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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + + + + + +FIVE TALES + +by John Galsworthy + + + + +"Life calls the tune, we dance." + + + + +CONTENTS: + +THE FIRST AND LAST +A STOIC +THE APPLE TREE +THE JURYMAN +INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE [Also posted as Etext #2594] +Contains: +Indian Summer of a Forsyte +In Chancery + + + + +[In this 1919 edition of "Five Tales" the fifth tale was "Indian +Summer of a Forsyte;" in later collections, "Indian Summer..." became +the first section of the second volume of The Forsyte Saga] + + + + +FIVE TALES + +"Life calls the tune, we dance." + + + + +CONTENTS: + +THE FIRST AND LAST +A STOIC +THE APPLE TREE +THE JURYMAN +INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE + + + + +THE FIRST AND LAST + +"So the last shall be first, and the first last."--HOLY WRIT. + + + + +It was a dark room at that hour of six in the evening, when just the +single oil reading-lamp under its green shade let fall a dapple of +light over the Turkey carpet; over the covers of books taken out of +the bookshelves, and the open pages of the one selected; over the +deep blue and gold of the coffee service on the little old stool with +its Oriental embroidery. Very dark in the winter, with drawn +curtains, many rows of leather-bound volumes, oak-panelled walls and +ceiling. So large, too, that the lighted spot before the fire where +he sat was just an oasis. But that was what Keith Darrant liked, +after his day's work--the hard early morning study of his "cases," +the fret and strain of the day in court; it was his rest, these two +hours before dinner, with books, coffee, a pipe, and sometimes a nap. +In red Turkish slippers and his old brown velvet coat, he was well +suited to that framing of glow and darkness. A painter would have +seized avidly on his clear-cut, yellowish face, with its black +eyebrows twisting up over eyes--grey or brown, one could hardly tell, +and its dark grizzling hair still plentiful, in spite of those daily +hours of wig. He seldom thought of his work while he sat there, +throwing off with practised ease the strain of that long attention to +the multiple threads of argument and evidence to be disentangled-- +work profoundly interesting, as a rule, to his clear intellect, +trained to almost instinctive rejection of all but the essential, to +selection of what was legally vital out of the mass of confused +tactical and human detail presented to his scrutiny; yet sometimes +tedious and wearing. As for instance to-day, when he had suspected +his client of perjury, and was almost convinced that he must throw up +his brief. He had disliked the weak-looking, white-faced fellow from +the first, and his nervous, shifty answers, his prominent startled +eyes--a type too common in these days of canting tolerations and weak +humanitarianism; no good, no good! + +Of the three books he had taken down, a Volume of Voltaire--curious +fascination that Frenchman had, for all his destructive irony!--a +volume of Burton's travels, and Stevenson's "New Arabian Nights," he +had pitched upon the last. He felt, that evening, the want of +something sedative, a desire to rest from thought of any kind. The +court had been crowded, stuffy; the air, as he walked home, soft, +sou'-westerly, charged with coming moisture, no quality of vigour in +it; he felt relaxed, tired, even nervy, and for once the loneliness +of his house seemed strange and comfortless. + +Lowering the lamp, he turned his face towards the fire. Perhaps he +would get a sleep before that boring dinner at the Tellasson's. He +wished it were vacation, and Maisie back from school. A widower for +many years, he had lost the habit of a woman about him; yet to-night +he had a positive yearning for the society of his young daughter, +with her quick ways, and bright, dark eyes. Curious what perpetual +need of a woman some men had! His brother Laurence--wasted--all +through women--atrophy of willpower! A man on the edge of things; +living from hand to mouth; his gifts all down at heel! One would +have thought the Scottish strain might have saved him; and yet, when +a Scotsman did begin to go downhill, who could go faster? Curious +that their mother's blood should have worked so differently in her +two sons. He himself had always felt he owed all his success to it. + +His thoughts went off at a tangent to a certain issue troubling his +legal conscience. He had not wavered in the usual assumption of +omniscience, but he was by no means sure that he had given right +advice. Well! Without that power to decide and hold to decision in +spite of misgiving, one would never have been fit for one's position +at the Bar, never have been fit for anything. The longer he lived, +the more certain he became of the prime necessity of virile and +decisive action in all the affairs of life. A word and a blow--and +the blow first! Doubts, hesitations, sentiment the muling and puking +of this twilight age--! And there welled up on his handsome face a +smile that was almost devilish--the tricks of firelight are so many! +It faded again in sheer drowsiness; he slept.... + +He woke with a start, having a feeling of something out beyond the +light, and without turning his head said: "What's that?" There came +a sound as if somebody had caught his breath. He turned up the lamp. + +"Who's there?" + +A voice over by the door answered: + +"Only I--Larry." + +Something in the tone, or perhaps just being startled out of sleep +like this, made him shiver. He said: + +"I was asleep. Come in!" + +It was noticeable that he did not get up, or even turn his head, now +that he knew who it was, but waited, his half-closed eyes fixed on +the fire, for his brother to come forward. A visit from Laurence was +not an unmixed blessing. He could hear him breathing, and became +conscious of a scent of whisky. Why could not the fellow at least +abstain when he was coming here! It was so childish, so lacking in +any sense of proportion or of decency! And he said sharply: + +"Well, Larry, what is it?" + +It was always something. He often wondered at the strength of that +sense of trusteeship, which kept him still tolerant of the troubles, +amenable to the petitions of this brother of his; or was it just +"blood" feeling, a Highland sense of loyalty to kith and kin; an old- +time quality which judgment and half his instincts told him was +weakness but which, in spite of all, bound him to the distressful +fellow? Was he drunk now, that he kept lurking out there by the +door? And he said less sharply: + +"Why don't you come and sit down?" + +He was coming now, avoiding the light, skirting along the walls just +beyond the radiance of the lamp, his feet and legs to the waist +brightly lighted, but his face disintegrated in shadow, like the face +of a dark ghost. + +"Are you ill, man?" + +Still no answer, save a shake of that head, and the passing up of a +hand, out of the light, to the ghostly forehead under the dishevelled +hair. The scent of whisky was stronger now; and Keith thought: + +'He really is drunk. Nice thing for the new butler to see! If he +can't behave--' + +The figure against the wall heaved a sigh--so truly from an +overburdened heart that Keith was conscious with a certain dismay of +not having yet fathomed the cause of this uncanny silence. He got +up, and, back to the fire, said with a brutality born of nerves +rather than design: + +"What is it, man? Have you committed a murder, that you stand there +dumb as a fish?" + +For a second no answer at all, not even of breathing; then, just the +whisper: + +"Yes." + +The sense of unreality which so helps one at moments of disaster +enabled Keith to say vigorously: + +"By Jove! You have been drinking!" + +But it passed at once into deadly apprehension. + +"What do you mean? Come here, where I can see you. What's the +matter with you, Larry?" + +With a sudden lurch and dive, his brother left the shelter of the +shadow, and sank into a chair in the circle of light. And another +long, broken sigh escaped him. + +"There's nothing the matter with me, Keith! It's true!" + +Keith stepped quickly forward, and stared down into his brother's +face; and instantly he saw that it was true. No one could have +simulated the look in those eyes--of horrified wonder, as if they +would never again get on terms with the face to which they belonged. +To see them squeezed the heart-only real misery could look like that. +Then that sudden pity became angry bewilderment. + +"What in God's name is this nonsense?" + +But it was significant that he lowered his voice; went over to the +door, too, to see if it were shut. Laurence had drawn his chair +forward, huddling over the fire--a thin figure, a worn, high- +cheekboned face with deep-sunk blue eyes, and wavy hair all ruffled, +a face that still had a certain beauty. Putting a hand on that lean +shoulder, Keith said: + +"Come, Larry! Pull yourself together, and drop exaggeration." + +"It's true; I tell you; I've killed a man." + +The noisy violence of that outburst acted like a douche. What was +the fellow about--shouting out such words! But suddenly Laurence +lifted his hands and wrung them. The gesture was so utterly painful +that it drew a quiver from Keith's face. + +"Why did you come here," he said, "and tell me this?" + +Larry's face was really unearthly sometimes, such strange gleams +passed up on to it! + +"Whom else should I tell? I came to know what I'm to do, Keith? +Give myself up, or what?" + +At that sudden introduction of the practical Keith felt his heart +twitch. Was it then as real as all that? But he said, very quietly: + +"Just tell me--How did it come about, this--affair?" + +That question linked the dark, gruesome, fantastic nightmare on to +actuality. + +"When did it happen?" + +"Last night." + +In Larry's face there was--there had always been--something +childishly truthful. He would never stand a chance in court! And +Keith said: + +"How? Where? You'd better tell me quietly from the beginning. +Drink this coffee; it'll clear your head." + +Laurence took the little blue cup and drained it. + +"Yes," he said. "It's like this, Keith. There's a girl I've known +for some months now--" + +Women! And Keith said between his teeth: "Well?" + +"Her father was a Pole who died over here when she was sixteen, and +left her all alone. A man called Walenn, a mongrel American, living +in the same house, married her, or pretended to--she's very pretty, +Keith--he left her with a baby six months old, and another coming. +That one died, and she did nearly. Then she starved till another +fellow took her on. She lived with him two years; then Walenn turned +up again, and made her go back to him. The brute used to beat her +black and blue, all for nothing. Then he left her again. When I met +her she'd lost her elder child, too, and was taking anybody who came +along." + +He suddenly looked up into Keith's face. + +"But I've never met a sweeter woman, nor a truer, that I swear. +Woman! She's only twenty now! When I went to her last night, that +brute--that Walenn--had found her out again; and when he came for me, +swaggering and bullying--Look!"--he touched a dark mark on his +forehead--"I took his throat in my hands, and when I let go--" + +"Yes?" + +"Dead. I never knew till afterwards that she was hanging on to him +behind." + +Again he made that gesture-wringing his hands. + +In a hard voice Keith said: + +"What did you do then?" + +"We sat by it a long time. Then I carried it on my back down the +street, round a corner to an archway." + +"How far?" + +"About fifty yards." + +"Was anyone--did anyone see?" + +"No." + +"What time?" + +"Three." + +"And then?" + +"Went back to her." + +"Why--in Heaven's name?" + +"She was lonely and afraid; so was I, Keith." + +"Where is this place?" + +"Forty-two, Borrow Street, Soho." + +"And the archway?" + +"Corner of Glove Lane." + +"Good God! Why--I saw it in the paper!" + +And seizing the journal that lay on his bureau, Keith read again that +paragraph: "The body of a man was found this morning under an archway +in Glove Lane, Soho. From marks about the throat grave suspicions of +foul play are entertained. The body had apparently been robbed, and +nothing was discovered leading to identification." + +It was real earnest, then. Murder! His own brother! He faced round +and said: + +"You saw this in the paper, and dreamed it. Understand--you dreamed +it!" + +The wistful answer came: + +"If only I had, Keith--if only I had!" + +In his turn, Keith very nearly wrung his hands. + +"Did you take anything from the--body?" + +"This dropped while we were struggling.", + +It was an empty envelope with a South American post-mark addressed: +"Patrick Walenn, Simon's Hotel, Farrier Street, London." Again with +that twitching in his heart, Keith said: + +"Put it in the fire." + +Then suddenly he stooped to pluck it out. By that command--he had-- +identified himself with this--this--But he did not pluck it out. It +blackened, writhed, and vanished. And once more he said: + +"What in God's name made you come here and tell me?" + +"You know about these things. I didn't mean to kill him. I love the +girl. What shall I do, Keith? + +"Simple! How simple! To ask what he was to do! It was like Larry! +And he said: + +"You were not seen, you think?" "It's a dark street. There was no +one about." + +"When did you leave this girl the second time?" + +"About seven o'clock." + +"Where did you go?" + +"To my rooms." + +"In Fitzroy Street?" + +"Yes." + +"Did anyone see you come in?" + +"No." + +"What have you done since?" + +"Sat there." + +"Not been out?" + +"No." + +"Not seen the girl?" + +"No." + +"You don't know, then, what she's done since?" + +"No." + +"Would she give you away?" + +"Never." + +"Would she give herself away--hysteria?" + +"No." + +"Who knows of your relations with her?" + +"No one." + +"No one?" + +"I don't know who should, Keith." + +"Did anyone see you going in last night, when you first went to her?" + +"No. She lives on the ground floor. I've got keys." + +"Give them to me. What else have you that connects you with her?" + +"Nothing." + +"In your rooms?" + +"No." + +"No photographs. No letters?" + +"No." + +"Be careful." + +"Nothing." + +"No one saw you going back to her the second time?" + +"No." + +"No one saw you leave her in the morning?" + +"No." + +"You were fortunate. Sit down again, man. I must think." + +Think! Think out this accursed thing--so beyond all thought, and all +belief. But he could not think. Not a coherent thought would come. +And he began again: + +"Was it his first reappearance with her?" + +"Yes." + +"She told you so?" + +"Yes." + +"How did he find out where she was?" + +"I don't know." + +"How drunk were you?" + +"I was not drunk." + +"How much had you drunk?" + +"About two bottles of claret--nothing." + +"You say you didn't mean to kill him?" + +"No-God knows!" + +"That's something." + +What made you choose the arch?" + +"It was the first dark place." + +"Did his face look as if he had been strangled?" + +"Don't!" + +"Did it?" + +"Yes." + +"Very disfigured?" + +"Yes." + +"Did you look to see if his clothes were marked?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"Why not? My God! If you had done it!" + +"You say he was disfigured. Would he be recognisable?" + +"I don't know." + +"When she lived with him last--where was that?" + +"I don't know for certain. Pimlico, I think." + +"Not Soho?" + +"No." + +"How long has she been at the Soho place?" + +"Nearly a year." + +"Always the same rooms?" + +"Yes." + +"Is there anyone living in that house or street who would be likely +to know her as his wife?" + +"I don't think so." + +"What was he?" + +"I should think he was a professional 'bully.'" + +"I see. Spending most of his time abroad, then?" + +"Yes." + +"Do you know if he was known to the police?" + +"I haven't heard of it." + +"Now, listen, Larry. When you leave here go straight home, and don't +go out till I come to you, to-morrow morning. Promise that!" + +"I promise." + +"I've got a dinner engagement. I'll think this out. Don't drink. +Don't talk! Pull yourself together." + +"Don't keep me longer than you can help, Keith!" + +That white face, those eyes, that shaking hand! With a twinge of +pity in the midst of all the turbulence of his revolt, and fear, and +disgust Keith put his hand on his brother's shoulder, and said: + +"Courage!" + +And suddenly he thought: 'My God! Courage! I shall want it all +myself!' + + + + +II + +Laurence Darrant, leaving his brother's house in the Adelphi, walked +northwards, rapidly, slowly, rapidly again. For, if there are men +who by force of will do one thing only at a time, there are men who +from lack of will do now one thing, now another; with equal +intensity. To such natures, to be gripped by the Nemesis which +attends the lack of self-control is no reason for being more self- +controlled. Rather does it foster their pet feeling: "What matter? +To-morrow we die!" The effort of will required to go to Keith had +relieved, exhausted and exasperated him. In accordance with those +three feelings was the progress of his walk. He started from the +door with the fixed resolve to go home and stay there quietly till +Keith came. He was in Keith's hands, Keith would know what was to be +done. But he had not gone three hundred yards before he felt so +utterly weary, body and soul, that if he had but had a pistol in his +pocket he would have shot himself in the street. Not even the +thought of the girl--this young unfortunate with her strange +devotion, who had kept him straight these last five months, who had +roused in him a depth of feeling he had never known before--would +have availed against that sudden black defection. Why go on--a waif +at the mercy of his own nature, a straw blown here and there by every +gust which rose in him? Why not have done with it for ever, and take +it out in sleep? + +He was approaching the fatal street, where he and the girl, that +early morning, had spent the hours clutched together, trying in the +refuge of love to forget for a moment their horror and fear. Should +he go in? He had promised Keith not to. Why had he promised? He +caught sight of himself in a chemist's lighted window. Miserable, +shadowy brute! And he remembered suddenly a dog he had picked up +once in the streets of Pera, a black-and-white creature--different +from the other dogs, not one of their breed, a pariah of pariahs, who +had strayed there somehow. He had taken it home to the house where +he was staying, contrary to all custom of the country; had got fond +of it; had shot it himself, sooner than leave it behind again to the +mercies of its own kind in the streets. Twelve years ago! And those +sleevelinks made of little Turkish coins he had brought back for the +girl at the hairdresser's in Chancery Lane where he used to get +shaved--pretty creature, like a wild rose. He had asked of her a +kiss for payment. What queer emotion when she put her face forward +to his lips--a sort of passionate tenderness and shame, at the +softness and warmth of that flushed cheek, at her beauty and trustful +gratitude. She would soon have given herself to him--that one! He +had never gone there again! And to this day he did not know why he +had abstained; to this day he did not know whether he were glad or +sorry not to have plucked that rose. He must surely have been very +different then! Queer business, life--queer, queer business!--to go +through it never knowing what you would do next. Ah! to be like +Keith, steady, buttoned-up in success; a brass pot, a pillar of +society! Once, as a boy, he had been within an ace of killing Keith, +for sneering at him. Once in Southern Italy he had been near killing +a driver who was flogging his horse. And now, that darkfaced, +swinish bully who had ruined the girl he had grown to love--he had +done it! Killed him! Killed a man! + +He who did not want to hurt a fly. The chemist's window comforted +him with the sudden thought that he had at home that which made him +safe, in case they should arrest him. He would never again go out +without some of those little white tablets sewn into the lining of +his coat. Restful, even exhilarating thought! They said a man +should not take his own life. Let them taste horror--those glib +citizens! Let them live as that girl had lived, as millions lived +all the world over, under their canting dogmas! A man might rather +even take his life than watch their cursed inhumanities. + +He went into the chemist's for a bromide; and, while the man was +mixing it, stood resting one foot like a tired horse. The "life" he +had squeezed out of that fellow! After all, a billion living +creatures gave up life each day, had it squeezed out of them, mostly. +And perhaps not one a day deserved death so much as that loathly +fellow. Life! a breath--aflame! Nothing! Why, then, this icy +clutching at his heart? + +The chemist brought the draught. + +"Not sleeping, sir?" + +"No." + +The man's eyes seemed to say: 'Yes! Burning the candle at both ends- +I know!' Odd life, a chemist's; pills and powders all day long, to +hold the machinery of men together! Devilish odd trade! + +In going out he caught the reflection of his face in a mirror; it +seemed too good altogether for a man who had committed murder. There +was a sort of brightness underneath, an amiability lurking about its +shadows; how--how could it be the face of a man who had done what he +had done? His head felt lighter now, his feet lighter; he walked +rapidly again. + +Curious feeling of relief and oppression all at once! Frightful--to +long for company, for talk, for distraction; and--to be afraid of it! +The girl--the girl and Keith were now the only persons who would not +give him that feeling of dread. And, of those two--Keith was not...! +Who could consort with one who was never wrong, a successful, +righteous fellow; a chap built so that he knew nothing about himself, +wanted to know nothing, a chap all solid actions? To be a quicksand +swallowing up one's own resolutions was bad enough! But to be like +Keith--all willpower, marching along, treading down his own feelings +and weaknesses! No! One could not make a comrade of a man like +Keith, even if he were one's brother? The only creature in all the +world was the girl. She alone knew and felt what he was feeling; +would put up with him and love him whatever he did, or was done to +him. He stopped and took shelter in a doorway, to light a cigarette. +He had suddenly a fearful wish to pass the archway where he had +placed the body; a fearful wish that had no sense, no end in view, no +anything; just an insensate craving to see the dark place again. He +crossed Borrow Street to the little lane. There was only one person +visible, a man on the far side with his shoulders hunched against the +wind; a short, dark figure which crossed and came towards him in the +flickering lamplight. What a face! Yellow, ravaged, clothed almost +to the eyes in a stubbly greyish growth of beard, with blackish +teeth, and haunting bloodshot eyes. And what a figure of rags--one +shoulder higher than the other, one leg a little lame, and thin! A +surge of feeling came up in Laurence for this creature, more +unfortunate than himself. There were lower depths than his! + +"Well, brother," he said, "you don't look too prosperous!" + +The smile which gleamed out on the man's face seemed as unlikely as a +smile on a scarecrow. + +"Prosperity doesn't come my way," he said in a rusty voice. "I'm a +failure--always been a failure. And yet you wouldn't think it, would +you?--I was a minister of religion once." + +Laurence held out a shilling. But the man shook his head. + +"Keep your money," he said. "I've got more than you to-day, I +daresay. But thank you for taking a little interest. That's worth +more than money to a man that's down." + +"You're right." + +"Yes," the rusty voice went on; "I'd as soon die as go on living as I +do. And now I've lost my self-respect. Often wondered how long a +starving man could go without losing his self-respect. Not so very +long. You take my word for that." And without the slightest change +in the monotony of that creaking voice he added: + +"Did you read of the murder? Just here. I've been looking at the +place." + +The words: 'So have I!' leaped up to Laurence's lips; he choked them +down with a sort of terror. + +"I wish you better luck," he said. "Goodnight!" and hurried away. A +sort of ghastly laughter was forcing its way up in his throat. Was +everyone talking of the murder he had committed? Even the very +scarecrows? + + + + +III + +There are some natures so constituted that, due to be hung at ten +o'clock, they will play chess at eight. Such men invariably rise. +They make especially good bishops, editors, judges, impresarios, +Prime ministers, money-lenders, and generals; in fact, fill with +exceptional credit any position of power over their fellow-men. They +have spiritual cold storage, in which are preserved their nervous +systems. In such men there is little or none of that fluid sense and +continuity of feeling known under those vague terms, speculation, +poetry, philosophy. Men of facts and of decision switching +imagination on and off at will, subordinating sentiment to reason... +one does not think of them when watching wind ripple over cornfields, +or swallows flying. + +Keith Darrant had need for being of that breed during his dinner at +the Tellassons. It was just eleven when he issued from the big house +in Portland Place and refrained from taking a cab. He wanted to walk +that he might better think. What crude and wanton irony there was in +his situation! To have been made father-confessor to a murderer, he- +-well on towards a judgeship! With his contempt for the kind of +weakness which landed men in such abysses, he felt it all so sordid, +so "impossible," that he could hardly bring his mind to bear on it at +all. And yet he must, because of two powerful instincts--self- +preservation and blood-loyalty. + +The wind had still the sapping softness of the afternoon, but rain +had held off so far. It was warm, and he unbuttoned his fur +overcoat. The nature of his thoughts deepened the dark austerity of +his face, whose thin, well-cut lips were always pressing together, as +if, by meeting, to dispose of each thought as it came up. He moved +along the crowded pavements glumly. That air of festive conspiracy +which drops with the darkness on to lighted streets, galled him. He +turned off on a darker route. + +This ghastly business! Convinced of its reality, he yet could not +see it. The thing existed in his mind, not as a picture, but as a +piece of irrefutable evidence. Larry had not meant to do it, of +course. But it was murder, all the same. Men like Larry--weak, +impulsive, sentimental, introspective creatures--did they ever mean +what they did? This man, this Walenn, was, by all accounts, better +dead than alive; no need to waste a thought on him! But, crime--the +ugliness--Justice unsatisfied! Crime concealed--and his own share in +the concealment! And yet--brother to brother! Surely no one could +demand action from him! It was only a question of what he was going +to advise Larry to do. To keep silent, and disappear? Had that a +chance of success? Perhaps if the answers to his questions had been +correct. But this girl! Suppose the dead man's relationship to her +were ferreted out, could she be relied on not to endanger Larry? +These women were all the same, unstable as water, emotional, +shiftless pests of society. Then, too, a crime untracked, dogging +all his brother's after life; a secret following him wherever he +might vanish to; hanging over him, watching for some drunken moment, +to slip out of his lips. It was bad to think of. A clean breast of +it? But his heart twitched within him. "Brother of Mr. Keith +Darrant, the wellknown King's Counsel"--visiting a woman of the town, +strangling with his bare hands the woman's husband! No intention to +murder, but--a dead man! A dead man carried out of the house, laid +under a dark archway! Provocation! Recommended to mercy--penal +servitude for life! Was that the advice he was going to give Larry +to-morrow morning? + +And he had a sudden vision of shaven men with clay-coloured features, +run, as it were, to seed, as he had seen them once in Pentonville, +when he had gone there to visit a prisoner. Larry! Whom, as a baby +creature, he had watched straddling; whom, as a little fellow, he had +fagged; whom he had seen through scrapes at college; to whom he had +lent money time and again, and time and again admonished in his +courses. Larry! Five years younger than himself; and committed to +his charge by their mother when she died. To become for life one of +those men with faces like diseased plants; with no hair but a bushy +stubble; with arrows marked on their yellow clothes! Larry! One of +those men herded like sheep; at the beck and call of common men! A +gentleman, his own brother, to live that slave's life, to be ordered +here and there, year after year, day in, day out. Something snapped +within him. He could not give that advice. Impossible! But if not, +he must make sure of his ground, must verify, must know. This Glove +Lane--this arch way? It would not be far from where he was that very +moment. He looked for someone of whom to make enquiry. A policeman +was standing at the corner, his stolid face illumined by a lamp; +capable and watchful--an excellent officer, no doubt; but, turning +his head away, Keith passed him without a word. Strange to feel that +cold, uneasy feeling in presence of the law! A grim little driving +home of what it all meant! Then, suddenly, he saw that the turning +to his left was Borrow Street itself. He walked up one side, crossed +over, and returned. He passed Number Forty-two, a small house with +business names printed on the lifeless windows of the first and +second floors; with dark curtained windows on the ground floor, or +was there just a slink of light in one corner? Which way had Larry +turned? Which way under that grisly burden? Fifty paces of this +squalid street-narrow, and dark, and empty, thank heaven! Glove +Lane! Here it was! A tiny runlet of a street. And here--! He had +run right on to the arch, a brick bridge connecting two portions of a +warehouse, and dark indeed. + +"That's right, gov'nor! That's the place!" He needed all his self- +control to turn leisurely to the speaker. "'Ere's where they found +the body--very spot leanin' up 'ere. They ain't got 'im yet. +Lytest--me lord!" + +It was a ragged boy holding out a tattered yellowish journal. His +lynx eyes peered up from under lanky wisps of hair, and his voice had +the proprietary note of one making "a corner" in his news. Keith +took the paper and gave him twopence. He even found a sort of +comfort in the young ghoul's hanging about there; it meant that +others besides himself had come morbidly to look. By the dim +lamplight he read: "Glove Lane garrotting mystery. Nothing has yet +been discovered of the murdered man's identity; from the cut of his +clothes he is supposed to be a foreigner." The boy had vanished, and +Keith saw the figure of a policeman coming slowly down this gutter of +a street. A second's hesitation, and he stood firm. Nothing +obviously could have brought him here save this "mystery," and he +stayed quietly staring at the arch. The policeman moved up abreast. +Keith saw that he was the one whom he had passed just now. He noted +the cold offensive question die out of the man's eyes when they +caught the gleam of white shirt-front under the opened fur collar. +And holding up the paper, he said: + +"Is this where the man was found?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Still a mystery, I see?" + +"Well, we can't always go by the papers. But I don't fancy they do +know much about it, yet." + +"Dark spot. Do fellows sleep under here?" + +The policeman nodded. "There's not an arch in London where we don't +get 'em sometimes." + +"Nothing found on him--I think I read?" + +"Not a copper. Pockets inside out. There's some funny characters +about this quarter. Greeks, Hitalians--all sorts." + +Queer sensation this, of being glad of a policeman's confidential +tone! + +"Well, good-night!" + +"Good-night, sir. Good-night!" + +He looked back from Borrow Street. The policeman was still standing +there holding up his lantern, so that its light fell into the +archway, as if trying to read its secret. + +Now that he had seen this dark, deserted spot, the chances seemed to +him much better. "Pockets inside out!" Either Larry had had +presence of mind to do a very clever thing, or someone had been at +the body before the police found it. That was the more likely. A +dead backwater of a place. At three o'clock--loneliest of all hours- +-Larry's five minutes' grim excursion to and fro might well have +passed unseen! Now, it all depended on the girl; on whether Laurence +had been seen coming to her or going away; on whether, if the man's +relationship to her were discovered, she could be relied on to say +nothing. There was not a soul in Borrow Street now; hardly even a +lighted window; and he took one of those rather desperate decisions +only possible to men daily accustomed to the instant taking of +responsibility. He would go to her, and see for himself. He came to +the door of Forty-two, obviously one of those which are only shut at +night, and tried the larger key. It fitted, and he was in a gas- +lighted passage, with an oil-clothed floor, and a single door to his +left. He stood there undecided. She must be made to understand that +he knew everything. She must not be told more than that he was a +friend of Larry's. She must not be frightened, yet must be forced to +give her very soul away. A hostile witness--not to be treated as +hostile--a matter for delicate handling! But his knock was not +answered. + +Should he give up this nerve-racking, bizarre effort to come at a +basis of judgment; go away, and just tell Laurence that he could not +advise him? And then--what? Something must be done. He knocked +again. Still no answer. And with that impatience of being thwarted, +natural to him, and fostered to the full by the conditions of his +life, he tried the other key. It worked, and he opened the door. +Inside all was dark, but a voice from some way off, with a sort of +breathless relief in its foreign tones, said: + +"Oh! then it's you, Larry! Why did you knock? I was so frightened. +Turn up the light, dear. Come in!" + +Feeling by the door for a switch in the pitch blackness he was +conscious of arms round his neck, a warm thinly clad body pressed to +his own; then withdrawn as quickly, with a gasp, and the most awful +terror-stricken whisper: + +"Oh! Who is it?" + +With a glacial shiver down his own spine, Keith answered + +"A friend of Laurence. Don't be frightened!" + +There was such silence that he could hear a clock ticking, and the +sound of his own hand passing over the surface of the wall, trying to +find the switch. He found it, and in the light which leaped up he +saw, stiffened against a dark curtain evidently screening off a +bedroom, a girl standing, holding a long black coat together at her +throat, so that her face with its pale brown hair, short and square- +cut and curling up underneath, had an uncanny look of being detached +from any body. Her face was so alabaster pale that the staring, +startled eyes, dark blue or brown, and the faint rose of the parted +lips, were like colour stainings on a white mask; and it had a +strange delicacy, truth, and pathos, such as only suffering brings. +Though not susceptible to aesthetic emotion, Keith was curiously +affected. He said gently: + +"You needn't be afraid. I haven't come to do you harm--quite the +contrary. May I sit down and talk?" And, holding up the keys, he +added: "Laurence wouldn't have given me these, would he, if he hadn't +trusted me?" + +Still she did not move, and he had the impression that he was looking +at a spirit--a spirit startled out of its flesh. Nor at the moment +did it seem in the least strange that he should conceive such an odd +thought. He stared round the room--clean and tawdry, with its +tarnished gilt mirror, marble-topped side-table, and plush-covered +sofa. Twenty years and more since he had been in such a place. And +he said: + +"Won't you sit down? I'm sorry to have startled you." + +But still she did not move, whispering: + +"Who are you, please?" + +And, moved suddenly beyond the realm of caution by the terror in that +whisper, he answered: + +"Larry's brother." + +She uttered a little sigh of relief which went to Keith's heart, and, +still holding the dark coat together at her throat, came forward and +sat down on the sofa. He could see that her feet, thrust into +slippers, were bare; with her short hair, and those candid startled +eyes, she looked like a tall child. He drew up a chair and said: + +"You must forgive me coming at such an hour; he's told me, you see." +He expected her to flinch and gasp; but she only clasped her hands +together on her knees, and said: + +"Yes?" + +Then horror and discomfort rose up in him, afresh. + +"An awful business!" + +Her whisper echoed him: + +"Yes, oh! yes! Awful--it is awful!" + +And suddenly realising that the man must have fallen dead just where +he was sitting, Keith became stock silent, staring at the floor. + +"Yes," she whispered; "Just there. I see him now always falling!" + +How she said that! With what a strange gentle despair! In this girl +of evil life, who had brought on them this tragedy, what was it which +moved him to a sort of unwilling compassion? + +"You look very young," he said. + +"I am twenty." + +"And you are fond of--my brother?" + +"I would die for him." + +Impossible to mistake the tone of her voice, or the look in her eyes, +true deep Slav eyes; dark brown, not blue as he had thought at first. +It was a very pretty face--either her life had not eaten into it yet, +or the suffering of these last hours had purged away those marks; or +perhaps this devotion of hers to Larry. He felt strangely at sea, +sitting there with this child of twenty; he, over forty, a man of the +world, professionally used to every side of human nature. But he +said, stammering a little: + +"I--I have come to see how far you can save him. Listen, and just +answer the questions I put to you." + +She raised her hands, squeezed them together, and murmured: + +"Oh! I will answer anything." + +"This man, then--your--your husband--was he a bad man?" + +"A dreadful man." + +"Before he came here last night, how long since you saw him?" + +"Eighteen months." + +"Where did you live when you saw him last?" + +"In Pimlico." + +"Does anybody about here know you as Mrs. Walenn?" + +"No. When I came here, after my little girl died, I came to live a +bad life. Nobody knows me at all. I am quite alone." + +"If they discover who he was, they will look for his wife?" + +"I do not know. He did not let people think I was married to him. I +was very young; he treated many, I think, like me." + +"Do you think he was known to the police?" + +She shook her head. "He was very clever." + +"What is your name now?" + +"Wanda Livinska." + +"Were you known by that name before you were married?" + +"Wanda is my Christian name. Livinska--I just call myself." + +"I see; since you came here." + +"Yes." + +"Did my brother ever see this man before last night?" + +"Never." + +"You had told him about his treatment of you?" + +"Yes. And that man first went for him." + +"I saw the mark. Do you think anyone saw my brother come to you?" + +"I do not know. He says not." + +"Can you tell if anyone saw him carrying the--the thing away?" + +"No one in this street--I was looking." + +"Nor coming back?" + +"No one." + +"Nor going out in the morning?" + +"I do not think it." + + +"Have you a servant?" + +"Only a woman who comes at nine in the morning for an hour." + +"Does she know Larry?" + +"No." + +"Friends, acquaintances?" + +"No; I am very quiet. And since I knew your brother, I see no one. +Nobody comes here but him for a long time now." + +"How long?" + +"Five months." + +"Have you been out to-day?" + +"No." + +"What have you been doing?" + +"Crying." + +It was said with a certain dreadful simplicity, and pressing her +hands together, she went on: + +"He is in danger, because of me. I am so afraid for him." +Holding up his hand to check that emotion, he said: + +"Look at me!" + +She fixed those dark eyes on him, and in her bare throat, from which +the coat had fallen back, he could see her resolutely swallowing down +her agitation. + +"If the worst comes to the worst, and this man is traced to you, can +you trust yourself not to give my brother away?" + +Her eyes shone. She got up and went to the fireplace: + +"Look! I have burned all the things he has given me--even his +picture. Now I have nothing from him." + +Keith, too, got up. + +"Good! One more question: Do the police know you, because--because +of your life?" + +She shook her head, looking at him intently, with those mournfully +true eyes. And he felt a sort of shame. + +"I was obliged to ask. Do you know where he lives?" + +"Yes." + +"You must not go there. And he must not come to you, here." + +Her lips quivered; but she bowed her head. Suddenly he found her +quite close to him, speaking almost in a whisper: + +"Please do not take him from me altogether. I will be so careful. I +will not do anything to hurt him; but if I cannot see him sometimes, +I shall die. Please do not take him from me." And catching his hand +between her own, she pressed it desperately. It was several seconds +before Keith said: + +"Leave that to me. I will see him. I shall arrange. You must leave +that to me." + +"But you will be kind?" + +He felt her lips kissing his hand. And the soft moist touch sent a +queer feeling through him, protective, yet just a little brutal, +having in it a shiver of sensuality. He withdrew his hand. And as +if warned that she had been too pressing, she recoiled humbly. But +suddenly she turned, and stood absolutely rigid; then almost +inaudibly whispered: "Listen! Someone out--out there!" And darting +past him she turned out the light. + +Almost at once came a knock on the door. He could feel--actually +feel the terror of this girl beside him in the dark. And he, too, +felt terror. Who could it be? No one came but Larry, she had said. +Who else then could it be? Again came the knock, louder! He felt +the breath of her whisper on his cheek: "If it is Larry! I must +open." He shrank back against the wall; heard her open the door and +say faintly: "Yes. Please! Who?" + +Light painted a thin moving line on the wall opposite, and a voice +which Keith recognised answered: + +"All right, miss. Your outer door's open here. You ought to keep it +shut after dark." + +God! That policeman! And it had been his own doing, not shutting +the outer door behind him when he came in. He heard her say timidly +in her foreign voice: "Thank you, sir!" the policeman's retreating +steps, the outer door being shut, and felt her close to him again. +That something in her youth and strange prettiness which had touched +and kept him gentle, no longer blunted the edge of his exasperation, +now that he could not see her. They were all the same, these women; +could not speak the truth! And he said brusquely: + +"You told me they didn't know you!" + +Her voice answered like a sigh: + +"I did not think they did, sir. It is so long I was not out in the +town, not since I had Larry." + +The repulsion which all the time seethed deep in Keith welled up at +those words. His brother--son of his mother, a gentleman--the +property of this girl, bound to her, body and soul, by this +unspeakable event! But she had turned up the light. Had she some +intuition that darkness was against her? Yes, she was pretty with +that soft face, colourless save for its lips and dark eyes, with that +face somehow so touchingly, so unaccountably good, and like a +child's. + +"I am going now," he said. "Remember! He mustn't come here; you +mustn't go to him. I shall see him to-morrow. If you are as fond of +him as you say--take care, take care!" + +She sighed out, "Yes! oh, yes!" and Keith went to the door. She was +standing with her back to the wall, and to follow him she only moved +her head--that dove-like face with all its life in eyes which seemed +saying: 'Look into us; nothing we hide; all--all is there!' + +And he went out. + +In the passage he paused before opening the outer door. He did not +want to meet that policeman again; the fellow's round should have +taken him well out of the street by now, and turning the handle +cautiously, he looked out. No one in sight. He stood a moment, +wondering if he should turn to right or left, then briskly crossed +the street. A voice to his right hand said: + +"Good-night, sir." + +There in the shadow of a doorway the policeman was standing. The +fellow must have seen him coming out! Utterly unable to restrain a +start, and muttering "Goodnight!" Keith walked on rapidly: + +He went full quarter of a mile before he lost that startled and +uneasy feeling in sardonic exasperation that he, Keith Darrant, had +been taken for a frequenter of a lady of the town. The whole thing-- +the whole thing!--a vile and disgusting business! His very mind felt +dirty and breathless; his spirit, drawn out of sheath, had slowly to +slide back before he could at all focus and readjust his reasoning +faculty. Certainly, he had got the knowledge he wanted. There was +less danger than he thought. That girl's eyes! No mistaking her +devotion. She would not give Larry away. Yes! Larry must clear +out--South America--the East--it did not matter. But he felt no +relief. The cheap, tawdry room had wrapped itself round his fancy +with its atmosphere of murky love, with the feeling it inspired, of +emotion caged within those yellowish walls and the red stuff of its +furniture. That girl's face! Devotion; truth, too, and beauty, rare +and moving, in its setting of darkness and horror, in that nest of +vice and of disorder!... The dark archway; the street arab, with his +gleeful: "They 'ain't got 'im yet!"; the feel of those bare arms +round his neck; that whisper of horror in the darkness; above all, +again, her child face looking into his, so truthful! And suddenly he +stood quite still in the street. What in God's name was he about? +What grotesque juggling amongst shadows, what strange and ghastly +eccentricity was all this? The forces of order and routine, all the +actualities of his daily life, marched on him at that moment, and +swept everything before them. It was a dream, a nightmare not real! +It was ridiculous! That he--he should thus be bound up with things +so black and bizarre! + +He had come by now to the Strand, that street down which every day he +moved to the Law Courts, to his daily work; his work so dignified and +regular, so irreproachable, and solid. No! The thing was all a +monstrous nightmare! It would go, if he fixed his mind on the +familiar objects around, read the names on the shops, looked at the +faces passing. Far down the thoroughfare he caught the outline of +the old church, and beyond, the loom of the Law Courts themselves. +The bell of a fire-engine sounded, and the horses came galloping by, +with the shining metal, rattle of hoofs and hoarse shouting. Here +was a sensation, real and harmless, dignified and customary! A woman +flaunting round the corner looked up at him, and leered out: "Good- +night!" Even that was customary, tolerable. Two policemen passed, +supporting between them a man the worse for liquor, full of fight and +expletives; the sight was soothing, an ordinary thing which brought +passing annoyance, interest, disgust. It had begun to rain; he felt +it on his face with pleasure--an actual thing, not eccentric, a thing +which happened every day! + +He began to cross the street. Cabs were going at furious speed now +that the last omnibus had ceased to run; it distracted him to take +this actual, ordinary risk run so often every day. During that +crossing of the Strand, with the rain in his face and the cabs +shooting past, he regained for the first time his assurance, shook +off this unreal sense of being in the grip of something, and walked +resolutely to the corner of his home turning. But passing into that +darker stretch, he again stood still. A policeman had also turned +into that street on the other side. Not--surely not! Absurd! They +were all alike to look at--those fellows! Absurd! He walked on +sharply, and let himself into his house. But on his way upstairs he +could not for the life of him help raising a corner of a curtain and +looking from the staircase window. The policeman was marching +solemnly, about twenty-five yards away, paying apparently no +attention to anything whatever. + + + + +IV + +Keith woke at five o'clock, his usual hour, without remembrance. But +the grisly shadow started up when he entered his study, where the +lamp burned, and the fire shone, and the coffee was set ready, just +as when yesterday afternoon Larry had stood out there against the +wall. For a moment he fought against realisation; then, drinking off +his coffee, sat down sullenly at the bureau to his customary three +hours' study of the day's cases. + +Not one word of his brief could he take in. It was all jumbled with +murky images and apprehensions, and for full half an hour he suffered +mental paralysis. Then the sheer necessity of knowing something of +the case which he had to open at half-past ten that morning forced +him to a concentration which never quite subdued the malaise at the +bottom of his heart. Nevertheless, when he rose at half-past eight +and went into the bathroom, he had earned his grim satisfaction in +this victory of will-power. By half-past nine he must be at Larry's. +A boat left London for the Argentine to-morrow. If Larry was to get +away at once, money must be arranged for. And then at breakfast he +came on this paragraph in the paper: + + "SOHO MURDER. + +"Enquiry late last night established the fact that the Police have +discovered the identity of the man found strangled yesterday morning +under an archway in Glove Lane. An arrest has been made." + +By good fortune he had finished eating, for the words made him feel +physically sick. At this very minute Larry might be locked up, +waiting to be charged-might even have been arrested before his own +visit to the girl last night. If Larry were arrested, she must be +implicated. What, then, would be his own position? Idiot to go and +look at that archway, to go and see the girl! Had that policeman +really followed him home? Accessory after the fact! Keith Darrant, +King's Counsel, man of mark! He forced himself by an effort, which +had something of the heroic, to drop this panicky feeling. Panic +never did good. He must face it, and see. He refused even to hurry, +calmly collected the papers wanted for the day, and attended to a +letter or two, before he set out in a taxi-cab to Fitzroy Street. + +Waiting outside there in the grey morning for his ring to be +answered, he looked the very picture of a man who knew his mind, a +man of resolution. But it needed all his will-power to ask without +tremor: "Mr. Darrant in?" to hear without sign of any kind the +answer: "He's not up yet, sir." + +"Never mind; I'll go in and see him. Mr. Keith Darrant." + +On his way to Laurence's bedroom, in the midst of utter relief, he +had the self-possession to think: 'This arrest is the best thing that +could have happened. It'll keep their noses on a wrong scent till +Larry's got away. The girl must be sent off too, but not with him.' +Panic had ended in quite hardening his resolution. He entered the +bedroom with a feeling of disgust. The fellow was lying there, his +bare arms crossed behind his tousled head, staring at the ceiling, +and smoking one of many cigarettes whose ends littered a chair beside +him, whose sickly reek tainted the air. That pale face, with its +jutting cheek-bones and chin, its hollow cheeks and blue eyes far +sunk back--what a wreck of goodness! + +He looked up at Keith through the haze of smoke and said quietly: +"Well, brother, what's the sentence? 'Transportation for life, and +then to be fined forty pounds?'" + +The flippancy revolted Keith. It was Larry all over! Last night +horrified and humble, this morning, "Don't care" and feather-headed. +He said sourly: + +"Oh! You can joke about it now?" + +Laurence turned his face to the wall. + +"Must." + +Fatalism! How detestable were natures like that! + +"I've been to see her," he said. + +"You?" + +"Last night. She can be trusted." + +Laurence laughed. + +"That I told you." + +"I had to see for myself. You must clear out at once, Larry. She +can come out to you by the next boat; but you can't go together. +Have you any money?" + +"No." + +"I can foot your expenses, and lend you a year's income in advance. +But it must be a clean cut; after you get out there your whereabouts +must only be known to me." + +A long sigh answered him. + +"You're very good to me, Keith; you've always been very good. I +don't know why." + +Keith answered drily + +"Nor I. There's a boat to the Argentine tomorrow. You're in luck; +they've made an arrest. It's in the paper." + +"What?" + +The cigarette end dropped, the thin pyjama'd figure writhed up and +stood clutching at the bedrail. + +"What?" + +The disturbing thought flitted through Keith's brain: 'I was a fool. +He takes it queerly; what now?' + +Laurence passed his hand over his forehead, and sat down on the bed. + +"I hadn't thought of that," he said; "It does me!" + +Keith stared. In his relief that the arrested man was not Laurence, +this had not occurred to him. What folly! + +"Why?" he said quickly; "an innocent man's in no danger. They +always get the wrong man first. It's a piece of luck, that's all. +It gives us time." + +How often had he not seen that expression on Larry's face, wistful, +questioning, as if trying to see the thing with his--Keith's-eyes, +trying to submit to better judgment? And he said, almost gently + +"Now, look here, Larry; this is too serious to trifle with. Don't +worry about that. Leave it to me. Just get ready to be off'. I'll +take your berth and make arrangements. Here's some money for kit. I +can come round between five and six, and let you know. Pull yourself +together, man. As soon as the girl's joined you out there, you'd +better get across to Chile, the further the better. You must simply +lose yourself: I must go now, if I'm to get to the Bank before I go +down to the courts." And looking very steadily at his brother, he +added: + +"Come! You've got to think of me in this matter as well as of +yourself. No playing fast and loose with the arrangements. +Understand?" + +But still Larry gazed up at him with that wistful questioning, and +not till he had repeated, "Understand?" did he receive "Yes" for +answer. + +Driving away, he thought: 'Queer fellow! I don't know him, shall +never know him!' and at once began to concentrate on the practical +arrangements. At his bank he drew out L400; but waiting for the +notes to be counted he suffered qualms. A clumsy way of doing +things! If there had been more time! The thought: 'Accessory after +the fact!' now infected everything. Notes were traceable. No other +way of getting him away at once, though. One must take lesser risks +to avoid greater. From the bank he drove to the office of the +steamship line. He had told Larry he would book his passage. But +that would not do! He must only ask anonymously if there were +accommodation. Having discovered that there were vacant berths, he +drove on to the Law Courts. If he could have taken a morning off, he +would have gone down to the police court and seen them charge this +man. But even that was not too safe, with a face so well known as +his. What would come of this arrest? Nothing, surely! The police +always took somebody up, to keep the public quiet. Then, suddenly, +he had again the feeling that it was all a nightmare; Larry had never +done it; the police had got the right man! But instantly the memory +of the girl's awe-stricken face, her figure huddling on the sofa, her +words "I see him always falling!" came back. God! What a business! + +He felt he had never been more clear-headed and forcible than that +morning in court. When he came out for lunch he bought the most +sensational of the evening papers. But it was yet too early for +news, and he had to go back into court no whit wiser concerning the +arrest. When at last he threw off wig and gown, and had got through +a conference and other necessary work, he went out to Chancery Lane, +buying a paper on the way. Then he hailed a cab, and drove once more +to Fitzroy Street. + + + + +V + +Laurence had remained sitting on his bed for many minutes. An +innocent man in no danger! Keith had said it--the celebrated lawyer! +Could he rely on that? Go out 8,000 miles, he and the girl, and +leave a fellow-creature perhaps in mortal peril for an act committed +by himself? + +In the past night he had touched bottom, as he thought: become ready +to face anything. When Keith came in he would without murmur have +accepted the advice: "Give yourself up!" He was prepared to pitch +away the end of his life as he pitched from him the fag-ends of his +cigarettes. And the long sigh he had heaved, hearing of reprieve, +had been only half relief. Then, with incredible swiftness there had +rushed through him a feeling of unutterable joy and hope. Clean +away--into a new country, a new life! The girl and he! Out there he +wouldn't care, would rejoice even to have squashed the life out of +such a noisome beetle of a man. Out there! Under a new sun, where +blood ran quicker than in this foggy land, and people took justice +into their own hands. For it had been justice on that brute even +though he had not meant to kill him. And then to hear of this +arrest! They would be charging the man to-day. He could go and see +the poor creature accused of the murder he himself had committed! +And he laughed. Go and see how likely it was that they might hang a +fellow-man in place of himself? He dressed, but too shaky to shave +himself, went out to a barber's shop. While there he read the news +which Keith had seen. In this paper the name of the arrested man was +given: "John Evan, no address." To be brought up on the charge at +Bow Street. Yes! He must go. Once, twice, three times he walked +past the entrance of the court before at last he entered and screwed +himself away among the tag and bobtail. + +The court was crowded; and from the murmurs round he could tell that +it was his particular case which had brought so many there. In a +dazed way he watched charge after charge disposed of with lightning +quickness. But were they never going to reach his business? And +then suddenly he saw the little scarecrow man of last night advancing +to the dock between two policemen, more ragged and miserable than +ever by light of day, like some shaggy, wan, grey animal, surrounded +by sleek hounds. + +A sort of satisfied purr was rising all round; and with horror +Laurence perceived that this--this was the man accused of what he +himself had done--this queer, battered unfortunate to whom he had +shown a passing friendliness. Then all feeling merged in the +appalling interest of listening. The evidence was very short. +Testimony of the hotel-keeper where Walenn had been staying, the +identification of his body, and of a snake-shaped ring he had been +wearing at dinner that evening. Testimony of a pawnbroker, that this +same ring was pawned with him the first thing yesterday morning by +the prisoner. Testimony of a policeman that he had noticed the man +Evan several times in Glove Lane, and twice moved him on from +sleeping under that arch. Testimony of another policeman that, when +arrested at midnight, Evan had said: "Yes; I took the ring off his +finger. I found him there dead .... I know I oughtn't to have done +it.... I'm an educated man; it was stupid to pawn the ring. I found +him with his pockets turned inside out." + +Fascinating and terrible to sit staring at the man in whose place he +should have been; to wonder when those small bright-grey bloodshot +eyes would spy him out, and how he would meet that glance. Like a +baited raccoon the little man stood, screwed back into a corner, +mournful, cynical, fierce, with his ridged, obtuse yellow face, and +his stubbly grey beard and hair, and his eyes wandering now and again +amongst the crowd. But with all his might Laurence kept his face +unmoved. Then came the word "Remanded"; and, more like a baited +beast than ever, the man was led away. + +Laurence sat on, a cold perspiration thick on his forehead. Someone +else, then, had come on the body and turned the pockets inside out +before John Evan took the ring. A man such as Walenn would not be +out at night without money. Besides, if Evan had found money on the +body he would never have run the risk of taking that ring. Yes, +someone else had come on the body first. It was for that one to come +forward, and prove that the ring was still on the dead man's finger +when he left him, and thus clear Evan. He clung to that thought; it +seemed to make him less responsible for the little man's position; to +remove him and his own deed one step further back. If they found the +person who had taken the money, it would prove Evan's innocence. He +came out of the court in a sort of trance. And a craving to get +drunk attacked him. One could not go on like this without the relief +of some oblivion. If he could only get drunk, keep drunk till this +business was decided and he knew whether he must give himself up or +no. He had now no fear at all of people suspecting him; only fear of +himself--fear that he might go and give himself up. Now he could see +the girl; the danger from that was as nothing compared with the +danger from his own conscience. He had promised Keith not to see +her. Keith had been decent and loyal to him--good old Keith! But he +would never understand that this girl was now all he cared about in +life; that he would rather be cut off from life itself than be cut +off from her. Instead of becoming less and less, she was becoming +more and more to him--experience strange and thrilling! Out of deep +misery she had grown happy--through him; out of a sordid, shifting +life recovered coherence and bloom, through devotion to him him, of +all people in the world! It was a miracle. She demanded nothing of +him, adored him, as no other woman ever had--it was this which had +anchored his drifting barque; this--and her truthful mild +intelligence, and that burning warmth of a woman, who, long treated +by men as but a sack of sex, now loves at last. + +And suddenly, mastering his craving to get drunk, he made towards +Soho. He had been a fool to give those keys to Keith. She must have +been frightened by his visit; and, perhaps, doubly miserable since, +knowing nothing, imagining everything! Keith was sure to have +terrified her. Poor little thing! + +Down the street where he had stolen in the dark with the dead body on +his back, he almost ran for the cover of her house. The door was +opened to him before he knocked, her arms were round his neck, her +lips pressed to his. The fire was out, as if she had been unable to +remember to keep warm. A stool had been drawn to the window, and +there she had evidently been sitting, like a bird in a cage, looking +out into the grey street. Though she had been told that he was not +to come, instinct had kept her there; or the pathetic, aching hope +against hope which lovers never part with. + +Now that he was there, her first thoughts were for his comfort. The +fire was lighted. He must eat, drink, smoke. There was never in her +doings any of the "I am doing this for you, but you ought to be doing +that for me" which belongs to so many marriages, and liaisons. She +was like a devoted slave, so in love with the chains that she never +knew she wore them. And to Laurence, who had so little sense of +property, this only served to deepen tenderness, and the hold she had +on him. He had resolved not to tell her of the new danger he ran +from his own conscience. But resolutions with him were but the +opposites of what was sure to come; and at last the words: + +"They've arrested someone," escaped him. + +>From her face he knew she had grasped the danger at once; had divined +it, perhaps, before he spoke. But she only twined her arms round him +and kissed his lips. And he knew that she was begging him to put his +love for her above his conscience. Who would ever have thought that +he could feel as he did to this girl who had been in the arms of +many! The stained and suffering past of a loved woman awakens in +some men only chivalry; in others, more respectable, it rouses a +tigerish itch, a rancorous jealousy of what in the past was given to +others. Sometimes it will do both. When he had her in his arms he +felt no remorse for killing the coarse, handsome brute who had ruined +her. He savagely rejoiced in it. But when she laid her head in the +hollow of his shoulder, turning to him her white face with the faint +colour-staining on the parted lips, the cheeks, the eyelids; when her +dark, wide-apart, brown eyes gazed up in the happiness of her +abandonment--he felt only tenderness and protection. + +He left her at five o'clock, and had not gone two streets' length +before the memory of the little grey vagabond, screwed back in the +far corner of the dock like a baited raccoon, of his dreary, creaking +voice, took possession of him again; and a kind of savagery mounted +in his brain against a world where one could be so tortured without +having meant harm to anyone. + +At the door of his lodgings Keith was getting out of a cab. They +went in together, but neither of them sat down; Keith standing with +his back to the carefully shut door, Laurence with his back to the +table, as if they knew there was a tug coming. And Keith said: +"There's room on that boat. Go down and book your berth before they +shut. Here's the money!" + +"I'm going to stick it, Keith." + +Keith stepped forward, and put a roll of notes on the table. + +"Now look here, Larry. I've read the police court proceedings. +There's nothing in that. Out of prison, or in prison for a few +weeks, it's all the same to a night-bird of that sort. Dismiss it +from your mind--there's not nearly enough evidence to convict. This +gives you your chance. Take it like a man, and make a new life for +yourself." + +Laurence smiled; but the smile had a touch of madness and a touch of +malice. He took up the notes. + +"Clear out, and save the honour of brother Keith. Put them back in +your pocket, Keith, or I'll put them in the fire. Come, take them!" +And, crossing to the fire, he held them to the bars. "Take them, or +in they go!" + +Keith took back the notes. + +"I've still got some kind of honour, Keith; if I clear out I shall +have none, not the rag of any, left. It may be worth more to me than +that--I can't tell yet--I can't tell." There was a long silence +before Keith answered. "I tell you you're mistaken; no jury will +convict. If they did, a judge would never hang on it. A ghoul who +can rob a dead body ought to be in prison. What he did is worse than +what you did, if you come to that!" Laurence lifted his face. +"Judge not, brother," he said; "the heart is a dark well." Keith's +yellowish face grew red and swollen, as though he were mastering the +tickle of a bronchial cough. "What are you going to do, then? I +suppose I may ask you not to be entirely oblivious of our name; or is +such a consideration unworthy of your honour?" Laurence bent his +head. The gesture said more clearly than words: 'Don't kick a man +when he's down!' + +"I don't know what I'm going to do--nothing at present. I'm awfully +sorry, Keith; awfully sorry." + +Keith looked at him, and without another word went out. + + + + +VI + +To any, save philosophers, reputation may be threatened almost as +much by disgrace to name and family as by the disgrace of self. +Keith's instinct was always to deal actively with danger. But this +blow, whether it fell on him by discovery or by confession, could not +be countered. As blight falls on a rose from who knows where, the +scandalous murk would light on him. No repulse possible! Not even a +wriggling from under! Brother of a murderer hung or sent to penal +servitude! His daughter niece to a murderer! His dead mother-a +murderer's mother! And to wait day after day, week after week, not +knowing whether the blow would fall, was an extraordinarily atrocious +penance, the injustice of which, to a man of rectitude, seemed daily +the more monstrous. + +The remand had produced evidence that the murdered man had been +drinking heavily on the night of his death, and further evidence of +the accused's professional vagabondage and destitution; it was shown, +too, that for some time the archway in Glove Lane had been his +favourite night haunt. He had been committed for trial in January. +This time, despite misgivings, Keith had attended the police court. +To his great relief Larry was not there. But the policeman who had +come up while he was looking at the archway, and given him afterwards +that scare in the girl's rooms, was chief witness to the way the +accused man haunted Glove Lane. Though Keith held his silk hat high, +he still had the uncomfortable feeling that the man had recognised +him. + +His conscience suffered few, if any, twinges for letting this man +rest under the shadow of the murder. He genuinely believed that +there was not evidence enough to convict; nor was it in him to +appreciate the tortures of a vagabond shut up. The scamp deserved +what he had got, for robbing a dead body; and in any case such a +scarecrow was better off in prison than sleeping out under archways +in December. Sentiment was foreign to Keith's character, and his +justice that of those who subordinate the fates of the weak and +shiftless to the needful paramountcy of the strong and well +established. + +His daughter came back from school for the Christmas holidays. It +was hard to look up from her bright eyes and rosy cheeks and see this +shadow hanging above his calm and ordered life, as in a glowing room +one's eye may catch an impending patch of darkness drawn like a +spider's web across a corner of the ceiling. + +On the afternoon of Christmas Eve they went, by her desire, to a +church in Soho, where the Christmas Oratorio was being given; and +coming away passed, by chance of a wrong turning, down Borrow Street. +Ugh! How that startled moment, when the girl had pressed herself +against him in the dark, and her terror-stricken whisper: "Oh! Who +is it?" leaped out before him! Always that business--that ghastly +business! After the trial he would have another try to get them both +away. And he thrust his arm within his young daughter's, hurrying +her on, out of this street where shadows filled all the winter air. + +But that evening when she had gone to bed he felt uncontrollably +restless. He had not seen Larry for weeks. What was he about? What +desperations were hatching in his disorderly brain? Was he very +miserable; had he perhaps sunk into a stupor of debauchery? And the +old feeling of protectiveness rose up in him; a warmth born of long +ago Christmas Eves, when they had stockings hung out in the night +stuffed by a Santa Claus, whose hand never failed to tuck them up, +whose kiss was their nightly waft into sleep. + +Stars were sparkling out there over the river; the sky frosty-clear, +and black. Bells had not begun to ring as yet. And obeying an +obscure, deep impulse, Keith wrapped himself once more into his fur +coat, pulled a motoring cap over his eyes, and sallied forth. +In the Strand he took a cab to Fitzroy Street. There was no light in +Larry's windows, and on a card he saw the words "To Let." Gone! Had +he after all cleared out for good? But how-without money? And the +girl? Bells were ringing now in the silent frostiness. Christmas +Eve! And Keith thought: 'If only this wretched business were off my +mind! Monstrous that one should suffer for the faults of others!' +He took a route which led him past Borrow Street. Solitude brooded +there, and he walked resolutely down on the far side, looking hard at +the girl's window. There was a light. The curtains just failed to +meet, so that a thin gleam shone through. He crossed; and after +glancing swiftly up and down, deliberately peered in. + +He only stood there perhaps twenty seconds, but visual records +gleaned in a moment sometimes outlast the visions of hours and days. +The electric light was not burning; but, in the centre of the room +the girl was kneeling in her nightgown before a little table on which +were four lighted candles. Her arms were crossed on her breast; the +candle-light shone on her fair cropped hair, on the profile of cheek +and chin, on her bowed white neck. For a moment he thought her +alone; then behind her saw his brother in a sleeping suit, leaning +against the wall, with arms crossed, watching. It was the expression +on his face which burned the whole thing in, so that always +afterwards he was able to see that little scene--such an expression +as could never have been on the face of one even faintly conscious +that he was watched by any living thing on earth. The whole of +Larry's heart and feeling seemed to have come up out of him. +Yearning, mockery, love, despair! The depth of his feeling for this +girl, his stress of mind, fears, hopes; the flotsam good and evil of +his soul, all transfigured there, exposed and unforgettable. The +candle-light shone upward on to his face, twisted by the strangest +smile; his eyes, darker and more wistful than mortal eyes should be, +seemed to beseech and mock the white-clad girl, who, all unconscious, +knelt without movement, like a carved figure of devotion. The words +seemed coming from his lips: "Pray for us! Bravo! Yes! Pray for +us!" And suddenly Keith saw her stretch out her arms, and lift her +face with a look of ecstasy, and Laurence starting forward. What had +she seen beyond the candle flames? It is the unexpected which +invests visions with poignancy. Nothing more strange could Keith +have seen in this nest of the murky and illicit. But in sheer panic +lest he might be caught thus spying he drew back and hurried on. +So Larry was living there with her! When the moment came he could +still find him. + +Before going in, he stood full five minutes leaning on the terrace +parapet before his house, gazing at the star-frosted sky, and the +river cut by the trees into black pools, oiled over by gleams from +the Embankment lamps. And, deep down, behind his mere thoughts, he +ached-somehow, somewhere ached. Beyond the cage of all that he saw +and heard and thought, he had perceived something he could not reach. +But the night was cold, the bells silent, for it had struck twelve. +Entering his house, he stole upstairs. + + + + +VII + +If for Keith those six weeks before the Glove Lane murder trial came +on were fraught with uneasiness and gloom, they were for Laurence +almost the happiest since his youth. From the moment when he left +his rooms and went to the girl's to live, a kind of peace and +exaltation took possession of him. Not by any effort of will did he +throw off the nightmare hanging over him. Nor was he drugged by +love. He was in a sort of spiritual catalepsy. In face of fate too +powerful for his will, his turmoil, anxiety, and even restlessness +had ceased; his life floated in the ether of "what must come, will." +Out of this catalepsy, his spirit sometimes fell headlong into black +waters. In one such whirlpool he was struggling on the night of +Christmas Eve. When the girl rose from her knees he asked her: + +"What did you see?" + +Pressing close to him, she drew him down on to the floor before the +fire; and they sat, knees drawn up, hands clasped, like two children +trying to see over the edge of the world. + +"It was the Virgin I saw. She stood against the wall and smiled. We +shall be happy soon." + +"When we die, Wanda," he said, suddenly, "let it be together. We +shall keep each other warm, out there." + +Huddling to him she whispered: "Yes, oh, yes! If you die, I could +not go on living." + +It was this utter dependence on him, the feeling that he had rescued +something, which gave him sense of anchorage. That, and his buried +life in the retreat of these two rooms. Just for an hour in the +morning, from nine to ten, the charwoman would come, but not another +soul all day. They never went out together. He would stay in bed +late, while Wanda bought what they needed for the day's meals; lying +on his back, hands clasped behind his head, recalling her face, the +movements of her slim, rounded, supple figure, robing itself before +his gaze; feeling again the kiss she had left on his lips, the gleam +of her soft eyes, so strangely dark in so fair a face. In a sort of +trance he would lie till she came back. Then get up to breakfast +about noon off things which she had cooked, drinking coffee. In the +afternoon he would go out alone and walk for hours, any where, so +long as it was East. To the East there was always suffering to be +seen, always that which soothed him with the feeling that he and his +troubles were only a tiny part of trouble; that while so many other +sorrowing and shadowy creatures lived he was not cut off. To go West +was to encourage dejection. In the West all was like Keith, +successful, immaculate, ordered, resolute. He would come back tired +out, and sit watching her cook their little dinner. The evenings +were given up to love. Queer trance of an existence, which both were +afraid to break. No sign from her of wanting those excitements which +girls who have lived her life, even for a few months, are supposed to +need. She never asked him to take her anywhere; never, in word, +deed, look, seemed anything but almost rapturously content. And yet +he knew, and she knew, that they were only waiting to see whether +Fate would turn her thumb down on them. In these days he did not +drink. Out of his quarter's money, when it came in, he had paid his +debts--their expenses were very small. He never went to see Keith, +never wrote to him, hardly thought of him. And from those dread +apparitions--Walenn lying with the breath choked out of him, and the +little grey, driven animal in the dock--he hid, as only a man can who +must hide or be destroyed. But daily he bought a newspaper, and +feverishly, furtively scanned its columns. + + + + +VIII + +Coming out of the Law Courts on the afternoon of January 28th, at the +triumphant end of a desperately fought will case, Keith saw on a +poster the words: "Glove Lane Murder: Trial and Verdict"; and with a +rush of dismay he thought: 'Good God! I never looked at the paper +this morning!' The elation which had filled him a second before, the +absorption he had felt for two days now in the case so hardly won, +seemed suddenly quite sickeningly trivial. What on earth had he been +doing to forget that horrible business even for an instant? He stood +quite still on the crowded pavement, unable, really unable, to buy a +paper. But his face was like a piece of iron when he did step +forward and hold his penny out. There it was in the Stop Press! +"Glove Lane Murder. The jury returned a verdict of Guilty. Sentence +of death was passed." + +His first sensation was simple irritation. How had they come to +commit such an imbecility? Monstrous! The evidence--! Then the +futility of even reading the report, of even considering how they had +come to record such a verdict struck him with savage suddenness. +There it was, and nothing he could do or say would alter it; no +condemnation of this idiotic verdict would help reverse it. The +situation was desperate, indeed! That five minutes' walk from the +Law Courts to his chambers was the longest he had ever taken. + +Men of decided character little know beforehand what they will do in +certain contingencies. For the imaginations of decided people do not +endow mere contingencies with sufficient actuality. Keith had never +really settled what he was going to do if this man were condemned. +Often in those past weeks he had said to himself: "Of course, if they +bring him in guilty, that's another thing!" But, now that they had, +he was beset by exactly the same old arguments and feelings, the same +instincts of loyalty and protection towards Laurence and himself, +intensified by the fearful imminence of the danger. And yet, here +was this man about to be hung for a thing he had not done! Nothing +could get over that! But then he was such a worthless vagabond, a +ghoul who had robbed a dead body. If Larry were condemned in his +stead, would there be any less miscarriage of justice? To strangle a +brute who had struck you, by the accident of keeping your hands on +his throat a few seconds too long, was there any more guilt in that-- +was there even as much, as in deliberate theft from a dead man? +Reverence for order, for justice, and established fact, will, often +march shoulder to shoulder with Jesuitry in natures to whom success +is vital. + +In the narrow stone passage leading to his staircase, a friend had +called out: "Bravo, Darrant! That was a squeak! Congratulations!" +And with a bitter little smile Keith thought: 'Congratulations! I!' + +At the first possible moment the hurried back to the Strand, and +hailing a cab, he told the man to put him down at a turning near to +Borrow Street. + +It was the girl who opened to his knock. Startled, clasping her +hands, she looked strange to Keith in her black skirt and blouse of +some soft velvety stuff the colour of faded roses. Her round, rather +long throat was bare; and Keith noticed fretfully that she wore gold +earrings. Her eyes, so pitch dark against her white face, and the +short fair hair, which curled into her neck, seemed both to search +and to plead. + +"My brother?" + +"He is not in, sir, yet." + +"Do you know where he is?" + +"No." + +"He is living with you here now?" + +"Yes." + +"Are you still as fond of him as ever, then?" + +With a movement, as though she despaired of words, she clasped her +hands over her heart. And he said: + +"I see." + +He had the same strange feeling as on his first visit to her, and +when through the chink in the curtains he had watched her kneeling-- +of pity mingled with some faint sexual emotion. And crossing to the +fire he asked: + +"May I wait for him?" + +"Oh! Please! Will you sit down?" + +But Keith shook his head. And with a catch in her breath, she said: + +"You will not take him from me. I should die." + +He turned round on her sharply. + +"I don't want him taken from you. I want to help you keep him. Are +you ready to go away, at any time?" + +"Yes. Oh, yes!" + +"And he?" + +She answered almost in a whisper: + +"Yes; but there is that poor man." + +"That poor man is a graveyard thief; a hyena; a ghoul--not worth +consideration." And the rasp in his own voice surprised him. + +"Ah!" she sighed. "But I am sorry for him. Perhaps he was hungry. +I have been hungry--you do things then that you would not. And +perhaps he has no one to love; if you have no one to love you can be +very bad. I think of him often--in prison." + +Between his teeth Keith muttered: "And Laurence?" + +"We do never speak of it, we are afraid." + +"He's not told you, then, about the trial?" + +Her eyes dilated. + +"The trial! Oh! He was strange last night. This morning, too, he +got up early. Is it-is it over?" + +"Yes." + +"What has come?" + +"Guilty." + +For a moment Keith thought she was going to faint. She had closed +her eyes, and swayed so that he took a step, and put his hands on her +arms. + +"Listen!" he said. "Help me; don't let Laurence out of your sight. +We must have time. I must see what they intend to do. They can't be +going to hang this man. I must have time, I tell you. You must +prevent his giving himself up." + +She stood, staring in his face, while he still held her arms, +gripping into her soft flesh through the velvety sleeves. + +"Do you understand?" + +"Yes-but if he has already!" + +Keith felt the shiver which ran through her. And the thought rushed +into his mind: 'My God! Suppose the police come round while I'm +here!' If Larry had indeed gone to them! If that Policeman who had +seen him here the night after the murder should find him here again +just after the verdict! He said almost fiercely: + +"Can I trust you not to let Larry out of your sight? Quick! +Answer!" + +Clasping her hands to her breast, she answered humbly: + +"I will try." + +"If he hasn't already done this, watch him like a lynx! Don't let +him go out without you. I'll come to-morrow morning early. You're a +Catholic, aren't you? Swear to me that you won't let him do anything +till he's seen me again." + +She did not answer, looking past him at the door; and Keith heard a +key in the latch. There was Laurence himself, holding in his hand a +great bunch of pink lilies and white narcissi. His face was pale and +haggard. He said quietly: + +"Hallo, Keith!" + +The girl's eyes were fastened on Larry's face; and Keith, looking +from one to the other, knew that he had never had more need for +wariness. + +"Have you seen?" he said. + +Laurence nodded. His expression, as a rule so tell-tale of his +emotions, baffled Keith utterly. + +"Well?" + +"I've been expecting it." + +"The thing can't stand--that's certain. But I must have time to look +into the report. I must have time to see what I can do. D'you +understand me, Larry--I must have time." He knew he was talking at +random. The only thing was to get them away at once out of reach of +confession; but he dared not say so. + +"Promise me that you'll do nothing, that you won't go out even till +I've seen you to-morrow morning." + +Again Laurence nodded. And Keith looked at the girl. Would she see +that he did not break that promise? Her eyes were still fixed +immovably on Larry's face. And with the feeling that he could get no +further, Keith turned to go. + +"Promise me," he said. + +Laurence answered: "I promise." + +He was smiling. Keith could make nothing of that smile, nor of the +expression in the girl's eyes. And saying: "I have your promise, I +rely on it!" he went. + + + + +IX + +To keep from any woman who loves, knowledge of her lover's mood, is +as hard as to keep music from moving the heart. But when that woman +has lived in suffering, and for the first time knows the comfort of +love, then let the lover try as he may to disguise his heart--no use! +Yet by virtue of subtler abnegation she will often succeed in keeping +it from him that she knows. + +When Keith was gone the girl made no outcry, asked no questions, +managed that Larry should not suspect her intuition; all that evening +she acted as if she knew of nothing preparing within him, and through +him, within herself. + +His words, caresses, the very zest with which he helped her to +prepare the feast, the flowers he had brought, the wine he made her +drink, the avoidance of any word which could spoil their happiness, +all--all told her. He was too inexorably gay and loving. Not for +her--to whom every word and every kiss had uncannily the desperate +value of a last word and kiss--not for her to deprive herself of +these by any sign or gesture which might betray her prescience. Poor +soul--she took all, and would have taken more, a hundredfold. She +did not want to drink the wine he kept tilting into her glass, but, +with the acceptance learned by women who have lived her life, she did +not refuse. She had never refused him anything. So much had been +required of her by the detestable, that anything required by a loved +one was but an honour. + +Laurence drank deeply; but he had never felt clearer, never seen +things more clearly. The wine gave him what he wanted, an edge to +these few hours of pleasure, an exaltation of energy. It dulled his +sense of pity, too. It was pity he was afraid of--for himself, and +for this girl. To make even this tawdry room look beautiful, with +firelight and candlelight, dark amber wine in the glasses, tall pink +lilies spilling their saffron, exuding their hot perfume he and even +himself must look their best. And with a weight as of lead on her +heart, she managed that for him, letting him strew her with flowers +and crush them together with herself. Not even music was lacking to +their feast. Someone was playing a pianola across the street, and +the sound, very faint, came stealing when they were silent--swelling, +sinking, festive, mournful; having a far-off life of its own, like +the flickering fire-flames before which they lay embraced, or the +lilies delicate between the candles. Listening to that music, +tracing with his finger the tiny veins on her breast, he lay like one +recovering from a swoon. No parting. None! But sleep, as the +firelight sleeps when flames die; as music sleeps on its deserted +strings. + +And the girl watched him. + +It was nearly ten when he bade her go to bed. And after she had gone +obedient into the bedroom, he brought ink and paper down by the fire. +The drifter, the unstable, the good-for-nothing--did not falter. He +had thought, when it came to the point, he would fail himself; but a +sort of rage bore him forward. If he lived on, and confessed, they +would shut him up, take from him the one thing he loved, cut him off +from her; sand up his only well in the desert. Curse them! And he +wrote by firelight which mellowed the white sheets of paper; while, +against the dark curtain, the girl, in her nightgown, unconscious of +the cold, stood watching. + +Men, when they drown, remember their pasts. Like the lost poet he +had "gone with the wind." Now it was for him to be true in his +fashion. A man may falter for weeks and weeks, consciously, +subconsciously, even in his dreams, till there comes that moment when +the only thing impossible is to go on faltering. The black cap, the +little driven grey man looking up at it with a sort of wonder-- +faltering had ceased! + +He had finished now, and was but staring into the fire. + + "No more, no more, the moon is dead, + And all the people in it; + The poppy maidens strew the bed, + We'll come in half a minute." + +Why did doggerel start up in the mind like that? Wanda! The weed- +flower become so rare he would not be parted from her! The fire, the +candles, and the fire--no more the flame and flicker! + +And, by the dark curtain, the girl watched. + + + + +X + +Keith went, not home, but to his club; and in the room devoted to the +reception of guests, empty at this hour, he sat down and read the +report of the trial. The fools had made out a case that looked black +enough. And for a long time, on the thick soft carpet which let out +no sound of footfall, he paced up and down, thinking. He might see +the defending counsel, might surely do that as an expert who thought +there had been miscarriage of justice. They must appeal; a petition +too might be started in the last event. The thing could--must be put +right yet, if only Larry and that girl did nothing! + +He had no appetite, but the custom of dining is too strong. And +while he ate, he glanced with irritation at his fellow-members. They +looked so at their ease. Unjust--that this black cloud should hang +over one blameless as any of them! Friends, connoisseurs of such +things--a judge among them--came specially to his table to express +their admiration of his conduct of that will case. Tonight he had +real excuse for pride, but he felt none. Yet, in this well-warmed +quietly glowing room, filled with decorously eating, decorously +talking men, he gained insensibly some comfort. This surely was +reality; that shadowy business out there only the drear sound of a +wind one must and did keep out--like the poverty and grime which had +no real existence for the secure and prosperous. He drank champagne. +It helped to fortify reality, to make shadows seem more shadowy. And +down in the smoking-room he sat before the fire, in one of those +chairs which embalm after-dinner dreams. He grew sleepy there, and +at eleven o'clock rose to go home. But when he had once passed down +the shallow marble steps, out through the revolving door which let in +no draughts, he was visited by fear, as if he had drawn it in with +the breath of the January wind. Larry's face; and the girl watching +it! Why had she watched like that? Larry's smile; and the flowers +in his hand? Buying flowers at such a moment! The girl was his +slave-whatever he told her, she would do. But she would never be +able to stop him. At this very moment he might be rushing to give +himself up! + +His hand, thrust deep into the pocket of his fur coat, came in +contact suddenly with something cold. The keys Larry had given him +all that time ago. There they had lain forgotten ever since. The +chance touch decided him. He turned off towards Borrow Street, +walking at full speed. He could but go again and see. He would +sleep better if he knew that he had left no stone unturned. At the +corner of that dismal street he had to wait for solitude before he +made for the house which he now loathed with a deadly loathing. He +opened the outer door and shut it to behind him. He knocked, but no +one came. Perhaps they had gone to bed. Again and again he knocked, +then opened the door, stepped in, and closed it carefully. Candles +lighted, the fire burning; cushions thrown on the floor in front of +it and strewn with flowers! The table, too, covered with flowers and +with the remnants of a meal. Through the half-drawn curtain he could +see that the inner room was also lighted. Had they gone out, leaving +everything like this? Gone out! His heart beat. Bottles! Larry had +been drinking! + +Had it really come? Must he go back home with this murk on him; +knowing that his brother was a confessed and branded murderer? He +went quickly, to the half-drawn curtains and looked in. Against the +wall he saw a bed, and those two in it. He recoiled in sheer +amazement and relief. Asleep with curtains undrawn, lights left on? +Asleep through all his knocking! They must both be drunk. The blood +rushed up in his neck. Asleep! And rushing forward again, he called +out: "Larry!" Then, with a gasp he went towards the bed. "Larry!" +No answer! No movement! Seizing his brother's shoulder, he shook it +violently. It felt cold. They were lying in each other's arms, +breast to breast, lips to lips, their faces white in the light +shining above the dressing-table. And such a shudder shook Keith +that he had to grasp the brass rail above their heads. Then he bent +down, and wetting his finger, placed it close to their joined lips. +No two could ever swoon so utterly as that; not even a drunken sleep +could be so fast. His wet finger felt not the faintest stir of air, +nor was there any movement in the pulses of their hands. No breath! +No life! The eyes of the girl were closed. How strangely innocent +she looked! Larry's open eyes seemed to be gazing at her shut eyes; +but Keith saw that they were sightless. With a sort of sob he drew +down the lids. Then, by an impulse that he could never have +explained, he laid a hand on his brother's head, and a hand on the +girl's fair hair. The clothes had fallen down a little from her bare +shoulder; he pulled them up, as if to keep her warm, and caught the +glint of metal; a tiny gilt crucifix no longer than a thumbnail, on a +thread of steel chain, had slipped down from her breast into the +hollow of the arm which lay round Larry's neck. Keith buried it +beneath the clothes and noticed an envelope pinned to the coverlet; +bending down, he read: "Please give this at once to the police.-- +LAURENCE DARRANT." He thrust it into his pocket. Like elastic +stretched beyond its uttermost, his reason, will, faculties of +calculation and resolve snapped to within him. He thought with +incredible swiftness: 'I must know nothing of this. I must go!' +And, almost before he knew that he had moved, he was out again in the +street. + +He could never have told of what he thought while he was walking +home. He did not really come to himself till he was in his study. +There, with a trembling hand, he poured himself out whisky and drank +it off. If he had not chanced to go there, the charwoman would have +found them when she came in the morning, and given that envelope to +the police! He took it out. He had a right--a right to know what +was in it! He broke it open. + +"I, Laurence Darrant, about to die by my own hand, declare that this +is a solemn and true confession. I committed what is known as the +Glove Lane Murder on the night of November the 27th last in the +following way"--on and on to the last words--"We didn't want to die; +but we could not bear separation, and I couldn't face letting an +innocent man be hung for me. I do not see any other way. I beg that +there may be no postmortem on our bodies. The stuff we have taken is +some of that which will be found on the dressing-table. Please bury +us together. + +"LAURENCE DARRANT. +"January the 28th, about ten o'clock p.m." + +Full five minutes Keith stood with those sheets of paper in his hand, +while the clock ticked, the wind moaned a little in the trees +outside, the flames licked the logs with the quiet click and ruffle +of their intense far-away life down there on the hearth. Then he +roused himself, and sat down to read the whole again. + + +There it was, just as Larry had told it to him-nothing left out, very +clear; even to the addresses of people who could identify the girl as +having once been Walenn's wife or mistress. It would convince. Yes! +It would convince. + +The sheets dropped from his hand. Very slowly he was grasping the +appalling fact that on the floor beside his chair lay the life or +death of yet another man; that by taking this confession he had taken +into his own hands the fate of the vagabond lying under sentence of +death; that he could not give him back his life without incurring the +smirch of this disgrace, without even endangering himself. If he let +this confession reach the authorities, he could never escape the +gravest suspicion that he had known of the whole affair during these +two months. He would have to attend the inquest, be recognised by +that policeman as having come to the archway to see where the body +had lain, as having visited the girl the very evening after the +murder. Who would believe in the mere coincidence of such visits on +the part of the murderer's brother. But apart from that suspicion, +the fearful scandal which so sensational an affair must make would +mar his career, his life, his young daughter's life! Larry's suicide +with this girl would make sensation enough as it was; but nothing to +that other. Such a death had its romance; involved him in no way +save as a mourner, could perhaps even be hushed up! The other-- +nothing could hush that up, nothing prevent its ringing to the house- +tops. He got up from his chair, and for many minutes roamed the room +unable to get his mind to bear on the issue. Images kept starting up +before him. The face of the man who handed him wig and gown each +morning, puffy and curious, with a leer on it he had never noticed +before; his young daughter's lifted eyebrows, mouth drooping, eyes +troubled; the tiny gilt crucifix glinting in the hollow of the dead +girl's arm; the sightless look in Larry's unclosed eyes; even his own +thumb and finger pulling the lids down. And then he saw a street and +endless people passing, turning to stare at him. And, stopping in +his tramp, he said aloud: "Let them go to hell! Seven days' wonder!" +Was he not trustee to that confession! Trustee! After all he had +done nothing to be ashamed of, even if he had kept knowledge dark. A +brother! Who could blame him? And he picked up those sheets of +paper. But, like a great murky hand, the scandal spread itself about +him; its coarse malignant voice seemed shouting: "Paiper!... +Paiper!... Glove Lane Murder!... Suicide and confession of brother of +well-known K.C.... Well-known K.C.'s brother.... Murder and +suicide.... Paiper!" Was he to let loose that flood of foulness? +Was he, who had done nothing, to smirch his own little daughter's +life; to smirch his dead brother, their dead mother--himself, his own +valuable, important future? And all for a sewer rat! Let him hang, +let the fellow hang if he must! And that was not certain. Appeal! +Petition! He might--he should be saved! To have got thus far, and +then, by his own action, topple himself down! + +With a sudden darting movement he thrust the confession in among the +burning coals. And a smile licked at the folds in his dark face, +like those flames licking the sheets of paper, till they writhed and +blackened. With the toe of his boot he dispersed their scorched and +crumbling wafer. Stamp them in! Stamp in that man's life! Burnt! +No more doubts, no more of this gnawing fear! Burnt? A man--an +innocent-sewer rat! Recoiling from the fire he grasped his forehead. +It was burning hot and seemed to be going round. + +Well, it was done! Only fools without will or purpose regretted. +And suddenly he laughed. So Larry had died for nothing! He had no +will, no purpose, and was dead! He and that girl might now have been +living, loving each other in the warm night, away at the other end of +the world, instead of lying dead in the cold night here! Fools and +weaklings regretted, suffered from conscience and remorse. A man +trod firmly, held to his purpose, no matter what! + +He went to the window and drew back the curtain. What was that? A +gibbet in the air, a body hanging? Ah! Only the trees--the dark +trees--the winter skeleton trees! Recoiling, he returned to his +armchair and sat down before the fire. It had been shining like +that, the lamp turned low, his chair drawn up, when Larry came in +that afternoon two months ago. Bah! He had never come at all! It +was a nightmare. He had been asleep. How his head burned! And +leaping up, he looked at the calendar on his bureau. "January the +28th!" No dream! His face hardened and darkened. On! Not like +Larry! On! + +1914. + + + + + + + +A STOIC + +I + +1 + + "Aequam memento rebus in arduis + Servare mentem:"--Horace. + +In the City of Liverpool, on a January day of 1905, the Board-room of +"The Island Navigation Company" rested, as it were, after the labours +of the afternoon. The long table was still littered with the ink, +pens, blotting-paper, and abandoned documents of six persons--a +deserted battlefield of the brain. And, lonely, in his chairman's +seat at the top end old Sylvanus Heythorp sat, with closed eyes, +still and heavy as an image. One puffy, feeble hand, whose fingers +quivered, rested on the arm of his chair; the thick white hair on his +massive head glistened in the light from a green-shaded lamp. He was +not asleep, for every now and then his sanguine cheeks filled, and a +sound, half sigh, half grunt, escaped his thick lips between a white +moustache and the tiny tuft of white hairs above his cleft chin. +Sunk in the chair, that square thick trunk of a body in short black- +braided coat seemed divested of all neck. + +Young Gilbert Farney, secretary of "The Island Navigation Company," +entering his hushed Board-room, stepped briskly to the table, +gathered some papers, and stood looking at his chairman. Not more +than thirty-five, with the bright hues of the optimist in his hair, +beard, cheeks, and eyes, he had a nose and lips which curled +ironically. For, in his view, he was the Company; and its Board did +but exist to chequer his importance. Five days in the week for seven +hours a day he wrote, and thought, and wove the threads of its +business, and this lot came down once a week for two or three hours, +and taught their grandmother to suck eggs. But watching that red- +cheeked, white-haired, somnolent figure, his smile was not so +contemptuous as might have been expected. For after all, the +chairman was a wonderful old boy. A man of go and insight could not +but respect him. Eighty! Half paralysed, over head and ears in +debt, having gone the pace all his life--or so they said!--till at +last that mine in Ecuador had done for him--before the secretary's +day, of course, but he had heard of it. The old chap had bought it +up on spec'--"de l'audace, toujours de l'audace," as he was so fond +of saying--paid for it half in cash and half in promises, and then-- +the thing had turned out empty, and left him with L20,000 worth of +the old shares unredeemed. The old boy had weathered it out without +a bankruptcy so far. Indomitable old buffer; and never fussy like +the rest of them! Young Farney, though a secretary, was capable of +attachment; and his eyes expressed a pitying affection. The Board +meeting had been long and "snadgy"--a final settling of that Pillin +business. Rum go the chairman forcing it on them like this! And +with quiet satisfaction the secretary thought 'And he never would +have got it through if I hadn't made up my mind that it really is +good business!' For to expand the company was to expand himself. +Still, to buy four ships with the freight market so depressed was a +bit startling, and there would be opposition at the general meeting. +Never mind! He and the chairman could put it through--put it +through. And suddenly he saw the old man looking at him. + +Only from those eyes could one appreciate the strength of life yet +flowing underground in that well-nigh helpless carcase--deep-coloured +little blue wells, tiny, jovial, round windows. + +A sigh travelled up through layers of flesh, and he said almost +inaudibly: + +"Have they come, Mr. Farney?" + +"Yes, sir. I've put them in the transfer office; said you'd be with +them in a minute; but I wasn't going to wake you." + +"Haven't been asleep. Help me up." + +Grasping the edge of the table with his trembling hands, the old man +pulled, and, with Farney heaving him behind, attained his feet. He +stood about five feet ten, and weighed fully fourteen stone; not +corpulent, but very thick all through; his round and massive head +alone would have outweighed a baby. With eyes shut, he seemed to be +trying to get the better of his own weight, then he moved with the +slowness of a barnacle towards the door. The secretary, watching +him, thought: 'Marvellous old chap! How he gets about by himself is +a miracle! And he can't retire, they say-lives on his fees!' + +But the chairman was through the green baize door. At his tortoise +gait he traversed the inner office, where the youthful clerks +suspended their figuring--to grin behind his back--and entered the +transfer office, where eight gentlemen were sitting. Seven rose, and +one did not. Old Heythorp raised a saluting hand to the level of his +chest and moving to an arm-chair, lowered himself into it. + +"Well, gentlemen?" + +One of the eight gentlemen got up again. + +"Mr. Heythorp, we've appointed Mr. Brownbee to voice our views. Mr. +Brownbee!" And down he sat. + +Mr. Brownbee rose a stoutish man some seventy years of age, with +little grey side whiskers, and one of those utterly steady faces only +to be seen in England, faces which convey the sense of business from +father to son for generations; faces which make wars, and passion, +and free thought seem equally incredible; faces which inspire +confidence, and awaken in one a desire to get up and leave the room. +Mr. Brownbee rose, and said in a suave voice: + +"Mr. Heythorp, we here represent about L14,000. When we had the +pleasure of meeting you last July, you will recollect that you held +out a prospect of some more satisfactory arrangement by Christmas. +We are now in January, and I am bound to say we none of us get +younger." + +>From the depths of old Heythorp a preliminary rumble came travelling, +reached the surface, and materialised + +"Don't know about you--feel a boy, myself." + +The eight gentlemen looked at him. Was he going to try and put them +off again? Mr. Brownbee said with unruffled calm: + +"I'm sure we're very glad to hear it. But to come to the point. We +have felt, Mr. Heythorp, and I'm sure you won't think it +unreasonable, that--er--bankruptcy would be the most satisfactory +solution. We have waited a long time, and we want to know definitely +where we stand; for, to be quite frank, we don't see any prospect of +improvement; indeed, we fear the opposite." + +"You think I'm going to join the majority." + +This plumping out of what was at the back of their minds produced in +Mr. Brownbee and his colleagues a sort of chemical disturbance. They +coughed, moved their feet, and turned away their eyes, till the one +who had not risen, a solicitor named Ventnor, said bluffly: + +"Well, put it that way if you like." + +Old Heythorp's little deep eyes twinkled. + +"My grandfather lived to be a hundred; my father ninety-six--both of +them rips. I'm only eighty, gentlemen; blameless life compared with +theirs." + +"Indeed," Mr. Brownbee said, "we hope you have many years of this +life before you." + +"More of this than of another." And a silence fell, till old +Heythorp added: "You're getting a thousand a year out of my fees. +Mistake to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. I'll make it +twelve hundred. If you force me to resign my directorships by +bankruptcy, you won't get a rap, you know." + +Mr. Brownbee cleared his throat: + +"We think, Mr. Heythorp, you should make it at least fifteen hundred. +In that case we might perhaps consider--" + +Old Heythorp shook his head. + +"We can hardly accept your assertion that we should get nothing in +the event of bankruptcy. We fancy you greatly underrate the +possibilities. Fifteen hundred a year is the least you can do for +us." + +"See you d---d first." + +Another silence followed, then Ventnor, the solicitor, said +irascibly: + +"We know where we are, then." + +Brownbee added almost nervously: + +"Are we to understand that twelve hundred a year is your--your last +word?" + +Old Heythorp nodded. "Come again this day month, and I'll see what I +can do for you;" and he shut his eyes. + +Round Mr. Brownbee six of the gentlemen gathered, speaking in low +voices; Mr. Ventnor nursed a leg and glowered at old Heythorp, who +sat with his eyes closed. Mr. Brownbee went over and conferred with +Mr. Ventnor, then clearing his throat, he said: + +"Well, sir, we have considered your proposal; we agree to accept it +for the moment. We will come again, as you suggest, in a month's +time. + +"We hope that you will by then have seen your way to something more +substantial, with a view to avoiding what we should all regret, but +which I fear will otherwise become inevitable." + +Old Heythorp nodded. The eight gentlemen took their hats, and went +out one by one, Mr. Brownbee courteously bringing up the rear. + +The old man, who could not get up without assistance, stayed musing +in his chair. He had diddled 'em for the moment into giving him +another month, and when that month was up-he would diddle 'em again! +A month ought to make the Pillin business safe, with all that hung on +it. That poor funkey chap Joe Pillin! A gurgling chuckle escaped +his red lips. What a shadow the fellow had looked, trotting in that +evening just a month ago, behind his valet's announcement: "Mr. +Pillin, sir." + +What a parchmenty, precise, thread-paper of a chap, with his bird's +claw of a hand, and his muffled-up throat, and his quavery: + +"How do you do, Sylvanus? I'm afraid you're not--" + +"First rate. Sit down. Have some port." + +"Port! I never drink it. Poison to me! Poison!" + +"Do you good!" + +"Oh! I know, that's what you always say." + +You've a monstrous constitution, Sylvanus. If I drank port and +smoked cigars and sat up till one o'clock, I should be in my grave +to-morrow. I'm not the man I was. The fact is, I've come to see if +you can help me. I'm getting old; I'm growing nervous...." + +"You always were as chickeny as an old hen, Joe." + +"Well, my nature's not like yours. To come to the point, I want to +sell my ships and retire. I need rest. Freights are very depressed. +I've got my family to think of." + +"Crack on, and go broke; buck you up like anything!" + +"I'm quite serious, Sylvanus." + +"Never knew you anything else, Joe." + +A quavering cough, and out it had come: + +"Now--in a word--won't your 'Island Navigation Company' buy my +ships?" + +A pause, a twinkle, a puff of smoke. "Make it worth my while!" He +had said it in jest; and then, in a flash, the idea had come to him. +Rosamund and her youngsters! What a chance to put something between +them and destitution when he had joined the majority! And so he +said:" We don't want your silly ships." + +That claw of a hand waved in deprecation. "They're very good ships-- +doing quite well. It's only my wretched health. If I were a strong +man I shouldn't dream...." + +"What d'you want for'em?" Good Lord! how he jumped if you asked him +a plain question. The chap was as nervous as a guinea-fowl! + +"Here are the figures--for the last four years. I think you'll agree +that I couldn't ask less than seventy thousand." + +Through the smoke of his cigar old Heythorp had digested those +figures slowly, Joe Pillin feeling his teeth and sucking lozenges the +while; then he said: + +"Sixty thousand! And out of that you pay me ten per cent., if I get +it through for you. Take it or leave it." + +"My dear Sylvanus, that's almost-cynical." + +"Too good a price--you'll never get it without me." + +"But a--but a commission! You could never disclose it!" + +"Arrange that all right. Think it over. Freights'll go lower yet. +Have some port." + +"No, no! Thank you. No! So you think freights will go lower?" + +"Sure of it." + +"Well, I'll be going. I'm sure I don't know. It's--it's--I must +think." + +"Think your hardest." + +"Yes, yes. Good-bye. I can't imagine how you still go on smoking +those things and drinking port. + +"See you in your grave yet, Joe." What a feeble smile the poor +fellow had! Laugh-he couldn't! And, alone again, he had browsed, +developing the idea which had come to him. + +Though, to dwell in the heart of shipping, Sylvanus Heythorp had +lived at Liverpool twenty years, he was from the Eastern Counties, of +a family so old that it professed to despise the Conquest. Each of +its generations occupied nearly twice as long as those of less +tenacious men. Traditionally of Danish origin, its men folk had as a +rule bright reddish-brown hair, red cheeks, large round heads, +excellent teeth and poor morals. They had done their best for the +population of any county in which they had settled; their offshoots +swarmed. Born in the early twenties of the nineteenth century, +Sylvanus Heythorp, after an education broken by escapades both at +school and college, had fetched up in that simple London of the late +forties, where claret, opera, and eight per cent. for your money +ruled a cheery roost. Made partner in his shipping firm well before +he was thirty, he had sailed with a wet sheet and a flowing tide; +dancers, claret, Cliquot, and piquet; a cab with a tiger; some +travel--all that delicious early-Victorian consciousness of nothing +save a golden time. It was all so full and mellow that he was forty +before he had his only love affair of any depth--with the daughter of +one of his own clerks, a liaison so awkward as to necessitate a +sedulous concealment. The death of that girl, after three years, +leaving him a, natural son, had been the chief, perhaps the only +real, sorrow of his life. Five years later he married. What for? +God only knew! as he was in the habit of remarking. His wife had +been a hard, worldly, well-connected woman, who presented him with +two unnatural children, a girl and a boy, and grew harder, more +worldly, less handsome, in the process. The migration to Liverpool, +which took place when he was sixty and she forty-two, broke what she +still had of heart, but she lingered on twelve years, finding solace +in bridge, and being haughty towards Liverpool. Old Heythorp saw her +to her rest without regret. He had felt no love for her whatever, +and practically none for her two children--they were in his view +colourless, pragmatical, very unexpected characters. His son Ernest- +-in the Admiralty--he thought a poor, careful stick. His daughter +Adela, an excellent manager, delighting in spiritual conversation and +the society of tame men, rarely failed to show him that she +considered him a hopeless heathen. They saw as little as need be of +each other. She was provided for under that settlement he had made +on her mother fifteen years ago, well before the not altogether +unexpected crisis in his affairs. Very different was the feeling he +had bestowed on that son of his "under the rose." The boy, who had +always gone by his mother's name of Larne, had on her death been sent +to some relations of hers in Ireland, and there brought up. He had +been called to the Dublin bar, and married, young, a girl half +Cornish and half Irish; presently, having cost old Heythorp in all a +pretty penny, he had died impecunious, leaving his fair Rosamund at +thirty with a girl of eight and a boy of five. She had not spent six +months of widowhood before coming over from Dublin to claim the old +man's guardianship. A remarkably pretty woman, like a full-blown +rose, with greenish hazel eyes, she had turned up one morning at the +offices of "The Island Navigation Company," accompanied by her two +children--for he had never divulged to them his private address. And +since then they had always been more or less on his hands, occupying +a small house in a suburb of Liverpool. He visited them there, but +never asked them to the house in Sefton Park, which was in fact his +daughter's; so that his proper family and friends were unaware of +their existence. + +Rosamund Larne was one of those precarious ladies who make uncertain +incomes by writing full-bodied storyettes. In the most dismal +circumstances she enjoyed a buoyancy bordering on the indecent; which +always amused old Heythorp's cynicism. But of his grandchildren +Phyllis and Jock (wild as colts) he had become fond. And this chance +of getting six thousand pounds settled on them at a stroke had seemed +to him nothing but heaven-sent. As things were, if he "went off"-- +and, of course, he might at any moment, there wouldn't be a penny for +them; for he would "cut up" a good fifteen thousand to the bad. He +was now giving them some three hundred a year out of his fees; and +dead directors unfortunately earned no fees! Six thousand pounds at +four and a half per cent., settled so that their mother couldn't +"blue it," would give them a certain two hundred and fifty pounds a +year-better than beggary. And the more he thought the better he +liked it, if only that shaky chap, Joe Pillin, didn't shy off when +he'd bitten his nails short over it! + +Four evenings later, the "shaky chap" had again appeared at his house +in Sefton Park. + +"I've thought it over, Sylvanus. I don't like it. + +"No; but you'll do it." + +"It's a sacrifice. Fifty-four thousand for four ships--it means a +considerable reduction in my income." + +"It means security, my boy." + +"Well, there is that; but you know, I really can't be party to a +secret commission. If it came out, think of my name and goodness +knows what." + +"It won't come out." + +"Yes, yes, so you say, but--" + +"All you've got to do's to execute a settlement on some third parties +that I'll name. I'm not going to take a penny of it myself. Get +your own lawyer to draw it up and make him trustee. You can sign it +when the purchase has gone through. I'll trust you, Joe. What stock +have you got that gives four and a half per cent.?" + +"Midland" + +"That'll do. You needn't sell." + +"Yes, but who are these people?" + +"Woman and her children I want to do a good turn to." What a face +the fellow had made! "Afraid of being connected with a woman, Joe?" + +"Yes, you may laugh--I am afraid of being connected with someone +else's woman. I don't like it--I don't like it at all. I've not led +your life, Sylvanus." + +"Lucky for you; you'd have been dead long ago. Tell your lawyer it's +an old flame of yours--you old dog!" + +"Yes, there it is at once, you see. I might be subject to +blackmail." + +"Tell him to keep it dark, and just pay over the income, quarterly." + +"I don't like it, Sylvanus--I don't like it." + +"Then leave it, and be hanged to you. Have a cigar?" + +"You know I never smoke. Is there no other way?" + +"Yes. Sell stock in London, bank the proceeds there, and bring me +six thousand pounds in notes. I'll hold 'em till after the general +meeting. If the thing doesn't go through, I'll hand 'em back to +you." + +"No; I like that even less." + +"Rather I trusted you, eh!" + +"No, not at all, Sylvanus, not at all. But it's all playing round +the law." + +"There's no law to prevent you doing what you like with your money. +What I do's nothing to you. And mind you, I'm taking nothing from +it--not a mag. You assist the widowed and the fatherless--just your +line, Joe!" + +"What a fellow you are, Sylvanus; you don't seem capable of taking +anything seriously." + +"Care killed the cat!" + +Left alone after this second interview he had thought: 'The beggar'll +jump.' + +And the beggar had. That settlement was drawn and only awaited +signature. The Board to-day had decided on the purchase; and all +that remained was to get it ratified at the general meeting. Let him +but get that over, and this provision for his grandchildren made, and +he would snap his fingers at Brownbee and his crew-the canting +humbugs! "Hope you have many years of this life before you!" As if +they cared for anything but his money--their money rather! And +becoming conscious of the length of his reverie, he grasped the arms +of his chair, heaved at his own bulk, in an effort to rise, growing +redder and redder in face and neck. It was one of the hundred things +his doctor had told him not to do for fear of apoplexy, the humbug! +Why didn't Farney or one of those young fellows come and help him up? +To call out was undignified. But was he to sit there all night? +Three times he failed, and after each failure sat motionless again, +crimson and exhausted; the fourth time he succeeded, and slowly made +for the office. Passing through, he stopped and said in his extinct +voice: + +"You young gentlemen had forgotten me." + +"Mr. Farney said you didn't wish to be disturbed, sir." + +"Very good of him. Give me my hat and coat." + +"Yes, sir." + +"Thank you. What time is it?" + +"Six o'clock, sir." + +"Tell Mr. Farney to come and see me tomorrow at noon, about my speech +for the general meeting." + +"Yes, Sir." + +"Good-night to you." + +"Good-night, Sir." + +At his tortoise gait he passed between the office stools to the door, +opened it feebly, and slowly vanished. + +Shutting the door behind him, a clerk said: + +"Poor old chairman! He's on his last!" + +Another answered: + +"Gosh! He's a tough old hulk. He'll go down fightin'." + + + + +2 + +Issuing from the offices of "The Island Navigation Company," Sylvanus +Heythorp moved towards the corner whence he always took tram to +Sefton Park. The crowded street had all that prosperous air of +catching or missing something which characterises the town where +London and New York and Dublin meet. Old Heythorp had to cross to +the far side, and he sallied forth without regard to traffic. That +snail-like passage had in it a touch of the sublime; the old man +seemed saying: "Knock me down and be d---d to you--I'm not going to +hurry." His life was saved perhaps ten times a day by the British +character at large, compounded of phlegm and a liking to take +something under its protection. The tram conductors on that line +were especially used to him, never failing to catch him under the +arms and heave him like a sack of coals, while with trembling hands +he pulled hard at the rail and strap. + +"All right, sir?" + +"Thank you." + +He moved into the body of the tram, where somebody would always get +up from kindness and the fear that he might sit down on them; and +there he stayed motionless, his little eyes tight closed. With his +red face, tuft of white hairs above his square cleft block of shaven +chin, and his big high-crowned bowler hat, which yet seemed too petty +for his head with its thick hair--he looked like some kind of an idol +dug up and decked out in gear a size too small. + +One of those voices of young men from public schools and exchanges +where things are bought and sold, said: + +"How de do, Mr. Heythorp?" + +Old Heythorp opened his eyes. That sleek cub, Joe Pillin's son! +What a young pup-with his round eyes, and his round cheeks, and his +little moustache, his fur coat, his spats, his diamond pin! + +"How's your father?" he said. + +"Thanks, rather below par, worryin' about his ships. Suppose you +haven't any news for him, sir?" + +Old Heythorp nodded. The young man was one of his pet abominations, +embodying all the complacent, little-headed mediocrity of this new +generation; natty fellows all turned out of the same mould, sippers +and tasters, chaps without drive or capacity, without even vices; and +he did not intend to gratify the cub's curiosity. + +"Come to my house," he said; "I'll give you a note for him." + +"Tha-anks; I'd like to cheer the old man up." + +The old man! Cheeky brat! And closing his eyes he relapsed into +immobility. The tram wound and ground its upward way, and he mused. +When he was that cub's age--twenty-eight or whatever it might be--he +had done most things; been up Vesuvius, driven four-in-hand, lost his +last penny on the Derby and won it back on the Oaks, known all the +dancers and operatic stars of the day, fought a duel with a Yankee at +Dieppe and winged him for saying through his confounded nose that Old +England was played out; been a controlling voice already in his +shipping firm; drunk five other of the best men in London under the +table; broken his neck steeple-chasing; shot a burglar in the legs; +been nearly drowned, for a bet; killed snipe in Chelsea; been to +Court for his sins; stared a ghost out of countenance; and travelled +with a lady of Spain. If this young pup had done the last, it would +be all he had; and yet, no doubt, he would call himself a "spark." + +The conductor touched his arm. + +"'Ere you are, sir." + +"Thank you." + +He lowered himself to the ground, and moved in the bluish darkness +towards the gate of his daughter's house. Bob Pillin walked beside +him, thinking: 'Poor old josser, he is gettin' a back number!' And +he said: "I should have thought you ought to drive, sir. My old +guv'nor would knock up at once if he went about at night like this." + +The answer rumbled out into the misty air: + +"Your father's got no chest; never had." + +Bob Pillin gave vent to one of those fat cackles which come so +readily from a certain type of man; and old Heythorp thought: + +'Laughing at his father! Parrot!' + +They had reached the porch. + +A woman with dark hair and a thin, straight face and figure was +arranging some flowers in the hall. She turned and said: + +"You really ought not to be so late, Father! It's wicked at this +time of year. Who is it--oh! Mr. Pillin, how do you do? Have you +had tea? Won't you come to the drawing-room; or do you want to see +my father?" + +"Tha-anks! I believe your father--" And he thought: 'By Jove! the +old chap is a caution!' For old Heythorp was crossing the hall +without having paid the faintest attention to his daughter. +Murmuring again: + +"Tha-anks awfully; he wants to give me something," he followed. Miss +Heythorp was not his style at all; he had a kind of dread of that +thin woman who looked as if she could never be unbuttoned. They said +she was a great churchgoer and all that sort of thing. + +In his sanctum old Heythorp had moved to his writing-table, and was +evidently anxious to sit down. + +"Shall I give you a hand, sir?" + +Receiving a shake of the head, Bob Pillin stood by the fire and +watched. The old "sport" liked to paddle his own canoe. Fancy +having to lower yourself into a chair like that! When an old Johnny +got to such a state it was really a mercy when he snuffed out, and +made way for younger men. How his Companies could go on putting up +with such a fossil for chairman was a marvel! The fossil rumbled and +said in that almost inaudible voice: + +"I suppose you're beginning to look forward to your father's shoes?" + +Bob Pillin's mouth opened. The voice went on: + +"Dibs and no responsibility. Tell him from me to drink port--add +five years to his life." + +To this unwarranted attack Bob Pillin made no answer save a laugh; he +perceived that a manservant had entered the room. + +"A Mrs. Larne, sir. Will you see her?" + +At this announcement the old man seemed to try and start; then he +nodded, and held out the note he had written. Bob Pillin received it +together with the impression of a murmur which sounded like: "Scratch +a poll, Poll!" and passing the fine figure of a woman in a fur coat, +who seemed to warm the air as she went by, he was in the hall again +before he perceived that he had left his hat. + +A young and pretty girl was standing on the bearskin before the fire, +looking at him with round-eyed innocence. He thought: 'This is +better; I mustn't disturb them for my hat'; and approaching the fire, +said: + +"Jolly cold, isn't it?" + +The girl smiled: "Yes-jolly." + +He noticed that she had a large bunch of violets at her breast, a lot +of fair hair, a short straight nose, and round blue-grey eyes very +frank and open. "Er" he said, "I've left my hat in there." + +"What larks!" And at her little clear laugh something moved within +Bob Pillin. + +"You know this house well?" + +She shook her head. "But it's rather scrummy, isn't it?" + +Bob Pillin, who had never yet thought so answered: + +"Quite O.K." + +The girl threw up her head to laugh again. "O.K.? What's that?" + +Bob Pillin saw her white round throat, and thought: 'She is a +ripper!' And he said with a certain desperation: + +"My name's Pillin. Yours is Larne, isn't it? Are you a relation +here?" + +"He's our Guardy. Isn't he a chook?" + +That rumbling whisper like "Scratch a Poll, Poll!" recurring to Bob +Pillin, he said with reservation: + +"You know him better than I do." "Oh! Aren't you his grandson, or +something?" + +Bob Pillin did not cross himself. + +"Lord! No! My dad's an old friend of his; that's all." + +"Is your dad like him?" + +"Not much." + +"What a pity! It would have been lovely if they'd been Tweedles." + +Bob Pillin thought: 'This bit is something new. I wonder what her +Christian name is.' And he said: + +"What did your godfather and godmothers in your baptism---?" + +The girl laughed; she seemed to laugh at everything. + +"Phyllis." + +Could he say: "Is my only joy"? Better keep it! But-for what? He +wouldn't see her again if he didn't look out! And he said: + +"I live at the last house in the park-the red one. D'you know it? +Where do you?" + +"Oh! a long way--23, Millicent Villas. It's a poky little house. I +hate it. We have awful larks, though." + +"Who are we?" + +"Mother, and myself, and Jock--he's an awful boy. You can't conceive +what an awful boy he is. He's got nearly red hair; I think he'll be +just like Guardy when he gets old. He's awful!" + +Bob Pillin murmured: + +"I should like to see him." + +"Would you? I'll ask mother if you can. You won't want to again; he +goes off all the time like a squib." She threw back her head, and +again Bob Pillin felt a little giddy. He collected himself, and +drawled: + +"Are you going in to see your Guardy?" + +"No. Mother's got something special to say. We've never been here +before, you see. Isn't he fun, though?" + +"Fun!" + +"I think he's the greatest lark; but he's awfully nice to me. Jock +calls him the last of the Stoic'uns." + +A voice called from old Heythorp's den: + +"Phyllis!" It had a particular ring, that voice, as if coming from +beautifully formed red lips, of which the lower one must curve the +least bit over; it had, too, a caressing vitality, and a kind of warm +falsity. + +The girl threw a laughing look back over her shoulder, and vanished +through the door into the room. + +Bob Pillin remained with his back to the fire and his puppy round +eyes fixed on the air that her figure had last occupied. He was +experiencing a sensation never felt before. Those travels with a +lady of Spain, charitably conceded him by old Heythorp, had so far +satisfied the emotional side of this young man; they had stopped +short at Brighton and Scarborough, and been preserved from even the +slightest intrusion of love. A calculated and hygienic career had +caused no anxiety either to himself or his father; and this sudden +swoop of something more than admiration gave him an uncomfortable +choky feeling just above his high round collar, and in the temples a +sort of buzzing--those first symptoms of chivalry. A man of the +world does not, however, succumb without a struggle; and if his hat +had not been out of reach, who knows whether he would not have left +the house hurriedly, saying to himself: "No, no, my boy; Millicent +Villas is hardly your form, when your intentions are honourable"? +For somehow that round and laughing face, bob of glistening hair, +those wide-opened grey eyes refused to awaken the beginnings of other +intentions--such is the effect of youth and innocence on even the +steadiest young men. With a kind of moral stammer, he was thinking: +'Can I--dare I offer to see them to their tram? Couldn't I even nip +out and get the car round and send them home in it? No, I might miss +them--better stick it out here! What a jolly laugh! What a tipping +face--strawberries and cream, hay, and all that! Millicent Villas!' +And he wrote it on his cuff. + +The door was opening; he heard that warm vibrating voice: "Come +along, Phyllis!"--the girl's laugh so high and fresh: "Right-o! +Coming!" And with, perhaps, the first real tremor he had ever known, +he crossed to the front door. All the more chivalrous to escort them +to the tram without a hat! And suddenly he heard: "I've got your +hat, young man!" And her mother's voice, warm, and simulating shock: +"Phyllis, you awful gairl! Did you ever see such an awful gairl; +Mr.---" + +"Pillin, Mother." + +And then--he did not quite know how--insulated from the January air +by laughter and the scent of fur and violets, he was between them +walking to their tram. It was like an experience out of the "Arabian +Nights," or something of that sort, an intoxication which made one +say one was going their way, though one would have to come all the +way back in the same beastly tram. Nothing so warming had ever +happened to him as sitting between them on that drive, so that he +forgot the note in his pocket, and his desire to relieve the anxiety +of the "old man," his father. At the tram's terminus they all got +out. There issued a purr of invitation to come and see them some +time; a clear: "Jock'll love to see you!" A low laugh: "You awful +gairl!" And a flash of cunning zigzagged across his brain. Taking +off his hat, he said: + +"Thanks awfully; rather!" and put his foot back on the step of the +tram. Thus did he delicately expose the depths of his chivalry! + +"Oh! you said you were going our way! What one-ers you do tell! +Oh!" The words were as music; the sight of those eyes growing +rounder, the most perfect he had ever seen; and Mrs. Larne's low +laugh, so warm yet so preoccupied, and the tips of the girl's fingers +waving back above her head. He heaved a sigh, and knew no more till +he was seated at his club before a bottle of champagne. Home! Not +he! He wished to drink and dream. "The old man" would get his news +all right to-morrow! + + + + +3 + +The words: "A Mrs. Larne to see you, sir," had been of a nature to +astonish weaker nerves. What had brought her here? She knew she +mustn't come! Old Heythorp had watched her entrance with cynical +amusement. The way she whiffed herself at that young pup in passing, +the way her eyes slid round! He had a very just appreciation of his +son's widow; and a smile settled deep between his chin tuft and his +moustache. She lifted his hand, kissed it, pressed it to her +splendid bust, and said: + +"So here I am at last, you see. Aren't you surprised?" + +Old Heythorp, shook his head. + +"I really had to come and see you, Guardy; we haven't had a sight of +you for such an age. And in this awful weather! How are you, dear +old Guardy?" + +"Never better." And, watching her green-grey eyes, he added: + +"Haven't a penny for you!" + +Her face did not fall; she gave her feather-laugh. + +"How dreadful of you to think I came for that! But I am in an awful +fix, Guardy." + +"Never knew you not to be." + +"Just let me tell you, dear; it'll be some relief. I'm having the +most terrible time." + +She sank into a low chair, disengaging an overpowering scent of +violets, while melancholy struggled to subdue her face and body. + +"The most awful fix. I expect to be sold up any moment. We may be +on the streets to-morrow. I daren't tell the children; they're so +happy, poor darlings. I shall be obliged to take Jock away from +school. And Phyllis will have to stop her piano and dancing; it's an +absolute crisis. And all due to those Midland Syndicate people. +I've been counting on at least two hundred for my new story, and the +wretches have refused it." + +With a tiny handkerchief she removed one tear from the corner of one +eye. "It is hard, Guardy; I worked my brain silly over that story." + +>From old Heythorp came a mutter which sounded suspiciously like: + +"Rats!" + +Heaving a sigh, which conveyed nothing but the generosity of her +breathing apparatus, Mrs. Larne went on: + +"You couldn't, I suppose, let me have just one hundred?" + +"Not a bob." + +She sighed again, her eyes slid round the room; then in her warm +voice she murmured: + +"Guardy, you were my dear Philip's father, weren't you? I've never +said anything; but of course you were. He was so like you, and so is +Jock." + +Nothing moved in old Heythorp's face. No pagan image consulted with +flowers and song and sacrifice could have returned less answer. Her +dear Philip! She had led him the devil of a life, or he was a +Dutchman! And what the deuce made her suddenly trot out the skeleton +like this? But Mrs. Larne's eyes were still wandering. + +"What a lovely house! You know, I think you ought to help me, +Guardy. Just imagine if your grandchildren were thrown out into the +street!" + +The old man grinned. He was not going to deny his relationship--it +was her look-out, not his. But neither was he going to let her rush +him. + +"And they will be; you couldn't look on and see it. Do come to my +rescue this once. You really might do something for them." + +With a rumbling sigh he answered: + +"Wait. Can't give you a penny now. Poor as a church mouse." + +"Oh! Guardy + +"Fact." + +Mrs. Larne heaved one of her most buoyant sighs. She certainly did +not believe him. + +"Well!" she said; "you'll be sorry when we come round one night and +sing for pennies under your window. Wouldn't you like to see +Phyllis? I left her in the hall. She's growing such a sweet gairl. +Guardy just fifty!" + +"Not a rap." + +Mrs. Larne threw up her hands. "Well! You'll repent it. I'm at my +last gasp." She sighed profoundly, and the perfume of violets +escaped in a cloud; Then, getting up, she went to the door and +called: "Phyllis!" + +When the girl entered old Heythorp felt the nearest approach to a +flutter of the heart for many years. She had put her hair up! She +was like a spring day in January; such a relief from that scented +humbug, her mother. Pleasant the touch of her lips on his forehead, +the sound of her clear voice, the sight of her slim movements, the +feeling that she did him credit--clean-run stock, she and that young +scamp Jock--better than the holy woman, his daughter Adela, would +produce if anyone were ever fool enough to marry her, or that +pragmatical fellow, his son Ernest. + +And when they were gone he reflected with added zest on the six +thousand pounds he was getting for them out of Joe Pillin and his +ships. He would have to pitch it strong in his speech at the general +meeting. With freights so low, there was bound to be opposition. No +dash nowadays; nothing but gabby caution! They were a scrim-shanking +lot on the Board--he had had to pull them round one by one--the deuce +of a tug getting this thing through! And yet, the business was sound +enough. Those ships would earn money, properly handled-good money + +His valet, coming in to prepare him for dinner, found him asleep. He +had for the old man as much admiration as may be felt for one who +cannot put his own trousers on. He would say to the housemaid Molly: +"He's a game old blighter--must have been a rare one in his day. +Cocks his hat at you, even now, I see!" To which the girl, Irish and +pretty, would reply: "Well, an' sure I don't mind, if it gives um a +pleasure. 'Tis better anyway than the sad eye I get from herself." + +At dinner, old Heythorp always sat at one end of the rosewood table +and his daughter at the other. It was the eminent moment of the day. +With napkin tucked high into his waistcoat, he gave himself to the +meal with passion. His palate was undimmed, his digestion +unimpaired. He could still eat as much as two men, and drink more +than one. And while he savoured each mouthful he never spoke if he +could help it. The holy woman had nothing to say that he cared to +hear, and he nothing to say that she cared to listen to. She had a +horror, too, of what she called "the pleasures of the table"--those +lusts of the flesh! She was always longing to dock his grub, he +knew. Would see her further first! What other pleasures were there +at his age? Let her wait till she was eighty. But she never would +be; too thin and holy! + +This evening, however, with the advent of the partridge she did +speak. + +"Who were your visitors, Father?" + +Trust her for nosing anything out! Fixing his little blue eyes on +her, he mumbled with a very full mouth: "Ladies." + +"So I saw; what ladies?" + +He had a longing to say: 'Part of one of my families under the rose.' +As a fact it was the best part of the only one, but the temptation to +multiply exceedingly was almost overpowering. He checked himself, +however, and went on eating partridge, his secret irritation +crimsoning his cheeks; and he watched her eyes, those cold precise +and round grey eyes, noting it, and knew she was thinking: 'He eats +too much.' + +She said: "Sorry I'm not considered fit to be told. You ought not to +be drinking hock." + +Old Heythorp took up the long green glass, drained it, and repressing +fumes and emotion went on with his partridge. His daughter pursed +her lips, took a sip of water, and said: + +"I know their name is Larne, but it conveyed nothing to me; perhaps +it's just as well." + +The old man, mastering a spasm, said with a grin: + +"My daughter-in-law and my granddaughter." + +"What! Ernest married--Oh! nonsense!" + +He chuckled, and shook his head. + +"Then do you mean to say, Father, that you were married before you +married my mother?" + +"No." + +The expression on her face was as good as a play! + +She said with a sort of disgust: "Not married! I see. I suppose +those people are hanging round your neck, then; no wonder you're +always in difficulties. Are there any more of them?" + +Again the old man suppressed that spasm, and the veins in his neck +and forehead swelled alarmingly. If he had spoken he would +infallibly have choked. He ceased eating, and putting his hands on +the table tried to raise himself. He could not and subsiding in his +chair sat glaring at the stiff, quiet figure of his daughter. + +"Don't be silly, Father, and make a scene before Meller. Finish your +dinner." + +He did not answer. He was not going to sit there to be dragooned and +insulted! His helplessness had never so weighed on him before. It +was like a revelation. A log--that had to put up with anything! A +log! And, waiting for his valet to return, he cunningly took up his +fork. + +In that saintly voice of hers she said: + +"I suppose you don't realise that it's a shock to me. I don't know +what Ernest will think--" + +"Ernest be d---d." + +"I do wish, Father, you wouldn't swear." + +Old Heythorp's rage found vent in a sort of rumble. How the devil +had he gone on all these years in the same house with that woman, +dining with her day after day! But the servant had come back now, +and putting down his fork he said: + +"Help me up!" + +The man paused, thunderstruck, with the souffle balanced. To leave +dinner unfinished--it was a portent! + +"Help me up!" + +"Mr. Heythorp's not very well, Meller; take his other arm." + +The old man shook off her hand. + +"I'm very well. Help me up. Dine in my own room in future." + +Raised to his feet, he walked slowly out; but in his sanctum he did +not sit down, obsessed by this first overwhelming realisation of his +helplessness. He stood swaying a little, holding on to the table, +till the servant, having finished serving dinner, brought in his +port. + +"Are you waiting to sit down, sir?" + +He shook his head. Hang it, he could do that for himself, anyway. +He must think of something to fortify his position against that +woman. And he said: + +"Send me Molly!" + +"Yes, sir." The man put down the port and went. + +Old Heythorp filled his glass, drank, and filled again. He took a +cigar from the box and lighted it. The girl came in, a grey-eyed, +dark-haired damsel, and stood with her hands folded, her head a +little to one side, her lips a little parted. The old man said: + +"You're a human being." + +"I would hope so, sirr." + +"I'm going to ask you something as a human being--not a servant-- +see?" + +"No, sirr; but I will be glad to do anything you like." + +"Then put your nose in here every now and then, to see if I want +anything. Meller goes out sometimes. Don't say anything; Just put +your nose in." + +"Oh! an' I will; 'tis a pleasure 'twill be to do ut." + +He nodded, and when she had gone lowered himself into his chair with +a sense of appeasement. Pretty girl! Comfort to see a pretty face- +not a pale, peeky thing like Adela's. His anger burned up anew. So +she counted on his helplessness, had begun to count on that, had she? +She should see that there was life in the old dog yet! And his +sacrifice of the uneaten souffle, the still less eaten mushrooms, the +peppermint sweet with which he usually concluded dinner, seemed to +consecrate that purpose. They all thought he was a hulk, without a +shot left in the locker! He had seen a couple of them at the Board +that afternoon shrugging at each other, as though saying: 'Look at +him!' And young Farney pitying him. Pity, forsooth! And that +coarse-grained solicitor chap at the creditors' meeting curling his +lip as much as to say: 'One foot in the grave!' He had seen the +clerks dowsing the glim of their grins; and that young pup Bob Pillin +screwing up his supercilious mug over his dog-collar. He knew that +scented humbug Rosamund was getting scared that he'd drop off before +she'd squeezed him dry. And his valet was always looking him up and +down queerly. As to that holy woman--! Not quite so fast! Not +quite so fast! And filling his glass for the fourth time, he slowly +sucked down the dark red fluid, with the "old boots" flavour which +his soul loved, and, drawing deep at his cigar, closed his eyes. + + + + +II + +1 + +The room in the hotel where the general meetings of "The Island +Navigation Company" were held was nearly full when the secretary came +through the door which as yet divided the shareholders from their +directors. Having surveyed their empty chairs, their ink and papers, +and nodded to a shareholder or two, he stood, watch in hand, +contemplating the congregation. A thicker attendance than he had +ever seen! Due, no doubt, to the lower dividend, and this Pillin +business. And his tongue curled. For if he had a natural contempt +for his Board, with the exception of the chairman, he had a still +more natural contempt for his shareholders. Amusing spectacle when +you came to think of it, a general meeting! Unique! Eighty or a +hundred men, and five women, assembled through sheer devotion to +their money. Was any other function in the world so single-hearted. +Church was nothing to it--so many motives were mingled there with +devotion to one's soul. A well-educated young man--reader of Anatole +France, and other writers--he enjoyed ironic speculation. What +earthly good did they think they got by coming here? Half-past two! +He put his watch back into his pocket, and passed into the Board- +room. + +There, the fumes of lunch and of a short preliminary meeting made +cosy the February atmosphere. By the fire four directors were +conversing rather restlessly; the fifth was combing his beard; the +chairman sat with eyes closed and red lips moving rhythmically in the +sucking of a lozenge, the slips of his speech ready in his hand. The +secretary said in his cheerful voice: "Time, sir." + +Old Heythorp swallowed, lifted his arms, rose with help, and walked +through to his place at the centre of the table. The five directors +followed. And, standing at the chairman's right, the secretary read +the minutes, forming the words precisely with his curling tongue. +Then, assisting the chairman to his feet, he watched those rows of +faces, and thought: 'Mistake to let them see he can't get up without +help. He ought to have let me read his speech--I wrote it.' + +The chairman began to speak: + +"It is my duty and my pleasure,' ladies and gentlemen, for the +nineteenth consecutive year to present to you the directors' report +and the accounts for the past twelve months. You will all have had +special notice of a measure of policy on which your Board has +decided, and to which you will be asked to-day to give your +adherence--to that I shall come at the end of my remarks...." + +"Excuse me, sir; we can't hear a word down here." + +'Ah!' thought the secretary, 'I was expecting that.' + +The chairman went on, undisturbed. But several shareholders now +rose, and the same speaker said testily: "We might as well go home. +If the chairman's got no voice, can't somebody read for him?" + +The chairman took a sip of water, and resumed. Almost all in the +last six rows were now on their feet, and amid a hubbub of murmurs +the chairman held out to the secretary the slips of his speech, and +fell heavily back into his chair. + +The secretary re-read from the beginning; and as each sentence fell +from his tongue, he thought: 'How good that is!' 'That's very +clear!' 'A neat touch!' 'This is getting them.' It seemed to him a +pity they could not know it was all his composition. When at last he +came to the Pillin sale he paused for a second. + +"I come now to the measure of policy to which I made allusion at the +beginning of my speech. Your Board has decided to expand your +enterprise by purchasing the entire fleet of Pillin & Co., Ltd. By +this transaction we become the owners of the four steamships Smyrna, +Damascus, Tyre, and Sidon, vessels in prime condition with a total +freight-carrying capacity of fifteen thousand tons, at the low +inclusive price of sixty thousand pounds. Gentlemen, de l'audace, +toujours de l'audace!"--it was the chairman's phrase, his bit of the +speech, and the secretary did it more than justice. "Times are bad, +but your Board is emphatically of the opinion that they are touching +bottom; and this, in their view, is the psychological moment for a +forward stroke. They confidently recommend your adoption of their +policy and the ratification of this purchase, which they believe +will, in the not far distant future, substantially increase the +profits of the Company." The secretary sat down with reluctance. +The speech should have continued with a number of appealing sentences +which he had carefully prepared, but the chairman had cut them out +with the simple comment: "They ought to be glad of the chance." It +was, in his view, an error. + +The director who had combed his beard now rose--a man of presence, +who might be trusted to say nothing long and suavely. While he was +speaking the secretary was busy noting whence opposition was likely +to come. The majority were sitting owl-like-a good sign; but some +dozen were studying their copies of the report, and three at least +were making notes--Westgate, for, instance, who wanted to get on the +Board, and was sure to make himself unpleasant--the time-honoured +method of vinegar; and Batterson, who also desired to come on, and +might be trusted to support the Board--the time-honoured method of +oil; while, if one knew anything of human nature, the fellow who had +complained that he might as well go home would have something +uncomfortable to say. The director finished his remarks, combed his +beard with his fingers, and sat down. + +A momentary pause ensued. Then Messieurs Westgate and Batterson rose +together. Seeing the chairman nod towards the latter, the secretary +thought: 'Mistake! He should have humoured Westgate by giving him +precedence.' But that was the worst of the old man, he had no notion +of the suaviter in modo! Mr. Batterson thus unchained--would like, +if he might be so allowed, to congratulate the Board on having +piloted their ship so smoothly through the troublous waters of the +past year. With their worthy chairman still at the helm, he had no +doubt that in spite of the still low--he would not say falling- +barometer, and the-er-unseasonable climacteric, they might rely on +weathering the--er--he would not say storm. He would confess that +the present dividend of four per cent. was not one which satisfied +every aspiration (Hear, hear!), but speaking for himself, and he +hoped for others--and here Mr. Batterson looked round--he recognised +that in all the circumstances it was as much as they had the right-- +er--to expect. But following the bold but to his mind prudent +development which the Board proposed to make, he thought that they +might reasonably, if not sanguinely, anticipate a more golden future. +("No, no!") A shareholder said, 'No, no!' That might seem to +indicate a certain lack of confidence in the special proposal before +the meeting. ("Yes!") From that lack of confidence he would like at +once to dissociate himself. Their chairman, a man of foresight and +acumen, and valour proved on many a field and--er--sea, would not +have committed himself to this policy without good reason. In his +opinion they were in safe hands, and he was glad to register his +support of the measure proposed. The chairman had well said in his +speech: 'de l'audace, toujours de l'audace!' Shareholders would +agree with him that there could be no better motto for Englishmen. +Ahem! + +Mr. Batterson sat down. And Mr. Westgate rose: He wanted--he said-- +to know more, much more, about this proposition, which to his mind +was of a very dubious wisdom.... 'Ah!' thought the secretary, 'I +told the old boy he must tell them more'.... To whom, for instance, +had the proposal first been made? To him!--the chairman said. Good! +But why were Pillins selling, if freights were to go up, as they were +told? + +"Matter of opinion." + +"Quite so; and in my opinion they are going lower, and Pillins were +right to sell. It follows that we are wrong to buy." ("Hear, hear!" +"No, no!") "Pillins are shrewd people. What does the chairman say? +Nerves! Does he mean to tell us that this sale was the result of +nerves?" + +The chairman nodded. + +"That appears to me a somewhat fantastic theory; but I will leave +that and confine myself to asking the grounds on which the chairman +bases his confidence; in fact, what it is which is actuating the +Board in pressing on us at such a time what I have no hesitation in +stigmatising as a rash proposal. In a word, I want light as well as +leading in this matter." + +Mr. Westgate sat down. + +What would the chairman do now? The situation was distinctly +awkward--seeing his helplessness and the lukewarmness of the Board +behind him. And the secretary felt more strongly than ever the +absurdity of his being an underling, he who in a few well-chosen +words could so easily have twisted the meeting round his thumb. +Suddenly he heard the long, rumbling sigh which preluded the +chairman's speeches. + +"Has any other gentleman anything to say before I move the adoption +of the report?" + +Phew! That would put their backs up. Yes, sure enough it had +brought that fellow, who had said he might as well go home, to his +feet! Now for something nasty! + +"Mr. Westgate requires answering. I don't like this business. I +don't impute anything to anybody; but it looks to me as if there were +something behind it which the shareholders ought to be told. Not +only that; but, to speak frankly, I'm not satisfied to be ridden over +roughshod in this fashion by one who, whatever he may have been in +the past, is obviously not now in the prime of his faculties." + +With a gasp the secretary thought: 'I knew that was a plain-spoken +man!' + +He heard again the rumbling beside him. The chairman had gone +crimson, his mouth was pursed, his little eyes were very blue. + +"Help me up," he said. + +The secretary helped him, and waited, rather breathless. + +The chairman took a sip of water, and his voice, unexpectedly loud, +broke an ominous hush: + +"Never been so insulted in my life. My best services have been at +your disposal for nineteen years; you know what measure of success +this Company has attained. I am the oldest man here, and my +experience of shipping is, I hope, a little greater than that of the +two gentlemen who spoke last. I have done my best for you, ladies +and gentlemen, and we shall see whether you are going to endorse an +indictment of my judgment and of my honour, if I am to take the last +speaker seriously. This purchase is for your good. 'There is a tide +in the affairs of men'--and I for one am not content, never have +been, to stagnate. If that is what you want, however, by all means +give your support to these gentlemen and have done with it. I tell +you freights will go up before the end of the year; the purchase is a +sound one, more than a sound one--I, at any rate, stand or fall by +it. Refuse to ratify it, if you like; if you do, I shall resign." + +He sank back into his seat. The secretary, stealing a glance, +thought with a sort of enthusiasm: 'Bravo! Who'd have thought he +could rally his voice like that? A good touch, too, that about his +honour! I believe he's knocked them. + +It's still dicky, though, if that fellow at the back gets up again; +the old chap can't work that stop a second time. 'Ah! here was 'old +Apple-pie' on his hind legs. That was all right! + +"I do not hesitate to say that I am an old friend of the chairman; we +are, many of us, old friends of the chairman, and it has been painful +to me, and I doubt not to others, to hear an attack made on him. If +he is old in body, he is young in mental vigour and courage. I wish +we were all as young. We ought to stand by him; I say, we ought to +stand by him." ("Hear, hear! Hear, hear!") And the secretary +thought: 'That's done it!' And he felt a sudden odd emotion, watching +the chairman bobbing his body, like a wooden toy, at old Appleby; and +old Appleby bobbing back. Then, seeing a shareholder close to the +door get up, thought: 'Who's that? I know his face--Ah! yes; +Ventnor, the solicitor--he's one of the chairman's creditors that are +coming again this afternoon. What now?' + +"I can't agree that we ought to let sentiment interfere with our +judgment in this matter. The question is simply: How are our pockets +going to be affected? I came here with some misgivings, but the +attitude of the chairman has been such as to remove them; and I shall +support the proposition." The secretary thought: 'That's all right-- +only, he said it rather queerly--rather queerly.' + +Then, after a long silence, the chairman, without rising, said: + +"I move the adoption of the report and accounts." + +"I second that." + +"Those in favour signify the same in the usual way. Contrary? +Carried." The secretary noted the dissentients, six in number, and +that Mr. Westgate did not vote. + +A quarter of an hour later he stood in the body of the emptying room +supplying names to one of the gentlemen of the Press. The +passionless fellow said: "Haythorp, with an 'a'; oh! an 'e'; he +seems an old man. Thank you. I may have the slips? Would you like +to see a proof? With an 'a' you said--oh! an 'e.' Good afternoon!" +And the secretary thought: 'Those fellows, what does go on inside +them? Fancy not knowing the old chairman by now!'... + + + + +2 + +Back in the proper office of "The Island Navigation Company" old +Heythorp sat smoking a cigar and smiling like a purring cat. He was +dreaming a little of his triumph, sifting with his old brain, still +subtle, the wheat from the chaff of the demurrers: Westgate--nothing +in that--professional discontent till they silenced him with a place +on the board--but not while be held the reins! That chap at the +back--an ill-conditioned fellow! "Something behind!" Suspicious +brute! There was something--but--hang it! they might think +themselves lucky to get four ships at that price, and all due to him! +It was on the last speaker that his mind dwelt with a doubt. That +fellow Ventnor, to whom he owed money--there had been something just +a little queer about his tone--as much as to say, "I smell a rat." +Well! one would see that at the creditors' meeting in half an hour. + +"Mr. Pillin, sir." + +"Show him in!" + +In a fur coat which seemed to extinguish his thin form, Joe Pillin +entered. It was snowing, and the cold had nipped and yellowed his +meagre face between its slight grey whiskering. He said thinly: + +"How are you, Sylvanus? Aren't you perished in this cold?" + +"Warm as a toast. Sit down. Take off your coat." + +"Oh! I should be lost without it. You must have a fire inside you. +So-so it's gone through?" + +Old Heythorp nodded; and Joe Pillin, wandering like a spirit, +scrutinised the shut door. He came back to the table, and said in a +low voice: + +"It's a great sacrifice." + +Old Heythorp smiled. + +"Have you signed the deed poll?" + +Producing a parchment from his pocket Joe Pillin unfolded it with +caution to disclose his signature, and said: + +"I don't like it--it's irrevocable." + +A chuckle escaped old Heythorp. + +"As death." + +Joe Pillin's voice passed up into the treble clef. + +"I can't bear irrevocable things. I consider you stampeded me, +playing on my nerves." + +Examining the signatures old Heythorp murmured: + +"Tell your lawyer to lock it up. He must think you a sad dog, Joe." + +"Ah! Suppose on my death it comes to the knowledge of my wife!" + +"She won't be able to make it hotter for you than you'll be already." + +Joe Pillin replaced the deed within his coat, emitting a queer thin +noise. He simply could not bear joking on such subjects. + +"Well," he said, "you've got your way; you always do. Who is this +Mrs. Larne? You oughtn't to keep me in the dark. It seems my boy +met her at your house. You told me she didn't come there." + +Old Heythorp said with relish: + +"Her husband was my son by a woman I was fond of before I married; +her children are my grandchildren. You've provided for them. Best +thing you ever did." + +"I don't know--I don't know. I'm sorry you told me. It makes it all +the more doubtful. As soon as the transfer's complete, I shall get +away abroad. This cold's killing me. I wish you'd give me your +recipe for keeping warm." + +"Get a new inside." + +Joe Pillin regarded his old friend with a sort of yearning. "And +yet," he said, "I suppose, with your full-blooded habit, your life +hangs by a thread, doesn't it?" + +"A stout one, my boy" + +"Well, good-bye, Sylvanus. You're a Job's comforter; I must be +getting home." He put on his hat, and, lost in his fur coat, passed +out into the corridor. On the stairs he met a man who said: + +"How do you do, Mr. Pillin? I know your son. Been' seeing the +chairman? I see your sale's gone through all right. I hope that'll +do us some good, but I suppose you think the other way?" + +Peering at him from under his hat, Joe Pillin said: + +"Mr. Ventnor, I think? Thank you! It's very cold, isn't it?" And, +with that cautious remark, he passed on down. + +Alone again, old Heythorp thought: 'By George! What a wavering, +quavering, thread paper of a fellow! What misery life must be to a +chap like that! He walks in fear--he wallows in it. Poor devil!' +And a curious feeling swelled his heart, of elation, of lightness +such as he had not known for years. Those two young things were safe +now from penury-safe! After dealing with those infernal creditors of +his he would go round and have a look at the children. With a +hundred and twenty a year the boy could go into the Army--best place +for a young scamp like that. The girl would go off like hot cakes, of +course, but she needn't take the first calf that came along. As for +their mother, she must look after herself; nothing under two thousand +a year would keep her out of debt. But trust her for wheedling and +bluffing her way out of any scrape! Watching his cigar-smoke curl +and disperse he was conscious of the strain he had been under these +last six weeks, aware suddenly of how greatly he had baulked at +thought of to-day's general meeting. Yes! It might have turned out +nasty. He knew well enough the forces on the Board, and off, who +would be only too glad to shelve him. If he were shelved here his +other two Companies would be sure to follow suit, and bang would go +every penny of his income--he would be a pauper dependant on that +holy woman. Well! Safe now for another year if he could stave off +these sharks once more. It might be a harder job this time, but he +was in luck--in luck, and it must hold. And taking a luxurious pull +at his cigar, he rang the handbell. + +"Bring 'em in here, Mr. Farney. And let me have a cup of China tea +as strong as you can make it." + +"Yes, sir. Will you see the proof of the press report, or will you +leave it to me?" + +"To you." + +"Yes, sir. It was a good meeting, wasn't it?" + +Old Heythorp nodded. + +"Wonderful how your voice came back just at the right moment. I was +afraid things were going to be difficult. The insult did it, I +think. It was a monstrous thing to say. I could have punched his +head." + +Again old Heythorp nodded; and, looking into the secretary's fine +blue eyes, he repeated: "Bring 'em in." + +The lonely minute before the entrance of his creditors passed in the +thought: 'So that's how it struck him! Short shrift I should get if +it came out.' + +The gentlemen, who numbered ten this time, bowed to their debtor, +evidently wondering why the deuce they troubled to be polite to an +old man who kept them out of their money. Then, the secretary +reappearing with a cup of China tea, they watched while their debtor +drank it. The feat was tremulous. Would he get through without +spilling it all down his front, or choking? To those unaccustomed to +his private life it was slightly miraculous. He put the cup down +empty, tremblingly removed some yellow drops from the little white +tuft below his lip, refit his cigar, and said: + +"No use beating about the bush, gentlemen; I can offer you fourteen +hundred a year so long as I live and hold my directorships, and not a +penny more. If you can't accept that, you must make me bankrupt and +get about sixpence in the pound. My qualifying shares will fetch a +couple of thousand at market price. I own nothing else. The house I +live in, and everything in it, barring my clothes, my wine, and my +cigars, belong to my daughter under a settlement fifteen years old. +My solicitors and bankers will give you every information. That's +the position in a nutshell." + +In spite of business habits the surprise of the ten gentlemen was +only partially concealed. A man who owed them so much would +naturally say he owned nothing, but would he refer them to his +solicitors and bankers unless he were telling the truth? Then Mr. +Ventnor said: + +"Will you submit your pass books?" + +"No, but I'll authorise my bankers to give you a full statement of my +receipts for the last five years--longer, if you like." + +The strategic stroke of placing the ten gentlemen round the Board +table had made it impossible for them to consult freely without being +overheard, but the low-voiced transference of thought travelling +round was summed up at last by Mr. Brownbee. + +"We think, Mr. Heythorp, that your fees and dividends should enable +you to set aside for us a larger sum. Sixteen hundred, in fact, is +what we think you should give us yearly. Representing, as we do, +sixteen thousand pounds, the prospect is not cheering, but we hope +you have some good years before you yet. We understand your income +to be two thousand pounds." + +Old Heythorp shook his head. "Nineteen hundred and thirty pounds in +a good year. Must eat and drink; must have a man to look after me +not as active as I was. Can't do on less than five hundred pounds. +Fourteen hundred's all I can give you, gentlemen; it's an advance of +two hundred pounds. That's my last word." + +The silence was broken by Mr. Ventnor. + +"And it's my last word that I'm not satisfied. If these other +gentlemen accept your proposition I shall be forced to consider what +I can do on my own account." + +The old man stared at him, and answered: + +"Oh! you will, sir; we shall see." + +The others had risen and were gathered in a knot at the end of the +table; old Heythorp and Mr. Ventnor alone remained seated. The old +man's lower lip projected till the white hairs below stood out like +bristles. 'You ugly dog,' he was thinking, 'you think you've got +something up your sleeve. Well, do your worst!' The "ugly dog" rose +abruptly and joined the others. And old Heythorp closed his eyes, +sitting perfectly still, with his cigar, which had gone out, sticking +up between his teeth. Mr. Brownbee turning to voice the decision +come to, cleared his throat. + +"Mr. Heythorp," he said, "if your bankers and solicitors bear out +your statements, we shall accept your offer faute de mieux, in +consideration of your--" but meeting the old man's eyes, which said +so very plainly: "Blow your consideration!" he ended with a stammer: +"Perhaps you will kindly furnish us with the authorisation you spoke +of?" + +Old Heythorp nodded, and Mr. Brownbee, with a little bow, clasped his +hat to his breast and moved towards the door. The nine gentlemen +followed. Mr. Ventnor, bringing up the rear, turned and looked back. +But the old man's eyes were already closed again. + +The moment his creditors were gone, old Heythorp sounded the hand- +bell. + +"Help me up, Mr. Farney. That Ventnor--what's his holding?" + +"Quite small. Only ten shares, I think." + +"Ah! What time is it?" + +"Quarter to four, sir." + +"Get me a taxi." + +After visiting his bank and his solicitors he struggled once more +into his cab and caused it to be driven towards Millicent Villas. A +kind of sleepy triumph permeated his whole being, bumped and shaken +by the cab's rapid progress. So! He was free of those sharks now so +long as he could hold on to his Companies; and he would still have a +hundred a year or more to spare for Rosamund and her youngsters. He +could live on four hundred, or even three-fifty, without losing his +independence, for there would be no standing life in that holy +woman's house unless he could pay his own scot! A good day's work! +The best for many a long month! + +The cab stopped before the villa. + + + + +3 + +There are rooms which refuse to give away their owners, and rooms +which seem to say: 'They really are like this.' Of such was Rosamund +Larne's--a sort of permanent confession, seeming to remark to anyone +who entered: 'Her taste? Well, you can see--cheerful and exuberant; +her habits--yes, she sits here all the morning in a dressing-gown, +smoking cigarettes and dropping ink; kindly observe my carpet. +Notice the piano--it has a look of coming and going, according to the +exchequer. This very deep-cushioned sofa is permanent, however; the +water-colours on the walls are safe, too--they're by herself. Mark +the scent of mimosa--she likes flowers, and likes them strong. No +clock, of course. Examine the bureau--she is obviously always +ringing for "the drumstick," and saying: "Where's this, Ellen, and +where's that? You naughty gairl, you've been tidying." Cast an eye +on that pile of manuscript--she has evidently a genius for +composition; it flows off her pen--like Shakespeare, she never blots +a line. See how she's had the electric light put in, instead of that +horrid gas; but try and turn either of them on--you can't; last +quarter isn't paid, of course; and she uses an oil lamp, you can tell +that by the ceiling: The dog over there, who will not answer to the +name of 'Carmen,' a Pekinese spaniel like a little Djin, all +prominent eyes rolling their blacks, and no nose between--yes, Carmen +looks as if she didn't know what was coming next; she's right--it's a +pet-and-slap-again life! Consider, too, the fittings of the tea- +tray, rather soiled, though not quite tin, but I say unto you that no +millionaire's in all its glory ever had a liqueur bottle on it.' + +When old Heythorp entered this room, which extended from back to +front of the little house, preceded by the announcement "Mr. Aesop," +it was resonant with a very clatter-bodandigo of noises, from Phyllis +playing the Machiche; from the boy Jock on the hearthrug, emitting at +short intervals the most piercing notes from an ocarina; from Mrs. +Larne on the sofa, talking with her trailing volubility to Bob +Pillin; from Bob Pillin muttering: "Ye-es! Qui-ite! Ye-es!" and +gazing at Phyllis over his collar. And, on the window-sill, as far +as she could get from all this noise, the little dog Carmen was +rolling her eyes. At sight of their visitor Jock blew one rending +screech, and bolting behind the sofa, placed his chin on its top, so +that nothing but his round pink unmoving face was visible; and the +dog Carmen tried to climb the blind cord. + +Encircled from behind by the arms of Phyllis, and preceded by the +gracious perfumed bulk of Mrs. Larne, old Heythorp was escorted to +the sofa. It was low, and when he had plumped down into it, the boy +Jock emitted a hollow groan. Bob Pillin was the first to break the +silence. + +"How are you, sir? I hope it's gone through." + +Old Heythorp nodded. His eyes were fixed on the liqueur, and Mrs. +Larne murmured: + +"Guardy, you must try our new liqueur. Jock, you awful boy, get up +and bring Guardy a glass." + +The boy Jock approached the tea-table, took up a glass, put it to his +eye and filled it rapidly. + +"You horrible boy, you could see that glass has been used." + +In a high round voice rather like an angel's, Jock answered: + +"All right, Mother; I'll get rid of it," and rapidly swallowing the +yellow liquor, took up another glass. + +Mrs. Larne laughed. + +"What am I to do with him?" + +A loud shriek prevented a response. Phyllis, who had taken her +brother by the ear to lead him to the door, let him go to clasp her +injured self. + +Bob Pillin went hastening towards her; and following the young man +with her chin, Mrs. Larne said, smiling: + +"Aren't those children awful? He's such a nice fellow. We like him +so much, Guardy." + +The old man grinned. So she was making up to that young pup! +Rosamund Larne, watching him, murmured: + +"Oh! Guardy, you're as bad as Jock. He takes after you terribly. +Look at the shape of his head. Jock, come here!" The innocent boy +approached; with his girlish complexion, his flowery blue eyes, his +perfect mouth, he stood before his mother like a large cherub. And +suddenly he blew his ocarina in a dreadful manner. Mrs. Larne +launched a box at his ears, and receiving the wind of it he fell +prone. + +"That's the way he behaves. Be off with you, you awful boy. I want +to talk to Guardy." + +The boy withdrew on his stomach, and sat against the wall cross- +legged, fixing his innocent round eyes on old Heythorp. Mrs. Larne +sighed. + +"Things are worse and worse, Guardy. I'm at my wits' end to tide +over this quarter. You wouldn't advance me a hundred on my new +story? I'm sure to get two for it in the end." + +The old man shook his head. + +"I've done something for you and the children," he said. "You'll get +notice of it in a day or two; ask no questions." + +"Oh! Guardy! Oh! you dear!" And her gaze rested on Bob Pillin, +leaning over the piano, where Phyllis again sat. + +Old Heythorp snorted. "What are you cultivating that young gaby for? +She mustn't be grabbed up by any fool who comes along." + +Mrs. Larne murmured at once: + +"Of course, the dear gairl is much too young. Phyllis, come and talk +to Guardy!" + +When the girl was installed beside him on the sofa, and he had felt +that little thrill of warmth the proximity of youth can bring, he +said: + +"Been a good girl?" + +She shook her head. + +"Can't, when Jock's not at school. Mother can't pay for him this +term." + +Hearing his name, the boy Jock blew his ocarina till Mrs. Larne drove +him from the room, and Phyllis went on: + +"He's more awful than anything you can think of. Was my dad at all +like him, Guardy? Mother's always so mysterious about him. I +suppose you knew him well." + +Old Heythorp, incapable of confusion, answered stolidly: + +"Not very." + +"Who was his father? I don't believe even mother knows." + +"Man about town in my day." + +"Oh! your day must have been jolly. Did you wear peg-top trousers, +and dundreary's?" + +Old Heythorp nodded. + +"What larks! And I suppose you had lots of adventures with opera +dancers and gambling. The young men are all so good now." Her eyes +rested on Bob Pillin. "That young man's a perfect stick of +goodness." + +Old Heythorp grunted. + +"You wouldn't know how good he was," Phyllis went on musingly, +"unless you'd sat next him in a tunnel. The other day he had his +waist squeezed and he simply sat still and did nothing. And then +when the tunnel ended, it was Jock after all, not me. His face was-- +Oh! ah! ha! ha! Ah! ha!" She threw back her head, displaying +all her white, round throat. Then edging near, she whispered: + +"He likes to pretend, of course, that he's fearfully lively. He's +promised to take mother and me to the theatre and supper afterwards. +Won't it be scrummy! Only, I haven't anything to go in." + +Old Heythorp said: "What do you want? Irish poplin?" + +Her mouth opened wide: "Oh! Guardy! Soft white satin!" + +"How many yards'll go round you?" + +"I should think about twelve. We could make it ourselves. You are a +chook!" + +A scent of hair, like hay, enveloped him, her lips bobbed against his +nose,--and there came a feeling in his heart as when he rolled the +first sip of a special wine against his palate. This little house +was a rumty-too affair, her mother was a humbug, the boy a cheeky +young rascal, but there was a warmth here he never felt in that big +house which had been his wife's and was now his holy daughter's. And +once more he rejoiced at his day's work, and the success of his +breach of trust, which put some little ground beneath these young +feet, in a hard and unscrupulous world. Phyllis whispered in his +ear: + +"Guardy, do look; he will stare at me like that. Isn't it awful-- +like a boiled rabbit?" + +Bob Pillin, attentive to Mrs. Larne, was gazing with all his might +over her shoulder at the girl. The young man was moonstruck, that +was clear! There was something almost touching in the stare of those +puppy dog's eyes. And he thought 'Young beggar--wish I were his +age!' The utter injustice of having an old and helpless body, when +your desire for enjoyment was as great as ever! They said a man was +as old as he felt! Fools! A man was as old as his legs and arms, +and not a day younger. He heard the girl beside him utter a +discomfortable sound, and saw her face cloud as if tears were not far +off; she jumped up, and going to the window, lifted the little dog +and buried her face in its brown and white fur. Old Heythorp +thought: 'She sees that her humbugging mother is using her as a +decoy.' But she had come back, and the little dog, rolling its eyes +horribly at the strange figure on the sofa, in a desperate effort to +escape succeeded in reaching her shoulder, where it stayed perched +like a cat, held by one paw and trying to back away into space. Old +Heythorp said abruptly: + +"Are you very fond of your mother?" + +"Of course I am, Guardy. I adore her." + +"H'm! Listen to me. When you come of age or marry, you'll have a +hundred and twenty a year of your own that you can't get rid of. +Don't ever be persuaded into doing what you don't want. And +remember: Your mother's a sieve, no good giving her money; keep what +you'll get for yourself--it's only a pittance, and you'll want it all +--every penny." + +Phyllis's eyes had opened very wide; so that he wondered if she had +taken in his words. + +"Oh! Isn't money horrible, Guardy?" + +"The want of it." + +"No, it's beastly altogether. If only we were like birds. Or if one +could put out a plate overnight, and have just enough in the morning +to use during the day." + +Old Heythorp sighed. + +"There's only one thing in life that matters--independence. Lose +that, and you lose everything. That's the value of money. Help me +up." + +Phyllis stretched out her hands, and the little dog, running down her +back, resumed its perch on the window-sill, close to the blind cord. + +Once on his feet, old Heythorp said: + +"Give me a kiss. You'll have your satin tomorrow." + +Then looking at Bob Pillin, he remarked: + +"Going my way? I'll give you a lift." + +The young man, giving Phyllis one appealing look, answered dully: +"Tha-anks!" and they went out together to the taxi. In that +draughtless vehicle they sat, full of who knows what contempt of age +for youth; and youth for age; the old man resenting this young pup's +aspiration to his granddaughter; the young man annoyed that this old +image had dragged him away before he wished to go. Old Heythorp said +at last: + +"Well?" + +Thus expected to say something, Bob Pillin muttered + +"Glad your meetin' went off well, sir. You scored a triumph I should +think." + +"Why?" + +"Oh! I don't know. I thought you had a good bit of opposition to +contend with." + +Old Heythorp looked at him. + +"Your grandmother!" he said; then, with his habitual instinct of +attack, added: "You make the most of your opportunities, I see." + +At this rude assault Bob Pillin's red-cheeked face assumed a certain +dignity. "I don't know what you mean, sir. Mrs. Larne is very kind +to me." + +"No doubt. But don't try to pick the flowers." + +Thoroughly upset, Bob Pillin preserved a dogged silence. This +fortnight, since he had first met Phyllis in old Heythorp's hall, had +been the most singular of his existence up to now. He would never +have believed that a fellow could be so quickly and completely +bowled, could succumb without a kick, without even wanting to kick. +To one with his philosophy of having a good time and never committing +himself too far, it was in the nature of "a fair knock-out," and yet +so pleasurable, except for the wear and tear about one's chances. If +only he knew how far the old boy really counted in the matter! To +say: "My intentions are strictly honourable" would be old-fashioned; +besides--the old fellow might have no right to hear it. They called +him Guardy, but without knowing more he did not want to admit the old +curmudgeon's right to interfere. + +"Are you a relation of theirs, sir?" + +Old Heythorp nodded. + +Bob Pillin went on with desperation: + +"I should like to know what your objection to me is." + +The old man turned his head so far as he was able; a grim smile +bristled the hairs about his lips, and twinkled in his eyes. What +did he object to? Why--everything! Object to! That sleek head, +those puppy-dog eyes, fattish red cheeks, high collars, pearl pin, +spats, and drawl-pah! the imbecility, the smugness of his mug; no +go, no devil in any of his sort, in any of these fish-veined, +coddled-up young bloods, nothing but playing for safety! And he +wheezed out: + +"Milk and water masquerading as port wine." + +Bob Pillin frowned. + +It was almost too much for the composure even of a man of the world. +That this paralytic old fellow should express contempt for his +virility was really the last thing in jests. Luckily he could not +take it seriously. But suddenly he thought: 'What if he really has +the power to stop my going there, and means to turn them against me!' +And his heart quailed. + +"Awfully sorry, sir," he said, "if you don't think I'm wild enough. +Anything I can do for you in that line--" + +The old man grunted; and realising that he had been quite witty, Bob +Pillin went on: + +"I know I'm not in debt, no entanglements, got a decent income, +pretty good expectations and all that; but I can soon put that all +right if I'm not fit without." + +It was perhaps his first attempt at irony, and he could not help +thinking how good it was. + +But old Heythorp preserved a deadly silence. He looked like a +stuffed man, a regular Aunt Sally sitting there, with the fixed red +in his cheeks, his stivered hair, square block of a body, and no neck +that you could see-only wanting the pipe in his mouth! Could there +really be danger from such an old idol? The idol spoke: + +"I'll give you a word of advice. Don't hang round there, or you'll +burn your fingers. Remember me to your father. Good-night!" + +The taxi had stopped before the house in Sefton Park. An insensate +impulse to remain seated and argue the point fought in Bob Pillin +with an impulse to leap out, shake his fist in at the window, and +walk off. He merely said, however: + +"Thanks for the lift. Good-night!" And, getting out deliberately, +he walked off. + +Old Heythorp, waiting for the driver to help him up, thought 'Fatter, +but no more guts than his father!' + +In his sanctum he sank at once into his chair. It was wonderfully +still there every day at this hour; just the click of the coals, just +the faintest ruffle from the wind in the trees of the park. And it +was cosily warm, only the fire lightening the darkness. A drowsy +beatitude pervaded the old man. A good day's work! A triumph--that +young pup had said. Yes! Something of a triumph! He had held on, +and won. And dinner to look forward to, yet. A nap--a nap! And +soon, rhythmic, soft, sonorous, his breathing rose, with now and then +that pathetic twitching of the old who dream. + + + + +III + +1 + +When Bob Pillin emerged from the little front garden of 23, Millicent +Villas ten days later, his sentiments were ravelled, and he could not +get hold of an end to pull straight the stuff of his mind. + +He had found Mrs. Larne and Phyllis in the sitting-room, and Phyllis +had been crying; he was sure she had been crying; and that memory +still infected the sentiments evoked by later happenings. Old +Heythorp had said: "You'll burn your fingers." The process had +begun. Having sent her daughter away on a pretext really a bit too +thin, Mrs. Larne had installed him beside her scented bulk on the +sofa, and poured into his ear such a tale of monetary woe and +entanglement, such a mass of present difficulties and rosy prospects, +that his brain still whirled, and only one thing emerged clearly-that +she wanted fifty pounds, which she would repay him on quarter-day; +for their Guardy had made a settlement by which, until the dear +children came of age, she would have sixty pounds every quarter. It +was only a question of a few weeks; he might ask Messrs. Scriven and +Coles; they would tell him the security was quite safe. He certainly +might ask Messrs. Scriven and Coles--they happened to be his +father's solicitors; but it hardly seemed to touch the point. Bob +Pillin had a certain shrewd caution, and the point was whether he was +going to begin to lend money to a woman who, he could see, might +borrow up to seventy times seven on the strength of his infatuation +for her daughter. That was rather too strong! Yet, if he didn't she +might take a sudden dislike to him, and where would he be then? +Besides, would not a loan make his position stronger? And then--such +is the effect of love even on the younger generation--that thought +seemed to him unworthy. If he lent at all, it should be from +chivalry--ulterior motives might go hang! And the memory of the +tear-marks on Phyllis's pretty pale-pink cheeks; and her petulantly +mournful: "Oh! young man, isn't money beastly!" scraped his heart, +and ravished his judgment. All the same, fifty pounds was fifty +pounds, and goodness knew how much more; and what did he know of Mrs. +Larne, after all, except that she was a relative of old Heythorp's +and wrote stories--told them too, if he was not mistaken? Perhaps it +would be better to see Scrivens'. But again that absurd nobility +assaulted him. Phyllis! Phyllis! Besides, were not settlements +always drawn so that they refused to form security for anything? +Thus, hampered and troubled, he hailed a cab. He was dining with the +Ventnors on the Cheshire side, and would be late if he didn't get +home sharp to dress. + +Driving, white-tied--and waist-coated, in his father's car, he +thought with a certain contumely of the younger Ventnor girl, whom he +had been wont to consider pretty before he knew Phyllis. And seated +next her at dinner, he quite enjoyed his new sense of superiority to +her charms, and the ease with which he could chaff and be agreeable. +And all the time he suffered from the suppressed longing which +scarcely ever left him now, to think and talk of Phyllis. Ventnor's +fizz was good and plentiful, his old Madeira absolutely first chop, +and the only other man present a teetotal curate, who withdrew with +the ladies to talk his parish shop. Favoured by these circumstances, +and the perception that Ventnor was an agreeable fellow, Bob Pillin +yielded to his secret itch to get near the subject of his affections. + +"Do you happen," he said airily, "to know a Mrs. Larne--relative of +old Heythorp's--rather a handsome woman-she writes stories." + +Mr. Ventnor shook his head. A closer scrutiny than Bob Pillin's +would have seen that he also moved his ears. + +"Of old Heythorp's? Didn't know he had any, except his daughter, and +that son of his in the Admiralty." + +Bob Pillin felt the glow of his secret hobby spreading within him. + +"She is, though--lives rather out of town; got a son and daughter. I +thought you might know her stories--clever woman." + +Mr. Ventnor smiled. "Ah!" he said enigmatically, "these lady +novelists! Does she make any money by them?" + +Bob Pillin knew that to make money by writing meant success, but that +not to make money by writing was artistic, and implied that you had +private means, which perhaps was even more distinguished. And he +said: + +"Oh! she has private means, I know." + +Mr. Ventnor reached for the Madeira. + +"So she's a relative of old Heythorp's," he said. "He's a very old +friend of your father's. He ought to go bankrupt, you know." + +To Bob Pillin, glowing with passion and Madeira, the idea of +bankruptcy seemed discreditable in connection with a relative of +Phyllis. Besides, the old boy was far from that! Had he not just +made this settlement on Mrs. Larne? And he said: + +"I think you're mistaken. That's of the past." + +Mr. Ventnor smiled. + +"Will you bet?" he said. + +Bob Pillin also smiled. "I should be bettin' on a certainty." + +Mr. Ventnor passed his hand over his whiskered face. "Don't you +believe it; he hasn't a mag to his name. Fill your glass." + +Bob Pillin said, with a certain resentment: + +"Well, I happen to know he's just made a settlement of five or six +thousand pounds. Don't know if you call that being bankrupt." + +"What! On this Mrs. Larne?" + +Confused, uncertain whether he had said something derogatory or +indiscreet, or something which added distinction to Phyllis, Bob +Pillin hesitated, then gave a nod. + +Mr. Ventnor rose and extended his short legs before the fire. + +"No, my boy," he said. "No!" + +Unaccustomed to flat contradiction, Bob Pillin reddened. + +"I'll bet you a tenner. Ask Scrivens." + +Mr. Ventnor ejaculated: + +"Scrivens---but they're not--" then, staring rather hard, he added: +"I won't bet. You may be right. Scrivens are your father's +solicitors too, aren't they? Always been sorry he didn't come to me. +Shall we join the ladies?" And to the drawing-room he preceded a +young man more uncertain in his mind than on his feet.... + +Charles Ventnor was not one to let you see that more was going on +within than met the eye. But there was a good deal going on that +evening, and after his conversation with young Bob he had occasion +more than once to turn away and rub his hands together. When, after +that second creditors' meeting, he had walked down the stairway which +led to the offices of "The Island Navigation Company," he had been +deep in thought. Short, squarely built, rather stout, with moustache +and large mutton-chop whiskers of a red brown, and a faint floridity +in face and dress, he impressed at first sight only by a certain +truly British vulgarity. One felt that here was a hail-fellow--well- +met man who liked lunch and dinner, went to Scarborough for his +summer holidays, sat on his wife, took his daughters out in a boat +and was never sick. One felt that he went to church every Sunday +morning, looked upwards as he moved through life, disliked the +unsuccessful, and expanded with his second glass of wine. But then a +clear look into his well-clothed face and red-brown eyes would give +the feeling: 'There's something fulvous here; he might be a bit too +foxy.' A third look brought the thought: 'He's certainly a bully.' +He was not a large creditor of old Heythorp. With interest on the +original, he calculated his claim at three hundred pounds--unredeemed +shares in that old Ecuador mine. But he had waited for his money +eight years, and could never imagine how it came about that he had +been induced to wait so long. There had been, of course, for one who +liked "big pots," a certain glamour about the personality of old +Heythorp, still a bit of a swell in shipping circles, and a bit of an +aristocrat in Liverpool. But during the last year Charles Ventnor +had realised that the old chap's star had definitely set--when that +happens, of course, there is no more glamour, and the time has come +to get your money. Weakness in oneself and others is despicable! +Besides, he had food for thought, and descending the stairs he chewed +it: He smelt a rat--creatures for which both by nature and profession +he had a nose. Through Bob Pillin, on whom he sometimes dwelt in +connection with his younger daughter, he knew that old Pillin and old +Heythorp had been friends for thirty years and more. That, to an +astute mind, suggested something behind this sale. The thought had +already occurred to him when he read his copy of the report. A +commission would be a breach of trust, of course, but there were ways +of doing things; the old chap was devilish hard pressed, and human +nature was human nature! His lawyerish mind habitually put two and +two together. The old fellow had deliberately appointed to meet his +creditors again just after the general meeting which would decide the +purchase--had said he might do something for them then. Had that no +significance? + +In these circumstances Charles Ventnor had come to the meeting with +eyes wide open and mouth tight closed. And he had watched. It was +certainly remarkable that such an old and feeble man, with no neck at +all, who looked indeed as if he might go off with apoplexy any +moment, should actually say that he "stood or fell" by this purchase, +knowing that if he fell he would be a beggar. Why should the old +chap be so keen on getting it through? It would do him personally no +good, unless--Exactly! He had left the meeting, therefore, secretly +confident that old Heythorp had got something out of this transaction +which would enable him to make a substantial proposal to his +creditors. So that when the old man had declared that he was going +to make none, something had turned sour in his heart, and he had said +to himself: "All right, you old rascal! You don't know C. V." The +cavalier manner of that beggarly old rip, the defiant look of his +deep little eyes, had put a polish on the rancour of one who prided +himself on letting no man get the better of him. All that evening, +seated on one side of the fire, while Mrs. Ventnor sat on the other, +and the younger daughter played Gounod's Serenade on the violin--he +cogitated. And now and again he smiled, but not too much. He did +not see his way as yet, but had little doubt that before long he +would. It would not be hard to knock that chipped old idol off his +perch. There was already a healthy feeling among the shareholders +that he was past work and should be scrapped. The old chap should +find that Charles V. was not to be defied; that when he got his teeth +into a thing, he did not let it go. By hook or crook he would have +the old man off his Boards, or his debt out of him as the price of +leaving him alone. His life or his money--and the old fellow should +determine which. With the memory of that defiance fresh within him, +he almost hoped it might come to be the first, and turning to Mrs. +Ventnor, he said abruptly: + +"Have a little dinner Friday week, and ask young Pillin and the +curate." He specified the curate, a tee-totaller, because he had two +daughters, and males and females must be paired, but he intended to +pack him off after dinner to the drawing-room to discuss parish +matters while he and Bob Pillin sat over their wine. What he +expected to get out of the young man he did not as yet know. + +On the day of the dinner, before departing for the office, he had +gone to his cellar. Would three bottles of Perrier Jouet do the +trick, or must he add one of the old Madeira? He decided to be on +the safe side. A bottle or so of champagne went very little way with +him personally, and young Pillin might be another. + +The Madeira having done its work by turning the conversation into +such an admirable channel, he had cut it short for fear young Pillin +might drink the lot or get wind of the rat. And when his guests were +gone, and his family had retired, he stood staring into the fire, +putting together the pieces of the puzzle. Five or six thousand +pounds--six would be ten per cent. on sixty! Exactly! Scrivens-- +young Pillin had said! But Crow & Donkin, not Scriven & Coles, were +old Heythorp's solicitors. What could that mean, save that the old +man wanted to cover the tracks of a secret commission, and had +handled the matter through solicitors who did not know the state of +his affairs! But why Pillin's solicitors? With this sale just going +through, it must look deuced fishy to them too. Was it all a mare's +nest, after all? In such circumstances he himself would have taken +the matter to a London firm who knew nothing of anybody. Puzzled, +therefore, and rather disheartened, feeling too that touch of liver +which was wont to follow his old Madeira, he went up to bed and woke +his wife to ask her why the dickens they couldn't always have soup +like that! + +Next day he continued to brood over his puzzle, and no fresh light +came; but having a matter on which his firm and Scrivens' were in +touch, he decided to go over in person, and see if he could surprise +something out of them. Feeling, from experience, that any really +delicate matter would only be entrusted to the most responsible +member of the firm, he had asked to see Scriven himself, and just as +he had taken his hat to go, he said casually: + +"By the way, you do some business for old Mr. Heythorp, don't you?" + +Scriven, raising his eyebrows a little, murmured: "Er--no," in +exactly the tone Mr. Ventnor himself used when he wished to imply +that though he didn't as a fact do business, he probably soon would. +He knew therefore that the answer was a true one. And non-plussed, +he hazarded: + +"Oh! I thought you did, in regard to a Mrs. Larne." + +This time he had certainly drawn blood of sorts, for down came +Scriven's eyebrows, and he said: + +"Mrs. Larne--we know a Mrs. Larne, but not in that connection. Why?" + +"Oh! Young Pillin told me--" + +"Young Pillin? Why, it's his---!" A little pause, and then: "Old +Mr. Heythorp's solicitors are Crow & Donkin, I believe." + +Mr. Ventnor held out his hand. "Yes, yes," he said; "goodbye. Glad +to have got that matter settled up," and out he went, and down the +street, important, smiling. By George! He had got it! "It's his +father"--Scriven had been going to say. What a plant! Exactly! Oh! +neat! Old Pillin had made the settlement direct; and the solicitors +were in the dark; that disposed of his difficulty about them. No +money had passed between old Pillin and old Heythorp not a penny. +Oh! neat! But not neat enough for Charles Ventnor, who had that +nose for rats. Then his smile died, and with a little chill he +perceived that it was all based on supposition--not quite good enough +to go on! What then? Somehow he must see this Mrs. Larne, or +better--old Pillin himself. The point to ascertain was whether she +had any connection of her own with Pillin. Clearly young Pillin +didn't know of it; for, according to him, old Heythorp had made the +settlement. By Jove! That old rascal was deep--all the more +satisfaction in proving that he was not as deep as C. V. To unmask +the old cheat was already beginning to seem in the nature of a public +service. But on what pretext could he visit Pillin? A subscription +to the Windeatt almshouses! That would make him talk in self-defence +and he would take care not to press the request to the actual point +of getting a subscription. He caused himself to be driven to the +Pillin residence in Sefton Park. Ushered into a room on the ground +floor, heated in American fashion, Mr. Ventnor unbuttoned his coat. +A man of sanguine constitution, he found this hot-house atmosphere a +little trying. And having sympathetically obtained Joe Pillin's +reluctant refusal--Quite so! One could not indefinitely extend one's +subscriptions even for the best of causes!--he said gently: + +"By the way, you know Mrs. Larne, don't you?" + +The effect of that simple shot surpassed his highest hopes. Joe +Pillin's face, never highly coloured, turned a sort of grey; he +opened his thin lips, shut them quickly, as birds do, and something +seemed to pass with difficulty down his scraggy throat. The hollows, +which nerve exhaustion delves in the cheeks of men whose cheekbones +are not high, increased alarmingly. For a moment he looked deathly; +then, moistening his lips, he said: + +"Larne--Larne? No, I don't seem---" + +Mr. Ventnor, who had taken care to be drawing on his gloves, +murmured: + +"Oh! I thought--your son knows her; a relation of old Heythorp's," +and he looked up. + +Joe Pillin had his handkerchief to his mouth; he coughed feebly, then +with more and more vigour: + +"I'm in very poor health," he said, at last. "I'm getting abroad at +once. This cold's killing me. What name did you say?" And he +remained with his handkerchief against his teeth. + +Mr. Ventnor repeated: + +"Larne. Writes stories." + +Joe Pillin muttered into his handkerchief + +"Ali! H'm! No--I--no! My son knows all sorts of people. I shall +have to try Mentone. Are you going? Good-bye! Good-bye! I'm sorry; +ah! ha! My cough--ah! ha h'h'm! Very distressing. Ye-hes! My +cough-ah! ha h'h'm! Most distressing. Ye-hes!" + +Out in the drive Mr. Ventnor took a deep breath of the frosty air. +Not much doubt now! The two names had worked like charms. This +weakly old fellow would make a pretty witness, would simply crumple +under cross-examination. What a contrast to that hoary old sinner +Heythorp, whose brazenness nothing could affect. The rat was as +large as life! And the only point was how to make the best use of +it. Then--for his experience was wide--the possibility dawned on +him, that after all, this Mrs. Larne might only have been old +Pillin's mistress--or be his natural daughter, or have some other +blackmailing hold on him. Any such connection would account for his +agitation, for his denying her, for his son's ignorance. Only it +wouldn't account for young Pillin's saying that old Heythorp had made +the settlement. He could only have got that from the woman herself. +Still, to make absolutely sure, he had better try and see her. But +how? It would never do to ask Bob Pillin for an introduction, after +this interview with his father. He would have to go on his own and +chance it. Wrote stories did she? Perhaps a newspaper would know +her address; or the Directory would give it--not a common name! And, +hot on the scent, he drove to a post office. Yes, there it was, +right enough! "Larne, Mrs. R., 23, Millicent Villas." And thinking +to himself: 'No time like the present,' he turned in that direction. +The job was delicate. He must be careful not to do anything which +might compromise his power of making public use of his knowledge. +Yes-ticklish! What he did now must have a proper legal bottom. +Still, anyway you looked at it, he had a right to investigate a fraud +on himself as a shareholder of "The Island Navigation Company," and a +fraud on himself as a creditor of old Heythorp. Quite! But suppose +this Mrs. Larne was really entangled with old Pillin, and the +settlement a mere reward of virtue, easy or otherwise. Well! in that +case there'd be no secret commission to make public, and he needn't +go further. So that, in either event, he would be all right. Only-- +how to introduce himself? He might pretend he was a newspaper man +wanting a story. No, that wouldn't do! He must not represent that +he was what he was not, in case he had afterwards to justify his +actions publicly, always a difficult thing, if you were not careful! +At that moment there came into his mind a question Bob Pillin had +asked the other night. "By the way, you can't borrow on a +settlement, can you? Isn't there generally some clause against it?" +Had this woman been trying to borrow from him on that settlement? +But at this moment he reached the house, and got out of his cab still +undecided as to how he was going to work the oracle. Impudence, +constitutional and professional, sustained him in saying to the +little maid: + +"Mrs. Larne at home? Say Mr. Charles Ventnor, will you?" + +His quick brown eyes took in the apparel of the passage which served +for hall--the deep blue paper on the walls, lilac-patterned curtains +over the doors, the well-known print of a nude young woman looking +over her shoulder, and he thought: 'H'm! Distinctly tasty!' They +noted, too, a small brown-and-white dog cowering in terror at the +very end of the passage, and he murmured affably: "Fluffy! Come +here, Fluffy!" till Carmen's teeth chattered in her head. + +"Will you come in, sir?" + +Mr. Ventnor ran his hand over his whiskers, and, entering a room, was +impressed at once by its air of domesticity. On a sofa a handsome +woman and a pretty young girl were surrounded by sewing apparatus and +some white material. The girl looked up, but the elder lady rose. + +Mr. Ventnor said easily + +"You know my young friend, Mr. Robert Pillin, I think." + +The lady, whose bulk and bloom struck him to the point of admiration, +murmured in a full, sweet drawl: + +"Oh! Ye-es. Are you from Messrs. Scrivens?" + +With the swift reflection: 'As I thought!' Mr. Ventnor answered: + +"Er--not exactly. I am a solicitor though; came just to ask about a +certain settlement that Mr. Pillin tells me you're entitled under." + +"Phyllis dear!" + +Seeing the girl about to rise from underneath the white stuff, Mr. +Ventnor said quickly: + +"Pray don't disturb yourself--just a formality!" It had struck him +at once that the lady would have to speak the truth in the presence +of this third party, and he went on: "Quite recent, I think. This'll +be your first interest-on six thousand pounds? Is that right?" And +at the limpid assent of that rich, sweet voice, he thought: 'Fine +woman; what eyes!' + +"Thank you; that's quite enough. I can go to Scrivens for any +detail. Nice young fellow, Bob Pillin, isn't he?" He saw the girl's +chin tilt, and Mrs. Larne's full mouth curling in a smile. + +"Delightful young man; we're very fond of him." + +And he proceeded: + +"I'm quite an old friend of his; have you known him long?" + +"Oh! no. How long, Phyllis, since we met him at Guardy's? About a +month. But he's so unaffected--quite at home with us. A nice +fellow." + +Mr. Ventnor murmured: + +"Very different from his father, isn't he?" + +"Is he? We don't know his father; he's a shipowner, I think." + +Mr. Ventnor rubbed his hands: "Ye-es," he said, "just giving up--a +warm man. Young Pillin's a lucky fellow--only son. So you met him +at old Mr. Heythorp's. I know him too--relation of yours, I +believe." + +"Our dear Guardy such a wonderful man." + +Mr. Ventnor echoed: "Wonderful--regular old Roman." + +"Oh! but he's so kind!" Mrs. Larne lifted the white stuff: "Look +what he's given this naughty gairl!" + +Mr. Ventnor murmured: "Charming! Charming! Bob Pillin said, I think, +that Mr. Heythorp was your settlor." + +One of those little clouds which visit the brows of women who have +owed money in their time passed swiftly athwart Mrs. Larne's eyes. +For a moment they seemed saying: 'Don't you want to know too much?' +Then they slid from under it. + +"Won't you sit down?" she said. "You must forgive our being at +work." + +Mr. Ventnor, who had need of sorting his impressions, shook his head. + +"Thank you; I must be getting on. Then Messrs. Scriven can--a mere +formality! Goodbye! Good-bye, Miss Larne. I'm sure the dress will +be most becoming." + +And with memories of a too clear look from the girl's eyes, of a warm +firm pressure from the woman's hand, Mr. Ventnor backed towards the +door and passed away just in time to avoid hearing in two voices: + +"What a nice lawyer!" + +"What a horrid man!" + +Back in his cab, he continued to rub his hands. No, she didn't know +old Pillin! That was certain; not from her words, but from her face. +She wanted to know him, or about him, anyway. She was trying to hook +young Bob for that sprig of a girl--it was clear as mud. H'm! it +would astonish his young friend to hear that he had called. Well, +let it! And a curious mixture of emotions beset Mr. Ventnor. He saw +the whole thing now so plainly, and really could not refrain from a +certain admiration. The law had been properly diddled! There was +nothing to prevent a man from settling money on a woman he had never +seen; and so old Pillin's settlement could probably not be upset. +But old Heythorp could. It was neat, though, oh! neat! And that +was a fine woman--remarkably! He had a sort of feeling that if only +the settlement had been in danger, it might have been worth while to +have made a bargain--a woman like that could have made it worth +while! And he believed her quite capable of entertaining the +proposition! Her eye! Pity--quite a pity! Mrs. Ventnor was not a +wife who satisfied every aspiration. But alas! the settlement was +safe. This baulking of the sentiment of love, whipped up, if +anything, the longing for justice in Mr. Ventnor. That old chap +should feel his teeth now. As a piece of investigation it was not so +bad--not so bad at all! He had had a bit of luck, of course,--no, +not luck--just that knack of doing the right thing at the right +moment which marks a real genius for affairs. + +But getting into his train to return to Mrs. Ventnor, he thought: 'A +woman like that would have been--!' And he sighed. + + + + +2 + +With a neatly written cheque for fifty pounds in his pocket Bob +Pillin turned in at 23, Millicent Villas on the afternoon after Mr. +Ventnor's visit. Chivalry had won the day. And he rang the bell +with an elation which astonished him, for he knew he was doing a soft +thing. + +"Mrs. Larne is out, sir; Miss Phyllis is at home." + +His heart leaped. + +"Oh-h! I'm sorry. I wonder if she'd see me?" + +The little maid answered + +"I think she's been washin' 'er'air, sir, but it may be dry be now. +I'll see." + +Bob Pillin stood stock still beneath the young woman on the wall. He +could scarcely breathe. If her hair were not dry--how awful! +Suddenly he heard floating down a clear but smothered "Oh! +Gefoozleme!" and other words which he could not catch. The little +maid came running down. + +"Miss Phyllis says, sir, she'll be with you in a jiffy. And I was to +tell you that Master Jock is loose, sir." + +Bob Pillin answered "Tha-anks," and passed into the drawing-room. He +went to the bureau, took an envelope, enclosed the cheque, and +addressing it: "Mrs. Larne," replaced it in his pocket. Then he +crossed over to the mirror. Never till this last month had he really +doubted his own face; but now he wanted for it things he had never +wanted. It had too much flesh and colour. It did not reflect his +passion. This was a handicap. With a narrow white piping round his +waistcoat opening, and a buttonhole of tuberoses, he had tried to +repair its deficiencies. But do what he would, he was never easy +about himself nowadays, never up to that pitch which could make him +confident in her presence. And until this month to lack confidence +had never been his wont. A clear, high, mocking voice said: + +"Oh-h! Conceited young man!" + +And spinning round he saw Phyllis in the doorway. Her light brown +hair was fluffed out on her shoulders, so that he felt a kind of +fainting-sweet sensation, and murmured inarticulately: + +"Oh! I say--how jolly!" + +"Lawks! It's awful! Have you come to see mother?" + +Balanced between fear and daring, conscious of a scent of hay and +verbena and camomile, Bob Pillin stammered: + +"Ye-es. I--I'm glad she's not in, though." + +Her laugh seemed to him terribly unfeeling. + +"Oh! oh! Don't be foolish. Sit down. Isn't washing one's head +awful?" + +Bob Pillin answered feebly: + +"Of course, I haven't much experience." + +Her mouth opened. + +"Oh! You are--aren't you?" + +And he thought desperately: 'Dare I--oughtn't I--couldn't I somehow +take'her hand or put my arm round her, or something?' Instead, he +sat very rigid at his end of the sofa, while she sat lax and lissom +at the other, and one of those crises of paralysis which beset would- +-be lovers fixed him to the soul. + +Sometimes during this last month memories of a past existence, when +chaff and even kisses came readily to the lips, and girls were fair +game, would make him think: 'Is she really such an innocent? Doesn't +she really want me to kiss her?' Alas! such intrusions lasted but a +moment before a blast of awe and chivalry withered them, and a +strange and tragic delicacy--like nothing he had ever known--resumed +its sway. And suddenly he heard her say: + +"Why do you know such awful men?" + +"What? I don't know any awful men." + +"Oh yes, you do; one came here yesterday; he had whiskers, and he was +awful." + +"Whiskers?" His soul revolted in disclaimer. "I believe I only know +one man with whiskers--a lawyer." + +"Yes--that was him; a perfectly horrid man. Mother didn't mind him, +but I thought he was a beast." + +"Ventnor! Came here? How d'you mean?" + +"He did; about some business of yours, too." Her face had clouded +over. Bob Pillin had of late been harassed by the still-born +beginning of a poem: + + "I rode upon my way and saw + A maid who watched me from the door." + +It never grew longer, and was prompted by the feeling that her face +was like an April day. The cloud which came on it now was like an +April cloud, as if a bright shower of rain must follow. Brushing +aside the two distressful lines, he said: + +"Look here, Miss Larne--Phyllis--look here!" + +"All right, I'm looking!" + +"What does it mean--how did he come? What did he say?" + +She shook her head, and her hair quivered; the scent of camomile, +verbena, hay was wafted; then looking at her lap, she muttered: + +"I wish you wouldn't--I wish mother wouldn't--I hate it. Oh! Money! +Beastly--beastly!" and a tearful sigh shivered itself into Bob +Pillin's reddening ears. + +"I say--don't! And do tell me, because--" + +"Oh! you know." + +"I don't--I don't know anything at all. I never---" + +Phyllis looked up at him. "Don't tell fibs; you know mother's +borrowing money from you, and it's hateful!" + +A desire to lie roundly, a sense of the cheque in his pocket, a +feeling of injustice, the emotion of pity, and a confused and black +astonishment about Ventnor, caused Bob Pillin to stammer: + +'Well, I'm d---d!" and to miss the look which Phyllis gave him +through her lashes--a look saying: + +"Ah! that's better!" + +"I am d---d! Look here! D'you mean to say that Ventnor came here +about my lending money? I never said a word to him---" + +"There you see--you are lending!" + +He clutched his hair. + +"We've got to have this out," he added. + +"Not by the roots! Oh! you do look funny. I've never seen you with +your hair untidy. Oh! oh!" + +Bob Pillin rose and paced the room. In the midst of his emotion he +could not help seeing himself sidelong in the mirror; and on pretext +of holding his head in both his hands, tried earnestly to restore his +hair. Then coming to a halt he said: + +"Suppose I am lending money to your mother, what does it matter? +It's only till quarter-day. Anybody might want money." + +Phyllis did not raise her face. + +"Why are you lending it?" + +"Because--because--why shouldn't I?" and diving suddenly, he seized +her hands. + +She wrenched them free; and with the emotion of despair, Bob Pillin +took out the envelope. + +"If you like," he said, "I'll tear this up. I don't want to lend it, +if you don't want me to; but I thought--I thought--" It was for her +alone he had been going to lend this money! + +Phyllis murmured through her hair: + +"Yes! You thought that I--that's what's so hateful!" + +Apprehension pierced his mind. + +"Oh! I never--I swear I never--" + +"Yes, you did; you thought I wanted you to lend it." + +She jumped up, and brushed past him into the window. + +So she thought she was being used as a decoy! That was awful-- +especially since it was true. He knew well enough that Mrs. Larne +was working his admiration for her daughter for all that it was +worth. And he said with simple fervour: + +"What rot!" It produced no effect, and at his wits' end, he almost +shouted: "Look, Phyllis! If you don't want me to--here goes!" +Phyllis turned. Tearing the envelope across he threw the bits into +the fire. "There it is," he said. + +Her eyes grew round; she said in an awed voice: "Oh!" + +In a sort of agony of honesty he said: + +"It was only a cheque. Now you've got your way." + +Staring at the fire she answered slowly: + +"I expect you'd better go before mother comes." + +Bob Pillin's mouth fell afar; he secretly agreed, but the idea of +sacrificing a moment alone with her was intolerable, and he said +hardily: + +"No, I shall stick it!" + +Phyllis sneezed. + +"My hair isn't a bit dry," and she sat down on the fender with her +back to the fire. + +A certain spirituality had come into Bob Pillin's face. If only he +could get that wheeze off: "Phyllis is my only joy!" or even: +"Phyllis--do you--won't you--mayn't I?" But nothing came--nothing. + +And suddenly she said: + +"Oh! don't breathe so loud; it's awful!" + +"Breathe? I wasn't!" + +"You were; just like Carmen when she's dreaming." + +He had walked three steps towards the door, before he thought: 'What +does it matter? I can stand anything from her; and walked the three +steps back again. + +She said softly: + +"Poor young man!" + +He answered gloomily: + +"I suppose you realise that this may be the last time you'll see me?" + +"Why? I thought you were going to take us to the theatre." + +"I don't know whether your mother will--after---" + +Phyllis gave a little clear laugh. + +"You don't know mother. Nothing makes any difference to her." + +And Bob Pillin muttered: + +"I see." He did not, but it was of no consequence. Then the thought +of Ventnor again ousted all others. What on earth-how on earth! He +searched his mind for what he could possibly have said the other +night. Surely he had not asked him to do anything; certainly not +given him their address. There was something very odd about it that +had jolly well got to be cleared up! And he said: + +"Are you sure the name of that Johnny who came here yesterday was +Ventnor?" + +Phyllis nodded. + +"And he was short, and had whiskers?" + +"Yes; red, and red eyes." + +He murmured reluctantly: + +"It must be him. Jolly good cheek; I simply can't understand. I +shall go and see him. How on earth did he know your address?" + +"I expect you gave it him." + +"I did not. I won't have you thinking me a squirt." + +Phyllis jumped up. "Oh! Lawks! Here's mother!" Mrs. Larne was +coming up the garden. Bob Pillin made for the door. "Good-bye," he +said; "I'm going." But Mrs. Larne was already in the hall. +Enveloping him in fur and her rich personality, she drew him with her +into the drawing-room, where the back window was open and Phyllis +gone. + +"I hope," she said, "those naughty children have been making you +comfortable. That nice lawyer of yours came yesterday. He seemed +quite satisfied." + +Very red above his collar, Bob Pillin stammered: + +"I never told him to; he isn't my lawyer. I don't know what it +means." + +Mrs. Larne smiled. "My dear boy, it's all right. You needn't be so +squeamish. I want it to be quite on a business footing." + +Restraining a fearful inclination to blurt out: "It's not going to be +on any footing!" Bob Pillin mumbled: "I must go; I'm late." + +"And when will you be able---?" + +"Oh! I'll--I'll send--I'll write. Good-bye!" And suddenly he found +that Mrs. Larne had him by the lapel of his coat. The scent of +violets and fur was overpowering, and the thought flashed through +him: 'I believe she only wanted to take money off old Joseph in the +Bible. I can't leave my coat in her hands! What shall I do?' + +Mrs. Larne was murmuring: + +"It would be se sweet of you if you could manage it today"; and her +hand slid over his chest. "Oh! You have brought your cheque-book-- +what a nice boy!" + +Bob Pillin took it out in desperation, and, sitting down at the +bureau, wrote a cheque similar to that which he had torn and burned. +A warm kiss lighted on his eyebrow, his head was pressed for a moment +to a furry bosom; a hand took the cheque; a voice said: "How +delightful!" and a sigh immersed him in a bath of perfume. Backing +to the door, he gasped: + +"Don't mention it; and--and don't tell Phyllis, please. Good-bye!" + +Once through the garden gate, he thought: 'By gum! I've done it now. +That Phyllis should know about it at all! That beast Ventnor!' + +His face grew almost grim. He would go and see what that meant +anyway! + + + + +3 + +Mr. Ventnor had not left his office when his young friend's card was +brought to him. Tempted for a moment to deny his own presence, he +thought: 'No! What's the good? Bound to see him some time!' If he +had not exactly courage, he had that peculiar blend of self- +confidence and insensibility which must needs distinguish those who +follow the law; nor did he ever forget that he was in the right. + +"Show him in!" he said. + +He would be quite bland, but young Pillin might whistle for an +explanation; he was still tormented, too, by the memory of rich +curves and moving lips, and the possibilities of better +acquaintanceship. + +While shaking the young man's hand his quick and fulvous eye detected +at once the discomposure behind that mask of cheek and collar, and +relapsing into one of those swivel chairs which give one an advantage +over men more statically seated, he said: + +"You look pretty bobbish. Anything I can do for you?" + +Bob Pillin, in the fixed chair of the consultor, nursed his bowler on +his knee. + +"Well, yes, there is. I've just been to see Mrs. Larne." + +Mr. Ventnor did not flinch. + +"Ah! Nice woman; pretty daughter, too!" And into those words he put +a certain meaning. He never waited to be bullied. Bob Pillin felt +the pressure of his blood increasing. + +"Look here, Ventnor," he said, "I want an explanation." + +"What of?" + +"Why, of your going there, and using my name, and God knows what." + +Mr. Ventnor gave his chair two little twiddles before he said + +"Well, you won't get it." + +Bob Pillin remained for a moment taken aback; then he muttered +resolutely: + +"It's not the conduct of a gentleman." + +Every man has his illusions, and no man likes them disturbed. The +gingery tint underlying Mr. Ventnor's colouring overlaid it; even the +whites of his eyes grew red." + +"Oh!" he said; "indeed! You mind your own business, will you?" + +"It is my business--very much so. You made use of my name, and I +don't choose---" + +"The devil you don't! Now, I tell you what---" + +Mr. Ventnor leaned forward--"you'd better hold your tongue, and not +exasperate me. I'm a good-tempered man, but I won't stand your +impudence." + +Clenching his bowler hat, and only kept in his seat by that sense of +something behind, Bob Pillin ejaculated: + +"Impudence! That's good--after what you did! Look here, why did +you? It's so extraordinary!" + +Mr. Ventnor answered: + +"Oh! is it? You wait a bit, my friend!" + +Still more moved by the mystery of this affair, Bob Pillin could only +mutter: + +"I never gave you their address; we were only talking about old +Heythorp." + + +And at the smile which spread between Mr. Ventnor's whiskers, he +jumped up, crying: + +"It's not the thing, and you're not going to put me off. I insist on +an explanation." + +Mr. Ventnor leaned back, crossing his stout legs, joining the tips of +his thick fingers. In this attitude he was always self-possessed. + +"You do--do you?" + +"Yes. You must have had some reason." + +Mr. Ventnor gazed up at him. + +"I'll give you a piece of advice, young cock, and charge you nothing +for it, too: Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies. And +here's another: Go away before you forget yourself again." + +The natural stolidity of Bob Pilings face was only just proof against +this speech. He said thickly: + +"If you go there again and use my name, I'll Well, it's lucky for you +you're not my age. Anyway I'll relieve you of my acquaintanceship in +future. Good-evening!" and he went to the door. Mr. Ventnor had +risen. + +"Very well," he said loudly. "Good riddance! You wait and see which +boot the leg is on!" + +But Bob Pillin was gone, leaving the lawyer with a very red face, a +very angry heart, and a vague sense of disorder in his speech. Not +only Bob Pillin, but his tender aspirations had all left him; he no +longer dallied with the memory of Mrs. Larne, but like a man and a +Briton thought only of how to get his own back, and punish evildoers. +The atrocious words of his young friend, "It's not the conduct of a +gentleman," festered in the heart of one who was made gentle not +merely by nature but by Act of Parliament, and he registered a solemn +vow to wipe the insult out, if not with blood, with verjuice. It was +his duty, and they should d---d well see him do it! + + + + +IV + +Sylvanus Heythorp seldom went to bed before one or rose before +eleven. The latter habit alone kept his valet from handing in the +resignation which the former habit prompted almost every night. + +Propped on his pillows in a crimson dressing-gown, and freshly +shaved, he looked more Roman than he ever did, except in his bath. +Having disposed of coffee, he was wont to read his letters, and The +Morning Post, for he had always been a Tory, and could not stomach +paying a halfpenny for his news. Not that there were many letters-- +when a man has reached the age of eighty, who should write to him, +except to ask for money? + +It was Valentine's Day. Through his bedroom window he could see the +trees of the park, where the birds were in song, though he could not +hear them. He had never been interested in Nature--full-blooded men +with short necks seldom are. + +This morning indeed there were two letters, and he opened that which +smelt of something. Inside was a thing like a Christmas card, save +that the naked babe had in his hands a bow and arrow, and words +coming out of his mouth: "To be your Valentine." There was also a +little pink note with one blue forget-me-not printed at the top. It +ran: + +"DEAREST GUARDY,--I'm sorry this is such a mangy little valentine; I +couldn't go out to get it because I've got a beastly cold, so I asked +Jock, and the pig bought this. The satin is simply scrumptious. If +you don't come and see me in it some time soon, I shall come and show +it to you. I wish I had a moustache, because my top lip feels just +like a matchbox, but it's rather ripping having breakfast in bed. +Mr. Pillin's taking us to the theatre the day after to-morrow +evening. Isn't it nummy! I'm going to have rum and honey for my +cold. + +"Good-bye, +"Your PHYLLIS." + + +So this that quivered in his thick fingers, too insensitive to feel +it, was a valentine for him! + +Forty years ago that young thing's grandmother had given him his +last. It made him out a very old chap! Forty years ago! Had that +been himself living then? And himself, who, as a youth came on the +town in 'forty-five? Not a thought, not a feeling the same! They +said you changed your body every seven years. The mind with it, too, +perhaps! Well, he had come to the last of his bodies, now! And that +holy woman had been urging him to take it to Bath, with her face as +long as a tea-tray, and some gammon from that doctor of his. Too +full a habit--dock his port--no alcohol--might go off in a coma any +night! Knock off not he! Rather die any day than turn tee-totaller! +When a man had nothing left in life except his dinner, his bottle, +his cigar, and the dreams they gave him--these doctors forsooth must +want to cut them off! No, no! Carpe diem! while you lived, get +something out of it. And now that he had made all the provision he +could for those youngsters, his life was no good to any one but +himself; and the sooner he went off the better, if he ceased to enjoy +what there was left, or lost the power to say: "I'll do this and +that, and you be jiggered!" Keep a stiff lip until you crashed, and +then go clean! He sounded the bell beside him twice-for Molly, not +his man. And when the girl came in, and stood, pretty in her print +frock, her fluffy over-fine dark hair escaping from under her cap, he +gazed at her in silence. + +"Yes, sirr?" + +"Want to look at you, that's all." + +"Oh I an' I'm not tidy, sirr." + +"Never mind. Had your valentine?" + +"No, sirr; who would send me one, then?" + +"Haven't you a young man?" + +"Well, I might. But he's over in my country. + +"What d'you think of this?" + +He held out the little boy. + +The girl took the card and scrutinised it reverently; she said in a +detached voice: + +"Indeed, an' ut's pretty, too." + +"Would you like it?" + +"Oh I if 'tis not taking ut from you." + +Old Heythorp shook his head, and pointed to the dressing-table. + +"Over there--you'll find a sovereign. Little present for a good +girl." + +She uttered a deep sigh. "Oh! sirr, 'tis too much; 'tis kingly." + +"Take it." + +She took it, and came back, her hands clasping the sovereign and the +valentine, in an attitude as of prayer. + +The old man's gaze rested on her with satisfaction. + +"I like pretty faces--can't bear sour ones. Tell Meller to get my +bath ready." + +When she had gone he took up the other letter--some lawyer's writing, +and opening it with the usual difficulty, read: + +"February 13, 1905. + +"SIR,--Certain facts having come to my knowledge, I deem it my duty +to call a special meeting of the shareholders of 'The Island +Navigation Coy.,' to consider circumstances in connection with the +purchase of Mr. Joseph Pillin's fleet. And I give you notice that at +this meeting your conduct will be called in question. + +"I am, Sir, +"Yours faithfully, + +"CHARLES VENTNOR. + +"SYLVANUS HEYTHORP, ESQ." + + +Having read this missive, old Heythorp remained some minutes without +stirring. Ventnor! That solicitor chap who had made himself +unpleasant at the creditors' meetings! + +There are men whom a really bad bit of news at once stampedes out of +all power of coherent thought and action, and men who at first simply +do not take it in. Old Heythorp took it in fast enough; coming from +a lawyer it was about as nasty as it could be. But, at once, with +stoic wariness his old brain began casting round. What did this +fellow really know? And what exactly could he do? One thing was +certain; even if he knew everything, he couldn't upset that +settlement. The youngsters were all right. The old man grasped the +fact that only his own position was at stake. But this was enough in +all conscience; a name which had been before the public fifty odd +years--income, independence, more perhaps. It would take little, +seeing his age and feebleness, to make his Companies throw him over. +But what had the fellow got hold of? How decide whether or no to +take notice; to let him do his worst, or try and get into touch with +him? And what was the fellow's motive? He held ten shares! That +would never make a man take all this trouble, and over a purchase +which was really first-rate business for the Company. Yes! His +conscience was quite clean. He had not betrayed his Company--on the +contrary, had done it a good turn, got them four sound ships at a low +price--against much opposition. That he might have done the Company +a better turn, and got the ships at fifty-four thousand, did not +trouble him--the six thousand was a deuced sight better employed; and +he had not pocketed a penny piece himself! But the fellow's motive? +Spite? Looked like it. Spite, because he had been disappointed of +his money, and defied into the bargain! H'm! If that were so, he +might still be got to blow cold again. His eyes lighted on the pink +note with the blue forget-me-not. It marked as it were the high +water mark of what was left to him of life; and this other letter in +his hand-by Jove! Low water mark! And with a deep and rumbling sigh +he thought: 'No, I'm not going to be beaten by this fellow.' + +"Your bath is ready, sir." + +Crumpling the two letters into the pocket of his dressing-gown, he +said: + +"Help me up; and telephone to Mr. Farney to be good enough to come +round." .... + +An hour later, when the secretary entered, his chairman was sitting +by the fire perusing the articles of association. And, waiting for +him to look up, watching the articles shaking in that thick, feeble +hand, the secretary had one of those moments of philosophy not too +frequent with his kind. Some said the only happy time of life was +when you had no passions, nothing to hope and live for. But did you +really ever reach such a stage? The old chairman, for instance, +still had his passion for getting his own way, still had his +prestige, and set a lot of store by it! And he said: + +"Good morning, sir; I hope you're all right in this east wind. The +purchase is completed." + +"Best thing the company ever did. Have you heard from a shareholder +called Ventnor. You know the man I mean?" + +"No, sir. I haven't." + +"Well! You may get a letter that'll make you open your eyes. An +impudent scoundrel! Just write at my dictation." + +"February 14th, 1905. + +"CHARLES VENTNOR, Esq. + +"SIR,--I have your letter of yesterday's date, the contents of which +I am at a loss to understand. My solicitors will be instructed to +take the necessary measures." + +'Phew What's all this about?' the secretary thought. + +"Yours truly...." + +"I'll sign." And the shaky letters closed the page: + +"SYLVANUS HEYTHORP." + + +"Post that as you go." + +"Anything else I can do for you, sir?" + +"Nothing, except to let me know if you hear from this fellow." + +When the secretary had gone the old man thought: 'So! The ruffian +hasn't called the meeting yet. That'll bring him round here fast +enough if it's his money he wants-blackmailing scoundrel!' + +"Mr. Pillin, sir; and will you wait lunch, or will you have it in the +dining-room?" + +"In the dining-room." + +At sight of that death's-head of a fellow, old Heythorp felt a sort +of pity. He looked bad enough already--and this news would make him +look worse. Joe Pillin glanced round at the two closed doors. + +"How are you, Sylvanus? I'm very poorly." He came closer, and +lowered his voice: "Why did you get me to make that settlement? I +must have been mad. I've had a man called Ventnor--I didn't like his +manner. He asked me if I knew a Mrs. Larne." + +"Ha! What did you say?" + +"What could I say? I don't know her. But why did he ask?" + +"Smells a rat." + +Joe Pillin grasped the edge of the table with both hands. + +"Oh!" he murmured. "Oh! don't say that!" + +Old Heythorp held out to him the crumpled letter. + +When he had read it Joe Pillin sat down abruptly before the fire. + +"Pull yourself together, Joe; they can't touch you, and they can't +upset either the purchase or the settlement. They can upset me, +that's all." + +Joe Pillin answered, with trembling lips: + +"How you can sit there, and look the same as ever! Are you sure they +can't touch me?" + +Old Heyworth nodded grimly. + +"They talk of an Act, but they haven't passed it yet. They might +prove a breach of trust against me. But I'll diddle them. Keep your +pecker up, and get off abroad." + +"Yes, yes. I must. I'm very bad. I was going to-morrow. But I +don't know, I'm sure, with this hanging over me. My son knowing her +makes it worse. He picks up with everybody. He knows this man +Ventnor too. And I daren't say anything to Bob. What are you +thinking of, Sylvanus? You look very funny!" + +Old Heythorp seemed to rouse himself from a sort of coma. + +"I want my lunch," he said. "Will you stop and have some?" + +Joe Pillin stammered out: + +"Lunch! I don't know when I shall eat again. What are you going to +do, Sylvanus?" + +"Bluff the beggar out of it." + +"But suppose you can't?" + +"Buy him off. He's one--of my creditors." + +Joe Pillin stared at him afresh. "You always had such nerve," he +said yearningly. "Do you ever wake up between two and four? I do-- +and everything's black." + +"Put a good stiff nightcap on, my boy, before going to bed." + +"Yes; I sometimes wish I was less temperate. But I couldn't stand +it. I'm told your doctor forbids you alcohol." + +"He does. That's why I drink it." + +Joe Pillin, brooding over the fire, said: "This meeting--d'you think +they mean to have it? D'you think this man really knows? If my name +gets into the newspapers--" but encountering his old friend's deep +little eyes, he stopped. "So you advise me to get off to-morrow, +then?" + +Old Heythorp nodded. + +"Your lunch is served, sir." + +Joe Pillin started violently, and rose. + +"Well, good-bye, Sylvanus-good-bye! I don't suppose I shall be back +till the summer, if I ever come back!" He sank his voice: "I shall +rely on you. You won't let them, will you?" + +Old Heythorp lifted his hand, and Joe Pillin put into that swollen +shaking paw his pale and spindly fingers. "I wish I had your pluck," +he said sadly. "Good-bye, Sylvanus," and turning, he passed out. + +Old Heythorp thought: 'Poor shaky chap. All to pieces at the first +shot!' And, going to his lunch, ate more heavily than usual. + + + + +2 + +Mr. Ventnor, on reaching his office and opening his letters, found, +as he had anticipated, one from "that old rascal." Its contents +excited in him the need to know his own mind. Fortunately this was +not complicated by a sense of dignity--he only had to consider the +position with an eye on not being made to look a fool. The point was +simply whether he set more store by his money than by his desire for- +-er--Justice. If not, he had merely to convene the special meeting, +and lay before it the plain fact that Mr. Joseph Pillin, selling his +ships for sixty thousand pounds, had just made a settlement of six +thousand pounds on a lady whom he did not know, a daughter, ward, or +what-not--of the purchasing company's chairman, who had said, +moreover, at the general meeting, that he stood or fell by the +transaction; he had merely to do this, and demand that an explanation +be required from the old man of such a startling coincidence. +Convinced that no explanation would hold water, he felt sure that his +action would be at once followed by the collapse, if nothing more, of +that old image, and the infliction of a nasty slur on old Pillin and +his hopeful son. On the other hand, three hundred pounds was money; +and, if old Heythorp were to say to him: "What do you want to make +this fuss for--here's what I owe you!" could a man of business and +the world let his sense of justice--however he might itch to have it +satisfied--stand in the way of what was after all also his sense of +Justice?--for this money had been owing to him for the deuce of along +time. In this dilemma, the words: + +"My solicitors will be instructed" were of notable service in helping +him to form a decision, for he had a certain dislike of other +solicitors, and an intimate knowledge of the law of libel and +slander; if by any remote chance there should be a slip between the +cup and the lip, Charles Ventnor might be in the soup--a position +which he deprecated both by nature and profession. High thinking, +therefore, decided him at last to answer thus: + +"February 19th, 1905. + +"SIR,--I have received your note. I think it may be fair, before +taking further steps in this matter, to ask you for a personal +explanation of the circumstances to which I alluded. I therefore +propose with your permission to call on you at your private residence +at five o'clock to-morrow afternoon. + +"Yours faithfully, + +"CHARLES VENTNOR. + +"SYLVANUS HEYTHORP, Esq." + + +Having sent this missive, and arranged in his mind the damning, if +circumstantial, evidence he had accumulated, he awaited the hour with +confidence, for his nature was not lacking in the cock-surety of a +Briton. All the same, he dressed himself particularly well that +morning, putting on a blue and white striped waistcoat which, with a +cream-coloured tie, set off his fulvous whiskers and full blue eyes; +and he lunched, if anything, more fully than his wont, eating a +stronger cheese and taking a glass of special Club ale. He took care +to be late, too, to show the old fellow that his coming at all was in +the nature of an act of grace. A strong scent of hyacinths greeted +him in the hall; and Mr. Ventnor, who was an amateur of flowers, +stopped to put his nose into a fine bloom and think uncontrollably of +Mrs. Larne. Pity! The things one had to give up in life--fine +women--one thing and another. Pity! The thought inspired in him a +timely anger; and he followed the servant, intending to stand no +nonsense from this paralytic old rascal. + +The room he entered was lighted by a bright fire, and a single +electric lamp with an orange shade on a table covered by a black +satin cloth. There were heavily gleaming oil paintings on the walls, +a heavy old brass chandelier without candles, heavy dark red +curtains, and an indefinable scent of burnt acorns, coffee, cigars, +and old man. He became conscious of a candescent spot on the far +side of the hearth, where the light fell on old Heythorp's thick +white hair. + +"Mr. Ventnor, sir." + +The candescent spot moved. A voice said: "Sit down." + +Mr. Ventnor sat in an armchair on the opposite side of the fire; and, +finding a kind of somnolence creeping over him, pinched himself. He +wanted all his wits about him. + +The old man was speaking in that extinct voice of his, and Mr. +Ventnor said rather pettishly: + +"Beg pardon, I don't get you." + +Old Heythorp's voice swelled with sudden force: + +"Your letters are Greek to me." + +"Oh! indeed, I think we can soon make them into plain English!" + +"Sooner the better." + +Mr. Ventnor passed through a moment of indecision. Should he lay his +cards on the table? It was not his habit, and the proceeding was +sometimes attended with risk. The knowledge, however, that he could +always take them up again, seeing there was no third person here to +testify that he had laid them down, decided him, and he said: + +"Well, Mr. Heythorp, the long and short of the matter is this: Our +friend Mr. Pillin paid you a commission of ten per cent. on the sale +of his ships. Oh! yes. He settled the money, not on you, but on +your relative Mrs. Larne and her children. This, as you know, is a +breach of trust on your part." + +The old man's voice: "Where did you get hold of that cock-and-bull +story?" brought him to his feet before the fire. + +"It won't do, Mr. Heythorp. My witnesses are Mr. Pillin, Mrs. Larne, +and Mr. Scriven." + +"What have you come here for, then--blackmail?" + +Mr. Ventnor straightened his waistcoat; a rush of conscious virtue +had dyed his face. + +"Oh! you take that tone," he said, "do you? You think you can ride +roughshod over everything? Well, you're very much mistaken. I +advise you to keep a civil tongue and consider your position, or I'll +make a beggar of you. I'm not sure this isn't a case for a +prosecution!" + +"Gammon!" + +The choler in Charles Ventnor kept him silent for a moment; then he +burst out: + +"Neither gammon nor spinach. You owe me three hundred pounds, you've +owed it me for years, and you have the impudence to take this +attitude with me, have you? Now, I never bluster; I say what I mean. +You just listen to me. Either you pay me what you owe me at once, or +I call this meeting and make what I know public. You'll very soon +find out where you are. And a good thing, too, for a more +unscrupulous--unscrupulous---" he paused for breath. + +Occupied with his own emotion, he had not observed the change in old +Heythorp's face. The imperial on that lower lip was bristling, the +crimson of those cheeks had spread to the roots of his white hair. +He grasped the arms of his chair, trying to rise; his swollen hands +trembled; a little saliva escaped one corner of his lips. And the +words came out as if shaken by his teeth: + +"So-so-you-you bully me!" + +Conscious that the interview had suddenly passed from the phase of +negotiation, Mr. Ventnor looked hard at his opponent. He saw nothing +but a decrepit, passionate, crimson-faced old man at bay, and all the +instincts of one with everything on his side boiled up in him. The +miserable old turkey-cock--the apoplectic image! And he said: + +"And you'll do no good for yourself by getting into a passion. At +your age, and in your condition, I recommend a little prudence. Now +just take my terms quietly, or you know what'll happen. I'm not to +be intimidated by any of your airs." And seeing that the old man's +rage was such that he simply could not speak, he took the opportunity +of going on: "I don't care two straws which you do--I'm out to show +you who's master. If you think in your dotage you can domineer any +longer--well, you'll find two can play at that game. Come, now, +which are you going to do?" + +The old man had sunk back in his chair, and only his little deep-blue +eyes seemed living. Then he moved one hand, and Mr. Ventnor saw that +he was fumbling to reach the button of an electric bell at the end of +a cord. 'I'll show him,' he thought, and stepping forward, he put it +out of reach. + +Thus frustrated, the old man remained-motionless, staring up. The +word "blackmail" resumed its buzzing in Mr. Ventnor's ears. The +impudence the consummate impudence of it from this fraudulent old +ruffian with one foot in bankruptcy and one foot in the grave, if not +in the dock. + +"Yes," he said, "it's never too late to learn; and for once you've +come up against someone a leetle bit too much for you. Haven't you +now? You'd better cry 'Peccavi.'" + +Then, in the deathly silence of the room, the moral force of his +position, and the collapse as it seemed of his opponent, awakening a +faint compunction, he took a turn over the Turkey carpet to readjust +his mind. + +"You're an old man, and I don't want to be too hard on you. I'm only +showing you that you can't play fast and loose as if you were God +Almighty any longer. You've had your own way too many years. And +now you can't have it, see!" Then, as the old man again moved +forward in his chair, he added: "Now, don't get into a passion again; +calm yourself, because I warn you--this is your last chance. I'm a +man of my word; and what I say, I do." + +By a violent and unsuspected effort the old man jerked himself up and +reached the bell. Mr. Ventnor heard it ring, and said sharply: + +"Mind you, it's nothing to me which you do. I came for your own +good. Please yourself. Well?" + +He was answered by the click of the door and the old man's husky +voice: + +"Show this hound out! And then come back!" + +Mr. Ventnor had presence of mind enough not to shake his fist. +Muttering: "Very well, Mr. Heythorp! Ah! Very well!" he moved with +dignity to the door. The careful shepherding of the servant renewed +the fire of his anger. Hound! He had been called a hound + + + + +3 + +After seeing Mr. Ventnor off the premises the man Meller returned to +his master, whose face looked very odd--"all patchy-like," as he put +it in the servants' hall, as though the blood driven to his head had +mottled for good the snowy whiteness of the forehead. He received +the unexpected order: + +"Get me a hot bath ready, and put some pine stuff in it." + +When the old man was seated there, the valet asked: + +"How long shall I give you, sir?" + +"Twenty minutes." + +"Very good, sir." + +Lying in that steaming brown fragrant liquid, old Heythorp heaved a +stertorous sigh. By losing his temper with that ill-conditioned cur +he had cooked his goose. It was done to a turn; and he was a ruined +man. If only--oh! if only he could have seized the fellow by the +neck and pitched him out of the room! To have lived to be so spoken +to; to have been unable to lift hand or foot, hardly even his voice-- +he would sooner have been dead! Yes--sooner have been dead! A dumb +and measureless commotion was still at work in the recesses of that +thick old body, silver-brown in the dark water, whose steam he drew +deep into his wheezing lungs, as though for spiritual relief. To be +beaten by a cur like that! To have that common cad of a pettifogging +lawyer drag him down and kick him about; tumble a name which had +stood high, in the dust! The fellow had the power to make him a +byword and a beggar! It was incredible! But it was a fact. And to- +morrow he would begin to do it--perhaps had begun already. His tree +had come down with a crash! Eighty years-eighty good years! He +regretted none of them-regretted nothing; least of all this breach of +trust which had provided for his grandchildren--one of the best +things he had ever done. The fellow was a cowardly hound, too! The +way he had snatched the bell-pull out of his reach-despicable cur! +And a chap like that was to put "paid" to the account of Sylvanus +Heythorp, to "scratch" him out of life--so near the end of +everything, the very end! His hand raised above the surface fell +back on his stomach through the dark water, and a bubble or two rose. +Not so fast--not so fast! He had but to slip down a foot, let the +water close over his head, and "Good-bye" to Master Ventnor's triumph +Dead men could not be kicked off the Boards of Companies. Dead men +could not be beggared, deprived of their independence. He smiled and +stirred a little in the bath till the water reached the white hairs +on his lower lip. It smelt nice! And he took a long sniff: He had +had a good life, a good life! And with the thought that he had it in +his power at any moment to put Master Ventnor's nose out of joint--to +beat the beggar after all, a sense of assuagement and well-being +crept over him. His blood ran more evenly again. He closed his +eyes. They talked about an after-life--people like that holy woman. +Gammon! You went to sleep--a long sleep; no dreams. A nap after +dinner! Dinner! His tongue sought his palate! Yes! he could eat a +good dinner! That dog hadn't put him off his stroke! The best +dinner he had ever eaten was the one he gave to Jack Herring, +Chichester, Thornworthy, Nick Treffry and Jolyon Forsyte at Pole's. +Good Lord! In 'sixty--yes--'sixty-five? Just before he fell in love +with Alice Larne--ten years before he came to Liverpool. That was a +dinner! Cost twenty-four pounds for the six of them--and Forsyte an +absurdly moderate fellow. Only Nick Treff'ry and himself had been +three-bottle men! Dead! Every jack man of them. And suddenly he +thought: 'My name's a good one--I was never down before--never +beaten!' + +A voice above the steam said: + +"The twenty minutes is up, sir." + +"All right; I'll get out. Evening clothes." + +And Meller, taking out dress suit and shirt, thought: 'Now, what does +the old bloomer want dressin' up again for; why can't he go to bed +and have his dinner there? When a man's like a baby, the cradle's +the place for him.'.... + +An hour later, at the scene of his encounter with Mr. Ventnor, where +the table was already laid for dinner, old Heythorp stood and gazed. +The curtains had been drawn back, the window thrown open to air the +room, and he could see out there the shapes of the dark trees and a +sky grape-coloured, in the mild, moist night. It smelt good. A +sensuous feeling stirred in him, warm from his bath, clothed from +head to foot in fresh garments. Deuce of a time since he had dined +in full fig! He would have liked a woman dining opposite--but not +the holy woman; no, by George!--would have liked to see light falling +on a woman's shoulders once again, and a pair of bright eyes! He +crossed, snail-like, towards the fire. There that bullying fellow +had stood with his back to it--confound his impudence!--as if the +place belonged to him. And suddenly he had a vision of his three +secretaries' faces--especially young Farney's as they would look, +when the pack got him by the throat and pulled him down. His co- +directors, too! Old Heythorp! How are the mighty fallen! And that +hound jubilant! + +His valet passed across the room to shut the window and draw the +curtains. This chap too! The day he could no longer pay his wages, +and had lost the power to say "Shan't want your services any more"-- +when he could no longer even pay his doctor for doing his best to +kill him off! Power, interest, independence, all--gone! To be +dressed and undressed, given pap, like a baby in arms, served as they +chose to serve him, and wished out of the way--broken, dishonoured! + +By money alone an old man had his being! Meat, drink, movement, +breath! When all his money was gone the holy woman would let him +know it fast enough. They would all let him know it; or if they +didn't, it would be out of pity! He had never been pitied yet--thank +God! And he said: + +"Get me up a bottle of Perrier Jouet. What's the menu?" + +"Germane soup, sir; filly de sole; sweetbread; cutlet soubees, rum +souffly." + +"Tell her to give me a hors d'oeuvre, and put on a savoury." + +"Yes, sir." + +When the man had gone, he thought: 'I should have liked an oyster-- +too late now!' and going over to his bureau, he fumblingly pulled out +the top drawer. There was little in it--Just a few papers, business +papers on his Companies, and a schedule of his debts; not even a copy +of his will--he had not made one, nothing to leave! Letters he had +never kept. Half a dozen bills, a few receipts, and the little pink +note with the blue forget-me-not. That was the lot! An old tree +gives up bearing leaves, and its roots dry up, before it comes down +in a wind; an old man's world slowly falls away from him till he +stands alone in the night. Looking at the pink note, he thought: +'Suppose I'd married Alice--a man never had a better mistress!' He +fumbled the drawer to; but still he strayed feebly about the room, +with a curious shrinking from sitting down, legacy from the quarter +of an hour he had been compelled to sit while that hound worried at +his throat. He was opposite one of the pictures now. It gleamed, +dark and oily, limning a Scots Grey who had mounted a wounded Russian +on his horse, and was bringing him back prisoner from the Balaclava +charge. A very old friend--bought in 'fifty-nine. It had hung in +his chambers in the Albany--hung with him ever since. With whom +would it hang when he was gone? For that holy woman would scrap it, +to a certainty, and stick up some Crucifixion or other, some new- +fangled high art thing! She could even do that now if she liked--for +she owned it, owned every mortal stick in the room, to the very glass +he would drink his champagne from; all made over under the settlement +fifteen years ago, before his last big gamble went wrong. "De +l'audace, toujours de l'audace!" The gamble which had brought him +down till his throat at last was at the mercy of a bullying hound. +The pitcher and the well! At the mercy---! The sound of a popping +cork dragged him from reverie. He moved to his seat, back to the +window, and sat down to his dinner. By George! They had got him an +oyster! And he said: + +"I've forgotten my teeth!" + +While the man was gone for them, he swallowed the oysters, +methodically touching them one by one with cayenne, Chili vinegar, +and lemon. Ummm! Not quite what they used to be at Pimm's in the +best days, but not bad--not bad! Then seeing the little blue bowl +lying before him, he looked up and said: + +"My compliments to cook on the oysters. Give me the champagne." And +he lifted his trembling teeth. Thank God, he could still put 'em in +for himself! The creaming goldenish fluid from the napkined bottle +slowly reached the brim of his glass, which had a hollow stem; +raising it to his lips, very red between the white hairs above and +below, he drank with a gurgling noise, and put the glass down-empty. +Nectar! And just cold enough! + +"I frapped it the least bit, sir." + +"Quite right. What's that smell of flowers?" + +"It's from those 'yacinths on the sideboard, sir. They come from +Mrs. Larne, this afternoon." + +"Put 'em on the table. Where's my daughter?" + +"She's had dinner, sir; goin' to a ball, I think." + +"A ball!" + +"Charity ball, I fancy, sir." + +"Ummm! Give me a touch of the old sherry with the soup." + +"Yes, sir. I shall have to open a bottle:" + +"Very well, then, do!" + +On his way to the cellar the man confided to Molly, who was carrying +the soup: + +"The Gov'nor's going it to-night! What he'll be like tomorrow I +dunno." + +The girl answered softly: + +"Poor old man, let um have his pleasure." And, in the hall, with the +soup tureen against her bosom, she hummed above the steam, and +thought of the ribbons on her new chemises, bought out of the +sovereign he had given her. + +And old Heythorp, digesting his osyters, snuffed the scent of the +hyacinths, and thought of the St. Germain, his favourite soup. It +would n't be first-rate, at this time of year--should be made with +little young home-grown peas. Paris was the place for it. Ah! The +French were the fellows for eating, and--looking things in the face! +Not hypocrites--not ashamed of their reason or their senses! + +The soup came in. He sipped it, bending forward as far as he could, +his napkin tucked in over his shirt-front like a bib. He got the +bouquet of that sherry to a T--his sense of smell was very keen to- +night; rare old stuff it was--more than a year since he had tasted +it--but no one drank sherry nowadays, hadn't the constitution for it! +The fish came up, and went down; and with the sweetbread he took his +second glass of champagne. Always the best, that second glass--the +stomach well warmed, and the palate not yet dulled. Umm! So that +fellow thought he had him beaten, did he? And he said suddenly: + +"The fur coat in the wardrobe, I've no use for it. You can take it +away to-night." + +With tempered gratitude the valet answered: + +"Thank you, sir; much obliged, I'm sure." So the old buffer had +found out there was moth in it! + +"Have I worried you much?" + +"No, sir; not at all, sir--that is, no more than reason." + +"Afraid I have. Very sorry--can't help it. You'll find that, when +you get like me." + +"Yes, sir; I've always admired your pluck, sir. + +"Um! Very good of you to say so." + +"Always think of you keepin' the flag flying', sir." + +Old Heythorp bent his body from the waist. + +"Much obliged to you." + +"Not at all, sir. Cook's done a little spinach in cream with the +soubees." + +"Ah! Tell her from me it's a capital dinner, so far." + +"Thank you, sir." + +Alone again, old Heythorp sat unmoving, his brain just narcotically +touched. "The flag flyin'--the flag flyin'!" He raised his glass +and sucked. He had an appetite now, and finished the three cutlets, +and all the sauce and spinach. Pity! he could have managed a snipe +fresh shot! A desire to delay, to lengthen dinner, was strong upon +him; there were but the souffle' and the savoury to come. He would +have enjoyed, too, someone to talk to. He had always been fond of +good company--been good company himself, or so they said--not that he +had had a chance of late. Even at the Boards they avoided talking to +him, he had noticed for a long time. Well! that wouldn't trouble +him again--he had sat through his last Board, no doubt. They +shouldn't kick him off, though; he wouldn't give them that pleasure-- +had seen the beggars hankering after his chairman's shoes too long. +The souffle was before him now, and lifting his glass, he said: + +"Fill up." + +"These are the special glasses, sir; only four to the bottle." + +"Fill up." + +The servant filled, screwing up his mouth. + +Old Heythorp drank, and put the glass down empty with a sigh. He had +been faithful to his principles, finished the bottle before touching +the sweet--a good bottle--of a good brand! And now for the souffle! +Delicious, flipped down with the old sherry! So that holy woman was +going to a ball, was she! How deuced funny! Who would dance with a +dry stick like that, all eaten up with a piety which was just sexual +disappointment? Ah! yes, lots of women like that--had often noticed +'em--pitied 'em too, until you had to do with them and they made you +as unhappy as themselves, and were tyrants into the bargain. And he +asked: + +"What's the savoury?" + +"Cheese remmykin, sir." + +His favourite. + +"I'll have my port with it--the 'sixty-eight." The man stood gazing +with evident stupefaction. He had not expected this. The old man's +face was very flushed, but that might be the bath. He said feebly: + +"Are you sure you ought, sir?" + +"No, but I'm going to." + +"Would you mind if I spoke to Miss Heythorp, Sir?" + +"If you do, you can leave my service." + +"Well, Sir, I don't accept the responsibility." + +"Who asked you to?" + +"No, Sir...." + +"Well, get it, then; and don't be an ass." + +"Yes, Sir." If the old man were not humoured he would have a fit, +perhaps! + +And the old man sat quietly staring at the hyacinths. He felt happy, +his whole being lined and warmed and drowsed--and there was more to +come! What had the holy folk to give you compared with the comfort +of a good dinner? Could they make you dream, and see life rosy for a +little? No, they could only give you promissory notes which never +would be cashed. A man had nothing but his pluck--they only tried to +undermine it, and make him squeal for help. He could see his +precious doctor throwing up his hands: "Port after a bottle of +champagne--you'll die of it!" And a very good death too--none +better. A sound broke the silence of the closed-up room. Music? +His daughter playing the piano overhead. Singing too! What a +trickle of a voice! Jenny Lind! The Swedish nightingale--he had +never missed the nights when she was singing--Jenny Lind! + +"It's very hot, sir. Shall I take it out of the case?" + +Ah! The ramequin! + +"Touch of butter, and the cayenne!" + +"Yes, sir." + +He ate it slowly, savouring each mouthful; had never tasted a better. +With cheese--port! He drank one glass, and said: + +"Help me to my chair." + +And settled there before the fire with decanter and glass and hand- +bell on the little low table by his side, he murmured: + +"Bring coffee, and my cigar, in twenty minutes." + +To-night he would do justice to his wine, not smoking till he had +finished. As old Horace said: + +"Aequam memento rebus in arduis Servare mentem." + +And, raising his glass, he sipped slowly, spilling a drop or two, +shutting his eyes. + +The faint silvery squealing of the holy woman in the room above, the +scent of hyacinths, the drowse of the fire, on which a cedar log had +just been laid, the feeling of the port soaking down into the +crannies of his being, made up a momentary Paradise. Then the music +stopped; and no sound rose but the tiny groans of the log trying to +resist the fire. Dreamily he thought: 'Life wears you out--wears you +out. Logs on a fire!' And he filled his glass again. That fellow +had been careless; there were dregs at the bottom of the decanter and +he had got down to them! Then, as the last drop from his tilted +glass trickled into the white hairs on his chin, he heard the coffee +tray put down, and taking his cigar he put it to his ear, rolling it +in his thick fingers. In prime condition! And drawing a first +whiff, he said: + +"Open that bottle of the old brandy in the sideboard." + +"Brandy, sir? I really daren't, sir." + +"Are you my servant or not?" + +"Yes, sir, but---" + +A minute of silence, then the man went hastily to the sideboard, took +out the bottle, and drew the cork. The tide of crimson in the old +man's face had frightened him. + +"Leave it there." + +The unfortunate valet placed the bottle on the little table. 'I'll +have to tell her,' he thought; 'but if I take away the port decanter +and the glass, it won't look so bad.' And, carrying them, he left the +room. + +Slowly the old man drank his coffee, and the liqueur of brandy. The +whole gamut! And watching his cigar-smoke wreathing blue in the +orange glow, he smiled. The last night to call his soul his own, the +last night of his independence. Send in his resignations to-morrow-- +not wait to be kicked off! Not give that fellow a chance + +A voice which seemed to come from far off, said: + +"Father! You're drinking brandy! How can you--you know it's simple +poison to you!" A figure in white, scarcely actual, loomed up close. +He took the bottle to fill up his liqueur glass, in defiance; but a +hand in a long white glove, with another dangling from its wrist, +pulled it away, shook it at him, and replaced it in the sideboard. +And, just as when Mr. Ventnor stood there accusing him, a swelling +and churning in his throat prevented him from speech; his lips moved, +but only a little froth came forth. + +His daughter had approached again. She stood quite close, in white +satin, thin-faced, sallow, with eyebrows raised, and her dark hair +frizzed--yes! frizzed--the holy woman! With all his might he tried +to say: 'So you bully me, do you--you bully me to-night!' but only +the word "so" and a sort of whispering came forth. He heard her +speaking. "It's no good your getting angry, Father. After +champagne--it's wicked!" Then her form receded in a sort of rustling +white mist; she was gone; and he heard the sputtering and growling of +her taxi, bearing her to the ball. So! She tyrannised and bullied, +even before she had him at her mercy, did she? She should see! +Anger had brightened his eyes; the room came clear again. And slowly +raising himself he sounded the bell twice, for the girl, not for that +fellow Meller, who was in the plot. As soon as her pretty black and +white-aproned figure stood before him, he said: + +"Help me up." + +Twice her soft pulling was not enough, and he sank back. The third +time he struggled to his feet. + +"Thank you; that'll do." Then, waiting till she was gone, he crossed +the room, fumbled open the sideboard door, and took out the bottle. +Reaching over the polished oak, he grasped a sherry glass; and +holding the bottle with both hands, tipped the liquor into it, put it +to his lips and sucked. Drop by drop it passed over his palate mild, +very old, old as himself, coloured like sunlight, fragrant. To the +last drop he drank it, then hugging the bottle to his shirt-front, he +moved snail-like to his chair, and fell back into its depths. For +some minutes he remained there motionless, the bottle clasped to his +chest, thinking: 'This is not the attitude of a gentleman. I must +put it down on the table-on the table;' but a thick cloud was between +him and everything. It was with his hands he would have to put the +bottle on the table! But he could not find his hands, could not feel +them. His mind see-sawed in strophe and antistrophe: "You can't +move!"--"I will move!" "You're beaten"--"I'm not beat." "Give up"-- +"I won't." That struggle to find his hands seemed to last for ever-- +he must find them! After that--go down--all standing--after that! +Everything round him was red. Then the red cloud cleared just a +little, and he could hear the clock--"tick-tick-tick"; a faint +sensation spread from his shoulders down to his wrists, down his +palms; and yes--he could feel the bottle! He redoubled his struggle +to get forward in his chair; to get forward and put the bottle down. +It was not dignified like this! One arm he could move now; but he +could not grip the bottle nearly tight enough to put it down. +Working his whole body forward, inch by inch, he shifted himself up +in the chair till he could lean sideways, and the bottle, slipping +down his chest, dropped slanting to the edge of the low stool-table. +Then with all his might he screwed his trunk and arms an inch +further, and the bottle stood. He had done it--done it! His lips +twitched into a smile; his body sagged back to its old position. He +had done it! And he closed his eyes .... + +At half-past eleven the girl Molly, opening the door, looked at him +and said softly: "Sirr! there's some ladies, and a gentleman!" But +he did not answer. And, still holding the door, she whispered out +into the hall: + +"He's asleep, miss." + +A voice whispered back: + +"Oh! Just let me go in, I won't wake him unless he does. But I do +want to show him my dress." + +The girl moved aside; and on tiptoe Phyllis passed in. She walked to +where, between the lamp-glow and the fire-glow, she was lighted up. +White satin--her first low-cut dress--the flush of her first supper +party--a gardenia at her breast, another in her fingers! Oh! what a +pity he was asleep! How red he looked! How funnily old men +breathed! And mysteriously, as a child might, she whispered: + +"Guardy!" + +No answer! And pouting, she stood twiddling the gardenia. Then +suddenly she thought: 'I'll put it in his buttonhole! When he wakes +up and sees it, how he'll jump!' + +And stealing close, she bent and slipped it in. Two faces looked at +her from round the door; she heard Bob Pillin's smothered chuckle; +her mother's rich and feathery laugh. Oh! How red his forehead was! +She touched it with her lips; skipped back, twirled round, danced +silently a second, blew a kiss, and like quicksilver was gone. + +And the whispering, the chuckling, and one little out-pealing laugh +rose in the hall. + +But the old man slept. Nor until Meller came at his usual hour of +half-past twelve, was it known that he would never wake. + + + + + + + +THE APPLE TREE + + + "The Apple-tree, the singing and the gold." + MURRAY'S "HIPPOLYTUS of EURIPIDES." + +In their silver-wedding day Ashurst and his wife were motoring along +the outskirts of the moor, intending to crown the festival by +stopping the night at Torquay, where they had first met. This was +the idea of Stella Ashurst, whose character contained a streak of +sentiment. If she had long lost the blue-eyed, flower-like charm, +the cool slim purity of face and form, the apple-blossom colouring, +which had so swiftly and so oddly affected Ashurst twenty-six years +ago, she was still at forty-three a comely and faithful companion, +whose cheeks were faintly mottled, and whose grey-blue eyes had +acquired a certain fullness. + +It was she who had stopped the car where the common rose steeply to +the left, and a narrow strip of larch and beech, with here and there +a pine, stretched out towards the valley between the road and the +first long high hill of the full moor. She was looking for a place +where they might lunch, for Ashurst never looked for anything; and +this, between the golden furze and the feathery green larches +smelling of lemons in the last sun of April--this, with a view into +the deep valley and up to the long moor heights, seemed fitting to +the decisive nature of one who sketched in water-colours, and loved +romantic spots. Grasping her paint box, she got out. + +"Won't this do, Frank?" + +Ashurst, rather like a bearded Schiller, grey in the wings, tall, +long-legged, with large remote grey eyes which sometimes filled with +meaning and became almost beautiful, with nose a little to one side, +and bearded lips just open--Ashurst, forty-eight, and silent, grasped +the luncheon basket, and got out too. + +"Oh! Look, Frank! A grave!" + +By the side of the road, where the track from the top of the common +crossed it at right angles and ran through a gate past the narrow +wood, was a thin mound of turf, six feet by one, with a moorstone to +the west, and on it someone had thrown a blackthorn spray and a +handful of bluebells. Ashurst looked, and the poet in him moved. At +cross-roads--a suicide's grave! Poor mortals with their +superstitions! Whoever lay there, though, had the best of it, no +clammy sepulchre among other hideous graves carved with futilities-- +just a rough stone, the wide sky, and wayside blessings! And, +without comment, for he had learned not to be a philosopher in the +bosom of his family, he strode away up on to the common, dropped the +luncheon basket under a wall, spread a rug for his wife to sit on-- +she would turn up from her sketching when she was hungry--and took +from his pocket Murray's translation of the "Hippolytus." He had +soon finished reading of "The Cyprian" and her revenge, and looked at +the sky instead. And watching the white clouds so bright against the +intense blue, Ashurst, on his silver-wedding day, longed for--he knew +not what. Maladjusted to life--man's organism! One's mode of life +might be high and scrupulous, but there was always an, undercurrent +of greediness, a hankering, and sense of waste. Did women have it +too? Who could tell? And yet, men who gave vent to their appetites +for novelty, their riotous longings for new adventures, new risks, +new pleasures, these suffered, no doubt, from the reverse side of +starvation, from surfeit. No getting out of it--a maladjusted +animal, civilised man! There could be no garden of his choosing, of +"the Apple-tree, the singing, and the gold," in the words of that +lovely Greek chorus, no achievable elysium in life, or lasting haven +of happiness for any man with a sense of beauty--nothing which could +compare with the captured loveliness in a work of art, set down for +ever, so that to look on it or read was always to have the same +precious sense of exaltation and restful inebriety. Life no doubt +had moments with that quality of beauty, of unbidden flying rapture, +but the trouble was, they lasted no longer than the span of a cloud's +flight over the sun; impossible to keep them with you, as Art caught +beauty and held it fast. They were fleeting as one of the glimmering +or golden visions one had of the soul in nature, glimpses of its +remote and brooding spirit. Here, with the sun hot on his face, a +cuckoo calling from a thorn tree, and in the air the honey savour of +gorse--here among the little fronds of the young fern, the starry +blackthorn, while the bright clouds drifted by high above the hills +and dreamy valleys here and now was such a glimpse. But in a moment +it would pass--as the face of Pan, which looks round the corner of a +rock, vanishes at your stare. And suddenly he sat up. Surely there +was something familiar about this view, this bit of common, that +ribbon of road, the old wall behind him. While they were driving he +had not been taking notice--never did; thinking of far things or of +nothing--but now he saw! Twenty-six years ago, just at this time of +year, from the farmhouse within half a mile of this very spot he had +started for that day in Torquay whence it might be said he had never +returned. And a sudden ache beset his heart; he had stumbled on just +one of those past moments in his life, whose beauty and rapture he +had failed to arrest, whose wings had fluttered away into the +unknown; he had stumbled on a buried memory, a wild sweet time, +swiftly choked and ended. And, turning on his face, he rested his +chin on his hands, and stared at the short grass where the little +blue milkwort was growing.... + + + + +I + +And this is what he remembered. + +On the first of May, after their last year together at college, Frank +Ashurst and his friend Robert Garton were on a tramp. They had +walked that day from Brent, intending to make Chagford, but Ashurst's +football knee had given out, and according to their map they had +still some seven miles to go. They were sitting on a bank beside +the-road, where a track crossed alongside a wood, resting the knee +and talking of the universe, as young men will. Both were over six +feet, and thin as rails; Ashurst pale, idealistic, full of absence; +Garton queer, round-the-corner, knotted, curly, like some primeval +beast. Both had a literary bent; neither wore a hat. + +Ashurst's hair was smooth, pale, wavy, and had a way of rising on +either side of his brow, as if always being flung back; Carton's was +a kind of dark unfathomed mop. They had not met a soul for miles. + +"My dear fellow," Garton was saying, "pity's only an effect of self- +consciousness; it's a disease of the last five thousand years. The +world was happier without." + +Ashurst, following the clouds with his eyes, answered: + +"It's the pearl in the oyster, anyway." + +"My dear chap, all our modern unhappiness comes from pity. Look at +animals, and Red Indians, limited to feeling their own occasional +misfortunes; then look at ourselves--never free from feeling the +toothaches of others. Let's get back to feeling for nobody, and have +a better time." + +"You'll never practise that." + +Garton pensively stirred the hotch-potch of his hair. + +"To attain full growth, one mustn't be squeamish. To starve oneself +emotionally's a mistake. All emotion is to the good--enriches life." + +"Yes, and when it runs up against chivalry?" + +"Ah! That's so English! If you speak of emotion the English always +think you want something physical, and are shocked. They're afraid +of passion, but not of lust--oh, no!--so long as they can keep it +secret." + +Ashurst did not answer; he had plucked a blue floweret, and was +twiddling it against the sky. A cuckoo began calling from a thorn +tree. The sky, the flowers, the songs of birds! Robert was talking +through his hat! And he said: + +"Well, let's go on, and find some farm where we can put up." In +uttering those words, he was conscious of a girl coming down from the +common just above them. She was outlined against the sky, carrying a +basket, and you could see that sky through the crook of her arm. And +Ashurst, who saw beauty without wondering how it could advantage him, +thought: 'How pretty!' The wind, blowing her dark frieze skirt +against her legs, lifted her battered peacock tam-o'-shanter; her +greyish blouse was worn and old, her shoes were split, her little +hands rough and red, her neck browned. Her dark hair waved untidy +across her broad forehead, her face was short, her upper lip short, +showing a glint of teeth, her brows were straight and dark, her +lashes long and dark, her nose straight; but her grey eyes were the +wonder-dewy as if opened for the first time that day. She looked at +Ashurst--perhaps he struck her as strange, limping along without a +hat, with his large eyes on her, and his hair falling back. He could +not take off what was not on his head, but put up his hand in a +salute, and said: + +"Can you tell us if there's a farm near here where we could stay the +night? I've gone lame." + +"There's only our farm near, sir." She spoke without shyness, in a +pretty soft crisp voice. + +"And where is that?" + +"Down here, sir." + +"Would you put us up?" + +"Oh! I think we would." + +"Will you show us the way?" + +"Yes, Sir." + +He limped on, silent, and Garton took up the catechism. + +"Are you a Devonshire girl?" + +"No, Sir." + +"What then?" + +"From Wales." + +"Ah! I thought you were a Celt; so it's not your farm?" + +"My aunt's, sir." + +"And your uncle's?" + +"He is dead." + +"Who farms it, then?" + +"My aunt, and my three cousins." + +"But your uncle was a Devonshire man?" + +"Yes, Sir." + +"Have you lived here long?" "Seven years." + +"And how d'you like it after Wales?" "I don't know, sir." + +"I suppose you don't remember?" "Oh, yes! But it is different." + +"I believe you!" + +Ashurst broke in suddenly: "How old are you?" + +"Seventeen, Sir." + +"And what's your name?" "Megan David." + +"This is Robert Garton, and I am Frank Ashurst. We wanted to get on +to Chagford." + +"It is a pity your leg is hurting you." + +Ashurst smiled, and when he smiled his face was rather beautiful. + +Descending past the narrow wood, they came on the farm suddenly-a +long, low, stone-built dwelling with casement windows, in a farmyard +where pigs and fowls and an old mare were straying. A short steep-up +grass hill behind was crowned with a few Scotch firs, and in front, +an old orchard of apple trees, just breaking into flower, stretched +down to a stream and a long wild meadow. A little boy with oblique +dark eyes was shepherding a pig, and by the house door stood a woman, +who came towards them. The girl said: + +"It is Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt." + +"Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt," had a quick, dark eye, like a mother +wild-duck's, and something of the same snaky turn about her neck. + +"We met your niece on the road," said Ashurst; "she thought you might +perhaps put us up for the night." + +Mrs. Narracombe, taking them in from head to heel, answered: + +"Well, I can, if you don't mind one room. Megan, get the spare room +ready, and a bowl of cream. You'll be wanting tea, I suppose." + +Passing through a sort of porch made by two yew trees and some +flowering-currant bushes, the girl disappeared into the house, her +peacock tam-o'-shanter bright athwart that rosy-pink and the dark +green of the yews. + +"Will you come into the parlour and rest your leg? You'll be from +college, perhaps?" + +"We were, but we've gone down now." + +Mrs. Narracombe nodded sagely. + +The parlour, brick-floored, with bare table and shiny chairs and sofa +stuffed with horsehair, seemed never to have been used, it was so +terribly clean. Ashurst sat down at once on the sofa, holding his +lame knee between his hands, and Mrs. Narracombe gazed at him. He +was the only son of a late professor of chemistry, but people found a +certain lordliness in one who was often so sublimely unconscious of +them. + +"Is there a stream where we could bathe?" + +"There's the strame at the bottom of the orchard, but sittin' down +you'll not be covered!" + +"How deep?" + +"Well, 'tis about a foot and a half, maybe." + +"Oh! That'll do fine. Which way?" + +"Down the lane, through the second gate on the right, an' the pool's +by the big apple tree that stands by itself. There's trout there, if +you can tickle them." + +"They're more likely to tickle us!" + +Mrs. Narracombe smiled. "There'll be the tea ready when you come +back." + +The pool, formed by the damming of a rock, had a sandy bottom; and +the big apple tree, lowest in the orchard, grew so close that its +boughs almost overhung the water; it was in leaf, and all but in +flower-its crimson buds just bursting. There was not room for more +than one at a time in that narrow bath, and Ashurst waited his turn, +rubbing his knee and gazing at the wild meadow, all rocks and thorn +trees and feld flowers, with a grove of beeches beyond, raised up on +a flat mound. Every bough was swinging in the wind, every spring +bird calling, and a slanting sunlight dappled the grass. He thought +of Theocritus, and the river Cherwell, of the moon, and the maiden +with the dewy eyes; of so many things that he seemed to think of +nothing; and he felt absurdly happy. + + + + +2 + +During a late and sumptuous tea with eggs to it, cream and jam, and +thin, fresh cakes touched with saffron, Garton descanted on the +Celts. It was about the period of the Celtic awakening, and the +discovery that there was Celtic blood about this family had excited +one who believed that he was a Celt himself. Sprawling on a horse +hair chair, with a hand-made cigarette dribbling from the corner of +his curly lips, he had been plunging his cold pin-points of eyes into +Ashurst's and praising the refinement of the Welsh. To come out of +Wales into England was like the change from china to earthenware! +Frank, as a d---d Englishman, had not of course perceived the +exquisite refinement and emotional capacity of that Welsh girl! And, +delicately stirring in the dark mat of his still wet hair, he +explained how exactly she illustrated the writings of the Welsh bard +Morgan-ap-Something in the twelfth century. + +Ashurst, full length on the horsehair sofa, and jutting far beyond +its end, smoked a deeply-coloured pipe, and did not listen, thinking +of the girl's face when she brought in a relay of cakes. It had been +exactly like looking at a flower, or some other pretty sight in +Nature-till, with a funny little shiver, she had lowered her glance +and gone out, quiet as a mouse. + +"Let's go to the kitchen," said Garton, "and see some more of her." + +The kitchen was a white-washed room with rafters, to which were +attached smoked hams; there were flower-pots on the window-sill, and +guns hanging on nails, queer mugs, china and pewter, and portraits of +Queen Victoria. A long, narrow table of plain wood was set with +bowls and spoons, under a string of high-hung onions; two sheep-dogs +and three cats lay here and there. On one side of the recessed +fireplace sat two small boys, idle, and good as gold; on the other +sat a stout, light-eyed, red-faced youth with hair and lashes the +colour of the tow he was running through the barrel of a gun; between +them Mrs. Narracombe dreamily stirred some savoury-scented stew in a +large pot. Two other youths, oblique-eyed, dark-haired, rather sly- +faced, like the two little boys, were talking together and lolling +against the wall; and a short, elderly, clean-shaven man in +corduroys, seated in the window, was conning a battered journal. The +girl Megan seemed the only active creature-drawing cider and passing +with the jugs from cask to table. Seeing them thus about to eat, +Garton said: + +"Ah! If you'll let us, we'll come back when supper's over," and +without waiting for an answer they withdrew again to the parlour. +But the colour in the kitchen, the warmth, the scents, and all those +faces, heightened the bleakness of their shiny room, and they resumed +their seats moodily. + +"Regular gipsy type, those boys. There was only one Saxon--the +fellow cleaning the gun. That girl is a very subtle study +psychologically." + +Ashurst's lips twitched. Garton seemed to him an ass just then. +Subtle study! She was a wild flower. A creature it did you good to +look at. Study! + +Garton went on: + +"Emotionally she would be wonderful. She wants awakening." + +"Are you going to awaken her?" + +Garton looked at him and smiled. 'How coarse and English you are!' +that curly smile seemed saying. + +And Ashurst puffed his pipe. Awaken her! That fool had the best +opinion of himself! He threw up the window and leaned out. Dusk had +gathered thick. The farm buildings and the wheel-house were all dim +and bluish, the apple trees but a blurred wilderness; the air smelled +of woodsmoke from the kitchen fire. One bird going to bed later than +the others was uttering a half-hearted twitter, as though surprised +at the darkness. From the stable came the snuffle and stamp of a +feeding horse. And away over there was the loom of the moor, and +away and away the shy stars which had not as yet full light, pricking +white through the deep blue heavens. A quavering owl hooted. +Ashurst drew a deep breath. What a night to wander out in! A +padding of unshod hoofs came up the lane, and three dim, dark shapes +passed--ponies on an evening march. Their heads, black and fuzzy, +showed above the gate. At the tap of his pipe, and a shower of +little sparks, they shied round and scampered. A bat went fluttering +past, uttering its almost inaudible "chip, chip." Ashurst held out +his hand; on the upturned palm he could feel the dew. Suddenly from +overhead he heard little burring boys' voices, little thumps of boots +thrown down, and another voice, crisp and soft--the girl's putting +them to bed, no doubt; and nine clear words "No, Rick, you can't have +the cat in bed"; then came a skirmish of giggles and gurgles, a soft +slap, a laugh so low and pretty that it made him shiver a little. A +blowing sound, and the glim of the candle which was fingering the +dusk above, went out; silence reigned. Ashurst withdrew into the +room and sat down; his knee pained him, and his soul felt gloomy. + +"You go to the kitchen," he said; "I'm going to bed." + + + + +3 + +For Ashurst the wheel of slumber was wont to turn noiseless and slick +and swift, but though he seemed sunk in sleep when his companion came +up, he was really wide awake; and long after Carton, smothered in the +other bed of that low-roofed room, was worshipping darkness with his +upturned nose, he heard the owls. Barring the discomfort of his +knee, it was not unpleasant--the cares of life did not loom large in +night watches for this young man. In fact he had none; just enrolled +a barrister, with literary aspirations, the world before him, no +father or mother, and four hundred a year of his own. Did it matter +where he went, what he did, or when he did it? His bed, too, was +hard, and this preserved him from fever. He lay, sniffing the scent +of the night which drifted into the low room through the open +casement close to his head. Except for a definite irritation with +his friend, natural when you have tramped with a man for three days, +Ashurst's memories and visions that sleepless night were kindly and +wistful and exciting. One vision, specially clear and unreasonable, +for he had not even been conscious of noting it, was the face of the +youth cleaning the gun; its intent, stolid, yet startled uplook at +the kitchen doorway, quickly shifted to the girl carrying the cider +jug. This red, blue-eyed, light-lashed, tow-haired face stuck as +firmly in his memory as the girl's own face, so dewy and simple. But +at last, in the square of darkness through the uncurtained casement, +he saw day coming, and heard one hoarse and sleepy caw. Then +followed silence, dead as ever, till the song of a blackbird, not +properly awake, adventured into the hush. And, from staring at the +framed brightening light, Ashurst fell asleep. + +Next day his knee was badly swollen; the walking tour was obviously +over. Garton, due back in London on the morrow, departed at midday +with an ironical smile which left a scar of irritation--healed the +moment his loping figure vanished round the corner of the steep lane. +All day Ashurst rested his knee, in a green-painted wooden chair on +the patch of grass by the yew-tree porch, where the sunlight +distilled the scent of stocks and gillyflowers, and a ghost of scent +from the flowering-currant bushes. Beatifically he smoked, dreamed, +watched. + +A farm in spring is all birth-young things coming out of bud and +shell, and human beings watching over the process with faint +excitement feeding and tending what has been born. So still the +young man sat, that a mother-goose, with stately cross-footed waddle, +brought her six yellow-necked grey-backed goslings to strop their +little beaks against the grass blades at his feet. Now and again +Mrs. Narracombe or the girl Megan would come and ask if he wanted +anything, and he would smile and say: "Nothing, thanks. It's +splendid here." Towards tea-time they came out together, bearing a +long poultice of some dark stuff in a bowl, and after a long and +solemn scrutiny of his swollen knee, bound it on. When they were +gone, he thought of the girl's soft "Oh!"--of her pitying eyes, and +the little wrinkle in her brow. And again he felt that unreasoning +irritation against his departed friend, who had talked such rot about +her. When she brought out his tea, he said: + +"How did you like my friend, Megan?" + +She forced down her upper lip, as if afraid that to smile was not +polite. "He was a funny gentleman; he made us laugh. I think he is +very clever." + +"What did he say to make you laugh?" + +"He said I was a daughter of the bards. What are they?" + +"Welsh poets, who lived hundreds of years ago." + +"Why am I their daughter, please?" + +"He meant that you were the sort of girl they sang about." + +She wrinkled her brows. "I think he likes to joke. Am I?" + +"Would you believe me, if I told you?" + +"Oh, yes." + +"Well, I think he was right." + +She smiled. + +And Ashurst thought: 'You are a pretty thing!' + +"He said, too, that Joe was a Saxon type. What would that be?" + +"Which is Joe? With the blue eyes and red face?" + +"Yes. My uncle's nephew." + +"Not your cousin, then?" + +"No." + +"Well, he meant that Joe was like the men who came over to England +about fourteen hundred years ago, and conquered it." + +"Oh! I know about them; but is he?" + +"Garton's crazy about that sort of thing; but I must say Joe does +look a bit Early Saxon." + +"Yes." + +That "Yes" tickled Ashurst. It was so crisp and graceful, so +conclusive, and politely acquiescent in what was evidently. Greek to +her. + +"He said that all the other boys were regular gipsies. He should not +have said that. My aunt laughed, but she didn't like it, of course, +and my cousins were angry. Uncle was a farmer--farmers are not +gipsies. It is wrong to hurt people." + +Ashurst wanted to take her hand and give it a squeeze, but he only +answered: + +"Quite right, Megan. By the way, I heard you putting the little ones +to bed last night." + +She flushed a little. "Please to drink your tea--it is getting cold. +Shall I get you some fresh?" + +"Do you ever have time to do anything for yourself?" + +"Oh! Yes." + +"I've been watching, but I haven't seen it yet." + +She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown, and her colour deepened. + +When she was gone, Ashurst thought: 'Did she think I was chaffing +her? I wouldn't for the world!' He was at that age when to some men +"Beauty's a flower," as the poet says, and inspires in them the +thoughts of chivalry. Never very conscious of his surroundings, it +was some time before he was aware that the youth whom Garton had +called "a Saxon type" was standing outside the stable door; and a +fine bit of colour he made in his soiled brown velvet-cords, muddy +gaiters, and blue shirt; red-armed, red-faced, the sun turning his +hair from tow to flax; immovably stolid, persistent, unsmiling he +stood. Then, seeing Ashurst looking at him, he crossed the yard at +that gait of the young countryman always ashamed not to be slow and +heavy-dwelling on each leg, and disappeared round the end of the +house towards the kitchen entrance. A chill came over Ashurst's +mood. Clods? With all the good will in the world, how impossible to +get on terms with them! And yet--see that girl! Her shoes were +split, her hands rough; but--what was it? Was it really her Celtic +blood, as Garton had said?--she was a lady born, a jewel, though +probably she could do no more than just read and write! + +The elderly, clean-shaven man he had seen last night in the kitchen +had come into the yard with a dog, driving the cows to their milking. +Ashurst saw that he was lame. + +"You've got some good ones there!" + +The lame man's face brightened. He had the upward look in his eyes +which prolonged suffering often brings. + +"Yeas; they'm praaper buties; gude milkers tu." + +"I bet they are." + +"'Ope as yure leg's better, zurr." + +"Thank you, it's getting on." + +The lame man touched his own: "I know what 'tes, meself; 'tes a main +worritin' thing, the knee. I've a-'ad mine bad this ten year." + +Ashurst made the sound of sympathy which comes so readily from those +who have an independent income, and the lame man smiled again. + +"Mustn't complain, though--they mighty near 'ad it off." + +"Ho!" + +"Yeas; an' compared with what 'twas, 'tes almost so gude as nu." + +"They've put a bandage of splendid stuff on mine." + +"The maid she picks et. She'm a gude maid wi' the flowers. There's +folks zeem to know the healin' in things. My mother was a rare one +for that. 'Ope as yu'll zune be better, zurr. Goo ahn, therr!" + +Ashurst smiled. "Wi' the flowers!" A flower herself! + +That evening, after his supper of cold duck, junket, and cider, the +girl came in. + +"Please, auntie says--will you try a piece of our Mayday cake?" + +"If I may come to the kitchen for it." + +"Oh, yes! You'll be missing your friend." + +"Not I. But are you sure no one minds?" + +"Who would mind? We shall be very pleased." + +Ashurst rose too suddenly for his stiff knee, staggered, and +subsided. The girl gave a little gasp, and held out her hands. +Ashurst took them, small, rough, brown; checked his impulse to put +them to his lips, and let her pull him up. She came close beside +him, offering her shoulder. And leaning on her he walked across the +room. That shoulder seemed quite the pleasantest thing he had ever +touched. But, he had presence of mind enough to catch his stick out +of the rack, and withdraw his hand before arriving at the kitchen. + +That night he slept like a top, and woke with his knee of almost +normal size. He again spent the morning in his chair on the grass +patch, scribbling down verses; but in the afternoon he wandered about +with the two little boys Nick and Rick. It was Saturday, so they +were early home from school; quick, shy, dark little rascals of seven +and six, soon talkative, for Ashurst had a way with children. By +four o'clock they had shown him all their methods of destroying life, +except the tickling of trout; and with breeches tucked up, lay on +their stomachs over the trout stream, pretending they had this +accomplishment also. They tickled nothing, of course, for their +giggling and shouting scared every spotted thing away. Ashurst, on a +rock at the edge of the beech clump, watched them, and listened to +the cuckoos, till Nick, the elder and less persevering, came up and +stood beside him. + +"The gipsy bogle zets on that stone," he said. + +"What gipsy bogie?" + +"Dunno; never zeen 'e. Megan zays 'e zets there; an' old Jim zeed 'e +once. 'E was zettin' there naight afore our pony kicked--in father's +'ead. 'E plays the viddle." + +"What tune does he play?" + +"Dunno." + +"What's he like?" + +"'E's black. Old Jim zays 'e's all over 'air. 'E's a praaper bogle. +'E don' come only at naight." The little boy's oblique dark eyes +slid round. "D'yu think 'e might want to take me away? Megan's +feared of 'e." + +"Has she seen him?" + +"No. She's not afeared o' yu." + +"I should think not. Why should she be?" + +"She zays a prayer for yu." + +"How do you know that, you little rascal?" + +"When I was asleep, she said: 'God bless us all, an' Mr. Ashes.' I +yeard 'er whisperin'." + +"You're a little ruffian to tell what you hear when you're not meant +to hear it!" + +The little boy was silent. Then he said aggressively: + +"I can skin rabbets. Megan, she can't bear skinnin' 'em. I like +blood." + +"Oh! you do; you little monster!" + +"What's that?" + +"A creature that likes hurting others." + +The little boy scowled. "They'm only dead rabbets, what us eats." + +"Quite right, Nick. I beg your pardon." + +"I can skin frogs, tu." + +But Ashurst had become absent. "God bless us all, and Mr. Ashes!" +And puzzled by that sudden inaccessibility, Nick ran back to the +stream where the giggling and shouts again uprose at once. + +When Megan brought his tea, he said: + +"What's the gipsy bogle, Megan?" + +She looked up, startled. + +"He brings bad things." + +"Surely you don't believe in ghosts?" + +"I hope I will never see him." + +"Of course you won't. There aren't such things. What old Jim saw +was a pony." + +"No! There are bogies in the rocks; they are the men who lived long +ago." + +"They aren't gipsies, anyway; those old men were dead long before +gipsies came." + +She said simply: "They are all bad." + +"Why? If there are any, they're only wild, like the rabbits. The +flowers aren't bad for being wild; the thorn trees were never +planted--and you don't mind them. I shall go down at night and look +for your bogie, and have a talk with him." + +"Oh, no! Oh, no!" + +"Oh, yes! I shall go and sit on his rock." + +She clasped her hands together: "Oh, please!" + +"Why! What 'does it matter if anything happens to me?" + +She did not answer; and in a sort of pet he added: + +"Well, I daresay I shan't see him, because I suppose I must be off +soon." + +"Soon?" + +"Your aunt won't want to keep me here." + +"Oh, yes! We always let lodgings in summer." + +Fixing his eyes on her face, he asked: + +"Would you like me to stay?" + +"Yes." + +"I'm going to say a prayer for you to-night!" + +She flushed crimson, frowned, and went out of the room. He sat, +cursing himself, till his tea was stewed. It was as if he had hacked +with his thick boots at a clump of bluebells. Why had he said such a +silly thing? Was he just a towny college ass like Robert Garton, as +far from understanding this girl? + +Ashurst spent the next week confirming the restoration of his leg, by +exploration of the country within easy reach. Spring was a +revelation to him this year. In a kind of intoxication he would +watch the pink-white buds of some backward beech tree sprayed up in +the sunlight against the deep blue sky, or the trunks and limbs of +the few Scotch firs, tawny in violent light, or again, on the moor, +the gale-bent larches which had such a look of life when the wind +streamed in their young green, above the rusty black underboughs. Or +he would lie on the banks, gazing at the clusters of dog-violets, or +up in the dead bracken, fingering the pink, transparent buds of the +dewberry, while the cuckoos called and yafes laughed, or a lark, from +very high, dripped its beads of song. It was certainly different +from any spring he had ever known, for spring was within him, not +without. In the daytime he hardly saw the family; and when Megan +brought in his meals she always seemed too busy in the house or among +the young things in the yard to stay talking long. But in the +evenings he installed himself in the window seat in the kitchen, +smoking and chatting with the lame man Jim, or Mrs. Narracombe, while +the girl sewed, or moved about, clearing the supper things away. And +sometimes, with the sensation a cat must feel when it purrs, he would +become conscious that Megan's eyes--those dew-grey eyes--were fixed +on him with a sort of lingering soft look which was strangely +flattering. + +It was on Sunday week in the evening, when he was lying in the +orchard listening to a blackbird and composing a love poem, that he +heard the gate swing to, and saw the girl come running among the +trees, with the red-cheeked, stolid Joe in swift pursuit. About +twenty yards away the chase ended, and the two stood fronting each +other, not noticing the stranger in the grass--the boy pressing on, +the girl fending him off. Ashurst could see her face, angry, +disturbed; and the youth's--who would have thought that red-faced +yokel could look so distraught! And painfully affected by that +sight, he jumped up. They saw him then. Megan dropped her hands, +and shrank behind a tree trunk; the boy gave an angry grunt, rushed +at the bank, scrambled over and vanished. Ashurst went slowly up to +her. She was standing quite still, biting her lip-very pretty, with +her fine, dark hair blown loose about her face, and her eyes cast +down. + +"I beg your pardon," he said. + +She gave him one upward look, from eyes much dilated; then, catching +her breath, turned away. Ashurst followed. + +"Megan!" + +But she went on; and taking hold of her arm, he turned her gently +round to him. + +"Stop and speak to me." + +"Why do you beg my pardon? It is not to me you should do that." + +"Well, then, to Joe." + +"How dare he come after me?" + +"In love with you, I suppose." + +She stamped her foot. + +Ashurst uttered a short laugh. "Would you like me to punch his +head?" + +She cried with sudden passion: + +"You laugh at me-you laugh at us!" + +He caught hold of her hands, but she shrank back, till her passionate +little face and loose dark hair were caught among the pink clusters +of the apple blossom. Ashurst raised one of her imprisoned hands and +put his lips to it. He felt how chivalrous he was, and superior to +that clod Joe--just brushing that small, rough hand with his mouth I +Her shrinking ceased suddenly; she seemed to tremble towards him. A +sweet warmth overtook Ashurst from top to toe. This slim maiden, so +simple and fine and pretty, was pleased, then, at the touch of his +lips! And, yielding to a swift impulse, he put his arms round her, +pressed her to him, and kissed her forehead. Then he was frightened- +-she went so pale, closing her eyes, so that the long, dark lashes +lay on her pale cheeks; her hands, too, lay inert at her sides. The +touch of her breast sent a shiver through him. "Megan!" he sighed +out, and let her go. In the utter silence a blackbird shouted. Then +the girl seized his hand, put it to her cheek, her heart, her lips, +kissed it passionately, and fled away among the mossy trunks of the +apple trees, till they hid her from him. + +Ashurst sat down on a twisted old tree growing almost along the +ground, and, all throbbing and bewildered, gazed vacantly at the +blossom which had crowned her hair--those pink buds with one white +open apple star. What had he done? How had he let himself be thus +stampeded by beauty--pity--or--just the spring! He felt curiously +happy, all the same; happy and triumphant, with shivers running +through his limbs, and a vague alarm. This was the beginning of-- +what? The midges bit him, the dancing gnats tried to fly into his +mouth, and all the spring around him seemed to grow more lovely and +alive; the songs of the cuckoos and the blackbirds, the laughter of +the yaflies, the level-slanting sunlight, the apple blossom which had +crowned her head! He got up from the old trunk and strode out of the +orchard, wanting space, an open sky, to get on terms with these new +sensations. He made for the moor, and from an ash tree in the hedge +a magpie flew out to herald him. + +Of man--at any age from five years on--who can say he has never been +in love? Ashurst had loved his partners at his dancing class; loved +his nursery governess; girls in school-holidays; perhaps never been +quite out of love, cherishing always some more or less remote +admiration. But this was different, not remote at all. Quite a new +sensation; terribly delightful, bringing a sense of completed +manhood. To be holding in his fingers such a wild flower, to be able +to put it to his lips, and feel it tremble with delight against them! +What intoxication, and--embarrassment! What to do with it--how meet +her next time? His first caress had been cool, pitiful; but the next +could not be, now that, by her burning little kiss on his hand, by +her pressure of it to her heart, he knew that she loved him. Some +natures are coarsened by love bestowed on them; others, like +Ashurst's, are swayed and drawn, warmed and softened, almost exalted, +by what they feel to be a sort of miracle. + +And up there among the tors he was racked between the passionate +desire to revel in this new sensation of spring fulfilled within him, +and a vague but very real uneasiness. At one moment he gave himself +up completely to his pride at having captured this pretty, trustful, +dewy-eyed thing! At the next he thought with factitious solemnity: +'Yes, my boy! But look out what you're doing! You know what comes +of it!' + +Dusk dropped down without his noticing--dusk on the carved, Assyrian- +looking masses of the rocks. And the voice of Nature said: "This is +a new world for you!" As when a man gets up at four o'clock and goes +out into a summer morning, and beasts, birds, trees stare at him and +he feels as if all had been made new. + +He stayed up there for hours, till it grew cold, then groped his way +down the stones and heather roots to the road, back into the lane, +and came again past the wild meadow to the orchard. There he struck +a match and looked at his watch. Nearly twelve! It was black and +unstirring in there now, very different from the lingering, bird- +befriended brightness of six hours ago! And suddenly he saw this +idyll of his with the eyes of the outer world--had mental vision of +Mrs. Narracombe's snake-like neck turned, her quick dark glance +taking it all in, her shrewd face hardening; saw the gipsy-like +cousins coarsely mocking and distrustful; Joe stolid and furious; +only the lame man, Jim, with the suffering eyes, seemed tolerable to +his mind. And the village pub!--the gossiping matrons he passed on +his walks; and then--his own friends--Robert Carton's smile when he +went off that morning ten days ago; so ironical and knowing! +Disgusting! For a minute he literally hated this earthy, cynical +world to which one belonged, willy-nilly. The gate where he was +leaning grew grey, a sort of shimmer passed be fore him and spread +into the bluish darkness. The moon! He could just see it over the +bank be hind; red, nearly round-a strange moon! And turning away, he +went up the lane which smelled of the night and cowdung and young +leaves. In the straw-yard he could see the dark shapes of cattle, +broken by the pale sickles of their horns, like so many thin moons, +fallen ends-up. He unlatched the farm gate stealthily. All was dark +in the house. Muffling his footsteps, he gained the porch, and, +blotted against one of the yew trees, looked up at Megan's window. +It was open. Was she sleeping, or lying awake perhaps, disturbed-- +unhappy at his absence? An owl hooted while he stood there peering +up, and the sound seemed to fill the whole night, so quiet was all +else, save for the never-ending murmur of the stream running below +the orchard. The cuckoos by day, and now the owls--how wonderfully +they voiced this troubled ecstasy within him! And suddenly he saw +her at her window, looking out. He moved a little from the yew tree, +and whispered: "Megan!" She drew back, vanished, reappeared, leaning +far down. He stole forward on the grass patch, hit his shin against +the green-painted chair, and held his breath at the sound. The pale +blur of her stretched-down arm and face did not stir; he moved the +chair, and noiselessly mounted it. By stretching up his arm he could +just reach. Her hand held the huge key of the front door, and he +clasped that burning hand with the cold key in it. He could just see +her face, the glint of teeth between her lips, her tumbled hair. She +was still dressed--poor child, sitting up for him, no doubt! "Pretty +Megan!" Her hot, roughened fingers clung to his; her face had a +strange, lost look. To have been able to reach it--even with his +hand! The owl hooted, a scent of sweetbriar crept into his nostrils. +Then one of the farm dogs barked; her grasp relaxed, she shrank back. + +"Good-night, Megan!" + +"Good-night, sir!" She was gone! With a sigh he dropped back to +earth, and sitting on that chair, took off his boots. Nothing for it +but to creep in and go to bed; yet for a long while he sat unmoving, +his feet chilly in the dew, drunk on the memory of her lost, half- +smiling face, and the clinging grip of her burning fingers, pressing +the cold key into his hand. + + + + +5 + +He awoke feeling as if he had eaten heavily overnight, instead of +having eaten nothing. And far off, unreal, seemed yesterday's +romance! Yet it was a golden morning. Full spring had burst at +last--in one night the "goldie-cups," as the little boys called them, +seemed to have made the field their own, and from his window he could +see apple blossoms covering the orchard as with a rose and white +quilt. He went down almost dreading to see Megan; and yet, when not +she but Mrs. Narracombe brought in his breakfast, he felt vexed and +disappointed. The woman's quick eye and snaky neck seemed to have a +new alacrity this morning. Had she noticed? + +"So you an' the moon went walkin' last night, Mr. Ashurst! Did ye +have your supper anywheres?" + +Ashurst shook his head. + +"We kept it for you, but I suppose you was too busy in your brain to +think o' such a thing as that?" + +Was she mocking him, in that voice of hers, which still kept some +Welsh crispness against the invading burr of the West Country? If +she knew! And at that moment he thought: 'No, no; I'll clear out. I +won't put myself in such a beastly false position.' + +But, after breakfast, the longing to see Megan began and increased +with every minute, together with fear lest something should have been +said to her which had spoiled everything. Sinister that she had not +appeared, not given him even a glimpse of her! And the love poem, +whose manufacture had been so important and absorbing yesterday +afternoon under the apple trees, now seemed so paltry that he tore it +up and rolled it into pipe spills. What had he known of love, till +she seized his hand and kissed it! And now--what did he not know? +But to write of it seemed mere insipidity! He went up to his bedroom +to get a book, and his heart began to beat violently, for she was in +there making the bed. He stood in the doorway watching; and +suddenly, with turbulent joy, he saw her stoop and kiss his pillow, +just at the hollow made by his head last night. + +How let her know he had seen that pretty act of devotion? And yet, +if she heard him stealing away, it would be even worse. She took the +pillow up, holding it as if reluctant to shake out the impress of his +cheek, dropped it, and turned round. + +"Megan!" + +She put her hands up to her cheeks, but her eyes seemed to look right +into him. He had never before realised the depth and purity and +touching faithfulness in those dew-bright eyes, and he stammered: + +"It was sweet of you to wait up for me last night." + +She still said nothing, and he stammered on: + +"I was wandering about on the moor; it was such a jolly night. I-- +I've just come up for a book." + +Then, the kiss he had seen her give the pillow afflicted him with +sudden headiness, and he went up to her. Touching her eyes with his +lips, he thought with queer excitement: 'I've done it! Yesterday all +was sudden--anyhow; but now--I've done it!' The girl let her forehead +rest against his lips, which moved downwards till they reached hers. +That first real lover's kiss-strange, wonderful, still almost +innocent--in which heart did it make the most disturbance? + +"Come to the big apple tree to-night, after they've gone to bed. +Megan-promise!" + +She whispered back: "I promise." + +Then, scared at her white face, scared at everything, he let her go, +and went downstairs again. Yes! He had done it now! Accepted her +love, declared his own! He went out to the green chair as devoid of +a book as ever; and there he sat staring vacantly before him, +triumphant and remorseful, while under his nose and behind his back +the work of the farm went on. How long he had been sitting in that +curious state of vacancy he had no notion when he saw Joe standing a +little behind him to the right. The youth had evidently come from +hard work in the fields, and stood shifting his feet, breathing +loudly, his face coloured like a setting sun, and his arms, below the +rolled-up sleeves of his blue shirt, showing the hue and furry sheen +of ripe peaches. His red lips were open, his blue eyes with their +flaxen lashes stared fixedly at Ashurst, who said ironically: + +"Well, Joe, anything I can do for you?" + +"Yeas." + +"What, then?" + +"Yu can goo away from yere. Us don' want yu." + +Ashurst's face, never too humble, assumed its most lordly look. + +"Very good of you, but, do you know, I prefer the others should speak +for themselves." + +The youth moved a pace or two nearer, and the scent of his honest +heat afflicted Ashurst's nostrils. + +"What d'yu stay yere for?" + +"Because it pleases me." + +"Twon't please yu when I've bashed yure head in!" + +"Indeed! When would you like to begin that?" + +Joe answered only with the loudness of his breathing, but his eyes +looked like those of a young and angry bull. Then a sort of spasm +seemed to convulse his face. + +"Megan don' want yu." + +A rush of jealousy, of contempt, and anger with this thick, loud- +breathing rustic got the better of Ashurst's self-possession; he +jumped up, and pushed back his chair. + +"You can go to the devil!" + +And as he said those simple words, he saw Megan in the doorway with a +tiny brown spaniel puppy in her arms. She came up to him quickly: + +"Its eyes are blue!" she said. + +Joe turned away; the back of his neck was literally crimson. + +Ashurst put his finger to the mouth of the little brown bullfrog of a +creature in her arms. How cosy it looked against her! + +"It's fond of you already. Ah I Megan, everything is fond of you." + +"What was Joe saying to you, please?" + +"Telling me to go away, because you didn't want me here." + +She stamped her foot; then looked up at Ashurst. At that adoring +look he felt his nerves quiver, just as if he had seen a moth +scorching its wings. + +"To-night!" he said. "Don't forget!" + +"No." And smothering her face against the puppy's little fat, brown +body, she slipped back into the house. + +Ashurst wandered down the lane. At the gate of the wild meadow he +came on the lame man and his cows. + +"Beautiful day, Jim!" + +"Ah! 'Tes brave weather for the grass. The ashes be later than th' +oaks this year. 'When th' oak before th' ash---'" + +Ashurst said idly: "Where were you standing when you saw the gipsy +bogie, Jim?" + +"It might be under that big apple tree, as you might say." + +"And you really do think it was there?" + +The lame man answered cautiously: + +"I shouldn't like to say rightly that 't was there. 'Twas in my mind +as 'twas there." + +"What do you make of it?" + +The lame man lowered his voice. + +"They du zay old master, Mist' Narracombe come o' gipsy stock. But +that's tellin'. They'm a wonderful people, yu know, for claimin' +their own. Maybe they knu 'e was goin', and sent this feller along +for company. That's what I've a-thought about it." + +"What was he like?" + +"'E 'ad 'air all over 'is face, an' goin' like this, he was, zame as +if 'e 'ad a viddle. They zay there's no such thing as bogies, but +I've a-zeen the 'air on this dog standin' up of a dark naight, when I +couldn' zee nothin', meself." + +"Was there a moon?" + +"Yeas, very near full, but 'twas on'y just risen, gold-like be'ind +them trees." + +"And you think a ghost means trouble, do you?" + +The lame man pushed his hat up; his aspiring eyes looked at Ashurst +more earnestly than ever. + +"'Tes not for me to zay that but 'tes they bein' so unrestin'like. +There's things us don' understand, that's zartin, for zure. There's +people that zee things, tu, an' others that don't never zee nothin'. +Now, our Joe--yu might putt anything under'is eyes an e'd never zee +it; and them other boys, tu, they'm rattlin' fellers. But yu take +an' putt our Megan where there's suthin', she'll zee it, an' more tu, +or I'm mistaken." + +"She's sensitive, that's why." + +"What's that?" + +"I mean, she feels everything." + +"Ah! She'm very lovin'-'earted." + +Ashurst, who felt colour coming into his cheeks, held out his tobacco +pouch. + +"Have a fill, Jim?" + +"Thank 'ee, sir. She'm one in an 'underd, I think." + +"I expect so," said Ashurst shortly, and folding up his pouch, walked +on. + +"Lovin'-hearted! "Yes! And what was he doing? What were his +intentions-as they say towards this loving-hearted girl? The thought +dogged him, wandering through fields bright with buttercups, where +the little red calves were feeding, and the swallows flying high. +Yes, the oaks were before the ashes, brown-gold already; every tree +in different stage and hue. The cuckoos and a thousand birds were +singing; the little streams were very bright. The ancients believed +in a golden age, in the garden of the Hesperides!... A queen wasp +settled on his sleeve. Each queen wasp killed meant two thousand +fewer wasps to thieve the apples which would grow from that blossom +in the orchard; but who, with love in his heart, could kill anything +on a day like this? He entered a field where a young red bull was +feeding. It seemed to Ashurst that he looked like Joe. But the +young bull took no notice of this visitor, a little drunk himself, +perhaps, on the singing and the glamour of the golden pasture, under +his short legs. Ashurst crossed out unchallenged to the hillside +above the stream. From that slope a for mounted to its crown of +rocks. The ground there was covered with a mist of bluebells, and +nearly a score of crab-apple trees were in full bloom. He threw +himself down on the grass. The change from the buttercup glory and +oak-goldened glamour of the fields to this ethereal beauty under the +grey for filled him with a sort of wonder; nothing the same, save the +sound of running water and the songs of the cuckoos. He lay there a +long time, watching the sunlight wheel till the crab-trees threw +shadows over the bluebells, his only companions a few wild bees. He +was not quite sane, thinking of that morning's kiss, and of to-night +under the apple tree. In such a spot as this, fauns and dryads +surely lived; nymphs, white as the crab-apple blossom, retired within +those trees; fauns, brown as the dead bracken, with pointed ears, lay +in wait for them. The cuckoos were still calling when he woke, there +was the sound of running water; but the sun had couched behind the +tor, the hillside was cool, and some rabbits had come out. +'Tonight!' he thought. Just as from the earth everything was pushing +up, unfolding under the soft insistent fingers of an unseen hand, so +were his heart and senses being pushed, unfolded. He got up and +broke off a spray from a crab-apple tree. The buds were like Megan-- +shell-like, rose-pink, wild, and fresh; and so, too, the opening +flowers, white, and wild; and touching. He put the spray into his +coat. And all the rush of the spring within him escaped in a +triumphant sigh. But the rabbits scurried away. + + + + +6 + +It was nearly eleven that night when Ashurst put down the pocket +"Odyssey" which for half an hour he had held in his hands without +reading, and slipped through the yard down to the orchard. The moon +had just risen, very golden, over the hill, and like a bright, +powerful, watching spirit peered through the bars of an ash tree's +half-naked boughs. In among the apple trees it was still dark, and +he stood making sure of his direction, feeling the rough grass with +his feet. A black mass close behind him stirred with a heavy +grunting sound, and three large pigs settled down again close to each +other, under the wall. He listened. There was no wind, but the +stream's burbling whispering chuckle had gained twice its daytime +strength. One bird, he could not tell what, cried "Pippip," "Pip- +pip," with perfect monotony; he could hear a night-Jar spinning very +far off; an owl hooting. Ashurst moved a step or two, and again +halted, aware of a dim living whiteness all round his head. On the +dark unstirring trees innumerable flowers and buds all soft and +blurred were being bewitched to life by the creeping moonlight. He +had the oddest feeling of actual companionship, as if a million white +moths or spirits had floated in and settled between dark sky and +darker ground, and were opening and shutting their wings on a level +with his eyes. In the bewildering, still, scentless beauty of that +moment he almost lost memory of why he had come to the orchard. The +flying glamour which had clothed the earth all day had not gone now +that night had fallen, but only changed into this new form. He moved +on through the thicket of stems and boughs covered with that live +powdering whiteness, till he reached the big apple tree. No +mistaking that, even in the dark, nearly twice the height and size of +any other, and leaning out towards the open meadows and the stream. +Under the thick branches he stood still again, to listen. The same +sounds exactly, and a faint grunting from the sleepy pigs. He put +his hands on the dry, almost warm tree trunk, whose rough mossy +surface gave forth a peaty scent at his touch. Would she come--would +she? And among these quivering, haunted, moon-witched trees he was +seized with doubts of everything! All was unearthly here, fit for no +earthly lovers; fit only for god and goddess, faun and nymph not for +him and this little country girl. Would it not be almost a relief if +she did not come? But all the time he was listening. And still that +unknown bird went "Pip-pip," "Pip-pip," and there rose the busy +chatter of the little trout stream, whereon the moon was flinging +glances through the bars of her tree-prison. The blossom on a level +with his eyes seemed to grow more living every moment, seemed with +its mysterious white beauty more and more a part of his suspense. He +plucked a fragment and held it close--three blossoms. Sacrilege to +pluck fruit-tree blossom--soft, sacred, young blossom--and throw it +away! Then suddenly he heard the gate close, the pigs stirring again +and grunting; and leaning against the trunk, he pressed his hands to +its mossy sides behind him, and held his breath. She might have been +a spirit threading the trees, for all the noise she made! Then he +saw her quite close--her dark form part of a little tree, her white +face part of its blossom; so still, and peering towards him. +He whispered: "Megan!" and held out his hands. She ran forward, +straight to his breast. When he felt her heart beating against him, +Ashurst knew to the full the sensations of chivalry and passion. +Because she was not of his world, because she was so simple and young +and headlong, adoring and defenceless, how could he be other than her +protector, in the dark! Because she was all simple Nature and +beauty, as much a part of this spring night as was the living +blossom, how should he not take all that she would give him how not +fulfil the spring in her heart and his! And torn between these two +emotions he clasped her close, and kissed her hair. How long they +stood there without speaking he knew not. The stream went on +chattering, the owls hooting, the moon kept stealing up and growing +whiter; the blossom all round them and above brightened in suspense +of living beauty. Their lips had sought each other's, and they did +not speak. The moment speech began all would be unreal! Spring has +no speech, nothing but rustling and whispering. Spring has so much +more than speech in its unfolding flowers and leaves, and the +coursing of its streams, and in its sweet restless seeking! And +sometimes spring will come alive, and, like a mysterious Presence +stand, encircling lovers with its arms, laying on them the fingers of +enchantment, so that, standing lips to lips, they forget everything +but just a kiss. While her heart beat against him, and her lips +quivered on his, Ashurst felt nothing but simple rapture--Destiny +meant her for his arms, Love could not be flouted! But when their +lips parted for breath, division began again at once. Only, passion +now was so much the stronger, and he sighed: + +"Oh! Megan! Why did you come?" She looked up, hurt, amazed. + +"Sir, you asked me to." + +"Don't call me 'sir,' my pretty sweet." "What should I be callin" +you?" + +"Frank." + +"I could not. Oh, no!" + +"But you love me--don't you?" + +"I could not help lovin' you. I want to be with you--that's all." + +"All!" + +So faint that he hardly heard, she whispered: "I shall die if I can't +be with you." + +Ashurst took a mighty breath. + +"Come and be with me, then!" + +"Oh!" + +Intoxicated by the awe and rapture in that "Oh!" he went on, +whispering: + +"We'll go to London. I'll show you the world. + +"And I will take care of you, I promise, Megan. I'll never be a brute +to you!" + +"If I can be with you--that is all." + +He stroked her hair, and whispered on: + +"To-morrow I'll go to Torquay and get some money, and get you some +clothes that won't be noticed, and then we'll steal away. And when +we get to London, soon perhaps, if you love me well enough, we'll be +married." + +He could feel her hair shiver with the shake of her head. + +"Oh, no! I could not. I only want to be with you!" + +Drunk on his own chivalry, Ashurst went on murmuring, "It's I who am +not good enough for you. Oh! Megan, when did you begin to love me?" + +"When I saw you in the road, and you looked at me. The first night I +loved you; but I never thought you would want me." + +She slipped down suddenly to her knees, trying to kiss his feet. + +A shiver of horror went through Ashurst; he lifted her up bodily and +held her fast--too upset to speak. + +She whispered: "Why won't you let me?" + +"It's I who will kiss your feet!" + +Her smile brought tears into his eyes. The whiteness of her moonlit +face so close to his, the faint pink of her opened lips, had the +living unearthly beauty of the apple blossom. + +And then, suddenly, her eyes widened and stared past him painfully; +she writhed out of his arms, and whispered: "Look!" + +Ashurst saw nothing but the brightened stream, the furze faintly +gilded, the beech trees glistening, and behind them all the wide loom +of the moonlit hill. Behind him came her frozen whisper: "The gipsy +bogie!" + +"Where?" + +"There--by the stone--under the trees!" + +Exasperated, he leaped the stream, and strode towards the beech +clump. Prank of the moonlight! Nothing! In and out of the boulders +and thorn trees, muttering and cursing, yet with a kind of terror, he +rushed and stumbled. Absurd! Silly! Then he went back to the apple +tree. But she was gone; he could hear a rustle, the grunting of the +pigs, the sound of a gate closing. Instead of her, only this old +apple tree! He flung his arms round the trunk. What a substitute +for her soft body; the rough moss against his face--what a substitute +for her soft cheek; only the scent, as of the woods, a little the +same! And above him, and around, the blossoms, more living, more +moonlit than ever, seemed to glow and breathe. + + + + +7 + +Descending from the train at Torquay station, Ashurst wandered +uncertainly along the front, for he did not know this particular +queen of English watering places. Having little sense of what he had +on, he was quite unconscious of being remarkable among its +inhabitants, and strode along in his rough Norfolk jacket, dusty +boots, and battered hat, without observing that people gazed at him +rather blankly. He was seeking a branch of his London bank, and +having found one, found also the first obstacle to his mood. Did he +know anyone in Torquay? No. In that case, if he would wire to his +bank in London, they would be happy to oblige him on receipt of the +reply. That suspicious breath from the matter-of-fact world somewhat +tarnished the brightness of his visions. But he sent the telegram. + +Nearly opposite to the post office he saw a shop full of ladies' +garments, and examined the window with strange sensations. To have +to undertake the clothing of his rustic love was more than a little +disturbing. He went in. A young woman came forward; she had blue +eyes and a faintly puzzled forehead. Ashurst stared at her in +silence. + +"Yes, sir?" + +"I want a dress for a young lady." + +The young woman smiled. Ashurst frowned the peculiarity of his +request struck him with sudden force. + +The young woman added hastily: + +"What style would you like--something modish?" + +"No. Simple." + +"What figure would the young lady be?" + +"I don't know; about two inches shorter than you, I should say." + +"Could you give me her waist measurement?" + +Megan's waist! + +"Oh! anything usual!" + +"Quite!" + +While she was gone he stood disconsolately eyeing the models in the +window, and suddenly it seemed to him incredible that Megan--his +Megan could ever be dressed save in the rough tweed skirt, coarse +blouse, and tam-o'-shanter cap he was wont to see her in. The young +woman had come back with several dresses in her arms, and Ashurst +eyed her laying them against her own modish figure. There was one +whose colour he liked, a dove-grey, but to imagine Megan clothed in +it was beyond him. The young woman went away, and brought some more. +But on Ashurst there had now come a feeling of paralysis. How +choose? She would want a hat too, and shoes, and gloves; and, +suppose, when he had got them all, they commonised her, as Sunday +clothes always commonised village folk! Why should she not travel as +she was? Ah! But conspicuousness would matter; this was a serious +elopement. And, staring at the young woman, he thought: 'I wonder if +she guesses, and thinks me a blackguard?' + +"Do you mind putting aside that grey one for me?" he said +desperately at last. "I can't decide now; I'll come in again this +afternoon." + +The young woman sighed. + +"Oh! certainly. It's a very tasteful costume. I don't think you'll +get anything that will suit your purpose better." + +"I expect not," Ashurst murmured, and went out. + +Freed again from the suspicious matter-of-factness of the world, he +took a long breath, and went back to visions. In fancy he saw the +trustful, pretty creature who was going to join her life to his; saw +himself and her stealing forth at night, walking over the moor under +the moon, he with his arm round her, and carrying her new garments, +till, in some far-off wood, when dawn was coming, she would slip off +her old things and put on these, and an early train at a distant +station would bear them away on their honeymoon journey, till London +swallowed them up, and the dreams of love came true. + +"Frank Ashurst! Haven't seen you since Rugby, old chap!" + +Ashurst's frown dissolved; the face, close to his own, was blue-eyed, +suffused with sun--one of those faces where sun from within and +without join in a sort of lustre. And he answered: + +"Phil Halliday, by Jove!" + +"What are you doing here?" + +"Oh! nothing. Just looking round, and getting some money. I'm +staying on the moor." + +"Are you lunching anywhere? Come and lunch with us; I'm here with my +young sisters. They've had measles." + +Hooked in by that friendly arm Ashurst went along, up a hill, down a +hill, away out of the town, while the voice of Halliday, redolent of +optimism as his face was of sun, explained how "in this mouldy place +the only decent things were the bathing and boating," and so on, till +presently they came to a crescent of houses a little above and back +from the sea, and into the centre one an hotel--made their way. + +"Come up to my room and have a wash. Lunch'll be ready in a jiffy." + +Ashurst contemplated his visage in a looking-glass. After his +farmhouse bedroom, the comb and one spare shirt regime of the last +fortnight, this room littered with clothes and brushes was a sort of +Capua; and he thought: 'Queer--one doesn't realise But what--he did +not quite know. + +When he followed Halliday into the sitting room for lunch, three +faces, very fair and blue-eyed, were turned suddenly at the words: +"This is Frank Ashurst my young sisters." + +Two were indeed young, about eleven and ten. The third was perhaps +seventeen, tall and fair-haired too, with pink-and-white cheeks just +touched by the sun, and eyebrows, rather darker than the hair, +running a little upwards from her nose to their outer points. The +voices of all three were like Halliday's, high and cheerful; they +stood up straight, shook hands with a quick movement, looked at +Ashurst critically, away again at once, and began to talk of what +they were going to do in the afternoon. A regular Diana and +attendant nymphs! After the farm this crisp, slangy, eager talk, +this cool, clean, off-hand refinement, was queer at first, and then +so natural that what he had come from became suddenly remote. The +names of the two little ones seemed to be Sabina and Freda; of the +eldest, Stella. + +Presently the one called Sabina turned to him and said: + +"I say, will you come shrimping with us?--it's awful fun!" + +Surprised by this unexpected friendliness, Ashurst murmured: + +"I'm afraid I've got to get back this afternoon." + +"Oh!" + +"Can't you put it off?" + +Ashurst turned to the new speaker, Stella, shook his head, and +smiled. She was very pretty! Sabina said regretfully: "You might!" +Then the talk switched off to caves and swimming. + +"Can you swim far?" + +"About two miles." + +"Oh!" + +"I say!" + +"How jolly!" + +The three pairs of blue eyes, fixed on him, made him conscious of his +new importance--The sensation was agreeable. Halliday said: + +"I say, you simply must stop and have a bathe. You'd better stay the +night." + +"Yes, do!"' + +But again Ashurst smiled and shook his head. Then suddenly he found +himself being catechised about his physical achievements. He had +rowed--it seemed--in his college boat, played in his college football +team, won his college mile; and he rose from table a sort of hero. +The two little girls insisted that he must see "their" cave, and they +set forth chattering like magpies, Ashurst between them, Stella and +her brother a little behind. In the cave, damp and darkish like any +other cave, the great feature was a pool with possibility of +creatures which might be caught and put into bottles. Sabina and +Freda, who wore no stockings on their shapely brown legs, exhorted +Ashurst to join them in the middle of it, and help sieve the water. +He too was soon bootless and sockless. Time goes fast for one who +has a sense of beauty, when there are pretty children in a pool and a +young Diana on the edge, to receive with wonder anything you can +catch! Ashurst never had much sense of time. It was a shock when, +pulling out his watch, he saw it was well past three. No cashing his +cheque to-day-the bank would be closed before he could get there. +Watching his expression, the little girls cried out at once: + +"Hurrah! Now you'll have to stay!" + +Ashurst did not answer. He was seeing again Megan's face, when at +breakfast time he had whispered: "I'm going to Torquay, darling, to +get everything; I shall be back this evening. If it's fine we can go +to-night. Be ready." He was seeing again how she quivered and hung +on his words. What would she think? Then he pulled himself +together, conscious suddenly of the calm scrutiny of this other young +girl, so tall and fair and Diana-like, at the edge of the pool, of +her wondering blue eyes under those brows which slanted up a little. +If they knew what was in his mind--if they knew that this very night +he had meant! Well, there would be a little sound of disgust, and he +would be alone in the cave. And with a curious mixture of anger, +chagrin, and shame, he put his watch back into his pocket and said +abruptly: + +"Yes; I'm dished for to-day." + +"Hurrah! Now you can bathe with us." + +It was impossible not to succumb a little to the contentment of these +pretty children, to the smile on Stella's lips, to Halliday's +"Ripping, old chap! I can lend you things for the night!" But again +a spasm of longing and remorse throbbed through Ashurst, and he said +moodily: + +"I must send a wire!" + +The attractions of the pool palling, they went back to the hotel. +Ashurst sent his wire, addressing it to Mrs. Narracombe: "Sorry, +detained for the night, back to-morrow." Surely Megan would +understand that he had too much to do; and his heart grew lighter. +It was a lovely afternoon, warm, the sea calm and blue, and swimming +his great passion; the favour of these pretty children flattered him, +the pleasure of looking at them, at Stella, at Halliday's sunny face; +the slight unreality, yet extreme naturalness of it all--as of a last +peep at normality before be took this plunge with Megan! He got his +borrowed bathing dress, and they all set forth. Halliday and he +undressed behind one rock, the three girls behind another. He was +first into the sea, and at once swam out with the bravado of +justifying his self-given reputation. When he turned he could see +Halliday swimming along shore, and the girls flopping and dipping, +and riding the little waves, in the way he was accustomed to despise, +but now thought pretty and sensible, since it gave him the +distinction of the only deep-water fish. But drawing near, he +wondered if they would like him, a stranger, to come into their +splashing group; he felt shy, approaching that slim nymph. Then +Sabina summoned him to teach her to float, and between them the +little girls kept him so busy that he had no time even to notice +whether Stella was accustomed to his presence, till suddenly he heard +a startled sound from her: She was standing submerged to the waist, +leaning a little forward, her slim white arms stretched out and +pointing, her wet face puckered by the sun and an expression of fear. + +"Look at Phil! Is he all right? Oh, look!" + +Ashurst saw at once that Phil was not all right. He was splashing +and struggling out of his depth, perhaps a hundred yards away; +suddenly he gave a cry, threw up his arms, and went down. Ashurst +saw the girl launch herself towards him, and crying out: "Go back, +Stella! Go back!" he dashed out. He had never swum so fast, and +reached Halliday just as he was coming up a second time. It was a +case of cramp, but to get him in was not difficult, for he did not +struggle. The girl, who had stopped where Ashurst told her to, +helped as soon as he was in his depth, and once on the beach they sat +down one on each side of him to rub his limbs, while the little ones +stood by with scared faces. Halliday was soon smiling. It was--he +said--rotten of him, absolutely rotten! If Frank would give him an +arm, he could get to his clothes all right now. Ashurst gave him the +arm, and as he did so caught sight of Stella's face, wet and flushed +and tearful, all broken up out of its calm; and he thought: 'I called +her Stella! Wonder if she minded?' + +While they were dressing, Halliday said quietly, "You saved my life, +old chap!" + +"Rot!" + +Clothed, but not quite in their right minds, they went up all +together to the hotel and sat down to tea, except Halliday, who was +lying down in his room. After some slices of bread and jam, Sabina +said: + +"I say, you know, you are a brick!" And Freda chimed in: + +"Rather!" + +Ashurst saw Stella looking down; he got up in confusion, and went to +the window. From there he heard Sabina mutter: "I say, let's swear +blood bond. Where's your knife, Freda?" and out of the corner of +his eye could see each of them solemnly prick herself, squeeze out a +drop of blood and dabble on a bit of paper. He turned and made for +the door. + +"Don't be a stoat! Come back!" His arms were seized; imprisoned +between the little girls he was brought back to the table. On it lay +a piece of paper with an effigy drawn in blood, and the three names +Stella Halliday, Sabina Halliday, Freda Halliday--also in blood, +running towards it like the rays of a star. Sabina said: + +"That's you. We shall have to kiss you, you know." + +And Freda echoed: + +"Oh! Blow--Yes!" + +Before Ashurst could escape, some wettish hair dangled against his +face, something like a bite descended on his nose, he felt his left +arm pinched, and other teeth softly searching his cheek. Then he was +released, and Freda said: + +"Now, Stella." + +Ashurst, red and rigid, looked across the table at a red and rigid +Stella. Sabina giggled; Freda cried: + +"Buck up--it spoils everything!" + +A queer, ashamed eagerness shot through Ashurst: then he said +quietly: + +"Shut up, you little demons!" + +Again Sabina giggled. + +"Well, then, she can kiss her hand, and you can put it against your +nose. It is on one side!" + +To his amazement the girl did kiss her hand and stretch it out. +Solemnly he took that cool, slim hand and laid it to his cheek. The +two little girls broke into clapping, and Freda said: + +"Now, then, we shall have to save your life at any time; that's +settled. Can I have another cup, Stella, not so beastly weak?" +Tea was resumed, and Ashurst, folding up the paper, put it in his +pocket. The talk turned on the advantages of measles, tangerine +oranges, honey in a spoon, no lessons, and so forth. Ashurst +listened, silent, exchanging friendly looks with Stella, whose face +was again of its normal sun-touched pink and white. It was soothing +to be so taken to the heart of this jolly family, fascinating to +watch their faces. And after tea, while the two little girls pressed +seaweed, he talked to Stella in the window seat and looked at her +water-colour sketches. The whole thing was like a pleasurable dream; +time and incident hung up, importance and reality suspended. +Tomorrow he would go back to Megan, with nothing of all this left +save the paper with the blood of these children, in his pocket. +Children! Stella was not quite that--as old as Megan! Her talk-- +quick, rather hard and shy, yet friendly--seemed to flourish on his +silences, and about her there was something cool and virginal--a +maiden in a bower. At dinner, to which Halliday, who had swallowed +too much sea-water, did not come, Sabina said: + +"I'm going to call you Frank." + +Freda echoed: + +"Frank, Frank, Franky." + +Ashurst grinned and bowed. + +"Every time Stella calls you Mr. Ashurst, she's got to pay a forfeit. +It's ridiculous." + +Ashurst looked at Stella, who grew slowly red. Sabina giggled; Freda +cried: + +"She's 'smoking'--'smoking!'--Yah!" + +Ashurst reached out to right and left, and grasped some fair hair in +each hand. + +"Look here," he said, "you two! Leave Stella alone, or I'll tie you +together!" + +Freda gurgled: + +"Ouch! You are a beast!" + +Sabina murmured cautiously: + +"You call her Stella, you see!" + +"Why shouldn't I? It's a jolly name!" + +"All right; we give you leave to!" + +Ashurst released the hair. Stella! What would she call him--after +this? But she called him nothing; till at bedtime he said, +deliberately: + +"Good-night, Stella!" + +"Good-night, Mr.----Good-night, Frank! It was jolly of you, you +know!" + +"Oh-that! Bosh!" + +Her quick, straight handshake tightened suddenly, and as suddenly +became slack. + +Ashurst stood motionless in the empty sitting-room. Only last night, +under the apple tree and the living blossom, he had held Megan to +him, kissing her eyes and lips. And he gasped, swept by that rush of +remembrance. To-night it should have begun-his life with her who +only wanted to be with him! And now, twenty-four hours and more must +pass, because-of not looking at his watch! Why had he made friends +with this family of innocents just when he was saying good-bye to +innocence, and all the rest of it? 'But I mean to marry her,' he +thought; 'I told her so!' + +He took a candle, lighted it, and went to his bedroom, which was next +to Halliday's. His friend's voice called, as he was passing: + +"Is that you, old chap? I say, come in." + +He was sitting up in bed, smoking a pipe and reading. + +"Sit down a bit." + +Ashurst sat down by the open window. + +"I've been thinking about this afternoon, you know," said Halliday +rather suddenly. "They say you go through all your past. I didn't. +I suppose I wasn't far enough gone." + +"What did you think of?" + +Halliday was silent for a little, then said quietly + +"Well, I did think of one thing--rather odd--of a girl at Cambridge +that I might have--you know; I was glad I hadn't got her on my mind. +Anyhow, old chap, I owe it to you that I'm here; I should have been +in the big dark by now. No more bed, or baccy; no more anything. I +say, what d'you suppose happens to us?" + +Ashurst murmured: + +"Go out like flames, I expect." + +"Phew!" + +"We may flicker, and cling about a bit, perhaps." + +"H'm! I think that's rather gloomy. I say, I hope my young sisters +have been decent to you?" + +"Awfully decent." + +Halliday put his pipe down, crossed his hands behind his neck, and +turned his face towards the window. + +"They're not bad kids!" he said. + +Watching his friend, lying there, with that smile, and the candle- +light on his face, Ashurst shuddered. Quite true! He might have +been lying there with no smile, with all that sunny look gone out for +ever! He might not have been lying there at all, but "sanded" at the +bottom of the sea, waiting for resurrection on the ninth day, was it? +And that smile of Halliday's seemed to him suddenly something +wonderful, as if in it were all the difference between life and +death--the little flame--the all! He got up, and said softly: + +"Well, you ought to sleep, I expect. Shall I blow out?" + +Halliday caught his hand. + +"I can't say it, you know; but it must be rotten to be dead. Good- +night, old boy!" + +Stirred and moved, Ashurst squeezed the hand, and went downstairs. +The hall door was still open, and he passed out on to the lawn before +the Crescent. The stars were bright in a very dark blue sky, and by +their light some lilacs had that mysterious colour of flowers by +night which no one can describe. Ashurst pressed his face against a +spray; and before his closed eyes Megan started up, with the tiny +brown spaniel pup against her breast. "I thought of a girl that I +might have you know. I was glad I hadn't got her on my mind!" He +jerked his head away from the lilac, and began pacing up and down +over the grass, a grey phantom coming to substance for a moment in +the light from the lamp at either end. He was with her again under +the living, breathing white ness of the blossom, the stream +chattering by, the moon glinting steel-blue on the bathing-pool; back +in the rapture of his kisses on her upturned face of innocence and +humble passion, back in the suspense and beauty of that pagan night. +He stood still once more in the shadow of the lilacs. Here the sea, +not the stream, was Night's voice; the sea with its sigh and rustle; +no little bird, no owl, no night-Jar called or spun; but a piano +tinkled, and the white houses cut the sky with solid curve, and the +scent from the lilacs filled the air. A window of the hotel, high +up, was lighted; he saw a shadow move across the blind. And most +queer sensations stirred within him, a sort of churning, and twining, +and turning of a single emotion on itself, as though spring and love, +bewildered and confused, seeking the way, were baffled. This girl, +who had called him Frank, whose hand had given his that sudden little +clutch, this girl so cool and pure--what would she think of such +wild, unlawful loving? He sank down on the grass, sitting there +cross-legged, with his back to the house, motionless as some carved +Buddha. Was he really going to break through innocence, and steal? +Sniff the scent out of a wild flower, and--perhaps--throw it away? +"Of a girl at Cambridge that I might have--you know!" He put his +hands to the grass, one on each side, palms downwards, and pressed; +it was just warm still--the grass, barely moist, soft and firm and +friendly. 'What am I going to do?' he thought. Perhaps Megan was at +her window, looking out at the blossom, thinking of him! Poor little +Megan! 'Why not?' he thought. 'I love her! But do I really love +her? or do I only want her because she is so pretty, and loves me? +What am I going to do?' The piano tinkled on, the stars winked; and +Ashurst gazed out before him at the dark sea, as if spell-bound. He +got up at last, cramped and rather chilly. There was no longer light +in any window. And he went in to bed. + +Out of a deep and dreamless sleep he was awakened by the sound of +thumping on the door. A shrill voice called: + +"Hi! Breakfast's ready." + +He jumped up. Where was he--? Ah! + +He found them already eating marmalade, and sat down in the empty +place between Stella and Sabina, who, after watching him a little, +said: + +"I say, do buck up; we're going to start at half-past nine." + +"We're going to Berry Head, old chap; you must come!" + +Ashurst thought: 'Come! Impossible. I shall be getting things and +going back.' He looked at Stella. She said quickly: + +"Do come!" + +Sabina chimed in: + +"It'll be no fun without you." + +Freda got up and stood behind his chair. + +"You've got to come, or else I'll pull your hair!" + +Ashurst thought: 'Well--one day more--to think it over! One day +more!' And he said: + +"All right! You needn't tweak my mane!" + +"Hurrah!" + +At the station he wrote a second telegram to the farm, and then tore +it up; he could not have explained why. From Brixham they drove in a +very little wagonette. There, squeezed between Sabina and Freda, +with his knees touching Stella's, they played "Up, Jenkins "; and the +gloom he was feeling gave way to frolic. In this one day more to +think it over, he did not want to think! They ran races, wrestled, +paddled--for to-day nobody wanted to bathe--they sang catches, played +games, and ate all they had brought. The little girls fell asleep +against him on the way back, and his knees still touched Stella's in +the narrow wagonette. It seemed incredible that thirty hours ago he +had never set eyes on any of those three flaxen heads. In the train +he talked to Stella of poetry, discovering her favourites, and +telling her his own with a pleasing sense of superiority; till +suddenly she said, rather low: + +"Phil says you don't believe in a future life, Frank. I think that's +dreadful." + +Disconcerted, Ashurst muttered: + +"I don't either believe or not believe--I simply don't know." + +She said quickly: + +"I couldn't bear that. What would be the use of living?" + +Watching the frown of those pretty oblique brows, Ashurst answered: + +"I don't believe in believing things because a one wants to." + +"But why should one wish to live again, if one isn't going to?" + +And she looked full at him. + +He did not want to hurt her, but an itch to dominate pushed him on to +say: + +"While one's alive one naturally wants to go on living for ever; +that's part of being alive. But it probably isn't anything more." + +"Don't you believe in the Bible at all, then?" + +Ashurst thought: 'Now I shall really hurt her!' + +"I believe in the Sermon on the Mount, because it's beautiful and +good for all time." + +"But don't you believe Christ was divine?" + +He shook his head. + +She turned her face quickly to the window, and there sprang into his +mind Megan's prayer, repeated by little Nick: "God bless us all, and +Mr. Ashes!" Who else would ever say a prayer for him, like her who +at this moment must be waiting--waiting to see him come down the +lane? And he thought suddenly: 'What a scoundrel I am!' + +All that evening this thought kept coming back; but, as is not +unusual, each time with less poignancy, till it seemed almost a +matter of course to be a scoundrel. And--strange!--he did not know +whether he was a scoundrel if he meant to go back to Megan, or if he +did not mean to go back to her. + +They played cards till the children were sent off to bed; then Stella +went to the piano. From over on the window seat, where it was nearly +dark, Ashurst watched her between the candles--that fair head on the +long, white neck bending to the movement of her hands. She played +fluently, without much expression; but what a Picture she made, the +faint golden radiance, a sort of angelic atmosphere hovering about +her! Who could have passionate thoughts or wild desires in the +presence of that swaying, white-clothed girl with the seraphic head? +She played a thing of Schumann's called "Warum?" Then Halliday +brought out a flute, and the spell was broken. After this they made +Ashurst sing, Stella playing him accompaniments from a book of +Schumann songs, till, in the middle of "Ich grolle nicht," two small +figures clad in blue dressing-gowns crept in and tried to conceal +themselves beneath the piano. The evening broke up in confusion, and +what Sabina called "a splendid rag." + +That night Ashurst hardly slept at all. He was thinking, tossing and +turning. The intense domestic intimacy of these last two days, the +strength of this Halliday atmosphere, seemed to ring him round, and +make the farm and Megan--even Megan--seem unreal. Had he really made +love to her--really promised to take her away to live with him? He +must have been bewitched by the spring, the night, the apple blossom! +This May madness could but destroy them both! The notion that he was +going to make her his mistress--that simple child not yet eighteen-- +now filled him with a sort of horror, even while it still stung and +whipped his blood. He muttered to himself: "It's awful, what I've +done--awful!" And the sound of Schumann's music throbbed and mingled +with his fevered thoughts, and he saw again Stella's cool, white, +fair-haired figure and bending neck, the queer, angelic radiance +about her. 'I must have been--I must be-mad!' he thought. 'What +came into me? Poor little Megan!' "God bless us all, and Mr. +Ashes!" "I want to be with you--only to be with you!" And burying +his face in his pillow, he smothered down a fit of sobbing. Not to +go back was awful! To go back--more awful still! + +Emotion, when you are young, and give real vent to it, loses its +power of torture. And he fell asleep, thinking: 'What was it--a few +kisses--all forgotten in a month!' + +Next morning he got his cheque cashed, but avoided the shop of the +dove-grey dress like the plague; and, instead, bought himself some +necessaries. He spent the whole day in a queer mood, cherishing a +kind of sullenness against himself. Instead of the hankering of the +last two days, he felt nothing but a blank--all passionate longing +gone, as if quenched in that outburst of tears. After tea Stella put +a book down beside him, and said shyly: + +"Have you read that, Frank?" + +It was Farrar's "Life of Christ." Ashurst smiled. Her anxiety about +his beliefs seemed to him comic, but touching. Infectious too, +perhaps, for he began to have an itch to justify himself, if not to +convert her. And in the evening, when the children and Halliday were +mending their shrimping nets, he said: + +"At the back of orthodox religion, so far as I can see, there's +always the idea of reward--what you can get for being good; a kind of +begging for favours. I think it all starts in fear." + +She was sitting on the sofa making reefer knots with a bit of string. +She looked up quickly: + +"I think it's much deeper than that." + +Ashurst felt again that wish to dominate. + +"You think so," he said; "but wanting the 'quid pro quo' is about the +deepest thing in all of us! It's jolly hard to get to the bottom of +it!" + +She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown. + +"I don't think I understand." + +He went on obstinately: + +"Well, think, and see if the most religious people aren't those who +feel that this life doesn't give them all they want. I believe in +being good because to be good is good in itself." + +"Then you do believe in being good?" + +How pretty she looked now--it was easy to be good with her! And he +nodded and said: + +"I say, show me how to make that knot!" + +With her fingers touching his, in manoeuvring the bit of string, he +felt soothed and happy. And when he went to bed he wilfully kept his +thoughts on her, wrapping himself in her fair, cool sisterly +radiance, as in some garment of protection. + +Next day he found they had arranged to go by train to Totnes, and +picnic at Berry Pomeroy Castle. Still in that resolute oblivion of +the past, he took his place with them in the landau beside Halliday, +back to the horses. And, then, along the sea front, nearly at the +turning to the railway station, his heart almost leaped into his +mouth. Megan--Megan herself!--was walking on the far pathway, in her +old skirt and jacket and her tam-o'-shanter, looking up into the +faces of the passers-by. Instinctively he threw his hand up for +cover, then made a feint of clearing dust out of his eyes; but +between his fingers he could see her still, moving, not with her free +country step, but wavering, lost-looking, pitiful-like some little +dog which has missed its master and does not know whether to run on, +to run back--where to run. How had she come like this?--what excuse +had she found to get away?--what did she hope for? But with every +turn of the wheels bearing him away from her, his heart revolted and +cried to him to stop them, to get out, and go to her! When the +landau turned the corner to the station he could stand it no more, +and opening the carriage door, muttered: "I've forgotten something! +Go on--don't wait for me! I'll join you at the castle by the next +train!" He jumped, stumbled, spun round, recovered his balance, and +walked forward, while the carriage with the astonished Hallidays +rolled on. + +>From the corner he could only just see Megan, a long way ahead now. +He ran a few steps, checked himself, and dropped into a walk. With +each step nearer to her, further from the Hallidays, he walked more +and more slowly. How did it alter anything--this sight of her? How +make the going to her, and that which must come of it, less ugly? +For there was no hiding it--since he had met the Hallidays he had +become gradually sure that he would not marry Megan. It would only +be a wild love-time, a troubled, remorseful, difficult time--and +then--well, then he would get tired, just because she gave him +everything, was so simple, and so trustful, so dewy. And dew--wears +off! The little spot of faded colour, her tam-o'-shanter cap, +wavered on far in front of him; she was looking up into every face, +and at the house windows. Had any man ever such a cruel moment to go +through? Whatever he did, he felt he would be a beast. And he +uttered a groan which made a nursemaid turn and stare. He saw Megan +stop and lean against the sea-wall, looking at the sea; and he too +stopped. Quite likely she had never seen the sea before, and even in +her distress could not resist that sight. 'Yes-she's seen nothing,' +he thought; 'everything's before her. And just for a few weeks' +passion, I shall be cutting her life to ribbons. I'd better go and +hang myself rather than do it!' And suddenly he seemed to see +Stella's calm eyes looking into his, the wave of fluffy hair on her +forehead stirred by the wind. Ah! it would be madness, would mean +giving up all that he respected, and his own self-respect. He turned +and walked quickly back towards the station. But memory of that +poor, bewildered little figure, those anxious eyes searching the +passers-by, smote him too hard again, and once more he turned towards +the sea. + +The cap was no longer visible; that little spot of colour had +vanished in the stream of the noon promenaders. And impelled by the +passion of longing, the dearth which comes on one when life seems to +be whirling something out of reach, he hurried forward. She was +nowhere to be seen; for half an hour he looked for her; then on the +beach flung himself face downward in the sand. To find her again he +knew he had only to go to the station and wait till she returned from +her fruitless quest, to take her train home; or to take train himself +and go back to the farm, so that she found him there when she +returned. But he lay inert in the sand, among the indifferent groups +of children with their spades and buckets. Pity at her little figure +wandering, seeking, was well-nigh merged in the spring-running of his +blood; for it was all wild feeling now--the chivalrous part, what +there had been of it, was gone. He wanted her again, wanted her +kisses, her soft, little body, her abandonment, all her quick, warm, +pagan emotion; wanted the wonderful feeling of that night under the +moonlit apple boughs; wanted it all with a horrible intensity, as the +faun wants the nymph. The quick chatter of the little bright trout- +stream, the dazzle of the buttercups, the rocks of the old "wild +men"; the calling of the cuckoos and yaffles, the hooting of the +owls; and the red moon peeping out of the velvet dark at the living +whiteness of the blossom; and her face just out of reach at the +window, lost in its love-look; and her heart against his, her lips +answering his, under the apple tree--all this besieged him. Yet he +lay inert. What was it which struggled against pity and this +feverish longing, and kept him there paralysed in the warm sand? +Three flaxen heads--a fair face with friendly blue--grey eyes, a slim +hand pressing his, a quick voice speaking his name--"So you do +believe in being good?" Yes, and a sort of atmosphere as of some old +walled-in English garden, with pinks, and cornflowers, and roses, and +scents of lavender and lilaccool and fair, untouched, almost holy-- +all that he had been brought up to feel was clean and good. And +suddenly he thought: 'She might come along the front again and see +me!' and he got up and made his way to the rock at the far end of the +beach. There, with the spray biting into his face, he could think +more coolly. To go back to the farm and love Megan out in the woods, +among the rocks, with everything around wild and fitting--that, he +knew, was impossible, utterly. To transplant her to a great town, to +keep, in some little flat or rooms, one who belonged so wholly to +Nature--the poet in him shrank from it. His passion would be a mere +sensuous revel, soon gone; in London, her very simplicity, her lack +of all intellectual quality, would make her his secret plaything-- +nothing else. The longer he sat on the rock, with his feet dangling +over a greenish pool from which the sea was ebbing, the more clearly +he saw this; but it was as if her arms and all of her were slipping +slowly, slowly down from him, into the pool, to be carried away out +to sea; and her face looking up, her lost face with beseeching eyes, +and dark, wet hair-possessed, haunted, tortured him! He got up at +last, scaled the low rock-cliff, and made his way down into a +sheltered cove. Perhaps in the sea he could get back his control-- +lose this fever! And stripping off his clothes, he swam out. He +wanted to tire himself so that nothing mattered and swam recklessly, +fast and far; then suddenly, for no reason, felt afraid. Suppose he +could not reach shore again--suppose the current set him out--or he +got cramp, like Halliday! He turned to swim in. The red cliffs +looked a long way off. If he were drowned they would find his +clothes. The Hallidays would know; but Megan perhaps never--they +took no newspaper at the farm. And Phil Halliday's words came back +to him again: "A girl at Cambridge I might have Glad I haven't got +her on my mind!" And in that moment of unreasoning fear he vowed he +would not have her on his mind. Then his fear left him; he swam in +easily enough, dried himself in the sun, and put on his clothes. His +heart felt sore, but no longer ached; his body cool and refreshed. + +When one is as young as Ashurst, pity is not a violent emotion. And, +back in the Hallidays' sitting-room, eating a ravenous tea, he felt +much like a man recovered from fever. Everything seemed new and +clear; the tea, the buttered toast and jam tasted absurdly good; +tobacco had never smelt so nice. And walking up and down the empty +room, he stopped here and there to touch or look. He took up +Stella's work-basket, fingered the cotton reels and a gaily-coloured +plait of sewing silks, smelt at the little bag filled with woodroffe +she kept among them. He sat down at the piano, playing tunes with +one finger, thinking: 'To-night she'll play; I shall watch her while +she's playing; it does me good to watch her.' He took up the book, +which still lay where she had placed it beside him, and tried to +read. But Megan's little, sad figure began to come back at once, and +he got up and leaned in the window, listening to the thrushes in the +Crescent gardens, gazing at the sea, dreamy and blue below the trees. +A servant came in and cleared the tea away, and he still stood, +inhaling the evening air, trying not to think. Then he saw the +Hallidays coming through the gate of the Crescent, Stella a little in +front of Phil and the children, with their baskets, and instinctively +he drew back. His heart, too sore and discomfited, shrank from this +encounter, yet wanted its friendly solace--bore a grudge against this +influence, yet craved its cool innocence, and the pleasure of +watching Stella's face. From against the wall behind the piano he +saw her come in and stand looking a little blank as though +disappointed; then she saw him and smiled, a swift, brilliant smile +which warmed yet irritated Ashurst. + +"You never came after us, Frank." + +"No; I found I couldn't." + +"Look! We picked such lovely late violets!" She held out a bunch. +Ashurst put his nose to them, and there stirred within him vague +longings, chilled instantly by a vision of Megan's anxious face +lifted to the faces of the passers-by. + +He said shortly: "How jolly!" and turned away. He went up to his +room, and, avoiding the children, who were coming up the stairs, +threw himself on his bed, and lay there with his arms crossed over +his face. Now that he felt the die really cast, and Megan given up, +he hated himself, and almost hated the Hallidays and their atmosphere +of healthy, happy English homes. + +Why should they have chanced here, to drive away first love--to show +him that he was going to be no better than a common seducer? What +right had Stella, with her fair, shy beauty, to make him know for +certain that he would never marry Megan; and, tarnishing it all, +bring him such bitterness of regretful longing and such pity? Megan +would be back by now, worn out by her miserable seeking--poor little +thing!--expecting, perhaps, to find him there when she reached home. +Ashurst bit at his sleeve, to stifle a groan of remorseful longing. +He went to dinner glum and silent, and his mood threw a dinge even +over the children. It was a melancholy, rather ill tempered evening, +for they were all tired; several times he caught Stella looking at +him with a hurt, puzzled expression, and this pleased his evil mood. +He slept miserably; got up quite early, and wandered out. He went +down to the beach. Alone there with the serene, the blue, the sunlit +sea, his heart relaxed a little. Conceited fool--to think that Megan +would take it so hard! In a week or two she would almost have +forgotten! And he well, he would have the reward of virtue! A good +young man! If Stella knew, she would give him her blessing for +resisting that devil she believed in; and he uttered a hard laugh. +But slowly the peace and beauty of sea and sky, the flight of the +lonely seagulls, made him feel ashamed. He bathed, and turned +homewards. + +In the Crescent gardens Stella herself was sitting on a camp stool, +sketching. He stole up close behind. How fair and pretty she was, +bent diligently, holding up her brush, measuring, wrinkling her +brows. + +He said gently: + +"Sorry I was such a beast last night, Stella." + +She turned round, startled, flushed very pink, and said in her quick +way: + +"It's all right. I knew there was something. Between friends it +doesn't matter, does it?" + +Ashurst answered: + +"Between friends--and we are, aren't we?" + +She looked up at him, nodded vehemently, and her upper teeth gleamed +again in that swift, brilliant smile. + +Three days later he went back to London, travelling with the +Hallidays. He had not written to the farm. What was there he could +say? + +On the last day of April in the following year he and Stella were +married.... + +Such were Ashurst's memories, sitting against the wall among the +gorse, on his silver-wedding day. At this very spot, where he had +laid out the lunch, Megan must have stood outlined against the sky +when he had first caught sight of her. Of all queer coincidences! +And there moved in him a longing to go down and see again the farm +and the orchard, and the meadow of the gipsy bogle. It would not +take long; Stella would be an hour yet, perhaps. + +How well he remembered it all--the little crowning group of pine +trees, the steep-up grass hill behind! He paused at the farm gate. +The low stone house, the yew-tree porch, the flowering currants--not +changed a bit; even the old green chair was out there on the grass +under the window, where he had reached up to her that night to take +the key. Then he turned down the lane, and stood leaning on the +orchard gate-grey skeleton of a gate, as then. A black pig even was +wandering in there among the trees. Was it true that twenty-six +years had passed, or had he dreamed and awakened to find Megan +waiting for him by the big apple tree? Unconsciously he put up his +hand to his grizzled beard and brought himself back to reality. +Opening the gate, he made his way down through the docks and nettles +till he came to the edge, and the old apple tree itself. Unchanged! +A little more of the greygreen lichen, a dead branch or two, and for +the rest it might have been only last night that he had embraced that +mossy trunk after Megan's flight and inhaled its woody savour, while +above his head the moonlit blossom had seemed to breathe and live. +In that early spring a few buds were showing already; the blackbirds +shouting their songs, a cuckoo calling, the sunlight bright and warm. +Incredibly the same-the chattering trout-stream, the narrow pool he +had lain in every morning, splashing the water over his flanks and +chest; and out there in the wild meadow the beech clump and the stone +where the gipsy bogie was supposed to sit. And an ache for lost +youth, a hankering, a sense of wasted love and sweetness, gripped +Ashurst by the throat. Surely, on this earth of such wild beauty, +one was meant to hold rapture to one's heart, as this earth and sky +held it! And yet, one could not! + +He went to the edge of the stream, and looking down at the little +pool, thought: 'Youth and spring! What has become of them all, I +wonder?' + +And then, in sudden fear of having this memory jarred by human +encounter, he went back to the lane, and pensively retraced his steps +to the crossroads. + +Beside the car an old, grey-bearded labourer was leaning on a stick, +talking to the chauffeur. He broke off at once, as though guilty of +disrespect, and touching his hat, prepared to limp on down the lane. + +Ashurst pointed to the narrow green mound. "Can you tell me what +this is?" + +The old fellow stopped; on his face had come a look as though he were +thinking: 'You've come to the right shop, mister!' + +"'Tes a grave," he said. + +"But why out here?" + +The old man smiled. "That's a tale, as yu may say. An' not the +first time as I've a-told et--there's plenty folks asks 'bout that +bit o' turf. 'Maid's Grave' us calls et, 'ereabouts." + +Ashurst held out his pouch. "Have a fill?" + +The old man touched his hat again, and slowly filled an old clay +pipe. His eyes, looking upward out of a mass of wrinkles and hair, +were still quite bright. + +"If yu don' mind, zurr, I'll zet down my leg's 'urtin' a bit today." +And he sat down on the mound of turf. + +"There's always a flower on this grave. An' 'tain't so very +lonesome, neither; brave lot o' folks goes by now, in they new motor +cars an' things--not as 'twas in th' old days. She've a got company +up 'ere. 'Twas a poor soul killed 'erself." + +"I see!" said Ashurst. "Cross-roads burial. I didn't know that +custom was kept up." + +"Ah! but 'twas a main long time ago. Us 'ad a parson as was very +God-fearin' then. Let me see, I've a 'ad my pension six year come +Michaelmas, an' I were just on fifty when t'appened. There's none +livin' knows more about et than what I du. She belonged close 'ere; +same farm as where I used to work along o' Mrs. Narracombe 'tes Nick +Narracombe's now; I dus a bit for 'im still, odd times." + +Ashurst, who was leaning against the gate, lighting his pipe, left +his curved hands before his face for long after the flame of the +match had gone out. + +"Yes?" he said, and to himself his voice sounded hoarse and queer. + +"She was one in an 'underd, poor maid! I putts a flower 'ere every +time I passes. Pretty maid an' gude maid she was, though they +wouldn't burry 'er up to th' church, nor where she wanted to be +burried neither." The old labourer paused, and put his hairy, +twisted hand flat down on the turf beside the bluebells. + +"Yes?" said Ashurst. + +"In a manner of speakin'," the old man went on, "I think as 'twas a +love-story--though there's no one never knu for zartin. Yu can't +tell what's in a maid's 'ead but that's wot I think about it." He +drew his hand along the turf. "I was fond o' that maid--don' know as +there was anyone as wasn' fond of 'er. But she was to lovin'- +'earted--that's where 'twas, I think." He looked up. And Ashurst, +whose lips were trembling in the cover of his beard, murmured again: +"Yes?" + +"'Twas in the spring, 'bout now as 't might be, or a little later-- +blossom time--an' we 'ad one o' they young college gentlemen stayin' +at the farm-nice feller tu, with 'is 'ead in the air. I liked 'e +very well, an' I never see nothin' between 'em, but to my thinkin' 'e +turned the maid's fancy." The old man took the pipe out of his +mouth, spat, and went on: + +"Yu see, 'e went away sudden one day, an' never come back. They got +'is knapsack and bits o' things down there still. That's what stuck +in my mind--'is never sendin' for 'em. 'Is name was Ashes, or +somethen' like that." + +"Yes?" said Ashurst once more. + +The old man licked his lips. + +"'Er never said nothin', but from that day 'er went kind of dazed +lukin'; didn'seem rightly therr at all. I never knu a'uman creature +so changed in me life--never. There was another young feller at the +farm--Joe Biddaford 'is name wer', that was praaperly sweet on 'er, +tu; I guess 'e used to plague 'er wi 'is attentions. She got to luke +quite wild. I'd zee her sometimes of an avenin' when I was bringin' +up the calves; ther' she'd stand in th' orchard, under the big apple +tree, lukin' straight before 'er. 'Well,' I used t'think, 'I dunno +what 'tes that's the matter wi' yu, but yu'm lukin' pittiful, that yu +be!'" + +The old man refit his pipe, and sucked at it reflectively. + +"Yes?" said Ashurst. + +"I remembers one day I said to 'er: 'What's the matter, Megan?'--'er +name was Megan David, she come from Wales same as 'er aunt, ol' +Missis Narracombe. 'Yu'm frettin' about somethin'. I says. 'No, +Jim,' she says, 'I'm not frettin'.' 'Yes, yu be!' I says. 'No,' she +says, and to tears cam' rollin' out. 'Yu'm cryin'--what's that, +then?' I says. She putts 'er 'and over 'er 'eart: 'It 'urts me,' she +says; 'but 'twill sune be better,' she says. 'But if anything shude +'appen to me, Jim, I wants to be burried under this 'ere apple tree.' +I laughed. 'What's goin' to 'appen to yu?' I says; 'don't 'ee be +fulish.' 'No,' she says, 'I won't be fulish.' Well, I know what +maids are, an' I never thought no more about et, till two days arter +that, 'bout six in the avenin' I was comin' up wi' the calves, when I +see somethin' dark lyin' in the strame, close to that big apple tree. +I says to meself: 'Is that a pig-funny place for a pig to get to!' +an' I goes up to et, an' I see what 'twas." + +The old man stopped; his eyes, turned upward, had a bright, suffering +look. + +"'Twas the maid, in a little narrer pool ther' that's made by the +stoppin' of a rock--where I see the young gentleman bathin' once or +twice. 'Er was lyin' on 'er face in the watter. There was a plant +o' goldie-cups growin' out o' the stone just above 'er'ead. An' when +I come to luke at 'er face, 'twas luvly, butiful, so calm's a baby's +--wonderful butiful et was. When the doctor saw 'er, 'e said: 'Er +culdn' never a-done it in that little bit o' watter ef' er 'adn't a- +been in an extarsy.' Ah! an' judgin' from 'er face, that was just +'ow she was. Et made me cry praaper-butiful et was! 'Twas June +then, but she'd afound a little bit of apple-blossom left over +somewheres, and stuck et in 'er 'air. That's why I thinks 'er must +abeen in an extarsy, to go to et gay, like that. Why! there wasn't +more than a fute and 'arf o' watter. But I tell 'ee one thing--that +meadder's 'arnted; I knu et, an' she knu et; an' no one'll persuade +me as 'tesn't. I told 'em what she said to me 'bout bein' burried +under th' apple tree. But I think that turned 'em--made et luke to +much 's ef she'd 'ad it in 'er mind deliberate; an' so they burried +'er up 'ere. Parson we 'ad then was very particular, 'e was." + +Again the old man drew his hand over the turf. + +"'Tes wonderful, et seems," he added slowly, "what maids 'll du for +love. She 'ad a lovin-'eart; I guess 'twas broken. But us never knu +nothin'!" + +He looked up as if for approval of his story, but Ashurst had walked +past him as if he were not there. + +Up on the top of the hill, beyond where he had spread the lunch, +over, out of sight, he lay down on his face. So had his virtue been +rewarded, and "the Cyprian," goddess of love, taken her revenge! And +before his eyes, dim with tears, came Megan's face with the sprig of +apple blossom in her dark, wet hair. 'What did I do that was wrong?' +he thought. 'What did I do?' But he could not answer. Spring, with +its rush of passion, its flowers and song-the spring in his heart and +Megan's! Was it just Love seeking a victim! The Greek was right, +then--the words of the "Hippolytus" as true to-day! + + "For mad is the heart of Love, + And gold the gleam of his wing; + And all to the spell thereof + Bend when he makes his spring. + All life that is wild and young + In mountain and wave and stream + All that of earth is sprung, + Or breathes in the red sunbeam; + Yea, and Mankind. O'er all a royal throne, + Cyprian, Cyprian, is thine alone!" + +The Greek was right! Megan! Poor little Megan--coming over the +hill! Megan under the old apple tree waiting and looking! Megan +dead, with beauty printed on her! + +A voice said: + +"Oh, there you are! Look !" + +Ashurst rose, took his wife's sketch, and stared at it in silence. + +"Is the foreground right, Frank?" + +"Yes." + +"But there's something wanting, isn't there?" + +Ashurst nodded. Wanting? The apple tree, the singing, and the gold! + +And solemnly he put his lips to her forehead. It was his silver- +wedding day. + +1916 + + + + + + + +THE JURYMAN + + + + "Don't you see, brother, I was reading yesterday the Gospel + about Christ, the little Father; how He suffered, how He walked + on the earth. I suppose you have heard about it?" + + "Indeed, I have," replied Stepanuitch; "but we are people in + darkness; we can't read."--TOLSTOI. + + +Mr. Henry Bosengate, of the London Stock Exchange, seated himself in +his car that morning during the great war with a sense of injury. +Major in a Volunteer Corps; member of all the local committees; +lending this very car to the neighbouring hospital, at times even +driving it himself for their benefit; subscribing to funds, so far as +his diminished income permitted--he was conscious of being an asset +to the country, and one whose time could not be wasted with impunity. +To be summoned to sit on a jury at the local assizes, and not even +the grand jury at that! It was in the nature of an outrage. + +Strong and upright, with hazel eyes and dark eyebrows, pinkish-brown +cheeks, a forehead white, well-shaped, and getting high, with greyish +hair glossy and well-brushed, and a trim moustache, he might have +been taken for that colonel of Volunteers which indeed he was in a +fair way of becoming. + +His wife had followed him out under the porch, and stood bracing her +supple body clothed in lilac linen. Red rambler roses formed a sort +of crown to her dark head; her ivory-coloured face had in it just a +suggestion of the Japanese. + +Mr. Bosengate spoke through the whirr of the engine: + +"I don't expect to be late, dear. This business is ridiculous. +There oughtn't to be any crime in these days." + +His wife--her name was Kathleen--smiled. She looked very pretty and +cool, Mr. Bosengate thought. To him bound on this dull and stuffy +business everything he owned seemed pleasant--the geranium beds +beside the gravel drive, his long, red-brick house mellowing +decorously in its creepers and ivy, the little clock-tower over +stables now converted to a garage, the dovecote, masking at the other +end the conservatory which adjoined the billiard-room. Close to the +red-brick lodge his two children, Kate and Harry, ran out from under +the acacia trees, and waved to him, scrambling bare-legged on to the +low, red, ivy-covered wall which guarded his domain of eleven acres. +Mr. Bosengate waved back, thinking: 'Jolly couple--by Jove, they +are!' Above their heads, through the trees, he could see right away +to some Downs, faint in the July heat haze. And he thought: 'Pretty +a spot as one could have got, so close to Town!' + +Despite the war he had enjoyed these last two years more than any of +the ten since he built "Charmleigh" and settled down to semi-rural +domesticity with his young wife. There had been a certain piquancy, +a savour added to existence, by the country's peril, and all the +public service and sacrifice it demanded. His chauffeur was gone, +and one gardener did the work of three. He enjoyed-positively +enjoyed, his committee work; even the serious decline of business and +increase of taxation had not much worried one continually conscious +of the national crisis and his own part therein. The country had +wanted waking up, wanted a lesson in effort and economy; and the +feeling that he had not spared himself in these strenuous times, had +given a zest to those quiet pleasures of bed and board which, at his +age, even the most patriotic could retain with a good conscience. He +had denied himself many things--new clothes, presents for Kathleen +and the children, travel, and that pine-apple house which he had been +on the point of building when the war broke out; new wine, too, and +cigars, and membership of the two Clubs which he had never used in +the old days. The hours had seemed fuller and longer, sleep better +earned--wonderful, the things one could do without when put to it! +He turned the car into the high road, driving dreamily for he was in +plenty of time. The war was going pretty well now; he was no fool +optimist, but now that conscription was in force, one might +reasonably hope for its end within a year. Then there would be a +boom, and one might let oneself go a little. Visions of theatres and +supper with his wife at the Savoy afterwards, and cosy night drives +back into the sweet-smelling country behind your own chauffeur once +more teased a fancy which even now did not soar beyond the confines +of domestic pleasures. He pictured his wife in new dresses by Jay-- +she was fifteen years younger than himself, and "paid for dressing" +as they said. He had always delighted--as men older than their wives +will--in the admiration she excited from others not privileged to +enjoy her charms. Her rather queer and ironical beauty, her cool +irreproachable wifeliness, was a constant balm to him. They would +give dinner parties again, have their friends down from town, and he +would once more enjoy sitting at the foot of the dinner table while +Kathleen sat at the head, with the light soft on her ivory shoulders, +behind flowers she had arranged in that original way of hers, and +fruit which he had grown in his hot-houses; once more he would take +legitimate interest in the wine he offered to his guests--once more +stock that Chinese cabinet wherein he kept cigars. Yes--there was a +certain satisfaction in these days of privation, if only from the +anticipation they created. + +The sprinkling of villas had become continuous on either side of the +high road; and women going out to shop, tradesmen's boys delivering +victuals, young men in khaki, began to abound. Now and then a +limping or bandaged form would pass--some bit of human wreckage; and +Mr. Bosengate would think mechanically: 'Another of those poor +devils! Wonder if we've had his case before us!' + +Running his car into the best hotel garage of the little town, he +made his way leisurely over to the court. It stood back from the +market-place, and was already lapped by a sea of persons having, as +in the outer ring at race meetings, an air of business at which one +must not be caught out, together with a soaked or flushed appearance. +Mr. Bosengate could not resist putting his handkerchief to his nose. +He had carefully drenched it with lavender water, and to this fact +owed, perhaps, his immunity from the post of foreman on the jury-- +for, say what you will about the English, they have a deep instinct +for affairs. + +He found himself second in the front row of the jury box, and through +the odour of "Sanitas" gazed at the judge's face expressionless up +there, for all the world like a bewigged bust. His fellows in the +box had that appearance of falling between two classes characteristic +of jurymen. Mr. Bosengate was not impressed. On one side of him the +foreman sat, a prominent upholsterer, known in the town as "Gentleman +Fox." His dark and beautifully brushed and oiled hair and moustache, +his radiant linen, gold watch and chain, the white piping to his +waistcoat, and a habit of never saying "Sir" had long marked him out +from commoner men; he undertook to bury people too, to save them +trouble; and was altogether superior. On the other side Mr. +Bosengate had one of those men, who, except when they sit on juries, +are never seen without a little brown bag, and the appearance of +having been interrupted in a drink. Pale and shiny, with large loose +eyes shifting from side to side, he had an underdone voice and uneasy +flabby hands. Mr. Bosengate disliked sitting next to him. Beyond +this commercial traveller sat a dark pale young man with spectacles; +beyond him again, a short old man with grey moustache, mutton chops, +and innumerable wrinkles; and the front row was completed by a +chemist. The three immediately behind, Mr. Bosengate did not +thoroughly master; but the three at the end of the second row he +learned in their order of an oldish man in a grey suit, given to +winking; an inanimate person with the mouth of a moustachioed cod- +fish, over whose long bald crown three wisps of damp hair were +carefully arranged; and a dried, dapperish, clean-shorn man, whose +mouth seemed terrified lest it should be surprised without a smile. +Their first and second verdicts were recorded without the necessity +for withdrawal, and Mr. Bosengate was already sleepy when the third +case was called. The sight of khaki revived his drooping attention. +But what a weedy-looking specimen! This prisoner had a truly +nerveless pitiable dejected air. If he had ever had a military +bearing it had shrunk into him during his confinement. His ill- +shaped brown tunic, whose little brass buttons seemed trying to keep +smiling, struck Mr. Bosengate as ridiculously short, used though he +was to such things. 'Absurd,' he thought--'Lumbago! Just where they +ought to be covered!' Then the officer and gentleman stirred in him, +and he added to himself: 'Still, there must be some distinction +made!' The little soldier's visage had once perhaps been tanned, but +was now the colour of dark dough; his large brown eyes with white +showing below the iris, as so often in the eyes of very nervous +people--wandered from face to face, of judge, counsel, jury, and +public. There were hollows in his cheeks, his dark hair looked damp; +around his neck he wore a bandage. The commercial traveller on Mr. +Bosengate's left turned, and whispered: "Felo de se! My hat! what a +guy!" Mr. Bosengate pretended not to hear--he could not bear that +fellow!--and slowly wrote on a bit of paper: "Owen Lewis." Welsh! +Well, he looked it--not at all an English face. Attempted suicide-- +not at all an English crime! Suicide implied surrender, a putting-up +of hands to Fate--to say nothing of the religious aspect of the +matter. And suicide in khaki seemed to Mr. Bosengate particularly +abhorrent; like turning tail in face of the enemy; almost meriting +the fate of a deserter. He looked at the prisoner, trying not to +give way to this prejudice. And the prisoner seemed to look at him, +though this, perhaps, was fancy. + +The Counsel for the prosecution, a little, alert, grey, decided man, +above military age, began detailing the circumstances of the crime. +Mr. Bosengate, though not particularly sensitive to atmosphere, could +perceive a sort of current running through the Court. It was as if +jury and public were thinking rhythmically in obedience to the same +unexpressed prejudice of which he himself was conscious. Even the +Caesar-like pale face up there, presiding, seemed in its ironic +serenity responding to that current. + +"Gentlemen of the jury, before I call my evidence, I direct your +attention to the bandage the accused is still wearing. He gave +himself this wound with his Army razor, adding, if I may say so, +insult to the injury he was inflicting on his country. He pleads not +guilty; and before the magistrates he said that absence from his wife +was preying on his mind"--the advocate's close lips widened--"Well, +gentlemen, if such an excuse is to weigh with us in these days, I'm +sure I don't know what's to happen to the Empire." + +'No, by George!' thought Mr. Bosengate. + +The evidence of the first witness, a room-mate who had caught the +prisoner's hand, and of the sergeant, who had at once been summoned, +was conclusive and he began to cherish a hope that they would get +through without withdrawing, and he would be home before five. But +then a hitch occurred. The regimental doctor failed to respond when +his name was called; and the judge having for the first time that day +showed himself capable of human emotion, intimated that he would +adjourn until the morrow. + +Mr. Bosengate received the announcement with equanimity. He would be +home even earlier! And gathering up the sheets of paper he had +scribbled on, he put them in his pocket and got up. The would-be +suicide was being taken out of the court--a shambling drab figure +with shoulders hunched. What good were men like that in these days! +What good! The prisoner looked up. Mr. Bosengate encountered in +full the gaze of those large brown eyes, with the white showing +underneath. What a suffering, wretched, pitiful face! A man had no +business to give you a look like that! The prisoner passed on down +the stairs, and vanished. Mr. Bosengate went out and across the +market place to the garage of the hotel where he had left his car. +The sun shone fiercely and he thought: 'I must do some watering in +the garden.' He brought the car out, and was about to start the +engine, when someone passing said: "Good evenin'. Seedy-lookin' +beggar that last prisoner, ain't he? We don't want men of that +stamp." It was his neighbour on the jury, the commercial traveller, +in a straw hat, with a little brown bag already in his hand and the +froth of an interrupted drink on his moustache. Answering curtly: +"Good evening!" and thinking: 'Nor of yours, my friend!' Mr. +Bosengate started the car with unnecessary clamour. But as if +brought back to life by the commercial traveller's remark, the +prisoner's figure seemed to speed along too, turning up at Mr. +Bosengate his pitifully unhappy eyes. Want of his wife!--queer +excuse that for trying to put it out of his power ever to see her +again! Why! Half a loaf, even a slice, was better than no bread. +Not many of that neurotic type in the Army--thank Heaven! The +lugubrious figure vanished, and Mr. Bosengate pictured instead the +form of his own wife bending over her "Gloire de Dijon roses" in the +rosery, where she generally worked a little before tea now that they +were short of gardeners. He saw her, as often he had seen her, raise +herself and stand, head to one side, a gloved hand on her slender +hip, gazing as it were ironically from under drooped lids at buds +which did not come out fast enough. And the word 'Caline,' for he +was something of a French scholar, shot through his mind: 'Kathleen- +Caline!' If he found her there when he got in, he would steal up on +the grass and--ah! but with great care not to crease her dress or +disturb her hair! 'If only she weren't quite so self-contained,' he +thought; 'It's like a cat you can't get near, not really near!' + +The car, returning faster than it had come down that morning, had +already passed the outskirt villas, and was breasting the hill to +where, among fields and the old trees, Charmleigh lay apart from +commoner life. Turning into his drive, Mr. Bosengate thought with a +certain surprise: 'I wonder what she does think of! I wonder!' He +put his gloves and hat down in the outer hall and went into the +lavatory, to dip his face in cool water and wash it with sweet- +smelling soap--delicious revenge on the unclean atmosphere in which +he had been stewing so many hours. He came out again into the hall +dazed by soap and the mellowed light, and a voice from half-way up +the stairs said: "Daddy! Look!" His little daughter was standing up +there with one hand on the banisters. She scrambled on to them and +came sliding down, her frock up to her eyes, and her holland knickers +to her middle. Mr. Bosengate said mildly: + +"Well, that's elegant!" + +"Tea's in the summer-house. Mummy's waiting. Come on!" + +With her hand in his, Mr. Bosengate went on, through the drawing- +room, long and cool, with sun-blinds down, through the billiard-room, +high and cool, through the conservatory, green and sweet-smelling, +out on to the terrace and the upper lawn. He had never felt such +sheer exhilarated joy in his home surroundings, so cool, glistening +and green under the July sun; and he said: + +"Well, Kit, what have you all been doing?" + +"I've fed my rabbits and Harry's; and we've been in the attic; Harry +got his leg through the skylight." + +Mr. Bosengate drew in his breath with a hiss. + +"It's all right, Daddy; we got it out again, it's only grazed the +skin. And we've been making swabs--I made seventeen, Mummy made +thirty-three, and then she went to the hospital. Did you put many +men in prison?" + +Mr. Bosengate cleared his throat. The question seemed to him +untimely. + +"Only two." + +"What's it like in prison, Daddy?" + +Mr. Bosengate, who had no more knowledge than his little daughter, +replied in an absent voice: + +"Not very nice." + +They were passing under a young oak tree, where the path wound round +to the rosery and summer-house. Something shot down and clawed Mr. +Bosengate's neck. His little daughter began to hop and suffocate +with laughter. + +"Oh, Daddy! Aren't you caught! I led you on purpose!" + +Looking up, Mr. Bosengate saw his small son lying along a low branch +above him--like the leopard he was declaring himself to be (for fear +of error), and thought blithely: 'What an active little chap it is!' +"Let me drop on your shoulders, Daddy--like they do on the deer." + +"Oh, yes! Do be a deer, Daddy!" + +Mr. Bosengate did not see being a deer; his hair had just been +brushed. But he entered the rosery buoyantly between his offspring. +His wife was standing precisely as he had imagined her, in a pale +blue frock open at the neck, with a narrow black band round the +waist, and little accordion pleats below. She looked her coolest. +Her smile, when she turned her head, hardly seemed to take Mr. +Bosengate seriously enough. He placed his lips below one of her +half-drooped eyelids. She even smelled of roses. His children began +to dance round their mother, and Mr. Bosengate,--firmly held between +them, was also compelled to do this, until she said: + +"When you've quite done, let's have tea!" + +It was not the greeting he had imagined coming along in the car. +Earwigs were plentiful in the summer-house--used perhaps twice a +year, but indispensable to every country residence--and Mr. Bosengate +was not sorry for the excuse to get out again. Though all was so +pleasant, he felt oddly restless, rather suffocated; and lighting his +pipe, began to move about among the roses, blowing tobacco at the +greenfly; in war-time one was never quite idle! And suddenly he +said: + +"We're trying a wretched Tommy at the assizes." + +His wife looked up from a rose. + +"What for?" + +"Attempted suicide." + +"Why did he?" + +"Can't stand the separation from his wife." + +She looked at him, gave a low laugh, and said: + +"Oh dear!" + +Mr. Bosengate was puzzled. Why did she laugh? He looked round, saw +that the children were gone, took his pipe from his mouth, and +approached her. + +"You look very pretty," he said. "Give me a kiss!" + +His wife bent her body forward from the waist, and pushed her lips +out till they touched his moustache. Mr. Bosengate felt a sensation +as if he had arisen from breakfast, without having eaten marmalade. +He mastered it, and said: + +"That jury are a rum lot." + +His wife's eyelids flickered. "I wish women sat on juries." + +"Why?" + +"It would be an experience." + +Not the first time she had used that curious expression! Yet her +life was far from dull, so far as he could see; with the new +interests created by the war, and the constant calls on her time made +by the perfection of their home life, she had a useful and busy +existence. Again the random thought passed through him: 'But she +never tells me anything!' And suddenly that lugubrious khaki-clad +figure started up among the rose bushes. "We've got a lot to be +thankful for!" he said abruptly. "I must go to work!" His wife, +raising one eyebrow, smiled. "And I to weep!" Mr. Bosengate +laughed--she had a pretty wit! And stroking his comely moustache +where it had been kissed, he moved out into the sunshine. All the +evening, throughout his labours, not inconsiderable, for this jury +business had put him behind time, he was afflicted by that restless +pleasure in his surroundings; would break off in mowing the lower +lawn to look at the house through the trees; would leave his study +and committee papers, to cross into the drawing-room and sniff its +dainty fragrance; paid a special good-night visit to the children +having supper in the schoolroom; pottered in and out from his +dressing room to admire his wife while she was changing for dinner; +dined with his mind perpetually on the next course; talked volubly of +the war; and in the billiard room afterwards, smoking the pipe which +had taken the place of his cigar, could not keep still, but roamed +about, now in conservatory, now in the drawing-room, where his wife +and the governess were still making swabs. It seemed to him that he +could not have enough of anything. About eleven o'clock he strolled +out beautiful night, only just dark enough--under the new arrangement +with Time--and went down to the little round fountain below the +terrace. His wife was playing the piano. Mr. Bosengate looked at +the water and the flat dark water lily leaves which floated there; +looked up at the house, where only narrow chinks of light showed, +because of the Lighting Order. The dreamy music drifted out; there +was a scent of heliotrope. He moved a few steps back, and sat in the +children's swing under an old lime tree. Jolly--blissful--in the +warm, bloomy dark! Of all hours of the day, this before going to bed +was perhaps the pleasantest. He saw the light go up in his wife's +bed room, unscreened for a full minute, and thought: 'Aha! If I did +my duty as a special, I should "strafe" her for that.' She came to +the window, her figure lighted, hands up to the back of her head, so +that her bare arms gleamed. Mr. Bosengate wafted her a kiss, knowing +he could not be seen. 'Lucky chap!' he mused; 'she's a great joy!' +Up went her arm, down came the blind the house was dark again. He +drew a long breath. 'Another ten minutes,' he thought, 'then I'll go +in and shut up. By Jove! The limes are beginning to smell already!' +And, the better to take in that acme of his well-being, he tilted the +swing, lifted his feet from the ground, and swung himself toward the +scented blossoms. He wanted to whelm his senses in their perfume, +and closed his eyes. But instead of the domestic vision he expected, +the face of the little Welsh soldier, hare-eyed, shadowy, pinched and +dark and pitiful, started up with such disturbing vividness that he +opened his eyes again at once. Curse! The fellow almost haunted +one! Where would he be now poor little devil!--lying in his cell, +thinking--thinking of his wife! Feeling suddenly morbid, Mr. +Bosengate arrested the swing and stood up. Absurd!--all his well- +being and mood of warm anticipation had deserted him! 'A d---d +world!' he thought. 'Such a lot of misery! Why should I have to sit +in judgment on that poor beggar, and condemn him?' He moved up on to +the terrace and walked briskly, to rid himself of this disturbance +before going in. 'That commercial traveller chap,' he thought, 'the +rest of those fellows--they see nothing!' And, abruptly turning up +the three stone steps, he entered the conservatory, locked it, passed +into the billiard room, and drank his barley water. One of the +pictures was hanging crooked; he went up to put it straight. Still +life. Grapes and apples, and--lobsters! They struck him as odd for +the first time. Why lobsters? The whole picture seemed dead and +oily. He turned off the light, and went upstairs, passed his wife's +door, into his own room, and undressed. Clothed in his pyjamas he +opened the door between the rooms. By the light coming from his own +he could see her dark head on the pillow. Was she asleep? No--not +asleep, certainly. The moment of fruition had come; the crowning of +his pride and pleasure in his home. But he continued to stand there. +He had suddenly no pride, no pleasure, no desire; nothing but a sort +of dull resentment against everything. He turned back; shut the +door, and slipping between the heavy curtains and his open window, +stood looking out at the night. 'Full of misery!' he thought. 'Full +of d---d misery!' + + + + +II + +Filing into the jury box next morning, Mr. Bosengate collided +slightly with a short juryman, whose square figure and square head of +stiff yellow-red hair he had only vaguely noticed the day before. +The man looked angry, and Mr. Bosengate thought: 'An ill-bred dog, +that!' + +He sat down quickly, and, to avoid further recognition of his +fellows, gazed in front of him. His appearance on Saturdays was +always military, by reason of the route march of his Volunteer Corps +in the afternoon. Gentleman Fox, who belonged to the corps too, was +also looking square; but that commercial traveller on his other side +seemed more louche, and as if surprised in immorality, than ever; +only the proximity of Gentleman Fox on the other side kept Mr. +Bosengate from shrinking. Then he saw the prisoner being brought in, +shadowy and dark behind the brightness of his buttons, and he +experienced a sort of shock, this figure was so exactly that which +had several times started up in his mind. Somehow he had expected a +fresh sight of the fellow to dispel and disprove what had been +haunting him, had expected to find him just an outside phenomenon, +not, as it were, a part of his own life. And he gazed at the carven +immobility of the judge's face, trying to steady himself, as a +drunken man will, by looking at a light. The regimental doctor, +unabashed by the judge's comment on his absence the day before, gave +his evidence like a man who had better things to do, and the case for +the prosecution was forthwith rounded in by a little speech from +counsel. The matter--he said--was clear as daylight. Those who wore +His Majesty's uniform, charged with the responsibility and privilege +of defending their country, were no more entitled to desert their +regiments by taking their own lives than they were entitled to desert +in any other way. He asked for a conviction. Mr. Bosengate felt a +sympathetic shuffle passing through all feet; the judge was speaking: + +"Prisoner, you can either go into the witness box and make your +statement on oath, in which case you may be cross-examined on it; or +you can make your statement there from the dock, in which case you +will not be cross-examined. Which do you elect to do?" + +"From here, my lord." + +Seeing him now full face, and, as it might be, come to life in the +effort to convey his feelings, Mr. Bosengate had suddenly a quite +different impression of the fellow. It was as if his khaki had +fallen off, and he had stepped out of his own shadow, a live and +quivering creature. His pinched clean-shaven face seemed to have an +irregular, wilder, hairier look, his large nervous brown eyes +darkened and glowed; he jerked his shoulders, his arms, his whole +body, like a man suddenly freed from cramp or a suit of armour. + +He spoke, too, in a quick, crisp, rather high voice, pinching his +consonants a little, sharpening his vowels, like a true Welshman. + +"My lord and misters the jury," he said: "I was a hairdresser when +the call came on me to join the army. I had a little home and a +wife. I never thought what it would be like to be away from them, I +surely never did; and I'm ashamed to be speaking it out like this-- +how it can squeeze and squeeze a man, how it can prey on your mind, +when you're nervous like I am. 'Tis not everyone that cares for his +home--there's lots o' them never wants to see their wives again. But +for me 'tis like being shut up in a cage, it is!" Mr. Bosengate saw +daylight between the skinny fingers of the man's hand thrown out with +a jerk. "I cannot bear it shut up away from wife and home like what +you are in the army. So when I took my razor that morning I was +wild--an' I wouldn't be here now but for that man catching my hand. +There was no reason in it, I'm willing to confess. It was foolish; +but wait till you get feeling like what I was, and see how it draws +you. Misters the jury, don't send me back to prison; it is worse +still there. If you have wives you will know what it is like for +lots of us; only some is more nervous than others. I swear to you, +sirs, I could not help it---?" Again the little man flung out his +hand, his whole thin body shook and Mr. Bosengate felt the same +sensation as when he drove his car over a dog--"Misters the jury, I +hope you may never in your lives feel as I've been feeling." + +The little man ceased, his eyes shrank back into their sockets, his +figure back into its mask of shadowy brown and gleaming buttons, and +Mr. Bosengate was conscious that the judge was making a series of +remarks; and, very soon, of being seated at a mahogany table in the +jury's withdrawing room, hearing the, voice of the man with hair like +an Irish terrier's saying: "Didn't he talk through his hat, that +little blighter!" Conscious, too, of the commercial traveller, still +on his left--always on his left!--mopping his brow, and muttering: +"Phew! It's hot in there to-day!" while an effluvium, as of an +inside accustomed to whisky came from him. Then the man with the +underlip and the three plastered wisps of hair said: + +"Don't know why we withdrew, Mr. Foreman!" + +Mr. Bosengate looked round to where, at the head of the table, +Gentleman Fox sat, in defensive gentility and the little white piping +to his waistcoat saying blandly: + +"I shall be happy to take the sense of the jury." + +There was a short silence, then the chemist murmured: + +"I should say he must have what they call claustrophobia." + +"Clauster fiddlesticks! The feller's a shirker, that's all. Missed +his wife--pretty excuse! Indecent, I call it!" + +The speaker was the little wire-haired man; and emotion, deep and +angry, stirred in Mr. Bosengate. That ill-bred little cur! He +gripped the edge of the table with both hands. + +"I think it's d-----d natural!" he muttered. But almost before the +words had left his lips he felt dismay. What had he said--he, nearly +a colonel of volunteers--endorsing such a want of patriotism! And +hearing the commercial traveller murmuring: "'Ear, 'ear!" he +reddened violently. + +The wire-headed man said roughly: + +"There's too many of these blighted shirkers, and too much pampering +of them." + +The turmoil in Mr. Bosengate increased; he remarked in an icy voice: + +"I agree to no verdict that'll send the man back to prison." + +At this a real tremor seemed to go round the table, as if they all +saw themselves sitting there through lunch time. Then the large +grey-haired man given to winking, said: + +"Oh! Come, sir--after what the judge said! Come, sir! What do you +say, Mr. Foreman?" + +Gentleman Fox--as who should say 'This is excellent value, but I +don't wish to press it on you!'--answered: + +"We are only concerned with the facts. Did he or did he not try to +shorten his life?" + +"Of course he did--said so himself," Mr. Bosengate heard the wire- +haired man snap out, and from the following murmur of assent he alone +abstained. Guilty! Well--yes! There was no way out of admitting +that, but his feelings revolted against handing "that poor little +beggar" over to the tender mercy of his country's law. His whole +soul rose in arms against agreeing with that ill-bred little cur, and +the rest of this job-lot. He had an impulse to get up and walk out, +saying: "Settle it your own way. Good morning." + +"It seems, sir," Gentleman Fox was saying, "that we're all agreed to +guilty, except yourself. If you will allow me, I don't see how you +can go behind what the prisoner himself admitted." + +Thus brought up to the very guns, Mr. Bosengate, red in the face, +thrust his hands deep into the side pockets of his tunic, and, +staring straight before him, said: + +"Very well; on condition we recommend him to mercy." + +"What do you say, gentlemen; shall we recommend him to mercy?" + +"'Ear, 'ear!" burst from the commercial traveller, and from the +chemist came the murmur: + +"No harm in that." + +"Well, I think there is. They shoot deserters at the front, and we +let this fellow off. I'd hang the cur." + +Mr. Bosengate stared at that little wire-haired brute. "Haven't you +any feeling for others?" he wanted to say. "Can't you see that this +poor devil suffers tortures?" But the sheer impossibility of doing +this before ten other men brought a slight sweat out on his face and +hands; and in agitation he smote the table a blow with his fist. The +effect was instantaneous. Everybody looked at the wire-haired man, +as if saying: "Yes, you've gone a bit too far there!" The "little +brute" stood it for a moment, then muttered surlily: + +"Well, commend 'im to mercy if you like; I don't care." + +"That's right; they never pay any attention to it," said the grey- +haired man, winking heartily. And Mr. Bosengate filed back with the +others into court. + +But when from the jury box his eyes fell once more on the hare-eyed +figure in the dock, he had his worst moment yet. Why should this +poor wretch suffer so--for no fault, no fault; while he, and these +others, and that snapping counsel, and the Caesar-like judge up +there, went off to their women and their homes, blithe as bees, and +probably never thought of him again? And suddenly he was conscious +of the judge's voice: + +"You will go back to your regiment, and endeavour to serve your +country with better spirit. You may thank the jury that you are not +sent to prison, and your good fortune that you were not at the front +when you tried to commit this cowardly act. You are lucky to be +alive." + +A policeman pulled the little soldier by the arm; his drab figure +with eyes fixed and lustreless, passed down and away. From his very +soul Mr. Bosengate wanted to lean out and say: "Cheer up, cheer up! +I understand." + +It was nearly ten o'clock that evening before he reached home, +motoring back from the route march. His physical tiredness was +abated, for he had partaken of a snack and a whisky and soda at the +hotel; but mentally he was in a curious mood. His body felt +appeased, his spirit hungry. Tonight he had a yearning, not for his +wife's kisses, but for her understanding. He wanted to go to her and +say: "I've learnt a lot to-day-found out things I never thought of. +Life's a wonderful thing, Kate, a thing one can't live all to +oneself; a thing one shares with everybody, so that when another +suffers, one suffers too. It's come to me that what one has doesn't +matter a bit--it's what one does, and how one sympathises with other +people. It came to me in the most extraordinary vivid way, when I +was on that jury, watching that poor little rat of a soldier in his +trap; it's the first time I've ever felt--the--the spirit of Christ, +you know. It's a wonderful thing, Kate--wonderful! We haven't been +close--really close, you and I, so that we each understand what the +other is feeling. It's all in that, you know; understanding-- +sympathy--it's priceless. When I saw that poor little devil taken +down and sent back to his regiment to begin his sorrows all over +again--wanting his wife, thinking and thinking of her just as you +know I would be thinking and wanting you, I felt what an awful +outside sort of life we lead, never telling each other what we really +think and feel, never being really close. I daresay that little chap +and his wife keep nothing from each other--live each other's lives. +That's what we ought to do. Let's get to feeling that what really +matters is--understanding and loving, and not only just saying it as +we all do, those fellows on the jury, and even that poor devil of a +judge--what an awful life judging one's fellow-creatures. + +"When I left that poor little Tommy this morning, and ever since, I've +longed to get back here quietly to you and tell you about it, and +make a beginning. There's something wonderful in this, and I want +you to feel it as I do, because you mean such a lot to me." + +This was what he wanted to say to his wife, not touching, or kissing +her, just looking into her eyes, watching them soften and glow as +they surely must, catching the infection of his new ardour. And he +felt unsteady, fearfully unsteady with the desire to say it all as it +should be said: swiftly, quietly, with the truth and fervour of his +feeling. + +The hall was not lit up, for daylight still lingered under the new +arrangement. He went towards the drawing-room, but from the very +door shied off to his study and stood irresolute under the picture of +a "Man catching a flea" (Dutch school), which had come down to him +from his father. The governess would be in there with his wife! He +must wait. Essential to go straight to Kathleen and pour it all out, +or he would never do it. He felt as nervous as an undergraduate +going up for his viva' voce. This thing was so big, so astoundingly +and unexpectedly important. He was suddenly afraid of his wife, +afraid of her coolness and her grace, and that something Japanese +about her--of all those attributes he had been accustomed to admire +most; afraid, as it were, of her attraction. He felt young to-night, +almost boyish; would she see that he was not really fifteen years +older than herself, and she not really a part of his collection, of +all the admirable appointments of his home; but a companion spirit to +one who wanted a companion badly. In this agitation of his soul he +could keep still no more than he could last night in the agitation of +his senses; and he wandered into the dining-room. A dainty supper +was set out there, sandwiches, and cake, whisky and the cigarettes- +even an early peach. Mr. Bosengate looked at this peach with sorrow +rather than disgust. The perfection of it was of a piece with all +that had gone before this new and sudden feeling. Its delicious +bloom seemed to heighten his perception of the hedge around him, that +hedge of the things he so enjoyed, carefully planted and tended these +many years. He passed it by uneaten, and went to the window. Out +there all was darkening, the fountain, the lime tree, the flower- +beds, and the fields below, with the Jersey cows who would come to +your call; darkening slowly, losing form, blurring into soft +blackness, vanishing, but there none the less--all there--the hedge +of his possessions. He heard the door of the drawing-room open, the +voices of his wife and the governess in the hall, going up to bed. +If only they didn't look in here! If only! The voices ceased. He +was safe now--had but to follow in a few minutes, to make sure of +Kathleen alone. He turned round and stared down the length of the +dark dining-room, over the rosewood table, to where in the mirror +above the sideboard at the far end, his figure bathed, a stain, a +mere blurred shadow; he made his way down to it along the table edge, +and stood before himself as close as he could get. His throat and +the roof of his mouth felt dry with nervousness; he put out his +finger and touched his face in the glass. 'You're an ass!' he +thought. 'Pull yourself together, and get it over. She will see; of +course she will!' He swallowed, smoothed his moustache, and walked +out. Going up the stairs, his heart beat painfully; but he was in +for it now, and marched straight into her room. +Dressed only in a loose blue wrapper, she was brushing her dark hair +before the glass. Mr. Bosengate went up to her and stood there +silent, looking down. The words he had thought of were like a swarm +of bees buzzing in his head, yet not one would fly from between his +lips. His wife went on brushing her hair under the light which shone +on her polished elbows. She looked up at him from beneath one lifted +eyebrow. + +"Well, dear--tired?" + +With a sort of vehemence the single word "No" passed out. A faint, a +quizzical smile flitted over her face; she shrugged her shoulders +ever so gently. That gesture--he had seen it before! And in +desperate desire to make her understand, he put his hand on her +lifted arm. + +"Kathleen, stop--listen to me!" His fingers tightened in his +agitation and eagerness to make his great discovery known. But +before he could get out a word he became conscious of that cool round +arm, conscious of her eyes half-closed, sliding round at him, of her +half-smiling lips, of her neck under the wrapper. And he stammered: + +"I want--I must--Kathleen, I---" + +She lifted her shoulders again in that little shrug. "Yes--I know; +all right!" + +A wave of heat and shame, and of God knows what came over Mr. +Bosengate; he fell on his knees and pressed his forehead to her arm; +and he was silent, more silent than the grave. Nothing--nothing came +from him but two long sighs. Suddenly he felt her hand stroke his +cheek--compassionately, it seemed to him. She made a little movement +towards him; her lips met his, and he remembered nothing but that.... + +In his own room Mr. Bosengate sat at his wide open window, smoking a +cigarette; there was no light. Moths went past, the moon was +creeping up. He sat very calm, puffing the smoke out in to the night +air. Curious thing-life! Curious world! Curious forces in it-- +making one do the opposite of what one wished; always--always making +one do the opposite, it seemed! The furtive light from that creeping +moon was getting hold of things down there, stealing in among the +boughs of the trees. 'There's something ironical,' he thought, +'which walks about. Things don't come off as you think they will. I +meant, I tried but one doesn't change like that all of a sudden, it +seems. Fact is, life's too big a thing for one! All the same, I'm +not the man I was yesterday--not quite!' He closed his eyes, and in +one of those flashes of vision which come when the senses are at +rest, he saw himself as it were far down below--down on the floor of +a street narrow as a grave, high as a mountain, a deep dark slit of a +street walking down there, a black midget of a fellow, among other +black midgets--his wife, and the little soldier, the judge, and those +jury chaps--fantoches straight up on their tiny feet, wandering down +there in that dark, infinitely tall, and narrow street. 'Too much +for one!' he thought; 'Too high for one--no getting on top of it. +We've got to be kind, and help one another, and not expect too much, +and not think too much. That's--all!' And, squeezing out his +cigarette, he took six deep breaths of the night air, and got into +bed. + + + + + + + +INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE + + "And Summer's lease hath all + too short a date." + --Shakespeare + + +I + +In the last day of May in the early 'nineties, about six o'clock of +the evening, old Jolyon Forsyte sat under the oak tree below the +terrace of his house at Robin Hill. He was waiting for the midges to +bite him, before abandoning the glory of the afternoon. His thin +brown hand, where blue veins stood out, held the end of a cigar in +its tapering, long-nailed fingers--a pointed polished nail had +survived with him from those earlier Victorian days when to touch +nothing, even with the tips of the fingers, had been so +distinguished. His domed forehead, great white moustache, lean +cheeks, and long lean jaw were covered from the westering sunshine by +an old brown Panama hat. His legs were crossed; in all his attitude +was serenity and a kind of elegance, as of an old man who every +morning put eau de Cologne upon his silk handkerchief. At his feet +lay a woolly brown-and-white dog trying to be a Pomeranian--the dog +Balthasar between whom and old Jolyon primal aver-sion had changed +into attachment with the years. Close to his chair was a swing, and +on the swing was seated one of Holly's dolls--called 'Duffer Alice'- +-with her body fallen over her legs and her doleful nose buried in a +black petticoat. She was never out of disgrace, so it did not matter +to her how she sat. Below the oak tree the lawn dipped down a bank, +stretched to the fernery, and, beyond that refinement, became fields, +dropping to the pond, the coppice, and the prospect 'Fine, +remarkable'--at which Swithin Forsyte, from under this very tree, had +stared five years ago when he drove down with Irene to look at the +house. Old Jolyon had heard of his brother's exploit--that drive +which had become quite celebrated on Forsyte 'Change.' Swithin! And +the fellow had gone and died, last November, at the age of only +seventy-nine, renewing the doubt whether Forsytes could live for +ever, which had first arisen when Aunt Ann passed away. Died! and +left only Jolyon and James, Roger and Nicholas and Timothy, Julia, +Hester, Susan! And old Jolyon thought: 'Eighty-five! I don't feel +it--except when I get that pain.' + +His memory went searching. He had not felt his age since he had +bought his nephew Soames' ill-starred house and settled into it here +at Robin Hill over three years ago. It was as if he had been getting +younger every spring, living in the country with his son and his +grandchildren--June, and the little ones of the second marriage, +Jolly and Holly; living down here out of the racket of London and the +cackle of Forsyte 'Change,' free of his boards, in a delicious +atmosphere of no work and all play, with plenty of occupation in the +perfecting and mellowing of the house and its twenty acres, and in +ministering to the whims of Holly and Jolly. All the knots and +crankiness, which had gathered in his heart during that long and +tragic business of June, Soames, Irene his wife, and poor young +Bosinney, had been smoothed out. Even June had thrown off her +melancholy at last--witness this travel in Spain she was taking now +with her father and her stepmother. Curiously perfect peace was left +by their departure; blissful, yet blank, because his son was not +there. Jo was never anything but a comfort and a pleasure to him +nowadays--an amiable chap; but women, somehow--even the best--got a +little on one's nerves, unless of course one admired them. + +Far-off a cuckoo called; a wood-pigeon was cooing from the first +elm-tree in the field, and how the daisies and buttercups had sprung +up after the last mowing! The wind had got into the sou'-west, too--a +delicious air, sappy! He pushed his hat back and let the sun fall on +his chin and cheek. Somehow, to-day, he wanted company wanted a +pretty face to look at. People treated the old as if they wanted +nothing. And with the un-Forsytean philosophy which ever intruded on +his soul, he thought: 'One's never had enough' + +With a foot in the grave one'll want something, I shouldn't be +surprised!' Down here--away from the exigencies of affairs--his +grandchildren, and the flowers, trees, birds of his little domain, to +say nothing of sun and moon and stars above them, said, 'Open, +sesame,' to him day and night. And sesame had opened--how much, +perhaps, he did not know. He had always been responsive to what they +had begun to call 'Nature,' genuinely, almost religiously responsive, +though he had never lost his habit of calling a sunset a sunset and a +view a view, however deeply they might move him. But nowadays Nature +actually made him ache, he appreciated it so. Every one of these +calm, bright, lengthening days, with Holly's hand in his, and the dog +Balthasar in front looking studiously for what he never found, he +would stroll, watching the roses open, fruit budding on the walls, +sunlight brightening the oak leaves and saplings in the coppice, +watching the water-lily leaves unfold and glisten, and the silvery +young corn of the one wheat field; listening to the starlings and +skylarks, and the Alderney cows chewing the cud, flicking slow their +tufted tails; and every one of these fine days he ached a little from +sheer love of it all, feeling perhaps, deep down, that he had not +very much longer to enjoy it. The thought that some day perhaps not +ten years hence, perhaps not five--all this world would be taken away +from him, before he had exhausted his powers of loving it, seemed to +him in the nature of an injustice brooding over his horizon. If +anything came after this life, it wouldn't be what he wanted; not +Robin Hill, and flowers and birds and pretty faces--too few, even +now, of those about him! With the years his dislike of humbug had +increased; the orthodoxy he had worn in the 'sixties, as he had worn +side-whiskers out of sheer exuberance, had long dropped off, leaving +him reverent before three things alone--beauty, upright conduct, and +the sense of property; and the greatest of these now was beauty. He +had always had wide interests, and, indeed could still read The +Tines, but he was liable at any moment to put it down if he heard a +blackbird sing. Upright conduct, property--somehow, they were +tiring; the blackbirds and the sunsets never tired him, only gave him +an uneasy feeling that he could not get enough of them. Staring into +the stilly radiance of the early evening and at the little gold and +white flowers on the lawn, a thought came to him: This weather was +like the music of 'Orfeo,' which he had recently heard at Covent +Garden. A beautiful opera, not like Meyerbeer, nor even quite +Mozart, but, in its way, perhaps even more lovely; some-thing +classical and of the Golden Age about it, chaste and mellow, and the +Ravogli 'almost worthy of the old days'--highest praise he could +bestow. The yearning of Orpheus for the beauty he was losing, for +his love going down to Hades, as in life love and beauty did go--the +yearning which sang and throbbed through the golden music, stirred +also in the lingering beauty of the world that evening. And with the +tip of his cork-soled, elastic-sided boot he involuntarily stirred +the ribs of the dog Balthasar, caus-ing the animal to wake and attack +his fleas; for though he was supposed to have none, nothing could +persuade him of the fact. When he had finished, he rubbed the place +he had been scratching against his master's calf, and settled down +again with his chin over the instep of the disturbing boot. And into +old Jolyon's mind came a sudden recollection--a face he had seen at +that opera three weeks ago--Irene, the wife of his precious nephew +Soames, that man of property! Though he had not met her since the day +of the 'At Home' in his old house at Stanhope Gate, which celebrated +his granddaughter June's ill-starred engagement to young Bosinney, he +had remembered her at once, for he had always admired her--a very +pretty creature. After the death of young Bosinney, whose mistress +she had so reprehensibly become, he had heard that she had left +Soames at once. Goodness only knew what she had been doing since. +That sight of her face--a side view--in the row in front, had been +literally the only reminder these three years that she was still +alive. No one ever spoke of her. And yet Jo had told him some-thing +once--something which had upset him completely. The boy had got it +from George Forsyte, he believed, who had seen Bosinney in the fog +the day he was run over--something which explained the young fellow's +distress--an act of Soames towards his wife--a shocking act. Jo had +seen her, too, that afternoon, after the news was out, seen her for a +moment, and his description had always lingered in old Jolyon's mind- +-'wild and lost' he had called her. And next day June had gone there +bottled up her feelings and gone there, and the maid had cried and +told her how her mistress had slipped out in the night and vanished. +A tragic business altogether! One thing was certain--Soames had never +been able to lay hands on her again. And he was living at Brighton, +and journeying up and down--a fitting fate, the man of property! For +when he once took a dislike to anyone--as he had to his nephew--old +Jolyon never got over it. He remembered still the sense of relief +with which he had heard the news of Irene's disappearance. It had +been shocking to think of her a prisoner in that house to which she +must have wandered back, when Jo saw her, wandered back for a +moment--like a wounded animal to its hole after seeing that news, +'Tragic death of an Architect,' in the street. Her face had struck +him very much the other night--more beautiful than he had remem- +bered, but like a mask, with something going on beneath it. A young +woman still--twenty-eight perhaps. Ah, well! Very likely she had +another lover by now. But at this subversive thought--for married +women should never love: once, even, had been too much--his instep +rose, and with it the dog Balthasar's head. The sagacious animal +stood up and looked into old Jolyon's face. 'Walk?' he seemed to +say; and old Jolyon answered: "Come on, old chap!" + +Slowly, as was their wont, they crossed among the constellations of +buttercups and daisies, and entered the fernery. This feature, where +very little grew as yet, had been judiciously dropped below the level +of the lawn so that it might come up again on the level of the other +lawn and give the impression of irregularity, so important in +horticulture. Its rocks and earth were beloved of the dog Balthasar, +who sometimes found a mole there. Old Jolyon made a point of passing +through it because, though it was not beautiful, he intended that it +should be, some day, and he would think: 'I must get Varr to come +down and look at it; he's better than Beech.' For plants, like houses +and human complaints, required the best expert consideration. It was +inhabited by snails, and if accompanied by his grandchildren, he +would point to one and tell them the story of the little boy who +said: 'Have plummers got leggers, Mother? 'No, sonny.' 'Then darned +if I haven't been and swallowed a snileybob.' And when they skipped +and clutched his hand, thinking of the snileybob going down the +little boy's 'red lane,' his, eyes would twinkle. Emerging from the +fernery, he opened the wicket gate, which just there led into the +first field, a large and park-like area, out of which, within brick +walls, the vegetable garden had been carved. Old Jolyon avoided +this, which did not suit his mood, and made down the hill towards the +pond. Balthasar, who knew a water-rat or two, gambolled in front, at +the gait which marks an oldish dog who takes the same walk every day. +Arrived at the edge, old Jolyon stood, noting another water-lily +opened since yesterday; he would show it to Holly to-morrow, when +'his little sweet' had got over the upset which had followed on her +eating a tomato at lunch--her little arrangements were very delicate. +Now that Jolly had gone to school--his first term--Holly was with him +nearly all day long, and he missed her badly. He felt that pain too, +which often bothered him now, a little dragging at his left side. He +looked back up the hill. Really, poor young Bosinney had made an +uncommonly good job of the house; he would have done very well for +himself if he had lived! And where was he now? Perhaps, still +haunting this, the site of his last work, of his tragic love affair. +Or was Philip Bosinney's spirit diffused in the general? Who could +say? That dog was getting his legs muddy! And he moved towards the +coppice. There had been the most delightful lot of bluebells, and-- +he knew where some still lingered like little patches of sky fallen +irk between the trees, away out of the sun. He passed the cow-houses +and the hen-houses there installed, and pursued a path into the thick +of the saplings, making for one of the bluebell plots. Balthasar, +preceding him once more, uttered a low growl. Old Jolyon stirred him +with his foot, but the dog remained motionless, just where there was +no room to pass, and the hair rose slowly along the centre of his +woolly back. Whether from the growl and the look of the dog's +stivered hair, or from the sensation which a man feels in a wood, old +Jolyon also felt something move along his spine. And then the path +turned, and there was an old mossy log, and on it a woman sitting. +Her face was turned away, and he had just time to think: 'She's +trespassing--I must have a board put up!' before she turned. Powers +above! The face he had seen at the opera--the very woman he had just +been thinking of! In that confused moment he saw things blurred, as +if a spirit--queer effect--the slant of sunlight perhaps on her +violet-grey frock! And then she rose and stood smiling, her head a +little to one side. Old Jolyon thought: 'How pretty she is!' She did +not speak, neither did he; and he realized why with a certain +admiration. She was here no doubt because of some memory, and did +not mean to try and get out of it by vulgar explanation. + +"Don't let that dog touch your frock," he said; "he's got wet feet. +Come here, you!" + +But the dog Balthasar went on towards the visitor, who put her hand +down and stroked his head. Old Jolyon said quickly: + +"I saw you at the opera the other night; you didn't notice me." + +"Oh, yes! I did." + +He felt a subtle flattery in that, as though she had added: 'Do you +think one could miss seeing you?' + +"They're all in Spain," he remarked abruptly. "I'm alone; I drove up +for the opera. The Ravogli's good. Have you seen the cow-houses?" + +In a situation so charged with mystery and something very like +emotion he moved instinctively towards that bit of property, and she +moved beside him. Her figure swayed faintly, like the best kind of +French figures; her dress, too, was a sort of French grey. He +noticed two or three silver threads in her amber-coloured hair, +strange hair with those dark eyes of hers, and that creamy-pale face. +A sudden sidelong look from the velvety brown eyes disturbed him. It +seemed to come from deep and far, from another world almost, or at +all events from some one not living very much in this. And he said +mechanically + +"Where are you living now?" + +"I have a little flat in Chelsea." + +He did not want to hear what she was doing, did not want to hear +anything; but the perverse word came out: + +"Alone?" + +She nodded. It was a relief to know that. And it came into his mind +that, but for a twist of fate, she would have been mistress of this +coppice, showing these cow-houses to him, a visitor. + +"All Alderneys," he muttered; "they give the best milk. This one's a +pretty creature. Woa, Myrtle!" + +The fawn-coloured cow, with eyes as soft and brown as Irene's own, +was standing absolutely still, not having long been milked. She +looked round at them out of the corner of those lustrous, mild, +cynical eyes, and from her grey lips a little dribble of saliva +threaded its way towards the straw. The scent of hay and vanilla and +ammonia rose in the dim light of the cool cow-house; and old Jolyon +said: + +"You must come up and have some dinner with me. I'll send you home +in the carriage." + +He perceived a struggle going on within her; natural, no doubt, with +her memories. But he wanted her company; a pretty face, a charming +figure, beauty! He had been alone all the afternoon. Perhaps his +eyes were wistful, for she answered: "Thank you, Uncle Jolyon. I +should like to." + +He rubbed his hands, and said: + +"Capital! Let's go up, then!" And, preceded by the dog Balthasar, +they ascended through the field. The sun was almost level in their +faces now, and he could see, not only those silver threads, but +little lines, just deep enough to stamp her beauty with a coin-like +fineness--the special look of life unshared with others. "I'll take +her in by the terrace, "he thought: "I won't make a common visitor of +her." + +"What do you do all day?" he said. + +"Teach music; I have another interest, too." + +"Work!" said old Jolyon, picking up the doll from off the swing, and +smoothing its black petticoat. "Nothing like it, is there? I don't +do any now. I'm getting on. What interest is that?" + +"Trying to help women who've come to grief." Old Jolyon did not +quite understand. "To grief?" he repeated; then realised with a +shock that she meant exactly what he would have meant himself if he +had used that expression. Assisting the Magdalenes of London! What +a weird and terrifying interest! And, curiosity overcoming his +natural shrinking, he asked: + +"Why? What do you do for them?" + +"Not much. I've no money to spare. I can only give sympathy and +food sometimes." + +Involuntarily old Jolyon's hand sought his purse. He said hastily: +"How d'you get hold of them?" + +"I go to a hospital." + +"A hospital! Phew!" + +"What hurts me most is that once they nearly all had some sort of +beauty." + +Old Jolyon straightened the doll. "Beauty!" he ejaculated: "Ha! Yes! +A sad business!" and he moved towards the house. Through a French +window, under sun-blinds not yet drawn up, he preceded her into the +room where he was wont to study 'The Times' and the sheets of an +agricultural magazine, with huge illustrations of mangold wurzels, +and the like, which provided Holly with material for her paint brush. + +"Dinner's in half an hour. You'd like to wash your hands! I'll take +you to June's room." + +He saw her looking round eagerly; what changes since she had last +visited this house with her husband, or her lover, or both perhaps-- +he did not know, could not say! All that was dark, and he wished to +leave it so. But what changes! And in the hall he said: + +"My boy Jo's a painter, you know. He's got a lot of taste. It isn't +mine, of course, but I've let him have his way." + +She was standing very still, her eyes roaming through the hall and +music room, as it now was--all thrown into one, under the great +skylight. Old Jolyon had an odd impression of her. Was she trying +to conjure somebody from the shades of that space where the colouring +was all pearl-grey and silver? He would have had gold himself; more +lively and solid. But Jo had French tastes, and it had come out +shadowy like that, with an effect as of the fume of cigarettes the +chap was always smoking, broken here and there by a little blaze of +blue or crimson colour. It was not his dream! Mentally he had hung +this space with those gold-framed masterpieces of still and stiller +life which he had bought in days when quantity was precious. And now +where were they? Sold for a song! That something which made him, +alone among Forsytes, move with the times had warned him against the +struggle to retain them. But in his study he still had 'Dutch +Fishing Boats at Sunset.' + +He began to mount the stairs with her, slowly, for he felt his side. + +"These are the bathrooms," he said, "and other arrangements. I've +had them tiled. The nurseries are along there. And this is Jo's and +his wife's. They all communicate. But you remember, I expect." + +Irene nodded. They passed on, up the gallery and entered a large +room with a small bed, and several windows. + +"This is mine," he said. The walls were covered with the photographs +of children and watercolour sketches, and he added doubtfully: + +"These are Jo's. The view's first-rate. You can see the Grand Stand +at Epsom in clear weather." + +The sun was down now, behind the house, and over the 'prospect' a +luminous haze had settled, emanation of the long and prosperous day. +Few houses showed, but fields and trees faintly glistened, away to a +loom of downs. + +"The country's changing," he said abruptly, "but there it'll be when +we're all gone. Look at those thrushes--the birds are sweet here in +the mornings. I'm glad to have washed my hands of London." + +Her face was close to the window pane, and he was struck by its +mournful look. 'Wish I could make her look happy!' he thought. 'A +pretty face, but sad!' And taking up his can of hot water he went +out into the gallery. + +"This is June's room," he said, opening the next door and putting the +can down; "I think you'll find everything." And closing the door +behind her he went back to his own room. Brushing his hair with his +great ebony brushes, and dabbing his forehead with eau de Cologne, he +mused. She had come so strangely--a sort of visit-ation; mysterious, +even romantic, as if his desire for company, for beauty, had been +fulfilled by whatever it was which fulfilled that sort of thing. And +before the mirror he straightened his still upright figure, passed +the brushes over his great white moustache, touched up his eyebrows +with eau de Cologne, and rang the bell. + +"I forgot to let them know that I have a lady to dinner with me. Let +cook do something extra, and tell Beacon to have the landau and pair +at half-past ten to drive her back to Town to-night. Is Miss Holly +asleep?" + +The maid thought not. And old Jolyon, passing down the gallery, +stole on tiptoe towards the nursery, and opened the door whose hinges +he kept specially oiled that he might slip in and out in the evenings +without being heard. + +But Holly was asleep, and lay like a miniature Madonna, of that type +which the old painters could not tell from Venus, when they had +completed her. Her long dark lashes clung to her cheeks; on her face +was perfect peace--her little arrangements were evidently all right +again. And old Jolyon, in the twilight of the room, stood adoring +her! It was so charming, solemn, and loving--that little face. He +had more than his share of the blessed capacity of living again in +the young. They were to him his future life--all of a future life +that his fundamental pagan sanity perhaps admitted. There she was +with everything before her, and his blood--some of it--in her tiny +veins. There she was, his little companion, to be made as happy as +ever he could make her, so that she knew nothing but love. His heart +swelled, and he went out, stilling the sound of his patent-leather +boots. In the corridor an eccentric notion attacked him: To think +that children should come to that which Irene had told him she was +helping! Women who were all, once, little things like this one +sleeping there! 'I must give her a cheque!' he mused; 'Can't bear to +think of them!' They had never borne reflecting on, those poor +outcasts; wounding too deeply the core of true refinement hidden +under layers of conformity to the sense of property--wounding too +grievously the deepest thing in him--a love of beauty which could +give him, even now, a flutter of the heart, thinking of his evening +in the society of a pretty woman. And he went downstairs, through +the swinging doors, to the back regions. There, in the wine-cellar, +was a hock worth at least two pounds a bottle, a Steinberg Cabinet, +better than any Johan-nisberg that ever went down throat; a wine of +perfect bouquet, sweet as a nectarine--nectar indeed! He got a bottle +out, handling it like a baby, and holding it level to the light, to +look. Enshrined in its coat of dust, that mellow coloured, slender-- +necked bottle gave him deep pleasure. Three years to settle down +again since the move from Town--ought to be in prime condition! +Thirty-five years ago he had bought it--thank God he had kept his +palate, and earned the right to drink it. She would appreciate this; +not a spice of acidity in a dozen. He wiped the bottle, drew the +cork with his own hands, put his nose down, inhaled its perfume, and +went back to the music room. + +Irene was standing by the piano; she had taken off her hat and a lace +scarf she had been wearing, so that her gold-coloured hair was +visible, and the pallor of her neck. In her grey frock she made a +pretty picture for old Jolyon, against the rosewood of the piano. + +He gave her his arm, and solemnly they went. The room, which had +been designed to enable twenty-four people to dine in comfort, held +now but a little round table. In his present solitude the big +dining-table oppressed old Jolyon; he had caused it to be removed +till his son came back. Here in the company of two really good +copies of Raphael Madonnas he was wont to dine alone. It was the +only disconsolate hour of his day, this summer weather. He had never +been a large eater, like that great chap Swithin, or Sylvanus +Heythorp, or Anthony Thornworthy, those cronies of past times; and to +dine alone, overlooked by the Madonnas, was to him but a sorrowful +occupation, which he got through quickly, that he might come to the +more spiritual enjoyment of his coffee and cigar. But this evening +was a different matter! His eyes twinkled at her across the little +table and he spoke of Italy and Switzerland, telling her stories of +his travels there, and other experiences which he could no longer +recount to his son and grand-daughter because they knew them. This +fresh audience was precious to him; he had never become one of those +old men who ramble round and round the fields of reminiscence. +Himself quickly fatigued by the insensitive, he instinctively avoided +fatiguing others, and his natural flirtatiousness towards beauty +guarded him specially in his relations with a woman. He would have +liked to draw her out, but though she murmured and smiled and seemed +to be enjoying what he told her, he remained conscious of that +mysterious remoteness which constituted half her fascination. He +could not bear women who threw their shoulders and eyes at you, and +chattered away; or hard-mouthed women who laid down the law and knew +more than you did. There was only one quality in a woman that +appealed to him--charm; and the quieter it was, the more he liked it. +And this one had charm, shadowy as afternoon sunlight on those +Italian hills and valleys he had loved. The feeling, too, that she +was, as it were, apart, cloistered, made her seem nearer to himself, +a strangely desirable companion. When a man is very old and quite +out of the running, he loves to feel secure from the rivalries of +youth, for he would still be first in the heart of beauty. And he +drank his hock, and watched her lips, and felt nearly young. But the +dog Balthasar lay watching her lips too, and despising in his heart +the interruptions of their talk, and the tilting of those greenish +glasses full of a golden fluid which was distasteful to him. + +The light was just failing when they went back into the music-room. +And, cigar in mouth, old Jolyon said: + +"Play me some Chopin." + +By the cigars they smoke, and the composers they love, ye shall know +the texture of men's souls. Old Jolyon could not bear--a strong +cigar or Wagner's music. He loved Beethoven and Mozart, Handel and +Gluck, and Schumann, and, for some occult reason, the operas of +Meyerbeer; but of late years he had been seduced by Chopin, just as +in painting he had succumbed to Botticelli. In yielding to these +tastes he had been conscious of divergence from the standard of the +Golden Age. Their poetry was not that of Milton and Byron and +Tennyson; of Raphael and Titian; Mozart and Beethoven. It was, as it +were, behind a veil; their poetry hit no one in the face, but slipped +its fingers under the ribs and turned and twisted, and melted up the +heart. And, never certain that this was healthy, he did not care a +rap so long as he could see the pictures of the one or hear the music +of the other. + +Irene sat down at the piano under the electric lamp festooned with +pearl-grey, and old Jolyon, in an armchair, whence he could see her, +crossed his legs and drew slowly at his cigar. She sat a few moments +with her hands on the keys, evidently searching her mind for what to +give him. Then she began and within old Jolyon there arose a +sorrowful pleasure, not quite like anything else in the world. He +fell slowly into a trance, interrupted only by the movements of +taking the cigar out of his mouth at long intervals, and replacing +it. She was there, and the hock within him, and the scent of +tobacco; but there, too, was a world of sunshine lingering into +moonlight, and pools with storks upon them, and bluish trees above, +glowing with blurs of wine-red roses, and fields of lavender where +milk-white cows were grazing, and a woman all shadowy, with dark eyes +and a white neck, smiled, holding out her arms; and through air which +was like music a star dropped and was caught on a cow's horn. He +opened his eyes. Beautiful piece; she played well--the touch of an +angel! And he closed them again. He felt mirac-ulously sad and +happy, as one does, standing under a lime-tree in full honey flower. +Not live one's own life again, but just stand there and bask in the +smile of a woman's eyes, and enjoy the bouquet! And he jerked his +hand; the dog Balthasar had reached up and licked it. + +"Beautiful!" He said: "Go on--more Chopin!" + +She began to play again. This time the resemblance between her and +'Chopin' struck him. The swaying he had noticed in her walk was in +her playing too, and the Nocturne she had chosen and the soft +darkness of her eyes, the light on her hair, as of moonlight from a +golden moon. Seductive, yes; but nothing of Delilah in her or in +that music. A long blue spiral from his cigar ascended and +dispersed. 'So we go out!' he thought. 'No more beauty! Nothing?' + +Again Irene stopped. + +"Would you like some Gluck? He used to write his music in a sunlit +garden, with a bottle of Rhine wine beside him." + +"Ah! yes. Let's have 'Orfeo.'" Round about him now were fields of +gold and silver flowers, white forms swaying in the sunlight, bright +birds flying to and fro. All was summer. Lingering waves of +sweetness and regret flooded his soul. Some cigar ash dropped, and +taking out a silk handkerchief to brush it off, he inhaled a mingled +scent as of snuff and eau de Cologne. 'Ah!' he thought, 'Indian +summer--that's all!' and he said: "You haven't played me 'Che faro.'" + +She did not answer; did not move. He was conscious of something-- +some strange upset. Suddenly he saw her rise and turn away, and a +pang of remorse shot through him. What a clumsy chap! Like Orpheus, +she of course--she too was looking for her lost one in the hall of +memory! And disturbed to the heart, he got up from his chair. She +had gone to the great window at the far end. Gingerly he followed. +Her hands were folded over her breast; he could just see her cheek, +very white. And, quite emotionalized, he said: + +"There, there, my love!" The words had escaped him mechanically, for +they were those he used to Holly when she had a pain, but their +effect was instantaneously distressing. She raised her arms, covered +her face with them, and wept. + +Old Jolyon stood gazing at her with eyes very deep from age. The +passionate shame she seemed feeling at her abandonment, so unlike the +control and quietude of her whole presence was as if she had never +before broken down in the presence of another being. + +"There, there--there, there!" he murmured, and putting his hand out +reverently, touched her. She turned, and leaned the arms which +covered her face against him. Old Jolyon stood very still, keeping +one thin hand on her shoulder. Let her cry her heart out--it would +do her good. + +And the dog Balthasar, puzzled, sat down on his stern to examine +them. + +The window was still open, the curtains had not been drawn, the last +of daylight from without mingled with faint intrusion from the lamp +within; there was a scent of new-mown grass. With the wisdom of a +long life old Jolyon did not speak. Even grief sobbed itself out in +time; only Time was good for sorrow--Time who saw the passing of each +mood, each emotion in turn; Time the layer-to-rest. There came into +his mind the words: 'As panteth the hart after cooling streams'--but +they were of no use to him. Then, conscious of a scent of violets, +he knew she was drying her eyes. He put his chin forward, pressed +his moustache against her forehead, and felt her shake with a +quivering of her whole body, as of a tree which shakes itself free of +raindrops. She put his hand to her lips, as if saying: "All over +now! Forgive me!" + +The kiss filled him with a strange comfort; he led her back to where +she had been so upset. And the dog Balthasar, following, laid the +bone of one of the cutlets they had eaten at their feet. + +Anxious to obliterate the memory of that emotion, he could think of +nothing better than china; and moving with her slowly from cabinet to +cabinet, he kept taking up bits of Dresden and Lowestoft and Chelsea, +turning them round and round with his thin, veined hands, whose skin, +faintly freckled, had such an aged look. + +"I bought this at Jobson's," he would say; "cost me thirty pounds. +It's very old. That dog leaves his bones all over the place. This +old 'ship-bowl' I picked up at the sale when that precious rip, the +Marquis, came to grief. But you don't remember. Here's a nice piece +of Chelsea. Now, what would you say this was?" And he was +comforted, feeling that, with her taste, she was taking a real +interest in these things; for, after all, nothing better composes the +nerves than a doubtful piece of china. + +When the crunch of the carriage wheels was heard at last, he said + +"You must come again; you must come to lunch, then I can show you +these by daylight, and my little sweet--she's a dear little thing. +This dog seems to have taken a fancy to you." + +For Balthasar, feeling that she was about to leave, was rubbing his +side against her leg. Going out under the porch with her, he said: + +"He'll get you up in an hour and a quarter. Take this for your +protegees," and he slipped a cheque for fifty pounds into her hand. +He saw her brightened eyes, and heard her murmur: "Oh Uncle Jolyon!" +and a real throb of pleasure went through him. That meant one or two +poor creatures helped a little, and it meant that she would come +again. He put his hand in at the window and grasped hers once more. +The carriage rolled away. He stood looking at the moon and the +shadows of the trees, and thought: 'A sweet night! She ...!' + + + + +II + + +Two days of rain, and summer set in bland and sunny. Old Jolyon +walked and talked with Holly. At first he felt taller and full of a +new vigour; then he felt restless. Almost every afternoon they would +enter the coppice, and walk as far as the log. 'Well, she's not +there!' he would think, 'of course not!' And he would feel a little +shorter, and drag his feet walking up the hill home, with his hand +clapped to his left side. Now and then the thought would move in +him: 'Did she come--or did I dream it?' and he would stare at space, +while the dog Balthasar stared at him. Of course she would not come +again! He opened the letters from Spain with less excitement. They +were not returning till July; he felt, oddly, that he could bear it. +Every day at dinner he screwed up his eyes and looked at where she +had sat. She was not there, so he unscrewed his eyes again. + +On the seventh afternoon he thought: 'I must go up and get some +boots.' He ordered Beacon, and set out. Passing from Putney towards +Hyde Park he reflected: 'I might as well go to Chelsea and see her.' +And he called out: "Just drive me to where you took that lady the +other night." The coachman turned his broad red face, and his juicy +lips answered: "The lady in grey, sir?" + +"Yes, the lady in grey." What other ladies were there! Stodgy chap! + +The carriage stopped before a small three-storied block of flats, +standing a little back from the river. With a practised eye old +Jolyon saw that they were cheap. 'I should think about sixty pound a +year,' he mused; and entering, he looked at the name-board. The +name 'Forsyte' was not on it, but against 'First Floor, Flat C' were +the words: 'Mrs. Irene Heron.' Ah! She had taken her maiden name +again! And somehow this pleased him. He went upstairs slowly, +feeling his side a little. He stood a moment, before ringing, to +lose the feeling of drag and fluttering there. She would not be in! +And then Boots! The thought was black. What did he want with boots +at his age? He could not wear out all those he had. + +"Your mistress at home?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Say Mr. Jolyon Forsyte." + +"Yes, sir, will you come this way?" + +Old Jolyon followed a very little maid--not more than sixteen one +would say--into a very small drawing-room where the sun-blinds were +drawn. It held a cottage piano and little else save a vague +fragrance and good taste. 'He stood in the middle, with his top hat +in his hand, and thought: 'I expect she's very badly off!' There was +a mirror above the fireplace, and he saw himself reflected. An +old-looking chap! He heard a rustle, and turned round. She was so +close that his moustache almost brushed her forehead, just under her +hair. + +"I was driving up," he said. "Thought I'd look in on you, and ask +you how you got up the other night." + +And, seeing her smile, he felt suddenly relieved. She was really +glad to see him, perhaps. + +"Would you like to put on your hat and come for a drive in the Park?" + +But while she was gone to put her hat on, he frowned. The Park! +James and Emily! Mrs. Nicholas, or some other member of his precious +family would be there very likely, prancing up and down. And they +would go and wag their tongues about having seen him with her, +afterwards. Better not! He did not wish to revive the echoes of the +past on Forsyte 'Change.' He removed a white hair from the lapel of +his closely-buttoned-up frock coat, and passed his hand over his +cheeks, moustache, and square chin. It felt very hollow there under +the cheekbones. He had not been eating much lately--he had better +get that little whippersnapper who attended Holly to give him a +tonic. But she had come back and when they were in the carriage, he +said: + +"Suppose we go and sit in Kensington Gardens instead?" and added with +a twinkle: "No prancing up and down there," as if she had been in the +secret of his thoughts. + +Leaving the carriage, they entered those select precincts, and +strolled towards the water. + +"You've gone back to your maiden name, I see," he said: "I'm not +sorry." + +She slipped her hand under his arm: "Has June forgiven me, Uncle +Jolyon?" + +He answered gently: "Yes--yes; of course, why not?" + +"And have you?" + +"I? I forgave you as soon as I saw how the land really lay." And +perhaps he had; his instinct had always been to forgive the +beautiful. + +She drew a deep breath. "I never regretted--I couldn't. Did you +ever love very deeply, Uncle Jolyon?" + +At that strange question old Jolyon stared before him. Had he? He +did not seem to remember that he ever had. But he did not like to +say this to the young woman whose hand was touching his arm, whose +life was suspended, as it were, by memory of a tragic love. And he +thought: 'If I had met you when I was young I--I might have made a +fool of myself, perhaps.' And a longing to escape in generalities +beset him. + +"Love's a queer thing," he said, "fatal thing often. It was the +Greeks--wasn't it?--made love into a goddess; they were right, I dare +say, but then they lived in the Golden Age." + +"Phil adored them." + +Phil! The word jarred him, for suddenly--with his power to see all +round a thing, he perceived why she was putting up with him like +this. She wanted to talk about her lover! Well! If it was any +pleasure to her! And he said: "Ah! There was a bit of the sculptor +in him, I fancy." + +"Yes. He loved balance and symmetry; he loved the whole-hearted way +the Greeks gave themselves to art." + +Balance! The chap had no balance at all, if he remembered; as for +symmetry--clean-built enough he was, no doubt; but those queer eyes +of his, and high cheek-bones--Symmetry? + +"You're of the Golden Age, too, Uncle Jolyon." + +Old Jolyon looked round at her. Was she chaffing him? No, her eyes +were soft as velvet. Was she flattering him? But if so, why? There +was nothing to be had out of an old chap like him. + +"Phil thought so. He used to say: 'But I can never tell him that I +admire him."' + +Ah! There it was again. Her dead lover; her desire to talk of him! +And he pressed her arm, half resentful of those memories, half +grateful, as if he recognised what a link they were between herself +and him. + +"He was a very talented young fellow," he murmured. "It's hot; I +feel the heat nowadays. Let's sit down." + +They took two chairs beneath a chestnut tree whose broad leaves +covered them from the peaceful glory of the afternoon. A pleasure to +sit there and watch her, and feel that she liked to be with him. And +the wish to increase that liking, if he could, made him go on: + +"I expect he showed you a side of him I never saw. He'd be at his +best with you. His ideas of art were a little new--to me "--he had +stiffed the word 'fangled.' + +"Yes: but he used to say you had a real sense of beauty." Old Jolyon +thought: 'The devil he did!' but answered with a twinkle: "Well, I +have, or I shouldn't be sitting here with you." She was fascinating +when she smiled with her eyes, like that! + +"He thought you had one of those hearts that never grow old. Phil +had real insight." + +He was not taken in by this flattery spoken out of the past, out of a +longing to talk of her dead lover--not a bit; and yet it was precious +to hear, because she pleased his eyes and heart which quite true!-- +had never grown old. Was that because--unlike her and her dead +lover, he had never loved to desperation, had always kept his +balance, his sense of symmetry. Well! It had left him power, at +eighty-four, to admire beauty. And he thought, 'If I were a painter +or a sculptor! But I'm an old chap. Make hay while the sun shines.' + +A couple with arms entwined crossed on the grass before them, at the +edge of the shadow from their tree. The sunlight fell cruelly on +their pale, squashed, unkempt young faces. "We're an ugly lot!" said +old Jolyon suddenly. "It amazes me to see how--love triumphs over +that." + +"Love triumphs over everything!" + +"The young think so," he muttered. + +"Love has no age, no limit; and no death." + +With that glow in her pale face, her breast heaving, her eyes so +large and dark and soft, she looked like Venus come to life! But +this extravagance brought instant reaction, and, twinkling, he said: +"Well, if it had limits, we shouldn't be born; for by George! it's +got a lot to put up with." + +Then, removing his top hat, he brushed it round with a cuff. The +great clumsy thing heated his forehead; in these days he often got a +rush of blood to the head--his circulation was not what it had been. + +She still sat gazing straight before her, and suddenly she murmured: + +"It's strange enough that I'm alive." + +Those words of Jo's 'Wild and lost' came back to him. + +"Ah!" he said: "my son saw you for a moment--that day." + +"Was it your son? I heard a voice in the hall; I thought for a second +it was--Phil." + +Old Jolyon saw her lips tremble. She put her hand over them, took it +away again, and went on calmly: "That night I went to the Embankment; +a woman caught me by the dress. She told me about herself. When one +knows that others suffer, one's ashamed." + +"One of those?" + +She nodded, and horror stirred within old Jolyon, the horror of one +who has never known a struggle with desperation. Almost against his +will he muttered: "Tell me, won't you?" + +"I didn't care whether I lived or died. When you're like that, Fate +ceases to want to kill you. She took care of me three days--she +never left me. I had no money. That's why I do what I can for them, +now." + +But old Jolyon was thinking: 'No money!' What fate could compare +with that? Every other was involved in it. + +"I wish you had come to me," he said. "Why didn't you?" But Irene +did not answer. + +"Because my name was Forsyte, I suppose? Or was it June who kept you +away? How are you getting on now?" His eyes involuntarily swept her +body. Perhaps even now she was--! And yet she wasn't thin--not +really! + +"Oh! with my fifty pounds a year, I make just enough." The answer +did not reassure him; he had lost confidence. And that fellow +Soames! But his sense of justice stifled condemnation. No, she +would certainly have died rather than take another penny from him. +Soft as she looked, there must be strength in her somewhere--strength +and fidelity. But what business had young Bosinney to have got run +over and left her stranded like this! + +"Well, you must come to me now," he said, "for anything you want, or +I shall be quite cut up." And putting on his hat, he rose. "Let's +go and get some tea. I told that lazy chap to put the horses up for +an hour, and come for me at your place. We'll take a cab presently; +I can't walk as I used to." + +He enjoyed that stroll to the Kensington end of the gardens--the +sound of her voice, the glancing of her eyes, the subtle beauty of a +charming form moving beside him. He enjoyed their tea at Ruffel's in +the High Street, and came out thence with a great box of chocolates +swung on his little finger. He enjoyed the drive back to Chelsea in +a hansom, smoking his cigar. She had promised to come down next +Sunday and play to him again, and already in thought he was plucking +carnations and early roses for her to carry back to town. It was a +pleasure to give her a little pleasure, if it WERE pleasure from an +old chap like him! The carriage was already there when they arrived. +Just like that fellow, who was always late when he was wanted! Old +Jolyon went in for a minute to say good-bye. The little dark hall of +the fiat was impregnated with a disagreeable odour of patchouli, and +on a bench against the wall--its only furniture--he saw a figure +sitting. He heard Irene say softly: "Just one minute." In the +little drawing-room when the door was shut, he asked gravely: "One of +your protegees?" + +"Yes. Now thanks to you, I can do something for her." + +He stood, staring, and stroking that chin whose strength had +frightened so many in its time. The idea of her thus actually in +contact with this outcast, grieved and frightened him. What could +she do for them? Nothing. Only soil and make trouble for herself, +perhaps. And he said: "Take care, my dear! The world puts the worst +construction on everything." + +"I know that." + +He was abashed by her quiet smile. "Well then--Sunday," he murmured: +"Good-bye." + +She put her cheek forward for him to kiss. + +"Good-bye," he said again; "take care of yourself." And he went out, +not looking towards the figure on the bench. He drove home by way of +Hammersmith; that he might stop at a place he knew of and tell them +to send her in two dozen of their best Burgundy. She must want +picking-up sometimes! Only in Richmond Park did he remember that he +had gone up to order himself some boots, and was surprised that he +could have had so paltry an idea. + + + + +III + + +The little spirits of the past which throng an old man's days had +never pushed their faces up to his so seldom as in the seventy hours +elapsing before Sunday came. The spirit of the future, with the +charm of the unknown, put up her lips instead. Old Jolyon was not +restless now, and paid no visits to the log, because she was coming +to lunch. There is wonderful finality about a meal; it removes a +world of doubts, for no one misses meals except for reasons beyond +control. He played many games with Holly on the lawn, pitching them +up to her who was batting so as to be ready to bowl to Jolly in the +holidays. For she was not a Forsyte, but Jolly was--and Forsytes +always bat, until they have resigned and reached the age of +eighty-five. The dog Balthasar, in attendance, lay on the ball as +often as he could, and the page-boy fielded, till his face was like +the harvest moon. And because the time was getting shorter, each day +was longer and more golden than the last. On Friday night he took a +liver pill, his side hurt him rather, and though it was not the liver +side, there is no remedy like that. Anyone telling him that he had +found a new excitement in life and that excitement was not good for +him, would have been met by one of those steady and rather defiant +looks of his deep-set iron-grey eyes, which seemed to say: 'I know my +own business best.' He always had and always would. + +On Sunday morning, when Holly had gone with her governess to church, +he visited the strawberry beds. There, accompanied by the dog +Balthasar, he examined the plants narrowly and succeeded in finding +at least two dozen berries which were really ripe. Stooping was not +good for him, and he became very dizzy and red in the forehead. +Having placed the strawberries in a dish on the dining-table, he +washed his hands and bathed his forehead with eau de Cologne. There, +before the mirror, it occurred to him that he was thinner. What a +'threadpaper' he had been when he was young! It was nice to be slim- +-he could not bear a fat chap; and yet perhaps his cheeks were too +thin! She was to arrive by train at half-past twelve and walk up, +entering from the road past Drage's farm at the far end of the +coppice. And, having looked into June's room to see that there was +hot water ready, he set forth to meet her, leisurely, for his heart +was beating. The air smelled sweet, larks sang, and the Grand Stand +at Epsom was visible. A perfect day! On just such a one, no doubt, +six years ago, Soames had brought young Bosinney down with him to +look at the site before they began to build. It was Bosinney who had +pitched on the exact spot for the house--as June had often told him. +In these days he was thinking much about that young fellow, as if his +spirit were really haunting the field of his last work, on the chance +of seeing--her. Bosinney--the one man who had possessed her heart, +to whom she had given her whole self with rapture! At his age one +could not, of course, imagine such things, but there stirred in him a +queer vague aching--as it were the ghost of an impersonal jealousy; +and a feeling, too, more generous, of pity for that love so early +lost. All over in a few poor months! Well, well! He looked at his +watch before entering the coppice--only a quarter past, twenty-five +minutes to wait! And then, turning the corner of the path, he saw +her exactly where he had seen her the first time, on the log; and +realised that she must have come by the earlier train to sit there +alone for a couple of hours at least. Two hours of her society +missed! What memory could make that log so dear to her? His face +showed what he was thinking, for she said at once: + +"Forgive me, Uncle Jolyon; it was here that I first knew." + +"Yes, yes; there it is for you whenever you like. You're looking a +little Londony; you're giving too many lessons." + +That she should have to give lessons worried him. Lessons to a +parcel of young girls thumping out scales with their thick fingers. + +"Where do you go to give them?" he asked. + +"They're mostly Jewish families, luckily." + +Old Jolyon stared; to all Forsytes Jews seem strange and doubtful. + +"They love music, and they're very kind." + +"They had better be, by George!" He took her arm--his side always +hurt him a little going uphill--and said: + +"Did you ever see anything like those buttercups? They came like +that in a night." + +Her eyes seemed really to fly over the field, like bees after the +flowers and the honey. "I wanted you to see them--wouldn't let them +turn the cows in yet." Then, remembering that she had come to talk +about Bosinney, he pointed to the clock-tower over the stables: + +"I expect be wouldn't have let me put that there--had no notion of +time, if I remember." + +But, pressing his arm to her, she talked of flowers instead, and he +knew it was done that he might not feel she came because of her dead +lover. + +"The best flower I can show you," he said, with a sort of triumph, +"is my little sweet. She'll be back from Church directly. There's +something about her which reminds me a little of you," and it did not +seem to him peculiar that he had put it thus, instead of saying: +"There's something about you which reminds me a little of her." Ah! +And here she was! + +Holly, followed closely by her elderly French governess, whose +digestion had been ruined twenty-two years ago in the siege of +Strasbourg, came rushing towards them from under the oak tree. She +stopped about a dozen yards away, to pat Balthasar and pretend that +this was all she had in her mind. Old Jolyon who knew better, said: + +"Well, my darling, here's the lady in grey I promised you." + +Holly raised herself and looked up. He watched the two of them with +a twinkle, Irene smiling, Holly beginning with grave inquiry, passing +into a shy smile too, and then to something deeper. She had a sense +of beauty, that child--knew what was what! He enjoyed the sight of +the kiss between them. + +"Mrs. Heron, Mam'zelle Beauce. Well, Mam'zelle--good sermon?" + +For, now that he had not much more time before him, the only part of +the service connected with this world absorbed what interest in +church remained to him. Mam'zelle Beauce stretched out a spidery +hand clad in a black kid glove--she had been in the best families-- +and the rather sad eyes of her lean yellowish face seemed to ask: +"Are you well-brrred?" Whenever Holly or Jolly did anything +unpleasing to her--a not uncommon occurrence he would say to them: +"The little Tayleurs never did that--they were such well-brrred +little children." Jolly hated the little Tayleurs; Holly wondered +dreadfully how it was she fell so short of them. 'A thin rum little +soul,' old Jolyon thought her--Mam'zelle Beauce. + +Luncheon was a successful meal, the mushrooms which he himself had +picked in the mushroom house, his chosen strawberries, and another +bottle of the Steinberg cabinet filled him with a certain aromatic +spirituality, and a conviction that he would have a touch of eczema +to-morrow. + +After lunch they sat under the oak tree drinking Turkish coffee. It +was no matter of grief to him when Mademoiselle Beauce withdrew to +write her Sunday letter to her sister, whose future had been +endangered in the past by swallowing a pin--an event held up daily in +warning to the children to eat slowly and digest what they had eaten. +At the foot of the bank, on a carriage rug, Holly and the dog +Balthasar teased and loved each other, and in the shade old Jolyon +with his legs crossed and his cigar luxuriously savoured, gazed at +Irene sitting in the swing. A light, vaguely swaying, grey figure +with a fleck of sunlight here and there upon it, lips just opened, +eyes dark and soft under lids a little drooped. She looked content; +surely it did her good to come and see him! The selfishness of age +had not set its proper grip on him, for he could still feel pleasure +in the pleasure of others, realising that what he wanted, though +much, was not quite all that mattered. + +"It's quiet here," he said; "you mustn't come down if you find it +dull. But it's a pleasure to see you. My little sweet's is the only +face which gives me any pleasure, except yours." + +>From her smile he knew that she was not beyond liking to be +appreciated, and this reassured him. "That's not humbug," he said. +"I never told a woman I admired her when I didn't. In fact I +don't know when I've told a woman I admired her, except my wife in +the old days; and wives are funny." He was silent, but resumed +abruptly: + +"She used to expect me to say it more often than I felt it, and there +we were." Her face looked mysteriously troubled, and, afraid that +he had said something painful, he hurried on: "When my little sweet +marries, I hope she'll find someone who knows what women feel. I +shan't be here to see it, but there's too much topsy-turvydom in +marriage; I don't want her to pitch up against that." And, aware +that he had made bad worse, he added: "That dog will scratch." + +A silence followed. Of what was she thinking, this pretty creature +whose life was spoiled; who had done with love, and yet was made for +love? Some day when he was gone, perhaps, she would find another +mate--not so disorderly as that young fellow who had got himself run +over. Ah! but her husband? + +"Does Soames never trouble you?" he asked. + +She shook her head. Her face had closed up suddenly. For all her +softness there was something irreconcilable about her. And a glimpse +of light on the inexorable nature of sex antipathies strayed into a +brain which, belonging to early Victorian civil-isation--so much +older than this of his old age--had never thought about such +primitive things. + +"That's a comfort," he said. "You can see the Grand Stand to-day. +Shall we take a turn round?" + +Through the flower and fruit garden, against whose high outer walls +peach trees and nectarines were trained to the sun, through the +stables, the vinery, the mushroom house, the asparagus beds, the +rosery, the summer-house, he conducted her--even into the kitchen +garden to see the tiny green peas which Holly loved to scoop out of +their pods with her finger, and lick up from the palm of her little +brown hand. Many delightful things he showed her, while Holly and +the dog Balthasar danced ahead, or came to them at intervals for +attention. It was one of the happiest afternoons he had ever spent, +but it tired him and he was glad to sit down in the music room and +let her give him tea. A special little friend of Holly's had come +in--a fair child with short hair like a boy's. And the two sported +in the distance, under the stairs, on the stairs, and up in the +gallery. Old Jolyon begged for Chopin. She played studies, +mazurkas, waltzes, till the two children, creeping near, stood at the +foot of the piano their dark and golden heads bent forward, +listening. Old Jolyon watched. + +"Let's see you dance, you two!" + +Shyly, with a false start, they began. Bobbing and circling, +earnest, not very adroit, they went past and past his chair to the +strains of that waltz. He watched them and the face of her who was +playing turned smiling towards those little dancers thinking: + +'Sweetest picture I've seen for ages.' + +A voice said: + +"Hollee! Mais enfin--quest-ce que tu fais la--danser, le dimanche! +Viens, donc!" + +But the children came close to old Jolyon, knowing that he would save +them, and gazed into a face which was decidedly 'caught out.' + +"Better the day, better the deed, Mam'zelle. It's all my doing. +Trot along, chicks, and have your tea." + +And, when they were gone, followed by the dog Balthasar, who took +every meal, he looked at Irene with a twinkle and said: + +"Well, there we are! Aren't they sweet? Have you any little ones +among your pupils?" + +"Yes, three--two of them darlings." + +"Pretty?" + +"Lovely!" + +Old Jolyon sighed; he had an insatiable appetite for the very young. +"My little sweet," he said, "is devoted to music; she'll be a +musician some day. You wouldn't give me your opinion of her playing, +I suppose?" + +"Of course I will." + +"You wouldn't like--" but he stifled the words "to give her lessons." +The idea that she gave lessons was unpleasant to him; yet it would +mean that he would see her regularly. She left the piano and came +over to his chair. + +"I would like, very much; but there is--June. When are they coming +back?" + +Old Jolyon frowned. "Not till the middle of next month. What does +that matter?" + +"You said June had forgiven me; but she could never forget, Uncle +Jolyon." + +Forget! She must forget, if he wanted her to. + +But as if answering, Irene shook her head. "You know she couldn't; +one doesn't forget." + +Always that wretched past! And he said with a sort of vexed finality: + +"Well, we shall see." + +He talked to her an hour or more, of the children, and a hundred +little things, till the carriage came round to take her home. And +when she had gone he went back to his chair, and sat there smoothing +his face and chin, dreaming over the day. + +That evening after dinner he went to his study and took a sheet of +paper. He stayed for some minutes without writing, then rose and +stood under the masterpiece 'Dutch Fishing Boats at Sunset.' He was +not thinking of that picture, but of his life. He was going to leave +her something in his Will; nothing could so have stirred the stilly +deeps of thought and memory. He was going to leave her a portion of +his wealth, of his aspirations, deeds, qualities, work--all that had +made that wealth; going to leave her, too, a part of all he had +missed in life, by his sane and steady pursuit of wealth. All! What +had he missed? 'Dutch Fishing Boats' responded blankly; he crossed +to the French window, and drawing the curtain aside, opened it. A +wind had got up, and one of last year's oak leaves which had somehow +survived the gardener's brooms, was dragging itself with a tiny +clicking rustle along the stone terrace in the twilight. Except for +that it was very quiet out there, and he could smell the heliotrope +watered not long since. A bat went by. A bird uttered its last +'cheep.' And right above the oak tree the first star shone. Faust +in the opera had bartered his soul for some fresh years of youth. +Morbid notion! No such bargain was possible, that was real tragedy! +No making oneself new again for love or life or anything. Nothing +left to do but enjoy beauty from afar off while you could, and leave +it something in your Will. But how much? And, as if he could not +make that calculation looking out into the mild freedom of the +country night, he turned back and went up to the chimney-piece. +There were his pet bronzes--a Cleopatra with the asp at her breast; a +Socrates; a greyhound playing with her puppy; a strong man reining in +some horses. 'They last!' he thought, and a pang went through his +heart. They had a thousand years of life before them! + +'How much?' Well! enough at all events to save her getting old before +her time, to keep the lines out of her face as long as possible, and +grey from soiling that bright hair. He might live another five +years. She would be well over thirty by then. 'How much?' She had +none of his blood in her! In loyalty to the tenor of his life for +forty years and more, ever since he married and founded that +mysterious thing, a family, came this warning thought--None of his +blood, no right to anything! It was a luxury then, this notion. An +extravagance, a petting of an old man's whim, one of those things +done in dotage. His real future was vested in those who had his +blood, in whom he would live on when he was gone. He turned away +from the bronzes and stood looking at the old leather chair in which +he had sat and smoked so many hundreds of cigars. And suddenly he +seemed to see her sitting there in her grey dress, fragrant, soft, +dark-eyed, graceful, looking up at him. Why! She cared nothing for +him, really; all she cared for was that lost lover of hers. But she +was there, whether she would or no, giving him pleasure with her +beauty and grace. One had no right to inflict an old man's company, +no right to ask her down to play to him and let him look at her--for +no reward! Pleasure must be paid for in this world. 'How much?' +After all, there was plenty; his son and his three grandchildren +would never miss that little lump. He had made it himself, nearly +every penny; he could leave it where he liked, allow himself this +little pleasure. He went back to the bureau. 'Well, I'm going to,' +he thought, 'let them think what they like. I'm going to!' And he +sat down. + +'How much?' Ten thousand, twenty thousand--how much? If only with his +money he could buy one year, one month of youth. And startled by +that thought, he wrote quickly: + + +'DEAR HERRING,--Draw me a codicil to this effect: "I leave to my +niece Irene Forsyte, born Irene Heron, by which name she now goes, +fifteen thousand pounds free of legacy duty." +'Yours faithfully, +'JOLYON FORSYTE.' + + +When he had sealed and stamped the envelope, he went back to the +window and drew in a long breath. It was dark, but many stars shone +now. + + + + +IV + + +He woke at half-past two, an hour which long experience had taught +him brings panic intensity to all awkward thoughts. Experience had +also taught him that a further waking at the proper hour of eight +showed the folly of such panic. On this particular morning the +thought which gathered rapid momentum was that if he became ill, at +his age not improbable, he would not see her. From this it was but a +step to realisation that he would be cut off, too, when his son and +June returned from Spain. How could he justify desire for the +company of one who had stolen--early morning does not mince words-- +June's lover? That lover was dead; but June was a stubborn little +thing; warm-hearted, but stubborn as wood, and--quite true--not one +who forgot! By the middle of next month they would be back. He had +barely five weeks left to enjoy the new interest which had come into +what remained of his life. Darkness showed up to him absurdly clear +the nature of his feeling. Admiration for beauty--a craving to see +that which delighted his eyes. + +Preposterous, at his age! And yet--what other reason was there for +asking June to undergo such painful reminder, and how prevent his son +and his son's wife from thinking him very queer? He would be reduced +to sneaking up to London, which tired him; and the least +indisposition would cut him off even from that. He lay with eyes +open, setting his jaw against the prospect, and calling himself an +old fool, while his heart beat loudly, and then seemed to stop +beating altogether. He had seen the dawn lighting the window chinks, +heard the birds chirp and twitter, and the cocks crow, before he fell +asleep again, and awoke tired but sane. Five weeks before he need +bother, at his age an eternity! But that early morning panic had +left its mark, had slightly fevered the will of one who had always +had his own way. He would see her as often as he wished! Why not go +up to town and make that codicil at his solicitor's instead of +writing about it; she might like to go to the opera! But, by train, +for he would not have that fat chap Beacon grinning behind his back. +Servants were such fools; and, as likely as not, they had known all +the past history of Irene and young Bosinney--servants knew +everything, and suspected the rest. He wrote to her that morning: + + +"MY DEAR IRENE,--I have to be up in town to-morrow. If you would +like to have a look in at the opera, come and dine with me quietly +...." + +But where? It was decades since he had dined anywhere in London save +at his Club or at a private house. Ah! that new-fangled place close +to Covent Garden.... + +"Let me have a line to-morrow morning to the Piedmont Hotel whether +to expect you there at 7 o'clock." +"Yours affectionately, +"JOLYON FORSYTE." + + +She would understand that he just wanted to give her a little +pleasure; for the idea that she should guess he had this itch to see +her was instinctively unpleasant to him; it was not seemly that one +so old should go out of his way to see beauty, especially in a woman. + +The journey next day, short though it was, and the visit to his +lawyer's, tired him. It was hot too, and after dressing for dinner +he lay down on the sofa in his bedroom to rest a little. He must +have had a sort of fainting fit, for he came to himself feeling very +queer; and with some difficulty rose and rang the bell. Why! it was +past seven! And there he was and she would be waiting. But suddenly +the dizziness came on again, and he was obliged to relapse on the +sofa. He heard the maid's voice say: + +"Did you ring, sir?" + +"Yes, come here"; he could not see her clearly, for the cloud in +front of his eyes. "I'm not well, I want some sal volatile." + +"Yes, sir." Her voice sounded frightened. + +Old Jolyon made an effort. + +"Don't go. Take this message to my niece--a lady waiting in the +hall--a lady in grey. Say Mr. Forsyte is not well--the heat. He is +very sorry; if he is not down directly, she is not to wait dinner." + +When she was gone, he thought feebly: 'Why did I say a lady in grey-- +she may be in anything. Sal volatile!' He did not go off again, yet +was not conscious of how Irene came to be standing beside him, +holding smelling salts to his nose, and pushing a pillow up behind +his head. He heard her say anxiously: "Dear Uncle Jolyon, what is +it?" was dimly conscious of the soft pressure of her lips on his +hand; then drew a long breath of smelling salts, suddenly discovered +strength in them, and sneezed. + +"Ha!" he said, "it's nothing. How did you get here? Go down and +dine--the tickets are on the dressing-table. I shall be all right in +a minute." + +He felt her cool hand on his forehead, smelled violets, and sat +divided between a sort of pleasure and a determination to be all +right. + +"Why! You are in grey!" he said. "Help me up." Once on his feet he +gave himself a shake. + +"What business had I to go off like that!" And he moved very slowly +to the glass. What a cadaverous chap! Her voice, behind him, +murmured: + +"You mustn't come down, Uncle; you must rest." + +"Fiddlesticks! A glass of champagne'll soon set me to rights. I +can't have you missing the opera." + +But the journey down the corridor was troublesome. What carpets they +had in these newfangled places, so thick that you tripped up in them +at every step! In the lift he noticed how concerned she looked, and +said with the ghost of a twinkle: + +"I'm a pretty host." + +When the lift stopped he had to hold firmly to the seat to prevent +its slipping under him; but after soup and a glass of champagne he +felt much better, and began to enjoy an infirmity which had brought +such solicitude into her manner towards him. + +"I should have liked you for a daughter," he said suddenly; and +watching the smile in her eyes, went on: + +"You mustn't get wrapped up in the past at your time of life; plenty +of that when you get to my age. That's a nice dress--I like the +style." + +"I made it myself." + +Ah! A woman who could make herself a pretty frock had not lost her +interest in life. + +"Make hay while the sun shines," he said; "and drink that up. I want +to see some colour in your cheeks. We mustn't waste life; it doesn't +do. There's a new Marguerite to-night; let's hope she won't be fat. +And Mephisto--anything more dreadful than a fat chap playing the +Devil I can't imagine." + +But they did not go to the opera after all, for in getting up from +dinner the dizziness came over him again, and she insisted on his +staying quiet and going to bed early. When he parted from her at the +door of the hotel, having paid the cabman to drive her to Chelsea, he +sat down again for a moment to enjoy the memory of her words: "You +are such a darling to me, Uncle Jolyon!" Why! Who wouldn't be! He +would have liked to stay up another day and take her to the Zoo, but +two days running of him would bore her to death. No, he must wait +till next Sunday; she had promised to come then. They would settle +those lessons for Holly, if only for a month. It would be something. +That little Mam'zelle Beauce wouldn't like it, but she would have to +lump it. And crushing his old opera hat against his chest he sought +the lift. + +He drove to Waterloo next morning, struggling with a desire to say: +'Drive me to Chelsea.' But his sense of proportion was too strong. +Besides, he still felt shaky, and did not want to risk another +aberration like that of last night, away from home. Holly, too, was +expecting him, and what he had in his bag for her. Not that there +was any cupboard love in his little sweet--she was a bundle of +affection. Then, with the rather bitter cynicism of the old, he +wondered for a second whether it was not cupboard love which made +Irene put up with him. No, she was not that sort either. She had, +if anything, too little notion of how to butter her bread, no sense +of property, poor thing! Besides, he had not breathed a word about +that codicil, nor should he--sufficient unto the day was the good +thereof. + +In the victoria which met him at the station Holly was restraining +the dog Balthasar, and their caresses made 'jubey' his drive home. +All the rest of that fine hot day and most of the next he was content +and peaceful, reposing in the shade, while the long lingering +sunshine showered gold on the lawns and the flowers. But on Thursday +evening at his lonely dinner he began to count the hours; sixty-five +till he would go down to meet her again in the little coppice, and +walk up through the fields at her side. He had intended to consult +the doctor about his fainting fit, but the fellow would be sure to +insist on quiet, no excitement and all that; and he did not mean to +be tied by the leg, did not want to be told of an infirmity--if there +were one, could not afford to hear of it at his time of life, now +that this new interest had come. And he carefully avoided making any +mention of it in a letter to his son. It would only bring them back +with a run! How far this silence was due to consideration for their +pleasure, how far to regard for his own, he did not pause to +consider. + +That night in his study he had just finished his cigar and was dozing +off, when he heard the rustle of a gown, and was conscious of a scent +of violets. Opening his eyes he saw her, dressed in grey, standing +by the fireplace, holding out her arms. The odd thing was that, +though those arms seemed to hold nothing, they were curved as if +round someone's neck, and her own neck was bent back, her lips open, +her eyes closed. She vanished at once, and there were the +mantelpiece and his bronzes. But those bronzes and the mantelpiece +had not been there when she was, only the fireplace and the wall! +Shaken and troubled, he got up. 'I must take medicine,' he thought; +'I can't be well.' His heart beat too fast, he had an asthmatic +feeling in the chest; and going to the window, he opened it to get +some air. A dog was barking far away, one of the dogs at Gage's farm +no doubt, beyond the coppice. A beautiful still night, but dark. 'I +dropped off,' he mused, 'that's it! And yet I'll swear my eyes were +open!' A sound like a sigh seemed to answer. + +"What's that?" he said sharply, "who's there?" + +Putting his hand to his side to still the beating of his heart, he +stepped out on the terrace. Something soft scurried by in the dark. +"Shoo!" It was that great grey cat. 'Young Bosinney was like a +great cat!' he thought. 'It was him in there, that she--that she +was--He's got her still!' He walked to the edge of the terrace, and +looked down into the darkness; he could just see the powdering of the +daisies on the unmown lawn. Here to-day and gone to-morrow! And +there came the moon, who saw all, young and old, alive and dead, and +didn't care a dump! His own turn soon. For a single day of youth he +would give what was left! And he turned again towards the house. He +could see the windows of the night nursery up there. His little +sweet would be asleep. 'Hope that dog won't wake her!' he thought. +'What is it makes us love, and makes us die! I must go to bed.' + +And across the terrace stones, growing grey in the moonlight, he +passed back within. + +How should an old man live his days if not in dreaming of his +well-spent past? In that, at all events, there is no agitating +warmth, only pale winter sunshine. The shell can withstand the +gentle beating of the dynamos of memory. The present he should +distrust; the future shun. From beneath thick shade he should watch +the sunlight creeping at his toes. If there be sun of summer, let +him not go out into it, mistaking it for the Indian-summer sun! Thus +peradventure he shall decline softly, slowly, imperceptibly, until +impatient Nature clutches his wind-pipe and he gasps away to death +some early morning before the world is aired, and they put on his +tombstone: 'In the fulness of years!' yea! If he preserve his +principles in perfect order, a Forsyte may live on long after he is +dead. + +Old Jolyon was conscious of all this, and yet there was in him that +which transcended Forsyteism. For it is written that a Forsyte shall +not love beauty more than reason; nor his own way more than his own +health. And something beat within him in these days that with each +throb fretted at the thinning shell. His sagacity knew this, but it +knew too that he could not stop that beating, nor would if he could. +And yet, if you had told him he was living on his capital, he would +have stared you down. No, no; a man did not live on his capital; it +was not done! The shibboleths of the past are ever more real than +the actualities of the present. And he, to whom living on one's +capital had always been anathema, could not have borne to have +applied so gross a phrase to his own case. Pleasure is healthful; +beauty good to see; to live again in the youth of the young--and what +else on earth was he doing! + +Methodically, as had been the way of his whole life, he now arranged +his time. On Tuesdays he journeyed up to town by train; Irene came +and dined with him. And they went to the opera. On Thursdays he +drove to town, and, putting that fat chap and his horses up, met her +in Kensington Gardens, picking up the carriage after he had left her, +and driving home again in time for dinner. He threw out the casual +formula that he had business in London on those two days. On +Wednesdays and Saturdays she came down to give Holly music lessons. +The greater the pleasure he took in her society, the more +scrupulously fastidious he became, just a matter-of-fact and friendly +uncle. Not even in feeling, really, was he more--for, after all, +there was his age. And yet, if she were late he fidgeted himself to +death. If she missed coming, which happened twice, his eyes grew sad +as an old dog's, and he failed to sleep. + +And so a month went by--a month of summer in the fields, and in his +heart, with summer's heat and the fatigue thereof. Who could have +believed a few weeks back that he would have looked forward to his +son's and his grand-daughter's return with something like dread! +There was such a delicious freedom, such recovery of that +independence a man enjoys before he founds a family, about these +weeks of lovely weather, and this new companionship with one who +demanded nothing, and remained always a little unknown, retaining the +fascination of mystery. It was like a draught of wine to him who has +been drinking water for so long that he has almost forgotten the stir +wine brings to his blood, the narcotic to his brain. The flowers +were coloured brighter, scents and music and the sunlight had a +living value--were no longer mere reminders of past enjoy-ment. +There was something now to live for which stirred him continually to +anticipation. He lived in that, not in retrospection; the difference +is considerable to any so old as he. The pleasures of the table, +never of much consequence to one naturally abstemious, had lost all +value. He ate little, without knowing what he ate; and every day +grew thinner and more worn to look at. He was again a 'threadpaper'; +and to this thinned form his massive forehead, with hollows at the +temples, gave more dignity than ever. He was very well aware that he +ought to see the doctor, but liberty was too sweet. He could not +afford to pet his frequent shortness of breath and the pain in his +side at the expense of liberty. Return to the vegetable existence he +had led among the agricultural journals with the life-size mangold +wurzels, before this new attraction came into his life--no! He +exceeded his allowance of cigars. Two a day had always been his +rule. Now he smoked three and sometimes four--a man will when he is +filled with the creative spirit. But very often he thought: 'I must +give up smoking, and coffee; I must give up rattling up to town.' +But he did not; there was no one in any sort of authority to notice +him, and this was a priceless boon. + +The servants perhaps wondered, but they were, naturally, dumb. +Mam'zelle Beauce was too concerned with her own digestion, and too +'wellbrrred' to make personal allusions. Holly had not as yet an eye +for the relative appearance of him who was her plaything and her god. +It was left for Irene herself to beg him to eat more, to rest in the +hot part of the day, to take a tonic, and so forth. But she did not +tell him that she was the a cause of his thinness--for one cannot see +the havoc oneself is working. A man of eighty-five has no passions, +but the Beauty which produces passion works on in the old way, till +death closes the eyes which crave the sight of Her. + +On the first day of the second week in July he received a letter from +his son in Paris to say that they would all be back on Friday. This +had always been more sure than Fate; but, with the pathetic +improvidence given to the old, that they may endure to the end, he +had never quite admitted it. Now he did, and something would have to +be done. He had ceased to be able to imagine life without this new +interest, but that which is not imagined sometimes exists, as +Forsytes are perpetually finding to their cost. He sat in his old +leather chair, doubling up the letter, and mumbling with his lips the +end of an unlighted cigar. After to-morrow his Tuesday expeditions +to town would have to be abandoned. He could still drive up, +perhaps, once a week, on the pretext of seeing his man of business. +But even that would be dependent on his health, for now they would +begin to fuss about him. The lessons! The lessons must go on! She +must swallow down her scruples, and June must put her feelings in her +pocket. She had done so once, on the day after the news of +Bosinney's death; what she had done then, she could surely do again +now. Four years since that injury was inflicted on her--not +Christian to keep the memory of old sores alive. June's will was +strong, but his was stronger, for his sands were running out. Irene +was soft, surely she would do this for him, subdue her natural +shrinking, sooner than give him pain! The lessons must continue; for +if they did, he was secure. And lighting his cigar at last, he began +trying to shape out how to put it to them all, and explain this +strange intimacy; how to veil and wrap it away from the naked truth-- +that he could not bear to be deprived of the sight of beauty. Ah! +Holly! Holly was fond of her, Holly liked her lessons. She would +save him--his little sweet! And with that happy thought he became +serene, and wondered what he had been worrying about so fearfully. +He must not worry, it left him always curiously weak, and as if but +half present in his own body. + +That evening after dinner he had a return of the dizziness, though he +did not faint. He would not ring the bell, because he knew it would +mean a fuss, and make his going up on the morrow more conspicuous. +When one grew old, the whole world was in conspiracy to limit +freedom, and for what reason?--just to keep the breath in him a +little longer. He did not want it at such cost. Only the dog +Balthasar saw his lonely recovery from that weakness; anxiously +watched his master go to the sideboard and drink some brandy, instead +of giving him a biscuit. When at last old Jolyon felt able to tackle +the stairs he went up to bed. And, though still shaky next morning, +the thought of the evening sustained and strengthened him. It was +always such a pleasure to give her a good dinner--he suspected her of +undereating when she was alone; and, at the opera to watch her eyes +glow and brighten, the unconscious smiling of her lips. She hadn't +much pleasure, and this was the last time he would be able to give +her that treat. But when he was packing his bag he caught himself +wishing that he had not the fatigue of dressing for dinner before +him, and the exertion, too, of telling her about June's return. + +The opera that evening was 'Carmen,' and he chose the last entr'acte +to break the news, instinctively putting it off till the latest +moment. + +She took it quietly, queerly; in fact, he did not know how she had +taken it before the wayward music lifted up again and silence became +necessary. The mask was down over her face, that mask behind which +so much went on that he could not see. She wanted time to think it +over, no doubt! He would not press her, for she would be coming to +give her lesson to-morrow afternoon, and he should see her then when +she had got used to the idea. In the cab he talked only of the +Carmen; he had seen better in the old days, but this one was not bad +at all. When he took her hand to say good-night, she bent quickly +forward and kissed his forehead. + +"Good-bye, dear Uncle Jolyon, you have been so sweet to me." + +"To-morrow then," he said. "Good-night. Sleep well." She echoed +softly: "Sleep welll" and from the cab window, already moving away, +he saw her face screwed round towards him, and her hand put out in a +gesture which seemed to linger. + +He sought his room slowly. They never gave him the same, and he +could not get used to these 'spick-and-spandy' bedrooms with new +furniture and grey-green carpets sprinkled all over with pink roses. +He was wakeful and that wretched Habanera kept throbbing in his head. + +His French had never been equal to its words, but its sense he knew, +if it had any sense, a gipsy thing--wild and unaccountable. Well, +there was in life something which upset all your care and plans-- +something which made men and women dance to its pipes. And he lay +staring from deep-sunk eyes into the darkness where the unaccountable +held sway. You thought you had hold of life, but it slipped away +behind you, took you by the scruff of the neck, forced you here and +forced you there, and then, likely as not, squeezed life out of you! +It took the very stars like that, he shouldn't wonder, rubbed their +noses together and flung them apart; it had never done playing its +pranks. Five million people in this great blunderbuss of a town, and +all of them at the mercy of that Life-Force, like a lot of little +dried peas hopping about on a board when you struck your fist on it. +Ah, well! Himself would not hop much longer--a good long sleep would +do him good! + +How hot it was up here!--how noisy! His forehead burned; she had +kissed it just where he always worried; just there--as if she had +known the very place and wanted to kiss it all away for him. But, +instead, her lips left a patch of grievous uneasiness. She had never +spoken in quite that voice, had never before made that lingering +gesture or looked back at him as she drove away. + +He got out of bed and pulled the curtains aside; his room faced down +over the river. There was little air, but the sight of that breadth +of water flowing by, calm, eternal, soothed him. 'The great thing,' +he thought 'is not to make myself a nuisance. I'll think of my +little sweet, and go to sleep.' But it was long before the heat and +throbbing of the London night died out into the short slumber of the +summer morning. And old Jolyon had but forty winks. + +When he reached home next day he went out to the flower garden, and +with the help of Holly, who was very delicate with flowers, gathered +a great bunch of carnations. They were, he told her, for 'the lady +in grey'--a name still bandied between them; and he put them in a +bowl in his study where he meant to tackle Irene the moment she came, +on the subject of June and future lessons. Their fragrance and +colour would help. After lunch he lay down, for he felt very tired, +and the carriage would not bring her from the station till four +o'clock. But as the hour approached he grew restless, and sought the +schoolroom, which overlooked the drive. The sun-blinds were down, +and Holly was there with Mademoiselle Beauce, sheltered from the heat +of a stifling July day, attending to their silkworms. Old Jolyon had +a natural antipathy to these methodical creatures, whose heads and +colour reminded him of elephants; who nibbled such quantities of +holes in nice green leaves; and smelled, as he thought, horrid. He +sat down on a chintz-covered windowseat whence he could see the +drive, and get what air there was; and the dog Balthasar who +appreciated chintz on hot days, jumped up beside him. Over the +cottage piano a violet dust-sheet, faded almost to grey, was spread, +and on it the first lavender, whose scent filled the room. In spite +of the coolness here, perhaps because of that coolness the beat of +life vehemently impressed his ebbed-down senses. Each sunbeam which +came through the chinks had annoying brilliance; that dog smelled +very strong; the lavender perfume was overpowering; those silkworms +heaving up their grey-green backs seemed horribly alive; and Holly's +dark head bent over them had a wonderfully silky sheen. A marvellous +cruelly strong thing was life when you were old and weak; it seemed +to mock you with its multitude of forms and its beating vitality. He +had never, till those last few weeks, had this curious feeling of +being with one half of him eagerly borne along in the stream of life, +and with the other half left on the bank, watching that helpless +progress. Only when Irene was with him did he lose this double +consciousness. + +Holly turned her head, pointed with her little brown fist to the +piano--for to point with a finger was not 'well-brrred'--and said +slyly: + +"Look at the 'lady in grey,' Gran; isn't she pretty to-day?" + +Old Jolyon's heart gave a flutter, and for a second the room was +clouded; then it cleared, and he said with a twinkle: + +"Who's been dressing her up?" + +"Mam'zelle." + +"Hollee! Don't be foolish!" + +That prim little Frenchwoman! She hadn't yet got over the music +lessons being taken away from her. That wouldn't help. His little +sweet was the only friend they had. Well, they were her lessons. +And he shouldn't budge shouldn't budge for anything. He stroked the +warm wool on Balthasar's head, and heard Holly say: "When mother's +home, there won't be any changes, will there? She doesn't like +strangers, you know." + +The child's words seemed to bring the chilly atmosphere of opposition +about old Jolyon, and disclose all the menace to his new-found +freedom. Ah! He would have to resign himself to being an old man at +the mercy of care and love, or fight to keep this new and prized +companionship; and to fight tired him to death. But his thin, worn +face hardened into resolution till it appeared all Jaw. This was his +house, and his affair; he should not budge! He looked at his watch, +old and thin like himself; he had owned it fifty years. Past four +already! And kissing the top of Holly's head in passing, he went +down to the hall. He wanted to get hold of her before she went up to +give her lesson. At the first sound of wheels he stepped out into +the porch, and saw at once that the victoria was empty. + +"The train's in, sir; but the lady 'asn't come." + +Old Jolyon gave him a sharp upward look, his eyes seemed to push away +that fat chap's curiosity, and defy him to see the bitter +disappointment he was feeling. + +"Very well," he said, and turned back into the house. He went to his +study and sat down, quivering like a leaf. What did this mean? She +might have lost her train, but he knew well enough she hadn't. +'Good-bye, dear Uncle Jolyon.' Why 'Good-bye' and not 'Good-night'? +And that hand of hers lingering in the air. And her kiss. What did +it mean? Vehement alarm and irritation took possession of him. He +got up and began to pace the Turkey carpet, between window and wall. +She was going to give him up! He felt it for certain--and he +defenceless. An old man wanting to look on beauty! It was +ridiculous! Age closed his mouth, paralysed his power to fight. He +had no right to what was warm and living, no right to anything but +memories and sorrow. He could not plead with her; even an old man +has his dignity. Defenceless! For an hour, lost to bodily fatigue, +he paced up and down, past the bowl of carnations he had plucked, +which mocked him with its scent. Of all things hard to bear, the +prostration of will-power is hardest, for one who has always had his +way. Nature had got him in its net, and like an unhappy fish he +turned and swam at the meshes, here and there, found no hole, no +breaking point. They brought him tea at five o'clock, and a letter. +For a moment hope beat up in him. He cut the envelope with the +butter knife, and read: + + +"DEAREST UNCLE JOLYON,--I can't bear to write anything that may +disappoint you, but I was too cowardly to tell you last night. I +feel I can't come down and give Holly any more lessons, now that June +is coming back. Some things go too deep to be forgotten. It has +been such a joy to see you and Holly. Perhaps I shall still see you +sometimes when you come up, though I'm sure it's not good for you; I +can see you are tiring yourself too much. I believe you ought to +rest quite quietly all this hot weather, and now you have your son +and June coming back you will be so happy. Thank you a million times +for all your sweetness to me. + +"Lovingly your IRENE." + + +So, there it was! Not good for him to have pleasure and what he +chiefly cared about; to try and put off feeling the inevitable end of +all things, the approach of death with its stealthy, rustling +footsteps. Not good for him! Not even she could see how she was his +new lease of interest in life, the incarnation of all the beauty he +felt slipping from him. + +His tea grew cold, his cigar remained unlit; and up and down he +paced, torn between his dignity and his hold on life. Intolerable to +be squeezed out slowly, without a say of your own, to live on when +your will was in the hands of others bent on weighing you to the +ground with care and love. Intolerable! He would see what telling +her the truth would do--the truth that he wanted the sight of her +more than just a lingering on. He sat down at his old bureau and +took a pen. But he could not write. There was some-thing revolting +in having to plead like this; plead that she should warm his eyes +with her beauty. It was tantamount to confessing dotage. He simply +could not. And instead, he wrote: + + +"I had hoped that the memory of old sores would not be allowed to +stand in the way of what is a pleasure and a profit to me and my +little grand-daughter. But old men learn to forego their whims; they +are obliged to, even the whim to live must be foregone sooner or +later; and perhaps the sooner the better. +"My love to you, +"JOLYON FORSYTE." + + +'Bitter,' he thought, 'but I can't help it. I'm tired.' He sealed +and dropped it into the box for the evening post, and hearing it fall +to the bottom, thought: 'There goes all I've looked forward to!' + +That evening after dinner which he scarcely touched, after his cigar +which he left half-smoked for it made him feel faint, he went very +slowly upstairs and stole into the night-nursery. He sat down on the +window-seat. A night-light was burning, and he could just see +Holly's face, with one hand underneath the cheek. An early +cockchafer buzzed in the Japanese paper with which they had filled +the grate, and one of the horses in the stable stamped restlessly. +To sleep like that child! He pressed apart two rungs of the venetian +blind and looked out. The moon was rising, blood-red. He had never +seen so red a moon. The woods and fields out there were dropping to +sleep too, in the last glimmer of the summer light. And beauty, like +a spirit, walked. 'I've had a long life,' he thought, 'the best of +nearly everything. I'm an ungrateful chap; I've seen a lot of beauty +in my time. Poor young Bosinney said I had a sense of beauty. +There's a man in the moon to-night!' A moth went by, another, +another. 'Ladies in grey!' He closed his eyes. A feeling that he +would never open them again beset him; he let it grow, let himself +sink; then, with a shiver, dragged the lids up. There was something +wrong with him, no doubt, deeply wrong; he would have to have the +doctor after all. It didn't much matter now! Into that coppice the +moon-light would have crept; there would be shadows, and those +shadows would be the only things awake. No birds, beasts, flowers, +insects; Just the shadows--moving; 'Ladies in grey!' Over that log +they would climb; would whisper together. She and Bosinney! Funny +thought! And the frogs and little things would whisper too! How the +clock ticked, in here! It was all eerie-out there in the light of +that red moon; in here with the little steady night-light and, the +ticking clock and the nurse's dressing-gown hanging from the edge of +the screen, tall, like a woman's figure. 'Lady in grey!' And a very +odd thought beset him: Did she exist? Had she ever come at all? Or +was she but the emanation of all the beauty he had loved and must +leave so soon? The violet-grey spirit with the dark eyes and the +crown of amber hair, who walks the dawn and the moonlight, and at +blue-bell time? What was she, who was she, did she exist? He rose +and stood a moment clutching the window-sill, to give him a sense of +reality again; then began tiptoeing towards the door. He stopped at +the foot of the bed; and Holly, as if conscious of his eyes fixed on +her, stirred, sighed, and curled up closer in defence. He tiptoed on +and passed out into the dark passage; reached his room, undressed at +once, and stood before a mirror in his night-shirt. What a +scarecrow--with temples fallen in, and thin legs! His eyes resisted +his own image, and a look of pride came on his face. All was in +league to pull him down, even his reflection in the glass, but he was +not down--yet! He got into bed, and lay a long time without +sleeping, trying to reach resignation, only too well aware that +fretting and disappointment were very bad for him. He woke in the +morning so unrefreshed and strengthless that he sent for the doctor. +After sounding him, the fellow pulled a face as long as your arm, and +ordered him to stay in bed and give up smoking. That was no +hardship; there was nothing to get up for, and when he felt ill, +tobacco always lost its savour. He spent the morning languidly with +the sun-blinds down, turning and re-turning The Times, not reading +much, the dog Balthasar lying beside his bed. With his lunch they +brought him a telegram, running thus: + + +'Your letter received coming down this afternoon will be with you at +four-thirty. Irene.' + + +Coming down! After all! Then she did exist--and he was not +deserted. Coming down! A glow ran through his limbs; his cheeks and +forehead felt hot. He drank his soup, and pushed the tray-table +away, lying very quiet until they had removed lunch and left him +alone; but every now and then his eyes twinkled. Coming down! His +heart beat fast, and then did not seem to beat at all. At three +o'clock he got up and dressed deliberately, noiselessly. Holly and +Mam'zelle would be in the schoolroom, and the servants asleep after +their dinner, he shouldn't wonder. He opened his door cautiously, +and went downstairs. In the hall the dog Balthasar lay solitary, +and, followed by him, old Jolyon passed into his study and out into +the burning afternoon. He meant to go down and meet her in the +coppice, but felt at once he could not manage that in this heat. He +sat down instead under the oak tree by the swing, and the dog +Balthasar, who also felt the heat, lay down beside him. He sat there +smiling. What a revel of bright minutes! What a hum of insects, and +cooing of pigeons! It was the quintessence of a summer day. Lovely! +And he was happy--happy as a sand-boy, what-ever that might be. She +was coming; she had not given him up! He had everything in life he +wanted--except a little more breath, and less weight--just here! He +would see her when she emerged from the fernery, come swaying just a +little, a violet-grey figure passing over the daisies and dandelions +and 'soldiers' on the lawn--the soldiers with their flowery crowns. +He would not move, but she would come up to him and say: 'Dear Uncle +Jolyon, I am sorry!' and sit in the swing and let him look at her and +tell her that he had not been very well but was all right now; and +that dog would lick her hand. That dog knew his master was fond of +her; that dog was a good dog. + +It was quite shady under the tree; the sun could not get at him, only +make the rest of the world bright so that he could see the Grand +Stand at Epsom away out there, very far, and the cows crop-ping the +clover in the field and swishing at the flies with their tails. He +smelled the scent of limes, and lavender. Ah! that was why there +was such a racket of bees. They were excited--busy, as his heart was +busy and excited. Drowsy, too, drowsy and drugged on honey and +happiness; as his heart was drugged and drowsy. Summer--summer--they +seemed saying; great bees and little bees, and the flies too! + +The stable clock struck four; in half an hour she would be here. He +would have just one tiny nap, because he had had so little sleep of +late; and then he would be fresh for her, fresh for youth and beauty, +coming towards him across the sunlit lawn--lady in grey! And +settling back in his chair he closed his eyes. Some thistle-down +came on what little air there was, and pitched on his moustache more +white than itself. He did not know; but his breathing stirred it, +caught there. A ray of sunlight struck through and lodged on his +boot. A bumble-bee alighted and strolled on the crown of his Panama +hat. And the delicious surge of slumber reached the brain beneath +that hat, and the head swayed forward and rested on his breast. +Summer--summer! So went the hum. + +The stable clock struck the quarter past. The dog Balthasar +stretched and looked up at his master. The thistledown no longer +moved. The dog placed his chin over the sunlit foot. It did not +stir. The dog withdrew his chin quickly, rose, and leaped on old +Jolyon's lap, looked in his face, whined; then, leaping down, sat on +his haunches, gazing up. And suddenly he uttered a long, long howl. + +But the thistledown was still as death, and the face of his old +master. + +Summer--summer--summer! The soundless footsteps on the grass! + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy + |