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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: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** 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 pæan 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 rôle, 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 yü 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 güd," 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 rôle 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 güd 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. Yü'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 tü 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 yü 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. Yü'm to have Widow Jenkins's cottage, her as died
+back tü Christmas. 'Tis a quarter o'mile or so from t'town, and 'twill be
+that mooch nearer t'old Hall. Yü see yon chimbleys by they three elms
+yonder? 'Tis Doctor's house. Yü'm tü go there this evenin' aboot seven
+o'clock 'e bid me tell 'ee. Where was yü working tü 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 yü knoaws your own business best.
+T'last chap as was underest gardener oop tü t'Hall got took on by folks
+living over Exeter way. He boarded wi' t'blacksmith and his wife. Maybe
+yü'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! Yü'd best be takin' oop wi' a wife. There's a sight of vitty maids
+tü Byestry, and 'tis lonesome like comin' home to an empty hearth and no
+supper. There's Rose Darell, her's a güd maid, and has a bit o' money; or
+Jenny Horswell, her's a bit o' a squint, but is a fair vitty maid tü
+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 güd blackberries hangin' on t'bushes
+as ever was plucked from them. And yü'm tü young a chap tü be thinkin' o'
+yürself 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 yü," 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 yü feel like a pipe one o'
+these evenin's, yü might coom down tü t'village. My place is over
+opposite t'post office. I be t'saddler. Yü'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 rôle, 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
+fêted. But it's really his voice that is fêted, because it is the fashion
+to fête 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 débris 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 théâtre_, 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 _congé_, 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 rôle 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 _régime_," 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 _régime_. 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 _régime_ 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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+<title>
+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Antony Gray,&mdash;Gardener, by Leslie Moore.
+</title>
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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: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANTONY GRAY,--GARDENER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class='ce'>
+<p style=' font-size:2em; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:1em; font-variant:small-caps;'>Antony Gray,&mdash;Gardener</p>
+<div style='margin-top:1em'></div>
+<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>BY</p>
+<p style=' font-size:1em; margin-bottom:3em;'>LESLIE MOORE</p>
+<div style='margin-top:1em'></div>
+<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>AUTHOR OF &#8220;THE PEACOCK FEATHER,&#8221; &#8220;THE JESTER,&#8221; &#8220;THE</p>
+<p style=' font-size:0.8em; margin-bottom:3em;'>WISER FOLLY,&#8221; ETC.</p>
+<div style='margin-top:1em'></div>
+<p style=' font-size:1em;'>G. P. PUTNAM&#8217;S SONS</p>
+<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>NEW YORK AND LONDON</p>
+<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>The Knickerbocker Press</p>
+<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>1917</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class='silver' />
+
+<div class='ce'>
+<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Copyright, 1917</span></p>
+<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>BY</p>
+<p style=' margin-bottom:2em;'>LESLIE MOORE</p>
+<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>The Knickerbocker Press, New York</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class='silver' />
+
+<div class='ce'>
+<p>To</p>
+<p>MRS. BARTON</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class='silver' />
+
+<div class='ce'>
+<p style=' font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:1em;'>CONTENTS</p>
+</div>
+
+<table border='0' width='500' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'>
+<tr>
+  <td align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td>
+  <td></td>
+  <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Prologue</span></td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#PROLOGUE'>1</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Letter</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_THE_LETTER'>17</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Memories</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_MEMORIES'>24</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Quod Scriptum est</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_QUOD_SCRIPTUM_EST'>31</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Lady of the Blue Book</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_THE_LADY_OF_THE_BLUE_BOOK'>38</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Friendship</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_A_FRIENDSHIP'>44</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>At Teneriffe</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_AT_TENERIFFE'>52</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>England</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_ENGLAND'>64</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Amazing Conditions</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_THE_AMAZING_CONDITIONS'>70</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Decision</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_THE_DECISION'>79</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>An English Cottage</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_AN_ENGLISH_COTTAGE'>86</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Doubts</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_DOUBTS'>98</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Concerning Michael Field</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_CONCERNING_MICHAEL_FIELD'>102</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Discovery</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_A_DISCOVERY'>109</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Honor Vincit</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_HONOR_VINCIT'>117</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>In the Garden</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_IN_THE_GARDEN'>123</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Meeting</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVI_A_MEETING'>132</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>At the Manor House</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVII_AT_THE_MANOR_HOUSE'>139</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Dream and Other Things</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVIII_A_DREAM_AND_OTHER_THINGS'>149</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Trix on the Scene</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIX_TRIX_ON_THE_SCENE'>161</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XX.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Moonlight and Theories</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XX_MOONLIGHT_AND_THEORIES'>168</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXI.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>On the Moorland</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXI_ON_THE_MOORLAND'>183</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>An Old Man in a Library</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXII_AN_OLD_MAN_IN_A_LIBRARY'>192</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Antony Finds a Glove</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIII_ANTONY_FINDS_A_GLOVE'>201</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIV.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>An Interest in Life</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIV_AN_INTEREST_IN_LIFE'>206</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXV.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Prickles</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXV_PRICKLES'>212</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVI.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>An Offer and a Refusal</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXVI_AN_OFFER_AND_A_REFUSAL'>227</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Letters and Mrs. Arbuthnot</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXVII_LETTERS_AND_MRS_ARBUTHNOT'>237</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVIII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>For the Day Alone</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXVIII_FOR_THE_DAY_ALONE'>256</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIX.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>In the Church Porch</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIX_IN_THE_CHURCH_PORCH'>260</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXX.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Question of Importance</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXX_A_QUESTION_OF_IMPORTANCE'>277</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXI.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Midnight Reflections</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXXI_MIDNIGHT_REFLECTIONS'>284</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Sunlight and Happiness</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXXII_SUNLIGHT_AND_HAPPINESS'>290</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXIII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Trix Seeks Advice</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXXIII_TRIX_SEEKS_ADVICE'>294</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXIV.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>An Amazing Suggestion</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXXIV_AN_AMAZING_SUGGESTION'>302</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXV.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Trix Triumphant</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXXV_TRIX_TRIUMPHANT'>312</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXVI.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>An Old Man Tells his Story</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXXVI_AN_OLD_MAN_TELLS_HIS_STORY'>319</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXVII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Importance of Trifles</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXXVII_THE_IMPORTANCE_OF_TRIFLES'>330</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXVIII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Footstep on the Path</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXXVIII_A_FOOTSTEP_ON_THE_PATH'>334</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXIX.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>On the Old Foundation</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXXIX_ON_THE_OLD_FOUNDATION'>341</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Epilogue</span></td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#EPILOGUE'>347</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<hr class='silver' />
+
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span></div>
+<div class='ce'>
+<p style=' font-size:1.4em; margin-top:2em;'>Antony Gray,&mdash;Gardener</p>
+</div>
+
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 0em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='PROLOGUE' id='PROLOGUE'></a>
+<h2>PROLOGUE</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span>
+cliffs, as if unwilling to subdue its anger. Yet,
+for all that, a note of fatigue had entered its
+voice.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;white and black
+marble very finely sculptured,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>To those perceptive of &#8220;atmosphere&#8221; there is
+a subtle difference in silence. There is the silence
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>The minutes passed. Then once more came
+that almost imperceptible movement.</p>
+<p>Nicholas Danver&#8217;s well-bred old voice broke
+the silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why not come into the room?&#8221; it suggested
+quietly. There was a gleam of ironical humour
+in his eyes.</p>
+<p>The curtains swung apart, and a man came from
+between them. He stood blinking towards the
+light.</p>
+<p>&#8220;How did you know I was there, sir?&#8221; came the
+gruff inquiry.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t know,&#8221; said Nicholas, accurately
+truthful. &#8220;I merely guessed.&#8221;</p>
+<p>There was a pause.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; said Nicholas watching the man keenly.
+&#8220;By the way, I suppose you know I am entirely
+at your mercy. I could ring this bell,&#8221; he indicated
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span>
+an electric button attached to the arm of his
+chair, &#8220;but I suppose it would be at least three
+minutes before any one came. Yes,&#8221; he continued
+thoughtfully, &#8220;allowing for the distance
+from the servants&#8217; 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?&#8221; He looked towards
+a pair of solid silver candlesticks on the
+mantelpiece. &#8220;They are cumbersome, you know.
+Or the miniatures? There are three Cosways
+and four Engleharts. I should recommend the
+miniatures.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wanted to see you,&#8221; said the man bluntly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Indeed!&#8221; Nicholas&#8217;s white eyebrows rose the
+fraction of an inch above his keen old eyes. &#8220;An
+unusual hour for a visit, and&mdash;an unusual entrance,
+if I might make the suggestion.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;d never have been a chance of seeing you
+if I had come any other way.&#8221; There was a hint
+of bitterness in the words.</p>
+<p>Nicholas looked straight at him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Who are you?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Job Grantley,&#8221; was the reply. &#8220;I live down
+by the Lower Acre.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah! One of my tenants.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir, one of your tenants.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And&mdash;?&#8221; suggested Nicholas urbanely.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m to turn out of my cottage to-morrow,&#8221;
+said the man briefly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Indeed!&#8221; The pupils of Nicholas&#8217;s eyes
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span>
+contracted. &#8220;May I ask why that information
+should be of interest to me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s of no interest to you, sir, and we know it.
+You never hear a word of what happens outside
+this house.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Spencer Curtis conducts my business,&#8221;
+said Nicholas politely.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We know that too, sir, and we know the way it
+is conducted. It&#8217;s an iron hand, and a heart like
+flint. It&#8217;s pay or go, and not an hour&#8217;s grace.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You can hardly expect him to give you my
+cottages rent free,&#8221; suggested Nicholas suavely.</p>
+<p>The man winced.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, sir. But where a few weeks would make
+all the difference to a man, where it&#8217;s a matter of
+a few shillings standing between home and the
+roadside&mdash;&#8221; he broke off.</p>
+<p>Nicholas was silent.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I thought perhaps a word to you, sir,&#8221; went on
+the man half wistfully. &#8220;We&#8217;re to go to-morrow
+if I can&#8217;t pay, and I can&#8217;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&#8217;s
+lost two little ones; they never but opened their
+eyes on the world to shut them again. I&#8217;m glad
+on it now. But women aren&#8217;t made that way.
+There&#8217;s another coming. She&#8217;s not strong. I
+doubt but the shock&#8217;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&mdash;&#8221;
+he stopped.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span></p>
+<p>Still there was silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was a fool to come,&#8221; said the man drearily.
+&#8220;&#8217;Twas the weather did it in the end. I&#8217;d gone
+mad-like listening to the wind and rain, and thinking
+of her and the child that was to be&mdash;&#8221; again
+he stopped.</p>
+<p>Nicholas was watching him from under the penthouse
+of his eyebrows. Suddenly he spoke.</p>
+<p>&#8220;How soon could you pay your rent?&#8221; he
+demanded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In a fortnight most like, sir. Three weeks for
+certain.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Have you told Mr. Curtis that?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have, sir. But it&#8217;s the tick of time, or out
+you go.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Have you ever been behindhand before?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;How has it happened now?&#8221; The questions
+came short, incisive.</p>
+<p>The man flushed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;How has it happened now?&#8221; repeated Nicholas
+distinctly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I lent a bit, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;To whom?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Widow Thisby. She&#8217;s an old woman, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell me the whole story,&#8221; said Nicholas
+curtly.</p>
+<p>Again the flush rose to the man&#8217;s face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Her son got into a bit of trouble, sir. It was
+a matter of a sovereign or going to gaol. He&#8217;s only
+a youngster, and the prison smell sticks. Trust
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span>
+folk for nosing it out. He&#8217;s got a chance now, and
+will be sending his mother a trifle presently.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then I suppose she&#8217;ll repay you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Job fidgeted with his cap.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, sir, I don&#8217;t suppose it&#8217;ll be more&#8217;n a
+trifle he&#8217;ll send; and she&#8217;s got her work cut out
+to make both ends meet.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then I suppose you <i>gave</i> her the money?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Job shifted his feet uneasily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;How did you intend to raise the money due for
+your rent, then?&#8221; demanded Nicholas less curtly.</p>
+<p>Job left off fidgeting. He felt on safer ground
+here.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It just meant a bit extra saved from each
+week,&#8221; he said eagerly. &#8220;You can do it if you&#8217;ve
+time. Boiling water poured into the morning teapot
+for evenings, and knock off your bit of bacon,
+and&mdash;well, there&#8217;s lots of ways, sir, and women is
+wonderful folk for managing, the best ones.
+Where it&#8217;s thought and trouble they&#8217;ll do it, and
+they&#8217;d be using strength too if they&#8217;d got it, but
+some of them hasn&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hmm,&#8221; said Nicholas. He put up his hand to
+his mouth. &#8220;So you <i>gave</i> money you knew would
+never be repaid, knowing, too, that it meant possible
+homelessness.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;d have done it yourself if you&#8217;d been in
+my place,&#8221; said the man bluntly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Should I?&#8221; said Nicholas half ironically. &#8220;I
+very much doubt it. Also what right had you to
+gamble with your wife&#8217;s happiness? You knew
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span>
+the risk you ran. You knew the&mdash;er, the rule
+regarding the rents. Job Grantley, you were a
+fool.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again the colour rushed to the man&#8217;s face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;May be, sir. I&#8217;ll allow it sounds foolishness,
+but&mdash;oh Lord, sir, where&#8217;s the use o&#8217; back-thinking
+now. I reckon you&#8217;d never do a hand&#8217;s turn for
+nobody if you spent your time looking backward
+and forrard at your jobs.&#8221; He stopped, his chin
+quivering.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Job Grantley, you were a fool.&#8221; Nicholas
+repeated the words with even deliberation.</p>
+<p>The man moved silently towards the window.
+There was a clumsy dignity about his figure.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Stop,&#8221; said Nicholas. &#8220;Job Grantley, you
+<i>are</i> a fool.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man turned round.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Go to that drawer,&#8221; ordered Nicholas, &#8220;and
+bring me a pocket-book you will find there.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mechanically the man did as he was bidden.
+Nicholas took the book.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now then,&#8221; he said opening it, &#8220;how much
+will put you right?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man stared.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;oh, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;How much will put you right?&#8221; demanded
+Nicholas.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A pound, sir. The month&#8217;s rent is due
+to-morrow.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas raised his eyebrows.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Humph. Not much to stand between you
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span>
+and&mdash;hell. I&#8217;ve no doubt you did consider it
+hell. We each have our own interpretation of that
+cheerful abode.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He turned the papers carefully.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now look here,&#8221; he said suddenly, &#8220;there&#8217;s
+five pounds. It&#8217;s for yourselves, mind. No more
+indiscriminate bestowal of charity, you understand.
+You begin your charity at home. Do you follow
+me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man took the money in a dazed fashion.
+He was more than half bewildered at the sudden
+turn in events.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll repay you faithfully, sir. I&#8217;ll&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Damn you,&#8221; broke in Nicholas softly, &#8220;who
+talked about repayment? Can&#8217;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&#8217;t get too many excitements.
+That&#8217;ll do. I don&#8217;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&#8217;ll do, that&#8217;ll
+do. Go, man.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Two minutes later Nicholas was looking again
+towards the curtains behind which Job Grantley
+had vanished.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now, was I the greater fool?&#8221; he said aloud.
+There was an odd, mocking expression in his eyes.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>Ten minutes later he pressed the electric button
+attached to the arm of his chair. His eyes were
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span>
+on his watch which he held in his hand. As
+the library door opened, he replaced it in his
+pocket.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Right to the second,&#8221; he laughed. &#8220;Ah,
+Jessop.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, Jessop, do you know Job Grantley by
+sight?&#8221;</p>
+<p>For one brief second Jessop stared, amazement
+fallen upon him. Then the mask of impenetrability
+was on again.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Job Grantley, yes, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is he like?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tallish man, sir; wears corduroys. Dark
+hair and eyes; looks straight at you, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hmm. Very good. Perhaps I wasn&#8217;t a fool,&#8221;
+he was thinking.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you know Mr. Curtis?&#8221; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221; This came very shortly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Should you call him&mdash;er, a hard man?&#8221; asked
+Nicholas smoothly.</p>
+<p>Again amazement fell on Jessop&#8217;s soul, revealing
+itself momentarily in his features. And again the
+amazement was concealed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s a good business man, sir,&#8221; came the
+cautious reply.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You mean&mdash;?&#8221; suggested Nicholas.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;A good business man isn&#8217;t ordinarily what
+you&#8217;d call tender-like,&#8221; said Jessop grimly.</p>
+<p>Nicholas flashed a glance of amusement at
+him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I suppose not,&#8221; he replied dryly.</p>
+<p>There was a pause.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do the tenants ever ask to see me?&#8221; demanded
+Nicholas.</p>
+<p>&#8220;They used to, sir. Now they save their shoe-leather
+coming up the drive.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, you told them&mdash;?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Your orders, sir. You saw no one.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I see.&#8221; Nicholas&#8217;s fingers were beating a light
+tattoo on the arm of his chair. &#8220;Well, those are
+my orders. That will do. You needn&#8217;t come
+again till I ring.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Jessop turned towards the door.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, by the way,&#8221; Nicholas&#8217;s voice arrested him
+on the threshold, &#8220;I fancy the middle window is
+unlatched.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Jessop returned and went behind the curtains.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was, wasn&#8217;t it?&#8221; asked Nicholas as he
+emerged.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Jessop left the room.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now how on earth did he know that?&#8221; he
+queried as he walked across the hall.</p>
+<p>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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>A man can face odds if he is a man, and remake
+his life.</i>&#8221;</p>
+<p>The words repeated themselves in Nicholas&#8217;s
+brain. Each syllable was like the incisive tap
+of a hammer. They fell on a wound lately
+dealt.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;a man with keen eyes,
+a grim mouth, and flexible sensitive hands.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I regret to tell you that, humanly speaking,
+you have no more than a year to live.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Nicholas&#8217;s voice had followed close upon the
+words, politely ironical.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Personally I should have considered it a
+matter for congratulation rather than regret,&#8221;
+he had suggested.</p>
+<p>There had been the fraction of a pause. Then
+the man&#8217;s voice had broken the silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do. What has my life been for fifteen years?&#8221;
+Nicholas had demanded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What you have made of it,&#8221; had been the
+answer.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What God or the devil has made of it, aided
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span>
+by Baccarat&mdash;poor beast,&#8221; Nicholas had retorted
+savagely.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The devil, possibly,&#8221; the man had replied,
+&#8220;but aided and abetted by yourself.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Confound you, what are you talking about?&#8221;
+Nicholas had cried.</p>
+<p>The man had still looked towards the book-cases.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Listen,&#8221; he had said. &#8220;For fifteen years you
+have lived the life of a recluse&mdash;a useless recluse,
+mind you. And why? Because of pride,&mdash;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,&mdash;heavy odds, I&#8217;ll allow.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas&#8217;s eyes had blazed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;How dare you!&#8221; he had shouted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ve a year left,&#8221; went on the man calmly.
+&#8220;I should advise you to see what use you can
+make of it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The first use I&#8217;ll make of it is to order you from
+the house. You can go at once.&#8221; Nicholas had
+pointed towards the door.</p>
+<p>The man had got up.</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right,&#8221; he had said, looking at him for the
+first time in the last ten minutes. &#8220;But don&#8217;t
+forget. You&#8217;ve got the year, you know.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;To hell with the year,&#8221; said Nicholas curtly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Damn the fellow,&#8221; he had said as the door had
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span>
+closed behind him. But the very truth of the
+words had left a wound,&mdash;a clean-cut wound
+however. There was never any bungling where
+Doctor Hilary was concerned.</p>
+<p>And now incisive, sharp, came the taps of the
+hammer on it, taps dealt by Job Grantley&#8217;s chance
+words.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Confound both the men,&#8221; he muttered. &#8220;But
+the fellow deserved the five pounds. It was the
+first interest I&#8217;ve had for fifteen years. The kind
+of entrance I&#8217;d have made myself, too; or perhaps
+mine would have been even a bit more unusual,
+eh, Nick the dare-devil!&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>How Father O&#8217;Brady had chuckled over the
+prank that had first earned him the title,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>Nick had re-acted the scene for him. He was
+an inimitable mimic. He had taken off old Lady
+Fanshawe&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span>
+terrified coachman, postilion, and solitary male
+passenger covered by his companions&#8217; 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.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;when not out of her
+wits with terror&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>It had been the first of a series of pranks each
+madder than the last, but each equally light-hearted
+and gay.</p>
+<p>That is till Cecilia Lester married Basil Percy.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>And then, at last, came the day when Nick
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span>
+played his final prank in the hunting field,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>And there was yet one more year left to him.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>Nicholas sat gazing at the fire.</p>
+<p>His brain was extraordinarily alert. There
+was a dawning humour waking in his eyes, a hint
+of the bygone years&#8217; devil-may-careness. The
+old Nick was stirring within him, roused by the
+little blows of that sentence.</p>
+<p>Suddenly a flash of laughter illuminated his
+whole face. He brought his hand down on the
+arm of his chair.</p>
+<p>&#8220;By gad, I&#8217;ve got it, and Hilary&#8217;s the man to
+help me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;By gad, Nick the dare-devil, the scheme&#8217;s
+worthy of the old days.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='I_THE_LETTER' id='I_THE_LETTER'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>
+<h3>THE LETTER</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span>
+part of the vat, the water affording irrigation for
+the garden.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>Now and again Josephus hung out a pink tongue,
+a tongue which demanded milk in a saucer. He
+knew tea-time to the second,&mdash;ordinarily speaking
+that is to say. He could not accustom himself to
+that extra half-hour&#8217;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&mdash;very
+occasionally&mdash;a letter. Josephus knew
+that the click of the garden gate heralded the
+swift arrival of tea, but it was not always easy
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span>
+to realize on which days that click was to be
+expected.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>The click of the garden gate roused him from
+his contemplation. Josephus cocked one ear, his
+small body pleasurably alert.</p>
+<p>Antony turned his head. Mail day always held
+possibilities, however improbable, an expectation
+unknown to those to whom the sound of the postman&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The paper, master, and a letter,&#8221; he announced
+with some importance. Then he disappeared to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span>
+prepare the tea for which Josephus&#8217;s doggy soul
+was longing.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s announcement. It was
+like putting out your hand to greet a friend, and
+meeting&mdash;a commercial traveller.</p>
+<p>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!</p>
+<p>He broke the seal.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I&#8217;m jiggered,&#8221; declared Antony to the
+sunshine. And he fell to a second perusal of the
+letter. Here is what he read:
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span></p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dear Sir,</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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&mdash;should you
+so desire&mdash;your return journey. We enclose herewith
+cheque for one hundred pounds on account.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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&mdash;should the answer be in
+the affirmative&mdash;the approximate date we may
+expect you in England.</p>
+<div class='ra'>
+<p style=' margin-right:4em;'>&#8220;Yours obediently,</p>
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Henry Parsons.</span>&#8221;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>And the paper was headed, Parsons &amp; Glieve,
+Solicitors.</p>
+<p>Nicholas Danver. Where had he heard that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Antony turned. Then realization dawned on
+him. He grasped the milk jug.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You poor little beggar,&#8221; he laughed. &#8220;It&#8217;s
+not often you get neglected. But it&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Josephus lapped, greedily, thirstily, till the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span>
+empty saucer circled on the stoep under the
+onslaughts of his small pink tongue.</p>
+<p>Antony had again sunk into a reverie, a reverie
+which lasted for another fifteen minutes or so.
+At last he roused himself.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Josephus, my son,&#8221; he announced solemnly,
+&#8220;there are jobs to be done, and in spite of bombshells
+we&#8217;d better do them, and leave Arabian
+Night wonders for further contemplation this
+evening.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='II_MEMORIES' id='II_MEMORIES'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER II</h2>
+<h3>MEMORIES</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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,&mdash;subject, however, to certain conditions.
+And in that last clause lay the possible fly in the
+ointment. What conditions?</p>
+<p>Antony turned the possibilities in his mind.</p>
+<p>Matrimony with some lady of Nicholas Danver&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span>
+restless spirit demanded? Again too melodramatic.
+A promise to live on the estate, and on the estate
+alone? Far more probable.</p>
+<p>Well, he&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;an Arabian
+Night&#8217;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&#8217;s subtleties, the apparent candour which
+conceals her tricks.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span></p>
+<p>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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll never break that,&#8221; the man had
+remarked amused.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve got to. I&#8217;ve begun,&#8221; had been the small
+boy&#8217;s retort. And he had returned to the onslaught,
+regardless of the watching man.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span>
+horse. But the gorse stick had lain on the
+ground beside him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Shake hands,&#8221; the man had said.</p>
+<p>And the boy had scrambled to his feet to extend
+a grubby paw.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s your name?&#8221; the man had demanded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Antony Gray.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not Richard Gray&#8217;s son?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man had burst into a shout of laughter.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Where is your father?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;In London.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And Nicholas had ridden away.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s laugh, when,
+later, the tale of the meeting had been recounted
+to him.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Good old Nick,&#8221; he had said. &#8220;One loses
+sight of the friends of one&#8217;s boyhood as one grows
+older, more&#8217;s the pity. I must write to old Nick.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s
+brain, as he sat on the stoep, gazing out
+into the African night.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s death had summoned him hurriedly from
+college. A quixotic, and, it is to be feared, culpable
+generosity on Richard Gray&#8217;s part had left
+his son penniless.</p>
+<p>Antony had accepted the fact stoically, and
+even cheerfully. He had looked straight at the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span>
+generosity, denying the culpability, thereby preserving
+what he valued infinitely more than lands
+or gold&mdash;his father&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>After all, there had been compensations in the
+life. All unconsciously he had taken for his watch-word
+the cry: &#8220;I will succeed in spite of ...&#8221;
+rather than the usual old lament: &#8220;I could succeed
+if....&#8221; 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&mdash;well,
+he didn&#8217;t make the fight so obvious. That
+was all the difference.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;so stupendously
+mysterious.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span></p>
+<p>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&mdash;England.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='III_QUOD_SCRIPTUM_EST' id='III_QUOD_SCRIPTUM_EST'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER III</h2>
+<h3>QUOD SCRIPTUM EST</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>The <i>Fort Salisbury</i> was cutting her way through
+the translucent green water. Cape Town, with
+Table Mountain and the Lion&#8217;s Head beyond it,
+was vanishing into the increasing distance.</p>
+<p>Antony had taken his passage on the <i>Fort
+Salisbury</i> 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&#8217;s money, and his passage
+on the <i>Fort Salisbury</i> 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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span></p>
+<p>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, <i>pro
+tem</i>, 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&#8217;s.</p>
+<p>It was a faint echo, however. Time and a daily
+visit would bring consolation to Josephus; and,
+for himself, the present adventure&mdash;it was an
+adventure&mdash;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,&mdash;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>He arrayed himself with scrupulous care. Only
+the most stringent exigencies of time and place&mdash;though
+they for a while had been frequent&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span>
+from the captain&#8217;s left. The chair on the captain&#8217;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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s right.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;grey or
+violet, he was not sure which,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>An odd little thrill of unaccountable excitement
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span>
+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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;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.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span>
+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?</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I am sorry,&#8221; said a voice in the darkness.</p>
+<p>Antony turned.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The wind caught it,&#8221; she explained apologetically,
+tucking the chiffon streamer within her cloak.</p>
+<p>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,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, you idiot,&#8221; he groaned within his heart,
+&#8220;you utter and double-dyed idiot.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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&mdash;nothing.</p>
+<p>An hour or so later he descended dejectedly to
+his cabin.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='IV_THE_LADY_OF_THE_BLUE_BOOK' id='IV_THE_LADY_OF_THE_BLUE_BOOK'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+<h3>THE LADY OF THE BLUE BOOK</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>He saw her at breakfast the next morning; and
+again, later, sitting on a deck-chair, with a book.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;he spelled it with a capital&mdash;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,&mdash;surreptitiously of course. There
+was no ill-bred staring in his survey.</p>
+<p>She was again dressed in black, but this time the
+lace ruffles had given place to soft white muslin
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wonder,&#8221; reflected Antony watching her,
+&#8220;what she has been reading.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Antony looked at the empty chair&mdash;empty, that
+is, except for a pale blue cushion and a deeper blue
+book. On the back of the chair, certain letters
+were painted,&mdash;P. di D.</p>
+<p>Antony surveyed them gravely. The first
+letter really engrossed his attention. The last was
+merely an adjunct. The first would represent&mdash;or
+should represent&mdash;the real woman. He marshalled
+every possibility before him, merely to
+dismiss them: Patience, Phyllis, Prudence, Priscilla,
+Perpetua, Penelope, Persis, Ph&oelig;be, Pauline,&mdash;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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. <i>Dream Days</i>. It fitted into
+his imaginings of her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you know it?&#8221; she queried, noticing his
+glance.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; replied Antony, turning the book in his
+hands.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, but you should,&#8221; she smiled back at him.
+&#8220;That is if you have the smallest memory of your
+own childhood. I was just laughing over &#8216;death
+letters&#8217; ten minutes ago.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Death letters?&#8221; queried Antony perplexed,
+the while his heart was singing a little pæan of joy
+at the vagaries of Fate&#8217;s methods.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes; a will or testament. But a death letter
+is so infinitely more explanatory. Don&#8217;t you think,
+so?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span></p>
+<p>Antony laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of course,&#8221; he agreed, light breaking in upon
+him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Take the book if you care to,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I
+know it nearly by heart. But I had it by me, and
+brought it on deck to look at it again. I didn&#8217;t
+want to get absorbed in anything entirely new.
+It takes one&#8217;s mind from all this, and seems a loss.&#8221;
+A little gesture indicated sunshine, sea, and sky.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; agreed Antony, &#8220;it&#8217;s waste of time to
+read in the open.&#8221; And then he stopped. &#8220;Oh,
+I didn&#8217;t mean&mdash;&#8221; he stammered, glancing down
+at the book, and perceiving ungraciousness in
+his words.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes, you did,&#8221; she assured him smiling,
+&#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>He opened the book, and there, facing him from
+the fly-leaf, was the answer to the question he had
+erstwhile sought to fathom,&mdash;Pia di Donatello.
+His lips formed the syllables, dwelling with pleasure
+on the first three little letters&mdash;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&mdash;and yet&mdash;he&#8217;d
+have sworn she was English. There wasn&#8217;t the
+faintest trace of a foreign accent in her speech.
+If anything, there was a hint of Irish,&mdash;the soft
+intonation of the Emerald Isle. Her colouring,
+too, was Irish, the blue-black hair, the dark violet
+eyes&mdash;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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></p>
+<p>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&#8217;s
+owner, he closed the pages, and gazed out upon the
+sunshine and the water.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='V_A_FRIENDSHIP' id='V_A_FRIENDSHIP'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER V</h2>
+<h3>A FRIENDSHIP</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do then, with my friends as I do with my
+books,&#8221; he says. &#8220;I would have them where I
+can find them, but I seldom use them.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Now, it is very certain that, for the majority
+of human beings, the friendliest books are worn
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span>
+breeds contempt, truly; but there is also the
+familiarity which daily ties closer bonds, draws
+to closer union.</p>
+<p>Antony had established a friendship with the
+lady of the blue book. The book had been responsible
+for its beginning. With Emerson&#8217;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:&mdash;&#8220;I must feel
+pride in my friend&#8217;s accomplishments as if they
+were mine,&mdash;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Most true, Antony would have declared, if you
+will eliminate &#8220;over-estimate,&#8221; and substitute
+&#8220;is&#8221; for &#8220;seems.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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&mdash;he laughed joyously at the coincidence&mdash;had
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;the Manor
+House, Woodleigh, which had been in the hands of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span>
+caretakers since her parents&#8217; death. Her husband&#8217;s
+property had passed to his brother. The
+last six months she had been staying with a friend
+at Wynberg.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s injunction in
+view, he naturally did not volunteer further
+information. Such details, too, sank into insignificance
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span>
+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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Antony and the Duchessa di Donatello alone
+seemed somewhat aloof from them. They formed
+part of the concert audiences, it is true; but they
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span>
+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&#8217;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&#8217;s movements, rather than by the mere
+minute portions of steel attached to the face of a
+commonplace watch. Thus:&mdash;</p>
+<p>Dawn. He realizes the Duchessa&#8217;s existence
+when he wakes. (His dreams had been coloured
+by her, but that&#8217;s beside the mark.)</p>
+<p>Daybreak. The Duchessa ascends on deck and
+smiles at him.</p>
+<p>Breakfast time. The Duchessa sits opposite
+to him.</p>
+<p>The sunny morning hours. The Duchessa sews
+fine lace; she talks, she smiles,&mdash;the smile that
+radiates through the sadness of her eyes.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>He dwelt then, for the moment, solely in her
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span>
+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.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='VI_AT_TENERIFFE' id='VI_AT_TENERIFFE'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+<h3>AT TENERIFFE</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was about ten o&#8217;clock of a sunny morning that
+the <i>Fort Salisbury</i> cast anchor off Teneriffe, preparatory
+to undergoing the process known as
+coaling.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>The whole scene was one of movement, light,
+and colour. The sea, sky, and earth were singing
+the Benedicite, and Antony&#8217;s heart echoed the
+blessings. It was all so astonishingly good and
+pleasant,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>There is an extraordinary fascination in exploring
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span>
+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&#8217;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?</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is really perfect,&#8221; said a voice behind him,
+echoing his thoughts.</p>
+<p>Antony turned.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa had come on deck, spurred and
+gauntleted for their adventure,&mdash;in other words,
+attired in a soft, black dress, a shady black hat on
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span>
+her head, crinkly black gloves, which reached to
+the elbow, on her hands, and carrying a blue sunshade.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is really perfect,&#8221; she repeated, gazing towards
+the mountainous land before them, the doll-like
+figures on the shore, the boats cleaving the
+sparkling waters.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Absolutely,&#8221; declared Antony, his eyes wrinkling
+at the corners in sheer delight. &#8220;The gods
+have favoured us.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is there a boat ready?&#8221; she demanded, eager
+as a child to start on the adventure.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A boat,&#8221; said Antony, looking over the ship&#8217;s
+side, &#8220;will be with us in a couple of moments I
+should say, to judge by the strength of the rower&#8217;s
+arms. He has been racing the other fellows, and
+will be first at his goal.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then come,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Let us be first too.
+I don&#8217;t want to lose a minute.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony followed in her wake. Her sentiments
+most assuredly were his. It was not a day of
+which to squander one iota.</p>
+<p>Ten minutes later they were on their way to the
+shore. Behind them the <i>Fort Salisbury</i> loomed up
+large and black from the limpid water; before them
+lay the land of possibilities.</p>
+<p>The other passengers in the boat kept up a
+running fire of comments. A stout gentleman in
+a sun-helmet, which he considered <i>de rigeur</i> as
+long as he was anywhere at all near the regions of
+Africa, gazed towards the shore through a pair of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think I quite&mdash;&#8221; she remarked anxiously
+now and again, blinking in the same direction
+as her spouse.</p>
+<p>&#8220;To the left, my dear, among the trees,&#8221; he
+would reply. Or, &#8220;Half-way up the street.
+<i>Now</i> don&#8217;t you see?&#8221; Or, removing the field-glasses
+for a moment to observe the direction of her
+anxious blinking, &#8220;Why, bless my soul, you aren&#8217;t
+looking the right way <i>at all</i>. Get it in a line with
+that chimney over there, and the yellow house.
+The <i>yellow</i> house. You&#8217;re looking straight at the
+pink one. Bless my soul, tut, tut.&#8221; And so forth.</p>
+<p>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,
+&#8220;Deuced hot on shore, what?&#8221; And a gushing
+young thing of some forty summers appealed to
+everyone at intervals to know the hour to the very
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is a matter for devout thankfulness,&#8221; said
+the Duchessa some ten minutes later, as she and
+Antony were walking across the square, &#8220;that the
+<i>Fort Salisbury</i> is large enough to permit of a certain
+separation from one&#8217;s fellow humans. I do
+not wish to be uncharitable, but their proximity
+does not always appeal to me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll be besieged and bankrupt before you
+see the ship again, if you begin that,&#8221; warned the
+Duchessa.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Quite possible,&#8221; returned Antony smiling.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa shook her head.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, if you are in that mood, warnings are waste
+of breath,&#8221; she announced.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Quite,&#8221; agreed Antony, still smiling.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>At the church to the left of the square, the
+Duchessa paused.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In here first,&#8221; she said. And Antony followed
+her up the steps.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa dropped on one knee, and then
+knelt for a few moments at one of the <i>prie-dieux</i>.
+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&mdash;the
+young man and the cynical elderly gentleman,
+who had been in the boat with them&mdash;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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t know you were a Catholic,&#8221; he said
+five minutes later, as he and the Duchessa emerged
+once more into the sunlight.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You never asked me,&#8221; she returned smiling.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; agreed Antony. And then he added
+simply, as an afterthought, &#8220;it didn&#8217;t occur to me
+to ask you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It wouldn&#8217;t,&#8221; responded the Duchessa, a little
+twinkle in her eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; agreed Antony again. &#8220;I wish those
+people hadn&#8217;t come in,&#8221; he added somewhat
+irrelevantly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What people?&#8221; demanded the Duchessa. &#8220;Oh,
+you mean those two men. Why not? Most
+tourists visit the church.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I dare say,&#8221; returned Antony. &#8220;But&mdash;well,
+they didn&#8217;t belong.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No?&#8221; queried the Duchessa innocently.</p>
+<p>Antony reddened.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You mean I didn&#8217;t,&#8221; he said a little stiffly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, forgive me.&#8221; The Duchessa&#8217;s voice held
+a note of quick contrition. &#8220;I didn&#8217;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 <i>you</i> should be the one whom it irritated.
+But I do know what you mean, of course. And&mdash;I&#8217;m
+<i>glad</i> you felt it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you,&#8221; he returned smiling.</p>
+<p>The little cloud, which had momentarily dimmed
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span>
+the brightness of his sun, was dispelled. The
+merest inflection in the Duchessa&#8217;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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span>
+cheerfully have laid down his life for her, have
+undergone torture for her sake.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>To-day, however, loneliness seemed a thing
+unthinkable, unimaginable, with the Duchessa by
+his side, and the golden day ahead of him. By
+skilled man&oelig;uvring, and avoiding the recognized
+hours of meal-time, they managed to escape further
+contact with their fellow passengers.</p>
+<p>An exceedingly late luncheon hour found them
+the sole occupants of a small courtyard at the back
+of an hotel,&mdash;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span>
+the shining water, and the <i>Fort Salisbury</i>, 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.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa looked down on the ship and the
+water.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is queer to think,&#8221; said she smiling, &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I thought you were going to your old home,&#8221;
+said Antony.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So I am,&#8221; she replied, &#8220;but not till nearly the
+end of June. I am going to stay with friends in
+Edinburgh first. Where are you going?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony lifted his shoulders in the merest suspicion
+of a shrug.</p>
+<p>&#8220;London first,&#8221; he responded. &#8220;After that&mdash;well,
+it&#8217;s on the knees of the gods.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you likely to stay in England long?&#8221; she
+asked. And then she added quickly, &#8220;You don&#8217;t
+think the question an impertinence, I hope.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why should I?&#8221; he answered smiling. &#8220;But I
+really don&#8217;t know yet myself. It will depend on
+various things.&#8221;</p>
+<p>There was a little silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In any case, I shall see you before I leave
+England again, if I may,&#8221; he said. &#8220;That is, if I
+do leave.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Duchessa was still looking at the water.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I hope you will,&#8221; she replied. And then she
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span>
+turned towards him. &#8220;I don&#8217;t want our friendship
+to end completely with the voyage.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony&#8217;s heart gave a little leap.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&mdash;it really is a friendship?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hasn&#8217;t it been?&#8221; she asked him.</p>
+<p>Antony looked at her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;For me, yes,&#8221; he replied steadily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Can a friendship be one-sided?&#8221; she demanded.
+She emphasised the word a little.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; said Antony whimsically. &#8220;I
+don&#8217;t know much about them. I haven&#8217;t ever
+wanted one before.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again there was a little silence. Then:</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you,&#8221; said the Duchessa.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is the foundation of friendship?&#8221; he
+asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Trust,&#8221; she responded quickly, her eyes meeting
+his for a moment. &#8220;And here,&#8221; she said, looking
+towards the hotel, &#8220;comes our lunch.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span></p>
+<p>It was sunset before the <i>Fort Salisbury</i> 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.</p>
+<p>Once more he heard his question and the
+Duchessa&#8217;s answer. It was a memory which was
+to remain with him for many a month.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='VII_ENGLAND' id='VII_ENGLAND'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+<h3>ENGLAND</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>He glanced from the window to the rack opposite
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span>
+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,&mdash;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,&mdash;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&mdash;Josephus.
+Josephus, who was sleeping the sleep
+of the contented, just after a frenzied and rapturous
+reunion with his deity.</p>
+<p>Oh, of course it was all real, and it was he,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It isn&#8217;t a dream, Josephus,&#8221; he assured the
+sleepy puppy. &#8220;I am real, you are real, the
+train is real, England is real, and Heaven be
+praised&mdash;the Duchessa is real.&#8221; After which act
+of assurance he turned his attention once more to
+the window.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span>
+laughter. That nurse had been a strong disciplinarian.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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&mdash;she couldn&#8217;t
+have been more than five years old&mdash;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&#8217; eggs, a crime for which he
+barely escaped the penalty of the law.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span>
+of the station, leaving him the sole occupant of his
+compartment.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='VIII_THE_AMAZING_CONDITIONS' id='VIII_THE_AMAZING_CONDITIONS'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+<h3>THE AMAZING CONDITIONS</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>The offices of Messrs. Parsons and Glieve,
+solicitors, are situated off the Strand, and within
+seven minutes&#8217; 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.</p>
+<p>Nominally James Glieve and Henry Parsons
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span>
+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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>When George, the office-boy-butler, presented
+James Glieve with a small piece of pasteboard, on
+the morning following Antony&#8217;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&#8217;s eyes it was of
+extreme importance, and that by reason of its
+being extremely unusual.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span>
+behalf, or, rather, on behalf of the person for
+whom he was emissary.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But, bless my soul,&#8221; James Glieve had boomed
+amazed, on the conclusion of the request, &#8220;I
+never heard such a thing in my life. It&mdash;I am not
+at all sure that it is legal.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not at all sure that it is legal,&#8221; Henry Parsons
+had echoed.</p>
+<p>The big man had laughed, recapitulated his
+statements, and urged his point.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see how it can be done,&#8221; James Glieve
+had responded obstinately.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It can&#8217;t be done,&#8221; the echo had repeated with
+even greater assurance than the voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes, it can,&#8221; Doctor Hilary had replied
+with greater assurance still. &#8220;See here&mdash;&#8221; and he
+had begun all over again.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tut, tut,&#8221; James Glieve had clucked on the
+conclusion of the third recital. &#8220;You&#8217;ve said all
+that before. I tell you, man, the whole business
+is too unusual. It&mdash;I&#8217;m sure it isn&#8217;t legal. And
+anyhow it&#8217;s mad. What&#8217;s the name of your&mdash;er,
+your deceased friend?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The name?&#8221; piped Henry Parsons.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nicholas Danver,&#8221; had been the brief response.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nicholas Danver!&#8221; James Glieve had almost
+shouted the words. &#8220;Nicholas Danver! God
+bless my soul!&#8221; And he had leant back in his chair
+and shaken with laughter. Henry Parsons, true
+to his rôle, had chuckled at intervals, but feebly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span>
+For the life of him he could see no cause for
+mirth.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Nick, Nick,&#8221; sighed James Glieve, wiping
+his eyes after a few minutes, &#8220;I always vowed
+you&#8217;d be the death of me. To think of you turning
+up in the life of a staid elderly solicitor at this
+hour.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Henry Parsons stared. And this time his voice
+found no echo.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, Doctor,&#8221; said James Glieve, stuffing
+his handkerchief back into his pocket, &#8220;I suppose
+I&mdash;&#8221; he broke off. &#8220;This is a most respectable
+firm of solicitors,&#8221; he remarked suddenly and
+almost fiercely. &#8220;We&#8217;d never dream of stooping
+to anything approaching fraud.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not dream of it,&#8221; echoed Henry.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of course not,&#8221; said Doctor Hilary heartily.
+&#8220;But this&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes, I daresay, I daresay. Now then,
+what are your propositions?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Your propositions?&#8221; echoed Henry.</p>
+<p>And a fourth time Doctor Hilary repeated them.</p>
+<p>At the end of a lengthy interview, James Glieve
+opened the door of his sanctum to show Doctor
+Hilary out.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You might give my kindest remembrances&mdash;&#8221;
+he stopped. &#8220;Bless my soul, I was just going to
+send my remembrances to old Nick, and we&#8217;ve
+been spending the last hour settling up his will.
+Where&#8217;s my memory going! I shall probably run
+down in a few days, and go through matters with
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span>
+you on the spot. A&mdash;er, a melancholy pleasure
+to see the old place again. What?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Henry Parsons, within the room, lost this last
+speech; therefore it found no echo.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Antony Gray?&#8221; queried the red-faced
+man, looking at Antony over his spectacles.</p>
+<p>Antony bowed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You come in answer to our communication
+regarding the will of the&mdash;er, late Mr. Nicholas
+Danver?&#8221; asked James Glieve.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do,&#8221; responded Antony. And he drew
+the said communication from his pocket, and laid
+it on the table.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The&mdash;er, the conditions of the will are somewhat
+unusual,&#8221; he announced. &#8220;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span>
+of honour you will fulfil the conditions exactly,
+not only in the letter, but in the spirit.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;In the spirit,&#8221; echoed Henry Parsons.</p>
+<p>Antony bowed in silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of course, should you fail in your contract,&#8221;
+went on James Glieve, &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;To give your word,&#8221; said Henry Parsons,
+looking solemnly at Antony.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said Antony quietly.</p>
+<p>James Glieve pulled a paper towards him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The conditions,&#8221; he announced, &#8220;are as
+follows. I am about to read what the&mdash;er, late
+Mr. Nicholas Danver has himself written regarding
+the matter.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He cleared his throat, and pushed his spectacles
+back on his nose.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;
+entertainment sensation. The room and its occupants
+seemed to be masquerading under a business
+garb; it seemed to need but one word&mdash;if he
+could have found it&mdash;to metamorphose the whole
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span>
+thing back to its original and true conditions, to
+change the room into an Aladdin&#8217;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&mdash;as a human
+boy, possibly&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>James Glieve cleared his throat a second time,
+and began.</p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The conditions under which I make the aforesaid
+Antony Gray my heir,&#8221; he read, &#8220;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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.</p>
+<div class='ra'>
+<p style=' margin-right:2em;'>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Nicholas Danver.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class='la'>
+<p style=' margin-left:4em;'>&#8220;The fifth day of March,</p>
+<p style=' margin-left:2em;'>nineteen hundred and eleven.&#8221;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>James Glieve stopped. He did not look at
+Antony, but at the paper, which he placed on the
+desk in front of him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hmm,&#8221; said Antony quietly and ruminatively.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You have twenty-four hours in which to make
+your decision,&#8221; said James Glieve.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Twenty-four hours,&#8221; said Henry Parsons.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think that&#8217;s as well,&#8221; 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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I told you the terms of the will were unusual,&#8221;
+said James Glieve.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Very unusual,&#8221; emphasized Henry Parsons.</p>
+<p>&#8220;They are,&#8221; said Antony dryly. Then he got
+up from his chair. He looked at his watch.
+&#8220;Well, Mr. Glieve, it is twelve o&#8217;clock. I will let
+you know my decision by eleven o&#8217;clock to-morrow
+morning. That, I believe, will entirely fulfil the
+conditions?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Entirely,&#8221; said James Glieve.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Entirely,&#8221; echoed Henry Parsons.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='IX_THE_DECISION' id='IX_THE_DECISION'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+<h3>THE DECISION</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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&#8217;s account. Dogs, and more especially
+puppies, are not welcomed at hotels; also, Antony
+considered the terms demanded for this special
+puppy&#8217;s housing and maintenance entirely disproportionate
+to Josephus&#8217;s size and requirements.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span>
+the river, watching a couple of slowly moving
+barges.</p>
+<p>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 <i>Fort Salisbury</i> 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.</p>
+<p>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:&mdash;</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span>
+brought him in an income of some two hundred a
+year. In that position the dream, which had
+dawned within his heart on the <i>Fort Salisbury</i>,
+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&mdash;and here lay the meaning
+of that sense of inexorableness he had experienced&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The whole thing is a deuced muddle,&#8221;
+he announced gloomily, addressing himself to
+Josephus.</p>
+<p>Josephus put his paws on Antony&#8217;s knees, and
+licked the hand which was not holding the pipe.</p>
+<p>&#8220;To refuse the conditions,&#8221; went on Antony
+aloud, and still gloomily, and stroking Josephus&#8217;s
+head, &#8220;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&mdash;well,
+I don&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span>
+for a year? I can&#8217;t even hint at the situation.
+Oh, it&#8217;s preposterous! But to accept gives me the
+only possible faintest hope.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is the foundation of friendship?&#8221; it
+asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Trust,&#8221; came the reply, in the Duchessa&#8217;s
+voice.</p>
+<p>Yet, was her friendship strong enough to trust
+him in such a matter? Strong enough not to misunderstand
+his silence, his&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span>
+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?</p>
+<p>With the memory of that one word for his encouragement,
+he took his resolution in both hands
+and made his decision.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>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:</p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dear Duchessa:</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Since I said good-bye to you at Plymouth, my
+affairs have undergone unexpected and quite unforeseen
+changes. As matters stand at present, I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Having in mind your words when we lunched
+together in the garden of that little hotel at
+Teneriffe, I dare to inscribe myself,</p>
+<div class='ra'>
+<p style=' margin-right:4em;'>&#8220;Always your friend,</p>
+<p style=' margin-right:2em;'>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Antony Gray.</span>&#8221;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>One letter, bearing a Scottish postmark, alone
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span>
+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&#8217;s receipt of it
+should betray her own carelessness, Mrs. Dobbin
+consigned it unopened to the kitchen fire.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='X_AN_ENGLISH_COTTAGE' id='X_AN_ENGLISH_COTTAGE'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER X</h2>
+<h3>AN ENGLISH COTTAGE</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Be yü Michael Field?&#8221; demanded a short
+wiry man, as Antony, carrying an old portmanteau,
+and followed by Josephus, emerged through the
+gate.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span></p>
+<p>For a moment Antony stared, amazed. Then
+he remembered.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am,&#8221; he replied.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s güd,&#8221; responded the man cheerfully.
+&#8220;&#8217;It the first nail, so to speak. T&#8217;Doctor
+sent I wi&#8217; t&#8217;trap. Coom along. Got any more
+baggage?&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Bit moist-like,&#8221; said the man cheerfully,
+whipping up his horse.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;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&#8217;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 rôle
+in every way was further impressed upon him.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure, &#8217;tis the foine country ye have here,&#8221;
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Tis güd enuff,&#8221; said the man laconically.
+And Antony perceived that the beauties of nature
+held no particular interest for him.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>The man jerked his head to the left.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Tis over yonder is t&#8217;old Hall. Yü&#8217;m to be
+under-gardener there I heerd t&#8217;Doctor say. What
+they&#8217;ll want wi&#8217; keeping up t&#8217;gardens now I doant
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span>
+knoaw, and t&#8217;old Squire gone. Carried off mighty
+suddint &#8217;e was. Us said as t&#8217;journey tü Lunnon ud
+be the death o&#8217; he. Never outside t&#8217;doors these
+fifteen year and more, and then one fine day
+Doctor takes he oop to Lunnon to see one o&#8217; they
+chaps un calls a speshulist. Why t&#8217;speshulist
+didn&#8217;t come to he us can&#8217;t tell. Carried on a
+stretcher he was from t&#8217;carriage to t&#8217;train, for all
+the world like a covered corpse. Next thing Doctor
+coom home alone, and us hears as t&#8217;old Squire be
+dead. I doant rightly knoaw as who &#8217;twas was the
+first to tell we, for Doctor, &#8217;e doant like talking o&#8217;
+the business. But there &#8217;tis, and t&#8217;Lord only
+knows who&#8217;ll have t&#8217;old place now, seeing as &#8217;ow
+&#8217;e never &#8217;ad no wife to bear un a son. Us <i>heerd</i> as
+&#8217;twould be a chap from foreign parts. &#8217;Twas Jane
+Ellen from Doctor&#8217;s as put that around, but us
+thinks her got the notion in a way her shouldn&#8217;t,
+for her&#8217;s backed out o&#8217; the sayin&#8217; o&#8217;t now. Says
+her never said nowt o&#8217; the kind. But her did.
+&#8217;Twas Jim Morris&#8217;s wife her told. S&#8217;pose Mr.
+Curtis&#8217;ll run t&#8217;show till t&#8217;heir turns oop. &#8217;Twont
+make much difference to we. He&#8217;s run it the last
+ten year and more, and run it <i>hard</i>, I tell &#8217;ee that.
+Doant yü go for to get the wrong side o&#8217; Spencer
+Curtis, I warns &#8217;ee. George Standing afore &#8217;e
+worn&#8217;t much to boast on, but Spencer Curtis be a
+fair flint.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Will he be the agent?&#8221; demanded Antony, as
+the man paused.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Tis what &#8217;e&#8217;s <i>called</i>. &#8217;Tis master he <i>is</i>. T&#8217;old
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span>
+Squire oughtn&#8217;t never to have got a chap like &#8217;e to
+do &#8217;is jobs. &#8217;Tis cast iron &#8217;e is. And &#8217;twasn&#8217;t never
+no use going to Squire for to stand between him and
+we. &#8217;E&#8217;d never set eyes on nobody, &#8217;e wouldn&#8217;t. If
+I&#8217;d my way I&#8217;d give every gentry what owns
+property a taste o&#8217; livin&#8217; on it same&#8217;s we. &#8217;E&#8217;d
+know a bit more aboot the fair runnin&#8217; o&#8217; it then.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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&mdash;Antony&mdash;should
+require a further year&#8217;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!</p>
+<p>He&#8217;d had experience enough and to spare,&mdash;he
+smiled grimly to himself,&mdash;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&mdash;But
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span>
+he dismissed them. There was a chapter or two in
+his life which it was not good to recall.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Byestry,&#8221; said the man, nodding in the direction
+of the roofs. &#8220;Us doant go down into t&#8217;place.
+Yü&#8217;m to have Widow Jenkins&#8217;s cottage, her as died
+back tü Christmas. &#8217;Tis a quarter o&#8217;mile or so
+from t&#8217;town, and &#8217;twill be that mooch nearer
+t&#8217;old Hall. Yü see yon chimbleys by they three
+elms yonder? &#8217;Tis Doctor&#8217;s house. Yü&#8217;m tü go
+there this evenin&#8217; aboot seven o&#8217;clock &#8217;e bid me
+tell &#8217;ee. Where was yü working tü last?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The question came abruptly. For one brief
+second Antony was non-plussed. Then he recovered
+himself.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Tis London I&#8217;ve just come from,&#8221; he replied
+airily enough. &#8220;I&#8217;ve been doing a bit on my own
+account lately.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hmm,&#8221; replied the man. &#8220;I reckon if I&#8217;d
+been workin&#8217; my own jobs, I&#8217;d not take an under
+post in a hurry. But yü knoaws your own business
+best. T&#8217;last chap as was underest gardener
+oop tü t&#8217;Hall got took on by folks living over
+Exeter way. He boarded wi&#8217; t&#8217;blacksmith and
+his wife. Maybe yü&#8217;m a married man?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am not,&#8221; said Antony smiling.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not got a maid at all?&#8221; queried the other.</p>
+<p>Antony shook his head.</p>
+<p>The man opened his eyes. &#8220;Lord love &#8217;ee,
+what do un want wi&#8217; a cottage, then! Yü&#8217;d best be
+takin&#8217; oop wi&#8217; a wife. There&#8217;s a sight of vitty maids
+tü Byestry, and &#8217;tis lonesome like comin&#8217; home to
+an empty hearth and no supper. There&#8217;s Rose
+Darell, her&#8217;s a güd maid, and has a bit o&#8217; money;
+or Jenny Horswell, her&#8217;s a bit o&#8217; a squint, but is a
+fair vitty maid tü t&#8217;cleanin&#8217;; or Vicky Mathers,
+her&#8217;s as pretty as a picter, but her&#8217;s not the money
+nor the house ways o&#8217; Rose or Jenny,&#8221; he ended
+with thoughtful consideration.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure, I&#8217;m not a marryin&#8217; man at all, I am not,&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span>
+he responded, a hypocritical sigh succeeding to the
+laugh.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Crossed?&#8221; queried the man. &#8220;Ah, well,
+doan&#8217;t &#8217;ee go for to get down on your luck for one
+maid. There&#8217;s as güd blackberries hangin&#8217; on
+t&#8217;bushes as ever was plucked from them. And
+yü&#8217;m tü young a chap tü be thinkin&#8217; o&#8217; yürself as a
+sallybat, and so I tells &#8217;ee.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony smothered a spasm of laughter.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s not women folk I&#8217;m wanting in my life,&#8221;
+responded he, still with hypocritical gloom.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tis kittle cattle they be, and that&#8217;s sartain,
+sure,&#8221; replied the other, shaking his head. &#8220;But
+&#8217;twas a rib out o&#8217; the side o&#8217; Adam the first woman
+was, so t&#8217;Scripture do tell we, and I reckon us men
+folk do feel the lack o&#8217; that rib nowadays, till us
+gets us a wife.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;a
+cottage with a wicket gate between two hedges,
+and a flagged path leading up to a small porch,
+thatched, as was the cottage.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here us be,&#8221; said the man.</p>
+<p>Antony&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span>
+England for him, and that more emphatically
+than any other thing had done since his arrival in
+the Old Country.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That bain&#8217;t for yü,&#8221; he replied shortly, &#8220;t&#8217;
+Doctor will settle wi&#8217; I.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And Antony withdrew his hand quickly, feeling
+he had been on the verge of a lapse.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here&#8217;s t&#8217;key,&#8221; remarked the man. &#8220;And if
+yü feel like a pipe one o&#8217; these evenin&#8217;s, yü might
+coom down tü t&#8217;village. My place is over opposite
+t&#8217;post office. I be t&#8217;saddler. Yü&#8217;ll see t&#8217;name
+Allbut George over t&#8217;shop.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Josephus,&#8221; he remarked, &#8220;it will need careful
+practice and wary walking, but I fancy I did
+pretty well.&#8221; And then he opened the garden
+gate.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span>
+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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s furniture had been removed,
+and what at present occupied the place had
+been put there solely on his account.</p>
+<p>He crossed to the window, and pushed it back.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span>
+seen through a blurred mist of rain. Then he pulled
+the window to, and came down into the parlour.</p>
+<p>The hands of the grandfather&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XI_DOUBTS' id='XI_DOUBTS'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+<h3>DOUBTS</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Doctor Hilary was returning from his rounds.
+His state of mind was nearly as grey as the atmosphere.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary found it far from consoling.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></p>
+<p>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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;nothing, that is,
+beyond the fact that he had known the young
+man&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span>
+and have lived at his own home. Amazement and
+comment were to be avoided, that had been Nicholas&#8217;s
+idea, and yet, to Doctor Hilary&#8217;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&mdash;and it had been ascertained that
+Antony was a university man&mdash;could comport
+himself like a labourer in any position,&mdash;gardener,
+farm-hand, or chauffeur? The conditions had
+stated that he was to do so. But could he?
+There was the point.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s effacement of his personality
+for the sake of money. Such conditions would
+have enraged him.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>It was not altogether surprising, therefore,
+that his mood was nearly as grey as the atmosphere.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>With the shake, an idea struck him.</p>
+<p>Why not confront the embodied scheme at once?
+Why not interview this preposterous young man
+without delay, and be done with it?</p>
+<p>He gave a brief direction to his coachman.</p>
+<p>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?</p>
+<p>However, it was done now.</p>
+<p>He pushed open the gate, and walked up the
+little flagged path.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XII_CONCERNING_MICHAEL_FIELD' id='XII_CONCERNING_MICHAEL_FIELD'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+<h3>CONCERNING MICHAEL FIELD</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Antony, having seen a figure approaching the
+door, opened it, and confronted a big, rugged-faced
+man, who looked at him somewhat grimly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Michael Field?&#8221; demanded the big man briefly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure, &#8217;tis my name,&#8221; he replied cheerfully.
+&#8220;You&#8217;ll be Doctor Hilary, I&#8217;m thinking. Won&#8217;t
+you be coming in out of the wet.&#8221; He flung wide
+the door on the words.</p>
+<p>&#8220;George found you all right?&#8221; queried Doctor
+Hilary stepping across the threshold. He appeared
+totally oblivious of the fact that Antony&#8217;s
+presence made the success of George&#8217;s search
+fairly obvious.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He did that,&#8221; 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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Did George speak to you regarding your
+work?&#8221; he demanded suddenly. He couldn&#8217;t for
+the life of him, think of anything else to say.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; returned Antony thoughtfully considering,
+&#8220;he asked me about my last place, and I told
+him I&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hmm,&#8221; said Doctor Hilary.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He also,&#8221; continued Antony, his eyes twinkling,
+&#8220;was for giving me advice on matrimony, and
+mentioned three &#8216;vitty maids&#8217; he could produce for
+my inspection. I told him,&#8221; continued Antony
+solemnly, though his eyes were still twinkling,
+&#8220;that I was not a marrying man at all.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary found the twinkle in Antony&#8217;s
+eyes gaining response in his own. He was such a
+remarkably cheerful young man, and so confiding.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hmm,&#8221; he remarked again. &#8220;He said nothing
+else I suppose? Expressed no surprise at
+your being chosen for the post, instead of a local
+man?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He did not,&#8221; responded Antony, replying
+to the last question. &#8220;It would seem that he
+thought any appointment to the post unnecessary,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span>
+in view of the fact that the Hall was at present
+untenanted.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And you replied&mdash;?&#8221; asked Doctor Hilary.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure, I had no opinion to offer,&#8221; said Antony.
+&#8220;It was not my affair at all. He talked, but I
+said little.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A good principle,&#8221; remarked Doctor Hilary
+approvingly, &#8220;and one I should advise you to
+adhere to. Your accent is all right, but your&mdash;your
+speech is a trifle fluent, if I may make the
+suggestion.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure, &#8217;tis we Irish have the gift o&#8217; the gab,&#8221;
+he returned apologetically, &#8220;but I&#8217;ll be remembering
+your advice.&#8221;</p>
+<p>There was a little silence. It was broken by
+Antony.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was for making a cup of tea when you came
+up the path, sor. Will you be having one with me?
+It&#8217;ll not take beyont ten minutes or so to get a fire
+going, and the water boiling. That is, if you&#8217;ll be
+doing me the honour, sor,&#8221; he concluded gravely.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary laughed outright.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you know anything of gardening?&#8221; he
+demanded suddenly, breaking the silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure, it&#8217;s little I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; returned Antony.
+&#8220;&#8217;Twas a bit of wild earth my garden was before
+I took it in hand. Now there&#8217;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&#8217;s drawing-room. There&#8217;s roses as big
+as your fist. Oh, &#8217;tis a fine garden it is out on&mdash;&#8221;
+he broke off, &#8220;out beyont,&#8221; he concluded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;On the veldt,&#8221; suggested Doctor Hilary
+quietly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Twas the veldt I was after meaning,&#8221; responded
+Antony smiling, &#8220;but I thought &#8217;twould be
+as well to get my tongue used to forgetting the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span>
+sound of the word, lest it should slip out some fine
+day, when I wasn&#8217;t meaning it to at all.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wise, anyhow,&#8221; agreed Doctor Hilary, and he
+too smiled. &#8220;But you understand that I&mdash;well, I
+happen to know all the circumstances of this
+arrangement.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony laughed. &#8220;I was thinking as much,&#8221;
+he confessed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wonder&mdash;&#8221; 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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You wonder&mdash;?&#8221; queried Antony.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wonder how you&#8217;ll like the life,&#8221; said Doctor
+Hilary, though it was not precisely what he had
+originally intended to say.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Tis England,&#8221; said Antony briefly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is that your sole reason for accepting the
+life?&#8221; asked Doctor Hilary curiously.</p>
+<p>Antony looked him full in the eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is not,&#8221; he replied smiling. And then
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span>
+he turned to the kettle, which was on the point of
+boiling over.</p>
+<p>Of course it was a rebuff. But it was a perfectly
+polite one. And oddly&mdash;or, perhaps, not oddly&mdash;Doctor
+Hilary did not resent it in the least. On
+the contrary, he respected the man who had
+administered it.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s no milk,&#8221; said Antony presently,
+pouring tea into two cups. &#8220;Can you be putting
+up with a lemon?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I like it,&#8221; Doctor Hilary assured him.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s knees.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A token of approval,&#8221; said Antony.</p>
+<p>And then another of the odd little silences
+fell.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You will report yourself to Golding at half-past
+seven on Monday morning,&#8221; said Doctor
+Hilary some quarter of an hour later, as he rose to
+take his leave. &#8220;He lives at the lodge about five
+minutes&#8217; walk up the road. You&#8217;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.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></p>
+<p>Antony touched his forehead in the most
+approved style.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I thank you, sor,&#8221; he responded.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary smiled. &#8220;Well, good luck to
+you. It will be better&mdash;of course, from now
+onward, we must remember that you are Michael
+Field, under-gardener at the Hall.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Tis a good name,&#8221; said Antony solemnly.
+&#8220;Sure, I&#8217;m downright obliged to me godfathers
+and godmothers for giving me such a one.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again Doctor Hilary smiled. &#8220;Oh, and by
+the way,&#8221; he said, &#8220;how about money.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know whether the possession of these
+coins breaks the spirit of the contract. I&#8217;m thinking
+&#8217;twill hardly break the letter. &#8217;Tis all I
+have.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Doctor laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I fancy not,&#8221; he replied. &#8220;I&#8217;d better give
+you your first week&#8217;s wage in advance. You&#8217;ll
+need to lay in provisions. There&#8217;s a general store
+in Byestry. Perhaps you&#8217;ll want to do a little
+in the purchasing line. Remember, to-morrow is
+Sunday.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He laid a sovereign on the table, and a moment
+later the garden gate clicked to behind him.</p>
+<p>Antony went back into the little parlour.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XIII_A_DISCOVERY' id='XIII_A_DISCOVERY'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+<h3>A DISCOVERY</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>The morning broke as fair, as blue-skied,
+as sunny, as the previous day had been gloomy,
+grey-skied, and wet.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span>
+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&#8217;s work, and the day&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span>
+buoyant. He must get down to it again. It was
+inviting him, smiling, dimpling, alluring.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Antony flung wide the cottage door. A scent
+of rosemary, southernwood, and verbena was
+wafted to him from the little garden,&mdash;clean, old-fashioned
+scents, English in their very essence.
+Anon he had more commonplace scents mingling
+with them,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>After some half hour&#8217;s walking, Antony turned
+a corner, bringing him to a yet lonelier beach.
+Looking back, he found Byestry shut from his
+view,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s
+came suddenly into his mind.</p>
+<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>And the whole isle side flashing down with never a tree</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Swept like a torrent of gems from the sky to the blue of the sea.</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></div>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>The village appeared deserted, as he once more
+reached it. Doubtless the Sunday dinner, which
+accounts so largely for Sunday sleepiness, was
+in progress.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span></p>
+<p>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&#8217;t a notion what prompted
+the impulse, but he knew that some impulse was
+at work.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;The
+Duchessa di Donatello.</p>
+<p>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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span>
+And then another thought flashed into his brain,
+making his heart stand still.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Antony got suddenly to his feet. He went
+towards the sacristy. The priest, hearing the
+sound of steps, opened the door wide.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Excuse me,&#8221; said Antony, &#8220;but can you tell
+me where Woodleigh is?&#8221; His Irish brogue
+was forgotten.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Certainly,&#8221; replied the priest. &#8220;It is about
+two miles from here, inland.&#8221; 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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That was all I wanted to know,&#8221; said Antony.
+&#8220;Thank you.&#8221; He turned back into the church.</p>
+<p>Father Dormer looked after him. There was
+a puzzled look in his eye.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XIV_HONOR_VINCIT' id='XIV_HONOR_VINCIT'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+<h3>HONOR VINCIT</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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 <i>grande
+dame</i>, and he merely an under-gardener at the
+Hall? Of course it was not probable. Nevertheless
+there was just the faintest chance. He
+couldn&#8217;t deny that remote chance. And if they
+did meet, and she should recognize him?&mdash;There
+was the question.</p>
+<p>Explanation would be impossible in view of his
+promise. And what would she think? Wouldn&#8217;t
+it be conceivable, nay, wouldn&#8217;t it be natural that
+she should be indignant at the thought that she
+had admitted to her friendship a man, who, to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span>
+her eyes, would appear one of inferior birth?
+Wouldn&#8217;t his behaviour on the <i>Fort Salisbury</i>
+appear to her in the light of a fraud? Wouldn&#8217;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&#8217;t for the
+vague possibility of the&mdash;to him&mdash;tragedy he now
+saw involved in it. It was this, this vague sense
+of tragedy, that was causing that leaden sensation
+at his heart.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>He realized now, for the first time in its fullest
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span>
+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?</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>He had reached his cottage by now. He went
+in and shut the door.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;he didn&#8217;t
+know which,&mdash;while he himself was answering one
+of them&mdash;the loudest.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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, <i>and to her</i>, to give her the faintest hint that
+at a future date he <i>could</i> 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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span>
+merely realize that <i>something</i> underlay the present
+appearances.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>Antony drew a long breath of relief.</p>
+<p>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?</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In short, he will do all in his power to give the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span>
+impression that he is simply and solely Michael
+Field, working-man, and under-gardener at Chorley
+Old Hall.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>The faintest little whine from Josephus aroused
+him. It was long past the dinner hour, and racing
+the sands is exceedingly hungry work.</p>
+<p>Antony&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think a meal will do us both good, old man,&#8221;
+he said with a little whimsical smile. And he
+began getting down plates from the dresser.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XV_IN_THE_GARDEN' id='XV_IN_THE_GARDEN'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+<h3>IN THE GARDEN</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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:&mdash;</p>
+<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Work thou for pleasure, paint, or sing or carve</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>The thing thou lovest, though the body starve.</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Who works for glory misses oft the goal,</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Who works for money coins his very soul.</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Work for the work&#8217;s sake, and it may be</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>That these things shall be added unto thee.</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span></div>
+<p>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,&mdash;pagan, bacchanalian
+almost, yet in completest harmony, despite the
+freedom permitted.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span>
+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&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span>
+very akin to suspicion, merely allotting to him the
+heavy and commonplace tasks which Antony had
+foreseen as his.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, by the way, Golding,&#8221; he would say,
+&#8220;I&#8217;m thinking we might have a bed of cosmos in
+the southern corner of the Tangle Garden.&#8221;</p>
+<p>It would do as well as any other remark for
+a beginning, and he <i>would</i> like a bed of cosmos.
+He could picture Golding&#8217;s stare of dignified
+amazement.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you giving orders?&#8221; he could imagine
+his querying with dry sarcasm.</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you don&#8217;t mind,&#8221; Antony heard himself
+answering. &#8220;Though if you <i>have</i> any objection to
+the cosmos&mdash;&#8221; And he would pause.</p>
+<p>Golding would naturally think that he had
+taken leave of his senses.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Under the impression you&#8217;re master here,
+perhaps?&#8221; Golding might say. Anyhow those
+were the words Antony put into his mouth.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I just happen to have that notion,&#8221; Antony
+would reply pleasantly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Since when?&#8221; Golding ought to ask.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The <i>notion</i>,&#8221; Antony would reply slowly,
+&#8220;has been more or less in my mind since a year
+ago last March. I am not sure whether the <i>fact</i>
+dated from that month, or came into actuality this
+morning.&#8221;</p>
+<p>There his imagination would fail him. There
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I&#8217;m jiggered.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span>
+either the man or woman ever sought the fresh air,
+it must be after the work in the gardens was over
+for the day.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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&#8217;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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span></p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s thoughts went more
+frequently out to Woodleigh and the Duchessa&#8217;s
+return.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XVI_A_MEETING' id='XVI_A_MEETING'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+<h3>A MEETING</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Uncertainty&mdash;though reason told him none
+was existent&mdash;tantalized, tormented him. And
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span>
+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?</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Half an hour&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Gray,&#8221; exclaimed an astonished voice,
+though very assuredly there was a note of keen
+delight mingled with the astonishment.</p>
+<p>Antony pulled off his cap.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Fancy meeting you here!&#8221; cried the Duchessa
+di Donatello. &#8220;Why ever didn&#8217;t you let me know
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span>
+that you were in these parts? Or, perhaps you
+have only just arrived, and were going to come and
+see me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>There was the fraction of a pause. Then,</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve been at Byestry since the beginning of
+May,&#8221; said Antony.</p>
+<p>&#8220;At Byestry,&#8221; exclaimed the Duchessa. &#8220;But
+why ever didn&#8217;t you tell me when you wrote,
+instead of saying it was impossible to come and
+see me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t know then that Woodleigh and
+Byestry lay so near together,&#8221; said Antony. And
+then he stopped. What on earth was he to say
+next?</p>
+<p>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 <i>Fort Salisbury</i>. Yet&mdash;well,
+perhaps it was only fancy.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You know now, anyhow,&#8221; she responded
+gaily. &#8220;And you must come and see me.&#8221; Then
+her glance fell upon his clothes. Involuntarily a
+little puzzlement crept into her eyes, a little amazed
+query.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What are you doing at Byestry?&#8221; she asked.
+The question had come. Antony&#8217;s hand clenched
+on the side of the pony-trap.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I&#8217;m one of the under-gardeners at Chorley
+Old Hall,&#8221; he responded cheerfully, and as if it
+were the most entirely natural thing in the world,
+though his heart was as heavy as lead.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean?&#8221; queried the Duchessa
+bewildered.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Just that,&#8221; said Antony, still cheerfully,
+&#8220;under-gardener at Chorley Old Hall.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But why?&#8221; demanded the Duchessa, the
+tiniest frown between her eyebrows.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Because it is my work,&#8221; said Antony briefly.</p>
+<p>There was a moment&#8217;s silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But I don&#8217;t quite understand,&#8221; said the
+Duchessa slowly. &#8220;You&mdash;you aren&#8217;t a labourer.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony drew a deep breath.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That happens to be exactly what I am,&#8221; he
+responded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean, Mr. Gray?&#8221; There was
+bewilderment in the words.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Exactly what I have said,&#8221; returned Antony
+almost stubbornly. &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Duchessa looked straight at him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then on the ship you pretended to be someone
+you were not?&#8221; she asked slowly.</p>
+<p>Antony shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That was the reason you wrote and said you
+couldn&#8217;t see me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again Antony shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa&#8217;s face was white.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why did you pretend to be other than you
+were?&#8221; she demanded.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span></p>
+<p>Antony was silent.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I suppose,&#8221; she said slowly, &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Still Antony was silent.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You really meant to deceive me?&#8221; There was
+an odd note of appeal in her voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you like to call it that,&#8221; replied Antony
+steadily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What else can I call it?&#8221; she flashed.</p>
+<p>There was a long silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I should be grateful if you would not mention
+having known me as Antony Gray,&#8221; said Antony
+suddenly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I certainly do not intend to refer to that
+unfortunate episode again,&#8221; she replied icily. &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony withdrew his hand as if the trap had
+stung him.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Josephus, returning from a rabbit hunt more
+than an hour later, found him still there in the
+same position. Disturbed by something queer
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span>
+in his deity&#8217;s mood, he thrust a wet black nose
+into his hand.</p>
+<p>The touch roused Antony. He looked up, half
+dazed. Then he saw Josephus.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve done it now, old man,&#8221; he said. And
+there was a queer little catch in his voice.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XVII_AT_THE_MANOR_HOUSE' id='XVII_AT_THE_MANOR_HOUSE'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+<h3>AT THE MANOR HOUSE</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I hope you had a nice drive this afternoon,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span>
+my dear. And did Clinker go well?&#8221; Clinker
+was the Dartmoor pony.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa roused herself. She was evidently
+preoccupied about something, thought Miss
+Tibbutt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes, very well. And he has quite got
+over objecting to the little stream by Crossways.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt nodded approvingly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I thought he would in time. So you went
+right over the Crossways. Which way did you
+come home?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Over Stagmoor,&#8221; said the Duchessa briefly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Stagmoor,&#8221; echoed Miss Tibbutt. &#8220;My dear,
+that <i>is</i> 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&#8217;t see a soul?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, just one man,&#8221; returned the Duchessa
+carelessly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A labourer I suppose,&#8221; queried Miss Tibbutt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, only a labourer,&#8221; responded the Duchessa
+quietly.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;t want any tea, but had gone
+straight to her room. And that was unlike
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span>
+her,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I walked over to Byestry,&#8221; said Miss Tibbutt
+presently. &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Danver,&#8221; exclaimed the Duchessa, her
+preoccupation for the moment forgotten.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. I wonder none of the servants happened
+to mention it. But I suppose they forgot we didn&#8217;t
+know, and probably they have forgotten all about
+the poor man by now. It&#8217;s sad to think how soon
+one <i>is</i> 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&#8217;s a rumour that he is an American, but no
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span>
+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&#8217;ve just
+got another under-gardener.&#8221; She paused.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Have they?&#8221; said the Duchessa carelessly, and
+a trifle coldly. Nevertheless a little colour had
+flushed into her cheeks.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid you think I&#8217;m a terrible gossip,&#8221;
+said Miss Tibbutt apologetically. &#8220;I really don&#8217;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&#8217;t&mdash;&#8221;
+And she broke off anxiously.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You dear old Tibby,&#8221; smiled the Duchessa,
+&#8220;I&#8217;m sure he didn&#8217;t. Nobody thinks you&#8217;re a
+gossip. Gossiping is talking about things people
+don&#8217;t want known, and generally things that are
+rather unkind, to say the least of it. You&#8217;re the
+soul of honour and charity, and Father Dormer
+knows that as well as everyone else.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, my dear!&#8221; expostulated Miss Tibbutt.
+&#8220;But I&#8217;m glad you think he didn&#8217;t&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Duchessa got up from the table.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of course he didn&#8217;t. Let us go into the
+garden, and have coffee out there. The fresh air
+will blow away the cobwebs.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Have you any cobwebs in your mind, my
+dear?&#8221; asked Miss Tibbutt as they sat down.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why do you ask?&#8221; queried the Duchessa.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, my dear! I don&#8217;t know. You said
+that about cobwebs, you see. And I thought
+you seemed&mdash;well, just a little preoccupied at
+dinner.&#8221;</p>
+<p>There was a little silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell me,&#8221; said Miss Tibbutt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s nothing to tell,&#8221; said the Duchessa
+lightly. &#8220;A rather pretty soap-bubble burst and
+turned into an unpleasant cobweb, that&#8217;s all.
+So&mdash;well, I&#8217;ve just been brushing my mind clear
+of both the cobweb and the memory of the soap-bubble.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re certain it&mdash;the cobweb&mdash;isn&#8217;t worrying
+you now?&#8221; asked Miss Tibbutt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My dear Tibby, it has ceased to exist,&#8221;
+laughed the Duchessa.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span>
+on the happiness of these remaining
+hours.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;and Pia had just declared
+there was not&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wonder what it feels like to be a servant,
+and have to do everything to time,&#8221; she said
+suddenly. &#8220;It must be trying to have to be
+invariably punctual.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are punctual,&#8221; said the Duchessa laughing.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I know. But it wouldn&#8217;t in the least matter
+if I were not. You could go on without me. You
+couldn&#8217;t very well go on if Dale had forgotten to
+lay the table, or if Morris had felt disinclined to
+cook the food.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; agreed the Duchessa. And then, after
+a moment, she said, &#8220;Anyhow there are some
+things we have to do to time&mdash;Mass on Sundays
+and days of obligation, for instance.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt nodded. &#8220;Oh, of course. But
+that&#8217;s generally only once a week. Besides that&#8217;s
+different. It&#8217;s a big voice that tells one to do
+that&mdash;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&mdash;little
+ordinary everyday things&mdash;to time. I&#8217;d just
+love to say, if I were cook, that there shouldn&#8217;t
+be any meals to-day, or that they should be
+an hour later, or an hour earlier, to suit my
+fancy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Duchessa laughed again.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My dear Tibby, it&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt shook her head.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no!&#8221; she said gravely. &#8220;I should hear
+the big voice there.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;d hear it speak through quite a number
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span>
+of human voices, anyhow,&#8221; returned the
+Duchessa.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;well,
+she pictured Antony as she had seen him in
+evening dress on the <i>Fort Salisbury</i>, 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.</p>
+<p>Yet until Miss Tibbutt had introduced the
+subject, she had been more or less unaware of
+these mental pictures.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Besides,&#8221; she remarked suddenly, and quite
+obviously in continuation of her last remark, &#8220;it
+entirely depends on what you have been brought
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span>
+up to, I mean, of course as regards the question of
+being a servant. The question of a religious is
+entirely different.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, entirely,&#8221; agreed Miss Tibbutt promptly.
+&#8220;You can always get another place as a servant if
+you happen to dislike the one you are in.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said the Duchessa, slowly and thoughtfully.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>Once more there was a silence,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, my dear, I&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nonsense,&#8221; said the Duchessa lightly, &#8220;I
+will get it. I don&#8217;t suppose for an instant that it
+is important.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span></p>
+<p>She got up and went across the lawn. In a
+minute or two she returned, an open letter in her
+hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s from Trix,&#8221; she announced as she sat
+down again, &#8220;She wants to know if she can
+come down here at the beginning of August.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt literally beamed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;How delightful!&#8221; she exclaimed. &#8220;Trix has
+never stayed with you here. You will like having
+her.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dear Trix,&#8221; said the Duchessa.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do so enjoy Trix,&#8221; remarked Miss Tibbutt
+fervently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So do most people,&#8221; smiled the Duchessa.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XVIII_A_DREAM_AND_OTHER_THINGS' id='XVIII_A_DREAM_AND_OTHER_THINGS'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+<h3>A DREAM AND OTHER THINGS</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>It is perfectly amazing to what a degree the
+physical conditions of the atmosphere appear to
+be bound up with one&#8217;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&mdash;or, at any
+rate, down to dulness&mdash;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&mdash;no mere, light,
+passing depression, mind you&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>It was a slight incident, a trivial incident,
+merely an odd dream. Nevertheless, having in
+view its oddness, and&mdash;unlike most dreams&mdash;its
+curious connectedness, also its effect on Antony&#8217;s
+spirit, it may be well to record it.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span>
+full of flowers, and he could smell their strong,
+sweet scent. At one side of the garden&mdash;and
+this, in spite of that curious unlikeness, was the
+only distinctly unlike thing about it&mdash;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,&mdash;an impulse which urged
+him towards the gate, and something which held
+him back from approaching it.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>As she reached him she stood still.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Antony,&#8221; she cried in her old imperious way,
+&#8220;why don&#8217;t you go to the gate at once? She is
+waiting to be let in.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Who is waiting?&#8221; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Go and see,&#8221; she retorted. And she went off
+among the flowers, turning once to laugh back at
+him over her shoulder.</p>
+<p>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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Who are you?&#8221; asked Antony.</p>
+<p>The figure made no reply.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you want?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>Still the figure made no reply.</p>
+<p>Antony felt his heart beating quickly, madly.
+And then, suddenly from a distance behind him, he
+heard a gay mocking voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why don&#8217;t you open the gate, silly? Can&#8217;t
+you hear her knocking?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Still Antony stood irresolute, though he heard
+little taps falling on the iron.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Open it, open it,&#8221; came the sweet mocking
+voice, this time with a suspicion of pleading
+in it.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Antony,&#8221; she said smiling.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You! You at last!&#8221; he cried.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Doubtless it was as well it had, since about
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span>
+this time a certain happening occurred, which,
+though it did not precisely depress him, most
+assuredly caused him considerable anger and
+indignation.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s garden in the evening.</p>
+<p>One evening Antony, busy weeding his small
+flagged path, saw Job in the road.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good evening,&#8221; said Antony; and then he
+perceived by the other&#8217;s face, that matters were
+not as they might be.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure, what&#8217;s amiss with the world at all?&#8221;
+demanded Antony, going down towards the gate.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s that fellow Curtis,&#8221; said Job briefly,
+leaning on the gate.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And what&#8217;ll he have been up to now?&#8221; asked
+Antony. It would not be the first time he had
+heard tales of the agent.</p>
+<p>Job kicked the gate.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Says he&#8217;s wanting my cottage for a chauffeur
+he&#8217;s getting down from Bristol, and I&#8217;m to turn out
+at the end of August.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Devil take the man!&#8221; cried Antony. &#8220;Why
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span>
+can&#8217;t his new chauffeur be living in the room above
+the garage, like the old one?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Job grunted. &#8220;Because this one&#8217;s a married
+man.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And where are you to go at all?&#8221; demanded a
+wrathful Antony.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He says I can have the cottage over to Crossways,&#8221;
+said Job. &#8220;He knows &#8217;tis three mile
+farther from my work. But that&#8217;s not all. &#8217;Tis
+double the rent, and I can&#8217;t afford it. And that&#8217;s
+the long and short of it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony dug his hoe savagely into the earth.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why can&#8217;t he be putting his own chauffeur
+there, and be paying him wage enough for the
+higher rent?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why can&#8217;t he?&#8221; said Job bitterly. &#8220;Because
+he won&#8217;t. He&#8217;s had his knife into me ever since
+March last, when I paid up my rent which he
+thought I couldn&#8217;t do. I&#8217;d been asking him for
+time; then the last day&mdash;well, I got the money. I
+wasn&#8217;t going to tell him how I got it, and he thought
+I&#8217;d been crying off with no reason. See? Now he
+thinks he can force me to the higher rent. &#8217;Tis
+a bigger cottage, but &#8217;tis so far off, even well-to-do
+folk fight shy of the extra walk, and so it&#8217;s stood
+empty a year and more. Now he&#8217;s thinking he&#8217;ll
+force my hand.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony frowned.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;ll you do?&#8221; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The Lord knows,&#8221; returned Job gloomily.
+&#8220;If I chuck up my work here, how do I know I&#8217;ll
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span>
+get a job elsewhere? If I go to the other place
+I&#8217;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&#8217;ve not told the wife
+yet. But I can see nought for it but to look out
+for a job elsewhere. Wish I&#8217;d never set foot in
+this blasted little Devonshire village. Wish I&#8217;d
+stayed in my own parts.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony was making a mental survey of affairs,
+a survey at once detailed yet rapid.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Look here,&#8221; said he, &#8220;I&#8217;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&#8217;s an extra room upstairs with nothing
+in it at all. We&#8217;ll manage top hole. Sure,
+&#8217;twill be fine havin&#8217; 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&#8217;ll you be thinking at all?&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Job shook his head.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll not stand it,&#8221; said he briefly. &#8220;We
+don&#8217;t say anything, but we know right enough
+you&#8217;re a come down. You didn&#8217;t start in the same
+mould as the rest of us.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Rubbish,&#8221; retorted Antony on a note of half-anger
+and wholly aghast at the other&#8217;s perspicacity.
+&#8220;I&#8217;m the same clay as yourself.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A duke&#8217;s that,&#8221; declared Job, &#8220;but the mould&#8217;s
+different.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Saints alive!&#8221; cried Antony, &#8220;it&#8217;s no matter
+what the mould may be. Sure, it&#8217;s just a question
+of what it&#8217;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&#8217;s sure. Besides, think
+of your wife and child, man.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Job hesitated, debated within his soul. &#8220;It&#8217;s
+them I am thinking of,&#8221; he said; &#8220;I could fend for
+myself well enough, and snap my fingers at Curtis
+and his like.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then, &#8217;tis settled,&#8221; said Antony with amazing
+cheerfulness.</p>
+<p>There was a silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said Job at last, &#8220;if you&#8217;re in the
+same mind a week hence, but don&#8217;t you go for
+doing things in a hurry-like, that you&#8217;ll repent
+later.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8217;Tis settled now,&#8221; said Antony. &#8220;Tell your
+wife, and snap your fingers at that old curmudgeon.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Never mind,&#8221; he told himself and Josephus
+with a good show of bravery, &#8220;it&#8217;s not for a lifetime.
+And, hang it all, a man&#8217;s mere comfort
+ought to give way before injustice of that kind.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Thus he buoyed himself up.</p>
+<p>And then another aspect of affairs arose.</p>
+<p>No one knew how the matter of the intended
+arrangement leaked out. Job vowed he&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good evening,&#8221; said Mr. Curtis smoothly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good evening,&#8221; returned Antony equally
+smoothly, and going on with his work.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I hear you&#8217;re thinking of taking in lodgers,&#8221;
+said Mr. Curtis blandly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure now, that&#8217;s interesting hearing,&#8221; returned
+Antony pleasantly, and wondering who on earth
+had babbled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps,&#8221; said Mr. Curtis, still blandly, &#8220;I
+was misinformed. I heard the Grantleys were
+moving up here. I daresay it was merely an idle
+rumour.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure it may have been,&#8221; returned Antony nonchalantly,
+and sticking his spade into the ground.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It must have been,&#8221; said Mr. Curtis thoughtfully.
+&#8220;All lodging houses are rented at ten
+shillings a week, even unfurnished small ones, not
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span>
+five shillings. Besides Grantley is only getting a
+pound a week wage. He can&#8217;t afford to live in
+apartments, unless he&#8217;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&#8217;d naturally not wish to stay on.
+But of course the whole thing&#8217;s merely a rumour.
+I&#8217;d contradict it if I were you. Good evening.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He walked up the lane smiling.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You bounder,&#8221; said Antony softly, looking
+after him. &#8220;Just you wait till next March, my
+friend.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good evening, sor,&#8221; he said, touching his forehead.
+&#8220;Can you be sparing me five minutes&#8217;
+talk?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;By all means,&#8221; said Doctor Hilary. &#8220;Sit
+down.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony sat down. In a few brief words he put
+the Grantley affair before him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; said Doctor Hilary, as he finished.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; queried Antony, &#8220;can nothing be
+done?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary shook his head. &#8220;I am not the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span>
+agent. I have no voice in the management of the
+estate.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then you can do nothing?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am afraid not.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you,&#8221; said Antony, &#8220;that&#8217;s all I wanted
+to know.&#8221; He got up.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sit down again,&#8221; said Doctor Hilary.</p>
+<p>Antony sat down.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean to do?&#8221; asked Doctor
+Hilary quietly.</p>
+<p>Antony looked directly at him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The only thing I can do. I&#8217;ll get that extra
+rent to Job somehow. He mustn&#8217;t know it comes
+from me; I must think out how to manage. But,
+of course, that&#8217;s merely a make-shift in the business.
+I wanted the injustice put straight.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary looked through the window
+behind Antony.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let me advise you,&#8221; said he, &#8220;to do nothing
+of the kind.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221; The words came short and rather
+quick.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And how about another job?&#8221; demanded
+Antony.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary shrugged his shoulders. &#8220;He
+must see what he can find.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Well of all the&mdash;&#8221; began Antony. And then
+he stopped. After all, he&#8217;d seen enough injustice
+in his time, to be used to it.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re honest in saying I would make it worse
+for Job if I tried to help him?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perfectly honest,&#8221; said Doctor Hilary with an
+odd little smile.</p>
+<p>Antony again got up from his chair.</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right,&#8221; and his voice was constrained.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ll not be keeping you any longer, sor.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary went with him to the door.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry about this business,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you?&#8221; said Antony indifferently.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary went back to his surgery.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He didn&#8217;t believe me,&#8221; he said to himself,
+&#8220;small wonder.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He pulled out his note-book and made a note in
+it. Then he shut the book and put it in his
+pocket.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Anyhow,&#8221; he said, &#8220;it&#8217;s the kind of thing we
+wanted.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The memorandum he had entered, ran:&mdash;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Write Sinclair <i>re</i> Grantley.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XIX_TRIX_ON_THE_SCENE' id='XIX_TRIX_ON_THE_SCENE'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+<h3>TRIX ON THE SCENE</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tibby, angel, what&#8217;s the matter with Pia?&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Trix is coming to-day,&#8221; the Duchessa had
+said as she read it.</p>
+<p>&#8220;How delightful!&#8221; Miss Tibbutt had replied
+instantly. And then, after a moment&#8217;s pause,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span>
+&#8220;There will be plenty of food because Father
+Dormer is dining here to-night.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Duchessa had laughed. It was so entirely
+like Tibby to think of food the first thing.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I know,&#8221; she had replied. And then reflectively,
+&#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tibby, angel, what&#8217;s the matter with Pia?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The question fell rather like a bomb, though
+quite a small bomb, into the sunshine.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Matter with Pia,&#8221; echoed Miss Tibbutt.
+&#8220;What do you think, my dear?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That,&#8221; said Trix wisely, &#8220;is precisely what
+I am asking you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt laid down her knitting.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But do you think anything <i>is</i> the matter?&#8221;
+she questioned anxiously.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think, I know,&#8221; remarked Trix succinctly.</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt took off her spectacles.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But she is so bright,&#8221; she said.</p>
+<p>Trix nodded emphatically.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s just it. She&#8217;s too bright. Oh, one
+can overdo the merry light-hearted rôle, I assure
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span>
+you. And then, to a new-comer at all events, the
+cloak becomes apparent. But haven&#8217;t you the
+smallest idea?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt shook her head.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not the least,&#8221; she announced. &#8220;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&#8217;t any left.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of which,&#8221; smiled Trix. &#8220;Soap-bubbles or
+cobwebs?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, cobwebs,&#8221; said Miss Tibbutt earnestly.
+&#8220;Or was it both? She said,&mdash;yes, I remember now
+just what she did say&mdash;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!&#8221; This last on a note of
+triumph.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hmm,&#8221; said Trix ruminative, dubious. &#8220;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&#8217;s life. You haven&#8217;t,
+by any chance, the remotest notion of its colour?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Its colour?&#8221; queried Miss Tibbutt.</p>
+<p>Trix laughed. &#8220;Nonsense, Tibby, angel, nonsense
+pure and simple. But all the same, I wish
+I knew for dead certain.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;So do I,&#8221; said Miss Tibbutt anxiously, though
+she hadn&#8217;t the smallest notion what advantage a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span>
+knowledge of the colour would be to either one of
+them.</p>
+<p>Trix dabbed the stump of her cigarette on the
+table.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, don&#8217;t let her know we think there&#8217;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&#8217;s
+underneath,&mdash;unless it&#8217;s the right person, of course.
+And we&#8217;re not sure that we are&mdash;yet. We must
+just wait till she feels like giving us a peep, if she
+ever does.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s the matter, Tibby?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt sighed more deeply. &#8220;I&#8217;m afraid
+it&#8217;s my fault,&#8221; she said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s your fault?&#8221; demanded Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve not noticed Pia. I thought everything
+was all right after what she said. I ought to
+have noticed. I&#8217;ve been too wrapped up in my
+own affairs. Perhaps if I&#8217;d been more sympathetic
+I should have found out what was the
+matter.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix laughed, a happy amused, comfortable
+little laugh.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Tibby, you angel, that&#8217;s so like you. You
+always want to shoulder the blame for every speck
+of wrong-doing or depression that appears in your
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span>
+little universe. Women like you always do. It&#8217;s
+an odd sort of responsible unselfishness. That
+doesn&#8217;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&mdash;or the praise, rather&mdash;when
+things go right.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt laughed. In spite of her queer
+earnestness over what seemed&mdash;at all events to
+others&mdash;very little things, and her quite extraordinary
+conscientiousness&mdash;some people indeed
+might have called it scrupulosity&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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&#8217;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&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix shook her head.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You couldn&#8217;t, Tibby, if the bubble were the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span>
+colour I fancy. Only the bubble itself, consolidated,
+could do that.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, my dear, you mean&mdash;?&#8221; said Miss
+Tibbutt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Just that,&#8221; nodded Trix. &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I thought of them for seven years,&#8221; said Miss
+Tibbutt quietly. &#8220;You don&#8217;t think I&#8217;ve forgotten
+them now?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix&#8217;s eyes filled with quick tears.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of course you haven&#8217;t. I didn&#8217;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&#8217;s had a glimpse
+of what real joy might be. And it has vanished
+again. I don&#8217;t know how I know, but it&#8217;s true.
+I feel it in my bones.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again there was a silence. Then:</p>
+<p>&#8220;What can we do?&#8221; asked Miss Tibbutt simply.</p>
+<p>Trix laughed, though her eyes were grave.
+&#8220;You, angel, can pray. Of course I shall, too.
+But I&#8217;m going to do quite a lot of thinking, and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span>
+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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Swinging herself off the table, she departed
+waving her hand to Miss Tibbutt before she turned
+a corner by a yew hedge.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dear Trix,&#8221; murmured Miss Tibbutt.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XX_MOONLIGHT_AND_THEORIES' id='XX_MOONLIGHT_AND_THEORIES'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+<h3>MOONLIGHT AND THEORIES</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span>
+more old-fashioned kinds, against the shape and
+colour of the newer varieties, with the solemnity
+of two judges.</p>
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;re pretty equally balanced in my garden,&#8221;
+said Father Dormer. &#8220;I can&#8217;t do without
+the old-fashioned ones, despite the beauty of the
+newer sorts. I&#8217;ve two bushes of the red and white&mdash;the
+York and Lancaster rose. I was a Lancashire
+lad, you know.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And then the first soft notes of the gong sounded
+from the hall, rising to a full boom beneath the
+footman&#8217;s accomplished stroke.</p>
+<p>There was a sound of running steps descending
+the stairs, and a final jump.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Keep it going, Dale,&#8221; 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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not late,&#8221; she announced with great
+innocence. &#8220;The gong hasn&#8217;t stopped.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Deceiver,&#8221; laughed Pia. &#8220;We heard you
+quite, quite distinctly.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Obviously caught, Trix echoed the laugh.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, anyhow I&#8217;d have been in before the echo
+stopped,&#8221; she announced.</p>
+<p>They went informally into the dining-room,
+where the light of shaded wax candles on the table
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span>
+mingled with the departing daylight, for the curtains
+were still undrawn.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I like this kind of light,&#8221; remarked Trix, as
+she seated herself.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you know this garden?&#8221; she said, addressing
+herself to Doctor Hilary, by whom she was
+seated.</p>
+<p>He assented.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, isn&#8217;t it lovely? That&#8217;s what made me
+nearly late,&mdash;going round it again. I&#8217;ve been
+round five times since yesterday. It&#8217;s just
+heavenly after London. Roses <i>versus</i> petrol, you
+know.&#8221; She wrinkled up her nose as she spoke.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You ought to see the gardens of Chorley Old
+Hall, Miss Devereux,&#8221; said Father Dormer. &#8220;Not
+that I mean any invidious comparison between
+them and this garden,&#8221; he added, with a little
+smile towards the Duchessa.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Chorley Old Hall,&#8221; remarked Trix. &#8220;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?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He died a short time ago,&#8221; said the Duchessa
+quietly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span>
+&#8220;Oh,&#8221; said Trix regretfully. Possibly she had
+contemplated a renewal of the acquaintanceship.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;d been an invalid for a long time,&#8221; 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&mdash;some, indeed, said
+advocated&mdash;had been entirely responsible for the
+death.</p>
+<p>But Doctor Hilary was eating his dinner, apparently
+utterly and completely at his ease.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Anyhow the gardens aren&#8217;t being neglected,&#8221;
+said Father Dormer. &#8220;They&#8217;ve got a new under-gardener
+there who is proving rather a marvel in
+his line. In fact Golding confesses that he&#8217;ll have
+to look out for his own laurels. He&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Really,&#8221; said the Duchessa.</p>
+<p>Trix looked up quickly, surprised at the intonation
+of her voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, he isn&#8217;t a Catholic,&#8221; smiled Father
+Dormer. &#8220;Perhaps curiosity brought him in the
+beginning, and now it has worn off.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix was still looking at the Duchessa. She
+couldn&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>She looked down at her plate of clear soup.
+It had letters of a white edible substance floating
+in it.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve got an A and two S&#8217;s in my soup,&#8221; she
+remarked pathetically. &#8220;I don&#8217;t think it is quite
+tactful of the cook.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;C. S.,&#8221; said Miss Tibbutt presently, entering
+into the spirit of the game.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure there isn&#8217;t a T?&#8221; asked Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; said Miss Tibbutt peering closer, &#8220;I
+mean there isn&#8217;t one.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well then, it can&#8217;t be Catholic Truth Society.
+My imagination has given out. I can only
+think of Christian Science. I don&#8217;t think it&#8217;s
+quite right of you, Tibby dear.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt blinked good-humouredly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Aren&#8217;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?&#8221; she
+asked.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></p>
+<p>Trix shook her head.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; she declared solemnly, &#8220;they&#8217;re Bible
+Christians. The Christian Science people are the
+ones who think we haven&#8217;t got any bodies.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No bodies!&#8221; ejaculated Miss Tibbutt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said Trix, &#8220;anyhow they think bodies
+are a false&mdash;false something or other.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;False claim,&#8221; suggested Father Dormer.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s it,&#8221; cried Trix, immensely delighted.
+&#8220;How clever of you to have thought of it. Only
+I&#8217;m not sure if it&#8217;s the bodies are a false claim, or
+the aches attached to the bodies. Perhaps it&#8217;s
+both.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I thought that was the New Thought Idea,&#8221;
+said Pia.</p>
+<p>Trix shook her head. &#8220;Oh no, the New
+Thought people think a lot about one&#8217;s body.
+They give us lots of bodies.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Really?&#8221; queried Doctor Hilary doubtfully.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh yes,&#8221; responded Trix. &#8220;I once went to one
+of their lectures.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;My dear Trix!&#8221; ejaculated Miss Tibbutt
+flustered.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was quite an accident,&#8221; said Trix reassuringly.
+&#8220;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&#8217;t the faintest notion
+what psychometry was, but I supposed it might
+be first cousin to trigonometry, and quite as dull.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span>
+But she wanted me, so I went. It <i>was</i> funny,&#8221;
+gurgled Trix.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary was watching her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;d better disburden your mind,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>Trix crumbled her bread, still smiling at the
+recollection.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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&#8217;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, &#8216;Excuse me, but am I right in thinking&mdash;&#8217;
+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 <i>her</i> information,
+but merely wishful to air his own. There was a
+text on the wall which said, &#8216;We talk abundance
+here,&#8217; and when I pointed out to Sybil how true it
+was, she wasn&#8217;t a bit pleased, and said it didn&#8217;t
+mean what I thought <i>in the least</i>. But she wouldn&#8217;t
+explain what it did mean. After the lecture, the
+purple velvet lady held things&mdash;jewelry chiefly&mdash;that
+people in the audience sent up to her, and
+described their owners, and where they&#8217;d got the
+things from. There was quite a lot of family
+history, and people&#8217;s characteristics and virtues
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span>
+and failings, and very, <i>very</i> private things made
+public, but no one seemed to mind.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s the odd thing about those people,&#8221; said
+Doctor Hilary thoughtfully. &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said Trix, &#8220;at last she began describing
+a sort of Cleopatra lady, and&mdash;and rather vivid
+love scenes, and&mdash;and things like that. When
+she&#8217;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&#8217;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 <i>that</i> tack, I saw the kind of lecture I&#8217;d
+really let myself in for, and I knew I&#8217;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&#8217;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,&#8221; sighed Trix pathetically.</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt looked quite shocked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, but, my dear, she couldn&#8217;t really.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;She did,&#8221; nodded Trix.</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt appealed helplessly to Father
+Dormer.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Why do people believe such extraordinary
+things?&#8221; she demanded almost wrathfully.</p>
+<p>Father Dormer laughed. &#8220;That&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then the devil must help them invent,&#8221; said
+Miss Tibbutt with exceeding firmness.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s so astonishingly silent after London,&#8221;
+said Trix, gazing at the blue-grey velvet of the
+sky.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wonder why we ever go to bed on moonlight
+nights,&#8221; she pursued. &#8220;Brilliant sunshine always
+tempts us to do something&mdash;a long walk, a drive,
+or boating on a river. Over and over again we
+say, &#8216;Now, the very next fine day we&#8217;ll do&mdash;so and
+so.&#8217; But no one ever dreams of saying, &#8216;Now, the
+next moonlight night we&#8217;ll have a picnic.&#8217; I
+wonder why not?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Because,&#8221; said Doctor Hilary smiling, and
+watching her, &#8220;the old and staid folk have no desire
+to lose their sleep, and&mdash;well, the conventions
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span>
+are apt to stand in the way of the young and
+romantic.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Conventions,&#8221; sighed Trix, &#8220;are the bane of
+one&#8217;s existence. They hamper all one&#8217;s most
+cherished desires until one is of an age when the
+desires become non-existent. My aunt Lilla is
+always saying to me, &#8216;When you&#8217;re a much older
+woman, dearest.&#8217; And I reply, &#8216;But, Aunt Lilla,
+<i>now</i> is the moment.&#8217; 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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mightn&#8217;t they be well lost?&#8221; suggested Father
+Dormer.</p>
+<p>Trix looked across at him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Serious or nonsense?&#8221; she demanded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Whichever you like,&#8221; he replied, a little
+twinkle in his eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, serious,&#8221; interpolated Miss Tibbutt.</p>
+<p>Trix leant a little forward, resting her chin
+on her hands.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, seriously then, conventions&mdash;those that
+are merely conventions for their own sake,&mdash;are
+detestable, and responsible for an enormous lot of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span>
+unhappiness. &#8216;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 <i>quite</i>.&#8217; I&#8217;ve heard that said over and over
+again. It&#8217;s hateful. I&#8217;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&#8217;s a chimney-sweep. The
+motto of the present-day world is, &#8216;What will
+people think?&#8217; People!&#8221; snorted Trix wrathfully,
+warming to her theme, &#8220;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&#8217;s clothes,
+instead of his halo and his keys, as they see him in
+the churches.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The two men laughed. Miss Tibbutt made a
+little murmur of something like query. The
+Duchessa&#8217;s face looked rather white, but perhaps
+it was only the effect of the moonlight.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But, Miss Devereux,&#8221; said Doctor Hilary,
+&#8220;even now the world&mdash;people, as you call them,
+are quite ready to recognize genius despite the fact
+that it may have risen from the slums.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; contended Trix eagerly, &#8220;but it&#8217;s not
+the person they recognize really, it&#8217;s merely their
+adjunct.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean?&#8221; asked Miss Tibbutt.
+Father Dormer smiled comprehendingly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I mean,&#8221; said Trix slowly, &#8220;they recognize the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span>
+thing that makes the show, and the person because
+of that thing, not for the person&#8217;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&#8217;s received everywhere and
+fêted. But it&#8217;s really his voice that is fêted, because
+it is the fashion to fête it. Let him lose his
+voice, and he drops out of existence. People
+don&#8217;t recognize him himself, the self which gave
+expression to the voice, and which still <i>is</i>, even
+after the voice is dumb.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Father Dormer nodded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; went on Trix, &#8220;I maintain that that
+man is every bit as well worth knowing afterwards,&mdash;after
+he has lost his voice. And even if he&#8217;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&#8217;t an atom of anything
+congenial to me in her composition, but has
+a magnificent house and heaps of money, it&#8217;s
+quite right and fitting I should know her, so
+people would say, and encourage me to do so.
+But it&#8217;s against all the conventions that I should
+be friendly with little Miss F. who lives over the
+tobacconist&#8217;s at the corner of such and such a
+street, though she <i>is</i> thoroughly congenial to me,
+and I love her plucky and cheery outlook on life.&#8221;
+She stopped.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Go on,&#8221; encouraged Doctor Hilary.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; laughed Trix, &#8220;take a more extreme
+case. Sir A. C. is&mdash;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&#8217;s a &#8216;come-down,&#8217;
+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&#8217;t even walk
+for half an hour with him in the park, if I&#8217;d fifty
+authorized chaperons attending on me. That&#8217;s
+what I mean about conventions that are conventions
+for their own sake.&#8221; She stopped again.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And what do you suggest as a remedy?&#8221; asked
+Father Dormer, smiling.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There isn&#8217;t one,&#8221; sighed Trix. &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Duchessa made a little movement in the
+moonlight.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Which,&#8221; she said quietly, &#8220;comes to exactly
+the same thing as defying them, and it won&#8217;t
+work.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221; demanded Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;d find yourself curiously lonely after a
+time if you did.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You mean my friends&mdash;no, my acquaintances&mdash;would
+desert me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Probably.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I&#8217;d have the one I&#8217;d chanced it all for.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said the Duchessa slowly and deliberately,
+&#8220;but you&#8217;d have to be very sure, not only
+that the friend was worth it, but that you were
+worth it to the friend.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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 <i>had</i> made rather an
+idiot of herself. She swallowed a little lump in her
+throat. Well, anyhow that inflection in Pia&#8217;s
+tone must be covered at once. That was the
+first, indeed the only, consideration.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I never thought of all those contingencies,&#8221;
+she laughed. There was the faintest suspicion
+of a quiver in her voice. &#8220;Let&#8217;s talk about the
+moonlight. But it was the moonlight began it
+all.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>Two hours later the garden lay deserted in the
+same moonlight.</p>
+<p>A woman was sitting by an open window,
+looking out into the garden. She had been sitting
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span>
+there quite a long time. Suddenly her eyes
+filled with tears.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Trix, Trix,&#8221; she said half aloud, &#8220;if only
+it would work. But it won&#8217;t. And it was the
+moonlight that began it all.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXI_ON_THE_MOORLAND' id='XXI_ON_THE_MOORLAND'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+<h3>ON THE MOORLAND</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Trix was playing the game of &#8220;I remember.&#8221;
+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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span>
+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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>Trix&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span>
+Little blue butterflies flitted hither and thither
+like radiant animated flowers.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>After some half-hour&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>From over the brow of the hilly field behind
+her, quite a number of cattle were coming at a
+fair pace towards her.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Trix cast one terrified and pathetic glance over
+her shoulder. The glance was all-sufficient. She
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span>
+ran,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The beasts!&#8221; 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 <i>not</i> going to cry.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span>
+could not find some way out further adown the
+wood. Not for untold gold would she again have
+faced those horned beasts behind her.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Presently, through the trees facing her, she
+saw a wall, a high wall, a brick wall, and quite
+evidently bordering civilization.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It can&#8217;t go on for ever,&#8221; considered Trix.
+&#8220;It must come to an end some time, either right,
+or left. And I&#8217;m not going back.&#8221; This last
+exceedingly firmly.</p>
+<p>She went forward, scrutinizing, anxious. And
+then,&mdash;joyful and welcome sight!&mdash;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&mdash;some man, probably&mdash;was busy in the
+neighbourhood.</p>
+<p>Trix made hastily for the door. The next
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You can&#8217;t come through this way,&#8221; said the
+man, decisive though bewildered. His orders regarding
+the non-entrance of strangers had been
+of the emphatic kind.</p>
+<p>Trix&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s someone at the gate,&#8221; was what the
+man heard.</p>
+<p>Again amazement was written on his face. He
+turned towards the gate. Trix fled past him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I couldn&#8217;t go back,&#8221; she insisted to herself,
+as she vanished round the corner of a big green-house.
+&#8220;And I <i>did</i> say &#8216;isn&#8217;t there&#8217; even if it was
+mixed up with a sneeze. And wherever have I
+seen that man&#8217;s face before?&#8221;</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span>
+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&#8217;s memories rushed upon
+her. It was Chorley Old Hall.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Trix recalled the past, rapidly, and in detail.
+The door to the left must lead to the library,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span></p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXII_AN_OLD_MAN_IN_A_LIBRARY' id='XXII_AN_OLD_MAN_IN_A_LIBRARY'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+<h3>AN OLD MAN IN A LIBRARY</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>A white-haired man was watching her. He
+was sitting in a big oak chair, his hands resting on
+the arms.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; ejaculated Trix. And further expression
+failed her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Please don&#8217;t let me disturb you,&#8221; came a
+suave, courteous old voice. &#8220;You were looking
+for something perhaps?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I only wanted to see the library,&#8221; stuttered
+Trix, flabbergasted, dismayed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, this is the library. May I ask how you
+found your way in?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Through a door,&#8221; responded Trix, voicing the
+obvious.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah! I did not know visitors were being admitted
+to the house?&#8221; This on a note of interrogation,
+flavoured with the faintest hint of irony,
+though the courtesy was still not lacking.</p>
+<p>Trix coloured.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wasn&#8217;t admitted,&#8221; she owned. &#8220;I just
+came.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, I see,&#8221; said the white-haired man still
+courteously. &#8220;You perhaps were not aware that
+your presence might be an&mdash;er, an intrusion.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again Trix coloured.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A man did tell me I couldn&#8217;t come through this
+way,&#8221; she confessed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yet he allowed you to do so?&#8221; There was a
+queer note beneath the courtesy.</p>
+<p>Trix&#8217;s ear, catching the note, found it almost
+repellant.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It wasn&#8217;t his fault,&#8221; she declared. &#8220;I came.
+I said, &#8216;Isn&#8217;t there someone at the gate?&#8217; And
+while he turned to look, I ran. At least,&mdash;&#8221; a
+gleam of laughter sprang to her eyes&mdash;&#8220;I sneezed
+first, so it sounded like &#8216;There&#8217;s somebody at the
+gate.&#8217; So he thought there was really. It&mdash;it
+was rather mean of me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What you might call an acted lie,&#8221; suggested
+the man.</p>
+<p>Trix looked conscience-stricken, contrite.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I suppose it was,&#8221; she admitted in a very
+small voice. &#8220;But it was the cows. Only I think
+they were bulls. I <i>am</i> so frightened of cows. I
+couldn&#8217;t go back. And he wasn&#8217;t going to let
+me through. It wasn&#8217;t his fault a bit, it wasn&#8217;t
+really. I know I told a&mdash;a kind of lie.&#8221; She
+sighed heavily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You did,&#8221; said the man.</p>
+<p>Again Trix sighed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;d never make a martyr, would I? Only&#8221;&mdash;a
+degree more hopefully&mdash;&#8220;A sneeze isn&#8217;t quite
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span>
+like denying real things, things that matter, is it?&#8221;
+This last was spoken distinctly appealingly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not a theologian,&#8221; said the man dryly.</p>
+<p>Trix looked at him. A sudden light of illumination
+passed over her face, giving place to absolute
+amazement.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Aren&#8217;t you Mr. Danver?&#8221; she ejaculated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I never heard of his being a theologian,&#8221; was
+the retort.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But Mr. Danver is dead!&#8221; gasped Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is he?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said Trix dazed, bewildered, &#8220;he
+evidently isn&#8217;t. But why on earth did you&mdash;&#8221; she
+broke off.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Did I what?&#8221; he demanded with a queer
+smile.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Say you were dead?&#8221; asked Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dead men, my dear young lady, tell no tales,
+nor have I ever heard of a living one proclaiming
+his own demise.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix laughed involuntarily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Anyhow you&#8217;ve let other people say you are,&#8221;
+she retorted.</p>
+<p>The man shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why did you let them?&#8221; asked Trix.</p>
+<p>Again the man shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have no responsibility in the matter.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Doctor Hilary has, then,&#8221; she flashed out.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Has he?&#8221; was the quiet response.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He has told people you were dead.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you sure of that?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, he&#8217;s let them think so anyway. Why
+has he?&#8221; demanded Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You ask a good many questions for an&mdash;er&mdash;an
+intruder,&#8221; remarked the man.</p>
+<p>Trix&#8217;s chin went up. &#8220;I&#8217;m sorry. I apologize.
+I&#8217;ll go.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, don&#8217;t,&#8221; said the man. &#8220;Sit down.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix sat down near a table. She looked straight
+at him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; she asked, &#8220;what do you want to say to
+me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am Nicholas Danver,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was quite sure of that,&#8221; nodded Trix. She
+was recovering her self-possession.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I had an excellent reason for allowing people
+to imagine I was dead,&#8221; he remarked, &#8220;as excellent
+a one, perhaps, as yours for your&mdash;your unexpected
+appearance.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m glad you didn&#8217;t say &#8216;intrusion&#8217; again,&#8221;
+said Trix thoughtfully.</p>
+<p>Nicholas gave a short laugh.</p>
+<p>There was a little silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Doctor Hilary must have told a dreadful lot
+of lies,&#8221; said Trix slowly and not a little regretfully.</p>
+<p>&#8220;On the contrary,&#8221; said Nicholas, &#8220;he told
+none.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix looked up quickly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Listen,&#8221; said Nicholas, &#8220;it&#8217;s quite an interesting
+little history in its way. You can stop me if I
+bore you.... Doctor Hilary says, in the hearing
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span>
+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&#8217;s demise.
+I don&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;shall
+I say, than in a simple sneeze.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A third time the colour mounted in Trix&#8217;s
+cheeks.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll not let me forget <i>that</i>,&#8221; she said pathetically.
+&#8220;But why ever did you want everyone to
+think you were dead?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas looked towards the window thoughtfully,
+ruminatively.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That, my dear young lady, is my own affair.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon,&#8221; said Trix quickly. She
+lapsed into silence. Suddenly she looked up, an
+elfin smile of pure mischief dancing in her eyes.
+&#8220;And now I know you&#8217;re not dead,&#8221; she remarked.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span>
+&#8220;Exactly,&#8221; said Nicholas. &#8220;You know I&#8217;m
+not dead.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; demanded Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, of course you can go and publish the
+news to the world,&#8221; he remarked smoothly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And equally of course,&#8221; retorted Trix, &#8220;I shall
+do nothing of the kind. Quite possibly you mayn&#8217;t
+trust me, because&mdash;because I <i>did</i> sneeze. But
+honestly I didn&#8217;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&#8217;t tell lies generally. And
+to tell about you would be like telling what was
+in a private letter if you&#8217;d read it by accident, so
+<i>of course</i> I shan&#8217;t say a word.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas held out his hand without speaking.
+Trix got up from her chair, and put her own warm
+hand into his cold one.</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right,&#8221; he said in an oddly gentle voice.
+&#8220;And you can speak to Doctor Hilary about it if
+you like. You&#8217;ll no doubt need a safety valve.&#8221;
+He looked again at her, still holding her hand.
+&#8220;Haven&#8217;t I seen you before?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>Trix nodded. &#8220;When I was a tiny child. My
+name is Trix Devereux. I used to come here with
+my father.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What!&#8221; exclaimed Nicholas, &#8220;Jack Devereux&#8217;s
+daughter! How is the old fellow?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He died five years ago,&#8221; said Trix softly.</p>
+<p>Nicholas dropped her hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I live on,&#8221; he said grimly. &#8220;It&#8217;s a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span>
+queer world.&#8221; He looked down at the black dressing
+gown which hid his useless legs. &#8220;Bah,
+where&#8217;s the use of sentiment at this time of day.
+Anyhow it&#8217;s a pleasure to meet you, even though
+your entrance was a bit of&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;An intrusion,&#8221; smiled Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was going to say a surprise,&#8221; said Nicholas
+courteously. &#8220;And now you must allow me to
+give you some tea.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix hesitated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, but,&#8221; she demurred, &#8220;the butler will see
+me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And a very pleasant sight for him,&#8221; responded
+Nicholas, &#8220;if you will permit an old man to pay
+you a compliment. Besides Jessop is used to
+holding his tongue.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I can quite well imagine.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas pressed the electric button attached
+to the arm of his chair. He watched the door, a
+curious amusement in his eyes.</p>
+<p>Trix attempted an appearance of utter unconcern,
+nevertheless she could not avoid a reflection
+or two regarding the butler&#8217;s possible views on her
+presence.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span>
+same thick Aubusson carpet, the same book-cases
+lined with rather fusty books, the same great dogs
+in the fireplace.</p>
+<p>Nicholas looked at her, observing her survey.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; he queried.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s all so exactly the same,&#8221; responded Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I never cared for change,&#8221; said Nicholas
+shortly.</p>
+<p>And then the door opened.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Jessop,&#8221; said Nicholas smooth-voiced, &#8220;Will
+you kindly bring tea for me and this young lady.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A flicker, a very faint flicker of amazement
+passed over the man&#8217;s face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir,&#8221; he responded, and turned from the
+room.</p>
+<p>&#8220;An excellent servant,&#8221; remarked Nicholas.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wonder,&#8221; said Trix reflectively, &#8220;how they
+manage to see everything, and look as if they saw
+nothing. When I see things it&#8217;s perfectly obvious
+to everyone else I am seeing them. I&mdash;I <i>look</i>.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;So do most people,&#8221; returned Nicholas.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>When, some half-hour later, Trix rose to take
+leave, Nicholas again held out his hand. &#8220;I
+believe I&#8217;d ask you to come and pay me another
+visit,&#8221; he said, &#8220;but it would be wiser not. It is
+not easy for&mdash;er, dead men to receive visitors.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wish you hadn&#8217;t&mdash;died,&#8221; said Trix impulsively.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean that?&#8221; asked Nicholas curiously.</p>
+<p>Trix nodded. There was an odd lump in her
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span>
+throat, a lump that for the moment prevented
+her from speaking.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re a queer child,&#8221; smiled Nicholas.</p>
+<p>The tears welled up suddenly in Trix&#8217;s eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s so lonely,&#8221; she said, with a half-sob.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My own doing,&#8221; responded Nicholas.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That doesn&#8217;t make it nicer, but worse,&#8221; gulped
+Trix.</p>
+<p>Nicholas held her hand tighter.</p>
+<p>&#8220;On the contrary, it&#8217;s better. It&#8217;s my own
+choice.&#8221; He emphasized the last word a little.</p>
+<p>Trix was silent. Nicholas let go her hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let yourself out the front way,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I
+am sorry I am unable to accompany you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix went slowly to the library door. At the
+door she turned.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It mayn&#8217;t be right of me,&#8221; she announced,
+&#8220;but I&#8217;m glad, really glad I did sneeze.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;To be perfectly candid,&#8221; he remarked, &#8220;so
+am I.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXIII_ANTONY_FINDS_A_GLOVE' id='XXIII_ANTONY_FINDS_A_GLOVE'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
+<h3>ANTONY FINDS A GLOVE</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Trix&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;t he entirely awake,
+and in the possession of his right senses?
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span></p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>It was a long soft doe-skin glove.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It wasn&#8217;t a dream,&#8221; said Antony triumphantly.
+&#8220;But where in the name of all that&#8217;s wonderful
+did she come from? And where did she vanish
+to?&#8221;</p>
+<p>He put the glove into his pocket, and resumed
+his work.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am afraid,&#8221; he remarked to himself as he
+heaved the leaf-mould out of the barrow, &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span>
+thoughts to observe him where he was kneeling at a
+little distance to the eastward of the front door.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well!&#8221; ejaculated Antony bewildered. And
+he gazed after her.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes?&#8221; queried Trix with studied calmness, as
+he came up to her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Excuse me, Miss, but you dropped this in the
+kitchen garden.&#8221; Antony held out the long soft
+glove.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, thank you,&#8221; 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?</p>
+<p>&#8220;There wasn&#8217;t any one at the gate, Miss,&#8221; said
+Antony suddenly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></p>
+<p>Trix flushed. &#8220;Oh, wasn&#8217;t there? I&mdash;&#8221; she
+broke off.</p>
+<p>Then she looked straight at him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I knew there wasn&#8217;t,&#8221; she confessed. &#8220;But I
+was afraid to go back, so I had to make you look
+away while I ran. It was the cows.&#8221; She sighed.
+She felt she had been making bovine explanations
+during the greater part of the afternoon.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Cows, Miss?&#8221; queried Antony, a twinkle in his
+eyes.</p>
+<p>Trix nodded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes; awful beasts with white faces, in the
+field above the wood. I&#8217;m not sure they weren&#8217;t
+bulls.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure, and why weren&#8217;t you telling me, then?
+I&#8217;d have tackled them for you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix smiled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I never thought of that way out of the difficulty,&#8221;
+she owned. &#8220;But it will be all right, I
+ex&mdash;&#8221; She broke off. She had been within an
+ace of saying she had explained matters to Mr.
+Danver. She really must be careful. &#8220;I expect&mdash;I&#8217;m
+sure you won&#8217;t get into trouble about it,&#8221; she
+stuttered.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure, that&#8217;s all right,&#8221; he said, a trifle puzzled.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;d have known her anywhere. It was
+the same small vivacious face, the same odd little
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>Trix was looking at him, a queer puzzlement in
+her eyes. Why <i>was</i> 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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you for restoring my glove,&#8221; said she
+with a fine resumption of dignity; and she turned
+off once more down the drive.</p>
+<p>Antony went slowly back to his shears.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXIV_AN_INTEREST_IN_LIFE' id='XXIV_AN_INTEREST_IN_LIFE'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2>
+<h3>AN INTEREST IN LIFE</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; ejaculated Doctor Hilary. &#8220;Good afternoon.&#8221;
+And he took off his cap.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good afternoon,&#8221; responded Trix. She turned
+along the lane beside him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Have you been interviewing the gardens?&#8221; he
+asked. She fancied there was the faintest trace of
+anxiety in his voice.</p>
+<p>A sudden spirit of mischief took possession of
+Trix. She had been given leave. It was really too
+good an opportunity to be lost.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh no,&#8221; she responded, dove-like innocence in
+her voice, &#8220;I&#8217;ve just been having tea with Mr.
+Danver.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span></p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He seems very well,&#8221; said Trix demurely.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Miss Devereux!&#8221; ejaculated Doctor Hilary.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes?&#8221; asked Trix sweetly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Have you known all the time?&#8221; he demanded.</p>
+<p>Trix shook her head, laughter dancing in her
+eyes. It found its way to her lips.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, you looked so surprised,&#8221; she gurgled.
+&#8220;I hadn&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary was silent.</p>
+<p>Trix put her hand on his arm, half timidly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be angry,&#8221; she said. &#8220;He wasn&#8217;t.
+And I&#8217;ve promised faithfully not to tell.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary glanced down at the hand on his
+arm.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not angry,&#8221; he said with a queer smile,
+&#8220;I&#8217;m only&mdash;&#8221; He stopped.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Flummuxed, like I was,&#8221; nodded Trix, removing
+her hand. &#8220;It&#8217;s quite the amazingest thing
+I ever knew.&#8221; She gave another little gurgle of
+laughter, looking up at the very blue sky as if
+inviting it to share her pleasure.</p>
+<p>&#8220;How much did he tell you?&#8221; asked Doctor
+Hilary.</p>
+<p>Trix lowered her chin, and considered briefly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Just nothing, now I come to think of it,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span>
+beyond the fact that he was Mr. Danver. But
+then I&#8217;d really been the first to volunteer that
+piece of information. I haven&#8217;t the faintest
+notion why there&#8217;s all this mystery, and why he
+has pretended to be dead. He didn&#8217;t want me
+to know that. So please don&#8217;t say anything that
+could tell me. He said I could talk to you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I won&#8217;t,&#8221; smiled Doctor Hilary answering the
+request.</p>
+<p>They walked on a few steps in silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But what I should like to know,&#8221; he said
+after a minute, &#8220;is how you managed to get inside
+the house at all?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh dear!&#8221; sighed Trix twisting her glove round
+her wrist.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary looked rather surprised.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t say if you&#8217;d rather not,&#8221; he remarked
+quickly.</p>
+<p>Trix sighed again.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I may as well. It will only be the third
+time I&#8217;ve had to own up.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And she proceeded with a careful recapitulation
+of the events of the afternoon.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You must have been very frightened,&#8221; said he
+as she ended.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was,&#8221; owned Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, well; it&#8217;s all over now,&#8221; he comforted her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Y-yes,&#8221; said Trix doubtfully.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s troubling you?&#8221; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The sneeze,&#8221; confessed Trix in a very small
+voice.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary stifled a sudden spasm of laughter.
+She was so utterly and entirely in earnest.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t worry over a little thing like that, if
+I were you,&#8221; said he consolingly.</p>
+<p>Once more Trix sighed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of course it&#8217;s absurd,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I know
+it&#8217;s absurd. But, somehow, little things do worry
+me, even when I know they&#8217;re silly. And there&#8217;s
+just enough that&#8217;s not silliness in this to let it be a
+real worry.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A genuine midge bite,&#8221; he suggested. &#8220;But,
+you know, rubbing it only makes it worse.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She laughed a trifle shakily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And honestly,&#8221; he pursued, &#8220;though I do
+understand your&mdash;your conscience in the matter,
+I&#8217;m really very glad you&#8217;ve seen Mr. Danver.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, so was I,&#8221; owned Trix.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix gurgled.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;It sounds so odd,&#8221; she explained, &#8220;to hear you
+say that pretending to be dead could give any one
+an interest in life.&#8221; And she gurgled again.
+Trix&#8217;s gurgling was peculiarly infectious.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Odd!&#8221; laughed Doctor Hilary. &#8220;It&#8217;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&mdash;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And his soul?&#8221; queried Trix simply.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary shook his head.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, that I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>They parted company at the door of Doctor
+Hilary&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>He came to her in the little parlour.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh,&#8221; said Trix, getting up as he entered, &#8220;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?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;By all means,&#8221; he responded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you,&#8221; said Trix. Then she glanced at
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span>
+a clock on the mantelpiece. &#8220;I had no idea it was
+so late,&#8221; she said.</p>
+<p>She walked home at a fair pace. The midge
+bite had ceased to worry her. But then, at Doctor
+Hilary&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>She sighed heavily once or twice. Well, at all
+events she had asked for Masses for him.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXV_PRICKLES' id='XXV_PRICKLES'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2>
+<h3>PRICKLES</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>If you happen to have anything on your mind,
+it is impossible&mdash;or practically impossible&mdash;to
+avoid thinking about it. Which, doubtless, is so
+obvious a fact, it is barely worth stating.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;with true feminine inconsistency&mdash;she
+welcomed it quite as much as she tried
+to dispel it.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why can&#8217;t I put the man and everything concerning
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span>
+him out of my mind for good and all?&#8221;
+she asked herself more than once. And, whatever
+the reply to her query, the fact remained that she
+couldn&#8217;t; the thought had become something of an
+obsession.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;or,
+rather, what you at the moment quite erroneously
+believe to be reason and common sense&mdash;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&#8217;t get much
+of a look in by direct means, he&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>Now, Trix was perfectly well aware that Pia
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>Trix had stated that she had guessed the colour
+of the soap-bubble; but she hadn&#8217;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&mdash;figuratively
+speaking of course&mdash;as a subject of conversation.</p>
+<p>And Pia was slightly irritable too. Of course
+it was entirely because she was unhappy, but it
+didn&#8217;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&mdash;Trix winked back a tear
+as she thought of it&mdash;so hurting.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;d be prepared
+for the risk, and anything would be better than
+the little darts appearing at quite unexpected
+moments and places.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The next time I&#8217;m pricked,&#8221; said Trix to herself
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span>
+firmly, &#8220;I&#8217;ll seize hold of the prickle, and then
+perhaps we&#8217;ll see where we are.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>&#8220;Doctor Hilary has been over here rather
+often lately,&#8221; remarked Miss Tibbutt one afternoon.
+Pia and she were sitting in the garden
+together.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Old Mrs. Mosely is ill,&#8221; returned Pia smiling
+oracularly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But only a very little ill,&#8221; said Miss Tibbutt
+reflectively. &#8220;Her daughter told me only yesterday&mdash;I&#8217;m
+afraid it wasn&#8217;t very grateful of her&mdash;that
+the Doctor had been &#8217;moidering around like
+&#8217;sif mother was on her dying bed, and her wi&#8217;
+naught but a bit o&#8217; cold to her chest, what&#8217;s gone
+to her head now, and a glass or two o&#8217; hot cider,
+and ginger, and allspice, and rosemary will be
+puttin&#8217; right sooner nor you can flick a fly off a
+sugar basin.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+<p>Pia laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My dear Tibby, he doesn&#8217;t come to see Mrs.
+Mosely.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span></p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt looked up in perplexed query.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He comes on here to tea, doesn&#8217;t he?&#8221; asked
+Pia, kindly, after the manner of one giving a lead.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Certainly,&#8221; returned Miss Tibbutt, still perplexed.
+&#8220;He would naturally do so, since he is in
+Woodleigh just at tea time.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Pia leant back in her seat, and looked at Miss
+Tibbutt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tibby dear, you&#8217;re amazingly slow at the
+uptake.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt blinked at Pia over her spectacles.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Please explain,&#8221; said she meekly.</p>
+<p>Pia laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Haven&#8217;t you discovered, Tibby dear, that it&#8217;s
+Trix he comes to see?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Trix!&#8221; ejaculated Miss Tibbutt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes; and she is quite as unaware of the fact
+as you are, so don&#8217;t, for all the world, enlighten
+her. Leave that to him, if he means to.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt had let her work fall, and was
+gazing round-eyed at Pia.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But, my dear Pia, he&#8217;s years older than Trix.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, not so very many,&#8221; said Pia reassuringly.
+&#8220;Fifteen or sixteen, perhaps. Trix is twenty-four,
+you know.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And Trix is leaving here the day after to-morrow,&#8221;
+said Miss Tibbutt regretfully.</p>
+<p>&#8220;London isn&#8217;t the antipodes,&#8221; declared Pia.
+&#8220;She can come here again, or business may take
+Doctor Hilary to London. There are trains.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, well,&#8221; said Miss Tibbutt.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span></p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Doctor Hilary has just driven up through the
+plantation gate,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I suppose he&#8217;s coming
+to tea. His man was evidently going to put up
+the horse.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Duchessa glanced at a gold bracelet watch
+on her wrist.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s four o&#8217;clock,&#8221; she said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He takes tea quite for granted,&#8221; smiled Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I suppose,&#8221; responded the Duchessa, &#8220;that he
+considers five almost consecutive invitations equivalent
+to one standing one.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, anyhow I should,&#8221; nodded Trix. &#8220;What
+are you looking so wise about, Tibby angel?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt started. &#8220;Was I looking wise?
+I didn&#8217;t know.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix perched herself on the table.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dale will clear me off in a minute,&#8221; she
+announced. &#8220;I suppose you&#8217;ll have tea out here
+as usual. Till then it&#8217;s the nicest seat. Oh dear,
+I wish I wasn&#8217;t going home to-morrow. That&#8217;s not
+a hint to you to ask me to stay longer. I shouldn&#8217;t
+hint, I&#8217;d speak straight out. But I must join
+Aunt Lilla at her hydro place. She&#8217;s getting
+lonely. She wants an audience to which to relate
+her partner&#8217;s idiocy at Bridge, and someone to
+help carry her photographic apparatus. Also
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span>
+someone to whom she can keep up a perpetual
+flow of conversation. That&#8217;s not the least uncharitable,
+as you&#8217;d know if you knew Aunt Lilla.
+I think she must have been born talking. But I
+love her all the same.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix tilted back her head and looked up at the
+sky through the branches of the trees.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wonder why space is blue,&#8221; she said, &#8220;and
+why it&#8217;s so much bluer some days than others,
+even when there aren&#8217;t any clouds.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A step on the terrace behind her put an end to
+her wondering. Doctor Hilary came round the
+corner of the house.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve taken your invitation for granted, Duchessa,
+as I happened to be out this way,&#8221; said he as
+he shook hands.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is old Mrs. Mosely still so ill?&#8221; asked Trix,
+sympathy in her voice.</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt kept her eyes almost guiltily on
+her knitting. Pia, glancing at her, laughed inwardly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;She&#8217;s better to-day,&#8221; responded Doctor Hilary
+cheerfully. And then he sat down. Trix
+had descended from the table, and seated herself
+in a basket chair.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s
+recent revelation to have much thought for speech,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span>
+Doctor Hilary was never a man of many words, the
+Duchessa had been marvellously lacking in conversation
+of late, and Trix&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m going to Llandrindod Wells to-morrow,&#8221;
+said she presently.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary looked up quickly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then your visit here has come to an end?&#8221; he
+queried.</p>
+<p>Trix nodded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Alas, yes,&#8221; she sighed, regret, half genuine,
+half mocking, in her voice. &#8220;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&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And when do you suppose you will be coming
+again?&#8221; asked Doctor Hilary with a fine assumption
+of carelessness, not in the least lost upon the
+Duchessa.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Before Christmas I hope,&#8221; replied she in
+Trix&#8217;s stead. &#8220;Or, indeed, at any time or moment
+she chooses.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary looked thoughtful, grave. A
+little frown wrinkled between his eyebrows. He
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span>
+pulled silently at his pipe. The Duchessa was
+watching him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Alas, poor man!&#8221; thought she whimsically.
+&#8220;He was about to seize opportunity, and behold,
+fate snatches opportunity from him. Oh, cruel
+fate!&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s relieved,&#8221; declared the Duchessa inwardly,
+and somewhat astounded. &#8220;He&#8217;s so amazingly
+diffident, and yet so utterly in love, he&#8217;s
+relieved.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Of course she was right, she knew perfectly
+well she was right. Well, perhaps courage would
+grow with Trix&#8217;s absence. For his own sake it was
+to be devoutly trusted that it would.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary took his tobacco pouch from his
+pocket, and with it a small piece of paper. He
+looked at the paper.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The name of a new rose,&#8221; he said. &#8220;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?&#8221; He held the slip of paper towards
+her.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa looked carelessly at it. Trix was
+looking at the Duchessa.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, thank you,&#8221; she replied. &#8220;We have
+plenty of roses here, and Thornby can no doubt
+give me the name of any new kinds I shall want.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span></p>
+<p>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&#8217;t even the smallest semblance of disguise
+about it.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary put the paper and his tobacco
+pouch back into his pocket.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I must be off,&#8221; he said in an oddly quiet voice.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve one or two other calls to make.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt walked towards the house with
+him,&mdash;to fetch some more knitting, so she announced.
+Trix suspected a little mental stroking.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s the matter, Pia?&#8221; asked Trix calmly,
+leaning back in her chair.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The matter?&#8221; said Pia, the faintest suspicion
+of a flush in her cheeks.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You were very&mdash;very <i>snubbing</i> to Doctor Hilary,&#8221;
+announced Trix, still calmly. Inwardly
+she was not so calm. In fact, her heart was
+thumping quite loudly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My dear Trix,&#8221; replied the Duchessa coldly,
+&#8220;I have an excellent gardener. I do not care for
+recommendations emanating from a complete
+stranger.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There was no smallest need to snub Doctor
+Hilary, though,&#8221; said Trix quietly. The queer
+surprise on his face had caused a little stab at her
+heart.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa made no reply.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pia, what <i>is</i> the matter?&#8221; asked Trix again.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I have told you, nothing,&#8221; responded the
+Duchessa.</p>
+<p>Trix shook her head. &#8220;Yes; there is. You&#8217;re
+unhappy. You&#8217;ve been&mdash;you can tell me to mind
+my own business, if you like&mdash;you&#8217;ve been horribly
+prickly lately. You&#8217;ve tried to hurt my feelings,
+and Tibby&#8217;s, and now you&#8217;ve tried to hurt Doctor
+Hilary&#8217;s. And he didn&#8217;t deserve it in the least, but
+he thought, for a moment, he did. And it isn&#8217;t
+like you, Pia. It isn&#8217;t one bit. Do tell me what&#8217;s
+the matter?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nothing,&#8221; said Pia again.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Darling, that&#8217;s a&mdash;a white lie at all events.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Pia coloured. &#8220;Anyhow it&#8217;s not worth talking
+about,&#8221; she said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you sure it isn&#8217;t?&#8221; urged Trix. &#8220;Couldn&#8217;t
+I help the weeniest bit?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Duchessa shook her head.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Darling,&#8221; said Trix again, and she slipped her
+arm through Pia&#8217;s.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m all one big bruise,&#8221; said Pia suddenly.</p>
+<p>Trix stroked her hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is entirely foolish of me to care,&#8221; said the
+Duchessa slowly. &#8220;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,&mdash;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span>
+best to forget the whole thing, but I am being
+constantly reminded of it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix sat up very straight. So that was it,
+she told herself. How idiotic of her not to have
+guessed at once,&mdash;days ago, that is,&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;d found out, Trix didn&#8217;t know. But that
+was beside the mark. She evidently had found out.</p>
+<p>Trix&#8217;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&#8217;s snubs and sudden prickles came back to her
+mind. They all had their origin in some inadvertent
+remark regarding the Hall.</p>
+<p>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,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span>
+an entirely justifiable one, and that at all
+events no one had told any deliberate lie. Of
+course Pia was disturbed and upset. Wouldn&#8217;t
+she have been herself, in Pia&#8217;s place? And hadn&#8217;t
+she felt quite unreasonably unhappy till Mr.
+Danver had assured her that Doctor Hilary had
+not spoken a single word of actual untruth?</p>
+<p>Oh, poor Pia!</p>
+<p>Now, it was not in the least astonishing that
+Trix&#8217;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&#8217;s late behaviour fell into
+place with it.</p>
+<p>She did not stop to consider that, if this were the
+sole cause of Pia&#8217;s trouble, she&mdash;Pia&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217; actions and
+her own, in what are ordinarily termed little
+things, mattered quite supremely to her, most
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span>
+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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>She could not show her Doctor Hilary&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>Still stroking Pia&#8217;s hand, Trix spoke slowly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pia, darling, what I am going to say will sound
+very poor comfort, I know. But it&#8217;s this. Isn&#8217;t it
+just possible that you could give the&mdash;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&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span>
+have to appear to others as frauds, when they
+really aren&#8217;t a bit. If you were ever really friends
+with the person&mdash;and you must have been, or you
+wouldn&#8217;t care&mdash;I&#8217;d just say to myself that I would
+trust him in spite of every appearance to the
+contrary. Perhaps some day you&#8217;ll be most awfully
+sorry if you don&#8217;t. And isn&#8217;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?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Pia was silent. Then she said in an oddly
+even voice,</p>
+<p>&#8220;Trix do you <i>know</i> anything?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix flushed to the roots of her hair. Pia
+turned to look at her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Trix!&#8221; she said amazed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pia,&#8221; implored Trix, &#8220;you mustn&#8217;t ask me a
+single question, because I can&#8217;t answer you. But
+do, do, trust.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Pia drew a long breath.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Trix, you&#8217;re the uncanniest little mortal
+that ever lived, and I can&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXVI_AN_OFFER_AND_A_REFUSAL' id='XXVI_AN_OFFER_AND_A_REFUSAL'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2>
+<h3>AN OFFER AND A REFUSAL</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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 <i>de rigueur</i> by the designers of
+posters, and as the mere anticipation will not
+allow of the portrayal of the Rickett&#8217;s blue sea,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span>
+destined to hit the eye of the beholder, smiles and
+sea have&mdash;rightly or wrongly&mdash;to be combined.</p>
+<p>Antony gazed at the sea, if not quite as blue
+as a poster sea, yet&mdash;as already stated&mdash;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&#8217; race round the garden.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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&#8217;s imaginings backwards, and
+see from whence they started.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span>
+digging. His employment had become quite mechanical.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>His face went suddenly white beneath its
+bronze. The Duchessa di Donatello was standing
+at the gate, looking over into the garden.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Might I come in and rest a moment?&#8221; she
+asked. &#8220;The sun is so hot.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is very hot,&#8221; said the Duchessa looking
+up at him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said Antony mechanically.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Am I interrupting your work?&#8221; asked the
+Duchessa.</p>
+<p>Antony started.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no,&#8221; he replied. And he sat down by the
+table, leaning slightly forward with his arms upon
+it.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you mind my coming here?&#8221; she asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think so,&#8221; said Antony reflectively.</p>
+<p>A gleam of a smile flashed across the Duchessa&#8217;s
+face. The reply was so Antonian.</p>
+<p>There was quite a long silence. Suddenly
+Antony roused himself.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll let me get you some tea, Madam,&#8221; he
+said.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span>
+found herself wondering what he thought about.
+Did he ever think of the <i>Fort Salisbury</i>, she
+wondered? Or had he blotted it from his mind,
+as she had endeavoured&mdash;ineffectually&mdash;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?</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The water won&#8217;t be long in boiling, Madam,&#8221;
+said Antony&#8217;s voice.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span></p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa sat down again, drawing her hand
+nervously along her gloves.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Everything is ready, Madam,&#8221; he said. Dale
+himself could not have been more distantly
+respectful.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa looked at the one cup, the one
+saucer, and the one plate.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Aren&#8217;t you going to have some tea, too?&#8221; she
+asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Servants do not sit down with their superiors,&#8221;
+said Antony.</p>
+<p>The colour rose hotly in the Duchessa&#8217;s face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why do you say that?&#8221; she demanded.</p>
+<p>Antony lifted his shoulders, the merest suspicion
+of a shrug.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I merely state a fact,&#8221; he replied.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wish you to,&#8221; she said quickly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is that a command?&#8221; asked Antony.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;If you like to take it so,&#8221; she replied.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sugar?&#8221; asked the Duchessa. She was making
+a brave endeavour to steady the trembling of
+her voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;If you please, Madam,&#8221; said Antony gravely.</p>
+<p>The meal proceeded in dead silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Gray,&#8221; said the Duchessa suddenly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My name,&#8221; said Antony respectfully, &#8220;is
+Michael Field.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Duchessa gave a little shaky laugh.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, Michael Field,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I was not
+very kind that day I met you on the moorland.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony kept his eyes fixed on his plate.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There was no reason that you should be kind,&#8221;
+he replied quietly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There was,&#8221; flashed the Duchessa.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think not,&#8221; replied Antony, calmly. &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You were not always a servant,&#8221; said the
+Duchessa.</p>
+<p>There was the fraction of a pause.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I did not happen to be actually in a situation
+when I was on the <i>Fort Salisbury</i>, if that is what
+you mean, Madam,&#8221; returned Antony.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I mean more than that,&#8221; retorted the Duchessa.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span>
+&#8220;I mean that by your up-bringing you are
+not a servant.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony laughed shortly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What positions have you been in?&#8221; demanded
+the Duchessa.</p>
+<p>A very faint smile showed itself on Antony&#8217;s
+face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have been a sort of miner&#8217;s boy,&#8221; he replied
+slowly. &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Duchessa&#8217;s brows wrinkled. &#8220;Yet you
+speak like a gentleman, and&mdash;and you wore dress
+clothes as if you were used to them.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again a faint smile showed itself on Antony&#8217;s
+face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Once more there was a silence. A rather long
+silence this time. It was broken by the Duchessa&#8217;s
+voice.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Some months ago,&#8221; she said, &#8220;I offered my
+friendship to Antony Gray; I now offer that same
+friendship to Michael Field.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony gave a little laugh. There was an odd
+gleam in his eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Michael Field regrets that he must decline
+the honour.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Duchessa&#8217;s face went dead white.</p>
+<p>Antony got to his feet.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Please don&#8217;t misunderstand me,&#8221; he said.
+&#8220;I fully appreciate the honour you have done me,
+but&mdash;&#8221; he shrugged his shoulders&mdash;&#8220;it is quite
+impossible to accept it. It&mdash;you must see that for
+yourself&mdash;would be a rather ridiculous situation.
+The Duchessa di Donatello and a friendship with
+an under-gardener! I don&#8217;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.&#8221;
+He stopped.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa rose too. Her eyes were steely.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you for reminding me,&#8221; she said. &#8220;In
+a moment of absurd impulsiveness I had overlooked
+that fact. Also, thank you for&mdash;for your
+hospitality.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Antony went back into the cottage. For a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span>
+moment he stood looking at the table, his throat
+contracted. Then slowly, and with oddly unseeing
+eyes, he began clearing away the débris of the
+meal.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXVII_LETTERS_AND_MRS_ARBUTHNOT' id='XXVII_LETTERS_AND_MRS_ARBUTHNOT'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2>
+<h3>LETTERS AND MRS. ARBUTHNOT</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>The letter was from the Duchessa di Donatello,
+and ran as follows:</p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>My Dear Trix</span>:</p>
+<p>&#8220;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Talking of exaggeration, will you forget our
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The theories, my dear Trix, which you set forth
+in the moonlight under the lime trees, simply won&#8217;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&mdash;as
+set forth in the moonlight,&mdash;but they don&#8217;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&#8217;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,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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&#8217;s
+absolutely no humbug about him.</p>
+<div class='ra'>
+<p style=' margin-right:6em;'>&#8220;Much love, my dear Trix,</p>
+<p style=' margin-right:4em;'>&#8220;Yours affectionately,</p>
+<p style=' margin-right:2em;'>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Pia Di Donatello.</span>&#8221;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>Trix read the letter through very carefully, and
+then dropped it on her lap.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It wasn&#8217;t Doctor Hilary!&#8221; she ejaculated.
+&#8220;So who on earth was it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>She sat gazing through the opening of the
+summer-house towards the garden. It was the
+oddest <i>puzzle</i> she had ever encountered. Who on
+earth could it have been? And why&mdash;since it
+wasn&#8217;t Doctor Hilary&mdash;had Pia jumped to the
+conclusion that she&mdash;Trix&mdash;knew who it was?</p>
+<p>It wasn&#8217;t Mr. Danver, that was very certain.
+&#8220;Social inferior&#8221; put that fact out of the question.
+But then, what social inferior had been mixed up
+in the business? Or&mdash;Trix&#8217;s brain leapt from
+point to point&mdash;had Pia&#8217;s trouble nothing whatever
+to do with the mad business at the Hall? Had she
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span>
+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&#8217;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&#8217;s trouble? Every preconceived
+notion on Trix&#8217;s part, including the colour
+of the soap-bubble, vanished into thin air, and left
+her contemplating an inexplicable mystery.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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&mdash;if not in so many words, at least virtually
+speaking&mdash;that love had come into Pia&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>Once more she re-read the letter, but it didn&#8217;t
+help her in the smallest degree. There was only
+one small ounce of comfort in it. It wasn&#8217;t
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span>
+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&#8217;t the smallest conception of
+what she was talking about, it would in all probability
+rouse conjectures in Pia&#8217;s mind as to what
+Trix <i>had</i> thought. That, having in view her
+promise, had certainly better be avoided.</p>
+<p>Should she, then, ignore Pia&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>Returning, therefore, to the hotel, she indited
+the following brief missive:</p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>My dear Pia,</span>&mdash;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The incident is closed so far as I am concerned.
+But I don&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Please remember me to Doctor Hilary when
+you see him. Best love, Pia darling,</p>
+<div class='ra'>
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Trix.</span>&#8221;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>Three days later Pia wrote:
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span></p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>My dear Trix,</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;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.</p>
+<div class='ra'>
+<p style=' margin-right:2em;'>&#8220;Yours affectionately,</p>
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Pia.</span>&#8221;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>To which Trix replied:</p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>My dear Pia,</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;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.</p>
+<div class='ra'>
+<p style=' margin-right:2em;'>&#8220;Yours,</p>
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Trix.</span>&#8221;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>And Pia wrote:</p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>My dear Trix,</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;What happens when there is no longer any sun to form a rainbow?</p>
+<div class='ra'>
+<p style=' margin-right:2em;'>&#8220;Yours affectionately,</p>
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Pia.</span>&#8221;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>And Trix wrote:</p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wait till the clouds roll by, Jenny, wait till
+the clouds roll by.&#8221;</p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>And Pia wrote:</p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span></div>
+<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>&#8220;My dear Trix,</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Some people wait a lifetime in vain,</p>
+<div class='ra'>
+<p style=' margin-right:2em;'>&#8220;Yours affectionately,</p>
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Pia.</span>&#8221;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>And Trix wrote:</p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>&#8220;Darling Pia,</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re twenty-eight. <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Trix.</span>&#8221;</p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Trix spent her mornings, and the afternoons,
+till tea time, in her Aunt&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>Even before her father&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span>
+to a farm near Byestry, in which place Mr. Devereux
+had spent most of his early years.</p>
+<p>In those days Mrs. Arbuthnot&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Of late years Bridge had taken quite as large
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span>
+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.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>One exceedingly wet afternoon, tea being recently
+concluded, Trix in her bedroom was surveying
+the weather from the window.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s entry into any room.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Trix, dearest,&#8221; she began. And then she perceived
+that Trix had been observing the weather.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;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&#8217;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&#8217;t mean that,
+but in my trunk. And Maunder can find it for
+you.&#8221; Maunder was Mrs. Arbuthnot&#8217;s maid.</p>
+<p>Trix turned from the window. Of course Mrs.
+Arbuthnot&#8217;s request settled the question of a walk.
+She had really been in two minds about it.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, of course,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Where are the
+prints?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Arbuthnot brightened visibly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;They&#8217;re inside a green envelope on the writing-table.
+You&#8217;ll find a small pair of very sharp scissors
+there too. The dark edges are so unsightly if
+not trimmed. You&#8217;re sure you don&#8217;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&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span>
+about, and take so long saying it. Why, I can&#8217;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&#8217;s in a bad temper she is extraordinarily
+erratic as to her declarations. Though, for that
+matter, she is seldom anything else. I don&#8217;t
+mean bad-tempered, but seldom anything but
+erratic. So, dearest, I mustn&#8217;t let you keep me
+any longer. Don&#8217;t forget to ask Maunder for
+the stickphast, and anything else you want. And
+the prints and the scissors&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I know,&#8221; nodded Trix cheerfully, &#8220;on the
+writing table. Hurry, Aunt Lilla, or they&#8217;ll all be
+swearing.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, my dearest, I trust not. Though perhaps
+interiorly. And even that is a sin. I remember&mdash;&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix propelled her gently but firmly from the
+room. Doubtless Mrs. Arbuthnot continued her
+remembrances &#8220;interiorly&#8221; as she went down the
+passage and descended the stairs.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span>
+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,&mdash;Trix in a
+hat, Trix without a hat, Trix smiling, serious,
+standing, or sitting.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;a
+white-robed, short-skirted small person&mdash;appearing
+in the foreground of many.</p>
+<p>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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span></p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Trix stared harder at the photograph, cogitating,
+bewildered. Below it was written in Mrs.
+Arbuthnot&#8217;s rather sprawling handwriting, &#8220;T. D.,
+aged five. A. G., aged fourteen. Byestry, 1892.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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&mdash;she began to remember things clearly now&mdash;who
+had tried to sail across the pond, and with
+whom she had gone to search for pheasants&#8217; eggs.
+A dozen little details came back to her mind, even
+the sound of the boy&#8217;s voice, and his laugh, a curiously
+infectious laugh.</p>
+<p>Oh, she remembered him distinctly, vividly.
+But, what&mdash;and there lay the puzzlement, the
+bewilderment&mdash;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&mdash;well,
+at any rate speaking after the manner of a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span>
+gardener? Perhaps to have said, speaking as
+though he were on a different social footing from
+Trix, would have better expressed Trix&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Leave that album, please,&#8221; said Trix, seeing
+the helpful Maunder about to shut and bear away
+the book containing the boy&#8217;s photograph.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Ten minutes elapsed. Then Mrs. Arbuthnot
+appeared.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;What, finished, dearest!&#8221; she exclaimed as she
+opened the door. &#8220;Splendid! How quick you&#8217;ve
+been. And I am sure the time flew on&mdash;not leaden
+feet, but just the opposite. It always does when
+one is pleasantly occupied. Developing photographs
+or a rubber of Bridge, it&#8217;s just the same,
+the hands of the clock spin round. And I&#8217;ve won
+six shillings, and it would have been more if it
+had not been for Lady Fortescue&#8217;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&#8217;t make a single trick in her own
+suit. It is quite impossible to understand Lady
+Fortescue&#8217;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?&#8221; She crossed to the open volume.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; said Trix, &#8220;that&#8217;s an old volume. I
+was looking at it. Who&#8217;s the boy in the photograph,
+Aunt Lilla?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Arbuthnot bent towards the page.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;A. G., aged fourteen.&#8217; Let me see. Why, of
+course that was Antony Gray, Richard Gray&#8217;s son.
+But I never knew his father. He&mdash;I mean the
+boy&mdash;was staying in rooms with his aunt, Mrs.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span>
+Stanley. She was his father&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s a place for a man and a place
+for a woman, and the man&#8217;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&#8217;s nerves, especially when making
+omelettes, or anything that required particular
+attention. She never knew when his voice
+wouldn&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span>
+left. As if it were poor Mrs. Stanley&#8217;s fault, and
+not his own. She once suggested they should give
+up their house and live in an hotel. He couldn&#8217;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.&#8221; Mrs. Arbuthnot paused a moment to
+take breath.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you know what became of the boy?&#8221; asked
+Trix.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Arbuthnot considered for an instant.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I believe he went abroad. Yes; I remember
+now, hearing from Mrs. Stanley just before she died
+herself, poor soul&mdash;ptomaine poisoning and a dirty
+cook, some people seem pursued by cooks, figuratively
+speaking, of course,&mdash;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&#8217;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 &#8216;after&#8217;! 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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span>
+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 <i>do</i> think&mdash;But, as I said, we
+are told not to judge.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And you don&#8217;t know what became of him after
+that?&#8221; asked Trix.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Arbuthnot looked almost reproachful.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My dearest, how could I? Mrs. Stanley in the
+family grave with her brother,&mdash;she mentioned
+that particularly in her will, and not with her
+husband, I suppose she could not have had much
+affection for him,&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;ll be late yourself, if you don&#8217;t
+go.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span></p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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?</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217; eggs. It would be amusing to see
+his amazed face.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXVIII_FOR_THE_DAY_ALONE' id='XXVIII_FOR_THE_DAY_ALONE'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2>
+<h3>FOR THE DAY ALONE</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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&mdash;nay, in the moment&mdash;alone, resolutely shutting
+one&#8217;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,&mdash;Here or there was
+the mistake which led to them, and I made that
+mistake of my own free will,&mdash;we cannot turn to
+philosophy regarding fate for our comfort.</p>
+<p>To Antony&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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,&mdash;No thoroughfare to your goal in
+this direction.</p>
+<p>Sometimes it is possible to defy fate, retrace
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>He had angered her: she despised him.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Well, the only thing now left for him was to
+live his life as it was, minus one spark of brightness.
+Certainly he didn&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>And quite possibly, though he would never have
+any heart for singing, the day might come when he
+would again be able to whistle.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXIX_IN_THE_CHURCH_PORCH' id='XXIX_IN_THE_CHURCH_PORCH'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2>
+<h3>IN THE CHURCH PORCH</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>The letter was brought to her in the drawing-room
+one evening about nine o&#8217;clock. Mrs.
+Arbuthnot had gone out to a Bridge party.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span>
+was therefore with a distinct pang of uneasiness
+that she broke the seal. This is what she read:</p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>My Dear Trix,</span>&mdash;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have made rather an astounding discovery.
+At least I feel sure I&#8217;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,&mdash;I feel sure she would
+rather I didn&#8217;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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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&#8217;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&#8217;s statue. I suppose I must have been
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span>
+kneeling there about ten minutes when the man
+got up. He didn&#8217;t genuflect, and I glanced
+involuntarily at him. He didn&#8217;t notice me, because
+I was partly hidden by St. Peter&#8217;s statue.
+Then I saw it was the under-gardener,&mdash;Michael
+Field, I believe his name is.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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&#8217;s voice, speaking impulsively and almost
+involuntarily. At least I felt sure it was involuntarily.
+It sounded exactly as if she couldn&#8217;t
+help speaking.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Oh,&#8217; she said, &#8216;you&#8217;ve been ill.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Nothing of any consequence, Madam,&#8217; I
+heard the man&#8217;s voice answer.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;But it must have been of consequence,&#8217; I
+heard Pia say. &#8216;Have you seen a doctor?&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;There was no need,&#8217; returned the man.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then I heard Pia&#8217;s voice, impulsive and a
+little bit impatient. She evidently had not seen
+me in the church, and thought no one was there.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;But there is need. Why don&#8217;t you go and
+see Doctor Hilary?&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;I am not ill enough to need doctors, Madam,&#8217;
+returned the man.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;But you are,&#8217; returned Pia, in the way that
+she insists when she is very anxious about anything.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I heard the man give a little laugh.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;It is exceedingly good of you to trouble concerning
+me,&#8217; he said, &#8216;and I really don&#8217;t know why
+you should.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Oh,&#8217; said Pia quickly, &#8216;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.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then there was a moment&#8217;s silence.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;I think not,&#8217; I heard the man say presently.
+&#8216;I am really not sufficiently interested in myself.
+Though&mdash;&#8217; and then, Trix dear, he half stopped,
+and his voice altered in the queerest way,&mdash;&#8216;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.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;You refused my friendship,&#8217; I heard Pia say,
+and her voice shook a little.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;I did,&#8217; said the man in rather a stern voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Again, Trix dear, there was a little silence.
+Then Pia said:</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;I don&#8217;t intend again to offer a thing that
+has once been rejected. I shall <i>never</i> do that.
+But because we once were friends, or at all events,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span>
+fancied ourselves friends, I do ask you to see Doctor
+Hilary. That is all.&#8217;</p>
+<p>&#8220;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, my dear Trix, wasn&#8217;t it amazing? And
+one of the most amazing things was that the man&#8217;s
+voice and way of speaking was quite educated, not
+the least as one would suppose a gardener would
+speak.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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&#8217;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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;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&#8217;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&#8217;t to. So I am going
+to leave off, and say the rosary instead.</p>
+<div class='ra'>
+<p style=' margin-right:6em;'>&#8220;Good night, my dear Trix.</p>
+<p style=' margin-right:4em;'>&#8220;Your affectionate old friend,</p>
+<p style=' margin-right:2em;'>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Esther Tibbutt.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>P.S. I wish you could come down here again.
+Can&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+<p style='line-height: 1'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p>Trix leant back in her chair, and drew a long
+breath. The novel was utterly and entirely forgotten.
+So <i>that</i> was what Pia&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>And firstly it was presented to her mind as
+the paramount fact, that it was the mention of this
+man&mdash;this Michael Field, so-called&mdash;that had
+been the direct cause of Pia&#8217;s odd irritability, and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span>
+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&#8217;s hurting little speech,
+the speech which had followed on her&mdash;Trix&#8217;s&mdash;theories
+promulgated beneath the lime trees. In
+the light of Miss Tibbutt&#8217;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,&mdash;Pia who
+<i>knew</i>, while she truly was merely surmising, setting
+forth ideas which assuredly she had never attempted
+to put into practice. Thirdly&mdash;Trix
+ticked off the facts on her fingers&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;s
+advice, by Trix&#8217;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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span></p>
+<p>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&mdash;Trix&mdash;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,&mdash;Pia, the distant, the proud,
+the reserved Pia! It was amazing, unthinkable!</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>And suddenly another idea struck her, one
+which had been entirely omitted from her former
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>And then, from that, Trix turned to a somewhat
+more detailed consideration of Pia&#8217;s position.
+One point presented itself quite definitely and
+clearly to her. It was certainly evident from
+that memorable letter of Pia&#8217;s, that she <i>did</i> 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.</p>
+<p>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 &#8220;a glimpse of the hairy
+hoof,&#8221; 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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span>
+to tell Pia? Most assuredly Trix couldn&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>Trix sighed deeply. It was all terribly perplexing,
+and Tibby&#8217;s letter was quite horribly
+pathetic. Anyhow she would go down to Woodleigh
+as soon as she possibly could.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My dearest,&#8221; exclaimed Mrs. Arbuthnot,
+&#8220;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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span>
+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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Arbuthnot sank down in an armchair, and
+threw back her cloak. Trix brought the tray to a
+small table near her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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&#8217;s own thoughts, though some
+people do consider day-dreaming waste of time.
+So narrow-minded. They read novels which are
+only other people&#8217;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&#8217;re happy you want it happy, and if you&#8217;re not,
+you still want it to make you. If it weren&#8217;t
+for the difficulty of dividing into chapters, I&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span>
+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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She helped herself to a glass of sherry
+and two sandwiches as she concluded her
+speech.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And did you really have a pleasant evening?&#8221;
+said Trix, politely interrogative.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Arbuthnot surveyed her sandwich reflectively.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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&#8217;t drop her aitches.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix&#8217;s chin went up. &#8220;I hate class distinctions
+being made so horribly obvious,&#8221; said she with
+fine scorn.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Arbuthnot looked thoughtful.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, dearest, in Mrs. Townsend&#8217;s case, perhaps.
+But not always. I remember a girl I
+knew married a farmer. Most foolish.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But why, if he was nice?&#8221; demanded Trix,
+exceedingly firmly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, but dearest,&#8221; ejaculated Mrs. Arbuthnot,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span>
+&#8220;it was so unsuitable. He wasn&#8217;t even a gentleman
+farmer. He had been a labourer.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He might have been a nice labourer,&#8221; contended
+Trix.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Arbuthnot sighed. &#8220;In himself, possibly.
+But it wouldn&#8217;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&mdash;you know the kind,
+dearest, great nails and smelling of leather&mdash;the
+beer and the tobacco would be so terribly obvious.
+No, dearest, it doesn&#8217;t do.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix was silent. After all wasn&#8217;t she again arguing
+on a point regarding which she had had no
+real experience? Pia had tried the experiment,
+and declared it didn&#8217;t work; and that, in the case
+of a man who <i>was</i> of gentle birth, though posing as
+a labourer. In her own mind she felt it ought to
+work,&mdash;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&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span>
+explain very well to herself even what she did
+mean.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Aunt Lilla,&#8221; she said impulsively, &#8220;I want
+to go down to Woodleigh.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Arbuthnot looked up.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Woodleigh, dearest. You were there only a
+little time ago, weren&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was in August,&#8221; said Trix. &#8220;And, anyhow,
+I want to go again. You don&#8217;t mind, do
+you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Arbuthnot took another sandwich.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s the fifth,&#8221; she said. &#8220;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?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix leant back in her chair. &#8220;I had a letter
+from Miss Tibbutt,&#8221; she said.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Arbuthnot laid down her sandwich. She
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span>
+regarded Trix with anxious and almost reproachful
+eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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.&#8221; Mrs.
+Arbuthnot paused, and took up her sandwich
+once more.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no,&#8221; 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&#8217;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. &#8220;Oh, no; no bad news. But Miss
+Tibbutt is not quite satisfied about Pia.&#8221;</p>
+<p>That was true, at all events.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Arbuthnot made a little clicking sound
+with her tongue, expressive of sympathy.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, my dearest, I know that term &#8216;not quite
+satisfied.&#8217; 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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span>
+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?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix came to herself with a little start. She
+had lost the thread of Mrs. Arbuthnot&#8217;s discourse.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The day after to-morrow, I think,&#8221; she said,
+reflectively. &#8220;I can wire to-morrow and get a
+reply.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Arbuthnot got up.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then that&#8217;s settled. Don&#8217;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&mdash;Jane and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span>
+Anne Taylor, wasn&#8217;t it?&mdash;who smashed the glass
+in the holidays because it wouldn&#8217;t go up. It
+always seems as if it were its fault. Though I
+know it&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXX_A_QUESTION_OF_IMPORTANCE' id='XXX_A_QUESTION_OF_IMPORTANCE'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2>
+<h3>A QUESTION OF IMPORTANCE</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>It had been chance pure and simple which
+happened to take Doctor Hilary to Woodleigh on
+the day the Duchessa received Trix&#8217;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&#8217;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.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>Trix had had an uneasy journey from London.
+She had re-read Miss Tibbutt&#8217;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&#8217;s unhappiness.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span>
+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&#8217;s being now unhappy at all,
+whatever she had seemed to be in the summer.</p>
+<p>Trix&#8217;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 <i>was</i>
+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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span>
+she were right it made Trix unhappy to think about
+it, and if she were wrong it made Trix cross to
+think she <i>had</i> thought about it. So the wisest
+course was not to think about it at all. But
+the difficulty was not to think about it.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good afternoon, Miss Devereux,&#8221; said a voice.</p>
+<p>Trix looked up. Her resignation took to itself
+wings and fled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Doctor Hilary!&#8221; she exclaimed.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary heaved his big form into the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve been on the lookout for you,&#8221; he remarked
+calmly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh,&#8221; said Trix, a trifle surprised.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary sat down, keeping, however, one
+eye towards the platform.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he continued, still calmly. &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I see,&#8221; said Trix.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary looked up. &#8220;You don&#8217;t mind, do
+you?&#8221; he asked quickly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mind!&#8221; echoed Trix, &#8220;I am quite delighted.
+I&#8217;ve been so bored, and rather tired, and&mdash;yes,
+I think quite depressed.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary looked concerned.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You poor little thing,&#8221; he said. &#8220;And I
+suppose you have had one sandwich, and no tea.
+Men turn to food when they&#8217;re depressed, and
+women think they can&#8217;t eat. Honestly, there&#8217;s
+nothing like a good meal for helping one to look
+on the brighter side of things.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix smiled first at him, and then at the tea-basket.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Anyhow I&#8217;m to be fed now, it seems.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The train began to move slowly out of the
+station. Doctor Hilary gave vent to an ill-supressed
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span>
+sigh of relief. The train was non-stop
+to Brent. He began pulling at the straps of the
+tea-basket.</p>
+<p>Tea and Doctor Hilary&#8217;s company had a really
+marvellous effect on Trix&#8217;s spirits. The little
+pleasant occurrence <i>had</i> happened, and quite
+unexpectedly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m glad you&#8217;re coming down to Woodleigh,&#8221;
+said Doctor Hilary presently. &#8220;The Duchessa
+has seemed out of sorts lately, and I fancy your
+coming will cheer her.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh,&#8221; said Trix, &#8220;you think so, too.&#8221; And
+then she stopped.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Who else thinks so?&#8221; queried Doctor Hilary.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, Miss Tibbutt didn&#8217;t seem quite satisfied
+about her,&#8221; owned Trix. &#8220;It was a letter from her
+made me come. And then I thought perhaps she&#8217;d
+been mistaken, and I&#8217;d been silly to think there
+was any need of me, and that&mdash;well, that I&#8217;d been
+a little officious. It&#8217;s a depressing sensation,&#8221;
+sighed Trix.</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So that was the cause of the depression,&#8221;
+quoth he.</p>
+<p>Trix nodded. &#8220;It was rather silly, wasn&#8217;t
+it?&#8221; she asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am not sure,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was such an idiotic little thing to worry
+about,&#8221; said Trix</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary looked thoughtful.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps. But isn&#8217;t it just the little things
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span>
+we <i>do</i> worry over? They are so small, you know,
+it&#8217;s difficult to handle them. It is far easier not to
+worry over a thing you can get a real grasp of.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix smiled gratefully.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am so glad you understand,&#8221; she said. &#8220;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&#8217;s welfare when one isn&#8217;t a bit.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Aren&#8217;t you?&#8221; said Doctor Hilary quietly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of course not,&#8221; replied Trix. There was a
+hint of indignation in her voice. &#8220;And please
+don&#8217;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&#8217;t mean that
+in the least, I didn&#8217;t truly.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Doctor Hilary smiled, a queer little smile.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I know you didn&#8217;t mean that. But all the
+same I am going to contradict you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix looked up. &#8220;Oh well,&#8221; she began, laughing
+and half resignedly. And then something
+in Doctor Hilary&#8217;s face made her stop suddenly,
+her heart beating at a mad pace.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You have become very important in my life,&#8221;
+he said quietly. &#8220;I did not realize how important,
+till you went away.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix was silent.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am not very good at making pretty speeches,&#8221;
+said Doctor Hilary steadily, &#8220;but I hope you
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span>
+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.&#8221;
+He stopped.</p>
+<p>Trix gave a sudden little intake of her breath.
+For a moment there was a dead silence. Then:&mdash;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Will you always feed me when I am depressed?&#8221;
+she asked. And there was a little quiver half of
+laughter, half of tears, in her voice.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXXI_MIDNIGHT_REFLECTIONS' id='XXXI_MIDNIGHT_REFLECTIONS'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2>
+<h3>MIDNIGHT REFLECTIONS</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Tibby angel, you were quite right.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt took off her spectacles, and
+polished them slowly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And what is to be done, Trix dear?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix looked thoughtful.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I really don&#8217;t know just at the moment. You
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span>
+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&mdash;&#8221; Trix hesitated a moment, feeling
+slightly hypocritical,&mdash;&#8220;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 <i>quite</i> 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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt sighed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But you <i>do</i> think I was right to let you know?&#8221;
+she asked.</p>
+<p>And a seventh time Trix replied with careful
+deliberation,</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Tibby angel, you were quite right.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You see,&#8221; said Miss Tibbutt, &#8220;I thought&mdash;&#8221;
+And she related exactly what she had thought, all
+over again.</p>
+<p>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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span></p>
+<p>At last she stopped speaking, and looked
+towards the clock.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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 <i>would</i> 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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span>
+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&mdash;Trix&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;When did you first know?&#8221; she had asked him.
+The question millions of women have asked in
+their time, and that will be asked by millions
+more.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think,&#8221; he had answered smiling, &#8220;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&mdash;shall
+we say a trifle snubbed in the moonlight.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, poor Pia,&#8221; said Trix.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span>
+carriage had not in the least diminished the
+joy of the telling.</p>
+<p>Trix smiled to herself, a soft little radiant
+smile.</p>
+<p>To-morrow she must tell Pia. She gave a
+little sigh. It would seem almost cruel to let her
+know of their happiness.</p>
+<p>For Trix&#8217;s own happiness to be without flaw,
+it was invariably necessary that others should be
+in practically the same state of bliss.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXXII_SUNLIGHT_AND_HAPPINESS' id='XXXII_SUNLIGHT_AND_HAPPINESS'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2>
+<h3>SUNLIGHT AND HAPPINESS</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>After all, the question as to whether she should
+or should not disclose Antony Gray&#8217;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&mdash;after she had
+told Pia her own particular and wonderful news&mdash;and
+consult Father Dormer. It would be quite
+easy to explain matters to him without mentioning
+names.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That,&#8221; breathed Trix softly, &#8220;is what happened
+to us yesterday.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And she knelt down quite suddenly by the window.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>The breakfast hour at the Manor House was,
+ordinarily speaking, most punctually at nine
+o&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span>
+any necessary explanation regarding her early walk
+to Byestry. As it was really on Pia&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is the plan of campaign to-day?&#8221; asked
+the Duchessa, as they assembled in the morning
+room after breakfast.</p>
+<p>Trix examined an ornament on the mantelpiece
+with rather studied care.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was thinking of walking over to Byestry,
+this morning,&#8221; she remarked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right,&#8221; agreed the Duchessa, &#8220;and after
+lunch we will have the car. It is cold, but too good
+a day to be wasted.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix had a moment&#8217;s anxiety.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We shan&#8217;t be late for tea?&#8221; she queried.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think so,&#8221; responded Pia. &#8220;The
+days are too short now. But why?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix put down the ornament she was examining.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Doctor Hilary is coming to tea,&#8221; she announced
+carelessly, though she knew perfectly
+well that the colour was rising in her cheeks.</p>
+<p>Pia looked at her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Trix!&#8221; she said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, darling,&#8221; nodded Trix, &#8220;just that.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, my Trix!&#8221; cried Pia delighted, putting
+her arms round her.</p>
+<p>Miss Tibbutt looked a trifle bewildered.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is it?&#8221; she demanded</p>
+<p>Pia laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;These two,&#8221; she said, &#8220;Trix and Doctor
+Hilary. I told you, you remember, and said
+there <i>were</i> trains, though I never dreamed they
+would be utilized quite so literally. Of course it
+<i>was</i> yesterday?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; nodded Trix again. And then with a
+huge sigh, &#8220;Oh, Pia, I am so happy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Pia turned her round towards Miss Tibbutt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix laughed, though the tears were in her eyes.
+Laughter and tears are amazingly close together
+at times.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And is it quite necessary to walk to Byestry
+this morning?&#8221; teased Pia. &#8220;He will probably
+be on his rounds, you know.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again Trix laughed, this time without the tears.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am not proposing to sit in his pocket,&#8221; she
+remarked. &#8220;He did not happen to suggest that I
+should, and it certainly never occurred to me to
+suggest it.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXXIII_TRIX_SEEKS_ADVICE' id='XXXIII_TRIX_SEEKS_ADVICE'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2>
+<h3>TRIX SEEKS ADVICE</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>It was all amazingly like a frosted Christmas
+card, thought Trix, those Christmas cards her
+soul had adored in her childish days, and yet
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span>
+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,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is an unexpected pleasure to see you, Miss
+Devereux,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Please sit down again.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix sat down, and so did Father Dormer.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I only arrived yesterday,&#8221; said Trix, &#8220;and I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span>
+came over to see you this morning because I
+wanted to ask you something rather particular.&#8221;
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; smiled Father Dormer. He was perfectly
+well aware that she was feeling a trifle nervous.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said Trix, &#8220;it isn&#8217;t going to be quite
+easy to explain, because I can&#8217;t mention names.
+But as it is a thing I can&#8217;t make up my mind
+about,&mdash;about the right or wrong of doing it, I
+mean,&mdash;I thought I&#8217;d ask your advice.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is always at your service,&#8221; he assured
+her as she stopped.</p>
+<p>Trix heaved a little sigh. She leant forward
+in her chair, and rested her hands on the table.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well then, Father, it&#8217;s like this. I know
+something about someone which another person
+doesn&#8217;t know, and I think it is rather important
+that they should know it. The first person doesn&#8217;t
+know I know it, and mightn&#8217;t quite like it if they
+knew I knew it. Also I am pretty sure that they
+don&#8217;t want any one else to know it. But under
+the circumstances I think I&#8217;m justified in telling
+the second person, because it isn&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span>
+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?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Father Dormer listened attentively.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you mind saying it again,&#8221; he asked
+politely as she ended. There was just the faintest
+possible twinkle in his eyes.</p>
+<p>Trix laughed outright.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Father, don&#8217;t try to be polite,&#8221; she urged.
+&#8220;I know it is the muddliest kind of explanation
+that ever existed. Can&#8217;t you suggest some way of
+making it clearer?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Supposing,&#8221; he said, &#8220;you call the first person
+A, the second B, and the third one C. And let me
+know first exactly your position towards A.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right,&#8221; agreed Trix cheerfully. &#8220;And
+even supposing you guess the tiniest bit what I am
+talking about, you won&#8217;t let yourself guess, will
+you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; began Trix again, and rather slowly,
+&#8220;A has a secret. He doesn&#8217;t know I know it, and
+I found it out quite by accident. He hasn&#8217;t said it
+is a secret, but I know it is, because nobody else
+knows about it. Well, B knows A, but doesn&#8217;t
+know A&#8217;s secret, and because she doesn&#8217;t know A&#8217;s
+secret she is unhappy about A&#8217;s conduct, whereas
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span>
+if she knew the secret I am pretty sure she wouldn&#8217;t
+be so unhappy. And A need never know B does
+know, even if I tell her. And I feel sure from A&#8217;s
+point of view it would not matter telling B, while
+it <i>would</i> 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&#8217;s secret, and in doing that I should
+possibly have to tell lies, or let her know C&#8217;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?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Father Dormer smiled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think I have grasped it,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Well,
+in the first place, it isn&#8217;t a matter of life and death,
+is it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh no,&#8221; said Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then if I were you, I wouldn&#8217;t take any risk
+about telling lies.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; said Trix relieved, &#8220;I thought I had
+better not. But then there is C&#8217;s secret.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let us take A&#8217;s secret first,&#8221; suggested Father
+Dormer. &#8220;You feel quite sure it is important to
+let B know it, and that you are justified in disclosing
+it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix reflected.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I feel quite sure it is important B should
+know,&#8221; she said. &#8220;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&#8217;t
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span>
+tell any one else, so it can&#8217;t matter her knowing as
+well as me. No; I am sure it can&#8217;t,&#8221; ended Trix
+decidedly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then,&#8221; said Father Dormer, &#8220;your best plan
+will be to ask C to release you from your promise.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix started.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, but&mdash;&#8221; she began. She shook her head.
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t believe he would ever release me,&#8221; she
+said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You could ask him, anyhow,&#8221; said Father
+Dormer.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I could,&#8221; replied Trix doubtfully.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Try that first,&#8221; he suggested. &#8220;It is the
+simplest plan.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said Trix still doubtfully.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You see,&#8221; said Trix thoughtfully, &#8220;he knows
+A&#8217;s secret too; at least, I feel sure he does.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps,&#8221; smiled Father Dormer, &#8220;it is not
+quite such a secret as you imagine.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes, it is,&#8221; nodded Trix. &#8220;It is the
+most complicated affair that ever was, and the
+most extraordinary. Nobody would believe it if
+they didn&#8217;t know.&#8221; She sighed.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;as
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span>
+soon as he had grasped the question she had come
+to ask&mdash;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&mdash;so-called&mdash;would appear extremely black
+to Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is that settled now?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes,&#8221; said Trix. She looked at her watch.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve two hours; I had better do it at once.&#8221;
+Then she stopped suddenly. &#8220;Oh, Father!&#8221;
+she exclaimed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; he queried.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You didn&#8217;t guess, did you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;How could I?&#8221; he asked smiling.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, because saying that told you that C lived
+here.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He laughed. &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix smiled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I never thought of that,&#8221; she owned. &#8220;But,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span>
+of course, it is quite obvious. Only I am so afraid
+of breaking my promise.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She had risen to her feet by now. He held
+out his hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXXIV_AN_AMAZING_SUGGESTION' id='XXXIV_AN_AMAZING_SUGGESTION'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2>
+<h3>AN AMAZING SUGGESTION</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Can I see Mr. Danver?&#8221; asked Trix.</p>
+<p>Jessop stared, visibly startled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is all right,&#8221; said Trix quickly. &#8220;Don&#8217;t
+you remember I had tea here last August?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span></p>
+<p>Jessop&#8217;s face relaxed, but he looked a trifle
+dubious.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think&mdash;&#8221; he began.</p>
+<p>Trix raised her chin.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Go and ask him,&#8221; she said with slight authority.
+&#8220;I will wait in the hall.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Jessop departed, to return after a minute.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Will you come this way, please, Madam.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>Nicholas Danver looked at her as she entered,
+an odd expression on his face.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, Miss Devereux,&#8221; he said, holding out his
+hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t mind my having come?&#8221; queried
+Trix. &#8220;No one saw me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>A slight look of relief passed over Nicholas&#8217;s
+face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think I am glad you&#8217;ve come,&#8221; he said.
+&#8220;Sit down, please.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix sat down. Her hands were tightly clasped
+within her muff. She was still beating back that
+quite unaccountable nervousness.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You had a particular reason for coming to see
+me?&#8221; suggested Nicholas.</p>
+<p>Trix nodded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes; I am in rather a difficulty. You are
+the only person who can help me.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span></p>
+<p>Nicholas laughed shortly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is an odd experience to be told that I can
+be of service to any one,&#8221; he said. &#8220;What is it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix drew a long breath.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Danver, I want you to release me from my
+promise.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas&#8217;s eyes narrowed suddenly. A little
+gleam, like the spark from iron striking flint,
+flashed from them.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean?&#8221; he asked coldly.</p>
+<p>Trix&#8217;s heart chilled at the tone.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I must try and explain,&#8221; she said. &#8220;In the
+first place, of course you know who your under-gardener
+really is?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas stared at her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;May I ask what that has got to do with you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I know too, you see,&#8221; said Trix, feeling
+her heart beginning to beat still more quickly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;How do you know? What questions have you
+been asking?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix flushed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I haven&#8217;t asked any questions,&#8221; she said
+quickly. &#8220;I saw him the day I came here before.
+I knew his face then, but I couldn&#8217;t remember who
+he was. Afterwards I remembered I used to play
+with him when I was a child.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; queried Nicholas briefly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; echoed Trix desperately, &#8220;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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span>
+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?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas&#8217;s hand clenched tightly on the arm
+of his chair.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Most certainly not,&#8221; he replied shortly.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t tell unless it became absolutely
+necessary,&#8221; she urged.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It never can be absolutely necessary,&#8221; he
+retorted. &#8220;It would be no more dishonourable to
+tell a lie than break a promise.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix went scarlet.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I never had the smallest intention of doing
+either,&#8221; she replied. &#8220;If I had, I need not have
+troubled to come up here and ask you to release
+me from my promise.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas drummed his fingers on a small table
+near him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, you&#8217;ve had my answer,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s sake she tried again.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Danver, why do you want everyone to
+think you&#8217;re dead?&#8221; There was something almost
+childish in the way she put the question.</p>
+<p>Nicholas laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Partly, my dear young lady, for my own amusement,
+but largely for a scheme I have on hand.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix leant forward.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is the scheme really important?&#8221; she queried,
+her eyes on his face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; he replied, watching her.
+&#8220;But my amusement is.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Amusement,&#8221; said Trix slowly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, my amusement,&#8221; he repeated mockingly.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve had none for fifteen years. For fifteen
+years I have lived here like a log, alone, solitary.
+Now I&#8217;ve got a little amusement in pretending
+to be dead.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix shook her head. It sounded quite mad.
+Then she remembered Doctor Hilary&#8217;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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But you needn&#8217;t have been a log for fifteen
+years,&#8221; she said suddenly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Needn&#8217;t I?&#8221; he retorted. &#8220;Look at me.&#8221;
+He made a gesture towards his helpless legs.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wasn&#8217;t thinking of your body,&#8221; said Trix
+calmly. &#8220;I was thinking of your mind.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas&#8217;s face hardened.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And so was I,&#8221; he replied, &#8220;when I preferred
+to sit here like a log, rather than face the prying
+sympathy of my fellow-humans.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; said Trix softly, a light of illumination
+breaking in upon her. &#8220;But, Mr. Danver, sympathy
+isn&#8217;t always prying.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Bah!&#8221; he retorted. &#8220;Prying or not, I didn&#8217;t
+want it. Staring eyes, condoling words, and mockery
+in their hearts! &#8216;He got what he deserved for
+his madness,&#8217; they&#8217;d have said.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix leant forward, putting her hands on the
+table.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Danver,&#8221; she said thoughtfully, &#8220;if you
+were a younger man, or I were an older woman, I&#8217;d
+say you were&mdash;well, quite remarkably foolish.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas chuckled. He liked this.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You might forget our respective ages for a
+few moments,&#8221; he suggested, &#8220;that is, if you have
+anything enlivening to say.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know about it being enlivening,&#8221;
+remarked Trix calmly, &#8220;but I have got quite a
+good deal to say.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Say it then,&#8221; chuckled Nicholas.</p>
+<p>Trix drew a deep breath.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Danver, did you ever care for any one?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas&#8217;s eyes blazed suddenly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;What the devil&mdash;&#8221; he began. &#8220;I beg your
+pardon. I gave you leave to speak.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Trix waved her hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was talking about men,&#8221; she said, &#8220;men pals.
+Were there any you ever cared about?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas laughed shortly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Your father, my dear young lady, and Richard
+Gray, father of the man who has led to this
+interesting discussion.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;They were really your friends?&#8221; queried Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The best fellows that ever stepped,&#8221; said
+Nicholas with unwonted enthusiasm.</p>
+<p>Trix nodded. Her eyes were shining. She
+was thinking of her aunt&#8217;s disclosure regarding
+this Richard Gray.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I suppose,&#8221; she said coolly, &#8220;you rejoiced
+when Richard Gray lost his money? You laughed
+at him for a fool?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas stared at her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What on earth do you mean?&#8221; he asked. &#8220;I
+never knew he had lost money. I would have
+given my right hand to help him if I had known.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He did lose money,&#8221; said Trix. &#8220;But that&#8217;s
+beside the point. You&#8217;d have helped him if you
+could? You wouldn&#8217;t have jeered at him?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you take me for?&#8221; asked Nicholas
+half angrily.</p>
+<p>Trix looked very straight at him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Only what you take others for, Mr. Danver.&#8221;</p>
+<p>There was a dead silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Listen,&#8221; said Trix suddenly. &#8220;You would
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span>
+have been generous to him, because you cared for
+him. Do you really think you are the only generous
+friend?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas looked at her. There was a gleam of
+laughter in his eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It strikes me you are a very shrewd young
+woman,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s only logical common sense,&#8221; declared
+Trix stoutly.</p>
+<p>Once more there fell a silence, a silence in
+which Nicholas was watching the girl opposite to
+him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Danver, will you tell me exactly what
+amusement you found in all this? What originated
+the idea in your mind?&#8221; Her voice was
+pleading.</p>
+<p>For a moment Nicholas was silent.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he said suddenly, &#8220;I will tell you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I thought Antony Gray could have a taste of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span>
+living as one of the people,&#8221; he ended. &#8220;Perhaps
+it would make him a better master than I had
+been. And then the scheme took shape.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I see,&#8221; said Trix slowly and thoughtfully.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; queried Nicholas.</p>
+<p>Trix looked up at him. Her lips were smiling,
+but there were tears in her eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I understand,&#8221; she said. &#8220;Perhaps I understand
+ever so much better than you think. But&mdash;but
+has it been worth it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas looked towards the fire.</p>
+<p>&#8220;After the first planning, I don&#8217;t honestly
+know that it has,&#8221; he said. &#8220;A thing falls flat
+with no one to share it with you. And Hilary
+never really approved.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again there was a silence, and again the odd
+pathos, the childishness of the whole thing stirred
+Trix&#8217;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,&mdash;the thought of a foolish boy conceived
+and carried out by the obstinate mind of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>Trix shivered involuntarily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And the fact remains, that I am dead,&#8221; said
+Nicholas with a grim smile.</p>
+<p>Trix turned suddenly towards him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Unless you have a sort of resurrection,&#8221; she
+said.</p>
+<p>Nicholas stared.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Listen,&#8221; said Trix.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXXV_TRIX_TRIUMPHANT' id='XXXV_TRIX_TRIUMPHANT'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXV</h2>
+<h3>TRIX TRIUMPHANT</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was more than an hour before Trix departed,
+exultant, rejoicing.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ve wandered entirely from the object of
+your visit,&#8221; he had remarked at one point in the
+conversation, &#8220;and I can&#8217;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?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, but it does matter,&#8221; she had answered
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span>
+earnestly, &#8220;it matters quite supremely. I know
+we often pretend to ourselves that it doesn&#8217;t in the
+least matter how we live our lives so long as we
+don&#8217;t commit actual sin; but we can&#8217;t isolate ourselves
+from others without loss to them and to
+ourselves.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;How about monks and nuns, who shut themselves
+up, and never see their fellow-creatures at
+all?&#8221; he had retorted, greatly pleased with himself
+for the retort.</p>
+<p>Trix had opened eyes of wonder.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The contemplative orders! Why, Mr. Danver,
+they&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am not much of a believer in prayer,&#8221; he
+had said dryly. He had expected her to ask if he
+had ever tried it. She had not done so.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Most of us do it so badly,&#8221; she had said
+with a little sigh, &#8220;but they don&#8217;t.&#8221; And then she
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span>
+had flashed a glance of amusement at him. &#8220;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. &#8216;I knew
+it would be!&#8217; said the old lady triumphantly.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas joined in her laugh, but somewhat
+grimly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;re all like that,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>Trix shook her head.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not all, mercifully; but a good many.&#8221; And
+then she had returned to her former charge.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span>
+Trix, the Duchessa, Miss Tibbutt, Antony, and
+Doctor Hilary were to be present. After that&mdash;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&#8217;d be a benefactor to mankind in giving
+poor, dull little Byestry something more interesting
+to talk about than the latest baby&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes sir, a man, and not the crippled fool you
+have taken me for,&#8221; Nicholas heard himself saying.
+He chuckled at the thought.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;clock, another to Mr.
+Curtis requesting his an hour later, and the game
+could be begun immediately.</p>
+<p>Once more Nicholas chuckled. Then he pressed
+the electric button attached to the arm of his
+chair.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Nicholas looked up at his entrance.</p>
+<p>Accustomed to note every slightest variance
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span>
+in his master&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, Jessop, I rang.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yessir,&#8221; said Jessop, imperturbably, as who
+should say, &#8220;Naturally, since I have answered
+the summons.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas cleared his throat.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Er&mdash;Jessop, you can bring Michael Field here
+at two o&#8217;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&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Jessop stared, actually stared, a prolonged,
+amazed survey of his master&#8217;s face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are seeing them, sir!&#8221; he gasped.</p>
+<p>For a moment testiness swung to the fore at
+the question. Then the amazement on Jessop&#8217;s
+face unloosed his sense of humour.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said Nicholas quietly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But&mdash;&#8221; 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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span>
+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&#8217;s own
+mind.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t try to think,&#8221; remarked Nicholas grimly,
+&#8220;merely obey orders.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The words pricked, restoring Jessop&#8217;s balance.
+He drew himself to rigid attention, the mask
+suddenly resumed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Very good, sir,&#8221; and Jessop left the room.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What the blue blazes!&#8221; he muttered, as he
+returned, almost stumbling, towards the pantry.</p>
+<p>The expression had belonged to the youthful
+Nicholas. Jessop borrowed it only at moments
+of the severest stress. It was borrowed now.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXXVI_AN_OLD_MAN_TELLS_HIS_STORY' id='XXXVI_AN_OLD_MAN_TELLS_HIS_STORY'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2>
+<h3>AN OLD MAN TELLS HIS STORY</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Antony did not in the least understand Jessop&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span>
+butler had withdrawn and closed the door behind
+him.</p>
+<p>Antony half turned in amazement towards the
+door.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ahem!&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; said the man.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So you know me, Antony Gray,&#8221; came the
+mocking old voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nicholas Danver,&#8221; Antony heard himself
+saying, though he hardly realized he was speaking
+the words.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Exactly,&#8221; smiled Nicholas, &#8220;not dead, but
+very much alive, though not&mdash;&#8221; he glanced down
+at his helpless legs,&mdash;&#8220;precisely what you might
+term kicking.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony drew a deep breath. What in the
+name of wonder did this astounding drama
+portend?</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sit down,&#8221; said Nicholas shortly, pointing
+to a chair. &#8220;I have a good deal to say to you.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span>
+You would be tired of standing before I have
+done.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was a friend of your father,&#8221; said Nicholas
+abruptly.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I know,&#8221; said Antony quietly, in answer to
+the remark.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Also I met you once,&#8221; 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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I remember,&#8221; replied Antony gravely.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you?&#8221; said Nicholas, the smile finding
+its way to his lips. &#8220;What a determined youngster
+you were! &#8216;I&#8217;ve got to. I&#8217;ve begun!&#8217;&#8221;
+Nicholas threw back his head with a laugh. &#8220;It
+appealed to me, did that sentiment. I saw the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span>
+bulldog grip in it. But there was no viciousness
+in the statement. Jove! you weren&#8217;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&#8217;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?&#8221; Nicholas paused.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I confess I am somewhat at a loss regarding
+it,&#8221; returned Antony dryly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not over-pleased,&#8221; muttered Nicholas inwardly.
+Aloud he said, &#8220;I&#8217;ve no doubt you will
+think it all a sort of fool show, and I am by no
+means sure that I don&#8217;t regard it in something that
+fashion myself now. However&mdash;&#8221; Nicholas
+cleared his throat. &#8220;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&mdash;he got the offer of a post on Lord Sinclair&#8217;s
+estate&mdash;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&mdash;Job Grantley, you know him&mdash;sneaked
+up here. It had been a vile day. He was in
+difficulties as to his rent, and Curtis was putting
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span>
+the pressure on. He had a fancy for squeezing
+those who couldn&#8217;t retaliate, I suppose. Dirty
+hound!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony made a little sound indicative of entire
+assent. He was becoming interested in the recital.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I learnt a little more about him,&#8221; went on
+Nicholas smiling thoughtfully, &#8220;though he never
+guessed I made any enquiries. That was later.
+At the moment Job Grantley&#8217;s tale was enough
+for me,&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;s method of living, and incidentally
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span>
+of the tenderness of Curtis. Do you follow
+me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony nodded, an odd smile on his lips. He
+remembered his own conjecture, suggested by Mr.
+Albert George&#8217;s discourse. The education was
+absolutely unnecessary.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I fancied,&#8221; went on Nicholas, &#8220;that it might
+teach you to be more considerate if you had any
+tendencies in an opposite direction. But&mdash;&#8221; he
+paused a moment, then smiled grimly,&mdash;&#8220;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,&mdash;through the village, that is to say.
+I don&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span>
+him, and if I&#8217;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&#8217;t its very
+madness that most appealed to me.&#8221; He stopped.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And what,&#8221; said Antony, &#8220;is to be the outcome
+of this confidence now?&#8221; 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&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The main outcome,&#8221; said Nicholas, &#8220;is that I
+wish to offer you&mdash;Antony Gray&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;s
+opinion.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span>
+workings of Antony&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I should prefer to decline the offer,&#8221; replied
+Antony quietly.</p>
+<p>Nicholas&#8217;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 <i>coup de théâtre</i>, such as Nicholas had pictured,
+to confront him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;May I ask the reason for your refusal?&#8221; questioned
+Nicholas, his utter disappointment lending
+a flat hardness to his voice.</p>
+<p>Antony shrugged his shoulders.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Merely that I prefer to refuse,&#8221; he answered.</p>
+<p>Nicholas&#8217;s mouth set in grim lines. His temper,
+never a very equable commodity, got the
+better of his diplomacy.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is always possible for me to alter my will,&#8221;
+he remarked suavely.</p>
+<p>Antony flashed round on him.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;For God&#8217;s sake alter it, then,&#8221; he cried.
+&#8220;The most fool thing I ever did in my life was to
+fall in with your mad scheme. Write to your
+solicitors at once.&#8221; He made for the door.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Stop,&#8221; said Nicholas.</p>
+<p>Antony halted on the threshold. He was furious
+at the situation.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have no intention of altering my will,&#8221;
+said Nicholas, &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony hesitated. The statement had taken
+him somewhat by surprise.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean?&#8221; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Precisely what I say,&#8221; retorted Nicholas.
+&#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I can refuse the inheritance,&#8221; said Antony.</p>
+<p>Nicholas laughed. &#8220;If you choose to shirk
+responsibility and see the tenants remain the
+victims of Curtis&#8217;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You can choose another agent,&#8221; said Antony
+shortly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I can,&#8221; said Nicholas, with emphasis on the
+first word. &#8220;But I fancy William Gateley will
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span>
+find a twin to Curtis on my demise if you refuse
+the inheritance.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Once more Antony hesitated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Find another heir, then,&#8221; he announced after
+a moment.</p>
+<p>Nicholas shook his head. &#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Again there was a silence. Antony moved
+further back into the room.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You rather force my hand,&#8221; he said coldly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You mean you accept the inheritance?&#8221; asked
+Nicholas eagerly. His eagerness was almost too
+blatant.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I will accept it,&#8221; replied Antony dispassionately,
+&#8220;and will see justice done to your tenants.
+It will not be incumbent on me to make personal
+use of your money.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas let that pass.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And for the present?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Concerning the matter of the contract,&#8221; said
+Antony stiffly, &#8220;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.&#8221; He did not say
+till the day of Nicholas&#8217;s death. But Nicholas
+understood his meaning.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I trust you consider that I am now treating
+you fairly,&#8221; said Antony still stiffly, and after a
+slight pause.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span></p>
+<p>Nicholas bowed his head.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Fairly, yes,&#8221; he said in an odd, almost pathetic
+voice, &#8220;but hardly&mdash;shall we call it&mdash;as a friend.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony looked suddenly amazed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean?&#8221; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wanted you to help me to get even with
+Curtis,&#8221; he replied regretfully. His tone was
+somewhat reminiscent of a rueful schoolboy.</p>
+<p>Despite himself Antony smiled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I ordered him to come here at three o&#8217;clock,&#8221;
+went on Nicholas, glancing at the clock which
+wanted only five minutes of the hour. &#8220;I wanted
+to give him his <i>congé</i>, 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&mdash;well,
+it will be a pretty flat sort of compromise, that&#8217;s
+all.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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&mdash;Nicholas&mdash;had
+invented.</p>
+<p>Suddenly Antony spoke.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You may as well carry out your original programme,&#8221;
+he said, and almost good-humouredly
+annoyed at his own swift change of mood.</p>
+<p>The library door opened.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Spencer Curtis,&#8221; announced Jessop on a
+note of solemn gloom.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXXVII_THE_IMPORTANCE_OF_TRIFLES' id='XXXVII_THE_IMPORTANCE_OF_TRIFLES'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2>
+<h3>THE IMPORTANCE OF TRIFLES</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Nicholas Danver would give a tea-party.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s eyes,
+however, whenever she mentioned Antony&#8217;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.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span></p>
+<p>Fifteen years of a living death to terminate
+in a tea-party!</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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&#8217;s own resurrection.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He is looking forward to it like a child,&#8221;
+Trix had said.</p>
+<p>And Miss Tibbutt had suddenly taken off her
+spectacles and wiped them.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s an odd little thing to feel choky about,&#8221;
+she had said with a shaky laugh.</p>
+<p>Presently she had left the room. A few moments
+later Doctor Hilary had also taken his leave.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span>
+Trix and the Duchessa had been left alone. Suddenly
+the Duchessa had looked across at Trix.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What made you do it?&#8221; she had asked.</p>
+<p>Trix understood the question, and the colour
+had rushed to her face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What made you do it?&#8221; the Duchessa had
+repeated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;For you,&#8221; Trix had replied in a very small
+voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You guessed?&#8221; the Duchessa had asked
+quietly.</p>
+<p>Trix nodded. It <i>had</i> been largely guesswork.
+There was no need, at the moment at all events,
+to speak of Miss Tibbutt&#8217;s share in the matter.
+That was for Tibby herself to do if she wished.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>It was just that,&mdash;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span>
+importance, though, viewed apart from its meaning,
+it was the most trivial and commonplace thing
+in the world.</p>
+<p>Trix got up from her chair, and went over to
+the window.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>She heaved a little sigh of intense satisfaction,
+and then she caught sight of a figure crossing
+the grass.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa had come out of the house and
+was going towards the garden gate.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXXVIII_A_FOOTSTEP_ON_THE_PATH' id='XXXVIII_A_FOOTSTEP_ON_THE_PATH'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2>
+<h3>A FOOTSTEP ON THE PATH</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>Of course the thought of the Duchessa was at
+the root of the depression. But why? If he met
+her again&mdash;and all things now considered, the
+meeting was even more than probable&mdash;what
+earthly difference would it make whether he met
+her in his rôle 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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span>
+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&#8217;d pictured the meetings
+often enough; pictured, too, and schooled himself
+to endure, the aloofness, the frigidity.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I rubbed it well in that I am only a gardener,
+a mere labourer,&#8221; 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.</p>
+<p>But now the truth had got to be faced.</p>
+<p>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&mdash;his mind swung to the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span>
+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.</p>
+<p>Memory can become a sheer physical pain at
+times.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>One thing was certain&mdash;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&#8217;d make a fight for it.
+And yet, if only&mdash;The phrase summed up every
+atom of regret for his mad decision, his falling in
+with that idiotic plan of Nicholas&#8217;s. And, after
+all, had it been so idiotic? Mad, certainly; but
+wasn&#8217;t there a certain justification in the madness?
+It was a madness the villagers would unquestionably
+bless.</p>
+<p>His thoughts turned to the recent interview.
+It had fully borne out all Nicholas&#8217;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
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span>
+had been subservient to Nicholas, extravagantly
+amused to learn of the trick that had been played.
+He had been insolently oblivious of Antony&#8217;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Going to take matters into your own hands?&#8221;
+he had said to Nicholas. &#8220;Excellent, my dear
+sir, excellent.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nicholas had glanced down at the said hands.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think,&#8221; he had said slowly, &#8220;that they are
+rather old. No; I have other plans in view.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes?&#8221; Curtis had queried.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wish to try a new <i>régime</i>,&#8221; Nicholas had
+said calmly. &#8220;I should like to introduce you to
+my new agent.&#8221; He had waved his hand towards
+Antony.</p>
+<p>Black as murder is a well-worn and somewhat
+trite expression, nevertheless it alone adequately
+described the old agent&#8217;s expression. And then,
+with a palpable effort, he had recovered himself.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A really excellent plan,&#8221; he had said, with
+scarcely veiled insolence. &#8220;I congratulate you on
+your new <i>régime</i>. They say &#8216;Set a thief to catch a
+thief&#8217;; no doubt &#8216;Set a hind to rule a hind&#8217; will
+prove equally efficacious.&#8221; He had laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;On the contrary,&#8221; Nicholas&#8217;s voice, suave
+and calm, had broken in upon the laugh, &#8220;that is
+the very <i>régime</i> I am now abolishing. &#8216;Set a
+gentleman to rule a hind&#8217; is the one I am about to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span>
+establish, that is why I have offered the post of
+agent to Mr. Antony Gray, son of a very old friend
+of mine.&#8221;</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So you have had recourse to a system of spying,&#8221;
+he had said with a sneer that certainly did
+not in the least disguise his fury. &#8220;Personally I
+have never looked upon it as a gentleman&#8217;s profession.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The question of a gentleman&#8217;s profession
+is not one in which I should readily take your
+advice, Mr. Curtis,&#8221; Nicholas had replied, smiling
+gently.</p>
+<p>Curtis had turned to the door.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I did not come here to be insulted,&#8221; he had
+said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Neither,&#8221; Nicholas had retorted sternly,
+&#8220;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.&#8221;</p>
+<p>There had been some further conversation,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>It had not been till Curtis had left that Nicholas
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span>
+had broached the subject of the tea-party the
+following day, and had requested Antony&#8217;s presence.
+The request had been firmly declined, nor
+could all Nicholas&#8217;s persuasions move Antony from
+his resolution.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am utterly unsociable,&#8221; Antony had declared.</p>
+<p>Nicholas smiled grimly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So am I, or, at any rate, so I was till Miss
+Devereux took me in hand.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Miss Devereux!&#8221; Antony had echoed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, she&#8217;s at the bottom of this business,&#8221;
+Nicholas had assured him, &#8220;though what further
+plot she has up her sleeve I don&#8217;t know. Why, if it
+hadn&#8217;t been&mdash;&#8221; 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&#8217;s secret or what might have been a lady&#8217;s
+secret. They were pretty much one and the same
+thing as far as his silence on the matter was
+concerned.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;an
+advantage, certainly, in both instances.
+Only so far as Antony&#8217;s own self was concerned
+there didn&#8217;t seem the least atom of an advantage
+anywhere. Of course he was fully aware that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span>
+he ought to see immense advantages. But he
+didn&#8217;t.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s better to have loved and lost than never
+to have loved at all,&#8221; says one of the poets. Was
+it Tennyson? But then that depends very largely
+on the manner of the losing. And in this case!</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XXXIX_ON_THE_OLD_FOUNDATION' id='XXXIX_ON_THE_OLD_FOUNDATION'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2>
+<h3>ON THE OLD FOUNDATION</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Antony stood very still by the table. Once
+before he had heard that same footfall on his path,&mdash;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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;May I come in?&#8221; asked the Duchessa.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Might I sit down?&#8221; 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.</p>
+<p>Still Antony had not spoken.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa looked up at him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am nervous,&#8221; said she, an odd little tremor
+in her voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nervous!&#8221; echoed Antony, surprise lending
+speech to his tongue.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Nervous,&#8221; she replied, the odd little tremor
+still in her voice. &#8220;I owe you an apology, oh, the
+very deepest apology, and I don&#8217;t know how to
+begin.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t begin at all,&#8221; said Antony hoarsely,
+sternly almost.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, but I must. Think how I spoke to you.
+You&mdash;we had agreed that trust was the very
+foundation of friendship, and I destroyed the
+foundation at the outset.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was not likely you could understand,&#8221;
+said Antony.</p>
+<p>She caught her breath, a little quick intake.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Would you say the same if it had been the
+other way about? Would <i>you</i> have destroyed the
+foundation?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony was silent.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Would you?&#8221; she insisted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;I hope not,&#8221; he stammered.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And yet you appear to think it reasonable
+that I should have done so.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He could not quite understand the tone of
+her words.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think it reasonable you did not understand,&#8221;
+he declared. &#8220;How could you? Nobody could
+have understood. It was the maddest, the most
+inconceivable situation.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;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?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; 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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You mean that a man&#8217;s trust holds good under
+any circumstances, whereas a woman&#8217;s trust will
+obviously fail before the first difficulty?&#8221; she
+demanded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I did not mean that,&#8221; cried Antony hotly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No?&#8221; she queried mockingly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was not, on my part, a question of <i>trust</i>
+alone,&#8221; said Antony deliberately. He looked
+straight at her as he spoke the words.</p>
+<p>The Duchessa dropped her eyes. A crimson
+colour tinged her cheeks, crept upwards to her
+forehead.</p>
+<p>There was a dead silence. Then&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Will you help me to re-build the foundation?&#8221;
+asked the Duchessa.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was never destroyed,&#8221; said Antony.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mine was,&#8221; she replied steadily. &#8220;Will you
+forgive me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There can be no question of forgiveness,&#8221; he
+replied hoarsely.</p>
+<p>Her face went to white.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You refuse?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There is nothing to forgive,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>Again she drew a quick breath.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There is,&#8221; she said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think not,&#8221; he replied.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span></p>
+<p>The Duchessa looked towards the fire.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why do you say that?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Because,&#8221; he replied slowly, &#8220;between you
+and me there can be no question of forgiveness.
+To forgive, one must acknowledge a wrong done
+to one. I acknowledge none.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She turned towards him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You cared so little, you felt none?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; responded Antony, the words leaping to
+his lips, &#8220;I cared so much I felt none.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah,&#8221; she breathed, and stopped. &#8220;Then you
+will go back to the old footing?&#8221; she asked.</p>
+<p>Antony&#8217;s heart beat furiously.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I cannot,&#8221; he replied.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; she demanded, speaking very low.</p>
+<p>Antony drew a deep breath.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Because I love you,&#8221; he said quietly.</p>
+<p>Again there was a dead silence. At last Antony
+spoke quietly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of course I have no right to tell you that,&#8221;
+he said. &#8220;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&#8217;t break it
+at all, and of course you did not understand. In
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span>
+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.&#8221; He stopped.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think you hurt yourself too,&#8221; she suggested
+quietly.</p>
+<p>The muscles in Antony&#8217;s throat contracted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come here,&#8221; said the Duchessa.</p>
+<p>Antony crossed to the hearth. He stood
+looking down at her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Kneel down,&#8221; said the Duchessa.</p>
+<p>Obediently he knelt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are so blind,&#8221; said the Duchessa pathetically,
+&#8220;that you need to look very close to see
+things clearly. Look right into my eyes. Can&#8217;t
+you see something there that will heal that hurt?&#8221;</p>
+<p>A great sob broke from Antony&#8217;s throat.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, don&#8217;t, dear heart, don&#8217;t,&#8221; cried the
+Duchessa, drawing his head against her breast.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>&#8220;Will the new agent agree to live at the Manor
+House?&#8221; asked the Duchessa, after a long, long
+interval composed of many silences though some
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span>
+few words. &#8220;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?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Antony laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I told Mr. Danver I wouldn&#8217;t use a penny of
+his money for myself,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; 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.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You mind?&#8221; he asked smiling.</p>
+<p>She looked straight at him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not the smallest atom,&#8221; she declared, utterly
+relieved, since there was no shadow of false pride
+in the laughing eyes which met her own.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, but,&#8221; said Antony slowly, and very, very
+deliberately, &#8220;I never said I would not use it for
+my wife.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='EPILOGUE' id='EPILOGUE'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span>
+<h2>EPILOGUE</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+<p>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,&mdash;white and black
+marble very finely sculptured,&mdash;white marble in
+head and hands, black marble in the piercing eyes,
+the long satin dressing-gown, the oak of the big
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span>
+chair. Even his eyes seemed stone-like, motionless,
+and fixed thoughtfully on space.</p>
+<p>The big room was very still. An hour ago it
+had been full of voices and laughter, amazed
+questions, and half-mocking explanations.</p>
+<p>Later the front door had banged. There had
+been the sound of steps on the frosty drive, receding
+in the distance. Then silence.</p>
+<p>Nicholas&#8217;s eyes turned towards the middle
+window of the three, surveying the heavy hanging
+curtain.</p>
+<p>A whimsical smile lighted up his grim old mouth.</p>
+<p>&#8220;After all, it wasn&#8217;t a wasted year,&#8221; he said
+aloud.</p>
+<p>Then he turned and looked round the empty
+room. It seemed curiously deserted now.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And the year is not yet ended,&#8221; he added. He
+was amazed at the pleasure the thought gave him.</p>
+<div class='ce'>
+<p style=' margin-top:1em; font-variant:small-caps;'>The End.</p>
+</div>
+
+<!-- generated by ppgen.rb version: 2.18 -->
+<!-- timestamp: Fri Aug 08 17:32:38 -0600 2008 -->
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Antony Gray,--Gardener, by Leslie Moore
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,9826 @@
+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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