. During those seven years, she had never left him. Two years
+previously he had died, and she had gone to live at her old home in
+England,--the Manor House, Woodleigh, which had been in the hands of
+caretakers since her parents' death. Her husband's property had passed to
+his brother. The last six months she had been staying with a friend at
+Wynberg.
+
+She told the little tale extremely simply. It never occurred to her to
+expect sympathy on account of the tragedy which had marred her youth, and
+by reason of which she had spent seven years of her life in almost utter
+seclusion. The fact was merely mentioned in necessary explanation of her
+story. Antony, too, had held silence. Sympathy on his part would have
+been somehow an intrusion, an impertinence. But he understood now, in
+part at least, the steady gravity, the hint of sadness in her eyes.
+
+The name of Woodleigh awoke vague memories in his mind, but they were too
+vague to be noteworthy. Possibly, most probably, he told himself, he had
+merely read of the place at some time. She mentioned that it was in
+Devonshire, but curiously enough, and this was an omission which he noted
+later with some surprise, he never questioned her as to its exact
+locality.
+
+On his side, he told her of his life on the veldt, and mentioned that he
+was returning to England on business. On the outcome of that same
+business would depend the question whether he remained in England, or
+whether he returned to the veldt. Having the solicitor's injunction in
+view, he naturally did not volunteer further information. Such details,
+too, sank into insignificance before the more absorbing interest of
+personality. They are, after all, in a sense, mere accidents, and have no
+more to do with the real man than the clothes he wears. True, the manner
+in which one dons one's clothes, as the manner in which one deals with
+the accidental facts of life, affords a certain index to the true man;
+but the clothes themselves, and the accidental facts, appear, at all
+events, to be matters of fate. And if you can obtain knowledge of a man
+through actual contact with his personality, you do not trouble to draw
+conclusions from his method of donning his clothes. You may speculate in
+this fashion with regard to strangers, or mere acquaintances. You have a
+surer, and infinitely more interesting, fashion with your friends.
+
+Life around them moved on in the leisurely, almost indolent manner in
+which it does move on board a passenger ship. The younger members played
+quoits, cricket on the lower deck, and inaugurated concerts, supported by
+a gramaphone, the property of the chief officer, and banjo solos by the
+captain. The older members read magazines, played bridge, or knitted
+woollen articles, according to the promptings of their sex and their
+various natures, and formed audiences at the aforementioned concerts.
+
+Antony and the Duchessa di Donatello alone seemed somewhat aloof from
+them. They formed part of the concert audiences, it is true; but they
+neither played bridge, quoits, nor cricket, nor knitted woollen articles,
+nor read magazines. The Duchessa employed her time with a piece of fine
+lace work, when she was not merely luxuriating in the sunshine, or
+conversing with Antony. Antony either conversed with the Duchessa, or sat
+in his deck chair, smoking and thinking about her. There was certainly a
+distinct sameness about the young man's occupation, which, however, he
+found not in the smallest degree boring. On the contrary, it was
+all-absorbing and fascinating. The very hours of the day were timed by
+the Duchessa's movements, rather than by the mere minute portions of
+steel attached to the face of a commonplace watch. Thus:--
+
+Dawn. He realizes the Duchessa's existence when he wakes. (His dreams had
+been coloured by her, but that's beside the mark.)
+
+Daybreak. The Duchessa ascends on deck and smiles at him.
+
+Breakfast time. The Duchessa sits opposite to him.
+
+The sunny morning hours. The Duchessa sews fine lace; she talks, she
+smiles,--the smile that radiates through the sadness of her eyes.
+
+And so on, throughout the day, till the evening gloaming brings a hint of
+further intimacy into their conversation, and night falls as she wishes
+him pleasant dreams before descending to her cabin.
+
+He dwelt then, for the moment, solely in her friendship, but vaguely the
+half articulate thought of the future began to stir within him, pulsing
+with a secret possibility of joy he barely dared to contemplate.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+AT TENERIFFE
+
+
+It was about ten o'clock of a sunny morning that the _Fort Salisbury_
+cast anchor off Teneriffe, preparatory to undergoing the process known as
+coaling.
+
+Antony, from her decks, gazed towards the shore and the buildings lying
+in the sunlight. Minute doll-like figures were busy on the land; mules,
+with various burdens, were ascending the steep street. Boats were already
+putting out to the ship, to carry ashore such passengers as desired to
+spend a few hours on land.
+
+The whole scene was one of movement, light, and colour. The sea, sky, and
+earth were singing the Benedicite, and Antony's heart echoed the
+blessings. It was all so astonishingly good and pleasant,--the clean,
+fresh morning, the blue blue of the sky, the green blue of the water, and
+the possibilities of the unknown mountain land lying before him.
+
+There is an extraordinary fascination in exploring an unknown land, even
+if the exploration is to be of somewhat limited duration. The ship by
+which Antony had travelled to the Cape, had sailed straight out; it had
+passed the peak of Teneriffe at a distance. Antony had looked at it as it
+rose from the sea, like a great purple amethyst half veiled in cloud. He
+had wondered then, idly enough, whether it would ever be his lot to set
+foot upon its shores. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he imagined under
+what actual circumstances that lot would be his. How could he have
+guessed at what the fates were holding in store for him? They had held
+their secret close, giving him no smallest inkling of it. If we dream of
+paradise, our dream is modelled on the greatest happiness we have known;
+therefore, since our happiness is, doubtless, but a rushlight as compared
+to the sunshine of paradise, our dreams must necessarily fall exceedingly
+far short of the reality. Hitherto Antony's happiness had been largely
+monochrome, flecked with tiny specks of radiance. He might indeed have
+dreamed of something a trifle brighter, but how was it possible for him
+to have formed from them the smallest conception of the happiness that
+was awaiting him?
+
+"It is really perfect," said a voice behind him, echoing his thoughts.
+
+Antony turned.
+
+The Duchessa had come on deck, spurred and gauntleted for their
+adventure,--in other words, attired in a soft, black dress, a shady black
+hat on her head, crinkly black gloves, which reached to the elbow, on her
+hands, and carrying a blue sunshade.
+
+"It is really perfect," she repeated, gazing towards the mountainous land
+before them, the doll-like figures on the shore, the boats cleaving the
+sparkling waters.
+
+"Absolutely," declared Antony, his eyes wrinkling at the corners in sheer
+delight. "The gods have favoured us."
+
+"Is there a boat ready?" she demanded, eager as a child to start on the
+adventure.
+
+"A boat," said Antony, looking over the ship's side, "will be with us in
+a couple of moments I should say, to judge by the strength of the rower's
+arms. He has been racing the other fellows, and will be first at his
+goal."
+
+"Then come," she said. "Let us be first too. I don't want to lose a
+minute."
+
+Antony followed in her wake. Her sentiments most assuredly were his. It
+was not a day of which to squander one iota.
+
+Ten minutes later they were on their way to the shore. Behind them the
+_Fort Salisbury_ loomed up large and black from the limpid water; before
+them lay the land of possibilities.
+
+The other passengers in the boat kept up a running fire of comments. A
+stout gentleman in a sun-helmet, which he considered _de rigeur_ as long
+as he was anywhere at all near the regions of Africa, gazed towards the
+shore through a pair of field-glasses. At intervals he made known such
+objects of interest as he observed, in loud husky asides to his wife, a
+small meek woman, who clung to him, metaphorically speaking, as the ivy
+to the oak. Her vision being unaided by field-glasses, she was unable to
+follow his observations with the degree of intelligence he demanded.
+
+"I don't think I quite--" she remarked anxiously now and again, blinking
+in the same direction as her spouse.
+
+"To the left, my dear, among the trees," he would reply. Or, "Half-way up
+the street. _Now_ don't you see?" Or, removing the field-glasses for a
+moment to observe the direction of her anxious blinking, "Why, bless my
+soul, you aren't looking the right way _at all_. Get it in a line with
+that chimney over there, and the yellow house. The _yellow_ house. You're
+looking straight at the pink one. Bless my soul, tut, tut." And so
+forth.
+
+A small boy, leaning far over the side of the boat, gazed rapturously
+into the water, announcing in shrill tones that he could see to the very
+bottom, an anxious elder sister grasping the back of his jersey
+meanwhile. A girl with a pigtail jumped about in a manner calculated to
+bring an abrupt and watery conclusion to the passage, till forcibly
+restrained by her melancholy-looking father. A young man announced that
+it was going to be, "Deuced hot on shore, what?" And a gushing young
+thing of some forty summers appealed to everyone at intervals to know the
+hour to the very second it would be necessary to return, since it really
+would be a sin to keep the ship waiting. While the remarks from an
+elderly and cynical gentleman, that, in the event of unpunctuality on her
+part, it would be more probable that she would find herself waiting
+indefinitely at Teneriffe, caused her to giggle hysterically, and label
+him a naughty man.
+
+"It is a matter for devout thankfulness," said the Duchessa some ten
+minutes later, as she and Antony were walking across the square, "that
+the _Fort Salisbury_ is large enough to permit of a certain separation
+from one's fellow humans. I do not wish to be uncharitable, but their
+proximity does not always appeal to me."
+
+Antony laughed, and tossed some coppers to a small brown-faced girl, who,
+clasping an infant nearly as large as herself, jabbered at him in an
+unknown but wholly understandable language.
+
+"You'll be besieged and bankrupt before you see the ship again, if you
+begin that," warned the Duchessa.
+
+"Quite possible," returned Antony smiling.
+
+The Duchessa shook her head.
+
+"Oh, if you are in that mood, warnings are waste of breath," she
+announced.
+
+"Quite," agreed Antony, still smiling.
+
+He was radiantly, idiotically happy. The joy of the morning, the
+brilliance of the sunshine, and the fact that the Duchessa was walking by
+his side, had gone to his head like wine. If the expenditure of coppers
+could impart one tenth of his happiness to others, he would fling them
+broadcast, he would be a very spendthrift with his gladness.
+
+At the church to the left of the square, the Duchessa paused.
+
+"In here first," she said. And Antony followed her up the steps.
+
+They made their way through a swarm of grubby children, and entered the
+porch. It was cool and dark in the church in contrast to the heat and
+sunshine without. Here and there Antony descried a kneeling
+figure,--women with handkerchiefs on their heads, and a big basket beside
+them; an old man or two; a girl telling her beads before the Lady Altar;
+and a small dark-haired child, who gazed stolidly at the Duchessa. Votive
+candles burned before the various shrines. The ruby lamp made a spot of
+light in the shadows above the High Altar.
+
+The Duchessa dropped on one knee, and then knelt for a few moments at one
+of the _prie-dieux_. Antony watched her. He was sensible that she was not
+a mere sight-seer. The church held an element of home for her. Two of the
+passengers--the young man and the cynical elderly gentleman, who had been
+in the boat with them--strolled in behind him. They gazed curiously
+about, remarking in loudish whispers on what they saw. Antony felt
+suddenly, and quite unreasonably, annoyed at their entry. Somehow they
+detracted from the harmony and peace of the building.
+
+"I didn't know you were a Catholic," he said five minutes later, as he
+and the Duchessa emerged once more into the sunlight.
+
+"You never asked me," she returned smiling.
+
+"No," agreed Antony. And then he added simply, as an afterthought, "it
+didn't occur to me to ask you."
+
+"It wouldn't," responded the Duchessa, a little twinkle in her eyes.
+
+"No," agreed Antony again. "I wish those people hadn't come in," he added
+somewhat irrelevantly.
+
+"What people?" demanded the Duchessa. "Oh, you mean those two men. Why
+not? Most tourists visit the church."
+
+"I dare say," returned Antony. "But--well, they didn't belong."
+
+"No?" queried the Duchessa innocently.
+
+Antony reddened.
+
+"You mean I didn't," he said a little stiffly.
+
+"Ah, forgive me." The Duchessa's voice held a note of quick contrition.
+"I didn't mean to hurt you. Somehow we Catholics get used to Protestants
+regarding our churches merely as a sight to be seen, and for the moment I
+smiled to think that _you_ should be the one whom it irritated. But I do
+know what you mean, of course. And--I'm _glad_ you felt it."
+
+"Thank you," he returned smiling.
+
+The little cloud, which had momentarily dimmed the brightness of his sun,
+was dispelled. The merest inflection in the Duchessa's voice had the
+power of casting him down to depths of heart-searching despair, or
+lifting him to realms of intoxicating joy. And it must be confessed that
+the past fortnight had been spent almost continuously in these realms.
+Also, if he had sunk to the depths of despair, it was rather by reason of
+an ultra-sensitive imagination on his own part than by any fault of the
+Duchessa's. But then, as Antony would have declared, the position of a
+subject to his sovereign is a very different matter from the position of
+the sovereign to the subject. The Duchessa could be certain of his
+loyalty. It was for her to give or withhold favours as it pleased her. It
+was a different matter for him.
+
+It is not easy for a man, who has lived a very lonely life, to believe in
+a reciprocal friendship where he himself is concerned. A curious
+admixture of shyness and diffidence, the outcome of his lonely life,
+prevented him from imagining that the Duchessa could desire his
+friendship in the smallest degree as he desired hers. To him, the
+friendship she had accorded him had become the most vital thing in his
+existence, quite apart from that vague and intoxicating dream, which he
+scarcely dared to confess in the faintest whisper to his heart. He knew
+that her friendship appeared essential to his very life. But how could he
+for one moment imagine that his friendship was essential to her? It could
+not be, though he would cheerfully have laid down his life for her, have
+undergone torture for her sake.
+
+Knowing, therefore, that his friendship was not essential to her
+happiness, yet knowing what her friendship meant to him, he was as
+ultra-sensitive as a lonely child. His soul sprang forward to receive her
+gifts, but the merest imagined hint of a rebuff would have sent him back
+to that loneliness he had learned to look upon as his birthright. Not
+that he would have gone back to that loneliness with a hurt sense of
+injury. That must be clearly understood to understand Antony. To have
+felt injury, would have been tantamount to saying that he had had a right
+to the friendship, and it was just this very right that Antony could not
+realize as in the least existent. He would have gone back with an ache,
+it is true, but with a brave face, and an overwhelming and life-long
+gratitude for the temporary joy. That is at the present moment; of later,
+one cannot feel so certain.
+
+To-day, however, loneliness seemed a thing unthinkable, unimaginable,
+with the Duchessa by his side, and the golden day ahead of him. By
+skilled manoeuvring, and avoiding the recognized hours of meal-time, they
+managed to escape further contact with their fellow passengers.
+
+An exceedingly late luncheon hour found them the sole occupants of a
+small courtyard at the back of an hotel,--a courtyard set with round
+tables, and orange trees in green tubs. Over the roofs of the houses, and
+far below them, they could see the shining water, and the _Fort
+Salisbury_, lying like a dark blob on its surface. Boats bearing coal
+were still putting out to her, and men were busy hauling it over her
+sides.
+
+The Duchessa looked down on the ship and the water.
+
+"It is queer to think," said she smiling, "that little more than a week
+hence, I shall be in Scotland, and, probably, shivering in furs. It can
+be exceedingly chilly up there, even as late as May."
+
+"I thought you were going to your old home," said Antony.
+
+"So I am," she replied, "but not till nearly the end of June. I am going
+to stay with friends in Edinburgh first. Where are you going?"
+
+Antony lifted his shoulders in the merest suspicion of a shrug.
+
+"London first," he responded. "After that--well, it's on the knees of the
+gods."
+
+"Are you likely to stay in England long?" she asked. And then she added
+quickly, "You don't think the question an impertinence, I hope."
+
+"Why should I?" he answered smiling. "But I really don't know yet myself.
+It will depend on various things."
+
+There was a little silence.
+
+"In any case, I shall see you before I leave England again, if I may," he
+said. "That is, if I do leave."
+
+The Duchessa was still looking at the water.
+
+"I hope you will," she replied. And then she turned towards him. "I don't
+want our friendship to end completely with the voyage."
+
+Antony's heart gave a little leap.
+
+"It--it really is a friendship?" he asked.
+
+"Hasn't it been?" she asked him.
+
+Antony looked at her.
+
+"For me, yes," he replied steadily.
+
+"Can a friendship be one-sided?" she demanded. She emphasised the word a
+little.
+
+"I don't know," said Antony whimsically. "I don't know much about them. I
+haven't ever wanted one before."
+
+Again there was a little silence. Then:
+
+"Thank you," said the Duchessa.
+
+Antony drew a long breath. They were such simple little words; and yet,
+to him, they meant more than the longest and most flowery of speeches.
+There was so infinitely more conveyed in them. And he knew that, if they
+had not been meant, they would not have been spoken. She did think his
+friendship worth while, and she had given him hers. It was all his heart
+dared ask at the moment, yet, deep within it, his secret hope stirred to
+fuller life. And then, suddenly, prompted by some instinct, quite
+unexplainable at the moment, he put a question.
+
+"What is the foundation of friendship?" he asked.
+
+"Trust," she responded quickly, her eyes meeting his for a moment. "And
+here," she said, looking towards the hotel, "comes our lunch."
+
+It was sunset before the _Fort Salisbury_ was once more cleaving her way
+through the water. Antony, from her decks, looked once more at the
+receding land. Again he saw it rising, like a purple amethyst, from the
+sea, but this time it was veiled in the rose-coloured light of the
+sinking sun. He looked towards that portion of the amethyst where the
+little courtyard with the orange trees in green tubs was situated.
+
+Once more he heard his question and the Duchessa's answer. It was a
+memory which was to remain with him for many a month.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+ENGLAND
+
+
+A week later, Antony was sitting in a first-class carriage on his way
+from Plymouth to Waterloo. He gazed through the window, his mind filled
+with various emotions.
+
+Uppermost was the memory of the voyage and the Duchessa. The memory
+already appeared to him almost as a vivid and extraordinarily beautiful
+dream, though reason assured him to the contrary. The whole events of the
+last month, and even his present position in the train, appeared to him
+intangible and unreal. It seemed a dream self, rather than the real
+Antony, who was gazing from the window at the landscape which was
+slipping past him; who was looking out on the English fields, the English
+woods, and the English cottages past which the train was tearing. He saw
+gardens ablaze with flowers; bushes snowy with hawthorn; horses and cows
+standing idly in the shadow of the trees; and, now and again, small,
+trimly-kept country stations, looking for all the world like prim
+schoolgirls in gay print dresses.
+
+He glanced from the window to the rack opposite to him, where his
+portmanteau was lying. That, at all events, was tangible, real, and
+familiar. It struck the sole familiar note in the extraordinary
+unfamiliarity of everything around him. He looked at his own initials
+painted on it, slowly tracing them in his mind. He pulled out his
+pocket-book, and took from it the letter which had altered the whole
+perspective of his life. He could almost see the African stoep as he
+looked at it, feel the heat of the African sun, hear the occasional
+chirping of the grasshoppers. Age-old the memory appeared, caught from
+bygone centuries. And it was only a month ago. Replacing it in the book,
+his eye fell upon a small piece of pasteboard. The Duchessa had given it
+to him that morning. Her name was printed on it, and below she had
+written a few pencilled words,--her address in Scotland. She was
+remaining in Plymouth for a day or so, before going North. He was to
+write to her at the Scotland address, and let her know where she could
+acquaint him with her further movements, and the actual date of her
+return to the Manor House. That, too, was tangible and real,--that small
+piece of white pasteboard. And, then, a little movement beside him, and a
+long quivering sigh of content brought back to him the most tangible
+thing of all--Josephus. Josephus, who was sleeping the sleep of the
+contented, just after a frenzied and rapturous reunion with his deity.
+
+Oh, of course it was all real, and it was he, Antony, his very self, who
+was sitting in the train, the train which was rushing through the good
+old English country, carrying him towards London and the answer to the
+riddle contained in that most amazing of letters.
+
+"It isn't a dream, Josephus," he assured the sleepy puppy. "I am real,
+you are real, the train is real, England is real, and Heaven be
+praised--the Duchessa is real." After which act of assurance he turned
+his attention once more to the window.
+
+And now, the dream sense dispelled, he found long-forgotten memories
+awaken within him, memories of early boyhood, aroused by the sight of
+some old church tower, of some wood lying on a hillside, of some amber
+stream rippling past rush-grown banks. He hugged the memories to his
+soul, rejoicing in them. They brought a dozen trivial little incidents to
+his mind. He could hear his old nurse's voice warning him not to lean
+against the door of the carriage. He could feel his small nose pressed
+against the window-pane, his small hand rubbing the glass where it had
+been dimmed by his breath. He could hear the crackle of paper bags, as
+sandwiches and buns were produced for his refreshment; he could taste the
+ham between the pieces of bread and butter; and he could see a small boy,
+with one eye on his nurse, pushing a piece of fat between the cushions of
+the seat and the side of the carriage. This last memory evoked a little
+chuckle of laughter. That nurse had been a strong disciplinarian.
+
+The memories linked together, forming a more connected whole. He recalled
+places farther afield than those caught sight of from the window of the
+train. He remembered a copse yellow with primroses, a pond where he had
+fished for sticklebacks, a bank with a robin's nest in it. He remembered
+a later visit with an aunt. He must then have been fourteen or
+thereabouts. There had been a small girl, staying with her aunt at a
+neighbouring farm, who had accompanied him on his rambles. Despite her
+tender age--she couldn't have been more than five years old--she had been
+the inventor of their worst escapades. It was she who had egged him on to
+the attempt to cross the pond on a log of wood, racing round it to shout
+encouragement from the opposite side. The timely advent of one of the
+farm-labourers alone had saved him from a watery grave. It was she who
+had invented the bows and arrows with which he had accidentally shot the
+prize bantam, and it was she who had insisted on his going with her to
+search for pheasants' eggs, a crime for which he barely escaped the
+penalty of the law.
+
+He remembered her as a fragile fair-haired child, with a wide-eyed
+innocence of expression, utterly at variance with her true character. In
+spite of her nobly shouldering her full share of the blame, he had
+invariably been considered sole culprit, which he most assuredly was not,
+though weight of years should have taught him better. But then, one could
+hardly expect the Olympians to lay any measure of such crimes at the door
+of a grey-eyed, fair-haired angel. And that was what she had appeared to
+mere superficial observation. It required extreme perspicacity of vision,
+or great intimacy, to arrive at anything a trifle nearer the truth. He
+sought in the recesses of his memory for her name. That it had suited her
+admirably, and that it was monosyllabic, was all he could remember. After
+a few minutes fruitless search, he abandoned it as hopeless, and pulled
+pipe and tobacco pouch from his pocket.
+
+Presently he saw the square tower and pinnacles of Exeter Cathedral above
+some trees, and the train ran into the station. Antony watched the people
+on the platform with interest. They were English, and it was thirteen
+years since he had been in England. He listened to the fragmentary
+English sentences he heard, finding pleasure in the sound. He marvelled
+idly at the lack of colour in the scene before him. The posters on the
+walls alone struck a flamboyant note. Yet there was something restful in
+the monochrome of the dresses, the dull smoke-griminess of the station.
+At all events it was a contrast to the vivid colouring of the African
+veldt.
+
+Despite his interest in his fellow humans, however, he found himself
+devoutly trusting his privacy would remain undisturbed, and it was with a
+sense of relief that he felt the train glide slowly out of the station,
+leaving him the sole occupant of his compartment.
+
+Later, he saw the spire of Salisbury Cathedral. Again fortune favoured
+him in the matter of privacy, and presently drowsiness descended on his
+eyelids, which was not fully dispelled till the train ran into the gloom
+of Waterloo station.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE AMAZING CONDITIONS
+
+
+The offices of Messrs. Parsons and Glieve, solicitors, are situated off
+the Strand, and within seven minutes' walk of Covent Garden. It is an
+old-established and exceedingly respectable firm. Its respectability is
+emphasized by the massiveness of its furniture and the age of its office
+boy. He is fifty, if he is a day. An exceeding slowness of brain
+prevented him from rising to a more exalted position, a position to which
+his quite extraordinary conscientiousness and honesty would have entitled
+him. That same conscientiousness and honesty prevented him from being
+superseded by a more juvenile individual, when his age had passed the
+limit usually accorded to office boys. Imperceptibly almost, he became
+part and parcel of the firm, a thing no more to be dispensed with than
+the brass plate outside the office. He appeared now as an elderly and
+exceedingly reputable butler, and his appearance quite enormously
+increased the respectability of the firm.
+
+Nominally James Glieve and Henry Parsons were partners of equal standing,
+neither claiming seniority to the other; virtually James Glieve was the
+voice, Henry Parsons the echo. In matters of great importance, they
+received clients in company, Henry Parsons playing the part of Greek
+chorus to James Glieve's lead. In matters of less importance, they each
+had their own particular clients; but it is very certain that, even thus,
+Henry Parsons invariably echoed the voice. It merely meant that the voice
+had sounded in private, while the echo was heard in public.
+
+When George, the office-boy-butler, presented James Glieve with a small
+piece of pasteboard, on the morning following Antony's arrival in town,
+with the statement that the gentleman was in the waiting-room, James
+Glieve requested the instant presence of Henry Parsons, prior to the
+introduction of Antony. From which token it will be justly observed that
+the matter in hand was of importance. In James Glieve's eyes it was of
+extreme importance, and that by reason of its being extremely unusual.
+
+Some six weeks previously an unknown client had made his appearance in
+the person of a big clean-shaven man, by name Doctor Hilary St. John.
+Henry Parsons happened, this time quite by accident, to be present at the
+interview. The big man had made certain statements in an exceedingly
+business-like manner, and had then requested Messrs. Parsons and Glieve
+to act on his behalf, or, rather, on behalf of the person for whom he was
+emissary.
+
+"But, bless my soul," James Glieve had boomed amazed, on the conclusion
+of the request, "I never heard such a thing in my life. It--I am not at
+all sure that it is legal."
+
+"Not at all sure that it is legal," Henry Parsons had echoed.
+
+The big man had laughed, recapitulated his statements, and urged his
+point.
+
+"I don't see how it can be done," James Glieve had responded
+obstinately.
+
+"It can't be done," the echo had repeated with even greater assurance
+than the voice.
+
+"Oh, yes, it can," Doctor Hilary had replied with greater assurance
+still. "See here--" and he had begun all over again.
+
+"Tut, tut," James Glieve had clucked on the conclusion of the third
+recital. "You've said all that before. I tell you, man, the whole
+business is too unusual. It--I'm sure it isn't legal. And anyhow it's
+mad. What's the name of your--er, your deceased friend?"
+
+"The name?" piped Henry Parsons.
+
+"Nicholas Danver," had been the brief response.
+
+"Nicholas Danver!" James Glieve had almost shouted the words. "Nicholas
+Danver! God bless my soul!" And he had leant back in his chair and shaken
+with laughter. Henry Parsons, true to his role, had chuckled at
+intervals, but feebly. For the life of him he could see no cause for
+mirth.
+
+"Oh, Nick, Nick," sighed James Glieve, wiping his eyes after a few
+minutes, "I always vowed you'd be the death of me. To think of you
+turning up in the life of a staid elderly solicitor at this hour."
+
+Henry Parsons stared. And this time his voice found no echo.
+
+"Well, Doctor," said James Glieve, stuffing his handkerchief back into
+his pocket, "I suppose I--" he broke off. "This is a most respectable
+firm of solicitors," he remarked suddenly and almost fiercely. "We'd
+never dream of stooping to anything approaching fraud."
+
+"Not dream of it," echoed Henry.
+
+"Of course not," said Doctor Hilary heartily. "But this----"
+
+"Oh, yes, I daresay, I daresay. Now then, what are your propositions?"
+
+"Your propositions?" echoed Henry.
+
+And a fourth time Doctor Hilary repeated them.
+
+At the end of a lengthy interview, James Glieve opened the door of his
+sanctum to show Doctor Hilary out.
+
+"You might give my kindest remembrances--" he stopped. "Bless my soul, I
+was just going to send my remembrances to old Nick, and we've been
+spending the last hour settling up his will. Where's my memory going! I
+shall probably run down in a few days, and go through matters with you on
+the spot. A--er, a melancholy pleasure to see the old place again.
+What?"
+
+Henry Parsons, within the room, lost this last speech; therefore it found
+no echo.
+
+When Antony entered the private sanctum of James Glieve, he saw a stout
+red-faced man, with a suspicion of side whiskers and a slight appearance
+of ferocity, seated at a desk. On his right, and insignificant by
+comparison, was a small grey-haired and rather dried-up man.
+
+"Mr. Antony Gray?" queried the red-faced man, looking at Antony over his
+spectacles.
+
+Antony bowed.
+
+"You come in answer to our communication regarding the will of the--er,
+late Mr. Nicholas Danver?" asked James Glieve.
+
+"I do," responded Antony. And he drew the said communication from his
+pocket, and laid it on the table.
+
+James Glieve glanced at it. Then he leant back in his chair, put his
+elbows on its arms, and placed the tips of his fingers together.
+
+"The--er, the conditions of the will are somewhat unusual," he announced.
+"It is my duty to set them plainly before you. Should you refuse them, we
+are to see that you are fully recompensed for any expense and
+inconvenience your journey will have entailed. Should you, on the other
+hand, accept them, it is understood that as a man of honour you will
+fulfil the conditions exactly, not only in the letter, but in the
+spirit."
+
+"In the spirit," echoed Henry Parsons.
+
+Antony bowed in silence.
+
+"Of course, should you fail in your contract," went on James Glieve, "the
+will becomes null and void. But it would be quite possible for you to
+keep to the contract in the letter, while breaking it merely in the
+spirit, in which case probably no one but yourself would be aware that it
+had been so broken. You will not be asked to sign any promise in the
+matter. You will only be asked to give your word."
+
+"To give your word," said Henry Parsons, looking solemnly at Antony.
+
+"Yes," said Antony quietly.
+
+James Glieve pulled a paper towards him.
+
+"The conditions," he announced, "are as follows. I am about to read what
+the--er, late Mr. Nicholas Danver has himself written regarding the
+matter."
+
+He cleared his throat, and pushed his spectacles back on his nose.
+
+Antony looked directly at him. In spite of the business-like appearance
+of the room, the business-like attitude of the two men opposite to him,
+he still felt that odd Arabian Nights' entertainment sensation. The room
+and its occupants seemed to be masquerading under a business garb; it
+seemed to need but one word--if he could have found it--to metamorphose
+the whole thing back to its original and true conditions, to change the
+room into an Aladdin's cave, and the two men into a friendly giant and an
+attendant dwarf. The only thing he could not see metamorphosed was
+George, the office-boy-butler. He retained his own appearance and
+personality. He appeared to have been brought--as a human boy,
+possibly--into the entertainment, and to have grown up imperturbably in
+it. Though quite probably, under his present respectable demeanour, he
+was well aware of the true state of affairs, and was laughing inwardly at
+it.
+
+James Glieve cleared his throat a second time, and began.
+
+
+"The conditions under which I make the aforesaid Antony Gray my heir," he
+read, "are as follows. He will not enter into possession of either
+property or money for one year precisely from the day of hearing these
+conditions. He shall give his word of honour to make known to no person
+whatsoever that he is my heir. He shall live, during the said year, in a
+furnished cottage on the estate, the cottage to be designated to him by
+my friend Doctor Hilary St. John. He will undertake that he lives in that
+cottage and nowhere else, not even for a day. He will live as an ordinary
+labourer. That this may be facilitated he will have a post as one of the
+under-gardeners in the gardens of Chorley Old Hall. Golding, the
+head-gardener, will instruct him in his duties. He will be paid one pound
+sterling per week as wage, and he shall pay a rent of five shillings per
+week for the cottage. He will undertake to use no income or capital of
+his own during the said year, nor receive any help or money from friends.
+Briefly, he will undertake to make the one pound per week, which he will
+earn as wage, suffice for his needs. He will take the name of Michael
+Field for one year, and neither directly nor indirectly will he acquaint
+any one whomsoever with the fact that it is a pseudonym. In short, he
+will do all in his power to give the impression to everyone that he is
+simply and solely Michael Field, working-man, and under-gardener at
+Chorley Old Hall.
+
+"He will make his decision in the matter within twenty-four hours, and,
+should his decision be in the affirmative, he will bind himself, as a man
+of honour to abide by it. And, further, he will proceed to Byestry within
+one week of the decision, to take up his duties, and his residence in the
+aforesaid cottage.
+
+                                                   "Nicholas Danver.
+
+    "The fifth day of March,
+  nineteen hundred and eleven."
+
+
+James Glieve stopped. He did not look at Antony, but at the paper, which
+he placed on the desk in front of him.
+
+"Hmm," said Antony quietly and ruminatively.
+
+"You have twenty-four hours in which to make your decision," said James
+Glieve.
+
+"Twenty-four hours," said Henry Parsons.
+
+"I think that's as well," returned Antony. He was still feeling the quite
+absurd desire to find the word which should metamorphose the scene before
+him to its true conditions.
+
+"I told you the terms of the will were unusual," said James Glieve.
+
+"Very unusual," emphasized Henry Parsons.
+
+"They are," said Antony dryly. Then he got up from his chair. He looked
+at his watch. "Well, Mr. Glieve, it is twelve o'clock. I will let you
+know my decision by eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. That, I believe,
+will entirely fulfil the conditions?"
+
+"Entirely," said James Glieve.
+
+"Entirely," echoed Henry Parsons.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE DECISION
+
+
+As soon as Antony left the office, he walked down into the Strand, where
+he took an omnibus as far as Pimlico. There he dismounted, and made his
+way to the embankment, intending to walk back to his rooms in Chelsea. He
+had spent the previous evening hunting for rooms solely on Josephus's
+account. Dogs, and more especially puppies, are not welcomed at hotels;
+also, Antony considered the terms demanded for this special puppy's
+housing and maintenance entirely disproportionate to Josephus's size and
+requirements.
+
+As he walked along the embankment he reviewed the situation and
+conditions recently placed before him. At first sight they appeared
+almost amusing and absurd. The whole thing presented itself to the mind
+in the light of some huge joke; and yet, behind the joke, lay a curious
+sense of inexorableness. At first he did not in the least realize what
+caused this sense, he was merely oddly aware of its existence. He walked
+with his eyes on the river, watching a couple of slowly moving barges.
+
+It was a still, sunny day. The trees on the embankment were in full leaf.
+Scarlet and yellow tulips bedecked the window-boxes in the houses on his
+right. An occasional group of somewhat grubby children, generally
+accompanied by an elder sister and a baby in a perambulator, now and
+again occupied a seat. A threadbare and melancholy-looking man flung
+pieces of bread to a horde of sea-gulls. Antony watched them screaming
+and whirling as they snatched at the food. They brought the _Fort
+Salisbury_ to his mind. And then, in a sudden flash of illumination, he
+saw precisely wherein that sense of inexorableness lay. With the
+realization his heart stood still; and, with it, for the same brief
+second, his feet. The next instant he had quickened his steps, fighting
+out the new idea which had come to him.
+
+It was not till he had reached his rooms, and partaken of a lunch of cold
+meat and salad, that he had reduced it to an entirely business-like
+statement. Then, in the depths of an armchair, and fortified by a pipe,
+he marshalled it in its somewhat crude form before his brain. Briefly, it
+reduced itself to the following:--
+
+Should he refuse the conditions attached to the will, he remained in
+exactly the same position in which he had found himself some four or five
+weeks previously; namely, in the position of owner of a small farm on the
+African veldt, which farm brought him in an income of some two hundred a
+year. In that position the dream, which had dawned within his heart on
+the _Fort Salisbury_, would be impossible of fulfilment. His life and
+that of the Duchessa di Donatello must lie miles apart, separated both by
+lack of money and the ocean. If, on the other hand, he accepted the
+conditions, a year must elapse before he made that dream known to her;
+and--and here lay the meaning of that sense of inexorableness he had
+experienced--he could give her no explanation of the extraordinary
+situation in which he would find himself, a situation truly calculated to
+create any amount of misunderstanding. To all appearances the adventure
+on which he had started out had brought him to an impasse, a blind alley,
+from which there was no favourable issue of any kind.
+
+"The whole thing is a deuced muddle," he announced gloomily, addressing
+himself to Josephus.
+
+Josephus put his paws on Antony's knees, and licked the hand which was
+not holding the pipe.
+
+"To refuse the conditions," went on Antony aloud, and still gloomily, and
+stroking Josephus's head, "is to bring matters to an absolute deadlock,
+one from which I can never by the remotest atom of chance extricate
+myself. To accept them--well, I don't see much better chance there. How
+on earth am I to explain the situation to her? How on earth will she
+understand the fact that I remain in England, and make no attempt to see
+her for a year? I can't even hint at the situation. Oh, it's
+preposterous! But to accept gives me the only possible faintest hope."
+
+And then, suddenly, a memory sprang to life within his soul. He saw again
+a courtyard set with small round tables and orange trees in green tubs.
+He heard his own voice putting a question.
+
+"What is the foundation of friendship?" it asked.
+
+"Trust," came the reply, in the Duchessa's voice.
+
+Yet, was her friendship strong enough to trust him in such a matter?
+Strong enough not to misunderstand his silence, his--his oddness in the
+whole business? And yet, was it not something like a confession of
+weakness of friendship on his own part, to question the endurance of
+hers? She had said they were friends. Perhaps the very test of the
+strength of his own friendship was to lie in his trust of the strength of
+hers. And, at all events, he could write her some kind of a letter,
+something that would tell her of his utter inability to see her, even
+though he might not give the smallest hint of what that inability was. At
+least he could let her perceive it was by no wish of his own that he
+stayed away.
+
+Hope revived within his heart. On the one hand there would be temporary
+banishment, truly. But it would be infinitely preferable to life-long
+exile. A year, after all, was only a year. To him the moments might, nay
+would, drag on leaden feet; but to her it would be but as other years,
+and, ordinarily speaking, they speed by at an astonishing rate. He must
+look to that assurance for comfort. A little odd smile twisted his lips.
+What, after all, did a grey year signify to him, as long as its greyness
+did not touch her. And why should it? The fact of his absence could not
+possibly bring the same blank to her as it would to him. She might wonder
+a little, she might even question. But had not she herself spoken of
+trust?
+
+With the memory of that one word for his encouragement, he took his
+resolution in both hands and made his decision.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Perhaps, if Antony had attempted to pen his letter to the Duchessa before
+making his decision, he might have hesitated regarding making it. It was,
+however, not till the evening before he left town to take up his new
+life, that he attempted to write to her. Then he discovered the
+extraordinary difficulty of putting into anything like coherent and
+convincing words the statement he had to make. He drafted at least a
+dozen attempts, each, to his mind, more unsatisfactory than the last.
+Finally he wrote as follows:
+
+
+"Dear Duchessa:
+
+"Since I said good-bye to you at Plymouth, my affairs have undergone
+unexpected and quite unforeseen changes. As matters stand at present, I
+shall be remaining in England for some time. I had hoped to see you when
+you returned from Scotland, but find, deeply to my regret, that I will be
+unable to do so, for a considerable time at all events. Need I tell you
+that this is a great disappointment to me? I had been looking forward to
+seeing you again, and now fate has taken matters out of my hands. When
+the time comes that I am able to see you, I will write and let you know;
+and perhaps, if by then you have not forgotten me, you will allow me to
+do so.
+
+"I would like to thank you for your kindness and comradeship to me during
+the voyage. Those days will ever remain as a golden memory to me.
+
+"Having in mind your words when we lunched together in the garden of that
+little hotel at Teneriffe, I dare to inscribe myself,
+
+                                              "Always your friend,
+                                                      "Antony Gray."
+
+
+It was not the letter he longed to write, yet he dared not write more
+explicitly. Honour forbade the smallest hint at the strange position in
+which he found himself; diffidence held him back from writing the words
+his heart was crying to her. Bald and flat as he felt the letter to be,
+he could do no better. It must go as it stood. He headed it with the
+address of his present rooms, giving his landlady instructions to forward
+all letters to the post office at Byestry.
+
+One letter, bearing a Scottish postmark, alone came for him after his
+departure. It remained for close on two months on the table of the dingy
+little hall. Then, fearing lest Antony's receipt of it should betray her
+own carelessness, Mrs. Dobbin consigned it unopened to the kitchen fire.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+AN ENGLISH COTTAGE
+
+
+Kingsleigh is the station for Byestry, which is eight miles from it. It
+is a small town, not much larger than a mere village, lying, as its name
+designates, on the shores of the estuary, which runs from the sea up to
+Kingsleigh. Chorley Old Hall stands on high wooded land, about a mile
+from the coast, having a view across the estuary, and out to the sea
+itself.
+
+It was a grey day, with a fine mist of a rain descending, when Antony,
+with Josephus at his heels, stepped on to Kingsleigh platform. In the
+road beyond the station, a number of carts and carriages, and a couple of
+closed buses, were collected. The drivers of the said vehicles stood by
+the gate through which the passengers must pass, ready to accost those by
+whom they had been already ordered, or pounce upon likely fares.
+
+"Be yue Michael Field?" demanded a short wiry man, as Antony, carrying an
+old portmanteau, and followed by Josephus, emerged through the gate.
+
+For a moment Antony stared, amazed. Then he remembered.
+
+"I am," he replied.
+
+"That's gued," responded the man cheerfully. "'It the first nail, so to
+speak. T'Doctor sent I wi' t'trap. Coom along. Got any more baggage?"
+
+Antony replied in the negative. Three minutes later he was seated in the
+trap, Josephus at his feet. He turned up the collar of his mackintosh,
+and pulled down his tweed cap over his eyes.
+
+"Bit moist-like," said the man cheerfully, whipping up his horse.
+
+Antony assented. He was feeling an amazing sense of amusement. The
+adventurous side of the affair had sprung again to the fore, after a week
+of business-like detail,--writing letters of instruction to Riffle to
+carry on with the farm till further notice, an office he was fully
+qualified to fulfil; making certain arrangements with Lloyd's bank
+regarding monies to be sent out to him; buying garments suitable for the
+part he himself was about to play; and having one or two further
+interviews with Messrs. Parsons and Glieve, in which the absolute
+necessity of his playing up to his role in every way was further
+impressed upon him.
+
+The one difficulty that had presented itself to his mind, was his speech.
+He spent several half hours conversing with himself in broadest
+Devonshire, but finally decided that, it being the speech of the natives,
+he might sooner or later betray himself by some inadvertent lapse. Next
+he attempted a Colonial accent. James Glieve, however, being consulted on
+the subject, it was firmly negatived as likely to prove unpopular. In the
+end he fell back on a strong Irish accent. It came to him readily enough,
+the nurse of his childhood having hailed from the Emerald Isle. Possibly
+his actual phraseology would not prove all it might be, but the Devonians
+were not likely to be much the wiser. Anyhow Antony admired his own
+prowess in the tongue quite immensely.
+
+"Sure, 'tis the foine country ye have here," quoth he presently, as,
+mounting a hill, they came out upon a road crossing an expanse of
+moorland. Gorse bushes bloomed golden against a background of grey sky
+and atmosphere, seen through a fine veil of rain.
+
+"'Tis gued enuff," said the man laconically. And Antony perceived that the
+beauties of nature held no particular interest for him.
+
+He looked out at the wide expanses around him. Mist covered the farther
+distances, but through it, afar off, he fancied he could descry the grey
+line of the sea. To the right the moorland gave place to a distant stone
+wall, beyond which was a wheat field; to the left it stretched away into
+the mist, through which he saw the dim shapes of trees.
+
+The man jerked his head to the left.
+
+"'Tis over yonder is t'old Hall. Yue'm to be under-gardener there I heerd
+t'Doctor say. What they'll want wi' keeping up t'gardens now I doant
+knoaw, and t'old Squire gone. Carried off mighty suddint 'e was. Us said
+as t'journey tue Lunnon ud be the death o' he. Never outside t'doors these
+fifteen year and more, and then one fine day Doctor takes he oop to
+Lunnon to see one o' they chaps un calls a speshulist. Why t'speshulist
+didn't come to he us can't tell. Carried on a stretcher he was from
+t'carriage to t'train, for all the world like a covered corpse. Next
+thing Doctor coom home alone, and us hears as t'old Squire be dead. I
+doant rightly knoaw as who 'twas was the first to tell we, for Doctor, 'e
+doant like talking o' the business. But there 'tis, and t'Lord only knows
+who'll have t'old place now, seeing as 'ow 'e never 'ad no wife to bear
+un a son. Us _heerd_ as 'twould be a chap from foreign parts. 'Twas Jane
+Ellen from Doctor's as put that around, but us thinks her got the notion
+in a way her shouldn't, for her's backed out o' the sayin' o't now. Says
+her never said nowt o' the kind. But her did. 'Twas Jim Morris's wife her
+told. S'pose Mr. Curtis'll run t'show till t'heir turns oop. 'Twont make
+much difference to we. He's run it the last ten year and more, and run it
+_hard_, I tell 'ee that. Doant yue go for to get the wrong side o' Spencer
+Curtis, I warns 'ee. George Standing afore 'e worn't much to boast on,
+but Spencer Curtis be a fair flint."
+
+"Will he be the agent?" demanded Antony, as the man paused.
+
+"'Tis what 'e's _called_. 'Tis master he _is_. T'old Squire oughtn't
+never to have got a chap like 'e to do 'is jobs. 'Tis cast iron 'e is.
+And 'twasn't never no use going to Squire for to stand between him and
+we. 'E'd never set eyes on nobody, 'e wouldn't. If I'd my way I'd give
+every gentry what owns property a taste o' livin' on it same's we. 'E'd
+know a bit more aboot the fair runnin' o' it then."
+
+Antony started. An idea, quick-born, presented itself before him. Was it
+possible, was it conceivable, that this very thought had been in the old
+Squire's mind when he drew up those extraordinary conditions? Antony
+nearly laughed aloud. Verily it was an absurdity, though one that
+Nicholas Danver most assuredly could not have guessed. Yet that
+he--Antony--should require a further year's enlightenment as to the
+shifts to which the poor were put to make both ends meet, as to the iron
+hand of agents and over-seers! Truly it was laughable!
+
+He'd had experience enough and to spare,--he smiled grimly to
+himself,--experience such as an English farm-labourer earning a pound a
+week, even with a wife and children to keep, and all odds against him,
+could never in the remotest degree aided by the wildest flights of
+imagination, conceive. In England water at least is always obtainable.
+Antony had visions of the jealous husbanding of a few drops of hot
+moisture in a sunbaked leather bottle. In England the law at least
+protects you from bodily ill-treatment at the hands of agent or overseer.
+Antony had visions--But he dismissed them. There was a chapter or two in
+his life which it was not good to recall.
+
+They were descending now, driving between the high banks and hedges of a
+true Devonshire lane. Primroses starred the banks, though in less
+profusion than they had been a fortnight earlier; bluebells and pink
+campion grew among them, and the feathery blossom of the cow-parsley.
+Turning to the left at the foot of the lane, the hedge on the right was
+lower. Over it, and across an expanse of sloping fields dotted here and
+there with snow-white hawthorn bushes, Antony saw the roofs of houses and
+cottages, and, beyond them, the sea. It lay grey and tranquil under an
+equally grey sky. A solitary fishing smack, red-sailed, made a note of
+colour in the neutral atmosphere of sea and sky. To the right was a
+gorse-crowned cliff; to the left, and across the estuary, a headland ran
+far out into the water.
+
+"Byestry," said the man, nodding in the direction of the roofs. "Us doant
+go down into t'place. Yue'm to have Widow Jenkins's cottage, her as died
+back tue Christmas. 'Tis a quarter o'mile or so from t'town, and 'twill be
+that mooch nearer t'old Hall. Yue see yon chimbleys by they three elms
+yonder? 'Tis Doctor's house. Yue'm tue go there this evenin' aboot seven
+o'clock 'e bid me tell 'ee. Where was yue working tue last?"
+
+The question came abruptly. For one brief second Antony was non-plussed.
+Then he recovered himself.
+
+"'Tis London I've just come from," he replied airily enough. "I've been
+doing a bit on my own account lately."
+
+"Hmm," replied the man. "I reckon if I'd been workin' my own jobs, I'd
+not take an under post in a hurry. But yue knoaws your own business best.
+T'last chap as was underest gardener oop tue t'Hall got took on by folks
+living over Exeter way. He boarded wi' t'blacksmith and his wife. Maybe
+yue'm a married man?"
+
+"I am not," said Antony smiling.
+
+"Not got a maid at all?" queried the other.
+
+Antony shook his head.
+
+The man opened his eyes. "Lord love 'ee, what do un want wi' a cottage,
+then! Yue'd best be takin' oop wi' a wife. There's a sight of vitty maids
+tue Byestry, and 'tis lonesome like comin' home to an empty hearth and no
+supper. There's Rose Darell, her's a gued maid, and has a bit o' money; or
+Jenny Horswell, her's a bit o' a squint, but is a fair vitty maid tue
+t'cleanin'; or Vicky Mathers, her's as pretty as a picter, but her's not
+the money nor the house ways o' Rose or Jenny," he ended with thoughtful
+consideration.
+
+Antony laughed, despite the fact that inwardly he was not a trifle
+dismayed. He had no mind to have the belles of Byestry thus paraded for
+his choice. Work, he had accepted with the conditions, but a wife was a
+very different matter.
+
+"Sure, I'm not a marryin' man at all, I am not," he responded, a
+hypocritical sigh succeeding to the laugh.
+
+"Crossed?" queried the man. "Ah, well, doan't 'ee go for to get down on
+your luck for one maid. There's as gued blackberries hangin' on t'bushes
+as ever was plucked from them. And yue'm tue young a chap tue be thinkin' o'
+yuerself as a sallybat, and so I tells 'ee."
+
+Antony smothered a spasm of laughter.
+
+"It's not women folk I'm wanting in my life," responded he, still with
+hypocritical gloom.
+
+"Tis kittle cattle they be, and that's sartain, sure," replied the other,
+shaking his head. "But 'twas a rib out o' the side o' Adam the first
+woman was, so t'Scripture do tell we, and I reckon us men folk do feel
+the lack o' that rib nowadays, till us gets us a wife."
+
+Antony was spared an answer, a fact for which he sent up devout thanks.
+They had made another leftward turn by now, and come upon a cottage set a
+little way back from the road,--a cottage with a wicket gate between two
+hedges, and a flagged path leading up to a small porch, thatched, as was
+the cottage.
+
+"Here us be," said the man.
+
+Antony's heart gave a sudden big throb of pleasure. The little place was
+so extraordinarily English, so primitive and quaint. True, the garden was
+a bit dilapidated looking, the apple trees in the tiny orchard to the
+left of the cottage quite amazingly old and lichen grown; but it spelled
+England for him, and that more emphatically than any other thing had done
+since his arrival in the Old Country.
+
+Antony dismounted from the trap, then lifted Josephus and his bag to the
+ground. This done, he began to feel in his pocket for some coins. The man
+saw the movement.
+
+"That bain't for yue," he replied shortly, "t' Doctor will settle wi' I."
+
+And Antony withdrew his hand quickly, feeling he had been on the verge of
+a lapse.
+
+"Here's t'key," remarked the man. "And if yue feel like a pipe one o'
+these evenin's, yue might coom down tue t'village. My place is over
+opposite t'post office. I be t'saddler. Yue'll see t'name Allbut George
+over t'shop."
+
+Antony thanked Mr. Albert George, and then watched the patriotically
+named gentleman turn his horse, and drive off in the direction of the
+coast. When the trap had vanished from sight, he heaved a sigh of
+relief.
+
+"Josephus," he remarked, "it will need careful practice and wary walking,
+but I fancy I did pretty well." And then he opened the garden gate.
+
+He walked up the little path, and fitted the key with which Allbut George
+had provided him, into the lock. He turned it, and pushed open the door.
+It gave at once into a small but cheerful room, brick-floored, with a big
+fireplace at one side. An oak settle stood by the fireplace; a low seat,
+covered with a somewhat faded dimity, was before the window; there was a
+basket-chair, two wooden chairs, a round table, a dresser with some
+highly coloured earthenware crockery on it, a corner cupboard, and a
+grandfather's clock. There was a door behind the settle to the right of
+the fireplace, and, in the opposite corner, stairs leading to a room or
+rooms above.
+
+Antony put his bag down on the table and went to investigate the door. It
+led into a tiny scullery or kitchen, provided solely with a small range,
+a deal table, a chair, a sink, and a pump. In one corner was a box
+containing some pieces of wood. In another corner was a galvanized
+bucket, a broom, and a scrubbing-brush. He glanced around, then came back
+into the sitting-room, and made his way to the stairs.
+
+They led direct into a bedroom, a place furnished with a camp bed covered
+with a red and brown striped blanket; a small, somewhat rickety oak chest
+of drawers, a rush-bottomed chair, a small table, a corner washstand, and
+a curtain, which hid pegs driven into the wall. A door led into a small
+inner room over the kitchen scullery. Antony opened the door. The room
+was empty. Widow Jenkins had had no use for it, it would appear. Or, so
+Antony suddenly thought, perhaps all Widow Jenkins's furniture had been
+removed, and what at present occupied the place had been put there solely
+on his account.
+
+He crossed to the window, and pushed it back. It looked on to a tiny
+vegetable garden, in much the same state of neglect as the front garden,
+and was separated from a field yellow with buttercups by a low hawthorn
+hedge. Beyond the field was a tiny brook; and, beyond that again, a
+copse. There was not a sound to break the silence, save the dripping of
+the rain from the roof of the cottage, and, in the distance, the low
+sighing note of the sea. The silence was emphasized by the fact that for
+the last week Antony had had the hum of traffic in his ears, and had but
+this moment come from the noise of trains and the rattle of a shaky
+dog-cart.
+
+He still leaned there looking out. It was even more silent than the
+veldt. There were no little strange animal noises to break the silence.
+Nothing but that drip, drip of the rain, and that soft distant sighing of
+the sea.
+
+A curious sense of loneliness fell upon him, a loneliness altogether at
+variance with the loneliness of the veldt. He could not have defined
+wherein the difference lay, yet he was well aware that there was a
+difference. It was one of those subtle differences, exceedingly apparent
+to the inner consciousness, yet entirely impossible to translate into
+terms of speech. The nearest approach he could get to anything like a
+definition of it, was that it was less big, but more definitely poignant.
+Beyond that he did not, or could not, go. For some five minutes or so he
+leant at the little casement window, gazing at the gold of the buttercups
+seen through a blurred mist of rain. Then he pulled the window to, and
+came down into the parlour.
+
+The hands of the grandfather's clock pointed to ten minutes to five.
+Antony, remembering the box of wood in the scullery, bethought himself of
+a cup of tea. His bag contained all the requirements. Long practice had
+taught him to provide himself with necessities, and also, on occasions,
+to substitute lemon for milk, as a complement to tea.
+
+He was just about to go and fetch a handful of sticks, preparatory to
+lighting a fire, when he heard the click of his garden gate. Turning, and
+looking through the window, he saw a big man coming up the path.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+DOUBTS
+
+
+Doctor Hilary was returning from his rounds. His state of mind was nearly
+as grey as the atmosphere.
+
+It is one thing to agree to a mad-brained scheme in the first amused
+interest of its propounding, even to mould it further, and bring it into
+shape. It is quite another to be actually confronted with the finished
+scheme, to realize that, though you may not be its veritable parent, you
+have at all events foster-fathered it quite considerably, and that,
+moreover, you cannot now, in conscience, cast off responsibility in its
+behalf.
+
+The fact that you had excellent reasons for adopting the scheme in the
+first place, will doubtless be of comfort to your soul, but that
+particular species of comfort and ordinary everyday common sense are not
+always as closely united as you might desire. In fact they are
+occasionally apt to pull in entirely opposite directions, a method of
+procedure which is far from consoling.
+
+Doctor Hilary found it far from consoling.
+
+Conscience told him quite plainly that his real and innermost reason for
+foster-fathering the scheme was simply and solely for the sake of
+snatching at any mortal thing that would, or could, bring interest into
+an old man's life. Common sense demanded why on earth he had not
+suggested an alternative idea, something a trifle less mad. And it was
+mad. There did not now appear one single reasonable point in it, though
+very assuredly there were quite a vast number of unreasonable ones.
+
+In the first place, and it seemed to him nearly, if not quite, the most
+unreasonable point, Nicholas had known nothing whatever about the young
+man he had elected to make his heir,--nothing, that is, beyond the fact
+that he had known the young man's father, and had once seen Antony
+himself when Antony was a child. There had even been very considerable
+difficulty in obtaining knowledge of his whereabouts.
+
+In the second place, it appeared quite absurd to appoint the young man to
+the position of under-gardener at the Hall. It was more than probable
+that he knew nothing whatever about gardening. It was true that, if he
+did not, he could learn. But then Golding, the head gardener, might not
+unreasonably find matter for amazement and comment in the fact that a
+young and ignorant man, who was paid a pound a week and allowed to rent a
+furnished cottage, should be thrust upon him, rather than an experienced
+man, or an ignorant boy who would have received at the most eight
+shillings a week, and have lived at his own home. Amazement and comment
+were to be avoided, that had been Nicholas's idea, and yet, to Doctor
+Hilary's mind they ran the risk of being courted from the outset. In the
+third place, how was it likely that a man of education--and it had been
+ascertained that Antony was a university man--could comport himself like
+a labourer in any position,--gardener, farm-hand, or chauffeur? The
+conditions had stated that he was to do so. But could he? There was the
+point.
+
+The more Doctor Hilary thought about the conditions, the madder they
+appeared to him. Yet, having undertaken the job of carrying the mad
+scheme through, he could not possibly back out at the eleventh hour. He
+could only hope for the best, but it must be confessed that he was not
+exceedingly optimistic about that best. And further, he was not
+exceedingly optimistic about the young man. He could imagine himself, in
+a like situation, consigning Nick and his conditions to the nether
+regions; certainly not submitting meekly to a year's effacement of his
+personality for the sake of money. Such conditions would have enraged
+him.
+
+No; he was not optimistic regarding the man. He pictured him as either a
+bit of a fawner, who would cringe through the year, or a keen-headed
+business man, who would go through it with a steel-trap mouth, and an eye
+to every weakness in his fellow-workers. Certainly neither type he
+pictured appealed to him. Yet he felt confident he would find one of the
+two, and had already conceived a strong prejudice against Antony Gray.
+From which regrettable fact it will be seen that he was committing the
+sin of rash judgment.
+
+It was not altogether surprising, therefore, that his mood was nearly as
+grey as the atmosphere.
+
+He sighed heavily, and shook his head, somewhat after the fashion of a
+big dog. Reasons, partly mental, partly physical were responsible for the
+shake. In the first place it was an attempt to dispel mental depression;
+in the second place it was to free his eyebrows and eyelashes from the
+rain drops clinging to them, since the rain was descending in a grey
+misty veil.
+
+With the shake, an idea struck him.
+
+Why not confront the embodied scheme at once? Why not interview this
+preposterous young man without delay, and be done with it?
+
+He gave a brief direction to his coachman.
+
+Five minutes later saw him standing at the gate of Copse Cottage, his
+dog-cart driving away down the lane. It had been his own doing. He had
+said he would walk home. An idiotic idea! What on earth had suggested it
+to him?
+
+However, it was done now.
+
+He pushed open the gate, and walked up the little flagged path.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+CONCERNING MICHAEL FIELD
+
+
+Antony, having seen a figure approaching the door, opened it, and
+confronted a big, rugged-faced man, who looked at him somewhat grimly.
+
+"Michael Field?" demanded the big man briefly.
+
+"Sure, 'tis my name," he replied cheerfully. "You'll be Doctor Hilary,
+I'm thinking. Won't you be coming in out of the wet." He flung wide the
+door on the words.
+
+"George found you all right?" queried Doctor Hilary stepping across the
+threshold. He appeared totally oblivious of the fact that Antony's
+presence made the success of George's search fairly obvious.
+
+"He did that," returned Antony pushing forward a chair, but making no
+attempt to sit down himself. The impulse had been upon him. Memory had
+awakened just in time.
+
+Doctor Hilary was silent. The reality was so entirely different from his
+preconceived notions. The cheerful, clean-shaven young man, with the
+Irish accent, standing before him in an attitude of quite respectful, but
+not in the least subservient attention, was at such complete variance
+with either of his two imaginary types, that he found his attitude of
+grimness insensibly relaxing.
+
+"Did George speak to you regarding your work?" he demanded suddenly. He
+couldn't for the life of him, think of anything else to say.
+
+"Well," returned Antony thoughtfully considering, "he asked me about my
+last place, and I told him I'd been working on my own account. Thereupon
+he expressed surprise that I should now be taking an under post, but
+remarked with vast wisdom that every man knew his own business best."
+
+"Hmm," said Doctor Hilary.
+
+"He also," continued Antony, his eyes twinkling, "was for giving me
+advice on matrimony, and mentioned three 'vitty maids' he could produce
+for my inspection. I told him," continued Antony solemnly, though his
+eyes were still twinkling, "that I was not a marrying man at all."
+
+Doctor Hilary found the twinkle in Antony's eyes gaining response in his
+own. He was such a remarkably cheerful young man, and so confiding.
+
+"Hmm," he remarked again. "He said nothing else I suppose? Expressed no
+surprise at your being chosen for the post, instead of a local man?"
+
+"He did not," responded Antony, replying to the last question. "It would
+seem that he thought any appointment to the post unnecessary, in view of
+the fact that the Hall was at present untenanted."
+
+"And you replied--?" asked Doctor Hilary.
+
+"Sure, I had no opinion to offer," said Antony. "It was not my affair at
+all. He talked, but I said little."
+
+"A good principle," remarked Doctor Hilary approvingly, "and one I should
+advise you to adhere to. Your accent is all right, but your--your speech
+is a trifle fluent, if I may make the suggestion."
+
+Antony laughed pleasantly. He was now made sure of the fact of which he
+had been already tolerably certain, namely, that this big, rugged-faced
+man was fully aware of the conditions of the will, and his own identity.
+
+"Sure, 'tis we Irish have the gift o' the gab," he returned
+apologetically, "but I'll be remembering your advice."
+
+There was a little silence. It was broken by Antony.
+
+"I was for making a cup of tea when you came up the path, sor. Will you
+be having one with me? It'll not take beyont ten minutes or so to get a
+fire going, and the water boiling. That is, if you'll be doing me the
+honour, sor," he concluded gravely.
+
+Doctor Hilary laughed outright.
+
+He watched Antony disappear into the scullery, to reappear with a bundle
+of sticks and a log. He watched him kneeling by the fire, manipulating
+them deftly. He watched him fill a kettle with water, and put it on the
+fire, set cups on the table, then open his bag, and produce bread,
+butter, a packet of tea, and a lemon.
+
+It was extraordinary what an alteration his sentiments had undergone
+since entering Copse Cottage. Every trace of prejudice had vanished.
+There was, in his mind, something pathetic in the skill, evidently born
+of long practice, with which this tall lean man made his preparations for
+the little meal.
+
+From watching the man, Doctor Hilary turned his attention to the room. It
+was fairly comfortable, at all events, if not in the least luxurious. But
+the inevitable loneliness of the life that would be led within its walls,
+struck him with a curious forcefulness.
+
+"Do you know anything of gardening?" he demanded suddenly, breaking the
+silence.
+
+"Sure, it's little I don't know," returned Antony. "'Twas a bit of wild
+earth my garden was before I took it in hand. Now there's peach trees,
+and nectarines, and plum trees in it, and all the vegetables any man
+could be wanting, and flowers fit for a queen's drawing-room. There's
+roses as big as your fist. Oh, 'tis a fine garden it is out on--" he
+broke off, "out beyont," he concluded.
+
+"On the veldt," suggested Doctor Hilary quietly.
+
+"'Twas the veldt I was after meaning," responded Antony smiling, "but I
+thought 'twould be as well to get my tongue used to forgetting the sound
+of the word, lest it should slip out some fine day, when I wasn't meaning
+it to at all."
+
+"Wise, anyhow," agreed Doctor Hilary, and he too smiled. "But you
+understand that I--well, I happen to know all the circumstances of this
+arrangement."
+
+Antony laughed. "I was thinking as much," he confessed.
+
+"I wonder--" began Doctor Hilary. And then he stopped. He had been about
+to wonder aloud as to why on earth Antony should have accepted the
+conditions, why he should have exchanged the freedom and untrammelled
+spaces of the veldt for the conventional life of England, even with the
+Hall and a goodly income, at the end of the year, to the balance. He knew
+most assuredly that nine hundred and ninety-nine men out of a thousand
+would have done so, and he knew that he himself was the thousandth who
+would not. His exceedingly brief acquaintance with Antony had given him
+the impression that he, also, was a thousandth man.
+
+"You wonder--?" queried Antony.
+
+"I wonder how you'll like the life," said Doctor Hilary, though it was
+not precisely what he had originally intended to say.
+
+"'Tis England," said Antony briefly.
+
+"Is that your sole reason for accepting the life?" asked Doctor Hilary
+curiously.
+
+Antony looked him full in the eyes.
+
+"It is not," he replied smiling. And then he turned to the kettle, which
+was on the point of boiling over.
+
+Of course it was a rebuff. But it was a perfectly polite one. And
+oddly--or, perhaps, not oddly--Doctor Hilary did not resent it in the
+least. On the contrary, he respected the man who had administered it.
+
+"There's no milk," said Antony presently, pouring tea into two cups. "Can
+you be putting up with a lemon?"
+
+"I like it," Doctor Hilary assured him.
+
+After the meal they smoked together, making remarks now and again,
+interspersed with little odd silences, which, however, appeared quite
+natural and friendly. Josephus, who at the outset had viewed the entry of
+the big man on the scene with something akin to disapproval, now walked
+solemnly over to him, stood on his hind legs, and put his fore paws on
+Doctor Hilary's knees.
+
+"A token of approval," said Antony.
+
+And then another of the odd little silences fell.
+
+"You will report yourself to Golding at half-past seven on Monday
+morning," said Doctor Hilary some quarter of an hour later, as he rose to
+take his leave. "He lives at the lodge about five minutes' walk up the
+road. You'll find the place all right. You will take all instructions as
+to your work from him. If you should wish to see me personally at any
+time regarding anything, you will usually find me at home in the
+evening."
+
+Antony touched his forehead in the most approved style.
+
+"I thank you, sor," he responded.
+
+Doctor Hilary smiled. "Well, good luck to you. It will be better--of
+course, from now onward, we must remember that you are Michael Field,
+under-gardener at the Hall."
+
+"'Tis a good name," said Antony solemnly. "Sure, I'm downright obliged to
+me godfathers and godmothers for giving me such a one."
+
+Again Doctor Hilary smiled. "Oh, and by the way," he said, "how about
+money."
+
+Antony felt in his pockets. He produced two florins, a sixpence, and a
+halfpenny. He looked at them lying in the palm of his hand. Then he
+looked whimsically at the Doctor.
+
+"I don't know whether the possession of these coins breaks the spirit of
+the contract. I'm thinking 'twill hardly break the letter. 'Tis all I
+have."
+
+The Doctor laughed.
+
+"I fancy not," he replied. "I'd better give you your first week's wage in
+advance. You'll need to lay in provisions. There's a general store in
+Byestry. Perhaps you'll want to do a little in the purchasing line.
+Remember, to-morrow is Sunday."
+
+He laid a sovereign on the table, and a moment later the garden gate
+clicked to behind him.
+
+Antony went back into the little parlour.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+A DISCOVERY
+
+
+The morning broke as fair, as blue-skied, as sunny, as the previous day
+had been gloomy, grey-skied, and wet.
+
+The song of a golden-throated lark was the first sound that Antony heard,
+as he woke to find the early morning sunshine pouring through the open
+casement window. He lay very still, listening to the flood of liquid
+notes, and looking at the square of blue sky, seen through the window.
+Now and again an ivy leaf tapped gently at the pane, stirred by a little
+breeze blowing from the sea, and sweeping softly across buttercupped
+meadow and gorse-grown moorland. Once a flight of rooks passed across the
+square blue patch, and once a pigeon lighted for an instant on the
+windowsill, to fly off again on swift, strong wings.
+
+He lay there, drowsily content. For that day at least, there was a
+pleasant idleness ahead of him, nothing but his own wants to attend to.
+The morrow would see him armed with spade and rake, probably wrestling
+with weeds, digging deep in the good brown earth, possibly mowing the
+grass, and such like jobs as fall to the lot of an under-gardener. Antony
+smiled to himself. Well, it would all come in the day's work, and the
+day's work would be no novel master to him. The open air, whether under
+cloud or sunshine, was good. After all, his lot for the year would not be
+such a bad one. He was in the mood to echo the praises of that
+brown-feathered morsel pouring forth its lauds somewhere aloft in the
+blue. Suddenly the song ceased. The bird had come to earth.
+
+For a moment or so longer Antony lay very still, listening to the
+silence. Then he flung back the bed-clothes, went to the window, and
+looked out.
+
+He looked across the tiny garden, and the lane, to a wild-rose hedge;
+fragile pink blossoms swayed gently in the breeze. Beyond the hedge was a
+field of close-cropped grass, dotted here and there with sheep. To the
+left a turn in the lane, and the high banks and hedges, shut further view
+from sight. To the right, and far below the cottage, across meadows and
+the hidden village of Byestry, lay the sea.
+
+It lay blue and sparkling, flecked with a myriad moving specks of gold,
+as the sunshine fell on the dancing water. He had seen it at close
+quarters last night, from the little quay, seen it smooth and grey, its
+breast heaving now and then as if in gentle sleep. To-day it was awake,
+alive, and buoyant. He must get down to it again. It was inviting him,
+smiling, dimpling, alluring.
+
+He made a quick but exceedingly careful toilet. Antony was fastidious to
+a degree in the matter of cleanliness. Earth dirt he had no objection to;
+slovenly dirt was as abhorrent to him as vice.
+
+Josephus, who had slept in the parlour, accorded him a hearty welcome on
+his descent of the narrow steep little stairs, intimating that he was
+every whit as ready to be up and doing as was his master. The sunshine,
+the blithesomeness of the morning was infectious. You felt yourself
+smiling in accord with its smiles.
+
+Antony flung wide the cottage door. A scent of rosemary, southernwood,
+and verbena was wafted to him from the little garden,--clean,
+old-fashioned scents, English in their very essence. Anon he had more
+commonplace scents mingling with them,--the appetizing smell of fried
+sausages, the aromatic odour of freshly made coffee. Josephus found
+himself in two minds as to the respective merits of the attractions
+without, and the alluring odours within. Finally, after one scamper round
+the garden, he compromised by seating himself on the doorstep, for the
+most part facing the sunshine, but now and again turning a wet black nose
+in the direction of the breakfast table and frying-pan.
+
+An hour or so later he was giving himself wholeheartedly to the grassy
+and rabbitty scents dear to a doggy soul, as he scampered in the
+direction of Byestry with his master. Occasionally he made side tracks
+into hedges and down rabbit holes, whence at a whistle from Antony, he
+would emerge innocent in expression, but utterly condemned by traces of
+red earth on his black nose and white back.
+
+There was a lazy Sundayish atmosphere about the village as Antony passed
+through it, with Josephus now at his heels. Men lounged by cottage doors,
+women gossiped across garden fences. The only beings with an object in
+view appeared to be children,--crimp-haired little girls, and
+stiffly-suited small boys, who walked in chattering groups in the
+direction of a building he rightly judged to be a Sunday-school.
+
+A little farther on, a priest was standing by the door of a small
+barn-like-looking place with a cross at one end. Antony vaguely supposed
+it to be a church, and thought, also vaguely, that it was the
+oddest-looking one he had ever seen. He concluded that Byestry was too
+small to boast a larger edifice.
+
+On reaching the quay he turned to the right, walking along a cobbled
+pavement, which presently sloped down to the beach and a narrow stretch
+of firm smooth sand, bordered by brown rocks and the sea on one side, and
+a towering cliff on the other. The tide was going down, leaving the brown
+rocks uncovered. Among them were small crystal pools, reflecting the blue
+of the sky as in a mirror. Sea spleenwort and masses of samphire grew on
+the cliffs to his right. No danger here to the would-be samphire
+gatherer; it could be plucked from the safety of solid earth, with as
+great ease as picking up shells from the beach.
+
+After some half hour's walking, Antony turned a corner, bringing him to a
+yet lonelier beach. Looking back, he found Byestry shut from his
+view,--the cliffs behind him, the sea before him, the sky above him,
+stretches of sand around him, and himself alone, save for Josephus, and
+sea-gulls which dipped to the water or circled in the blue, and jackdaws
+which cried harshly from the cliffs.
+
+He sat down on the sand, and began to fill his pipe. It was
+extraordinarily lonely, extraordinarily peaceful. There was no sinister
+note in the loneliness such as he had experienced in the vast spaces of
+the African veldt, but a reposefulness, a quiet rest which appealed to
+him. The very blueness of the sky and sparkle of the sunshine was tender
+after the brazen glitter of the African sun. Turning to look behind him,
+he saw that here the cliff was grass-covered, sloping almost to the
+beach, and among the grass, hiding its green, were countless bluebells, a
+sheet of shimmering colour. Two lines of Tennyson's came suddenly into
+his mind.
+
+  And the whole isle side flashing down with never a tree
+  Swept like a torrent of gems from the sky to the blue of the sea.
+
+The island of flowers and the island of silence in one, he felt the place
+to be, and no fear of fighting, with himself as sole inhabitant. So might
+the islands have been after Maeldune had renounced his purpose of
+revenge, after he had returned from the isle of the saint who had spoken
+words of peace.
+
+He lost count of time. A pleasant waking drowsiness fell upon him, till
+at length, seeing that the sun had reached its zenith, he realized that
+it must be noon, and began to consider the advisability of retracing his
+steps.
+
+He got to his feet, whistling to a white speck in the distance, which he
+rightly judged to be Josephus, and set out on his homeward route.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The village appeared deserted, as he once more reached it. Doubtless the
+Sunday dinner, which accounts so largely for Sunday sleepiness, was in
+progress.
+
+Coming to the small barn-like-looking building which he had noticed
+earlier in the morning, and seeing that the door was open, he looked in.
+The air was heavy with the scent of incense. It needed only a moment's
+observation to tell him that he was in a Catholic church. A curtained
+tabernacle stood on the little altar, before which hung a ruby lamp. The
+building was too small to allow of two altars, but at one side was a
+statue of Our Lady, the base surrounded with flowers, since it was the
+month of May. Near the porch was a statue of St. Peter.
+
+Antony looked curiously around. It was the third time only that he had
+entered a Catholic church, the second time being at Teneriffe with the
+Duchessa. Ordering Josephus to stay without, he walked up the little
+aisle, and sat down in one of the rush-seated chairs near the sanctuary.
+He hadn't a notion what prompted the impulse, but he knew that some
+impulse was at work.
+
+He looked towards the sanctuary. Mass had been said not long since, and
+the chalice covered with the veil and burse was still on the altar.
+Antony hadn't a notion of even the first principles of the Catholic
+faith, not as much as the smallest Catholic child; but he felt here, in a
+measure, the same sense of home as he knew the Duchessa to have felt in
+the church at Teneriffe. Oddly enough he did not feel himself the least
+an intruder. There was almost a sense of welcome.
+
+From looking at the altar he looked at the chairs, and the small oblong
+pieces of pasteboard fastened to their backs. He looked down at the piece
+which denoted the owner of the chair in which he was sitting. And then he
+found himself staring at it, while his heart leaped and thumped madly. On
+the pasteboard four words were written,--The Duchessa di Donatello.
+
+He gazed at the words hardly able to believe the sight of his own eyes.
+What odd coincidence, what odd impulse had brought him to her very chair?
+It was extraordinary, unbelievable almost. And then another thought
+flashed into his brain, making his heart stand still.
+
+A door to the left opened, and a priest came out. He looked momentarily
+at Antony, then went into the sanctuary, genuflected, took the covered
+chalice from the altar, genuflected again, and went back into the
+sacristy, leaving the door partly open.
+
+Antony got suddenly to his feet. He went towards the sacristy. The
+priest, hearing the sound of steps, opened the door wide.
+
+"Excuse me," said Antony, "but can you tell me where Woodleigh is?" His
+Irish brogue was forgotten.
+
+"Certainly," replied the priest. "It is about two miles from here,
+inland." He looked rather curiously at the man, who, though labourer by
+his dress, yet spoke in an obviously refined voice. He waited, perhaps
+expecting some further question.
+
+"That was all I wanted to know," said Antony. "Thank you." He turned back
+into the church.
+
+Father Dormer looked after him. There was a puzzled look in his eye.
+
+Antony came out of the church and into the sunlight. He called to
+Josephus, who was busy with the investigation of a distant smithy, and
+turned up the street, walking rather quickly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+HONOR VINCIT
+
+
+His brain was working rapidly, the while he felt a curious leaden
+sensation at his heart. He had never even contemplated the possibility of
+the Duchessa living in the neighbourhood, though he now marvelled why he
+had never happened to question her as to the exact locality of
+Woodleigh.
+
+Of course he knew, and assured himself that he knew, that the chances
+were all against any probability of their meeting. How was it likely they
+should meet, seeing that she was a _grande dame_, and he merely an
+under-gardener at the Hall? Of course it was not probable. Nevertheless
+there was just the faintest chance. He couldn't deny that remote chance.
+And if they did meet, and she should recognize him?--There was the
+question.
+
+Explanation would be impossible in view of his promise. And what would
+she think? Wouldn't it be conceivable, nay, wouldn't it be natural that
+she should be indignant at the thought that she had admitted to her
+friendship a man, who, to her eyes, would appear one of inferior birth?
+Wouldn't his behaviour on the _Fort Salisbury_ appear to her in the light
+of a fraud? Wouldn't his letter appear to her as a piece of preposterous
+presumption on his part? How could it be expected that she should see
+beneath the surface of things as they seemed to be, and solve the riddle
+of appearances? It was such an inconceivable situation, such an
+altogether unheard of situation, laughable too, if it weren't for the
+vague possibility of the--to him--tragedy he now saw involved in it. It
+was this, this vague sense of tragedy, that was causing that leaden
+sensation at his heart.
+
+He tried to tell himself that he was being morbid, that he ran no
+possible risk of coming face to face with the Duchessa, in spite of the
+fact that the Manor House Woodleigh lay but two miles distant. But the
+assurances he heaped upon his soul, went a remarkably small way towards
+cheering it.
+
+And yet, through the leadenness upon his soul, through that vague, almost
+indefinable sense of tragedy at hand, ran a curious little note of
+exultation. Though he had no smallest desire for her to set eyes on him,
+might not he set eyes on her? And yet, if he did, would the joy in the
+sight be worth the dull ache, the horrible sense of isolation in the
+knowledge that word with her was forbidden.
+
+He realized now, for the first time in its fullest measure, what her
+advent into his life meant to him. Bodily separation for a year had been
+possible to contemplate. Even should it extend to a lifetime, he would
+still have three golden weeks of memory to his comfort. But should mental
+separation fall upon him, should it ever be his lot to read anger in her
+eyes, he felt that his very soul would die. Even memory would be lost to
+him, by reason of the unbearable pain it would hold. And then, with the
+characteristics of a man accustomed to face possibilities, to confront
+contingencies and emergencies beforehand, he saw himself face to face
+with a temptation. Should the emergency he contemplated arise, was there
+not a simple solution of it? She was quick-witted, she might quite
+conceivably guess at the existence of some riddle. Would not the tiniest
+hint suffice for her? The merest possible inflection of his voice?
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+He had reached his cottage by now. He went in and shut the door.
+
+He sat down on the oak settle, staring at the little casement window
+opposite to him, without seeing it. It appeared to him that there were
+voices talking within his brain or soul,--he didn't know which,--while he
+himself was answering one of them--the loudest.
+
+The loudest voice spoke quite cheerfully, and was full of common sense.
+It urged him to abandon the consideration of the whole matter for the
+present; it told him that the probability of his meeting the Duchessa was
+so extraordinarily remote, that it was not worth while torturing his mind
+with considerations of what line of action he would take should the
+emergency arise. Should it do so, he could act then as his conscience
+prompted.
+
+He found himself replying to this voice, speaking almost stubbornly. He
+had got to fight the matter out now, he declared. He had got to decide
+absolutely definitely what course of action he intended to pursue, should
+the emergency he feared arise. He was not going to leave matters to
+chance and be surprised into saying or doing something he might either
+way afterwards regret. He knew the danger of not making up his mind
+beforehand. To which the loud voice responded with something like a
+sneer, telling him to have it his own way. And then it remained mockingly
+silent, while another and more insidious voice began to speak.
+
+The insidious voice told him quite gently that this emergency might
+indeed arise; it pointed out to him the quite conceivable events that
+might occur from it; it assured him that it had no possible desire that
+he should break his promise in any way. He was not to dream of giving any
+explanation to the Duchessa, but that he would owe it to himself, _and to
+her_, to give her the faintest hint that at a future date he _could_ give
+her an explanation. That was all. There would be no breaking of his
+promise. She could not possibly even guess at what that explanation might
+be. She would merely realize that _something_ underlay the present
+appearances.
+
+The proposition sounded perfectly reasonable, perfectly just. His own
+common sense told him that there could be no harm in it. It was the
+rightful solution of the difficulty, arrived at by silencing that first
+loud voice,--the voice which had clearly wished him to abandon all
+consideration of the matter, that he might be surprised into giving a
+full explanation of the situation.
+
+Antony drew a long breath of relief.
+
+After all, he had been torturing himself needlessly. She herself had
+spoken of trust. Should that trust totter for an instant, would not the
+faintest possible hint be sufficient to re-establish it on a firm basis?
+
+With the thought, the little square of casement window came back once
+more to his vision. He saw through it an old-fashioned rose bush of
+crimson roses in the garden; he heard a bird twitter, and call to its
+mate. The abnormal had vanished, reduced itself once more to plain
+wholesome common sense. And then suddenly, and without warning, a
+sentence flashed through his brain.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Antony sat up, clenching his hands furiously between his knees. It was
+absurd, preposterous. There was no smallest occasion to take those words
+in such a desperately literal sense.
+
+"In short, he will do all in his power to give the impression that he is
+simply and solely Michael Field, working-man, and under-gardener at
+Chorley Old Hall."
+
+The words rang as clearly in his brain as if there were someone in the
+room speaking them aloud. Once more the window vanished. There were no
+voices speaking now; there was only a curious and rather horrible
+silence, in which there was no need for voices.
+
+The faintest little whine from Josephus aroused him. It was long past the
+dinner hour, and racing the sands is exceedingly hungry work.
+
+Antony's eyes came back from the window. His face was rather white, and
+his mouth set in a straight line. But there was an oddly triumphant look
+in his eyes.
+
+"I think a meal will do us both good, old man," he said with a little
+whimsical smile. And he began getting down plates from the dresser.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+IN THE GARDEN
+
+
+Some fifteen or more years ago, the gardens of Chorley Old Hall were
+famous for their beauty. They still deserved to be famous, and the reason
+that they were so no longer, arose merely from the fact that they had
+become unknown, had sunk into obscurity, since no one but the actual
+inmates of the Hall, Doctor Hilary, and the gardeners themselves ever set
+eyes on them.
+
+Yet Golding, being an artist at heart, cared for them for pure love of
+the work, rather than for any kudos such care might bring him. Had he
+read poetry with as great diligence as he read works on horticulture, he
+would possibly have declared his doctrine to be found in the words:--
+
+           Work thou for pleasure, paint, or sing or carve
+           The thing thou lovest, though the body starve.
+           Who works for glory misses oft the goal,
+           Who works for money coins his very soul.
+           Work for the work's sake, and it may be
+           That these things shall be added unto thee.
+
+Certain it is that the gardens under his care were as beautiful as
+gardens may be. Where trimness was desirable, they were as neat, as
+well-ordered, as stately as some old-world lady; where nature was allowed
+fuller sway, they luxuriated in a very riot of mad colour,--pagan,
+bacchanalian almost, yet in completest harmony, despite the freedom
+permitted.
+
+Before the house, beyond a rose-embowered terrace, a wide lawn, soft as
+thickest velvet, terminated in two great yews, set far apart, a sundial
+between them, and backgrounded by the sea and sky. To right and left were
+flower borders brilliant in colour, against yew hedges. Still farther to
+the right was the Tangle Garden, where climbing roses, honeysuckle, and
+clematis roamed over pergolas and old tree stumps at their own sweet will
+and fancy. Beyond the yew hedge on the left was another garden of yews,
+and firs, and hollies. A long avenue ran its full length while white
+marble statues, set on either side, gleamed among the darkness of the
+trees. The end of the avenue formed a frame for an expanse of billowing
+moorland, range upon range of hills, melting from purple into pale
+lavender against the distant sky.
+
+Behind the house was another and smaller lawn, broken in the middle by
+a great marble basin filled with crystal water, whereon rested the smooth
+flat leaves of water-lilies, and, in their time, the big white blossoms
+of the chalice-like flowers themselves. A little fountain sprang from
+the marble basin, making melodious music as the ascending silver
+stream fell back once more towards its source. Fantailed pigeons preened
+themselves on the edge of the basin, and peacocks strutted the velvet
+grass, spreading gorgeous tails of waking eyes to the sun. Beyond the
+lawn, and separated from it by an old box hedge, was an orchard, where,
+in the early spring, masses of daffodils danced among the rough grass,
+and where, later, the trees were covered with a sheet of snowy
+blossoms--pear, cherry, plum, and apple. A mellow brick wall enclosed the
+orchard, a wall beautified by small green ferns, by pink and red
+valerian, and yellow toadflax. Behind the wall lay the kitchen gardens and
+glass houses, which ended in another wall separating them from a wood
+crowning the heights on which Chorley Old Hall was situated.
+
+Had Antony had a free choice of English gardens in which to work, it is
+quite conceivable that he had chosen these very ones in which fate, or
+Nicholas Danver's conditions, had placed him. In an astonishingly short
+space of time he was taking as great a pride in them as Golding himself.
+It is not to be supposed, however, that, at the outset, Golding was
+over-pleased to welcome a young man, who had been thrust upon him from
+the unknown without so much as a by your leave to him. For the first week
+or so, he eyed the cheerfully self-contained young gardener with
+something very akin to suspicion, merely allotting to him the heavy and
+commonplace tasks which Antony had foreseen as his.
+
+Antony made no attempt to impress Golding with the fact that his
+knowledge of fruit growing, if not of floriculture, was certainly on a
+level with his own. It was mere chance that brought the fact to
+light,--the question of a somewhat unusual blight that had appeared on a
+fruit tree. Antony happened to be in the vicinity of the peach tree when
+Golding was remarking on it to another gardener. Five minutes later, the
+second gardener having departed, Antony approached Golding. He
+respectfully mentioned the nature of the blight, and suggested a remedy.
+It led to a conversation, in which Golding's eyes were very considerably
+opened. He was not a man to continue to indulge in prejudice merely
+because it had formerly existed in his mind. He realized all at once that
+he had found a kindred spirit in Antony, and a kind of friendship between
+the two, having its basis on horticulture, was the result. Not that he
+showed him the smallest favouritism, however. That would have been
+altogether outside his sense of the fitness of things.
+
+There were moments when Antony found the situation extraordinarily
+amusing. Leaning on his spade, he would look up from some freshly turned
+patch of earth towards the old grey house, a light of humorous laughter
+in his eyes. Virtually speaking the place was his own already. The months
+ahead, till he should enter into possession, were but an accidental
+interlude, in a manner of speaking. He was already planning a little
+drama in his own mind. He saw himself sauntering into the garden one fine
+morning, with Josephus at his heels.
+
+"Ah, by the way, Golding," he would say, "I'm thinking we might have a
+bed of cosmos in the southern corner of the Tangle Garden."
+
+It would do as well as any other remark for a beginning, and he _would_
+like a bed of cosmos. He could picture Golding's stare of dignified
+amazement.
+
+"Are you giving orders?" he could imagine his querying with dry sarcasm.
+
+"If you don't mind," Antony heard himself answering. "Though if you
+_have_ any objection to the cosmos--" And he would pause.
+
+Golding would naturally think that he had taken leave of his senses.
+
+"Under the impression you're master here, perhaps?" Golding might say.
+Anyhow those were the words Antony put into his mouth.
+
+"I just happen to have that notion," Antony would reply pleasantly.
+
+"Since when?" Golding ought to ask.
+
+"The _notion_," Antony would reply slowly, "has been more or less in my
+mind since a year ago last March. I am not sure whether the _fact_ dated
+from that month, or came into actuality this morning."
+
+There his imagination would fail him. There would be an interim. Then the
+scene would conclude by their having a drink together, Golding looking at
+Antony over his glass to utter at slow intervals.
+
+"Well, I'm jiggered."
+
+It was so possible a little drama, so even probable a little drama, it is
+small wonder that Antony found himself chuckling quietly every now and
+then as he considered it. The only thing was, that he wanted it to hurry
+up, and that not solely for his own sake, nor for the sake of his secret
+hopes, nor for the sake of watching Golding's amazed face during the
+enactment of the little drama, but quite largely for the sake of the big
+grey house, which lay before him.
+
+It looked so terribly lonely; it looked dead. It was like a
+flower-surrounded corpse. That there actually was life within it, he was
+aware, since he had once seen a white-haired man at a window, who, so a
+fellow-gardener had informed him on being questioned later, must have
+been the old butler. He and his wife had been left in charge as
+caretakers. All the other indoor servants had been dismissed by Doctor
+Hilary on his return from that fateful journey from London. Somehow the
+man's presence at the window had seemed but to emphasize the loneliness,
+the odd corpse-like atmosphere of the house. It was as if a face had
+looked out from a coffin. Antony never had nearer view of either the
+butler or his wife. Tradespeople called for orders, he believed; but, if
+either the man or woman ever sought the fresh air, it must be after the
+work in the gardens was over for the day.
+
+Antony liked to picture himself restoring life to the old place. Now and
+again he allowed himself to see a woman aiding him in the pleasant task.
+He would picture her standing by the sundial, looking out towards the
+sparkling water; standing by the marble basin with white pigeons alighted
+at her feet, and peacocks strutting near her; walking among the marble
+statues, with a book; passing up the wide steps of the solitary house,
+taking with her the sunshine of the garden to cheer its gloom.
+
+His heart still held hope as its guest. He had put the thought of that
+possible emergency from him on the same afternoon as he had decided on
+his course of action, should it arise. He never crossed bridges before he
+came to them, as the saying is. He might recognize their possible
+existence, he might recognize the possibility of being called upon to
+cross them, even recognize to the full all the unpleasantness he would
+find on the other side. Having done so, he resolutely refused to approach
+them till driven thereto by fate.
+
+He found a delight, too, in his little English cottage, in his tiny
+orchard, and tinier garden. Each evening saw him at work in it, first
+clearing the place of weeds, reducing it to something like order; later,
+putting in plants, and sowing seeds. Each Sunday morning saw him walking
+the lonely beach with Josephus, and, when Mass was over, seeking the
+little church where the Duchessa had formerly worshipped, and would
+worship again. Added to the quite extraordinary pleasure he felt in
+sitting in her very chair, was strange sense of peace in the little
+building. Father Dormer became quite accustomed to seeing the solitary
+figure in the church. Of course later, Antony knew, it might be desirable
+that these visits should cease, but till the end of June, at all events,
+he was safe.
+
+On Saturday and Sunday afternoons and evenings he took long walks inland,
+exploring moorland, wood, and stream, and recalling many a childish
+memory. He found the pond where he had endangered his life at the
+instigation of the fair-haired angel, whose name he could not yet recall.
+The pond had not shrunk in size as is usual with childhood's
+recollections; on the contrary it was quite a large pond, a deep pond,
+and he found himself marvelling that he had ever had the temerity to
+attempt to cross it on so insecure a bark as a mere log of wood. Possibly
+the angel had been particularly insistent, and, despite the fact that he
+was a good many years her senior, he had feared her scorn. He found the
+wood where he and she had been caught kneeling by the pheasant's nests.
+It had been well for him that the contents had not already been
+transferred to his pockets. The crime had been in embryo, so to speak,
+performed, by good chance, merely in intention rather than in deed.
+
+Now the wood was a mass of shimmering bluebells, and alive with the notes
+of song birds. Antony would lie at full length on the moss, listening to
+the various notes, dreamily content as his body luxuriated in temporary
+idleness. As the afternoon passed into evening the sound of a church bell
+would float up to him from the hidden village. He had discovered by now
+another church, on the outskirts of the village, an old stone edifice
+dating from long before the times of the so-called reformation. It never
+claimed him as a visitor, however: it held no attraction for him as did
+the little barn-like building on the quay. The sound of the bell would
+rouse him to matters present, and he would return to his cottage to
+prepare his evening meal, after which he sat in the little parlour with
+pipe and book.
+
+Thus quietly the days passed by. May gave place to June, with meadows
+waist high in perfumed grass, and hedges fragrant with honeysuckle, while
+Antony's thoughts went more frequently out to Woodleigh and the
+Duchessa's return.
+
+He had seen the little place from the moorland, looking down into it
+where it lay in a hollow among the trees. He had seen the one big house
+it boasted, white-walled and thatch-roofed, half-hidden by climbing
+roses. Before many days were passed the Duchessa would be once more
+within it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+A MEETING
+
+
+And as the end of June drew nearer, Antony found himself once more
+contemplating a possible meeting with the Duchessa, contemplating, also,
+the worst that meeting might hold in store.
+
+An odd, indefinable restlessness was upon him. He told himself quite
+plainly that, in all probability before many weeks, many days even, were
+passed, there would be a severance of that friendship which meant so much
+to him. He forced himself to realize it, to dwell upon it, to bring
+consciously home to his soul the blankness the severance would bring with
+it. There was a certain relief in facing the worst; yet he could not
+always face it. There was the trouble. Now and then a hope, which he told
+himself was futile, would spring unbidden to his heart, establish itself
+as a radiant guest. Yet presently it would depart, mocking him; or fade
+into nothingness leaving a blank greyness in its stead.
+
+Uncertainty--though reason told him none was existent--tantalized,
+tormented him. And then, when certainty came nearest home to him, he knew
+he had still to learn the final and definite manner of its coming. That
+it must inevitably be preceded by moments of soul torture he was aware.
+Yet what precise form would that soul torture take?
+
+He put the query aside. He dared not face it. Once, lying wide-eyed in
+the darkness, gazing through the small square of his window at the
+star-powdered sky without, an odd smile had twisted his lips. Pain,
+bodily pain, had at one time been his close companion for weeks, he had
+then fancied he had known once and for all the worst of her torments. He
+knew now that her dealings with the body are quite extraordinarily light
+in comparison to her dealings with the mind. And this was only
+anticipation.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+One Saturday afternoon he started off for a walk on a hitherto untried
+route. It was in a direction entirely opposite to Woodleigh, which he now
+wished to avoid.
+
+Half an hour's walking brought him to a wide expanse of moorland, as
+lonely a spot as can well be imagined. Behind him lay Byestry and the
+sea; to his left, also, lay the sea, since the coast took a deep turn
+northwards about three miles or so to the west of Byestry; to the right,
+and far distant, lay Woodleigh. Before him was the moorland, covered with
+heather and gorse bushes. About half a mile distant it descended in a
+gentle decline, possibly to some hidden village below, since a broadish
+grass path, or species of roadway bearing wheel tracts, showed that,
+despite its present loneliness, it was at times traversed by human
+beings.
+
+Antony sat down by a gorse bush, whose golden flowers were scenting the
+air with a sweet aromatic scent. Mingling with their scent was the scent
+of thyme and heather, and the hot scent of the sunbaked earth. Bees
+boomed lazily in the still air, and far off was the faint melodious note
+of the ever-moving sea. The sun was hot and the droning of the bees
+drowsy in its insistence. After a few moments Antony stretched himself
+comfortably on the heather, and slept.
+
+A slight sound roused him, and he sat up, for the first moment barely
+realizing his whereabouts. Then he saw the source of the sound which had
+awakened him. Coming along the grass path, and not fifty paces from him,
+was a small pony and trap, driven by a woman. Antony looked towards it,
+and, as he looked, he felt his heart jump, leap, and set off pounding at
+a terrible rate.
+
+In two minutes the trap was abreast him, and the little Dartmoor pony was
+brought to a sudden standstill. Antony had got to his feet.
+
+"Mr. Gray," exclaimed an astonished voice, though very assuredly there
+was a note of keen delight mingled with the astonishment.
+
+Antony pulled off his cap.
+
+"Fancy meeting you here!" cried the Duchessa di Donatello. "Why ever
+didn't you let me know that you were in these parts? Or, perhaps you have
+only just arrived, and were going to come and see me?"
+
+There was the fraction of a pause. Then,
+
+"I've been at Byestry since the beginning of May," said Antony.
+
+"At Byestry," exclaimed the Duchessa. "But why ever didn't you tell me
+when you wrote, instead of saying it was impossible to come and see me?"
+
+"I didn't know then that Woodleigh and Byestry lay so near together,"
+said Antony. And then he stopped. What on earth was he to say next?
+
+The Duchessa looked at him. There was an oddness in his manner she could
+not understand. He seemed entirely different from the man she had known
+on the _Fort Salisbury_. Yet--well, perhaps it was only fancy.
+
+"You know now, anyhow," she responded gaily. "And you must come and see
+me." Then her glance fell upon his clothes. Involuntarily a little
+puzzlement crept into her eyes, a little amazed query.
+
+"What are you doing at Byestry?" she asked. The question had come.
+Antony's hand clenched on the side of the pony-trap.
+
+"Oh, I'm one of the under-gardeners at Chorley Old Hall," he responded
+cheerfully, and as if it were the most entirely natural thing in the
+world, though his heart was as heavy as lead.
+
+"What do you mean?" queried the Duchessa bewildered.
+
+"Just that," said Antony, still cheerfully, "under-gardener at Chorley
+Old Hall."
+
+"But why?" demanded the Duchessa, the tiniest frown between her
+eyebrows.
+
+"Because it is my work," said Antony briefly.
+
+There was a moment's silence.
+
+"But I don't quite understand," said the Duchessa slowly. "You--you
+aren't a labourer."
+
+Antony drew a deep breath.
+
+"That happens to be exactly what I am," he responded.
+
+"What do you mean, Mr. Gray?" There was bewilderment in the words.
+
+"Exactly what I have said," returned Antony almost stubbornly. "I am
+under-gardener at Chorley Old Hall, or, in other words, a labourer. I get
+a pound a week wage, and a furnished cottage, for which I pay five
+shillings a week rent. My name, by the way, is Michael Field."
+
+The Duchessa looked straight at him.
+
+"Then on the ship you pretended to be someone you were not?" she asked
+slowly.
+
+Antony shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"That was the reason you wrote and said you couldn't see me?"
+
+Again Antony shrugged his shoulders.
+
+The Duchessa's face was white.
+
+"Why did you pretend to be other than you were?" she demanded.
+
+Antony was silent.
+
+"I suppose," she said slowly, "that, for all your talk of friendship, you
+did not trust me sufficiently. You did not trust my friendship had I
+known, and therefore you deliberately deceived me all the time."
+
+Still Antony was silent.
+
+"You really meant to deceive me?" There was an odd note of appeal in her
+voice.
+
+"If you like to call it that," replied Antony steadily.
+
+"What else can I call it?" she flashed.
+
+There was a long silence.
+
+"I should be grateful if you would not mention having known me as Antony
+Gray," said Antony suddenly.
+
+"I certainly do not intend to refer to that unfortunate episode again,"
+she replied icily. "As far as I am concerned it will be blotted from my
+memory as completely as I can wipe out so disagreeable an incident. Will
+you, please, take your hand off my trap."
+
+Antony withdrew his hand as if the trap had stung him.
+
+The Duchessa touched the pony with her whip, Antony stood looking after
+them. When, once more, the moorland was deserted, he sat down again on
+the heather.
+
+Josephus, returning from a rabbit hunt more than an hour later, found him
+still there in the same position. Disturbed by something queer in his
+deity's mood, he thrust a wet black nose into his hand.
+
+The touch roused Antony. He looked up, half dazed. Then he saw Josephus.
+
+"I've done it now, old man," he said. And there was a queer little catch
+in his voice.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+AT THE MANOR HOUSE
+
+
+The Duchessa di Donatello was sitting at dinner. Silver and roses gleamed
+on the white damask of the table-cloth. The French windows stood wide
+open, letting in the soft air of the warm June evening. Through the
+windows she could see the lawn surrounded by elms, limes, and walnut
+trees. The sun was slanting low behind them, throwing long blue shadows
+on the grass. A thrush sang in one of the elm trees, a brown songster
+carolling his vespers from a topmost branch.
+
+At the other end of the table sat a kindly-faced middle-aged woman, in a
+grey dress and a lace fichu fastened with a large cameo brooch. She was
+Miss Esther Tibbutt, the Duchessa's present companion, and one-time
+governess. Now and then she looked across the table towards the Duchessa,
+with a little hint of anxiety in her eyes, but her conversation was as
+brisk and unflagging as usual.
+
+"I hope you had a nice drive this afternoon, my dear. And did Clinker go
+well?" Clinker was the Dartmoor pony.
+
+The Duchessa roused herself. She was evidently preoccupied about
+something, thought Miss Tibbutt.
+
+"Oh, yes, very well. And he has quite got over objecting to the little
+stream by Crossways."
+
+Miss Tibbutt nodded approvingly.
+
+"I thought he would in time. So you went right over the Crossways. Which
+way did you come home?"
+
+"Over Stagmoor," said the Duchessa briefly.
+
+"Stagmoor," echoed Miss Tibbutt. "My dear, that _is_ such a lonely road.
+I should have been quite anxious had I known. Supposing you had an
+accident it might be hours before any one found you. I suppose you didn't
+see a soul?"
+
+"Oh, just one man," returned the Duchessa carelessly.
+
+"A labourer I suppose," queried Miss Tibbutt.
+
+"Yes, only a labourer," responded the Duchessa quietly.
+
+Miss Tibbutt was silent. She had a vague feeling of uneasiness, and yet
+she did not know why she had it. She was perfectly certain that something
+was wrong; and, whatever that something was, it had occurred between the
+time Pia had set off in the pony-cart with Clinker after lunch, and her
+return, very late for tea, in the evening. Also, Pia had said she didn't
+want any tea, but had gone straight to her room. And that was unlike
+her,--certainly unlike her. It would have been far more natural for her
+to have ordered a fresh supply, and insisted on Miss Tibbutt sharing it
+with her, quite oblivious of the fact that she had already had all the
+tea she wanted, and was going to eat again at a quarter to eight.
+
+"I walked over to Byestry," said Miss Tibbutt presently. "Yes, I know it
+was very hot, but I walked slowly, and took my largest sunshade. I wanted
+to get some black silk to mend one of my dresses. I saw Father Dormer. He
+was very glad to hear that you were back. I told him you had only arrived
+on Thursday, and I had come on the Tuesday to get things ready for you.
+My dear, he told me Mr. Danver is dead."
+
+"Mr. Danver," exclaimed the Duchessa, her preoccupation for the moment
+forgotten.
+
+"Yes. I wonder none of the servants happened to mention it. But I suppose
+they forgot we didn't know, and probably they have forgotten all about
+the poor man by now. It's sad to think how soon one _is_ forgotten. It
+appears he went to London in March with Doctor Hilary to consult a
+specialist and died the day after his arrival in town. Perhaps the
+journey was too much for him. I should think it might have been, but
+Doctor Hilary would know best, or perhaps Mr. Danver insisted on going.
+Anyhow the place is in the hands of caretakers now; the butler and his
+wife are looking after it till the heir turns up, whoever he may be.
+There's a rumour that he is an American, but no one seems to know for
+certain. But they must be keeping the garden in good order. Golding is
+staying on, and the other men, and they've just got another
+under-gardener." She paused.
+
+"Have they?" said the Duchessa carelessly, and a trifle coldly.
+Nevertheless a little colour had flushed into her cheeks.
+
+"I'm afraid you think I'm a terrible gossip," said Miss Tibbutt
+apologetically. "I really don't mean to be. But in a little place, little
+things interest one. I am afraid I did ask Father Dormer a good many
+questions. I hope he didn't--" And she broke off anxiously.
+
+"You dear old Tibby," smiled the Duchessa, "I'm sure he didn't. Nobody
+thinks you're a gossip. Gossiping is talking about things people don't
+want known, and generally things that are rather unkind, to say the least
+of it. You're the soul of honour and charity, and Father Dormer knows
+that as well as everyone else."
+
+"Oh, my dear!" expostulated Miss Tibbutt. "But I'm glad you think he
+didn't----"
+
+The Duchessa got up from the table.
+
+"Of course he didn't. Let us go into the garden, and have coffee out
+there. The fresh air will blow away the cobwebs."
+
+Miss Tibbutt followed the Duchessa through the French window and across
+the wide gravel path, on to the lawn. The Duchessa led the way to a seat
+beneath the lime trees. The bees were droning among the hanging flowers.
+
+"Have you any cobwebs in your mind, my dear?" asked Miss Tibbutt as they
+sat down.
+
+"Why do you ask?" queried the Duchessa.
+
+"Oh, my dear! I don't know. You said that about cobwebs, you see. And I
+thought you seemed--well, just a little preoccupied at dinner."
+
+There was a little silence.
+
+"Tell me," said Miss Tibbutt.
+
+"There's nothing to tell," said the Duchessa lightly. "A rather pretty
+soap-bubble burst and turned into an unpleasant cobweb, that's all.
+So--well, I've just been brushing my mind clear of both the cobweb and
+the memory of the soap-bubble."
+
+"You're certain it--the cobweb--isn't worrying you now?" asked Miss
+Tibbutt.
+
+"My dear Tibby, it has ceased to exist," laughed the Duchessa.
+
+It was a very reassuring little laugh. Miss Tibbutt knew it to be quite
+absurd that, in spite of it, she still could not entirely dispel that
+vague sense of uneasiness. It spoilt the keen pleasure she ordinarily
+took in the garden, especially in the evening and most particularly in
+the month of June. She had a real sentiment about the month of June. From
+the first day to the last she held the hours tenderly, lingeringly, loath
+to let them slip between her fingers. There were only three more days
+left, and now there was this tiny uneasiness, which prevented her mind
+from entirely concentrating on the happiness of these remaining hours.
+
+And then she gave herself a little mental shake. It was, after all, a
+selfish consideration on her part. If there were cause for uneasiness,
+she ought to be thinking of Pia rather than herself, and if there were no
+cause--and Pia had just declared there was not--she was being thoroughly
+absurd. She gave herself a second mental shake, and looked towards the
+house, whence a young footman was just emerging with a tray on which were
+two coffee cups and a sugar basin. He put the tray down on a small rustic
+table near them, and went back the way he had come, his step making no
+sound on the soft grass.
+
+"I wonder what it feels like to be a servant, and have to do everything
+to time," she said suddenly. "It must be trying to have to be invariably
+punctual."
+
+Now, as a matter of fact, Miss Tibbutt was exceedingly punctual, but then
+it was by no means absolutely incumbent upon her to be so; she could
+quite well have absented herself entirely from a meal if she desired.
+That, of course, made all the difference.
+
+"You are punctual," said the Duchessa laughing.
+
+"I know. But it wouldn't in the least matter if I were not. You could go
+on without me. You couldn't very well go on if Dale had forgotten to lay
+the table, or if Morris had felt disinclined to cook the food."
+
+"No," agreed the Duchessa. And then, after a moment, she said, "Anyhow
+there are some things we have to do to time--Mass on Sundays and days of
+obligation, for instance."
+
+Miss Tibbutt nodded. "Oh, of course. But that's generally only once a
+week. Besides that's different. It's a big voice that tells one to do
+that--the voice of the Church. The other is a little human voice giving
+the orders. I know, in a sense, one ought to hear the big voice behind it
+all; but sometimes one would forget to listen for it. At least, I know I
+should. And then I should simply hate the routine, and doing
+things--little ordinary everyday things--to time. I'd just love to say,
+if I were cook, that there shouldn't be any meals to-day, or that they
+should be an hour later, or an hour earlier, to suit my fancy."
+
+The Duchessa laughed again.
+
+"My dear Tibby, it's quite obvious that your vocation is not to the
+religious life. Fancy you in a convent! I can imagine you suggesting to
+the Reverend Mother that a change in the time of saying divine office
+would be desirable, or at all events that it should be varied on
+alternate days; and I can see you going off for long and rampageous days
+in the country, just for a change."
+
+Miss Tibbutt shook her head.
+
+"Oh, no!" she said gravely. "I should hear the big voice there."
+
+"You'd hear it speak through quite a number of human voices, anyhow,"
+returned the Duchessa.
+
+There was a silence. She wondered what odd coincidence had led Tibby to
+such a subject. If it were not a coincidence, it must be a kind of
+thought transference. Almost unconsciously she had been seeing a tall,
+thin, brown-faced man marching off in the early morning hours to his work
+in a garden. She had seen him busy with hoe and spade, till the bell over
+the stables at the Hall announced the dinner hour. She had seen him again
+take up his implements at the summons of the same bell, working through
+the sunshine or the rain, as the case might be, till its final evening
+dismissal. Above all, she had seen him taking his orders from Golding, a
+well-meaning man truly, and an exceedingly capable gardener, but--well,
+she pictured Antony as she had seen him in evening dress on the _Fort
+Salisbury_, as she had seen him throwing coppers to the brown-faced girl
+outside the Cathedral at Teneriffe, as she had seen him sitting in the
+little courtyard with the orange trees in green tubs, and the idea of his
+receiving and taking orders from Golding seemed to her quite
+extraordinarily incongruous.
+
+Yet until Miss Tibbutt had introduced the subject, she had been more or
+less unaware of these mental pictures.
+
+"Besides," she remarked suddenly, and quite obviously in continuation of
+her last remark, "it entirely depends on what you have been brought up
+to, I mean, of course as regards the question of being a servant. The
+question of a religious is entirely different."
+
+"Oh, entirely," agreed Miss Tibbutt promptly. "You can always get another
+place as a servant if you happen to dislike the one you are in."
+
+"Yes," said the Duchessa, slowly and thoughtfully.
+
+A sudden little anxious pang had all at once stabbed her somewhere near
+the region of the heart. Would that be the effect of that afternoon's
+meeting? Most assuredly she hoped it would not be, and equally assuredly
+she had no idea she was hoping it; verily, her feeling towards Antony was
+one of mingled anger, indignation, and mortified pride.
+
+Once more there was a silence,--a silence in which Miss Tibbutt sat
+stirring her coffee, and looking towards the reflection of the sunset sky
+seen through the branches of the trees opposite. Suddenly she spoke,
+dismayed apology in her voice.
+
+"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry, I quite forgot. A letter came for you this
+afternoon. I put it down on the little round table in the drawing-room
+window, meaning to give it to you when you came in. But you went straight
+to your room, and so I forgot it. I will get it at once."
+
+"Nonsense," said the Duchessa lightly, "I will get it. I don't suppose
+for an instant that it is important."
+
+She got up and went across the lawn. In a minute or two she returned, an
+open letter in her hand.
+
+"It's from Trix," she announced as she sat down again, "She wants to know
+if she can come down here at the beginning of August."
+
+Miss Tibbutt literally beamed.
+
+"How delightful!" she exclaimed. "Trix has never stayed with you here.
+You will like having her."
+
+"Dear Trix," said the Duchessa.
+
+"I do so enjoy Trix," remarked Miss Tibbutt fervently.
+
+"So do most people," smiled the Duchessa.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+A DREAM AND OTHER THINGS
+
+
+It is perfectly amazing to what a degree the physical conditions of the
+atmosphere appear to be bound up with one's own mental atmosphere. In the
+more ordinary nature of things, the physical conditions will act on the
+mental, sending your mind up to the point marked gaiety when the sun
+shines, dropping it down to despair--or, at any rate, down to
+dulness--when the skies are leaden. Also, in more extreme cases, the
+mental conditions will act on the physical, if not actually, at least
+with so good a show of reality as to appear genuine. If you are
+thoroughly unhappy--no mere, light, passing depression, mind you--it
+matters not at all how brilliant the sunshine may be, it is nothing but
+grey fog for all you see of it. If, on the other hand, you are in the
+seventh heaven of joy, the grey clouds are suffused with a golden light
+of radiance. But these are extreme cases.
+
+It was an extreme case with Antony. Despite the sunshine which lay upon
+the earth, despite the singing of the birds in the early morning, and at
+evening, despite the flowers which displayed their colours and lavished
+their scents around him as he worked, the world might have been bathed in
+fog for all he saw of its brightness. Hope had taken unto herself wings
+and fled from him, and with her joy had departed.
+
+He felt a queer bitterness towards his work, a bitterness towards the
+garden and the big grey house, and most particularly towards the man who
+had lived in it, and who was responsible for his present unhappiness. He
+had none towards the Duchessa. But then, after all, he appeared in her
+eyes as a fraud, the thing of all others he himself most detested. He
+could not possibly blame her for her attitude in the matter. Yet all the
+time, he had a queer feeling of something like remorse for his present
+bitterness; it was almost as if the garden and the very flowers
+themselves were reproaching him for it, reminding him that they were not
+to blame. And then a little incident suddenly served to dispel his gloom,
+at all events in a great measure.
+
+It was a slight incident, a trivial incident, merely an odd dream.
+Nevertheless, having in view its oddness, and--unlike most dreams--its
+curious connectedness, also its effect on Antony's spirit, it may be well
+to record it.
+
+He dreamt he was walking in a garden. He knew it was the garden of
+Chorley Old Hall, though there was something curiously unlike about it,
+as there often is in dreams. The garden was full of flowers, and he could
+smell their strong, sweet scent. At one side of the garden--and this, in
+spite of that curious unlikeness, was the only distinctly unlike thing
+about it--was a gate of twisted iron. He was standing a long way from the
+gate, and he was conscious of two distinct moods within himself,--an
+impulse which urged him towards the gate, and something which held him
+back from approaching it.
+
+Suddenly, from another direction, he saw a woman coming towards him.
+Recognition and amazement fell upon him. She was the same small girl he
+had played with in his boyhood, and whose name he could not remember, but
+grown to womanhood. She came towards him, her fair hair uncovered, and
+shining in the sunshine.
+
+As she reached him she stood still.
+
+"Antony," she cried in her old imperious way, "why don't you go to the
+gate at once? She is waiting to be let in."
+
+"Who is waiting?" he demanded.
+
+"Go and see," she retorted. And she went off among the flowers, turning
+once to laugh back at him over her shoulder.
+
+Antony stood looking after her, till she disappeared in the distance.
+Then he went slowly towards the gate. As he came near it, he saw a figure
+standing outside. But he could not see it distinctly, because, curiously
+enough, though the garden was full of sunshine, it was dark outside the
+gate, as if it were night.
+
+"Who are you?" asked Antony.
+
+The figure made no reply.
+
+"What do you want?" he asked.
+
+Still the figure made no reply.
+
+Antony felt his heart beating quickly, madly. And then, suddenly from a
+distance behind him, he heard a gay mocking voice.
+
+"Why don't you open the gate, silly? Can't you hear her knocking?"
+
+Still Antony stood irresolute, though he heard little taps falling on the
+iron.
+
+"Open it, open it," came the sweet mocking voice, this time with a
+suspicion of pleading in it.
+
+Antony went towards the gate. A great key was sticking in the iron lock.
+He took hold of it and found it needed the strength of both his hands to
+turn. Then he flung the gate wide open. The figure moved slowly through
+the gate, and into the full sunshine.
+
+"Antony," she said smiling.
+
+"You! You at last!" he cried.
+
+And he woke, to find he had cried the words aloud. He sat up in bed. A
+white pigeon was on the sill outside his window, tapping with its beak on
+the glass.
+
+Of course it was an entirely trifling incident, and probably he was
+superstitious to attach any real importance to it. Nevertheless it had a
+very marked influence on his spirits.
+
+Doubtless it was as well it had, since about this time a certain
+happening occurred, which, though it did not precisely depress him, most
+assuredly caused him considerable anger and indignation.
+
+In spite of the somewhat hermit-like life he led, he nevertheless had
+something of an acquaintance with his fellow-creatures. Among these
+fellow-creatures there was one, Job Grantley, a labourer on the home
+farm, possessed of a pretty, rather fragile wife, and a baby of about
+three months old. Antony had a kindly feeling for the fellow, and often
+they exchanged the time of day when meeting on the road, or when Job
+chanced to pass Antony's garden in the evening.
+
+One evening Antony, busy weeding his small flagged path, saw Job in the
+road.
+
+"Good evening," said Antony; and then he perceived by the other's face,
+that matters were not as they might be.
+
+"Sure, what's amiss with the world at all?" demanded Antony, going down
+towards the gate.
+
+"It's that fellow Curtis," said Job briefly, leaning on the gate.
+
+"And what'll he have been up to now?" asked Antony. It would not be the
+first time he had heard tales of the agent.
+
+Job kicked the gate.
+
+"Says he's wanting my cottage for a chauffeur he's getting down from
+Bristol, and I'm to turn out at the end of August."
+
+"Devil take the man!" cried Antony. "Why can't his new chauffeur be
+living in the room above the garage, like the old one?"
+
+Job grunted. "Because this one's a married man."
+
+"And where are you to go at all?" demanded a wrathful Antony.
+
+"He says I can have the cottage over to Crossways," said Job. "He knows
+'tis three mile farther from my work. But that's not all. 'Tis double the
+rent, and I can't afford it. And that's the long and short of it."
+
+Antony dug his hoe savagely into the earth.
+
+"Why can't he be putting his own chauffeur there, and be paying him wage
+enough for the higher rent?" he asked.
+
+"Why can't he?" said Job bitterly. "Because he won't. He's had his knife
+into me ever since March last, when I paid up my rent which he thought I
+couldn't do. I'd been asking him for time; then the last day--well, I got
+the money. I wasn't going to tell him how I got it, and he thought I'd
+been crying off with no reason. See? Now he thinks he can force me to the
+higher rent. 'Tis a bigger cottage, but 'tis so far off, even well-to-do
+folk fight shy of the extra walk, and so it's stood empty a year and
+more. Now he's thinking he'll force my hand."
+
+Antony frowned.
+
+"What'll you do?" he demanded.
+
+"The Lord knows," returned Job gloomily. "If I chuck up my work here, how
+do I know I'll get a job elsewhere? If I go to the other place I'll be
+behind with my rent for dead certain, and get kicked out of that, and be
+at the loss of ten shillings or so for the move. I've not told the wife
+yet. But I can see nought for it but to look out for a job elsewhere.
+Wish I'd never set foot in this blasted little Devonshire village. Wish
+I'd stayed in my own parts."
+
+Antony was making a mental survey of affairs, a survey at once detailed
+yet rapid.
+
+"Look here," said he, "I'd give a pretty good deal to get even with that
+old skinflint, I would that. You and your wife just shift up along with
+me. There's an extra room upstairs with nothing in it at all. We'll
+manage top hole. Sure, 'twill be fine havin' me cooking done for me. You
+can be giving me the matter of a shilling a week, and let the cooking go
+for the rest of the rent. What'll you be thinking at all?"
+
+Now, the offer was prompted by sheer impulsive kind-heartedness, wedded
+to a keen indignation at injustice. Yet it must be confessed that a
+sensation exceeding akin to dismay followed close on its heels. Of his
+own free will he was flinging his privacy from him, and hugging intrusion
+to his heart.
+
+Job shook his head.
+
+"You'll not stand it," said he briefly. "We don't say anything, but we
+know right enough you're a come down. You didn't start in the same mould
+as the rest of us."
+
+"Rubbish," retorted Antony on a note of half-anger and wholly aghast at
+the other's perspicacity. "I'm the same clay as yourself."
+
+"A duke's that," declared Job, "but the mould's different."
+
+"Saints alive!" cried Antony, "it's no matter what the mould may be.
+Sure, it's just a question of what it's been used for at all. My mould
+has been used for labour since I was little more than a boy, and stiffer
+labour than this little smiling village has dreamt of, that's sure.
+Besides, think of your wife and child, man."
+
+Job hesitated, debated within his soul. "It's them I am thinking of," he
+said; "I could fend for myself well enough, and snap my fingers at Curtis
+and his like."
+
+"Then, 'tis settled," said Antony with amazing cheerfulness.
+
+There was a silence.
+
+"Well," said Job at last, "if you're in the same mind a week hence, but
+don't you go for doing things in a hurry-like, that you'll repent
+later."
+
+"'Tis settled now," said Antony. "Tell your wife, and snap your fingers
+at that old curmudgeon."
+
+Nevertheless despite his cheery assurance, he had a very bitter qualm at
+his heart as, an hour or so later, he looked round his little cottage,
+and realized, even more forcibly, precisely what he had done.
+
+"Never mind," he told himself and Josephus with a good show of bravery,
+"it's not for a lifetime. And, hang it all, a man's mere comfort ought to
+give way before injustice of that kind."
+
+Thus he buoyed himself up.
+
+And then another aspect of affairs arose.
+
+No one knew how the matter of the intended arrangement leaked out. Job
+vowed he'd mentioned it to no one but his wife; his wife vowed she
+mentioned it to no one but Job. Perhaps they spoke too near an open
+window. Be that as it may, Antony, again at work in his garden one
+evening, became aware of Mr. Curtis looking at him over the little
+hedge.
+
+"Good evening," said Mr. Curtis smoothly.
+
+"Good evening," returned Antony equally smoothly, and going on with his
+work.
+
+"I hear you're thinking of taking in lodgers," said Mr. Curtis blandly.
+
+"Sure now, that's interesting hearing," returned Antony pleasantly, and
+wondering who on earth had babbled.
+
+"Perhaps," said Mr. Curtis, still blandly, "I was misinformed. I heard
+the Grantleys were moving up here. I daresay it was merely an idle
+rumour."
+
+"Sure it may have been," returned Antony nonchalantly, and sticking his
+spade into the ground.
+
+"It must have been," said Mr. Curtis thoughtfully. "All lodging houses
+are rented at ten shillings a week, even unfurnished small ones, not five
+shillings. Besides Grantley is only getting a pound a week wage. He can't
+afford to live in apartments, unless he's come in for a fortune. If he
+has I must look out for another man. Men with fortunes get a trifle above
+themselves, you know. Besides he'd naturally not wish to stay on. But of
+course the whole thing's merely a rumour. I'd contradict it if I were
+you. Good evening."
+
+He walked up the lane smiling.
+
+"You bounder," said Antony softly, looking after him. "Just you wait till
+next March, my friend."
+
+He left his spade stuck into the earth, and went back into the cottage.
+Half an hour later, he was walking quickly in the direction of Byestry.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Doctor Hilary was in his surgery, when he was told that Michael Field had
+asked if he could see him. He went at once to the little waiting-room.
+Antony rose at his entrance.
+
+"Good evening, sor," he said, touching his forehead. "Can you be sparing
+me five minutes' talk?"
+
+"By all means," said Doctor Hilary. "Sit down."
+
+Antony sat down. In a few brief words he put the Grantley affair before
+him.
+
+"Well?" said Doctor Hilary, as he finished.
+
+"Well," queried Antony, "can nothing be done?"
+
+Doctor Hilary shook his head. "I am not the agent. I have no voice in the
+management of the estate."
+
+"Then you can do nothing?"
+
+"I am afraid not."
+
+"Thank you," said Antony, "that's all I wanted to know." He got up.
+
+"Sit down again," said Doctor Hilary.
+
+Antony sat down.
+
+"What do you mean to do?" asked Doctor Hilary quietly.
+
+Antony looked directly at him.
+
+"The only thing I can do. I'll get that extra rent to Job somehow. He
+mustn't know it comes from me; I must think out how to manage. But, of
+course, that's merely a make-shift in the business. I wanted the
+injustice put straight."
+
+Doctor Hilary looked through the window behind Antony.
+
+"Let me advise you," said he, "to do nothing of the kind."
+
+"Why not?" The words came short and rather quick.
+
+"Because Mr. Curtis means to get rid of Grantley. He has got his knife
+into him, as Grantley said. Your action would merely postpone the evil
+day, and make it worse in the postponement. Job Grantley had better go."
+
+"And how about another job?" demanded Antony.
+
+Doctor Hilary shrugged his shoulders. "He must see what he can find."
+
+"Well of all the--" began Antony. And then he stopped. After all, he'd
+seen enough injustice in his time, to be used to it.
+
+"You're honest in saying I would make it worse for Job if I tried to help
+him?" he asked.
+
+"Perfectly honest," said Doctor Hilary with an odd little smile.
+
+Antony again got up from his chair.
+
+"All right," and his voice was constrained. "I'll not be keeping you any
+longer, sor."
+
+Doctor Hilary went with him to the door.
+
+"I'm sorry about this business," he said.
+
+"Are you?" said Antony indifferently.
+
+Doctor Hilary went back to his surgery.
+
+"He didn't believe me," he said to himself, "small wonder."
+
+He pulled out his note-book and made a note in it. Then he shut the book
+and put it in his pocket.
+
+"Anyhow," he said, "it's the kind of thing we wanted."
+
+The memorandum he had entered, ran:--
+
+"Write Sinclair _re_ Grantley."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+TRIX ON THE SCENE
+
+
+"Tibby, angel, what's the matter with Pia?"
+
+Trix Devereux was sitting on the little rustic table beneath the lime
+trees, smoking a cigarette. Miss Tibbutt was sitting on the rustic seat,
+knitting some fine lace. The ball of knitting cotton was in a black satin
+bag on her lap.
+
+Trix had arrived at Woodleigh the previous day, two days earlier than she
+had been expected. A telegram had preceded her appearance. It was a
+lengthy telegram, an explicit telegram. It set forth various facts in a
+manner entirely characteristic of Trix. Firstly, it announced her almost
+immediate arrival; secondly, it remarked on the extraordinary heat in
+London; and thirdly it stated quite clearly her own overwhelming and
+instant desire for the nice, fresh, cool, clean, country.
+
+"Trix is coming to-day," the Duchessa had said as she read it.
+
+"How delightful!" Miss Tibbutt had replied instantly. And then, after a
+moment's pause, "There will be plenty of food because Father Dormer is
+dining here to-night."
+
+The Duchessa had laughed. It was so entirely like Tibby to think of food
+the first thing.
+
+"I know," she had replied. And then reflectively, "I think it might be
+desirable to telephone to Doctor Hilary and ask him to come too. It
+really is not fair to ask Father Dormer to meet three solitary females."
+
+A second time Miss Tibbutt had momentarily and mentally surveyed the
+contents of the larder, and almost immediately had nodded her entire
+approval of the idea. She most thoroughly enjoyed the mild excitement of
+a little dinner party.
+
+"Tibby, angel, what's the matter with Pia?"
+
+The question fell rather like a bomb, though quite a small bomb, into the
+sunshine.
+
+"Matter with Pia," echoed Miss Tibbutt. "What do you think, my dear?"
+
+"That," said Trix wisely, "is precisely what I am asking you?"
+
+Miss Tibbutt laid down her knitting.
+
+"But do you think anything _is_ the matter?" she questioned anxiously.
+
+"I don't think, I know," remarked Trix succinctly.
+
+Miss Tibbutt took off her spectacles.
+
+"But she is so bright," she said.
+
+Trix nodded emphatically.
+
+"That's just it. She's too bright. Oh, one can overdo the merry
+light-hearted role, I assure you. And then, to a new-comer at all events,
+the cloak becomes apparent. But haven't you the smallest idea?"
+
+Miss Tibbutt shook her head.
+
+"Not the least," she announced. "I fancied one evening shortly after she
+returned here, that something was a little wrong. I remember I asked her.
+She talked about soap-bubbles and cobwebs but said there weren't any
+left."
+
+"Of which," smiled Trix. "Soap-bubbles or cobwebs?"
+
+"Oh, cobwebs," said Miss Tibbutt earnestly. "Or was it both? She
+said,--yes, I remember now just what she did say--she said that a pretty
+bubble had burst and become a cobweb. And when I asked her if the cobweb
+were bothering her, she said both it and the bubble had vanished. So, you
+see!" This last on a note of triumph.
+
+"Hmm," said Trix ruminative, dubious. "Bubbles have a way of taking up
+more space than one would imagine, and their bursting sometimes leaves an
+unpleasant gap. The bursting of this one has left a gap in Pia's life.
+You haven't, by any chance, the remotest notion of its colour?"
+
+"Its colour?" queried Miss Tibbutt.
+
+Trix laughed. "Nonsense, Tibby, angel, nonsense pure and simple. But all
+the same, I wish I knew for dead certain."
+
+"So do I," said Miss Tibbutt anxiously, though she hadn't the smallest
+notion what advantage a knowledge of the colour would be to either one of
+them.
+
+Trix dabbed the stump of her cigarette on the table.
+
+"Well, don't let her know we think there's anything wrong. If you want to
+remain wrapped up in the light-hearted cloak, nothing is more annoying
+than having any one prying to see what's underneath,--unless it's the
+right person, of course. And we're not sure that we are--yet. We must
+just wait till she feels like giving us a peep, if she ever does."
+
+A silence fell. Miss Tibbutt took up her knitting again. Trix hummed a
+little air from a popular opera. Presently Miss Tibbutt sighed. Trix left
+off humming.
+
+"What's the matter, Tibby?"
+
+Miss Tibbutt sighed more deeply. "I'm afraid it's my fault," she said.
+
+"What's your fault?" demanded Trix.
+
+"I've not noticed Pia. I thought everything was all right after what she
+said. I ought to have noticed. I've been too wrapped up in my own
+affairs. Perhaps if I'd been more sympathetic I should have found out
+what was the matter."
+
+Trix laughed, a happy amused, comfortable little laugh.
+
+"Oh, Tibby, you angel, that's so like you. You always want to shoulder
+the blame for every speck of wrong-doing or depression that appears in
+your little universe. Women like you always do. It's an odd sort of
+responsible unselfishness. That doesn't in the very least express to any
+one else what I mean, but it does to myself. You never allow that any one
+else has any responsibility when things go wrong, and you never take the
+smallest share of the responsibility--or the praise, rather--when things
+go right."
+
+Miss Tibbutt laughed. In spite of her queer earnestness over what
+seemed--at all events to others--very little things, and her quite
+extraordinary conscientiousness--some people indeed might have called it
+scrupulosity--she had really a keen sense of humour. She was always ready
+to laugh at her own earnestness as soon as she perceived it. She was not,
+however, always ready to abandon it, unless it were quite, quite obvious
+that she had really better do so. And then she did it with a quick mental
+shake, and put an odd little mocking humour in its place.
+
+"But, my dear, one generally is responsible, and that just because my
+universe is so small, as you justly pointed out. But I always believe
+literally what any one says. I don't in the least mean that Pia said what
+was not true. Of course she thought she had swept away the cobweb and the
+bubble, and I've no doubt she did. But it left a gap, as you said. I
+ought to have seen the gap and tried to fill it."
+
+Trix shook her head.
+
+"You couldn't, Tibby, if the bubble were the colour I fancy. Only the
+bubble itself, consolidated, could do that."
+
+"Oh, my dear, you mean--?" said Miss Tibbutt.
+
+"Just that," nodded Trix. "It was bound to happen some time. Pia is made
+to give and receive love. She was too young when she married to know what
+it really meant. And, well, think of those years of her married life."
+
+"I thought of them for seven years," said Miss Tibbutt quietly. "You
+don't think I've forgotten them now?"
+
+Trix's eyes filled with quick tears.
+
+"Of course you haven't. I didn't mean that. What I do mean is that I
+suppose she thought she had got the real thing then, and all the young
+happiness in it was destroyed in a moment. Then came those seven
+terrible years. For an older woman perhaps there would have been a
+self-sacrificing joy in them; for Pia, there was just the brave facing
+of an obvious duty. She was splendid, of course she was splendid, but no
+one could call it joy. Now, somehow, she's had a glimpse of what real
+joy might be. And it has vanished again. I don't know how I know, but it's
+true. I feel it in my bones."
+
+Again there was a silence. Then:
+
+"What can we do?" asked Miss Tibbutt simply.
+
+Trix laughed, though her eyes were grave. "You, angel, can pray. Of
+course I shall, too. But I'm going to do quite a lot of thinking, and
+keeping my eyes open as well. And now I am going right round this
+perfectly heavenly garden once more, and then, I suppose, it will be time
+to dress for dinner."
+
+Swinging herself off the table, she departed waving her hand to Miss
+Tibbutt before she turned a corner by a yew hedge.
+
+"Dear Trix," murmured Miss Tibbutt.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+MOONLIGHT AND THEORIES
+
+
+The little party of two men and two women were assembled in the
+drawing-room. Trix had not yet put in an appearance. But, then, the
+dinner gong had not sounded. Trix invariably saved her reputation for
+punctuality by appearing on the last stroke.
+
+Miss Tibbutt and Father Dormer were sitting on the sofa; Pia was in an
+armchair near the open window, and Doctor Hilary was standing on the
+hearthrug. His dress clothes seemed to increase his size, and he did not
+look perfectly at home in them; or, perhaps, it was merely the fact that
+he was so seldom seen in them. Doctor Hilary in a shabby overcoat or
+loose tweeds, was the usual sight.
+
+Father Dormer was a tallish thin man, with very aquiline features, and
+dark hair going grey on his temples. At the moment he and Miss Tibbutt
+were deep in a discussion on rose growing, a favourite hobby of his.
+Deeply engrossed, they were weighing the advantages of the scent of the
+more old-fashioned kinds, against the shape and colour of the newer
+varieties, with the solemnity of two judges.
+
+"They're pretty equally balanced in my garden," said Father Dormer. "I
+can't do without the old-fashioned ones, despite the beauty of the newer
+sorts. I've two bushes of the red and white--the York and Lancaster rose.
+I was a Lancashire lad, you know."
+
+And then the first soft notes of the gong sounded from the hall, rising
+to a full boom beneath the footman's accomplished stroke.
+
+There was a sound of running steps descending the stairs, and a final
+jump.
+
+"Keep it going, Dale," said a voice without. And then Trix entered the
+room, slightly flushed by her rapid descent of the stairs, but with an
+assumption of leisurely dignity.
+
+"I'm not late," she announced with great innocence. "The gong hasn't
+stopped."
+
+Doctor Hilary, who was facing the door, looked at her. He saw a small,
+elf-like girl in a very shimmery green frock. The green enhanced her
+elf-like appearance.
+
+"Deceiver," laughed Pia. "We heard you quite, quite distinctly."
+
+Obviously caught, Trix echoed the laugh.
+
+"Well, anyhow I'd have been in before the echo stopped," she announced.
+
+They went informally into the dining-room, where the light of shaded wax
+candles on the table mingled with the departing daylight, for the
+curtains were still undrawn.
+
+"I like this kind of light," remarked Trix, as she seated herself.
+
+Trix almost always thought aloud. It meant that conversation in her
+presence seldom flagged, since her brain was rarely idle; though she
+could be really marvellously silent when she perceived that silence was
+desirable.
+
+"Do you know this garden?" she said, addressing herself to Doctor Hilary,
+by whom she was seated.
+
+He assented.
+
+"Well, isn't it lovely? That's what made me nearly late,--going round it
+again. I've been round five times since yesterday. It's just heavenly
+after London. Roses _versus_ petrol, you know." She wrinkled up her nose
+as she spoke.
+
+"You ought to see the gardens of Chorley Old Hall, Miss Devereux," said
+Father Dormer. "Not that I mean any invidious comparison between them and
+this garden," he added, with a little smile towards the Duchessa.
+
+"Chorley Old Hall," remarked Trix. "I used to go there when I was a tiny
+child. There was a man lived there, who used to terrify me out of my
+wits, his eyes were so black. But I liked him, when I got over my first
+fright. What has become of him?"
+
+"He died a short time ago," said the Duchessa quietly. "Oh," said Trix
+regretfully. Possibly she had contemplated a renewal of the
+acquaintanceship.
+
+"He'd been an invalid for a long time," explained the Duchessa. She was a
+little, just a trifle anxious as to whether the conversation might not
+prove embarrassing for Doctor Hilary. There was a feeling in the village
+that the journey, which Doctor Hilary had permitted--some, indeed, said
+advocated--had been entirely responsible for the death.
+
+But Doctor Hilary was eating his dinner, apparently utterly and
+completely at his ease.
+
+"Anyhow the gardens aren't being neglected," said Father Dormer. "They've
+got a new under-gardener there who is proving rather a marvel in his
+line. In fact Golding confesses that he'll have to look out for his own
+laurels. He's a nice looking fellow, this new man, and a cut above the
+ordinary type, I should say. I used to see him in church after Mass on
+Sundays at one time. But he has given up coming lately."
+
+"Really," said the Duchessa.
+
+Trix looked up quickly, surprised at the intonation of her voice.
+
+"Oh, he isn't a Catholic," smiled Father Dormer. "Perhaps curiosity
+brought him in the beginning, and now it has worn off."
+
+Trix was still looking at the Duchessa. She couldn't make out the odd
+intonation of her voice. It had been indifferent enough to be almost
+rude. But, if it were intended for a snub, Father Dormer had evidently
+not taken it as such. Yet there was a little pause on the conclusion of
+his remark, almost as if Doctor Hilary and Miss Tibbutt had had the same
+idea as herself. At least, that was what Trix felt the little pause to
+mean. And then she was suddenly annoyed with herself for having felt it.
+Of course it was quite absurd.
+
+She looked down at her plate of clear soup. It had letters of a white
+edible substance floating in it.
+
+"I've got an A and two S's in my soup," she remarked pathetically. "I
+don't think it is quite tactful of the cook."
+
+There was an instant lowering of eyes towards soup plates, an announcing
+of the various letters seen therein. Trix had an application for each,
+making the letters stand as the initials for words.
+
+"C. S.," said Miss Tibbutt presently, entering into the spirit of the
+game.
+
+"Sure there isn't a T?" asked Trix.
+
+"No," said Miss Tibbutt peering closer, "I mean there isn't one."
+
+"Well then, it can't be Catholic Truth Society. My imagination has given
+out. I can only think of Christian Science. I don't think it's quite
+right of you, Tibby dear."
+
+Miss Tibbutt blinked good-humouredly.
+
+"Aren't they the people who think that the Bible dropped down straight
+from heaven in a shiny black cover with S. P. G. printed on it?" she
+asked.
+
+Trix shook her head.
+
+"No," she declared solemnly, "they're Bible Christians. The Christian
+Science people are the ones who think we haven't got any bodies."
+
+"No bodies!" ejaculated Miss Tibbutt.
+
+"Well," said Trix, "anyhow they think bodies are a false--false something
+or other."
+
+"False claim," suggested Father Dormer.
+
+"That's it," cried Trix, immensely delighted. "How clever of you to have
+thought of it. Only I'm not sure if it's the bodies are a false claim, or
+the aches attached to the bodies. Perhaps it's both."
+
+"I thought that was the New Thought Idea," said Pia.
+
+Trix shook her head. "Oh no, the New Thought people think a lot about
+one's body. They give us lots of bodies."
+
+"Really?" queried Doctor Hilary doubtfully.
+
+"Oh yes," responded Trix. "I once went to one of their lectures."
+
+"My dear Trix!" ejaculated Miss Tibbutt flustered.
+
+"It was quite an accident," said Trix reassuringly. "A friend of mine,
+Sybil Martin, was coming up to town and wanted me to meet her. She
+suggested I should meet her at Paddington, and then go to a lecture on
+psychometry with her, and tea afterwards. I hadn't the faintest notion
+what psychometry was, but I supposed it might be first cousin to
+trigonometry, and quite as dull. But she wanted me, so I went. It _was_
+funny," gurgled Trix.
+
+Doctor Hilary was watching her.
+
+"You'd better disburden your mind," he said.
+
+Trix crumbled her bread, still smiling at the recollection.
+
+"Well, the lecture was held in a biggish room, and there were a lot of
+odd people present. But the oddest of all was the lecturer. She wore a
+kind of purple velvet tea-gown, though it was only three o'clock in the
+afternoon. She talked for a long time about vibrations, and things that
+bored me awfully, and people kept interrupting with questions. One man
+interrupted particularly often. He kept saying, 'Excuse me, but am I
+right in thinking--' And then he would give a little lecture on his own
+account, and look around for the approval of the audience. I should have
+flung things at him if I had been the purple velvet lady. It was so
+obvious that he was not desiring _her_ information, but merely wishful to
+air his own. There was a text on the wall which said, 'We talk abundance
+here,' and when I pointed out to Sybil how true it was, she wasn't a bit
+pleased, and said it didn't mean what I thought _in the least_. But she
+wouldn't explain what it did mean. After the lecture, the purple velvet
+lady held things--jewelry chiefly--that people in the audience sent up to
+her, and described their owners, and where they'd got the things from.
+There was quite a lot of family history, and people's characteristics and
+virtues and failings, and very, _very_ private things made public, but no
+one seemed to mind."
+
+"That's the odd thing about those people," said Doctor Hilary
+thoughtfully. "Disclosing their innermost thoughts, feelings, and
+so-called experiences, seems an absolute mania with them. And the more
+public the disclosure the better they are pleased. But go on, Miss
+Devereux."
+
+"Well," said Trix, "at last she began describing a sort of Cleopatra
+lady, and--and rather vivid love scenes, and--and things like that. When
+she'd ended, the bracelet turned out to belong to a little dowdy woman
+looking like a meek mouse. I thought the purple velvet lady would have
+been really upset and mortified at her mistake. But she wasn't in the
+least. She just smiled sweetly, and returned the bracelet to the owner,
+and said that the dowdy little woman had been Cleopatra in a former
+incarnation. Of course when she began on _that_ tack, I saw the kind of
+lecture I'd really let myself in for, and I knew I'd no business to be in
+the place at all, so I made Sybil take me away. It was nearly the end,
+and she didn't mind, because she missed the silver collection. But she
+talked to me about it the whole of tea-time, and she really believed it
+all," sighed Trix pathetically.
+
+Miss Tibbutt looked quite shocked.
+
+"Oh, but, my dear, she couldn't really."
+
+"She did," nodded Trix.
+
+Miss Tibbutt appealed helplessly to Father Dormer.
+
+"Why do people believe such extraordinary things?" she demanded almost
+wrathfully.
+
+Father Dormer laughed. "That's a question I cannot pretend to answer. But
+I suppose that if people reject the truth, and yet want to believe
+something beyond mere physical facts, they can invent anything, that is
+if they happen to be endowed with sufficient imagination."
+
+"Then the devil must help them invent," said Miss Tibbutt with exceeding
+firmness.
+
+After dinner they had coffee in the garden. A big moon was coming up in
+the dusk behind the trees, its light throwing the shadows dark and soft
+on the grass.
+
+"It's so astonishingly silent after London," said Trix, gazing at the
+blue-grey velvet of the sky.
+
+She looked more than ever elfin-like, with the moonlight falling on her
+fair hair and pointed oval face, and the shimmering green of her dress.
+
+"I wonder why we ever go to bed on moonlight nights," she pursued.
+"Brilliant sunshine always tempts us to do something--a long walk, a
+drive, or boating on a river. Over and over again we say, 'Now, the very
+next fine day we'll do--so and so.' But no one ever dreams of saying,
+'Now, the next moonlight night we'll have a picnic.' I wonder why not?"
+
+"Because," said Doctor Hilary smiling, and watching her, "the old and
+staid folk have no desire to lose their sleep, and--well, the conventions
+are apt to stand in the way of the young and romantic."
+
+"Conventions," sighed Trix, "are the bane of one's existence. They hamper
+all one's most cherished desires until one is of an age when the desires
+become non-existent. My aunt Lilla is always saying to me, 'When you're a
+much older woman, dearest.' And I reply, 'But, Aunt Lilla, _now_ is the
+moment.' I know, by experience, later is no good. When I was a tiny child
+my greatest desire was to play with all the grubbiest children in the
+parks. Of course I was dragged past them by a haughty and righteous
+nurse. I can talk to them now if I want to, and even wheel their
+perambulators. But it would have been so infinitely nicer to wheel a very
+dirty baby in a very ramshackle perambulator when I was eight.
+Conventions are responsible for an enormous lot of lost opportunities."
+
+"Mightn't they be well lost?" suggested Father Dormer.
+
+Trix looked across at him.
+
+"Serious or nonsense?" she demanded.
+
+"Whichever you like," he replied, a little twinkle in his eyes.
+
+"Oh, serious," interpolated Miss Tibbutt.
+
+Trix leant a little forward, resting her chin on her hands.
+
+"Well, seriously then, conventions--those that are merely conventions for
+their own sake,--are detestable, and responsible for an enormous lot of
+unhappiness. 'My dear (mimicked Trix), you can be quite polite to so and
+so, but I cannot have you becoming friendly with them, you know they are
+not _quite_.' I've heard that said over and over again. It's hateful. I'm
+not a socialist, not one little bit, but I do think if you like a person
+you ought to be able to be friends, even if you happen to be a Duchess
+and he's a chimney-sweep. The motto of the present-day world is, 'What
+will people think?' People!" snorted Trix wrathfully, warming to her
+theme, "what people? And is their opinion worth twopence halfpenny? Fancy
+them associating with St. Peter if he appeared now among them as he used
+to be, with only his goodness and his character and his fisherman's
+clothes, instead of his halo and his keys, as they see him in the
+churches."
+
+The two men laughed. Miss Tibbutt made a little murmur of something like
+query. The Duchessa's face looked rather white, but perhaps it was only
+the effect of the moonlight.
+
+"But, Miss Devereux," said Doctor Hilary, "even now the world--people, as
+you call them, are quite ready to recognize genius despite the fact that
+it may have risen from the slums."
+
+"Yes," contended Trix eagerly, "but it's not the person they recognize
+really, it's merely their adjunct."
+
+"What do you mean?" asked Miss Tibbutt. Father Dormer smiled
+comprehendingly.
+
+"I mean," said Trix slowly, "they recognize the thing that makes the
+show, and the person because of that thing, not for the person's own
+self. Let me try and explain better. A man, born in the slums, has a
+marvellous voice. He becomes a noted singer. He's received everywhere and
+feted. But it's really his voice that is feted, because it is the fashion
+to fete it. Let him lose his voice, and he drops out of existence. People
+don't recognize him himself, the self which gave expression to the voice,
+and which still _is_, even after the voice is dumb."
+
+Father Dormer nodded.
+
+"Well," went on Trix, "I maintain that that man is every bit as well
+worth knowing afterwards,--after he has lost his voice. And even if he'd
+never been able to give expression to himself by singing, he might have
+been just as well worth knowing. But the world never looks for inside
+things, but only for external things that make a show. So if Mrs. B.
+hasn't an atom of anything congenial to me in her composition, but has a
+magnificent house and heaps of money, it's quite right and fitting I
+should know her, so people would say, and encourage me to do so. But it's
+against all the conventions that I should be friendly with little Miss F.
+who lives over the tobacconist's at the corner of such and such a street,
+though she _is_ thoroughly congenial to me, and I love her plucky and
+cheery outlook on life." She stopped.
+
+"Go on," encouraged Doctor Hilary.
+
+"Well," laughed Trix, "take a more extreme case. Sir A. C. is--well, not
+a bad man, but not the least the kind of man I care about, but he may
+take me in to dinner, and, on the strength of that brief acquaintance, to
+a theatre if he wants, provided I have some other woman with me as a sort
+of chaperon, and he can talk to me by the hour, and that all on account
+of his money and title. Mr. Z. is a really white man, but he's a
+'come-down,' through no fault of his own, and a bus-conductor. I happen
+to have spoken to him once or twice; and like him. But I mightn't even
+walk for half an hour with him in the park, if I'd fifty authorized
+chaperons attending on me. That's what I mean about conventions that are
+conventions for their own sake." She stopped again.
+
+"And what do you suggest as a remedy?" asked Father Dormer, smiling.
+
+"There isn't one," sighed Trix. "At least not one you can apply
+universally. Everybody must just apply it for themselves, and not exactly
+by defying conventions, but by treating them as simply non-existent."
+
+The Duchessa made a little movement in the moonlight.
+
+"Which," she said quietly, "comes to exactly the same thing as defying
+them, and it won't work."
+
+"Why not?" demanded Trix.
+
+"You'd find yourself curiously lonely after a time if you did."
+
+"You mean my friends--no, my acquaintances--would desert me?"
+
+"Probably."
+
+"Well, I'd have the one I'd chanced it all for."
+
+"Yes," said the Duchessa slowly and deliberately, "but you'd have to be
+very sure, not only that the friend was worth it, but that you were worth
+it to the friend."
+
+There was rather a blank silence. Trix gave a little gasp. It was not so
+much the words that hurt, as the tone in which they had been spoken. It
+was a repetition of the little scene at dinner, but this time
+intensified. And it was so utterly, so entirely unlike Pia. Trix felt
+miserably squashed. She had been talking a good deal too, perhaps,
+indeed, rather foolishly, that was the worst of it. No doubt she _had_
+made rather an idiot of herself. She swallowed a little lump in her
+throat. Well, anyhow that inflection in Pia's tone must be covered at
+once. That was the first, indeed the only, consideration.
+
+"I never thought of all those contingencies," she laughed. There was the
+faintest suspicion of a quiver in her voice. "Let's talk about the
+moonlight. But it was the moonlight began it all."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Two hours later the garden lay deserted in the same moonlight.
+
+A woman was sitting by an open window, looking out into the garden. She
+had been sitting there quite a long time. Suddenly her eyes filled with
+tears.
+
+"Oh, Trix, Trix," she said half aloud, "if only it would work. But it
+won't. And it was the moonlight that began it all."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+ON THE MOORLAND
+
+
+Trix was walking over the moorland. The Duchessa and Miss Tibbutt had
+departed to what promised to be an exceedingly dull garden party some
+five miles distant. It had been decreed that it was entirely unnecessary
+to inflict the same probable dulness on Trix, therefore she had been left
+to freedom and her own devices for the afternoon.
+
+Trix was playing the game of "I remember." It can be a quite
+extraordinarily fascinating game, or an exceedingly painful one. Trix was
+finding it extraordinarily fascinating. It was so gorgeously delightful
+to find that nothing had shrunk, nothing lessened in beauty or mystery. A
+larch copse was every bit as much a haunt of the Little People as
+formerly; the moss every bit as much a cool green carpet for their
+tripping feet. A few belated foxglove stems added to the old-time
+enchantment of the place. Even a little stream rippling through the wood,
+was a veritable stream, and not merely a watery ditch, as it might quite
+well have proved. Then there was the view from the gate, through a frame
+of beech trees out towards the sea. It was still as entrancing an ocean,
+sun-flecked and radiant. There were still as infinite possibilities in
+the unknown Beyond, could one have chartered a white-winged boat, and
+have sailed to where land and water meet. There was a pond, too,
+surrounded by blackberry bushes and great spear-like rushes, perhaps not
+quite the enormous lake of one's childhood, but a reasonably large pond
+enough, and there were still the blackberry bushes and the spear-like
+rushes. And, finally, there was the moorland, glowing with more radiant
+crimson lakes and madders than the most wonderful paint box ever held,
+and stretching up and down, and up again, till it melted in far away
+purples and lavenders.
+
+Trix's heart sang in accord with the laughing sun-kissed earth around
+her. It was all so gorgeous, so free and untrammelled. She lay upon the
+hot springy heather, and crushed the tiny purple flowers of the wild
+thyme between her fingers, raising the bruised petals to her face to
+drink in their strong sweet scent.
+
+From far off she could hear the tinkle of a goat bell, and the occasional
+short bark of a sheep dog. All else was silence, save for the humming of
+the bees above the heather. Tiny insects floated in the still air,
+looking like specks of thistle-down as the sun caught and silvered their
+minute wings. Little blue butterflies flitted hither and thither like
+radiant animated flowers.
+
+For a long time Trix sat very still, body and soul bathed in the beauty
+around her. At last she got to her feet, and made her way across the
+heather, ignoring the small beaten tracks despite the prickliness of her
+chosen route.
+
+After some half-hour's walking she came to a stone wall bordering a hilly
+field, a low wall, a battered wall, where tiny ferns grew in the
+crevices, and the stones themselves were patched with orange-coloured
+lichen.
+
+Trix climbed the wall, and walked across the soft grass. A good way to
+the right was a fence, and beyond the fence a wood. Trix made her way
+slowly towards it. Thistles grew among the grass,--carding thistles, and
+thistles with small drooping heads. She looked at them idly as she
+walked. Suddenly a slight sound behind her made her turn, and with the
+turning her heart leapt to her throat.
+
+From over the brow of the hilly field behind her, quite a number of
+cattle were coming at a fair pace towards her.
+
+Now Trix hated cows in any shape or form, and these were the unpleasant
+white-faced, brown cattle, whose very appearance is against them. They
+were moving quickly too, quite alarmingly quickly.
+
+Trix cast one terrified and pathetic glance over her shoulder. The glance
+was all-sufficient. She ran,--ran straight for the wood, the cattle after
+her. Doubtless curiosity, mere enquiry maybe, prompted their pursuit.
+Trix concerned herself not at all with the motive, the fact was
+all-sufficient. Fear lent wings to her feet, and with the horned and
+horrid beasts still some ten yards behind her, she precipitated herself
+across the fence to fall in an undignified but wholly relieved heap among
+a mass of bracken and whortleberry bushes. The briefest of moments saw
+her once more on her feet, struggling, fighting her way through
+shoulder-high bracken. Five minutes brought her to an open space beyond.
+Trembling, breathless, and most suspiciously near tears, she sank upon
+the ground.
+
+"The beasts!" ejaculated Trix opprobriously, and not as the mere
+statement of an obvious fact. She took off her hat, which flight had
+flung to a somewhat rakish angle, and blinked vigorously towards the
+trees. She was _not_ going to cry.
+
+Presently fright gave place to interest. She gazed around, curious,
+speculative. It was an unusual wood, a strange wood, a wood of holly
+trees, with a scattered sprinkling of beech trees. The grey twisted
+trunks of the hollies gleamed among the dark foliage, giving an eerie and
+almost uncanny atmosphere to the place. It was extraordinarily silent,
+too; and infinitely lonelier than the deserted moorland. It gave Trix an
+odd feeling of unpleasant mystery. Yet there was nothing for it but to
+face the mystery, to see if she could not find some way out further adown
+the wood. Not for untold gold would she again have faced those horned
+beasts behind her.
+
+A tiny narrow path led downhill from the cleared space. Trix set off down
+it, swinging her hat airily by the brim the while. Presently the sense of
+uncanniness abated somewhat; the elfin in her went out to meet the
+weirdness of the wood.
+
+Now and again she stopped to pick and eat whortleberries from the massed
+bushes beneath the trees. She did not particularly like them, truly;
+nevertheless she was still young enough to pick and eat what nature had
+provided for picking and eating, and that for the mere pleasure of being
+able to do so. Also, at this juncture the action brought confidence in
+its train.
+
+Presently, through the trees facing her, she saw a wall, a high wall, a
+brick wall, and quite evidently bordering civilization.
+
+"It can't go on for ever," considered Trix. "It must come to an end some
+time, either right, or left. And I'm not going back." This last
+exceedingly firmly.
+
+She went forward, scrutinizing, anxious. And then,--joyful and welcome
+sight!--a door, an open door came into view. A mound of half-carted leaf
+mould just without showed, to any one endowed with even the meanest
+powers of deduction, that someone--some man, probably--was busy in the
+neighbourhood.
+
+Trix made hastily for the door. The next moment she was through it, to
+find herself face to face with a man and a wheelbarrow. Trix came to a
+standstill, a standstill at once sudden and unpremeditated. The man
+dropped the wheelbarrow. They stared blankly at each other. And Trix was
+far too flustered to realize that his stare was infinitely more amazed
+than her own.
+
+"You can't come through this way," said the man, decisive though
+bewildered. His orders regarding the non-entrance of strangers had been
+of the emphatic kind.
+
+Trix's brain worked rapidly. The route before her must lead to safety,
+and nothing, no power on earth, would take her back through the field
+atop the wood. She was genuinely, quite genuinely too frightened. This is
+by way of excuse, since here a regrettable fact must be recorded. Trix
+gave vent to a sound closely resembling a sneeze. It was followed by one
+brief sentence.
+
+"There's someone at the gate," was what the man heard.
+
+Again amazement was written on his face. He turned towards the gate. Trix
+fled past him.
+
+"I couldn't go back," she insisted to herself, as she vanished round the
+corner of a big green-house. "And I _did_ say 'isn't there' even if it
+was mixed up with a sneeze. And wherever have I seen that man's face
+before?"
+
+She whisked round another corner of the green-house, attempting no answer
+to her query at the moment, ran down a long cinder path bordered by
+cabbages and gooseberry bushes, and bolted through another door in
+another wall. And here Trix found herself in an orchard, at the bottom of
+which was a yew hedge wherein she espied a wicket gate. She made rapid
+way towards it. And now she saw a big grey house facing her. There was no
+mistaking it. Childhood's memories rushed upon her. It was Chorley Old
+Hall.
+
+Trix came through the wicket gate, and out upon a lawn, in the middle of
+which was a great marble basin full of crystal water, from which rose a
+little silver fountain. Before her was the big grey house, melancholy,
+deserted-looking. The blinds were drawn down in most of the windows. It
+had the appearance of a house in which death was present.
+
+And then a spirit of curiosity fell upon her, a sudden strong desire to
+see within the house, to go once more into the rooms where she had stood
+in the old days, a small and somewhat frightened child.
+
+There was not a soul in sight. Probably the man with the wheelbarrow had
+not thought it worth while to pursue her. The garden appeared as deserted
+as the house. Trix tip-toed cautiously towards it. She looked like a
+kitten or a canary approaching a dead elephant.
+
+To her left was a door. Quite probably it was locked; but then, by the
+favour of fortune, it might not be. Of course she ran a risk, a
+considerable risk of meeting some caretaker or other, and her presence
+would not be particularly easy to explain. Curiosity and prudence wavered
+momentarily in the balance. Curiosity turned the scale. She tried the
+door. Vastly to her delight it yielded at her push. She slipped inside
+the house, closing it softly behind her.
+
+She found herself in a long carpeted passage, sporting prints adorning
+the walls. She tip-toed down it, her step making no smallest sound on the
+soft carpet. The end of the passage brought her into a big square hall.
+To her right were wide deep stairs; opposite them was a door, in all
+probability the front door; to her left was another door.
+
+Trix recalled the past, rapidly, and in detail. The door to the left must
+lead to the library,--that is, if her memory did not play her false. She
+remembered the big room, the book-cases reaching from floor to ceiling,
+and the man with the black eyes, who had terrified her. Something, some
+fleeting shadow, of her old childish fear was upon her now, as she turned
+the door handle. The door yielded easily. She pushed it wide open.
+
+The room was shadowed, gloomy almost. The heavy curtains were drawn back
+from the windows, but other curtains of some thinnish green material hung
+before them, curtains which effectually blotted out any view from the
+window, or view into the room from without. Before her were the old
+remembered book-cases, filled with dark, rather fusty books.
+
+Trix pushed the door to behind her, and turned, nonchalantly, to look
+around the room. As she looked her heart jumped, leapt, and then stood
+still.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+AN OLD MAN IN A LIBRARY
+
+
+A white-haired man was watching her. He was sitting in a big oak chair,
+his hands resting on the arms.
+
+"Oh!" ejaculated Trix. And further expression failed her.
+
+"Please don't let me disturb you," came a suave, courteous old voice.
+"You were looking for something perhaps?"
+
+"I only wanted to see the library," stuttered Trix, flabbergasted,
+dismayed.
+
+"Well, this is the library. May I ask how you found your way in?"
+
+"Through a door," responded Trix, voicing the obvious.
+
+"Ah! I did not know visitors were being admitted to the house?" This on a
+note of interrogation, flavoured with the faintest hint of irony, though
+the courtesy was still not lacking.
+
+Trix coloured.
+
+"I wasn't admitted," she owned. "I just came."
+
+"Ah, I see," said the white-haired man still courteously. "You perhaps
+were not aware that your presence might be an--er, an intrusion."
+
+Again Trix coloured.
+
+"A man did tell me I couldn't come through this way," she confessed.
+
+"Yet he allowed you to do so?" There was a queer note beneath the
+courtesy.
+
+Trix's ear, catching the note, found it almost repellant.
+
+"It wasn't his fault," she declared. "I came. I said, 'Isn't there
+someone at the gate?' And while he turned to look, I ran. At least,--" a
+gleam of laughter sprang to her eyes--"I sneezed first, so it sounded
+like 'There's somebody at the gate.' So he thought there was really.
+It--it was rather mean of me."
+
+"What you might call an acted lie," suggested the man.
+
+Trix looked conscience-stricken, contrite.
+
+"I suppose it was," she admitted in a very small voice. "But it was the
+cows. Only I think they were bulls. I _am_ so frightened of cows. I
+couldn't go back. And he wasn't going to let me through. It wasn't his
+fault a bit, it wasn't really. I know I told a--a kind of lie." She
+sighed heavily.
+
+"You did," said the man.
+
+Again Trix sighed.
+
+"I'd never make a martyr, would I? Only"--a degree more hopefully--"A
+sneeze isn't quite like denying real things, things that matter, is it?"
+This last was spoken distinctly appealingly.
+
+"I'm not a theologian," said the man dryly.
+
+Trix looked at him. A sudden light of illumination passed over her face,
+giving place to absolute amazement.
+
+"Aren't you Mr. Danver?" she ejaculated.
+
+"I never heard of his being a theologian," was the retort.
+
+"But Mr. Danver is dead!" gasped Trix.
+
+"Is he?"
+
+"Well," said Trix dazed, bewildered, "he evidently isn't. But why on
+earth did you--" she broke off.
+
+"Did I what?" he demanded with a queer smile.
+
+"Say you were dead?" asked Trix.
+
+"Dead men, my dear young lady, tell no tales, nor have I ever heard of a
+living one proclaiming his own demise."
+
+Trix laughed involuntarily.
+
+"Anyhow you've let other people say you are," she retorted.
+
+The man shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Why did you let them?" asked Trix.
+
+Again the man shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I have no responsibility in the matter."
+
+"Doctor Hilary has, then," she flashed out.
+
+"Has he?" was the quiet response.
+
+"He has told people you were dead."
+
+"Are you sure of that?"
+
+"Well, he's let them think so anyway. Why has he?" demanded Trix.
+
+"You ask a good many questions for an--er--an intruder," remarked the
+man.
+
+Trix's chin went up. "I'm sorry. I apologize. I'll go."
+
+"No, don't," said the man. "Sit down."
+
+Trix sat down near a table. She looked straight at him.
+
+"Well," she asked, "what do you want to say to me?"
+
+"I am Nicholas Danver," he said.
+
+"I was quite sure of that," nodded Trix. She was recovering her
+self-possession.
+
+"I had an excellent reason for allowing people to imagine I was dead," he
+remarked, "as excellent a one, perhaps, as yours for your--your
+unexpected appearance."
+
+"I'm glad you didn't say 'intrusion' again," said Trix thoughtfully.
+
+Nicholas gave a short laugh.
+
+There was a little silence.
+
+"Doctor Hilary must have told a dreadful lot of lies," said Trix slowly
+and not a little regretfully.
+
+"On the contrary," said Nicholas, "he told none."
+
+Trix looked up quickly.
+
+"Listen," said Nicholas, "it's quite an interesting little history in its
+way. You can stop me if I bore you.... Doctor Hilary says, in the hearing
+of a housemaid, that it might be a good plan to consult a specialist. It
+is announced in the village that the Squire is going to consult a
+specialist. Doctor Hilary travels up to town with an empty litter. The
+village announces that he has taken the Squire to the specialist. He
+returns alone. The station-master asks him when the Squire will return
+from London. He is briefly told, never. The village announces the
+Squire's demise. I don't say that certain little further incidents did
+not lend colour to the idea, such as the Squire confining himself
+entirely to two rooms, and allowing the butler alone of the servants to
+see him; Doctor Hilary's dismissal of the other indoor servants on his
+return to town; the deserted appearance of the house. But from first to
+last there was less actual direct lying in the matter, than in--shall I
+say, than in a simple sneeze."
+
+A third time the colour mounted in Trix's cheeks.
+
+"You'll not let me forget _that_," she said pathetically. "But why ever
+did you want everyone to think you were dead?"
+
+Nicholas looked towards the window thoughtfully, ruminatively.
+
+"That, my dear young lady, is my own affair."
+
+"I beg your pardon," said Trix quickly. She lapsed into silence. Suddenly
+she looked up, an elfin smile of pure mischief dancing in her eyes. "And
+now I know you're not dead," she remarked. "Exactly," said Nicholas. "You
+know I'm not dead."
+
+"Well?" demanded Trix.
+
+"Well, of course you can go and publish the news to the world," he
+remarked smoothly.
+
+"And equally of course," retorted Trix, "I shall do nothing of the kind.
+Quite possibly you mayn't trust me, because--because I _did_ sneeze. But
+honestly I didn't have time to think properly then, at least, only time
+to think how to get out of the difficulty, and not time to think about
+fairness or anything. I truly don't tell lies generally. And to tell
+about you would be like telling what was in a private letter if you'd
+read it by accident, so _of course_ I shan't say a word."
+
+Nicholas held out his hand without speaking. Trix got up from her chair,
+and put her own warm hand into his cold one.
+
+"All right," he said in an oddly gentle voice. "And you can speak to
+Doctor Hilary about it if you like. You'll no doubt need a safety valve."
+He looked again at her, still holding her hand. "Haven't I seen you
+before?" he asked.
+
+Trix nodded. "When I was a tiny child. My name is Trix Devereux. I used
+to come here with my father."
+
+"What!" exclaimed Nicholas, "Jack Devereux's daughter! How is the old
+fellow?"
+
+"He died five years ago," said Trix softly.
+
+Nicholas dropped her hand.
+
+"And I live on," he said grimly. "It's a queer world." He looked down at
+the black dressing gown which hid his useless legs. "Bah, where's the use
+of sentiment at this time of day. Anyhow it's a pleasure to meet you,
+even though your entrance was a bit of----"
+
+"An intrusion," smiled Trix.
+
+"I was going to say a surprise," said Nicholas courteously. "And now you
+must allow me to give you some tea."
+
+Trix hesitated.
+
+"Oh, but," she demurred, "the butler will see me."
+
+"And a very pleasant sight for him," responded Nicholas, "if you will
+permit an old man to pay you a compliment. Besides Jessop is used to
+holding his tongue."
+
+Trix laughed.
+
+"That," she said, "I can quite well imagine."
+
+Nicholas pressed the electric button attached to the arm of his chair. He
+watched the door, a curious amusement in his eyes.
+
+Trix attempted an appearance of utter unconcern, nevertheless she could
+not avoid a reflection or two regarding the butler's possible views on
+her presence.
+
+During the few seconds of waiting, she surveyed the room. It was
+extraordinarily familiar. Nothing was altered from her childish days. The
+very position of the furniture was the same. There were the same heavy
+brocaded curtains to the windows, the same morocco-covered chairs, the
+same thick Aubusson carpet, the same book-cases lined with rather fusty
+books, the same great dogs in the fireplace.
+
+Nicholas looked at her, observing her survey.
+
+"Well?" he queried.
+
+"It's all so exactly the same," responded Trix.
+
+"I never cared for change," said Nicholas shortly.
+
+And then the door opened.
+
+"Jessop," said Nicholas smooth-voiced, "Will you kindly bring tea for me
+and this young lady."
+
+A flicker, a very faint flicker of amazement passed over the man's face.
+
+"Yes, sir," he responded, and turned from the room.
+
+"An excellent servant," remarked Nicholas.
+
+"I wonder," said Trix reflectively, "how they manage to see everything,
+and look as if they saw nothing. When I see things it's perfectly obvious
+to everyone else I am seeing them. I--I _look_."
+
+"So do most people," returned Nicholas.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+When, some half-hour later, Trix rose to take leave, Nicholas again held
+out his hand. "I believe I'd ask you to come and pay me another visit,"
+he said, "but it would be wiser not. It is not easy for--er, dead men to
+receive visitors."
+
+"I wish you hadn't--died," said Trix impulsively.
+
+"Do you mean that?" asked Nicholas curiously.
+
+Trix nodded. There was an odd lump in her throat, a lump that for the
+moment prevented her from speaking.
+
+"You're a queer child," smiled Nicholas.
+
+The tears welled up suddenly in Trix's eyes.
+
+"It's so lonely," she said, with a half-sob.
+
+"My own doing," responded Nicholas.
+
+"That doesn't make it nicer, but worse," gulped Trix.
+
+Nicholas held her hand tighter.
+
+"On the contrary, it's better. It's my own choice." He emphasized the
+last word a little.
+
+Trix was silent. Nicholas let go her hand.
+
+"Let yourself out the front way," he said. "I am sorry I am unable to
+accompany you."
+
+Trix went slowly to the library door. At the door she turned.
+
+"It mayn't be right of me," she announced, "but I'm glad, really glad I
+did sneeze."
+
+Nicholas laughed.
+
+"To be perfectly candid," he remarked, "so am I."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+ANTONY FINDS A GLOVE
+
+
+Trix's appearance at the door in the wall had fairly dumbfounded Antony.
+He had recognized her instantly. And the amazing thing was that she was
+exactly as he had seen her in his dream. Her announcement had carried the
+dream sense further, and it was with a queer feeling of intense
+disappointment that he found no one standing outside the gate. There was
+nothing but the silent deserted wood and the mound of leaf-mould. For a
+moment or so he stood listening, almost expecting to hear a footstep
+among the trees. Nothing but silence greeted him, however, broken only by
+the faint rustling of the leaves.
+
+He turned back to the garden. It was empty. There was nothing, nothing on
+earth to prove that the whole thing had not been an extraordinarily vivid
+waking dream. And if it were a dream, surely it was calculated to dispel
+the relief the first dream had brought him. Yet was it a dream? Could it
+have been? Wasn't he entirely awake, and in the possession of his right
+senses?
+
+Demanding thus of his soul, solemn, bewildered, and reflective, he turned
+once more to his wheelbarrow. Ten minutes later, trundling it down a
+cinder path, his eye fell on an object lying beneath a gooseberry bush.
+He dropped the barrow, and picked up the object.
+
+It was a long soft doe-skin glove.
+
+"It wasn't a dream," said Antony triumphantly. "But where in the name of
+all that's wonderful did she come from? And where did she vanish to?"
+
+He put the glove into his pocket, and resumed his work.
+
+"I am afraid," he remarked to himself as he heaved the leaf-mould out of
+the barrow, "that she knew perfectly well there was no one at the gate. I
+wonder why she said there was, and why, above all, she made such an
+extraordinarily unexpected appearance."
+
+These considerations engrossed his mind for at least the next half-hour,
+when, the leaf-mould having been transported from the wood, he went round
+to the front of the house to trim the edges of the lawn. He was on his
+knees on the gravel path, busily engaged with a pair of shears, when he
+heard the amazing sound of the front door opening and shutting. He looked
+round over his shoulder, to see the same apparition that had appeared to
+him from the wood, walking calmly down the steps and in the direction of
+the drive. Apparently she was too engrossed with her own thoughts to
+observe him where he was kneeling at a little distance to the eastward of
+the front door.
+
+"Well!" ejaculated Antony bewildered. And he gazed after her.
+
+It was not till her white dress had become a speck in the distance, that
+Antony remembered the long soft glove reposing in his pocket. He dropped
+his shears, and bolted after her.
+
+Trix was half-way down the drive, when she heard rapid steps behind her.
+She looked back, to see that she was being pursued by the young man who
+had formerly been trundling a wheelbarrow.
+
+Her first instinct was one of flight. Her second, conscious that the
+owner of the property had condoned her intrusion, and also having in view
+the fact that there was nowhere but straight ahead to run, and he was in
+all probability fleeter of foot than she, was to stand her ground, and
+that as unconcernedly as possible.
+
+"Yes?" queried Trix with studied calmness, as he came up to her.
+
+"Excuse me, Miss, but you dropped this in the kitchen garden." Antony
+held out the long soft glove.
+
+"Oh, thank you," said Trix, infinitely relieved that his rapid approach
+had signified nothing worse than the restoration of her own lost
+property. And then she looked at him. Where on earth had she seen him
+before?
+
+"There wasn't any one at the gate, Miss," said Antony suddenly.
+
+Trix flushed. "Oh, wasn't there? I--" she broke off.
+
+Then she looked straight at him.
+
+"I knew there wasn't," she confessed. "But I was afraid to go back, so I
+had to make you look away while I ran. It was the cows." She sighed. She
+felt she had been making bovine explanations during the greater part of
+the afternoon.
+
+"Cows, Miss?" queried Antony, a twinkle in his eyes.
+
+Trix nodded.
+
+"Yes; awful beasts with white faces, in the field above the wood. I'm not
+sure they weren't bulls."
+
+Antony laughed.
+
+"Sure, and why weren't you telling me, then? I'd have tackled them for
+you."
+
+Trix smiled.
+
+"I never thought of that way out of the difficulty," she owned. "But it
+will be all right, I ex--" She broke off. She had been within an ace of
+saying she had explained matters to Mr. Danver. She really must be
+careful. "I expect--I'm sure you won't get into trouble about it," she
+stuttered.
+
+"Sure, that's all right," he said, a trifle puzzled.
+
+There was a queer pleasure in this little renewal of the acquaintanceship
+of the bygone days, despite the fact of its being an entirely one-sided
+renewal. He'd have known her anywhere. It was the same small vivacious
+face, the same odd little upward tilt to the chin, the same varied
+inflection of voice, the same little quick gestures. He would have liked
+to keep her standing there while he recalled the small imperious child in
+the elfin-like figure before him. But, her property having been restored,
+there was nothing on earth further he could say, no possible reason for
+prolonging the conversation. He waited, however, for Trix to give the
+dismissal.
+
+Trix was looking at him, a queer puzzlement in her eyes. Why _was_ his
+face so oddly familiar? It was utterly impossible that she should have
+met him before, at all events on the intimate footing the familiarity of
+his face suggested. It must be merely an extraordinary likeness to
+someone to whom she could not at the moment put a name. Quite suddenly
+she realized that they were scrutinizing each other in a way that
+certainly cannot be termed exactly orthodox. She pulled herself
+together.
+
+"Thank you for restoring my glove," said she with a fine resumption of
+dignity; and she turned off once more down the drive.
+
+Antony went slowly back to his shears.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+AN INTEREST IN LIFE
+
+
+Doctor Hilary was walking down the lane in a somewhat preoccupied frame
+of mind. He had been oddly preoccupied the last day or so, lapsing into
+prolonged meditations from which he would emerge with a sudden and almost
+guilty start.
+
+Coming opposite the drive gates of Chorley Old Hall, he was brought to a
+sense of his surroundings by a figure, which emerged suddenly from them
+and came to a dead stop.
+
+"Oh!" ejaculated Doctor Hilary. "Good afternoon." And he took off his
+cap.
+
+"Good afternoon," responded Trix. She turned along the lane beside him.
+
+"Have you been interviewing the gardens?" he asked. She fancied there was
+the faintest trace of anxiety in his voice.
+
+A sudden spirit of mischief took possession of Trix. She had been given
+leave. It was really too good an opportunity to be lost.
+
+"Oh no," she responded, dove-like innocence in her voice, "I've just been
+having tea with Mr. Danver."
+
+If she wanted to see amazement written on his face, she had her desire.
+It spread itself large over his countenance, finding verbal expression in
+an utterly astounded gasp.
+
+"He seems very well," said Trix demurely.
+
+"Miss Devereux!" ejaculated Doctor Hilary.
+
+"Yes?" asked Trix sweetly.
+
+"Have you known all the time?" he demanded.
+
+Trix shook her head, laughter dancing in her eyes. It found its way to
+her lips.
+
+"Oh, you looked so surprised," she gurgled. "I hadn't the tiniest bit of
+an idea. How could I? I was never so flummuxed in all my life as when I
+realized who was talking to me."
+
+Doctor Hilary was silent.
+
+Trix put her hand on his arm, half timidly.
+
+"Don't be angry," she said. "He wasn't. And I've promised faithfully not
+to tell."
+
+Doctor Hilary glanced down at the hand on his arm.
+
+"I'm not angry," he said with a queer smile, "I'm only--" He stopped.
+
+"Flummuxed, like I was," nodded Trix, removing her hand. "It's quite the
+amazingest thing I ever knew." She gave another little gurgle of
+laughter, looking up at the very blue sky as if inviting it to share her
+pleasure.
+
+"How much did he tell you?" asked Doctor Hilary.
+
+Trix lowered her chin, and considered briefly.
+
+"Just nothing, now I come to think of it, beyond the fact that he was Mr.
+Danver. But then I'd really been the first to volunteer that piece of
+information. I haven't the faintest notion why there's all this mystery,
+and why he has pretended to be dead. He didn't want me to know that. So
+please don't say anything that could tell me. He said I could talk to
+you."
+
+"I won't," smiled Doctor Hilary answering the request.
+
+They walked on a few steps in silence.
+
+"But what I should like to know," he said after a minute, "is how you
+managed to get inside the house at all?"
+
+"Oh dear!" sighed Trix twisting her glove round her wrist.
+
+Doctor Hilary looked rather surprised.
+
+"Don't say if you'd rather not," he remarked quickly.
+
+Trix sighed again.
+
+"Oh, I may as well. It will only be the third time I've had to own up."
+
+And she proceeded with a careful recapitulation of the events of the
+afternoon.
+
+"You must have been very frightened," said he as she ended.
+
+"I was," owned Trix.
+
+"Ah, well; it's all over now," he comforted her.
+
+"Y-yes," said Trix doubtfully.
+
+"What's troubling you?" he demanded.
+
+"The sneeze," confessed Trix in a very small voice.
+
+Doctor Hilary stifled a sudden spasm of laughter. She was so utterly and
+entirely in earnest.
+
+"I wouldn't worry over a little thing like that, if I were you," said he
+consolingly.
+
+Once more Trix sighed.
+
+"Of course it's absurd," she said. "I know it's absurd. But, somehow,
+little things do worry me, even when I know they're silly. And there's
+just enough that's not silliness in this to let it be a real worry."
+
+"A genuine midge bite," he suggested. "But, you know, rubbing it only
+makes it worse."
+
+She laughed a trifle shakily.
+
+"And honestly," he pursued, "though I do understand your--your conscience
+in the matter, I'm really very glad you've seen Mr. Danver."
+
+"Well, so was I," owned Trix.
+
+Again there was a silence. They were walking down a narrow lane bordered
+on either side with high banks and hedges. The dust lay rather thick on
+the grass and leaves. It had already covered their shoes with its grey
+powder. Doctor Hilary was turning certain matters in his mind. Presently
+he gave voice to them.
+
+"It is exceedingly good for him that someone besides myself and the
+butler and his wife should know that he is alive, and that he should know
+they do know it. I agreed to this mad business because I believed it
+would give him an interest in living, eccentric though the interest might
+be."
+
+Trix gurgled.
+
+"It sounds so odd," she explained, "to hear you say that pretending to be
+dead could give any one an interest in life." And she gurgled again.
+Trix's gurgling was peculiarly infectious.
+
+"Odd!" laughed Doctor Hilary. "It's the oddest thing imaginable. No one
+but Nick could have conceived the whole business, or found the smallest
+interest in it. But he did find an interest, and that was enough for me.
+He is lonely now, I grant. But before this--this invention, he was
+stagnant as well as lonely. His mind, and seemingly his soul with it, had
+become practically atrophied. His mind has now been roused to interest,
+though the most extraordinarily eccentric interest."
+
+"And his soul?" queried Trix simply.
+
+Doctor Hilary shook his head.
+
+"Ah, that I don't know," he said.
+
+They parted company at the door of Doctor Hilary's house. Trix went on
+slowly down the road. She paused opposite the presbytery, before turning
+to the left in the direction of Woodleigh. She rang the bell, and asked
+to see Father Dormer.
+
+He came to her in the little parlour.
+
+"Oh," said Trix, getting up as he entered, "I only came to ask you to say
+a Mass for my intention. And, please, will you say one every week till I
+ask you to stop?"
+
+"By all means," he responded.
+
+"Thank you," said Trix. Then she glanced at a clock on the mantelpiece.
+"I had no idea it was so late," she said.
+
+She walked home at a fair pace. The midge bite had ceased to worry her.
+But then, at Doctor Hilary's suggestion, she had ceased to rub it. She
+was thinking of only one thing now, of a solitary old figure in a large
+and gloomy library.
+
+She sighed heavily once or twice. Well, at all events she had asked for
+Masses for him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+PRICKLES
+
+
+If you happen to have anything on your mind, it is impossible--or
+practically impossible--to avoid thinking about it. Which, doubtless, is
+so obvious a fact, it is barely worth stating.
+
+The Duchessa di Donatello had something on her mind; it possessed her
+waking thoughts, it coloured her dreams. And what that something was, is
+also, perhaps, entirely obvious. Again and again she told herself that
+she would not dwell on the subject; but she might as well have tried to
+dam a river with a piece of tissue paper, as prevent the thought from
+filling her mind; and that probably because--with true feminine
+inconsistency--she welcomed it quite as much as she tried to dispel it.
+
+Occasionally she allowed it free entry, regarded it, summed it up as
+unsatisfactory, and sternly dismissed it. In three minutes it was welling
+up again, perhaps in the same old route, perhaps choosing a different
+course.
+
+"Why can't I put the man and everything concerning him out of my mind for
+good and all?" she asked herself more than once. And, whatever the reply
+to her query, the fact remained that she couldn't; the thought had become
+something of an obsession.
+
+Now, when a thought has become an obsession, there is practically only
+one way to free oneself from it, and that is by speech. Speech has a way
+of clearing the clogged channels of the mind, and allowing the thought to
+flow outwards, and possibly to disappear altogether; whereas, without
+this clearance, the thought of necessity returns to its source, gathering
+in volume with each recoil.
+
+But speech is frequently not at all easy, and that not only because there
+is often a difficulty in finding the right confidant, but because, with
+the channels thus clogged, it is a distinct effort to clear them. Also,
+though subconsciously you may realize its desirability, it is often
+merely subconsciously, and reason and common sense,--or, rather, what you
+at the moment quite erroneously believe to be reason and common
+sense--will urge a hundred motives upon you in favour of silence. Maybe
+that most subtle person the devil is the suggester of these motives. If
+he can't get much of a look in by direct means, he'll try indirect ones,
+and depression is one of his favourite indirect methods. At all events so
+the old spiritual writers tell us, and doubtless they knew what they were
+talking about.
+
+Now, Trix was perfectly well aware that Pia had something on her mind;
+she was also perfectly well aware that it was something she would have an
+enormous difficulty in talking about. And the question was, how to give
+her even the tiniest lead.
+
+Trix had stated that she had guessed the colour of the soap-bubble; but
+she hadn't the faintest notion where it had come into existence, nor
+where and how it had burst. Nor had Pia given her directly the smallest
+hint of its having ever existed. All of which facts made it exceedingly
+difficult for her even to hint at soap-bubbles--figuratively speaking of
+course--as a subject of conversation.
+
+And Pia was slightly irritable too. Of course it was entirely because she
+was unhappy, but it didn't conduce to intimate conversation. Prickles
+would suddenly appear among the most innocent looking of flowers, in a
+way that was entirely disconcerting and utterly unpleasant. And the worst
+of it was, that there was no avoiding them. They darted out and pricked
+you before you were even aware of their presence. It was so utterly
+unlike Pia too, and so--Trix winked back a tear as she thought of it--so
+hurting.
+
+At last she came to a decision. The prickles simply must be handled and
+extracted if possible. Of course she might get quite unpleasantly stabbed
+in the process, but at all events she'd be prepared for the risk, and
+anything would be better than the little darts appearing at quite
+unexpected moments and places.
+
+"The next time I'm pricked," said Trix to herself firmly, "I'll seize
+hold of the prickle, and then perhaps we'll see where we are."
+
+And, as a result perhaps of this resolution, the prickles suddenly
+disappeared. Trix was immeasurably relieved in one sense, but not
+entirely easy. She fancied the prickles to be hidden rather than
+extracted. However, they'd ceased to wound for the time being, and that
+certainly was an enormous comfort. Miss Tibbutt, with greater optimism
+than Trix, believed all to be entirely well once more, and rejoiced
+accordingly.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Doctor Hilary has been over here rather often lately," remarked Miss
+Tibbutt one afternoon. Pia and she were sitting in the garden together.
+
+"Old Mrs. Mosely is ill," returned Pia smiling oracularly.
+
+"But only a very little ill," said Miss Tibbutt reflectively. "Her
+daughter told me only yesterday--I'm afraid it wasn't very grateful of
+her--that the Doctor had been 'moidering around like 'sif mother was on
+her dying bed, and her wi' naught but a bit o' cold to her chest, what's
+gone to her head now, and a glass or two o' hot cider, and ginger, and
+allspice, and rosemary will be puttin' right sooner nor you can flick a
+fly off a sugar basin.'"
+
+Pia laughed.
+
+"My dear Tibby, he doesn't come to see Mrs. Mosely."
+
+Miss Tibbutt looked up in perplexed query.
+
+"He comes on here to tea, doesn't he?" asked Pia, kindly, after the
+manner of one giving a lead.
+
+"Certainly," returned Miss Tibbutt, still perplexed. "He would naturally
+do so, since he is in Woodleigh just at tea time."
+
+Pia leant back in her seat, and looked at Miss Tibbutt.
+
+"Tibby dear, you're amazingly slow at the uptake."
+
+Miss Tibbutt blinked at Pia over her spectacles.
+
+"Please explain," said she meekly.
+
+Pia laughed.
+
+"Haven't you discovered, Tibby dear, that it's Trix he comes to see?"
+
+"Trix!" ejaculated Miss Tibbutt.
+
+"Yes; and she is quite as unaware of the fact as you are, so don't, for
+all the world, enlighten her. Leave that to him, if he means to."
+
+Miss Tibbutt had let her work fall, and was gazing round-eyed at Pia.
+
+"But, my dear Pia, he's years older than Trix."
+
+"Oh, not so very many," said Pia reassuringly. "Fifteen or sixteen,
+perhaps. Trix is twenty-four, you know."
+
+"And Trix is leaving here the day after to-morrow," said Miss Tibbutt
+regretfully.
+
+"London isn't the antipodes," declared Pia. "She can come here again, or
+business may take Doctor Hilary to London. There are trains."
+
+"Well, well," said Miss Tibbutt.
+
+Trix appeared at the open drawing-room window and came out on to the
+terrace. She paused for a moment to pick a dead rose off a bush growing
+near the house. Then she saw the two under the lime tree. She came
+towards them.
+
+"Doctor Hilary has just driven up through the plantation gate," she said.
+"I suppose he's coming to tea. His man was evidently going to put up the
+horse."
+
+The Duchessa glanced at a gold bracelet watch on her wrist.
+
+"It's four o'clock," she said.
+
+"He takes tea quite for granted," smiled Trix.
+
+"I suppose," responded the Duchessa, "that he considers five almost
+consecutive invitations equivalent to one standing one."
+
+"Well, anyhow I should," nodded Trix. "What are you looking so wise
+about, Tibby angel?"
+
+Miss Tibbutt started. "Was I looking wise? I didn't know."
+
+Trix perched herself on the table.
+
+"Dale will clear me off in a minute," she announced. "I suppose you'll
+have tea out here as usual. Till then it's the nicest seat. Oh dear, I
+wish I wasn't going home to-morrow. That's not a hint to you to ask me to
+stay longer. I shouldn't hint, I'd speak straight out. But I must join
+Aunt Lilla at her hydro place. She's getting lonely. She wants an
+audience to which to relate her partner's idiocy at Bridge, and someone
+to help carry her photographic apparatus. Also someone to whom she can
+keep up a perpetual flow of conversation. That's not the least
+uncharitable, as you'd know if you knew Aunt Lilla. I think she must have
+been born talking. But I love her all the same."
+
+Trix tilted back her head and looked up at the sky through the branches
+of the trees.
+
+"I wonder why space is blue," she said, "and why it's so much bluer some
+days than others, even when there aren't any clouds."
+
+A step on the terrace behind her put an end to her wondering. Doctor
+Hilary came round the corner of the house.
+
+"I've taken your invitation for granted, Duchessa, as I happened to be
+out this way," said he as he shook hands.
+
+"Is old Mrs. Mosely still so ill?" asked Trix, sympathy in her voice.
+
+Miss Tibbutt kept her eyes almost guiltily on her knitting. Pia, glancing
+at her, laughed inwardly.
+
+"She's better to-day," responded Doctor Hilary cheerfully. And then he
+sat down. Trix had descended from the table, and seated herself in a
+basket chair.
+
+Dale brought out the tea in a few minutes, and put it on the table Trix
+had vacated. The conversation was trivial and desultory, even more
+trivial and desultory than most tea-time conversation. Miss Tibbutt was
+too occupied with Pia's recent revelation to have much thought for
+speech, Doctor Hilary was never a man of many words, the Duchessa had
+been marvellously lacking in conversation of late, and Trix's occasional
+remarks were mainly outspoken reflections on the sunshine and the
+flowers, which required no particular response. Nevertheless she was
+conscious of a certain flatness in her companions, and wondered vaguely
+what had caused it.
+
+"I'm going to Llandrindod Wells to-morrow," said she presently.
+
+Doctor Hilary looked up quickly.
+
+"Then your visit here has come to an end?" he queried.
+
+Trix nodded.
+
+"Alas, yes," she sighed, regret, half genuine, half mocking, in her
+voice. "But most certainly I shall come down again if the Duchessa will
+let me come. I had forgotten, absolutely forgotten, what a perfectly
+heavenly place this was. And that doesn't in the least mean that I am
+coming solely for the place, and not to see her, though I am aware it did
+not sound entirely tactful."
+
+"And when do you suppose you will be coming again?" asked Doctor Hilary
+with a fine assumption of carelessness, not in the least lost upon the
+Duchessa.
+
+"Before Christmas I hope," replied she in Trix's stead. "Or, indeed, at
+any time or moment she chooses."
+
+Doctor Hilary looked thoughtful, grave. A little frown wrinkled between
+his eyebrows. He pulled silently at his pipe. The Duchessa was watching
+him.
+
+"Alas, poor man!" thought she whimsically. "He was about to seize
+opportunity, and behold, fate snatches opportunity from him. Oh, cruel
+fate!"
+
+And then she beheld his brow clearing. He knocked the ashes from his
+pipe, and began feeling in his pocket for his pouch to refill it.
+
+"He's relieved," declared the Duchessa inwardly, and somewhat astounded.
+"He's so amazingly diffident, and yet so utterly in love, he's
+relieved."
+
+Of course she was right, she knew perfectly well she was right. Well,
+perhaps courage would grow with Trix's absence. For his own sake it was
+to be devoutly trusted that it would.
+
+Doctor Hilary took his tobacco pouch from his pocket, and with it a small
+piece of paper. He looked at the paper.
+
+"The name of a new rose," he said. "Michael Field, the new under-gardener
+at the Hall, gave it to me. He tells me it is a very free flowerer, and
+has a lovely scent. Do you care to have the name, Duchessa?" He held the
+slip of paper towards her.
+
+The Duchessa looked carelessly at it. Trix was looking at the Duchessa.
+
+"No, thank you," she replied. "We have plenty of roses here, and Thornby
+can no doubt give me the name of any new kinds I shall want."
+
+Now it was not merely an entirely unnecessary refusal, but the tone of
+the speech was nearly, if not quite, deliberately rude. It was a terribly
+big prickle, and showed itself perfectly distinctly. There wasn't even
+the smallest semblance of disguise about it.
+
+Doctor Hilary put the paper and his tobacco pouch back into his pocket.
+
+"I must be off," he said in an oddly quiet voice. "I've one or two other
+calls to make."
+
+Miss Tibbutt walked towards the house with him,--to fetch some more
+knitting, so she announced. Trix suspected a little mental stroking.
+
+"What's the matter, Pia?" asked Trix calmly, leaning back in her chair.
+
+"The matter?" said Pia, the faintest suspicion of a flush in her cheeks.
+
+"You were very--very _snubbing_ to Doctor Hilary," announced Trix, still
+calmly. Inwardly she was not so calm. In fact, her heart was thumping
+quite loudly.
+
+"My dear Trix," replied the Duchessa coldly, "I have an excellent
+gardener. I do not care for recommendations emanating from a complete
+stranger."
+
+"There was no smallest need to snub Doctor Hilary, though," said Trix
+quietly. The queer surprise on his face had caused a little stab at her
+heart.
+
+The Duchessa made no reply.
+
+"Pia, what _is_ the matter?" asked Trix again.
+
+"I have told you, nothing," responded the Duchessa.
+
+Trix shook her head. "Yes; there is. You're unhappy. You've been--you can
+tell me to mind my own business, if you like--you've been horribly
+prickly lately. You've tried to hurt my feelings, and Tibby's, and now
+you've tried to hurt Doctor Hilary's. And he didn't deserve it in the
+least, but he thought, for a moment, he did. And it isn't like you, Pia.
+It isn't one bit. Do tell me what's the matter?"
+
+"Nothing," said Pia again.
+
+"Darling, that's a--a white lie at all events."
+
+Pia coloured. "Anyhow it's not worth talking about," she said.
+
+"Are you sure it isn't?" urged Trix. "Couldn't I help the weeniest bit?"
+
+The Duchessa shook her head.
+
+"Darling," said Trix again, and she slipped her arm through Pia's.
+
+"I'm all one big bruise," said Pia suddenly.
+
+Trix stroked her hand.
+
+"It is entirely foolish of me to care," said the Duchessa slowly. "But I
+happen to have trusted someone rather implicitly. I never dreamed it
+possible the person could stoop to act a lie. I would not have minded the
+thing itself,--it would have been absurd for me to have done so. But it
+hurt rather considerably that the person should have deceived me in the
+matter, in fact have acted a deliberate lie about it. I am honestly doing
+my best to forget the whole thing, but I am being constantly reminded of
+it."
+
+Trix sat up very straight. So that was it, she told herself. How idiotic
+of her not to have guessed at once,--days ago, that is,--when she herself
+had made her marvellous discovery. It was now quite plain to her mind
+that Pia must have made it too. It was Doctor Hilary whom she believed to
+be the fraud, the friend whom she had trusted, and who had acted a lie.
+The whole oddness of Pia's behaviour became suddenly perfectly clear to
+her. Tibby had told her that it had begun on her return to Woodleigh.
+Well, that must have been when she first found out. How she'd found out,
+Trix didn't know. But that was beside the mark. She evidently had found
+out.
+
+Trix's mind ran back over various little incidents. She remembered the
+snub administered to Father Dormer the evening after her arrival. The new
+under-gardener had been the subject of conversation then, of course
+reminding Pia of the Hall. And she had snubbed Father Dormer, as she had
+snubbed Doctor Hilary a few minutes ago. All Pia's snubs and sudden
+prickles came back to her mind. They all had their origin in some
+inadvertent remark regarding the Hall.
+
+Yes; everything was as clear as daylight now. Pia had learnt of this
+business in some roundabout way that did not allow of her speaking openly
+to Doctor Hilary on the subject, so she saw merely the fraud, and had no
+idea that it was, in all probability, an entirely justifiable one, and
+that at all events no one had told any deliberate lie. Of course Pia was
+disturbed and upset. Wouldn't she have been herself, in Pia's place? And
+hadn't she felt quite unreasonably unhappy till Mr. Danver had assured
+her that Doctor Hilary had not spoken a single word of actual untruth?
+
+Oh, poor Pia!
+
+Now, it was not in the least astonishing that Trix's mind should have
+leapt to this entirely erroneous conclusion. For the last fortnight it
+had been full of her discovery. The smallest thing that seemed to bear on
+it, instantly appeared actually to do so. And everything in her present
+train of thought fitted in with astonishing accuracy. Each little
+incident in Pia's late behaviour fell into place with it.
+
+She did not stop to consider that, if this were the sole cause of Pia's
+trouble, she--Pia--was unquestionably taking a very exaggerated view of
+it. It never occurred to Trix to do so. If she had considered the matter
+at all, it would have been merely to realize that Pia's attitude towards
+it was remarkably like what her own would have been. She would have
+known, had she attempted analysis of the subject, that she herself was
+frequently troubled about trifles, or what at any rate would have
+appeared to others as trifles, where any friend of hers was concerned.
+Her friends' actions and her own, in what are ordinarily termed little
+things, mattered quite supremely to her, most particularly in any
+question regarding honour. The smallest infringement of it would be
+enough to cause her sleepless nights and anxious days. Therefore, without
+attempting any analysis, she could perfectly well understand what she
+believed Pia's point of view to be. And her present distress was, that,
+in view of her promise, she could do nothing definite to help her.
+
+She could not show her Doctor Hilary's standpoint in the matter, since it
+was not permissible for her to give the smallest hint that she was
+acquainted either with it, or with the whole business at all. She could
+not even hint that she believed Doctor Hilary to be the person concerning
+whom Pia was troubled. She could only take refuge in generalities, which,
+with a definite case before her, she felt to be a peculiarly
+unsatisfactory proceeding. Yet there was nothing else to be done. It was
+more than probable that Pia was in the same kind of cleft stick as
+herself, and that therefore direct discussion of the matter was out of
+the question.
+
+Still stroking Pia's hand, Trix spoke slowly.
+
+"Pia, darling, what I am going to say will sound very poor comfort, I
+know. But it's this. Isn't it just possible that you could give the--the
+person concerned the benefit of a doubt? Even if it seems to you that he
+has acted a lie, and therefore been something of a fraud, mayn't there be
+some extraordinarily good reason, behind it all, that circumstances are
+preventing him from explaining? Such queer things do happen, and
+sometimes people have to appear to others as frauds, when they really
+aren't a bit. If you were ever really friends with the person--and you
+must have been, or you wouldn't care--I'd just say to myself that I would
+trust him in spite of every appearance to the contrary. Perhaps some day
+you'll be most awfully sorry if you don't. And isn't it a million times
+better to be even mistaken in trust where a friend is concerned, than
+give way to the smallest doubt which may afterwards be proved to be a
+wrong doubt?"
+
+Pia was silent. Then she said in an oddly even voice,
+
+"Trix do you _know_ anything?"
+
+Trix flushed to the roots of her hair. Pia turned to look at her.
+
+"Trix!" she said amazed.
+
+"Pia," implored Trix, "you mustn't ask me a single question, because I
+can't answer you. But do, do, trust."
+
+Pia drew a long breath.
+
+"Trix, you're the uncanniest little mortal that ever lived, and I can't
+imagine how you could have guessed, or what exactly it is you really do
+know. But I believe I am going to take your advice."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+AN OFFER AND A REFUSAL
+
+
+Antony was working in his front garden. It was a Saturday afternoon, and
+a blazingly hot one. Every now and then he paused to lean on his spade,
+and look out to where the blue sea lay shining and glistening in the
+sunlight.
+
+It was amazingly blue, almost as blue as the sea depicted on the posters
+of famous seaside resorts, posters in which a bare-legged child with a
+bucket and spade, and the widest of wide smiles is invariably seen in the
+foreground. Certainly the designers of these posters are not students of
+child nature. If they were, they would know that a really absorbed and
+happy child is almost portentously solemn. It hasn't the time to waste on
+smiles; the building of sand castles and fortresses is infinitely too
+engrossing an occupation. A smile will greet the anticipation; it is lost
+in the stupendous joy of the fact. But as smiles are evidently considered
+_de rigueur_ by the designers of posters, and as the mere anticipation
+will not allow of the portrayal of the Rickett's blue sea, destined to
+hit the eye of the beholder, smiles and sea have--rightly or wrongly--to
+be combined.
+
+Antony gazed at the sea, if not quite as blue as a poster sea, yet--as
+already stated--amazingly blue. Josephus lay on a bit of hot earth
+watching him, his nose between his forepaws, and quite exhausted after a
+mad and wholly objectless ten minutes' race round the garden.
+
+Antony turned from his contemplation of the sea, and once more grasped
+his spade. Presently he turned up a small flat round object, which at
+first sight he took to be a penny. He picked it up, and rubbed the dirt
+off it. It proved to be merely a small lead disk, utterly useless and
+valueless; he didn't even know what it could have been used for. He threw
+it on the earth again, and went on with his digging. But it, or his
+action of tossing it on to the earth, had started a train of thought. It
+is extraordinary what trifles will serve to start a lengthy and connected
+train of thought. Sometimes it is quite interesting, arriving at a
+certain point, to trace one's imaginings backwards, and see from whence
+they started.
+
+The disk reminded Antony of the coppers he had tossed to the child at
+Teneriffe. From it he quite unconsciously found himself reviewing all the
+subsequent happenings. They linked on one to the other without a break.
+He hardly knew he was reviewing them, though they so absorbed his mind
+that he was totally unconscious of his surroundings, and even of the fact
+that he was digging. His employment had become quite mechanical.
+
+He was so engrossed that he did not hear a step in the road behind him.
+Josephus heard it, however, and gave vent to a faint whine, raising his
+head from between his paws. The sound roused Antony, and he turned.
+
+His face went suddenly white beneath its bronze. The Duchessa di
+Donatello was standing at the gate, looking over into the garden.
+
+"Might I come in and rest a moment?" she asked. "The sun is so hot."
+
+Antony could hardly believe his ears. Surely he could not have heard
+aright? But there she was, standing at the gate, most evidently waiting
+his permission to enter.
+
+He left his spade sticking in the earth, and went to unfasten the gate.
+Without speaking, he led the way up the little flagged path, and into the
+parlour.
+
+The Duchessa crossed to the oak settle and sat down. Slowly she began to
+pull off her long crinkly doe-skin gloves. Antony watched her. He saw the
+gleam of a diamond ring on her hand. It was a ring he had often noticed.
+A picture of the Duchessa sitting at a little round table among orange
+trees in green tubs flashed suddenly and very vividly into his mind.
+
+"It is very hot," said the Duchessa looking up at him.
+
+"Yes," said Antony mechanically.
+
+"Am I interrupting your work?" asked the Duchessa.
+
+Antony started.
+
+"Oh, no," he replied. And he sat down by the table, leaning slightly
+forward with his arms upon it.
+
+"Do you mind my coming here?" she asked.
+
+"I don't think so," said Antony reflectively.
+
+A gleam of a smile flashed across the Duchessa's face. The reply was so
+Antonian.
+
+There was quite a long silence. Suddenly Antony roused himself.
+
+"You'll let me get you some tea, Madam," he said.
+
+Awaiting no reply, he went into the little scullery, where the fire by
+which he had cooked his midday meal was still alight. The kettle filled
+with water and placed on the stove, he stood by it, in a measure wishful,
+yet oddly reluctant to return to the parlour. Reluctance won the day. He
+remained by the kettle, gazing at it.
+
+Left alone, the Duchessa looked round the parlour. It was exceedingly
+primitive, yet, to her mind, curiously interesting. Of course in reality
+it was not unlike dozens of other cottage parlours, but it held a
+personality of its own for her. It was the room where Antony Gray lived.
+
+She pictured him at his lonely meals, sitting at the table where he had
+sat a moment or so agone; sitting on the settle where she was now
+sitting, certainly smoking, and possibly reading. She found herself
+wondering what he thought about. Did he ever think of the _Fort
+Salisbury_, she wondered? Or had he blotted it from his mind, as she had
+endeavoured--ineffectually--to do? And then, with that thought, with the
+possibility that he had done so, her presence in the room seemed quite
+suddenly an intrusion. What on earth would he think of her for coming?
+And what on earth did she mean to say to him now she had come?
+
+The impulse which had led her down the lane, which had caused her to
+pause at the gate and speak to him, all at once seemed to her perfectly
+idiotic, and, worse still, intrusive and impertinent. What possible
+excuse was she going to give for it, in the face of her behaviour to him
+that afternoon on the moorland? Merely to have asked for shelter on
+account of the heat, appeared to her now as the flimsiest of excuses, and
+would appear to him as an excuse simply to pry upon him, to see his mode
+of living. He had not returned to the parlour. Doubtless his absence was
+a silent rebuke to her. She had thrust the necessity of hospitality upon
+him, but he intended to show her plainly that it was entirely of
+necessity he had offered it.
+
+Her cheeks burned at the thought. She looked quickly round. Anyhow there
+was still time for flight. She picked up her gloves from where she had
+laid them on the settle, and got to her feet.
+
+"The water won't be long in boiling, Madam," said Antony's voice.
+
+He had come back quietly into the room. For a moment he glanced in half
+surprise to see the Duchessa standing by the settle. Then he crossed to
+the dresser, and began taking down a cup, a saucer, and a plate.
+
+The Duchessa sat down again, drawing her hand nervously along her
+gloves.
+
+She looked at him getting down the things and setting them on the table.
+She watched his neat, deft movements. Antony took no notice of her; she
+might have been part of the settle itself for all the attention he paid
+her. His preparations made, he returned momentarily to the scullery to
+fill the teapot. Coming back with it he placed it on the table.
+
+"Everything is ready, Madam," he said. Dale himself could not have been
+more distantly respectful.
+
+The Duchessa looked at the one cup, the one saucer, and the one plate.
+
+"Aren't you going to have some tea, too?" she asked.
+
+"Servants do not sit down with their superiors," said Antony.
+
+The colour rose hotly in the Duchessa's face.
+
+"Why do you say that?" she demanded.
+
+Antony lifted his shoulders, the merest suspicion of a shrug.
+
+"I merely state a fact," he replied.
+
+"I wish you to," she said quickly.
+
+"Is that a command?" asked Antony.
+
+"If you like to take it so," she replied.
+
+Antony turned to the dresser. He took down another cup and plate and put
+them on the table. Then he stood by it, waiting for her to be seated.
+
+"Sugar?" asked the Duchessa. She was making a brave endeavour to steady
+the trembling of her voice.
+
+"If you please, Madam," said Antony gravely.
+
+The meal proceeded in dead silence.
+
+"Mr. Gray," said the Duchessa suddenly.
+
+"My name," said Antony respectfully, "is Michael Field."
+
+The Duchessa gave a little shaky laugh.
+
+"Well, Michael Field," she said. "I was not very kind that day I met you
+on the moorland."
+
+Antony kept his eyes fixed on his plate.
+
+"There was no reason that you should be kind," he replied quietly.
+
+"There was," flashed the Duchessa.
+
+"I think not," replied Antony, calmly. "Ladies in your position are under
+no obligation to be kind to servants, except to those of their own
+household. Even then, it is more or less of a condescension on their
+part."
+
+"You were not always a servant," said the Duchessa.
+
+There was the fraction of a pause.
+
+"I did not happen to be actually in a situation when I was on the _Fort
+Salisbury_, if that is what you mean, Madam," returned Antony.
+
+"I mean more than that," retorted the Duchessa. "I mean that by your
+up-bringing you are not a servant."
+
+Antony laughed shortly.
+
+"I happen to have had a better education than falls to the lot of most
+men who have been in the positions I have been in, and who are in
+positions like my present one. But most assuredly I am a servant."
+
+"What positions have you been in?" demanded the Duchessa.
+
+A very faint smile showed itself on Antony's face.
+
+"I have been a sort of miner's boy," he replied slowly. "I have been a
+farm hand, mainly used for cleaning out pigsties, and that kind of work.
+I have been servant in a gambling saloon; odd man on a cattle boat. I
+have worked on a farm again. And now I am an under-gardener. Very
+assuredly I have been, and am, a servant."
+
+The Duchessa's brows wrinkled. "Yet you speak like a gentleman, and--and
+you wore dress clothes as if you were used to them."
+
+Again a faint smile showed itself on Antony's face.
+
+"I told you I happen to have had a decent education in my youth. Also, I
+would suggest, that even butlers and waiters wear dress clothes as if
+they were used to them."
+
+Once more there was a silence. A rather long silence this time. It was
+broken by the Duchessa's voice.
+
+"Some months ago," she said, "I offered my friendship to Antony Gray; I
+now offer that same friendship to Michael Field."
+
+Antony gave a little laugh. There was an odd gleam in his eyes.
+
+"Michael Field regrets that he must decline the honour."
+
+The Duchessa's face went dead white.
+
+Antony got to his feet.
+
+"Please don't misunderstand me," he said. "I fully appreciate the honour
+you have done me, but--" he shrugged his shoulders--"it is quite
+impossible to accept it. It--you must see that for yourself--would be a
+rather ridiculous situation. The Duchessa di Donatello and a friendship
+with an under-gardener! I don't fancy either of us would care to be made
+a mock of, even by the extremely small world in which we happen to live."
+He stopped.
+
+The Duchessa rose too. Her eyes were steely.
+
+"Thank you for reminding me," she said. "In a moment of absurd
+impulsiveness I had overlooked that fact. Also, thank you for--for your
+hospitality."
+
+She moved to the door without looking at him. Antony was before her, and
+had it open. He followed her down the path and unfastened the wicket
+gate. She passed through it without turning her head, and walked rather
+deliberately down the lane.
+
+Antony went back into the cottage. For a moment he stood looking at the
+table, his throat contracted. Then slowly, and with oddly unseeing eyes,
+he began clearing away the debris of the meal.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+LETTERS AND MRS. ARBUTHNOT
+
+
+Trix was sitting in a summer-house in the garden of an hotel at
+Llandrindod Wells. She was reading a letter, a not altogether
+satisfactory letter to judge by the wrinkling of her brows, and the
+gravity of her eyes.
+
+The letter was from the Duchessa di Donatello, and ran as follows:
+
+
+"My Dear Trix:
+
+"I am glad you had a comfortable journey, and that Mrs. Arbuthnot had not
+been pining for you too deeply. It is a pity her letters gave you the
+impression that she was feeling your absence so acutely. Possibly it is
+always wiser to subtract at least half of the impression conveyed in both
+written and spoken words. Please understand that I am speaking in
+generalities when I say that we are exceedingly apt to exaggerate our own
+importance to others, and their importance to us.
+
+"Talking of exaggeration, will you forget our conversation on your last
+evening here? I exaggerated my own trouble and its cause. Rather
+foolishly I let your remarks influence me, and sought an explanation, or
+rather, attempted to ignore appearances, and return to the old footing.
+The result being that not only did I find that there was no explanation
+to be given, but that I got rather badly snubbed. As you, of course, will
+know who administered the snub, you can understand that it was peculiarly
+unpleasant. I had endeavoured to ignore the fact that he was my social
+inferior, but he reminded me of it in a way it was impossible to
+overlook, and showed me that he deeply resented what he evidently looked
+upon as a somewhat impertinent condescension on my part.
+
+"The theories, my dear Trix, which you set forth in the moonlight under
+the lime trees, simply won't hold water. For your own sake I advise you
+to abandon them forthwith. Blood will always tell; and sooner or later,
+if we attempt intimacy with those not of our own station in life, we
+shall get a glimpse of the hairy hoof. I know the theories sound all
+right, and quite beautifully Christian--as set forth in the
+moonlight,--but they don't work in this twentieth century, as I have
+found to my cost. You had better make up your mind to that fact before
+you, too, get a slap in the face. I assure you you don't feel like
+turning the other cheek. However, that will do. But as it was mainly
+through following out your theories and advice that I found my pride not
+only in the mud, but rubbed rather heavily in it, I thought you might as
+well have a word of warning. Please now consider the matter closed, and
+never make the smallest reference to that rather idiotic conversation.
+
+"Doctor Hilary was over here again yesterday. He enquired after you, and
+asked to be very kindly remembered to you. I should like Doctor Hilary to
+attend me in any illness. He gives one such a feeling of strength and
+reliance. There's absolutely no humbug about him.
+
+                                       "Much love, my dear Trix,
+                                            "Yours affectionately,
+                                                 "Pia Di Donatello."
+
+
+Trix read the letter through very carefully, and then dropped it on her
+lap.
+
+"It wasn't Doctor Hilary!" she ejaculated. "So who on earth was it?"
+
+She sat gazing through the opening of the summer-house towards the
+garden. It was the oddest _puzzle_ she had ever encountered. Who on earth
+could it have been? And why--since it wasn't Doctor Hilary--had Pia
+jumped to the conclusion that she--Trix--knew who it was?
+
+It wasn't Mr. Danver, that was very certain. "Social inferior" put that
+fact out of the question. But then, what social inferior had been mixed
+up in the business? Or--Trix's brain leapt from point to point--had Pia's
+trouble nothing whatever to do with the mad business at the Hall? Had she
+and Pia simply been playing a quite amazing game of cross-purposes that
+evening? It would seem that must have been the case. Yet the recognition
+of that fact didn't bring her in the smallest degree nearer the solution
+of the riddle. Again, who on earth was it? What social inferior was
+there, could there possibly be, at Woodleigh, to cause Pia a moment's
+trouble? Every preconceived notion on Trix's part, including the colour
+of the soap-bubble, vanished into thin air, and left her contemplating an
+inexplicable mystery.
+
+Whatever it was, it had affected Pia pretty deeply. It was absurd for her
+to say the incident was closed. Externally it might be, in the matter of
+not referring to it again. Interiorly it had left a wound, and one which
+was very far from being easily healed, to judge by Pia's letter. It had
+not been written by Pia at all, but by a very bitter woman, who had
+merely a superficial likeness to Pia. That fact, and that fact alone,
+caused Trix to imagine that she had been right when she told Tibby--if
+not in so many words, at least virtually speaking--that love had come
+into Pia's life. Love embittered alone could have inflicted the wound she
+felt Pia to be enduring. And yet the wording of her letter would appear
+to put that surmise out of the question. Truly it was an insolvable
+riddle.
+
+Once more she re-read the letter, but it didn't help her in the smallest
+degree. There was only one small ounce of comfort in it. It wasn't Doctor
+Hilary who had caused the wound. Pia had merely tried to pick a quarrel
+with him, as she had frequently tried to pick one with herself and Tibby,
+because she was unhappy. If only Trix knew what had caused the
+unhappiness. And Pia thought she did know. If she wrote and told her now
+that she hadn't the smallest conception of what she was talking about, it
+would in all probability rouse conjectures in Pia's mind as to what Trix
+_had_ thought. That, having in view her promise, had certainly better be
+avoided.
+
+Should she, then, ignore Pia's letter, or should she reply to it? She
+weighed the pros and cons of this question for the next ten minutes, and
+finally decided she would write, and at once.
+
+Returning, therefore, to the hotel, she indited the following brief
+missive:
+
+
+"My dear Pia,--
+
+"The incident is closed so far as I am concerned. But I don't mean to
+give up seeking my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I dare say most
+people would call it an imaginary quest. Well then, I like an imaginary
+quest. It helps to make me forget much that is prosaic, and a good deal
+that is sordid in this work-a-day world.
+
+"Please remember me to Doctor Hilary when you see him. Best love, Pia
+darling,
+
+                                                               "Trix."
+
+
+Three days later Pia wrote:
+
+
+"My dear Trix,
+
+"The rainbow vanishes, and the sordidness and the prosaicness become
+rather horribly apparent, especially when one finds oneself obliged to
+look at them after having steadily ignored their existence.
+
+                                              "Yours affectionately,
+                                                                "Pia."
+
+
+To which Trix replied:
+
+
+"My dear Pia,
+
+"My rainbow shines after every shower, and is brightest against the
+darkest clouds. When I look towards the darkest clouds I wait for the
+rainbow.
+
+                                                             "Yours,
+                                                               "Trix."
+
+
+And Pia wrote:
+
+
+"My dear Trix,
+
+"What happens when there is no longer any sun to form a rainbow?
+
+                                              "Yours affectionately,
+                                                                "Pia."
+
+
+And Trix wrote:
+
+
+"Wait till the clouds roll by, Jenny, wait till the clouds roll by."
+
+
+And Pia wrote:
+
+
+"My dear Trix,
+
+"Some people wait a lifetime in vain,
+
+                                              "Yours affectionately,
+                                                                "Pia."
+
+
+And Trix wrote:
+
+
+"Darling Pia,
+
+"You're twenty-eight. Trix."
+
+
+After which there was a cessation of correspondence for a time, neither
+having anything further to say on the subject, or at all events, nothing
+further they felt disposed to set down in writing.
+
+Trix spent her mornings, and the afternoons, till tea time, in her Aunt's
+company. After that, Mrs. Arbuthnot being engrossed in Bridge till
+bedtime, Trix was free to do exactly as she liked. What she liked was
+walking till it was time to dress for dinner, and spending the evenings
+in the garden.
+
+Even before her father's death, Trix had stayed frequently with her aunt.
+Her mother had died when Trix was three years old and Mrs. Arbuthnot, a
+widow with no children of her own, would have been quite ready to adopt
+Trix. But neither Mr. Devereux, nor, for that matter, Trix herself, were
+in the least disposed to fall in with her plans. Trix was merely lent to
+her for fairly lengthy periods, and it had been during one of these
+periods that Mrs. Arbuthnot had taken her to a farm near Byestry, in
+which place Mr. Devereux had spent most of his early years.
+
+In those days Mrs. Arbuthnot's one hobby had been photography. People
+used to say, of course unjustly, that she never beheld any view with the
+naked eye, but merely in the reflector of a photographic apparatus. Yet
+it is entirely obvious that she must first have regarded it in the
+ordinary way to judge of its photographic merits. Anyhow it is true that
+quite a good deal of her time was spent beneath the folds of a black
+cloth (she never condescended to anything so amateurish as a mere kodak),
+or in the seclusion of a dark room.
+
+Veritable dark rooms being seldom procurable on her travels, she
+invariably carried with her two or three curtains of thick red serge,
+several rolls of brown paper, and a bottle of stickphast. The two last
+mentioned were employed for covering chinks in doors, etc. It cannot be
+said that it was entirely beneficial to the doors, but hotel proprietors
+and landladies seldom made any complaint after the first remonstrance, as
+Mrs. Arbuthnot was always ready to make handsome compensation for any
+damage caused. It is to be feared that at times her generosity was
+largely imposed upon.
+
+In addition to the red curtains, the brown paper, and the stickphast, two
+large boxes were included in her luggage, one containing all her
+photographic necessaries, and they were not few, the other containing
+several dozen albums of prints.
+
+Of late years Bridge had taken quite as large a place in her affections
+as photography. Not that she felt any rivalry between the two; her
+pleasure in both pastimes was quite equally balanced. Her mornings and
+early afternoons were given to photography. The late afternoons and
+evenings Mrs. Arbuthnot devoted to Bridge.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+One exceedingly wet afternoon, tea being recently concluded, Trix in her
+bedroom was surveying the weather from the window.
+
+She was debating within her mind whether to don mackintosh and souwester
+and face the elements, or whether to retire to a far corner of the
+drawing-room with a novel, as much as possible out of earshot of the
+Bridge players. She was still in two minds as to which prospect most
+appealed to her mood, when Mrs. Arbuthnot tapped on her door, and
+immediately after sailed into the room. It is the only word applicable to
+Mrs. Arbuthnot's entry into any room.
+
+She was a large fair woman, very distinctly inclined to stoutness. In her
+youth she had been both slender, and quick in her movements; but
+recognizing, and rightly, that quickness means a certain loss of dignity
+in the stout, she had trained herself to be exceedingly deliberate in her
+actions. There was an element of consciousness in her deliberation,
+therefore, which gave the impression of a rather large sailing vessel
+under weigh.
+
+"Trix, dearest," she began. And then she perceived that Trix had been
+observing the weather.
+
+"You were not going out, were you, dearest? I really think it would
+hardly be wise. It is blowing quite furiously. I know it is rather dull
+for you as you don't play Bridge. Such a pity, too, as you understand it
+so well. But I have a suggestion to make. Will you paste some of my
+newest prints into the latest album? There is a table in the window in my
+room, and a fresh bottle of stickphast. Not in the window, I don't mean
+that, but in my trunk. And Maunder can find it for you." Maunder was Mrs.
+Arbuthnot's maid.
+
+Trix turned from the window. Of course Mrs. Arbuthnot's request settled
+the question of a walk. She had really been in two minds about it.
+
+"Why, of course," she said. "Where are the prints?"
+
+Mrs. Arbuthnot brightened visibly.
+
+"They're inside a green envelope on the writing-table. You'll find a
+small pair of very sharp scissors there too. The dark edges are so
+unsightly if not trimmed. You're sure you don't mind, dearest? It really
+will be quite a pleasant occupation. It is so dreadfully wet. And Maunder
+will give you the stickphast. There is clean blotting-paper on the
+writing-table too, and Maunder can find you anything else you want. Well,
+that's all right. Maunder is in my room now. She will be going to her tea
+in ten minutes, so perhaps you might go to her at once. And she is sure
+to be downstairs for at least an hour and a half, if not longer. Servants
+always have so much to talk about, and take so long saying it. Why, I
+can't imagine. It always seems to me so much better not to waste words
+unnecessarily. So you will have the room to yourself, till she comes to
+put out my evening things. And I must go back to the drawing-room at
+once, or they will be waiting Bridge for me. And Lady Fortescue hates
+being kept waiting. It puts her in a bad temper, and when she's in a bad
+temper she is extraordinarily erratic as to her declarations. Though, for
+that matter, she is seldom anything else. I don't mean bad-tempered, but
+seldom anything but erratic. So, dearest, I mustn't let you keep me any
+longer. Don't forget to ask Maunder for the stickphast, and anything else
+you want. And the prints and the scissors----"
+
+"Yes, I know," nodded Trix cheerfully, "on the writing table. Hurry, Aunt
+Lilla, or they'll all be swearing."
+
+"Oh, my dearest, I trust not. Though perhaps interiorly. And even that is
+a sin. I remember----"
+
+Trix propelled her gently but firmly from the room. Doubtless Mrs.
+Arbuthnot continued her remembrances "interiorly" as she went down the
+passage and descended the stairs.
+
+Ten minutes later, Trix, provided with the stickphast, the green
+envelope, the scissors, and the clean blotting-paper, and having a very
+large album spread open before her on a table, was busily engaged with
+the prints. They were mainly views of Llandrindod Wells, though there
+were quite a good many groups among them, as well as a fair number of
+single figures. Trix herself appeared chiefly in these last,--Trix in a
+hat, Trix without a hat, Trix smiling, serious, standing, or sitting.
+
+For half an hour or so Trix worked industriously, indefatigably. She
+trimmed off dark edges, she applied stickphast, she adjusted the prints
+in careful positions, she smoothed them down neatly with the clean
+blotting-paper. At the end of that time, she paused to let the paste dry
+somewhat before turning the page.
+
+With a view to whiling away the interval, she possessed herself of a
+sister album, one of the many relations stacked against a wall, choosing
+it haphazard from among the number.
+
+There is a distinct fascination in photographs which recall early
+memories. Trix fell promptly under the spell of this fascination. The
+minutes passed, finding her engrossed, absorbed. Turning a page she came
+upon views of Byestry, herself--a white-robed, short-skirted small
+person--appearing in the foreground of many.
+
+Trix smiled at the representations. It really was rather an adorable
+small person. It was so slim-legged, mop-haired, and elfin-smiled. It was
+seen, for the most part, lavishing blandishments on a somewhat ungainly
+puppy. One photograph, however, represented the small person in company
+with a boy.
+
+Trix looked at this photograph, and suddenly amazement fell full upon
+her. She looked, she leant back in her chair and shut her eyes, and then
+she looked again. Yes; there was no mistake, no shadow of a mistake. The
+boy in the photograph was the man with the wheelbarrow, or the other way
+about, which possibly might be the more correct method of expressing the
+matter. But, whichever the method, the fact remained the same.
+
+Trix stared harder at the photograph, cogitating, bewildered. Below it
+was written in Mrs. Arbuthnot's rather sprawling handwriting, "T. D.,
+aged five. A. G., aged fourteen. Byestry, 1892."
+
+Who on earth was A. G.? Trix searched the recesses of her mind. And then
+suddenly, welling up like a bubbling spring, came memory. Why, of course
+A. G. was the boy she used to play with, the boy--she began to remember
+things clearly now--who had tried to sail across the pond, and with whom
+she had gone to search for pheasants' eggs. A dozen little details came
+back to her mind, even the sound of the boy's voice, and his laugh, a
+curiously infectious laugh.
+
+Oh, she remembered him distinctly, vividly. But, what--and there lay the
+puzzlement, the bewilderment--was the boy, now grown to manhood, doing
+with a wheelbarrow in the grounds of Chorley Old Hall, and, moreover,
+dressed as a gardener, working as a gardener, and speaking--well, at any
+rate speaking after the manner of a gardener? Perhaps to have said,
+speaking as though he were on a different social footing from Trix, would
+have better expressed Trix's meaning. But she chose her own phraseology,
+and doubtless it conveyed to her exactly what she did mean. Anyhow, it
+was an amazing riddle, an insoluble riddle. Trix stared at the
+photograph, finding no answer to it.
+
+Finding no answer she left the book open at the page, and returned to the
+sticking in of prints. But every now and then her eyes wandered to the
+big volume at the other end of the table, wonderment and query possessing
+her soul.
+
+Maunder appeared just as Trix had finished her task. Helpful,
+business-like, she approached the table, a gleam spelling order and
+tidiness in her eye.
+
+"Leave that album, please," said Trix, seeing the helpful Maunder about
+to shut and bear away the book containing the boy's photograph.
+
+Maunder hesitated, sighed conspicuously, and left the book, occupying
+herself instead with putting away the stickphast, the scissors, the now
+not as clean blotting-paper, and somewhat resignedly picking up small
+shreds of paper which were scattered upon the table-cloth and carpet. In
+the midst of these occupations the dressing-gong sounded. Maunder pricked
+up her ears, actually almost, as well as figuratively.
+
+Ten minutes elapsed. Then Mrs. Arbuthnot appeared.
+
+"What, finished, dearest!" she exclaimed as she opened the door.
+"Splendid! How quick you've been. And I am sure the time flew on--not
+leaden feet, but just the opposite. It always does when one is pleasantly
+occupied. Developing photographs or a rubber of Bridge, it's just the
+same, the hands of the clock spin round. And I've won six shillings, and
+it would have been more if it had not been for Lady Fortescue's last
+declaration. Four hearts, my dearest, and the knave as her highest card.
+They doubled us, and of course we went down. I had only two small ones. I
+had shown her my own weakness by not supporting her declaration. Of
+course at my first lead I led her a heart, and it was won by the queen on
+my left. A heart was returned, and Lady Fortescue played the nine. It was
+covered by the ten which won the trick. She didn't make a single trick in
+her own suit. It is quite impossible to understand Lady Fortescue's
+declarations. And did you put in all the prints? They will have nearly
+filled the last pages. I must send for another album. Are these they?"
+She crossed to the open volume.
+
+"No," said Trix, "that's an old volume. I was looking at it. Who's the
+boy in the photograph, Aunt Lilla?"
+
+Mrs. Arbuthnot bent towards the page.
+
+"'A. G., aged fourteen.' Let me see. Why, of course that was Antony Gray,
+Richard Gray's son. But I never knew his father. He--I mean the boy--was
+staying in rooms with his aunt, Mrs. Stanley. She was his father's
+sister, and married George Stanley. Something to do with the stock
+exchange, and quite a wealthy man, though a bad temper. And his wife was
+not a happy woman, as you can guess. Temper means such endless friction
+when it's bad, especially with regard to things like interfering with the
+servants, and wanting to order the kitchen dinner. So absurd, as well as
+annoying. There's a place for a man and a place for a woman, and the
+man's place is not the kitchen, even if his entry is only figurative. By
+which I mean that Mr. Stanley did not actually go to the kitchen, but
+gave orders from his study, on a sort of telephone business he had had
+fixed up and communicating with the kitchen. So trying for the cook's
+nerves, especially when making omelettes, or anything that required
+particular attention. She never knew when his voice wouldn't shout at her
+from the wall. A small black thing like a hollow handle fixed close to
+the kitchen range. Quite uncomfortably near her ear. Worse than if he
+himself had appeared at the kitchen door, which would have been normal,
+though trying. And Mr. Stanley never lowered his voice. He always spoke
+as if one were deaf, especially to foreigners who spoke English every bit
+as well as himself. Mrs. Stanley gave excellent wages, and even bonuses
+out of her dress money to try and keep cooks. But they all said the voice
+from the wall got on their nerves. And no wonder. And then unpleasantness
+when the cooks left. As if it were poor Mrs. Stanley's fault, and not his
+own. She once suggested they should give up their house and live in an
+hotel. He couldn't have a telephone arrangement to the kitchen there. But
+he was more unpleasant still. Almost violent. And he died at last of an
+attack of apoplexy. Such a relief to Mrs. Stanley. Not the dying of
+apoplexy, which was a grief. But the quiet, and the being able to keep a
+cook when he had gone." Mrs. Arbuthnot paused a moment to take breath.
+
+"Do you know what became of the boy?" asked Trix.
+
+Mrs. Arbuthnot considered for an instant.
+
+"I believe he went abroad. Yes; I remember now, hearing from Mrs. Stanley
+just before she died herself, poor soul--ptomaine poisoning and a dirty
+cook, some people seem pursued by cooks, figuratively speaking, of
+course,--that her brother had lost all his money and died, and that
+Antony had gone abroad. We are told not to judge, and I don't, but it did
+seem to me that Mrs. Stanley ought to have made him some provision, if
+not before her death, at least after it. By will, of course I mean by
+'after'! which in a sense would have been before death. But you
+understand. Instead of which she left all her money to a deaf and dumb
+asylum. No doubt good in its way, but not like anything religious, which
+would have been more justifiable, though she was a Protestant. And
+teaching dumb people to speak is always a doubtful blessing. They have
+such an odd way of talking. Scarcely understandable. But perhaps better
+than nothing for themselves, though not for others. Though with a
+penniless nephew and all that money I _do_ think--But, as I said, we are
+told not to judge."
+
+"And you don't know what became of him after that?" asked Trix.
+
+Mrs. Arbuthnot looked almost reproachful.
+
+"My dearest, how could I? Mrs. Stanley in the family grave with her
+brother,--she mentioned that particularly in her will, and not with her
+husband, I suppose she could not have had much affection for him,--I
+could not possibly hear any more of the young man. There were no other
+relations, and I did not even know what part of the world he was in. Nor
+should I have thought it advisable to write to him if I had, unless it
+had been a brief letter of consolation as from a much older woman, which
+I was. But even with age I do not think a correspondence between men and
+women desirable, unless they are related, especially with Mrs. Barclay's
+novels so widely read. Not for my own sake, of course, as I do not think
+I am easily given to absurd notions. But one never knows what ideas a
+young man may not get into his head. And now, dear child, I must dress.
+Maunder has been sighing for the last ten minutes, and I know what that
+means. And you'll be late yourself, if you don't go."
+
+Much later in the evening, Trix, in a far corner of the drawing-room with
+a novel, found herself again pondering deeply on her discovery.
+
+She was absolutely and entirely certain that the man with the wheelbarrow
+was none other than Antony Gray, the boy with whom she had played in her
+childhood. She remembered now that his face had been oddly familiar to
+her at the time, though, being unable to put any name to him, she had
+looked upon it merely as a chance likeness. But since he was Antony Gray,
+what was he doing at Chorley Old Hall?
+
+Her first impulse had been to write to the Duchessa, tell her of her
+certainty, and ask her to find out any particulars she could regarding
+the man. She had abandoned that idea, in view of the fact that she would
+have to say where she had met him, which would very probably lead to
+questions difficult to answer.
+
+One thing she would do, however, and she gave a little inward laugh at
+the thought, when she was next at Byestry, if she saw him again, she
+would ask him if he remembered the pond and the pheasants' eggs. It would
+be amusing to see his amazed face.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+FOR THE DAY ALONE
+
+
+Probably there are times in the life of every human being, when the only
+possible method of living at all, would seem to be by living in the
+day--nay, in the moment--alone, resolutely shutting one's eyes to the
+mistakes behind one, refusing to look at the blankness ahead. And this is
+more especially the case when the mistakes and the blankness have been
+caused by our own actions. There is not even stolid philosophy to come to
+our aid, a shrugging of the shoulders, a foisting of the blame on to
+fate. It may be that the majority of the incidents have been forced upon
+us, that we have not been free agents in the matter, but if we must of
+honesty say,--Here or there was the mistake which led to them, and I made
+that mistake of my own free will,--we cannot turn to philosophy regarding
+fate for our comfort.
+
+To Antony's mind he had made a big mistake. Fate had been responsible for
+his receipt of that letter, it had had nothing to do with himself; he
+might even consider that, having received it, fate was largely
+responsible for his journey to England and his meeting with the Duchessa,
+but he could not possibly accuse fate of his acceptance of those mad
+conditions attached to the will. He had been an entirely free agent so
+far as they were concerned; they had been put before him for him to
+accept or reject them as he chose, and he had accepted them. It had been
+a huge blunder on his part, and one for which he alone had been
+responsible.
+
+Of course he might quite justly declare that he could not possibly have
+foreseen all the other moves fate had up her sleeve; but then no living
+being could have foreseen them. Fate never does show her subsequent
+moves. She puts decisions before us in such a way, that she leaves us to
+imagine we can shape our succeeding actions to our own mind and according
+to the decision made. She leaves us to imagine it is simply a question
+whether we will reach our goal by a road bearing slightly to the right or
+to the left, by a road which may take a long time to traverse and be a
+fairly smooth road, or a road which will take a short time to traverse
+and be a rough one. Or, even, as in Antony's case, she will leave us to
+imagine there is one route and one route only by which we may reach our
+goal. And then, whatever our choice, she may suddenly plant a huge
+barrier across the path, labelled,--No thoroughfare to your goal in this
+direction.
+
+Sometimes it is possible to defy fate, retrace our steps, and start anew
+towards the goal. Occasionally we will find that we have burnt our
+bridges behind us; we are up against an obstacle, and there we are bound
+to remain helpless. And here fate appears at her worst trickery.
+
+And even supposing we are minded to call it not fate, but Providence, who
+does these things, it will be of remarkably little comfort to us when we
+are aware of our own blunders in the background.
+
+A hundred times Antony reviewed the past; a hundred times he blamed
+himself for the part he had chosen. It is true that, so far as he could
+see, none other would have had the smallest chance of leading him to his
+desired goal, yet any other could not have raised the enormous barrier he
+now saw before him.
+
+He had angered her: she despised him.
+
+To his mind nothing, no subsequent happening, could alter that fact.
+There was the thought he had to face, and behind him lay his own
+irredeemable blunder.
+
+Well, the only thing now left for him was to live his life as it was,
+minus one spark of brightness. Certainly he didn't feel like singing, but
+whining was no earthly good. And since he could not sing, and would not
+whine, silence alone was left him. He would work as best he could till
+the year was out. He had no intention of going back on his bargain,
+despite the uselessness of it. At the end of the year, the Hall being his
+own property, he would sell the place, and travel. Perhaps he would go
+off shooting big game, or perhaps he would go round the world. It did not
+much matter which, so long as it prevented him from whining.
+
+And quite possibly, though he would never have any heart for singing, the
+day might come when he would again be able to whistle.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+IN THE CHURCH PORCH
+
+
+It was somewhere about the second week in December that Trix became the
+recipient of another letter, a letter quite as amazing, perplexing, and
+extraordinary as that which she had perused in the summer-house at
+Llandrindod Wells. They had returned to London in October.
+
+The letter was brought to her in the drawing-room one evening about nine
+o'clock. Mrs. Arbuthnot had gone out to a Bridge party.
+
+Trix was engrossed in a rather exciting novel at the moment, a blazing
+fire and an exceedingly comfortable armchair adding to her blissful state
+of well-being. Barely raising her eyes from the book, she merely put out
+her hand and took the letter from the tray. It was not till she had come
+to the end of the chapter that she even glanced at the handwriting. Then
+she saw that the writing was Miss Tibbutt's.
+
+Now, a letter from Miss Tibbutt was of such extremely rare occurrence
+that Trix immediately leapt to the conclusion that Pia must be ill. It
+was therefore with a distinct pang of uneasiness that she broke the seal.
+This is what she read:
+
+
+"My Dear Trix,--
+
+"I have made rather an astounding discovery. At least I feel sure I've
+made it, I mean that I am right in what I think. I have no one in whom I
+can confide, as it certainly would not do to speak to Pia on the
+subject,--I feel sure she would rather I didn't, so I am writing to you
+as I feel I must tell someone. My dear, it sounds too extraordinary for
+anything, and I can't understand it myself, but it is this. Pia knows the
+under-gardener at the Hall, really knows him I mean, not merely who he
+is, and that he is one of the gardeners, and that he came to these parts
+last March, which, of course, we all know.
+
+"I found this out quite by accident, and will explain the incident to
+you. You must forgive me if I am lengthy; but I can only write in my own
+way, dear Trix, and perhaps that will be a little long-winded.
+
+"Yesterday afternoon, which was Saturday, Pia and I motored into Byestry,
+as she wanted to see Father Dormer about something. I went into the
+church, while she went to the presbytery. I noticed a man in the church
+as I went in, a man in workman's clothes, but of course I did not pay any
+particular attention to him. I knelt down by one of the chairs near the
+door, and just beyond St. Peter's statue. I suppose I must have been
+kneeling there about ten minutes when the man got up. He didn't
+genuflect, and I glanced involuntarily at him. He didn't notice me,
+because I was partly hidden by St. Peter's statue. Then I saw it was the
+under-gardener,--Michael Field, I believe his name is.
+
+"My dear, the man looked dreadfully ill, and so sad. It was the face of a
+man who had lost something or someone very dear to him. He went towards
+the porch, and just before he reached it, I heard the door open. Whoever
+was coming in must have met him just inside the church. There was a sound
+of steps as if the person had turned back into the porch with him. Then I
+heard Pia's voice, speaking impulsively and almost involuntarily. At
+least I felt sure it was involuntarily. It sounded exactly as if she
+couldn't help speaking.
+
+"'Oh,' she said, 'you've been ill.'
+
+"'Nothing of any consequence, Madam,' I heard the man's voice answer.
+
+"'But it must have been of consequence,' I heard Pia say. 'Have you seen
+a doctor?'
+
+"'There was no need,' returned the man.
+
+"Then I heard Pia's voice, impulsive and a little bit impatient. She
+evidently had not seen me in the church, and thought no one was there.
+
+"'But there is need. Why don't you go and see Doctor Hilary?'
+
+"'I am not ill enough to need doctors, Madam,' returned the man.
+
+"'But you are,' returned Pia, in the way that she insists when she is
+very anxious about anything.
+
+"I heard the man give a little laugh."
+
+"'It is exceedingly good of you to trouble concerning me,' he said, 'and
+I really don't know why you should.'
+
+"'Oh,' said Pia quickly, 'you need not be afraid that I, personally, wish
+to interfere with you again. You made it quite plain to me months ago
+that you had no smallest wish for me to do so. But, speaking simply as
+one human being to another, as complete and entire strangers, even, I do
+ask you to see a doctor.'
+
+"Then there was a moment's silence."
+
+"'I think not,' I heard the man say presently. 'I am really not
+sufficiently interested in myself. Though--' and then, Trix dear, he half
+stopped, and his voice altered in the queerest way,--'the fact that you
+have shown interest enough to ask me to do so, has, curiously enough,
+made me feel quite a good deal more important in my own eyes.'
+
+"'You refused my friendship,' I heard Pia say, and her voice shook a
+little.
+
+"'I did,' said the man in rather a stern voice.
+
+"Again, Trix dear, there was a little silence. Then Pia said:
+
+"'I don't intend again to offer a thing that has once been rejected. I
+shall _never_ do that. But because we once were friends, or at all
+events, fancied ourselves friends, I do ask you to see Doctor Hilary.
+That is all.'
+
+"She must have turned from him at once, because she came into the church,
+and went up the aisle to her own chair. She knelt down, and put her hands
+over her eyes; and, Trix dearest, she was crying. I am crying now when I
+think about it, so forgive the blots on the paper. A minute later I heard
+the door open and shut again, so I knew the man had gone. I got up as
+softly as I could, and slipped out of the church. It would never have
+done for Pia to see me, and I was so thankful to St. Peter for hiding
+me.
+
+"Well, my dear Trix, wasn't it amazing? And one of the most amazing
+things was that the man's voice and way of speaking was quite educated,
+not the least as one would suppose a gardener would speak.
+
+"I went to the post-office and bought some stamps, though I really had
+plenty at home, and loitered about for nearly a quarter of an hour. Then
+I thought I had better go and find Pia. I met her coming out of the
+church. She was very pale; but she smiled, and wanted to know where I'd
+been, and I told her to the post-office. And then we drove home together.
+Pia laughed and chatted all the way, while my heart was in a big lump in
+my throat, and I could hardly keep from crying, like the foolish old
+woman that I am. I ought to have been talking, and helping Pia to
+pretend.
+
+"She has been quite gay all to-day, and oddly gentle too. But you know
+the kind of gayness. And to-night my heart feels like breaking for her,
+for there is some sad mystery I can't fathom. So, Trix dearest, I have
+written to you, because I cannot keep it all to myself. And I am crying
+again now, though I know I oughtn't to. So I am going to leave off, and
+say the rosary instead.
+
+                                      "Good night, my dear Trix.
+                                    "Your affectionate old friend,
+                                                    "Esther Tibbutt.
+
+P.S. I wish you could come down here again. Can't you?"
+
+
+Trix leant back in her chair, and drew a long breath. The novel was
+utterly and entirely forgotten. So _that_ was what Pia's letter had
+meant. It was this man she had been thinking of all the time. A dozen
+little unanswered questions were answered now, a dozen queer little
+riddles solved.
+
+Trix slid down off her chair on to the bear-skin rug in front of the
+fire. She leant her arms sideways on the chair, resting her chin upon
+them. Most assuredly she must place the whole matter clearly before her
+mind, in so far as possible. She gazed steadily at the glowing coals,
+ruminative, reflective.
+
+And firstly it was presented to her mind as the paramount fact, that it
+was the mention of this man--this Michael Field, so-called--that had been
+the direct cause of Pia's odd irritability, and not the indirect cause,
+as she most erroneously had imagined. Somehow, in some way, he had caused
+her such pain that the mere mention of his name had been like laying a
+hand roughly on a wound. Secondly, though Trix most promptly dismissed
+the memory, there was Pia's hurting little speech, the speech which had
+followed on her--Trix's--theories promulgated beneath the lime trees. In
+the light of Miss Tibbutt's letter that speech was easy enough of
+explanation. Had not Pia had practical proof of the unworkableness of
+those theories? Proof which must have hurt her quite considerably. How
+utterly and entirely childish her words must have seemed to Pia,--Pia who
+_knew_, while she truly was merely surmising, setting forth ideas which
+assuredly she had never attempted to put into practice. Thirdly--Trix
+ticked off the facts on her fingers--there was the amazing little game of
+cross-questions. That too was entirely explained. How precisely it was
+explained she did not attempt to put into actual formulated words.
+Nevertheless she perceived quite clearly that it was explained. And
+lastly there was Pia's letter to her, the letter which had vainly tried
+to hide the bitterness which had prompted it. Clear as daylight now was
+the explanation of that letter. Buoyed up by Trix's advice, by Trix's
+eloquence, she had once more attempted to put the high-sounding theories
+into practice. And it had proved a failure, an utter and complete
+failure.
+
+All these things fell at once into place, fitting together like the
+pieces of a puzzle, an unfinished puzzle, nevertheless. The largest
+pieces were still scattered haphazard on the board, and there seemed
+extremely little prospect of fitting them into the rest. How had Pia ever
+met the man? What was he doing at Chorley Old Hall? And why was he
+pretending to be Michael Field, when she--Trix--now knew him to be Antony
+Gray? The last two proved the greatest difficulty, nor could Trix, for
+all her gazing into the fire, find the place they ought to occupy. She
+remembered, too, her own idea regarding the colour of that bubble. Was it
+possible that she had been right in her idea? Verily, if she had been, in
+the face of this new discovery, it opened up a yet more astounding
+problem. Pia actually and verily in love with the man, a man she believed
+to be under-gardener at the Hall,--Pia, the distant, the proud, the
+reserved Pia! It was amazing, unthinkable!
+
+Trix heaved a sigh; it was all quite beyond her. One thing alone was
+obvious; she must go down to Woodleigh again as soon as possible.
+Certainly she had no very clear notion as to what precise good she could
+do by going, nevertheless she was entirely convinced that go she must.
+And then, having reached this point in her reflections, she returned once
+more to the beginning, and began all over again.
+
+And suddenly another idea struck her, one which had been entirely omitted
+from her former train of thought. Was it possible that Mr. Danver knew of
+the identity of this Michael Field? Was it possible, was it conceivable
+that he held the key to those greatest riddles? Truly it would seem
+possible. His one big action had been so extraordinary, so mad even, that
+it would be quite justifiable to believe, or at least conjecture, that
+minor extraordinary actions might be mixed up with it.
+
+And then, from that, Trix turned to a somewhat more detailed
+consideration of Pia's position. One point presented itself quite
+definitely and clearly to her. It was certainly evident from that
+memorable letter of Pia's, that she _did_ regard this man as a social
+inferior, from which fact it was entirely plain that she had no smallest
+notion of his real identity. Trix clasped her hands beneath her chin,
+shut her eyes, and plunged yet deeper into her reflections. They were
+becoming even more intricate.
+
+Now, would it be a comfort to Pia to know that this man was by birth her
+social equal, or would it, in view of the fact that he had in some way
+shown her what she had called "a glimpse of the hairy hoof," appear to
+her an added insult. Trix pondered the question deeply, turning it in her
+mind, and sighing prodigiously more than once in the process.
+
+And then, all at once, she opened her eyes. Where, after all, was the use
+of troubling her head on that score. Comfort or not, who was to tell Pia?
+Most assuredly Trix couldn't. She had considered that question already,
+weeks ago in fact, and answered it in the negative. Of course it was
+quite possible that she was being somewhat over-sensitive and
+ultra-scrupulous on the subject. But there it was. It was the way she
+regarded matters.
+
+Trix sighed deeply. It was all terribly perplexing, and Tibby's letter
+was quite horribly pathetic. Anyhow she would go down to Woodleigh as
+soon as she possibly could.
+
+She had been so entirely engrossed with her reflections, that she had
+quite forgotten the passing of time. It was with a start of surprise,
+therefore, that she heard the door open. At the selfsame moment the clock
+on the mantelpiece chimed the hour of midnight. Trix got to her feet.
+
+"My dearest," exclaimed Mrs. Arbuthnot, "not gone to bed yet! And all the
+beauty sleep before midnight, they tell us. Not that you need it except
+in the way of preservation, dearest. For I always did tell you,
+regardless of making you conceited which I do not think I do do, that I
+have admired you from the time you were in your cradle. Well, food is the
+next best thing to sleep, so come and have a sandwich and some sherry. I
+am famished, positively famished. And I ate an excellent dinner, I know;
+but Bridge is always hungry work. Bring the tray to the fire, dearest. I
+see James has put it all ready. And ham, which I adore. It may be
+indigestible, though I never believe it with things I like. Not merely
+because I like to think so, but because it is true. Nature knows best, as
+she knew when I was a child, and gave me a distaste for fat which always
+upset me, and a great appreciation for oranges which doctors are crying
+up tremendously nowadays."
+
+Mrs. Arbuthnot sank down in an armchair, and threw back her cloak. Trix
+brought the tray to a small table near her.
+
+"And how have you been amusing yourself, dearest? Not dull, I hope? But
+the fire and a book are always the best of companions I think, to say
+nothing of one's own thoughts, though some people do consider
+day-dreaming waste of time. So narrow-minded. They read novels which are
+only other people's day-dreams, and their own less expensive, as saving
+library subscriptions and the buying of books, besides a certain
+superiority in feeling they are your own. On the whole more satisfactory,
+too. Even though you know the end before you come to it, it can always be
+arranged as you like, and sad or happy to suit your mood. Though for my
+part it should always be happy. If you're happy you want it happy, and if
+you're not, you still want it to make you. If it weren't for the
+difficulty of dividing into chapters, I'd write my own day-dreams, and no
+doubt have a big sale. But publishers have an absurd prejudice in favour
+of chapters, and even headings, which means an average of thirty titles.
+Quite brain-racking. A dear friend of mine who wrote, told me she always
+thought the title the most difficult part of a book."
+
+She helped herself to a glass of sherry and two sandwiches as she
+concluded her speech.
+
+"And did you really have a pleasant evening?" said Trix, politely
+interrogative.
+
+Mrs. Arbuthnot surveyed her sandwich reflectively.
+
+"Well, dearest, on the whole, yes. But unfortunately Mrs. Townsend was
+there. An excellent Bridge player, and I am always pleased to see her
+myself, but some people are so odd in their manner towards her. Quite
+embarrassing really, in fact awkward at times. Absurd, too, with so good
+a player. And though her father was a grocer it was in the wholesale
+line, which is different from the retail. Besides, she married well, and
+doesn't drop her aitches."
+
+Trix's chin went up. "I hate class distinctions being made so horribly
+obvious," said she with fine scorn.
+
+Mrs. Arbuthnot looked thoughtful.
+
+"Well, dearest, in Mrs. Townsend's case, perhaps. But not always. I
+remember a girl I knew married a farmer. Most foolish."
+
+"But why, if he was nice?" demanded Trix, exceedingly firmly.
+
+"Oh, but dearest," ejaculated Mrs. Arbuthnot, "it was so unsuitable. He
+wasn't even a gentleman farmer. He had been a labourer."
+
+"He might have been a nice labourer," contended Trix.
+
+Mrs. Arbuthnot sighed. "In himself, possibly. But it wouldn't do. The
+irritation afterwards. We are told to avoid occasions of sin, and it
+would not be avoiding occasions of ill-temper if you married a man like
+that. Beer and muddy boots, to say nothing of inferior tobacco. The
+glamour passed, though for my part I cannot see how there ever would be
+any glamour, probably infatuation, the boots--you know the kind, dearest,
+great nails and smelling of leather--the beer and the tobacco would be so
+terribly obvious. No, dearest, it doesn't do."
+
+Trix was silent. After all wasn't she again arguing on a point regarding
+which she had had no real experience? Pia had tried the experiment, and
+declared it didn't work; and that, in the case of a man who _was_ of
+gentle birth, though posing as a labourer. In her own mind she felt it
+ought to work,--of course under certain circumstances. It was not the
+birth, but the mind that mattered. And, if there were the right kind of
+mind, there most certainly would not be the boots, the beer, and the
+tobacco. Trix was perfectly sure there wouldn't be. But it evidently was
+no atom of good trying to explain to other people what she meant, because
+they entirely failed to understand, and she was not certain that she
+could explain very well to herself even what she did mean.
+
+It was not in the least that she had ever had the smallest desire to run
+counter to these conventions in any really important way, but she did
+hate hard and fast rules. Why should people lay down laws, as rigid as
+the laws of the Medes and Persians on matters that did not involve actual
+questions of right and wrong! There were enough of those to observe,
+without inventing others which were not in the least necessary.
+
+It was all horribly muddling, and rather depressing, she decided. She
+finished her sandwich and glass of sherry, swallowing a little lump in
+her throat at the same time. Then she spoke.
+
+"Aunt Lilla," she said impulsively, "I want to go down to Woodleigh."
+
+Mrs. Arbuthnot looked up.
+
+"Woodleigh, dearest. You were there only a little time ago, weren't
+you?"
+
+"It was in August," said Trix. "And, anyhow, I want to go again. You
+don't mind, do you?"
+
+Mrs. Arbuthnot took another sandwich.
+
+"That's the fifth," she said. "Disgraceful, but all the fault of Bridge.
+Why, of course not, if you want to go. But what made you think of it
+to-night?"
+
+Trix leant back in her chair. "I had a letter from Miss Tibbutt," she
+said.
+
+Mrs. Arbuthnot laid down her sandwich. She regarded Trix with anxious and
+almost reproachful eyes.
+
+"Oh, my dearest, nothing wrong I hope? So inconsiderate of me to talk of
+Bridge. I saw a letter in your hand, but no black edge. Unless there is a
+black edge, one does not readily imagine bad news. Not like telegrams.
+They send my heart to my mouth, and generally nothing but a Bridge
+postponement. So trivial. But it is the colour of the envelope, and the
+possibility. Ill news flies apace, and telegrams the quickest mode of
+communicating it. Except the telephone. And that is expensive at any
+distance." Mrs. Arbuthnot paused, and took up her sandwich once more.
+
+"Oh, no," responded Trix, answering the first sentence of the speech.
+Experience, long experience had taught her to seize upon the first
+half-dozen words of her aunt's discourses, and cling to them, allowing
+the remainder to float harmlessly into thin air. Later there might be the
+necessity to clutch at a few more, but generally the first half-dozen
+sufficed. "Oh, no; no bad news. But Miss Tibbutt is not quite satisfied
+about Pia."
+
+That was true, at all events.
+
+Mrs. Arbuthnot made a little clicking sound with her tongue, expressive
+of sympathy.
+
+"Oh, my dearest, I know that term 'not quite satisfied.' So vague. It may
+mean nothing, or it may mean a good deal. And we always think it means a
+good deal, when it is probably only influenza. Depressing, but not at all
+serious if taken in time. And ammoniated quinine the best thing possible.
+Not bitter, either, if taken in capsule form. But I quite feel with you,
+and go-by all means if you wish. And take eucalyptus, with you to avoid
+catching it yourself. So infectious, they say, but not to be shirked if
+one is needed. I would never stand in the light of duty. The corporal
+works of mercy, inconvenient at times, and I have never been to see a
+prisoner in my life, but perhaps easier than the spiritual, except the
+three last. You always run the risk of interference with the first of the
+spiritual, so wiser to leave them entirely to priests. When do you want
+to go, dearest?"
+
+Trix came to herself with a little start. She had lost the thread of Mrs.
+Arbuthnot's discourse.
+
+"The day after to-morrow, I think," she said, reflectively. "I can wire
+to-morrow and get a reply."
+
+Mrs. Arbuthnot got up.
+
+"Then that's settled. Don't look anxious, dearest, because there is
+probably no cause for it. Though I know how easy it is to give advice,
+and how difficult to take it, even when it is oneself. Though perhaps
+that is really harder, being often half-hearted. And now we will go to
+bed, and things will look brighter in the morning, especially if it is
+fine. And the glass going up as I came through the hall. Quite time it
+did. I always had sympathy with the boy in the poem--Jane and Anne
+Taylor, wasn't it?--who smashed the glass in the holidays because it
+wouldn't go up. It always seems as if it were its fault. Though I know
+it's foolish to think so. And there is the clock striking one, and I
+shall eat more sandwiches if I stay, so let us put out the light, and go
+to bed."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+A QUESTION OF IMPORTANCE
+
+
+It had been chance pure and simple which happened to take Doctor Hilary
+to Woodleigh on the day the Duchessa received Trix's telegram, but it
+cannot be equally said that it was chance which took him to Exeter on the
+following day, and which made him travel down again to Kingsleigh by the
+four o'clock train. Also it was certainly not chance which induced him to
+be on the platform at least a quarter of an hour before the train was due
+at the station, ready to keep a careful lookout on all the passengers in
+it.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Trix had had an uneasy journey from London. She had re-read Miss
+Tibbutt's letter at least a dozen times. At first she had allowed herself
+to be almost unreasonably depressed by it; afterwards she had been almost
+more unreasonably depressed because she had allowed herself to be
+depressed in the first instance. Quite possibly it was all a storm in a
+tea-cup, and this man had nothing whatever to do with Pia's unhappiness.
+Of course the chance meeting and the overheard conversation had fitted in
+so neatly as to make Miss Tibbutt think it had, and she had easily
+communicated the same idea to Trix. But quite probably it had nothing
+more to do with it than her own surmise regarding Doctor Hilary had had.
+And that had proved entirely erroneous, though at the time it had
+appeared the most sane of conclusions. Also Miss Tibbutt might quite
+conceivably be wrong as to Pia's being now unhappy at all, whatever she
+had seemed to be in the summer.
+
+Trix's visit began to appear to her somewhat in the light of a wild-goose
+chase. Anyhow she had not given Pia the smallest hint as to why she was
+coming. Naturally she could not possibly have done that. She had still to
+invent some tangible excuse for her sudden desire to visit Woodleigh
+again. Sick of London greyness would be quite good enough, though
+certainly not entirely true. But possibly a slight deviation from truth
+would be excusable under the circumstances. And she _was_ sick of London
+greyness. The fog yesterday had got on her nerves altogether, though
+quite probably it would not have done so if it had not been for Miss
+Tibbutt's letter, which had made her feel so horribly restless. But then
+there was no need to say why the fog had got on her nerves.
+
+Yes; the fog would be excuse enough. And it was not an atom of good
+worrying herself as to whether Miss Tibbutt had been right or wrong
+regarding the idea communicated in her letter. If she were right it made
+Trix unhappy to think about it, and if she were wrong it made Trix cross
+to think she _had_ thought about it. So the wisest course was not to
+think about it at all. But the difficulty was not to think about it.
+
+Trix knew perfectly well that absurd little things had this power of
+depressing her, and she wished they had not. She knew, also, that other
+quite little things had the power of cheering her in equal proportion,
+and she wished that one of these other things would happen now. But that
+was not particularly likely.
+
+The depression had been at its lowest ebb as they ran into Bath. It was,
+however, slightly on the mend by the time Trix reached Exeter, though she
+was still feeling that her journey had probably, if not certainly, been a
+piece of pure foolishness on her part.
+
+The carriage she was in was up in the front of the train. She was the
+sole occupant thereof. She now put up something akin to a prayer that she
+might remain in undisturbed possession. Apparently, however, the prayer
+was not to be granted. A tall figure, masculine in character, suddenly
+blocked the light from the window. Trix heaved a small sigh of patient
+resignation.
+
+"Good afternoon, Miss Devereux," said a voice.
+
+Trix looked up. Her resignation took to itself wings and fled.
+
+"Doctor Hilary!" she exclaimed.
+
+Doctor Hilary heaved his big form into the carriage, and turned to take a
+tea-basket from a porter just behind him. First tipping the said porter,
+he put the basket carefully on the seat.
+
+"I've been on the lookout for you," he remarked calmly.
+
+"Oh," said Trix, a trifle surprised.
+
+Doctor Hilary sat down, keeping, however, one eye towards the platform.
+
+"Yes," he continued, still calmly. "The Duchessa happened to tell me
+yesterday that you were coming, and as I happened to be in Exeter to-day
+I thought we might as well do this bit of the journey together."
+
+"I see," said Trix.
+
+Doctor Hilary looked up. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked quickly.
+
+"Mind!" echoed Trix, "I am quite delighted. I've been so bored, and
+rather tired, and--yes, I think quite depressed."
+
+Doctor Hilary looked concerned.
+
+"You poor little thing," he said. "And I suppose you have had one
+sandwich, and no tea. Men turn to food when they're depressed, and women
+think they can't eat. Honestly, there's nothing like a good meal for
+helping one to look on the brighter side of things."
+
+Trix smiled first at him, and then at the tea-basket.
+
+"Anyhow I'm to be fed now, it seems."
+
+The train began to move slowly out of the station. Doctor Hilary gave
+vent to an ill-supressed sigh of relief. The train was non-stop to Brent.
+He began pulling at the straps of the tea-basket.
+
+Tea and Doctor Hilary's company had a really marvellous effect on Trix's
+spirits. The little pleasant occurrence _had_ happened, and quite
+unexpectedly.
+
+"I'm glad you're coming down to Woodleigh," said Doctor Hilary presently.
+"The Duchessa has seemed out of sorts lately, and I fancy your coming
+will cheer her."
+
+"Oh," said Trix, "you think so, too." And then she stopped.
+
+"Who else thinks so?" queried Doctor Hilary.
+
+"Well, Miss Tibbutt didn't seem quite satisfied about her," owned Trix.
+"It was a letter from her made me come. And then I thought perhaps she'd
+been mistaken, and I'd been silly to think there was any need of me, and
+that--well, that I'd been a little officious. It's a depressing
+sensation," sighed Trix.
+
+Doctor Hilary laughed.
+
+"So that was the cause of the depression," quoth he.
+
+Trix nodded. "It was rather silly, wasn't it?" she asked.
+
+"I am not sure," he said.
+
+"It was such an idiotic little thing to worry about," said Trix
+
+Doctor Hilary looked thoughtful.
+
+"Perhaps. But isn't it just the little things we _do_ worry over? They
+are so small, you know, it's difficult to handle them. It is far easier
+not to worry over a thing you can get a real grasp of."
+
+Trix smiled gratefully.
+
+"I am so glad you understand," she said. "I am always doing things on
+impulse. I fancy I am indispensable, I suppose, and then all at once I
+think what a little donkey I am to have interfered. It is so easy to
+think oneself important to other people's welfare when one isn't a bit."
+
+"Aren't you?" said Doctor Hilary quietly.
+
+"Of course not," replied Trix. There was a hint of indignation in her
+voice. "And please don't say I am, or else it will make me feel that you
+think I said what I did say just in order that you might contradict me.
+Like fishing for a compliment, you know. And I didn't mean that in the
+least, I didn't truly."
+
+Doctor Hilary smiled, a queer little smile.
+
+"I know you didn't mean that. But all the same I am going to contradict
+you."
+
+Trix looked up. "Oh well," she began, laughing and half resignedly. And
+then something in Doctor Hilary's face made her stop suddenly, her heart
+beating at a mad pace.
+
+"You have become very important in my life," he said quietly. "I did not
+realize how important, till you went away."
+
+Trix was silent.
+
+"I am not very good at making pretty speeches," said Doctor Hilary
+steadily, "but I hope you understand exactly what I mean. You have become
+so important to my welfare that I should find it exceedingly difficult to
+go on living without you. I suppose I should do it somehow if I must, but
+probably I should make a very poor job of it." He stopped.
+
+Trix gave a sudden little intake of her breath. For a moment there was a
+dead silence. Then:--
+
+"Will you always feed me when I am depressed?" she asked. And there was a
+little quiver half of laughter, half of tears, in her voice.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+MIDNIGHT REFLECTIONS
+
+
+"Yes, Tibby angel, you were quite right."
+
+It was the sixth time Trix had made the same remark in the last half
+hour, and she had made it each time with the same attentive deliberation
+as if the words were being only once spoken, though she knew she would
+probably have to say them at least six times more.
+
+She was sitting in front of her bedroom fire clad in a blue
+dressing-gown. Miss Tibbutt was sitting in an armchair opposite to her.
+She had come into the room presumably for two minutes only, to see that
+Trix had all she wanted, but after she had fluttered for full ten minutes
+from dressing-table to bed, and back to dressing-table again, talking all
+the time, Trix had firmly pushed her into an armchair.
+
+Miss Tibbutt took off her spectacles, and polished them slowly.
+
+"And what is to be done, Trix dear?"
+
+Trix looked thoughtful.
+
+"I really don't know just at the moment. You see, though we are pretty
+certain, we are not quite certain. I know I thought last August that Pia
+was in love with someone, and now you say you are certain it is this man,
+and of course, as you say--" Trix hesitated a moment, feeling slightly
+hypocritical,--"it does seem odd when he is only a gardener, and one
+wonders how she could have met him, and all that. But, you know, you are
+not _quite_ certain that you are right; or, even supposing that you are,
+that Pia will want any interference on our part. We must just wait a day
+or two and think matters over."
+
+Miss Tibbutt sighed.
+
+"But you _do_ think I was right to let you know?" she asked.
+
+And a seventh time Trix replied with careful deliberation,
+
+"Yes, Tibby angel, you were quite right."
+
+"You see," said Miss Tibbutt, "I thought--" And she related exactly what
+she had thought, all over again.
+
+Trix listened exceedingly patiently. She did not even know she was being
+patient. She only knew the enormous relief it was to Miss Tibbutt to
+repeat herself. With each repetition the thought which had choked her
+mind, so to speak, for the last five days, was further cleared from her
+brain. It was quite possible that Miss Tibbutt might sleep a very great
+deal better that night than she had done lately.
+
+At last she stopped speaking, and looked towards the clock.
+
+"My dear, I had no idea it was so late. You must be tired after your
+journey, and here have I been thinking only of myself again, and of my
+own anxiety, and not of you at all. I am not going to keep you up a
+moment longer. And if I am late for breakfast, please tell Pia I have
+gone to Mass. The walk won't hurt me, and telling our dear Lord all about
+it will be the best way to help Pia. So good night, dear. And you are
+really not looking very tired in spite of your journey, and my having
+kept you up so late."
+
+Trix went with her to the door, and then returned to her chair by the
+fire. She was not in the least sleepy, and bed would do quite well enough
+later. Just now she wanted to think. There were two distinct trends of
+thought in which she wished to indulge; the one certainly contained cause
+for a little anxiety, the other was quite extraordinarily delicious. She
+must take the anxious trend first.
+
+She had been considering matters exceedingly earnestly all the while Miss
+Tibbutt had been talking to her, and she had come to one very definite
+conclusion. She felt perfectly certain now, that it _would_ ease the
+situation considerably if Pia knew who this Michael Field really was. It
+had come to her in an illuminating flash, that the same reason which had
+caused him to hide his identity, was responsible for his odd behaviour
+towards Pia. Now, of course, if Pia could see some even possible reason
+and excuse for the oddness of his behaviour, it must be a great comfort
+to her. But the question was, could she--Trix--tell her? Would not the
+telling probably involve her in the untruth her soul loathed? Or, if she
+was firm not to tell lies, would it not somehow involve a breaking of her
+promise to Nicholas? Again she saw, or thought she saw, all the questions
+which must ensue if she said where she had met the man; and if she did
+not say where she had met him, it would probably mean saying something
+which, virtually speaking at least, would not be true. If only she had
+not met him in the grounds of Chorley Old Hall.
+
+It was the same old problem which had presented itself to her mind twice
+already, and the same possible over-scrupulosity was perplexing her now.
+However, she must stop thinking about it for to-night. She had come to an
+end of these thoughts so far as she could muster them into shape, and it
+was not the least particle of use going over them again. Her brain would
+run round like a squirrel in a cage, if she did. And Tibby was not with
+her to open the cage door, as she had opened it for Tibby. Besides, there
+was the other trend now.
+
+She settled herself back among the cushions, and gazed at the dancing
+flames. It was all so wonderful, so gorgeously unexpected, and yet it was
+one of those things which just had to be. She was so sure of that, it
+made the happening doubly sweet. It was exactly as if she had been
+walking all her life through a quiet wood, a wood where the sunshine
+flickered through the trees overhead just sufficiently to make her feel
+quite certain of the existence of the sunshine, and then suddenly she had
+come out into its full warmth and beauty to behold a perfect landscape.
+And she knew that no single other path could have led her to this place,
+also that there could be no other prospect as beautiful for her.
+
+"When did you first know?" she had asked him. The question millions of
+women have asked in their time, and that will be asked by millions more.
+
+"I think," he had answered smiling, "it was the very first moment you
+came into the room, looking like a woodland elf in your green frock.
+Anyhow I am quite certain it was when you were--shall we say a trifle
+snubbed in the moonlight."
+
+"Ah, poor Pia," said Trix.
+
+And then they had told each other countless little trivial things, things
+of no earthly importance to any one but their two selves, things rendered
+sweet, not so much by the words, as by the tone in which they were
+spoken. It had been the old, old story, the story which began in all its
+first beauty in the Garden of Eden, before the devil had entered therein
+with his wiles, a story which even now ofttimes holds much of that
+age-old wonderful beauty. And the stuffy, fusty railway carriage had not
+in the least diminished the joy of the telling.
+
+Trix smiled to herself, a soft little radiant smile.
+
+To-morrow she must tell Pia. She gave a little sigh. It would seem almost
+cruel to let her know of their happiness.
+
+For Trix's own happiness to be without flaw, it was invariably necessary
+that others should be in practically the same state of bliss.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+SUNLIGHT AND HAPPINESS
+
+
+Sleep, they say, brings counsel. Most certainly it brought counsel to
+Trix, and really such simple counsel she marvelled that she had not
+thought of it before.
+
+After all, the question as to whether she should or should not disclose
+Antony Gray's identity to Pia, and thereby run the risk either of untruth
+or of breaking a promise, was purely a question of conscience. Now, in a
+question of conscience, if you cannot decide for yourself, it is always
+safe to consult a priest. She would therefore walk over to Byestry after
+breakfast--after she had told Pia her own particular and wonderful
+news--and consult Father Dormer. It would be quite easy to explain
+matters to him without mentioning names.
+
+Trix began formulating her query in her mind as she dressed. By the time
+this process was completed, however, she had come to the conclusion that
+she was not altogether sure whether it would be so easy. She found
+herself getting wound up into rather extraordinary knots. Well, anyhow
+she would explain somehow, and no doubt words would come when she was
+actually confronted with him. Besides, it was never the smallest use
+arranging conversations beforehand, like a French conversation book,
+because people never gave the right answers to your questions, and never
+put the questions to which you had the answers ready.
+
+Trix crossed slowly to the window. There had been a frost in the night,
+and the lower part of the window-pane was covered with magic fern fronds,
+while lawn and shrubs were clothed with a light white veil.
+
+Suddenly the sun came up behind the distant hills, a glowing ball of
+fire, sending forth his ruddy beams till they struck clean through the
+window, turning the fern fronds to ruby jewels, and making of the frost
+veil without a web of diamonds.
+
+"That," breathed Trix softly, "is what happened to us yesterday."
+
+And she knelt down quite suddenly by the window.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+The breakfast hour at the Manor House was, ordinarily speaking, most
+punctually at nine o'clock, but owing, doubtless, to some slight hitch in
+the lower regions, the gong that morning did not sound till a quarter
+past the hour. This delay gave Miss Tibbutt time to put in an appearance
+not more than two minutes late, and saved any necessary explanation
+regarding her early walk to Byestry. As it was really on Pia's account
+that she had gone to Mass, she wished to avoid mentioning that she had
+been. Of course Pia could not possibly have guessed the real motive, but
+Miss Tibbutt had a feeling, which reason told her to be quite foolish,
+that in some odd way she might guess. And she did not want her to guess.
+
+"What is the plan of campaign to-day?" asked the Duchessa, as they
+assembled in the morning room after breakfast.
+
+Trix examined an ornament on the mantelpiece with rather studied care.
+
+"I was thinking of walking over to Byestry, this morning," she remarked.
+
+"All right," agreed the Duchessa, "and after lunch we will have the car.
+It is cold, but too good a day to be wasted."
+
+Trix had a moment's anxiety.
+
+"We shan't be late for tea?" she queried.
+
+"I don't think so," responded Pia. "The days are too short now. But
+why?"
+
+Trix put down the ornament she was examining.
+
+"Doctor Hilary is coming to tea," she announced carelessly, though she
+knew perfectly well that the colour was rising in her cheeks.
+
+Pia looked at her.
+
+"Trix!" she said.
+
+"Yes, darling," nodded Trix, "just that."
+
+"Oh, my Trix!" cried Pia delighted, putting her arms round her.
+
+Miss Tibbutt looked a trifle bewildered.
+
+"What is it?" she demanded
+
+Pia laughed.
+
+"These two," she said, "Trix and Doctor Hilary. I told you, you remember,
+and said there _were_ trains, though I never dreamed they would be
+utilized quite so literally. Of course it _was_ yesterday?"
+
+"Yes," nodded Trix again. And then with a huge sigh, "Oh, Pia, I am so
+happy."
+
+Pia turned her round towards Miss Tibbutt.
+
+"Tibby, look at her face, and then she tells us she is happy, as though
+it were necessary to advertise the fact to our slow intelligences."
+
+Trix laughed, though the tears were in her eyes. Laughter and tears are
+amazingly close together at times.
+
+"And is it quite necessary to walk to Byestry this morning?" teased Pia.
+"He will probably be on his rounds, you know."
+
+Again Trix laughed, this time without the tears.
+
+"I am not proposing to sit in his pocket," she remarked. "He did not
+happen to suggest that I should, and it certainly never occurred to me to
+suggest it."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+TRIX SEEKS ADVICE
+
+
+Trix walked along the road from Woodleigh to Byestry in infinitely too
+happy a state of mind to think consistently of any one thing. She did not
+even think precisely definitely of the man who had caused this happiness.
+She knew only that the happiness was there.
+
+The hoar frost still lay thickly on the hedges and the grass by the
+roadside. The frost finger had outlined the twigs, the blades of grass,
+the veins of dried leaves with the delicate precision nature alone can
+achieve. At one spot a tiny rivulet, arrested by the ice-king in its
+course from a field and down a bank, hung in long glistening icicles from
+jutting stones and frozen earth. Now and again her own footfall struck
+sharp and metallic on the hard road. The sky was cloudless, a clear, cold
+blue. A robin trilled its sweet, sad song to her from a frosted bough.
+
+It was all amazingly like a frosted Christmas card, thought Trix, those
+Christmas cards her soul had adored in her childish days, and yet which,
+oddly enough, always brought with them a sentimental touch of sadness.
+Many things had brought this odd happy sadness to Trix as a child,--the
+sound of church bells across water, fire-light gleaming in the darkness
+from the uncurtained windows of some house, the moon shining on snow, a
+solitary tree backgrounded by a grey sky, or a flight of rooks at
+sunset.
+
+It was a quarter to eleven or thereabouts when she reached Byestry, and
+she made her way at once to the little white-washed, thatched presbytery,
+separated from the road by a small front garden.
+
+Trix walked up the path, and rang the bell. Father Dormer was at home, so
+his housekeeper announced, and she was shown into a small square room
+with a round table in the centre, and a vase of bronze chrysanthemums on
+the table.
+
+Trix sat down and began to try and arrange her ideas. She was by now
+perfectly well aware that they were not only rather difficult to arrange,
+but would be infinitely more difficult to express. She sighed once or
+twice rather heavily, gazing thoughtfully at the bronze chrysanthemums
+the while, as if seeking inspiration from their feathery brown faces. And
+then the door opened and Father Dormer came in in his cassock, which he
+always wore in the morning.
+
+"It is an unexpected pleasure to see you, Miss Devereux," he said.
+"Please sit down again."
+
+Trix sat down, and so did Father Dormer.
+
+"I only arrived yesterday," said Trix, "and I came over to see you this
+morning because I wanted to ask you something rather particular." Trix
+was feeling just a little nervous, she was also feeling that if she did
+not open the subject immediately, it was quite possible that she might
+leave the presbytery without having done so, despite all her preconceived
+intentions.
+
+"Yes," smiled Father Dormer. He was perfectly well aware that she was
+feeling a trifle nervous.
+
+"Well," said Trix, "it isn't going to be quite easy to explain, because I
+can't mention names. But as it is a thing I can't make up my mind
+about,--about the right or wrong of doing it, I mean,--I thought I'd ask
+your advice."
+
+"That is always at your service," he assured her as she stopped.
+
+Trix heaved a little sigh. She leant forward in her chair, and rested her
+hands on the table.
+
+"Well then, Father, it's like this. I know something about someone which
+another person doesn't know, and I think it is rather important that they
+should know it. The first person doesn't know I know it, and mightn't
+quite like it if they knew I knew it. Also I am pretty sure that they
+don't want any one else to know it. But under the circumstances I think
+I'm justified in telling the second person, because it isn't a thing like
+a scandal, or anything like that. But the difficulty is, that in telling
+the second person about the first person, I may either have to tell lies,
+or disclose a secret about a third person, and that is a secret I have
+promised not to tell. Do you think I ought to take the risk?"
+
+Father Dormer listened attentively.
+
+"Do you mind saying it again," he asked politely as she ended. There was
+just the faintest possible twinkle in his eyes.
+
+Trix laughed outright.
+
+"Oh, Father, don't try to be polite," she urged. "I know it is the
+muddliest kind of explanation that ever existed. Can't you suggest some
+way of making it clearer?"
+
+"Supposing," he said, "you call the first person A, the second B, and the
+third one C. And let me know first exactly your position towards A."
+
+"All right," agreed Trix cheerfully. "And even supposing you guess the
+tiniest bit what I am talking about, you won't let yourself guess, will
+you?"
+
+Father Dormer assured her that he would not. He certainly felt she need
+have no smallest anxiety on that score, having in view her own method of
+explanation, but he tactfully refrained from saying so.
+
+"Well," began Trix again, and rather slowly, "A has a secret. He doesn't
+know I know it, and I found it out quite by accident. He hasn't said it
+is a secret, but I know it is, because nobody else knows about it. Well,
+B knows A, but doesn't know A's secret, and because she doesn't know A's
+secret she is unhappy about A's conduct, whereas if she knew the secret I
+am pretty sure she wouldn't be so unhappy. And A need never know B does
+know, even if I tell her. And I feel sure from A's point of view it would
+not matter telling B, while it _would_ be a good thing for B to know.
+But, in order to tell her, I may have to let her know how I learnt A's
+secret, and in doing that I should possibly have to tell lies, or let her
+know C's secret, which I promised not to tell. Because it was in meeting
+A that I found it out. Of course I may not have to do either, but there
+is the risk. Do you think I can take it? And is the matter quite clear
+now?"
+
+Father Dormer smiled.
+
+"I think I have grasped it," he said. "Well, in the first place, it isn't
+a matter of life and death, is it?"
+
+"Oh no," said Trix.
+
+"Then if I were you, I wouldn't take any risk about telling lies."
+
+"No," said Trix relieved, "I thought I had better not. But then there is
+C's secret."
+
+"Let us take A's secret first," suggested Father Dormer. "You feel quite
+sure it is important to let B know it, and that you are justified in
+disclosing it?"
+
+Trix reflected.
+
+"I feel quite sure it is important B should know," she said. "And I feel
+pretty sure I am justified in disclosing it. At first I thought perhaps I
+ought not to do so. But I know B won't tell any one else, so it can't
+matter her knowing as well as me. No; I am sure it can't," ended Trix
+decidedly.
+
+"Then," said Father Dormer, "your best plan will be to ask C to release
+you from your promise."
+
+Trix started.
+
+"Oh, but--" she began. She shook her head. "I don't believe he would ever
+release me," she said.
+
+"You could ask him, anyhow," said Father Dormer.
+
+"Yes, I could," replied Trix doubtfully.
+
+"Try that first," he suggested. "It is the simplest plan."
+
+"Yes," said Trix still doubtfully.
+
+Of course it sounded the simplest plan to Father Dormer, but then he had
+not the remotest idea of what the secret was, nor whom it concerned.
+
+"You see," said Trix thoughtfully, "he knows A's secret too; at least, I
+feel sure he does."
+
+"Perhaps," smiled Father Dormer, "it is not quite such a secret as you
+imagine."
+
+"Oh, yes, it is," nodded Trix. "It is the most complicated affair that
+ever was, and the most extraordinary. Nobody would believe it if they
+didn't know." She sighed.
+
+Father Dormer watched her. He saw that she evidently did consider it a
+complicated situation, though, in spite of her rather complicated
+explanation it had appeared quite simple to him. At all events, the
+solution had. It had not even--as soon as he had grasped the question she
+had come to ask--appeared to involve much difficulty of answering. It was
+quite obvious she ought not to run the risk of telling lies (he could
+guess that her honesty would make it exceedingly difficult for her to
+evade any awkward questions without telling them), mainly because it was
+never right to tell lies, but also because the smallest white
+one--so-called--would appear extremely black to Trix.
+
+"Is that settled now?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, yes," said Trix. She looked at her watch. "I've two hours; I had
+better do it at once." Then she stopped suddenly. "Oh, Father!" she
+exclaimed.
+
+"Well?" he queried.
+
+"You didn't guess, did you?"
+
+"How could I?" he asked smiling.
+
+"Oh, because saying that told you that C lived here."
+
+He laughed. "My dear child, when you arrive at Woodleigh one day, and ask
+me a rather complicated question the next, it is perfectly obvious it is
+one which has to be settled in this neighbourhood, and at once. I could
+hardly imagine you have travelled down here on purpose to consult me; or
+that, if it were a question to be settled in town, you would not wait
+till your return to consult some other priest on the subject."
+
+Trix smiled.
+
+"I never thought of that," she owned. "But, of course, it is quite
+obvious. Only I am so afraid of breaking my promise."
+
+She had risen to her feet by now. He held out his hand.
+
+"I would not worry about that, if I were you. You have not broken it in
+the smallest degree. But now go and get leave to break it, if you can,
+and set your mind at rest."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+AN AMAZING SUGGESTION
+
+
+The avenue and garden were quite deserted as Trix approached Chorley Old
+Hall. The lawn was one great sheet of unbroken whiteness, flanked by
+frosted yew hedges, and very desolate.
+
+She passed quickly along the terrace towards the front door, feeling
+almost as if spying eyes were watching her from behind the curtained
+windows. She took hold of the hanging iron bell-handle and pulled it, its
+coldness striking through her glove with an icy chill. She heard its
+clang in some far-off region, yet oddly loud in the dead silence.
+Involuntarily she shivered, partly with the cold, and partly with a
+sudden sense of nervousness.
+
+A second or two passed. Trix stared hard at the brass knocker on the
+door, trying to still the nervousness which possessed her. There came a
+sound of steps in the hall, and the door was opened.
+
+"Can I see Mr. Danver?" asked Trix.
+
+Jessop stared, visibly startled.
+
+"It is all right," said Trix quickly. "Don't you remember I had tea here
+last August?"
+
+Jessop's face relaxed, but he looked a trifle dubious.
+
+"I don't think--" he began.
+
+Trix raised her chin.
+
+"Go and ask him," she said with slight authority. "I will wait in the
+hall."
+
+Jessop departed, to return after a minute.
+
+"Will you come this way, please, Madam."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Nicholas Danver looked at her as she entered, an odd expression on his
+face.
+
+He might never have moved from his chair since the day she had last seen
+him, thought Trix. The only difference in the surroundings was a
+crackling wood fire now burning on the big hearth.
+
+"Well, Miss Devereux," he said, holding out his hand.
+
+"You don't mind my having come?" queried Trix. "No one saw me."
+
+A slight look of relief passed over Nicholas's face.
+
+"I think I am glad you've come," he said. "Sit down, please."
+
+Trix sat down. Her hands were tightly clasped within her muff. She was
+still beating back that quite unaccountable nervousness.
+
+"You had a particular reason for coming to see me?" suggested Nicholas.
+
+Trix nodded.
+
+"Yes; I am in rather a difficulty. You are the only person who can help
+me."
+
+Nicholas laughed shortly.
+
+"It is an odd experience to be told that I can be of service to any one,"
+he said. "What is it?"
+
+Trix drew a long breath.
+
+"Mr. Danver, I want you to release me from my promise."
+
+Nicholas's eyes narrowed suddenly. A little gleam, like the spark from
+iron striking flint, flashed from them.
+
+"What do you mean?" he asked coldly.
+
+Trix's heart chilled at the tone.
+
+"I must try and explain," she said. "In the first place, of course you
+know who your under-gardener really is?"
+
+Nicholas stared at her.
+
+"May I ask what that has got to do with you?"
+
+"Well, I know too, you see," said Trix, feeling her heart beginning to
+beat still more quickly.
+
+"How do you know? What questions have you been asking?"
+
+Trix flushed.
+
+"I haven't asked any questions," she said quickly. "I saw him the day I
+came here before. I knew his face then, but I couldn't remember who he
+was. Afterwards I remembered I used to play with him when I was a
+child."
+
+"Well?" queried Nicholas briefly.
+
+"Well," echoed Trix desperately, "I want to be able to tell someone he is
+Antony Gray, and not Michael Field. It is really very important that they
+should know, important for their happiness. But if I tell, they may want
+to know where I saw him, and ask questions which might lead to my either
+having to tell lies or betray your secret. If it becomes necessary, may I
+betray your secret? Will you release me from my promise?"
+
+Nicholas's hand clenched tightly on the arm of his chair.
+
+"Most certainly not," he replied shortly.
+
+The tone was utterly final. Trix felt the old childish fear of him
+surging over her. It was quite different from the nervousness she had
+just been experiencing, and, oddly enough, it gave her a kind of
+desperate courage. She had no intention of accepting his refusal without
+a struggle.
+
+"I wouldn't tell unless it became absolutely necessary," she urged.
+
+"It never can be absolutely necessary," he retorted. "It would be no more
+dishonourable to tell a lie than break a promise."
+
+Trix went scarlet.
+
+"I never had the smallest intention of doing either," she replied. "If I
+had, I need not have troubled to come up here and ask you to release me
+from my promise."
+
+Nicholas drummed his fingers on a small table near him.
+
+"Well, you've had my answer," he said.
+
+His voice was perfectly adamantine. Trix felt as if she were up against a
+piece of rock. She knew it was useless to pursue the subject further, yet
+for Pia's sake she tried again.
+
+"Mr. Danver, why do you want everyone to think you're dead?" There was
+something almost childish in the way she put the question.
+
+Nicholas laughed.
+
+"Partly, my dear young lady, for my own amusement, but largely for a
+scheme I have on hand."
+
+Trix leant forward.
+
+"Is the scheme really important?" she queried, her eyes on his face.
+
+"I don't know," he replied, watching her. "But my amusement is."
+
+"Amusement," said Trix slowly.
+
+"Yes, my amusement," he repeated mockingly. "I've had none for fifteen
+years. For fifteen years I have lived here like a log, alone, solitary.
+Now I've got a little amusement in pretending to be dead."
+
+Trix shook her head. It sounded quite mad. Then she remembered Doctor
+Hilary's words to her when she had met him at the gates of Chorley Old
+Hall last August. He knew it was mad, but it was saving Nicholas from
+being atrophied, so he had said. To Trix's mind at least a dozen more
+satisfactory ways might have been found to accomplish that end. But every
+man to his own taste. Also it was quite possible that a brain which had
+been atrophied, or practically atrophied for fifteen years, was not
+particularly capable of conceiving anything more enlivening.
+
+"But you needn't have been a log for fifteen years," she said suddenly.
+
+"Needn't I?" he retorted. "Look at me." He made a gesture towards his
+helpless legs.
+
+"I wasn't thinking of your body," said Trix calmly. "I was thinking of
+your mind."
+
+Nicholas's face hardened.
+
+"And so was I," he replied, "when I preferred to sit here like a log,
+rather than face the prying sympathy of my fellow-humans."
+
+"Oh!" said Trix softly, a light of illumination breaking in upon her.
+"But, Mr. Danver, sympathy isn't always prying."
+
+"Bah!" he retorted. "Prying or not, I didn't want it. Staring eyes,
+condoling words, and mockery in their hearts! 'He got what he deserved
+for his madness,' they'd have said."
+
+Trix leant forward, putting her hands on the table.
+
+"Mr. Danver," she said thoughtfully, "if you were a younger man, or I
+were an older woman, I'd say you were--well, quite remarkably foolish."
+
+Nicholas chuckled. He liked this.
+
+"You might forget our respective ages for a few moments," he suggested,
+"that is, if you have anything enlivening to say."
+
+"I don't know about it being enlivening," remarked Trix calmly, "but I
+have got quite a good deal to say."
+
+"Say it then," chuckled Nicholas.
+
+Trix drew a deep breath.
+
+"Mr. Danver, did you ever care for any one?"
+
+Nicholas's eyes blazed suddenly.
+
+"What the devil--" he began. "I beg your pardon. I gave you leave to
+speak."
+
+Trix waved her hand.
+
+"I was talking about men," she said, "men pals. Were there any you ever
+cared about?"
+
+Nicholas laughed shortly.
+
+"Your father, my dear young lady, and Richard Gray, father of the man who
+has led to this interesting discussion."
+
+"They were really your friends?" queried Trix.
+
+"The best fellows that ever stepped," said Nicholas with unwonted
+enthusiasm.
+
+Trix nodded. Her eyes were shining. She was thinking of her aunt's
+disclosure regarding this Richard Gray.
+
+"And I suppose," she said coolly, "you rejoiced when Richard Gray lost
+his money? You laughed at him for a fool?"
+
+Nicholas stared at her.
+
+"What on earth do you mean?" he asked. "I never knew he had lost money. I
+would have given my right hand to help him if I had known."
+
+"He did lose money," said Trix. "But that's beside the point. You'd have
+helped him if you could? You wouldn't have jeered at him?"
+
+"What do you take me for?" asked Nicholas half angrily.
+
+Trix looked very straight at him.
+
+"Only what you take others for, Mr. Danver."
+
+There was a dead silence.
+
+"Listen," said Trix suddenly. "You would have been generous to him,
+because you cared for him. Do you really think you are the only generous
+friend?"
+
+Nicholas looked at her. There was a gleam of laughter in his eyes.
+
+"It strikes me you are a very shrewd young woman," he said.
+
+"It's only logical common sense," declared Trix stoutly.
+
+Once more there fell a silence, a silence in which Nicholas was watching
+the girl opposite to him.
+
+"Mr. Danver, will you tell me exactly what amusement you found in all
+this? What originated the idea in your mind?" Her voice was pleading.
+
+For a moment Nicholas was silent.
+
+"Yes," he said suddenly, "I will tell you."
+
+It was not a long story, and to Trix it was oddly pathetic. It was the
+mixture partly of regret, partly the desire of justice to be administered
+to his property after his death, and partly the queer mad love of pranks
+which had been the keynote of his nature, and which had stirred again
+within the half-dead body. He told it all very simply, baldly almost, and
+yet he could not quite hide a certain queer wistfulness underlying it,
+the wistfulness of pride which has built barriers too strong for it, and
+yet from which it longs to escape.
+
+"I thought Antony Gray could have a taste of living as one of the
+people," he ended. "Perhaps it would make him a better master than I had
+been. And then the scheme took shape."
+
+"I see," said Trix slowly and thoughtfully.
+
+"Well?" queried Nicholas.
+
+Trix looked up at him. Her lips were smiling, but there were tears in her
+eyes.
+
+"I understand," she said. "Perhaps I understand ever so much better than
+you think. But--but has it been worth it?"
+
+Nicholas looked towards the fire.
+
+"After the first planning, I don't honestly know that it has," he said.
+"A thing falls flat with no one to share it with you. And Hilary never
+really approved."
+
+Again there was a silence, and again the odd pathos, the childishness of
+the whole thing stirred Trix's heart. She said she understood, and she
+did understand more profoundly than Nicholas could possibly have
+conceived. In the few seconds of silence which followed, she reviewed
+those solitary years in an amazingly quick mental process. She saw first
+the pride which had built the barrier, and then the slow stagnation
+behind it. She realized the two sentences which had penetrated the
+barrier (he had been perfectly candid in his story) without being able to
+destroy it, and then the faint stirrings of life within the almost
+stagnant mind. And the result had been this perfectly mad scheme,--the
+thought of a foolish boy conceived and carried out by the obstinate mind
+of a man; a scheme childish, foolish, mad, and of value only in so far as
+it had roused to faint life the mind of the lonely man who had conceived
+it.
+
+And now he had tired of it. It had become to him as valueless as a flimsy
+toy; and yet he clung to it rather than leave himself with empty hands.
+Without it, he had absolutely nothing to interest him,--a past on which
+it hurt him to dwell by reason of its contrast with the present; a
+present as lonely almost as that of a prisoner in solitary confinement;
+and a future which to him was a mere blank, a grey nothingness.
+
+Trix shivered involuntarily.
+
+"And the fact remains, that I am dead," said Nicholas with a grim smile.
+
+Trix turned suddenly towards him.
+
+"Unless you have a sort of resurrection," she said.
+
+Nicholas stared.
+
+"Listen," said Trix.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+TRIX TRIUMPHANT
+
+
+It was more than an hour before Trix departed, exultant, rejoicing.
+
+Nicholas sat staring at the chair she had just vacated. He had been
+bewitched, utterly bewitched, and he knew it. Her vitality, her
+insistence had carried him with her despite himself,--that and an odd
+under-current of something he could not entirely explain. He might have
+called it faith, only it was not faith as he had been accustomed to think
+of it, when he thought at all. It was so infinitely more alive and
+personal. And yet she had only once touched on what he would have termed
+religion.
+
+"You've wandered entirely from the object of your visit," he had remarked
+at one point in the conversation, "and I can't for the life of me see why
+you are taking this extraordinary interest in what you consider my
+welfare. What on earth can it matter to any one else, how I choose to
+live my life?"
+
+"Ah, but it does matter," she had answered earnestly, "it matters quite
+supremely. I know we often pretend to ourselves that it doesn't in the
+least matter how we live our lives so long as we don't commit actual sin;
+but we can't isolate ourselves from others without loss to them and to
+ourselves."
+
+"How about monks and nuns, who shut themselves up, and never see their
+fellow-creatures at all?" he had retorted, greatly pleased with himself
+for the retort.
+
+Trix had opened eyes of wonder.
+
+"The contemplative orders! Why, Mr. Danver, they're the cog-wheels of the
+whole machinery. They only keep their bodies apart that their minds may
+be more free. Nobody has the good of mankind so much at heart as a
+contemplative. They are keeping the machinery going by prayer the whole
+time."
+
+The utter conviction in her words was unmistakable. For an odd flashing
+moment he had had something like a mental vision of an irresistible force
+pouring forth from those closed houses, a force like the force of a great
+river, carrying all things with it, and with healing virtue in its
+waters. The thought was utterly foreign to him. But it had been there.
+
+"I am not much of a believer in prayer," he had said dryly. He had
+expected her to ask if he had ever tried it. She had not done so.
+
+"Most of us do it so badly," she had said with a little sigh, "but they
+don't." And then she had flashed a glance of amusement at him. "Did you
+ever hear of the story of the old lady who said she was going to pray one
+night with entire faith that the hill beyond her garden might be removed?
+In the morning she found it still there. 'I knew it would be!' said the
+old lady triumphantly."
+
+Nicholas joined in her laugh, but somewhat grimly.
+
+"We're all like that," he said.
+
+Trix shook her head.
+
+"Not all, mercifully; but a good many." And then she had returned to her
+former charge.
+
+Well, she had ended by bewitching him, and the queer thing was he was
+quite glad of the bewitchment. Now and again he pulled himself up with a
+jerk and a muttered word or two of irritation; but it was all a pretence,
+and he knew it. There was an odd excitement pulsing at his heart; despite
+his age and crippled state, he was feeling boyishly, absurdly young. For
+the first time for fifteen years he was looking forward to the morrow
+with pleasure.
+
+He began to consider his programme. It was entirely simple. First there
+was Antony Gray to be interviewed. She had insisted on that. It was due
+to him to be given an entire, full, and detailed account of the whole
+business, so she had decreed. Nicholas shrugged his shoulders at the
+thought. There was just a question in his mind as to how the young man
+might regard the matter. Secondly, there was to be a tea-party in the
+library, at which Trix, the Duchessa, Miss Tibbutt, Antony, and Doctor
+Hilary were to be present. After that--well, events might take their own
+course. The villagers get to hear? Let them. Any amount of gossip? Of
+course, what did he expect? Anyhow he'd be a benefactor to mankind in
+giving poor, dull little Byestry something more interesting to talk about
+than the latest baby's first tooth, or the last injustice of Mr. Curtis.
+Yes; she meant it. Mr. Curtis was unjust, and the sooner Mr. Danver got
+rid of him and put Antony Gray in his place the better it would be for
+everyone concerned. And if he wanted a really dramatic moment he had
+better have Mr. Curtis up, and inform him that his services were no
+longer needed, and introduce him to the new agent at the same time. Trix
+only wished she could be present at the interview, but Mr. Danver would
+have to describe it to her in the minutest detail.
+
+It is not at all certain that the thought of this interview, suggested
+before Trix had wrung the final promise from him, did not go a remarkably
+long way towards extracting that promise. The idea appealed to Nicholas.
+In the first place there would be the agent's profound amazement at the
+fact that Nicholas was not lying, as he had supposed, in the tomb of his
+ancestors; in the second place there would be his discomfiture in
+realizing that Nicholas had been entirely aware of his own movements, and
+the small act of petty spite towards Job Grantley and Antony; and in the
+third place there would be his amazement and discomfiture combined when
+he found that Nicholas was not the doddering old ass he had taken him
+for, but a man prepared to take matters into his own hands, and put a
+stop once and for all to a long system of tyranny.
+
+"Yes sir, a man, and not the crippled fool you have taken me for,"
+Nicholas heard himself saying. He chuckled at the thought.
+
+And then he sat upright. What need to wait till the morrow for that
+interview? It was barely lunch time. A message to Antony requesting his
+presence at two o'clock, another to Mr. Curtis requesting his an hour
+later, and the game could be begun immediately.
+
+Once more Nicholas chuckled. Then he pressed the electric button attached
+to the arm of his chair.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+For once, and once only, in the long course of his butlership did the
+placid and unmoved calm of his manner entirely desert Jessop. The
+occasion was the present one.
+
+He was in the pantry cleaning silver, when the whirr of the electric bell
+just above his head broke the silence. He put down the spoon he was
+polishing, discarded his green baize apron, donned his coat, and made his
+dignified way to the library.
+
+Nicholas looked up at his entrance.
+
+Accustomed to note every slightest variance in his master's moods, Jessop
+was at once aware of something unusual in his bearing. There was an odd,
+suppressed excitement; the nonchalance of his manner was unquestionably
+assumed.
+
+"Ah, Jessop, I rang."
+
+"Yessir," said Jessop, imperturbably, as who should say, "Naturally,
+since I have answered the summons."
+
+Nicholas cleared his throat.
+
+"Er--Jessop, you can bring Michael Field here at two o'clock this
+afternoon, when he returns from his dinner. You can also let Mr. Curtis
+know that he is to be here at three o'clock. You had better go to Byestry
+and give the message yourself. If he wishes to know by whose orders, you
+need mention no names, but merely say that orders have been given you to
+that effect. I fancy curiosity will bring him, even if he resents the
+non-mention of actual authority."
+
+Jessop stared, actually stared, a prolonged, amazed survey of his
+master's face.
+
+"You are seeing them, sir!" he gasped.
+
+For a moment testiness swung to the fore at the question. Then the
+amazement on Jessop's face unloosed his sense of humour.
+
+"Yes," said Nicholas quietly.
+
+"But--" began Jessop. His mind was in a chaos. The order was so utterly
+unexpected. There were at least a million things he wished to point out,
+but the only one on which his brain would focus was the fact that if
+these men saw Nicholas, they would no longer imagine him to be dead. And
+yet that fact was so obvious, it was evident it must have occurred to
+Nicholas's own mind.
+
+"Don't try to think," remarked Nicholas grimly, "merely obey orders."
+
+The words pricked, restoring Jessop's balance. He drew himself to rigid
+attention, the mask suddenly resumed.
+
+"Very good, sir," and Jessop left the room.
+
+"What the blue blazes!" he muttered, as he returned, almost stumbling,
+towards the pantry.
+
+The expression had belonged to the youthful Nicholas. Jessop borrowed it
+only at moments of the severest stress. It was borrowed now.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+AN OLD MAN TELLS HIS STORY
+
+
+Antony did not in the least understand Jessop's request to follow him to
+the library, when he returned from his midday meal. He imagined that
+there was some job which required doing, and that Jessop was regarding
+him in the light of a handy man. Anyhow Antony followed him
+good-humouredly enough, and not without a certain degree of curiosity.
+The big, silent house had always exercised an odd fascination over him,
+and he had more than once had a strong desire to set foot within its
+walls. He experienced an almost unconscious excitement in complying with
+the order.
+
+He followed Jessop up the steps, and through the big door. Facing him
+were wide shallow oak stairs, uncovered and polished. Great Turkish rugs
+lay on the hall floor; two huge palms in big Oriental pots stood at
+either side of the stairs; hunting crops and antlers adorned the walls.
+Jessop opened a door on the right. Almost before Antony had realized what
+was happening, the butler had withdrawn and closed the door behind him.
+
+Antony half turned in amazement towards the door.
+
+"Ahem!"
+
+With a start Antony turned back into the room. It was not empty, as he
+had imagined it to be. A white-haired, black-eyed man was sitting in a
+big oak chair, his colourless hands resting on the arms.
+
+"Well?" said the man.
+
+Memory surged over Antony in a flood. Alteration there unquestionably was
+in the crippled form before him, but the black piercing eyes were
+unchanged. The suddenness of his surprise made his brain reel. He put out
+his hand towards the back of a chair to steady himself.
+
+"So you know me, Antony Gray," came the mocking old voice.
+
+"Nicholas Danver," Antony heard himself saying, though he hardly realized
+he was speaking the words.
+
+"Exactly," smiled Nicholas, "not dead, but very much alive, though not--"
+he glanced down at his helpless legs,--"precisely what you might term
+kicking."
+
+Antony drew a deep breath. What in the name of wonder did this astounding
+drama portend?
+
+"Sit down," said Nicholas shortly, pointing to a chair. "I have a good
+deal to say to you. You would be tired of standing before I have done."
+
+Antony sat down. The Arabian Nights entertainment sensation he had
+formerly experienced in the offices of Messrs. Parsons and Glieve, rushed
+upon him with an even fuller force; yet here the lighter and almost
+humorous note was lacking. Something tinged with resentment had taken its
+place. He felt himself to have been trapped, befooled, though he had not
+yet fully grasped the manner of the befooling.
+
+"I was a friend of your father," said Nicholas abruptly.
+
+The story would not be told exactly as he had told it to Trix, though the
+difference in the telling would be largely unconscious. It would deal
+more with the surface of things, and less with the inner trend of
+thought, the telling of which had been drawn from him by her unspoken
+sympathy.
+
+"I know," said Antony quietly, in answer to the remark.
+
+"Also I met you once," said Nicholas, a little reminiscent smile dawning
+in his eyes. It had an oddly softening effect upon his rather carven
+face. For the moment he looked almost youthful.
+
+"I remember," replied Antony gravely.
+
+"Do you?" said Nicholas, the smile finding its way to his lips. "What a
+determined youngster you were! 'I've got to. I've begun!'" Nicholas threw
+back his head with a laugh. "It appealed to me, did that sentiment. I saw
+the bulldog grip in it. But there was no viciousness in the statement.
+Jove! you weren't even angry. You were as cool as a cucumber in your
+mind, though your cheeks were crimson with the effort. You succeeded,
+too. I had forgotten the whole business till last March. Then it came
+back to me. I've got to tell you the story to explain matters. It is only
+fair that you should know the ins and outs of this business. I have no
+doubt it seems pretty queer to you?" Nicholas paused.
+
+"I confess I am somewhat at a loss regarding it," returned Antony dryly.
+
+"Not over-pleased," muttered Nicholas inwardly. Aloud he said, "I've no
+doubt you will think it all a sort of fool show, and I am by no means
+sure that I don't regard it in something that fashion myself now.
+However--" Nicholas cleared his throat. "Since my accident on the hunting
+field I have seen no one. I had no desire to have a lot of gossipping
+women and old fool men around. I hate their cackle. I left the management
+of the estate to Standing, my agent. When he left--he got the offer of a
+post on Lord Sinclair's estate--Spencer Curtis took his place. He had to
+report to me, and I saw that he kept things going all right. He was not
+an easy man to the tenants, but I did not particularly want a softling,
+you understand. Last March one of the tenants--Job Grantley, you know
+him--sneaked up here. It had been a vile day. He was in difficulties as
+to his rent, and Curtis was putting the pressure on. He had a fancy for
+squeezing those who couldn't retaliate, I suppose. Dirty hound!"
+
+Antony made a little sound indicative of entire assent. He was becoming
+interested in the recital.
+
+"I learnt a little more about him," went on Nicholas smiling
+thoughtfully, "though he never guessed I made any enquiries. That was
+later. At the moment Job Grantley's tale was enough for me,--that, and
+something else he chanced to say. After he had gone I sat thinking, first
+of past days, then of the future. A distant cousin was heir to the
+property, a fellow to whom Curtis would have been a man after his own
+heart. I'd never had what you might precisely term a feeling of bosom
+friendship towards William Gateley. Oddly enough, you came into my mind
+at the moment. I remembered the whole scene on the moorland. I could not
+get away from the memory. Then the thought flashed into my mind to make
+you my heir. It seemed absurd, but it remained a fixture, nevertheless.
+The main thoroughly reasonable objection was that I knew exceedingly
+little about you. The child is not always father to the man. Fate takes a
+hand in the after moulding at times. Yet if it were not you it would be
+Gateley. That, at all events, was my decision. Then I conceived the
+notion of making you live as one of the labourers on the estate, in short
+of giving you some first-hand knowledge of a labourer's method of living,
+and incidentally of the tenderness of Curtis. Do you follow me?"
+
+Antony nodded, an odd smile on his lips. He remembered his own
+conjecture, suggested by Mr. Albert George's discourse. The education was
+absolutely unnecessary.
+
+"I fancied," went on Nicholas, "that it might teach you to be more
+considerate if you had any tendencies in an opposite direction. But--" he
+paused a moment, then smiled grimly,--"well, you may as well have the
+truth even if it is slightly unpalatable, and you can remember that I did
+not know you as a man. I was not sure of you. If you had known I was up
+here, and you had got an inkling of the game I was playing, what was to
+prevent you from playing your own game for the year, I argued, in fact
+pretending to a sympathy with the tenants which you did not feel. I have
+never had the highest opinion of human nature. On that account I
+conceived the idea of dying. It was easily carried out. The folk around
+were amazingly gullible; the report spread like wild-fire,--through the
+village, that is to say. I don't for a moment suppose it went much beyond
+it. The solicitors were in our confidence, and no obituary notice
+appeared in the papers. The villagers were not likely to notice the
+omission. Gateley is in Australia. Yes; it was easy enough to manage. But
+I see the weakness in the business now. You might quite well have
+imagined Hilary to be the watch-dog, and have played your game to him,
+and if I'd died suddenly before the year was up, and you had disclosed
+your true hand, matters would not have been as I had intended them to be.
+It was a mad idea, I have no doubt, though on the whole I am not sure
+that it wasn't its very madness that most appealed to me." He stopped.
+
+"And what," said Antony, "is to be the outcome of this confidence now?"
+There was a certain stiffness in the question. The odd feeling of
+resentment was returning. He suddenly saw the whole business as a stupid
+child's game, a game in which he had given his word of honour with no
+smallest advantage to any single human being, and with quite enormous
+disadvantages to himself.
+
+"The main outcome," said Nicholas, "is that I wish to offer you--Antony
+Gray--the post of agent on my estate for the remainder of my lifetime. At
+my death the will I have already drawn up holds good. The year's
+probation for you therein mentioned is not likely to be long exceeded,
+even if it is exceeded at all. At least such is Doctor Hilary's
+opinion."
+
+There was a silence. Nicholas was watching Antony from under his shaggy
+eyebrows. The man was actually hesitating, debating! What in the name of
+wonder did the hesitation mean? Surely the offer of the post of agent was
+infinitely preferable to that of under-gardener? If the latter had been
+accepted, why on earth should there be hesitation regarding the former?
+So marvelled Nicholas, having, of course, no clue to the inner workings
+of Antony's mind. And even if he had had, the workings would have
+appeared to him illogical and unreasonable. It is truly not fully certain
+whether Antony understood them himself. He only knew that whereas it
+would be possible, though difficult, for him to remain in the
+neighbourhood of the Duchessa as Michael Field, gardener, to remain as
+Antony Gray, gentleman, appeared to him to be impossible; though
+precisely why it should be, he could not well have explained to himself.
+
+"I should prefer to decline the offer," replied Antony quietly.
+
+Nicholas's face fell. He was blankly disappointed, as blankly
+disappointed as a child at the sudden frustration of some cherished
+scheme. In twenty minutes Spencer Curtis, agent, would be blandly
+entering the library, and there would be no _coup de theatre_, such as
+Nicholas had pictured, to confront him.
+
+"May I ask the reason for your refusal?" questioned Nicholas, his utter
+disappointment lending a flat hardness to his voice.
+
+Antony shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Merely that I prefer to refuse," he answered.
+
+Nicholas's mouth set in grim lines. His temper, never a very equable
+commodity, got the better of his diplomacy.
+
+"It is always possible for me to alter my will," he remarked suavely.
+
+Antony flashed round on him.
+
+"For God's sake alter it, then," he cried. "The most fool thing I ever
+did in my life was to fall in with your mad scheme. Write to your
+solicitors at once." He made for the door.
+
+"Stop," said Nicholas.
+
+Antony halted on the threshold. He was furious at the situation.
+
+"I have no intention of altering my will," said Nicholas, "I should like
+you clearly to understand that. I intend to abide by my part of the
+contract whether you do or do not now see fit to abide by your own."
+
+Antony hesitated. The statement had taken him somewhat by surprise.
+
+"What do you mean?" he demanded.
+
+"Precisely what I say," retorted Nicholas. "I have made you my heir, and
+I have no intention of revoking that decision. You agreed to work for me
+for a year. You can break your contract if you choose. I shall not break
+mine."
+
+"I can refuse the inheritance," said Antony.
+
+Nicholas laughed. "If you choose to shirk responsibility and see the
+tenants remain the victims of Curtis's tenderness, you can do so. You
+have had experience of his ideas of fair play, and let me tell you that
+your experience has been of a remarkably mild order."
+
+"You can choose another agent," said Antony shortly.
+
+"I can," said Nicholas, with emphasis on the first word. "But I fancy
+William Gateley will find a twin to Curtis on my demise if you refuse the
+inheritance."
+
+Once more Antony hesitated.
+
+"Find another heir, then," he announced after a moment.
+
+Nicholas shook his head. "You hardly encourage me to do so. My present
+failure appears so palpable, I am not very likely to make a second
+attempt in that direction."
+
+Again there was a silence. Antony moved further back into the room.
+
+"You rather force my hand," he said coldly.
+
+"You mean you accept the inheritance?" asked Nicholas eagerly. His
+eagerness was almost too blatant.
+
+"I will accept it," replied Antony dispassionately, "and will see justice
+done to your tenants. It will not be incumbent on me to make personal use
+of your money."
+
+Nicholas let that pass.
+
+"And for the present?" he asked.
+
+"Concerning the matter of the contract," said Antony stiffly, "I would
+point out to you that I undertook to work for you for a year as Michael
+Field, gardener. Well, I will abide by that contract, and prolong it if
+necessary." He did not say till the day of Nicholas's death. But Nicholas
+understood his meaning.
+
+"I trust you consider that I am now treating you fairly," said Antony
+still stiffly, and after a slight pause.
+
+Nicholas bowed his head.
+
+"Fairly, yes," he said in an odd, almost pathetic voice, "but
+hardly--shall we call it--as a friend."
+
+Antony looked suddenly amazed.
+
+"What do you mean?" he demanded.
+
+"I wanted you to help me to get even with Curtis," he replied
+regretfully. His tone was somewhat reminiscent of a rueful schoolboy.
+
+Despite himself Antony smiled.
+
+"I ordered him to come here at three o'clock," went on Nicholas, glancing
+at the clock which wanted only five minutes of the hour. "I wanted to
+give him his _conge_, and introduce him to the new agent at the same
+moment. He believes firmly in my demise, by the way, which would
+certainly have added zest to the business. And now--well, it will be a
+pretty flat sort of compromise, that's all."
+
+Antony laughed aloud. For the life of him he could not help it. And then,
+as he laughed, he realized in a sudden flash, almost as Trix had
+realized, the odd pathos, the utter loneliness which could find interest
+in the mad business he--Nicholas--had invented.
+
+Suddenly Antony spoke.
+
+"You may as well carry out your original programme," he said, and almost
+good-humouredly annoyed at his own swift change of mood.
+
+The library door opened.
+
+"Mr. Spencer Curtis," announced Jessop on a note of solemn gloom.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+THE IMPORTANCE OF TRIFLES
+
+
+It was not till a good many hours later that the anticlimax of the recent
+situation struck Trix. Excitement had prevented her from realizing it at
+first. In the excitement of what the thing stood for, she had overlooked
+the utter triviality of the thing itself. When, later, the two separated
+themselves in a measure, and she looked at the thing as apart from what
+it indicated, the ludicrousness of it struck her with astounding force.
+
+Nicholas Danver would give a tea-party.
+
+And it was this, this small commonplace statement, which had kept the
+Duchessa, Miss Tibbutt, Doctor Hilary, and herself in solemn and amazed
+confabulation for at least two hours. It was infinitely more amazing even
+than the whole story of the past months, and Trix had given that in
+fairly detailed fashion, avoiding the Duchessa's eyes, however, whenever
+she mentioned Antony's name. Yes; it was what the tiny fact stood for
+that had astounded them; though now, with the fact in a measure separated
+from its meaning, Trix saw the almost absurdity of it.
+
+Fifteen years of a living death to terminate in a tea-party!
+
+It was an anticlimax which made her almost hysterical to contemplate. She
+felt that the affair ought to have wound up in some great movement, in
+some dignified action or fine speech, and it had descended to the merely
+ludicrous, or what, in view of those fifteen years, appeared the merely
+ludicrous. And she had been the instigator of it, and Doctor Hilary had
+called it a miracle. Which it truly was.
+
+And yet, banishing the ludicrous from her mind, it was so entirely
+simple. There was not the faintest blare of trumpets, not a whisper even
+of an announcing voice, merely the fact that a solitary man would once
+more welcome friends beneath his roof.
+
+The only real touch of excitement about the business would be when Antony
+Gray learnt the news, and he and the Duchessa met. And yet even that
+somehow lost its significance before the absorbing yet quiet fact of
+Nicholas's own resurrection.
+
+"He is looking forward to it like a child," Trix had said.
+
+And Miss Tibbutt had suddenly taken off her spectacles and wiped them.
+
+"It's an odd little thing to feel choky about," she had said with a shaky
+laugh.
+
+Presently she had left the room. A few moments later Doctor Hilary had
+also taken his leave. Trix and the Duchessa had been left alone. Suddenly
+the Duchessa had looked across at Trix.
+
+"What made you do it?" she had asked.
+
+Trix understood the question, and the colour had rushed to her face.
+
+"What made you do it?" the Duchessa had repeated.
+
+"For you," Trix had replied in a very small voice.
+
+"You guessed?" the Duchessa had asked quietly.
+
+Trix nodded. It _had_ been largely guesswork. There was no need, at the
+moment at all events, to speak of Miss Tibbutt's share in the matter.
+That was for Tibby herself to do if she wished.
+
+The Duchessa had got up from her chair. She had gone quietly over to Trix
+and kissed her. Then she, too, had left the room.
+
+Trix stared thoughtfully into the fire. Its light was playing on the
+silver-backed brushes on her dressing-table, gleaming on the edges of
+gilt frames, and throwing her shadow big and dancing on the wall behind
+her. The curtains were undrawn, and without the trees stood ghostly and
+bare against the pale grey sky. There was the dead silence in the
+atmosphere which tells of frost.
+
+It was just that,--the oddness of little things, and their immense
+importance in life, and simply because of the influence they have on the
+human soul. It was this that made the fact of Nicholas Danver giving a
+tea-party of such extraordinary importance, though, viewed apart from its
+meaning, it was the most trivial and commonplace thing in the world.
+
+Trix got up from her chair, and went over to the window.
+
+Not a twig of the bare trees was stirring. The earth lay quiet in the
+grip of the frost king; a faint pink light still lingered in the western
+sky. She looked at the rustic seat and the table beneath the lime trees.
+How amazingly long ago the day seemed when she had sat there with Pia,
+and heard the little tale of wounded pride. How amazingly long ago that
+very morning seemed, when she had seen the sunlight flood her window-pane
+with ruby jewels. Even her interview with Father Dormer seemed to belong
+to another life. It had been another Trix, and not she herself who had
+propounded her difficulty to him, a difficulty so astoundingly simple of
+solution.
+
+She heaved a little sigh of intense satisfaction, and then she caught
+sight of a figure crossing the grass.
+
+The Duchessa had come out of the house and was going towards the garden
+gate.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+A FOOTSTEP ON THE PATH
+
+
+Antony was sitting in his cottage. It was quite dusk in the little room,
+but he had not troubled to light the lamp. A mood of utter depression was
+upon him, though for the life of him he could not tell fully what was
+causing it. That very fact increased the depression. There was nothing
+definite he could get a grip on, and combat. He was in no worse situation
+than he had been in three hours previously, in fact it might be
+considered that he was in an infinitely better one, and yet this mood was
+less than three hours old.
+
+Of course the thought of the Duchessa was at the root of the depression.
+But why? If he met her again--and all things now considered, the meeting
+was even more than probable--what earthly difference would it make
+whether he met her in his role of Michael Field, gardener, or as Antony
+Gray, agent? And yet he knew that it would make a difference. Between the
+Duchessa di Donatello and Michael Field there was fixed a great social
+gulf. He himself had assured her of that fact. Keeping that fact in view,
+he could deceive himself into the belief that it alone would be
+accountable for the aloofness of her bearing, for the frigidity of her
+manner should they again meet. Oh, he'd pictured the meetings often
+enough; pictured, too, and schooled himself to endure, the aloofness, the
+frigidity.
+
+"I rubbed it well in that I am only a gardener, a mere labourer," he
+would assure his soul, with these imaginary meetings in mind. Of course
+he had known perfectly well that he was deceiving himself, yet even that
+knowledge had been better than facing the pain of truth.
+
+But now the truth had got to be faced.
+
+There would be the aloofness, sure enough, but there would no longer be
+that great social gulf to account for it. The true cause would have to be
+acknowledged. She scorned him, firstly on account of his fraud, and
+secondly because he had wounded her pride by his quiet deliberate
+snubbing of her friendship. Whatever justification she might presently
+see for the first offence, it never for an instant occurred to his mind
+that she might overlook the second. He had deliberately put a barrier
+between them, and it appeared to him now, as it had appeared at the
+moment of its placing, utterly and entirely unsurmountable. She would be
+civil, of course; there would not be the slightest chances of her
+forgetting her manners, but--his mind swung to the little hotel
+courtyard, to the orange trees in green tubs, to the golden sunshine and
+the sparkle of the blue water, to the woman then sitting by his side.
+
+Memory can become a sheer physical pain at times.
+
+Antony got up from the settle, and moved to the window. Despite the dusk
+within the room, there was still a faint reflection of the sunset in the
+sky, a soft pink glow.
+
+One thing was certain--nothing, no power on earth, should ever drag him
+back to Teneriffe again. If only he could control the action of his
+memory as easily as he could control the actions of his body. At all
+events he'd make a fight for it. And yet, if only--The phrase summed up
+every atom of regret for his mad decision, his falling in with that
+idiotic plan of Nicholas's. And, after all, had it been so idiotic? Mad,
+certainly; but wasn't there a certain justification in the madness? It
+was a madness the villagers would unquestionably bless.
+
+His thoughts turned to the recent interview. It had fully borne out all
+Nicholas's expectations. Bland, self-confident, Curtis had entered the
+library. Antony had had no faintest notion whom he had expected to see
+therein, but most assuredly it was not the two figures who had confronted
+him. Bewilderment had passed over his face, and an odd undernote of fear.
+It was just possible he had taken Nicholas for a ghost. The reassurance
+on that point had set him fairly at his ease. He had been subservient to
+Nicholas, extravagantly amused to learn of the trick that had been
+played. He had been insolently oblivious of Antony's presence. Antony had
+enjoyed the insolence. When he learnt that his services were no longer
+required, he had first appeared slightly discomfited. Then he had plucked
+up heart of grace.
+
+"Going to take matters into your own hands?" he had said to Nicholas.
+"Excellent, my dear sir, excellent."
+
+Nicholas had glanced down at the said hands.
+
+"I think," he had said slowly, "that they are rather old. No; I have
+other plans in view."
+
+"Yes?" Curtis had queried.
+
+"I wish to try a new _regime_," Nicholas had said calmly. "I should like
+to introduce you to my new agent." He had waved his hand towards Antony.
+
+Black as murder is a well-worn and somewhat trite expression,
+nevertheless it alone adequately described the old agent's expression.
+And then, with a palpable effort, he had recovered himself.
+
+"A really excellent plan," he had said, with scarcely veiled insolence.
+"I congratulate you on your new _regime_. They say 'Set a thief to catch
+a thief'; no doubt 'Set a hind to rule a hind' will prove equally
+efficacious." He had laughed.
+
+"On the contrary," Nicholas's voice, suave and calm, had broken in upon
+the laugh, "that is the very _regime_ I am now abolishing. 'Set a
+gentleman to rule a hind' is the one I am about to establish, that is why
+I have offered the post of agent to Mr. Antony Gray, son of a very old
+friend of mine."
+
+For one brief instant Curtis had been entirely non-plussed, the cut in
+the speech was lost in amazement; then bluster had come to his rescue.
+
+"So you have had recourse to a system of spying," he had said with a
+sneer that certainly did not in the least disguise his fury. "Personally
+I have never looked upon it as a gentleman's profession."
+
+"The question of a gentleman's profession is not one in which I should
+readily take your advice, Mr. Curtis," Nicholas had replied, smiling
+gently.
+
+Curtis had turned to the door.
+
+"I did not come here to be insulted," he had said.
+
+"Neither," Nicholas had retorted sternly, "have I paid you to insult my
+tenants. You have accused me of a system of spying. You yourself best
+know whether such a system was justified by the need. Though I can assure
+you that Mr. Gray was no spy. He believed in my death as fully as you
+did."
+
+There had been some further conversation,--remarks it might better be
+termed. The upshot had been that Curtis was leaving Byestry of his own
+accord on the morrow; Antony took over his new post immediately.
+
+It had not been till Curtis had left that Nicholas had broached the
+subject of the tea-party the following day, and had requested Antony's
+presence. The request had been firmly declined, nor could all Nicholas's
+persuasions move Antony from his resolution.
+
+"I am utterly unsociable," Antony had declared.
+
+Nicholas smiled grimly.
+
+"So am I, or, at any rate, so I was till Miss Devereux took me in hand."
+
+"Miss Devereux!" Antony had echoed.
+
+"Yes, she's at the bottom of this business," Nicholas had assured him,
+"though what further plot she has up her sleeve I don't know. Why, if it
+hadn't been--" And then, on the very verge of declaring that Antony
+himself had been the real foundation of the whole business, he had
+stopped short. Never in his life had Nicholas betrayed a lady's secret or
+what might have been a lady's secret. They were pretty much one and the
+same thing as far as his silence on the matter was concerned.
+
+Well, the long and the short of the whole business was that the tenants
+of the Chorley Estate were about to receive fair play, and Nicholas was
+about to emerge from the chrysalis-like existence in which he had
+shrouded himself for fifteen years,--an advantage, certainly, in both
+instances. Only so far as Antony's own self was concerned there didn't
+seem the least atom of an advantage anywhere. Of course he was fully
+aware that he ought to see immense advantages. But he didn't.
+
+"It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,"
+says one of the poets. Was it Tennyson? But then that depends very
+largely on the manner of the losing. And in this case!
+
+Antony crossed to the dresser and lighted the small lamp. He had just set
+it in the middle of the table when he heard the click of his garden gate,
+and a footstep on his little flagged path.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX
+
+ON THE OLD FOUNDATION
+
+
+Antony stood very still by the table. Once before he had heard that same
+footfall on his path,--a light resolute step. His face had gone quite
+white beneath its tan. There was a knock on the door. For one brief
+second he paused. Then he crossed the room, and opened the door wide.
+
+"May I come in?" asked the Duchessa.
+
+He moved aside, and she came into the room, standing in the lamplight. He
+stood near her, words, conventional words, driven from his lips by the
+mad pounding and beating of his heart.
+
+"Might I sit down?" asked the Duchessa a little breathlessly. And she
+crossed to the settle. Her face was in shadow here, but Antony had seen
+that it was strangely white.
+
+Still Antony had not spoken.
+
+The Duchessa looked up at him.
+
+"I am nervous," said she, an odd little tremor in her voice.
+
+"Nervous!" echoed Antony, surprise lending speech to his tongue.
+
+"Nervous," she replied, the odd little tremor still in her voice. "I owe
+you an apology, oh, the very deepest apology, and I don't know how to
+begin."
+
+"Don't begin at all," said Antony hoarsely, sternly almost.
+
+"Ah, but I must. Think how I spoke to you. You--we had agreed that trust
+was the very foundation of friendship, and I destroyed the foundation at
+the outset."
+
+"It was not likely you could understand," said Antony.
+
+She caught her breath, a little quick intake.
+
+"Would you say the same if it had been the other way about? Would _you_
+have destroyed the foundation?"
+
+Antony was silent.
+
+"Would you?" she insisted.
+
+"I--I hope not," he stammered.
+
+"And yet you appear to think it reasonable that I should have done so."
+
+He could not quite understand the tone of her words.
+
+"I think it reasonable you did not understand," he declared. "How could
+you? Nobody could have understood. It was the maddest, the most
+inconceivable situation."
+
+"Possibly. Yet if the positions had been reversed, if it had been you who
+had failed to understand my actions, would you not still have trusted?"
+
+"Yes," said Antony, conviction in the syllable. He did not think to ask
+her how it was that she understood now. The simple fact that she did
+understand swept aside, made trivial every other consideration.
+
+"You mean that a man's trust holds good under any circumstances, whereas
+a woman's trust will obviously fail before the first difficulty?" she
+demanded.
+
+"I did not mean that," cried Antony hotly.
+
+"No?" she queried mockingly.
+
+"It was not, on my part, a question of _trust_ alone," said Antony
+deliberately. He looked straight at her as he spoke the words.
+
+The Duchessa dropped her eyes. A crimson colour tinged her cheeks, crept
+upwards to her forehead.
+
+There was a dead silence. Then----
+
+"Will you help me to re-build the foundation?" asked the Duchessa.
+
+"It was never destroyed," said Antony.
+
+"Mine was," she replied steadily. "Will you forgive me?"
+
+"There can be no question of forgiveness," he replied hoarsely.
+
+Her face went to white.
+
+"You refuse?"
+
+"There is nothing to forgive," he said.
+
+Again she drew a quick breath.
+
+"There is," she said.
+
+"I think not," he replied.
+
+The Duchessa looked towards the fire.
+
+"Why do you say that?"
+
+"Because," he replied slowly, "between you and me there can be no
+question of forgiveness. To forgive, one must acknowledge a wrong done to
+one. I acknowledge none."
+
+She turned towards him.
+
+"You cared so little, you felt none?"
+
+"No," responded Antony, the words leaping to his lips, "I cared so much I
+felt none."
+
+"Ah," she breathed, and stopped. "Then you will go back to the old
+footing?" she asked.
+
+Antony's heart beat furiously.
+
+"I cannot," he replied.
+
+"Why?" she demanded, speaking very low.
+
+Antony drew a deep breath.
+
+"Because I love you," he said quietly.
+
+Again there was a dead silence. At last Antony spoke quietly.
+
+"Of course I have no right to tell you that," he said. "But you may as
+well know the whole truth now. It was because of that love that I agreed
+to this business. I had nothing to offer you. Here was my chance to
+obtain something. I had no notion then that you lived in this
+neighbourhood. When I found out, I was tempted to let you infer that
+there was a mystery, some possible explanation of my conduct. It would
+have been breaking my contract in the spirit, though not actually in the
+letter. Well, I didn't break it at all, and of course you did not
+understand. In order to keep my contract I had to deceive you, or at all
+events to allow you to believe an untruth. Naturally you scorned my
+deceit, as it appeared to you. It was that that mattered of course, not
+the social position. I understood that completely. Later, you offered me
+your friendship. You were ready to trust without understanding. I could
+not accept your trust. A friendship between us must have led others to
+suspect that I was not what I appeared to be. That was to be avoided. It
+had to be avoided. I hurt you then, knowing what I did." He stopped.
+
+"I think you hurt yourself too," she suggested quietly.
+
+The muscles in Antony's throat contracted.
+
+"Come here," said the Duchessa.
+
+Antony crossed to the hearth. He stood looking down at her.
+
+"Kneel down," said the Duchessa.
+
+Obediently he knelt.
+
+"You are so blind," said the Duchessa pathetically, "that you need to
+look very close to see things clearly. Look right into my eyes. Can't you
+see something there that will heal that hurt?"
+
+A great sob broke from Antony's throat.
+
+"Ah, don't, dear heart, don't," cried the Duchessa, drawing his head
+against her breast.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Will the new agent agree to live at the Manor House?" asked the
+Duchessa, after a long, long interval composed of many silences though
+some few words. "Will his pride allow him to accept a small material
+benefit for a short time, seeing what a great amount of material benefit
+will be his to bestow in the future?"
+
+Antony laughed.
+
+"I told Mr. Danver I wouldn't use a penny of his money for myself," he
+said.
+
+"Oh!" She raised her eyebrows in half comical dismay, which hid, however,
+a hint of real anxiety. Would his pride accept where it did not bestow in
+like kind? For other reason than this the bestowal would signify not at
+all.
+
+"You mind?" he asked smiling.
+
+She looked straight at him.
+
+"Not the smallest atom," she declared, utterly relieved, since there was
+no shadow of false pride in the laughing eyes which met her own.
+
+"Ah, but," said Antony slowly, and very, very deliberately, "I never said
+I would not use it for my wife."
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+An old man was sitting in the library of the big grey house. A shaded
+reading-lamp stood on a small table near his elbow. Its light was thrown
+on an open book lying near it, and on the carved arms of the oak chair in
+which the man was sitting. It shone clearly on his bloodless old hands,
+on his parchment-like face and white hair. A log fire was burning in a
+great open hearth on his right. For the rest, the room was a place of
+shadows, deepening to gloom in the distant corners, a gloom emphasized by
+the one small circle of brilliant light, and the red glow of the fire.
+Book-cases reached from floor to ceiling the whole length of two walls,
+and between the thickly curtained windows of the third. In the fourth
+wall was the fireplace and the door.
+
+There was no sound to break the silence. The figure in the oak chair sat
+motionless. He might have been carved out of stone, for any sign of life
+he gave. He looked like stone,--white and black marble very finely
+sculptured,--white marble in head and hands, black marble in the piercing
+eyes, the long satin dressing-gown, the oak of the big chair. Even his
+eyes seemed stone-like, motionless, and fixed thoughtfully on space.
+
+The big room was very still. An hour ago it had been full of voices and
+laughter, amazed questions, and half-mocking explanations.
+
+Later the front door had banged. There had been the sound of steps on the
+frosty drive, receding in the distance. Then silence.
+
+Nicholas's eyes turned towards the middle window of the three, surveying
+the heavy hanging curtain.
+
+A whimsical smile lighted up his grim old mouth.
+
+"After all, it wasn't a wasted year," he said aloud.
+
+Then he turned and looked round the empty room. It seemed curiously
+deserted now.
+
+"And the year is not yet ended," he added. He was amazed at the pleasure
+the thought gave him.
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Antony Gray,--Gardener, by Leslie Moore
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