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diff --git a/26241.txt b/26241.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b94801 --- /dev/null +++ b/26241.txt @@ -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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANTONY GRAY,--GARDENER *** + +***** This file should be named 26241.txt or 26241.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/2/4/26241/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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