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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hero, by William Somerset Maugham
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Hero
+
+Author: William Somerset Maugham
+
+Release Date: October 27, 2008 [EBook #27063]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HERO ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
+produced from scanned images of public domain material
+from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE HERO
+
+BY
+
+WILLIAM SOMERSET MAUGHAM
+
+AUTHOR OF
+"LIZA OF LAMBETH," "THE MAKING Of A SAINT," "ORIENTATIONS"
+
+London . . . . .
+HUTCHINSON & CO.
+Paternoster Row. 1901
+
+
+      "Rule, Britannia!
+  Britannia, rule the waves;
+  Britons never will be slaves."
+        _"Alfred": a Masque. By James Thomson._
+
+  "O Sophonisba, Sophonisba, O!"
+     _"Sophonisba": a Tragedy. By the same Author._
+
+
+To
+
+MISS JULIA MAUGHAM
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE HERO
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+Colonel Parsons sat by the window in the dining-room to catch the last
+glimmer of the fading day, looking through his _Standard_ to make sure
+that he had overlooked no part of it. Finally, with a little sigh, he
+folded it up, and taking off his spectacles, put them in their case.
+
+"Have you finished the paper?" asked his wife
+
+"Yes, I think I've read it all. There's nothing in it."
+
+He looked out of window at the well-kept drive that led to the house,
+and at the trim laurel bushes which separated the front garden from the
+village green. His eyes rested, with a happy smile, upon the triumphal
+arch which decorated the gate for the home-coming of his son, expected
+the next day from South Africa. Mrs. Parsons knitted diligently at a
+sock for her husband, working with quick and clever fingers. He watched
+the rapid glint of the needles.
+
+"You'll try your eyes if you go on much longer with this light, my
+dear."
+
+"Oh, I don't require to see," replied his wife, with a gentle,
+affectionate smile. But she stopped, rather tired, and laying the sock
+on the table, smoothed it out with her hand.
+
+"I shouldn't mind if you made it a bit higher in the leg than the last
+pair."
+
+"How high would you like it?"
+
+She went to the window so that the Colonel might show the exact length
+he desired; and when he had made up his mind, sat down again quietly on
+her chair by the fireside, with hands crossed on her lap, waiting
+placidly for the maid to bring the lamp.
+
+Mrs. Parsons was a tall woman of fifty-five, carrying herself with a
+certain diffidence, as though a little ashamed of her stature, greater
+than the Colonel's; it had seemed to her through life that those extra
+inches savoured, after a fashion, of disrespect. She knew it was her
+duty spiritually to look up to her husband, yet physically she was
+always forced to look down. And eager to prevent even the remotest
+suspicion of wrong-doing, she had taken care to be so submissive in her
+behaviour as to leave no doubt that she recognised the obligation of
+respectful obedience enjoined by the Bible, and confirmed by her own
+conscience. Mrs. Parsons was the gentlest of creatures, and the most
+kind-hearted; she looked upon her husband with great and unalterable
+affection, admiring intensely both his head and his heart. He was her
+type of the upright man, walking in the ways of the Lord. You saw in the
+placid, smooth brow of the Colonel's wife, in her calm eyes, even in the
+severe arrangement of the hair, parted in the middle and drawn back,
+that her character was frank, simple, and straightforward. She was a
+woman to whom evil had never offered the smallest attraction; she was
+merely aware of its existence theoretically. To her the only way of life
+had been that which led to God; the others had been non-existent. Duty
+had one hand only, and only one finger; and that finger had always
+pointed definitely in one direction. Yet Mrs. Parsons had a firm mouth,
+and a chin square enough to add another impression. As she sat
+motionless, hands crossed, watching her husband with loving eyes, you
+might have divined that, however kind-hearted, she was not indulgent,
+neither lenient to her own faults nor to those of others; perfectly
+unassuming, but with a sense of duty, a feeling of the absolute
+rightness of some deeds and of the absolute wrongness of others, which
+would be, even to those she loved best in the world, utterly unsparing.
+
+"Here's a telegraph boy!" said Colonel Parsons suddenly. "Jamie can't
+have arrived yet!"
+
+"Oh, Richmond!"
+
+Mrs. Parsons sprang from her chair, and a colour brightened her pale
+cheeks. Her heart beat painfully, and tears of eager expectation filled
+her eyes.
+
+"It's probably only from William, to say the ship is signalled," said
+the Colonel, to quieten her; but his own voice trembled with anxiety.
+
+"Nothing can have happened, Richmond, can it?" said Mrs. Parsons, her
+cheeks blanching again at the idea.
+
+"No, no! Of course not! How silly you are!" The telegram was brought in
+by the servant. "I can't see without a light," said the Colonel.
+
+"Oh, give it me; I can see quite well."
+
+Mrs. Parsons took it to the window, and with trembling hand tore it
+open.
+
+"_Arriving to-night; 7.25._--JAMIE."
+
+Mrs. Parson looked for one moment at her husband, and then, unable to
+restrain herself, sank on a chair, and hiding her face with her hands,
+burst into tears.
+
+"Come, come, Frances," said the Colonel, trying to smile, but half
+choked with his own emotion, "don't cry! You ought to laugh when you
+know the boy's coming home."
+
+He patted her on the shoulder, and she took his hand, holding it for
+comfort. With the other, the Colonel loudly blew his nose. At last Mrs
+Parsons dried her eyes.
+
+"Oh, I thank God that it's all over! He's coming home. I hope we shall
+never have to endure again that anxiety. It makes me tremble still when
+I think how we used to long for the paper to come, and dread it; how we
+used to look all through the list of casualties, fearing to see the
+boy's name."
+
+"Well, well, it's all over now," said the Colonel cheerily, blowing his
+nose again. "How pleased Mary will be!"
+
+It was characteristic of him that almost his first thought was of the
+pleasure this earlier arrival would cause to Mary Clibborn, the girl to
+whom, for five years, his son had been engaged.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Parson, "but she'll be dreadfully disappointed not to
+be here; she's gone to the Polsons in Tunbridge Wells, and she won't be
+home till after supper."
+
+"That is a pity. I'm afraid it's too late to go and meet him; it's
+nearly seven already."
+
+"Oh, yes; and it's damp this evening. I don't think you ought to go
+out."
+
+Then Mrs. Parsons roused herself to household matters.
+
+"There's the supper to think of, Richmond," she said; "we've only the
+rest of the cold mutton, and there's not time to cook one of to-morrow's
+chickens."
+
+They had invited three or four friends to dinner on the following day to
+celebrate the return of their son, and Mrs. Parsons had laid in for the
+occasion a store of solid things.
+
+"Well, we might try and get some chops. I expect Howe is open still."
+
+"Yes, I'll send Betty out. And we can have a blanc-mange for a sweet."
+
+Mrs. Parsons went to give the necessary orders, and the Colonel walked
+up to his son's room to see, for the hundredth time, that everything was
+in order. They had discussed for days the question whether the young
+soldier should be given the best spare bedroom or that which he had used
+from his boyhood. It was wonderful the thought they expended in
+preparing everything as they fancied he would like it; no detail slipped
+their memory, and they arranged and rearranged so that he should find
+nothing altered in his absence. They attempted to satisfy in this manner
+the eager longing of their hearts; it made them both a little happier to
+know that they were actually doing something for their son. No pain in
+love is so hard to bear as that which comes from the impossibility of
+doing any service for the well-beloved, and no service is so repulsive
+that love cannot make it delightful and easy. They had not seen him for
+five years, their only child; for he had gone from Sandhurst straight to
+India, and thence, on the outbreak of war, to the Cape. No one knew how
+much the lonely parents had felt the long separation, how eagerly they
+awaited his letters, how often they read them.
+
+* * *
+
+But it was more than parental affection which caused the passionate
+interest they took in Jamie's career. They looked to him to restore the
+good name which his father had lost. Four generations of Parsons had
+been in the army, and had borne themselves with honour to their family
+and with credit to themselves. It was a fine record that Colonel Parsons
+inherited of brave men and good soldiers; and he, the truest, bravest,
+most honourable of them all, had dragged the name through the dust; had
+been forced from the service under a storm of obloquy, disgraced,
+dishonoured, ruined.
+
+Colonel Parsons had done the greater portion of his service creditably
+enough. He had always put his God before the War Office, but the result
+had not been objectionable; he looked upon his men with fatherly
+affection, and the regiment, under his command, was almost a model of
+propriety and seemliness. His influence was invariably for good, and his
+subordinates knew that in him they had always a trusty friend; few men
+had gained more love. He was a mild, even-tempered fellow, and in no
+circumstance of life forgot to love his neighbour as himself; he never
+allowed it to slip his memory that even the lowest caste native had an
+immortal soul, and before God equal rights with him. Colonel Parsons was
+a man whose piety was so unaggressive, so good-humoured, so simple, that
+none could resist it; ribaldry and blasphemy were instinctively hushed
+in his presence, and even the most hardened ruffian was softened by his
+contact.
+
+But a couple of years before he would naturally have been put on
+half-pay under the age limit, a little expedition was arranged against
+some unruly hill-tribes, and Colonel Parsons was given the command. He
+took the enemy by surprise, finding them at the foot of the hills, and
+cut off, by means of flanking bodies, their retreat through the two
+passes behind. He placed his guns on a line of hillocks to the right,
+and held the tribesmen in the hollow of his hand. He could have
+massacred them all, but nothing was farther from his thoughts. He
+summoned them to surrender, and towards evening the headmen came in and
+agreed to give up their rifles next day; the night was cold, and dark,
+and stormy. The good Colonel was delighted with the success both of his
+stratagem and of his humanity. He had not shed a single drop of blood.
+
+"Treat them well," he said, "and they'll treat you better."
+
+He acted like a gentleman and a Christian; but the enemy were neither.
+He never dreamed that he was being completely overreached, that the
+natives were using the delay he had unsuspectingly granted to send over
+the hills urgent messages for help. Through the night armed men had been
+coming stealthily, silently, from all sides; and in the early morning,
+before dawn, his flanking parties were attacked. Colonel Parsons, rather
+astonished, sent them help, and thinking himself still superior in
+numbers to the rebellious tribesmen, attacked their main body. They
+wanted nothing better. Falling back slowly, they drew him into the
+mountain defiles until he found himself entrapped. His little force was
+surrounded. Five hours were passed in almost blind confusion; men were
+shot down like flies by an enemy they could not see; and when, by
+desperate fighting, they managed to cut their way out, fifty were
+killed and over a hundred more were wounded.
+
+Colonel Parsons escaped with only the remnants of the fine force he had
+commanded, and they were nerveless, broken, almost panic-stricken. He
+was obliged to retreat. The Colonel was a brave man; he did what he could
+to prevent the march from becoming a disorderly rout. He gathered his
+men together, put courage into them, risked his life a dozen times; but
+nothing could disguise the fact that his failure was disastrous. It was
+a small affair and was hushed up, but the consequences were not to be
+forgotten. The hill-tribes, emboldened by their success, became more
+venturesome, more unruly. A disturbance which might have been settled
+without difficulty now required a large force to put it down, and ten
+times more lives were lost.
+
+Colonel Parsons was required to send in his papers, and left India a
+broken man.... He came back to England, and settled in his father's
+house at Little Primpton. His agony continued, and looking into the
+future, he saw only hideous despair, unavailing regret. For months he
+could bear to see no one, imagining always that he was pointed out as
+the man whose folly had cost so many lives. When he heard people laugh
+he thought it was in scorn of him; when he saw compassion in their eyes
+he could scarcely restrain his tears. He was indeed utterly broken. He
+walked in his garden, away from the eyes of his fellows, up and down,
+continually turning over in his mind the events of that terrible week.
+And he could not console himself by thinking that any other course would
+have led to just as bad results. His error was too plain; he could put
+his finger exactly on the point of his failure and say, "O God! why did
+I do it?" And as he walked restlessly, unmindful of heat and cold, the
+tears ran down his thin cheeks, painful and scalding. He would not take
+his wife's comfort.
+
+"You acted for the best, Richmond," she said.
+
+"Yes, dear; I acted for the best. When I got those fellows hemmed in I
+could have killed them all. But I'm not a butcher; I couldn't have them
+shot down in cold blood. That's not war; that's murder. What should I
+have said to my Maker when He asked me to account for those many souls?
+I spared them; I imagined they'd understand; but they thought it was
+weakness. I couldn't know they were preparing a trap for me. And now my
+name is shameful. I shall never hold up my head again."
+
+"You acted rightly in the sight of God, Richmond."
+
+"I think and trust I acted as a Christian, Frances."
+
+"If you have pleased God, you need not mind the opinion of man."
+
+"Oh, it's not that they called me a fool and a coward--I could have
+borne that. I did what I thought was right. I thought it my duty to save
+the lives of my men and to spare the enemy; and the result was that ten
+times more lives have been lost than if I had struck boldly and
+mercilessly. There are widows and orphans in England who must curse me
+because I am the cause that their husbands are dead, and that their
+fathers are rotting on the hills of India. If I had acted like a savage,
+like a brute-beast, like a butcher, all those men would have been alive
+to-day. I was merciful, and I was met with treachery; I was
+long-suffering, and they thought me weak; I was forgiving, and they
+laughed at me."
+
+Mrs. Parsons put her hand on her husband's shoulder.
+
+"You must try to forget it, Richmond," she said. "It's over, and it
+can't be helped now. You acted like a God-fearing man; your conscience
+is clear of evil intent. What is the judgment of man beside the judgment
+of God? If you have received insult and humiliation at the hands of man,
+God will repay you an hundredfold, for you acted as his servant. And I
+believe in you, Richmond; and I'm proud of what you did."
+
+"I have always tried to act like a Christian and a gentleman, Frances."
+
+At night he would continually dream of those days of confusion and
+mortal anxiety. He would imagine he was again making that horrible
+retreat, cheering his men, doing all he could to retrieve the disaster;
+but aware that ruin only awaited him, conscious that the most ignorant
+sepoy in his command thought him incapable and mad. He saw the look in
+the eyes of the officers under him, their bitter contempt, their anger
+because he forced them to retire before the enemy; and because, instead
+of honour and glory, they had earned only ridicule. His limbs shook and
+he sweated with agony as he recalled the interview with his chief:
+"You're only fit to be a damned missionary," and the last contemptuous
+words, "I shan't want you any more. You can send in your papers."
+
+But human sorrow is like water in an earthen pot. Little by little
+Colonel Parsons forgot his misery; he had turned it over in his mind so
+often that at last he grew confused. It became then only a deep wound
+partly healed, scarring over; and he began to take an interest in the
+affairs of the life surrounding him. He could read his paper without
+every word stabbing him by some chance association; and there is nothing
+like the daily and thorough perusal of a newspaper for dulling a man's
+brain. He pottered about his garden gossiping with the gardener; made
+little alterations in the house--bricks and mortar are like an anodyne;
+he collected stamps; played bezique with his wife; and finally, in his
+mild, gentle way, found peace of mind.
+
+But when James passed brilliantly out of Sandhurst, the thought seized
+him that the good name which he valued so highly might be retrieved.
+Colonel Parsons had shrunk from telling the youth anything of the
+catastrophe which had driven him from the service; but now he forced
+himself to give an exact account thereof. His wife sat by, listening
+with pain in her eyes, for she knew what torture it was to revive that
+half-forgotten story.
+
+"I thought you had better hear it from me than from a stranger," the
+Colonel said when he had finished. "I entered the army with the
+reputation of my father behind me; my reputation can only harm you. Men
+will nudge one another and say, 'There's the son of old Parsons, who
+bungled the affair against the Madda Khels.' You must show them that
+you're of good stuff. I acted for the best, and my conscience is at
+ease. I think I did my duty; but if you can distinguish yourself--if
+you can make them forget--I think I shall die a little happier."
+
+The commanding officer of Jamie's regiment was an old friend of the
+Colonel's, and wrote to him after a while to say that he thought well of
+the boy. He had already distinguished himself in a frontier skirmish,
+and presently, for gallantry in some other little expedition, his name
+was mentioned in despatches. Colonel Parsons regained entirely his old
+cheerfulness; Jamie's courage and manifest knowledge of his business
+made him feel that at last he could again look the world frankly in the
+face. Then came the Boer War; for the parents at Little Primpton and for
+Mary Clibborn days of fearful anxiety, of gnawing pain--all the greater
+because each, for the other's sake, tried to conceal it; and at last the
+announcement in the paper that James Parsons had been severely wounded
+while attempting to save the life of a brother officer, and was
+recommended for the Victoria Cross.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+The Parsons sat again in their dining-room, counting the minutes which
+must pass before Jamie's arrival. The table was laid simply, for all
+their habits were simple; and the blanc-mange prepared for the morrow's
+festivities stood, uncompromising and stiff as a dissenting minister, in
+the middle of the table. I wish someone would write an invective upon
+that most detestable of all the national dishes, pallid, chilly,
+glutinous, unpleasant to look upon, insipid in the mouth. It is a
+preparation which seems to mark a transition stage in culture; just as
+the South Sea Islanders, with the advance of civilisation, forsook
+putrid whale for roast missionary, the great English middle classes
+complained that tarts and plum-puddings were too substantial, more
+suited to the robust digestions of a past generation. In the
+blanc-mange, on the other hand, they found almost an appearance of
+distinction; its name, at least, suggested French cookery; it was
+possible to the plainest cook, and it required no mastication.
+
+"I shall have to tell Betty to make a jelly for dinner to-morrow," said
+Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"Yes," replied the Colonel; and after a pause: "Don't you think we ought
+to let Mary know that Jamie has come back? She'd like to see him
+to-night."
+
+"I've sent over already."
+
+It was understood that James, having got his Company, would marry Mary
+Clibborn almost at once. His father and mother had been delighted when
+he announced the engagement. They had ever tried to shield him from all
+knowledge of evil--no easy matter when a boy has been to a public school
+and to Sandhurst--holding the approved opinion that ignorance is
+synonymous with virtue; and they could imagine no better safeguard for
+his innocence in the multi-coloured life of India than betrothal with a
+pure, sweet English girl. They looked upon Mary Clibborn already as a
+daughter, and she, in Jamie's absence, had been their only solace. They
+loved her gentleness, her goodness, her simple piety, and congratulated
+themselves on the fact that with her their son could not fail to lead a
+happy and a godly life.
+
+Mary, during those five years, had come to see them every day; her own
+mother and father were rather worldly people, and she felt less happy
+with them than with Colonel Parsons and his wife. The trio talked
+continually of the absent soldier, always reading to one another his
+letters. They laughed together over his jokes, mildly, as befitted
+persons for whom a sense of humour might conceivably be a Satanic snare,
+and trembled together at his dangers. Mary's affection was free from
+anything so degrading as passion, and she felt no bashfulness in reading
+Jamie's love-letters to his parents; she was too frank to suspect that
+there might be in them anything for her eyes alone, and too candid to
+feel any delicacy.
+
+But a lumbering fly rolled in at the gate, and the good people, happy at
+last, sprang to the door.
+
+"Jamie!"
+
+Trembling with joy, they brought him in and sat him down; they knew no
+words to express their delight, and stood looking at him open-mouthed,
+smiling.
+
+"Well, here you are! We were surprised to get your telegram. When did
+you land?"
+
+When they found their tongues, it was only to say commonplace things
+such as they might have spoken to a casual friend who had come from
+London for the day. They were so used to controlling themselves, that
+when their emotion was overpowering they were at a loss to express it.
+
+"Would you like to go upstairs and wash your hands?"
+
+They both accompanied him.
+
+"You see it's all just as it was. We thought you'd like your old room.
+If you want anything you can ring the bell."
+
+They left him, and going downstairs, sat opposite one another by the
+fire. The dining-room was furnished with a saddle-bag suite; and Colonel
+Parsons sat in the "gentleman's chair," which had arms, while Mrs.
+Parsons sat in the "lady's chair," which had none; nor did either dream,
+under any circumstances, of using the other's seat. They were a little
+overcome.
+
+"How thin he is!" said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"We must feed him up," answered the Colonel.
+
+And then, till the soldier came, they remained in silence. Mrs. Parsons
+rang the bell for the chops as soon as he appeared, and they sat down;
+but James ate alone. His people were too happy to do anything but watch
+him.
+
+"I have had tea made," said Mrs. Parsons, "but you can have some claret,
+if you prefer it."
+
+Five years' absence had not dulled Jamie's memory of his father's wine,
+and he chose the tea.
+
+"I think a strong cup of tea will do you most good," said his mother,
+and she poured it out for him as when he was a boy, with plenty of milk
+and sugar.
+
+His tastes had never been much consulted; things had been done, in the
+kindest manner possible, solely for his good. James detested sweetness.
+
+"No sugar, please, mother," he said, as she dived into the sugar-basin.
+
+"Nonsense, Jamie," answered Mrs. Parsons, with her good-humoured,
+indulgent smile. "Sugar's good for you." And she put in two big lumps.
+
+"You don't ask after Mary," said Colonel Parsons.
+
+"How is she?" said James. "Where is she?"
+
+"If you wait a little she'll be here."
+
+Then Mrs. Parsons broke in.
+
+"I don't know what we should have done without her; she's been so good
+and kind to us, and such a comfort. We're simply devoted to her, aren't
+we, Richmond?"
+
+"She's the nicest girl I've ever seen."
+
+"And she's so good. She works among the poor like a professional nurse.
+We told you that she lived with us for six months while Colonel and Mrs.
+Clibborn went abroad. She was never put out at anything, but was always
+smiling and cheerful. She has the sweetest character."
+
+The good people thought they were delighting their son by these
+eulogies. He looked at them gravely.
+
+"I'm glad you like her," he said.
+
+Supper was finished, and Mrs. Parsons went out of the room for a moment.
+James took out his case and offered a cigar to his father.
+
+"I don't smoke, Jamie," replied the Colonel.
+
+James lit up. The old man looked at him with a start, but said nothing;
+he withdrew his chair a little and tried to look unconcerned. When Mrs.
+Parsons returned, the room was full of smoke; she gave a cry of
+surprise.
+
+"James!" she said, in a tone of reproach. "Your father objects to
+smoking."
+
+"It doesn't matter just this once," said the Colonel, good-humouredly.
+
+But James threw his cigar into the fire, with a laugh.
+
+"I quite forgot; I'm so sorry."
+
+"You never told us you'd started smoking," observed Mrs. Parsons, almost
+with disapprobation, "Would you like the windows open to let the smell
+out, Richmond?"
+
+There was a ring at the door, and Mary's voice was heard.
+
+"Has Captain Parsons arrived?"
+
+"There she is, Jamie!" said the Colonel, "Rush out to her, my boy!"
+
+But James contented himself with rising to his feet; he turned quite
+pale, and a singular expression came over his grave face.
+
+Mary entered.
+
+"I ran round as soon as I got your note," she said. "Well, Jamie!"
+
+She stopped, smiling, and a blush brightened her healthy cheeks. Her
+eyes glistened with happiness, and for a moment, strong as she was, Mary
+thought she must burst into tears.
+
+"Aren't you going to kiss her, Jamie?" said the father. "You needn't be
+bashful before us."
+
+James went up to her, and taking her hands, kissed the cheek she
+offered.
+
+The impression that Mary Clibborn gave was of absolute healthiness,
+moral and physical. Her appearance was not distinguished, but she was
+well set up, with strong hands and solid feet; you knew at once that a
+ten-mile walk invigorated rather than tired her; her arms were muscular
+and energetic. She was in no way striking; a typical, country-bred girl,
+with a fine digestion and an excellent conscience; if not very pretty,
+obviously good. Her face showed a happy mingling of strength and
+cheerfulness; her blue eyes were guileless and frank; her hair even was
+rather pretty, arranged in the simplest manner; her skin was tanned by
+wind and weather. The elements were friendly, and she enjoyed a long
+walk in a gale, with the rain beating against her cheeks. She was
+dressed simply and without adornment, as befitted her character.
+
+"I am sorry I wasn't at home when you arrived, Jamie," she said; "but
+the Polsons asked me to go and play golf at Tunbridge Wells. I went
+round in bogy, Colonel Parsons."
+
+"Did you, my dear? That's very good."
+
+The Colonel and his wife looked at her with affectionate satisfaction.
+
+"I'm going to take off my hat."
+
+She gave James to put in the hall her sailor hat and her rough tweed
+cloak. She wore a bicycling skirt and heavy, square-toed boots.
+
+"Say you're glad to see us, Jamie!" she cried, laughing.
+
+Her voice was rather loud, clear and strong, perhaps wanting variety of
+inflection. She sat by Jamie's side, and broke into a cheerful, rather
+humorous, account of the day's excursion.
+
+"How silent you are, Jamie!" she cried at last.
+
+"You haven't given me a chance to get a word in yet," he said, smiling
+gravely.
+
+They all laughed, ready to be pleased at the smallest joke, and banter
+was the only form of humour they knew.
+
+"Are you tired?" asked Mary, her cheerful eyes softening.
+
+"A little."
+
+"Well, I won't worry you to-night; but to-morrow you must be put through
+your paces."
+
+"Mary will stand no nonsense," said the Colonel, laughing gently. "We
+all have to do as she tells us. She'll turn you round her little
+finger."
+
+"Will she?" said James, glancing down at the solid boots, which the
+short bicycle skirt rather obtrusively exposed to view.
+
+"Don't frighten him the moment he comes home," cried Mary. "As a matter
+of fact, I shan't be able to come to-morrow morning; I've got my
+district-visiting to do, and I don't think Jamie is strong enough to go
+with me yet. Does your wound hurt you still, Jamie?"
+
+"No," he said, "I can't use my arm much, though. It'll be all right
+soon."
+
+"You must tell us about the great event to-morrow," said Mary, referring
+to the deed which had won him the decoration. "You've put us all out by
+coming sooner than you were expected."
+
+"Have I? I'm sorry."
+
+"Didn't you notice anything when you drove in this evening?"
+
+"No, it was quite dark."
+
+"Good heavens! Why, we've put up a triumphal arch, and there was going
+to be a great celebration. All the school children were coming to
+welcome you."
+
+"I'm very glad I missed it," said James, laughing. "I should have hated
+it."
+
+"Oh, I don't know that you have missed it yet. We must see."
+
+Then Mary rose to go.
+
+"Well, at all events, we're all coming to dinner to-morrow at one."
+
+They went to the door to let her out, and the elder couple smiled again
+with pleasure when James and Mary exchanged a brotherly and sisterly
+kiss.
+
+* * *
+
+At last James found himself alone in his room; he gave a sigh of
+relief--a sigh which was almost a groan of pain. He took out his pipe
+unconsciously and filled it; but then, remembering where he was, put it
+down. He knew his father's sensitiveness of smell. If he began to smoke
+there would quickly be a knock at the door, and the inquiry: "There's
+such a smell of burning in the house; there's nothing on fire in your
+room, is there, Jamie?"
+
+He began to walk up and down, and then in exhaustion sank on a chair.
+He opened the window and looked into the night. He could see nothing.
+The sky was dark with unmoving clouds, but the fresh air blew gratefully
+against his face, laden with the scent of the vernal country; a light
+rain was falling noiselessly, and the earth seemed languid and weary,
+accepting the moisture with little shuddering gasps of relief.
+
+After an event which has been long expected, there is always something
+in the nature of reaction. James had looked forward to this meeting,
+partly with terror, partly with eagerness; and now that it was over, his
+brain, confused and weary, would not help him to order his thoughts. He
+clenched his hands, trying to force himself to think clearly; he knew he
+must decide upon some course at once, and a terrible indecision
+paralysed his ideas. He loved his people so tenderly, he was so anxious
+to make them happy, and yet--and yet! If he loved one better than the
+other it was perhaps his father, because of the pitiful weakness,
+because of the fragility which seemed to call for a protective
+gentleness. The old man had altered little in the five years. James
+could not remember him other than thin and bent and frail, with long
+wisps of silvery hair brushed over the crown to conceal his baldness,
+with the cheeks hollow and wrinkled, and a white moustache
+ineffectually concealing the weak, good-natured mouth. Ever since James
+could recollect his father had appeared old and worn as now; and there
+had always been that gentle look in the blue eyes, that manner which was
+almost painful in its diffidence. Colonel Parsons was a man who made
+people love him by a modesty which seemed to claim nothing. He was like
+a child compelling sympathy on account of its utter helplessness, so
+unsuited to the wear and tear of life that he aroused his fellows'
+instincts of protection.
+
+And James knew besides what a bitter humiliation it was to his father
+that he had been forced to leave the service. He remembered, like a
+deadly, incurable pain suffered by a friend, the occasion on which the
+old soldier had told him the cause of his disgrace, a sweat of agony
+standing on his brow. The scene had eaten into Jamie's mind alongside of
+that other when he had first watched a man die, livid with pain, his
+eyes glazed and sightless. He had grown callous to such events since
+then.
+
+Colonel Parsons had come to grief on account of the very kindness of
+heart, on account of the exquisite humanity which endeared him to the
+most casual acquaintance. James swore that he would do anything to save
+him from needless suffering. Nor did he forget his mother, for through
+the harder manner he saw her gentleness and tender love. He knew that
+he was all in the world to both of them, that in his hands lay their
+happiness and their misery. Their love made them feel every act of his
+with a force out of reason to the circumstance. He had seen in their
+letters, piercing through the assumed cheerfulness, a mortal anxiety
+when he was in danger, an anguish of mind that seemed hardly bearable.
+They had gone through so much for his sake; they deprived themselves of
+luxury, so that, in the various expenses of his regiment, he should not
+need to economise. All his life they had surrounded him with loving
+care. And what their hearts were set upon now was that he should marry
+Mary Clibborn quickly.
+
+James turned from the window and put his head between his hands, swaying
+to and fro.
+
+"Oh, I can't," he groaned; "I can't!"
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+In the morning, after breakfast, James went for a walk. He wanted to
+think out clearly what he had better do, feeling that he must make up
+his mind at once. Hesitation would be fatal, and yet to speak
+immediately seemed so cruel, so brutally callous.
+
+Wishing to be absolutely alone, he wandered through the garden to a
+little wood of beech-trees, which in his boyhood had been a favourite
+haunt. The day was fresh and sweet after the happy rain of April, the
+sky so clear that it affected one like a very beautiful action.
+
+James stood still when he came into the wood, inhaling the odour of
+moist soil, the voluptuous scents of our mother, the Earth, gravid with
+silent life. For a moment he was intoxicated by the paradise of verdure.
+The beech-trees rose very tall, with their delicate branches singularly
+black amid the young leaves of the spring, tender and vivid. The eye
+could not pierce the intricate greenery; it was more delicate than the
+summer rain, subtler than the mists of the sunset. It was a scene to
+drive away all thought of the sadness of life, of the bitterness. Its
+exquisite fresh purity made James feel pure also, and like a little
+child he wandered over the undulating earth, broken by the tortuous
+courses of the streamlets of winter.
+
+The ground was soft, covered with brown dead leaves, and he tried to see
+the rabbit rustling among them, or the hasty springing of a squirrel.
+The long branches of the briar entangled his feet; and here and there,
+in sheltered corners, blossomed the primrose and the violet He listened
+to the chant of the birds, so joyous that it seemed impossible they sang
+in a world of sorrow. Hidden among the leaves, aloft in the beeches, the
+linnet sang with full-throated melody, and the blackbird and the thrush.
+In the distance a cuckoo called its mysterious note, and far away, like
+an echo, a fellow-bird called back.
+
+All Nature was rejoicing in the delight of the sunshine; all Nature was
+rejoicing, and his heart alone was heavy as lead. He stood by a
+fir-tree, which rose far above the others, immensely tall, like the mast
+of a solitary ship; it was straight as a life without reproach, but
+cheerless, cold, and silent. His life, too, was without reproach,
+thought James--without reproach till now.... He had loved Mary Clibborn.
+But was it love, or was it merely affection, habit, esteem? She was the
+only girl he knew, and they had grown up together. When he came from
+school for his holidays, or later from Sandhurst, on leave, Mary was his
+constant friend, without whom he would have been miserably dull. She was
+masculine enough to enter into his boyish games, and even their thoughts
+were common. There were so few people in Little Primpton that those who
+lived there saw one another continually; and though Tunbridge Wells was
+only four miles away, the distance effectually prevented very close
+intimacy with its inhabitants. It was natural, then, that James should
+only look forward to an existence in which Mary took part; without that
+pleasant companionship the road seemed long and dreary. When he was
+appointed to a regiment in India, and his heart softened at the prospect
+of the first long parting from all he cared for, it was the separation
+from Mary that seemed hardest to bear.
+
+"I don't know what I shall do without you, Mary," he said.
+
+"You will forget all about us when you've been in India a month."
+
+But her lips twitched, and he noticed that she found difficulty in
+speaking quite firmly. She hesitated a moment, and spoke again.
+
+"It's different for us," she said, "Those who go forget, but those who
+stay--remember. We shall be always doing the same things to remind us
+of you. Oh, you won't forget me, Jamie?"
+
+The last words slipped out against the girl's intention.
+
+"Mary!" he cried.
+
+And then he put his arms round her, and Mary rested her face on his
+shoulder and began to cry. He kissed her, trying to stop her tears; he
+pressed her to his heart. He really thought he loved her then with all
+his strength.
+
+"Mary," he whispered, "Mary, do you care for me? Will you marry me?"
+
+Then quickly he explained that it would make it so much better for both
+if they became engaged.
+
+"I shan't be able to marry you for a long time; but will you wait for
+me, Mary?"
+
+She began to smile through her tears.
+
+"I would wait for you to the end of my life."
+
+During the first two years in India the tie had been to James entirely
+pleasurable; and if, among the manifold experiences of his new life, he
+bore Mary's absence with greater equanimity than he had thought
+possible, he was always glad to receive her letters, with their delicate
+aroma of the English country; and it pleased him to think that his
+future was comfortably settled. The engagement was a sort of ballast,
+and he felt that he could compass his journey without fear and without
+disturbance. James did not ask himself whether his passion was very
+ardent, for his whole education had led him to believe that passion was
+hardly moral. The proper and decent basis of marriage was similarity of
+station, and the good, solid qualities which might be supposed
+endurable. From his youth, the wisdom of the world had been instilled
+into him through many proverbs, showing the advisability of caution, the
+transitoriness of beauty and desire; and, on the other hand, the lasting
+merit of honesty, virtue, domesticity, and good temper....
+
+But we all know that Nature is a goddess with no sense of decency, for
+whom the proprieties are simply non-existent; men and women in her eyes
+have but one point of interest, and she walks abroad, with her
+fashioning fingers, setting in order the only work she cares for. All
+the rest is subsidiary, and she is callous to suffering and to death,
+indifferent to the Ten Commandments and even to the code of Good
+Society.
+
+James at last made the acquaintance of a certain Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace,
+the wife of a man in a native regiment, a little, dark-hatred person,
+with an olive skin and big brown eyes--rather common, but excessively
+pretty. She was the daughter of a riding-master by a Portuguese woman
+from Goa, and it had been something of a scandal when
+Pritchard-Wallace, who was an excellent fellow, had married her against
+the advice of all the regimental ladies. But if those charitable persons
+had not ceased to look upon her with doubtful eyes, her wit and her good
+looks for others counterbalanced every disadvantage; and she did not
+fail to have a little court of subalterns and the like hanging
+perpetually about her skirts. At first Mrs. Wallace merely amused James.
+Her absolute frivolity, her cynical tongue, her light-heartedness, were
+a relief after the rather puritanical atmosphere in which he had passed
+his youth; he was astonished to hear the gay contempt which she poured
+upon all the things that he had held most sacred--things like the Tower
+of London and the British Constitution. Prejudices and cherished beliefs
+were dissipated before her sharp-tongued raillery; she was a woman with
+almost a witty way of seeing the world, with a peculiarly feminine gift
+for putting old things in a new, absurd light. To Mrs. Wallace, James
+seemed a miracle of ingenuousness, and she laughed at him continually;
+then she began to like him, and took him about with her, at which he was
+much flattered.
+
+James had been brought up in the belief that women were fashioned of
+different clay from men, less gross, less earthly; he thought not only
+that they were pious, sweet and innocent, ignorant entirely of
+disagreeable things, but that it was man's first duty to protect them
+from all knowledge of the realities of life. To him they were an
+ethereal blending of milk-and-water with high principles; it had never
+occurred to him that they were flesh and blood, and sense, and fire and
+nerves--especially nerves. Most topics, of course, could not be broached
+in their presence; in fact, almost the only safe subject of conversation
+was the weather.
+
+But Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace prided herself on frankness, which is less
+common in pretty women than in plain; and she had no hesitation in
+discussing with James matters that he had never heard discussed before.
+She was hugely amused at the embarrassment which made him hesitate and
+falter, trying to find polite ways of expressing the things which his
+whole training had taught him to keep rigidly to himself. Then
+sometimes, from pure devilry, Mrs. Wallace told stories on purpose to
+shock him; and revelled in his forced, polite smile, and in his strong
+look of disapproval.
+
+"What a funny boy you are!" she said. "But you must take care, you know;
+you have all the makings of a perfect prig."
+
+"D'you think so?"
+
+"You must try to be less moral. The moral young man is rather funny for
+a change, but he palls after a time."
+
+"If I bore you, you have only to say so, and I won't bother you again."
+
+"And moral young men shouldn't get cross; it's very bad manners," she
+answered, smiling.
+
+Before he knew what had happened, James found himself madly in love with
+Mrs. Wallace. But what a different passion was this, resembling not at
+all that pallid flame which alone he had experienced! How could he
+recognise the gentle mingling of friendship and of common-sense which he
+called love in that destroying violence which troubled his days like a
+fever? He dreamed of the woman at night; he seemed only to live when he
+was with her. The mention of her name made his heart beat, and meeting
+her he trembled and turned cold. By her side he found nothing to say; he
+was like wax in her hands, without will or strength. The touch of her
+fingers sent the blood rushing through his veins insanely; and
+understanding his condition, she took pleasure in touching him, to watch
+the little shiver of desire that convulsed his frame. In a very
+self-restrained man love works ruinously; and it burnt James now, this
+invisible, unconscious fire, till he was consumed utterly--till he was
+mad with passion. And then suddenly, at some chance word, he knew what
+had happened; he knew that he was in love with the wife of his good
+friend, Pritchard-Wallace; and he thought of Mary Clibborn.
+
+There was no hesitation now, nor doubt; James had only been in danger
+because he was unaware of it. He never thought of treachery to his
+friend or to Mary; he was horror-stricken, hating himself. He looked
+over the brink of the precipice at the deadly sin, and recoiled,
+shuddering. He bitterly reproached himself, taking for granted that some
+error of his had led to the catastrophe. But his duty was obvious; he
+knew he must kill the sinful love, whatever pain it cost him; he must
+crush it as he would some noxious vermin.
+
+James made up his mind never to see Mrs. Wallace again; and he thought
+that God was on his side helping him, since, with her husband, she was
+leaving in a month for England. He applied for leave. He could get away
+for a few weeks, and on his return Mrs. Wallace would be gone. He
+managed to avoid her for several days, but at last she came across him
+by chance, and he could not escape.
+
+"I didn't know you were so fond of hide-and-seek," she said, "I think
+it's rather a stupid game."
+
+"I don't understand," replied James, growing pale.
+
+"Why have you been dodging round corners to avoid me as if I were a dun,
+and inventing the feeblest excuses not to come to me?"
+
+James stood for a moment, not knowing what to answer; his knees
+trembled, and he sweated with the agony of his love. It was an angry,
+furious passion, that made him feel he could almost seize the woman by
+the throat and strangle her.
+
+"Did you know that I am engaged to be married?" he asked at length.
+
+"I've never known a sub who wasn't. It's the most objectionable of all
+their vicious habits. What then?" She looked at him, smiling; she knew
+very well the power of her dark eyes, fringed with long lashes. "Don't
+be silly," she added. "Come and see me, and bring her photograph, and
+you shall talk to me for two hours about her. Will you come?"
+
+"It's very kind of you. I don't think I can."
+
+"Why not? You're really very rude."
+
+"I'm extremely busy."
+
+"Nonsense! You must come. Don't look as if I were asking you to do
+something quite horrible. I shall expect you to tea."
+
+She bound him by his word, and James was forced to go. When he showed
+the photograph, Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace looked at it with a curious
+expression. It was the work of a country photographer, awkward and
+ungainly, with the head stiffly poised, and the eyes hard and fixed; the
+general impression was ungraceful and devoid of charm, Mrs. Wallace
+noticed the country fashion of her clothes.
+
+"It's extraordinary that subalterns should always get engaged to the
+same sort of girl."
+
+James flushed, "It's not a very good one of her."
+
+"They always photograph badly," murmured Mrs. Wallace.
+
+"She's the best girl in the world. You can't think how good, and kind,
+and simple she is; she reminds me always of an English breeze."
+
+"I don't like east winds myself," said Mrs. Wallace. "But I can see she
+has all sorts of admirable qualities."
+
+"D'you know why I came to see you to-day?"
+
+"Because I forced you," said Mrs. Wallace, laughing.
+
+"I came to say good-bye; I've got a month's leave."
+
+"Oh, but I shall be gone by the time you come back."
+
+"I know. It is for that reason."
+
+Mrs. Wallace looked at him quickly, hesitated, then glanced away.
+
+"Is it so bad as that?"
+
+"Oh, don't you understand?" cried James, breaking suddenly from his
+reserve. "I must tell you. I shall never see you again, and it can't
+matter. I love you with all my heart and soul. I didn't know what love
+was till I met you. God help me, it was only friendship I had for Mary!
+This is so different. Oh, I hate myself! I can't help it; the mere touch
+of your hand sends me mad with passion. I daren't see you again--I'm not
+a blackguard. I know it's quite hopeless. And I've given my word to
+Mary."
+
+The look of her eyes, the sound of her voice, sent half his fine
+intentions flying before the wind. He lost command over himself--but
+only for a moment; the old habits were strong.
+
+"I beg your pardon! I oughtn't to have spoken. Don't be angry with me
+for what I've said. I couldn't help it. You thought me a fool because I
+ran away from you. It was all I could do. I couldn't help loving you.
+You understand now, don't you? I know that you will never wish to see me
+again, and it's better for both of us. Good-bye."
+
+He stretched out his hand.
+
+"I didn't know it was so bad as that," she said, looking at him with
+kindly eyes.
+
+"Didn't you see me tremble when the hem of your dress touched me by
+accident? Didn't you hear that I couldn't speak; the words were dried
+up in my throat?" He sank into a chair weakly; but then immediately
+gathering himself together, sprang up. "Good-bye," he said. "Let me go
+quickly."
+
+She gave him her hand, and then, partly in kindness, partly in malice,
+bent forward and kissed his lips. James gave a cry, a sob; now he lost
+command over himself entirely. He took her in his arms roughly, and
+kissed her mouth, her eyes, her hair--so passionately that Mrs. Wallace
+was frightened. She tried to free herself; but he only held her closer,
+madly kissing her lips.
+
+"Take care," she said. "What are you doing? Let me go!" And she pushed
+him away.
+
+She was a cautious woman, who never allowed flirtation to go beyond
+certain decorous lengths, and she was used to a milder form of
+philandering.
+
+"You've disarranged my hair, you silly boy!" She went to the glass to
+put it in order, and when she turned back found that James had gone.
+"What an odd creature!" she muttered.
+
+To Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace the affair was but an incident, such as might
+have been the love of Phædra had she flourished in an age when the art
+of living consists in not taking things too seriously; but for
+Hippolitus a tragedy of one sort or another is inevitable. James was not
+a man of easy affections; he made the acquaintance of people with a
+feeling of hostility rather than with the more usual sensation of
+friendly curiosity. He was shy, and even with his best friends could not
+lessen his reserve. Some persons are able to form close intimacies with
+admirable facility, but James felt always between himself and his
+fellows a sort of barrier. He could not realise that deep and sudden
+sympathy was even possible, and was apt to look with mistrust upon the
+appearance thereof. He seemed frigid and perhaps supercilious to those
+with whom he came in contact; he was forced to go his way, hiding from
+all eyes the emotions he felt. And when at last he fell passionately in
+love, it meant to him ten times more than to most men; it was a sudden
+freedom from himself. He was like a prisoner who sees for the first time
+in his life the trees and the hurrying clouds, and all the various
+movement of the world. For a little while James had known a wonderful
+liberty, an ineffable bliss which coloured the whole universe with new,
+strange colours. But then he learnt that the happiness was only sin, and
+he returned voluntarily to his cold prison.... Till he tried to crush
+it, he did not know how strong was this passion; he did not realise that
+it had made of him a different man; it was the only thing in the world
+to him, beside which everything else was meaningless. He became
+ruthless towards himself, undergoing every torture which he fancied
+might cleanse him of the deadly sin.
+
+And when Mrs. Wallace, against his will, forced herself upon his
+imagination, he tried to remember her vulgarity, her underbred manners,
+her excessive use of scent. She had merely played with him, without
+thinking or caring what the result to him might be. She was bent on as
+much enjoyment as possible without exposing herself to awkward
+consequences; common scandal told him that he was not the first callow
+youth that she had entangled with her provoking glances and her witty
+tongue. The epithet by which his brother officers qualified her was
+expressive, though impolite. James repeated these things a hundred
+times: he said that Mrs. Wallace was not fit to wipe Mary's boots; he
+paraded before himself, like a set of unread school-books, all Mary's
+excellent qualities. He recalled her simple piety, her good-nature, and
+kindly heart; she had every attribute that a man could possibly want in
+his wife. And yet--and yet, when he slept he dreamed he was talking to
+the other; all day her voice sang in his ears, her gay smile danced
+before his eyes. He remembered every word she had ever said; he
+remembered the passionate kisses he had given her. How could he forget
+that ecstasy? He writhed, trying to expel the importunate image; but
+nothing served.
+
+Time could not weaken the impression. Since then he had never seen Mrs.
+Wallace, but the thought of her was still enough to send the blood
+racing through his veins. He had done everything to kill the mad,
+hopeless passion; and always, like a rank weed, it had thriven with
+greater strength. James knew it was his duty to marry Mary Clibborn, and
+yet he felt he would rather die. As the months passed on, and he knew he
+must shortly see her, he was never free from a sense of terrible
+anxiety. Doubt came to him, and he could not drive it away. The
+recollection of her was dim, cold, formless; his only hope was that when
+he saw her love might rise up again, and kill that other passion which
+made him so utterly despise himself. But he had welcomed the war as a
+respite, and the thought came to him that its chances might easily solve
+the difficulty. Then followed the months of hardship and of fighting;
+and during these the image of Mrs. Wallace had been less persistent, so
+that James fancied he was regaining the freedom he longed for. And when
+he lay wounded and ill, his absolute weariness made him ardently look
+forward to seeing his people again. A hotter love sprang up for them;
+and the hope became stronger that reunion with Mary might awaken the
+dead emotion. He wished for it with all his heart.
+
+But he had seen Mary, and he felt it hopeless; she left him cold, almost
+hostile. And with a mocking laugh, James heard Mrs. Wallace's words:
+
+"Subalterns always get engaged to the same type of girl. They photograph
+so badly."
+
+* * *
+
+And now he did not know what to do. The long recalling of the past had
+left James more uncertain than ever. Some devil within him cried, "Wait,
+wait! Something may happen!" It really seemed better to let things slide
+a little. Perhaps--who could tell?--in a day or two the old habit might
+render Mary as dear to him as when last he had wandered with her in that
+green wood, James sighed, and looked about him.... The birds still sang
+merrily, the squirrel leaped from tree to tree; even the blades of grass
+stood with a certain conscious pleasure, as the light breeze rustled
+through them. In the mid-day sun all things took pleasure in their life;
+and all Nature appeared full of joy, coloured and various and
+insouciant. He alone was sad.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+When James went home he found that the Vicar of Little Primpton and his
+wife had already arrived. They were both of them little, dried-up
+persons, with an earnest manner and no sense of humour, quite excellent
+in a rather unpleasant way; they resembled one another like peas, but
+none knew whether the likeness had grown from the propinquity of twenty
+years, or had been the original attraction. Deeply impressed with their
+sacred calling--for Mrs. Jackson would never have acknowledged that the
+Vicar's wife held a position inferior to the Vicar's--they argued that
+the whole world was God's, and they God's particular ministrants; so
+that it was their plain duty to concern themselves with the business of
+their fellows--and it must be confessed that they never shrank from this
+duty. They were neither well-educated, nor experienced, nor tactful; but
+blissfully ignorant of these defects, they shepherded their flock with
+little moral barks, and gave them, rather self-consciously, a good
+example in the difficult way to eternal life. They were eminently
+worthy people, who thought light-heartedness somewhat indecent. They did
+endless good in the most disagreeable manner possible; and in their
+fervour not only bore unnecessary crosses themselves, but saddled them
+on to everyone else, as the only certain passport to the Golden City.
+
+The Reverend Archibald Jackson had been appointed to the living of
+Little Primpton while James was in India, and consequently had never
+seen him.
+
+"I was telling your father," said Mrs. Jackson, on shaking hands, "that
+I hoped you were properly grateful for all the mercies that have been
+bestowed upon you."
+
+James stared at her a little. "Were you?"
+
+He hated the fashion these people had of discussing matters which he
+himself thought most private.
+
+"Mr. Jackson was asking if you'd like a short prayer offered up next
+Sunday, James," said his mother.
+
+"I shouldn't at all."
+
+"Why not?" asked the Vicar, "I think it's your duty to thank your Maker
+for your safe return, and I think your parents should join in the
+thanksgiving."
+
+"We're probably none of us less grateful," said James, "because we
+don't want to express our feelings before the united congregation."
+
+Jamie's parents looked at him with relief, for the same thought filled
+their minds; but thinking it their duty to submit themselves to the
+spiritual direction of the Vicar and his wife, they had not thought it
+quite right to decline the proposal. Mrs. Jackson glanced at her husband
+with pained astonishment, but further argument was prevented by the
+arrival of Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn, and Mary.
+
+Colonel Clibborn was a tall man, with oily black hair and fierce
+eyebrows, both dyed; aggressively military and reminiscent He had been
+in a cavalry regiment, where he had come to the philosophic conclusion
+that all men are dust--except cavalry-men; and he was able to look upon
+Jamie's prowess--the prowess of an infantryman--from superior heights.
+He was a great authority upon war, and could tell anyone what were the
+mistakes in South Africa, and how they might have been avoided; likewise
+he had known in the service half the peers of the realm, and talked of
+them by their Christian names. He spent three weeks every season in
+London, and dined late, at seven o'clock, so he had every qualification
+for considering himself a man of fashion.
+
+"I don't know what they'd do in Little Primpton without us," he said.
+"It's only us who keep it alive."
+
+But Mrs. Clibborn missed society.
+
+"The only people I can speak to are the Parsons," she told her husband,
+plaintively. "They're very good people--but only infantry, Reggie."
+
+"Of course, they're only infantry," agreed Colonel Clibborn.
+
+Mrs. Clibborn was a regimental beauty--of fifty, who had grown stout;
+but not for that ceased to use the weapons which Nature had given her
+against the natural enemies of the sex. In her dealings with several
+generations of adorers, she had acquired such a habit of languishing
+glances that now she used them unconsciously. Whether ordering meat from
+the butcher or discussing parochial matters with Mr. Jackson, Mrs.
+Clibborn's tone and manner were such that she might have been saying the
+most tender things. She had been very popular in the service, because
+she was the type of philandering woman who required no beating about the
+bush; her neighbour at the dinner-table, even if he had not seen her
+before, need never have hesitated to tell her with the soup that she was
+the handsomest creature he had ever seen, and with the _entrée_ that he
+adored her.
+
+On coming in, Mrs. Clibborn for a moment looked at James, quite
+speechless, her head on one side and her eyes screwing into the corner
+of the room.
+
+"Oh, how wonderful!" she said, at last "I suppose I mustn't call you
+Jamie now." She spoke very slowly, and every word sounded like a caress.
+Then she looked at James again in silent ecstasy. "Colonel Parsons, how
+proud you must be! And when I think that soon he will be my son! How
+thin you look, James!"
+
+"And how well you look, dear lady!"
+
+It was understood that everyone must make compliments to Mrs. Clibborn;
+otherwise she grew cross, and when she was cross she was horrid.
+
+She smiled to show her really beautiful teeth.
+
+"I should like to kiss you, James. May I, Mrs. Parsons?"
+
+"Certainly," replied Jamie's mother, who didn't approve of Mrs. Clibborn
+at all.
+
+She turned her cheek to James, and assumed a seraphic expression while
+he lightly touched it with his lips.
+
+"I'm only an old woman," she murmured to the company in general.
+
+She seldom made more than one remark at a time, and at the end of each
+assumed an appropriate attitude--coy, Madonna-like, resigned, as the
+circumstances might require. Mr. Jackson came forward to shake hands,
+and she turned her languishing glance on him.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Jackson, how beautiful your sermon was!"
+
+* * *
+
+They sat down to dinner, and ate their ox-tail soup. It is terrible to
+think of the subtlety with which the Evil One can insinuate himself
+among the most pious; for soup at middle-day is one of his most
+dangerous wiles, and it is precisely with the simple-minded inhabitants
+of the country and of the suburbs that this vice is most prevalent.
+
+James was sitting next to Mrs. Clibborn, and presently she looked at him
+with the melancholy smile which had always seemed to her so effective.
+
+"We want you to tell us how you won your Victoria Cross, Jamie."
+
+The others, eager to hear the story from the hero's lips, had been,
+notwithstanding, too tactful to ask; but they were willing to take
+advantage of Mrs. Clibborn's lack of that quality.
+
+"We've all been looking forward to it," said the Vicar.
+
+"I don't think there's anything to tell," replied James.
+
+His father and mother were looking at him with happy eyes, and the
+Colonel nodded to Mary.
+
+"Please, Jamie, tell us," she said. "We only saw the shortest account in
+the papers, and you said nothing about it in your letters."
+
+"D'you think it's very good form of me to tell you about it?" asked
+James, smiling gravely.
+
+"We're all friends here," said the Vicar.
+
+And Colonel Clibborn added, making sheep's eyes at his wife:
+
+"You can't refuse a lady!"
+
+"I'm an old woman," sighed Mrs. Clibborn, with a doleful glance. "I
+can't expect him to do it for me."
+
+The only clever thing Mrs. Clibborn had done in her life was to
+acknowledge to old age at thirty, and then she did not mean it. It had
+been one of her methods in flirtation, covering all excesses under a
+maternal aspect. She must have told hundreds of young officers that she
+was old enough to be their mother; and she always said it looking
+plaintively at the ceiling, when they squeezed her hand.
+
+"It wasn't a very wonderful thing I did," said James, at last, "and it
+was completely useless."
+
+"No fine deed is useless," said the Vicar, sententiously.
+
+James looked at him a moment, but proceeded with his story.
+
+"It was only that I tried to save the life of a sub who'd just
+joined--and didn't."
+
+"Would you pass me the salt?" said Mrs. Clibborn.
+
+"Mamma!" cried Mary, with a look as near irritation as her gentle nature
+permitted.
+
+"Go on, Jamie, there's a good boy," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+And James, seeing his father's charming, pathetic look of pride, told
+the story to him alone. The others did not care how much they hurt him
+so long as they could gape in admiration, but in his father he saw the
+most touching sympathy.
+
+"It was a chap called Larcher, a boy of eighteen, with fair hair and
+blue eyes, who looked quite absurdly young. His people live somewhere
+round here, near Ashford."
+
+"Larcher, did you say?" asked Mrs. Clibborn, "I've never heard the name.
+It's not a county family."
+
+"Go on, Jamie," said Mary, with some impatience.
+
+"Well, he'd only been with us three or four weeks; but I knew him rather
+well. Oddly enough, he'd taken a sort of fancy to me. He was such a
+nice, bright boy, so enthusiastic and simple. I used to tell him that
+he ought to have been at school, rather than roughing it at the Cape."
+
+Mrs. Clibborn sat with an idiotic smile on her lips, and a fixed
+expression of girlish innocence.
+
+"Well, we knew we should be fighting in a day or so; and the evening
+before the battle young Larcher was talking to me. 'How d'you feel?' I
+said. He didn't answer quite so quickly as usual. 'D'you know,' he said,
+'I'm so awfully afraid that I shall funk it.' 'You needn't mind that,' I
+said, and I laughed. 'The first time we most of us do funk it. For five
+minutes or so you just have to cling on to your eyelashes to prevent
+yourself from running away, and then you feel all right, and you think
+it's rather sport.' 'I've got a sort of presentiment that I shall be
+killed,' he said. 'Don't be an ass,' I answered. 'We've all got a
+presentiment that we shall be killed the first time we're under fire. If
+all the people were killed who had presentiments, half the army would
+have gone to kingdom come long ago.'"
+
+"You should have told him to lay his trust in the hands of Him who has
+power to turn the bullet and to break the sword," said Mrs. Jackson.
+
+"He wasn't that sort," replied James, drily, "I laughed at him, thinking
+it the better way.... Well, next day we did really fight. We were sent
+to take an unoccupied hill. Our maxim was that a hill is always
+unoccupied unless the enemy are actually firing from it. Of course, the
+place was chock full of Boers; they waited till we had come within easy
+range for a toy-pistol, and then fired murderously. We did all we could.
+We tried to storm the place, but we hadn't a chance. Men tumbled down
+like nine-pins. I've never seen anything like it. The order was given to
+fire, and there was nothing to fire at but the naked rocks. We had to
+retire--we couldn't do anything else; and presently I found that poor
+Larcher had been wounded. Well, I thought he couldn't be left where he
+was, so I went back for him. I asked him if he could move. 'No,' he
+said, 'I think I'm hurt in the leg.' I knelt down and bandaged him up as
+well as I could. He was simply bleeding like a pig; and meanwhile
+brother Boer potted at us for all he was worth. 'How d'you feel?' I
+asked. 'Bit dicky; but comfortable. I didn't funk it, did I?' 'No, of
+course not, you juggins!' I said. 'Can you walk, d'you think?' 'I'll
+try.' I lifted him up and put my arm round him, and we got along for a
+bit; then he became awfully white and groaned, 'I do feel so bad,
+Parsons,' and then he fainted. So I had to carry him; and we went a bit
+farther, and then--and then I was hit in the arm. 'I say, I can't carry
+you now,' I said; 'for God's sake, buck up.' He opened his eyes, and I
+prevented him from falling. 'I think I can stand,' he said, and as he
+spoke a bullet got him in the neck, and his blood splashed over my face.
+He gave a gasp and died."
+
+James finished, and his mother and Mary wiped the tears from their eyes.
+Mrs. Clibborn turned to her husband.
+
+"Reggie, I'm sure the Larchers are not a county family."
+
+"There was a sapper of that name whom we met at Simla once, my dear,"
+replied the Colonel.
+
+"I thought I'd heard it before," said Mrs. Clibborn, with an air of
+triumph, as though she'd found out a very difficult puzzle. "Had he a
+red moustache?"
+
+"Have you heard from the young man's people, Captain Parsons?" asked
+Mrs. Jackson.
+
+"I had a letter from Mrs. Larcher, the boy's mother, asking me to go
+over and see her."
+
+"She must be very grateful to you, Jamie."
+
+"Why? She has no reason to be."
+
+"You did all you could to save him."
+
+"It would have been better if I'd left him alone. Don't you see that if
+he had remained where he was he might have been alive now. He would have
+been taken prisoner and sent to Pretoria, but that is better than
+rotting on the veldt. He was killed because I tried to save him."
+
+"There are worse things than death," said Colonel Parsons. "I have often
+thought that those fellows who surrendered did the braver thing. It is
+easy to stand and be shot down, but to hoist the white flag so as to
+save the lives of the men under one--that requires courage."
+
+"It is a sort of courage which seemed not uncommon," answered James,
+drily. "And they had a fairly pleasant time in Pretoria. Eventually, I
+believe, wars will be quite bloodless; rival armies will perambulate,
+and whenever one side has got into a good position, the other will
+surrender wholesale. Campaigns will be conducted like manoeuvres, and
+the special correspondents will decide which lot has won."
+
+"If they were surrounded and couldn't escape, it would have been wicked
+not to hoist the white flag," said Mrs. Jackson.
+
+"I daresay you know more about it than I," replied James.
+
+But the Vicar's lady insisted:
+
+"If you were so placed that on one hand was certain death for yourself
+and all your men, and on the other hand surrender, which would you
+chose?"
+
+"One can never tell; and in those matters it is wiser not to boast.
+Certain death is an awful thing, but our fathers preferred it to
+surrender."
+
+"War is horrible!" said Mary, shuddering.
+
+"Oh, no!" cried James, shaking himself out of his despondency. "War is
+the most splendid thing in the world. I shall never forget those few
+minutes, now and then, when we got on top of the Boers and fought with
+them, man to man, in the old way. Ah, life seemed worth living then! One
+day, I remember, they'd been giving it us awfully hot all the morning,
+and we'd lost frightfully. At last we rushed their position, and, by
+Jove, we let 'em have it! How we did hate them! You should have heard
+the Tommies cursing as they killed! I shall never forget the
+exhilaration of it, the joy of thinking that we were getting our own
+again. By Gad, it beat cock-fighting!"
+
+Jamie's cheeks were flushed and his eyes shone; but he had forgotten
+where he was, and his father's voice came to him through a mist of blood
+and a roar of sound.
+
+"I have fought, too," said Colonel Parsons, looking at his son with
+troubled eyes--"I have fought, too, but never with anger in my heart,
+nor lust of vengeance. I hope I did my duty, but I never forgot that my
+enemy was a fellow-creature. I never felt joy at killing, but pain and
+grief. War is inevitable, but it is horrible, horrible! It is only the
+righteous cause that can excuse it; and then it must be tempered with
+mercy and forgiveness."
+
+"Cause? Every cause is righteous. I can think of no war in which right
+has not been fairly equal on both sides; in every question there is
+about as much to be said on either part, and in none more than in war.
+Each country is necessarily convinced of the justice of its own cause."
+
+"They can't both be right."
+
+"Oh, yes, they can. It's generally six to one and half a dozen of the
+other."
+
+"Do you mean to say that you, a military man, think the Boers were
+justified?" asked Colonel Clibborn, with some indignation.
+
+James laughed.
+
+"You must remember that if any nation but ourselves had been engaged,
+our sympathies would have been entirely with the sturdy peasants
+fighting for their independence. The two great powers in the affairs of
+the world are sentiment and self-interest. The Boers are the smaller,
+weaker nation, and they have been beaten; it is only natural that
+sympathy should be with them. It was with the French for the same
+reason, after the Franco-Prussian War. But we, who were fighting,
+couldn't think of sentiment; to us it was really a matter of life and
+death, I was interested to see how soon the English put aside their
+ideas of fair play and equal terms when we had had a few reverses. They
+forgot that one Englishman was equal to ten foreigners, and insisted on
+sending out as many troops as possible. I fancy you were badly
+panic-stricken over here."
+
+James saw that his listeners looked at him with surprise, even with
+consternation; and he hastened to explain.
+
+"Of course, I don't blame them. They were quite right to send as many
+men as possible. The object of war is not to do glorious actions, but to
+win. Other things being equal, it is obviously better to be ten to one;
+it is less heroic, but more reasonable."
+
+"You take from war all the honour and all the chivalry!" cried Mary.
+"The only excuse for war is that it brings out the noblest qualities of
+man--self-sacrifice, unselfishness, endurance."
+
+"But war doesn't want any excuse," replied James, smiling gently. "Many
+people say that war is inhuman and absurd; many people are uncommonly
+silly. When they think war can be abolished, they show a phenomenal
+ignorance of the conditions of all development. War in one way and
+another is at the very root of life. War is not conducted only by fire
+and sword; it is in all nature, it is the condition of existence for
+all created things. Even the wild flowers in the meadow wage war, and
+they wage it more ruthlessly even than man, for with them defeat means
+extermination. The law of Nature is that the fit should kill the unfit.
+The Lord is the Lord of Hosts. The lame, and the halt, and the blind
+must remain behind, while the strong man goes his way rejoicing."
+
+"How hard you are!" said Mary. "Have you no pity, James?"
+
+"D'you know, I've got an idea that there's too much pity in the world.
+People seem to be losing their nerve; reality shocks them, and they live
+slothfully in the shoddy palaces of Sham Ideals. The sentimentalists,
+the cowards, and the cranks have broken the spirit of mankind. The
+general in battle now is afraid to strike because men may be killed.
+Sometimes it is worth while to lose men. When we become soldiers, we
+know that we cease to be human beings, and are merely the instruments
+for a certain work; we know that sometimes it may be part of a general's
+deliberate plan that we should be killed. I have no confidence in a
+leader who is tender-hearted. Compassion weakens his brain, and the
+result, too often, is disaster."
+
+But as he spoke, James realised with a start how his father would take
+what he was saying. He could have torn out his tongue, he would have
+given anything that the words should remain unspoken. His father, in
+pity and in humanity, had committed just such a fatal mistake, and
+trying tender-heartedly to save life had brought about death and
+disaster. He would take the thoughtless words as a deliberate
+condemnation; the wound, barely closed, was torn open by his very son,
+and he must feel again the humiliation which had nearly killed him.
+
+Colonel Parsons sat motionless, as though he were stunned, his eyes
+fixed on James with horror and pain; he looked like some hunted animal,
+terror-stricken, and yet surprised, wondering that man should be so
+cruel.
+
+"What can I do?" thought James. "How can I make it good for him?"
+
+The conversation was carried on by the Clibborns and by the Vicar, all
+happily unconscious that a tragedy was acting under their noses. James
+looked at his father. He wanted to show how bitterly he regretted the
+pain he had caused, but knew not what to say; he wanted to give a sign
+of his eager love, and tortured himself, knowing the impossibility of
+showing in any way his devotion.
+
+Fortunately, the maid came in to announce that the school children were
+without, to welcome Captain Parsons; and they all rose from the table.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+Colonel Parsons and his wife had wished no function to celebrate the
+home-coming of James; but gave in to the persuasions of Mary and of Mr.
+Dryland, the curate, who said that a public ceremony would be
+undoubtedly a stimulus to the moral welfare of Little Primpton. No man
+could escape from his obligations, and Captain Parsons owed it to his
+fellow-countrymen of Little Primpton to let them show their appreciation
+of his great deed.
+
+The Vicar went so far as to assert that a hearty greeting to the hero
+would be as salutory to the parishioners as a sermon of his own, while
+it would awaken James, a young man and possibly thoughtless, to a proper
+sense of his responsibilities. But the sudden arrival of James had
+disturbed the arrangements, and Mr. Dryland, in some perplexity, went to
+see Mary.
+
+"What are we to do, Miss Clibborn? The school children will be so
+disappointed."
+
+The original plan had been to meet the hero as he drove towards
+Primpton House from the station, and the curate was unwilling to give it
+up.
+
+"D'you think Captain Parsons would go into Tunbridge Wells and drive in
+at two o'clock, as if he were just arriving?"
+
+"I'm afraid he wouldn't," replied Mary, doubtfully, "and I think he'd
+only laugh if I asked him. He seemed glad when he thought he had escaped
+the celebration."
+
+"Did he, indeed? How true it is that real courage is always modest! But
+it would be an eternal disgrace to Little Primpton if we did not welcome
+our hero, especially now that everything is prepared. It must not be
+said that Little Primpton neglects to honour him whom the Empire has
+distinguished."
+
+After turning over many plans, they decided that the procession should
+come to Primpton House at the appointed hour, when Captain Parsons would
+receive it from the triumphal arch at the gate.... When the servant
+announced that the function was ready to begin, an announcement
+emphasised by the discordant notes of the brass band, Mary hurriedly
+explained to James what was expected of him, and they all made for the
+front door.
+
+Primpton House faced the green, and opposite the little village shops
+were gay with bunting; at the side, against the highroad that led to
+Groombridge, the church and the public-house stood together in friendly
+neighbourhood, decorated with Union Jacks. The whole scene, with its
+great chestnut-trees, and the stretch of greenery beyond, was pleasantly
+rural, old-fashioned and very English; and to complete it, the sun shone
+down comfortably like a good-natured, mild old gentleman. The curate,
+with a fine sense of order, had arranged on the right the school-boys,
+nicely scrubbed and redolent of pomatum; and on the left the girls,
+supported by their teachers. In the middle stood the choir, the brass
+band, and Mr. Dryland. The village yokels were collected round in
+open-mouthed admiration. The little party from the house took their
+places under the triumphal arch, the Clibborns assuming an expression of
+genteel superciliousness; and as they all wore their Sunday clothes,
+they made quite an imposing group.
+
+Seeing that they were ready, Mr. Dryland stepped forward, turned his
+back so as to command the musicians, and coughed significantly. He
+raised above his head his large, white clerical hand, stretching out the
+index-finger, and began to beat time. He bellowed aloud, and the choir,
+a bar or so late, followed lustily. The band joined in with a hearty
+braying of trumpets.
+
+    "_See, the conquering Hero comes,_
+    _Sound the trumpets; beat the drums._"
+
+But growing excited at the music issuing from his throat, the curate
+raised the other hand which held his soft felt hat, and beat time
+energetically with that also.
+
+At the end of the verse the performers took a rapid breath, as though
+afraid of being left behind, and then galloped on, a little less evenly,
+until one by one they reached the highly-decorated Amen.
+
+When the last note of the last cornet had died away on the startled air,
+Mr. Dryland made a sign to the head boy of the school, who thereupon
+advanced and waved his cap, shouting:
+
+"Three cheers for Capting Parsons, V.C.!"
+
+Then the curate, wiping his heated brow, turned round and cleared his
+throat.
+
+"Captain Parsons," he said, in a loud voice, so that none should miss
+his honeyed words, "we, the inhabitants of Little Primpton, welcome you
+to your home. I need not say that it is with great pleasure that we have
+gathered together this day to offer you our congratulations on your safe
+return to those that love you. I need not remind you that there is no
+place like home. ("Hear, hear!" from the Vicar.) We are proud to think
+that our fellow-parishioner should have gained the coveted glory of the
+Victoria Cross. Little Primpton need not be ashamed now to hold up its
+head among the proudest cities of the Empire. You have brought honour to
+yourself, but you have brought honour to us also. You have shown that
+Englishmen know how to die; you have shown the rival nations of the
+Continent that the purity and the godliness of Old England still bear
+fruit. But I will say no more; I wished only to utter a few words to
+welcome you on behalf of those who cannot, perhaps, express themselves
+so well as I can. I will say no more. Captain Parsons, we hope that you
+will live long to enjoy your honour and glory, side by side with her who
+is to shortly become your wife. I would only assure you that your
+example has not been lost upon us; we all feel better, nobler, and more
+truly Christian. And we say to you, now that you have overcome all
+dangers and tribulation, now that you have returned to the bosom of your
+beloved family, take her who has also given us an example of
+resignation, of courage, and of--and of resignation. Take her, we say,
+and be happy; confident in the respect, esteem, and affection of the
+people of Little Primpton. James Brown, who has the honour to bear the
+same Christian name as yourself, and is also the top boy of the Parish
+School, will now recite a short poem entitled 'Casabianca.'
+
+Mr. Dryland had wished to compose an ode especially for the occasion.
+It would evidently have been effective to welcome the hero, to glorify
+his deed, and to point the moral in a few original verses; but,
+unhappily, the muse was froward, which was singular, since the _élite_
+of Little Primpton had unimpeachable morals, ideals of the most approved
+character, and principles enough to build a church with; nor was an
+acquaintance with literature wanting. They all read the daily papers,
+and Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, in addition, read the _Church Times_. Mary
+even knew by heart whole chunks of Sir Lewis Morris, and Mr. Dryland
+recited Tennyson at penny readings. But when inspiration is wanting, a
+rhyming dictionary, for which the curate sent to London, will not help
+to any great extent; and finally the unanimous decision was reached to
+give some well-known poem apposite to the circumstance. It shows in what
+charming unity of spirit these simple, God-fearing people lived, and how
+fine was their sense of literary excellence, that without hesitation
+they voted in chorus for "Casabianca."
+
+The head boy stepped forward--he had been carefully trained by Mr.
+Dryland--and with appropriate gestures recited the immortal verses of
+Felicia Hemans:
+
+    "_The boy stood on the burning deck,
+      Whence all but 'e 'ad fled;
+      The flame that lit the battle's wreck,
+      Shone round 'im o'er the dead._"
+
+When he finished, amid the discreet applause of the little party beneath
+the archway, Mr. Dryland again advanced.
+
+"Polly Game, the top girl of the Parish School, will now present Miss
+Clibborn with a bouquet. Step forward, Polly Game."
+
+This was a surprise arranged by the curate, and he watched with pleasure
+Mary's look of delighted astonishment.
+
+Polly Game stepped forward, and made a little speech in the ingenuous
+words which Mr. Dryland had thought natural to her character and
+station.
+
+"Please, Miss Clibborn, we, the girls of Little Primpton, wish to
+present you with this bouquet as a slight token of our esteem. We wish
+you a long life and a 'appy marriage with the choice of your 'eart."
+
+She then handed a very stiff bunch of flowers, surrounded with frilled
+paper like the knuckle of a leg of mutton.
+
+"We will now sing hymn number one hundred and thirty-seven," said Mr.
+Dryland.
+
+The verses were given vigorously, while Mrs. Clibborn, with a tender
+smile, murmured to Mrs. Parsons that it was beautiful to see such a nice
+spirit among the lower classes. The strains of the brass band died away
+on the summer breeze, and there was a momentary pause. Then the Vicar,
+with a discreet cough to clear his throat, came forward.
+
+"Captain Parsons, ladies and gentlemen, parishioners of Little Primpton,
+I wish to take the opportunity to say a few words."
+
+The Vicar made an admirable speech. The sentiments were hackneyed, the
+observations self-evident, and the moral obvious. His phrases had the
+well-known ring which distinguishes the true orator. Mr. Jackson was
+recognised everywhere to be a fine platform speaker, but his varied
+excellence could not be appreciated in a summary, and he had a fine
+verbosity. It is sufficient to say that he concluded by asking for more
+cheers, which were heartily given.
+
+James found the whole affair distasteful and ridiculous; and indeed
+scarcely noticed what was going on, for his thoughts were entirely
+occupied with his father. At first Colonel Parsons seemed too depressed
+to pay attention to the ceremony, and his eyes travelled every now and
+again to James, with that startled, unhappy expression which was
+horribly painful to see. But his age and weakness prevented him from
+feeling very intensely for more than a short while; time had brought its
+own good medicine, and the old man's mind was easily turned. Presently
+he began to smile, and the look of pride and happiness returned to his
+face.
+
+But James was not satisfied. He felt he must make active reparation.
+When the Vicar finished, and he understood that some reply was expected,
+it occurred to him that he had an opportunity of salving the bitter
+wound he had caused. The very hatred he felt at making open allusion to
+his feelings made him think it a just punishment; none knew but himself
+how painful it was to talk in that strain to stupid, curious people.
+
+"I thank you very much for the welcome you have all given me," he said.
+
+His voice trembled in his nervousness, so that he could hardly command
+it, and he reddened. It seemed to James a frightful humiliation to have
+to say the things he had in mind, it made them all ugly and vulgar; he
+was troubled also by his inability to express what he felt. He noticed a
+reporter for the local newspaper rapidly taking notes.
+
+"I have been very much touched by your kindness. Of course, I am
+extremely proud to have won the Victoria Cross, but I feel it is really
+more owing to my father than to any deed of mine. You all know my
+father, and you know what a brave and gallant soldier he was. It was
+owing to his fine example, and to his teaching, and to his constant,
+loving care, that I was able to do the little I did. And I should like
+to say that it is to him and to my mother that I owe everything. It is
+the thought of his unblemished and exquisite career, of the beautiful
+spirit which brightly coloured all his actions, that has supported me in
+times of difficulty. And my earnest desire has always been to prove
+myself worthy of my father and the name he has handed on to me. You have
+cheered me very kindly; now I should like to ask you for three cheers
+for my father."
+
+Colonel Parsons looked at his son as he began to speak. When he realised
+Jamie's meaning, tears filled his eyes and streamed down his
+cheeks--tears of happiness and gratitude. All recollection of the
+affront quickly vanished, and he felt an ecstatic joy such as he had
+never known before. The idea came to him in his weakness: "Now I can die
+happy!" He was too overcome to be ashamed of his emotion, and taking out
+his handkerchief, quite unaffectedly wiped his eyes.
+
+The band struck up "Rule, Britannia" and "God Save the Queen"; and in
+orderly fashion, as Mr. Dryland had arranged, they all marched off. The
+group under the triumphal arch broke up, and the Jacksons and Colonel
+and Mrs. Clibborn went their ways.
+
+Mary came into the house. She took Jamie's hands, her eyes wet with
+tears.
+
+"Oh, Jamie," she said, "you are good! It was charming of you to speak as
+you did of your father. You don't know how happy you've made him."
+
+"I'm very glad you are pleased," he said gravely, and bending forward,
+put his arm round her waist and kissed her.
+
+For a moment she leant her head against his shoulder; but with her
+emotion was a thing soon vanquished. She wished, above all things, to be
+manly, as befitted a soldier's wife. She shook herself, and withdrew
+from Jamie's arms.
+
+"But I must be running off, or mamma will be angry with me. Good-bye for
+the present."
+
+* * *
+
+James went into the dining-room, where his father, exhausted by the
+varied agitations of the day, was seeking composure in the leading
+articles of the morning paper. Mrs. Parsons sat on her usual chair,
+knitting, and she greeted him with a loving smile. James saw that they
+were both pleased with his few awkward words, which still rang in his
+own ears as shoddy and sentimental, and he tasted, somewhat ruefully,
+the delight of making the kind creatures happy.
+
+"Has Mary gone?" asked Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"Yes. She said her mother would be angry if she stayed."
+
+"I saw that Mrs. Clibborn was put out. I suppose because someone besides
+herself attracted attention. I do think she is the wickedest woman I've
+ever known."
+
+"Frances, Frances!" expostulated the Colonel.
+
+"She is, Richmond. She's a thoroughly bad woman. The way she treats Mary
+is simply scandalous."
+
+"Poor girl!" said the Colonel.
+
+"Oh, Jamie, it makes my blood boil when I think of it. Sometimes the
+poor thing used to come here quite upset, and simply cry as if her heart
+was breaking."
+
+"But what does Mrs. Clibborn do?" asked James, surprised.
+
+"Oh, I can't tell you! She's dreadfully unkind. She hates Mary because
+she's grown up, and because she sometimes attracts attention. She's
+always making little cruel remarks. You only see her when she's on her
+good behaviour; but when she's alone with Mary, Mrs. Clibborn is simply
+horrible. She abuses her; she tells her she's ugly, and that she
+dresses badly. How can she dress any better when Mrs. Clibborn spends
+all the money on herself? I've heard her myself say to Mary: 'How stupid
+and clumsy you are! I'm ashamed to take you anywhere.' And Mary's the
+very soul of goodness. She teaches in the Sunday School, and she trains
+the choir-boys, and she visits the poor; and yet Mrs. Clibborn complains
+that she's useless. I wanted Richmond to talk to Colonel Clibborn about
+it."
+
+"Mary particularly asked me not to," said Colonel Parsons. "She
+preferred to bear anything rather than create unhappiness between her
+father and mother."
+
+"She's a perfect angel of goodness!" cried Mrs. Parsons,
+enthusiastically. "She's simply a martyr, and all the time she's as kind
+and affectionate to her mother as if she were the best woman in the
+world. She never lets anyone say a word against her."
+
+"Sometimes," murmured Colonel Parsons, "she used to say that her only
+happiness was in the thought of you, Jamie."
+
+"The thought of me?" said James; and then hesitatingly: "Do you think
+she is very fond of me, mother?"
+
+"Fond of you?" Mrs Parsons laughed. "She worships the very ground you
+tread on. You can't imagine all you are to her."
+
+"You'll make the boy vain," said Colonel Parsons, laughing.
+
+"Often the only way we could comfort her was by saying that you would
+come back some day and take her away from here."
+
+"We shall have to be thinking of weddings soon, I suppose?" said Colonel
+Parsons, looking at James, with a bantering smile.
+
+James turned white. "It's rather early to think of that just yet."
+
+"We spoke of June," said his mother.
+
+"We must see."
+
+"You've waited so long," said Colonel Parsons; "I'm sure you don't want
+to wait any longer."
+
+"She _will_ make you a good wife, Jamie. You are lucky to have found
+such a dear, sweet girl. It's a blessing to us to think that you will be
+so happy."
+
+"As I was saying to Mary the other day," added Colonel Parsons, laughing
+gently, "'you must begin thinking of your trousseau, my dear,' I said,
+'If I know anything of Jamie, he'll want to get married in a week. These
+young fellows are always impatient.'"
+
+Mrs Parsons smiled.
+
+"Well, it's a great secret, and Mary would be dreadfully annoyed if she
+thought you knew; but when we heard you were coming home, she started
+to order things. Her father has given her a hundred pounds to begin
+with."
+
+They had no mercy, thought James. They were horribly cruel in their
+loving-kindness, in their affectionate interest for his welfare.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+James had been away from England for five years; and in that time a
+curious change, long silently proceeding, had made itself openly
+felt--becoming manifest, like an insidious disease, only when every limb
+and every organ were infected. A new spirit had been in action, eating
+into the foundations of the national character; it worked through the
+masses of the great cities, unnerved by the three poisons of drink, the
+Salvation Army, and popular journalism. A mighty force of hysteria and
+sensationalism was created, seething, ready to burst its bonds ... The
+canker spread through the country-side; the boundaries of class and
+class are now so vague that quickly the whole population was affected;
+the current literature of the day flourished upon it; the people of
+England, neurotic from the stress of the last sixty years, became
+unstable as water. And with the petty reverses of the beginning of the
+war, the last barriers of shame were broken down; their arrogance was
+dissipated, and suddenly the English became timorous as a conquered
+nation, deprecating, apologetic; like frightened women, they ran to and
+fro, wringing their hands. Reserve, restraint, self-possession, were
+swept away ... And now we are frankly emotional; reeds tottering in the
+wind, our boast is that we are not even reeds that think; we cry out for
+idols. Who is there that will set up a golden ass that we may fall down
+and worship? We glory in our shame, in our swelling hearts, in our eyes
+heavy with tears. We want sympathy at all costs; we run about showing
+our bleeding vitals, asking one another whether they are not indeed a
+horrible sight. Englishmen now are proud of being womanish, and nothing
+is more manly than to weep. To be a man of feeling is better than to be
+a gentleman--it is certainly much easier. The halt of mind, the maim,
+the blind of wit, have come by their own; and the poor in spirit have
+inherited the earth.
+
+James had left England when this emotional state was contemptible. Found
+chiefly in the dregs of the populace, it was ascribed to ignorance and
+to the abuse of stimulants. When he returned, it had the public
+conscience behind it. He could not understand the change. The persons he
+had known sober, equal-minded, and restrained, now seemed violently
+hysterical. James still shuddered, remembering the curate's allusions to
+his engagement; and he wondered that Mary, far from thinking them
+impertinent, had been vastly gratified. She seemed to take pleasure in
+publicly advertising her connection, in giving her private affairs to
+the inspection of all and sundry. The whole ceremony had been revolting;
+he loathed the adulation and the fulsome sentiment. His own emotions
+seemed vulgar now that he had been forced to display them to the gaping
+crowd.
+
+But the function of the previous day had the effect also of sealing his
+engagement. Everyone knew of it. Jamie's name was indissolubly joined
+with Mary's; he could not break the tie now without exposing her to the
+utmost humiliation. And how could he offer her such an affront when she
+loved him devotedly? It was not vanity that made him think so, his
+mother had told him outright; and he saw it in every look of Mary's
+eyes, in the least inflection of her voice. James asked himself
+desperately why Mary should care for him. He was not good-looking; he
+was silent; he was not amusing; he had no particular attraction.
+
+James was sitting in his room, and presently heard Mary's voice calling
+from the hall.
+
+"Jamie! Jamie!"
+
+He got up and came downstairs.
+
+"Why, Jamie," said his father, "you ought to have gone to fetch Mary,
+instead of waiting here for her to come to you."
+
+"You certainly ought, Jamie," said Mary, laughing; and then, looking at
+him, with sudden feeling: "But how seedy you look!"
+
+James had hardly slept, troubling over his perplexity, and he looked
+haggard and tired.
+
+"I'm all right," he said; "I'm not very strong yet, and I was rather
+exhausted yesterday."
+
+"Mary thought you would like to go with her this morning, while she does
+her district visiting."
+
+"It's a beautiful morning, Jamie; it will do you good!" cried Mary.
+
+"I should like it very much."
+
+They started out. Mary wore her every-day costume--a serge gown, a
+sailor hat, and solid, square-toed boots. She walked fast, with long
+steps and firm carriage. James set himself to talk, asking her
+insignificant questions about the people she visited. Mary answered with
+feeling and at length, but was interrupted by arriving at a cottage.
+
+"You'd better not come in here," she said, blushing slightly; "although
+I want to take you in to some of the people. I think it will be a lesson
+to them."
+
+"A lesson in what?"
+
+"Oh, I can't tell you to your face, I don't want to make you conceited;
+but you can guess while you're waiting for me."
+
+Mary's patient was about to be confined, and thinking her condition
+rather indecent, quite rightly, Mary had left James outside. But the
+good lady, since it was all in the way of nature, was not so ashamed of
+herself as she should have been, and insisted on coming to the door to
+show Miss Clibborn out.
+
+"Take care he doesn't see you!" cried Mary in alarm, pushing her back.
+
+"Well, there's no harm in it. I'm a married woman. You'll have to go
+through it yourself one day, miss."
+
+Mary rejoined her lover, suffused in blushes, hoping he had seen
+nothing.
+
+"It's very difficult to teach these people propriety. Somehow the lower
+classes seem to have no sense of decency."
+
+"What's the matter?"
+
+"Oh, nothing I can tell you," replied Mary, modestly. Then, to turn the
+conversation: "She asked after my young man, and was very anxious to see
+you."
+
+"Was she? How did she know you had a young man?" asked James, grimly.
+
+"Oh, everyone knows that! You can't keep secrets in Primpton. And
+besides, I'm not ashamed of it. Are you?"
+
+"I haven't got a young man."
+
+Mary laughed.
+
+They walked on. The morning was crisp and bright, sending a healthy
+colour through Mary's cheeks. The blue sky and the bracing air made her
+feel more self-reliant, better assured than ever of her upright purpose
+and her candid heart. The road, firm underfoot and delightful to walk
+upon, stretched before them in a sinuous line. A pleasant odour came
+from the adjoining fields, from the farm-yards, as they passed them; the
+larks soared singing with happy heart, while the sparrows chirruped in
+the hedges. The hawthorn was bursting into leaf, all bright and green,
+and here and there the wild flowers were showing themselves, the
+buttercup and the speedwell. But while the charm of Nature made James
+anxious to linger, to lean on a gate and look for a while at the cows
+lazily grazing, Mary had too sound a constitution to find in it anything
+but a stimulus to renewed activity.
+
+"We mustn't dawdle, you lazy creature!" she cried merrily. "I shall
+never get through my round before one o'clock if we don't put our best
+foot foremost."
+
+"Can't you see them some other time?"
+
+The limpid air softened his heart; he thought for a moment that if he
+could wander aimlessly with Mary, gossiping without purpose, they might
+end by understanding one another. The sun, the wild flowers, the
+inconstant breeze, might help to create a new feeling.
+
+But Mary turned to him with grave tenderness.
+
+"You know I'd do anything to please you, Jamie. But even for you I
+cannot neglect my duty."
+
+James froze.
+
+"Of course, you're quite right," he said. "It really doesn't matter."
+
+They came to another cottage, and this time Mary took James in.
+
+"It's a poor old man," she said. "I'm so sorry for him; he's always so
+grateful for what I do."
+
+They found him lying in bed, writhing with pain, his head supported by a
+pillow.
+
+"Oh, how uncomfortable you look!" cried Mary. "You poor thing! Who on
+earth arranged your pillows like that?"
+
+"My daughter, miss."
+
+"I must talk to her; she ought to know better."
+
+Miss Clibborn drew away the pillows very gently, smoothed them out, and
+replaced them.
+
+"I can't bear 'em like that, miss. The other is the only way I'm
+comfortable."
+
+"Nonsense, John!" cried Mary, brightly. "You couldn't be comfortable
+with your head all on one side; you're much better as you are."
+
+James saw the look of pain in the man's face, and ventured to
+expostulate.
+
+"Don't you think you'd better put them back in the old way? He seemed
+much easier."
+
+"Nonsense, Jamie. You must know that the head ought to be higher than
+the body."
+
+"Please, miss, I can't bear the pillow like this."
+
+"Oh, yes, you can. You must show more forbearance and fortitude.
+Remember that God sends you pain in order to try you. Think of Our Lord
+suffering silently on the Cross."
+
+"You're putting him to quite unnecessary torture, Mary," said James. "He
+must know best how he's comfortable."
+
+"It's only because he's obstinate. Those people are always complaining.
+Really, you must permit me to know more about nursing than you do,
+Jamie."
+
+Jamie's face grew dark and grim, but he made no answer.
+
+"I shall send you some soup, John," said Mary, as they went out, "You
+know, one can never get these people to do anything in a rational way,"
+she added to James. "It's perfectly heartrending trying to teach them
+even such a natural thing as making themselves comfortable."
+
+James was silent.
+
+They walked a few yards farther, and passed a man in a dog-cart Mary
+turned very red, staring in front of her with the fixed awkwardness of
+one not adept in the useful art of cutting.
+
+"Oh," she said, with vexation, "he's going to John."
+
+"Who is it?"
+
+"It's Dr. Higgins--a horrid, vulgar man. He's been dreadfully rude to
+me, and I make a point of cutting him."
+
+"Really?"
+
+"Oh, he behaved scandalously. I can't bear doctors, they're so
+dreadfully interfering. And they seem to think no one can know anything
+about doctoring but themselves! He was attending one of my patients; it
+was a woman, and of course I knew what she wanted. She was ill and weak,
+and needed strengthening; so I sent her down a bottle of port. Well, Dr.
+Higgins came to the house, and asked to see me. He's not a gentleman,
+you know, and he was so rude! 'I've come to see you about Mrs. Gandy,'
+he said. 'I particularly ordered her not to take stimulants, and I find
+you've sent her down port.' 'I thought she wanted it,' I said. 'She
+told me that you had said she wasn't to touch anything, but I thought a
+little port would do her good.' Then he said, 'I wish to goodness you
+wouldn't interfere with what you know nothing about.' 'I should like you
+to remember that you're speaking to a gentlewoman,' I said. 'I don't
+care twopence,' he answered, in the rudest way. 'I'm not going to allow
+you to interfere with my patients. I took the port away, and I wish you
+to understand that you're not to send any more.'
+
+"Then I confess I lost my temper. 'I suppose you took it away to drink
+yourself?' I said. Then what d'you think he did? He burst out laughing,
+and said: 'A bottle of port that cost two bob at the local grocer's! The
+saints preserve us!'"
+
+James repressed a smile.
+
+"'You impertinent man!' I said. 'You ought to be ashamed to talk to a
+woman like that. I shall at once send Mrs. Gandy another bottle of port,
+and it's no business of yours how much it cost.' 'If you do,' he said,
+'and anything happens, by God, I'll have you up for manslaughter.' I
+rang the bell. 'Leave the house,' I said, 'and never dare come here
+again!' Now don't you think I was right, Jamie?"
+
+"My dear Mary, you always are!"
+
+James looked back at the doctor entering the cottage. It was some
+comfort to think that he would put the old man into a comfortable
+position.
+
+"When I told papa," added Mary, "he got in a most fearful rage. He
+insisted on going out with a horsewhip, and said he meant to thrash Dr.
+Higgins. He looked for him all the morning, but couldn't find him; and
+then your mother and I persuaded him it was better to treat such a
+vulgar man with silent contempt."
+
+James had noticed that the doctor was a burly, broad-shouldered fellow,
+and he could not help thinking Colonel Clibborn's resolution distinctly
+wise. How sad it is that in this world right is so often subordinate to
+brute force!
+
+"But he's not received anywhere. We all cut him; and I get everyone I
+can not to employ him."
+
+"Ah!" murmured James.
+
+Mary's next patient was feminine, and James was again left to cool his
+heels in the road; but not alone, for Mr. Dryland came out of the
+cottage. The curate was a big, stout man, with reddish hair, and a
+complexion like squashed strawberries and cream; his large, heavy face,
+hairless except for scanty red eyebrows, gave a disconcerting impression
+of nakedness. His eyes were blue and his mouth small, with the
+expression which young ladies, eighty years back, strove to acquire by
+repeating the words prune and prism. He had a fat, full voice, with
+unctuous modulations not entirely under his control, so that sometimes,
+unintentionally, he would utter the most commonplace remark in a tone
+fitted for a benediction. Mr. Dryland was possessed by the laudable
+ambition to be all things to all men; and he tried, without conspicuous
+success, always to suit his conversation to his hearers. With old ladies
+he was bland; with sportsmen slangy; with yokels he was broadly
+humorous; and with young people aggressively juvenile. But above all, he
+wished to be manly, and cultivated a boisterous laugh and a jovial
+manner.
+
+"I don't know if you remember me," he cried, with a ripple of fat
+laughter, going up to James, "I had the pleasure of addressing a few
+words to you yesterday in my official capacity. Miss Clibborn told me
+you were waiting, and I thought I would introduce myself. My name is
+Dryland."
+
+"I remember quite well."
+
+"I'm the Vicar's bottle-washer, you know," added the curate, with a
+guffaw. "Change for you--going round to the sick and needy of the
+parish--after fighting the good fight. I hear you were wounded."
+
+"I was, rather badly."
+
+"I wish I could have gone out and had a smack at the Boers. Nothing I
+should have liked better. But, of course, I'm only a parson, you know.
+It wouldn't have been thought the correct thing." Mr. Dryland, from his
+superior height, beamed down on James. "I don't know whether you
+remember the few words which I was privileged to address to you
+yesterday--"
+
+"Perfectly," put in James.
+
+"Impromptu, you know; but they expressed my feelings. That is one of the
+best things the war has done for us. It has permitted us to express our
+emotions more openly. I thought it a beautiful sight to see the noble
+tears coursing down your father's furrowed cheeks. Those few words of
+yours have won all our hearts. I may say that our little endeavours were
+nothing beside that short, unstudied speech. I hope there will be a full
+report in the Tunbridge Wells papers."
+
+"I hope not!" cried James.
+
+"You're too modest, Captain Parsons. That is what I said to Miss
+Clibborn yesterday; true courage is always modest. But it is our duty to
+see that it does not hide its light under a bushel. I hope you won't
+think it a liberty, but I myself gave the reporter a few notes."
+
+"Will Miss Clibborn be long?" asked James, looking at the cottage.
+
+"Ah, what a good woman she is, Captain Parsons. My dear sir, I assure
+you she's an angel of mercy."
+
+"It's very kind of you to say so."
+
+"Not at all! It's a pleasure. The good she does is beyond praise. She's
+a wonderful help in the parish. She has at heart the spiritual welfare
+of the people, and I may say that she is a moral force of the first
+magnitude."
+
+"I'm sure that's a very delightful thing to be."
+
+"You know I can't help thinking," laughed Mr. Dryland fatly, "that she
+ought to be the wife of a clergyman, rather than of a military man."
+
+Mary came out.
+
+"I've been telling Mrs. Gray that I don't approve of the things her
+daughter wears in church," she said. "I don't think it's nice for people
+of that class to wear such bright colours."
+
+"I don't know what we should do in the parish without you," replied the
+curate, unctuously. "It's so rare to find someone who knows what is
+right, and isn't afraid of speaking out."
+
+Mary said that she and James were walking home, and asked Mr. Dryland
+whether he would not accompany them.
+
+"I shall be delighted, if I'm not _de trop_."
+
+He looked with laughing significance from one to the other.
+
+"I wanted to talk to you about my girls," said Mary.
+
+She had a class of village maidens, to whom she taught sewing, respect
+for their betters, and other useful things.
+
+"I was just telling Captain Parsons that you were an angel of mercy,
+Miss Clibborn."
+
+"I'm afraid I'm not that," replied Mary, gravely. "But I try to do my
+duty."
+
+"Ah!" cried Mr. Dryland, raising his eyes so that he looked exactly like
+a codfish, "how few of us can say that!"
+
+"I'm seriously distressed about my girls. They live in nasty little
+cottages, and eat filthy things; they pass their whole lives under the
+most disgusting conditions, and yet they're happy. I can't get them to
+see that they ought to be utterly miserable."
+
+"Oh, I know," sighed the curate; "it makes me sad to think of it."
+
+"Surely, if they're happy, you can want nothing better," said James,
+rather impatiently.
+
+"But I do. They have no right to be happy under such circumstances. I
+want to make them feel their wretchedness."
+
+"What a brutal thing to do!" cried James.
+
+"It's the only way to improve them. I want them to see things as I see
+them."
+
+"And how d'you know that you see them any more correctly than they do?"
+
+"My dear Jamie!" cried Mary; and then as the humour of such a suggestion
+dawned upon her, she burst into a little shout of laughter.
+
+"What d'you think is the good of making them dissatisfied?" asked James,
+grimly.
+
+"I want to make them better, nobler, worthier; I want to make their
+lives more beautiful and holy."
+
+"If you saw a man happily wearing a tinsel crown, would you go to him
+and say, 'My good friend, you're making a fool of yourself. Your crown
+isn't of real gold, and you must throw it away. I haven't a golden crown
+to give you instead, but you're wicked to take pleasure in that sham
+thing.' They're just as comfortable, after their fashion, in a hovel as
+you in your fine house; they enjoy the snack of fat pork they have on
+Sunday just as much as you enjoy your boiled chickens and blanc-manges.
+They're happy, and that's the chief thing."
+
+"Happiness is not the chief thing in this world, James," said Mary,
+gravely.
+
+"Isn't it? I thought it was."
+
+"Captain Parsons is a cynic," said Mr. Dryland, with a slightly
+supercilious smile.
+
+"Because I say it's idiotic to apply your standards to people who have
+nothing in common with you? I hate all this interfering. For God's sake
+let us go our way; and if we can get a little pleasure out of dross and
+tinsel, let us keep it."
+
+"I want to give the poor high ideals," said Mary.
+
+"I should have thought bread and cheese would be more useful."
+
+"My dear Jamie," said Mary, good-naturedly, "I think you're talking of
+things you know nothing about."
+
+"You must remember that Miss Clibborn has worked nobly among the poor
+for many years."
+
+"My own conscience tells me I'm right," pursued Mary, "and you see Mr.
+Dryland agrees with me. I know you mean well, Jamie; but I don't think
+you quite understand the matter, and I fancy we had better change the
+conversation."
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+
+Next day Mary went into Primpton House. Colonel Parsons nodded to her as
+she walked up the drive, and took off his spectacles. The front door was
+neither locked nor bolted in that confiding neighbourhood, and Mary
+walked straight in.
+
+"Well, my dear?" said the Colonel, smiling with pleasure, for he was as
+fond of her as of his own son.
+
+"I thought I'd come and see you alone. Jamie's still out, isn't he? I
+saw him pass our house. I was standing at the window, but he didn't look
+up."
+
+"I daresay he was thinking. He's grown very thoughtful now."
+
+Mrs. Parsons came in, and her quiet face lit up, too, as she greeted
+Mary. She kissed her tenderly.
+
+"Jamie's out, you know."
+
+"Mary has come to see us," said the Colonel. "She doesn't want us to
+feel neglected now that she has the boy."
+
+"We shall never dream that you can do anything unkind, dear Mary,"
+replied Mrs. Parsons, stroking the girl's hair. "It's natural that you
+should think more of him than of us."
+
+Mary hesitated a moment.
+
+"Don't you think Jamie has changed?"
+
+Mrs. Parsons looked at her quickly.
+
+"I think he has grown more silent. But he's been through so much. And
+then he's a man now; he was only a boy when we saw him last."
+
+"D'you think he cares for me any more?" asked Mary, with a rapid tremor
+in her voice.
+
+"Mary!"
+
+"Of course he does! He talks of you continually," said Colonel Parsons,
+"and always as if he were devoted. Doesn't he, Frances?"
+
+The old man's deep love for Mary had prevented him from seeing in
+Jamie's behaviour anything incongruous with that of a true lover.
+
+"What makes you ask that question, Mary?" said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+Her feminine tact had led her to notice a difference in Jamie's feeling
+towards his betrothed; but she had been unwilling to think that it
+amounted even to coldness. Such a change could be explained in a hundred
+natural ways, and might, indeed, exist merely in her own imagination.
+
+"Oh, he's not the same as he was!" cried Mary, "I don't know what it is,
+but I feel it in his whole manner. Yesterday evening he barely said a
+word."
+
+James had dined with the Clibborns in solemn state.
+
+"I daresay he's not very well yet. His wound troubles him still."
+
+"I try to put it down to that," said Mary, "but he seems to force
+himself to speak to me. He's not natural. I've got an awful fear that he
+has ceased to care for me."
+
+She looked from Colonel Parsons to his wife, who stared at her in
+dismay.
+
+"Don't be angry with me," she said; "I couldn't talk like this to anyone
+else, but I know you love me. I look upon you already as my father and
+mother. I don't want to be unkind to mamma, but I couldn't talk of it to
+her; she would only sneer at me. And I'm afraid it's making me rather
+unhappy."
+
+"Of course, we want you to treat us as your real parents, Mary. We both
+love you as we love Jamie. We have always looked upon you as our
+daughter."
+
+"You're so good to me!"
+
+"Has your mother said anything to annoy you?"
+
+Mary faltered.
+
+"Last night, when he went away, she said she didn't think he was devoted
+to me."
+
+"Oh, I knew it was your mother who'd put this in your head! She has
+always been jealous of you. I suppose she thinks he's in love with her."
+
+"Mrs. Parsons!" cried Mary, in a tone of entreaty.
+
+"I know you can't bear anything said against your mother, and it's
+wicked of me to vex you; but she has no right to suggest such things."
+
+"It's not only that. It's what I feel."
+
+"I'm sure Jamie is most fond of you," said Colonel Parsons, kindly.
+"You've not seen one another for five years, and you find yourselves
+altered. Even we feel a little strange with Jamie sometimes; don't we,
+Frances? What children they are, Frances!" Colonel Parsons laughed in
+that irresistibly sweet fashion of his. "Why, it was only the day before
+yesterday that Jamie came to us with a long face and asked if you cared
+for _him_."
+
+"Did he?" asked Mary, with pleased surprise, anxious to believe what the
+Colonel suggested. "Oh, he must see that I love him! Perhaps he finds me
+unresponsive.... How could I help caring for him? I think if he ceased
+to love me, I should die."
+
+"My dearest Mary," cried Mrs. Parsons, the tears rising to her eyes,
+"don't talk like that! I'm sure he can't help loving you, either;
+you're so good and sweet. You're both of you fanciful, and he's not
+well. Be patient. Jamie is shy and reserved; he hasn't quite got used to
+us yet. He doesn't know how to show his feelings. It will all come right
+soon."
+
+"Of course he loves you!" said Colonel Parsons. "Who could help it? Why,
+if I were a young fellow I should be mad to marry you."
+
+"And what about me, Richmond?" asked Mrs. Parsons, smiling.
+
+"Well, I think I should have to commit bigamy, and marry you both."
+
+They laughed at the Colonel's mild little joke, happy to break through
+the cloud of doubt which oppressed them.
+
+"You're a dear thing," said Mary, kissing the old man, "and I'm a very
+silly girl. It's wrong of me to give way to whims and fancies."
+
+"You must be very brave when you're the wife of a V.C.," said the
+Colonel, patting her hand.
+
+"Oh, it was a beautiful action!" cried Mary. "And he's as modest about
+it as though he had done nothing that any man might not do. I think
+there can be no sight more pleasing to God than that of a brave man
+risking his life to save a comrade."
+
+"And that ought to be an assurance to you, Mary, that James will never
+do anything unkind or dishonourable. Trust him, and forgive his little
+faults of manner. I'm sure he loves you, and soon you'll get married and
+be completely happy."
+
+Mary's face darkened once more.
+
+"He's been here three days, and he's not said a word about getting
+married. Oh, I can't help it; I'm so frightened! I wish he'd say
+something--just one word to show that he really cares for me. He seems
+to have forgotten that we're even engaged."
+
+Colonel Parsons looked at his wife, begging her by his glance to say
+something that would comfort Mary. Mrs. Parsons looked down, uncertain,
+ill at ease.
+
+"You don't despise me for talking like this, Mrs. Parsons?"
+
+"Despise you, my dear! How can I, when I love you so dearly? Shall I
+speak to Jamie? I'm sure when he understands that he's making you
+unhappy, he'll be different. He has the kindest heart in the world; I've
+never known him do an unkind thing in his life."
+
+"No, don't say anything to him," replied Mary. "I daresay it's all
+nonsense. I don't want him to be driven into making love to me."
+
+* * *
+
+Meanwhile James wandered thoughtfully. The country was undulating, and
+little hill rose after little hill, affording spacious views of the fat
+Kentish fields, encircled by oak trees and by chestnuts. Owned by rich
+landlords, each generation had done its best, and the fruitful land was
+tended like a garden. But it had no abandonment, no freedom; the hand of
+man was obvious, perpetually, in the trimness and in the careful
+arrangement, so that the landscape, in its formality, reminded one of
+those set pieces chosen by the classic painters. But the fields were
+fresh with the tall young grass of the new year, the buttercups flaunted
+themselves gaily, careless of the pitiless night, rejoicing in the
+sunshine, as before they had rejoiced in the enlivening rain. The
+pleasant rain-drops still lingered on the daisies. The feathery ball of
+the dandelion, carried by the breeze, floated past like a symbol of the
+life of man--a random thing, resistless to the merest breath, with no
+mission but to spread its seed upon the fertile earth, so that things
+like unto it should spring up in the succeeding summer, and flower
+uncared for, and reproduce themselves, and die.
+
+James decided finally that he must break that very evening his
+engagement with Mary. He could not put it off. Every day made his
+difficulty greater, and it was impossible any longer to avoid the
+discussion of their marriage, nor could he continue to treat Mary with
+nothing better than friendliness. He realised all her good qualities;
+she was frank, and honest, and simple; anxious to do right; charitable
+according to her light; kindness itself. James felt sincerely grateful
+for the affectionate tenderness which Mary showed to his father and
+mother. He was thankful for that and for much else, and was prepared to
+look upon her as a very good friend, even as a sister; but he did not
+love her. He could not look upon the prospect of marriage without
+repulsion. Nor did Mary, he said, really love him. He knew what love
+was--something different entirely from that pallid flame of affection
+and esteem, of which alone she was capable. Mary loved him for certain
+qualities of mind, because his station in life was decent, his manners
+passable, his morals beyond reproach.
+
+"She might as well marry the Ten Commandments!" he cried impatiently.
+
+Mary cared for him from habit, from a sense of decorum, and for the
+fitness of things; but that was not love. He shrugged his shoulders
+scornfully, looking for some word to express the mildly pleasant,
+unagitating emotion. James, who had been devoured by it, who had
+struggled with it as with a deadly sin, who had killed it finally while,
+like a serpent of evil, it clung to his throat, drinking his life's
+blood, James knew what love was--a fire in the veins, a divine
+affliction, a passion, a frenzy, a madness. The love he knew was the
+love of the body of flesh and blood, the love that engenders, the love
+that kills. At the bottom of it is sex, and sex is not ugly or immoral,
+for sex is the root of life. The woman is fair because man shall love
+her body; her lips are red and passionate that he may kiss them; her
+hair is beautiful that he may take it in his hands--a river of living
+gold.
+
+James stopped, and the dead love rose again and tore his entrails like a
+beast of prey. He gasped with agony, with bitter joy. Ah, that was the
+true love! What did he care that the woman lacked this and that? He
+loved her because he loved her; he loved her for her faults. And in
+spite of the poignant anguish, he thanked her from the bottom of his
+heart, for she had taught him love. She had caused him endless pain, but
+she had given him the strength to bear it. She had ruined his life,
+perhaps, but had shown him that life was worth living. What were the
+agony, the torture, the despair, beside that radiant passion which made
+him godlike? It is only the lover who lives, and of his life every
+moment is intense and fervid. James felt that his most precious
+recollection was that ardent month, during which, at last, he had seen
+the world in all its dazzling movement, in its manifold colour, singing
+with his youth and laughing to his joy.
+
+And he did not care that hideous names have been given to that dear
+passion, to that rich desire. The vulgar call it lust, and blush and
+hide their faces; in their folly is the shame, in their prurience the
+disgrace. They do not know that the appetite which shocks them is the
+very origin of the highest qualities of man. It is they, weaklings
+afraid to look life in the face, dotards and sentimentalists, who have
+made the body unclean. They have covered the nakedness of Aphrodite with
+the rags of their own impurity. They have disembowelled the great lovers
+of antiquity till Cleopatra serves to adorn a prudish tale and Lancelot
+to point a moral. Oh, Mother Nature, give us back our freedom, with its
+strength of sinew and its humour! For lack of it we perish in false
+shame, and our fig-leaves point our immodesty to all the world. Teach us
+that love is not a tawdry sentiment, but a fire divine in order to the
+procreation of children; teach us not to dishonour our bodies, for they
+are beautiful and pure, and all thy works are sweet. Teach us, again, in
+thy merciful goodness, that man is made for woman, his body for her
+body, and that the flesh cannot sin.
+
+Teach us also not to rant too much, even in thy service; and though we
+do set up for prophets and the like, let us not forget occasionally to
+laugh at our very august selves.
+
+* * *
+
+Then, harking back, Jamie's thoughts returned to the dinner of the
+previous evening at the Clibborns. He was the only guest, and when he
+arrived, found Mary and the Colonel by themselves in the drawing-room.
+It was an old habit of Mrs. Clibborn's not to appear till after her
+visitors, thinking that so she created a greater effect. The Colonel
+wore a very high collar, which made his head look like some queer flower
+on a long white stalk; hair and eyebrows were freshly dyed, and
+glistened like the oiled locks of a young Jewess. He was the perfect
+dandy, even to his bejewelled fingers and his scented handkerchief. His
+manner was a happy mixture of cordiality and condescension, by the side
+of which Mary's unaffected simplicity contrasted oddly. She seemed less
+at home in an evening dress than in the walking costume she vastly
+preferred; her free, rather masculine movements were ungainly in the
+silk frock, badly made and countrified, while lace and ribbons suited
+her most awkwardly. She was out of place, too, in that room, decorated
+with all the abominations of pseudo-fashion, with draperies and
+tissue-paper, uncomfortable little chairs and rickety tables. In every
+available place stood photographs of Mrs. Clibborn--Mrs. Clibborn
+sitting, standing, lying; Mrs. Clibborn full face, three-quarter face,
+side face; Mrs. Clibborn in this costume or in that costume--grave, gay,
+thoughtful, or smiling; Mrs. Clibborn showing her beautiful teeth, her
+rounded arms, her vast shoulders; Mrs. Clibborn dressed to the nines,
+and Mrs. Clibborn as undressed as she dared.
+
+Finally, the beauty swept in with a great rustle of silk, displaying to
+the full her very opulent charms. Her hair was lightly powdered, and
+honestly she looked remarkably handsome.
+
+"Don't say I've kept you waiting," she murmured. "I could never forgive
+myself."
+
+James made some polite reply, and they went down to dinner. The
+conversation was kept at the high level which one naturally expects from
+persons fashionable enough to dine late. They discussed Literature, by
+which they meant the last novel but one; Art, by which they meant the
+Royal Academy; and Society, by which they meant their friends who kept
+carriages. Mrs. Clibborn said that, of course, she could not expect
+James to pay any attention to her, since all his thoughts must be for
+Mary, and then proceeded entirely to absorb him.
+
+"You must find it very dull here," she moaned. "I'm afraid you'll be
+bored to death." And she looked at Mary with her most smilingly cruel
+expression. "Oh, Mary, why did you put on that dreadfully dowdy frock?
+I've asked you over and over again to give it away, but you never pay
+attention to your poor mother."
+
+"It's all right," said Mary, looking down at it, laughing and blushing a
+little.
+
+Mrs. Clibborn turned again to James.
+
+"I think it's such a mistake for women not to dress well. I'm an old
+woman now, but I always try to look my best. Reggie has never seen me in
+a dowdy gown. Have you, Reggie?"
+
+"Any dress would become you, my love."
+
+"Oh, Reggie, don't say that before James. He looks upon his future
+mother as an old woman."
+
+Then at the end of dinner:
+
+"Don't sit too long over your wine. I shall be so dull with nobody but
+Mary to amuse me."
+
+Mrs. Clibborn had been fond enough of Mary when she was a little girl,
+who could be petted on occasion and sent away when necessary; but as she
+grew up and exhibited a will of her own, she found her almost an
+intolerable nuisance. The girl developed a conscience, and refused
+indignantly to tell the little fibs which her mother occasionally
+suggested. She put her sense of right and wrong before Mrs. Clibborn's
+wishes, which that lady considered undutiful, if not entirely wicked. It
+seemed nothing short of an impertinence that Mary should disapprove of
+theatres when there was nothing to which the elder woman was more
+devoted. And Mrs. Clibborn felt that the girl saw through all her little
+tricks and artful dodges, often speaking out strongly when her mother
+proposed to do something particularly underhand. It was another
+grievance that Mary had inherited no good looks, and the faded beauty,
+in her vanity, was convinced that the girl spitefully observed every
+fresh wrinkle that appeared upon her face. But Mrs. Clibborn was also a
+little afraid of her daughter; such meekness and such good temper were
+difficult to overcome; and when she snubbed her, it was not only to
+chasten a proud spirit, but also to reassure herself.
+
+When the ladies had retired, the Colonel handed James an execrable
+cigar.
+
+"Now, I'm going to give you some very special port I've got," he said.
+
+He poured out a glass with extreme care, and passed it over with evident
+pride. James remembered Mary's story of the doctor, and having tasted
+the wine, entirely sympathised with him. It was no wonder that invalids
+did not thrive upon it.
+
+"Fine wine, isn't it?" said Colonel Clibborn. "Had it in my cellar for
+years." He shook it so as to inhale the aroma. "I got it from my old
+friend, the Duke of St. Olphert's. 'Reggie, my boy,' he said--'Reggie,
+do you want some good port?' 'Good port, Bill!' I cried--I always called
+him Bill, you know; his Christian name was William--'I should think I
+do, Billy, old boy.' 'Well,' said the Duke, 'I've got some I can let you
+have.'"
+
+"He was a wine-merchant, was he?" asked James.
+
+"Wine-merchant! My dear fellow, he was the Duke of St. Olphert's. He'd
+bought up the cellar of an Austrian nobleman, and he had more port than
+he wanted."
+
+"And this is some of it?" asked James, gravely, holding the murky fluid
+to the light.
+
+Then the Colonel stretched his legs and began to talk of the war. James,
+rather tired of the subject, sought to change the conversation; but
+Colonel Clibborn was anxious to tell one who had been through it how the
+thing should have been conducted; so his guest, with a mixture of
+astonishment and indignation, resigned himself to listen to the most
+pitiful inanities. He marvelled that a man should have spent his life in
+the service, and yet apparently be ignorant of the very elements of
+warfare; but having already learnt to hold his tongue, he let the
+Colonel talk, and was presently rewarded by a break. Something reminded
+the gallant cavalryman of a hoary anecdote, and he gave James that
+dreary round of stories which have dragged their heavy feet for thirty
+years from garrison to garrison. Then, naturally, he proceeded to the
+account of his own youthful conquests. The Colonel had evidently been a
+devil with the ladies, for he knew all about the forgotten
+ballet-dancers of the seventies, and related with gusto a number of
+scabrous tales.
+
+"Ah, my boy, in my day we went the pace! I tell you in confidence, I was
+a deuce of a rake before I got married."
+
+When they returned to the drawing-room, Mrs. Clibborn was ready with her
+langorous smile, and made James sit beside her on the sofa. In a few
+minutes the Colonel, as was his habit, closed his eyes, dropped his
+chin, and fell comfortably asleep. Mrs. Clibborn slowly turned to Mary.
+
+"Will you try and find me my glasses, darling," she murmured. "They're
+either in my work-basket or on the morning-room table. And if you can't
+see them there, perhaps they're in your father's study. I want to read
+Jamie a letter."
+
+"I'll go and look, mother."
+
+Mary went out, and Mrs. Clibborn put her hand on Jamie's arm.
+
+"Do you dislike me very much, Jamie?" she murmured softly.
+
+"On the contrary!"
+
+"I'm afraid your mother doesn't care for me."
+
+"I'm sure she does."
+
+"Women have never liked me. I don't know why. I can't help it if I'm not
+exactly--plain, I'm as God made me."
+
+James thought that the Almighty in that case must have an unexpected
+familiarity with the rouge-pot and the powder-puff.
+
+"Do you know that I did all I could to prevent your engagement to Mary?"
+
+"You!" cried James, thunderstruck. "I never knew that."
+
+"I thought I had better tell you myself. You mustn't be angry with me.
+It was for your own good. If I had had my way you would never have
+become engaged. I thought you were so much too young."
+
+"Five years ago, d'you mean--when it first happened?"
+
+"You were only a boy--a very nice boy, Jamie. I always liked you. I
+don't approve of long engagements, and I thought you'd change your mind.
+Most young men are a little wild; it's right that they should be."
+
+James looked at her, wondering suddenly whether she knew or divined
+anything. It was impossible, she was too silly.
+
+"You're very wise."
+
+"Oh, don't say that!" cried Mrs. Clibborn, with a positive groan. "It
+sounds so middle-aged.... I always thought Mary was too old for you. A
+woman should be ten years younger than her husband."
+
+"Tell me all about it," insisted James.
+
+"They wouldn't listen to me. They said you had better be engaged. They
+thought it would benefit your morals. I was very much against it. I
+think boys are so much nicer when they haven't got encumbrances--or
+morals."
+
+At that moment Mary came in.
+
+"I can't find your glasses, mamma."
+
+"Oh, it doesn't matter," replied Mrs. Clibborn, smiling softly; "I've
+just remembered that I sent them into Tunbridge Wells yesterday to be
+mended."
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+
+James knew he would see Mary at the tea-party which Mrs. Jackson that
+afternoon was giving at the Vicarage. Society in Little Primpton was
+exclusive, with the result that the same people met each other day after
+day, and the only intruders were occasional visitors of irreproachable
+antecedents from Tunbridge Wells. Respectability is a plant which in
+that fashionable watering-place has been so assiduously cultivated that
+it flourishes now in the open air; like the yellow gorse, it is found in
+every corner, thriving hardily under the most unfavourable conditions;
+and the keener the wind, the harder the frost, the more proudly does it
+hold its head. But on this particular day the gathering was confined to
+the immediate neighbours, and when the Parsons arrived they found,
+beside their hosts, only the Clibborns and the inevitable curate. There
+was a prolonged shaking of hands, inquiries concerning the health of all
+present, and observations suggested by the weather; then they sat down
+in a circle, and set themselves to discuss the questions of the day.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Dryland," cried Mary, "thanks so much for that book! I am
+enjoying it!"
+
+"I thought you'd like it," replied the curate, smiling blandly. "I know
+you share my admiration for Miss Corelli."
+
+"Mr. Dryland has just lent me 'The Master Christian,'" Mary explained,
+turning to Mrs. Jackson.
+
+"Oh, I was thinking of putting it on the list for my next book."
+
+They had formed a club in Little Primpton of twelve persons, each buying
+a six-shilling book at the beginning of the year, and passing it on in
+return for another after a certain interval, so that at the end of
+twelve months all had read a dozen masterpieces of contemporary fiction.
+
+"I thought I'd like to buy it at once," said Mr. Dryland. "I always
+think one ought to possess Marie Corelli's books. She's the only really
+great novelist we have in England now."
+
+Mr. Dryland was a man of taste and authority, so that his literary
+judgments could always be relied on.
+
+"Of course, I don't pretend to know much about the matter," said Mary,
+modestly. "There are more important things in life than books; but I do
+think she's splendid. I can't help feeling I'm wasting my time when I
+read most novels, but I never feel that with Marie Corelli."
+
+"No one would think she was a woman," said the Vicar.
+
+To which the curate answered: "_Le genie n'a pas de sexe._"
+
+The others, being no scholars, did not quite understand the remark, but
+they looked intelligent.
+
+"I always think it's so disgraceful the way the newspapers sneer at
+her," said Mrs. Jackson. "And, I'm sure, merely because she's a woman."
+
+"And because she has genius, my dear," put in the Vicar. "Some minds are
+so contemptibly small that they are simply crushed by greatness. It
+requires an eagle to look at the sun."
+
+And the excellent people looked at one another with a certain
+self-satisfaction, for they had the fearless gaze of the king of birds
+in face of that brilliant orb.
+
+"The critics are willing to do anything for money. Miss Corelli has said
+herself that there is a vile conspiracy to blacken her, and for my part
+I am quite prepared to believe it. They're all afraid of her because she
+dares to show them up."
+
+"Besides, most of the critics are unsuccessful novelists," added Mr.
+Dryland, "and they are as envious as they can be."
+
+"It makes one boil with indignation," cried Mary, "to think that people
+can be so utterly base. Those who revile her are not worthy to unloose
+the latchet of her shoes."
+
+"It does one good to hear such whole-hearted admiration," replied the
+curate, beaming. "But you must remember that genius has always been
+persecuted. Look at Keats and Shelley. The critics abused them just as
+they abuse Marie Corelli. Even Shakespeare was slandered. But time has
+vindicated our immortal William; time will vindicate as brightly our
+gentle Marie."
+
+"I wonder how many of us here could get through Hamlet without yawning!"
+meditatively said the Vicar.
+
+"I see your point!" cried Mr. Dryland, opening his eyes. "While we could
+all read the 'Sorrows of Satan' without a break. I've read it three
+times, and each perusal leaves me more astounded. Miss Corelli has her
+revenge in her own hand; what can she care for the petty snarling of
+critics when the wreath of immortality is on her brow. I don't hesitate
+to say it, I'm not ashamed of my opinion; I consider Miss Corelli every
+bit as great as William Shakespeare. I've gone into the matter
+carefully, and if I may say so, I'm speaking of what I know something
+about. My deliberate opinion is that in wit, and humour, and language,
+she's every bit his equal."
+
+"Her language is beautiful," said Mrs. Jackson. "When I read her I feel
+just as if I were listening to hymns."
+
+"And where, I should like to know," continued the curate, raising his
+voice, "can you find in a play of Shakespeare's such a gallery of
+portraits as in the 'Master Christian'?"
+
+"And there is one thing you must never forget," said the Vicar, gravely,
+"she has a deep, religious feeling which you will find in none of
+Shakespeare's plays. Every one of her books has a lofty moral purpose.
+That is the justification of fiction. The novelist has a high vocation,
+if he could only see it; he can inculcate submission to authority, hope,
+charity, obedience--in fact, all the higher virtues; he can become a
+handmaid of the Church. And now, when irreligion, and immorality, and
+scepticism are rampant, we must not despise the humblest instruments."
+
+"How true that is!" said Mrs. Jackson.
+
+"If all novelists were like Marie Corelli, I should willingly hold them
+out my hand. I think every Christian ought to read 'Barabbas.' It gives
+an entirely new view of Christ. It puts the incidents of the Gospel in a
+way that one had never dreamed. I was never so impressed in my life."
+
+"But all her books are the same in that way!" cried Mary. "They all
+make me feel so much better and nobler, and more truly Christian."
+
+"I think she's vulgar and blasphemous," murmured Mrs. Clibborn quietly,
+as though she were making the simplest observation.
+
+"Mamma!" cried Mary, deeply shocked; and among the others there was a
+little movement of indignation and disgust.
+
+Mrs. Clibborn was continually mortifying her daughter by this kind of
+illiterate gaucherie. But the most painful part of it was that the good
+lady always remained perfectly unconscious of having said anything
+incredibly silly, and continued with perfect self-assurance:
+
+"I've never been able to finish a book of hers. I began one about
+electricity, which I couldn't understand, and then I tried another. I
+forget what it was, but there was something in it about a bed of roses,
+and I thought it very improper. I don't think it was a nice book for
+Mary to read, but girls seem to read everything now."
+
+There was a pained hush, such as naturally occurs when someone has made
+a very horrible _faux pas_. They all looked at one another awkwardly;
+while Mary, ashamed at her mother's want of taste, kept her eyes glued
+to the carpet But Mrs. Clibborn's folly was so notorious that presently
+anger was succeeded by contemptuous amusement, and the curate came to
+the rescue with a loud guffaw.
+
+"Of course, you know your Marie Corelli by heart, Captain Parsons?"
+
+"I'm afraid I've never read one of them."
+
+"Not?" they all cried in surprise.
+
+"Oh, I'll send them to you to Primpton House," said Mr. Dryland. "I have
+them all. Why, no one's education is complete till he's read Marie
+Corelli."
+
+This was considered a very good hit at Mrs. Clibborn, and the dear
+people smiled at one another significantly. Even Mary could scarcely
+keep a straight face.
+
+The tea then appeared, and was taken more or less silently. With the
+exception of the fashionable Mrs. Clibborn, they were all more used to
+making a sit-down meal of it, and the care of holding a cup, with a
+piece of cake unsteadily balanced in the saucer, prevented them from
+indulging in very brilliant conversational feats; they found one
+gymnastic exercise quite sufficient at a time. But when the tea-cups
+were safely restored to the table, Mrs. Jackson suggested a little
+music.
+
+"Will you open the proceedings, Mary?"
+
+The curate went up to Miss Clibborn with a bow, gallantly offering his
+arm to escort her to the piano. Mary had thoughtfully brought her
+music, and began to play a 'Song Without Words,' by Mendelssohn. She was
+considered a fine pianist in Little Primpton. She attacked the notes
+with marked resolution, keeping the loud pedal down throughout; her eyes
+were fixed on the music with an intense, determined air, in which you
+saw an eagerness to perform a social duty, and her lips moved as
+conscientiously she counted time. Mary played the whole piece without
+making a single mistake, and at the end was much applauded.
+
+"There's nothing like classical music, is there?" cried the curate
+enthusiastically, as Mary stopped, rather out of breath, for she played,
+as she did everything else, with energy and thoroughness.
+
+"It's the only music I really love."
+
+"And those 'Songs Without Words' are beautiful," said Colonel Parsons,
+who was standing on Mary's other side.
+
+"Mendelssohn is my favourite composer," she replied. "He's so full of
+soul."
+
+"Ah, yes," murmured Mr. Dryland. "His heart seems to throb through all
+his music. It's strange that he should have been a Jew."
+
+"But then Our Lord was a Jew, wasn't He?" said Mary.
+
+"Yes, one is so apt to forget that."
+
+Mary turned the leaves, and finding another piece which was familiar to
+her, set about it. It was a satisfactory thing to listen to her
+performance. In Mary's decided touch one felt all the strength of her
+character, with its simple, unaffected candour and its eminent sense of
+propriety. In her execution one perceived the high purpose which
+animated her whole conduct; it was pure and wholesome, and thoroughly
+English. And her piano-playing served also as a moral lesson, for none
+could listen without remembering that life was not an affair to be taken
+lightly, but a strenuous endeavour: the world was a battlefield (this
+one realised more particularly when Mary forgot for a page or so to take
+her foot off the pedal); each one of us had a mission to perform, a duty
+to do, a function to fulfil.
+
+Meanwhile, James was trying to make conversation with Mrs. Clibborn.
+
+"How well Mary plays!"
+
+"D'you think so? I can't bear amateurs. I wish they wouldn't play."
+
+James looked at Mrs. Clibborn quickly. It rather surprised him that she,
+the very silliest woman he had ever known, should say the only sensible
+things he had heard that day. Nor could he forget that she had done her
+best to prevent his engagement.
+
+"I think you're a very wonderful woman," he said.
+
+"Oh, Jamie!"
+
+Mrs. Clibborn smiled and sighed, slipping forward her hand for him to
+take; but James was too preoccupied to notice the movement.
+
+"I'm beginning to think you really like me," murmured Mrs. Clibborn,
+cooing like an amorous dove.
+
+Then James was invited to sing, and refused.
+
+"Please do, Jamie!" cried Mary, smiling. "For my sake. You used to sing
+so nicely!"
+
+He still tried to excuse himself, but finding everyone insistent, went
+at last, with very bad grace, to the piano. He not only sang badly, but
+knew it, and was irritated that he should be forced to make a fool of
+himself. Mr. Dryland sang badly, but perfectly satisfied with himself,
+needed no pressing when his turn came. He made a speciality of old
+English songs, and thundered out in his most ecclesiastical manner a
+jovial ditty entitled, "Down Among the Dead Men."
+
+The afternoon was concluded by an adjournment to the dining-room to play
+bagatelle, the most inane of games, to which the billiard-player goes
+with contempt, changed quickly to wrath when he cannot put the balls
+into absurd little holes. Mary was an adept, and took pleasure in
+showing James how the thing should be done. He noticed that she and the
+curate managed the whole affair between them, arranging partners and
+advising freely. Mrs. Clibborn alone refused to play, saying frankly it
+was too idiotic a pastime.
+
+At last the party broke up, and in a group bade their farewells.
+
+"I'll walk home with you, Mary, if you don't mind," said James, "and
+smoke a pipe."
+
+Mary suddenly became radiant, and Colonel Parsons gave her a happy
+little smile and a friendly nod.... At last James had his opportunity.
+He lingered while Mary gathered together her music, and waited again to
+light his pipe, so that when they came out of the Vicarage gates the
+rest of the company were no longer in sight. The day had become overcast
+and sombre; on the even surface of the sky floated little ragged black
+clouds, like the fragments cast to the wind of some widowed, ample
+garment. It had grown cold, and James, accustomed to a warmer air,
+shivered a little. The country suddenly appeared cramped and
+circumscribed; in the fading light a dulness of colour came over tree
+and hedgerow which was singularly depressing. They walked in silence,
+while James looked for words. All day he had been trying to find some
+manner to express himself, but his mind, perplexed and weary, refused to
+help him. The walk to Mary's house could not take more than five
+minutes, and he saw the distance slipping away rapidly. If he meant to
+say anything it must be said at once; and his mouth was dry, he felt
+almost a physical inability to speak. He did not know how to prepare the
+way, how to approach the subject; and he was doubly tormented by the
+absolute necessity of breaking the silence.
+
+But it was Mary who spoke first.
+
+"D'you know, I've been worrying a little about you, Jamie."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I'm afraid I hurt your feelings yesterday. Don't you remember, when we
+were visiting my patients--I think I spoke rather harshly. I didn't mean
+to. I'm very sorry."
+
+"I had forgotten all about it," he said, looking at her. "I have no
+notion what you said to offend me."
+
+"I'm glad of that," she answered, smiling, "but it does me good to
+apologise. Will you think me very silly if I say something to you?"
+
+"Of course not!"
+
+"Well, I want to say that if I ever do anything you don't like, or don't
+approve of, I wish you would tell me."
+
+After that, how could he say immediately that he no longer loved her,
+and wished to be released from his engagement?
+
+"I'm afraid you think I'm a very terrifying person," answered James.
+
+Her words had made his announcement impossible; another day had gone,
+and weakly he had let it pass.
+
+"What shall I do?" he murmured under his breath. "What a coward I am!"
+
+They came to the door of the Clibborns' house and Mary turned to say
+good-bye. She bent forward, smiling and blushing, and he quickly kissed
+her.
+
+* * *
+
+In the evening, James was sitting by the fire in the dining-room,
+thinking of that one subject which occupied all his thoughts. Colonel
+Parsons and his wife were at the table, engaged upon the game of
+backgammon which invariably filled the interval between supper and
+prayers. The rattle of dice came to James indistinctly, as in a dream,
+and he imagined fantastically that unseen powers were playing for his
+life. He sat with his head between his hands, staring at the flames as
+though to find in them a solution to his difficulty; but mockingly they
+spoke only of Mrs. Wallace and the caress of her limpid eyes. He turned
+away with a gesture of impatience. The game was just finished, and Mrs.
+Parsons, catching the expression on his face, asked:
+
+"What are you thinking of, Jamie?"
+
+"I?" he answered, looking up quickly, as though afraid that his secret
+had been divined. "Nothing!"
+
+Mrs. Parsons put the backgammon board away, making up her mind to speak,
+for she too suffered from a shyness which made the subjects she had
+nearest at heart precisely those that she could least bear to talk
+about.
+
+"When do you think of getting married, Jamie?"
+
+James started.
+
+"Why, you asked me that yesterday," He tried to make a joke of it. "Upon
+my word, you're very anxious to get rid of me."
+
+"I wonder if it's occurred to you that you're making Mary a little
+unhappy?"
+
+James stood up and leaned against the mantelpiece, his face upon his
+hand.
+
+"I should be sorry to do that, mother."
+
+"You've been home four days, and you've not said a word to show you love
+her."
+
+"I'm afraid I'm not very demonstrative."
+
+"That's what I said!" cried the Colonel, triumphantly.
+
+"Can't you try to say a word or two to prove you care for her, Jamie?
+She _is_ so fond of you," continued his mother. "I don't want to
+interfere with your private concerns, but I think it's only
+thoughtlessness on your part; and I'm sure you don't wish to make Mary
+miserable. Poor thing, she's so unhappy at home; she yearns for a little
+affection.... Won't you say something to her about your marriage?"
+
+"Has she asked you to speak to me?" inquired James.
+
+"No, dear. You know that she would never do anything of the kind. She
+would hate to think that I had said anything."
+
+James paused a moment.
+
+"I will speak to her to-morrow, mother."
+
+"That's right!" said the Colonel, cheerfully. "I know she's going to be
+in all the morning. Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn are going into Tunbridge
+Wells."
+
+"It will be a good opportunity."
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+
+In the morning Mrs. Parsons was in the hall, arranging flowers, when
+James passed through to get his hat.
+
+"Are you going to see Mary now?"
+
+"Yes, mother."
+
+"That's a good boy."
+
+She did not notice that her son's usual gravity was intensified, or that
+his very lips were pallid, and his eyes careworn and lustreless.
+
+It was raining. The young fresh leaves, in the colourless day, had lost
+their verdure, and the massive shapes of the elm trees were obscured in
+the mist. The sky had so melancholy a tone that it seemed a work of
+man--a lifeless hue of infinite sorrow, dreary and cheerless.
+
+James arrived at the Clibborns' house.
+
+"Miss Mary is in the drawing-room," he was told by a servant, who smiled
+on him, the accepted lover, with obtrusive friendliness.
+
+He went in and found her seated at the piano, industriously playing
+scales. She wore the weather-beaten straw hat without which she never
+seemed comfortable.
+
+"Oh, I'm glad you've come," she said. "I'm alone in the house, and I was
+taking the opportunity to have a good practice." She turned round on the
+music-stool, and ran one hand chromatically up the piano, smiling the
+while with pleasure at Jamie's visit. "Would you like to go for a walk?"
+she asked. "I don't mind the rain a bit."
+
+"I would rather stay here, if you don't mind."
+
+James sat down and began playing with a paper-knife. Still he did not
+know how to express himself. He was torn asunder by rival emotions; he
+felt absolutely bound to speak, and yet could not bear the thought of
+the agony he must cause. He was very tender-hearted; he had never in his
+life consciously given pain to any living creature, and would far rather
+have inflicted hurt upon himself.
+
+"I've been wanting to have a long talk with you alone ever since I came
+back."
+
+"Have you? Why didn't you tell me?"
+
+"Because what I want to say is very difficult, Mary; and I'm afraid it
+must be very--distressing to both of us."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+Mary suddenly became grave, James glanced at her, and hesitated; but
+there was no room for hesitation now. Somehow he must get to the end of
+what he had to say, attempting only to be as gentle as possible. He
+stood up and leant against the mantelpiece, still toying with the
+paper-knife; Mary also changed her seat, and took a chair by the table.
+
+"Do you know that we've been engaged for over five years now, Mary?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+She looked at him steadily, and he dropped his eyes.
+
+"I want to thank you for all you've done for my sake, Mary. I know how
+good you have been to my people; it was very kind of you. I cannot think
+how they would have got along without you."
+
+"I love them as I love my own father and mother, Jamie. I tried to act
+towards them as though I was indeed their daughter."
+
+He was silent for a while.
+
+"We were both very young when we became engaged," he said at last.
+
+He looked up quickly, but she did not answer. She stared with frightened
+eyes, as if already she understood. It was harder even than he thought.
+James asked himself desperately whether he could not stop there, taking
+back what he had said. The cup was too bitter! But what was the
+alternative? He could not go on pretending one thing when he felt
+another; he could not live a constant, horrible lie. He felt there was
+only one course open to him. Like a man with an ill that must be fatal
+unless instantly treated, he was bound to undergo everything, however
+great the torture.
+
+"And it's a very bad return I'm making you for all your kindness. You
+have done everything for me, Mary. You've waited for me patiently and
+lovingly; you've sacrificed yourself in every way; and I'm afraid I must
+make you very unhappy--Oh, don't think I'm not grateful to you; I can
+never thank you sufficiently."
+
+He wished Mary would say something to help him, but she kept silent. She
+merely dropped her eyes, and now her face seemed quite expressionless.
+
+"I have asked myself day and night what I ought to do, and I can see no
+way clear before me. I've tried to say this to you before, but I've
+funked it. You think I'm brave--I'm not; I'm a pitiful coward! Sometimes
+I can only loathe and despise myself. I want to do my duty, but I can't
+tell what my duty is. If I only knew for sure which way I ought to take,
+I should have strength to take it; but it is all so uncertain."
+
+James gave Mary a look of supplication, but she did not see it; her
+glance was still riveted to the ground.
+
+"I think it's better to tell you the whole truth, Mary; I'm afraid I'm
+speaking awfully priggishly. I feel I'm acting like a cad, and yet I
+don't know how else to act. God help me!"
+
+"I've known almost from the beginning that you no longer cared for me,"
+said Mary quietly, her face showing no expression, her voice hushed till
+it was only a whisper.
+
+"Forgive me, Mary; I've tried to love you. Oh, how humiliating that must
+sound! I hardly know what I'm saying. Try to understand me. If my words
+are harsh and ugly, it's because I don't know how to express myself. But
+I must tell you the whole truth. The chief thing is that I should be
+honest with you. It's the only return I can make for all you've done for
+me."
+
+Mary bent her head a little lower, and heavy tears rolled down her
+cheeks.
+
+"Oh, Mary, don't cry!" said James, his voice breaking; and he stepped
+forward, with outstretched arms, as though to comfort her.
+
+"I'm sorry," she said; "I didn't mean to."
+
+She took out her handkerchief and dried her eyes, trying to smile. Her
+courageous self-command was like a stab in Jamie's heart.
+
+"I am an absolute cad!" he said, hoarsely.
+
+Mary made no gesture; she sat perfectly still, rigid, not seeking to
+hide her emotion, but merely to master it. One could see the effort she
+made.
+
+"I'm awfully sorry, Mary! Please forgive me--I don't ask you to release
+me. All I want to do is to explain exactly what I feel, and then leave
+you to decide."
+
+"Are you--are you in love with anyone else?"
+
+"No!"
+
+The smile of Mrs. Wallace flashed scornfully across his mind, but he set
+his teeth. He hated and despised her; he would not love her.
+
+"Is there anything in me that you don't like which I might be able to
+correct?"
+
+Her humility was more than he could bear.
+
+"No, no, no!" he cried. "I can never make you understand. You must think
+me simply brutal. You have all that a man could wish for. I know how
+kind you are, and how good you are. I think you have every quality which
+a good woman should have. I respect you entirely; I can never help
+feeling for you the most intense gratitude and affection."
+
+In his own ears the words he spoke rang hollow, awkward, even
+impertinent. He could say nothing which did not seem hideously
+supercilious; and yet he wanted to abase himself! He knew that Mary's
+humiliation must be very, very bitter.
+
+"I'm afraid that I am distressing you frightfully, and I don't see how I
+can make things easier."
+
+"Oh, I knew you didn't love me! I felt it. D'you think I could talk to
+you for five minutes without seeing the constraint in your manner? They
+told me I was foolish and fanciful, but I knew better."
+
+"I must have caused you very great unhappiness?"
+
+Mary did not answer, and James looked at her with pity and remorse. At
+last he broke out passionately:
+
+"I can't command my love! It's not a thing I have at my beck and call.
+If it were, do you think I should give you this pain? Love is outside
+all calculation. You think love can be tamed, and led about on a chain
+like a dog. You think it's a gentle sentiment that one can subject to
+considerations of propriety and decorum, and God knows what. Oh, you
+don't know! Love is a madness that seizes one and shakes one like a leaf
+in the wind. I can't counterfeit love; I can't pretend to have it. I
+can't command the nerves of my body."
+
+"Do you think I don't know what love is, James? How little you know me."
+
+James sank on a chair and hid his face.
+
+"We none of us understand one another. We're all alike, and yet so
+different. I don't even know myself. Don't think I'm a prig when I say
+that I've tried with all my might to love you. I would have given worlds
+to feel as I felt five years ago. But I can't. God help me!... Oh, you
+must hate and despise me, Mary!"
+
+"I, my dear?" she shook her head sadly. "I shall never do that. I want
+you to speak frankly. It is much better that we should try to understand
+one another."
+
+"That is what I felt. I did not think it honest to marry you with a lie
+in my heart. I don't know whether we can ever be happy; but our only
+chance is to speak the whole truth."
+
+Mary looked helplessly at him, cowed by her grief.
+
+"I knew it was coming. Every day I dreaded it."
+
+The pain in her eyes was more than James could bear; it was cruel to
+make her suffer so much. He could not do it. He felt an intense pity,
+and the idea came to him that there might be a middle way, which would
+lessen the difficulty. He hesitated a moment, and then, looking down,
+spoke in a low voice:
+
+"I am anxious to do my duty, Mary. I have promised to marry you. I do
+not wish to break my word. I don't ask you to release me. Will you take
+what I can offer? I will be a good husband to you. I will do all I can
+to make you happy. I can give you affection and confidence--friendship;
+but I can't give you love. It is much better that I should tell you than
+that you should find out painfully by yourself--perhaps when it is too
+late."
+
+"You came to ask me to release you. Why do you hesitate now? Do you
+think I shall refuse?"
+
+James was silent.
+
+"You cannot think that I will accept a compromise. Do you suppose that
+because I am a woman I am not made of flesh and blood? You said you
+wished to be frank."
+
+"I had not thought of the other way till just now."
+
+"Do you imagine that it softens the blow? How could I live with you as
+your wife, and yet not your wife? What are affection and esteem to me
+without love? You must think me a very poor creature, James, when you
+want to make me a sort of legal housekeeper."
+
+"I'm sorry. I didn't think you would look upon it as an impertinence. I
+didn't mean to say anything offensive. It struck me as a possible way
+out of the difficulty. You would, at all events, be happier than you are
+here."
+
+"It is you who despise me now!"
+
+"Mary!"
+
+"I can bear pain. It's not the first humiliation I have suffered. It is
+very simple, and there's no reason why we should make a fuss about it.
+You thought you loved me, and you asked me to marry you. I don't know
+whether you ever really loved me; you certainly don't now, and you wish
+me to release you. You know that I cannot and will not refuse."
+
+"I see no way out of it, Mary," he said, hoarsely. "I wish to God I did!
+It's frightfully cruel to you."
+
+"I can bear it. I don't blame you. It's not your fault. God will give me
+strength." Mary thought of her mother's cruel sympathy. Her parents
+would have to be told that James had cast her aside like a plaything he
+was tired of. "God will give me strength."
+
+"I'm so sorry, Mary," cried James, kneeling by her side. "You'll have to
+suffer dreadfully; and I can't think how to make it any better for you."
+
+"There is no way. We must tell them the whole truth, and let them say
+what they will."
+
+"Would you like me to go away from Primpton?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It might make it easier for you."
+
+"Nothing can make it easier. I can face it out. And I don't want you to
+run away and hide yourself as if you had done something to be ashamed
+of. And your people want you. Oh, Jamie, you will be as gentle with them
+as you can, won't you? I'm afraid it will--disappoint them very much."
+
+"They had set their hearts upon our marriage."
+
+"I'm afraid they'll feel it a good deal. But it can't be helped.
+Anything is better than a loveless marriage."
+
+James was profoundly touched that at the time of her own bitter grief,
+Mary could think of the pain of others.
+
+"I wish I had your courage, Mary. I've never seen such strength."
+
+"It's well that I have some qualities. I haven't the power to make you
+love me, and I deserve something to make up."
+
+"Oh, Mary, don't speak like that! I do love you! There's no one for whom
+I have a purer, more sincere affection. Why won't you take me with what
+I can offer? I promise that you will never regret it. You know exactly
+what I am now--weak, but anxious to do right. Why shouldn't we be
+married? Perhaps things may change. Who can tell what time may bring
+about?"
+
+"It's impossible. You ask me to do more than I can. And I know very well
+that you only make the offer out of charity. Even from you I cannot
+accept charity."
+
+"My earnest wish is to make you happy."
+
+"And I know you would sacrifice yourself willingly for that; but I can
+sacrifice myself, too. You think that if we got married love might
+arise; but it wouldn't. You would feel perpetually that I was a reproach
+to you; you would hate me."
+
+"I should never do that."
+
+"How can you tell? We are the same age now, but each year I should seem
+older. At forty I should be an old woman, and you would still be a young
+man. Only the deepest love can make that difference endurable; but the
+love would be all on my side--if _I_ had any then. I should probably
+have grown bitter and ill-humoured. Ah, no, Jamie, you know it is
+utterly impracticable. You know it as well as I do. Let us part
+altogether. I give you back your word. It is not your fault that you do
+not love me. I don't blame you. One gets over everything in this world
+eventually. All I ask you is not to trouble too much about me; I shan't
+die of it."
+
+She stretched out her hand, and he took it, his eyes all blurred, unable
+to speak.
+
+"And I thank you," she continued, "for having come to me frankly and
+openly, and told me everything. It is still something that you have
+confidence in me. You need never fear that I shall feel bitter towards
+you. I can see that you have suffered--perhaps more than you have made
+me suffer. Good-bye!"
+
+"Is there nothing I can do, Mary?"
+
+"Nothing," she said, trying to smile, "except not to worry."
+
+"Good-bye," he said. "And don't think too ill of me."
+
+She could not trust herself to answer. She stood perfectly quiet till he
+had gone out of the room; then with a moan sank to the floor and hid her
+face, bursting into tears. She had restrained herself too long; the
+composure became intolerable. She could have screamed, as though
+suffering some physical pain that destroyed all self-control. The heavy
+sobs rent her chest, and she did not attempt to stop them. She was
+heart-broken.
+
+"Oh, how could he!" she groaned. "How could he!"
+
+Her vision of happiness was utterly gone. In James she had placed the
+joy of her life; in him had found strength to bear every displeasure.
+Mary had no thought in which he did not take part; her whole future was
+inextricably mingled with his. But now the years to come, which had
+seemed so bright and sunny, turned suddenly grey as the melancholy sky
+without. She saw her life at Little Primpton, continuing as in the past
+years, monotonous and dull--a dreary round of little duties, of little
+vexations, of little pleasures.
+
+"Oh, God help me!" she cried.
+
+And lifting herself painfully to her knees, she prayed for strength to
+bear the woeful burden, for courage to endure it steadfastly, for
+resignation to believe that it was God's will.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+
+James felt no relief. He had looked forward to a sensation of freedom
+such as a man might feel when he had escaped from some tyrannous
+servitude, and was at liberty again to breathe the buoyant air of
+heaven. He imagined that his depression would vanish like an evil spirit
+exorcised so soon as ever he got from Mary his release; but instead it
+sat more heavily upon him. Unconvinced even yet that he had acted
+rightly, he went over the conversation word for word. It seemed
+singularly ineffectual. Wishing to show Mary that he did not break with
+her from caprice or frivolous reason, but with sorrowful reluctance, and
+full knowledge of her suffering, he had succeeded only in being futile
+and commonplace.
+
+He walked slowly towards Primpton House. He had before him the
+announcement to his mother and father; and he tried to order his
+thoughts.
+
+Mrs. Parsons, her household work finished, was knitting the inevitable
+socks; while the Colonel sat at the table, putting new stamps into his
+album. He chattered delightedly over his treasures, getting up now and
+then gravely to ask his wife some question or to point out a surcharge;
+she, good woman, showed interest by appropriate rejoinders.
+
+"There's no one in Tunbridge Wells who has such a fine collection as I
+have."
+
+"General Newsmith showed me his the other day, but it's not nearly so
+good as yours, Richmond."
+
+"I'm glad of that. I suppose his Mauritius are fine?" replied the
+Colonel, with some envy, for the general had lived several years on the
+island.
+
+"They're fair," said Mrs. Parsons, reassuringly; "but not so good as one
+would expect."
+
+"It takes a clever man to get together a good collection of stamps,
+although I shouldn't say it."
+
+They looked up when James entered.
+
+"I've just been putting in those Free States you brought me, Jamie. They
+look very well."
+
+The Colonel leant back to view them, with the satisfied look with which
+he might have examined an old master.
+
+"It was very thoughtful of Jamie to bring them," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"Ah, I knew he wouldn't forget his old father. Don't you remember,
+Frances, I said to you, 'I'll be bound the boy will bring some stamps
+with him.' They'll be valuable in a year or two. That's what I always
+say with regard to postage stamps; you can't waste your money. Now
+jewellery, for instance, gets old-fashioned, and china breaks; but you
+run no risk with stamps. When I buy stamps, I really feel that I'm as
+good as investing my money in consols."
+
+"Well, how's Mary this morning?"
+
+"I've been having a long talk with her."
+
+"Settled the day yet?" asked the Colonel, with a knowing little laugh.
+
+"No!"
+
+"Upon my word, Frances, I think we shall have to settle it for them.
+Things weren't like this when we were young. Why, Jamie, your mother and
+I got married six weeks after I was introduced to her at a croquet
+party."
+
+"We were married in haste, Richmond," said Mrs. Parsons, laughing.
+
+"Well, we've taken a long time to repent of it, my dear. It's over
+thirty years."
+
+"I fancy it's too late now."
+
+The Colonel took her hand and patted it.
+
+"If you get such a good wife as I have, Jamie, I don't think you'll have
+reason to complain. Will he, my dear?"
+
+"It's not for me to say, Richmond," replied Mrs. Parsons, smiling
+contentedly.
+
+"Do you want me to get married very much, father?"
+
+"Of course I do. I've set my heart upon it. I want to see what the new
+generations of Parsons are like before I die."
+
+"Listen, Richmond, Jamie has something to tell us."
+
+Mrs. Parsons had been looking at her son, and was struck at last by the
+agony of his expression.
+
+"What is it, Jamie?" she asked.
+
+"I'm afraid you'll be dreadfully disappointed. I'm so sorry--Mary and I
+are no longer engaged to be married."
+
+For a minute there was silence in the room. The old Colonel looked
+helplessly from wife to son.
+
+"What does he mean, Frances?" he said at last.
+
+Mrs. Parsons did not answer, and he turned to James.
+
+"You're not in earnest, Jamie? You're joking with us?"
+
+James went over to his father, as the weaker of the two, and put his arm
+round his shoulders.
+
+"I'm awfully sorry to have to grieve you, father. It's quite true--worse
+luck! It was impossible for me to marry Mary."
+
+"D'you mean that you've broken your engagement with her after she's
+waited five years for you?" said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"I couldn't do anything else. I found I no longer loved her. We should
+both have been unhappy if we had married."
+
+The Colonel recovered himself slowly, he turned round and looked at his
+son.
+
+"Jamie, Jamie, what have you done?"
+
+"Oh, you can say nothing that I've not said to myself. D'you think it's
+a step I should have taken lightly? I feel nothing towards Mary but
+friendship. I don't love her."
+
+"But--" the Colonel stopped, and then a light shone in his face, and he
+began to laugh. "Oh, it's only a lovers' quarrel, Frances. They've had a
+little tiff, and they say they'll never speak to one another again. I
+warrant they're both heartily sorry already, and before night they'll be
+engaged as fast as ever."
+
+James, by a look, implored his mother to speak. She understood, and
+shook her head sadly.
+
+"No, Richmond, I'm afraid it's not that. It's serious."
+
+"But Mary loves him, Frances."
+
+"I know," said James. "That's the tragedy of it. If I could only
+persuade myself that she didn't care for me, it would be all right."
+
+Colonel Parsons sank into his chair, suddenly collapsing. He seemed
+smaller than ever, wizened and frail; the wisp of white hair that
+concealed his baldness fell forward grotesquely. His face assumed again
+that expression, which was almost habitual, of anxious fear.
+
+"Oh, father, don't look like that! I can't help it! Don't make it harder
+for me than possible. You talk to him, mother. Explain that it's not my
+fault. There was nothing else I could do."
+
+Colonel Parsons sat silent, with his head bent down, but Mrs. Parsons
+asked:
+
+"What did you say to Mary this morning?"
+
+"I told her exactly what I felt."
+
+"You said you didn't love her?"
+
+"I had to."
+
+"Poor thing!"
+
+They all remained for a while without speaking, each one thinking his
+painful thoughts.
+
+"Richmond," said Mrs. Parsons at last, "we mustn't blame the boy. It's
+not his fault. He can't help it if he doesn't love her."
+
+"You wouldn't have me marry her without love, father?"
+
+The question was answered by Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"No; if you don't love her, you mustn't marry her. But what's to be
+done, I don't know. Poor thing, poor thing, how unhappy she must be!"
+
+James sat with his face in his hands, utterly wretched, beginning
+already to see the great circle of confusion that he had caused. Mrs.
+Parsons looked at him and looked at her husband. Presently she went up
+to James.
+
+"Jamie, will you leave us for a little? Your father and I would like to
+talk it over alone."
+
+"Yes, mother."
+
+James got up, and putting her hands on his shoulders, she kissed him.
+
+When James had gone, Mrs. Parsons looked compassionately at her husband;
+he glanced up, and catching her eye, tried to smile. But it was a poor
+attempt, and it finished with a sigh.
+
+"What's to be done, Richmond?"
+
+Colonel Parsons shook his head without answering.
+
+"I ought to have warned you that something might happen. I saw there was
+a difference in Jamie's feelings, but I fancied it would pass over. I
+believed it was only strangeness. Mary is so fond of him, I thought he
+would soon love her as much as ever."
+
+"But it's not honourable what he's done, Frances," said the old man at
+last, his voice trembling with emotion. "It's not honourable."
+
+"He can't help it if he doesn't love her."
+
+"It's his duty to marry her. She's waited five years; she's given him
+the best of her youth--and he jilts her. He can't, Frances; he must
+behave like a gentleman."
+
+The tears fell down Mrs. Parsons' careworn cheeks--the slow, sparse
+tears of the woman who has endured much sorrow.
+
+"Don't let us judge him, Richmond. We're so ignorant of the world. You
+and I are old-fashioned."
+
+"There are no fashions in honesty."
+
+"Let us send for William. Perhaps he'll be able to advise us."
+
+William was Major Forsyth, the brother of Mrs. Parsons. He was a
+bachelor, living in London, and considered by his relatives a typical
+man of the world.
+
+"He'll be able to talk to the boy better than we can."
+
+"Very well, let us send for him."
+
+They were both overcome by the catastrophe, but as yet hardly grasped
+the full extent of it. All their hopes had been centred on this
+marriage; all their plans for the future had been in it so intricately
+woven that they could not realise the total over-throw. They felt as a
+man might feel who was crippled by a sudden accident, and yet still
+pictured his life as though he had free use of his limbs.... Mrs.
+Parsons wrote a telegram, and gave it to the maid. The servant went out
+of the room, but as she did so, stepped back and announced:
+
+"Miss Clibborn, ma'am."
+
+"Mary!"
+
+The girl came in, and lifted the veil which she had put on to hide her
+pallor and her eyes, red and heavy with weeping.
+
+"I thought I'd better come round and see you quietly," she said. "I
+suppose you've heard?"
+
+"Mary, Mary!"
+
+Mrs. Parsons took her in her arms, kissing her tenderly. Mary pretended
+to laugh, and hastily dried the tears which came to her eyes.
+
+"You've been crying, Mrs. Parsons. You mustn't do that.... Let us sit
+down and talk sensibly."
+
+She took the Colonel's hand, and gently pressed it.
+
+"Is it true, Mary?" he asked. "I can't believe it."
+
+"Yes, it's quite true. We've decided that we don't wish to marry one
+another. I want to ask you not to think badly of Jamie. He's very--cut
+up about it. He's not to blame."
+
+"We're thinking of you, my dear."
+
+"Oh, I shall be all right. I can bear it."
+
+"It's not honourable what he's done, Mary," said the Colonel.
+
+"Oh, don't say that, please! That is why I came round to you quickly. I
+want you to think that Jamie did what he considered right. For my sake,
+don't think ill of him. He can't help it if he doesn't love me. I'm not
+very attractive; he must have known in India girls far nicer than I. How
+could I hope to keep him all these years? I was a fool to expect it."
+
+"I am so sorry, Mary!" cried Mrs. Parsons. "We've looked forward to your
+marriage with all our hearts. You know Jamie's been a good son to us;
+he's never given us any worry. We did want him to marry you. We're so
+fond of you, and we know how really good you are. We felt that whatever
+happened after that--if we died--Jamie would be safe and happy."
+
+"It can't be helped. Things never turn out in this world as one wants
+them. Don't be too distressed about it, and, above all things, don't let
+Jamie see that you think he hasn't acted--as he might have done."
+
+"How can you think of him now, when your heart must be almost breaking?"
+
+"You see, I've thought of him for years," answered Mary, smiling sadly.
+"I can't help it now. Oh, I don't want him to suffer! His worrying can
+do no good, I should like him to be completely happy."
+
+Colonel Parsons sighed.
+
+"He's my son, and he's behaved dishonourably."
+
+"Don't say that. It's not fair to him. He did not ask me for his
+release. But I couldn't marry him when I knew he no longer cared for
+me."
+
+"He might have learned to love you, Mary," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"No, no! I could see, as he pressed me to marry him notwithstanding, he
+was hoping with all his might that I would refuse. He would have hated
+me. No; it's the end. We have separated for ever, and I will do my best
+to get over it."
+
+They fell into silence, and presently Mary got up. "I must go home now,
+and tell mamma."
+
+"She'll probably have hysterics," said Mrs. Parsons, with a little sniff
+of contempt.
+
+"No, she'll be delighted," returned Mary. "I know her so well."
+
+"Oh, how much you will have to suffer, dearest!"
+
+"It'll do me good. I was too happy."
+
+"Don't you think you could wait a little before telling anyone else?"
+asked the Colonel. "Major Forsyth is coming down. He may be able to
+arrange it; he's a man of the world."
+
+"Can he make Jamie love me? Ah, no, it's no good waiting. Let me get it
+over quickly while I have the courage. And it helps me to think I have
+something to do. It only means a few sneers and a little false
+sympathy."
+
+"A great deal of real sympathy."
+
+"People are always rather glad when some unhappiness befalls their
+friends! Oh, I didn't mean that! I don't want to be bitter. Don't think
+badly of me either. I shall be different to-morrow."
+
+"We can never think of you without the sincerest, fondest love."
+
+At that moment James, who did not know that Mary was there, came into
+the room. He started when he saw her and turned red; but Mary, with a
+woman's self-possession, braced herself together.
+
+"Oh, Jamie, I've just been having a little chat with your people."
+
+"I'm sorry I interrupted you," he answered, awkwardly. "I didn't know
+you were here."
+
+"You need not avoid me because we've broken off our engagement. At all
+events, you have no reason to be afraid of me now. Good-bye! I'm just
+going home."
+
+She went out, and James looked uncertainly at his parents. His father
+did not speak, staring at the ground, but Mrs. Parsons said:
+
+"Mary has been asking us not to be angry with you, Jamie. She says it's
+not your fault."
+
+"It's very kind of her."
+
+"Oh, how could you? How could you?"
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+
+Not till luncheon was nearly finished did Mary brace herself for the
+further ordeal, and in a steady, unmoved voice tell Colonel and Mrs.
+Clibborn what had happened. The faded beauty merely smiled, and lifted
+her eyes to the chandelier with the expression that had melted the
+hearts of a thousand and one impressionable subalterns.
+
+"I knew it," she murmured; "I knew it! You can't deceive a woman and a
+mother."
+
+But the Colonel for a moment was speechless. His face grew red, and his
+dyed eyebrows stood up in a fury of indignation.
+
+"Impossible!" he spluttered at last.
+
+"You'd better drink a little water, Reggie dear," said his wife. "You
+look as if you were going to have a fit."
+
+"I won't have it," he shouted, bringing his fist down on the table so
+that the cheese-plates clattered and the biscuits danced a rapid jig.
+"I'll make him marry you. He forgets he has me to deal with! I
+disapproved of the match from the beginning, didn't I, Clara? I said I
+would never allow my daughter to marry beneath her."
+
+"Papa!"
+
+"Don't talk to me, Mary! Do you mean to deny that James Parsons is
+infantry, or that his father was infantry before him? But he shall marry
+you now. By George! he shall marry you if I have to lead him to the
+altar by the scruff of his neck!"
+
+Neglecting his cheese, the Colonel sprang to his feet and walked to and
+fro, vehemently giving his opinion of James, his father, and all his
+ancestors; of the regiments to which they had belonged, and all else
+that was theirs. He traced their origin from a pork butcher's shop, and
+prophesied their end, ignominiously, in hell. Every now and then he
+assured Mary that she need have no fear; the rascal should marry her, or
+die a violent death.
+
+"But there's nothing more to be said now, papa. We've agreed quite
+amicably to separate. All I want you to do is to treat him as if nothing
+had happened."
+
+"I'll horsewhip him," said Colonel Clibborn. "He's insulted you, and
+I'll make him beg your pardon on his bended knees. Clara, where's my
+horsewhip?"
+
+"Papa, do be reasonable!"
+
+"I am reasonable, Mary," roared the gallant soldier, becoming a rich
+purple. "I know my duty, thank God! and I'm going to do it. When a man
+insults my daughter, it's my duty, as a gentleman and an officer, to
+give him a jolly good thrashing. When that twopenny sawbones of a doctor
+was rude to you, I licked him within an inch of his life. I kicked him
+till he begged for mercy; and if more men had the courage to take the
+law into their own hands, there'd be fewer damned blackguards in the
+world."
+
+As a matter of fact, the Colonel had neither thrashed nor kicked the
+doctor, but it pleased him to think he had. Moralists teach us that the
+intention is praiseworthy, rather than the brutal act; consequently,
+there could be no objection if the fearless cavalryman took credit for
+things which he had thought of doing, but, from circumstances beyond his
+control, had not actually done.
+
+Mary felt no great alarm at her father's horrid threats, for she knew
+him well, but still was doubtful about her mother.
+
+"You will treat James as you did before, won't you, mamma?"
+
+Mrs. Clibborn smiled, a portly seraph.
+
+"My dear, I trust I am a gentlewoman."
+
+"He shall never darken my doors again!" cried the Colonel. "I tell you,
+Clara, keep him out of my way. If I meet him I won't be responsible for
+my actions; I shall knock him down."
+
+"Reggie dear, you'll have such dreadful indigestion if you don't calm
+down. You know it always upsets you to get excited immediately after
+meals."
+
+"It's disgraceful! I suppose he forgets all those half-crowns I gave him
+when he was a boy, and the cigars, and the port wine he's had since. I
+opened a special bottle for him only the night before last. I'll never
+sit down to dinner with him again--don't ask me to, Clara.... It's the
+confounded impertinence of it which gets over me. But he shall marry
+you, my dear; or I'll know the reason why."
+
+"You can't have him up for breach of promise, Reggie," cooed Mrs.
+Clibborn.
+
+"A gentleman takes the law in his own hands in these matters. Ah, it's a
+pity the good old days have gone when they settled such things with cold
+steel!"
+
+And the Colonel, to emphasise his words, flung himself into the
+appropriate attitude, throwing his left hand up behind his head, and
+lunging fiercely with the right.
+
+"Go and look for my _pince-nez_, my dear," said Mrs. Clibborn, turning
+to Mary. "I think they're in my work-basket or in your father's study."
+
+Mary was glad to leave the room, about which the Colonel stamped in an
+ever-increasing rage, pausing now and then to take a mouthful of bread
+and cheese. The request for the glasses was Mrs. Clibborn's usual way of
+getting rid of Mary, a typical subterfuge of a woman who never, except
+by chance, put anything straightforwardly.... When the door was closed,
+the buxom lady clasped her hands, and cried:
+
+"Reginald! Reginald! I have a confession to make."
+
+"What's the matter with you?" said the Colonel, stopping short.
+
+"I am to blame for this, Reginald." Mrs. Clibborn threw her head on one
+side, and looked at the ceiling as the only substitute for heaven.
+"James Parsons has jilted Mary--on my account."
+
+"What the devil have you been doing now?"
+
+"Oh, forgive me, Reginald!" she cried, sliding off the chair and falling
+heavily on her knees. "It's not my fault: he loves me."
+
+"Fiddlesticks!" said her husband angrily, walking on again.
+
+"It isn't, Reginald. How unjust you are to me!"
+
+The facile tears began to flow down Mrs. Clibborn's well-powdered
+cheeks.
+
+"I know he loves me. You can't deceive a woman and a mother."
+
+"You're double his age!"
+
+"These boys always fall in love with women older than themselves; I've
+noticed it so often. And he's almost told me in so many words, though
+I'm sure I've given him no encouragement."
+
+"Fiddlesticks, Clara!"
+
+"You wouldn't believe me when I told you that poor Algy Turner loved me,
+and he killed himself."
+
+"Nothing of the kind; he died of cholera."
+
+"Reginald," retorted Mrs. Clibborn, with asperity, "his death was most
+mysterious. None of the doctors understood it. If he didn't poison
+himself, he died of a broken heart. And I think you're very unkind to
+me."
+
+With some difficulty, being a heavy woman, she lifted herself from the
+floor; and by the time she was safely on her feet, Mrs. Clibborn was
+blowing and puffing like a grampus.
+
+The Colonel, whose mind had wandered to other things, suddenly bethought
+himself that he had a duty to perform.
+
+"Where's my horsewhip, Clara? I command you to give it me."
+
+"Reginald, if you have the smallest remnant of affection for me, you
+will not hurt this unfortunate young man. Remember that Algy Turner
+killed himself. You can't blame him for not wanting to marry poor Mary.
+My dear, she has absolutely no figure. And men are so susceptible to
+those things."
+
+The Colonel stalked out of the room, and Mrs. Clibborn sat down to
+meditate.
+
+"I thought my day for such things was past," she murmured. "I knew it
+all along. The way he looked at me was enough--we women have such quick
+perceptions! Poor boy, how he must suffer!"
+
+She promised herself that no harsh word of hers should drive James into
+the early grave where lay the love-lorn Algy Turner. And she sighed,
+thinking what a curse it was to possess that fatal gift of beauty!
+
+* * *
+
+When Little Primpton heard the news, Little Primpton was agitated.
+Certainly it was distressed, and even virtuously indignant, but at the
+same time completely unable to divest itself of that little flutter of
+excitement which was so rare, yet so enchanting, a variation from the
+monotony of its daily course. The well-informed walked with a lighter
+step, and held their heads more jauntily, for life had suddenly acquired
+a novel interest. With something new to talk about, something fresh to
+think over, with a legitimate object of sympathy and resentment, the
+torpid blood raced through their veins as might that of statesmen during
+some crisis in national affairs. Let us thank God, who has made our
+neighbours frail, and in His infinite mercy caused husband and wife to
+quarrel; Tom, Dick, and Harry to fall more or less discreditably in
+love; this dear friend of ours to lose his money, and that her
+reputation. In all humility, let us be grateful for the scandal which
+falls at our feet like ripe fruit, for the Divorce Court and for the
+newspapers that, with a witty semblance of horror, report for us the
+spicy details. If at certain intervals propriety obliges us to confess
+that we are miserable sinners, has not the Lord sought to comfort us in
+the recollection that we are not half so bad as most people?
+
+Mr. Dryland went to the Vicarage to enter certificates in the parish
+books. The Vicar was in his study, and gave his curate the keys of the
+iron safe.
+
+"Sophie Bunch came last night to put up her banns," he said.
+
+"She's going to marry out of the parish, isn't she?"
+
+"Yes, a Tunbridge Wells man."
+
+The curate carefully blotted the entries he had made, and returned the
+heavy books to their place.
+
+"Will you come into the dining-room, Dryland?" said the Vicar, with a
+certain solemnity. "Mrs Jackson would like to speak to you."
+
+"Certainly."
+
+Mrs. Jackson was reading the _Church Times_. Her thin, sharp face wore
+an expression of strong disapproval; her tightly-closed mouth, her sharp
+nose, even the angular lines of her body, signified clearly that her
+moral sense was outraged. She put her hand quickly to her massive fringe
+to see that it was straight, and rose to shake hands with Mr. Dryland.
+His heavy red face assumed at once a grave look; his moral sense was
+outraged, too.
+
+"Isn't this dreadful news, Mr. Dryland?"
+
+"Oh, very sad! Very sad!"
+
+In both their voices, hidden below an intense sobriety, there was
+discernible a slight ring of exultation.
+
+"The moment I saw him I felt he would give trouble," said Mrs. Jackson,
+shaking her head. "I told you, Archibald, that I didn't like the look of
+him."
+
+"I'm bound to say you did," admitted her lord and master.
+
+"Mary Clibborn is much too good for him," added Mrs. Jackson,
+decisively. "She's a saint."
+
+"The fact is, that he's suffering from a swollen head," remarked the
+curate, who used slang as a proof of manliness.
+
+"There, Archibald!" cried the lady, triumphantly. "What did I tell you?"
+
+"Mrs. Jackson thought he was conceited."
+
+"I don't think it; I'm sure of it. He's odiously conceited. All the time
+I was talking to him I felt he considered himself superior to me. No
+nice-minded man would have refused our offer to say a short prayer on
+his behalf during morning service."
+
+"Those army men always have a very good opinion of themselves," said Mr.
+Dryland, taking advantage of his seat opposite a looking-glass to
+arrange his hair.
+
+He spoke in such a round, full voice that his shortest words carried a
+sort of polysyllabic weight.
+
+"I can't see what he has done to be so proud of," said Mrs. Jackson.
+"Anyone would have done the same in his position. I'm sure it's no more
+heroic than what clergymen do every day of their lives, without making
+the least fuss about it."
+
+"They say that true courage is always modest," answered Mr. Dryland.
+
+The remark was not very apposite, but sounded damaging.
+
+"I didn't like the way he had when he came to tea here--as if he were
+dreadfully bored. I'm sure he's not so clever as all that."
+
+"No clever man would act in an ungentlemanly way," said the curate, and
+then smiled, for he thought he had unconsciously made an epigram.
+
+"I couldn't express in words what I feel with regard to his treatment of
+Mary!" cried Mrs. Jackson; and then proceeded to do so--and in many, to
+boot.
+
+They had all been a little oppressed by the greatness which, much
+against his will, they had thrust upon the unfortunate James. They had
+set him on a pedestal, and then were disconcerted because he towered
+above their heads, and the halo with which they had surrounded him
+dazzled their eyes. They had wished to make a lion of James, and his
+modest resistance wounded their self-esteem; it was a relief to learn
+that he was not worth making a lion of. Halo and pedestal were quickly
+demolished, for the golden idol had feet of clay, and his late adorers
+were ready to reproach him because he had not accepted with proper
+humility the gifts he did not want. Their little vanities were comforted
+by the assurance that, far from being a hero, James was, in fact,
+distinctly inferior to themselves. For there is no superiority like
+moral superiority. A man who stands akimbo on the top of the Ten
+Commandments need bow the knee to no earthly potentate.
+
+Little Primpton was conscious of its virtue, and did not hesitate to
+condemn.
+
+"He has lowered himself dreadfully."
+
+"Yes, it's very sad. It only shows how necessary it is to preserve a
+meek and contrite spirit in prosperity. Pride always goes before a
+fall."
+
+The Jacksons and Mr. Dryland discussed the various accounts which had
+reached them. Mary and Mrs. Parsons were determinedly silent, but Mrs.
+Clibborn was loquacious, and it needed little artifice to extract the
+whole story from Colonel Parsons.
+
+"One thing is unfortunately certain," said Mrs. Jackson, with a sort of
+pious vindictiveness, "Captain Parsons has behaved abominably, and it's
+our duty to do something."
+
+"Colonel Clibborn threatens to horsewhip him."
+
+"It would do him good," cried Mrs. Jackson; "and I should like to be
+there to see it!"
+
+They paused a moment to gloat over the imaginary scene of Jamie's
+chastisement.
+
+"He's a wicked man. Fancy throwing the poor girl over when she's waited
+five years. I think he ought to be made to marry her."
+
+"I'm bound to say that no gentleman would have acted like that," said
+the Vicar.
+
+"I wanted Archibald to go and speak seriously to Captain Parsons. He
+ought to know what we think of him, and it's obviously our duty to tell
+him."
+
+"His parents are very much distressed. One can see that, although they
+say so little."
+
+"It's not enough to be distressed. They ought to have the strength of
+mind to insist upon his marrying Mary Clibborn. But they stick up for
+everything he does. They think he's perfect. I'm sure it's not
+respectful to God to worship a human being as they do their son."
+
+"They certainly have a very exaggerated opinion of him," assented Mr.
+Dryland.
+
+"And I should like to know why. He's not good-looking."
+
+"Very ordinary," agreed Mr. Dryland, with a rapid glance at the
+convenient mirror. "I don't think his appearance is manly."
+
+Whatever the curate's defects of person--and he flattered himself that
+he was modest enough to know his bad points--no one, he fancied, could
+deny him manliness. It is possible that he was not deceived. Put him in
+a bowler-hat and a bell-bottomed coat, and few could have distinguished
+him from a cab-driver.
+
+"I don't see anything particular in his eyes or hair," pursued Mrs.
+Jackson.
+
+"His features are fairly regular. But that always strikes me as insipid
+in a man."
+
+"And he's not a good conversationalist."
+
+"I'm bound to confess I've never heard him say anything clever,"
+remarked the Vicar.
+
+"No," smiled the curate; "one could hardly call him a brilliant
+epigrammatist."
+
+"I don't think he's well informed."
+
+"Oh, well, you know, one doesn't expect knowledge from army men," said
+the curate, with a contemptuous smile and a shrug of the shoulders. "I
+must say I was rather amused when he confessed he hadn't read Marie
+Corelli."
+
+"I can hardly believe that. I think it was only pose."
+
+"I'm sorry to say that my experience of young officers is that there are
+absolutely no bounds to their ignorance."
+
+They had satisfactorily stripped James of every quality, mental and
+physical, which could have made him attractive in Mary's eyes; and the
+curate's next remark was quite natural.
+
+"I'm afraid it sounds a conceited thing to say, but I can't help asking
+myself what Miss Clibborn saw in him."
+
+"Love is blind," replied Mrs. Jackson. "She could have done much better
+for herself."
+
+They paused to consider the vagaries of the tender passion, and the
+matches which Mary might have made, had she been so inclined.
+
+"Archibald," said Mrs. Jackson at last, with the decision characteristic
+of her, "I've made up my mind. As vicar of the parish, _you_ must go to
+Captain Parsons."
+
+"I, my dear?"
+
+"Yes, Archibald. You must insist upon him fulfilling his engagement with
+Mary. Say that you are shocked and grieved; and ask him if his own
+conscience does not tell him that he has done wrong."
+
+"I'm not sure that he'd listen to reason," nervously remarked the Vicar.
+
+"It's your duty to try, Archibald. We're so afraid of being called
+busybodies that even when we ought to step in we hesitate. No motives of
+delicacy should stop one when a wicked action is to be prevented. It's
+often the clergy's duty to interfere with other people's affairs. For my
+part, I will never shrink from doing my duty. People may call me a
+busybody if they like; hard words break no bones."
+
+"Captain Parsons is very reserved. He might think it an impertinence if
+I went to him."
+
+"How could he? Isn't it our business if he breaks his word with a
+parishioner of ours? If you don't talk to him, I shall. So there,
+Archibald!"
+
+"Why don't you, Mrs. Jackson?"
+
+"Nothing would please me better, I should thoroughly enjoy giving him a
+piece of my mind. It would do him good to be told frankly that he's not
+quite so great as he thinks himself. I will never shrink from doing my
+duty."
+
+"My dear," remonstrated the Vicar, "if you really think I ought to
+speak--"
+
+"Perhaps Mrs. Jackson would do better. A women can say many things that
+a man can't."
+
+This was a grateful suggestion to the Vicar, who could not rid himself
+of the discomforting thought that James, incensed and hot-tempered,
+might use the strength of his arms--or legs--in lieu of argument. Mr.
+Jackson would have affronted horrid tortures for his faith, but shrank
+timidly before the least suspicion of ridicule. His wife was braver, or
+less imaginative.
+
+"Very well, I'll go," she said. "It's true he might be rude to
+Archibald, and he couldn't be rude to a lady. And what's more, I shall
+go at once."
+
+Mrs. Jackson kept her hat on a peg in the hall, and was quickly ready.
+She put on her black kid gloves; determination sat upon her mouth, and
+Christian virtue rested between her brows. Setting out with a brisk
+step, the conviction was obvious in every movement that duty called, and
+to that clarion note Maria Jackson would never turn a deaf ear. She went
+like a Hebrew prophet, conscious that the voice of the Lord was in her.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+
+James was wandering in the garden of Primpton House while Mrs. Jackson
+thither went her way. Since the termination of his engagement with Mary
+three days back, the subject had not been broached between him and his
+parents; but he divined their thoughts. He knew that they awaited the
+arrival of his uncle, Major Forsyth, to set the matter right. They did
+not seek to reconcile themselves with the idea that the break was final;
+it seemed too monstrous a thing to be true. James smiled, with bitter
+amusement, at their simple trust in the man of the world who was due
+that day.
+
+Major Forsyth was fifty-three, a haunter of military clubs, a busy
+sluggard, who set his pride in appearing dissipated, and yet led the
+blameless life of a clergyman's daughter; preserving a spotless virtue,
+nothing pleased him more than to be thought a rake. He had been on
+half-pay for many years, and blamed the War Office on that account
+rather than his own incompetence. Ever since retiring he had told people
+that advancement, in these degenerate days, was impossible without
+influence: he was, indeed, one of those men to whom powerful friends
+offer the only chance of success; and possessing none, inveighed
+constantly against the corrupt officialism of those in authority. But to
+his Jeremiads upon the decay of the public services he added a keen
+interest in the world of fashion; it is always well that a man should
+have varied activities; it widens his horizon, and gives him a greater
+usefulness. If his attention had been limited to red-tape, Major
+Forsyth, even in his own circle, might have been thought a little
+one-sided; but his knowledge of etiquette and tailors effectually
+prevented the reproach. He was pleased to consider himself in society;
+he read assiduously those papers which give detailed accounts of the
+goings-on in the "hupper succles," and could give you with considerable
+accuracy the whereabouts of titled people. If he had a weakness, it was
+by his manner of speaking to insinuate that he knew certain noble
+persons whom, as a matter of fact, he had never set eyes on; he would
+not have told a direct lie on the subject, but his conscience permitted
+him a slight equivocation. Major Forsyth was well up in all the gossip
+of the clubs, and if he could not call himself a man of the world, he
+had not the least notion who could. But for all that, he had the
+strictest principles; he was true brother to Mrs. Parsons, and though he
+concealed the fact like something disreputable, regularly went to church
+on Sunday mornings. There was also a certain straitness in his income
+which confined him to the paths shared by the needy and the pure at
+heart.
+
+Major Forsyth had found no difficulty in imposing upon his sister and
+her husband.
+
+"Of course, William is rather rackety," they said. "It's a pity he
+hasn't a wife to steady him; but he has a good heart."
+
+For them Major Forsyth had the double advantage of a wiliness gained in
+the turmoil of the world and an upright character. They scarcely knew
+how in the present juncture he could help, but had no doubt that from
+the boundless store of his worldly wisdom he would invent a solution to
+their difficulty.
+
+James had found his uncle out when he was quite a boy, and seeing his
+absurdity, had treated him ever since with good-natured ridicule.
+
+"I wonder what they think he can say?" he asked himself.
+
+James was profoundly grieved at the unhappiness which bowed his father
+down. His parents had looked forward with such ecstatic pleasure to his
+arrival, and what sorrow had he not brought them!
+
+"I wish I'd never come back," he muttered.
+
+He thought of the flowing, undulating plains of the Orange Country, and
+the blue sky, with its sense of infinite freedom. In that trim Kentish
+landscape he felt hemmed in; when the clouds were low it seemed scarcely
+possible to breathe; and he suffered from the constraint of his father
+and mother, who treated him formally, as though he had become a
+stranger. There was always between them and him that painful topic which
+for the time was carefully shunned. They did not mention Mary's name,
+and the care they took to avoid it was more painful than would have been
+an open reference. They sat silent and sad, trying to appear natural,
+and dismally failing; their embarrassed manner was such as they might
+have adopted had he committed some crime, the mention of which for his
+sake must never be made, but whose recollection perpetually haunted
+them. In every action was the belief that James must be suffering from
+remorse, and that it was their duty not to make his burden heavier.
+James knew that his father was convinced that he had acted
+dishonourably, and he--what did he himself think?
+
+James asked himself a hundred times a day whether he had acted well or
+ill; and though he forced himself to answer that he had done the only
+possible thing, deep down in his heart was a terrible, a perfectly
+maddening uncertainty. He tried to crush it, and would not listen, for
+his intelligence told him clearly it was absurd; but it was stronger
+than intelligence, an incorporeal shape through which passed harmlessly
+the sword-cuts of his reason. It was a little devil curled up in his
+heart, muttering to all his arguments, "Are you sure?"
+
+Sometimes he was nearly distracted, and then the demon laughed, so that
+the mocking shrillness rang in his ears:
+
+"Are you sure, my friend--are you sure? And where, pray, is the honour
+which only a while ago you thought so much of?"
+
+* * *
+
+James walked to and fro restlessly, impatient, angry with himself and
+with all the world.
+
+But then on the breath of the wind, on the perfume of the roses, yellow
+and red, came suddenly the irresistible recollection of Mrs. Wallace.
+Why should he not think of her now? He was free; he could do her no
+harm; he would never see her again. The thought of her was the only
+sunshine in his life; he was tired of denying himself every pleasure.
+Why should he continue the pretence that he no longer loved her? It was,
+indeed, a consolation to think that the long absence had not dulled his
+passion; the strength of it was its justification. It was useless to
+fight against it, for it was part of his very soul; he might as well
+have fought against the beating of his heart. And if it was torture to
+remember those old days in India, he delighted in it; it was a pain more
+exquisite than the suffocating odours of tropical flowers, a voluptuous
+agony such as might feel the fakir lacerating his flesh in a divine
+possession.... Every little occurrence was clear, as if it had taken
+place but a day before.
+
+James repeated to himself the conversations they had had, of no
+consequence, the idle gossip of a stray half-hour; but each word was
+opulent in the charming smile, in the caressing glance of her eyes. He
+was able to imagine Mrs. Wallace quite close to him, wearing the things
+that he had seen her wear, and with her movements he noticed the
+excessive scent she used. He wondered whether she had overcome that
+failing, whether she still affected the artificiality which was so
+adorable a relief from the primness of manner which he had thought the
+natural way of women.
+
+If her cheeks were not altogether innocent of rouge or her eyebrows of
+pencil, what did he care; he delighted in her very faults; he would not
+have her different in the very slightest detail; everything was part of
+that complex, elusive fascination. And James thought of the skin which
+had the even softness of fine velvet, and the little hands. He called
+himself a fool for his shyness. What could have been the harm if he had
+taken those hands and kissed them? Now, in imagination, he pressed his
+lips passionately on the warm palms. He liked the barbaric touch in the
+many rings which bedecked her fingers.
+
+"Why do you wear so many rings?" he asked. "Your hands are too fine."
+
+He would never have ventured the question, but now there was no danger.
+Her answer came with a little, good-humoured laugh; she stretched out
+her fingers, looking complacently at the brilliant gems.
+
+"I like to be gaudy. I should like to be encrusted with jewels. I want
+to wear bracelets to my elbow and diamond spangles on my arms; and
+jewelled belts, and jewels in my hair, and on my neck. I should like to
+flash from head to foot with exotic stones."
+
+Then she looked at him with amusement.
+
+"Of course, you think it's vulgar. What do I care? You all of you think
+it's vulgar to be different from other people. I want to be unique."
+
+"You want everybody to look at you?"
+
+"Of course I do! Is it sinful? Oh, I get so impatient with all of you,
+with your good taste and your delicacy, and your insupportable dulness.
+When you admire a woman, you think it impertinent to tell her she's
+beautiful; when you have good looks, you carry yourselves as though you
+were ashamed."
+
+And in a bold moment he replied:
+
+"Yet you would give your soul to have no drop of foreign blood in your
+veins!"
+
+"I?" she cried, her eyes flashing with scorn. "I'm proud of my Eastern
+blood. It's not blood I have in my veins, it's fire--a fire of gold.
+It's because of it that I have no prejudices, and know how to enjoy my
+life."
+
+James smiled, and did not answer.
+
+"You don't believe me?" she asked.
+
+"No!"
+
+"Well, perhaps I should like to be quite English. I should feel more
+comfortable in my scorn of these regimental ladies if I thought they
+could find no reason to look down on me."
+
+"I don't think they look down on you."
+
+"Oh, don't they? They despise and loathe me."
+
+"When you were ill, they did all they could for you."
+
+"Foolish creature! Don't you know that to do good to your enemy is the
+very best way of showing your contempt."
+
+And so James could go on, questioning, replying, putting little jests
+into her mouth, or half-cynical repartees. Sometimes he spoke aloud,
+and then Mrs. Wallace's voice sounded in his ears, clear and rich and
+passionate, as though she were really standing in the flesh beside him.
+But always he finished by taking her in his arms and kissing her lips
+and her closed eyes, the lids transparent like the finest alabaster. He
+knew no pleasure greater than to place his hands on that lustrous hair.
+What could it matter now? He was not bound to Mary; he could do no harm
+to Mrs. Wallace, ten thousand miles away.
+
+* * *
+
+But Colonel Parsons broke into the charming dream. Bent and weary, he
+came across the lawn to find his son. The wan, pathetic figure brought
+back to James all the present bitterness. He sighed, and advanced to
+meet him.
+
+"You're very reckless to come out without a hat, father. I'll fetch you
+one, shall I?"
+
+"No, I'm not going to stay." The Colonel could summon up no answering
+smile to his boy's kind words. "I only came to tell you that Mrs.
+Jackson is in the drawing-room, and would like to see you."
+
+"What does she want?"
+
+"She'll explain herself. She has asked to see you alone."
+
+Jamie's face darkened, as some notion of Mrs. Jackson's object dawned
+upon him.
+
+"I don't know what she can have to talk to me about alone."
+
+"Please listen to her, Jamie. She's a very clever woman, and you can't
+fail to benefit by her advice."
+
+The Colonel never had an unfriendly word to say of anyone, and even for
+Mrs. Jackson's unwarrantable interferences could always find a
+good-natured justification. He was one of those deprecatory men who, in
+every difference of opinion, are convinced that they are certainly in
+the wrong. He would have borne with the most cheerful submission any
+rebuke of his own conduct, and been, indeed, vastly grateful to the
+Vicar's wife for pointing out his error.
+
+James found Mrs. Jackson sitting bolt upright on a straight-backed
+chair, convinced, such was her admirable sense of propriety, that a
+lounging attitude was incompatible with the performance of a duty. She
+held her hands on her lap, gently clasped; and her tight lips expressed
+as plainly as possible her conviction that though the way of
+righteousness was hard, she, thank God! had strength to walk it.
+
+"How d'you do, Mrs. Jackson?"
+
+"Good morning," she replied, with a stiff bow.
+
+James, though there was no fire, went over to the mantelpiece and leant
+against it, waiting for the lady to speak.
+
+"Captain Parsons, I have a very painful duty to perform."
+
+Those were her words, but it must have been a dense person who failed to
+perceive that Mrs. Jackson found her duty anything but painful. There
+was just that hard resonance in her voice that an inquisitor might have
+in condemning to the stake a Jew to whom he owed much money.
+
+"I suppose you will call me a busybody?"
+
+"Oh, I'm sure you would never interfere with what does not concern you,"
+replied James, slowly.
+
+"Certainly not!" said Mrs. Jackson. "I come here because my conscience
+tells me to. What I wish to talk to you about concerns us all."
+
+"Shall I call my people? I'm sure they'd be interested."
+
+"I asked to see you alone, Captain Parsons," answered Mrs. Jackson,
+frigidly. "And it was for your sake. When one has to tell a person
+home-truths, he generally prefers that there should be no audience."
+
+"So you're going to tell me some home-truths, Mrs. Jackson?" said James,
+with a laugh. "You must think me very good-natured. How long have I had
+the pleasure of your acquaintance?"
+
+Mrs. Jackson's grimness did not relax.
+
+"One learns a good deal about people in a week."
+
+"D'you think so? I have an idea that ten years is a short time to get to
+know them. You must be very quick."
+
+"Actions often speak."
+
+"Actions are the most lying things in the world. They are due mostly to
+adventitious circumstances which have nothing to do with the character
+of the agent. I would never judge a man by his actions."
+
+"I didn't come here to discuss abstract things with you, Captain
+Parsons."
+
+"Why not? The abstract is so much more entertaining than the concrete.
+It affords opportunities for generalisation, which is the salt of
+conversation."
+
+"I'm a very busy woman," retorted Mrs. Jackson sharply, thinking that
+James was not treating her with proper seriousness. He was not so easy
+to tackle as she had imagined.
+
+"It's very good of you, then, to spare time to come and have a little
+chat with me," said James.
+
+"I did not come for that purpose, Captain Parsons."
+
+"Oh, I forgot--home-truths, wasn't it? I was thinking of Shakespeare and
+the musical glasses!"
+
+"Would you kindly remember that I am a clergyman's wife, Captain
+Parsons? I daresay you are not used to the society of such."
+
+"Pardon me, I even know an archdeacon quite well. He has a great gift of
+humour; a man wants it when he wears a silk apron."
+
+"Captain Parsons," said Mrs. Jackson, sternly, "there are some things
+over which it is unbecoming to jest. I wish to be as gentle as possible
+with you, but I may remind you that flippancy is not the best course for
+you to pursue."
+
+James looked at her with a good-tempered stare.
+
+"Upon my word," he said to himself, "I never knew I was so patient."
+
+"I can't beat about the bush any longer," continued the Vicar's lady; "I
+have a very painful duty to perform."
+
+"That quite excuses your hesitation."
+
+"You must guess why I have asked to see you alone."
+
+"I haven't the least idea."
+
+"Does your conscience say nothing to you?"
+
+"My conscience is very well-bred. It never says unpleasant things."
+
+"Then I'm sincerely sorry for you."
+
+James smiled.
+
+"Oh, my good woman," he thought, "if you only knew what a troublesome
+spirit I carry about with me!"
+
+But Mrs. Jackson saw only hardness of heart in the grave face; she never
+dreamed that behind those quiet eyes was a turmoil of discordant
+passions, tearing, rending, burning.
+
+"I'm sorry for you," she repeated. "I think it's very sad, very sad
+indeed, that you should stand there and boast of the sluggishness of
+your conscience. Conscience is the voice of God, Captain Parsons; if it
+does not speak to you, it behoves others to speak in its place."
+
+"And supposing I knew what you wanted to say, do you think I should like
+to hear?"
+
+"I'm afraid not."
+
+"Then don't you think discretion points to silence?"
+
+"No, Captain Parsons. There are some things which one is morally bound
+to say, however distasteful they may be."
+
+"The easiest way to get through life is to say pleasant things on all
+possible occasions."
+
+"That is not my way, and that is not the right way."
+
+"I think it rash to conclude that a course is right merely because it is
+difficult. Likewise an uncivil speech is not necessarily a true one."
+
+"I repeat that I did not come here to bandy words with you."
+
+"My dear Mrs. Jackson, I have been wondering why you did not come to the
+point at once."
+
+"You have been wilfully interrupting me."
+
+"I'm so sorry. I thought I had been making a series of rather
+entertaining observations."
+
+"Captain Parsons, what does your conscience say to you about Mary
+Clibborn?"
+
+James looked at Mrs. Jackson very coolly, and she never imagined with
+what difficulty he was repressing himself.
+
+"I thought you said your subject was of national concern. Upon my word,
+I thought you proposed to hold a thanksgiving service in Little Primpton
+Church for the success of the British arms."
+
+"Well, you know different now," retorted Mrs. Jackson, with distinct
+asperity. "I look upon your treatment of Mary Clibborn as a matter which
+concerns us all."
+
+"Then, as politely as possible, I must beg to differ from you. I really
+cannot permit you to discuss my private concerns. You have, doubtless,
+much evil to say of me; say it behind my back."
+
+"I presumed that you were a gentleman, Captain Parsons."
+
+"You certainly presumed."
+
+"And I should be obliged if you would treat me like a lady."
+
+James smiled. He saw that it was folly to grow angry.
+
+"We'll do our best to be civil to one another, Mrs. Jackson. But I don't
+think you must talk of what really is not your business."
+
+"D'you think you can act shamefully and then slink away as soon as you
+are brought to book? Do you know what you've done to Mary Clibborn?"
+
+"Whatever I've done, you may be sure that I have not acted rashly.
+Really, nothing you can say will make the slightest difference. Don't
+you think we had better bring our conversation to an end?"
+
+James made a movement towards the door.
+
+"Your father and mother wish me to speak with you, Colonel Parsons,"
+said Mrs. Jackson. "And they wish you to listen to what I have to say."
+
+James paused. "Very well."
+
+He sat down and waited. Mrs. Jackson felt unaccountably nervous; it had
+never occurred to her that a mere soldier could be so hard to deal with,
+and it was she who hesitated now. Jamie's stern eyes made her feel
+singularly like a culprit; but she cleared her throat and straightened
+herself.
+
+"It's very sad," she said, "to find how much we've been mistaken in you,
+Captain Parsons. When we were making all sorts of preparations to
+welcome you, we never thought that you would repay us like this. It
+grieves me to have to tell you that you have done a very wicked thing. I
+was hoping that your conscience would have something to say to you, but
+unhappily I was mistaken. You induced Mary to become engaged to you; you
+kept her waiting for years; you wrote constantly, pretending to love
+her, deceiving her odiously; you let her waste the best part of her
+life, and then, without excuse and without reason, you calmly say that
+you're sick of her, and won't marry her. I think it is horrible, and
+brutal, and most ungentlemanly. Even a common man wouldn't have behaved
+in that way. Of course, it doesn't matter to you, but it means the ruin
+of Mary's whole life. How can she get a husband now when she's wasted
+her best years? You've spoilt all her chances. You've thrown a slur upon
+her which people will never forget. You're a cruel, wicked man, and
+however you won the Victoria Cross I don't know; I'm sure you don't
+deserve it."
+
+Mrs. Jackson stopped.
+
+"Is that all?" asked James, quietly.
+
+"It's quite enough."
+
+"Quite! In that case, I think we may finish our little interview."
+
+"Have you nothing to say?" asked Mrs. Jackson indignantly, realising
+that she had not triumphed after all.
+
+"I? Nothing."
+
+Mrs. Jackson was perplexed, and still those disconcerting eyes were
+fixed upon her; she angrily resented their polite contempt.
+
+"Well, I think it's disgraceful!" she cried. "You must be utterly
+shameless!"
+
+"My dear lady, you asked me to listen to you, and I have. If you thought
+I was going to argue, I'm afraid you were mistaken. But since you have
+been very frank with me, you can hardly mind if I am equally frank with
+you. I absolutely object to the way in which not only you, but all the
+persons who took part in that ridiculous function the other day, talk of
+my private concerns. I am a perfect stranger to you, and you have no
+business to speak to me of my engagement with Miss Clibborn or the
+rupture of it. Finally, I would remark that I consider your particular
+interference a very gross piece of impertinence. I am sorry to have to
+speak so directly, but apparently nothing but the very plainest language
+can have any effect upon you."
+
+Then Mrs. Jackson lost her temper.
+
+"Captain Parsons, I am considerably older than you, and you have no
+right to speak to me like that. You forget that I am a lady; and if I
+didn't know your father and mother, I should say that you were no
+gentleman. And you forget also that I come here on the part of God. You
+are certainly no Christian. You've been very rude to me, indeed."
+
+"I didn't mean to be," replied James, smiling.
+
+"If I'd known you would be so rude to a lady, I should have sent
+Archibald to speak with you."
+
+"Perhaps it's fortunate you didn't. I might have kicked him."
+
+"Captain Parsons, he's a minister of the gospel."
+
+"Surely it is possible to be that without being a malicious busybody."
+
+"You're heartless and vain! You're odiously conceited."
+
+"I should have thought it a proof of modesty that for half an hour I
+have listened to you with some respect and with great attention."
+
+"I must say in my heart I'm glad that Providence has stepped in and
+prevented Mary from marrying you. You are a bad man. And I leave you now
+to the mercies of your own conscience; I am a Christian woman, thank
+Heaven! and I forgive you. But I sincerely hope that God will see fit to
+punish you for your wickedness."
+
+Mrs. Jackson bounced to the door, which James very politely opened.
+
+"Oh, don't trouble!" she said, with a sarcastic shake of the head. "I
+can find my way out alone, and I shan't steal the umbrellas."
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+
+Major Forsyth arrived in time for tea, red-faced, dapper, and
+immaculate. He wore a check suit, very new and very pronounced, with a
+beautiful line down each trouser-leg; and his collar and his tie were of
+the latest mode. His scanty hair was carefully parted in the middle, and
+his moustache bristled with a martial ardour. He had lately bought a
+fine set of artificial teeth, which, with pardonable pride, he
+constantly exhibited to the admiration of all and sundry. Major
+Forsyth's consuming desire was to appear juvenile; he affected slang,
+and carried himself with a youthful jauntiness. He vowed he felt a mere
+boy, and flattered himself that on his good days, with the light behind
+him, he might pass for five-and-thirty.
+
+"A woman," he repeated--"a woman is as old as she looks; but a man is as
+old as he feels!"
+
+The dandiness which in a crammer's pup--most overdressed of all the
+human race--would merely have aroused a smile, looked oddly with the
+Major's wrinkled skin and his old eyes. There was something almost
+uncanny in the exaggerated boyishness; he reminded one of some figure
+in a dance of death, of a living skeleton, hollow-eyed, strutting gaily
+by the side of a gallant youth.
+
+It was not difficult to impose upon the Parsons, and Major Forsyth had
+gained over them a complete ascendancy. They took his opinion on every
+possible matter, accepting whatever he said with gratified respect. He
+was a man of the world, and well acquainted with the goings-on of
+society. They had an idea that he disappointed duchesses to come down to
+Little Primpton, and always felt that it was a condescension on his part
+to put up with their simple manners. They altered their hours; luncheon
+was served at the middle of the day, and dinner in the evening.
+
+Mrs. Parsons put on a Sabbath garment of black silk to receive her
+brother, and round her neck a lace fichu. When he arrived with Colonel
+Parsons from the station, she went into the hall to meet him.
+
+"Well, William, have you had a pleasant journey?"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes! I came down with the prettiest woman I've seen for many a
+long day. I made eyes at her all the way, but she wouldn't look at me."
+
+"William, William!" expostulated Mr. Parsons, smiling.
+
+"You see he hasn't improved since we saw him last, Frances," laughed the
+Colonel, leading the way into the drawing-room.
+
+"No harm in looking at a pretty woman, you know. I'm a bachelor still,
+thank the Lord! That reminds me of a funny story I heard at the club."
+
+"Oh, we're rather frightened of your stories, William," said Mrs.
+Parsons.
+
+"Yes, you're very risky sometimes," assented the Colonel,
+good-humouredly shaking his head.
+
+Major Forsyth was anecdotal, as is only decent in an old bachelor, and
+he made a speciality of stories which he thought wicked, but which, as a
+matter of fact, would not have brought a blush to any cheek less
+innocent than that of Colonel Parsons.
+
+"There's no harm in a little spice," said Uncle William. "And you're a
+married woman, Frances."
+
+He told an absolutely pointless story of how a man had helped a young
+woman across the street, and seen her ankle in the process. He told it
+with immense gusto, laughing and repeating the point at least six times.
+
+"William, William!" laughed Colonel Parsons, heartily. "You should keep
+those things for the smoking-room."
+
+"What d'you think of it, Frances?" asked the gallant Major, still hugely
+enjoying the joke.
+
+Mrs. Parsons blushed a little, and for decency's sake prevented herself
+from smiling; she felt rather wicked.
+
+"I don't want to hear any more of your tales, William."
+
+"Ha, ha!" laughed Uncle William, "I knew you'd like it. And that one I
+told you in the fly, Richmond--you know, about the petticoat."
+
+"Sh-sh!" said the Colonel, smiling. "You can't tell that to a lady."
+
+"P'r'aps I'd better not. But it's a good story, though."
+
+They both laughed.
+
+"I think it's dreadful the things you men talk about as soon as you're
+alone," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+The two God-fearing old soldiers laughed again, admitting their
+wickedness.
+
+"One must talk about something," said Uncle William. "And upon my word,
+I don't know anything better to talk about than the fair sex."
+
+Soon James appeared, and shook hands with his uncle.
+
+"You're looking younger than ever, Uncle William. You make me feel quite
+old."
+
+"Oh, I never age, bless you! Why, I was talking to my old friend, Lady
+Green, the other day--she was a Miss Lake, you know--and she said to
+me: 'Upon my word, Major Forsyth, you're wonderful. I believe you've
+found the secret of perpetual youth.' 'The fact is,' I said, 'I never
+let myself grow old. If you once give way to it, you're done.' 'How do
+you manage it?' she said. 'Madam,' I answered, 'it's the simplest thing
+in the world. I keep regular hours, and I wear flannel next to my
+skin.'"
+
+"Come, come, Uncle William," said James, with a smile. "You didn't
+mention your underlinen to a lady!"
+
+"Upon my word, I'm telling you exactly what I said."
+
+"You're very free in your conversation."
+
+"Well, you know, I find the women expect it from me. Of course, I never
+go beyond the line."
+
+Then Major Forsyth talked of the fashions, and of his clothes, of the
+scandal of the day, and the ancestry of the persons concerned, of the
+war.
+
+"You can say what you like," he remarked, "but my opinion is that
+Roberts is vastly overrated. I met at the club the other day a man whose
+first cousin has served under Roberts in India--his first cousin, mind
+you, so it's good authority--and this chap told me, in strict
+confidence, of course, that his first cousin had no opinion of Roberts.
+That's what a man says who has actually served under him."
+
+"It is certainly conclusive," said James. "I wonder your friend's first
+cousin didn't go to the War Office and protest against Bobs being sent
+out."
+
+"What's the good of going to the War Office? They're all corrupt and
+incompetent there. If I had my way, I'd make a clean sweep of them.
+Talking of red-tape, I'll just give you an instance. Now, this is a
+fact. It was told me by the brother-in-law of the uncle of the man it
+happened to."
+
+Major Forsyth told his story at great length, finishing up with the
+assertion that if the army wasn't going to the dogs, he didn't know what
+going to the dogs meant.
+
+James, meanwhile, catching the glances which passed between his mother
+and Colonel Parsons, understood that they were thinking of the great
+subject upon which Uncle William was to be consulted. Half scornfully he
+gave them their opportunity.
+
+"I'm going for a stroll," he said, "through Groombridge. I shan't be
+back till dinner-time."
+
+"How lucky!" remarked Colonel Parsons naively, when James had gone. "We
+wanted to talk with you privately, William. You're a man of the world."
+
+"I think there's not much that I don't know," replied the Major,
+shooting his linen.
+
+"Tell him, Frances."
+
+Mrs. Parsons, accustomed to the part of spokeswoman, gave her tale,
+interrupted now and again by a long whistle with which the Major
+signified his shrewdness, or by an energetic nod which meant that the
+difficulty was nothing to him.
+
+"You're quite right," he said at last; "one has to look upon these
+things from the point of view of the man of the world."
+
+"We knew you'd be able to help us," said Colonel Parsons.
+
+"Of course! I shall settle the whole thing in five minutes. You leave it
+to me."
+
+"I told you he would, Frances," cried the Colonel, with a happy smile.
+"You think that James ought to marry the girl, don't you?"
+
+"Certainly. Whatever his feelings are, he must act as a gentleman and an
+officer. Just you let me talk it over with him. He has great respect for
+all I say; I've noticed that already."
+
+Mrs. Parsons looked at her brother doubtfully.
+
+"We haven't known what to do," she murmured. "We've prayed for guidance,
+haven't we, Richmond? We're anxious not to be hard on the boy, but we
+must be just."
+
+"Leave it to me," repeated Uncle William. "I'm a man of the world, and
+I'm thoroughly at home in matters of this sort."
+
+* * *
+
+According to the little plan which, in his subtlety, Major Forsyth had
+suggested, Mrs. Parsons, soon after dinner, fetched the backgammon
+board.
+
+"Shall we have our usual game, Richmond?"
+
+Colonel Parsons looked significantly at his brother-in-law.
+
+"If William doesn't mind?"
+
+"No, no, of course not! I'll have a little chat with Jamie."
+
+The players sat down at the corner of the table, and rather nervously
+began to set out the men. James stood by the window, silent as ever,
+looking at the day that was a-dying, with a milk-blue sky and tenuous
+clouds, copper and gold. Major Forsyth took a chair opposite him, and
+pulled his moustache.
+
+"Well, Jamie, my boy, what is all this nonsense I hear about you and
+Mary Clibborn?"
+
+Colonel Parsons started at the expected question, and stole a hurried
+look at his son. His wife noisily shook the dice-box and threw the dice
+on the board.
+
+"Nine!" she said.
+
+James turned to look at his uncle, noting a little contemptuously the
+change of his costume, and its extravagant juvenility.
+
+"A lot of stuff and nonsense, isn't it?"
+
+"D'you think so?" asked James, wearily. "We've been taking it very
+seriously."
+
+"You're a set of old fogies down here. You want a man of the world to
+set things right."
+
+"Ah, well, you're a man of the world, Uncle William," replied James,
+smiling.
+
+The dice-box rattled obtrusively as Colonel Parsons and his wife played
+on with elaborate unconcern of the conversation.
+
+"A gentleman doesn't jilt a girl when he's been engaged to her for five
+years."
+
+James squared himself to answer Major Forsyth. The interview with Mrs.
+Jackson in the morning had left him extremely irritated. He was resolved
+to say now all he had to say and have done with it, hoping that a
+complete explanation would relieve the tension between his people and
+himself.
+
+"It is with the greatest sorrow that I broke off my engagement with Mary
+Clibborn. It seemed to me the only honest thing to do since I no longer
+loved her. I can imagine nothing in the world so horrible as a loveless
+marriage."
+
+"Of course, it's unfortunate; but the first thing is to keep one's
+word."
+
+"No," answered James, "that is prejudice. There are many more important
+things."
+
+Colonel Parsons stopped the pretence of his game.
+
+"Do you know that Mary is breaking her heart?" he asked in a low voice.
+
+"I'm afraid she's suffering very much. I don't see how I can help it."
+
+"Leave this to me, Richmond," interrupted the Major, impatiently.
+"You'll make a mess of it."
+
+But Colonel Parsons took no notice.
+
+"She looked forward with all her heart to marrying you. She's very
+unhappy at home, and her only consolation was the hope that you would
+soon take her away."
+
+"Am I managing this or are you, Richmond? I'm a man of the world."
+
+"If I married a woman I did not care for because she was rich, you would
+say I had dishonoured myself. The discredit would not be in her wealth,
+but in my lack of love."
+
+"That's not the same thing," replied Major Forsyth. "You gave your word,
+and now you take it back."
+
+"I promised to do a thing over which I had no control. When I was a boy,
+before I had seen anything of the world, before I had ever known a woman
+besides my mother, I promised to love Mary Clibborn all my life. Oh, it
+was cruel to let me be engaged to her! You blame me; don't you think
+all of you are a little to blame as well?"
+
+"What could we have done?"
+
+"Why didn't you tell me not to be hasty? Why didn't you say that I was
+too young to become engaged?"
+
+"We thought it would steady you."
+
+"But a young man doesn't want to be steadied. Let him see life and taste
+all it has to offer. It is wicked to put fetters on his wrists before
+ever he has seen anything worth taking. What is the virtue that exists
+only because temptation is impossible!"
+
+"I can't understand you, Jamie," said Mrs. Parsons, sadly. "You talk so
+differently from when you were a boy."
+
+"Did you expect me to remain all my life an ignorant child. You've never
+given me any freedom. You've hemmed me in with every imaginable barrier.
+You've put me on a leading-string, and thanked God that I did not
+stray."
+
+"We tried to bring you up like a good man, and a true Christian."
+
+"If I'm not a hopeless prig, it's only by miracle."
+
+"James, that's not the way to talk to your mother," said Major Forsyth.
+
+"Oh, mother, I'm sorry; I don't want to be unkind to you. But we must
+talk things out freely; we've lived in a hot-house too long."
+
+"I don't know what you mean. You became engaged to Mary of your own free
+will; we did nothing to hinder it, nothing to bring it about. But I
+confess we were heartily thankful, thinking that no influence could be
+better for you than the love of a pure, sweet English girl."
+
+"It would have been kinder and wiser if you had forbidden it."
+
+"We could not have taken the responsibility of crossing your
+affections."
+
+"Mrs. Clibborn did."
+
+"Could you expect us to be guided by her?"
+
+"She was the only one who showed the least common sense."
+
+"How you have changed, Jamie!"
+
+"I would have obeyed you if you had told me I was too young to become
+engaged. After all, you are more responsible than I am. I was a child.
+It was cruel to let me bind myself."
+
+"I never thought you would speak to us like that."
+
+"All that's ancient history," said Major Forsyth, with what he flattered
+himself was a very good assumption of jocularity. It was his idea to
+treat the matter lightly, as a man of the world naturally would. But his
+interruption was unnoticed.
+
+"We acted for the best. You know that we have always had your interests
+at heart."
+
+James did not speak, for his only answer would have been bitter.
+Throughout, they had been unwilling to let him live his own life, but
+desirous rather that he should live theirs. They loved him tyrannically,
+on the condition that he should conform to all their prejudices. Though
+full of affectionate kindness, they wished him always to dance to their
+piping--a marionette of which they pulled the strings.
+
+"What would you have me do?"
+
+"Keep your word, James," answered his father.
+
+"I can't, I can't! I don't understand how you can wish me to marry Mary
+Clibborn when I don't love her. _That_ seems to me dishonourable."
+
+"It would be nothing worse than a _mariage de convenance_," said Uncle
+William. "Many people marry in that sort of way, and are perfectly
+happy."
+
+"I couldn't," said James. "That seems to me nothing better than
+prostitution. It is no worse for a street-walker to sell her body to any
+that care to buy."
+
+"James, remember your mother is present."
+
+"For God's sake, let us speak plainly. You must know what life is. One
+can do no good by shutting one's eyes to everything that doesn't square
+with a shoddy, false ideal. On one side I must break my word, on the
+other I must prostitute myself. There is no middle way. You live here
+surrounded by all sorts of impossible ways of looking at life. How can
+your outlook be sane when it is founded on a sham morality? You think
+the body is indecent and ugly, and that the flesh is shameful. Oh, you
+don't understand. I'm sick of this prudery which throws its own
+hideousness over all it sees. The soul and the body are one,
+indissoluble. Soul is body, and body is soul. Love is the God-like
+instinct of procreation. You think sexual attraction is something to be
+ignored, and in its place you put a bloodless sentimentality--the vulgar
+rhetoric of a penny novelette. If I marry a woman, it is that she may be
+the mother of children. Passion is the only reason for marriage; unless
+it exists, marriage is ugly and beastly. It's worse than beastly; the
+beasts of the field are clean. Don't you understand why I can't marry
+Mary Clibborn?"
+
+"What you call love, James," said Colonel Parsons, "is what I call
+lust."
+
+"I well believe it," replied James, bitterly.
+
+"Love is something higher and purer."
+
+"I know nothing purer than the body, nothing higher than the divine
+instincts of nature."
+
+"But that sort of love doesn't last, my dear," said Mrs. Parsons,
+gently. "In a very little while it is exhausted, and then you look for
+something different in your wife. You look for friendship and
+companionship, confidence, consolation in your sorrows, sympathy with
+your success. Beside all that, the sexual love sinks into nothing."
+
+"It may be. The passion arises for the purposes of nature, and dies away
+when those purposes are fulfilled. It seems to me that the recollection
+of it must be the surest and tenderest tie between husband and wife; and
+there remains for them, then, the fruit of their love, the children whom
+it is their blessed duty to rear till they are of fit age to go into the
+world and continue the endless cycle."
+
+There was a pause, while Major Forsyth racked his brain for some
+apposite remark; but the conversation had run out of his depth.
+
+Colonel Parsons at last got up and put his hands on Jamie's shoulders.
+
+"And can't you bring yourself to marry that poor girl, when you think of
+the terrible unhappiness she suffers?"
+
+James shook his head.
+
+"You were willing to sacrifice your life for a mere stranger, and cannot
+you sacrifice yourself for Mary, who has loved you long and tenderly,
+and unselfishly?"
+
+"I would willingly risk my life if she were in danger. But you ask
+more."
+
+Colonel Parsons was silent for a little, looking into his son's eyes.
+Then he spoke with trembling voice.
+
+"I think you love me, James. I've always tried to be a good father to
+you; and God knows I've done all I could to make you happy. If I did
+wrong in letting you become engaged, I beg your pardon. No; let me go
+on." This he said in answer to Jamie's movement of affectionate protest.
+"I don't say it to reproach you, but your mother and I have denied
+ourselves in all we could so that you should be happy and comfortable.
+It's been a pleasure to us, for we love you with all our hearts. You
+know what happened to me when I left the army. I told you years ago of
+the awful disgrace I suffered. I could never have lived except for my
+trust in God and my trust in you. I looked to you to regain the honour
+which I had lost. Ah! you don't know how anxiously I watched you, and
+the joy with which I said to myself, 'There is a good and honourable
+man.' And now you want to stain that honour. Oh, James, James! I'm old,
+and I can't live long. If you love me, if you think you have cause for
+gratitude to me, do this one little thing I ask you! For my sake, my
+dear, keep your word to Mary Clibborn."
+
+"You're asking me to do something immoral, father."
+
+Then Colonel Parsons helplessly dropped his hands from Jamie's
+shoulders, and turned to the others, his eyes full of tears.
+
+"I don't understand what he means!" he groaned.
+
+He sank on a chair and hid his face.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+
+Major Forsyth was not at all discouraged by the issue of his
+intervention.
+
+"Now I see how the land lies," he said, "it's all plain sailing.
+Reconnoitre first, and then wire in."
+
+He bravely attacked James next day, when they were smoking in the garden
+after breakfast. Uncle William smoked nothing but gold-tipped
+cigarettes, which excited his nephew's open scorn.
+
+"I've been thinking about what you said yesterday, James," he began.
+
+"For Heaven's sake, Uncle William, don't talk about it any more. I'm
+heartily sick of the whole thing. I've made up my mind, and I really
+shall not alter it for anything you may say."
+
+Major Forsyth changed the conversation with what might have been
+described as a strategic movement to the rear. He said that Jamie's
+answer told him all he wished to know, and he was content now to leave
+the seeds which he had sown to spring up of their own accord.
+
+"I'm perfectly satisfied," he told his sister, complacently. "You'll
+see that if it'll all come right now."
+
+Meanwhile, Mary conducted herself admirably. She neither avoided James
+nor sought him, but when chance brought them together, was perfectly
+natural. Her affection had never been demonstrative, and now there was
+in her manner but little change. She talked frankly, as though nothing
+had passed between them, with no suspicion of reproach in her tone. She
+was, indeed, far more at ease than James. He could not hide the effort
+it was to make conversation, nor the nervous discomfort which in her
+presence he felt. He watched her furtively, asking himself whether she
+still suffered. But Mary's face betrayed few of her emotions; tanned by
+exposure to all weathers, her robust colour remained unaltered; and it
+was only in her eyes that James fancied he saw a difference. They had
+just that perplexed, sorrowful expression which a dog has, unjustly
+beaten. James, imaginative and conscience-stricken, tortured himself by
+reading in their brown softness all manner of dreadful anguish. He
+watched them, unlit by the smile which played upon the lips, looking at
+him against their will, with a pitiful longing. He exaggerated the pain
+he saw till it became an obsession, intolerable and ruthless; if Mary
+desired revenge, she need not have been dissatisfied. But that
+apparently was the last thing she thought of. He was grateful to hear
+of her anger with Mrs. Jackson, whose sympathy had expressed itself in
+round abuse of him. His mother repeated the words.
+
+"I will never listen to a word against Captain Parsons, Mrs. Jackson.
+Whatever he did, he had a perfect right to do. He's incapable of acting
+otherwise than as an honourable gentleman."
+
+But if Mary's conduct aroused the admiration of all that knew her, it
+rendered James still more blameworthy.
+
+The hero-worship was conveniently forgotten, and none strove to conceal
+the dislike, even the contempt, which he felt for the fallen idol. James
+had outraged the moral sense of the community; his name could not be
+mentioned without indignation; everything he did was wrong, even his
+very real modesty was explained as overweening conceit.
+
+And curiously enough, James was profoundly distressed by the general
+disapproval. A silent, shy man, he was unreasonably sensitive to the
+opinion of his fellows; and though he told himself that they were
+stupid, ignorant, and narrow, their hostility nevertheless made him
+miserable. Even though he contemned them, he was anxious that they
+should like him. He refused to pander to their prejudices, and was too
+proud to be conciliatory; yet felt bitterly wounded when he had excited
+their aversion. Now he set to tormenting himself because he had despised
+the adulation of Little Primpton, and could not equally despise its
+censure.
+
+* * *
+
+Sunday came, and the good people of Little Primpton trooped to church.
+Mrs Clibborn turned round and smiled at James when he took his seat, but
+the Colonel sat rigid, showing by the stiffness of his backbone that his
+indignation was supreme.
+
+The service proceeded, and in due course Mr. Jackson mounted the pulpit
+steps. He delivered his text: "_The fear of the Lord is to hate evil:
+pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth, do I
+hate._"
+
+The Vicar of Little Primpton was an earnest man, and he devoted much
+care to the composition of his sermons. He was used to expound twice a
+Sunday the more obvious parts of Holy Scripture, making in twenty
+minutes or half an hour, for the benefit of the vulgar, a number of
+trite reflections; and it must be confessed that he had great facility
+for explaining at decorous length texts which were plain to the meanest
+intelligence.
+
+But having a fair acquaintance with the thought of others, Mr. Jackson
+flattered himself that he was a thinker; and on suitable occasions
+attacked from his village pulpit the scarlet weed of heresy, expounding
+to an intelligent congregation of yokels and small boys the manifold
+difficulties of the Athanasian Creed. He was at his best in pouring
+vials of contempt upon the false creed of atheists, Romanists,
+Dissenters, and men of science. The theory of Evolution excited his
+bitterest scorn, and he would set up, like a row of nine-pins, the
+hypotheses of the greatest philosophers of the century, triumphantly to
+knock them down by the force of his own fearless intellect. His
+congregation were inattentive, and convinced beyond the need of
+argument, so they remained pious members of the Church of England.
+
+But this particular sermon, after mature consideration, the Vicar had
+made up his mind to devote to a matter of more pressing interest. He
+repeated the text. Mrs. Jackson, who knew what was coming, caught the
+curate's eye, and looked significantly at James. The homily, in fact,
+was directed against him; his were the pride, the arrogancy, and the
+evil way. He was blissfully unconscious of these faults, and for a
+minute or two the application missed him; but the Vicar of Little
+Primpton, intent upon what he honestly thought his duty, meant that
+there should be no mistake. He crossed his t's and dotted his i's, with
+the scrupulous accuracy of the scandal-monger telling a malicious story
+about some person whom charitably he does not name, yet wishes everyone
+to identify.
+
+Colonel Parsons started when suddenly the drift of the sermon dawned
+upon him, and then bowed his head with shame. His wife looked straight
+in front of her, two flaming spots upon her pale cheeks. Mary, in the
+next pew, dared not move, hardly dared breathe; her heart sank with
+dismay, and she feared she would faint.
+
+"How he must be suffering!" she muttered.
+
+They all felt for James intensely; the form of Mr. Jackson, hooded and
+surpliced, had acquired a new authority, and his solemn invective was
+sulphurous with the fires of Hell. They wondered how James could bear
+it.
+
+"He hasn't deserved this," thought Mrs. Parsons.
+
+But the Colonel bent his head still lower, accepting for his son the
+reproof, taking part of it himself. The humiliation seemed merited, and
+the only thing to do was to bear it meekly. James alone appeared
+unconcerned; the rapid glances at him saw no change in his calm,
+indifferent face. His eyes were closed, and one might have thought him
+asleep. Mr. Jackson noted the attitude, and attributed it to a wicked
+obstinacy. For the repentant sinner, acknowledging his fault, he would
+have had entire forgiveness; but James showed no contrition.
+Stiff-necked and sin-hardened, he required a further chastisement.
+
+"Courage, what is courage?" asked the preacher. "There is nothing more
+easy than to do a brave deed when the blood is hot. But to conduct one's
+life simply, modestly, with a meek spirit and a Christ-like submission,
+that is ten times more difficult Courage, unaccompanied by moral worth,
+is the quality of a brute-beast."
+
+He showed how much more creditable were the artless virtues of honesty
+and truthfulness; how better it was to keep one's word, to be
+kind-hearted and dutiful. Becoming more pointed, he mentioned the case
+which had caused them so much sorrow, warning the delinquent against
+conceit and self-assurance.
+
+"Pride goeth before a fall," he said. "And he that is mighty shall be
+abased."
+
+* * *
+
+They walked home silently, Colonel Parsons and his wife with downcast
+eyes, feeling that everyone was looking at them. Their hearts were too
+full for them to speak to one another, and they dared say nothing to
+James. But Major Forsyth had no scruples of delicacy; he attacked his
+nephew the moment they sat down to dinner.
+
+"Well, James, what did you think of the sermon? Feel a bit sore?"
+
+"Why should I?"
+
+"I fancy it was addressed pretty directly to you."
+
+"So I imagine," replied James, good-humouredly smiling. "I thought it
+singularly impertinent, but otherwise uninteresting."
+
+"Mr. Jackson doesn't think much of you," said Uncle William, with a
+laugh, ignoring his sister's look, which implored him to be silent.
+
+"I can bear that with equanimity. I never set up for a very wonderful
+person."
+
+"He was wrong to make little of your attempt to save young Larcher,"
+said Mrs. Parsons, gently.
+
+"Why?" asked James. "He was partly right. Physical courage is more or
+less accidental. In battle one takes one's chance. One soon gets used to
+shells flying about; they're not so dangerous as they look, and after a
+while one forgets all about them. Now and then one gets hit, and then
+it's too late to be nervous."
+
+"But you went back--into the very jaws of death--to save that boy."
+
+"I've never been able to understand why. It didn't occur to me that I
+might get killed; it seemed the natural thing to do. It wasn't really
+brave, because I never realised that there was danger."
+
+* * *
+
+In the afternoon James received a note from Mrs. Clibborn, asking him
+to call upon her. Mary and her father were out walking, she said, so
+there would be no one to disturb them, and they could have a pleasant
+little chat. The invitation was a climax to Jamie's many vexations, and
+he laughed grimly at the prospect of that very foolish lady's
+indignation. Still, he felt bound to go. It was, after a fashion, a
+point of honour with him to avoid none of the annoyances which his act
+had brought upon him. It was partly in order to face every infliction
+that he insisted on remaining at Little Primpton.
+
+"Why haven't you been to see me, James?" Mrs. Clibborn murmured, with a
+surprisingly tender smile.
+
+"I thought you wouldn't wish me to."
+
+"James!"
+
+She sighed and cast up her eyes to heaven.
+
+"I always liked you. I shall never feel differently towards you."
+
+"It's very kind of you to say so," replied James, somewhat relieved.
+
+"You must come and see me often. It'll comfort you."
+
+"I'm afraid you and Colonel Clibborn must be very angry with me?"
+
+"I could never be angry with you, James.... Poor Reginald, he doesn't
+understand! But you can't deceive a woman." Mrs. Clibborn put her hand
+on Jamie's arm and gazed into his eyes. "I want you to tell me
+something. Do you love anyone else?"
+
+James looked at her quickly and hesitated.
+
+"If you had asked me the other day, I should have denied it with all my
+might. But now--I don't know."
+
+Mrs. Clibborn smiled.
+
+"I thought so," she said. "You can tell me, you know."
+
+She was convinced that James adored her, but wanted to hear him say so.
+It is notorious that to a handsome woman even the admiration of a
+crossing-sweeper is welcome.
+
+"Oh, it's no good any longer trying to conceal it from myself!" cried
+James, forgetting almost to whom he was speaking. "I'm sorry about Mary;
+no one knows how much. But I do love someone else, and I love her with
+all my heart and soul; and I shall never get over it now."
+
+"I knew it," sighed Mrs. Clibborn, complacently, "I knew it!" Then
+looking coyly at him: "Tell me about her."
+
+"I can't. I know my love is idiotic and impossible; but I can't help it.
+It's fate."
+
+"You're in love with a married woman, James."
+
+"How d'you know?"
+
+"My poor boy, d'you think you can deceive me! And is it not the wife of
+an officer?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"A very old friend of yours?"
+
+"It's just that which makes it so terrible."
+
+"I knew it."
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Clibborn, I swear you're the only woman here who's got two
+ounces of gumption. If they'd only listened to you five years ago, we
+might all have been saved this awful wretchedness."
+
+He could not understand that Mrs. Clibborn, whose affectations were
+manifest, whose folly was notorious, should alone have guessed his
+secret. He was tired of perpetually concealing his thoughts.
+
+"I wish I could tell you everything!" he cried.
+
+"Don't! You'd only regret it. And I know all you can tell me."
+
+"You can't think how hard I've struggled. When I found I loved her, I
+nearly killed myself trying to kill my love. But it's no good. It's
+stronger than I am."
+
+"And nothing can ever come of it, you know," said Mrs. Clibborn.
+
+"Oh, I know! Of course, I know! I'm not a cad. The only thing is to live
+on and suffer."
+
+"I'm so sorry for you."
+
+Mrs. Clibborn thought that even poor Algy Turner, who had killed
+himself for love of her, had not been so desperately hit.
+
+"It's very kind of you to listen to me," said James. "I have nobody to
+speak to, and sometimes I feel I shall go mad."
+
+"You're such a nice boy, James. What a pity it is you didn't go into the
+cavalry!"
+
+James scarcely heard; he stared at the floor, brooding sorrowfully.
+
+"Fate is against me," he muttered.
+
+"If things had only happened a little differently. Poor Reggie!"
+
+Mrs. Clibborn was thinking that if she were a widow, she could never
+have resisted the unhappy young man's pleading.
+
+James got up to go.
+
+"It's no good," he said; "talking makes it no better. I must go on
+trying to crush it. And the worst of it is, I don't want to crush it; I
+love my love. Though it embitters my whole life, I would rather die than
+lose it. Good-bye, Mrs. Clibborn. Thank you for being so kind. You can't
+imagine what good it does me to receive a little sympathy."
+
+"I know. You're not the first who has told me that he is miserable. I
+think it's fate, too."
+
+James looked at her, perplexed, not understanding what she meant. With
+her sharp, feminine intuition, Mrs. Clibborn read in his eyes the
+hopeless yearning of his heart, and for a moment her rigid virtue
+faltered.
+
+"I can't be hard on you, Jamie," she said, with that effective, sad
+smile of hers. "I don't want you to go away from here quite wretched."
+
+"What can you do to ease the bitter aching of my heart?"
+
+Mrs. Clibborn, quickly looking at the window, noticed that she could not
+possibly be seen by anyone outside. She stretched out her hand.
+
+"Jamie, if you like you may kiss me."
+
+She offered her powdered cheek, and James, rather astonished, pressed it
+with his lips.
+
+"I will always be a mother to you. You can depend on me whatever
+happens.... Now go away, there's a good boy."
+
+She watched him as he walked down the garden, and then sighed deeply,
+wiping away a tear from the corner of her eyes.
+
+"Poor boy!" she murmured.
+
+Mary was surprised, when she came home, to find her mother quite
+affectionate and tender. Mrs. Clibborn, indeed, intoxicated with her
+triumph, could afford to be gracious to a fallen rival.
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+
+A Few days later Mary was surprised to receive a little note from Mr.
+Dryland:
+
+     "MY DEAR MISS CLIBBORN,--With some trepidation I take up my pen to
+     address you on a matter which, to me at least, is of the very
+     greatest importance. We have so many sympathies in common that my
+     meaning will hardly escape you. I daresay you will find my
+     diffidence ridiculous, but, under the circumstances, I think it is
+     not unpardonable. It will be no news to you when I confess that I
+     am an exceptionally shy man, and that must be my excuse in sending
+     you this letter. In short, I wish to ask you to grant me a brief
+     interview; we have so few opportunities of seeing one another in
+     private that I can find no occasion of saying to you what I wish.
+     Indeed, for a long period my duty has made it necessary for me to
+     crush my inclination. Now, however, that things have taken a
+     different turn, I venture, as I said, to ask you to give me a few
+     minutes' conversation.--I am, my dear Miss Clibborn, your very
+     sincere,
+
+     "THOMAS DRYLAND.
+
+     "P.S.--I open this letter to say that I have just met your father
+     on the Green, who tells me that he and Mrs. Clibborn are going into
+     Tunbridge Wells this afternoon. Unless, therefore, I hear from you
+     to the contrary, I shall (D.V.) present myself at your house at 3
+     P.M."
+
+"What can he want to see me about?" exclaimed Mary, the truth occurring
+to her only to be chased away as a piece of egregious vanity. It was
+more reasonable to suppose that Mr. Dryland had on hand some charitable
+scheme in which he desired her to take part.
+
+"Anyhow," she thought philosophically, "I suppose I shall know when he
+comes."
+
+At one and the same moment the church clock struck three, and Mr.
+Dryland rang the Clibborns' bell.
+
+He came into the dining-room in his best coat, his honest red face
+shining with soap, and with a consciousness that he was about to perform
+an heroic deed.
+
+"This is kind of you, Miss Clibborn! Do you know, I feared the servant
+was going to say you were 'not at home.'"
+
+"Oh, I never let her say that when I'm in. Mamma doesn't think it wrong,
+but one can't deny that it's an untruth."
+
+"What a beautiful character you have!" cried the curate, with
+enthusiasm.
+
+"I'm afraid I haven't really; but I like to be truthful."
+
+"Were you surprised to receive my letter?"
+
+"I'm afraid I didn't understand it."
+
+"I was under the impression that I expressed myself with considerable
+perspicacity," remarked the curate, with a genial smile.
+
+"I don't pretend to be clever."
+
+"Oh, but you are, Miss Clibborn. There's no denying it."
+
+"I wish I thought so."
+
+"You're so modest. I have always thought that your mental powers were
+very considerable indeed. I can assure you it has been a great blessing
+to me to find someone here who was capable of taking an intelligent
+interest in Art and Literature. In these little country places one
+misses intellectual society so much."
+
+"I'm not ashamed to say that I've learnt a lot from you, Mr. Dryland."
+
+"No, that is impossible. All I lay claim to is that I was fortunate
+enough to be able to lend you the works of Ruskin and Marie Corelli."
+
+"That reminds me that I must return you the 'Master Christian.'"
+
+"Please don't hurry over it. I think it's a book worth pondering over;
+quite unlike the average trashy novel."
+
+"I haven't had much time for reading lately."
+
+"Ah, Miss Clibborn, I understand! I'm afraid you've been very much
+upset. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was; but I felt it would be
+perhaps indelicate."
+
+"It is very kind of you to think of me."
+
+"Besides, I must confess that I cannot bring myself to be very sorry.
+It's an ill wind that blows nobody good."
+
+"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean, Mr. Dryland."
+
+"Miss Clibborn, I have come here to-day to converse with you on a matter
+which I venture to think of some importance. At least, it is to me. I
+will not beat about the bush. In these matters it is always best, I
+believe, to come straight to the point." The curate cleared his throat,
+and assumed his best clerical manner. "Miss Clibborn, I have the honour
+to solemnly ask you for your hand."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+Mary blushed scarlet, and her heart went pit-a-pat in the most alarming
+fashion.
+
+"I think I should tell you that I am thirty-three years of age. I have
+some private means, small, but sufficient, with my income and economy,
+to support a wife. My father was for over a quarter of a century vicar
+of Easterham."
+
+Mary by this time had recovered herself.
+
+"I feel very much honoured by your proposal, Mr. Dryland. And no one can
+be more convinced than I of my unworthiness. But I'm afraid I must
+refuse."
+
+"I don't press for an immediate answer, Miss Clibborn. I know at first
+blush it must surprise you that I should come forward with an offer so
+soon after the rupture of your engagement with Captain Parsons. But if
+you examine the matter closely, you will see that it is less surprising
+than it seems. While you were engaged to Captain Parsons it was my duty
+to stifle my feelings; but now I cannot. Indeed, I have not the right to
+conceal from you that for a long time they have been of the tenderest
+description."
+
+"I feel very much flattered."
+
+"Not at all," reassuringly answered Mr. Dryland. "I can honestly say
+that you are deserving of the very highest--er--admiration and esteem.
+Miss Clibborn, I have loved you in secret almost ever since I came to
+the parish. The moment I saw you I felt an affinity between us. Our
+tastes are so similar; we both understand Art and Literature. When you
+played to me the divine melodies of Mendelssohn, when I read to you the
+melodious verses of Lord Tennyson, I felt that my happiness in life
+would be a union with you."
+
+"I'm afraid I can never be unfaithful to my old love."
+
+"Perhaps I'm a little previous?"
+
+"No; time can make no possible difference. I'm very grateful to you."
+
+"You have no need to be. I have always tried to do my duty, and while
+you were engaged to another, I allowed not even a sigh to escape my
+lips. But now I venture to think that the circumstances are altered. I
+know I am not a gallant officer, I have done no doughty deeds, and the
+Victoria Cross does not adorn my bosom. I am comparatively poor; but I
+can offer an honest heart and a very sincere and respectful love. Oh,
+Miss Clibborn, cannot you give me hope that as time wears on you will be
+able to look upon my suit with favour?"
+
+"I'm afraid my answer must be final."
+
+"I hope to be soon appointed to a living, and I looked forward ardently
+to the life of usefulness and of Christian fellowship which we might
+have lived together. You are an angel of mercy, Miss Clibborn. I cannot
+help thinking that you are eminently suitable for the position which I
+make so bold as to offer you."
+
+"I won't deny that nothing could attract me more than to be the wife of
+a clergyman. One has such influence for good, such power of improving
+one's fellow-men. But I love Captain Parsons. Even if he has ceased to
+care for me, I could never look upon him with other feelings."
+
+"Even though it touches me to the quick, Miss. Clibborn," said the
+curate, earnestly, "I respect and admire you for your sentiments. You
+are wonderful. I wonder if you'd allow me to make a little confession?"
+The curate hesitated and reddened. "The fact is, I have written a few
+verses comparing you to Penelope, which, if you will allow me, I should
+very much like to send you."
+
+"I should like to see them very much," said Mary, blushing a little and
+smiling.
+
+"Of course, I'm not a poet, I'm too busy for that; but they are the
+outpouring of an honest, loving heart."
+
+"I'm sure," said Mary, encouragingly, "that it's better to be sincere
+and upright than to be the greatest poet in the world."
+
+"It's very kind of you to say so. I should like to ask one question,
+Miss Clibborn. Have you any objection to me personally?"
+
+"Oh, no!" cried Mary. "How can you suggest such a thing? I have the
+highest respect and esteem for you, Mr. Dryland. I can never forget the
+great compliment you have paid me. I shall always think of you as the
+best friend I have."
+
+"Can you say nothing more to me than that?" asked the curate,
+despondently.
+
+Mary stretched out her hand. "I will be a sister to you."
+
+"Oh, Miss Clibborn, how sad it is to think that your affections should
+be unrequited. Why am I not Captain Parsons? Miss Clibborn, can you give
+me no hope?"
+
+"I should not be acting rightly towards you if I did not tell you at
+once that so long as Captain Parsons lives, my love for him can never
+alter."
+
+"I wish I were a soldier!" murmured Mr. Dryland.
+
+"Oh, it's not that. I think there's nothing so noble as a clergyman. If
+it is any consolation to you, I may confess that if I had never known
+Captain Parsons, things might have gone differently."
+
+"Well, I suppose I had better go away now. I must try to bear my
+disappointment."
+
+Mary gave him her hand, and, bending down with the utmost gallantry, the
+curate kissed it; then, taking up his low, clerical hat, hurriedly left
+her.
+
+* * *
+
+Mrs. Jackson was a woman of singular penetration, so that it was not
+strange if she quickly discovered what had happened. Mr. Dryland was
+taking tea at the Vicarage, whither, with characteristic manliness, he
+had gone to face his disappointment. Not for him was the solitary
+moping, nor the privacy of a bedchamber; his robust courage sent him
+rather into the field of battle, or what was under the circumstances the
+only equivalent, Mrs. Jackson's drawing-room.
+
+But even he could not conceal the torments of unsuccessful love. He
+stirred his tea moodily, and his usual appetite for plum-cake had quite
+deserted him.
+
+"What's the matter with you, Mr. Dryland?" asked the Vicar's wife, with
+those sharp eyes which could see into the best hidden family secret.
+
+Mr. Dryland started at the question. "Nothing!"
+
+"You're very funny this afternoon."
+
+"I've had a great disappointment."
+
+"Oh!" replied Mrs. Jackson, in a tone which half-a-dozen marks of
+interrogation could inadequately express.
+
+"It's nothing. Life is not all beer and skittles. Ha! ha!"
+
+"Did you say you'd been calling on Mary Clibborn this afternoon?"
+
+Mr. Dryland blushed, and to cover his confusion filled his mouth with a
+large piece of cake.
+
+"Yes," he said, as soon as he could. "I paid her a little call."
+
+"Mr. Dryland, you can't deceive me. You've proposed to Mary Clibborn."
+
+He swallowed his food with a gulp. "It's quite true."
+
+"And she's refused you?"
+
+"Yes!"
+
+"Mr. Dryland, it was a noble thing to do. I must tell Archibald."
+
+"Oh, please don't, Mrs. Jackson! I don't want it to get about."
+
+"Oh, but I shall. We can't let you hide your light under a bushel. Fancy
+you proposing to that poor, dear girl! But it's just what I should have
+expected of you. That's what I always say. The clergy are constantly
+doing the most beautiful actions that no one hears anything about. You
+ought to receive a moral Victoria Cross. I'm sure you deserve it far
+more than that wicked and misguided young man."
+
+"I don't think I ought to take any credit for what I've done," modestly
+remonstrated the curate.
+
+"It was a beautiful action. You don't know how much it means to that
+poor, jilted girl."
+
+"It's true my indignation was aroused at the heartless conduct of
+Captain Parsons; but I have long loved her, Mrs. Jackson."
+
+"I knew it; I knew it! When I saw you together I said to Archibald:
+'What a good pair they'd make!' I'm sure you deserve her far more than
+that worthless creature."
+
+"I wish she thought so."
+
+"I'll go and speak to her myself. I think she ought to accept you.
+You've behaved like a knight-errant, Mr. Dryland. You're a true
+Christian saint."
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Jackson, you embarrass me!"
+
+The news spread like wild-fire, and with it the opinion that the curate
+had vastly distinguished himself. Neither pagan hero nor Christian
+martyr could have acted more becomingly. The consideration which had
+once been Jamie's was bodily transferred to Mr. Dryland. He was the man
+of the hour, and the contemplation of his gallant deed made everyone
+feel nobler, purer. The curate accepted with quiet satisfaction the
+homage that was laid at his feet, modestly denying that he had done
+anything out of the way. With James, all unconscious of what had
+happened, he was mildly patronising; with Mary, tender, respectful,
+subdued. If he had been an archbishop, he could not have behaved with
+greater delicacy, manliness, and decorum.
+
+"I don't care what anyone says," cried Mrs. Jackson, "I think he's worth
+ten Captain Parsons! He's so modest and gentlemanly. Why, Captain
+Parsons simply used to look bored when one told him he was brave."
+
+"He's a conceited creature!"
+
+But in Primpton House the proposal was met with consternation.
+
+"Suppose she accepted him?" said Colonel Parsons, anxiously.
+
+"She'd never do that."
+
+Major Forsyth suggested that James should be told, in the belief that
+his jealousy would be excited.
+
+"I'll tell him," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+She waited till she was alone with her son, and then, without stopping
+her needlework, said suddenly:
+
+"James, have you heard that Mr. Dryland has proposed to Mary?"
+
+He looked up nonchalantly. "Has she accepted him?"
+
+"James!" cried his mother, indignantly, "how can you ask such a
+question? Have you no respect for her? You must know that for nothing in
+the world would she be faithless to you."
+
+"I should like her to marry the curate. I think it would be a very
+suitable match."
+
+"You need not insult her, James."
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+
+The tension between James and his parents became not less, but greater.
+That barrier which, almost from the beginning, they had watched with
+pain rise up between them now seemed indestructible, and all their
+efforts only made it more obvious and more stable. It was like some
+tropical plant which, for being cut down, grew ever with greater
+luxuriance. And there was a mischievous devil present at all their
+conversations that made them misunderstand one another as completely as
+though they spoke in different tongues. Notwithstanding their love, they
+were like strangers together; they could look at nothing from the same
+point of view.
+
+The Parsons had lived their whole lives in an artificial state.
+Ill-educated as most of their contemporaries in that particular class,
+they had just enough knowledge to render them dogmatic and intolerant.
+It requires a good deal of information to discover one's own ignorance,
+but to the consciousness of this the good people had never arrived. They
+felt they knew as much as necessary, and naturally on the most
+debatable questions were most assured. Their standpoint was
+inconceivably narrow. They had the best intentions in the world of doing
+their duty, but what their duty was they accepted on trust, frivolously.
+They walked round and round in a narrow circle, hemmed in by false
+ideals and by ugly prejudices, putting for the love of God unnecessary
+obstacles in their path and convinced that theirs was the only possible
+way, while all others led to damnation. They had never worked out an
+idea for themselves, never done a single deed on their own account, but
+invariably acted and thought according to the rule of their caste. They
+were not living creatures, but dogmatic machines.
+
+James, going into the world, quickly realised that he had been brought
+up to a state of things which did not exist. He was like a sailor who
+has put out to sea in an ornamental boat, and finds that his sail is
+useless, the ropes not made to work, and the rudder immovable. The long,
+buoyant wind of the world blew away like thistle-down the conventions
+which had seemed so secure a foundation. But he discovered in himself a
+wonderful curiosity, an eagerness for adventure which led him boldly to
+affront every peril; and the unknown lands of the intellect are every
+bit as dangerously fascinating as are those of sober fact. He read
+omnivorously, saw many and varied things; the universe was spread out
+before him like an enthralling play. Knowledge is like the root of a
+tree, attaching man by its tendrils to the life about him. James found
+in existence new beauties, new interests, new complexities; and he
+gained a lighter heart and, above all, an exquisite sense of freedom. At
+length he looked back with something like horror at that old life in
+which the fetters of ignorance had weighed so terribly upon him.
+
+On his return to Little Primpton, he found his people as he had left
+them, doing the same things, repeating at every well-known juncture the
+same trite observations. Their ingenuousness affected him as a negro,
+civilised and educated, on visiting after many years his native tribe,
+might be affected by their nose-rings and yellow ochre. James was
+astounded that they should ignore matters which he fancied common
+knowledge, and at the same time accept beliefs that he had thought
+completely dead. He was willing enough to shrug his shoulders and humour
+their prejudices, but they had made of them a rule of life which
+governed every action with an iron tyranny. It was in accordance with
+all these outworn conventions that they conducted the daily round. And
+presently James found that his father and mother were striving to draw
+him back into the prison. Unconsciously, even with the greatest
+tenderness, they sought to place upon his neck again that irksome yoke
+which he had so difficultly thrown off.
+
+If James had learnt anything, it was at all hazards to think for
+himself, accepting nothing on authority, questioning, doubting; it was
+to look upon life with a critical eye, trying to understand it, and to
+receive no ready-made explanations. Above all, he had learnt that every
+question has two sides. Now this was precisely what Colonel Parsons and
+his wife could never acknowledge; for them one view was certainly right,
+and the other as certainly wrong. There was no middle way. To doubt what
+they believed could only be ascribed to arrant folly or to wickedness.
+Sometimes James was thrown into a blind rage by the complacency with
+which from the depths of his nescience his father dogmatised. No man
+could have been more unassuming than he, and yet on just the points
+which were most uncertain his attitude was almost inconceivably
+arrogant.
+
+And James was horrified at the pettiness and the prejudice which he
+found in his home. Reading no books, for they thought it waste of time
+to read, the minds of his father and mother had sunk into such a narrow
+sluggishness that they could interest themselves only in trivialities.
+Their thoughts were occupied by their neighbours and the humdrum
+details of the life about them. Flattering themselves on their ideals
+and their high principles, they vegetated in stupid sloth and in a less
+than animal vacuity. Every topic of conversation above the most
+commonplace they found dull or incomprehensible. James learned that he
+had to talk to them almost as if they were children, and the tedium of
+those endless days was intolerable.
+
+Occasionally he was exasperated that he could not avoid the discussions
+which his father, with a weak man's obstinacy, forced upon him. Some
+unhappy, baneful power seemed to drive Colonel Parsons to widen the
+rift, the existence of which caused him such exquisite pain; his natural
+kindliness was obscured by an uncontrollable irritation. One day he was
+reading the paper.
+
+"I see we've had another unfortunate reverse," he said, looking up.
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"I suppose you're delighted, Jamie?"
+
+"I'm very sorry. Why should I be otherwise?"
+
+"You always stick up for the enemies of your country." Turning to his
+brother-in-law, he explained: "James says that if he'd been a Cape
+Dutchman he'd have fought against us."
+
+"Well, he deserves to be court-martialled for saying so! "cried Major
+Forsyth.
+
+"I don't think he means to be taken seriously," said his mother.
+
+"Oh, yes, I do." It constantly annoyed James that when he said anything
+that was not quite an obvious truism, they should think he was speaking
+merely for effect. "Why, my dear mother, if you'd been a Boer woman
+you'd have potted at us from behind a haystack with the best of them."
+
+"The Boers are robbers and brigands."
+
+"That's just what they say we are."
+
+"But we're right."
+
+"And they're equally convinced that they are."
+
+"God can't be on both sides, James."
+
+"The odd thing is the certainty with which both sides claim His
+exclusive protection."
+
+"I should think it wicked to doubt that God is with us in a righteous
+war," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"If the Boers weren't deceived by that old villain Kruger, they'd never
+have fought us."
+
+"The Boers are strange people," replied James. "They actually prefer
+their independence to all the privileges and advantages of
+subjection.... The wonderful thing to me is that people should really
+think Mr. Kruger a hypocrite. A ruler who didn't honestly believe in
+himself and in his mission would never have had such influence. If a man
+wants power he must have self-faith; but then he may be narrow,
+intolerant, and vicious. His fellows will be like wax in his hands."
+
+"If Kruger had been honest, he wouldn't have put up with bribery and
+corruption."
+
+"The last thing I expect is consistency in an animal of such contrary
+instincts as man."
+
+"Every true Englishman, I'm thankful to say, thinks him a scoundrel and
+a blackguard."
+
+"In a hundred years he will probably think him a patriot and a hero. In
+that time the sentimental view will be the only one of interest; and the
+sentimental view will put the Transvaal in the same category as Poland."
+
+"You're nothing better than a pro-Boer, James."
+
+"I'm nothing of the kind; but seeing how conflicting was current
+opinion, I took some trouble to find for myself a justification of the
+war. I couldn't help wondering why I went and killed people to whom I
+was personally quite indifferent."
+
+"I hope because it was your duty as an officer of Her Majesty the
+Queen."
+
+"Not exactly. I came to the conclusion that I killed people because I
+liked it. The fighting instinct is in my blood, and I'm never so happy
+as when I'm shooting things. Killing tigers is very good sport, but it's
+not in it with killing men. That is my justification, so far as I
+personally am concerned. As a member of society, I wage war for a
+different reason. War is the natural instinct of all creatures; not only
+do progress and civilisation arise from it, but it is the very condition
+of existence. Men, beasts, and plants are all in the same position:
+unless they fight incessantly they're wiped out; there's no sitting on
+one side and looking on.... When a state wants a neighbour's land, it
+has a perfect right to take it--if it can. Success is its justification.
+We English wanted the Transvaal for our greater numbers, for our trade,
+for the continuance of our power; that was our right to take it. The
+only thing that seems to me undignified is the rather pitiful set of
+excuses we made up."
+
+"If those are your ideas, I think they are utterly ignoble."
+
+"I believe they're scientific."
+
+"D'you think men go to war for scientific reasons?"
+
+"No, of course not; they don't realise them. The great majority are
+incapable of abstract ideas, but fortunately they're emotional and
+sentimental; and the pill can be gilded with high falutin. It's for them
+that the Union Jack and the honour of Old England are dragged through
+every newspaper and brandished in every music hall. It's for them that
+all these atrocities are invented--most of them bunkum. Men are only
+savages with a thin veneer of civilisation, which is rather easily
+rubbed off, and then they act just like Red Indians; but as a general
+rule they're well enough behaved. The Boer isn't a bad sort, and the
+Englishman isn't a bad sort; but there's not room for both of them on
+the earth, and one of them has to go."
+
+"My father fought for duty and honour's sake, and so fought his father
+before him."
+
+"Men have always fought really for the same reasons--for self-protection
+and gain; but perhaps they have not seen quite so clearly as now the
+truth behind all their big words. The world and mankind haven't altered
+suddenly in the last few years."
+
+* * *
+
+Afterwards, when Colonel Parsons and his wife were alone together, and
+she saw that he was brooding over his son's words, she laid her hand on
+his shoulder, and said:
+
+"Don't worry, Richmond; it'll come right in the end, if we trust and
+pray."
+
+"I don't know what to make of him," he returned, sadly shaking his head.
+"It's not our boy, Frances; he couldn't be callous and unscrupulous,
+and--dishonourable. God forgive me for saying it!"
+
+"Don't be hard on him, Richmond. I daresay he doesn't mean all he says.
+And remember that he's been very ill. He's not himself yet."
+
+The Colonel sighed bitterly.
+
+"When we looked forward so anxiously to his return, we didn't know that
+he would be like this."
+
+James had gone out. He wandered along the silent roads, taking in large
+breaths of the fresh air, for his home affected him like a hot-house.
+The atmosphere was close and heavy, so that he could neither think
+freely nor see things in any reasonable light. He felt sometimes as
+though a weight were placed upon his head, that pressed him down, and
+pressed him down till he seemed almost forced to his knees.
+
+He blamed himself for his lack of moderation. Why, remembering ever his
+father's unhappiness and his infirmities, could he not humour him? He
+was an old man, weak and frail; it should not have been so difficult to
+use restraint towards him. James knew he had left them in Primpton House
+distressed and angry; but the only way to please them was to surrender
+his whole personality, giving up to their bidding all his thoughts and
+all his actions. They wished to exercise over him the most intolerable
+of all tyrannies, the tyranny of love. It was a heavy return they
+demanded for their affection if he must abandon his freedom, body and
+soul; he earnestly wished to make them happy, but that was too hard a
+price to pay. And then, with sudden rage, James asked himself why they
+should be so self-sufficiently certain that they were right. What an
+outrageous assumption it was that age must be infallible! Their idea of
+filial duty was that he should accept their authority, not because they
+were wise, but because they were old. When he was a child they had
+insisted on the utmost submission, and now they expected the same
+submission--to their prejudice, intolerance, and lack of knowledge. They
+had almost ridiculously that calm, quiet, well-satisfied assurance which
+a king by right divine might have in the certainty that he could do no
+wrong.
+
+And James, with bitter, painful scorn, thought of that frightful blunder
+which had forced Colonel Parsons to leave the service. At first his
+belief in his father had been such that James could not conceive the
+possibility even that he had acted wrongly; the mere fact that his
+father had chosen a certain course was proof of its being right and
+proper, and the shame lay with his chief, who had used him ill. But when
+he examined the affair and thought over it, the truth became only too
+clear; it came to him like a blow, and for a while he was overcome with
+shame. The fact was evident--alas! only too evident--his father was
+incapable of command. James was simply astounded; he tried not to hear
+the cruel words that buzzed in his ears, but he could not help
+it--imbecility, crass idiocy, madness. It was worse than madness, the
+folly of it was almost criminal; he thought now that his father had
+escaped very easily.
+
+James hastened his step, trying to rid himself of the irritating
+thoughts. He walked along the fat and fertile Kentish fields, by the
+neat iron railing with which they were enclosed. All about him was
+visible the care of man. Nothing was left wild. The trees were lopped
+into proper shape, cut down where their presence seemed inelegant,
+planted to complete the symmetry of a group. Nature herself was under
+the power of the formal influence, and flourished with a certain
+rigidity and decorum. After a while the impression became singularly
+irksome; it seemed to emphasise man's lack of freedom, reminding one of
+the iron conventions with which he is inevitably bound. In the sun, the
+valley, all green and wooded, was pleasantly cool; but when the clouds
+rolled up from the west heavily, brushing the surrounding hills, the
+aspect was so circumscribed that James could have cried out as with
+physical pain. The primness of the scene then was insufferable; the
+sombre, well-ordered elms, the meadows so carefully kept, seemed the
+garden of some great voluptuous prison, and the air was close with
+servitude.
+
+James panted for breath. He thought of the vast distances of South
+Africa, bush and prairie stretching illimitably, and above, the blue
+sky, vaster still. There, at least, one could breathe freely, and
+stretch one's limbs.
+
+"Why did I ever come back?" he cried.
+
+The blood went thrilling through his veins at the mere thought of those
+days in which every minute had been intensely worth living. Then,
+indeed, was no restraint or pettiness; then men were hard and firm and
+strong. By comparison, people in England appeared so pitifully weak,
+vain, paltry, insignificant. What were the privations and the hardships
+beside the sense of mastery, the happy adventure, and the carelessness
+of life?
+
+But the grey clouds hung over the valley, pregnant with rain. It gave
+him a singular feeling of discomfort to see them laden with water, and
+yet painfully holding it up.
+
+"I can't stay in this place," he muttered. "I shall go mad."
+
+A sudden desire for flight seized him. The clouds sank lower and lower,
+till he imagined he must bend his head to avoid them. If he could only
+get away for a little, he might regain his calm. At least, absence, he
+thought bitterly, was the only way to restore the old affection between
+him and his father.
+
+He went home, and announced that he was going to London.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+
+After the quiet of Little Primpton, the hurry and the noise of Victoria
+were a singular relief to James. Waiting for his luggage, he watched the
+various movements of the scene--the trollies pushed along with warning
+cries, the porters lifting heavy packages on to the bellied roof of
+hansoms, the people running to and fro, the crowd of cabs; and driving
+out, he was exhilarated by the confusion in the station yard, and the
+intense life, half gay, half sordid, of the Wilton Road. He took a room
+in Jermyn Street, according to Major Forsyth's recommendation, and
+walked to his club. James had been out of London so long that he came
+back with the emotions of a stranger; common scenes, the glitter of
+shops, the turmoil of the Circus, affected him with pleased surprise,
+and with a child's amusement he paused to stare at the advertisements on
+a hoarding. He looked forward to seeing old friends, and on his way down
+Piccadilly even expected to meet one or two of them sauntering along.
+
+As a matter of form, James asked at his club whether there were any
+letters for him.
+
+"I don't think so, sir," said the porter, but turned to the pigeon-holes
+and took out a bundle. He looked them over, and then handed one to
+James.
+
+"Hulloa, who's this from?"
+
+Suddenly something gripped his heart; he felt the blood rush to his
+cheeks, and a cold tremor ran through all his limbs. He recognised the
+handwriting of Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace, and there was a penny stamp on
+the envelope. She was in England. The letter had been posted in London.
+
+He turned away and walked towards a table that stood near the window of
+the hall. A thousand recollections surged across his memory
+tumultuously; the paper was scented (how characteristic that was of her,
+and in what bad taste!); he saw at once her smile and the look of her
+eyes. He had a mad desire passionately to kiss the letter; a load of
+weariness fell from his heart; he felt insanely happy, as though angry
+storm-clouds had been torn asunder, and the sun in its golden majesty
+shone calmly upon the earth.... Then, with sudden impulse, he tore the
+unopened letter into a dozen pieces and threw them away. He straightened
+himself, and walked into the smoking-room.
+
+James looked round and saw nobody he knew, quietly took a magazine from
+the table, and sat down; but the blood-vessels in his brain throbbed so
+violently that he thought something horrible would happen to him. He
+heard the regular, quick beating, like the implacable hammering of
+gnomes upon some hidden, distant anvil.
+
+"She's in London," he repeated.
+
+When had the letter been posted? At least, he might have looked at the
+mark on the envelope. Was it a year ago? Was it lately? The letter did
+not look as though it had been lying about the club for many months. Had
+it not still the odour of those dreadful Parma violets? She must have
+seen in the paper his return from Africa, wounded and ill. And what did
+she say? Did she merely write a few cold words of congratulation
+or--more?
+
+It was terrible that after three years the mere sight of her handwriting
+should have power to throw him into this state of eager, passionate
+anguish. He was seized with the old panic, the terrified perception of
+his surrender, of his utter weakness, which made flight the only
+possible resistance. That was why he had destroyed the letter unread.
+When Mrs. Wallace was many thousand miles away there had been no danger
+in confessing that he loved her; but now it was different. What did she
+say in the letter? Had she in some feminine, mysterious fashion
+discovered his secret? Did she ask him to go and see her? James
+remembered one of their conversations.
+
+"Oh, I love going to London!" she had cried, opening her arms with the
+charming, exotic gesticulation which distinguished her from all other
+women. "I enjoy myself awfully."
+
+"What do you do?"
+
+"Everything. And I write to poor Dick three times a week, and tell him
+all I haven't done."
+
+"I can't bear the grass-widow," said James.
+
+"Poor boy, you can't bear anything that's amusing! I never knew anyone
+with such an ideal of woman as you have--a gloomy mixture of
+frumpishness and angularity."
+
+James did not answer.
+
+"Don't you wish we were in London now?" she went on. "You and I
+together? I really believe I should have to take you about. You're as
+innocent as a babe."
+
+"D'you think so?" said James, rather hurt.
+
+"Now, if we were in town, on our own, what would you do?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. I suppose make a little party and dine somewhere, and
+go to the Savoy to see the 'Mikado.'"
+
+Mrs. Wallace laughed.
+
+"I know. A party of four--yourself and me, and two maiden aunts. And we
+should be very prim, and talk about the weather, and go in a growler for
+propriety's sake. I know that sort of evening. And after the maiden
+aunts had seen me safety home, I should simply howl from boredom. My
+dear boy, I'm respectable enough here. When I'm on my own, I want to go
+on the loose. Now, I'll tell you what I want to do if ever we are in
+town together. Will you promise to do it?"
+
+"If I possibly can."
+
+"All right! Well, you shall fetch me in the fastest hansom you can find,
+and remember to tell the driver to go as quick as ever he dare. We'll
+dine alone, please, at the most expensive restaurant in London! You'll
+engage a table in the middle of the room, and you must see that the
+people all round us are very smart and very shady. It always makes me
+feel so virtuous to look at disreputable women! Do I shock you?"
+
+"Not more than usual."
+
+"How absurd you are! Then we'll go to the Empire. And after that we'll
+go somewhere else, and have supper where the people are still smarter
+and still shadier; and then we'll go to Covent Garden Ball. Oh, you
+don't know how I long to go on the rampage sometimes! I get so tired of
+propriety."
+
+"And what will P. W. say to all this?"
+
+"Oh, I'll write and tell him that I spent the evening with some of his
+poor relations, and give eight pages of corroborative evidence."
+
+James thought of Pritchard-Wallace, gentlest and best-humoured of men.
+He was a great big fellow, with a heavy moustache and kind eyes; always
+ready to stand by anyone in difficulties, always ready with comfort or
+with cheery advice; whoever wanted help went to him as though it were
+the most natural thing in the world. And it was touching to see the
+dog-like devotion to his wife; he had such confidence in her that he
+never noticed her numerous flirtations. Pritchard-Wallace thought
+himself rather a dull stick, and he wanted her to amuse herself. So
+brilliant a creature could not be expected to find sufficient
+entertainment in a quiet man of easy-going habits.
+
+"Go your own way, my girl," he said; "I know you're all right. And so
+long as you keep a place for me in the bottom of your heart, you can do
+whatever you like."
+
+"Of course, I don't care two straws for anyone but you, silly old
+thing!"
+
+And she pulled his moustache and kissed his lips; and he went off on
+his business, his heart swelling with gratitude, because Providence had
+given him the enduring love of so beautiful and enchanting a little
+woman.
+
+"P. W. is worth ten of you," James told her indignantly one day, when he
+had been witness to some audacious deception.
+
+"Well, he doesn't think so. And that's the chief thing."
+
+* * *
+
+James dared not see her. It was obviously best to have destroyed the
+letter. After all, it was probably nothing more than a curt, formal
+congratulation, and its coldness would nearly have broken his heart. He
+feared also lest in his never-ceasing thought he had crystallised his
+beloved into something quite different from reality. His imagination was
+very active, and its constant play upon those few recollections might
+easily have added many a false delight. To meet Mrs. Wallace would only
+bring perhaps a painful disillusion; and of that James was terrified,
+for without this passion which occupied his whole soul he would be now
+singularly alone in the world. It was a fantastic, charming figure that
+he had made for himself, and he could worship it without danger and
+without reproach. Was it not better to preserve his dream from the
+sullen irruption of fact? But why would that perfume come perpetually
+entangling itself with his memory? It gave the image new substance; and
+when he closed his eyes, the woman seemed so near that he could feel
+against his face the fragrance of her breath.
+
+He dined alone, and spent the hours that followed in reading. By some
+chance he was able to find no one he knew, and he felt rather bored. He
+went to bed with a headache, feeling already the dreariness of London
+without friends.
+
+Next morning James wandered in the Park, fresh and delightful with the
+rhododendrons; but the people he saw hurt him by their almost aggressive
+happiness--vivacious, cheerful, and careless, they were all evidently of
+opinion that no reasonable creature could complain with the best of all
+possible worlds. The girls that hurried past on ponies, or on bicycles
+up and down the well-kept road, gave him an impression of
+light-heartedness which was fascinating, yet made his own solitude more
+intolerable. Their cheeks glowed with healthiness in the summer air, and
+their gestures, their laughter, were charmingly animated. He noticed the
+smile which a slender Amazon gave to a man who raised his hat, and read
+suddenly in their eyes a happy, successful tenderness. Once, galloping
+towards him, he saw a woman who resembled Mrs. Wallace, and his heart
+stood still. He had an intense longing to behold her just once more,
+unseen of her; but he was mistaken. The rider approached and passed, and
+it was no one he knew.
+
+Then, tired and sore at heart, James went back to his club. The day
+passed monotonously, and the day after he was seized by the peculiar
+discomfort of the lonely sojourner in great cities. The thronging, busy
+crowd added to his solitariness. When he saw acquaintances address one
+another in the club, or walk along the streets in conversation, he could
+hardly bear his own friendlessness; the interests of all these people
+seemed so fixed and circumscribed, their lives were already so full,
+that they could only look upon a new-comer with hostility. He would have
+felt less lonely on a desert island than in the multitudinous city,
+surrounded by hurrying strangers. He scarcely knew how he managed to
+drag through the day, tired of the eternal smoking-room, tired of
+wandering about. The lodgings which Major Forsyth had recommended were
+like barracks; a tall, narrow house, in which James had a room at the
+top, looking on to a blank wall. They were dreadfully cheerless. And as
+James climbed the endless stairs he felt an irritation at the joyous
+laughter that came from other rooms. Behind those closed, forbidding
+doors people were happy and light of heart; only he was alone, and must
+remain perpetually imprisoned within himself. He went to the theatre,
+but here again, half insanely, he felt a barrier between himself and the
+rest of the audience. For him the piece offered no illusions; he could
+only see painted actors strutting affectedly in unnatural costumes; the
+scenery was mere painted cloth, and the dialogue senseless inanity. With
+all his might James wished that he were again in Africa, with work to do
+and danger to encounter. There the solitude was never lonely, and the
+nights were blue and silent, rich with the countless stars.
+
+He had been in London a week. One day, towards evening, while he walked
+down Piccadilly, looking aimlessly at the people and asking himself what
+their inmost thoughts could be, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and a
+cheery voice called out his name.
+
+"I knew it was you, Parsons! Where the devil have you sprung from?"
+
+He turned round and saw a man he had known in India. Jamie's solitude
+and boredom had made him almost effusive.
+
+"By Jove, I am glad to see you!" he said, wringing the fellow's hand.
+"Come and have a drink. I've seen no one for days, and I'm dying to
+have some one to talk to."
+
+"I think I can manage it. I've got a train to catch at eight; I'm just
+off to Scotland."
+
+Jamie's face fell.
+
+"I was going to ask you to dine with me."
+
+"I'm awfully sorry! I'm afraid I can't."
+
+They talked of one thing and another, till Jamie's friend said he must
+go immediately; they shook hands.
+
+"Oh, by the way," said the man, suddenly remembering, "I saw a pal of
+yours the other day, who's clamouring for you."
+
+"For me?"
+
+James reddened, knowing at once, instinctively, that it could only be
+one person.
+
+"D'you remember Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace? She's in London. I saw her at a
+party, and she asked me if I knew anything about you. She's staying in
+Half Moon Street, at 201. You'd better go and see her. Good-bye! I must
+simply bolt."
+
+He left James hurriedly, and did not notice the effect of his few
+words.... She still thought of him, she asked for him, she wished him to
+go to her. The gods in their mercy had sent him the address; with
+beating heart and joyful step, James immediately set out. The throng in
+his way vanished, and he felt himself walking along some roadway of
+ethereal fire, straight to his passionate love--a roadway miraculously
+fashioned for his feet, leading only to her. Every thought left him but
+that the woman he adored was waiting, waiting, ready to welcome him with
+that exquisite smile, with the hands which were like the caresses of
+Aphrodite, turned to visible flesh. But he stopped short.
+
+"What's the good?" he cried, bitterly.
+
+Before him the sun was setting like a vision of love, colouring with
+softness and with quiet the manifold life of the city. James looked at
+it, his heart swelling with sadness; for with it seemed to die his short
+joy, and the shadows lengthening were like the sad facts of reality
+which crept into his soul one by one silently.
+
+"I won't go," he cried; "I daren't! Oh, God help me, and give me
+strength!"
+
+He turned into the Green Park, where lovers sat entwined upon the
+benches, and in the pleasant warmth the idlers and the weary slept upon
+the grass. James sank heavily upon a seat, and gave himself over to his
+wretchedness.
+
+The night fell, and the lamps upon Piccadilly were lit, and in the
+increasing silence the roar of London sounded more intensely. From the
+darkness, as if it were the scene of a play, James watched the cabs and
+'buses pass rapidly in the light, the endless procession of people like
+disembodied souls drifting aimlessly before the wind. It was a comfort
+and a relief to sit there unseen, under cover of the night. He observed
+the turmoil with a new, disinterested curiosity, feeling strangely as if
+he were no longer among the living. He found himself surprised that they
+thought it worth while to hurry and to trouble. The couples on the
+benches remained in silent ecstasy; and sometimes a dark figure slouched
+past, sorrowful and mysterious.
+
+At last James went out, surprised to find it was so late. The theatres
+had disgorged their crowds, and Piccadilly was thronged, gay, vivacious,
+and insouciant. For a moment there was a certain luxury about its vice;
+the harlot gained the pompousness of a Roman courtesan, and the vulgar
+debauchee had for a little while the rich, corrupt decadence of art and
+splendour.
+
+James turned into Half Moon Street, which now was all deserted and
+silent, and walked slowly, with anguish tearing at his heart, towards
+the house in which lodged Mrs. Wallace. One window was still lit, and he
+wondered whether it was hers; it would have been an exquisite pleasure
+if he could but have seen her form pass the drawn blind. Ah, he could
+not have mistaken it! Presently the light was put out, and the whole
+house was in darkness. He waited on, for no reason--pleased to be near
+her. He waited half the night, till he was so tired he could scarcely
+drag himself home.
+
+In the morning James was ill and tired, and disillusioned; his head
+ached so that he could hardly bear the pain, and in all his limbs he
+felt a strange and heavy lassitude. He wondered why he had troubled
+himself about the woman who cared nothing--nothing whatever for him. He
+repeated about her the bitter, scornful things he had said so often. He
+fancied he had suddenly grown indifferent.
+
+"I shall go back to Primpton," he said; "London is too horrible."
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+
+The lassitude and the headache explained themselves, for the day after
+Jamie's arrival at Little Primpton he fell ill, and the doctor announced
+that he had enteric fever. He explained that it was not uncommon for
+persons to develop the disease after their return from the Cape. In
+their distress, the first thought of Mrs. Parsons and the Colonel was to
+send for Mary; they knew her to be quick and resourceful.
+
+"Dr. Radley says we must have a nurse down. Jamie is never to be left
+alone, and I couldn't manage by myself."
+
+Mary hesitated and reddened:
+
+"Oh, I wish Jamie would let me nurse him! You and I could do everything
+much better than a strange woman. D'you think he'd mind?"
+
+Mrs. Parsons looked at her doubtfully.
+
+"It's very kind of you, Mary. I'm afraid he's not treated you so as to
+deserve that. And it would exhaust you dreadfully."
+
+"I'm very strong; I should like it so much. Won't you ask Jamie? He can
+only refuse."
+
+"Very well."
+
+Mrs. Parsons went up to her son, by whom sat the Colonel, looking at him
+wistfully. James lay on his back, breathing quickly, dull, listless, and
+apathetic. Every now and then his dark dry lips contracted as the
+unceasing pain of his head became suddenly almost insufferable.
+
+"Jamie, dear," said Mrs. Parsons, "Dr. Radley says you must have a
+second nurse, and we thought of getting one from Tunbridge Wells. Would
+you mind if Mary came instead?"
+
+James opened his eyes, bright and unnatural, and the dilated pupils gave
+them a strangely piercing expression.
+
+"Does she want to?"
+
+"It would make her very happy."
+
+"Does she know that enteric is horrid to nurse?"
+
+"For your sake she will do everything willingly."
+
+"Then let her." He smiled faintly. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody
+good. That's what the curate said."
+
+He had sufficient strength to smile to Mary when she came up, and to
+stretch out his hand.
+
+"It's very good of you, Mary."
+
+"Nonsense!" she said, cheerily. "You mustn't talk. And you must do
+whatever I tell you, and let yourself be treated like a little boy."
+
+For days James remained in the same condition, with aching head, his
+face livid in its pallor, except for the bright, the terrifying flush of
+the cheeks; and the lips were dark with the sickly darkness of death. He
+lay on his back continually, apathetic and listless, his eyes closed.
+Now and again he opened them, and their vacant brilliancy was almost
+unearthly. He seemed to see horrible things, impossible to prevent,
+staring in front of him with the ghastly intensity of the blind.
+
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Parsons and Mary nursed him devotedly. Mary was quite
+splendid. In her loving quickness she forestalled all Jamie's wants, so
+that they were satisfied almost before he had realised them. She was
+always bright and good-tempered and fresh; she performed with constant
+cheerfulness the little revolting services which the disease
+necessitates; nothing was too difficult, or too harassing, or too
+unpleasant for her to do. She sacrificed herself with delight, taking
+upon her shoulders the major part of the work, leaving James only when
+Mrs. Parsons forced her to rest. She sat up night after night
+uncomplainingly; having sent for her clothes, and, notwithstanding Mrs.
+Clibborn's protests, taken up her abode altogether at Primpton House.
+
+Mrs. Clibborn said it was a most improper proceeding; that a trained
+nurse would be more capable, and the Parsons could well afford it; and
+also that it was indelicate for Mary to force herself upon James when he
+was too ill to defend himself.
+
+"I don't know what we should do without you, Mary," said Colonel
+Parsons, with tears in his eyes. "If we save him it will be your doing."
+
+"Of course we shall save him! All I ask you is to say nothing of what
+I've done. It's been a pleasure to me to serve him, and I don't deserve,
+and I don't want, gratitude."
+
+But it became more than doubtful whether it would be possible to save
+James, weakened by his wound and by the privations of the campaign. The
+disease grew worse. He was constantly delirious, and his prostration
+extreme. His cheeks sank in, and he seemed to have lost all power of
+holding himself together; he lay low down in the bed, as if he had given
+up trying to save himself. His face became dusky, so that it was
+terrifying to look upon.
+
+The doctor could no longer conceal his anxiety, and at last Mrs.
+Parsons, alone with him, insisted upon knowing the truth.
+
+"Is there any chance?" she asked, tremulously. "I would much rather know
+the worst."
+
+"I'm afraid very, very little."
+
+Mrs. Parsons shook hands silently with Dr. Radley and returned to the
+sick room, where Mary and the Colonel were sitting at the bedside.
+
+"Well?"
+
+Mrs. Parsons bent her head, and the silent tears rolled down her cheeks.
+The others understood only too well.
+
+"The Lord's will be done," whispered the father. "Blessed be the name of
+the Lord!"
+
+They looked at James with aching hearts. All their bitterness had long
+gone, and they loved him again with the old devotion of past time.
+
+"D'you think I was hard on him, dear?" said the Colonel.
+
+Mary took his hand and held it affectionately.
+
+"Don't worry about that," she said. "I'm sure he never felt any
+bitterness towards you."
+
+James now was comatose. But sometimes a reflex movement would pass
+through him, a sort of quiver, which seemed horribly as though the soul
+were parting from his body; and feebly he clutched at the bed-clothes.
+
+"Was it for this that he was saved from war and pestilence?" muttered
+the Colonel, hopelessly.
+
+* * *
+
+But the Fates love nothing better than to mock the poor little creatures
+whose destinies ceaselessly they weave, refusing the wretched heart's
+desire till long waiting has made it listless, and giving with both
+hands only when the gift entails destruction.... James did not die; the
+passionate love of those three persons who watched him day by day and
+night by night seemed to have exorcised the might of Death. He grew a
+little better; his vigorous frame battled for life with all the force of
+that unknown mysterious power which cements into existence the myriad
+wandering atoms. He was listless, indifferent to the issue; but the will
+to live fought for him, and he grew better. Quickly he was out of
+danger.
+
+His father and Mary and Mrs. Parsons looked at one another almost with
+surprise, hardly daring to believe that they had saved him. They had
+suffered so much, all three of them, that they hesitated to trust their
+good fortune, superstitiously fearing that if they congratulated
+themselves too soon, some dreadful thing would happen to plunge back
+their beloved into deadly danger. But at last he was able to get up, to
+sit in the garden, now luxuriant with the ripe foliage of August; and
+they felt the load of anxiety gradually lift itself from their
+shoulders. They ventured again to laugh, and to talk of little trivial
+things, and of the future. They no longer had that panic terror when
+they looked at him, pale and weak and emaciated.
+
+Then again the old couple thanked Mary for what she had done; and one
+day, in secret, went off to Tunbridge Wells to buy a little present as a
+proof of their gratitude. Colonel Parsons suggested a bracelet, but his
+wife was sure that Mary would prefer something useful; so they brought
+back with them a very elaborate and expensive writing-case, which with a
+few shy words they presented to her. Mary, poor thing, was overcome with
+pleasure.
+
+"It's awfully good of you," she said. "I've done nothing that I wouldn't
+have done for any of the cottagers."
+
+"We know it was you who saved him. You--you snatched him from the very
+jaws of Death."
+
+Mary paused, and held out her hand.
+
+"Will you promise me one thing?"
+
+"What is it?" asked Colonel Parsons, unwilling to give his word rashly.
+
+"Well, promise that you will never tell James that he owes anything to
+me. I couldn't bear him to think I had forced myself on him so as to
+have a sort of claim. Please promise me that."
+
+"I should never be able to keep it!" cried the Colonel.
+
+"I think she's right, Richmond. We'll promise, Mary. Besides, James
+can't help knowing."
+
+The hopes of the dear people were reviving, and they began to look upon
+Jamie's illness, piously, as a blessing of Providence in disguise.
+While Mrs. Parsons was about her household work in the morning, the
+Colonel would sometimes come in, rubbing his hands gleefully.
+
+"I've been watching them from the kitchen garden," he said.
+
+James lay on a long chair, in a sheltered, shady place, and Mary sat
+beside him, reading aloud or knitting.
+
+"Oh, you shouldn't have done that, Richmond," said his wife, with an
+indulgent smile, "it's very cruel."
+
+"I couldn't help it, my dear. They're sitting there together just like a
+pair of turtle-doves."
+
+"Are they talking or reading?"
+
+"She's reading to him, and he's looking at her. He never takes his eyes
+off her."
+
+Mrs. Parsons sighed with a happy sadness.
+
+"God is very good to us, Richmond."
+
+* * *
+
+James was surprised to find how happily he could spend his days with
+Mary. He was carried into the garden as soon as he got up, and remained
+there most of the day. Mary, as ever, was untiring in her devotion,
+thoughtful, anxious to obey his smallest whim.... He saw very soon the
+thoughts which were springing up again in the minds of his father and
+mother, intercepting the little significant glances which passed between
+them when Mary went away on some errand and he told her not to be long,
+when they exchanged gentle chaff, or she arranged the cushions under his
+head. The neighbours had asked to visit him, but this he resolutely
+declined, and appealed to Mary for protection.
+
+"I'm quite happy alone here with you, and if anyone else comes I swear
+I'll fall ill again."
+
+And with a little flush of pleasure and a smile, Mary answered that she
+would tell them all he was very grateful for their sympathy, but didn't
+feel strong enough to see them.
+
+"I don't feel a bit grateful, really," he said.
+
+"Then you ought to."
+
+Her manner was much gentler now that James was ill, and her rigid moral
+sense relaxed a little in favour of his weakness. Mary's common sense
+became less aggressive, and if she was practical and unimaginative as
+ever, she was less afraid than before of giving way to him. She became
+almost tolerant, allowing him little petulances and little
+evasions--petty weaknesses which in complete health she would have felt
+it her duty not to compromise with. She treated him like a child, with
+whom it was possible to be indulgent without a surrender of principle;
+he could still claim to be spoiled and petted, and made much of.
+
+And James found that he could look forward with something like
+satisfaction to the condition of things which was evolving. He did not
+doubt that if he proposed to Mary again, she would accept him, and all
+their difficulties would be at an end. After all, why not? He was deeply
+touched by the loving, ceaseless care she had taken of him; indeed, no
+words from his father were needed to make him realise what she had gone
+through. She was kindness itself, tender, considerate, cheerful; he felt
+an utter prig to hesitate. And now that he had got used to her again,
+James was really very fond of Mary. In his physical weakness, her
+strength was peculiarly comforting. He could rely upon her entirely, and
+trust her; he admired her rectitude and her truthfulness. She reminded
+him of a granite cross standing alone in a desolate Scotch island,
+steadfast to wind and weather, unyielding even to time, erect and stern,
+and yet somehow pathetic in its solemn loneliness.
+
+Was it a lot of nonsense that he had thought about the immaculacy of the
+flesh? The world in general found his theories ridiculous or obscene.
+The world might be right. After all, the majority is not necessarily
+wrong. Jamie's illness interfered like a blank space between his
+present self and the old one, with its strenuous ideals of a purity of
+body which vulgar persons knew nothing of. Weak and ill, dependent upon
+the strength of others, his former opinions seemed singularly uncertain.
+How much more easy and comfortable was it to fall back upon the ideas of
+all and sundry? One cannot help being a little conscience-stricken
+sometimes when one thinks differently from others. That is why society
+holds together; conscience is its most efficient policeman. But when one
+shares common opinions, the whole authority of civilisation backs one
+up, and the reward is an ineffable self-complacency. It is the easiest
+thing possible to wallow in the prejudices of all the world, and the
+most eminently satisfactory. For nineteen hundred years we have learnt
+that the body is shameful, a pitfall and a snare to the soul. It is to
+be hoped we have one, for our bodies, since we began worrying about our
+souls, leave much to be desired. The common idea is that the flesh is
+beastly, the spirit divine; and it sounds reasonable enough. If it means
+little, one need not care, for the world has turned eternally to one
+senseless formula after another. All one can be sure about is that in
+the things of this world there is no absolute certainty.
+
+James, in his prostration, felt only indifference; and his old
+strenuousness, with its tragic despair, seemed not a little ridiculous.
+His eagerness to keep clean from what he thought prostitution was
+melodramatic and silly, his idea of purity mere foolishness. If the body
+was excrement, as from his youth he had been taught, what could it
+matter how one used it! Did anything matter, when a few years would see
+the flesh he had thought divine corrupt and worm-eaten? James was
+willing now to float along the stream, sociably, with his fellows, and
+had no doubt that he would soon find a set of high-sounding phrases to
+justify his degradation. What importance could his actions have, who was
+an obscure unit in an ephemeral race? It was much better to cease
+troubling, and let things come as they would. People were obviously
+right when they said that Mary must be an excellent helpmate. How often
+had he not told himself that she would be all that a wife should--kind,
+helpful, trustworthy. Was it not enough?
+
+And his marriage would give such pleasure to his father and mother, such
+happiness to Mary. If he could make a little return for all her
+goodness, was he not bound to do so? He smiled with bitter scorn at his
+dead, lofty ideals. The workaday world was not fit for them; it was much
+safer and easier to conform oneself to its terrestrial standard. And the
+amusing part of it was that these new opinions which seemed to him a
+falling away, to others meant precisely the reverse. They thought it
+purer and more ethereal that a man should marry because a woman would be
+a housekeeper of good character than because the divine instincts of
+Nature irresistibly propelled him.
+
+James shrugged his shoulders, and turned to look at Mary, who was coming
+towards him with letters in her hand.
+
+"Three letters for you, Jamie!"
+
+"Whom are they from?"
+
+"Look." She handed him one.
+
+"That's a bill, I bet," he said. "Open it and see."
+
+She opened and read out an account for boots.
+
+"Throw it away."
+
+Mary opened her eyes.
+
+"It must be paid, Jamie."
+
+"Of course it must; but not for a long time yet. Let him send it in a
+few times more. Now the next one."
+
+He looked at the envelope, and did not recognise the handwriting.
+
+"You can open that, too."
+
+It was from the Larchers, repeating their invitation to go and see them.
+
+"I wonder if they're still worrying about the death of their boy?"
+
+"Oh, well, it's six months ago, isn't it?" replied Mary.
+
+"I suppose in that time one gets over most griefs. I must go over some
+day. Now the third."
+
+He reddened slightly, recognising again the handwriting of Mrs. Wallace.
+But this time it affected him very little; he was too weak to care, and
+he felt almost indifferent.
+
+"Shall I open it?" said Mary.
+
+James hesitated.
+
+"No," he said; "tear it up." And then in reply to her astonishment, he
+added, smiling: "It's all right, I'm not off my head. Tear it up, and
+don't ask questions, there's a dear!"
+
+"Of course, I'll tear it up if you want me to," said Mary, looking
+rather perplexed.
+
+"Now, go to the hedge and throw the pieces in the field."
+
+She did so, and sat down again.
+
+"Shall I read to you?"
+
+"No, I'm sick of the 'Antiquary.' Why the goodness they can't talk
+English like rational human beings, Heaven only knows!"
+
+"Well, we must finish it now we've begun."
+
+"D'you think something dreadful will happen to us if we don't?"
+
+"If one begins a book I think one should finish it, however dull it is.
+One is sure to get some good out of it."
+
+"My dear, you're a perfect monster of conscientiousness."
+
+"Well, if you don't want me to read, I shall go on with my knitting."
+
+"I don't want you to knit either. I want you to talk to me."
+
+Mary looked almost charming in the subdued light of the sun as it broke
+through the leaves, giving a softness of expression and a richness of
+colour that James had never seen in her before. And the summer frock she
+wore made her more girlish and irresponsible than usual.
+
+"You've been very, very good to me all this time, Mary," said James,
+suddenly.
+
+Mary flushed. "I?"
+
+"I can never thank you enough."
+
+"Nonsense! Your father has been telling you a lot of rubbish, and he
+promised he wouldn't."
+
+"No, he's said nothing. Did you make him promise? That was very nice,
+and just like you."
+
+"I was afraid he'd say more than he ought."
+
+"D'you think I haven't been able to see for myself? I owe my life to
+you."
+
+"You owe it to God, Jamie."
+
+He smiled, and took her hand.
+
+"I'm very, very grateful!"
+
+"It's been a pleasure to nurse you, Jamie. I never knew you'd make such
+a good patient."
+
+"And for all you've done, I've made you wretched and miserable. Can you
+ever forgive me?"
+
+"There's nothing to forgive, dear. You know I always think of you as a
+brother."
+
+"Ah, that's what you told the curate!" cried James, laughing.
+
+Mary reddened.
+
+"How d'you know?"
+
+"He told Mrs. Jackson, and she told father."
+
+"You're not angry with me?"
+
+"I think you might have made it second cousin," said James, with a
+smile.
+
+Mary did not answer, but tried to withdraw her hand. He held it fast.
+
+"Mary, I've treated you vilely. If you don't hate me, it's only because
+you're a perfect angel."
+
+Mary looked down, blushing deep red.
+
+"I can never hate you," she whispered.
+
+"Oh, Mary, can you forgive me? Can you forget? It sounds almost
+impertinent to ask you again--Will you marry me, Mary?"
+
+She withdrew her hand.
+
+"It's very kind of you, Jamie. You're only asking me out of gratitude,
+because I've helped a little to look after you. But I want no gratitude;
+it was all pleasure. And I'm only too glad that you're getting well."
+
+"I'm perfectly in earnest, Mary. I wouldn't ask you merely from
+gratitude. I know I have humiliated you dreadfully, and I have done my
+best to kill the love you had for me. But I really honestly love you
+now--with all my heart. If you still care for me a little, I beseech you
+not to dismiss me."
+
+"If I still care for you!" cried Mary, hoarsely. "Oh, my God!"
+
+"Mary, forgive me! I want you to marry me."
+
+She looked at him distractedly, the fire burning through her heart. He
+took both her hands and drew her towards him.
+
+"Mary, say yes."
+
+She sank helplessly to her knees beside him.
+
+"It would make me very happy," she murmured, with touching humility.
+
+Then he bent forward and kissed her tenderly.
+
+"Let's go and tell them," he said. "They'll be so pleased."
+
+Mary, smiling and joyful, helped him to his feet, and supporting him as
+best she could, they went towards the house.
+
+Colonel Parsons was sitting in the dining-room, twirling his old Panama
+in a great state of excitement; he had interrupted his wife at her
+accounts, and she was looking at him good-humouredly over her
+spectacles.
+
+"I'm sure something's happening," he said. "I went out to take Jamie his
+beef-tea, and he was holding Mary's hand. I coughed as loud as I could,
+but they took no notice at all. So I thought I'd better not disturb
+them."
+
+"Here they come," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"Mother," said James, "Mary has something to tell you."
+
+"I haven't anything of the sort!" cried Mary, blushing and laughing.
+"Jamie has something to tell you."
+
+"Well, the fact is, I've asked Mary to marry me and she's said she
+would."
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+
+James was vastly relieved. His people's obvious delight, Mary's quiet
+happiness, were very grateful to him, and if he laughed at himself a
+little for feeling so virtuous, he could not help thoroughly enjoying
+the pleasure he had given. He was willing to acknowledge now that his
+conscience had been uneasy after the rupture of his engagement: although
+he had assured himself so vehemently that reason was upon his side, the
+common disapproval, and the influence of all his bringing-up, had
+affected him in his own despite.
+
+"When shall we get married, Mary?" he asked, when the four of them were
+sitting together in the garden.
+
+"Quickly!" cried Colonel Parsons.
+
+"Well, shall we say in a month, or six weeks?"
+
+"D'you think you'll be strong enough?" replied Mary, looking
+affectionately at him. And then, blushing a little: "I can get ready
+very soon."
+
+The night before, she had gone home and taken out the trousseau which
+with tears had been put away. She smoothed out the things, unfolded
+them, and carefully folded them up. Never in her life had she possessed
+such dainty linen. Mary cried a while with pleasure to think that she
+could begin again to collect her little store. No one knew what agony it
+had been to write to the shops at Tunbridge Wells countermanding her
+orders, and now she looked forward with quiet delight to buying all that
+remained to get.
+
+Finally, it was decided that the wedding should take place at the
+beginning of October. Mrs. Parsons wrote to her brother, who answered
+that he had expected the event all along, being certain that his
+conversation with James would eventually bear fruit. He was happy to be
+able to congratulate himself on the issue of his diplomacy; it was
+wonderful how easily all difficulties were settled, if one took them
+from the point of view of a man of the world. Mrs. Jackson likewise
+flattered herself that the renewed engagement was due to her
+intervention.
+
+"I saw he was paying attention to what I said," she told her husband. "I
+knew all he wanted was a good, straight talking to."
+
+"I am sorry for poor Dryland," said the Vicar.
+
+"Yes, I think we ought to do our best to console him. Don't you think he
+might go away for a month, Archibald?"
+
+Mr. Dryland came to tea, and the Vicar's wife surrounded him with little
+attentions. She put an extra lump of sugar in his tea, and cut him even
+a larger piece of seed-cake than usual.
+
+"Of course you've heard, Mr. Dryland?" she said, solemnly.
+
+"Are you referring to Miss Clibborn's engagement to Captain Parsons?" he
+asked, with a gloomy face. "Bad news travels fast."
+
+"You have all our sympathies. We did everything we could for you."
+
+"I can't deny that it's a great blow to me. I confess I thought that
+time and patience on my part might induce Miss Clibborn to change her
+mind. But if she's happy, I cannot complain. I must bear my misfortune
+with resignation."
+
+"But will she be happy?" asked Mrs. Jackson, with foreboding in her
+voice.
+
+"I sincerely hope so. Anyhow, I think it my duty to go to Captain
+Parsons and offer him my congratulations."
+
+"Will you do that, Mr. Dryland?" cried Mrs. Jackson. "That is noble of
+you!"
+
+"If you'd like to take your holiday now, Dryland," said the Vicar, "I
+daresay we can manage it."
+
+"Oh, no, thanks; I'm not the man to desert from the field of battle."
+
+Mrs. Jackson sighed.
+
+"Things never come right in this world. That's what I always say; the
+clergy are continually doing deeds of heroism which the world never
+hears anything about."
+
+The curate went to Primpton House and inquired whether he might see
+Captain Parsons.
+
+"I'll go and ask if he's well enough," answered the Colonel, with his
+admirable respect for the cloth.
+
+"Do you think he wants to talk to me about my soul?" asked James,
+smiling.
+
+"I don't know; but I think you'd better see him."
+
+"Very well."
+
+Mr. Dryland came forward and shook hands with James in an ecclesiastical
+and suave manner, trying to be dignified, as behoved a rejected lover in
+the presence of his rival, and at the same time cordial, as befitted a
+Christian who could bear no malice.
+
+"Captain Parsons, you will not be unaware that I asked Miss Clibborn to
+be my wife?"
+
+"The fact was fairly generally known in the village," replied James,
+trying to restrain a smile.
+
+Mr. Dryland blushed.
+
+"I was annoyed at the publicity which the circumstance obtained. The
+worst of these little places is that people will talk."
+
+"It was a very noble deed," said James gravely, repeating the common
+opinion.
+
+"Not at all," answered the curate, with characteristic modesty. "But
+since it was not to be, since Miss Clibborn's choice has fallen on you,
+I think it my duty to inform you of my hearty goodwill. I wish, in
+short, to offer you again my sincerest congratulations."
+
+"I'm sure that's very kind of you."
+
+* * *
+
+Two days, later Mrs. Jackson called on a similar errand.
+
+She tripped up to James and frankly held out her hand, neatly encased as
+ever in a shining black kid glove.
+
+"Captain Parsons, let us shake hands, and let bygones be bygones. You
+have taken my advice, and if, in the heat of the moment, we both said
+things which we regret, after all, we're only human."
+
+"Surely, Mrs. Jackson, I was moderation itself?--even when you told me I
+should infallibly go to Hell."
+
+"You were extremely irritating," said the Vicar's lady, smiling, "but I
+forgive you. After all, you paid more attention to what I said than I
+expected you would."
+
+"It must be very satisfactory for you to think that."
+
+"You know I have no ill-feeling towards you at all. I gave you a piece
+of my mind because I thought it was my duty. If you think I stepped over
+the limits of--moderation, I am willing and ready to apologise."
+
+"What a funny woman you are!" said James, looking at her with a
+good-humoured, but rather astonished smile.
+
+"I'm sure I don't know what makes you think so," she answered, bridling
+a little.
+
+"It never occurred to me that you honestly thought you were acting
+rightly when you came and gave me a piece of your mind, as you call it.
+I thought your motives were simply malicious and uncharitable."
+
+"I have a very high ideal of my duties as a clergyman's wife."
+
+"The human animal is very odd."
+
+"I don't look upon myself as an animal, Captain Parsons."
+
+James smiled.
+
+"I wonder why we all torture ourselves so unnecessarily. It really seems
+as if the chief use we made of our reason was to inflict as much pain
+upon ourselves and upon one another as we possibly could."
+
+"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Captain Parsons."
+
+"When you do anything, are you ever tormented by a doubt whether you are
+doing right or wrong?"
+
+"Never," she answered, firmly. "There is always a right way and a wrong
+way, and, I'm thankful to say, God has given me sufficient intelligence
+to know which is which; and obviously I choose the right way."
+
+"What a comfortable idea! I can never help thinking that every right way
+is partly wrong, and every wrong way partly right. There's always so
+much to be said on both sides; to me it's very hard to know which is
+which."
+
+"Only a very weak man could think like that."
+
+"Possibly! I have long since ceased to flatter myself on my strength of
+mind. I find it is chiefly a characteristic of unintelligent persons."
+
+* * *
+
+It was Mary's way to take herself seriously. It flattered her to think
+that she was not blind to Jamie's faults; she loved him none the less on
+their account, but determined to correct them. He had an unusual way of
+looking at things, and an occasional flippancy in his conversation, both
+of which she hoped in time to eradicate. With patience, gentleness, and
+dignity a woman can do a great deal with a man.
+
+One of Mary's friends had a husband with a bad habit of swearing, which
+was cured in a very simple manner. Whenever he swore, his wife swore
+too. For instance, he would say: "That's a damned bad job;" and his wife
+answered, smiling: "Yes, damned bad." He was rather surprised, but
+quickly ceased to employ objectionable words. Story does not relate
+whether he also got out of the habit of loving his wife; but that,
+doubtless, is a minor detail. Mary always looked upon her friend as a
+pattern.
+
+"James is not really cynical," she told herself. "He says things, not
+because he means them, but because he likes to startle people."
+
+It was inconceivable that James should not think on all subjects as she
+had been brought up to do, and the least originality struck her
+naturally as a sort of pose. But on account of his illness Mary allowed
+him a certain latitude, and when he said anything she did not approve
+of, instead of arguing the point, merely smiled indulgently and changed
+the subject. There was plenty of time before her, and when James became
+her husband she would have abundant opportunity of raising him to that
+exalted level upon which she was so comfortably settled. The influence
+of a simple Christian woman could not fail to have effect; at bottom
+James was as good as gold, and she was clever enough to guide him
+insensibly along the right path.
+
+James, perceiving this, scarcely knew whether to be incensed or amused.
+Sometimes he could see the humour in Mary's ingenuous conceit, and in
+the dogmatic assurance with which she uttered the most astounding
+opinions; but at others, when she waved aside superciliously a remark
+that did not square with her prejudices, or complacently denied a
+statement because she had never heard it before, he was irritated beyond
+all endurance. And it was nothing very outrageous he said, but merely
+some commonplace of science which all the world had accepted for twenty
+years. Mary, however, entrenched herself behind the impenetrable rock of
+her self-sufficiency.
+
+"I'm not clever enough to argue with you," she said; "but I know I'm
+right; and I'm quite satisfied."
+
+Generally she merely smiled.
+
+"What nonsense you talk, Jamie! You don't really believe what you say."
+
+"But, my dear Mary, it's a solemn fact. There's no possibility of
+doubting it. It's a truism."
+
+Then with admirable self-command, remembering that James was still an
+invalid, she would pat his hand and say:
+
+"Well, it doesn't matter. Of course, you're much cleverer than I am. It
+must be almost time for your beef-tea."
+
+James sank back, baffled. Mary's ignorance was an impenetrable cuirass;
+she would not try to understand, she could not even realise that she
+might possibly be mistaken. Quite seriously she thought that what she
+ignored could be hardly worth knowing. People talk of the advance of
+education; there may be a little among the lower classes, but it is
+inconceivable that the English gentry can ever have been more illiterate
+than they are now. Throughout the country, in the comfortable villa or
+in the stately mansion, you will find as much prejudice and superstition
+in the drawing-room as in the kitchen; and you will find the masters
+less receptive of new ideas than their servants; and into the bargain,
+presumptuously satisfied with their own nescience.
+
+James saw that the only way to deal with Mary and with his people was to
+give in to all their prejudices. He let them talk, and held his tongue.
+He shut himself off from them, recognising that there was, and could be,
+no bond between them. They were strangers to him; their ways of looking
+at every detail of life were different from his; they had not an
+interest, not a thought, in common.... The preparations for the marriage
+went on.
+
+One day Mary decided that it was her duty to speak with James about his
+religion. Some of his remarks had made her a little uneasy, and he was
+quite strong enough now to be seriously dealt with.
+
+"Tell me, Jamie," she said, in reply to an observation which she was
+pleased to consider flippant, "you do believe in God, don't you?"
+
+But James had learnt his lesson well.
+
+"My dear, that seems to me a private affair of my own."
+
+"Are you ashamed to say?" she asked, gravely.
+
+"No; but I don't see the advantage of discussing the matter."
+
+"I think you ought to tell me as I'm going to be your wife. I shouldn't
+like you to be an atheist."
+
+"Atheism is exploded, Mary. Only very ignorant persons are certain of
+what they cannot possibly know."
+
+"Then I don't see why you should be afraid to tell me."
+
+"I'm not; only I think you have no right to ask. We both think that in
+marriage each should leave the other perfect freedom. I used to imagine
+the ideal was that married folk should not have a thought, nor an idea
+apart; but that is all rot. The best thing is evidently for each to go
+his own way, and respect the privacy of the other. Complete trust
+entails complete liberty."
+
+"I think that is certainly the noblest way of looking at marriage."
+
+"You may be quite sure I shall not intrude upon _your_ privacy, Mary."
+
+"I'm sorry I asked you any question. I suppose it's no business of
+mine."
+
+James returned to his book; he had fallen into the habit again of
+reading incessantly, finding therein his only release from the daily
+affairs of life; but when Mary left him, he let his novel drop and began
+to think. He was bitterly amused at what he had said. The parrot words
+which he had so often heard on Mary's lips sounded strangely on his own.
+He understood now why the view of matrimony had become prevalent that it
+was an institution in which two casual persons lived together, for the
+support of one and the material comfort of the other. Without love it
+was the most natural thing that husband and wife should seek all manner
+of protection from each other; with love none was needed. It harmonised
+well with the paradox that a marriage of passion was rather indecent,
+while lukewarm affection and paltry motives of convenience were
+elevating and noble.
+
+Poor Mary! James knew that she loved him with all her soul, such as it
+was (a delicate conscience and a collection of principles are not
+enough to make a great lover), and again he acknowledged to himself that
+he could give her only friendship. It had been but an ephemeral
+tenderness which drew him to her for the second time, due to weakness of
+body and to gratitude. If he ever thought it was love, he knew by now
+that he had been mistaken. Still, what did it matter? He supposed they
+would get along very well--as well as most people; better even than if
+they adored one another; for passion is not conducive to an even life.
+Fortunately she was cold and reserved, little given to demonstrative
+affection; she made few demands upon him, and occupied with her work in
+the parish and the collection of her trousseau, was content that he
+should remain with his books.
+
+The day fixed upon for the marriage came nearer.
+
+But at last James was seized with a wild revolt. His father was sitting
+by him.
+
+"Mary's wedding-dress is nearly ready," he said, suddenly.
+
+"So soon?" cried James, his heart sinking.
+
+"She's afraid that something may happen at the last moment, and it won't
+be finished in time."
+
+"What could happen?"
+
+"Oh, I mean something at the dressmaker's!"
+
+"Is that all? I imagine there's little danger."
+
+There was a pause, broken again by the Colonel.
+
+"I'm so glad you're going to be happily married, Jamie."
+
+His son did not answer.
+
+"But man is never satisfied. I used to think that when I got you
+spliced, I should have nothing else to wish for; but now I'm beginning
+to want little grandsons to rock upon my knees."
+
+Jamie's face grew dark.
+
+"We should never be able to afford children."
+
+"But they come if one wants them or not, and I shall be able to increase
+your allowance a little, you know. I don't want you to go short of
+anything."
+
+James said nothing, but he thought: "If I had children by her, I should
+hate them." And then with sudden dismay, losing all the artificial
+indifference of the last week, he rebelled passionately against his
+fate. "Oh, I hate and loathe her!"
+
+He felt he could no longer continue the pretence he had been making--for
+it was all pretence. The effort to be loving and affectionate was
+torture, so that all his nerves seemed to vibrate with exasperation.
+Sometimes he had to clench his hands in order to keep himself under
+restraint. He was acting all the time. James asked himself what madness
+blinded Mary that she did not see? He remembered how easily speech had
+come in the old days when they were boy and girl together; they could
+pass hours side by side, without a thought of time, talking of little
+insignificant things, silent often, and always happy. But now he racked
+his brain for topics of conversation, and the slightest pause seemed
+irksome and unnatural. He was sometimes bored to death, savagely,
+cruelly; so that he was obliged to leave Mary for fear that he would say
+bitter and horrible things. Without his books he would have gone mad.
+She must be blind not to see. Then he thought of their married life. How
+long would it last? The years stretched themselves out endlessly,
+passing one after another in dreary monotony. Could they possibly be
+happy? Sooner or later Mary would learn how little he cared for her, and
+what agony must she suffer then! But it was inevitable. Now, whatever
+happened, he could not draw back; it was too late for explanations.
+Would love come? He felt it impossible; he felt, rather, that the
+physical repulsion which vainly he tried to crush would increase till he
+abhorred the very sight of his wife.
+
+Passionately he cried out against Fate because he had escaped death so
+often. The gods played with him as a cat plays with a mouse. He had been
+through dangers innumerable; twice he had lain on the very threshold of
+eternal night, and twice he had been snatched back. Far rather would he
+have died the soldier's death, gallantly, than live on to this
+humiliation and despair. A friendly bullet could have saved him many
+difficulties and much unhappiness. And why had he recovered from the
+fever? What an irony it was that Mary should claim gratitude for doing
+him the greatest possible disservice!
+
+"I can't help it," he cried; "I loathe her!"
+
+The strain upon him was becoming intolerable. James felt that he could
+not much longer conceal the anguish which was destroying him. But what
+was to be done? Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!
+
+James held his head in his hands, cursing his pitiful weakness. Why did
+he not realise, in his convalescence, that it was but a passing emotion
+which endeared Mary to him? He had been so anxious to love her, so eager
+to give happiness to all concerned, that he had welcomed the least sign
+of affection; but he knew what love was, and there could be no excuse.
+He should have had the courage to resist his gratitude.
+
+"Why should I sacrifice myself?" he cried. "My life is as valuable as
+theirs. Why should it be always I from whom sacrifice is demanded?"
+
+But it was no use rebelling. Mary's claims were too strong, and if he
+lived he must satisfy them. Yet some respite he could not do without;
+away from Primpton he might regain his calm. James hated London, but
+even that would be better than the horrible oppression, the constraint
+he was forced to put upon himself.
+
+He walked up and down the garden for a few minutes to calm down, and
+went in to his mother. He spoke as naturally as he could.
+
+"Father tells me that Mary's wedding-dress is nearly ready."
+
+"Yes; it's a little early. But it's well to be on the safe side."
+
+"It's just occurred to me that I can hardly be married in rags. I think
+I had better go up to town for a few days to get some things."
+
+"Must you do that?"
+
+"I think so. And there's a lot I want to do."
+
+"Oh, well, I daresay Mary won't mind, if you don't stay too long. But
+you must take care not to tire yourself."
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+
+On his second visit to London, James was more fortunate, for immediately
+he got inside his club he found an old friend, a man named Barker, late
+adjutant of his regiment. Barker had a great deal to tell James of
+mutual acquaintance, and the pair dined together, going afterwards to a
+music-hall. James felt in better spirits than for some time past, and
+his good humour carried him well into the following day. In the
+afternoon, while he was reading a paper, Barker came up to him.
+
+"I say, old chap," he said, "I quite forgot to tell you yesterday. You
+remember Mrs. Wallace, don't you--Pritchard, of that ilk? She's in town,
+and in a passion with you. She says she's written to you twice, and
+you've taken no notice."
+
+"Really? I thought nobody was in town now."
+
+"She is; I forget why. She told me a long story, but I didn't listen, as
+I knew it would be mostly fibs. She's probably up to some mischief.
+Let's go round to her place and have tea, shall we?"
+
+"I hardly think I can," replied James, reddening. "I've got an
+engagement at four."
+
+"Rot--come on! She's just as stunning as ever. By Gad, you should have
+seen her in her weeds!"
+
+"In her weeds! What the devil do you mean?"
+
+"Didn't you know? P. W. was bowled over at the beginning of the
+war--after Colenso, I think."
+
+"By God!--I didn't know. I never saw!"
+
+"Oh, well, I didn't know till I came home.... Let's stroll along, shall
+we? She's looking out for number two; but she wants money, so there's no
+danger for us!"
+
+James rose mechanically, and putting on his hat, accompanied Barker, all
+unwitting of the thunder-blow that his words had been.... Mrs. Wallace
+was at home. James went upstairs, forgetting everything but that the
+woman he loved was free--free! His heart beat so that he could scarcely
+breathe; he was afraid of betraying his agitation, and had to make a
+deliberate effort to contain himself.
+
+Mrs. Wallace gave a little cry of surprise on seeing James.... She had
+not changed. The black gown she wore, fashionable, but slightly
+fantastic, set off the dazzling olive clearness of her skin and the rich
+colour of her hair. James turned pale with the passion that consumed
+him; he could hardly speak.
+
+"You wretch!" she cried, her eyes sparkling, "I've written to you
+twice--once to congratulate you, and then to ask you to come and see
+me--and you took not the least notice."
+
+"Barker has just told me you wrote. I am so sorry."
+
+"Oh, well, I thought you might not receive the letters. I'll forgive
+you."
+
+She wore Indian anklets on her wrists and a barbaric chain about her
+neck, so that even in the London lodging-house she preserved a
+mysterious Oriental charm. In her movements there was a sinuous feline
+grace which was delightful, and yet rather terrifying. One fancied that
+she was not quite human, but some cruel animal turned into the likeness
+of a woman. Vague stories floated through the mind of Lamia, and the
+unhappy end of her lovers.
+
+The three of them began to talk, chattering of the old days in India, of
+the war. Mrs. Wallace bemoaned her fate in having to stay in town when
+all smart people had left. Barker told stories. James did not know how
+he joined in the flippant conversation; he wondered at his self-command
+in saying insignificant things, in laughing heartily, when his whole
+soul was in a turmoil. At length the adjutant went away, and James was
+left alone with Mrs. Wallace.
+
+"D'you wish me to go?" he asked. "You can turn me out if you do."
+
+"Oh, I should--without hesitation," she retorted, laughing; "but I'm
+bored to death, and I want you to amuse me."
+
+Strangely enough, James felt that the long absence had created no
+barrier between them. Thinking of Mrs. Wallace incessantly, sometimes
+against his will, sometimes with a fierce delight, holding with her
+imaginary conversations, he felt, on the contrary, that he knew her far
+more intimately than he had ever done. There seemed to be a link between
+them, as though something had passed which prevented them from ever
+again becoming strangers. James felt he had her confidence, and he was
+able to talk frankly as before, in his timidity, he had never ventured.
+He treated her with the loving friendliness with which he had been used
+to treat the imaginary creature of his dreams.
+
+"You haven't changed a bit," he said, looking at her.
+
+"Did you expect me to be haggard and wrinkled? I never let myself grow
+old. One only needs strength of mind to keep young indefinitely."
+
+"I'm surprised, because you're so exactly as I've thought of you."
+
+"Have you thought of me often?"
+
+The fire flashed to Jamie's eyes, and it was on his lips to break out
+passionately, telling her how he had lived constantly with her
+recollection, how she had been meat and drink to him, life, and breath,
+and soul; but he restrained himself.
+
+"Sometimes," he answered, smiling.
+
+Mrs. Wallace smiled, too.
+
+"I seem to remember that you vowed once to think of me always."
+
+"One vows all sorts of things." He hoped she could not hear the
+trembling in his voice.
+
+"You're very cool, friend Jim--and much less shy than you used to be.
+You were a perfect monster of bashfulness, and your conscience was a
+most alarming animal. It used to frighten me out of my wits; I hope you
+keep it now under lock and key, like the beasts in the Zoo."
+
+James was telling himself that it was folly to remain, that he must go
+at once and never return. The recollection of Mary came back to him, in
+the straw hat and the soiled serge dress, sitting in the dining-room
+with his father and mother; she had brought her knitting so as not to
+waste a minute; and while they talked of him, her needles clicked
+rapidly to and fro. Mrs. Wallace was lying in a long chair, coiled up in
+a serpentine, characteristic attitude; every movement wafted to him the
+oppressive perfume she wore; the smile on her lips, the caress of her
+eyes, were maddening. He loved her more even than he had imagined; his
+love was a fury, blind and destroying. He repeated to himself that he
+must fly, but the heaviness in his limbs chained him to her side; he had
+no will, no strength; he was a reed, bending to every word she spoke and
+to every look. Her fascination was not human, the calm, voluptuous look
+of her eyes was too cruel; and she was poised like a serpent about to
+spring.
+
+At last, however, James was obliged to take his leave.
+
+"I've stayed an unconscionable time."
+
+"Have you? I've not noticed it."
+
+Did she care for him? He took her hand to say good-bye, and the pressure
+sent the blood racing through his veins. He remembered vividly the
+passionate embrace of their last farewell. He thought then that he
+should never see her again, and it was Fate which had carried him to her
+feet. Oh, how he longed now to take her in his arms and to cover her
+soft mouth with his kisses!
+
+"What are you doing this evening?" she said.
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Would you like to take me to the Carlton? You remember you promised."
+
+"Oh, that is good of you! Of course I should like it!"
+
+At last he could not hide the fire in his heart, and the simple words
+were said so vehemently that Mrs. Wallace looked up in surprise. She
+withdrew the hand which he was still holding.
+
+"Very well. You may fetch me at a quarter to eight."
+
+* * *
+
+After taking Mrs. Wallace home, James paced the streets for an hour in a
+turmoil of wild excitement. They had dined at the Carlton expensively,
+as was her wish, and then, driving to the Empire, James had taken a box.
+Through the evening he had scarcely known how to maintain his calm, how
+to prevent himself from telling her all that was in his heart. After the
+misery he had gone through, he snatched at happiness with eager grasp,
+determined to enjoy to the full every single moment of it. He threw all
+scruples to the wind. He was sick and tired of holding himself in; he
+had checked himself too long, and now, at all hazards, must let himself
+go. Bridle and curb now were of no avail. He neither could nor would
+suppress his passion, though it devoured him like a raging fire. He
+thought his conscientiousness absurd. Why could he not, like other men,
+take the brief joy of life? Why could he not gather the roses without
+caring whether they would quickly fade? "Let me eat, drink, and be
+merry," he cried, "for to-morrow I die!"
+
+It was Wednesday, and on the Saturday he had promised to return to
+Little Primpton. But he put aside all thought of that, except as an
+incentive to make the most of his time. He had wrestled with temptation
+and been overcome, and he gloried in his defeat. He would make no
+further effort to stifle his love. His strength had finally deserted
+him, and he had no will to protect himself; he would give himself over
+entirely to his passion, and the future might bring what it would.
+
+"I'm a fool to torment myself!" he cried. "After all, what does anything
+matter but love?"
+
+Mrs. Wallace was engaged for the afternoon of the next day, but she had
+invited him to dine with her.
+
+"They feed you abominably at my place," she said, "but I'll do my best.
+And we shall be able to talk."
+
+Until then he would not live; and all sorts of wild, mad thoughts ran
+through his head.
+
+"Is there a greater fool on earth than the virtuous prig?" he muttered,
+savagely.
+
+He could not sleep, but tossed from side to side, thinking ever of the
+soft hands and the red lips that he so ardently wished to kiss. In the
+morning he sent to Half Moon Street a huge basket of flowers.
+
+* * *
+
+"It was good of you," said Mrs. Wallace, when he arrived, pointing to
+the roses scattered through the room. She wore three in her hair,
+trailing behind one ear in an exotic, charming fashion.
+
+"It's only you who could think of wearing them like that."
+
+"Do they make me look very barbaric?" She was flattered by the
+admiration in his eyes. "You certainly have improved since I saw you
+last."
+
+"Now, shall we stay here or go somewhere?" she asked after dinner, when
+they were smoking cigarettes.
+
+"Let us stay here."
+
+Mrs. Wallace began talking the old nonsense which, in days past, had
+delighted James; it enchanted him to hear her say, in the tone of voice
+he knew so well, just those things which he had a thousand times
+repeated to himself. He looked at her with a happy smile, his eyes fixed
+upon her, taking in every movement.
+
+"I don't believe you're listening to a word I'm saying!" she cried at
+last. "Why don't you answer?"
+
+"Go on. I like to see you talk. It's long since I've had the chance."
+
+"You spoke yesterday as though you hadn't missed me much."
+
+"I didn't mean it. You knew I didn't mean it."
+
+She smiled mockingly.
+
+"I thought it doubtful. If it had been true, you could hardly have said
+anything so impolite."
+
+"I've thought of you always. That's why I feel I know you so much better
+now. I don't change. What I felt once, I feel always."
+
+"I wonder what you mean by that?"
+
+"I mean that I love you as passionately as when last I saw you. Oh, I
+love you ten times more!"
+
+"And the girl with the bun and the strenuous look? You were engaged when
+I knew you last."
+
+James was silent for a moment.
+
+"I'm going to be married to her on the 10th of October," he said
+finally, in an expressionless voice.
+
+"You don't say that as if you were wildly enthusiastic."
+
+"Why did you remind me?" cried James. "I was so happy. Oh, I hate her!"
+
+"Then why on earth are you marrying her?"
+
+"I can't help it; I must. You've brought it all back. How could you be
+so cruel! When I came back from the Cape, I broke the engagement off. I
+made her utterly miserable, and I took all the pleasure out of my poor
+father's life. I knew I'd done right; I knew that unless I loved her it
+was madness to marry; I felt even that it was unclean. Oh, you don't
+know how I've argued it all out with myself time after time! I was
+anxious to do right, and I felt such a cad. I can't escape from my
+bringing-up. You can't imagine what are the chains that bind us in
+England. We're wrapped from our infancy in the swaddling-clothes of
+prejudice, ignorance, and false ideas; and when we grow up, though we
+know they're all absurd and horrible, we can't escape from them; they've
+become part of our very flesh. Then I grew ill--I nearly died; and Mary
+nursed me devotedly. I don't know what came over me, I felt so ill and
+weak. I was grateful to her. The old self seized me again, and I was
+ashamed of what I'd done. I wanted to make them all happy. I asked her
+again to marry me, and she said she would. I thought I could love her,
+but I can't--I can't, God help me!"
+
+Jamie's passion was growing uncontrollable. He walked up and down the
+room, and then threw himself heavily on a chair.
+
+"Oh, I know it was weakness! I used to pride myself on my strength of
+mind, but I'm weak. I'm weaker than a woman. I'm a poor
+reed--vacillating, uncertain, purposeless. I don't know my own mind. I
+haven't the courage to act according to my convictions. I'm afraid to
+give pain. They all think I'm brave, but I'm simply a pitiful
+coward...."
+
+"I feel that Mary has entrapped me, and I hate her. I know she has good
+qualities--heaps of them--but I can't see them. I only know that the
+mere touch of her hand curdles my blood. She excites absolute physical
+repulsion in me; I can't help it. I know it's madness to marry her, but
+I can't do anything else. I daren't inflict a second time the
+humiliation and misery upon her, or the unhappiness upon my people."
+
+Mrs. Wallace now was serious.
+
+"And do you really care for anyone else?"
+
+He turned savagely upon her.
+
+"You know I do. You know I love you with all my heart and soul. You know
+I've loved you passionately from the first day I saw you. Didn't you
+feel, even when we were separated, that my love was inextinguishable?
+Didn't you feel it always with you? Oh, my dear, my dear, you must have
+known that death was too weak to touch my love! I tried to crush it,
+because neither you nor I was free. Your husband was my friend. I
+couldn't do anything blackguardly. I ran away from you. What a fool you
+must have thought me! And now I know that at last we were both free, I
+might have made you love me. I had my chance of happiness at last; what
+I'd longed for, cursing myself for treachery, had come to pass. But I
+never knew. In my weakness I surrendered my freedom. O God! what shall I
+do?"
+
+He hid his face in his hands and groaned with agony. Mrs. Wallace was
+silent for a while.
+
+"I don't know if it will be any consolation for you," she said at last;
+"you're sure to know sooner or later, and I may as well tell you now.
+I'm engaged to be married."
+
+"What!" cried James, springing up. "It's not true; it's not true!"
+
+"Why not? Of course it's true!"
+
+"You can't--oh, my dearest, be kind to me!"
+
+"Don't be silly, there's a good boy! You're going to be married yourself
+in a month, and you really can't expect me to remain single because you
+fancy you care for me. I shouldn't have told you, only I thought it
+would make things easier for you."
+
+"You never cared two straws for me! I knew that. You needn't throw it in
+my face."
+
+"After all, I was a married woman."
+
+"I wonder how much you minded when you heard your husband was lying dead
+on the veldt?"
+
+"My dear boy, he wasn't; he died of fever at Durban--quite comfortably,
+in a bed."
+
+"Were you sorry?"
+
+"Of course I was! He was extremely satisfactory--and not at all
+exacting."
+
+James did not know why he asked the questions; they came to his lips
+unbidden. He was sick at heart, angry, contemptuous.
+
+"I'm going to marry a Mr. Bryant--but, of course, not immediately," she
+went on, occupied with her own thoughts, and pleased to talk of them.
+
+"What is he?"
+
+"Nothing! He's a landed proprietor." She said this with a certain pride.
+
+James looked at her scornfully; his love all through had been mingled
+with contrary elements; and trying to subdue it, he had often insisted
+upon the woman's vulgarity, and lack of taste, and snobbishness. He
+thought bitterly now that the daughter of the Portuguese and of the
+riding-master had done very well for herself.
+
+"Really, I think you're awfully unreasonable," she said. "You might make
+yourself pleasant."
+
+"I can't," he said, gravely. "Let me go away. You don't know what I've
+felt for you. In my madness, I fancied that you must realise my love; I
+thought even that you might care for me a little in return."
+
+"You're quite the nicest boy I've ever known. I like you immensely."
+
+"But you like the landed proprietor better. You're very wise. He can
+marry you. Good-bye!"
+
+"I don't want you to think I'm horrid," she said, going up to him and
+taking his arm. It was an instinct with her to caress people and make
+them fond of her. "After all, it's not my fault."
+
+"Have I blamed you? I'm sorry; I had no right to."
+
+"What are you going to do?"
+
+"I don't know--I can always shoot myself if things get unendurable.
+Thank God, there's always that refuge!"
+
+"Oh, I hope you won't do anything silly!"
+
+"It would be unlike me," James murmured, grimly. "I'm so dreadfully
+prosaic and matter-of-fact. Good-bye!"
+
+Mrs. Wallace was really sorry for James, and she took his hand
+affectionately. She always thought it cost so little to be amiable.
+
+"We may never meet again," she said; "but we shall still be friends,
+Jim."
+
+"Are you going to say that you'll be a sister to me, as Mary told the
+curate?"
+
+"Won't you kiss me before you go?"
+
+James shook his head, not trusting himself to answer. The light in his
+life had all gone; the ray of sunshine was hidden; the heavy clouds had
+closed in, and all the rest was darkness. But he tried to smile at Mrs.
+Wallace as he touched her hand; he hardly dared look at her again,
+knowing from old experience how every incident and every detail of her
+person would rise tormentingly before his recollection. But at last he
+pulled himself together.
+
+"I'm sorry I've made a fool of myself," he said, quietly. "I hope you'll
+be very happy. Please forget all I've said to you. It was only nonsense.
+Good-bye! I'll send you a bit of my wedding-cake."
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+
+James was again in Little Primpton, ill at ease and unhappy. The scene
+with Mrs. Wallace had broken his spirit, and he was listless now,
+indifferent to what happened; the world had lost its colour and the sun
+its light. In his quieter moments he had known that it was impossible
+for her to care anything about him; he understood her character fairly
+well, and realised that he had been only a toy, a pastime to a woman who
+needed admiration as the breath of her nostrils. But notwithstanding,
+some inner voice had whispered constantly that his love could not be
+altogether in vain; it seemed strong enough to travel the infinite
+distance to her heart and awaken at least a kindly feeling. He was
+humble, and wanted very little. Sometimes he had even felt sure that he
+was loved. The truth rent his heart, and filled it with bitterness; the
+woman who was his whole being had forgotten him, and the woman who loved
+him he hated.... He tried to read, striving to forget; but his trouble
+overpowered him, and he could think of nothing but the future, dreadful
+and inevitable. The days passed slowly, monotonously; and as each night
+came he shuddered at the thought that time was flying. He was drifting
+on without hope, tortured and uncertain.
+
+"Oh, I'm so weak," he cried; "I'm so weak!"
+
+He knew very well what he should do if he were strong of will. A firm
+man in his place would cut the knot brutally--a letter to Mary, a letter
+to his people, and flight. After all, why should he sacrifice his life
+for the sake of others? The catastrophe was only partly his fault; it
+was unreasonable that he alone should suffer.
+
+If his Colonel came to hear of the circumstance, and disapproving,
+questioned him, he could send in his papers. James was bored intensely
+by the dull routine of regimental life in time of peace; it was a
+question of performing day after day the same rather unnecessary duties,
+seeing the same people, listening to the same chatter, the same jokes,
+the same chaff. And added to the incurable dulness of the mess was the
+irksome feeling of being merely an overgrown schoolboy at the beck and
+call of every incompetent and foolish senior. Life was too short to
+waste in such solemn trifling, masquerading in a ridiculous costume
+which had to be left at home when any work was to be done. But he was
+young, with the world before him; there were many careers free to the
+man who had no fear of death. Africa opened her dusky arms to the
+adventurer, ruthless and desperate; the world was so large and manifold,
+there was ample scope for all his longing. If there were difficulties,
+he could overcome them; perils would add salt to the attempt, freedom
+would be like strong wine. Ah, that was what he desired,
+freedom--freedom to feel that he was his own master; that he was not
+enchained by the love and hate of others, by the ties of convention and
+of habit. Every bond was tedious. He had nothing to lose, and everything
+to win. But just those ties which every man may divide of his own free
+will are the most oppressive; they are unfelt, unseen, till suddenly
+they burn the wrists like fetters of fire, and the poor wretch who wears
+them has no power to help himself.
+
+James knew he had not strength for this fearless disregard of others; he
+dared not face the pain he would cause. He was acting like a fool; his
+kindness was only cowardly. But to be cruel required more courage than
+he possessed. If he went away, his anguish would never cease; his vivid
+imagination would keep before his mind's eye the humiliation of Mary,
+the unhappiness of his people. He pictured the consternation and the
+horror when they discovered what he had done. At first they would refuse
+to believe that he was capable of acting in so blackguardly a way; they
+would think it a joke, or that he was mad. And then the shame when they
+realised the truth! How could he make such a return for all the
+affection and the gentleness be had received? His father, whom he loved
+devotedly, would be utterly crushed.
+
+"It would kill him," muttered James.
+
+And then he thought of his poor mother, affectionate and kind, but
+capable of hating him if he acted contrary to her code of honour. Her
+immaculate virtue made her very hard; she exacted the highest from
+herself, and demanded no less from others. James remembered in his
+boyhood how she punished his petty crimes by refusing to speak to him,
+going about in cold and angry silence; he had never forgotten the icy
+indignation of her face when once she had caught him lying. Oh, these
+good people, how pitiless they can be!
+
+He would never have courage to confront the unknown dangers of a new
+life, unloved, unknown, unfriended. He was too merciful; his heart bled
+at the pain of others, he was constantly afraid of soiling his hands. It
+required a more unscrupulous man than he to cut all ties, and push out
+into the world with no weapons but intelligence and a ruthless heart.
+Above all, he dreaded his remorse. He knew that he would brood over what
+he had done till it attained the proportions of a monomania; his
+conscience would never give him peace. So long as he lived, the claims
+of Mary would call to him, and in the furthermost parts of the earth he
+would see her silent agony. James knew himself too well.
+
+And the only solution was that which, in a moment of passionate
+bitterness, had come thoughtlessly to his lips:
+
+"I can always shoot myself."
+
+"I hope you won't do anything silly," Mrs. Wallace had answered.
+
+It would be silly. After all, one has only one life. But sometimes one
+has to do silly things.
+
+* * *
+
+The whim seized James to visit the Larchers, and one day he set out for
+Ashford, near which they lived.... He was very modest about his attempt
+to save their boy, and told himself that such courage as it required was
+purely instinctive. He had gone back without realising in the least that
+there was any danger. Seeing young Larcher wounded and helpless, it had
+seemed the obvious thing to get him to a place of safety. In the heat of
+action fellows were constantly doing reckless things. Everyone had a
+sort of idea that he, at least, would not be hit; and James, by no means
+oppressed with his own heroism, knew that courageous deeds without
+number were performed and passed unseen. It was a mere chance that the
+incident in which he took part was noticed.
+
+Again, he had from the beginning an absolute conviction that his
+interference was nothing less than disastrous. Probably the Boer
+sharpshooters would have let alone the wounded man, and afterwards their
+doctors would have picked him up and properly attended to him.
+
+James could not forget that it was in his very arms that Larcher had
+been killed, and he repeated: "If I had minded my own business, he might
+have been alive to this day." It occurred to him also that with his
+experience he was much more useful than the callow, ignorant boy, so
+that to risk his more valuable life to save the other's, from the point
+of view of the general good, was foolish rather than praiseworthy. But
+it appealed to his sense of irony to receive the honour which he was so
+little conscious of deserving.
+
+The Larchers had been anxious to meet James, and he was curious to know
+what they were like. There was at the back of his mind also a desire to
+see how they conducted themselves, whether they were still prostrate
+with grief or reconciled to the inevitable. Reggie had been an only
+son--just as he was. James sent no message, but arrived unexpectedly,
+and found that they lived some way from the station, in a new, red-brick
+villa. As he walked to the front door, he saw people playing tennis at
+the side of the house.
+
+He asked if Mrs. Larcher was at home, and, being shown into the
+drawing-room the lady came to him from the tennis-lawn. He explained who
+he was.
+
+"Of course, I know quite well," she said. "I saw your portrait in the
+illustrated papers."
+
+She shook hands cordially, but James fancied she tried to conceal a
+slight look of annoyance. He saw his visit was inopportune.
+
+"We're having a little tennis-party," she said, "It seems a pity to
+waste the fine weather, doesn't it?"
+
+A shout of laughter came from the lawn, and a number of voices were
+heard talking loudly. Mrs. Larcher glanced towards them uneasily; she
+felt that James would expect them to be deeply mourning for the dead
+son, and it was a little incongruous that on his first visit he should
+find the whole family so boisterously gay.
+
+"Shall we go out to them?" said Mrs. Larcher. "We're just going to have
+tea, and I'm sure you must be dying for some. If you'd let us know you
+were coming we should have sent to meet you."
+
+James had divined that if he came at a fixed hour they would all have
+tuned their minds to a certain key, and he would see nothing of their
+natural state.
+
+They went to the lawn, and James was introduced to a pair of buxom,
+healthy-looking girls, panting a little after their violent exercise.
+They were dressed in white, in a rather masculine fashion, and the only
+sign of mourning was the black tie that each wore in a sailor's knot.
+They shook hands vigorously (it was a family trait), and then seemed at
+a loss for conversation; James, as was his way, did not help them, and
+they plunged at last into a discussion about the weather and the
+dustiness of the road from Ashford to their house.
+
+Presently a loose-limbed young man strolled up, and was presented to
+James. He appeared on friendly terms with the two girls, who called him
+Bobbikins.
+
+"How long have you been back?" he asked. "I was out in the Imperial
+Yeomanry--only I got fever and had to come home."
+
+James stiffened himself a little, with the instinctive dislike of the
+regular for the volunteer.
+
+"Oh, yes! Did you go as a trooper?"
+
+"Yes; and pretty rough it was, I can tell you."
+
+He began to talk of his experience in a resonant voice, apparently
+well-pleased with himself, while the red-faced girls looked at him
+admiringly. James wondered whether the youth intended to marry them
+both.
+
+The conversation was broken by the appearance of Mr. Larcher, a
+rosy-cheeked and be-whiskered man, dapper and suave. He had been picking
+flowers, and handed a bouquet to one of his guests. James fancied he was
+a prosperous merchant, who had retired and set up as a country
+gentleman; but if he was the least polished of the family, he was also
+the most simple. He greeted the visitor very heartily, and offered to
+take him over his new conservatory.
+
+"My husband takes everyone to the new conservatory," said Mrs. Larcher,
+laughing apologetically.
+
+"It's the biggest round Ashford," explained the worthy man.
+
+James, thinking he wished to talk of his son, consented, and as they
+walked away, Mr. Larcher pointed out his fruit trees, his pigeons. He
+was a fancier, said he, and attended to the birds entirely himself; then
+in the conservatory, made James admire his orchids and the luxuriance of
+his maidenhair.
+
+"I suppose these sort of things grow in the open air at the Cape?" he
+asked.
+
+"I believe everything grows there."
+
+Of his son he said absolutely nothing, and presently they rejoined the
+others. The Larchers were evidently estimable persons, healthy-minded
+and normal, but a little common. James asked himself why they had
+invited him if they wished to hear nothing of their boy's tragic death.
+Could they be so anxious to forget him that every reference was
+distasteful? He wondered how Reggie had managed to grow up so simple,
+frank, and charming amid these surroundings. There was a certain
+pretentiousness about his people which caused them to escape complete
+vulgarity only by a hair's-breadth. But they appeared anxious to make
+much of James, and in his absence had explained who he was to the
+remaining visitors, and these beheld him now with an awe which the hero
+found rather comic.
+
+Mrs. Larcher invited him to play tennis, and when he declined seemed
+hardly to know what to do with him. Once when her younger daughter
+laughed more loudly than usual at the very pointed chaff of the Imperial
+Yeoman, she slightly frowned at her, with a scarcely perceptible but
+significant glance in Jamie's direction. To her relief, however, the
+conversation became general, and James found himself talking with Miss
+Larcher of the cricket week at Canterbury.
+
+After all, he could not be surprised at the family's general happiness.
+Six months had passed since Reggie's death, and they could not remain
+in perpetual mourning. It was very natural that the living should forget
+the dead, otherwise life would be too horrible; and it was possibly only
+the Larchers' nature to laugh and to talk more loudly than most people.
+James saw that it was a united, affectionate household, homely and kind,
+cursed with no particular depth of feeling; and if they had not resigned
+themselves to the boy's death, they were doing their best to forget that
+he had ever lived. It was obviously the best thing, and it would be
+cruel--too cruel--to expect people never to regain their cheerfulness.
+
+"I think I must be off," said James, after a while; "the trains run so
+awkwardly to Tunbridge Wells."
+
+They made polite efforts to detain him, but James fancied they were not
+sorry for him to go.
+
+"You must come and see us another day when we're alone," said Mrs.
+Larcher. "We want to have a long talk with you."
+
+"It's very kind of you to ask me," he replied, not committing himself.
+
+Mrs. Larcher accompanied him back to the drawing-room, followed by her
+husband.
+
+"I thought you might like a photograph of Reggie," she said.
+
+This was her first mention of the dead son, and her voice neither shook
+nor had in it any unwonted expression.
+
+"I should like it very much."
+
+It was on Jamie's tongue to say how fond he had been of the boy, and how
+he regretted his sad end; but he restrained himself, thinking if the
+wounds of grief were closed, it was cruel and unnecessary to reopen
+them.
+
+Mrs. Larcher found the photograph and gave it to James. Her husband
+stood by, saying nothing.
+
+"I think that's the best we have of him."
+
+She shook hands, and then evidently nerved herself to say something
+further.
+
+"We're very grateful to you, Captain Parsons, for what you did. And
+we're glad they gave you the Victoria Cross."
+
+"I suppose you didn't bring it to-day?" inquired Mr. Larcher.
+
+"I'm afraid not."
+
+They showed him out of the front door.
+
+"Mind you come and see us again. But let us know beforehand, if you
+possibly can."
+
+* * *
+
+Shortly afterwards James received from the Larchers a golden
+cigarette-case, with a Victoria Cross in diamonds on one side and an
+inscription on the other. It was much too magnificent for use,
+evidently expensive, and not in very good taste.
+
+"I wonder whether they take that as equal in value to their son?" said
+James.
+
+Mary was rather dazzled.
+
+"Isn't it beautiful!" she cried, "Of course, it's too valuable to use;
+but it'll do to put in our drawing-room."
+
+"Don't you think it should be kept under a glass case?" asked James,
+with his grave smile.
+
+"It'll get so dirty if we leave it out, won't it?" replied Mary,
+seriously.
+
+"I wish there were no inscription. It won't fetch so much if we get
+hard-up and have to pop our jewels."
+
+"Oh, James," cried Mary, shocked, "you surely wouldn't do a thing like
+that!"
+
+James was pleased to have seen the Larchers. It satisfied and relieved
+him to know that human sorrow was not beyond human endurance: as the
+greatest of their gifts, the gods have vouchsafed to man a happy
+forgetfulness.
+
+In six months the boy's family were able to give parties, to laugh and
+jest as if they had suffered no loss at all; and the thought of this
+cleared his way a little. If the worst came to the worst--and that
+desperate step of which he had spoken seemed his only refuge--he could
+take it with less apprehension. Pain to those he loved was inevitable,
+but it would not last very long; and his death would trouble them far
+less than his dishonour.
+
+Time was pressing, and James still hesitated, hoping distractedly for
+some unforeseen occurrence that would at least delay the marriage. The
+House of Death was dark and terrible, and he could not walk rashly to
+its dreadful gates: something would surely happen! He wanted time to
+think--time to see whether there was really no escape. How horrible it
+was that one could know nothing for certain! He was torn and rent by his
+indecision.
+
+Major Forsyth had been put off by several duchesses, and was driven to
+spend a few economical weeks at Little Primpton; he announced that since
+Jamie's wedding was so near he would stay till it was over. Finding also
+that his nephew had not thought of a best man, he offered himself; he
+had acted as such many times--at the most genteel functions; and with a
+pleasant confusion of metaphor, assured James that he knew the ropes
+right down to the ground.
+
+"Three weeks to-day, my boy!" he said heartily to James one morning, on
+coming down to breakfast.
+
+"Is it?" replied James.
+
+"Getting excited?"
+
+"Wildly!"
+
+"Upon my word, Jamie, you're the coolest lover I've ever seen. Why, I've
+hardly known how to keep in some of the fellows I've been best man to."
+
+"I'm feeling a bit seedy to-day, Uncle William."
+
+James thanked his stars that ill-health was deemed sufficient excuse for
+all his moodiness. Mary spared him the rounds among her sick and needy,
+whom, notwithstanding the approaching event, she would on no account
+neglect. She told Uncle William he was not to worry her lover, but leave
+him quietly with his books; and no one interfered when he took long,
+solitary walks in the country. Jamie's reading now was a pretence; his
+brain was too confused, he was too harassed and uncertain to understand
+a word; and he spent his time face to face with the eternal problem,
+trying to see a way out, when before him was an impassable wall, still
+hoping blindly that something would happen, some catastrophe which
+should finish at once all his perplexities, and everything else
+besides.
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+
+In solitary walks James had found his only consolation. He knew even in
+that populous district unfrequented parts where he could wander without
+fear of interruption. Among the trees and the flowers, in the broad
+meadows, he forgot himself; and, his senses sharpened by long absence,
+he learnt for the first time the exquisite charm of English country. He
+loved the spring, with its yellow, countless buttercups, spread over the
+green fields like a cloth of gold, whereon might fitly walk the angels
+of Messer Perugino. The colours were so delicate that one could not
+believe it possible for paints and paint-brush to reproduce them; the
+atmosphere visibly surrounded things, softening their outlines.
+Sometimes from a hill higher than the rest James looked down at the
+plain, bathed in golden sunlight. The fields of corn, the fields of
+clover, the roads and the rivulets, formed themselves in that flood of
+light into an harmonious pattern, luminous and ethereal. A pleasant
+reverie filled his mind, unanalysable, a waking dream of
+half-voluptuous sensation.
+
+On the other side of the common, James knew a wood of tall fir trees,
+dark and ragged, their sombre green veiled in a silvery mist, as though,
+like a chill vapour, the hoar-frost of a hundred winters still lingered
+among their branches. At the edge of the hill, up which they climbed in
+serried hundreds, stood here and there an oak tree, just bursting into
+leaf, clothed with its new-born verdure, like the bride of the young
+god, Spring. And the ever-lasting youth of the oak trees contrasted
+wonderfully with the undying age of the firs. Then later, in the height
+of the summer, James found the pine wood cool and silent, fitting his
+humour. It was like the forest of life, the grey and sombre labyrinth
+where wandered the poet of Hell and Death. The tall trees rose straight
+and slender, like the barren masts of sailing ships; the gentle aromatic
+odour, the light subdued; the purple mist, so faint as to be scarcely
+discernible, a mere tinge of warmth in the day--all gave him an
+exquisite sense of rest. Here he could forget his trouble, and give
+himself over to the love which seemed his real life; here the
+recollection of Mrs. Wallace gained flesh and blood, seeming so real
+that he almost stretched out his arms to seize her.... His footfall on
+the brown needles was noiseless, and the tread was soft and easy; the
+odours filled him like an Eastern drug with drowsy intoxication.
+
+But all that now was gone. When, unbidden, the well-known laugh rang
+again in his ears, or he felt on his hands the touch of the slender
+fingers, James turned away with a gesture of distaste. Now Mrs. Wallace
+brought him only bitterness, and he tortured himself insanely trying to
+forget her.... With tenfold force the sensation returned which had so
+terribly oppressed him before his illness; he felt that Nature had
+become intolerably monotonous; the circumscribed, prim country was
+horrible. On every inch of it the hand of man was apparent. It was a
+prison, and his hands and feet were chained with heavy iron.... The
+dark, immovable clouds were piled upon one another in giant masses--so
+distinct and sharply cut, so rounded, that one almost saw the impressure
+of the fingers of some Titanic sculptor; and they hung low down,
+overwhelming, so that James could scarcely breathe. The sombre elms were
+too well-ordered, the meadows too carefully tended. All round, the hills
+were dark and drear; and that very fertility, that fat Kentish
+luxuriance, added to the oppression. It was a task impossible to escape
+from that iron circle. All power of flight abandoned him. Oh! he loathed
+it!
+
+The past centuries of people, living in a certain way, with certain
+standards, influenced by certain emotions, were too strong for him.
+James was like a foolish bird--a bird born in a cage, without power to
+attain its freedom. His lust for a free life was futile; he acknowledged
+with cruel self-contempt that he was weaker than a woman--ineffectual.
+He could not lead the life of his little circle, purposeless and untrue;
+and yet he had not power to lead a life of his own. Uncertain,
+vacillating, torn between the old and the new, his reason led him; his
+conscience drew him back. But the ties of his birth and ancestry were
+too strong; he had not the energy even of the poor tramp, who carries
+with him his whole fortune, and leaves in the lap of the gods the
+uncertain future. James envied with all his heart the beggar boy,
+wandering homeless and penniless, but free. He, at least, had not these
+inhuman fetters which it was death to suffer and death to cast off; he,
+indeed, could make the world his servant. Freedom, freedom! If one were
+only unconscious of captivity, what would it matter? It is the knowledge
+that kills. And James walked again by the neat, iron railing which
+enclosed the fields, his head aching with the rigidity and decorum,
+wishing vainly for just one piece of barren, unkept land to remind him
+that all the world was not a prison.
+
+Already the autumn had come. The rich, mouldering colours were like an
+air melancholy with the approach of inevitable death; but in those
+passionate tints, in the red and gold of the apples, in the many tones
+of the first-fallen leaves, there was still something which forbade one
+to forget that in the death and decay of Nature there was always the
+beginning of other life. Yet to James the autumn heralded death, with no
+consoling afterthought. He had nothing to live for since he knew that
+Mrs. Wallace could never love him. His love for her had borne him up and
+sustained him; but now it was hateful and despicable. After all, his
+life was his own to do what he liked with; the love of others had no
+right to claim his self-respect. If he had duties to them, he had duties
+to himself also; and more vehemently than ever James felt that such a
+union as was before him could only be a degradation. He repeated with
+new emotion that marriage without love was prostitution. If death was
+the only way in which he could keep clean that body ignorantly despised,
+why, he was not afraid of death! He had seen it too often for the
+thought to excite alarm. It was but a common, mechanical process,
+quickly finished, and not more painful than could be borne. The flesh is
+all which is certainly immortal; the dissolution of consciousness is the
+signal of new birth. Out of corruption springs fresh life, like the
+roses from a Roman tomb; and the body, one with the earth, pursues the
+eternal round.
+
+But one day James told himself impatiently that all these thoughts were
+mad and foolish; he could only have them because he was still out of
+health. Life, after all, was the most precious thing in the world. It
+was absurd to throw it away like a broken toy. He rebelled against the
+fate which seemed forcing itself upon him. He determined to make the
+effort and, come what might, break the hateful bonds. It only required a
+little courage, a little strength of mind. If others suffered, he had
+suffered too. The sacrifice they demanded was too great.... But when he
+returned to Primpton House, the inevitability of it all forced itself
+once again upon him. He shrugged his shoulders despairingly; it was no
+good.
+
+The whole atmosphere oppressed him so that he felt powerless; some
+hidden influence surrounded James, sucking from his blood, as it were,
+all manliness, dulling his brain. He became a mere puppet, acting in
+accordance to principles that were not his own, automatic, will-less.
+His father sat, as ever, in the dining-room by the fire, for only in the
+warmest weather could he do without artificial heat, and he read the
+paper, sometimes aloud, making little comments. His mother, at the
+table, on a stiff-backed chair, was knitting--everlastingly knitting.
+Outwardly there was in them a placid content, and a gentleness which
+made them seem pliant as wax; but really they were iron. James knew at
+last how pitiless was their love, how inhumanly cruel their intolerance;
+and of the two his father seemed more implacable, more horribly
+relentless. His mother's anger was bearable, but the Colonel's very
+weakness was a deadly weapon. His despair, his dumb sorrow, his entire
+dependence on the forbearance of others, were more tyrannical than the
+most despotic power. James was indeed a bird beating himself against the
+imprisoning cage; and its bars were loving-kindness and trust, tears,
+silent distress, bitter disillusion, and old age.
+
+"Where's Mary?" asked James.
+
+"She's in the garden, walking with Uncle William."
+
+"How well they get on together," said the Colonel, smiling.
+
+James looked at his father, and thought he had never seen him so old and
+feeble. His hands were almost transparent; his thin white hair, his
+bowed shoulders, gave an impression of utter weakness.
+
+"Are you very glad the wedding is so near, father?" asked James, placing
+his hand gently on the old man's shoulder.
+
+"I should think I was."
+
+"You want to get rid of me so badly?"
+
+"'A man shall leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his
+wife; and they shall be one flesh.' We shall have to do without you."
+
+"I wonder whether you are fonder of Mary than of me?"
+
+The Colonel did not answer, but Mrs. Parsons laughed.
+
+"My impression is that your father has grown so devoted to Mary that he
+hardly thinks you worthy of her."
+
+"Really? And yet you want me to marry her, don't you, daddy?"
+
+"It's the wish of my heart."
+
+"Were you very wretched when our engagement was broken off?"
+
+"Don't talk of it! Now it's all settled, Jamie, I can tell you that I'd
+sooner see you dead at my feet than that you should break your word to
+Mary."
+
+James laughed.
+
+"And you, mother?" he asked, lightly.
+
+She did not answer, but looked at him earnestly.
+
+"What, you too? Would you rather see me dead than not married to Mary?
+What a bloodthirsty pair you are!"
+
+James, laughing, spoke so gaily, it never dawned on them that his words
+meant more than was obvious; and yet he felt that they, loving but
+implacable, had signed his death-warrant. With smiling faces they had
+thrown open the portals of that House, and he, smiling, was ready to
+enter.
+
+Mary at that moment came in, followed by Uncle William.
+
+"Well, Jamie, there you are!" she cried, in that hard, metallic voice
+which to James betrayed so obviously the meanness of her spirit and her
+self-complacency. "Where on earth have you been?"
+
+She stood by the table, straight, uncompromising, self-reliant; by her
+immaculate virtue, by the strength of her narrow will, she completely
+domineered the others. She felt herself capable of managing them all,
+and, in fact, had been giving Uncle William a friendly little lecture
+upon some action of which she disapproved. Mary had left off her summer
+things and wore again the plain serge skirt, and because it was rainy,
+the battered straw hat of the preceding winter. She was using up her old
+things, and having got all possible wear out of them, intended on the
+day before her marriage generously to distribute them among the poor.
+
+"Is my face very red?" she asked. "There's a lot of wind to-day."
+
+To James she had never seemed more unfeminine; that physical repulsion
+which at first had terrified him now was grown into an ungovernable
+hate. Everything Mary did irritated and exasperated him; he wondered she
+did not see the hatred in his eyes as he looked at her, answering her
+question.
+
+"Oh, no," he said to himself, "I would rather shoot myself than marry
+you!"
+
+His dislike was unreasonable, but he could not help it; and the devotion
+of his parents made him detest her all the more; he could not imagine
+what they saw in her. With hostile glance he watched her movements as
+she took off her hat and arranged her hair, grimly drawn back and
+excessively neat; she fetched her knitting from Mrs. Parsons's
+work-basket and sat down. All her actions had in them an insufferable
+air of patronage, and she seemed more than usually pleased with herself.
+James had an insane desire to hurt her, to ruffle that
+self-satisfaction; and he wanted to say something that should wound her
+to the quick. And all the time he laughed and jested as though he were
+in the highest spirits.
+
+"And what were you doing this morning, Mary?" asked Colonel Parsons.
+
+"Oh, I biked in to Tunbridge Wells with Mr. Dryland to play golf. He
+plays a rattling good game."
+
+"Did he beat you?"
+
+"Well, no," she answered, modestly. "It so happened that I beat him. But
+he took his thrashing remarkably well--some men get so angry when
+they're beaten by a girl."
+
+"The curate has many virtues," said James.
+
+"He was talking about you, Jamie. He said he thought you disliked him;
+but I told him I was certain you didn't. He's really such a good man,
+one can't help liking him. He said he'd like to teach you golf."
+
+"And is he going to?"
+
+"Certainly not. I mean to do that myself."
+
+"There are many things you want to teach me, Mary. You'll have your
+hands full."
+
+"Oh, by the way, father told me to remind you and Uncle William that you
+were shooting with him the day after to-morrow. You're to fetch him at
+ten."
+
+"I hadn't forgotten," replied James. "Uncle William, we shall have to
+clean our guns to-morrow."
+
+James had come to a decision at last, and meant to waste no time;
+indeed, there was none to waste. And to remind him how near was the date
+fixed for the wedding were the preparations almost complete. One or two
+presents had already arrived. With all his heart he thanked his father
+and mother for having made the way easier for him. He thought what he
+was about to do the kindest thing both to them and to Mary. Under no
+circumstances could he marry her; that would be adding a greater lie to
+those which he had already been forced into, and the misery was more
+than he could bear. But his death was the only other way of satisfying
+her undoubted claims. He had little doubt that in six months he would be
+as well forgotten as poor Reggie Larcher, and he did not care; he was
+sick of the whole business, and wanted the quiet of death. His love for
+Mrs. Wallace would never give him peace upon earth; it was utterly
+futile, and yet unconquerable.
+
+James saw his opportunity in Colonel Clibborn's invitation to shoot; he
+was most anxious to make the affair seem accidental, and that, in
+cleaning his gun, was easy. He had been wounded before and knew that the
+pain was not very great. He had, therefore, nothing to fear.
+
+Now at last he regained his spirits. He did not read or walk, but spent
+the day talking with his father; he wished the last impression he would
+leave to be as charming as possible, and took great pains to appear at
+his best.
+
+He slept well that night, and in the morning dressed himself with
+unusual care. At Primpton House they breakfasted at eight, and
+afterwards James smoked his pipe, reading the newspaper. He was a little
+astonished at his calm, for doubt no longer assailed him, and the
+indecision which paralysed all his faculties had disappeared.
+
+"It is the beginning of my freedom," he thought. All human interests had
+abandoned him, except a vague sensation of amusement. He saw the humour
+of the comedy he was acting, and dispassionately approved himself,
+because he did not give way to histrionics.
+
+"Well, Uncle William," he said, at last, "what d'you say to setting to
+work on our guns?"
+
+"I'm always ready for everything," said Major Forsyth.
+
+"Come on, then."
+
+They went into what they called the harness-room, and James began
+carefully to clean his gun.
+
+"I think I'll take my coat off," he said; "I can work better without."
+
+The gun had not been used for several months, and James had a good deal
+to do. He leant over and rubbed a little rust off the lock.
+
+"Upon my word," said Uncle William, "I've never seen anyone handle a gun
+so carelessly as you. D'you call yourself a soldier?"
+
+"I am a bit slack," replied James, laughing. "People are always telling
+me that."
+
+"Well, take care, for goodness' sake! It may be loaded."
+
+"Oh, no, there's no danger. It's not loaded, and besides, it's locked."
+
+"Still, you oughtn't to hold it like that."
+
+"It would be rather comic if I killed myself accidentally. I wonder what
+Mary would say?"
+
+"Well, you've escaped death so often by the skin of your teeth, I think
+you're pretty safe from everything but old age."
+
+Presently James turned to his uncle.
+
+"I say, this is rotten oil. I wish we could get some fresh."
+
+"I was just thinking that."
+
+"Well, you're a pal of the cook. Go and ask her for some, there's a good
+chap."
+
+"She'll do anything for me," said Major Forsyth, with a self-satisfied
+smile. It was his opinion that no woman, countess or scullery-maid,
+could resist his fascinations; and taking the cup, he trotted off.
+
+James immediately went to the cupboard and took out a cartridge. He
+slipped it in, rested the butt on the ground, pointed the barrel to his
+heart, and--fired!
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+A letter from Mrs. Clibborn to General Sir Charles Clow, K.C.B., 8
+Gladhorn Terrace, Bath:
+
+     "DEAR CHARLES,--I am so glad to hear you are settled in your new
+     house in Bath, and it is _most_ kind to ask us down. I am devoted
+     to Bath; one meets such _nice_ people there, and all one's friends
+     whom one knew centuries ago. It is such a comfort to see how
+     fearfully old they're looking! I don't know whether we can manage
+     to accept your kind invitation, but I must say I should be glad of
+     a change after the truly _awful_ things that have happened here. I
+     have been dreadfully upset all the winter, and have had several
+     touches of rheumatism, which is a thing I never suffered from
+     before.
+
+     "I wrote and told you of the sudden and _mysterious_ death of poor
+     James Parsons, a fortnight before he was going to marry my dear
+     Mary. He shot himself accidentally while cleaning a gun--that is to
+     say, every one _thinks_ it was an accident. But I am certain it
+     was nothing of the kind. Ever since the dreadful thing
+     happened--six months ago--it has been on my conscience, and I
+     assure you that the whole time I have not slept a wink. My
+     sufferings have been _horrible_! You will be surprised at the
+     change in me; I am beginning to look like an _old_ woman. I tell
+     you this in strict confidence. _I believe he committed suicide._ He
+     confessed that he loved me, Charles. Of course, I told him I was
+     old enough to be his mother; but love is blind. When I think of the
+     tragic end of poor Algy Turner, who poisoned himself in India for
+     my sake, I don't know how I shall ever forgive myself. I never gave
+     James the least encouragement, and when he said that he loved me, I
+     was so taken aback that I _nearly fainted_. I am convinced that he
+     shot himself rather than marry a woman he did not love, and what is
+     more, _my_ daughter. You can imagine my feelings! I have taken care
+     not to breathe a word of this to Reginald, whose gout is making him
+     more irritable every day, or to anyone else. So no one suspects the
+     truth.
+
+     "But I shall never get over it. I could not bear to think of poor
+     Algy Turner, and now I have on my head as well the blood of James
+     Parsons. They were dear boys, both of them. I think I am the only
+     one who is really sorry for him. If it had been my son who was
+     killed I should either have gone _raving mad_ or had hysterics for
+     a week; but Mrs. Parsons merely said: 'The Lord has given, and the
+     Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.' I cannot
+     help thinking it was rather profane, and _most_ unfeeling. _I_ was
+     dreadfully upset, and Mary had to sit up with me for several
+     nights. I don't believe Mary really loved him. I hate to say
+     anything against my own daughter, but I feel bound to tell the
+     truth, and my private opinion is that she loved _herself_ better.
+     She loved her constancy and the good opinion of Little Primpton;
+     the fuss the Parsons have made of her I'm sure is very bad for
+     anyone. It can't be good for a girl to be given way to so much; and
+     I never really liked the Parsons. They're very good people, of
+     course; but only infantry!
+
+     "I am happy to say that poor Jamie's death was almost
+     instantaneous. When they found him he said: 'It was an accident; I
+     didn't know the gun was loaded.' (_Most improbable_, I think. It's
+     wonderful how they've all been taken in; but then they didn't know
+     his secret!) A few minutes later, just before he died, he said:
+     'Tell Mary she's to marry the curate.'
+
+     "If my betrothed had died, _nothing_ would have induced me to marry
+     anybody else. I would have remained an _old maid_. But so few
+     people have any really _nice_ feeling! Mr. Dryland, the curate,
+     had already proposed to Mary, and she had refused him. He is a
+     pleasant-spoken young man, with a rather fine presence--not _my_
+     ideal at all; but that, of course, doesn't matter! Well, a month
+     after the funeral, Mary told me that he had asked her again, and
+     she had declined. I think it was very bad taste on his part, but
+     Mary said she thought it _most noble_.
+
+     "It appears that Colonel and Mrs. Parsons both pressed her very
+     much to accept the curate. They said it was Jamie's dying wish, and
+     that his last thought had been for her happiness. There is no doubt
+     that Mr. Dryland is an excellent young man, but if the Parsons had
+     _really_ loved their son, they would never have advised Mary to get
+     married. I think it was most _heartless_.
+
+     "Well, a few days ago, Mr. Dryland came and told us that he had
+     been appointed vicar of Stone Fairley, in Kent. I went to see Mrs.
+     Jackson, the wife of our Vicar, and she looked it out in the clergy
+     list. The stipend is £300 a year, and I am told that there is a
+     good house. Of course, it's not very much, but better than nothing.
+     This morning Mr. Dryland called and asked for a private interview
+     with Mary. He said he must, of course, leave Little Primpton, and
+     his vicarage would sadly want a mistress; and finally, for the
+     third time, _begged_ her on his _bended knees_ to marry her. He had
+     previously been to the Parsons, and the Colonel sent for Mary, and
+     told her that he hoped she would not refuse Mr. Dryland for their
+     sake, and that they thought it was her duty to marry. The result is
+     that Mary accepted him, and is to be married very quietly by
+     special license in a month. The widow of the late incumbent of
+     Stone Fairley moves out in six weeks, so this will give them time
+     for a fortnight's honeymoon before settling down. They think of
+     spending it in Paris.
+
+     "I think, on the whole, it is as good a match as poor Mary could
+     _expect to make_. The stipend is paid by the Ecclesiastical
+     Commissioners, which, of course, is much safer than glebe. She is
+     no longer a young girl, and I think it was her last chance.
+     Although she is my own daughter, I cannot help confessing that she
+     is not the sort of girl that wears well; she has always been
+     _plain_--(no one would think she was my daughter)--and as time goes
+     on, she will grow _plainer_. When I was eighteen my mother's maid
+     used to say: 'Why, miss, there's many a married woman of thirty who
+     would be proud to have your bust.' But our poor, _dear_ Mary has
+     _no figure_. She will do excellently for the wife of a country
+     vicar. She's so fond of giving people advice, and of looking after
+     the poor, and it won't matter that she's dowdy. She has no idea of
+     dressing herself, although I've always done my best for her.
+
+     "Mr. Dryland is, of course, in the seventh heaven of delight. He
+     has gone into Tunbridge Wells to get a ring, and as an engagement
+     present has just sent round a complete edition of the works of Mr.
+     Hall Caine. He is evidently _generous_. I think they will suit one
+     another very well, and I am glad to get my only daughter married.
+     She was always rather a tie on Reginald and me. We are so devoted
+     to one another that a third person has often seemed a little in the
+     way. Although you would not believe it, and we have been married
+     for nearly thirty years, nothing gives us more happiness than to
+     sit holding one another's hands. I have always been sentimental,
+     and I am not ashamed to own it. Reggie is sometimes afraid that I
+     shall get an attack of my rheumatism when we sit out together at
+     night; but I always take care to wrap myself up well, and I
+     invariably make him put a muffler on.
+
+     "Give my kindest regards to your wife, and tell her I hope to see
+     her soon.--Yours very sincerely,
+
+"CLARA DE TULLEVILLE CLIBBORN."
+
+
+
+THE END
+
+_Printed by Cowan & Co., Limited, Perth._
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hero, by William Somerset Maugham
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+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Hero, by William Somerset Maugham.
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css">
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hero, by William Somerset Maugham
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Hero
+
+Author: William Somerset Maugham
+
+Release Date: October 27, 2008 [EBook #27063]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HERO ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
+produced from scanned images of public domain material
+from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<h1>THE HERO</h1>
+
+
+<p class="c">
+<br />
+BY<br /></p>
+
+<h2>WILLIAM SOMERSET MAUGHAM</h2>
+
+<p class="c smcap">author of<br />
+"liza of lambeth," "the making of a saint," "orientations"</p>
+
+<p class="c top15">London . . . . .<br />
+HUTCHINSON &amp; CO.<br />
+Paternoster Row. 1901<br />
+</p>
+
+<div class="poemb">
+<p class="poem">
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Rule, Britannia!</span><br />
+Britannia, rule the waves;<br />
+Britons never will be slaves."<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 6em;"><i>"Alfred": a Masque. By James Thomson.</i></span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+"O Sophonisba, Sophonisba, O!"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>"Sophonisba": a Tragedy. By the same Author.</i></span><br />
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poembb">
+<p class="c">
+To<br />
+<br />
+MISS JULIA MAUGHAM<br />
+</p></div>
+
+
+
+<table summary="toc">
+<tr><td><a href="#I"><b>I, </b></a>
+<a href="#II"><b>II, </b></a>
+<a href="#III"><b>III, </b></a>
+<a href="#IV"><b>IV, </b></a>
+<a href="#V"><b>V, </b></a>
+<a href="#VI"><b>VI, </b></a>
+<a href="#VII"><b>VII, </b></a>
+<a href="#VIII"><b>VIII, </b></a>
+<a href="#IX"><b>IX, </b></a>
+<a href="#X"><b>X, </b></a>
+<a href="#XI"><b>XI, </b></a>
+<a href="#XII"><b>XII, </b></a>
+<a href="#XIII"><b>XIII, </b></a>
+<a href="#XIV"><b>XIV, </b></a>
+<a href="#XV"><b>XV, </b></a>
+<a href="#XVI"><b>XVI, </b></a>
+<a href="#XVII"><b>XVII, </b></a>
+<a href="#XVIII"><b>XVIII, </b></a>
+<a href="#XIX"><b>XIX, </b></a>
+<a href="#XX"><b>XX, </b></a>
+<a href="#XXI"><b>XXI, </b></a>
+<a href="#XXII"><b>XXII, </b></a>
+<a href="#EPILOGUE"><b>EPILOGUE</b></a>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<h1>THE HERO</h1>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h3>
+
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons sat by the window in the dining-room to catch the last
+glimmer of the fading day, looking through his <i>Standard</i> to make sure
+that he had overlooked no part of it. Finally, with a little sigh, he
+folded it up, and taking off his spectacles, put them in their case.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you finished the paper?" asked his wife</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I think I've read it all. There's nothing in it."</p>
+
+<p>He looked out of window at the well-kept drive that led to the house,
+and at the trim laurel bushes which separated the front garden from the
+village green. His eyes rested, with a happy smile, upon the triumphal
+arch which decorated the gate for the home-coming of his son, expected
+the next day from South Africa. Mrs. Parsons knitted diligently at a
+sock for her husband, working with quick and clever fingers. He watched
+the rapid glint of the needles.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll try your eyes if you go on much longer with this light, my
+dear."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't require to see," replied his wife, with a gentle,
+affectionate smile. But she stopped, rather tired, and laying the sock
+on the table, smoothed it out with her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't mind if you made it a bit higher in the leg than the last
+pair."</p>
+
+<p>"How high would you like it?"</p>
+
+<p>She went to the window so that the Colonel might show the exact length
+he desired; and when he had made up his mind, sat down again quietly on
+her chair by the fireside, with hands crossed on her lap, waiting
+placidly for the maid to bring the lamp.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons was a tall woman of fifty-five, carrying herself with a
+certain diffidence, as though a little ashamed of her stature, greater
+than the Colonel's; it had seemed to her through life that those extra
+inches savoured, after a fashion, of disrespect. She knew it was her
+duty spiritually to look up to her husband, yet physically she was
+always forced to look down. And eager to prevent even the remotest
+suspicion of wrong-doing, she had taken care to be so submissive in her
+behaviour as to leave no doubt that she recognised the obligation of
+respectful obedience enjoined by the Bible, and confirmed by her own
+conscience. Mrs. Parsons was the gentlest of creatures, and the most
+kind-hearted; she looked upon her husband with great and unalterable
+affection, admiring intensely both his head and his heart. He was her
+type of the upright man, walking in the ways of the Lord. You saw in the
+placid, smooth brow of the Colonel's wife, in her calm eyes, even in the
+severe arrangement of the hair, parted in the middle and drawn back,
+that her character was frank, simple, and straightforward. She was a
+woman to whom evil had never offered the smallest attraction; she was
+merely aware of its existence theoretically. To her the only way of life
+had been that which led to God; the others had been non-existent. Duty
+had one hand only, and only one finger; and that finger had always
+pointed definitely in one direction. Yet Mrs. Parsons had a firm mouth,
+and a chin square enough to add another impression. As she sat
+motionless, hands crossed, watching her husband with loving eyes, you
+might have divined that, however kind-hearted, she was not indulgent,
+neither lenient to her own faults nor to those of others; perfectly
+unassuming, but with a sense of duty, a feeling of the absolute
+rightness of some deeds and of the absolute wrongness of others, which
+would be, even to those she loved best in the world, utterly unsparing.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's a telegraph boy!" said Colonel Parsons suddenly. "Jamie can't
+have arrived yet!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Richmond!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons sprang from her chair, and a colour brightened her pale
+cheeks. Her heart beat painfully, and tears of eager expectation filled
+her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"It's probably only from William, to say the ship is signalled," said
+the Colonel, to quieten her; but his own voice trembled with anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing can have happened, Richmond, can it?" said Mrs. Parsons, her
+cheeks blanching again at the idea.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! Of course not! How silly you are!" The telegram was brought in
+by the servant. "I can't see without a light," said the Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, give it me; I can see quite well."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons took it to the window, and with trembling hand tore it
+open.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Arriving to-night; 7.25.</i>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Jamie.</span>"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parson looked for one moment at her husband, and then, unable to
+restrain herself, sank on a chair, and hiding her face with her hands,
+burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, come, Frances," said the Colonel, trying to smile, but half
+choked with his own emotion, "don't cry! You ought to laugh when you
+know the boy's coming home."</p>
+
+<p>He patted her on the shoulder, and she took his hand, holding it for
+comfort. With the other, the Colonel loudly blew his nose. At last Mrs
+Parsons dried her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I thank God that it's all over! He's coming home. I hope we shall
+never have to endure again that anxiety. It makes me tremble still when
+I think how we used to long for the paper to come, and dread it; how we
+used to look all through the list of casualties, fearing to see the
+boy's name."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, it's all over now," said the Colonel cheerily, blowing his
+nose again. "How pleased Mary will be!"</p>
+
+<p>It was characteristic of him that almost his first thought was of the
+pleasure this earlier arrival would cause to Mary Clibborn, the girl to
+whom, for five years, his son had been engaged.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Parson, "but she'll be dreadfully disappointed not to
+be here; she's gone to the Polsons in Tunbridge Wells, and she won't be
+home till after supper."</p>
+
+<p>"That is a pity. I'm afraid it's too late to go and meet him; it's
+nearly seven already."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes; and it's damp this evening. I don't think you ought to go
+out."</p>
+
+<p>Then Mrs. Parsons roused herself to household matters.</p>
+
+<p>"There's the supper to think of, Richmond," she said; "we've only the
+rest of the cold mutton, and there's not time to cook one of to-morrow's
+chickens."</p>
+
+<p>They had invited three or four friends to dinner on the following day to
+celebrate the return of their son, and Mrs. Parsons had laid in for the
+occasion a store of solid things.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we might try and get some chops. I expect Howe is open still."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I'll send Betty out. And we can have a blanc-mange for a sweet."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons went to give the necessary orders, and the Colonel walked
+up to his son's room to see, for the hundredth time, that everything was
+in order. They had discussed for days the question whether the young
+soldier should be given the best spare bedroom or that which he had used
+from his boyhood. It was wonderful the thought they expended in
+preparing everything as they fancied he would like it; no detail slipped
+their memory, and they arranged and rearranged so that he should find
+nothing altered in his absence. They attempted to satisfy in this manner
+the eager longing of their hearts; it made them both a little happier to
+know that they were actually doing something for their son. No pain in
+love is so hard to bear as that which comes from the impossibility of
+doing any service for the well-beloved, and no service is so repulsive
+that love cannot make it delightful and easy. They had not seen him for
+five years, their only child; for he had gone from Sandhurst straight to
+India, and thence, on the outbreak of war, to the Cape. No one knew how
+much the lonely parents had felt the long separation, how eagerly they
+awaited his letters, how often they read them.</p>
+
+<p class="tb">But it was more than parental affection which caused the passionate
+interest they took in Jamie's career. They looked to him to restore the
+good name which his father had lost. Four generations of Parsons had
+been in the army, and had borne themselves with honour to their family
+and with credit to themselves. It was a fine record that Colonel Parsons
+inherited of brave men and good soldiers; and he, the truest, bravest,
+most honourable of them all, had dragged the name through the dust; had
+been forced from the service under a storm of obloquy, disgraced,
+dishonoured, ruined.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons had done the greater portion of his service creditably
+enough. He had always put his God before the War Office, but the result
+had not been objectionable; he looked upon his men with fatherly
+affection, and the regiment, under his command, was almost a model of
+propriety and seemliness. His influence was invariably for good, and his
+subordinates knew that in him they had always a trusty friend; few men
+had gained more love. He was a mild, even-tempered fellow, and in no
+circumstance of life forgot to love his neighbour as himself; he never
+allowed it to slip his memory that even the lowest caste native had an
+immortal soul, and before God equal rights with him. Colonel Parsons was
+a man whose piety was so unaggressive, so good-humoured, so simple, that
+none could resist it; ribaldry and blasphemy were instinctively hushed
+in his presence, and even the most hardened ruffian was softened by his
+contact.</p>
+
+<p>But a couple of years before he would naturally have been put on
+half-pay under the age limit, a little expedition was arranged against
+some unruly hill-tribes, and Colonel Parsons was given the command. He
+took the enemy by surprise, finding them at the foot of the hills, and
+cut off, by means of flanking bodies, their retreat through the two
+passes behind. He placed his guns on a line of hillocks to the right,
+and held the tribesmen in the hollow of his hand. He could have
+massacred them all, but nothing was farther from his thoughts. He
+summoned them to surrender, and towards evening the headmen came in and
+agreed to give up their rifles next day; the night was cold, and dark,
+and stormy. The good Colonel was delighted with the success both of his
+stratagem and of his humanity. He had not shed a single drop of blood.</p>
+
+<p>"Treat them well," he said, "and they'll treat you better."</p>
+
+<p>He acted like a gentleman and a Christian; but the enemy were neither.
+He never dreamed that he was being completely overreached, that the
+natives were using the delay he had unsuspectingly granted to send over
+the hills urgent messages for help. Through the night armed men had been
+coming stealthily, silently, from all sides; and in the early morning,
+before dawn, his flanking parties were attacked. Colonel Parsons, rather
+astonished, sent them help, and thinking himself still superior in
+numbers to the rebellious tribesmen, attacked their main body. They
+wanted nothing better. Falling back slowly, they drew him into the
+mountain defiles until he found himself entrapped. His little force was
+surrounded. Five hours were passed in almost blind confusion; men were
+shot down like flies by an enemy they could not see; and when, by
+desperate fighting, they managed to cut their way out, fifty were
+killed and over a hundred more were wounded.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons escaped with only the remnants of the fine force he had
+commanded, and they were nerveless, broken, almost panic-stricken. He
+was obliged to retreat. The Colonel was a brave man; he did what he could
+to prevent the march from becoming a disorderly rout. He gathered his
+men together, put courage into them, risked his life a dozen times; but
+nothing could disguise the fact that his failure was disastrous. It was
+a small affair and was hushed up, but the consequences were not to be
+forgotten. The hill-tribes, emboldened by their success, became more
+venturesome, more unruly. A disturbance which might have been settled
+without difficulty now required a large force to put it down, and ten
+times more lives were lost.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons was required to send in his papers, and left India a
+broken man.... He came back to England, and settled in his father's
+house at Little Primpton. His agony continued, and looking into the
+future, he saw only hideous despair, unavailing regret. For months he
+could bear to see no one, imagining always that he was pointed out as
+the man whose folly had cost so many lives. When he heard people laugh
+he thought it was in scorn of him; when he saw compassion in their eyes
+he could scarcely restrain his tears. He was indeed utterly broken. He
+walked in his garden, away from the eyes of his fellows, up and down,
+continually turning over in his mind the events of that terrible week.
+And he could not console himself by thinking that any other course would
+have led to just as bad results. His error was too plain; he could put
+his finger exactly on the point of his failure and say, "O God! why did
+I do it?" And as he walked restlessly, unmindful of heat and cold, the
+tears ran down his thin cheeks, painful and scalding. He would not take
+his wife's comfort.</p>
+
+<p>"You acted for the best, Richmond," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear; I acted for the best. When I got those fellows hemmed in I
+could have killed them all. But I'm not a butcher; I couldn't have them
+shot down in cold blood. That's not war; that's murder. What should I
+have said to my Maker when He asked me to account for those many souls?
+I spared them; I imagined they'd understand; but they thought it was
+weakness. I couldn't know they were preparing a trap for me. And now my
+name is shameful. I shall never hold up my head again."</p>
+
+<p>"You acted rightly in the sight of God, Richmond."</p>
+
+<p>"I think and trust I acted as a Christian, Frances."</p>
+
+<p>"If you have pleased God, you need not mind the opinion of man."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it's not that they called me a fool and a coward&mdash;I could have
+borne that. I did what I thought was right. I thought it my duty to save
+the lives of my men and to spare the enemy; and the result was that ten
+times more lives have been lost than if I had struck boldly and
+mercilessly. There are widows and orphans in England who must curse me
+because I am the cause that their husbands are dead, and that their
+fathers are rotting on the hills of India. If I had acted like a savage,
+like a brute-beast, like a butcher, all those men would have been alive
+to-day. I was merciful, and I was met with treachery; I was
+long-suffering, and they thought me weak; I was forgiving, and they
+laughed at me."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons put her hand on her husband's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"You must try to forget it, Richmond," she said. "It's over, and it
+can't be helped now. You acted like a God-fearing man; your conscience
+is clear of evil intent. What is the judgment of man beside the judgment
+of God? If you have received insult and humiliation at the hands of man,
+God will repay you an hundredfold, for you acted as his servant. And I
+believe in you, Richmond; and I'm proud of what you did."</p>
+
+<p>"I have always tried to act like a Christian and a gentleman, Frances."</p>
+
+<p>At night he would continually dream of those days of confusion and
+mortal anxiety. He would imagine he was again making that horrible
+retreat, cheering his men, doing all he could to retrieve the disaster;
+but aware that ruin only awaited him, conscious that the most ignorant
+sepoy in his command thought him incapable and mad. He saw the look in
+the eyes of the officers under him, their bitter contempt, their anger
+because he forced them to retire before the enemy; and because, instead
+of honour and glory, they had earned only ridicule. His limbs shook and
+he sweated with agony as he recalled the interview with his chief:
+"You're only fit to be a damned missionary," and the last contemptuous
+words, "I shan't want you any more. You can send in your papers."</p>
+
+<p>But human sorrow is like water in an earthen pot. Little by little
+Colonel Parsons forgot his misery; he had turned it over in his mind so
+often that at last he grew confused. It became then only a deep wound
+partly healed, scarring over; and he began to take an interest in the
+affairs of the life surrounding him. He could read his paper without
+every word stabbing him by some chance association; and there is nothing
+like the daily and thorough perusal of a newspaper for dulling a man's
+brain. He pottered about his garden gossiping with the gardener; made
+little alterations in the house&mdash;bricks and mortar are like an anodyne;
+he collected stamps; played bezique with his wife; and finally, in his
+mild, gentle way, found peace of mind.</p>
+
+<p>But when James passed brilliantly out of Sandhurst, the thought seized
+him that the good name which he valued so highly might be retrieved.
+Colonel Parsons had shrunk from telling the youth anything of the
+catastrophe which had driven him from the service; but now he forced
+himself to give an exact account thereof. His wife sat by, listening
+with pain in her eyes, for she knew what torture it was to revive that
+half-forgotten story.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you had better hear it from me than from a stranger," the
+Colonel said when he had finished. "I entered the army with the
+reputation of my father behind me; my reputation can only harm you. Men
+will nudge one another and say, 'There's the son of old Parsons, who
+bungled the affair against the Madda Khels.' You must show them that
+you're of good stuff. I acted for the best, and my conscience is at
+ease. I think I did my duty; but if you can distinguish yourself&mdash;if
+you can make them forget&mdash;I think I shall die a little happier."</p>
+
+<p>The commanding officer of Jamie's regiment was an old friend of the
+Colonel's, and wrote to him after a while to say that he thought well of
+the boy. He had already distinguished himself in a frontier skirmish,
+and presently, for gallantry in some other little expedition, his name
+was mentioned in despatches. Colonel Parsons regained entirely his old
+cheerfulness; Jamie's courage and manifest knowledge of his business
+made him feel that at last he could again look the world frankly in the
+face. Then came the Boer War; for the parents at Little Primpton and for
+Mary Clibborn days of fearful anxiety, of gnawing pain&mdash;all the greater
+because each, for the other's sake, tried to conceal it; and at last the
+announcement in the paper that James Parsons had been severely wounded
+while attempting to save the life of a brother officer, and was
+recommended for the Victoria Cross.</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h3>
+
+
+<p>The Parsons sat again in their dining-room, counting the minutes which
+must pass before Jamie's arrival. The table was laid simply, for all
+their habits were simple; and the blanc-mange prepared for the morrow's
+festivities stood, uncompromising and stiff as a dissenting minister, in
+the middle of the table. I wish someone would write an invective upon
+that most detestable of all the national dishes, pallid, chilly,
+glutinous, unpleasant to look upon, insipid in the mouth. It is a
+preparation which seems to mark a transition stage in culture; just as
+the South Sea Islanders, with the advance of civilisation, forsook
+putrid whale for roast missionary, the great English middle classes
+complained that tarts and plum-puddings were too substantial, more
+suited to the robust digestions of a past generation. In the
+blanc-mange, on the other hand, they found almost an appearance of
+distinction; its name, at least, suggested French cookery; it was
+possible to the plainest cook, and it required no mastication.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall have to tell Betty to make a jelly for dinner to-morrow," said
+Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied the Colonel; and after a pause: "Don't you think we ought
+to let Mary know that Jamie has come back? She'd like to see him
+to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"I've sent over already."</p>
+
+<p>It was understood that James, having got his Company, would marry Mary
+Clibborn almost at once. His father and mother had been delighted when
+he announced the engagement. They had ever tried to shield him from all
+knowledge of evil&mdash;no easy matter when a boy has been to a public school
+and to Sandhurst&mdash;holding the approved opinion that ignorance is
+synonymous with virtue; and they could imagine no better safeguard for
+his innocence in the multi-coloured life of India than betrothal with a
+pure, sweet English girl. They looked upon Mary Clibborn already as a
+daughter, and she, in Jamie's absence, had been their only solace. They
+loved her gentleness, her goodness, her simple piety, and congratulated
+themselves on the fact that with her their son could not fail to lead a
+happy and a godly life.</p>
+
+<p>Mary, during those five years, had come to see them every day; her own
+mother and father were rather worldly people, and she felt less happy
+with them than with Colonel Parsons and his wife. The trio talked
+continually of the absent soldier, always reading to one another his
+letters. They laughed together over his jokes, mildly, as befitted
+persons for whom a sense of humour might conceivably be a Satanic snare,
+and trembled together at his dangers. Mary's affection was free from
+anything so degrading as passion, and she felt no bashfulness in reading
+Jamie's love-letters to his parents; she was too frank to suspect that
+there might be in them anything for her eyes alone, and too candid to
+feel any delicacy.</p>
+
+<p>But a lumbering fly rolled in at the gate, and the good people, happy at
+last, sprang to the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Jamie!"</p>
+
+<p>Trembling with joy, they brought him in and sat him down; they knew no
+words to express their delight, and stood looking at him open-mouthed,
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, here you are! We were surprised to get your telegram. When did
+you land?"</p>
+
+<p>When they found their tongues, it was only to say commonplace things
+such as they might have spoken to a casual friend who had come from
+London for the day. They were so used to controlling themselves, that
+when their emotion was overpowering they were at a loss to express it.</p>
+
+<p>"Would you like to go upstairs and wash your hands?"</p>
+
+<p>They both accompanied him.</p>
+
+<p>"You see it's all just as it was. We thought you'd like your old room.
+If you want anything you can ring the bell."</p>
+
+<p>They left him, and going downstairs, sat opposite one another by the
+fire. The dining-room was furnished with a saddle-bag suite; and Colonel
+Parsons sat in the "gentleman's chair," which had arms, while Mrs.
+Parsons sat in the "lady's chair," which had none; nor did either dream,
+under any circumstances, of using the other's seat. They were a little
+overcome.</p>
+
+<p>"How thin he is!" said Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"We must feed him up," answered the Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>And then, till the soldier came, they remained in silence. Mrs. Parsons
+rang the bell for the chops as soon as he appeared, and they sat down;
+but James ate alone. His people were too happy to do anything but watch
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"I have had tea made," said Mrs. Parsons, "but you can have some claret,
+if you prefer it."</p>
+
+<p>Five years' absence had not dulled Jamie's memory of his father's wine,
+and he chose the tea.</p>
+
+<p>"I think a strong cup of tea will do you most good," said his mother,
+and she poured it out for him as when he was a boy, with plenty of milk
+and sugar.</p>
+
+<p>His tastes had never been much consulted; things had been done, in the
+kindest manner possible, solely for his good. James detested sweetness.</p>
+
+<p>"No sugar, please, mother," he said, as she dived into the sugar-basin.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, Jamie," answered Mrs. Parsons, with her good-humoured,
+indulgent smile. "Sugar's good for you." And she put in two big lumps.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't ask after Mary," said Colonel Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"How is she?" said James. "Where is she?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you wait a little she'll be here."</p>
+
+<p>Then Mrs. Parsons broke in.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what we should have done without her; she's been so good
+and kind to us, and such a comfort. We're simply devoted to her, aren't
+we, Richmond?"</p>
+
+<p>"She's the nicest girl I've ever seen."</p>
+
+<p>"And she's so good. She works among the poor like a professional nurse.
+We told you that she lived with us for six months while Colonel and Mrs.
+Clibborn went abroad. She was never put out at anything, but was always
+smiling and cheerful. She has the sweetest character."</p>
+
+<p>The good people thought they were delighting their son by these
+eulogies. He looked at them gravely.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad you like her," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Supper was finished, and Mrs. Parsons went out of the room for a moment.
+James took out his case and offered a cigar to his father.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't smoke, Jamie," replied the Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>James lit up. The old man looked at him with a start, but said nothing;
+he withdrew his chair a little and tried to look unconcerned. When Mrs.
+Parsons returned, the room was full of smoke; she gave a cry of
+surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"James!" she said, in a tone of reproach. "Your father objects to
+smoking."</p>
+
+<p>"It doesn't matter just this once," said the Colonel, good-humouredly.</p>
+
+<p>But James threw his cigar into the fire, with a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"I quite forgot; I'm so sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"You never told us you'd started smoking," observed Mrs. Parsons, almost
+with disapprobation, "Would you like the windows open to let the smell
+out, Richmond?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a ring at the door, and Mary's voice was heard.</p>
+
+<p>"Has Captain Parsons arrived?"</p>
+
+<p>"There she is, Jamie!" said the Colonel, "Rush out to her, my boy!"</p>
+
+<p>But James contented himself with rising to his feet; he turned quite
+pale, and a singular expression came over his grave face.</p>
+
+<p>Mary entered.</p>
+
+<p>"I ran round as soon as I got your note," she said. "Well, Jamie!"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped, smiling, and a blush brightened her healthy cheeks. Her
+eyes glistened with happiness, and for a moment, strong as she was, Mary
+thought she must burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't you going to kiss her, Jamie?" said the father. "You needn't be
+bashful before us."</p>
+
+<p>James went up to her, and taking her hands, kissed the cheek she
+offered.</p>
+
+<p>The impression that Mary Clibborn gave was of absolute healthiness,
+moral and physical. Her appearance was not distinguished, but she was
+well set up, with strong hands and solid feet; you knew at once that a
+ten-mile walk invigorated rather than tired her; her arms were muscular
+and energetic. She was in no way striking; a typical, country-bred girl,
+with a fine digestion and an excellent conscience; if not very pretty,
+obviously good. Her face showed a happy mingling of strength and
+cheerfulness; her blue eyes were guileless and frank; her hair even was
+rather pretty, arranged in the simplest manner; her skin was tanned by
+wind and weather. The elements were friendly, and she enjoyed a long
+walk in a gale, with the rain beating against her cheeks. She was
+dressed simply and without adornment, as befitted her character.</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry I wasn't at home when you arrived, Jamie," she said; "but
+the Polsons asked me to go and play golf at Tunbridge Wells. I went
+round in bogy, Colonel Parsons."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you, my dear? That's very good."</p>
+
+<p>The Colonel and his wife looked at her with affectionate satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to take off my hat."</p>
+
+<p>She gave James to put in the hall her sailor hat and her rough tweed
+cloak. She wore a bicycling skirt and heavy, square-toed boots.</p>
+
+<p>"Say you're glad to see us, Jamie!" she cried, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>Her voice was rather loud, clear and strong, perhaps wanting variety of
+inflection. She sat by Jamie's side, and broke into a cheerful, rather
+humorous, account of the day's excursion.</p>
+
+<p>"How silent you are, Jamie!" she cried at last.</p>
+
+<p>"You haven't given me a chance to get a word in yet," he said, smiling
+gravely.</p>
+
+<p>They all laughed, ready to be pleased at the smallest joke, and banter
+was the only form of humour they knew.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you tired?" asked Mary, her cheerful eyes softening.</p>
+
+<p>"A little."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I won't worry you to-night; but to-morrow you must be put through
+your paces."</p>
+
+<p>"Mary will stand no nonsense," said the Colonel, laughing gently. "We
+all have to do as she tells us. She'll turn you round her little
+finger."</p>
+
+<p>"Will she?" said James, glancing down at the solid boots, which the
+short bicycle skirt rather obtrusively exposed to view.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't frighten him the moment he comes home," cried Mary. "As a matter
+of fact, I shan't be able to come to-morrow morning; I've got my
+district-visiting to do, and I don't think Jamie is strong enough to go
+with me yet. Does your wound hurt you still, Jamie?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said, "I can't use my arm much, though. It'll be all right
+soon."</p>
+
+<p>"You must tell us about the great event to-morrow," said Mary, referring
+to the deed which had won him the decoration. "You've put us all out by
+coming sooner than you were expected."</p>
+
+<p>"Have I? I'm sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't you notice anything when you drove in this evening?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, it was quite dark."</p>
+
+<p>"Good heavens! Why, we've put up a triumphal arch, and there was going
+to be a great celebration. All the school children were coming to
+welcome you."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm very glad I missed it," said James, laughing. "I should have hated
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't know that you have missed it yet. We must see."</p>
+
+<p>Then Mary rose to go.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, at all events, we're all coming to dinner to-morrow at one."</p>
+
+<p>They went to the door to let her out, and the elder couple smiled again
+with pleasure when James and Mary exchanged a brotherly and sisterly
+kiss.</p>
+
+<p class="tb">At last James found himself alone in his room; he gave a sigh of
+relief&mdash;a sigh which was almost a groan of pain. He took out his pipe
+unconsciously and filled it; but then, remembering where he was, put it
+down. He knew his father's sensitiveness of smell. If he began to smoke
+there would quickly be a knock at the door, and the inquiry: "There's
+such a smell of burning in the house; there's nothing on fire in your
+room, is there, Jamie?"</p>
+
+<p>He began to walk up and down, and then in exhaustion sank on a chair.
+He opened the window and looked into the night. He could see nothing.
+The sky was dark with unmoving clouds, but the fresh air blew gratefully
+against his face, laden with the scent of the vernal country; a light
+rain was falling noiselessly, and the earth seemed languid and weary,
+accepting the moisture with little shuddering gasps of relief.</p>
+
+<p>After an event which has been long expected, there is always something
+in the nature of reaction. James had looked forward to this meeting,
+partly with terror, partly with eagerness; and now that it was over, his
+brain, confused and weary, would not help him to order his thoughts. He
+clenched his hands, trying to force himself to think clearly; he knew he
+must decide upon some course at once, and a terrible indecision
+paralysed his ideas. He loved his people so tenderly, he was so anxious
+to make them happy, and yet&mdash;and yet! If he loved one better than the
+other it was perhaps his father, because of the pitiful weakness,
+because of the fragility which seemed to call for a protective
+gentleness. The old man had altered little in the five years. James
+could not remember him other than thin and bent and frail, with long
+wisps of silvery hair brushed over the crown to conceal his baldness,
+with the cheeks hollow and wrinkled, and a white moustache
+ineffectually concealing the weak, good-natured mouth. Ever since James
+could recollect his father had appeared old and worn as now; and there
+had always been that gentle look in the blue eyes, that manner which was
+almost painful in its diffidence. Colonel Parsons was a man who made
+people love him by a modesty which seemed to claim nothing. He was like
+a child compelling sympathy on account of its utter helplessness, so
+unsuited to the wear and tear of life that he aroused his fellows'
+instincts of protection.</p>
+
+<p>And James knew besides what a bitter humiliation it was to his father
+that he had been forced to leave the service. He remembered, like a
+deadly, incurable pain suffered by a friend, the occasion on which the
+old soldier had told him the cause of his disgrace, a sweat of agony
+standing on his brow. The scene had eaten into Jamie's mind alongside of
+that other when he had first watched a man die, livid with pain, his
+eyes glazed and sightless. He had grown callous to such events since
+then.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons had come to grief on account of the very kindness of
+heart, on account of the exquisite humanity which endeared him to the
+most casual acquaintance. James swore that he would do anything to save
+him from needless suffering. Nor did he forget his mother, for through
+the harder manner he saw her gentleness and tender love. He knew that
+he was all in the world to both of them, that in his hands lay their
+happiness and their misery. Their love made them feel every act of his
+with a force out of reason to the circumstance. He had seen in their
+letters, piercing through the assumed cheerfulness, a mortal anxiety
+when he was in danger, an anguish of mind that seemed hardly bearable.
+They had gone through so much for his sake; they deprived themselves of
+luxury, so that, in the various expenses of his regiment, he should not
+need to economise. All his life they had surrounded him with loving
+care. And what their hearts were set upon now was that he should marry
+Mary Clibborn quickly.</p>
+
+<p>James turned from the window and put his head between his hands, swaying
+to and fro.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I can't," he groaned; "I can't!"</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h3>
+
+
+<p>In the morning, after breakfast, James went for a walk. He wanted to
+think out clearly what he had better do, feeling that he must make up
+his mind at once. Hesitation would be fatal, and yet to speak
+immediately seemed so cruel, so brutally callous.</p>
+
+<p>Wishing to be absolutely alone, he wandered through the garden to a
+little wood of beech-trees, which in his boyhood had been a favourite
+haunt. The day was fresh and sweet after the happy rain of April, the
+sky so clear that it affected one like a very beautiful action.</p>
+
+<p>James stood still when he came into the wood, inhaling the odour of
+moist soil, the voluptuous scents of our mother, the Earth, gravid with
+silent life. For a moment he was intoxicated by the paradise of verdure.
+The beech-trees rose very tall, with their delicate branches singularly
+black amid the young leaves of the spring, tender and vivid. The eye
+could not pierce the intricate greenery; it was more delicate than the
+summer rain, subtler than the mists of the sunset. It was a scene to
+drive away all thought of the sadness of life, of the bitterness. Its
+exquisite fresh purity made James feel pure also, and like a little
+child he wandered over the undulating earth, broken by the tortuous
+courses of the streamlets of winter.</p>
+
+<p>The ground was soft, covered with brown dead leaves, and he tried to see
+the rabbit rustling among them, or the hasty springing of a squirrel.
+The long branches of the briar entangled his feet; and here and there,
+in sheltered corners, blossomed the primrose and the violet He listened
+to the chant of the birds, so joyous that it seemed impossible they sang
+in a world of sorrow. Hidden among the leaves, aloft in the beeches, the
+linnet sang with full-throated melody, and the blackbird and the thrush.
+In the distance a cuckoo called its mysterious note, and far away, like
+an echo, a fellow-bird called back.</p>
+
+<p>All Nature was rejoicing in the delight of the sunshine; all Nature was
+rejoicing, and his heart alone was heavy as lead. He stood by a
+fir-tree, which rose far above the others, immensely tall, like the mast
+of a solitary ship; it was straight as a life without reproach, but
+cheerless, cold, and silent. His life, too, was without reproach,
+thought James&mdash;without reproach till now.... He had loved Mary Clibborn.
+But was it love, or was it merely affection, habit, esteem? She was the
+only girl he knew, and they had grown up together. When he came from
+school for his holidays, or later from Sandhurst, on leave, Mary was his
+constant friend, without whom he would have been miserably dull. She was
+masculine enough to enter into his boyish games, and even their thoughts
+were common. There were so few people in Little Primpton that those who
+lived there saw one another continually; and though Tunbridge Wells was
+only four miles away, the distance effectually prevented very close
+intimacy with its inhabitants. It was natural, then, that James should
+only look forward to an existence in which Mary took part; without that
+pleasant companionship the road seemed long and dreary. When he was
+appointed to a regiment in India, and his heart softened at the prospect
+of the first long parting from all he cared for, it was the separation
+from Mary that seemed hardest to bear.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what I shall do without you, Mary," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"You will forget all about us when you've been in India a month."</p>
+
+<p>But her lips twitched, and he noticed that she found difficulty in
+speaking quite firmly. She hesitated a moment, and spoke again.</p>
+
+<p>"It's different for us," she said, "Those who go forget, but those who
+stay&mdash;remember. We shall be always doing the same things to remind us
+of you. Oh, you won't forget me, Jamie?"</p>
+
+<p>The last words slipped out against the girl's intention.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary!" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>And then he put his arms round her, and Mary rested her face on his
+shoulder and began to cry. He kissed her, trying to stop her tears; he
+pressed her to his heart. He really thought he loved her then with all
+his strength.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary," he whispered, "Mary, do you care for me? Will you marry me?"</p>
+
+<p>Then quickly he explained that it would make it so much better for both
+if they became engaged.</p>
+
+<p>"I shan't be able to marry you for a long time; but will you wait for
+me, Mary?"</p>
+
+<p>She began to smile through her tears.</p>
+
+<p>"I would wait for you to the end of my life."</p>
+
+<p>During the first two years in India the tie had been to James entirely
+pleasurable; and if, among the manifold experiences of his new life, he
+bore Mary's absence with greater equanimity than he had thought
+possible, he was always glad to receive her letters, with their delicate
+aroma of the English country; and it pleased him to think that his
+future was comfortably settled. The engagement was a sort of ballast,
+and he felt that he could compass his journey without fear and without
+disturbance. James did not ask himself whether his passion was very
+ardent, for his whole education had led him to believe that passion was
+hardly moral. The proper and decent basis of marriage was similarity of
+station, and the good, solid qualities which might be supposed
+endurable. From his youth, the wisdom of the world had been instilled
+into him through many proverbs, showing the advisability of caution, the
+transitoriness of beauty and desire; and, on the other hand, the lasting
+merit of honesty, virtue, domesticity, and good temper....</p>
+
+<p>But we all know that Nature is a goddess with no sense of decency, for
+whom the proprieties are simply non-existent; men and women in her eyes
+have but one point of interest, and she walks abroad, with her
+fashioning fingers, setting in order the only work she cares for. All
+the rest is subsidiary, and she is callous to suffering and to death,
+indifferent to the Ten Commandments and even to the code of Good
+Society.</p>
+
+<p>James at last made the acquaintance of a certain Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace,
+the wife of a man in a native regiment, a little, dark-hatred person,
+with an olive skin and big brown eyes&mdash;rather common, but excessively
+pretty. She was the daughter of a riding-master by a Portuguese woman
+from Goa, and it had been something of a scandal when
+Pritchard-Wallace, who was an excellent fellow, had married her against
+the advice of all the regimental ladies. But if those charitable persons
+had not ceased to look upon her with doubtful eyes, her wit and her good
+looks for others counterbalanced every disadvantage; and she did not
+fail to have a little court of subalterns and the like hanging
+perpetually about her skirts. At first Mrs. Wallace merely amused James.
+Her absolute frivolity, her cynical tongue, her light-heartedness, were
+a relief after the rather puritanical atmosphere in which he had passed
+his youth; he was astonished to hear the gay contempt which she poured
+upon all the things that he had held most sacred&mdash;things like the Tower
+of London and the British Constitution. Prejudices and cherished beliefs
+were dissipated before her sharp-tongued raillery; she was a woman with
+almost a witty way of seeing the world, with a peculiarly feminine gift
+for putting old things in a new, absurd light. To Mrs. Wallace, James
+seemed a miracle of ingenuousness, and she laughed at him continually;
+then she began to like him, and took him about with her, at which he was
+much flattered.</p>
+
+<p>James had been brought up in the belief that women were fashioned of
+different clay from men, less gross, less earthly; he thought not only
+that they were pious, sweet and innocent, ignorant entirely of
+disagreeable things, but that it was man's first duty to protect them
+from all knowledge of the realities of life. To him they were an
+ethereal blending of milk-and-water with high principles; it had never
+occurred to him that they were flesh and blood, and sense, and fire and
+nerves&mdash;especially nerves. Most topics, of course, could not be broached
+in their presence; in fact, almost the only safe subject of conversation
+was the weather.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace prided herself on frankness, which is less
+common in pretty women than in plain; and she had no hesitation in
+discussing with James matters that he had never heard discussed before.
+She was hugely amused at the embarrassment which made him hesitate and
+falter, trying to find polite ways of expressing the things which his
+whole training had taught him to keep rigidly to himself. Then
+sometimes, from pure devilry, Mrs. Wallace told stories on purpose to
+shock him; and revelled in his forced, polite smile, and in his strong
+look of disapproval.</p>
+
+<p>"What a funny boy you are!" she said. "But you must take care, you know;
+you have all the makings of a perfect prig."</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think so?"</p>
+
+<p>"You must try to be less moral. The moral young man is rather funny for
+a change, but he palls after a time."</p>
+
+<p>"If I bore you, you have only to say so, and I won't bother you again."</p>
+
+<p>"And moral young men shouldn't get cross; it's very bad manners," she
+answered, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>Before he knew what had happened, James found himself madly in love with
+Mrs. Wallace. But what a different passion was this, resembling not at
+all that pallid flame which alone he had experienced! How could he
+recognise the gentle mingling of friendship and of common-sense which he
+called love in that destroying violence which troubled his days like a
+fever? He dreamed of the woman at night; he seemed only to live when he
+was with her. The mention of her name made his heart beat, and meeting
+her he trembled and turned cold. By her side he found nothing to say; he
+was like wax in her hands, without will or strength. The touch of her
+fingers sent the blood rushing through his veins insanely; and
+understanding his condition, she took pleasure in touching him, to watch
+the little shiver of desire that convulsed his frame. In a very
+self-restrained man love works ruinously; and it burnt James now, this
+invisible, unconscious fire, till he was consumed utterly&mdash;till he was
+mad with passion. And then suddenly, at some chance word, he knew what
+had happened; he knew that he was in love with the wife of his good
+friend, Pritchard-Wallace; and he thought of Mary Clibborn.</p>
+
+<p>There was no hesitation now, nor doubt; James had only been in danger
+because he was unaware of it. He never thought of treachery to his
+friend or to Mary; he was horror-stricken, hating himself. He looked
+over the brink of the precipice at the deadly sin, and recoiled,
+shuddering. He bitterly reproached himself, taking for granted that some
+error of his had led to the catastrophe. But his duty was obvious; he
+knew he must kill the sinful love, whatever pain it cost him; he must
+crush it as he would some noxious vermin.</p>
+
+<p>James made up his mind never to see Mrs. Wallace again; and he thought
+that God was on his side helping him, since, with her husband, she was
+leaving in a month for England. He applied for leave. He could get away
+for a few weeks, and on his return Mrs. Wallace would be gone. He
+managed to avoid her for several days, but at last she came across him
+by chance, and he could not escape.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't know you were so fond of hide-and-seek," she said, "I think
+it's rather a stupid game."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand," replied James, growing pale.</p>
+
+<p>"Why have you been dodging round corners to avoid me as if I were a dun,
+and inventing the feeblest excuses not to come to me?"</p>
+
+<p>James stood for a moment, not knowing what to answer; his knees
+trembled, and he sweated with the agony of his love. It was an angry,
+furious passion, that made him feel he could almost seize the woman by
+the throat and strangle her.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you know that I am engaged to be married?" he asked at length.</p>
+
+<p>"I've never known a sub who wasn't. It's the most objectionable of all
+their vicious habits. What then?" She looked at him, smiling; she knew
+very well the power of her dark eyes, fringed with long lashes. "Don't
+be silly," she added. "Come and see me, and bring her photograph, and
+you shall talk to me for two hours about her. Will you come?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's very kind of you. I don't think I can."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not? You're really very rude."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm extremely busy."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense! You must come. Don't look as if I were asking you to do
+something quite horrible. I shall expect you to tea."</p>
+
+<p>She bound him by his word, and James was forced to go. When he showed
+the photograph, Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace looked at it with a curious
+expression. It was the work of a country photographer, awkward and
+ungainly, with the head stiffly poised, and the eyes hard and fixed; the
+general impression was ungraceful and devoid of charm, Mrs. Wallace
+noticed the country fashion of her clothes.</p>
+
+<p>"It's extraordinary that subalterns should always get engaged to the
+same sort of girl."</p>
+
+<p>James flushed, "It's not a very good one of her."</p>
+
+<p>"They always photograph badly," murmured Mrs. Wallace.</p>
+
+<p>"She's the best girl in the world. You can't think how good, and kind,
+and simple she is; she reminds me always of an English breeze."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't like east winds myself," said Mrs. Wallace. "But I can see she
+has all sorts of admirable qualities."</p>
+
+<p>"D'you know why I came to see you to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I forced you," said Mrs. Wallace, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"I came to say good-bye; I've got a month's leave."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but I shall be gone by the time you come back."</p>
+
+<p>"I know. It is for that reason."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Wallace looked at him quickly, hesitated, then glanced away.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it so bad as that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't you understand?" cried James, breaking suddenly from his
+reserve. "I must tell you. I shall never see you again, and it can't
+matter. I love you with all my heart and soul. I didn't know what love
+was till I met you. God help me, it was only friendship I had for Mary!
+This is so different. Oh, I hate myself! I can't help it; the mere touch
+of your hand sends me mad with passion. I daren't see you again&mdash;I'm not
+a blackguard. I know it's quite hopeless. And I've given my word to
+Mary."</p>
+
+<p>The look of her eyes, the sound of her voice, sent half his fine
+intentions flying before the wind. He lost command over himself&mdash;but
+only for a moment; the old habits were strong.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon! I oughtn't to have spoken. Don't be angry with me
+for what I've said. I couldn't help it. You thought me a fool because I
+ran away from you. It was all I could do. I couldn't help loving you.
+You understand now, don't you? I know that you will never wish to see me
+again, and it's better for both of us. Good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>He stretched out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't know it was so bad as that," she said, looking at him with
+kindly eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't you see me tremble when the hem of your dress touched me by
+accident? Didn't you hear that I couldn't speak; the words were dried
+up in my throat?" He sank into a chair weakly; but then immediately
+gathering himself together, sprang up. "Good-bye," he said. "Let me go
+quickly."</p>
+
+<p>She gave him her hand, and then, partly in kindness, partly in malice,
+bent forward and kissed his lips. James gave a cry, a sob; now he lost
+command over himself entirely. He took her in his arms roughly, and
+kissed her mouth, her eyes, her hair&mdash;so passionately that Mrs. Wallace
+was frightened. She tried to free herself; but he only held her closer,
+madly kissing her lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Take care," she said. "What are you doing? Let me go!" And she pushed
+him away.</p>
+
+<p>She was a cautious woman, who never allowed flirtation to go beyond
+certain decorous lengths, and she was used to a milder form of
+philandering.</p>
+
+<p>"You've disarranged my hair, you silly boy!" She went to the glass to
+put it in order, and when she turned back found that James had gone.
+"What an odd creature!" she muttered.</p>
+
+<p>To Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace the affair was but an incident, such as might
+have been the love of Ph&aelig;dra had she flourished in an age when the art
+of living consists in not taking things too seriously; but for
+Hippolitus a tragedy of one sort or another is inevitable. James was not
+a man of easy affections; he made the acquaintance of people with a
+feeling of hostility rather than with the more usual sensation of
+friendly curiosity. He was shy, and even with his best friends could not
+lessen his reserve. Some persons are able to form close intimacies with
+admirable facility, but James felt always between himself and his
+fellows a sort of barrier. He could not realise that deep and sudden
+sympathy was even possible, and was apt to look with mistrust upon the
+appearance thereof. He seemed frigid and perhaps supercilious to those
+with whom he came in contact; he was forced to go his way, hiding from
+all eyes the emotions he felt. And when at last he fell passionately in
+love, it meant to him ten times more than to most men; it was a sudden
+freedom from himself. He was like a prisoner who sees for the first time
+in his life the trees and the hurrying clouds, and all the various
+movement of the world. For a little while James had known a wonderful
+liberty, an ineffable bliss which coloured the whole universe with new,
+strange colours. But then he learnt that the happiness was only sin, and
+he returned voluntarily to his cold prison.... Till he tried to crush
+it, he did not know how strong was this passion; he did not realise that
+it had made of him a different man; it was the only thing in the world
+to him, beside which everything else was meaningless. He became
+ruthless towards himself, undergoing every torture which he fancied
+might cleanse him of the deadly sin.</p>
+
+<p>And when Mrs. Wallace, against his will, forced herself upon his
+imagination, he tried to remember her vulgarity, her underbred manners,
+her excessive use of scent. She had merely played with him, without
+thinking or caring what the result to him might be. She was bent on as
+much enjoyment as possible without exposing herself to awkward
+consequences; common scandal told him that he was not the first callow
+youth that she had entangled with her provoking glances and her witty
+tongue. The epithet by which his brother officers qualified her was
+expressive, though impolite. James repeated these things a hundred
+times: he said that Mrs. Wallace was not fit to wipe Mary's boots; he
+paraded before himself, like a set of unread school-books, all Mary's
+excellent qualities. He recalled her simple piety, her good-nature, and
+kindly heart; she had every attribute that a man could possibly want in
+his wife. And yet&mdash;and yet, when he slept he dreamed he was talking to
+the other; all day her voice sang in his ears, her gay smile danced
+before his eyes. He remembered every word she had ever said; he
+remembered the passionate kisses he had given her. How could he forget
+that ecstasy? He writhed, trying to expel the importunate image; but
+nothing served.</p>
+
+<p>Time could not weaken the impression. Since then he had never seen Mrs.
+Wallace, but the thought of her was still enough to send the blood
+racing through his veins. He had done everything to kill the mad,
+hopeless passion; and always, like a rank weed, it had thriven with
+greater strength. James knew it was his duty to marry Mary Clibborn, and
+yet he felt he would rather die. As the months passed on, and he knew he
+must shortly see her, he was never free from a sense of terrible
+anxiety. Doubt came to him, and he could not drive it away. The
+recollection of her was dim, cold, formless; his only hope was that when
+he saw her love might rise up again, and kill that other passion which
+made him so utterly despise himself. But he had welcomed the war as a
+respite, and the thought came to him that its chances might easily solve
+the difficulty. Then followed the months of hardship and of fighting;
+and during these the image of Mrs. Wallace had been less persistent, so
+that James fancied he was regaining the freedom he longed for. And when
+he lay wounded and ill, his absolute weariness made him ardently look
+forward to seeing his people again. A hotter love sprang up for them;
+and the hope became stronger that reunion with Mary might awaken the
+dead emotion. He wished for it with all his heart.</p>
+
+<p>But he had seen Mary, and he felt it hopeless; she left him cold, almost
+hostile. And with a mocking laugh, James heard Mrs. Wallace's words:</p>
+
+<p>"Subalterns always get engaged to the same type of girl. They photograph
+so badly."</p>
+
+<p class="tb">And now he did not know what to do. The long recalling of the past had
+left James more uncertain than ever. Some devil within him cried, "Wait,
+wait! Something may happen!" It really seemed better to let things slide
+a little. Perhaps&mdash;who could tell?&mdash;in a day or two the old habit might
+render Mary as dear to him as when last he had wandered with her in that
+green wood, James sighed, and looked about him.... The birds still sang
+merrily, the squirrel leaped from tree to tree; even the blades of grass
+stood with a certain conscious pleasure, as the light breeze rustled
+through them. In the mid-day sun all things took pleasure in their life;
+and all Nature appeared full of joy, coloured and various and
+insouciant. He alone was sad.</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h3>
+
+
+<p>When James went home he found that the Vicar of Little Primpton and his
+wife had already arrived. They were both of them little, dried-up
+persons, with an earnest manner and no sense of humour, quite excellent
+in a rather unpleasant way; they resembled one another like peas, but
+none knew whether the likeness had grown from the propinquity of twenty
+years, or had been the original attraction. Deeply impressed with their
+sacred calling&mdash;for Mrs. Jackson would never have acknowledged that the
+Vicar's wife held a position inferior to the Vicar's&mdash;they argued that
+the whole world was God's, and they God's particular ministrants; so
+that it was their plain duty to concern themselves with the business of
+their fellows&mdash;and it must be confessed that they never shrank from this
+duty. They were neither well-educated, nor experienced, nor tactful; but
+blissfully ignorant of these defects, they shepherded their flock with
+little moral barks, and gave them, rather self-consciously, a good
+example in the difficult way to eternal life. They were eminently
+worthy people, who thought light-heartedness somewhat indecent. They did
+endless good in the most disagreeable manner possible; and in their
+fervour not only bore unnecessary crosses themselves, but saddled them
+on to everyone else, as the only certain passport to the Golden City.</p>
+
+<p>The Reverend Archibald Jackson had been appointed to the living of
+Little Primpton while James was in India, and consequently had never
+seen him.</p>
+
+<p>"I was telling your father," said Mrs. Jackson, on shaking hands, "that
+I hoped you were properly grateful for all the mercies that have been
+bestowed upon you."</p>
+
+<p>James stared at her a little. "Were you?"</p>
+
+<p>He hated the fashion these people had of discussing matters which he
+himself thought most private.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Jackson was asking if you'd like a short prayer offered up next
+Sunday, James," said his mother.</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't at all."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" asked the Vicar, "I think it's your duty to thank your Maker
+for your safe return, and I think your parents should join in the
+thanksgiving."</p>
+
+<p>"We're probably none of us less grateful," said James, "because we
+don't want to express our feelings before the united congregation."</p>
+
+<p>Jamie's parents looked at him with relief, for the same thought filled
+their minds; but thinking it their duty to submit themselves to the
+spiritual direction of the Vicar and his wife, they had not thought it
+quite right to decline the proposal. Mrs. Jackson glanced at her husband
+with pained astonishment, but further argument was prevented by the
+arrival of Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn, and Mary.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Clibborn was a tall man, with oily black hair and fierce
+eyebrows, both dyed; aggressively military and reminiscent He had been
+in a cavalry regiment, where he had come to the philosophic conclusion
+that all men are dust&mdash;except cavalry-men; and he was able to look upon
+Jamie's prowess&mdash;the prowess of an infantryman&mdash;from superior heights.
+He was a great authority upon war, and could tell anyone what were the
+mistakes in South Africa, and how they might have been avoided; likewise
+he had known in the service half the peers of the realm, and talked of
+them by their Christian names. He spent three weeks every season in
+London, and dined late, at seven o'clock, so he had every qualification
+for considering himself a man of fashion.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what they'd do in Little Primpton without us," he said.
+"It's only us who keep it alive."</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Clibborn missed society.</p>
+
+<p>"The only people I can speak to are the Parsons," she told her husband,
+plaintively. "They're very good people&mdash;but only infantry, Reggie."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, they're only infantry," agreed Colonel Clibborn.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clibborn was a regimental beauty&mdash;of fifty, who had grown stout;
+but not for that ceased to use the weapons which Nature had given her
+against the natural enemies of the sex. In her dealings with several
+generations of adorers, she had acquired such a habit of languishing
+glances that now she used them unconsciously. Whether ordering meat from
+the butcher or discussing parochial matters with Mr. Jackson, Mrs.
+Clibborn's tone and manner were such that she might have been saying the
+most tender things. She had been very popular in the service, because
+she was the type of philandering woman who required no beating about the
+bush; her neighbour at the dinner-table, even if he had not seen her
+before, need never have hesitated to tell her with the soup that she was
+the handsomest creature he had ever seen, and with the <i>entrée</i> that he
+adored her.</p>
+
+<p>On coming in, Mrs. Clibborn for a moment looked at James, quite
+speechless, her head on one side and her eyes screwing into the corner
+of the room.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, how wonderful!" she said, at last "I suppose I mustn't call you
+Jamie now." She spoke very slowly, and every word sounded like a caress.
+Then she looked at James again in silent ecstasy. "Colonel Parsons, how
+proud you must be! And when I think that soon he will be my son! How
+thin you look, James!"</p>
+
+<p>"And how well you look, dear lady!"</p>
+
+<p>It was understood that everyone must make compliments to Mrs. Clibborn;
+otherwise she grew cross, and when she was cross she was horrid.</p>
+
+<p>She smiled to show her really beautiful teeth.</p>
+
+<p>"I should like to kiss you, James. May I, Mrs. Parsons?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," replied Jamie's mother, who didn't approve of Mrs. Clibborn
+at all.</p>
+
+<p>She turned her cheek to James, and assumed a seraphic expression while
+he lightly touched it with his lips.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm only an old woman," she murmured to the company in general.</p>
+
+<p>She seldom made more than one remark at a time, and at the end of each
+assumed an appropriate attitude&mdash;coy, Madonna-like, resigned, as the
+circumstances might require. Mr. Jackson came forward to shake hands,
+and she turned her languishing glance on him.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mr. Jackson, how beautiful your sermon was!"</p>
+
+<p class="tb">They sat down to dinner, and ate their ox-tail soup. It is terrible to
+think of the subtlety with which the Evil One can insinuate himself
+among the most pious; for soup at middle-day is one of his most
+dangerous wiles, and it is precisely with the simple-minded inhabitants
+of the country and of the suburbs that this vice is most prevalent.</p>
+
+<p>James was sitting next to Mrs. Clibborn, and presently she looked at him
+with the melancholy smile which had always seemed to her so effective.</p>
+
+<p>"We want you to tell us how you won your Victoria Cross, Jamie."</p>
+
+<p>The others, eager to hear the story from the hero's lips, had been,
+notwithstanding, too tactful to ask; but they were willing to take
+advantage of Mrs. Clibborn's lack of that quality.</p>
+
+<p>"We've all been looking forward to it," said the Vicar.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think there's anything to tell," replied James.</p>
+
+<p>His father and mother were looking at him with happy eyes, and the
+Colonel nodded to Mary.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, Jamie, tell us," she said. "We only saw the shortest account in
+the papers, and you said nothing about it in your letters."</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think it's very good form of me to tell you about it?" asked
+James, smiling gravely.</p>
+
+<p>"We're all friends here," said the Vicar.</p>
+
+<p>And Colonel Clibborn added, making sheep's eyes at his wife:</p>
+
+<p>"You can't refuse a lady!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm an old woman," sighed Mrs. Clibborn, with a doleful glance. "I
+can't expect him to do it for me."</p>
+
+<p>The only clever thing Mrs. Clibborn had done in her life was to
+acknowledge to old age at thirty, and then she did not mean it. It had
+been one of her methods in flirtation, covering all excesses under a
+maternal aspect. She must have told hundreds of young officers that she
+was old enough to be their mother; and she always said it looking
+plaintively at the ceiling, when they squeezed her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"It wasn't a very wonderful thing I did," said James, at last, "and it
+was completely useless."</p>
+
+<p>"No fine deed is useless," said the Vicar, sententiously.</p>
+
+<p>James looked at him a moment, but proceeded with his story.</p>
+
+<p>"It was only that I tried to save the life of a sub who'd just
+joined&mdash;and didn't."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you pass me the salt?" said Mrs. Clibborn.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma!" cried Mary, with a look as near irritation as her gentle nature
+permitted.</p>
+
+<p>"Go on, Jamie, there's a good boy," said Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>And James, seeing his father's charming, pathetic look of pride, told
+the story to him alone. The others did not care how much they hurt him
+so long as they could gape in admiration, but in his father he saw the
+most touching sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>"It was a chap called Larcher, a boy of eighteen, with fair hair and
+blue eyes, who looked quite absurdly young. His people live somewhere
+round here, near Ashford."</p>
+
+<p>"Larcher, did you say?" asked Mrs. Clibborn, "I've never heard the name.
+It's not a county family."</p>
+
+<p>"Go on, Jamie," said Mary, with some impatience.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he'd only been with us three or four weeks; but I knew him rather
+well. Oddly enough, he'd taken a sort of fancy to me. He was such a
+nice, bright boy, so enthusiastic and simple. I used to tell him that
+he ought to have been at school, rather than roughing it at the Cape."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clibborn sat with an idiotic smile on her lips, and a fixed
+expression of girlish innocence.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we knew we should be fighting in a day or so; and the evening
+before the battle young Larcher was talking to me. 'How d'you feel?' I
+said. He didn't answer quite so quickly as usual. 'D'you know,' he said,
+'I'm so awfully afraid that I shall funk it.' 'You needn't mind that,' I
+said, and I laughed. 'The first time we most of us do funk it. For five
+minutes or so you just have to cling on to your eyelashes to prevent
+yourself from running away, and then you feel all right, and you think
+it's rather sport.' 'I've got a sort of presentiment that I shall be
+killed,' he said. 'Don't be an ass,' I answered. 'We've all got a
+presentiment that we shall be killed the first time we're under fire. If
+all the people were killed who had presentiments, half the army would
+have gone to kingdom come long ago.'"</p>
+
+<p>"You should have told him to lay his trust in the hands of Him who has
+power to turn the bullet and to break the sword," said Mrs. Jackson.</p>
+
+<p>"He wasn't that sort," replied James, drily, "I laughed at him, thinking
+it the better way.... Well, next day we did really fight. We were sent
+to take an unoccupied hill. Our maxim was that a hill is always
+unoccupied unless the enemy are actually firing from it. Of course, the
+place was chock full of Boers; they waited till we had come within easy
+range for a toy-pistol, and then fired murderously. We did all we could.
+We tried to storm the place, but we hadn't a chance. Men tumbled down
+like nine-pins. I've never seen anything like it. The order was given to
+fire, and there was nothing to fire at but the naked rocks. We had to
+retire&mdash;we couldn't do anything else; and presently I found that poor
+Larcher had been wounded. Well, I thought he couldn't be left where he
+was, so I went back for him. I asked him if he could move. 'No,' he
+said, 'I think I'm hurt in the leg.' I knelt down and bandaged him up as
+well as I could. He was simply bleeding like a pig; and meanwhile
+brother Boer potted at us for all he was worth. 'How d'you feel?' I
+asked. 'Bit dicky; but comfortable. I didn't funk it, did I?' 'No, of
+course not, you juggins!' I said. 'Can you walk, d'you think?' 'I'll
+try.' I lifted him up and put my arm round him, and we got along for a
+bit; then he became awfully white and groaned, 'I do feel so bad,
+Parsons,' and then he fainted. So I had to carry him; and we went a bit
+farther, and then&mdash;and then I was hit in the arm. 'I say, I can't carry
+you now,' I said; 'for God's sake, buck up.' He opened his eyes, and I
+prevented him from falling. 'I think I can stand,' he said, and as he
+spoke a bullet got him in the neck, and his blood splashed over my face.
+He gave a gasp and died."</p>
+
+<p>James finished, and his mother and Mary wiped the tears from their eyes.
+Mrs. Clibborn turned to her husband.</p>
+
+<p>"Reggie, I'm sure the Larchers are not a county family."</p>
+
+<p>"There was a sapper of that name whom we met at Simla once, my dear,"
+replied the Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought I'd heard it before," said Mrs. Clibborn, with an air of
+triumph, as though she'd found out a very difficult puzzle. "Had he a
+red moustache?"</p>
+
+<p>"Have you heard from the young man's people, Captain Parsons?" asked
+Mrs. Jackson.</p>
+
+<p>"I had a letter from Mrs. Larcher, the boy's mother, asking me to go
+over and see her."</p>
+
+<p>"She must be very grateful to you, Jamie."</p>
+
+<p>"Why? She has no reason to be."</p>
+
+<p>"You did all you could to save him."</p>
+
+<p>"It would have been better if I'd left him alone. Don't you see that if
+he had remained where he was he might have been alive now. He would have
+been taken prisoner and sent to Pretoria, but that is better than
+rotting on the veldt. He was killed because I tried to save him."</p>
+
+<p>"There are worse things than death," said Colonel Parsons. "I have often
+thought that those fellows who surrendered did the braver thing. It is
+easy to stand and be shot down, but to hoist the white flag so as to
+save the lives of the men under one&mdash;that requires courage."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a sort of courage which seemed not uncommon," answered James,
+drily. "And they had a fairly pleasant time in Pretoria. Eventually, I
+believe, wars will be quite bloodless; rival armies will perambulate,
+and whenever one side has got into a good position, the other will
+surrender wholesale. Campaigns will be conducted like man&oelig;uvres, and
+the special correspondents will decide which lot has won."</p>
+
+<p>"If they were surrounded and couldn't escape, it would have been wicked
+not to hoist the white flag," said Mrs. Jackson.</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay you know more about it than I," replied James.</p>
+
+<p>But the Vicar's lady insisted:</p>
+
+<p>"If you were so placed that on one hand was certain death for yourself
+and all your men, and on the other hand surrender, which would you
+chose?"</p>
+
+<p>"One can never tell; and in those matters it is wiser not to boast.
+Certain death is an awful thing, but our fathers preferred it to
+surrender."</p>
+
+<p>"War is horrible!" said Mary, shuddering.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no!" cried James, shaking himself out of his despondency. "War is
+the most splendid thing in the world. I shall never forget those few
+minutes, now and then, when we got on top of the Boers and fought with
+them, man to man, in the old way. Ah, life seemed worth living then! One
+day, I remember, they'd been giving it us awfully hot all the morning,
+and we'd lost frightfully. At last we rushed their position, and, by
+Jove, we let 'em have it! How we did hate them! You should have heard
+the Tommies cursing as they killed! I shall never forget the
+exhilaration of it, the joy of thinking that we were getting our own
+again. By Gad, it beat cock-fighting!"</p>
+
+<p>Jamie's cheeks were flushed and his eyes shone; but he had forgotten
+where he was, and his father's voice came to him through a mist of blood
+and a roar of sound.</p>
+
+<p>"I have fought, too," said Colonel Parsons, looking at his son with
+troubled eyes&mdash;"I have fought, too, but never with anger in my heart,
+nor lust of vengeance. I hope I did my duty, but I never forgot that my
+enemy was a fellow-creature. I never felt joy at killing, but pain and
+grief. War is inevitable, but it is horrible, horrible! It is only the
+righteous cause that can excuse it; and then it must be tempered with
+mercy and forgiveness."</p>
+
+<p>"Cause? Every cause is righteous. I can think of no war in which right
+has not been fairly equal on both sides; in every question there is
+about as much to be said on either part, and in none more than in war.
+Each country is necessarily convinced of the justice of its own cause."</p>
+
+<p>"They can't both be right."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, they can. It's generally six to one and half a dozen of the
+other."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean to say that you, a military man, think the Boers were
+justified?" asked Colonel Clibborn, with some indignation.</p>
+
+<p>James laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"You must remember that if any nation but ourselves had been engaged,
+our sympathies would have been entirely with the sturdy peasants
+fighting for their independence. The two great powers in the affairs of
+the world are sentiment and self-interest. The Boers are the smaller,
+weaker nation, and they have been beaten; it is only natural that
+sympathy should be with them. It was with the French for the same
+reason, after the Franco-Prussian War. But we, who were fighting,
+couldn't think of sentiment; to us it was really a matter of life and
+death, I was interested to see how soon the English put aside their
+ideas of fair play and equal terms when we had had a few reverses. They
+forgot that one Englishman was equal to ten foreigners, and insisted on
+sending out as many troops as possible. I fancy you were badly
+panic-stricken over here."</p>
+
+<p>James saw that his listeners looked at him with surprise, even with
+consternation; and he hastened to explain.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, I don't blame them. They were quite right to send as many
+men as possible. The object of war is not to do glorious actions, but to
+win. Other things being equal, it is obviously better to be ten to one;
+it is less heroic, but more reasonable."</p>
+
+<p>"You take from war all the honour and all the chivalry!" cried Mary.
+"The only excuse for war is that it brings out the noblest qualities of
+man&mdash;self-sacrifice, unselfishness, endurance."</p>
+
+<p>"But war doesn't want any excuse," replied James, smiling gently. "Many
+people say that war is inhuman and absurd; many people are uncommonly
+silly. When they think war can be abolished, they show a phenomenal
+ignorance of the conditions of all development. War in one way and
+another is at the very root of life. War is not conducted only by fire
+and sword; it is in all nature, it is the condition of existence for
+all created things. Even the wild flowers in the meadow wage war, and
+they wage it more ruthlessly even than man, for with them defeat means
+extermination. The law of Nature is that the fit should kill the unfit.
+The Lord is the Lord of Hosts. The lame, and the halt, and the blind
+must remain behind, while the strong man goes his way rejoicing."</p>
+
+<p>"How hard you are!" said Mary. "Have you no pity, James?"</p>
+
+<p>"D'you know, I've got an idea that there's too much pity in the world.
+People seem to be losing their nerve; reality shocks them, and they live
+slothfully in the shoddy palaces of Sham Ideals. The sentimentalists,
+the cowards, and the cranks have broken the spirit of mankind. The
+general in battle now is afraid to strike because men may be killed.
+Sometimes it is worth while to lose men. When we become soldiers, we
+know that we cease to be human beings, and are merely the instruments
+for a certain work; we know that sometimes it may be part of a general's
+deliberate plan that we should be killed. I have no confidence in a
+leader who is tender-hearted. Compassion weakens his brain, and the
+result, too often, is disaster."</p>
+
+<p>But as he spoke, James realised with a start how his father would take
+what he was saying. He could have torn out his tongue, he would have
+given anything that the words should remain unspoken. His father, in
+pity and in humanity, had committed just such a fatal mistake, and
+trying tender-heartedly to save life had brought about death and
+disaster. He would take the thoughtless words as a deliberate
+condemnation; the wound, barely closed, was torn open by his very son,
+and he must feel again the humiliation which had nearly killed him.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons sat motionless, as though he were stunned, his eyes
+fixed on James with horror and pain; he looked like some hunted animal,
+terror-stricken, and yet surprised, wondering that man should be so
+cruel.</p>
+
+<p>"What can I do?" thought James. "How can I make it good for him?"</p>
+
+<p>The conversation was carried on by the Clibborns and by the Vicar, all
+happily unconscious that a tragedy was acting under their noses. James
+looked at his father. He wanted to show how bitterly he regretted the
+pain he had caused, but knew not what to say; he wanted to give a sign
+of his eager love, and tortured himself, knowing the impossibility of
+showing in any way his devotion.</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately, the maid came in to announce that the school children were
+without, to welcome Captain Parsons; and they all rose from the table.</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h3>
+
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons and his wife had wished no function to celebrate the
+home-coming of James; but gave in to the persuasions of Mary and of Mr.
+Dryland, the curate, who said that a public ceremony would be
+undoubtedly a stimulus to the moral welfare of Little Primpton. No man
+could escape from his obligations, and Captain Parsons owed it to his
+fellow-countrymen of Little Primpton to let them show their appreciation
+of his great deed.</p>
+
+<p>The Vicar went so far as to assert that a hearty greeting to the hero
+would be as salutory to the parishioners as a sermon of his own, while
+it would awaken James, a young man and possibly thoughtless, to a proper
+sense of his responsibilities. But the sudden arrival of James had
+disturbed the arrangements, and Mr. Dryland, in some perplexity, went to
+see Mary.</p>
+
+<p>"What are we to do, Miss Clibborn? The school children will be so
+disappointed."</p>
+
+<p>The original plan had been to meet the hero as he drove towards
+Primpton House from the station, and the curate was unwilling to give it
+up.</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think Captain Parsons would go into Tunbridge Wells and drive in
+at two o'clock, as if he were just arriving?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid he wouldn't," replied Mary, doubtfully, "and I think he'd
+only laugh if I asked him. He seemed glad when he thought he had escaped
+the celebration."</p>
+
+<p>"Did he, indeed? How true it is that real courage is always modest! But
+it would be an eternal disgrace to Little Primpton if we did not welcome
+our hero, especially now that everything is prepared. It must not be
+said that Little Primpton neglects to honour him whom the Empire has
+distinguished."</p>
+
+<p>After turning over many plans, they decided that the procession should
+come to Primpton House at the appointed hour, when Captain Parsons would
+receive it from the triumphal arch at the gate.... When the servant
+announced that the function was ready to begin, an announcement
+emphasised by the discordant notes of the brass band, Mary hurriedly
+explained to James what was expected of him, and they all made for the
+front door.</p>
+
+<p>Primpton House faced the green, and opposite the little village shops
+were gay with bunting; at the side, against the highroad that led to
+Groombridge, the church and the public-house stood together in friendly
+neighbourhood, decorated with Union Jacks. The whole scene, with its
+great chestnut-trees, and the stretch of greenery beyond, was pleasantly
+rural, old-fashioned and very English; and to complete it, the sun shone
+down comfortably like a good-natured, mild old gentleman. The curate,
+with a fine sense of order, had arranged on the right the school-boys,
+nicely scrubbed and redolent of pomatum; and on the left the girls,
+supported by their teachers. In the middle stood the choir, the brass
+band, and Mr. Dryland. The village yokels were collected round in
+open-mouthed admiration. The little party from the house took their
+places under the triumphal arch, the Clibborns assuming an expression of
+genteel superciliousness; and as they all wore their Sunday clothes,
+they made quite an imposing group.</p>
+
+<p>Seeing that they were ready, Mr. Dryland stepped forward, turned his
+back so as to command the musicians, and coughed significantly. He
+raised above his head his large, white clerical hand, stretching out the
+index-finger, and began to beat time. He bellowed aloud, and the choir,
+a bar or so late, followed lustily. The band joined in with a hearty
+braying of trumpets.</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"<i>See, the conquering Hero comes,</i></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Sound the trumpets; beat the drums.</i>"</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>But growing excited at the music issuing from his throat, the curate
+raised the other hand which held his soft felt hat, and beat time
+energetically with that also.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the verse the performers took a rapid breath, as though
+afraid of being left behind, and then galloped on, a little less evenly,
+until one by one they reached the highly-decorated Amen.</p>
+
+<p>When the last note of the last cornet had died away on the startled air,
+Mr. Dryland made a sign to the head boy of the school, who thereupon
+advanced and waved his cap, shouting:</p>
+
+<p>"Three cheers for Capting Parsons, V.C.!"</p>
+
+<p>Then the curate, wiping his heated brow, turned round and cleared his
+throat.</p>
+
+<p>"Captain Parsons," he said, in a loud voice, so that none should miss
+his honeyed words, "we, the inhabitants of Little Primpton, welcome you
+to your home. I need not say that it is with great pleasure that we have
+gathered together this day to offer you our congratulations on your safe
+return to those that love you. I need not remind you that there is no
+place like home. ("Hear, hear!" from the Vicar.) We are proud to think
+that our fellow-parishioner should have gained the coveted glory of the
+Victoria Cross. Little Primpton need not be ashamed now to hold up its
+head among the proudest cities of the Empire. You have brought honour to
+yourself, but you have brought honour to us also. You have shown that
+Englishmen know how to die; you have shown the rival nations of the
+Continent that the purity and the godliness of Old England still bear
+fruit. But I will say no more; I wished only to utter a few words to
+welcome you on behalf of those who cannot, perhaps, express themselves
+so well as I can. I will say no more. Captain Parsons, we hope that you
+will live long to enjoy your honour and glory, side by side with her who
+is to shortly become your wife. I would only assure you that your
+example has not been lost upon us; we all feel better, nobler, and more
+truly Christian. And we say to you, now that you have overcome all
+dangers and tribulation, now that you have returned to the bosom of your
+beloved family, take her who has also given us an example of
+resignation, of courage, and of&mdash;and of resignation. Take her, we say,
+and be happy; confident in the respect, esteem, and affection of the
+people of Little Primpton. James Brown, who has the honour to bear the
+same Christian name as yourself, and is also the top boy of the Parish
+School, will now recite a short poem entitled 'Casabianca.'</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dryland had wished to compose an ode especially for the occasion.
+It would evidently have been effective to welcome the hero, to glorify
+his deed, and to point the moral in a few original verses; but,
+unhappily, the muse was froward, which was singular, since the <i>élite</i>
+of Little Primpton had unimpeachable morals, ideals of the most approved
+character, and principles enough to build a church with; nor was an
+acquaintance with literature wanting. They all read the daily papers,
+and Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, in addition, read the <i>Church Times</i>. Mary
+even knew by heart whole chunks of Sir Lewis Morris, and Mr. Dryland
+recited Tennyson at penny readings. But when inspiration is wanting, a
+rhyming dictionary, for which the curate sent to London, will not help
+to any great extent; and finally the unanimous decision was reached to
+give some well-known poem apposite to the circumstance. It shows in what
+charming unity of spirit these simple, God-fearing people lived, and how
+fine was their sense of literary excellence, that without hesitation
+they voted in chorus for "Casabianca."</p>
+
+<p>The head boy stepped forward&mdash;he had been carefully trained by Mr.
+Dryland&mdash;and with appropriate gestures recited the immortal verses of
+Felicia Hemans:</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"<i>The boy stood on the burning deck,</i></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Whence all but 'e 'ad fled;</i></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>The flame that lit the battle's wreck,</i></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Shone round 'im o'er the dead.</i>"</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>When he finished, amid the discreet applause of the little party beneath
+the archway, Mr. Dryland again advanced.</p>
+
+<p>"Polly Game, the top girl of the Parish School, will now present Miss
+Clibborn with a bouquet. Step forward, Polly Game."</p>
+
+<p>This was a surprise arranged by the curate, and he watched with pleasure
+Mary's look of delighted astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>Polly Game stepped forward, and made a little speech in the ingenuous
+words which Mr. Dryland had thought natural to her character and
+station.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, Miss Clibborn, we, the girls of Little Primpton, wish to
+present you with this bouquet as a slight token of our esteem. We wish
+you a long life and a 'appy marriage with the choice of your 'eart."</p>
+
+<p>She then handed a very stiff bunch of flowers, surrounded with frilled
+paper like the knuckle of a leg of mutton.</p>
+
+<p>"We will now sing hymn number one hundred and thirty-seven," said Mr.
+Dryland.</p>
+
+<p>The verses were given vigorously, while Mrs. Clibborn, with a tender
+smile, murmured to Mrs. Parsons that it was beautiful to see such a nice
+spirit among the lower classes. The strains of the brass band died away
+on the summer breeze, and there was a momentary pause. Then the Vicar,
+with a discreet cough to clear his throat, came forward.</p>
+
+<p>"Captain Parsons, ladies and gentlemen, parishioners of Little Primpton,
+I wish to take the opportunity to say a few words."</p>
+
+<p>The Vicar made an admirable speech. The sentiments were hackneyed, the
+observations self-evident, and the moral obvious. His phrases had the
+well-known ring which distinguishes the true orator. Mr. Jackson was
+recognised everywhere to be a fine platform speaker, but his varied
+excellence could not be appreciated in a summary, and he had a fine
+verbosity. It is sufficient to say that he concluded by asking for more
+cheers, which were heartily given.</p>
+
+<p>James found the whole affair distasteful and ridiculous; and indeed
+scarcely noticed what was going on, for his thoughts were entirely
+occupied with his father. At first Colonel Parsons seemed too depressed
+to pay attention to the ceremony, and his eyes travelled every now and
+again to James, with that startled, unhappy expression which was
+horribly painful to see. But his age and weakness prevented him from
+feeling very intensely for more than a short while; time had brought its
+own good medicine, and the old man's mind was easily turned. Presently
+he began to smile, and the look of pride and happiness returned to his
+face.</p>
+
+<p>But James was not satisfied. He felt he must make active reparation.
+When the Vicar finished, and he understood that some reply was expected,
+it occurred to him that he had an opportunity of salving the bitter
+wound he had caused. The very hatred he felt at making open allusion to
+his feelings made him think it a just punishment; none knew but himself
+how painful it was to talk in that strain to stupid, curious people.</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you very much for the welcome you have all given me," he said.</p>
+
+<p>His voice trembled in his nervousness, so that he could hardly command
+it, and he reddened. It seemed to James a frightful humiliation to have
+to say the things he had in mind, it made them all ugly and vulgar; he
+was troubled also by his inability to express what he felt. He noticed a
+reporter for the local newspaper rapidly taking notes.</p>
+
+<p>"I have been very much touched by your kindness. Of course, I am
+extremely proud to have won the Victoria Cross, but I feel it is really
+more owing to my father than to any deed of mine. You all know my
+father, and you know what a brave and gallant soldier he was. It was
+owing to his fine example, and to his teaching, and to his constant,
+loving care, that I was able to do the little I did. And I should like
+to say that it is to him and to my mother that I owe everything. It is
+the thought of his unblemished and exquisite career, of the beautiful
+spirit which brightly coloured all his actions, that has supported me in
+times of difficulty. And my earnest desire has always been to prove
+myself worthy of my father and the name he has handed on to me. You have
+cheered me very kindly; now I should like to ask you for three cheers
+for my father."</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons looked at his son as he began to speak. When he realised
+Jamie's meaning, tears filled his eyes and streamed down his
+cheeks&mdash;tears of happiness and gratitude. All recollection of the
+affront quickly vanished, and he felt an ecstatic joy such as he had
+never known before. The idea came to him in his weakness: "Now I can die
+happy!" He was too overcome to be ashamed of his emotion, and taking out
+his handkerchief, quite unaffectedly wiped his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>The band struck up "Rule, Britannia" and "God Save the Queen"; and in
+orderly fashion, as Mr. Dryland had arranged, they all marched off. The
+group under the triumphal arch broke up, and the Jacksons and Colonel
+and Mrs. Clibborn went their ways.</p>
+
+<p>Mary came into the house. She took Jamie's hands, her eyes wet with
+tears.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Jamie," she said, "you are good! It was charming of you to speak as
+you did of your father. You don't know how happy you've made him."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm very glad you are pleased," he said gravely, and bending forward,
+put his arm round her waist and kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she leant her head against his shoulder; but with her
+emotion was a thing soon vanquished. She wished, above all things, to be
+manly, as befitted a soldier's wife. She shook herself, and withdrew
+from Jamie's arms.</p>
+
+<p>"But I must be running off, or mamma will be angry with me. Good-bye for
+the present."</p>
+
+<p class="tb">James went into the dining-room, where his father, exhausted by the
+varied agitations of the day, was seeking composure in the leading
+articles of the morning paper. Mrs. Parsons sat on her usual chair,
+knitting, and she greeted him with a loving smile. James saw that they
+were both pleased with his few awkward words, which still rang in his
+own ears as shoddy and sentimental, and he tasted, somewhat ruefully,
+the delight of making the kind creatures happy.</p>
+
+<p>"Has Mary gone?" asked Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. She said her mother would be angry if she stayed."</p>
+
+<p>"I saw that Mrs. Clibborn was put out. I suppose because someone besides
+herself attracted attention. I do think she is the wickedest woman I've
+ever known."</p>
+
+<p>"Frances, Frances!" expostulated the Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>"She is, Richmond. She's a thoroughly bad woman. The way she treats Mary
+is simply scandalous."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor girl!" said the Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Jamie, it makes my blood boil when I think of it. Sometimes the
+poor thing used to come here quite upset, and simply cry as if her heart
+was breaking."</p>
+
+<p>"But what does Mrs. Clibborn do?" asked James, surprised.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I can't tell you! She's dreadfully unkind. She hates Mary because
+she's grown up, and because she sometimes attracts attention. She's
+always making little cruel remarks. You only see her when she's on her
+good behaviour; but when she's alone with Mary, Mrs. Clibborn is simply
+horrible. She abuses her; she tells her she's ugly, and that she
+dresses badly. How can she dress any better when Mrs. Clibborn spends
+all the money on herself? I've heard her myself say to Mary: 'How stupid
+and clumsy you are! I'm ashamed to take you anywhere.' And Mary's the
+very soul of goodness. She teaches in the Sunday School, and she trains
+the choir-boys, and she visits the poor; and yet Mrs. Clibborn complains
+that she's useless. I wanted Richmond to talk to Colonel Clibborn about
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"Mary particularly asked me not to," said Colonel Parsons. "She
+preferred to bear anything rather than create unhappiness between her
+father and mother."</p>
+
+<p>"She's a perfect angel of goodness!" cried Mrs. Parsons,
+enthusiastically. "She's simply a martyr, and all the time she's as kind
+and affectionate to her mother as if she were the best woman in the
+world. She never lets anyone say a word against her."</p>
+
+<p>"Sometimes," murmured Colonel Parsons, "she used to say that her only
+happiness was in the thought of you, Jamie."</p>
+
+<p>"The thought of me?" said James; and then hesitatingly: "Do you think
+she is very fond of me, mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"Fond of you?" Mrs Parsons laughed. "She worships the very ground you
+tread on. You can't imagine all you are to her."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll make the boy vain," said Colonel Parsons, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"Often the only way we could comfort her was by saying that you would
+come back some day and take her away from here."</p>
+
+<p>"We shall have to be thinking of weddings soon, I suppose?" said Colonel
+Parsons, looking at James, with a bantering smile.</p>
+
+<p>James turned white. "It's rather early to think of that just yet."</p>
+
+<p>"We spoke of June," said his mother.</p>
+
+<p>"We must see."</p>
+
+<p>"You've waited so long," said Colonel Parsons; "I'm sure you don't want
+to wait any longer."</p>
+
+<p>"She <i>will</i> make you a good wife, Jamie. You are lucky to have found
+such a dear, sweet girl. It's a blessing to us to think that you will be
+so happy."</p>
+
+<p>"As I was saying to Mary the other day," added Colonel Parsons, laughing
+gently, "'you must begin thinking of your trousseau, my dear,' I said,
+'If I know anything of Jamie, he'll want to get married in a week. These
+young fellows are always impatient.'"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs Parsons smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's a great secret, and Mary would be dreadfully annoyed if she
+thought you knew; but when we heard you were coming home, she started
+to order things. Her father has given her a hundred pounds to begin
+with."</p>
+
+<p>They had no mercy, thought James. They were horribly cruel in their
+loving-kindness, in their affectionate interest for his welfare.</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h3>
+
+
+<p>James had been away from England for five years; and in that time a
+curious change, long silently proceeding, had made itself openly
+felt&mdash;becoming manifest, like an insidious disease, only when every limb
+and every organ were infected. A new spirit had been in action, eating
+into the foundations of the national character; it worked through the
+masses of the great cities, unnerved by the three poisons of drink, the
+Salvation Army, and popular journalism. A mighty force of hysteria and
+sensationalism was created, seething, ready to burst its bonds ... The
+canker spread through the country-side; the boundaries of class and
+class are now so vague that quickly the whole population was affected;
+the current literature of the day flourished upon it; the people of
+England, neurotic from the stress of the last sixty years, became
+unstable as water. And with the petty reverses of the beginning of the
+war, the last barriers of shame were broken down; their arrogance was
+dissipated, and suddenly the English became timorous as a conquered
+nation, deprecating, apologetic; like frightened women, they ran to and
+fro, wringing their hands. Reserve, restraint, self-possession, were
+swept away ... And now we are frankly emotional; reeds tottering in the
+wind, our boast is that we are not even reeds that think; we cry out for
+idols. Who is there that will set up a golden ass that we may fall down
+and worship? We glory in our shame, in our swelling hearts, in our eyes
+heavy with tears. We want sympathy at all costs; we run about showing
+our bleeding vitals, asking one another whether they are not indeed a
+horrible sight. Englishmen now are proud of being womanish, and nothing
+is more manly than to weep. To be a man of feeling is better than to be
+a gentleman&mdash;it is certainly much easier. The halt of mind, the maim,
+the blind of wit, have come by their own; and the poor in spirit have
+inherited the earth.</p>
+
+<p>James had left England when this emotional state was contemptible. Found
+chiefly in the dregs of the populace, it was ascribed to ignorance and
+to the abuse of stimulants. When he returned, it had the public
+conscience behind it. He could not understand the change. The persons he
+had known sober, equal-minded, and restrained, now seemed violently
+hysterical. James still shuddered, remembering the curate's allusions to
+his engagement; and he wondered that Mary, far from thinking them
+impertinent, had been vastly gratified. She seemed to take pleasure in
+publicly advertising her connection, in giving her private affairs to
+the inspection of all and sundry. The whole ceremony had been revolting;
+he loathed the adulation and the fulsome sentiment. His own emotions
+seemed vulgar now that he had been forced to display them to the gaping
+crowd.</p>
+
+<p>But the function of the previous day had the effect also of sealing his
+engagement. Everyone knew of it. Jamie's name was indissolubly joined
+with Mary's; he could not break the tie now without exposing her to the
+utmost humiliation. And how could he offer her such an affront when she
+loved him devotedly? It was not vanity that made him think so, his
+mother had told him outright; and he saw it in every look of Mary's
+eyes, in the least inflection of her voice. James asked himself
+desperately why Mary should care for him. He was not good-looking; he
+was silent; he was not amusing; he had no particular attraction.</p>
+
+<p>James was sitting in his room, and presently heard Mary's voice calling
+from the hall.</p>
+
+<p>"Jamie! Jamie!"</p>
+
+<p>He got up and came downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, Jamie," said his father, "you ought to have gone to fetch Mary,
+instead of waiting here for her to come to you."</p>
+
+<p>"You certainly ought, Jamie," said Mary, laughing; and then, looking at
+him, with sudden feeling: "But how seedy you look!"</p>
+
+<p>James had hardly slept, troubling over his perplexity, and he looked
+haggard and tired.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm all right," he said; "I'm not very strong yet, and I was rather
+exhausted yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>"Mary thought you would like to go with her this morning, while she does
+her district visiting."</p>
+
+<p>"It's a beautiful morning, Jamie; it will do you good!" cried Mary.</p>
+
+<p>"I should like it very much."</p>
+
+<p>They started out. Mary wore her every-day costume&mdash;a serge gown, a
+sailor hat, and solid, square-toed boots. She walked fast, with long
+steps and firm carriage. James set himself to talk, asking her
+insignificant questions about the people she visited. Mary answered with
+feeling and at length, but was interrupted by arriving at a cottage.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd better not come in here," she said, blushing slightly; "although
+I want to take you in to some of the people. I think it will be a lesson
+to them."</p>
+
+<p>"A lesson in what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I can't tell you to your face, I don't want to make you conceited;
+but you can guess while you're waiting for me."</p>
+
+<p>Mary's patient was about to be confined, and thinking her condition
+rather indecent, quite rightly, Mary had left James outside. But the
+good lady, since it was all in the way of nature, was not so ashamed of
+herself as she should have been, and insisted on coming to the door to
+show Miss Clibborn out.</p>
+
+<p>"Take care he doesn't see you!" cried Mary in alarm, pushing her back.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there's no harm in it. I'm a married woman. You'll have to go
+through it yourself one day, miss."</p>
+
+<p>Mary rejoined her lover, suffused in blushes, hoping he had seen
+nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"It's very difficult to teach these people propriety. Somehow the lower
+classes seem to have no sense of decency."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, nothing I can tell you," replied Mary, modestly. Then, to turn the
+conversation: "She asked after my young man, and was very anxious to see
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"Was she? How did she know you had a young man?" asked James, grimly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, everyone knows that! You can't keep secrets in Primpton. And
+besides, I'm not ashamed of it. Are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't got a young man."</p>
+
+<p>Mary laughed.</p>
+
+<p>They walked on. The morning was crisp and bright, sending a healthy
+colour through Mary's cheeks. The blue sky and the bracing air made her
+feel more self-reliant, better assured than ever of her upright purpose
+and her candid heart. The road, firm underfoot and delightful to walk
+upon, stretched before them in a sinuous line. A pleasant odour came
+from the adjoining fields, from the farm-yards, as they passed them; the
+larks soared singing with happy heart, while the sparrows chirruped in
+the hedges. The hawthorn was bursting into leaf, all bright and green,
+and here and there the wild flowers were showing themselves, the
+buttercup and the speedwell. But while the charm of Nature made James
+anxious to linger, to lean on a gate and look for a while at the cows
+lazily grazing, Mary had too sound a constitution to find in it anything
+but a stimulus to renewed activity.</p>
+
+<p>"We mustn't dawdle, you lazy creature!" she cried merrily. "I shall
+never get through my round before one o'clock if we don't put our best
+foot foremost."</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you see them some other time?"</p>
+
+<p>The limpid air softened his heart; he thought for a moment that if he
+could wander aimlessly with Mary, gossiping without purpose, they might
+end by understanding one another. The sun, the wild flowers, the
+inconstant breeze, might help to create a new feeling.</p>
+
+<p>But Mary turned to him with grave tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>"You know I'd do anything to please you, Jamie. But even for you I
+cannot neglect my duty."</p>
+
+<p>James froze.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, you're quite right," he said. "It really doesn't matter."</p>
+
+<p>They came to another cottage, and this time Mary took James in.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a poor old man," she said. "I'm so sorry for him; he's always so
+grateful for what I do."</p>
+
+<p>They found him lying in bed, writhing with pain, his head supported by a
+pillow.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, how uncomfortable you look!" cried Mary. "You poor thing! Who on
+earth arranged your pillows like that?"</p>
+
+<p>"My daughter, miss."</p>
+
+<p>"I must talk to her; she ought to know better."</p>
+
+<p>Miss Clibborn drew away the pillows very gently, smoothed them out, and
+replaced them.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't bear 'em like that, miss. The other is the only way I'm
+comfortable."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, John!" cried Mary, brightly. "You couldn't be comfortable
+with your head all on one side; you're much better as you are."</p>
+
+<p>James saw the look of pain in the man's face, and ventured to
+expostulate.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think you'd better put them back in the old way? He seemed
+much easier."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, Jamie. You must know that the head ought to be higher than
+the body."</p>
+
+<p>"Please, miss, I can't bear the pillow like this."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, you can. You must show more forbearance and fortitude.
+Remember that God sends you pain in order to try you. Think of Our Lord
+suffering silently on the Cross."</p>
+
+<p>"You're putting him to quite unnecessary torture, Mary," said James. "He
+must know best how he's comfortable."</p>
+
+<p>"It's only because he's obstinate. Those people are always complaining.
+Really, you must permit me to know more about nursing than you do,
+Jamie."</p>
+
+<p>Jamie's face grew dark and grim, but he made no answer.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall send you some soup, John," said Mary, as they went out, "You
+know, one can never get these people to do anything in a rational way,"
+she added to James. "It's perfectly heartrending trying to teach them
+even such a natural thing as making themselves comfortable."</p>
+
+<p>James was silent.</p>
+
+<p>They walked a few yards farther, and passed a man in a dog-cart Mary
+turned very red, staring in front of her with the fixed awkwardness of
+one not adept in the useful art of cutting.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," she said, with vexation, "he's going to John."</p>
+
+<p>"Who is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's Dr. Higgins&mdash;a horrid, vulgar man. He's been dreadfully rude to
+me, and I make a point of cutting him."</p>
+
+<p>"Really?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, he behaved scandalously. I can't bear doctors, they're so
+dreadfully interfering. And they seem to think no one can know anything
+about doctoring but themselves! He was attending one of my patients; it
+was a woman, and of course I knew what she wanted. She was ill and weak,
+and needed strengthening; so I sent her down a bottle of port. Well, Dr.
+Higgins came to the house, and asked to see me. He's not a gentleman,
+you know, and he was so rude! 'I've come to see you about Mrs. Gandy,'
+he said. 'I particularly ordered her not to take stimulants, and I find
+you've sent her down port.' 'I thought she wanted it,' I said. 'She
+told me that you had said she wasn't to touch anything, but I thought a
+little port would do her good.' Then he said, 'I wish to goodness you
+wouldn't interfere with what you know nothing about.' 'I should like you
+to remember that you're speaking to a gentlewoman,' I said. 'I don't
+care twopence,' he answered, in the rudest way. 'I'm not going to allow
+you to interfere with my patients. I took the port away, and I wish you
+to understand that you're not to send any more.'</p>
+
+<p>"Then I confess I lost my temper. 'I suppose you took it away to drink
+yourself?' I said. Then what d'you think he did? He burst out laughing,
+and said: 'A bottle of port that cost two bob at the local grocer's! The
+saints preserve us!'"</p>
+
+<p>James repressed a smile.</p>
+
+<p>"'You impertinent man!' I said. 'You ought to be ashamed to talk to a
+woman like that. I shall at once send Mrs. Gandy another bottle of port,
+and it's no business of yours how much it cost.' 'If you do,' he said,
+'and anything happens, by God, I'll have you up for manslaughter.' I
+rang the bell. 'Leave the house,' I said, 'and never dare come here
+again!' Now don't you think I was right, Jamie?"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Mary, you always are!"</p>
+
+<p>James looked back at the doctor entering the cottage. It was some
+comfort to think that he would put the old man into a comfortable
+position.</p>
+
+<p>"When I told papa," added Mary, "he got in a most fearful rage. He
+insisted on going out with a horsewhip, and said he meant to thrash Dr.
+Higgins. He looked for him all the morning, but couldn't find him; and
+then your mother and I persuaded him it was better to treat such a
+vulgar man with silent contempt."</p>
+
+<p>James had noticed that the doctor was a burly, broad-shouldered fellow,
+and he could not help thinking Colonel Clibborn's resolution distinctly
+wise. How sad it is that in this world right is so often subordinate to
+brute force!</p>
+
+<p>"But he's not received anywhere. We all cut him; and I get everyone I
+can not to employ him."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" murmured James.</p>
+
+<p>Mary's next patient was feminine, and James was again left to cool his
+heels in the road; but not alone, for Mr. Dryland came out of the
+cottage. The curate was a big, stout man, with reddish hair, and a
+complexion like squashed strawberries and cream; his large, heavy face,
+hairless except for scanty red eyebrows, gave a disconcerting impression
+of nakedness. His eyes were blue and his mouth small, with the
+expression which young ladies, eighty years back, strove to acquire by
+repeating the words prune and prism. He had a fat, full voice, with
+unctuous modulations not entirely under his control, so that sometimes,
+unintentionally, he would utter the most commonplace remark in a tone
+fitted for a benediction. Mr. Dryland was possessed by the laudable
+ambition to be all things to all men; and he tried, without conspicuous
+success, always to suit his conversation to his hearers. With old ladies
+he was bland; with sportsmen slangy; with yokels he was broadly
+humorous; and with young people aggressively juvenile. But above all, he
+wished to be manly, and cultivated a boisterous laugh and a jovial
+manner.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know if you remember me," he cried, with a ripple of fat
+laughter, going up to James, "I had the pleasure of addressing a few
+words to you yesterday in my official capacity. Miss Clibborn told me
+you were waiting, and I thought I would introduce myself. My name is
+Dryland."</p>
+
+<p>"I remember quite well."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm the Vicar's bottle-washer, you know," added the curate, with a
+guffaw. "Change for you&mdash;going round to the sick and needy of the
+parish&mdash;after fighting the good fight. I hear you were wounded."</p>
+
+<p>"I was, rather badly."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could have gone out and had a smack at the Boers. Nothing I
+should have liked better. But, of course, I'm only a parson, you know.
+It wouldn't have been thought the correct thing." Mr. Dryland, from his
+superior height, beamed down on James. "I don't know whether you
+remember the few words which I was privileged to address to you
+yesterday&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Perfectly," put in James.</p>
+
+<p>"Impromptu, you know; but they expressed my feelings. That is one of the
+best things the war has done for us. It has permitted us to express our
+emotions more openly. I thought it a beautiful sight to see the noble
+tears coursing down your father's furrowed cheeks. Those few words of
+yours have won all our hearts. I may say that our little endeavours were
+nothing beside that short, unstudied speech. I hope there will be a full
+report in the Tunbridge Wells papers."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope not!" cried James.</p>
+
+<p>"You're too modest, Captain Parsons. That is what I said to Miss
+Clibborn yesterday; true courage is always modest. But it is our duty to
+see that it does not hide its light under a bushel. I hope you won't
+think it a liberty, but I myself gave the reporter a few notes."</p>
+
+<p>"Will Miss Clibborn be long?" asked James, looking at the cottage.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, what a good woman she is, Captain Parsons. My dear sir, I assure
+you she's an angel of mercy."</p>
+
+<p>"It's very kind of you to say so."</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all! It's a pleasure. The good she does is beyond praise. She's
+a wonderful help in the parish. She has at heart the spiritual welfare
+of the people, and I may say that she is a moral force of the first
+magnitude."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure that's a very delightful thing to be."</p>
+
+<p>"You know I can't help thinking," laughed Mr. Dryland fatly, "that she
+ought to be the wife of a clergyman, rather than of a military man."</p>
+
+<p>Mary came out.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been telling Mrs. Gray that I don't approve of the things her
+daughter wears in church," she said. "I don't think it's nice for people
+of that class to wear such bright colours."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what we should do in the parish without you," replied the
+curate, unctuously. "It's so rare to find someone who knows what is
+right, and isn't afraid of speaking out."</p>
+
+<p>Mary said that she and James were walking home, and asked Mr. Dryland
+whether he would not accompany them.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall be delighted, if I'm not <i>de trop</i>."</p>
+
+<p>He looked with laughing significance from one to the other.</p>
+
+<p>"I wanted to talk to you about my girls," said Mary.</p>
+
+<p>She had a class of village maidens, to whom she taught sewing, respect
+for their betters, and other useful things.</p>
+
+<p>"I was just telling Captain Parsons that you were an angel of mercy,
+Miss Clibborn."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I'm not that," replied Mary, gravely. "But I try to do my
+duty."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" cried Mr. Dryland, raising his eyes so that he looked exactly like
+a codfish, "how few of us can say that!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm seriously distressed about my girls. They live in nasty little
+cottages, and eat filthy things; they pass their whole lives under the
+most disgusting conditions, and yet they're happy. I can't get them to
+see that they ought to be utterly miserable."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I know," sighed the curate; "it makes me sad to think of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Surely, if they're happy, you can want nothing better," said James,
+rather impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>"But I do. They have no right to be happy under such circumstances. I
+want to make them feel their wretchedness."</p>
+
+<p>"What a brutal thing to do!" cried James.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the only way to improve them. I want them to see things as I see
+them."</p>
+
+<p>"And how d'you know that you see them any more correctly than they do?"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Jamie!" cried Mary; and then as the humour of such a suggestion
+dawned upon her, she burst into a little shout of laughter.</p>
+
+<p>"What d'you think is the good of making them dissatisfied?" asked James,
+grimly.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to make them better, nobler, worthier; I want to make their
+lives more beautiful and holy."</p>
+
+<p>"If you saw a man happily wearing a tinsel crown, would you go to him
+and say, 'My good friend, you're making a fool of yourself. Your crown
+isn't of real gold, and you must throw it away. I haven't a golden crown
+to give you instead, but you're wicked to take pleasure in that sham
+thing.' They're just as comfortable, after their fashion, in a hovel as
+you in your fine house; they enjoy the snack of fat pork they have on
+Sunday just as much as you enjoy your boiled chickens and blanc-manges.
+They're happy, and that's the chief thing."</p>
+
+<p>"Happiness is not the chief thing in this world, James," said Mary,
+gravely.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it? I thought it was."</p>
+
+<p>"Captain Parsons is a cynic," said Mr. Dryland, with a slightly
+supercilious smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Because I say it's idiotic to apply your standards to people who have
+nothing in common with you? I hate all this interfering. For God's sake
+let us go our way; and if we can get a little pleasure out of dross and
+tinsel, let us keep it."</p>
+
+<p>"I want to give the poor high ideals," said Mary.</p>
+
+<p>"I should have thought bread and cheese would be more useful."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Jamie," said Mary, good-naturedly, "I think you're talking of
+things you know nothing about."</p>
+
+<p>"You must remember that Miss Clibborn has worked nobly among the poor
+for many years."</p>
+
+<p>"My own conscience tells me I'm right," pursued Mary, "and you see Mr.
+Dryland agrees with me. I know you mean well, Jamie; but I don't think
+you quite understand the matter, and I fancy we had better change the
+conversation."</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h3>
+
+
+<p>Next day Mary went into Primpton House. Colonel Parsons nodded to her as
+she walked up the drive, and took off his spectacles. The front door was
+neither locked nor bolted in that confiding neighbourhood, and Mary
+walked straight in.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my dear?" said the Colonel, smiling with pleasure, for he was as
+fond of her as of his own son.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought I'd come and see you alone. Jamie's still out, isn't he? I
+saw him pass our house. I was standing at the window, but he didn't look
+up."</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay he was thinking. He's grown very thoughtful now."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons came in, and her quiet face lit up, too, as she greeted
+Mary. She kissed her tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>"Jamie's out, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Mary has come to see us," said the Colonel. "She doesn't want us to
+feel neglected now that she has the boy."</p>
+
+<p>"We shall never dream that you can do anything unkind, dear Mary,"
+replied Mrs. Parsons, stroking the girl's hair. "It's natural that you
+should think more of him than of us."</p>
+
+<p>Mary hesitated a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think Jamie has changed?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons looked at her quickly.</p>
+
+<p>"I think he has grown more silent. But he's been through so much. And
+then he's a man now; he was only a boy when we saw him last."</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think he cares for me any more?" asked Mary, with a rapid tremor
+in her voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary!"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course he does! He talks of you continually," said Colonel Parsons,
+"and always as if he were devoted. Doesn't he, Frances?"</p>
+
+<p>The old man's deep love for Mary had prevented him from seeing in
+Jamie's behaviour anything incongruous with that of a true lover.</p>
+
+<p>"What makes you ask that question, Mary?" said Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>Her feminine tact had led her to notice a difference in Jamie's feeling
+towards his betrothed; but she had been unwilling to think that it
+amounted even to coldness. Such a change could be explained in a hundred
+natural ways, and might, indeed, exist merely in her own imagination.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, he's not the same as he was!" cried Mary, "I don't know what it is,
+but I feel it in his whole manner. Yesterday evening he barely said a
+word."</p>
+
+<p>James had dined with the Clibborns in solemn state.</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay he's not very well yet. His wound troubles him still."</p>
+
+<p>"I try to put it down to that," said Mary, "but he seems to force
+himself to speak to me. He's not natural. I've got an awful fear that he
+has ceased to care for me."</p>
+
+<p>She looked from Colonel Parsons to his wife, who stared at her in
+dismay.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be angry with me," she said; "I couldn't talk like this to anyone
+else, but I know you love me. I look upon you already as my father and
+mother. I don't want to be unkind to mamma, but I couldn't talk of it to
+her; she would only sneer at me. And I'm afraid it's making me rather
+unhappy."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, we want you to treat us as your real parents, Mary. We both
+love you as we love Jamie. We have always looked upon you as our
+daughter."</p>
+
+<p>"You're so good to me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Has your mother said anything to annoy you?"</p>
+
+<p>Mary faltered.</p>
+
+<p>"Last night, when he went away, she said she didn't think he was devoted
+to me."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I knew it was your mother who'd put this in your head! She has
+always been jealous of you. I suppose she thinks he's in love with her."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Parsons!" cried Mary, in a tone of entreaty.</p>
+
+<p>"I know you can't bear anything said against your mother, and it's
+wicked of me to vex you; but she has no right to suggest such things."</p>
+
+<p>"It's not only that. It's what I feel."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure Jamie is most fond of you," said Colonel Parsons, kindly.
+"You've not seen one another for five years, and you find yourselves
+altered. Even we feel a little strange with Jamie sometimes; don't we,
+Frances? What children they are, Frances!" Colonel Parsons laughed in
+that irresistibly sweet fashion of his. "Why, it was only the day before
+yesterday that Jamie came to us with a long face and asked if you cared
+for <i>him</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"Did he?" asked Mary, with pleased surprise, anxious to believe what the
+Colonel suggested. "Oh, he must see that I love him! Perhaps he finds me
+unresponsive.... How could I help caring for him? I think if he ceased
+to love me, I should die."</p>
+
+<p>"My dearest Mary," cried Mrs. Parsons, the tears rising to her eyes,
+"don't talk like that! I'm sure he can't help loving you, either;
+you're so good and sweet. You're both of you fanciful, and he's not
+well. Be patient. Jamie is shy and reserved; he hasn't quite got used to
+us yet. He doesn't know how to show his feelings. It will all come right
+soon."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course he loves you!" said Colonel Parsons. "Who could help it? Why,
+if I were a young fellow I should be mad to marry you."</p>
+
+<p>"And what about me, Richmond?" asked Mrs. Parsons, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I think I should have to commit bigamy, and marry you both."</p>
+
+<p>They laughed at the Colonel's mild little joke, happy to break through
+the cloud of doubt which oppressed them.</p>
+
+<p>"You're a dear thing," said Mary, kissing the old man, "and I'm a very
+silly girl. It's wrong of me to give way to whims and fancies."</p>
+
+<p>"You must be very brave when you're the wife of a V.C.," said the
+Colonel, patting her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it was a beautiful action!" cried Mary. "And he's as modest about
+it as though he had done nothing that any man might not do. I think
+there can be no sight more pleasing to God than that of a brave man
+risking his life to save a comrade."</p>
+
+<p>"And that ought to be an assurance to you, Mary, that James will never
+do anything unkind or dishonourable. Trust him, and forgive his little
+faults of manner. I'm sure he loves you, and soon you'll get married and
+be completely happy."</p>
+
+<p>Mary's face darkened once more.</p>
+
+<p>"He's been here three days, and he's not said a word about getting
+married. Oh, I can't help it; I'm so frightened! I wish he'd say
+something&mdash;just one word to show that he really cares for me. He seems
+to have forgotten that we're even engaged."</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons looked at his wife, begging her by his glance to say
+something that would comfort Mary. Mrs. Parsons looked down, uncertain,
+ill at ease.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't despise me for talking like this, Mrs. Parsons?"</p>
+
+<p>"Despise you, my dear! How can I, when I love you so dearly? Shall I
+speak to Jamie? I'm sure when he understands that he's making you
+unhappy, he'll be different. He has the kindest heart in the world; I've
+never known him do an unkind thing in his life."</p>
+
+<p>"No, don't say anything to him," replied Mary. "I daresay it's all
+nonsense. I don't want him to be driven into making love to me."</p>
+
+<p class="tb">Meanwhile James wandered thoughtfully. The country was undulating, and
+little hill rose after little hill, affording spacious views of the fat
+Kentish fields, encircled by oak trees and by chestnuts. Owned by rich
+landlords, each generation had done its best, and the fruitful land was
+tended like a garden. But it had no abandonment, no freedom; the hand of
+man was obvious, perpetually, in the trimness and in the careful
+arrangement, so that the landscape, in its formality, reminded one of
+those set pieces chosen by the classic painters. But the fields were
+fresh with the tall young grass of the new year, the buttercups flaunted
+themselves gaily, careless of the pitiless night, rejoicing in the
+sunshine, as before they had rejoiced in the enlivening rain. The
+pleasant rain-drops still lingered on the daisies. The feathery ball of
+the dandelion, carried by the breeze, floated past like a symbol of the
+life of man&mdash;a random thing, resistless to the merest breath, with no
+mission but to spread its seed upon the fertile earth, so that things
+like unto it should spring up in the succeeding summer, and flower
+uncared for, and reproduce themselves, and die.</p>
+
+<p>James decided finally that he must break that very evening his
+engagement with Mary. He could not put it off. Every day made his
+difficulty greater, and it was impossible any longer to avoid the
+discussion of their marriage, nor could he continue to treat Mary with
+nothing better than friendliness. He realised all her good qualities;
+she was frank, and honest, and simple; anxious to do right; charitable
+according to her light; kindness itself. James felt sincerely grateful
+for the affectionate tenderness which Mary showed to his father and
+mother. He was thankful for that and for much else, and was prepared to
+look upon her as a very good friend, even as a sister; but he did not
+love her. He could not look upon the prospect of marriage without
+repulsion. Nor did Mary, he said, really love him. He knew what love
+was&mdash;something different entirely from that pallid flame of affection
+and esteem, of which alone she was capable. Mary loved him for certain
+qualities of mind, because his station in life was decent, his manners
+passable, his morals beyond reproach.</p>
+
+<p>"She might as well marry the Ten Commandments!" he cried impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>Mary cared for him from habit, from a sense of decorum, and for the
+fitness of things; but that was not love. He shrugged his shoulders
+scornfully, looking for some word to express the mildly pleasant,
+unagitating emotion. James, who had been devoured by it, who had
+struggled with it as with a deadly sin, who had killed it finally while,
+like a serpent of evil, it clung to his throat, drinking his life's
+blood, James knew what love was&mdash;a fire in the veins, a divine
+affliction, a passion, a frenzy, a madness. The love he knew was the
+love of the body of flesh and blood, the love that engenders, the love
+that kills. At the bottom of it is sex, and sex is not ugly or immoral,
+for sex is the root of life. The woman is fair because man shall love
+her body; her lips are red and passionate that he may kiss them; her
+hair is beautiful that he may take it in his hands&mdash;a river of living
+gold.</p>
+
+<p>James stopped, and the dead love rose again and tore his entrails like a
+beast of prey. He gasped with agony, with bitter joy. Ah, that was the
+true love! What did he care that the woman lacked this and that? He
+loved her because he loved her; he loved her for her faults. And in
+spite of the poignant anguish, he thanked her from the bottom of his
+heart, for she had taught him love. She had caused him endless pain, but
+she had given him the strength to bear it. She had ruined his life,
+perhaps, but had shown him that life was worth living. What were the
+agony, the torture, the despair, beside that radiant passion which made
+him godlike? It is only the lover who lives, and of his life every
+moment is intense and fervid. James felt that his most precious
+recollection was that ardent month, during which, at last, he had seen
+the world in all its dazzling movement, in its manifold colour, singing
+with his youth and laughing to his joy.</p>
+
+<p>And he did not care that hideous names have been given to that dear
+passion, to that rich desire. The vulgar call it lust, and blush and
+hide their faces; in their folly is the shame, in their prurience the
+disgrace. They do not know that the appetite which shocks them is the
+very origin of the highest qualities of man. It is they, weaklings
+afraid to look life in the face, dotards and sentimentalists, who have
+made the body unclean. They have covered the nakedness of Aphrodite with
+the rags of their own impurity. They have disembowelled the great lovers
+of antiquity till Cleopatra serves to adorn a prudish tale and Lancelot
+to point a moral. Oh, Mother Nature, give us back our freedom, with its
+strength of sinew and its humour! For lack of it we perish in false
+shame, and our fig-leaves point our immodesty to all the world. Teach us
+that love is not a tawdry sentiment, but a fire divine in order to the
+procreation of children; teach us not to dishonour our bodies, for they
+are beautiful and pure, and all thy works are sweet. Teach us, again, in
+thy merciful goodness, that man is made for woman, his body for her
+body, and that the flesh cannot sin.</p>
+
+<p>Teach us also not to rant too much, even in thy service; and though we
+do set up for prophets and the like, let us not forget occasionally to
+laugh at our very august selves.</p>
+
+<p class="tb">Then, harking back, Jamie's thoughts returned to the dinner of the
+previous evening at the Clibborns. He was the only guest, and when he
+arrived, found Mary and the Colonel by themselves in the drawing-room.
+It was an old habit of Mrs. Clibborn's not to appear till after her
+visitors, thinking that so she created a greater effect. The Colonel
+wore a very high collar, which made his head look like some queer flower
+on a long white stalk; hair and eyebrows were freshly dyed, and
+glistened like the oiled locks of a young Jewess. He was the perfect
+dandy, even to his bejewelled fingers and his scented handkerchief. His
+manner was a happy mixture of cordiality and condescension, by the side
+of which Mary's unaffected simplicity contrasted oddly. She seemed less
+at home in an evening dress than in the walking costume she vastly
+preferred; her free, rather masculine movements were ungainly in the
+silk frock, badly made and countrified, while lace and ribbons suited
+her most awkwardly. She was out of place, too, in that room, decorated
+with all the abominations of pseudo-fashion, with draperies and
+tissue-paper, uncomfortable little chairs and rickety tables. In every
+available place stood photographs of Mrs. Clibborn&mdash;Mrs. Clibborn
+sitting, standing, lying; Mrs. Clibborn full face, three-quarter face,
+side face; Mrs. Clibborn in this costume or in that costume&mdash;grave, gay,
+thoughtful, or smiling; Mrs. Clibborn showing her beautiful teeth, her
+rounded arms, her vast shoulders; Mrs. Clibborn dressed to the nines,
+and Mrs. Clibborn as undressed as she dared.</p>
+
+<p>Finally, the beauty swept in with a great rustle of silk, displaying to
+the full her very opulent charms. Her hair was lightly powdered, and
+honestly she looked remarkably handsome.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't say I've kept you waiting," she murmured. "I could never forgive
+myself."</p>
+
+<p>James made some polite reply, and they went down to dinner. The
+conversation was kept at the high level which one naturally expects from
+persons fashionable enough to dine late. They discussed Literature, by
+which they meant the last novel but one; Art, by which they meant the
+Royal Academy; and Society, by which they meant their friends who kept
+carriages. Mrs. Clibborn said that, of course, she could not expect
+James to pay any attention to her, since all his thoughts must be for
+Mary, and then proceeded entirely to absorb him.</p>
+
+<p>"You must find it very dull here," she moaned. "I'm afraid you'll be
+bored to death." And she looked at Mary with her most smilingly cruel
+expression. "Oh, Mary, why did you put on that dreadfully dowdy frock?
+I've asked you over and over again to give it away, but you never pay
+attention to your poor mother."</p>
+
+<p>"It's all right," said Mary, looking down at it, laughing and blushing a
+little.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clibborn turned again to James.</p>
+
+<p>"I think it's such a mistake for women not to dress well. I'm an old
+woman now, but I always try to look my best. Reggie has never seen me in
+a dowdy gown. Have you, Reggie?"</p>
+
+<p>"Any dress would become you, my love."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Reggie, don't say that before James. He looks upon his future
+mother as an old woman."</p>
+
+<p>Then at the end of dinner:</p>
+
+<p>"Don't sit too long over your wine. I shall be so dull with nobody but
+Mary to amuse me."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clibborn had been fond enough of Mary when she was a little girl,
+who could be petted on occasion and sent away when necessary; but as she
+grew up and exhibited a will of her own, she found her almost an
+intolerable nuisance. The girl developed a conscience, and refused
+indignantly to tell the little fibs which her mother occasionally
+suggested. She put her sense of right and wrong before Mrs. Clibborn's
+wishes, which that lady considered undutiful, if not entirely wicked. It
+seemed nothing short of an impertinence that Mary should disapprove of
+theatres when there was nothing to which the elder woman was more
+devoted. And Mrs. Clibborn felt that the girl saw through all her little
+tricks and artful dodges, often speaking out strongly when her mother
+proposed to do something particularly underhand. It was another
+grievance that Mary had inherited no good looks, and the faded beauty,
+in her vanity, was convinced that the girl spitefully observed every
+fresh wrinkle that appeared upon her face. But Mrs. Clibborn was also a
+little afraid of her daughter; such meekness and such good temper were
+difficult to overcome; and when she snubbed her, it was not only to
+chasten a proud spirit, but also to reassure herself.</p>
+
+<p>When the ladies had retired, the Colonel handed James an execrable
+cigar.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, I'm going to give you some very special port I've got," he said.</p>
+
+<p>He poured out a glass with extreme care, and passed it over with evident
+pride. James remembered Mary's story of the doctor, and having tasted
+the wine, entirely sympathised with him. It was no wonder that invalids
+did not thrive upon it.</p>
+
+<p>"Fine wine, isn't it?" said Colonel Clibborn. "Had it in my cellar for
+years." He shook it so as to inhale the aroma. "I got it from my old
+friend, the Duke of St. Olphert's. 'Reggie, my boy,' he said&mdash;'Reggie,
+do you want some good port?' 'Good port, Bill!' I cried&mdash;I always called
+him Bill, you know; his Christian name was William&mdash;'I should think I
+do, Billy, old boy.' 'Well,' said the Duke, 'I've got some I can let you
+have.'"</p>
+
+<p>"He was a wine-merchant, was he?" asked James.</p>
+
+<p>"Wine-merchant! My dear fellow, he was the Duke of St. Olphert's. He'd
+bought up the cellar of an Austrian nobleman, and he had more port than
+he wanted."</p>
+
+<p>"And this is some of it?" asked James, gravely, holding the murky fluid
+to the light.</p>
+
+<p>Then the Colonel stretched his legs and began to talk of the war. James,
+rather tired of the subject, sought to change the conversation; but
+Colonel Clibborn was anxious to tell one who had been through it how the
+thing should have been conducted; so his guest, with a mixture of
+astonishment and indignation, resigned himself to listen to the most
+pitiful inanities. He marvelled that a man should have spent his life in
+the service, and yet apparently be ignorant of the very elements of
+warfare; but having already learnt to hold his tongue, he let the
+Colonel talk, and was presently rewarded by a break. Something reminded
+the gallant cavalryman of a hoary anecdote, and he gave James that
+dreary round of stories which have dragged their heavy feet for thirty
+years from garrison to garrison. Then, naturally, he proceeded to the
+account of his own youthful conquests. The Colonel had evidently been a
+devil with the ladies, for he knew all about the forgotten
+ballet-dancers of the seventies, and related with gusto a number of
+scabrous tales.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, my boy, in my day we went the pace! I tell you in confidence, I was
+a deuce of a rake before I got married."</p>
+
+<p>When they returned to the drawing-room, Mrs. Clibborn was ready with her
+langorous smile, and made James sit beside her on the sofa. In a few
+minutes the Colonel, as was his habit, closed his eyes, dropped his
+chin, and fell comfortably asleep. Mrs. Clibborn slowly turned to Mary.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you try and find me my glasses, darling," she murmured. "They're
+either in my work-basket or on the morning-room table. And if you can't
+see them there, perhaps they're in your father's study. I want to read
+Jamie a letter."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go and look, mother."</p>
+
+<p>Mary went out, and Mrs. Clibborn put her hand on Jamie's arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you dislike me very much, Jamie?" she murmured softly.</p>
+
+<p>"On the contrary!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid your mother doesn't care for me."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure she does."</p>
+
+<p>"Women have never liked me. I don't know why. I can't help it if I'm not
+exactly&mdash;plain, I'm as God made me."</p>
+
+<p>James thought that the Almighty in that case must have an unexpected
+familiarity with the rouge-pot and the powder-puff.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know that I did all I could to prevent your engagement to Mary?"</p>
+
+<p>"You!" cried James, thunderstruck. "I never knew that."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought I had better tell you myself. You mustn't be angry with me.
+It was for your own good. If I had had my way you would never have
+become engaged. I thought you were so much too young."</p>
+
+<p>"Five years ago, d'you mean&mdash;when it first happened?"</p>
+
+<p>"You were only a boy&mdash;a very nice boy, Jamie. I always liked you. I
+don't approve of long engagements, and I thought you'd change your mind.
+Most young men are a little wild; it's right that they should be."</p>
+
+<p>James looked at her, wondering suddenly whether she knew or divined
+anything. It was impossible, she was too silly.</p>
+
+<p>"You're very wise."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't say that!" cried Mrs. Clibborn, with a positive groan. "It
+sounds so middle-aged.... I always thought Mary was too old for you. A
+woman should be ten years younger than her husband."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me all about it," insisted James.</p>
+
+<p>"They wouldn't listen to me. They said you had better be engaged. They
+thought it would benefit your morals. I was very much against it. I
+think boys are so much nicer when they haven't got encumbrances&mdash;or
+morals."</p>
+
+<p>At that moment Mary came in.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't find your glasses, mamma."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it doesn't matter," replied Mrs. Clibborn, smiling softly; "I've
+just remembered that I sent them into Tunbridge Wells yesterday to be
+mended."</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h3>
+
+
+<p>James knew he would see Mary at the tea-party which Mrs. Jackson that
+afternoon was giving at the Vicarage. Society in Little Primpton was
+exclusive, with the result that the same people met each other day after
+day, and the only intruders were occasional visitors of irreproachable
+antecedents from Tunbridge Wells. Respectability is a plant which in
+that fashionable watering-place has been so assiduously cultivated that
+it flourishes now in the open air; like the yellow gorse, it is found in
+every corner, thriving hardily under the most unfavourable conditions;
+and the keener the wind, the harder the frost, the more proudly does it
+hold its head. But on this particular day the gathering was confined to
+the immediate neighbours, and when the Parsons arrived they found,
+beside their hosts, only the Clibborns and the inevitable curate. There
+was a prolonged shaking of hands, inquiries concerning the health of all
+present, and observations suggested by the weather; then they sat down
+in a circle, and set themselves to discuss the questions of the day.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mr. Dryland," cried Mary, "thanks so much for that book! I am
+enjoying it!"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you'd like it," replied the curate, smiling blandly. "I know
+you share my admiration for Miss Corelli."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Dryland has just lent me 'The Master Christian,'" Mary explained,
+turning to Mrs. Jackson.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I was thinking of putting it on the list for my next book."</p>
+
+<p>They had formed a club in Little Primpton of twelve persons, each buying
+a six-shilling book at the beginning of the year, and passing it on in
+return for another after a certain interval, so that at the end of
+twelve months all had read a dozen masterpieces of contemporary fiction.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought I'd like to buy it at once," said Mr. Dryland. "I always
+think one ought to possess Marie Corelli's books. She's the only really
+great novelist we have in England now."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dryland was a man of taste and authority, so that his literary
+judgments could always be relied on.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, I don't pretend to know much about the matter," said Mary,
+modestly. "There are more important things in life than books; but I do
+think she's splendid. I can't help feeling I'm wasting my time when I
+read most novels, but I never feel that with Marie Corelli."</p>
+
+<p>"No one would think she was a woman," said the Vicar.</p>
+
+<p>To which the curate answered: "<i>Le genie n'a pas de sexe.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>The others, being no scholars, did not quite understand the remark, but
+they looked intelligent.</p>
+
+<p>"I always think it's so disgraceful the way the newspapers sneer at
+her," said Mrs. Jackson. "And, I'm sure, merely because she's a woman."</p>
+
+<p>"And because she has genius, my dear," put in the Vicar. "Some minds are
+so contemptibly small that they are simply crushed by greatness. It
+requires an eagle to look at the sun."</p>
+
+<p>And the excellent people looked at one another with a certain
+self-satisfaction, for they had the fearless gaze of the king of birds
+in face of that brilliant orb.</p>
+
+<p>"The critics are willing to do anything for money. Miss Corelli has said
+herself that there is a vile conspiracy to blacken her, and for my part
+I am quite prepared to believe it. They're all afraid of her because she
+dares to show them up."</p>
+
+<p>"Besides, most of the critics are unsuccessful novelists," added Mr.
+Dryland, "and they are as envious as they can be."</p>
+
+<p>"It makes one boil with indignation," cried Mary, "to think that people
+can be so utterly base. Those who revile her are not worthy to unloose
+the latchet of her shoes."</p>
+
+<p>"It does one good to hear such whole-hearted admiration," replied the
+curate, beaming. "But you must remember that genius has always been
+persecuted. Look at Keats and Shelley. The critics abused them just as
+they abuse Marie Corelli. Even Shakespeare was slandered. But time has
+vindicated our immortal William; time will vindicate as brightly our
+gentle Marie."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder how many of us here could get through Hamlet without yawning!"
+meditatively said the Vicar.</p>
+
+<p>"I see your point!" cried Mr. Dryland, opening his eyes. "While we could
+all read the 'Sorrows of Satan' without a break. I've read it three
+times, and each perusal leaves me more astounded. Miss Corelli has her
+revenge in her own hand; what can she care for the petty snarling of
+critics when the wreath of immortality is on her brow. I don't hesitate
+to say it, I'm not ashamed of my opinion; I consider Miss Corelli every
+bit as great as William Shakespeare. I've gone into the matter
+carefully, and if I may say so, I'm speaking of what I know something
+about. My deliberate opinion is that in wit, and humour, and language,
+she's every bit his equal."</p>
+
+<p>"Her language is beautiful," said Mrs. Jackson. "When I read her I feel
+just as if I were listening to hymns."</p>
+
+<p>"And where, I should like to know," continued the curate, raising his
+voice, "can you find in a play of Shakespeare's such a gallery of
+portraits as in the 'Master Christian'?"</p>
+
+<p>"And there is one thing you must never forget," said the Vicar, gravely,
+"she has a deep, religious feeling which you will find in none of
+Shakespeare's plays. Every one of her books has a lofty moral purpose.
+That is the justification of fiction. The novelist has a high vocation,
+if he could only see it; he can inculcate submission to authority, hope,
+charity, obedience&mdash;in fact, all the higher virtues; he can become a
+handmaid of the Church. And now, when irreligion, and immorality, and
+scepticism are rampant, we must not despise the humblest instruments."</p>
+
+<p>"How true that is!" said Mrs. Jackson.</p>
+
+<p>"If all novelists were like Marie Corelli, I should willingly hold them
+out my hand. I think every Christian ought to read 'Barabbas.' It gives
+an entirely new view of Christ. It puts the incidents of the Gospel in a
+way that one had never dreamed. I was never so impressed in my life."</p>
+
+<p>"But all her books are the same in that way!" cried Mary. "They all
+make me feel so much better and nobler, and more truly Christian."</p>
+
+<p>"I think she's vulgar and blasphemous," murmured Mrs. Clibborn quietly,
+as though she were making the simplest observation.</p>
+
+<p>"Mamma!" cried Mary, deeply shocked; and among the others there was a
+little movement of indignation and disgust.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clibborn was continually mortifying her daughter by this kind of
+illiterate gaucherie. But the most painful part of it was that the good
+lady always remained perfectly unconscious of having said anything
+incredibly silly, and continued with perfect self-assurance:</p>
+
+<p>"I've never been able to finish a book of hers. I began one about
+electricity, which I couldn't understand, and then I tried another. I
+forget what it was, but there was something in it about a bed of roses,
+and I thought it very improper. I don't think it was a nice book for
+Mary to read, but girls seem to read everything now."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pained hush, such as naturally occurs when someone has made
+a very horrible <i>faux pas</i>. They all looked at one another awkwardly;
+while Mary, ashamed at her mother's want of taste, kept her eyes glued
+to the carpet But Mrs. Clibborn's folly was so notorious that presently
+anger was succeeded by contemptuous amusement, and the curate came to
+the rescue with a loud guffaw.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, you know your Marie Corelli by heart, Captain Parsons?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I've never read one of them."</p>
+
+<p>"Not?" they all cried in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'll send them to you to Primpton House," said Mr. Dryland. "I have
+them all. Why, no one's education is complete till he's read Marie
+Corelli."</p>
+
+<p>This was considered a very good hit at Mrs. Clibborn, and the dear
+people smiled at one another significantly. Even Mary could scarcely
+keep a straight face.</p>
+
+<p>The tea then appeared, and was taken more or less silently. With the
+exception of the fashionable Mrs. Clibborn, they were all more used to
+making a sit-down meal of it, and the care of holding a cup, with a
+piece of cake unsteadily balanced in the saucer, prevented them from
+indulging in very brilliant conversational feats; they found one
+gymnastic exercise quite sufficient at a time. But when the tea-cups
+were safely restored to the table, Mrs. Jackson suggested a little
+music.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you open the proceedings, Mary?"</p>
+
+<p>The curate went up to Miss Clibborn with a bow, gallantly offering his
+arm to escort her to the piano. Mary had thoughtfully brought her
+music, and began to play a 'Song Without Words,' by Mendelssohn. She was
+considered a fine pianist in Little Primpton. She attacked the notes
+with marked resolution, keeping the loud pedal down throughout; her eyes
+were fixed on the music with an intense, determined air, in which you
+saw an eagerness to perform a social duty, and her lips moved as
+conscientiously she counted time. Mary played the whole piece without
+making a single mistake, and at the end was much applauded.</p>
+
+<p>"There's nothing like classical music, is there?" cried the curate
+enthusiastically, as Mary stopped, rather out of breath, for she played,
+as she did everything else, with energy and thoroughness.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the only music I really love."</p>
+
+<p>"And those 'Songs Without Words' are beautiful," said Colonel Parsons,
+who was standing on Mary's other side.</p>
+
+<p>"Mendelssohn is my favourite composer," she replied. "He's so full of
+soul."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, yes," murmured Mr. Dryland. "His heart seems to throb through all
+his music. It's strange that he should have been a Jew."</p>
+
+<p>"But then Our Lord was a Jew, wasn't He?" said Mary.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, one is so apt to forget that."</p>
+
+<p>Mary turned the leaves, and finding another piece which was familiar to
+her, set about it. It was a satisfactory thing to listen to her
+performance. In Mary's decided touch one felt all the strength of her
+character, with its simple, unaffected candour and its eminent sense of
+propriety. In her execution one perceived the high purpose which
+animated her whole conduct; it was pure and wholesome, and thoroughly
+English. And her piano-playing served also as a moral lesson, for none
+could listen without remembering that life was not an affair to be taken
+lightly, but a strenuous endeavour: the world was a battlefield (this
+one realised more particularly when Mary forgot for a page or so to take
+her foot off the pedal); each one of us had a mission to perform, a duty
+to do, a function to fulfil.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, James was trying to make conversation with Mrs. Clibborn.</p>
+
+<p>"How well Mary plays!"</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think so? I can't bear amateurs. I wish they wouldn't play."</p>
+
+<p>James looked at Mrs. Clibborn quickly. It rather surprised him that she,
+the very silliest woman he had ever known, should say the only sensible
+things he had heard that day. Nor could he forget that she had done her
+best to prevent his engagement.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you're a very wonderful woman," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Jamie!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clibborn smiled and sighed, slipping forward her hand for him to
+take; but James was too preoccupied to notice the movement.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm beginning to think you really like me," murmured Mrs. Clibborn,
+cooing like an amorous dove.</p>
+
+<p>Then James was invited to sing, and refused.</p>
+
+<p>"Please do, Jamie!" cried Mary, smiling. "For my sake. You used to sing
+so nicely!"</p>
+
+<p>He still tried to excuse himself, but finding everyone insistent, went
+at last, with very bad grace, to the piano. He not only sang badly, but
+knew it, and was irritated that he should be forced to make a fool of
+himself. Mr. Dryland sang badly, but perfectly satisfied with himself,
+needed no pressing when his turn came. He made a speciality of old
+English songs, and thundered out in his most ecclesiastical manner a
+jovial ditty entitled, "Down Among the Dead Men."</p>
+
+<p>The afternoon was concluded by an adjournment to the dining-room to play
+bagatelle, the most inane of games, to which the billiard-player goes
+with contempt, changed quickly to wrath when he cannot put the balls
+into absurd little holes. Mary was an adept, and took pleasure in
+showing James how the thing should be done. He noticed that she and the
+curate managed the whole affair between them, arranging partners and
+advising freely. Mrs. Clibborn alone refused to play, saying frankly it
+was too idiotic a pastime.</p>
+
+<p>At last the party broke up, and in a group bade their farewells.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll walk home with you, Mary, if you don't mind," said James, "and
+smoke a pipe."</p>
+
+<p>Mary suddenly became radiant, and Colonel Parsons gave her a happy
+little smile and a friendly nod.... At last James had his opportunity.
+He lingered while Mary gathered together her music, and waited again to
+light his pipe, so that when they came out of the Vicarage gates the
+rest of the company were no longer in sight. The day had become overcast
+and sombre; on the even surface of the sky floated little ragged black
+clouds, like the fragments cast to the wind of some widowed, ample
+garment. It had grown cold, and James, accustomed to a warmer air,
+shivered a little. The country suddenly appeared cramped and
+circumscribed; in the fading light a dulness of colour came over tree
+and hedgerow which was singularly depressing. They walked in silence,
+while James looked for words. All day he had been trying to find some
+manner to express himself, but his mind, perplexed and weary, refused to
+help him. The walk to Mary's house could not take more than five
+minutes, and he saw the distance slipping away rapidly. If he meant to
+say anything it must be said at once; and his mouth was dry, he felt
+almost a physical inability to speak. He did not know how to prepare the
+way, how to approach the subject; and he was doubly tormented by the
+absolute necessity of breaking the silence.</p>
+
+<p>But it was Mary who spoke first.</p>
+
+<p>"D'you know, I've been worrying a little about you, Jamie."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I hurt your feelings yesterday. Don't you remember, when we
+were visiting my patients&mdash;I think I spoke rather harshly. I didn't mean
+to. I'm very sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"I had forgotten all about it," he said, looking at her. "I have no
+notion what you said to offend me."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad of that," she answered, smiling, "but it does me good to
+apologise. Will you think me very silly if I say something to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I want to say that if I ever do anything you don't like, or don't
+approve of, I wish you would tell me."</p>
+
+<p>After that, how could he say immediately that he no longer loved her,
+and wished to be released from his engagement?</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid you think I'm a very terrifying person," answered James.</p>
+
+<p>Her words had made his announcement impossible; another day had gone,
+and weakly he had let it pass.</p>
+
+<p>"What shall I do?" he murmured under his breath. "What a coward I am!"</p>
+
+<p>They came to the door of the Clibborns' house and Mary turned to say
+good-bye. She bent forward, smiling and blushing, and he quickly kissed
+her.</p>
+
+<p class="tb">In the evening, James was sitting by the fire in the dining-room,
+thinking of that one subject which occupied all his thoughts. Colonel
+Parsons and his wife were at the table, engaged upon the game of
+backgammon which invariably filled the interval between supper and
+prayers. The rattle of dice came to James indistinctly, as in a dream,
+and he imagined fantastically that unseen powers were playing for his
+life. He sat with his head between his hands, staring at the flames as
+though to find in them a solution to his difficulty; but mockingly they
+spoke only of Mrs. Wallace and the caress of her limpid eyes. He turned
+away with a gesture of impatience. The game was just finished, and Mrs.
+Parsons, catching the expression on his face, asked:</p>
+
+<p>"What are you thinking of, Jamie?"</p>
+
+<p>"I?" he answered, looking up quickly, as though afraid that his secret
+had been divined. "Nothing!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons put the backgammon board away, making up her mind to speak,
+for she too suffered from a shyness which made the subjects she had
+nearest at heart precisely those that she could least bear to talk
+about.</p>
+
+<p>"When do you think of getting married, Jamie?"</p>
+
+<p>James started.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, you asked me that yesterday," He tried to make a joke of it. "Upon
+my word, you're very anxious to get rid of me."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder if it's occurred to you that you're making Mary a little
+unhappy?"</p>
+
+<p>James stood up and leaned against the mantelpiece, his face upon his
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I should be sorry to do that, mother."</p>
+
+<p>"You've been home four days, and you've not said a word to show you love
+her."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I'm not very demonstrative."</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I said!" cried the Colonel, triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you try to say a word or two to prove you care for her, Jamie?
+She <i>is</i> so fond of you," continued his mother. "I don't want to
+interfere with your private concerns, but I think it's only
+thoughtlessness on your part; and I'm sure you don't wish to make Mary
+miserable. Poor thing, she's so unhappy at home; she yearns for a little
+affection.... Won't you say something to her about your marriage?"</p>
+
+<p>"Has she asked you to speak to me?" inquired James.</p>
+
+<p>"No, dear. You know that she would never do anything of the kind. She
+would hate to think that I had said anything."</p>
+
+<p>James paused a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"I will speak to her to-morrow, mother."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right!" said the Colonel, cheerfully. "I know she's going to be
+in all the morning. Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn are going into Tunbridge
+Wells."</p>
+
+<p>"It will be a good opportunity."</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h3>
+
+
+<p>In the morning Mrs. Parsons was in the hall, arranging flowers, when
+James passed through to get his hat.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to see Mary now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mother."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a good boy."</p>
+
+<p>She did not notice that her son's usual gravity was intensified, or that
+his very lips were pallid, and his eyes careworn and lustreless.</p>
+
+<p>It was raining. The young fresh leaves, in the colourless day, had lost
+their verdure, and the massive shapes of the elm trees were obscured in
+the mist. The sky had so melancholy a tone that it seemed a work of
+man&mdash;a lifeless hue of infinite sorrow, dreary and cheerless.</p>
+
+<p>James arrived at the Clibborns' house.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Mary is in the drawing-room," he was told by a servant, who smiled
+on him, the accepted lover, with obtrusive friendliness.</p>
+
+<p>He went in and found her seated at the piano, industriously playing
+scales. She wore the weather-beaten straw hat without which she never
+seemed comfortable.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm glad you've come," she said. "I'm alone in the house, and I was
+taking the opportunity to have a good practice." She turned round on the
+music-stool, and ran one hand chromatically up the piano, smiling the
+while with pleasure at Jamie's visit. "Would you like to go for a walk?"
+she asked. "I don't mind the rain a bit."</p>
+
+<p>"I would rather stay here, if you don't mind."</p>
+
+<p>James sat down and began playing with a paper-knife. Still he did not
+know how to express himself. He was torn asunder by rival emotions; he
+felt absolutely bound to speak, and yet could not bear the thought of
+the agony he must cause. He was very tender-hearted; he had never in his
+life consciously given pain to any living creature, and would far rather
+have inflicted hurt upon himself.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been wanting to have a long talk with you alone ever since I came
+back."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you? Why didn't you tell me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because what I want to say is very difficult, Mary; and I'm afraid it
+must be very&mdash;distressing to both of us."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>Mary suddenly became grave, James glanced at her, and hesitated; but
+there was no room for hesitation now. Somehow he must get to the end of
+what he had to say, attempting only to be as gentle as possible. He
+stood up and leant against the mantelpiece, still toying with the
+paper-knife; Mary also changed her seat, and took a chair by the table.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know that we've been engaged for over five years now, Mary?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him steadily, and he dropped his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to thank you for all you've done for my sake, Mary. I know how
+good you have been to my people; it was very kind of you. I cannot think
+how they would have got along without you."</p>
+
+<p>"I love them as I love my own father and mother, Jamie. I tried to act
+towards them as though I was indeed their daughter."</p>
+
+<p>He was silent for a while.</p>
+
+<p>"We were both very young when we became engaged," he said at last.</p>
+
+<p>He looked up quickly, but she did not answer. She stared with frightened
+eyes, as if already she understood. It was harder even than he thought.
+James asked himself desperately whether he could not stop there, taking
+back what he had said. The cup was too bitter! But what was the
+alternative? He could not go on pretending one thing when he felt
+another; he could not live a constant, horrible lie. He felt there was
+only one course open to him. Like a man with an ill that must be fatal
+unless instantly treated, he was bound to undergo everything, however
+great the torture.</p>
+
+<p>"And it's a very bad return I'm making you for all your kindness. You
+have done everything for me, Mary. You've waited for me patiently and
+lovingly; you've sacrificed yourself in every way; and I'm afraid I must
+make you very unhappy&mdash;Oh, don't think I'm not grateful to you; I can
+never thank you sufficiently."</p>
+
+<p>He wished Mary would say something to help him, but she kept silent. She
+merely dropped her eyes, and now her face seemed quite expressionless.</p>
+
+<p>"I have asked myself day and night what I ought to do, and I can see no
+way clear before me. I've tried to say this to you before, but I've
+funked it. You think I'm brave&mdash;I'm not; I'm a pitiful coward! Sometimes
+I can only loathe and despise myself. I want to do my duty, but I can't
+tell what my duty is. If I only knew for sure which way I ought to take,
+I should have strength to take it; but it is all so uncertain."</p>
+
+<p>James gave Mary a look of supplication, but she did not see it; her
+glance was still riveted to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"I think it's better to tell you the whole truth, Mary; I'm afraid I'm
+speaking awfully priggishly. I feel I'm acting like a cad, and yet I
+don't know how else to act. God help me!"</p>
+
+<p>"I've known almost from the beginning that you no longer cared for me,"
+said Mary quietly, her face showing no expression, her voice hushed till
+it was only a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"Forgive me, Mary; I've tried to love you. Oh, how humiliating that must
+sound! I hardly know what I'm saying. Try to understand me. If my words
+are harsh and ugly, it's because I don't know how to express myself. But
+I must tell you the whole truth. The chief thing is that I should be
+honest with you. It's the only return I can make for all you've done for
+me."</p>
+
+<p>Mary bent her head a little lower, and heavy tears rolled down her
+cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mary, don't cry!" said James, his voice breaking; and he stepped
+forward, with outstretched arms, as though to comfort her.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry," she said; "I didn't mean to."</p>
+
+<p>She took out her handkerchief and dried her eyes, trying to smile. Her
+courageous self-command was like a stab in Jamie's heart.</p>
+
+<p>"I am an absolute cad!" he said, hoarsely.</p>
+
+<p>Mary made no gesture; she sat perfectly still, rigid, not seeking to
+hide her emotion, but merely to master it. One could see the effort she
+made.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm awfully sorry, Mary! Please forgive me&mdash;I don't ask you to release
+me. All I want to do is to explain exactly what I feel, and then leave
+you to decide."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you&mdash;are you in love with anyone else?"</p>
+
+<p>"No!"</p>
+
+<p>The smile of Mrs. Wallace flashed scornfully across his mind, but he set
+his teeth. He hated and despised her; he would not love her.</p>
+
+<p>"Is there anything in me that you don't like which I might be able to
+correct?"</p>
+
+<p>Her humility was more than he could bear.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, no!" he cried. "I can never make you understand. You must think
+me simply brutal. You have all that a man could wish for. I know how
+kind you are, and how good you are. I think you have every quality which
+a good woman should have. I respect you entirely; I can never help
+feeling for you the most intense gratitude and affection."</p>
+
+<p>In his own ears the words he spoke rang hollow, awkward, even
+impertinent. He could say nothing which did not seem hideously
+supercilious; and yet he wanted to abase himself! He knew that Mary's
+humiliation must be very, very bitter.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid that I am distressing you frightfully, and I don't see how I
+can make things easier."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I knew you didn't love me! I felt it. D'you think I could talk to
+you for five minutes without seeing the constraint in your manner? They
+told me I was foolish and fanciful, but I knew better."</p>
+
+<p>"I must have caused you very great unhappiness?"</p>
+
+<p>Mary did not answer, and James looked at her with pity and remorse. At
+last he broke out passionately:</p>
+
+<p>"I can't command my love! It's not a thing I have at my beck and call.
+If it were, do you think I should give you this pain? Love is outside
+all calculation. You think love can be tamed, and led about on a chain
+like a dog. You think it's a gentle sentiment that one can subject to
+considerations of propriety and decorum, and God knows what. Oh, you
+don't know! Love is a madness that seizes one and shakes one like a leaf
+in the wind. I can't counterfeit love; I can't pretend to have it. I
+can't command the nerves of my body."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think I don't know what love is, James? How little you know me."</p>
+
+<p>James sank on a chair and hid his face.</p>
+
+<p>"We none of us understand one another. We're all alike, and yet so
+different. I don't even know myself. Don't think I'm a prig when I say
+that I've tried with all my might to love you. I would have given worlds
+to feel as I felt five years ago. But I can't. God help me!... Oh, you
+must hate and despise me, Mary!"</p>
+
+<p>"I, my dear?" she shook her head sadly. "I shall never do that. I want
+you to speak frankly. It is much better that we should try to understand
+one another."</p>
+
+<p>"That is what I felt. I did not think it honest to marry you with a lie
+in my heart. I don't know whether we can ever be happy; but our only
+chance is to speak the whole truth."</p>
+
+<p>Mary looked helplessly at him, cowed by her grief.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew it was coming. Every day I dreaded it."</p>
+
+<p>The pain in her eyes was more than James could bear; it was cruel to
+make her suffer so much. He could not do it. He felt an intense pity,
+and the idea came to him that there might be a middle way, which would
+lessen the difficulty. He hesitated a moment, and then, looking down,
+spoke in a low voice:</p>
+
+<p>"I am anxious to do my duty, Mary. I have promised to marry you. I do
+not wish to break my word. I don't ask you to release me. Will you take
+what I can offer? I will be a good husband to you. I will do all I can
+to make you happy. I can give you affection and confidence&mdash;friendship;
+but I can't give you love. It is much better that I should tell you than
+that you should find out painfully by yourself&mdash;perhaps when it is too
+late."</p>
+
+<p>"You came to ask me to release you. Why do you hesitate now? Do you
+think I shall refuse?"</p>
+
+<p>James was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"You cannot think that I will accept a compromise. Do you suppose that
+because I am a woman I am not made of flesh and blood? You said you
+wished to be frank."</p>
+
+<p>"I had not thought of the other way till just now."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you imagine that it softens the blow? How could I live with you as
+your wife, and yet not your wife? What are affection and esteem to me
+without love? You must think me a very poor creature, James, when you
+want to make me a sort of legal housekeeper."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry. I didn't think you would look upon it as an impertinence. I
+didn't mean to say anything offensive. It struck me as a possible way
+out of the difficulty. You would, at all events, be happier than you are
+here."</p>
+
+<p>"It is you who despise me now!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mary!"</p>
+
+<p>"I can bear pain. It's not the first humiliation I have suffered. It is
+very simple, and there's no reason why we should make a fuss about it.
+You thought you loved me, and you asked me to marry you. I don't know
+whether you ever really loved me; you certainly don't now, and you wish
+me to release you. You know that I cannot and will not refuse."</p>
+
+<p>"I see no way out of it, Mary," he said, hoarsely. "I wish to God I did!
+It's frightfully cruel to you."</p>
+
+<p>"I can bear it. I don't blame you. It's not your fault. God will give me
+strength." Mary thought of her mother's cruel sympathy. Her parents
+would have to be told that James had cast her aside like a plaything he
+was tired of. "God will give me strength."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so sorry, Mary," cried James, kneeling by her side. "You'll have to
+suffer dreadfully; and I can't think how to make it any better for you."</p>
+
+<p>"There is no way. We must tell them the whole truth, and let them say
+what they will."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you like me to go away from Primpton?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"It might make it easier for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing can make it easier. I can face it out. And I don't want you to
+run away and hide yourself as if you had done something to be ashamed
+of. And your people want you. Oh, Jamie, you will be as gentle with them
+as you can, won't you? I'm afraid it will&mdash;disappoint them very much."</p>
+
+<p>"They had set their hearts upon our marriage."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid they'll feel it a good deal. But it can't be helped.
+Anything is better than a loveless marriage."</p>
+
+<p>James was profoundly touched that at the time of her own bitter grief,
+Mary could think of the pain of others.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I had your courage, Mary. I've never seen such strength."</p>
+
+<p>"It's well that I have some qualities. I haven't the power to make you
+love me, and I deserve something to make up."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mary, don't speak like that! I do love you! There's no one for whom
+I have a purer, more sincere affection. Why won't you take me with what
+I can offer? I promise that you will never regret it. You know exactly
+what I am now&mdash;weak, but anxious to do right. Why shouldn't we be
+married? Perhaps things may change. Who can tell what time may bring
+about?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's impossible. You ask me to do more than I can. And I know very well
+that you only make the offer out of charity. Even from you I cannot
+accept charity."</p>
+
+<p>"My earnest wish is to make you happy."</p>
+
+<p>"And I know you would sacrifice yourself willingly for that; but I can
+sacrifice myself, too. You think that if we got married love might
+arise; but it wouldn't. You would feel perpetually that I was a reproach
+to you; you would hate me."</p>
+
+<p>"I should never do that."</p>
+
+<p>"How can you tell? We are the same age now, but each year I should seem
+older. At forty I should be an old woman, and you would still be a young
+man. Only the deepest love can make that difference endurable; but the
+love would be all on my side&mdash;if <i>I</i> had any then. I should probably
+have grown bitter and ill-humoured. Ah, no, Jamie, you know it is
+utterly impracticable. You know it as well as I do. Let us part
+altogether. I give you back your word. It is not your fault that you do
+not love me. I don't blame you. One gets over everything in this world
+eventually. All I ask you is not to trouble too much about me; I shan't
+die of it."</p>
+
+<p>She stretched out her hand, and he took it, his eyes all blurred, unable
+to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"And I thank you," she continued, "for having come to me frankly and
+openly, and told me everything. It is still something that you have
+confidence in me. You need never fear that I shall feel bitter towards
+you. I can see that you have suffered&mdash;perhaps more than you have made
+me suffer. Good-bye!"</p>
+
+<p>"Is there nothing I can do, Mary?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," she said, trying to smile, "except not to worry."</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye," he said. "And don't think too ill of me."</p>
+
+<p>She could not trust herself to answer. She stood perfectly quiet till he
+had gone out of the room; then with a moan sank to the floor and hid her
+face, bursting into tears. She had restrained herself too long; the
+composure became intolerable. She could have screamed, as though
+suffering some physical pain that destroyed all self-control. The heavy
+sobs rent her chest, and she did not attempt to stop them. She was
+heart-broken.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, how could he!" she groaned. "How could he!"</p>
+
+<p>Her vision of happiness was utterly gone. In James she had placed the
+joy of her life; in him had found strength to bear every displeasure.
+Mary had no thought in which he did not take part; her whole future was
+inextricably mingled with his. But now the years to come, which had
+seemed so bright and sunny, turned suddenly grey as the melancholy sky
+without. She saw her life at Little Primpton, continuing as in the past
+years, monotonous and dull&mdash;a dreary round of little duties, of little
+vexations, of little pleasures.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, God help me!" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>And lifting herself painfully to her knees, she prayed for strength to
+bear the woeful burden, for courage to endure it steadfastly, for
+resignation to believe that it was God's will.</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h3>
+
+
+<p>James felt no relief. He had looked forward to a sensation of freedom
+such as a man might feel when he had escaped from some tyrannous
+servitude, and was at liberty again to breathe the buoyant air of
+heaven. He imagined that his depression would vanish like an evil spirit
+exorcised so soon as ever he got from Mary his release; but instead it
+sat more heavily upon him. Unconvinced even yet that he had acted
+rightly, he went over the conversation word for word. It seemed
+singularly ineffectual. Wishing to show Mary that he did not break with
+her from caprice or frivolous reason, but with sorrowful reluctance, and
+full knowledge of her suffering, he had succeeded only in being futile
+and commonplace.</p>
+
+<p>He walked slowly towards Primpton House. He had before him the
+announcement to his mother and father; and he tried to order his
+thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons, her household work finished, was knitting the inevitable
+socks; while the Colonel sat at the table, putting new stamps into his
+album. He chattered delightedly over his treasures, getting up now and
+then gravely to ask his wife some question or to point out a surcharge;
+she, good woman, showed interest by appropriate rejoinders.</p>
+
+<p>"There's no one in Tunbridge Wells who has such a fine collection as I
+have."</p>
+
+<p>"General Newsmith showed me his the other day, but it's not nearly so
+good as yours, Richmond."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad of that. I suppose his Mauritius are fine?" replied the
+Colonel, with some envy, for the general had lived several years on the
+island.</p>
+
+<p>"They're fair," said Mrs. Parsons, reassuringly; "but not so good as one
+would expect."</p>
+
+<p>"It takes a clever man to get together a good collection of stamps,
+although I shouldn't say it."</p>
+
+<p>They looked up when James entered.</p>
+
+<p>"I've just been putting in those Free States you brought me, Jamie. They
+look very well."</p>
+
+<p>The Colonel leant back to view them, with the satisfied look with which
+he might have examined an old master.</p>
+
+<p>"It was very thoughtful of Jamie to bring them," said Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, I knew he wouldn't forget his old father. Don't you remember,
+Frances, I said to you, 'I'll be bound the boy will bring some stamps
+with him.' They'll be valuable in a year or two. That's what I always
+say with regard to postage stamps; you can't waste your money. Now
+jewellery, for instance, gets old-fashioned, and china breaks; but you
+run no risk with stamps. When I buy stamps, I really feel that I'm as
+good as investing my money in consols."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, how's Mary this morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've been having a long talk with her."</p>
+
+<p>"Settled the day yet?" asked the Colonel, with a knowing little laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"No!"</p>
+
+<p>"Upon my word, Frances, I think we shall have to settle it for them.
+Things weren't like this when we were young. Why, Jamie, your mother and
+I got married six weeks after I was introduced to her at a croquet
+party."</p>
+
+<p>"We were married in haste, Richmond," said Mrs. Parsons, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we've taken a long time to repent of it, my dear. It's over
+thirty years."</p>
+
+<p>"I fancy it's too late now."</p>
+
+<p>The Colonel took her hand and patted it.</p>
+
+<p>"If you get such a good wife as I have, Jamie, I don't think you'll have
+reason to complain. Will he, my dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's not for me to say, Richmond," replied Mrs. Parsons, smiling
+contentedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you want me to get married very much, father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I do. I've set my heart upon it. I want to see what the new
+generations of Parsons are like before I die."</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Richmond, Jamie has something to tell us."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons had been looking at her son, and was struck at last by the
+agony of his expression.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it, Jamie?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid you'll be dreadfully disappointed. I'm so sorry&mdash;Mary and I
+are no longer engaged to be married."</p>
+
+<p>For a minute there was silence in the room. The old Colonel looked
+helplessly from wife to son.</p>
+
+<p>"What does he mean, Frances?" he said at last.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons did not answer, and he turned to James.</p>
+
+<p>"You're not in earnest, Jamie? You're joking with us?"</p>
+
+<p>James went over to his father, as the weaker of the two, and put his arm
+round his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm awfully sorry to have to grieve you, father. It's quite true&mdash;worse
+luck! It was impossible for me to marry Mary."</p>
+
+<p>"D'you mean that you've broken your engagement with her after she's
+waited five years for you?" said Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't do anything else. I found I no longer loved her. We should
+both have been unhappy if we had married."</p>
+
+<p>The Colonel recovered himself slowly, he turned round and looked at his
+son.</p>
+
+<p>"Jamie, Jamie, what have you done?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you can say nothing that I've not said to myself. D'you think it's
+a step I should have taken lightly? I feel nothing towards Mary but
+friendship. I don't love her."</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;" the Colonel stopped, and then a light shone in his face, and he
+began to laugh. "Oh, it's only a lovers' quarrel, Frances. They've had a
+little tiff, and they say they'll never speak to one another again. I
+warrant they're both heartily sorry already, and before night they'll be
+engaged as fast as ever."</p>
+
+<p>James, by a look, implored his mother to speak. She understood, and
+shook her head sadly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, Richmond, I'm afraid it's not that. It's serious."</p>
+
+<p>"But Mary loves him, Frances."</p>
+
+<p>"I know," said James. "That's the tragedy of it. If I could only
+persuade myself that she didn't care for me, it would be all right."</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons sank into his chair, suddenly collapsing. He seemed
+smaller than ever, wizened and frail; the wisp of white hair that
+concealed his baldness fell forward grotesquely. His face assumed again
+that expression, which was almost habitual, of anxious fear.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, father, don't look like that! I can't help it! Don't make it harder
+for me than possible. You talk to him, mother. Explain that it's not my
+fault. There was nothing else I could do."</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons sat silent, with his head bent down, but Mrs. Parsons
+asked:</p>
+
+<p>"What did you say to Mary this morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"I told her exactly what I felt."</p>
+
+<p>"You said you didn't love her?"</p>
+
+<p>"I had to."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor thing!"</p>
+
+<p>They all remained for a while without speaking, each one thinking his
+painful thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>"Richmond," said Mrs. Parsons at last, "we mustn't blame the boy. It's
+not his fault. He can't help it if he doesn't love her."</p>
+
+<p>"You wouldn't have me marry her without love, father?"</p>
+
+<p>The question was answered by Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"No; if you don't love her, you mustn't marry her. But what's to be
+done, I don't know. Poor thing, poor thing, how unhappy she must be!"</p>
+
+<p>James sat with his face in his hands, utterly wretched, beginning
+already to see the great circle of confusion that he had caused. Mrs.
+Parsons looked at him and looked at her husband. Presently she went up
+to James.</p>
+
+<p>"Jamie, will you leave us for a little? Your father and I would like to
+talk it over alone."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, mother."</p>
+
+<p>James got up, and putting her hands on his shoulders, she kissed him.</p>
+
+<p>When James had gone, Mrs. Parsons looked compassionately at her husband;
+he glanced up, and catching her eye, tried to smile. But it was a poor
+attempt, and it finished with a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>"What's to be done, Richmond?"</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons shook his head without answering.</p>
+
+<p>"I ought to have warned you that something might happen. I saw there was
+a difference in Jamie's feelings, but I fancied it would pass over. I
+believed it was only strangeness. Mary is so fond of him, I thought he
+would soon love her as much as ever."</p>
+
+<p>"But it's not honourable what he's done, Frances," said the old man at
+last, his voice trembling with emotion. "It's not honourable."</p>
+
+<p>"He can't help it if he doesn't love her."</p>
+
+<p>"It's his duty to marry her. She's waited five years; she's given him
+the best of her youth&mdash;and he jilts her. He can't, Frances; he must
+behave like a gentleman."</p>
+
+<p>The tears fell down Mrs. Parsons' careworn cheeks&mdash;the slow, sparse
+tears of the woman who has endured much sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't let us judge him, Richmond. We're so ignorant of the world. You
+and I are old-fashioned."</p>
+
+<p>"There are no fashions in honesty."</p>
+
+<p>"Let us send for William. Perhaps he'll be able to advise us."</p>
+
+<p>William was Major Forsyth, the brother of Mrs. Parsons. He was a
+bachelor, living in London, and considered by his relatives a typical
+man of the world.</p>
+
+<p>"He'll be able to talk to the boy better than we can."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, let us send for him."</p>
+
+<p>They were both overcome by the catastrophe, but as yet hardly grasped
+the full extent of it. All their hopes had been centred on this
+marriage; all their plans for the future had been in it so intricately
+woven that they could not realise the total over-throw. They felt as a
+man might feel who was crippled by a sudden accident, and yet still
+pictured his life as though he had free use of his limbs.... Mrs.
+Parsons wrote a telegram, and gave it to the maid. The servant went out
+of the room, but as she did so, stepped back and announced:</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Clibborn, ma'am."</p>
+
+<p>"Mary!"</p>
+
+<p>The girl came in, and lifted the veil which she had put on to hide her
+pallor and her eyes, red and heavy with weeping.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought I'd better come round and see you quietly," she said. "I
+suppose you've heard?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mary, Mary!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons took her in her arms, kissing her tenderly. Mary pretended
+to laugh, and hastily dried the tears which came to her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"You've been crying, Mrs. Parsons. You mustn't do that.... Let us sit
+down and talk sensibly."</p>
+
+<p>She took the Colonel's hand, and gently pressed it.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it true, Mary?" he asked. "I can't believe it."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it's quite true. We've decided that we don't wish to marry one
+another. I want to ask you not to think badly of Jamie. He's very&mdash;cut
+up about it. He's not to blame."</p>
+
+<p>"We're thinking of you, my dear."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I shall be all right. I can bear it."</p>
+
+<p>"It's not honourable what he's done, Mary," said the Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't say that, please! That is why I came round to you quickly. I
+want you to think that Jamie did what he considered right. For my sake,
+don't think ill of him. He can't help it if he doesn't love me. I'm not
+very attractive; he must have known in India girls far nicer than I. How
+could I hope to keep him all these years? I was a fool to expect it."</p>
+
+<p>"I am so sorry, Mary!" cried Mrs. Parsons. "We've looked forward to your
+marriage with all our hearts. You know Jamie's been a good son to us;
+he's never given us any worry. We did want him to marry you. We're so
+fond of you, and we know how really good you are. We felt that whatever
+happened after that&mdash;if we died&mdash;Jamie would be safe and happy."</p>
+
+<p>"It can't be helped. Things never turn out in this world as one wants
+them. Don't be too distressed about it, and, above all things, don't let
+Jamie see that you think he hasn't acted&mdash;as he might have done."</p>
+
+<p>"How can you think of him now, when your heart must be almost breaking?"</p>
+
+<p>"You see, I've thought of him for years," answered Mary, smiling sadly.
+"I can't help it now. Oh, I don't want him to suffer! His worrying can
+do no good, I should like him to be completely happy."</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"He's my son, and he's behaved dishonourably."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't say that. It's not fair to him. He did not ask me for his
+release. But I couldn't marry him when I knew he no longer cared for
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"He might have learned to love you, Mary," said Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no! I could see, as he pressed me to marry him notwithstanding, he
+was hoping with all his might that I would refuse. He would have hated
+me. No; it's the end. We have separated for ever, and I will do my best
+to get over it."</p>
+
+<p>They fell into silence, and presently Mary got up. "I must go home now,
+and tell mamma."</p>
+
+<p>"She'll probably have hysterics," said Mrs. Parsons, with a little sniff
+of contempt.</p>
+
+<p>"No, she'll be delighted," returned Mary. "I know her so well."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, how much you will have to suffer, dearest!"</p>
+
+<p>"It'll do me good. I was too happy."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think you could wait a little before telling anyone else?"
+asked the Colonel. "Major Forsyth is coming down. He may be able to
+arrange it; he's a man of the world."</p>
+
+<p>"Can he make Jamie love me? Ah, no, it's no good waiting. Let me get it
+over quickly while I have the courage. And it helps me to think I have
+something to do. It only means a few sneers and a little false
+sympathy."</p>
+
+<p>"A great deal of real sympathy."</p>
+
+<p>"People are always rather glad when some unhappiness befalls their
+friends! Oh, I didn't mean that! I don't want to be bitter. Don't think
+badly of me either. I shall be different to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"We can never think of you without the sincerest, fondest love."</p>
+
+<p>At that moment James, who did not know that Mary was there, came into
+the room. He started when he saw her and turned red; but Mary, with a
+woman's self-possession, braced herself together.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Jamie, I've just been having a little chat with your people."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry I interrupted you," he answered, awkwardly. "I didn't know
+you were here."</p>
+
+<p>"You need not avoid me because we've broken off our engagement. At all
+events, you have no reason to be afraid of me now. Good-bye! I'm just
+going home."</p>
+
+<p>She went out, and James looked uncertainly at his parents. His father
+did not speak, staring at the ground, but Mrs. Parsons said:</p>
+
+<p>"Mary has been asking us not to be angry with you, Jamie. She says it's
+not your fault."</p>
+
+<p>"It's very kind of her."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, how could you? How could you?"</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h3>
+
+
+<p>Not till luncheon was nearly finished did Mary brace herself for the
+further ordeal, and in a steady, unmoved voice tell Colonel and Mrs.
+Clibborn what had happened. The faded beauty merely smiled, and lifted
+her eyes to the chandelier with the expression that had melted the
+hearts of a thousand and one impressionable subalterns.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew it," she murmured; "I knew it! You can't deceive a woman and a
+mother."</p>
+
+<p>But the Colonel for a moment was speechless. His face grew red, and his
+dyed eyebrows stood up in a fury of indignation.</p>
+
+<p>"Impossible!" he spluttered at last.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd better drink a little water, Reggie dear," said his wife. "You
+look as if you were going to have a fit."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't have it," he shouted, bringing his fist down on the table so
+that the cheese-plates clattered and the biscuits danced a rapid jig.
+"I'll make him marry you. He forgets he has me to deal with! I
+disapproved of the match from the beginning, didn't I, Clara? I said I
+would never allow my daughter to marry beneath her."</p>
+
+<p>"Papa!"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't talk to me, Mary! Do you mean to deny that James Parsons is
+infantry, or that his father was infantry before him? But he shall marry
+you now. By George! he shall marry you if I have to lead him to the
+altar by the scruff of his neck!"</p>
+
+<p>Neglecting his cheese, the Colonel sprang to his feet and walked to and
+fro, vehemently giving his opinion of James, his father, and all his
+ancestors; of the regiments to which they had belonged, and all else
+that was theirs. He traced their origin from a pork butcher's shop, and
+prophesied their end, ignominiously, in hell. Every now and then he
+assured Mary that she need have no fear; the rascal should marry her, or
+die a violent death.</p>
+
+<p>"But there's nothing more to be said now, papa. We've agreed quite
+amicably to separate. All I want you to do is to treat him as if nothing
+had happened."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll horsewhip him," said Colonel Clibborn. "He's insulted you, and
+I'll make him beg your pardon on his bended knees. Clara, where's my
+horsewhip?"</p>
+
+<p>"Papa, do be reasonable!"</p>
+
+<p>"I am reasonable, Mary," roared the gallant soldier, becoming a rich
+purple. "I know my duty, thank God! and I'm going to do it. When a man
+insults my daughter, it's my duty, as a gentleman and an officer, to
+give him a jolly good thrashing. When that twopenny sawbones of a doctor
+was rude to you, I licked him within an inch of his life. I kicked him
+till he begged for mercy; and if more men had the courage to take the
+law into their own hands, there'd be fewer damned blackguards in the
+world."</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of fact, the Colonel had neither thrashed nor kicked the
+doctor, but it pleased him to think he had. Moralists teach us that the
+intention is praiseworthy, rather than the brutal act; consequently,
+there could be no objection if the fearless cavalryman took credit for
+things which he had thought of doing, but, from circumstances beyond his
+control, had not actually done.</p>
+
+<p>Mary felt no great alarm at her father's horrid threats, for she knew
+him well, but still was doubtful about her mother.</p>
+
+<p>"You will treat James as you did before, won't you, mamma?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clibborn smiled, a portly seraph.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, I trust I am a gentlewoman."</p>
+
+<p>"He shall never darken my doors again!" cried the Colonel. "I tell you,
+Clara, keep him out of my way. If I meet him I won't be responsible for
+my actions; I shall knock him down."</p>
+
+<p>"Reggie dear, you'll have such dreadful indigestion if you don't calm
+down. You know it always upsets you to get excited immediately after
+meals."</p>
+
+<p>"It's disgraceful! I suppose he forgets all those half-crowns I gave him
+when he was a boy, and the cigars, and the port wine he's had since. I
+opened a special bottle for him only the night before last. I'll never
+sit down to dinner with him again&mdash;don't ask me to, Clara.... It's the
+confounded impertinence of it which gets over me. But he shall marry
+you, my dear; or I'll know the reason why."</p>
+
+<p>"You can't have him up for breach of promise, Reggie," cooed Mrs.
+Clibborn.</p>
+
+<p>"A gentleman takes the law in his own hands in these matters. Ah, it's a
+pity the good old days have gone when they settled such things with cold
+steel!"</p>
+
+<p>And the Colonel, to emphasise his words, flung himself into the
+appropriate attitude, throwing his left hand up behind his head, and
+lunging fiercely with the right.</p>
+
+<p>"Go and look for my <i>pince-nez</i>, my dear," said Mrs. Clibborn, turning
+to Mary. "I think they're in my work-basket or in your father's study."</p>
+
+<p>Mary was glad to leave the room, about which the Colonel stamped in an
+ever-increasing rage, pausing now and then to take a mouthful of bread
+and cheese. The request for the glasses was Mrs. Clibborn's usual way of
+getting rid of Mary, a typical subterfuge of a woman who never, except
+by chance, put anything straightforwardly.... When the door was closed,
+the buxom lady clasped her hands, and cried:</p>
+
+<p>"Reginald! Reginald! I have a confession to make."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter with you?" said the Colonel, stopping short.</p>
+
+<p>"I am to blame for this, Reginald." Mrs. Clibborn threw her head on one
+side, and looked at the ceiling as the only substitute for heaven.
+"James Parsons has jilted Mary&mdash;on my account."</p>
+
+<p>"What the devil have you been doing now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, forgive me, Reginald!" she cried, sliding off the chair and falling
+heavily on her knees. "It's not my fault: he loves me."</p>
+
+<p>"Fiddlesticks!" said her husband angrily, walking on again.</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't, Reginald. How unjust you are to me!"</p>
+
+<p>The facile tears began to flow down Mrs. Clibborn's well-powdered
+cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"I know he loves me. You can't deceive a woman and a mother."</p>
+
+<p>"You're double his age!"</p>
+
+<p>"These boys always fall in love with women older than themselves; I've
+noticed it so often. And he's almost told me in so many words, though
+I'm sure I've given him no encouragement."</p>
+
+<p>"Fiddlesticks, Clara!"</p>
+
+<p>"You wouldn't believe me when I told you that poor Algy Turner loved me,
+and he killed himself."</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing of the kind; he died of cholera."</p>
+
+<p>"Reginald," retorted Mrs. Clibborn, with asperity, "his death was most
+mysterious. None of the doctors understood it. If he didn't poison
+himself, he died of a broken heart. And I think you're very unkind to
+me."</p>
+
+<p>With some difficulty, being a heavy woman, she lifted herself from the
+floor; and by the time she was safely on her feet, Mrs. Clibborn was
+blowing and puffing like a grampus.</p>
+
+<p>The Colonel, whose mind had wandered to other things, suddenly bethought
+himself that he had a duty to perform.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's my horsewhip, Clara? I command you to give it me."</p>
+
+<p>"Reginald, if you have the smallest remnant of affection for me, you
+will not hurt this unfortunate young man. Remember that Algy Turner
+killed himself. You can't blame him for not wanting to marry poor Mary.
+My dear, she has absolutely no figure. And men are so susceptible to
+those things."</p>
+
+<p>The Colonel stalked out of the room, and Mrs. Clibborn sat down to
+meditate.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought my day for such things was past," she murmured. "I knew it
+all along. The way he looked at me was enough&mdash;we women have such quick
+perceptions! Poor boy, how he must suffer!"</p>
+
+<p>She promised herself that no harsh word of hers should drive James into
+the early grave where lay the love-lorn Algy Turner. And she sighed,
+thinking what a curse it was to possess that fatal gift of beauty!</p>
+
+<p class="tb">When Little Primpton heard the news, Little Primpton was agitated.
+Certainly it was distressed, and even virtuously indignant, but at the
+same time completely unable to divest itself of that little flutter of
+excitement which was so rare, yet so enchanting, a variation from the
+monotony of its daily course. The well-informed walked with a lighter
+step, and held their heads more jauntily, for life had suddenly acquired
+a novel interest. With something new to talk about, something fresh to
+think over, with a legitimate object of sympathy and resentment, the
+torpid blood raced through their veins as might that of statesmen during
+some crisis in national affairs. Let us thank God, who has made our
+neighbours frail, and in His infinite mercy caused husband and wife to
+quarrel; Tom, Dick, and Harry to fall more or less discreditably in
+love; this dear friend of ours to lose his money, and that her
+reputation. In all humility, let us be grateful for the scandal which
+falls at our feet like ripe fruit, for the Divorce Court and for the
+newspapers that, with a witty semblance of horror, report for us the
+spicy details. If at certain intervals propriety obliges us to confess
+that we are miserable sinners, has not the Lord sought to comfort us in
+the recollection that we are not half so bad as most people?</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dryland went to the Vicarage to enter certificates in the parish
+books. The Vicar was in his study, and gave his curate the keys of the
+iron safe.</p>
+
+<p>"Sophie Bunch came last night to put up her banns," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"She's going to marry out of the parish, isn't she?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, a Tunbridge Wells man."</p>
+
+<p>The curate carefully blotted the entries he had made, and returned the
+heavy books to their place.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you come into the dining-room, Dryland?" said the Vicar, with a
+certain solemnity. "Mrs Jackson would like to speak to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Jackson was reading the <i>Church Times</i>. Her thin, sharp face wore
+an expression of strong disapproval; her tightly-closed mouth, her sharp
+nose, even the angular lines of her body, signified clearly that her
+moral sense was outraged. She put her hand quickly to her massive fringe
+to see that it was straight, and rose to shake hands with Mr. Dryland.
+His heavy red face assumed at once a grave look; his moral sense was
+outraged, too.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't this dreadful news, Mr. Dryland?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, very sad! Very sad!"</p>
+
+<p>In both their voices, hidden below an intense sobriety, there was
+discernible a slight ring of exultation.</p>
+
+<p>"The moment I saw him I felt he would give trouble," said Mrs. Jackson,
+shaking her head. "I told you, Archibald, that I didn't like the look of
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm bound to say you did," admitted her lord and master.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary Clibborn is much too good for him," added Mrs. Jackson,
+decisively. "She's a saint."</p>
+
+<p>"The fact is, that he's suffering from a swollen head," remarked the
+curate, who used slang as a proof of manliness.</p>
+
+<p>"There, Archibald!" cried the lady, triumphantly. "What did I tell you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Jackson thought he was conceited."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think it; I'm sure of it. He's odiously conceited. All the time
+I was talking to him I felt he considered himself superior to me. No
+nice-minded man would have refused our offer to say a short prayer on
+his behalf during morning service."</p>
+
+<p>"Those army men always have a very good opinion of themselves," said Mr.
+Dryland, taking advantage of his seat opposite a looking-glass to
+arrange his hair.</p>
+
+<p>He spoke in such a round, full voice that his shortest words carried a
+sort of polysyllabic weight.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't see what he has done to be so proud of," said Mrs. Jackson.
+"Anyone would have done the same in his position. I'm sure it's no more
+heroic than what clergymen do every day of their lives, without making
+the least fuss about it."</p>
+
+<p>"They say that true courage is always modest," answered Mr. Dryland.</p>
+
+<p>The remark was not very apposite, but sounded damaging.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't like the way he had when he came to tea here&mdash;as if he were
+dreadfully bored. I'm sure he's not so clever as all that."</p>
+
+<p>"No clever man would act in an ungentlemanly way," said the curate, and
+then smiled, for he thought he had unconsciously made an epigram.</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't express in words what I feel with regard to his treatment of
+Mary!" cried Mrs. Jackson; and then proceeded to do so&mdash;and in many, to
+boot.</p>
+
+<p>They had all been a little oppressed by the greatness which, much
+against his will, they had thrust upon the unfortunate James. They had
+set him on a pedestal, and then were disconcerted because he towered
+above their heads, and the halo with which they had surrounded him
+dazzled their eyes. They had wished to make a lion of James, and his
+modest resistance wounded their self-esteem; it was a relief to learn
+that he was not worth making a lion of. Halo and pedestal were quickly
+demolished, for the golden idol had feet of clay, and his late adorers
+were ready to reproach him because he had not accepted with proper
+humility the gifts he did not want. Their little vanities were comforted
+by the assurance that, far from being a hero, James was, in fact,
+distinctly inferior to themselves. For there is no superiority like
+moral superiority. A man who stands akimbo on the top of the Ten
+Commandments need bow the knee to no earthly potentate.</p>
+
+<p>Little Primpton was conscious of its virtue, and did not hesitate to
+condemn.</p>
+
+<p>"He has lowered himself dreadfully."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it's very sad. It only shows how necessary it is to preserve a
+meek and contrite spirit in prosperity. Pride always goes before a
+fall."</p>
+
+<p>The Jacksons and Mr. Dryland discussed the various accounts which had
+reached them. Mary and Mrs. Parsons were determinedly silent, but Mrs.
+Clibborn was loquacious, and it needed little artifice to extract the
+whole story from Colonel Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"One thing is unfortunately certain," said Mrs. Jackson, with a sort of
+pious vindictiveness, "Captain Parsons has behaved abominably, and it's
+our duty to do something."</p>
+
+<p>"Colonel Clibborn threatens to horsewhip him."</p>
+
+<p>"It would do him good," cried Mrs. Jackson; "and I should like to be
+there to see it!"</p>
+
+<p>They paused a moment to gloat over the imaginary scene of Jamie's
+chastisement.</p>
+
+<p>"He's a wicked man. Fancy throwing the poor girl over when she's waited
+five years. I think he ought to be made to marry her."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm bound to say that no gentleman would have acted like that," said
+the Vicar.</p>
+
+<p>"I wanted Archibald to go and speak seriously to Captain Parsons. He
+ought to know what we think of him, and it's obviously our duty to tell
+him."</p>
+
+<p>"His parents are very much distressed. One can see that, although they
+say so little."</p>
+
+<p>"It's not enough to be distressed. They ought to have the strength of
+mind to insist upon his marrying Mary Clibborn. But they stick up for
+everything he does. They think he's perfect. I'm sure it's not
+respectful to God to worship a human being as they do their son."</p>
+
+<p>"They certainly have a very exaggerated opinion of him," assented Mr.
+Dryland.</p>
+
+<p>"And I should like to know why. He's not good-looking."</p>
+
+<p>"Very ordinary," agreed Mr. Dryland, with a rapid glance at the
+convenient mirror. "I don't think his appearance is manly."</p>
+
+<p>Whatever the curate's defects of person&mdash;and he flattered himself that
+he was modest enough to know his bad points&mdash;no one, he fancied, could
+deny him manliness. It is possible that he was not deceived. Put him in
+a bowler-hat and a bell-bottomed coat, and few could have distinguished
+him from a cab-driver.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see anything particular in his eyes or hair," pursued Mrs.
+Jackson.</p>
+
+<p>"His features are fairly regular. But that always strikes me as insipid
+in a man."</p>
+
+<p>"And he's not a good conversationalist."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm bound to confess I've never heard him say anything clever,"
+remarked the Vicar.</p>
+
+<p>"No," smiled the curate; "one could hardly call him a brilliant
+epigrammatist."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think he's well informed."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well, you know, one doesn't expect knowledge from army men," said
+the curate, with a contemptuous smile and a shrug of the shoulders. "I
+must say I was rather amused when he confessed he hadn't read Marie
+Corelli."</p>
+
+<p>"I can hardly believe that. I think it was only pose."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry to say that my experience of young officers is that there are
+absolutely no bounds to their ignorance."</p>
+
+<p>They had satisfactorily stripped James of every quality, mental and
+physical, which could have made him attractive in Mary's eyes; and the
+curate's next remark was quite natural.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid it sounds a conceited thing to say, but I can't help asking
+myself what Miss Clibborn saw in him."</p>
+
+<p>"Love is blind," replied Mrs. Jackson. "She could have done much better
+for herself."</p>
+
+<p>They paused to consider the vagaries of the tender passion, and the
+matches which Mary might have made, had she been so inclined.</p>
+
+<p>"Archibald," said Mrs. Jackson at last, with the decision characteristic
+of her, "I've made up my mind. As vicar of the parish, <i>you</i> must go to
+Captain Parsons."</p>
+
+<p>"I, my dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Archibald. You must insist upon him fulfilling his engagement with
+Mary. Say that you are shocked and grieved; and ask him if his own
+conscience does not tell him that he has done wrong."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not sure that he'd listen to reason," nervously remarked the Vicar.</p>
+
+<p>"It's your duty to try, Archibald. We're so afraid of being called
+busybodies that even when we ought to step in we hesitate. No motives of
+delicacy should stop one when a wicked action is to be prevented. It's
+often the clergy's duty to interfere with other people's affairs. For my
+part, I will never shrink from doing my duty. People may call me a
+busybody if they like; hard words break no bones."</p>
+
+<p>"Captain Parsons is very reserved. He might think it an impertinence if
+I went to him."</p>
+
+<p>"How could he? Isn't it our business if he breaks his word with a
+parishioner of ours? If you don't talk to him, I shall. So there,
+Archibald!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you, Mrs. Jackson?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing would please me better, I should thoroughly enjoy giving him a
+piece of my mind. It would do him good to be told frankly that he's not
+quite so great as he thinks himself. I will never shrink from doing my
+duty."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear," remonstrated the Vicar, "if you really think I ought to
+speak&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps Mrs. Jackson would do better. A women can say many things that
+a man can't."</p>
+
+<p>This was a grateful suggestion to the Vicar, who could not rid himself
+of the discomforting thought that James, incensed and hot-tempered,
+might use the strength of his arms&mdash;or legs&mdash;in lieu of argument. Mr.
+Jackson would have affronted horrid tortures for his faith, but shrank
+timidly before the least suspicion of ridicule. His wife was braver, or
+less imaginative.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, I'll go," she said. "It's true he might be rude to
+Archibald, and he couldn't be rude to a lady. And what's more, I shall
+go at once."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Jackson kept her hat on a peg in the hall, and was quickly ready.
+She put on her black kid gloves; determination sat upon her mouth, and
+Christian virtue rested between her brows. Setting out with a brisk
+step, the conviction was obvious in every movement that duty called, and
+to that clarion note Maria Jackson would never turn a deaf ear. She went
+like a Hebrew prophet, conscious that the voice of the Lord was in her.</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h3>
+
+
+<p>James was wandering in the garden of Primpton House while Mrs. Jackson
+thither went her way. Since the termination of his engagement with Mary
+three days back, the subject had not been broached between him and his
+parents; but he divined their thoughts. He knew that they awaited the
+arrival of his uncle, Major Forsyth, to set the matter right. They did
+not seek to reconcile themselves with the idea that the break was final;
+it seemed too monstrous a thing to be true. James smiled, with bitter
+amusement, at their simple trust in the man of the world who was due
+that day.</p>
+
+<p>Major Forsyth was fifty-three, a haunter of military clubs, a busy
+sluggard, who set his pride in appearing dissipated, and yet led the
+blameless life of a clergyman's daughter; preserving a spotless virtue,
+nothing pleased him more than to be thought a rake. He had been on
+half-pay for many years, and blamed the War Office on that account
+rather than his own incompetence. Ever since retiring he had told people
+that advancement, in these degenerate days, was impossible without
+influence: he was, indeed, one of those men to whom powerful friends
+offer the only chance of success; and possessing none, inveighed
+constantly against the corrupt officialism of those in authority. But to
+his Jeremiads upon the decay of the public services he added a keen
+interest in the world of fashion; it is always well that a man should
+have varied activities; it widens his horizon, and gives him a greater
+usefulness. If his attention had been limited to red-tape, Major
+Forsyth, even in his own circle, might have been thought a little
+one-sided; but his knowledge of etiquette and tailors effectually
+prevented the reproach. He was pleased to consider himself in society;
+he read assiduously those papers which give detailed accounts of the
+goings-on in the "hupper succles," and could give you with considerable
+accuracy the whereabouts of titled people. If he had a weakness, it was
+by his manner of speaking to insinuate that he knew certain noble
+persons whom, as a matter of fact, he had never set eyes on; he would
+not have told a direct lie on the subject, but his conscience permitted
+him a slight equivocation. Major Forsyth was well up in all the gossip
+of the clubs, and if he could not call himself a man of the world, he
+had not the least notion who could. But for all that, he had the
+strictest principles; he was true brother to Mrs. Parsons, and though he
+concealed the fact like something disreputable, regularly went to church
+on Sunday mornings. There was also a certain straitness in his income
+which confined him to the paths shared by the needy and the pure at
+heart.</p>
+
+<p>Major Forsyth had found no difficulty in imposing upon his sister and
+her husband.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, William is rather rackety," they said. "It's a pity he
+hasn't a wife to steady him; but he has a good heart."</p>
+
+<p>For them Major Forsyth had the double advantage of a wiliness gained in
+the turmoil of the world and an upright character. They scarcely knew
+how in the present juncture he could help, but had no doubt that from
+the boundless store of his worldly wisdom he would invent a solution to
+their difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>James had found his uncle out when he was quite a boy, and seeing his
+absurdity, had treated him ever since with good-natured ridicule.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder what they think he can say?" he asked himself.</p>
+
+<p>James was profoundly grieved at the unhappiness which bowed his father
+down. His parents had looked forward with such ecstatic pleasure to his
+arrival, and what sorrow had he not brought them!</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I'd never come back," he muttered.</p>
+
+<p>He thought of the flowing, undulating plains of the Orange Country, and
+the blue sky, with its sense of infinite freedom. In that trim Kentish
+landscape he felt hemmed in; when the clouds were low it seemed scarcely
+possible to breathe; and he suffered from the constraint of his father
+and mother, who treated him formally, as though he had become a
+stranger. There was always between them and him that painful topic which
+for the time was carefully shunned. They did not mention Mary's name,
+and the care they took to avoid it was more painful than would have been
+an open reference. They sat silent and sad, trying to appear natural,
+and dismally failing; their embarrassed manner was such as they might
+have adopted had he committed some crime, the mention of which for his
+sake must never be made, but whose recollection perpetually haunted
+them. In every action was the belief that James must be suffering from
+remorse, and that it was their duty not to make his burden heavier.
+James knew that his father was convinced that he had acted
+dishonourably, and he&mdash;what did he himself think?</p>
+
+<p>James asked himself a hundred times a day whether he had acted well or
+ill; and though he forced himself to answer that he had done the only
+possible thing, deep down in his heart was a terrible, a perfectly
+maddening uncertainty. He tried to crush it, and would not listen, for
+his intelligence told him clearly it was absurd; but it was stronger
+than intelligence, an incorporeal shape through which passed harmlessly
+the sword-cuts of his reason. It was a little devil curled up in his
+heart, muttering to all his arguments, "Are you sure?"</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes he was nearly distracted, and then the demon laughed, so that
+the mocking shrillness rang in his ears:</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure, my friend&mdash;are you sure? And where, pray, is the honour
+which only a while ago you thought so much of?"</p>
+
+<p class="tb">James walked to and fro restlessly, impatient, angry with himself and
+with all the world.</p>
+
+<p>But then on the breath of the wind, on the perfume of the roses, yellow
+and red, came suddenly the irresistible recollection of Mrs. Wallace.
+Why should he not think of her now? He was free; he could do her no
+harm; he would never see her again. The thought of her was the only
+sunshine in his life; he was tired of denying himself every pleasure.
+Why should he continue the pretence that he no longer loved her? It was,
+indeed, a consolation to think that the long absence had not dulled his
+passion; the strength of it was its justification. It was useless to
+fight against it, for it was part of his very soul; he might as well
+have fought against the beating of his heart. And if it was torture to
+remember those old days in India, he delighted in it; it was a pain more
+exquisite than the suffocating odours of tropical flowers, a voluptuous
+agony such as might feel the fakir lacerating his flesh in a divine
+possession.... Every little occurrence was clear, as if it had taken
+place but a day before.</p>
+
+<p>James repeated to himself the conversations they had had, of no
+consequence, the idle gossip of a stray half-hour; but each word was
+opulent in the charming smile, in the caressing glance of her eyes. He
+was able to imagine Mrs. Wallace quite close to him, wearing the things
+that he had seen her wear, and with her movements he noticed the
+excessive scent she used. He wondered whether she had overcome that
+failing, whether she still affected the artificiality which was so
+adorable a relief from the primness of manner which he had thought the
+natural way of women.</p>
+
+<p>If her cheeks were not altogether innocent of rouge or her eyebrows of
+pencil, what did he care; he delighted in her very faults; he would not
+have her different in the very slightest detail; everything was part of
+that complex, elusive fascination. And James thought of the skin which
+had the even softness of fine velvet, and the little hands. He called
+himself a fool for his shyness. What could have been the harm if he had
+taken those hands and kissed them? Now, in imagination, he pressed his
+lips passionately on the warm palms. He liked the barbaric touch in the
+many rings which bedecked her fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you wear so many rings?" he asked. "Your hands are too fine."</p>
+
+<p>He would never have ventured the question, but now there was no danger.
+Her answer came with a little, good-humoured laugh; she stretched out
+her fingers, looking complacently at the brilliant gems.</p>
+
+<p>"I like to be gaudy. I should like to be encrusted with jewels. I want
+to wear bracelets to my elbow and diamond spangles on my arms; and
+jewelled belts, and jewels in my hair, and on my neck. I should like to
+flash from head to foot with exotic stones."</p>
+
+<p>Then she looked at him with amusement.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, you think it's vulgar. What do I care? You all of you think
+it's vulgar to be different from other people. I want to be unique."</p>
+
+<p>"You want everybody to look at you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I do! Is it sinful? Oh, I get so impatient with all of you,
+with your good taste and your delicacy, and your insupportable dulness.
+When you admire a woman, you think it impertinent to tell her she's
+beautiful; when you have good looks, you carry yourselves as though you
+were ashamed."</p>
+
+<p>And in a bold moment he replied:</p>
+
+<p>"Yet you would give your soul to have no drop of foreign blood in your
+veins!"</p>
+
+<p>"I?" she cried, her eyes flashing with scorn. "I'm proud of my Eastern
+blood. It's not blood I have in my veins, it's fire&mdash;a fire of gold.
+It's because of it that I have no prejudices, and know how to enjoy my
+life."</p>
+
+<p>James smiled, and did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't believe me?" she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, perhaps I should like to be quite English. I should feel more
+comfortable in my scorn of these regimental ladies if I thought they
+could find no reason to look down on me."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think they look down on you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't they? They despise and loathe me."</p>
+
+<p>"When you were ill, they did all they could for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Foolish creature! Don't you know that to do good to your enemy is the
+very best way of showing your contempt."</p>
+
+<p>And so James could go on, questioning, replying, putting little jests
+into her mouth, or half-cynical repartees. Sometimes he spoke aloud,
+and then Mrs. Wallace's voice sounded in his ears, clear and rich and
+passionate, as though she were really standing in the flesh beside him.
+But always he finished by taking her in his arms and kissing her lips
+and her closed eyes, the lids transparent like the finest alabaster. He
+knew no pleasure greater than to place his hands on that lustrous hair.
+What could it matter now? He was not bound to Mary; he could do no harm
+to Mrs. Wallace, ten thousand miles away.</p>
+
+<p class="tb">But Colonel Parsons broke into the charming dream. Bent and weary, he
+came across the lawn to find his son. The wan, pathetic figure brought
+back to James all the present bitterness. He sighed, and advanced to
+meet him.</p>
+
+<p>"You're very reckless to come out without a hat, father. I'll fetch you
+one, shall I?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I'm not going to stay." The Colonel could summon up no answering
+smile to his boy's kind words. "I only came to tell you that Mrs.
+Jackson is in the drawing-room, and would like to see you."</p>
+
+<p>"What does she want?"</p>
+
+<p>"She'll explain herself. She has asked to see you alone."</p>
+
+<p>Jamie's face darkened, as some notion of Mrs. Jackson's object dawned
+upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what she can have to talk to me about alone."</p>
+
+<p>"Please listen to her, Jamie. She's a very clever woman, and you can't
+fail to benefit by her advice."</p>
+
+<p>The Colonel never had an unfriendly word to say of anyone, and even for
+Mrs. Jackson's unwarrantable interferences could always find a
+good-natured justification. He was one of those deprecatory men who, in
+every difference of opinion, are convinced that they are certainly in
+the wrong. He would have borne with the most cheerful submission any
+rebuke of his own conduct, and been, indeed, vastly grateful to the
+Vicar's wife for pointing out his error.</p>
+
+<p>James found Mrs. Jackson sitting bolt upright on a straight-backed
+chair, convinced, such was her admirable sense of propriety, that a
+lounging attitude was incompatible with the performance of a duty. She
+held her hands on her lap, gently clasped; and her tight lips expressed
+as plainly as possible her conviction that though the way of
+righteousness was hard, she, thank God! had strength to walk it.</p>
+
+<p>"How d'you do, Mrs. Jackson?"</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning," she replied, with a stiff bow.</p>
+
+<p>James, though there was no fire, went over to the mantelpiece and leant
+against it, waiting for the lady to speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Captain Parsons, I have a very painful duty to perform."</p>
+
+<p>Those were her words, but it must have been a dense person who failed to
+perceive that Mrs. Jackson found her duty anything but painful. There
+was just that hard resonance in her voice that an inquisitor might have
+in condemning to the stake a Jew to whom he owed much money.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you will call me a busybody?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm sure you would never interfere with what does not concern you,"
+replied James, slowly.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not!" said Mrs. Jackson. "I come here because my conscience
+tells me to. What I wish to talk to you about concerns us all."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I call my people? I'm sure they'd be interested."</p>
+
+<p>"I asked to see you alone, Captain Parsons," answered Mrs. Jackson,
+frigidly. "And it was for your sake. When one has to tell a person
+home-truths, he generally prefers that there should be no audience."</p>
+
+<p>"So you're going to tell me some home-truths, Mrs. Jackson?" said James,
+with a laugh. "You must think me very good-natured. How long have I had
+the pleasure of your acquaintance?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Jackson's grimness did not relax.</p>
+
+<p>"One learns a good deal about people in a week."</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think so? I have an idea that ten years is a short time to get to
+know them. You must be very quick."</p>
+
+<p>"Actions often speak."</p>
+
+<p>"Actions are the most lying things in the world. They are due mostly to
+adventitious circumstances which have nothing to do with the character
+of the agent. I would never judge a man by his actions."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't come here to discuss abstract things with you, Captain
+Parsons."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not? The abstract is so much more entertaining than the concrete.
+It affords opportunities for generalisation, which is the salt of
+conversation."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a very busy woman," retorted Mrs. Jackson sharply, thinking that
+James was not treating her with proper seriousness. He was not so easy
+to tackle as she had imagined.</p>
+
+<p>"It's very good of you, then, to spare time to come and have a little
+chat with me," said James.</p>
+
+<p>"I did not come for that purpose, Captain Parsons."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I forgot&mdash;home-truths, wasn't it? I was thinking of Shakespeare and
+the musical glasses!"</p>
+
+<p>"Would you kindly remember that I am a clergyman's wife, Captain
+Parsons? I daresay you are not used to the society of such."</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me, I even know an archdeacon quite well. He has a great gift of
+humour; a man wants it when he wears a silk apron."</p>
+
+<p>"Captain Parsons," said Mrs. Jackson, sternly, "there are some things
+over which it is unbecoming to jest. I wish to be as gentle as possible
+with you, but I may remind you that flippancy is not the best course for
+you to pursue."</p>
+
+<p>James looked at her with a good-tempered stare.</p>
+
+<p>"Upon my word," he said to himself, "I never knew I was so patient."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't beat about the bush any longer," continued the Vicar's lady; "I
+have a very painful duty to perform."</p>
+
+<p>"That quite excuses your hesitation."</p>
+
+<p>"You must guess why I have asked to see you alone."</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't the least idea."</p>
+
+<p>"Does your conscience say nothing to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"My conscience is very well-bred. It never says unpleasant things."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'm sincerely sorry for you."</p>
+
+<p>James smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, my good woman," he thought, "if you only knew what a troublesome
+spirit I carry about with me!"</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Jackson saw only hardness of heart in the grave face; she never
+dreamed that behind those quiet eyes was a turmoil of discordant
+passions, tearing, rending, burning.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry for you," she repeated. "I think it's very sad, very sad
+indeed, that you should stand there and boast of the sluggishness of
+your conscience. Conscience is the voice of God, Captain Parsons; if it
+does not speak to you, it behoves others to speak in its place."</p>
+
+<p>"And supposing I knew what you wanted to say, do you think I should like
+to hear?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid not."</p>
+
+<p>"Then don't you think discretion points to silence?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Captain Parsons. There are some things which one is morally bound
+to say, however distasteful they may be."</p>
+
+<p>"The easiest way to get through life is to say pleasant things on all
+possible occasions."</p>
+
+<p>"That is not my way, and that is not the right way."</p>
+
+<p>"I think it rash to conclude that a course is right merely because it is
+difficult. Likewise an uncivil speech is not necessarily a true one."</p>
+
+<p>"I repeat that I did not come here to bandy words with you."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Mrs. Jackson, I have been wondering why you did not come to the
+point at once."</p>
+
+<p>"You have been wilfully interrupting me."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so sorry. I thought I had been making a series of rather
+entertaining observations."</p>
+
+<p>"Captain Parsons, what does your conscience say to you about Mary
+Clibborn?"</p>
+
+<p>James looked at Mrs. Jackson very coolly, and she never imagined with
+what difficulty he was repressing himself.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you said your subject was of national concern. Upon my word,
+I thought you proposed to hold a thanksgiving service in Little Primpton
+Church for the success of the British arms."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you know different now," retorted Mrs. Jackson, with distinct
+asperity. "I look upon your treatment of Mary Clibborn as a matter which
+concerns us all."</p>
+
+<p>"Then, as politely as possible, I must beg to differ from you. I really
+cannot permit you to discuss my private concerns. You have, doubtless,
+much evil to say of me; say it behind my back."</p>
+
+<p>"I presumed that you were a gentleman, Captain Parsons."</p>
+
+<p>"You certainly presumed."</p>
+
+<p>"And I should be obliged if you would treat me like a lady."</p>
+
+<p>James smiled. He saw that it was folly to grow angry.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll do our best to be civil to one another, Mrs. Jackson. But I don't
+think you must talk of what really is not your business."</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think you can act shamefully and then slink away as soon as you
+are brought to book? Do you know what you've done to Mary Clibborn?"</p>
+
+<p>"Whatever I've done, you may be sure that I have not acted rashly.
+Really, nothing you can say will make the slightest difference. Don't
+you think we had better bring our conversation to an end?"</p>
+
+<p>James made a movement towards the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Your father and mother wish me to speak with you, Colonel Parsons,"
+said Mrs. Jackson. "And they wish you to listen to what I have to say."</p>
+
+<p>James paused. "Very well."</p>
+
+<p>He sat down and waited. Mrs. Jackson felt unaccountably nervous; it had
+never occurred to her that a mere soldier could be so hard to deal with,
+and it was she who hesitated now. Jamie's stern eyes made her feel
+singularly like a culprit; but she cleared her throat and straightened
+herself.</p>
+
+<p>"It's very sad," she said, "to find how much we've been mistaken in you,
+Captain Parsons. When we were making all sorts of preparations to
+welcome you, we never thought that you would repay us like this. It
+grieves me to have to tell you that you have done a very wicked thing. I
+was hoping that your conscience would have something to say to you, but
+unhappily I was mistaken. You induced Mary to become engaged to you; you
+kept her waiting for years; you wrote constantly, pretending to love
+her, deceiving her odiously; you let her waste the best part of her
+life, and then, without excuse and without reason, you calmly say that
+you're sick of her, and won't marry her. I think it is horrible, and
+brutal, and most ungentlemanly. Even a common man wouldn't have behaved
+in that way. Of course, it doesn't matter to you, but it means the ruin
+of Mary's whole life. How can she get a husband now when she's wasted
+her best years? You've spoilt all her chances. You've thrown a slur upon
+her which people will never forget. You're a cruel, wicked man, and
+however you won the Victoria Cross I don't know; I'm sure you don't
+deserve it."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Jackson stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"Is that all?" asked James, quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"It's quite enough."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite! In that case, I think we may finish our little interview."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you nothing to say?" asked Mrs. Jackson indignantly, realising
+that she had not triumphed after all.</p>
+
+<p>"I? Nothing."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Jackson was perplexed, and still those disconcerting eyes were
+fixed upon her; she angrily resented their polite contempt.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I think it's disgraceful!" she cried. "You must be utterly
+shameless!"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear lady, you asked me to listen to you, and I have. If you thought
+I was going to argue, I'm afraid you were mistaken. But since you have
+been very frank with me, you can hardly mind if I am equally frank with
+you. I absolutely object to the way in which not only you, but all the
+persons who took part in that ridiculous function the other day, talk of
+my private concerns. I am a perfect stranger to you, and you have no
+business to speak to me of my engagement with Miss Clibborn or the
+rupture of it. Finally, I would remark that I consider your particular
+interference a very gross piece of impertinence. I am sorry to have to
+speak so directly, but apparently nothing but the very plainest language
+can have any effect upon you."</p>
+
+<p>Then Mrs. Jackson lost her temper.</p>
+
+<p>"Captain Parsons, I am considerably older than you, and you have no
+right to speak to me like that. You forget that I am a lady; and if I
+didn't know your father and mother, I should say that you were no
+gentleman. And you forget also that I come here on the part of God. You
+are certainly no Christian. You've been very rude to me, indeed."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't mean to be," replied James, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"If I'd known you would be so rude to a lady, I should have sent
+Archibald to speak with you."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps it's fortunate you didn't. I might have kicked him."</p>
+
+<p>"Captain Parsons, he's a minister of the gospel."</p>
+
+<p>"Surely it is possible to be that without being a malicious busybody."</p>
+
+<p>"You're heartless and vain! You're odiously conceited."</p>
+
+<p>"I should have thought it a proof of modesty that for half an hour I
+have listened to you with some respect and with great attention."</p>
+
+<p>"I must say in my heart I'm glad that Providence has stepped in and
+prevented Mary from marrying you. You are a bad man. And I leave you now
+to the mercies of your own conscience; I am a Christian woman, thank
+Heaven! and I forgive you. But I sincerely hope that God will see fit to
+punish you for your wickedness."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Jackson bounced to the door, which James very politely opened.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, don't trouble!" she said, with a sarcastic shake of the head. "I
+can find my way out alone, and I shan't steal the umbrellas."</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h3>
+
+
+<p>Major Forsyth arrived in time for tea, red-faced, dapper, and
+immaculate. He wore a check suit, very new and very pronounced, with a
+beautiful line down each trouser-leg; and his collar and his tie were of
+the latest mode. His scanty hair was carefully parted in the middle, and
+his moustache bristled with a martial ardour. He had lately bought a
+fine set of artificial teeth, which, with pardonable pride, he
+constantly exhibited to the admiration of all and sundry. Major
+Forsyth's consuming desire was to appear juvenile; he affected slang,
+and carried himself with a youthful jauntiness. He vowed he felt a mere
+boy, and flattered himself that on his good days, with the light behind
+him, he might pass for five-and-thirty.</p>
+
+<p>"A woman," he repeated&mdash;"a woman is as old as she looks; but a man is as
+old as he feels!"</p>
+
+<p>The dandiness which in a crammer's pup&mdash;most overdressed of all the
+human race&mdash;would merely have aroused a smile, looked oddly with the
+Major's wrinkled skin and his old eyes. There was something almost
+uncanny in the exaggerated boyishness; he reminded one of some figure
+in a dance of death, of a living skeleton, hollow-eyed, strutting gaily
+by the side of a gallant youth.</p>
+
+<p>It was not difficult to impose upon the Parsons, and Major Forsyth had
+gained over them a complete ascendancy. They took his opinion on every
+possible matter, accepting whatever he said with gratified respect. He
+was a man of the world, and well acquainted with the goings-on of
+society. They had an idea that he disappointed duchesses to come down to
+Little Primpton, and always felt that it was a condescension on his part
+to put up with their simple manners. They altered their hours; luncheon
+was served at the middle of the day, and dinner in the evening.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons put on a Sabbath garment of black silk to receive her
+brother, and round her neck a lace fichu. When he arrived with Colonel
+Parsons from the station, she went into the hall to meet him.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, William, have you had a pleasant journey?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, yes! I came down with the prettiest woman I've seen for many a
+long day. I made eyes at her all the way, but she wouldn't look at me."</p>
+
+<p>"William, William!" expostulated Mr. Parsons, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"You see he hasn't improved since we saw him last, Frances," laughed the
+Colonel, leading the way into the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>"No harm in looking at a pretty woman, you know. I'm a bachelor still,
+thank the Lord! That reminds me of a funny story I heard at the club."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, we're rather frightened of your stories, William," said Mrs.
+Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you're very risky sometimes," assented the Colonel,
+good-humouredly shaking his head.</p>
+
+<p>Major Forsyth was anecdotal, as is only decent in an old bachelor, and
+he made a speciality of stories which he thought wicked, but which, as a
+matter of fact, would not have brought a blush to any cheek less
+innocent than that of Colonel Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"There's no harm in a little spice," said Uncle William. "And you're a
+married woman, Frances."</p>
+
+<p>He told an absolutely pointless story of how a man had helped a young
+woman across the street, and seen her ankle in the process. He told it
+with immense gusto, laughing and repeating the point at least six times.</p>
+
+<p>"William, William!" laughed Colonel Parsons, heartily. "You should keep
+those things for the smoking-room."</p>
+
+<p>"What d'you think of it, Frances?" asked the gallant Major, still hugely
+enjoying the joke.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons blushed a little, and for decency's sake prevented herself
+from smiling; she felt rather wicked.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to hear any more of your tales, William."</p>
+
+<p>"Ha, ha!" laughed Uncle William, "I knew you'd like it. And that one I
+told you in the fly, Richmond&mdash;you know, about the petticoat."</p>
+
+<p>"Sh-sh!" said the Colonel, smiling. "You can't tell that to a lady."</p>
+
+<p>"P'r'aps I'd better not. But it's a good story, though."</p>
+
+<p>They both laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"I think it's dreadful the things you men talk about as soon as you're
+alone," said Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>The two God-fearing old soldiers laughed again, admitting their
+wickedness.</p>
+
+<p>"One must talk about something," said Uncle William. "And upon my word,
+I don't know anything better to talk about than the fair sex."</p>
+
+<p>Soon James appeared, and shook hands with his uncle.</p>
+
+<p>"You're looking younger than ever, Uncle William. You make me feel quite
+old."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I never age, bless you! Why, I was talking to my old friend, Lady
+Green, the other day&mdash;she was a Miss Lake, you know&mdash;and she said to
+me: 'Upon my word, Major Forsyth, you're wonderful. I believe you've
+found the secret of perpetual youth.' 'The fact is,' I said, 'I never
+let myself grow old. If you once give way to it, you're done.' 'How do
+you manage it?' she said. 'Madam,' I answered, 'it's the simplest thing
+in the world. I keep regular hours, and I wear flannel next to my
+skin.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Come, come, Uncle William," said James, with a smile. "You didn't
+mention your underlinen to a lady!"</p>
+
+<p>"Upon my word, I'm telling you exactly what I said."</p>
+
+<p>"You're very free in your conversation."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you know, I find the women expect it from me. Of course, I never
+go beyond the line."</p>
+
+<p>Then Major Forsyth talked of the fashions, and of his clothes, of the
+scandal of the day, and the ancestry of the persons concerned, of the
+war.</p>
+
+<p>"You can say what you like," he remarked, "but my opinion is that
+Roberts is vastly overrated. I met at the club the other day a man whose
+first cousin has served under Roberts in India&mdash;his first cousin, mind
+you, so it's good authority&mdash;and this chap told me, in strict
+confidence, of course, that his first cousin had no opinion of Roberts.
+That's what a man says who has actually served under him."</p>
+
+<p>"It is certainly conclusive," said James. "I wonder your friend's first
+cousin didn't go to the War Office and protest against Bobs being sent
+out."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the good of going to the War Office? They're all corrupt and
+incompetent there. If I had my way, I'd make a clean sweep of them.
+Talking of red-tape, I'll just give you an instance. Now, this is a
+fact. It was told me by the brother-in-law of the uncle of the man it
+happened to."</p>
+
+<p>Major Forsyth told his story at great length, finishing up with the
+assertion that if the army wasn't going to the dogs, he didn't know what
+going to the dogs meant.</p>
+
+<p>James, meanwhile, catching the glances which passed between his mother
+and Colonel Parsons, understood that they were thinking of the great
+subject upon which Uncle William was to be consulted. Half scornfully he
+gave them their opportunity.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going for a stroll," he said, "through Groombridge. I shan't be
+back till dinner-time."</p>
+
+<p>"How lucky!" remarked Colonel Parsons naively, when James had gone. "We
+wanted to talk with you privately, William. You're a man of the world."</p>
+
+<p>"I think there's not much that I don't know," replied the Major,
+shooting his linen.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell him, Frances."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons, accustomed to the part of spokeswoman, gave her tale,
+interrupted now and again by a long whistle with which the Major
+signified his shrewdness, or by an energetic nod which meant that the
+difficulty was nothing to him.</p>
+
+<p>"You're quite right," he said at last; "one has to look upon these
+things from the point of view of the man of the world."</p>
+
+<p>"We knew you'd be able to help us," said Colonel Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course! I shall settle the whole thing in five minutes. You leave it
+to me."</p>
+
+<p>"I told you he would, Frances," cried the Colonel, with a happy smile.
+"You think that James ought to marry the girl, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly. Whatever his feelings are, he must act as a gentleman and an
+officer. Just you let me talk it over with him. He has great respect for
+all I say; I've noticed that already."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons looked at her brother doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"We haven't known what to do," she murmured. "We've prayed for guidance,
+haven't we, Richmond? We're anxious not to be hard on the boy, but we
+must be just."</p>
+
+<p>"Leave it to me," repeated Uncle William. "I'm a man of the world, and
+I'm thoroughly at home in matters of this sort."</p>
+
+<p class="tb">According to the little plan which, in his subtlety, Major Forsyth had
+suggested, Mrs. Parsons, soon after dinner, fetched the backgammon
+board.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we have our usual game, Richmond?"</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons looked significantly at his brother-in-law.</p>
+
+<p>"If William doesn't mind?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, of course not! I'll have a little chat with Jamie."</p>
+
+<p>The players sat down at the corner of the table, and rather nervously
+began to set out the men. James stood by the window, silent as ever,
+looking at the day that was a-dying, with a milk-blue sky and tenuous
+clouds, copper and gold. Major Forsyth took a chair opposite him, and
+pulled his moustache.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Jamie, my boy, what is all this nonsense I hear about you and
+Mary Clibborn?"</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons started at the expected question, and stole a hurried
+look at his son. His wife noisily shook the dice-box and threw the dice
+on the board.</p>
+
+<p>"Nine!" she said.</p>
+
+<p>James turned to look at his uncle, noting a little contemptuously the
+change of his costume, and its extravagant juvenility.</p>
+
+<p>"A lot of stuff and nonsense, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think so?" asked James, wearily. "We've been taking it very
+seriously."</p>
+
+<p>"You're a set of old fogies down here. You want a man of the world to
+set things right."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, well, you're a man of the world, Uncle William," replied James,
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>The dice-box rattled obtrusively as Colonel Parsons and his wife played
+on with elaborate unconcern of the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>"A gentleman doesn't jilt a girl when he's been engaged to her for five
+years."</p>
+
+<p>James squared himself to answer Major Forsyth. The interview with Mrs.
+Jackson in the morning had left him extremely irritated. He was resolved
+to say now all he had to say and have done with it, hoping that a
+complete explanation would relieve the tension between his people and
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>"It is with the greatest sorrow that I broke off my engagement with Mary
+Clibborn. It seemed to me the only honest thing to do since I no longer
+loved her. I can imagine nothing in the world so horrible as a loveless
+marriage."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, it's unfortunate; but the first thing is to keep one's
+word."</p>
+
+<p>"No," answered James, "that is prejudice. There are many more important
+things."</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons stopped the pretence of his game.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know that Mary is breaking her heart?" he asked in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid she's suffering very much. I don't see how I can help it."</p>
+
+<p>"Leave this to me, Richmond," interrupted the Major, impatiently.
+"You'll make a mess of it."</p>
+
+<p>But Colonel Parsons took no notice.</p>
+
+<p>"She looked forward with all her heart to marrying you. She's very
+unhappy at home, and her only consolation was the hope that you would
+soon take her away."</p>
+
+<p>"Am I managing this or are you, Richmond? I'm a man of the world."</p>
+
+<p>"If I married a woman I did not care for because she was rich, you would
+say I had dishonoured myself. The discredit would not be in her wealth,
+but in my lack of love."</p>
+
+<p>"That's not the same thing," replied Major Forsyth. "You gave your word,
+and now you take it back."</p>
+
+<p>"I promised to do a thing over which I had no control. When I was a boy,
+before I had seen anything of the world, before I had ever known a woman
+besides my mother, I promised to love Mary Clibborn all my life. Oh, it
+was cruel to let me be engaged to her! You blame me; don't you think
+all of you are a little to blame as well?"</p>
+
+<p>"What could we have done?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why didn't you tell me not to be hasty? Why didn't you say that I was
+too young to become engaged?"</p>
+
+<p>"We thought it would steady you."</p>
+
+<p>"But a young man doesn't want to be steadied. Let him see life and taste
+all it has to offer. It is wicked to put fetters on his wrists before
+ever he has seen anything worth taking. What is the virtue that exists
+only because temptation is impossible!"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't understand you, Jamie," said Mrs. Parsons, sadly. "You talk so
+differently from when you were a boy."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you expect me to remain all my life an ignorant child. You've never
+given me any freedom. You've hemmed me in with every imaginable barrier.
+You've put me on a leading-string, and thanked God that I did not
+stray."</p>
+
+<p>"We tried to bring you up like a good man, and a true Christian."</p>
+
+<p>"If I'm not a hopeless prig, it's only by miracle."</p>
+
+<p>"James, that's not the way to talk to your mother," said Major Forsyth.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, mother, I'm sorry; I don't want to be unkind to you. But we must
+talk things out freely; we've lived in a hot-house too long."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what you mean. You became engaged to Mary of your own free
+will; we did nothing to hinder it, nothing to bring it about. But I
+confess we were heartily thankful, thinking that no influence could be
+better for you than the love of a pure, sweet English girl."</p>
+
+<p>"It would have been kinder and wiser if you had forbidden it."</p>
+
+<p>"We could not have taken the responsibility of crossing your
+affections."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Clibborn did."</p>
+
+<p>"Could you expect us to be guided by her?"</p>
+
+<p>"She was the only one who showed the least common sense."</p>
+
+<p>"How you have changed, Jamie!"</p>
+
+<p>"I would have obeyed you if you had told me I was too young to become
+engaged. After all, you are more responsible than I am. I was a child.
+It was cruel to let me bind myself."</p>
+
+<p>"I never thought you would speak to us like that."</p>
+
+<p>"All that's ancient history," said Major Forsyth, with what he flattered
+himself was a very good assumption of jocularity. It was his idea to
+treat the matter lightly, as a man of the world naturally would. But his
+interruption was unnoticed.</p>
+
+<p>"We acted for the best. You know that we have always had your interests
+at heart."</p>
+
+<p>James did not speak, for his only answer would have been bitter.
+Throughout, they had been unwilling to let him live his own life, but
+desirous rather that he should live theirs. They loved him tyrannically,
+on the condition that he should conform to all their prejudices. Though
+full of affectionate kindness, they wished him always to dance to their
+piping&mdash;a marionette of which they pulled the strings.</p>
+
+<p>"What would you have me do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Keep your word, James," answered his father.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't, I can't! I don't understand how you can wish me to marry Mary
+Clibborn when I don't love her. <i>That</i> seems to me dishonourable."</p>
+
+<p>"It would be nothing worse than a <i>mariage de convenance</i>," said Uncle
+William. "Many people marry in that sort of way, and are perfectly
+happy."</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't," said James. "That seems to me nothing better than
+prostitution. It is no worse for a street-walker to sell her body to any
+that care to buy."</p>
+
+<p>"James, remember your mother is present."</p>
+
+<p>"For God's sake, let us speak plainly. You must know what life is. One
+can do no good by shutting one's eyes to everything that doesn't square
+with a shoddy, false ideal. On one side I must break my word, on the
+other I must prostitute myself. There is no middle way. You live here
+surrounded by all sorts of impossible ways of looking at life. How can
+your outlook be sane when it is founded on a sham morality? You think
+the body is indecent and ugly, and that the flesh is shameful. Oh, you
+don't understand. I'm sick of this prudery which throws its own
+hideousness over all it sees. The soul and the body are one,
+indissoluble. Soul is body, and body is soul. Love is the God-like
+instinct of procreation. You think sexual attraction is something to be
+ignored, and in its place you put a bloodless sentimentality&mdash;the vulgar
+rhetoric of a penny novelette. If I marry a woman, it is that she may be
+the mother of children. Passion is the only reason for marriage; unless
+it exists, marriage is ugly and beastly. It's worse than beastly; the
+beasts of the field are clean. Don't you understand why I can't marry
+Mary Clibborn?"</p>
+
+<p>"What you call love, James," said Colonel Parsons, "is what I call
+lust."</p>
+
+<p>"I well believe it," replied James, bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>"Love is something higher and purer."</p>
+
+<p>"I know nothing purer than the body, nothing higher than the divine
+instincts of nature."</p>
+
+<p>"But that sort of love doesn't last, my dear," said Mrs. Parsons,
+gently. "In a very little while it is exhausted, and then you look for
+something different in your wife. You look for friendship and
+companionship, confidence, consolation in your sorrows, sympathy with
+your success. Beside all that, the sexual love sinks into nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"It may be. The passion arises for the purposes of nature, and dies away
+when those purposes are fulfilled. It seems to me that the recollection
+of it must be the surest and tenderest tie between husband and wife; and
+there remains for them, then, the fruit of their love, the children whom
+it is their blessed duty to rear till they are of fit age to go into the
+world and continue the endless cycle."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause, while Major Forsyth racked his brain for some
+apposite remark; but the conversation had run out of his depth.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons at last got up and put his hands on Jamie's shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"And can't you bring yourself to marry that poor girl, when you think of
+the terrible unhappiness she suffers?"</p>
+
+<p>James shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"You were willing to sacrifice your life for a mere stranger, and cannot
+you sacrifice yourself for Mary, who has loved you long and tenderly,
+and unselfishly?"</p>
+
+<p>"I would willingly risk my life if she were in danger. But you ask
+more."</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons was silent for a little, looking into his son's eyes.
+Then he spoke with trembling voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you love me, James. I've always tried to be a good father to
+you; and God knows I've done all I could to make you happy. If I did
+wrong in letting you become engaged, I beg your pardon. No; let me go
+on." This he said in answer to Jamie's movement of affectionate protest.
+"I don't say it to reproach you, but your mother and I have denied
+ourselves in all we could so that you should be happy and comfortable.
+It's been a pleasure to us, for we love you with all our hearts. You
+know what happened to me when I left the army. I told you years ago of
+the awful disgrace I suffered. I could never have lived except for my
+trust in God and my trust in you. I looked to you to regain the honour
+which I had lost. Ah! you don't know how anxiously I watched you, and
+the joy with which I said to myself, 'There is a good and honourable
+man.' And now you want to stain that honour. Oh, James, James! I'm old,
+and I can't live long. If you love me, if you think you have cause for
+gratitude to me, do this one little thing I ask you! For my sake, my
+dear, keep your word to Mary Clibborn."</p>
+
+<p>"You're asking me to do something immoral, father."</p>
+
+<p>Then Colonel Parsons helplessly dropped his hands from Jamie's
+shoulders, and turned to the others, his eyes full of tears.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand what he means!" he groaned.</p>
+
+<p>He sank on a chair and hid his face.</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h3>
+
+
+<p>Major Forsyth was not at all discouraged by the issue of his
+intervention.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I see how the land lies," he said, "it's all plain sailing.
+Reconnoitre first, and then wire in."</p>
+
+<p>He bravely attacked James next day, when they were smoking in the garden
+after breakfast. Uncle William smoked nothing but gold-tipped
+cigarettes, which excited his nephew's open scorn.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been thinking about what you said yesterday, James," he began.</p>
+
+<p>"For Heaven's sake, Uncle William, don't talk about it any more. I'm
+heartily sick of the whole thing. I've made up my mind, and I really
+shall not alter it for anything you may say."</p>
+
+<p>Major Forsyth changed the conversation with what might have been
+described as a strategic movement to the rear. He said that Jamie's
+answer told him all he wished to know, and he was content now to leave
+the seeds which he had sown to spring up of their own accord.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm perfectly satisfied," he told his sister, complacently. "You'll
+see that if it'll all come right now."</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Mary conducted herself admirably. She neither avoided James
+nor sought him, but when chance brought them together, was perfectly
+natural. Her affection had never been demonstrative, and now there was
+in her manner but little change. She talked frankly, as though nothing
+had passed between them, with no suspicion of reproach in her tone. She
+was, indeed, far more at ease than James. He could not hide the effort
+it was to make conversation, nor the nervous discomfort which in her
+presence he felt. He watched her furtively, asking himself whether she
+still suffered. But Mary's face betrayed few of her emotions; tanned by
+exposure to all weathers, her robust colour remained unaltered; and it
+was only in her eyes that James fancied he saw a difference. They had
+just that perplexed, sorrowful expression which a dog has, unjustly
+beaten. James, imaginative and conscience-stricken, tortured himself by
+reading in their brown softness all manner of dreadful anguish. He
+watched them, unlit by the smile which played upon the lips, looking at
+him against their will, with a pitiful longing. He exaggerated the pain
+he saw till it became an obsession, intolerable and ruthless; if Mary
+desired revenge, she need not have been dissatisfied. But that
+apparently was the last thing she thought of. He was grateful to hear
+of her anger with Mrs. Jackson, whose sympathy had expressed itself in
+round abuse of him. His mother repeated the words.</p>
+
+<p>"I will never listen to a word against Captain Parsons, Mrs. Jackson.
+Whatever he did, he had a perfect right to do. He's incapable of acting
+otherwise than as an honourable gentleman."</p>
+
+<p>But if Mary's conduct aroused the admiration of all that knew her, it
+rendered James still more blameworthy.</p>
+
+<p>The hero-worship was conveniently forgotten, and none strove to conceal
+the dislike, even the contempt, which he felt for the fallen idol. James
+had outraged the moral sense of the community; his name could not be
+mentioned without indignation; everything he did was wrong, even his
+very real modesty was explained as overweening conceit.</p>
+
+<p>And curiously enough, James was profoundly distressed by the general
+disapproval. A silent, shy man, he was unreasonably sensitive to the
+opinion of his fellows; and though he told himself that they were
+stupid, ignorant, and narrow, their hostility nevertheless made him
+miserable. Even though he contemned them, he was anxious that they
+should like him. He refused to pander to their prejudices, and was too
+proud to be conciliatory; yet felt bitterly wounded when he had excited
+their aversion. Now he set to tormenting himself because he had despised
+the adulation of Little Primpton, and could not equally despise its
+censure.</p>
+
+<p class="tb">Sunday came, and the good people of Little Primpton trooped to church.
+Mrs Clibborn turned round and smiled at James when he took his seat, but
+the Colonel sat rigid, showing by the stiffness of his backbone that his
+indignation was supreme.</p>
+
+<p>The service proceeded, and in due course Mr. Jackson mounted the pulpit
+steps. He delivered his text: "<i>The fear of the Lord is to hate evil:
+pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth, do I
+hate.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>The Vicar of Little Primpton was an earnest man, and he devoted much
+care to the composition of his sermons. He was used to expound twice a
+Sunday the more obvious parts of Holy Scripture, making in twenty
+minutes or half an hour, for the benefit of the vulgar, a number of
+trite reflections; and it must be confessed that he had great facility
+for explaining at decorous length texts which were plain to the meanest
+intelligence.</p>
+
+<p>But having a fair acquaintance with the thought of others, Mr. Jackson
+flattered himself that he was a thinker; and on suitable occasions
+attacked from his village pulpit the scarlet weed of heresy, expounding
+to an intelligent congregation of yokels and small boys the manifold
+difficulties of the Athanasian Creed. He was at his best in pouring
+vials of contempt upon the false creed of atheists, Romanists,
+Dissenters, and men of science. The theory of Evolution excited his
+bitterest scorn, and he would set up, like a row of nine-pins, the
+hypotheses of the greatest philosophers of the century, triumphantly to
+knock them down by the force of his own fearless intellect. His
+congregation were inattentive, and convinced beyond the need of
+argument, so they remained pious members of the Church of England.</p>
+
+<p>But this particular sermon, after mature consideration, the Vicar had
+made up his mind to devote to a matter of more pressing interest. He
+repeated the text. Mrs. Jackson, who knew what was coming, caught the
+curate's eye, and looked significantly at James. The homily, in fact,
+was directed against him; his were the pride, the arrogancy, and the
+evil way. He was blissfully unconscious of these faults, and for a
+minute or two the application missed him; but the Vicar of Little
+Primpton, intent upon what he honestly thought his duty, meant that
+there should be no mistake. He crossed his t's and dotted his i's, with
+the scrupulous accuracy of the scandal-monger telling a malicious story
+about some person whom charitably he does not name, yet wishes everyone
+to identify.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons started when suddenly the drift of the sermon dawned
+upon him, and then bowed his head with shame. His wife looked straight
+in front of her, two flaming spots upon her pale cheeks. Mary, in the
+next pew, dared not move, hardly dared breathe; her heart sank with
+dismay, and she feared she would faint.</p>
+
+<p>"How he must be suffering!" she muttered.</p>
+
+<p>They all felt for James intensely; the form of Mr. Jackson, hooded and
+surpliced, had acquired a new authority, and his solemn invective was
+sulphurous with the fires of Hell. They wondered how James could bear
+it.</p>
+
+<p>"He hasn't deserved this," thought Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>But the Colonel bent his head still lower, accepting for his son the
+reproof, taking part of it himself. The humiliation seemed merited, and
+the only thing to do was to bear it meekly. James alone appeared
+unconcerned; the rapid glances at him saw no change in his calm,
+indifferent face. His eyes were closed, and one might have thought him
+asleep. Mr. Jackson noted the attitude, and attributed it to a wicked
+obstinacy. For the repentant sinner, acknowledging his fault, he would
+have had entire forgiveness; but James showed no contrition.
+Stiff-necked and sin-hardened, he required a further chastisement.</p>
+
+<p>"Courage, what is courage?" asked the preacher. "There is nothing more
+easy than to do a brave deed when the blood is hot. But to conduct one's
+life simply, modestly, with a meek spirit and a Christ-like submission,
+that is ten times more difficult Courage, unaccompanied by moral worth,
+is the quality of a brute-beast."</p>
+
+<p>He showed how much more creditable were the artless virtues of honesty
+and truthfulness; how better it was to keep one's word, to be
+kind-hearted and dutiful. Becoming more pointed, he mentioned the case
+which had caused them so much sorrow, warning the delinquent against
+conceit and self-assurance.</p>
+
+<p>"Pride goeth before a fall," he said. "And he that is mighty shall be
+abased."</p>
+
+<p class="tb">They walked home silently, Colonel Parsons and his wife with downcast
+eyes, feeling that everyone was looking at them. Their hearts were too
+full for them to speak to one another, and they dared say nothing to
+James. But Major Forsyth had no scruples of delicacy; he attacked his
+nephew the moment they sat down to dinner.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, James, what did you think of the sermon? Feel a bit sore?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why should I?"</p>
+
+<p>"I fancy it was addressed pretty directly to you."</p>
+
+<p>"So I imagine," replied James, good-humouredly smiling. "I thought it
+singularly impertinent, but otherwise uninteresting."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Jackson doesn't think much of you," said Uncle William, with a
+laugh, ignoring his sister's look, which implored him to be silent.</p>
+
+<p>"I can bear that with equanimity. I never set up for a very wonderful
+person."</p>
+
+<p>"He was wrong to make little of your attempt to save young Larcher,"
+said Mrs. Parsons, gently.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" asked James. "He was partly right. Physical courage is more or
+less accidental. In battle one takes one's chance. One soon gets used to
+shells flying about; they're not so dangerous as they look, and after a
+while one forgets all about them. Now and then one gets hit, and then
+it's too late to be nervous."</p>
+
+<p>"But you went back&mdash;into the very jaws of death&mdash;to save that boy."</p>
+
+<p>"I've never been able to understand why. It didn't occur to me that I
+might get killed; it seemed the natural thing to do. It wasn't really
+brave, because I never realised that there was danger."</p>
+
+<p class="tb">In the afternoon James received a note from Mrs. Clibborn, asking him
+to call upon her. Mary and her father were out walking, she said, so
+there would be no one to disturb them, and they could have a pleasant
+little chat. The invitation was a climax to Jamie's many vexations, and
+he laughed grimly at the prospect of that very foolish lady's
+indignation. Still, he felt bound to go. It was, after a fashion, a
+point of honour with him to avoid none of the annoyances which his act
+had brought upon him. It was partly in order to face every infliction
+that he insisted on remaining at Little Primpton.</p>
+
+<p>"Why haven't you been to see me, James?" Mrs. Clibborn murmured, with a
+surprisingly tender smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you wouldn't wish me to."</p>
+
+<p>"James!"</p>
+
+<p>She sighed and cast up her eyes to heaven.</p>
+
+<p>"I always liked you. I shall never feel differently towards you."</p>
+
+<p>"It's very kind of you to say so," replied James, somewhat relieved.</p>
+
+<p>"You must come and see me often. It'll comfort you."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid you and Colonel Clibborn must be very angry with me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I could never be angry with you, James.... Poor Reginald, he doesn't
+understand! But you can't deceive a woman." Mrs. Clibborn put her hand
+on Jamie's arm and gazed into his eyes. "I want you to tell me
+something. Do you love anyone else?"</p>
+
+<p>James looked at her quickly and hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>"If you had asked me the other day, I should have denied it with all my
+might. But now&mdash;I don't know."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clibborn smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought so," she said. "You can tell me, you know."</p>
+
+<p>She was convinced that James adored her, but wanted to hear him say so.
+It is notorious that to a handsome woman even the admiration of a
+crossing-sweeper is welcome.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it's no good any longer trying to conceal it from myself!" cried
+James, forgetting almost to whom he was speaking. "I'm sorry about Mary;
+no one knows how much. But I do love someone else, and I love her with
+all my heart and soul; and I shall never get over it now."</p>
+
+<p>"I knew it," sighed Mrs. Clibborn, complacently, "I knew it!" Then
+looking coyly at him: "Tell me about her."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't. I know my love is idiotic and impossible; but I can't help it.
+It's fate."</p>
+
+<p>"You're in love with a married woman, James."</p>
+
+<p>"How d'you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"My poor boy, d'you think you can deceive me! And is it not the wife of
+an officer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"A very old friend of yours?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's just that which makes it so terrible."</p>
+
+<p>"I knew it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mrs. Clibborn, I swear you're the only woman here who's got two
+ounces of gumption. If they'd only listened to you five years ago, we
+might all have been saved this awful wretchedness."</p>
+
+<p>He could not understand that Mrs. Clibborn, whose affectations were
+manifest, whose folly was notorious, should alone have guessed his
+secret. He was tired of perpetually concealing his thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could tell you everything!" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't! You'd only regret it. And I know all you can tell me."</p>
+
+<p>"You can't think how hard I've struggled. When I found I loved her, I
+nearly killed myself trying to kill my love. But it's no good. It's
+stronger than I am."</p>
+
+<p>"And nothing can ever come of it, you know," said Mrs. Clibborn.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I know! Of course, I know! I'm not a cad. The only thing is to live
+on and suffer."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so sorry for you."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clibborn thought that even poor Algy Turner, who had killed
+himself for love of her, had not been so desperately hit.</p>
+
+<p>"It's very kind of you to listen to me," said James. "I have nobody to
+speak to, and sometimes I feel I shall go mad."</p>
+
+<p>"You're such a nice boy, James. What a pity it is you didn't go into the
+cavalry!"</p>
+
+<p>James scarcely heard; he stared at the floor, brooding sorrowfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Fate is against me," he muttered.</p>
+
+<p>"If things had only happened a little differently. Poor Reggie!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clibborn was thinking that if she were a widow, she could never
+have resisted the unhappy young man's pleading.</p>
+
+<p>James got up to go.</p>
+
+<p>"It's no good," he said; "talking makes it no better. I must go on
+trying to crush it. And the worst of it is, I don't want to crush it; I
+love my love. Though it embitters my whole life, I would rather die than
+lose it. Good-bye, Mrs. Clibborn. Thank you for being so kind. You can't
+imagine what good it does me to receive a little sympathy."</p>
+
+<p>"I know. You're not the first who has told me that he is miserable. I
+think it's fate, too."</p>
+
+<p>James looked at her, perplexed, not understanding what she meant. With
+her sharp, feminine intuition, Mrs. Clibborn read in his eyes the
+hopeless yearning of his heart, and for a moment her rigid virtue
+faltered.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't be hard on you, Jamie," she said, with that effective, sad
+smile of hers. "I don't want you to go away from here quite wretched."</p>
+
+<p>"What can you do to ease the bitter aching of my heart?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clibborn, quickly looking at the window, noticed that she could not
+possibly be seen by anyone outside. She stretched out her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Jamie, if you like you may kiss me."</p>
+
+<p>She offered her powdered cheek, and James, rather astonished, pressed it
+with his lips.</p>
+
+<p>"I will always be a mother to you. You can depend on me whatever
+happens.... Now go away, there's a good boy."</p>
+
+<p>She watched him as he walked down the garden, and then sighed deeply,
+wiping away a tear from the corner of her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor boy!" she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>Mary was surprised, when she came home, to find her mother quite
+affectionate and tender. Mrs. Clibborn, indeed, intoxicated with her
+triumph, could afford to be gracious to a fallen rival.</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h3>
+
+
+<p>A Few days later Mary was surprised to receive a little note from Mr.
+Dryland:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Miss Clibborn</span>,&mdash;With some trepidation I take up my pen to
+address you on a matter which, to me at least, is of the very
+greatest importance. We have so many sympathies in common that my
+meaning will hardly escape you. I daresay you will find my
+diffidence ridiculous, but, under the circumstances, I think it is
+not unpardonable. It will be no news to you when I confess that I
+am an exceptionally shy man, and that must be my excuse in sending
+you this letter. In short, I wish to ask you to grant me a brief
+interview; we have so few opportunities of seeing one another in
+private that I can find no occasion of saying to you what I wish.
+Indeed, for a long period my duty has made it necessary for me to
+crush my inclination. Now, however, that things have taken a
+different turn, I venture, as I said, to ask you to give me a few
+minutes' conversation.&mdash;I am, my dear Miss Clibborn, your very
+sincere,</p>
+
+<p class="r smcap">Thomas Dryland.</p>
+
+<p>"P.S.&mdash;I open this letter to say that I have just met your father
+on the Green, who tells me that he and Mrs. Clibborn are going into
+Tunbridge Wells this afternoon. Unless, therefore, I hear from you
+to the contrary, I shall (D.V.) present myself at your house at 3
+<span class="smcap">p.m.</span>"</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>"What can he want to see me about?" exclaimed Mary, the truth occurring
+to her only to be chased away as a piece of egregious vanity. It was
+more reasonable to suppose that Mr. Dryland had on hand some charitable
+scheme in which he desired her to take part.</p>
+
+<p>"Anyhow," she thought philosophically, "I suppose I shall know when he
+comes."</p>
+
+<p>At one and the same moment the church clock struck three, and Mr.
+Dryland rang the Clibborns' bell.</p>
+
+<p>He came into the dining-room in his best coat, his honest red face
+shining with soap, and with a consciousness that he was about to perform
+an heroic deed.</p>
+
+<p>"This is kind of you, Miss Clibborn! Do you know, I feared the servant
+was going to say you were 'not at home.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I never let her say that when I'm in. Mamma doesn't think it wrong,
+but one can't deny that it's an untruth."</p>
+
+<p>"What a beautiful character you have!" cried the curate, with
+enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I haven't really; but I like to be truthful."</p>
+
+<p>"Were you surprised to receive my letter?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I didn't understand it."</p>
+
+<p>"I was under the impression that I expressed myself with considerable
+perspicacity," remarked the curate, with a genial smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't pretend to be clever."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but you are, Miss Clibborn. There's no denying it."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I thought so."</p>
+
+<p>"You're so modest. I have always thought that your mental powers were
+very considerable indeed. I can assure you it has been a great blessing
+to me to find someone here who was capable of taking an intelligent
+interest in Art and Literature. In these little country places one
+misses intellectual society so much."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not ashamed to say that I've learnt a lot from you, Mr. Dryland."</p>
+
+<p>"No, that is impossible. All I lay claim to is that I was fortunate
+enough to be able to lend you the works of Ruskin and Marie Corelli."</p>
+
+<p>"That reminds me that I must return you the 'Master Christian.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Please don't hurry over it. I think it's a book worth pondering over;
+quite unlike the average trashy novel."</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't had much time for reading lately."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, Miss Clibborn, I understand! I'm afraid you've been very much
+upset. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was; but I felt it would be
+perhaps indelicate."</p>
+
+<p>"It is very kind of you to think of me."</p>
+
+<p>"Besides, I must confess that I cannot bring myself to be very sorry.
+It's an ill wind that blows nobody good."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean, Mr. Dryland."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Clibborn, I have come here to-day to converse with you on a matter
+which I venture to think of some importance. At least, it is to me. I
+will not beat about the bush. In these matters it is always best, I
+believe, to come straight to the point." The curate cleared his throat,
+and assumed his best clerical manner. "Miss Clibborn, I have the honour
+to solemnly ask you for your hand."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>Mary blushed scarlet, and her heart went pit-a-pat in the most alarming
+fashion.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I should tell you that I am thirty-three years of age. I have
+some private means, small, but sufficient, with my income and economy,
+to support a wife. My father was for over a quarter of a century vicar
+of Easterham."</p>
+
+<p>Mary by this time had recovered herself.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel very much honoured by your proposal, Mr. Dryland. And no one can
+be more convinced than I of my unworthiness. But I'm afraid I must
+refuse."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't press for an immediate answer, Miss Clibborn. I know at first
+blush it must surprise you that I should come forward with an offer so
+soon after the rupture of your engagement with Captain Parsons. But if
+you examine the matter closely, you will see that it is less surprising
+than it seems. While you were engaged to Captain Parsons it was my duty
+to stifle my feelings; but now I cannot. Indeed, I have not the right to
+conceal from you that for a long time they have been of the tenderest
+description."</p>
+
+<p>"I feel very much flattered."</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," reassuringly answered Mr. Dryland. "I can honestly say
+that you are deserving of the very highest&mdash;er&mdash;admiration and esteem.
+Miss Clibborn, I have loved you in secret almost ever since I came to
+the parish. The moment I saw you I felt an affinity between us. Our
+tastes are so similar; we both understand Art and Literature. When you
+played to me the divine melodies of Mendelssohn, when I read to you the
+melodious verses of Lord Tennyson, I felt that my happiness in life
+would be a union with you."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I can never be unfaithful to my old love."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps I'm a little previous?"</p>
+
+<p>"No; time can make no possible difference. I'm very grateful to you."</p>
+
+<p>"You have no need to be. I have always tried to do my duty, and while
+you were engaged to another, I allowed not even a sigh to escape my
+lips. But now I venture to think that the circumstances are altered. I
+know I am not a gallant officer, I have done no doughty deeds, and the
+Victoria Cross does not adorn my bosom. I am comparatively poor; but I
+can offer an honest heart and a very sincere and respectful love. Oh,
+Miss Clibborn, cannot you give me hope that as time wears on you will be
+able to look upon my suit with favour?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid my answer must be final."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope to be soon appointed to a living, and I looked forward ardently
+to the life of usefulness and of Christian fellowship which we might
+have lived together. You are an angel of mercy, Miss Clibborn. I cannot
+help thinking that you are eminently suitable for the position which I
+make so bold as to offer you."</p>
+
+<p>"I won't deny that nothing could attract me more than to be the wife of
+a clergyman. One has such influence for good, such power of improving
+one's fellow-men. But I love Captain Parsons. Even if he has ceased to
+care for me, I could never look upon him with other feelings."</p>
+
+<p>"Even though it touches me to the quick, Miss. Clibborn," said the
+curate, earnestly, "I respect and admire you for your sentiments. You
+are wonderful. I wonder if you'd allow me to make a little confession?"
+The curate hesitated and reddened. "The fact is, I have written a few
+verses comparing you to Penelope, which, if you will allow me, I should
+very much like to send you."</p>
+
+<p>"I should like to see them very much," said Mary, blushing a little and
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, I'm not a poet, I'm too busy for that; but they are the
+outpouring of an honest, loving heart."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure," said Mary, encouragingly, "that it's better to be sincere
+and upright than to be the greatest poet in the world."</p>
+
+<p>"It's very kind of you to say so. I should like to ask one question,
+Miss Clibborn. Have you any objection to me personally?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no!" cried Mary. "How can you suggest such a thing? I have the
+highest respect and esteem for you, Mr. Dryland. I can never forget the
+great compliment you have paid me. I shall always think of you as the
+best friend I have."</p>
+
+<p>"Can you say nothing more to me than that?" asked the curate,
+despondently.</p>
+
+<p>Mary stretched out her hand. "I will be a sister to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Miss Clibborn, how sad it is to think that your affections should
+be unrequited. Why am I not Captain Parsons? Miss Clibborn, can you give
+me no hope?"</p>
+
+<p>"I should not be acting rightly towards you if I did not tell you at
+once that so long as Captain Parsons lives, my love for him can never
+alter."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I were a soldier!" murmured Mr. Dryland.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it's not that. I think there's nothing so noble as a clergyman. If
+it is any consolation to you, I may confess that if I had never known
+Captain Parsons, things might have gone differently."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I suppose I had better go away now. I must try to bear my
+disappointment."</p>
+
+<p>Mary gave him her hand, and, bending down with the utmost gallantry, the
+curate kissed it; then, taking up his low, clerical hat, hurriedly left
+her.</p>
+
+<p class="tb">Mrs. Jackson was a woman of singular penetration, so that it was not
+strange if she quickly discovered what had happened. Mr. Dryland was
+taking tea at the Vicarage, whither, with characteristic manliness, he
+had gone to face his disappointment. Not for him was the solitary
+moping, nor the privacy of a bedchamber; his robust courage sent him
+rather into the field of battle, or what was under the circumstances the
+only equivalent, Mrs. Jackson's drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>But even he could not conceal the torments of unsuccessful love. He
+stirred his tea moodily, and his usual appetite for plum-cake had quite
+deserted him.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter with you, Mr. Dryland?" asked the Vicar's wife, with
+those sharp eyes which could see into the best hidden family secret.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dryland started at the question. "Nothing!"</p>
+
+<p>"You're very funny this afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>"I've had a great disappointment."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" replied Mrs. Jackson, in a tone which half-a-dozen marks of
+interrogation could inadequately express.</p>
+
+<p>"It's nothing. Life is not all beer and skittles. Ha! ha!"</p>
+
+<p>"Did you say you'd been calling on Mary Clibborn this afternoon?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dryland blushed, and to cover his confusion filled his mouth with a
+large piece of cake.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he said, as soon as he could. "I paid her a little call."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Dryland, you can't deceive me. You've proposed to Mary Clibborn."</p>
+
+<p>He swallowed his food with a gulp. "It's quite true."</p>
+
+<p>"And she's refused you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Dryland, it was a noble thing to do. I must tell Archibald."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, please don't, Mrs. Jackson! I don't want it to get about."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, but I shall. We can't let you hide your light under a bushel. Fancy
+you proposing to that poor, dear girl! But it's just what I should have
+expected of you. That's what I always say. The clergy are constantly
+doing the most beautiful actions that no one hears anything about. You
+ought to receive a moral Victoria Cross. I'm sure you deserve it far
+more than that wicked and misguided young man."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I ought to take any credit for what I've done," modestly
+remonstrated the curate.</p>
+
+<p>"It was a beautiful action. You don't know how much it means to that
+poor, jilted girl."</p>
+
+<p>"It's true my indignation was aroused at the heartless conduct of
+Captain Parsons; but I have long loved her, Mrs. Jackson."</p>
+
+<p>"I knew it; I knew it! When I saw you together I said to Archibald:
+'What a good pair they'd make!' I'm sure you deserve her far more than
+that worthless creature."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish she thought so."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go and speak to her myself. I think she ought to accept you.
+You've behaved like a knight-errant, Mr. Dryland. You're a true
+Christian saint."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mrs. Jackson, you embarrass me!"</p>
+
+<p>The news spread like wild-fire, and with it the opinion that the curate
+had vastly distinguished himself. Neither pagan hero nor Christian
+martyr could have acted more becomingly. The consideration which had
+once been Jamie's was bodily transferred to Mr. Dryland. He was the man
+of the hour, and the contemplation of his gallant deed made everyone
+feel nobler, purer. The curate accepted with quiet satisfaction the
+homage that was laid at his feet, modestly denying that he had done
+anything out of the way. With James, all unconscious of what had
+happened, he was mildly patronising; with Mary, tender, respectful,
+subdued. If he had been an archbishop, he could not have behaved with
+greater delicacy, manliness, and decorum.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care what anyone says," cried Mrs. Jackson, "I think he's worth
+ten Captain Parsons! He's so modest and gentlemanly. Why, Captain
+Parsons simply used to look bored when one told him he was brave."</p>
+
+<p>"He's a conceited creature!"</p>
+
+<p>But in Primpton House the proposal was met with consternation.</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose she accepted him?" said Colonel Parsons, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"She'd never do that."</p>
+
+<p>Major Forsyth suggested that James should be told, in the belief that
+his jealousy would be excited.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell him," said Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>She waited till she was alone with her son, and then, without stopping
+her needlework, said suddenly:</p>
+
+<p>"James, have you heard that Mr. Dryland has proposed to Mary?"</p>
+
+<p>He looked up nonchalantly. "Has she accepted him?"</p>
+
+<p>"James!" cried his mother, indignantly, "how can you ask such a
+question? Have you no respect for her? You must know that for nothing in
+the world would she be faithless to you."</p>
+
+<p>"I should like her to marry the curate. I think it would be a very
+suitable match."</p>
+
+<p>"You need not insult her, James."</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h3>
+
+
+<p>The tension between James and his parents became not less, but greater.
+That barrier which, almost from the beginning, they had watched with
+pain rise up between them now seemed indestructible, and all their
+efforts only made it more obvious and more stable. It was like some
+tropical plant which, for being cut down, grew ever with greater
+luxuriance. And there was a mischievous devil present at all their
+conversations that made them misunderstand one another as completely as
+though they spoke in different tongues. Notwithstanding their love, they
+were like strangers together; they could look at nothing from the same
+point of view.</p>
+
+<p>The Parsons had lived their whole lives in an artificial state.
+Ill-educated as most of their contemporaries in that particular class,
+they had just enough knowledge to render them dogmatic and intolerant.
+It requires a good deal of information to discover one's own ignorance,
+but to the consciousness of this the good people had never arrived. They
+felt they knew as much as necessary, and naturally on the most
+debatable questions were most assured. Their standpoint was
+inconceivably narrow. They had the best intentions in the world of doing
+their duty, but what their duty was they accepted on trust, frivolously.
+They walked round and round in a narrow circle, hemmed in by false
+ideals and by ugly prejudices, putting for the love of God unnecessary
+obstacles in their path and convinced that theirs was the only possible
+way, while all others led to damnation. They had never worked out an
+idea for themselves, never done a single deed on their own account, but
+invariably acted and thought according to the rule of their caste. They
+were not living creatures, but dogmatic machines.</p>
+
+<p>James, going into the world, quickly realised that he had been brought
+up to a state of things which did not exist. He was like a sailor who
+has put out to sea in an ornamental boat, and finds that his sail is
+useless, the ropes not made to work, and the rudder immovable. The long,
+buoyant wind of the world blew away like thistle-down the conventions
+which had seemed so secure a foundation. But he discovered in himself a
+wonderful curiosity, an eagerness for adventure which led him boldly to
+affront every peril; and the unknown lands of the intellect are every
+bit as dangerously fascinating as are those of sober fact. He read
+omnivorously, saw many and varied things; the universe was spread out
+before him like an enthralling play. Knowledge is like the root of a
+tree, attaching man by its tendrils to the life about him. James found
+in existence new beauties, new interests, new complexities; and he
+gained a lighter heart and, above all, an exquisite sense of freedom. At
+length he looked back with something like horror at that old life in
+which the fetters of ignorance had weighed so terribly upon him.</p>
+
+<p>On his return to Little Primpton, he found his people as he had left
+them, doing the same things, repeating at every well-known juncture the
+same trite observations. Their ingenuousness affected him as a negro,
+civilised and educated, on visiting after many years his native tribe,
+might be affected by their nose-rings and yellow ochre. James was
+astounded that they should ignore matters which he fancied common
+knowledge, and at the same time accept beliefs that he had thought
+completely dead. He was willing enough to shrug his shoulders and humour
+their prejudices, but they had made of them a rule of life which
+governed every action with an iron tyranny. It was in accordance with
+all these outworn conventions that they conducted the daily round. And
+presently James found that his father and mother were striving to draw
+him back into the prison. Unconsciously, even with the greatest
+tenderness, they sought to place upon his neck again that irksome yoke
+which he had so difficultly thrown off.</p>
+
+<p>If James had learnt anything, it was at all hazards to think for
+himself, accepting nothing on authority, questioning, doubting; it was
+to look upon life with a critical eye, trying to understand it, and to
+receive no ready-made explanations. Above all, he had learnt that every
+question has two sides. Now this was precisely what Colonel Parsons and
+his wife could never acknowledge; for them one view was certainly right,
+and the other as certainly wrong. There was no middle way. To doubt what
+they believed could only be ascribed to arrant folly or to wickedness.
+Sometimes James was thrown into a blind rage by the complacency with
+which from the depths of his nescience his father dogmatised. No man
+could have been more unassuming than he, and yet on just the points
+which were most uncertain his attitude was almost inconceivably
+arrogant.</p>
+
+<p>And James was horrified at the pettiness and the prejudice which he
+found in his home. Reading no books, for they thought it waste of time
+to read, the minds of his father and mother had sunk into such a narrow
+sluggishness that they could interest themselves only in trivialities.
+Their thoughts were occupied by their neighbours and the humdrum
+details of the life about them. Flattering themselves on their ideals
+and their high principles, they vegetated in stupid sloth and in a less
+than animal vacuity. Every topic of conversation above the most
+commonplace they found dull or incomprehensible. James learned that he
+had to talk to them almost as if they were children, and the tedium of
+those endless days was intolerable.</p>
+
+<p>Occasionally he was exasperated that he could not avoid the discussions
+which his father, with a weak man's obstinacy, forced upon him. Some
+unhappy, baneful power seemed to drive Colonel Parsons to widen the
+rift, the existence of which caused him such exquisite pain; his natural
+kindliness was obscured by an uncontrollable irritation. One day he was
+reading the paper.</p>
+
+<p>"I see we've had another unfortunate reverse," he said, looking up.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you're delighted, Jamie?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm very sorry. Why should I be otherwise?"</p>
+
+<p>"You always stick up for the enemies of your country." Turning to his
+brother-in-law, he explained: "James says that if he'd been a Cape
+Dutchman he'd have fought against us."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he deserves to be court-martialled for saying so! "cried Major
+Forsyth.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think he means to be taken seriously," said his mother.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, I do." It constantly annoyed James that when he said anything
+that was not quite an obvious truism, they should think he was speaking
+merely for effect. "Why, my dear mother, if you'd been a Boer woman
+you'd have potted at us from behind a haystack with the best of them."</p>
+
+<p>"The Boers are robbers and brigands."</p>
+
+<p>"That's just what they say we are."</p>
+
+<p>"But we're right."</p>
+
+<p>"And they're equally convinced that they are."</p>
+
+<p>"God can't be on both sides, James."</p>
+
+<p>"The odd thing is the certainty with which both sides claim His
+exclusive protection."</p>
+
+<p>"I should think it wicked to doubt that God is with us in a righteous
+war," said Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"If the Boers weren't deceived by that old villain Kruger, they'd never
+have fought us."</p>
+
+<p>"The Boers are strange people," replied James. "They actually prefer
+their independence to all the privileges and advantages of
+subjection.... The wonderful thing to me is that people should really
+think Mr. Kruger a hypocrite. A ruler who didn't honestly believe in
+himself and in his mission would never have had such influence. If a man
+wants power he must have self-faith; but then he may be narrow,
+intolerant, and vicious. His fellows will be like wax in his hands."</p>
+
+<p>"If Kruger had been honest, he wouldn't have put up with bribery and
+corruption."</p>
+
+<p>"The last thing I expect is consistency in an animal of such contrary
+instincts as man."</p>
+
+<p>"Every true Englishman, I'm thankful to say, thinks him a scoundrel and
+a blackguard."</p>
+
+<p>"In a hundred years he will probably think him a patriot and a hero. In
+that time the sentimental view will be the only one of interest; and the
+sentimental view will put the Transvaal in the same category as Poland."</p>
+
+<p>"You're nothing better than a pro-Boer, James."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm nothing of the kind; but seeing how conflicting was current
+opinion, I took some trouble to find for myself a justification of the
+war. I couldn't help wondering why I went and killed people to whom I
+was personally quite indifferent."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope because it was your duty as an officer of Her Majesty the
+Queen."</p>
+
+<p>"Not exactly. I came to the conclusion that I killed people because I
+liked it. The fighting instinct is in my blood, and I'm never so happy
+as when I'm shooting things. Killing tigers is very good sport, but it's
+not in it with killing men. That is my justification, so far as I
+personally am concerned. As a member of society, I wage war for a
+different reason. War is the natural instinct of all creatures; not only
+do progress and civilisation arise from it, but it is the very condition
+of existence. Men, beasts, and plants are all in the same position:
+unless they fight incessantly they're wiped out; there's no sitting on
+one side and looking on.... When a state wants a neighbour's land, it
+has a perfect right to take it&mdash;if it can. Success is its justification.
+We English wanted the Transvaal for our greater numbers, for our trade,
+for the continuance of our power; that was our right to take it. The
+only thing that seems to me undignified is the rather pitiful set of
+excuses we made up."</p>
+
+<p>"If those are your ideas, I think they are utterly ignoble."</p>
+
+<p>"I believe they're scientific."</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think men go to war for scientific reasons?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, of course not; they don't realise them. The great majority are
+incapable of abstract ideas, but fortunately they're emotional and
+sentimental; and the pill can be gilded with high falutin. It's for them
+that the Union Jack and the honour of Old England are dragged through
+every newspaper and brandished in every music hall. It's for them that
+all these atrocities are invented&mdash;most of them bunkum. Men are only
+savages with a thin veneer of civilisation, which is rather easily
+rubbed off, and then they act just like Red Indians; but as a general
+rule they're well enough behaved. The Boer isn't a bad sort, and the
+Englishman isn't a bad sort; but there's not room for both of them on
+the earth, and one of them has to go."</p>
+
+<p>"My father fought for duty and honour's sake, and so fought his father
+before him."</p>
+
+<p>"Men have always fought really for the same reasons&mdash;for self-protection
+and gain; but perhaps they have not seen quite so clearly as now the
+truth behind all their big words. The world and mankind haven't altered
+suddenly in the last few years."</p>
+
+<p class="tb">Afterwards, when Colonel Parsons and his wife were alone together, and
+she saw that he was brooding over his son's words, she laid her hand on
+his shoulder, and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Don't worry, Richmond; it'll come right in the end, if we trust and
+pray."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what to make of him," he returned, sadly shaking his head.
+"It's not our boy, Frances; he couldn't be callous and unscrupulous,
+and&mdash;dishonourable. God forgive me for saying it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be hard on him, Richmond. I daresay he doesn't mean all he says.
+And remember that he's been very ill. He's not himself yet."</p>
+
+<p>The Colonel sighed bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>"When we looked forward so anxiously to his return, we didn't know that
+he would be like this."</p>
+
+<p>James had gone out. He wandered along the silent roads, taking in large
+breaths of the fresh air, for his home affected him like a hot-house.
+The atmosphere was close and heavy, so that he could neither think
+freely nor see things in any reasonable light. He felt sometimes as
+though a weight were placed upon his head, that pressed him down, and
+pressed him down till he seemed almost forced to his knees.</p>
+
+<p>He blamed himself for his lack of moderation. Why, remembering ever his
+father's unhappiness and his infirmities, could he not humour him? He
+was an old man, weak and frail; it should not have been so difficult to
+use restraint towards him. James knew he had left them in Primpton House
+distressed and angry; but the only way to please them was to surrender
+his whole personality, giving up to their bidding all his thoughts and
+all his actions. They wished to exercise over him the most intolerable
+of all tyrannies, the tyranny of love. It was a heavy return they
+demanded for their affection if he must abandon his freedom, body and
+soul; he earnestly wished to make them happy, but that was too hard a
+price to pay. And then, with sudden rage, James asked himself why they
+should be so self-sufficiently certain that they were right. What an
+outrageous assumption it was that age must be infallible! Their idea of
+filial duty was that he should accept their authority, not because they
+were wise, but because they were old. When he was a child they had
+insisted on the utmost submission, and now they expected the same
+submission&mdash;to their prejudice, intolerance, and lack of knowledge. They
+had almost ridiculously that calm, quiet, well-satisfied assurance which
+a king by right divine might have in the certainty that he could do no
+wrong.</p>
+
+<p>And James, with bitter, painful scorn, thought of that frightful blunder
+which had forced Colonel Parsons to leave the service. At first his
+belief in his father had been such that James could not conceive the
+possibility even that he had acted wrongly; the mere fact that his
+father had chosen a certain course was proof of its being right and
+proper, and the shame lay with his chief, who had used him ill. But when
+he examined the affair and thought over it, the truth became only too
+clear; it came to him like a blow, and for a while he was overcome with
+shame. The fact was evident&mdash;alas! only too evident&mdash;his father was
+incapable of command. James was simply astounded; he tried not to hear
+the cruel words that buzzed in his ears, but he could not help
+it&mdash;imbecility, crass idiocy, madness. It was worse than madness, the
+folly of it was almost criminal; he thought now that his father had
+escaped very easily.</p>
+
+<p>James hastened his step, trying to rid himself of the irritating
+thoughts. He walked along the fat and fertile Kentish fields, by the
+neat iron railing with which they were enclosed. All about him was
+visible the care of man. Nothing was left wild. The trees were lopped
+into proper shape, cut down where their presence seemed inelegant,
+planted to complete the symmetry of a group. Nature herself was under
+the power of the formal influence, and flourished with a certain
+rigidity and decorum. After a while the impression became singularly
+irksome; it seemed to emphasise man's lack of freedom, reminding one of
+the iron conventions with which he is inevitably bound. In the sun, the
+valley, all green and wooded, was pleasantly cool; but when the clouds
+rolled up from the west heavily, brushing the surrounding hills, the
+aspect was so circumscribed that James could have cried out as with
+physical pain. The primness of the scene then was insufferable; the
+sombre, well-ordered elms, the meadows so carefully kept, seemed the
+garden of some great voluptuous prison, and the air was close with
+servitude.</p>
+
+<p>James panted for breath. He thought of the vast distances of South
+Africa, bush and prairie stretching illimitably, and above, the blue
+sky, vaster still. There, at least, one could breathe freely, and
+stretch one's limbs.</p>
+
+<p>"Why did I ever come back?" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>The blood went thrilling through his veins at the mere thought of those
+days in which every minute had been intensely worth living. Then,
+indeed, was no restraint or pettiness; then men were hard and firm and
+strong. By comparison, people in England appeared so pitifully weak,
+vain, paltry, insignificant. What were the privations and the hardships
+beside the sense of mastery, the happy adventure, and the carelessness
+of life?</p>
+
+<p>But the grey clouds hung over the valley, pregnant with rain. It gave
+him a singular feeling of discomfort to see them laden with water, and
+yet painfully holding it up.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't stay in this place," he muttered. "I shall go mad."</p>
+
+<p>A sudden desire for flight seized him. The clouds sank lower and lower,
+till he imagined he must bend his head to avoid them. If he could only
+get away for a little, he might regain his calm. At least, absence, he
+thought bitterly, was the only way to restore the old affection between
+him and his father.</p>
+
+<p>He went home, and announced that he was going to London.</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h3>
+
+
+<p>After the quiet of Little Primpton, the hurry and the noise of Victoria
+were a singular relief to James. Waiting for his luggage, he watched the
+various movements of the scene&mdash;the trollies pushed along with warning
+cries, the porters lifting heavy packages on to the bellied roof of
+hansoms, the people running to and fro, the crowd of cabs; and driving
+out, he was exhilarated by the confusion in the station yard, and the
+intense life, half gay, half sordid, of the Wilton Road. He took a room
+in Jermyn Street, according to Major Forsyth's recommendation, and
+walked to his club. James had been out of London so long that he came
+back with the emotions of a stranger; common scenes, the glitter of
+shops, the turmoil of the Circus, affected him with pleased surprise,
+and with a child's amusement he paused to stare at the advertisements on
+a hoarding. He looked forward to seeing old friends, and on his way down
+Piccadilly even expected to meet one or two of them sauntering along.</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of form, James asked at his club whether there were any
+letters for him.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think so, sir," said the porter, but turned to the pigeon-holes
+and took out a bundle. He looked them over, and then handed one to
+James.</p>
+
+<p>"Hulloa, who's this from?"</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly something gripped his heart; he felt the blood rush to his
+cheeks, and a cold tremor ran through all his limbs. He recognised the
+handwriting of Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace, and there was a penny stamp on
+the envelope. She was in England. The letter had been posted in London.</p>
+
+<p>He turned away and walked towards a table that stood near the window of
+the hall. A thousand recollections surged across his memory
+tumultuously; the paper was scented (how characteristic that was of her,
+and in what bad taste!); he saw at once her smile and the look of her
+eyes. He had a mad desire passionately to kiss the letter; a load of
+weariness fell from his heart; he felt insanely happy, as though angry
+storm-clouds had been torn asunder, and the sun in its golden majesty
+shone calmly upon the earth.... Then, with sudden impulse, he tore the
+unopened letter into a dozen pieces and threw them away. He straightened
+himself, and walked into the smoking-room.</p>
+
+<p>James looked round and saw nobody he knew, quietly took a magazine from
+the table, and sat down; but the blood-vessels in his brain throbbed so
+violently that he thought something horrible would happen to him. He
+heard the regular, quick beating, like the implacable hammering of
+gnomes upon some hidden, distant anvil.</p>
+
+<p>"She's in London," he repeated.</p>
+
+<p>When had the letter been posted? At least, he might have looked at the
+mark on the envelope. Was it a year ago? Was it lately? The letter did
+not look as though it had been lying about the club for many months. Had
+it not still the odour of those dreadful Parma violets? She must have
+seen in the paper his return from Africa, wounded and ill. And what did
+she say? Did she merely write a few cold words of congratulation
+or&mdash;more?</p>
+
+<p>It was terrible that after three years the mere sight of her handwriting
+should have power to throw him into this state of eager, passionate
+anguish. He was seized with the old panic, the terrified perception of
+his surrender, of his utter weakness, which made flight the only
+possible resistance. That was why he had destroyed the letter unread.
+When Mrs. Wallace was many thousand miles away there had been no danger
+in confessing that he loved her; but now it was different. What did she
+say in the letter? Had she in some feminine, mysterious fashion
+discovered his secret? Did she ask him to go and see her? James
+remembered one of their conversations.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I love going to London!" she had cried, opening her arms with the
+charming, exotic gesticulation which distinguished her from all other
+women. "I enjoy myself awfully."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Everything. And I write to poor Dick three times a week, and tell him
+all I haven't done."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't bear the grass-widow," said James.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor boy, you can't bear anything that's amusing! I never knew anyone
+with such an ideal of woman as you have&mdash;a gloomy mixture of
+frumpishness and angularity."</p>
+
+<p>James did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you wish we were in London now?" she went on. "You and I
+together? I really believe I should have to take you about. You're as
+innocent as a babe."</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think so?" said James, rather hurt.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, if we were in town, on our own, what would you do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I don't know. I suppose make a little party and dine somewhere, and
+go to the Savoy to see the 'Mikado.'"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Wallace laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"I know. A party of four&mdash;yourself and me, and two maiden aunts. And we
+should be very prim, and talk about the weather, and go in a growler for
+propriety's sake. I know that sort of evening. And after the maiden
+aunts had seen me safety home, I should simply howl from boredom. My
+dear boy, I'm respectable enough here. When I'm on my own, I want to go
+on the loose. Now, I'll tell you what I want to do if ever we are in
+town together. Will you promise to do it?"</p>
+
+<p>"If I possibly can."</p>
+
+<p>"All right! Well, you shall fetch me in the fastest hansom you can find,
+and remember to tell the driver to go as quick as ever he dare. We'll
+dine alone, please, at the most expensive restaurant in London! You'll
+engage a table in the middle of the room, and you must see that the
+people all round us are very smart and very shady. It always makes me
+feel so virtuous to look at disreputable women! Do I shock you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not more than usual."</p>
+
+<p>"How absurd you are! Then we'll go to the Empire. And after that we'll
+go somewhere else, and have supper where the people are still smarter
+and still shadier; and then we'll go to Covent Garden Ball. Oh, you
+don't know how I long to go on the rampage sometimes! I get so tired of
+propriety."</p>
+
+<p>"And what will P. W. say to all this?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'll write and tell him that I spent the evening with some of his
+poor relations, and give eight pages of corroborative evidence."</p>
+
+<p>James thought of Pritchard-Wallace, gentlest and best-humoured of men.
+He was a great big fellow, with a heavy moustache and kind eyes; always
+ready to stand by anyone in difficulties, always ready with comfort or
+with cheery advice; whoever wanted help went to him as though it were
+the most natural thing in the world. And it was touching to see the
+dog-like devotion to his wife; he had such confidence in her that he
+never noticed her numerous flirtations. Pritchard-Wallace thought
+himself rather a dull stick, and he wanted her to amuse herself. So
+brilliant a creature could not be expected to find sufficient
+entertainment in a quiet man of easy-going habits.</p>
+
+<p>"Go your own way, my girl," he said; "I know you're all right. And so
+long as you keep a place for me in the bottom of your heart, you can do
+whatever you like."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, I don't care two straws for anyone but you, silly old
+thing!"</p>
+
+<p>And she pulled his moustache and kissed his lips; and he went off on
+his business, his heart swelling with gratitude, because Providence had
+given him the enduring love of so beautiful and enchanting a little
+woman.</p>
+
+<p>"P. W. is worth ten of you," James told her indignantly one day, when he
+had been witness to some audacious deception.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he doesn't think so. And that's the chief thing."</p>
+
+<p class="tb">James dared not see her. It was obviously best to have destroyed the
+letter. After all, it was probably nothing more than a curt, formal
+congratulation, and its coldness would nearly have broken his heart. He
+feared also lest in his never-ceasing thought he had crystallised his
+beloved into something quite different from reality. His imagination was
+very active, and its constant play upon those few recollections might
+easily have added many a false delight. To meet Mrs. Wallace would only
+bring perhaps a painful disillusion; and of that James was terrified,
+for without this passion which occupied his whole soul he would be now
+singularly alone in the world. It was a fantastic, charming figure that
+he had made for himself, and he could worship it without danger and
+without reproach. Was it not better to preserve his dream from the
+sullen irruption of fact? But why would that perfume come perpetually
+entangling itself with his memory? It gave the image new substance; and
+when he closed his eyes, the woman seemed so near that he could feel
+against his face the fragrance of her breath.</p>
+
+<p>He dined alone, and spent the hours that followed in reading. By some
+chance he was able to find no one he knew, and he felt rather bored. He
+went to bed with a headache, feeling already the dreariness of London
+without friends.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning James wandered in the Park, fresh and delightful with the
+rhododendrons; but the people he saw hurt him by their almost aggressive
+happiness&mdash;vivacious, cheerful, and careless, they were all evidently of
+opinion that no reasonable creature could complain with the best of all
+possible worlds. The girls that hurried past on ponies, or on bicycles
+up and down the well-kept road, gave him an impression of
+light-heartedness which was fascinating, yet made his own solitude more
+intolerable. Their cheeks glowed with healthiness in the summer air, and
+their gestures, their laughter, were charmingly animated. He noticed the
+smile which a slender Amazon gave to a man who raised his hat, and read
+suddenly in their eyes a happy, successful tenderness. Once, galloping
+towards him, he saw a woman who resembled Mrs. Wallace, and his heart
+stood still. He had an intense longing to behold her just once more,
+unseen of her; but he was mistaken. The rider approached and passed, and
+it was no one he knew.</p>
+
+<p>Then, tired and sore at heart, James went back to his club. The day
+passed monotonously, and the day after he was seized by the peculiar
+discomfort of the lonely sojourner in great cities. The thronging, busy
+crowd added to his solitariness. When he saw acquaintances address one
+another in the club, or walk along the streets in conversation, he could
+hardly bear his own friendlessness; the interests of all these people
+seemed so fixed and circumscribed, their lives were already so full,
+that they could only look upon a new-comer with hostility. He would have
+felt less lonely on a desert island than in the multitudinous city,
+surrounded by hurrying strangers. He scarcely knew how he managed to
+drag through the day, tired of the eternal smoking-room, tired of
+wandering about. The lodgings which Major Forsyth had recommended were
+like barracks; a tall, narrow house, in which James had a room at the
+top, looking on to a blank wall. They were dreadfully cheerless. And as
+James climbed the endless stairs he felt an irritation at the joyous
+laughter that came from other rooms. Behind those closed, forbidding
+doors people were happy and light of heart; only he was alone, and must
+remain perpetually imprisoned within himself. He went to the theatre,
+but here again, half insanely, he felt a barrier between himself and the
+rest of the audience. For him the piece offered no illusions; he could
+only see painted actors strutting affectedly in unnatural costumes; the
+scenery was mere painted cloth, and the dialogue senseless inanity. With
+all his might James wished that he were again in Africa, with work to do
+and danger to encounter. There the solitude was never lonely, and the
+nights were blue and silent, rich with the countless stars.</p>
+
+<p>He had been in London a week. One day, towards evening, while he walked
+down Piccadilly, looking aimlessly at the people and asking himself what
+their inmost thoughts could be, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and a
+cheery voice called out his name.</p>
+
+<p>"I knew it was you, Parsons! Where the devil have you sprung from?"</p>
+
+<p>He turned round and saw a man he had known in India. Jamie's solitude
+and boredom had made him almost effusive.</p>
+
+<p>"By Jove, I am glad to see you!" he said, wringing the fellow's hand.
+"Come and have a drink. I've seen no one for days, and I'm dying to
+have some one to talk to."</p>
+
+<p>"I think I can manage it. I've got a train to catch at eight; I'm just
+off to Scotland."</p>
+
+<p>Jamie's face fell.</p>
+
+<p>"I was going to ask you to dine with me."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm awfully sorry! I'm afraid I can't."</p>
+
+<p>They talked of one thing and another, till Jamie's friend said he must
+go immediately; they shook hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, by the way," said the man, suddenly remembering, "I saw a pal of
+yours the other day, who's clamouring for you."</p>
+
+<p>"For me?"</p>
+
+<p>James reddened, knowing at once, instinctively, that it could only be
+one person.</p>
+
+<p>"D'you remember Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace? She's in London. I saw her at a
+party, and she asked me if I knew anything about you. She's staying in
+Half Moon Street, at 201. You'd better go and see her. Good-bye! I must
+simply bolt."</p>
+
+<p>He left James hurriedly, and did not notice the effect of his few
+words.... She still thought of him, she asked for him, she wished him to
+go to her. The gods in their mercy had sent him the address; with
+beating heart and joyful step, James immediately set out. The throng in
+his way vanished, and he felt himself walking along some roadway of
+ethereal fire, straight to his passionate love&mdash;a roadway miraculously
+fashioned for his feet, leading only to her. Every thought left him but
+that the woman he adored was waiting, waiting, ready to welcome him with
+that exquisite smile, with the hands which were like the caresses of
+Aphrodite, turned to visible flesh. But he stopped short.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the good?" he cried, bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>Before him the sun was setting like a vision of love, colouring with
+softness and with quiet the manifold life of the city. James looked at
+it, his heart swelling with sadness; for with it seemed to die his short
+joy, and the shadows lengthening were like the sad facts of reality
+which crept into his soul one by one silently.</p>
+
+<p>"I won't go," he cried; "I daren't! Oh, God help me, and give me
+strength!"</p>
+
+<p>He turned into the Green Park, where lovers sat entwined upon the
+benches, and in the pleasant warmth the idlers and the weary slept upon
+the grass. James sank heavily upon a seat, and gave himself over to his
+wretchedness.</p>
+
+<p>The night fell, and the lamps upon Piccadilly were lit, and in the
+increasing silence the roar of London sounded more intensely. From the
+darkness, as if it were the scene of a play, James watched the cabs and
+'buses pass rapidly in the light, the endless procession of people like
+disembodied souls drifting aimlessly before the wind. It was a comfort
+and a relief to sit there unseen, under cover of the night. He observed
+the turmoil with a new, disinterested curiosity, feeling strangely as if
+he were no longer among the living. He found himself surprised that they
+thought it worth while to hurry and to trouble. The couples on the
+benches remained in silent ecstasy; and sometimes a dark figure slouched
+past, sorrowful and mysterious.</p>
+
+<p>At last James went out, surprised to find it was so late. The theatres
+had disgorged their crowds, and Piccadilly was thronged, gay, vivacious,
+and insouciant. For a moment there was a certain luxury about its vice;
+the harlot gained the pompousness of a Roman courtesan, and the vulgar
+debauchee had for a little while the rich, corrupt decadence of art and
+splendour.</p>
+
+<p>James turned into Half Moon Street, which now was all deserted and
+silent, and walked slowly, with anguish tearing at his heart, towards
+the house in which lodged Mrs. Wallace. One window was still lit, and he
+wondered whether it was hers; it would have been an exquisite pleasure
+if he could but have seen her form pass the drawn blind. Ah, he could
+not have mistaken it! Presently the light was put out, and the whole
+house was in darkness. He waited on, for no reason&mdash;pleased to be near
+her. He waited half the night, till he was so tired he could scarcely
+drag himself home.</p>
+
+<p>In the morning James was ill and tired, and disillusioned; his head
+ached so that he could hardly bear the pain, and in all his limbs he
+felt a strange and heavy lassitude. He wondered why he had troubled
+himself about the woman who cared nothing&mdash;nothing whatever for him. He
+repeated about her the bitter, scornful things he had said so often. He
+fancied he had suddenly grown indifferent.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall go back to Primpton," he said; "London is too horrible."</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h3>
+
+
+<p>The lassitude and the headache explained themselves, for the day after
+Jamie's arrival at Little Primpton he fell ill, and the doctor announced
+that he had enteric fever. He explained that it was not uncommon for
+persons to develop the disease after their return from the Cape. In
+their distress, the first thought of Mrs. Parsons and the Colonel was to
+send for Mary; they knew her to be quick and resourceful.</p>
+
+<p>"Dr. Radley says we must have a nurse down. Jamie is never to be left
+alone, and I couldn't manage by myself."</p>
+
+<p>Mary hesitated and reddened:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I wish Jamie would let me nurse him! You and I could do everything
+much better than a strange woman. D'you think he'd mind?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons looked at her doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"It's very kind of you, Mary. I'm afraid he's not treated you so as to
+deserve that. And it would exhaust you dreadfully."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm very strong; I should like it so much. Won't you ask Jamie? He can
+only refuse."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons went up to her son, by whom sat the Colonel, looking at him
+wistfully. James lay on his back, breathing quickly, dull, listless, and
+apathetic. Every now and then his dark dry lips contracted as the
+unceasing pain of his head became suddenly almost insufferable.</p>
+
+<p>"Jamie, dear," said Mrs. Parsons, "Dr. Radley says you must have a
+second nurse, and we thought of getting one from Tunbridge Wells. Would
+you mind if Mary came instead?"</p>
+
+<p>James opened his eyes, bright and unnatural, and the dilated pupils gave
+them a strangely piercing expression.</p>
+
+<p>"Does she want to?"</p>
+
+<p>"It would make her very happy."</p>
+
+<p>"Does she know that enteric is horrid to nurse?"</p>
+
+<p>"For your sake she will do everything willingly."</p>
+
+<p>"Then let her." He smiled faintly. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody
+good. That's what the curate said."</p>
+
+<p>He had sufficient strength to smile to Mary when she came up, and to
+stretch out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"It's very good of you, Mary."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" she said, cheerily. "You mustn't talk. And you must do
+whatever I tell you, and let yourself be treated like a little boy."</p>
+
+<p>For days James remained in the same condition, with aching head, his
+face livid in its pallor, except for the bright, the terrifying flush of
+the cheeks; and the lips were dark with the sickly darkness of death. He
+lay on his back continually, apathetic and listless, his eyes closed.
+Now and again he opened them, and their vacant brilliancy was almost
+unearthly. He seemed to see horrible things, impossible to prevent,
+staring in front of him with the ghastly intensity of the blind.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Mrs. Parsons and Mary nursed him devotedly. Mary was quite
+splendid. In her loving quickness she forestalled all Jamie's wants, so
+that they were satisfied almost before he had realised them. She was
+always bright and good-tempered and fresh; she performed with constant
+cheerfulness the little revolting services which the disease
+necessitates; nothing was too difficult, or too harassing, or too
+unpleasant for her to do. She sacrificed herself with delight, taking
+upon her shoulders the major part of the work, leaving James only when
+Mrs. Parsons forced her to rest. She sat up night after night
+uncomplainingly; having sent for her clothes, and, notwithstanding Mrs.
+Clibborn's protests, taken up her abode altogether at Primpton House.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Clibborn said it was a most improper proceeding; that a trained
+nurse would be more capable, and the Parsons could well afford it; and
+also that it was indelicate for Mary to force herself upon James when he
+was too ill to defend himself.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what we should do without you, Mary," said Colonel
+Parsons, with tears in his eyes. "If we save him it will be your doing."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course we shall save him! All I ask you is to say nothing of what
+I've done. It's been a pleasure to me to serve him, and I don't deserve,
+and I don't want, gratitude."</p>
+
+<p>But it became more than doubtful whether it would be possible to save
+James, weakened by his wound and by the privations of the campaign. The
+disease grew worse. He was constantly delirious, and his prostration
+extreme. His cheeks sank in, and he seemed to have lost all power of
+holding himself together; he lay low down in the bed, as if he had given
+up trying to save himself. His face became dusky, so that it was
+terrifying to look upon.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor could no longer conceal his anxiety, and at last Mrs.
+Parsons, alone with him, insisted upon knowing the truth.</p>
+
+<p>"Is there any chance?" she asked, tremulously. "I would much rather know
+the worst."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid very, very little."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons shook hands silently with Dr. Radley and returned to the
+sick room, where Mary and the Colonel were sitting at the bedside.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons bent her head, and the silent tears rolled down her cheeks.
+The others understood only too well.</p>
+
+<p>"The Lord's will be done," whispered the father. "Blessed be the name of
+the Lord!"</p>
+
+<p>They looked at James with aching hearts. All their bitterness had long
+gone, and they loved him again with the old devotion of past time.</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think I was hard on him, dear?" said the Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>Mary took his hand and held it affectionately.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't worry about that," she said. "I'm sure he never felt any
+bitterness towards you."</p>
+
+<p>James now was comatose. But sometimes a reflex movement would pass
+through him, a sort of quiver, which seemed horribly as though the soul
+were parting from his body; and feebly he clutched at the bed-clothes.</p>
+
+<p>"Was it for this that he was saved from war and pestilence?" muttered
+the Colonel, hopelessly.</p>
+
+<p class="tb">But the Fates love nothing better than to mock the poor little creatures
+whose destinies ceaselessly they weave, refusing the wretched heart's
+desire till long waiting has made it listless, and giving with both
+hands only when the gift entails destruction.... James did not die; the
+passionate love of those three persons who watched him day by day and
+night by night seemed to have exorcised the might of Death. He grew a
+little better; his vigorous frame battled for life with all the force of
+that unknown mysterious power which cements into existence the myriad
+wandering atoms. He was listless, indifferent to the issue; but the will
+to live fought for him, and he grew better. Quickly he was out of
+danger.</p>
+
+<p>His father and Mary and Mrs. Parsons looked at one another almost with
+surprise, hardly daring to believe that they had saved him. They had
+suffered so much, all three of them, that they hesitated to trust their
+good fortune, superstitiously fearing that if they congratulated
+themselves too soon, some dreadful thing would happen to plunge back
+their beloved into deadly danger. But at last he was able to get up, to
+sit in the garden, now luxuriant with the ripe foliage of August; and
+they felt the load of anxiety gradually lift itself from their
+shoulders. They ventured again to laugh, and to talk of little trivial
+things, and of the future. They no longer had that panic terror when
+they looked at him, pale and weak and emaciated.</p>
+
+<p>Then again the old couple thanked Mary for what she had done; and one
+day, in secret, went off to Tunbridge Wells to buy a little present as a
+proof of their gratitude. Colonel Parsons suggested a bracelet, but his
+wife was sure that Mary would prefer something useful; so they brought
+back with them a very elaborate and expensive writing-case, which with a
+few shy words they presented to her. Mary, poor thing, was overcome with
+pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>"It's awfully good of you," she said. "I've done nothing that I wouldn't
+have done for any of the cottagers."</p>
+
+<p>"We know it was you who saved him. You&mdash;you snatched him from the very
+jaws of Death."</p>
+
+<p>Mary paused, and held out her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you promise me one thing?"</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" asked Colonel Parsons, unwilling to give his word rashly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, promise that you will never tell James that he owes anything to
+me. I couldn't bear him to think I had forced myself on him so as to
+have a sort of claim. Please promise me that."</p>
+
+<p>"I should never be able to keep it!" cried the Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>"I think she's right, Richmond. We'll promise, Mary. Besides, James
+can't help knowing."</p>
+
+<p>The hopes of the dear people were reviving, and they began to look upon
+Jamie's illness, piously, as a blessing of Providence in disguise.
+While Mrs. Parsons was about her household work in the morning, the
+Colonel would sometimes come in, rubbing his hands gleefully.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been watching them from the kitchen garden," he said.</p>
+
+<p>James lay on a long chair, in a sheltered, shady place, and Mary sat
+beside him, reading aloud or knitting.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you shouldn't have done that, Richmond," said his wife, with an
+indulgent smile, "it's very cruel."</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't help it, my dear. They're sitting there together just like a
+pair of turtle-doves."</p>
+
+<p>"Are they talking or reading?"</p>
+
+<p>"She's reading to him, and he's looking at her. He never takes his eyes
+off her."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Parsons sighed with a happy sadness.</p>
+
+<p>"God is very good to us, Richmond."</p>
+
+<p class="tb">James was surprised to find how happily he could spend his days with
+Mary. He was carried into the garden as soon as he got up, and remained
+there most of the day. Mary, as ever, was untiring in her devotion,
+thoughtful, anxious to obey his smallest whim.... He saw very soon the
+thoughts which were springing up again in the minds of his father and
+mother, intercepting the little significant glances which passed between
+them when Mary went away on some errand and he told her not to be long,
+when they exchanged gentle chaff, or she arranged the cushions under his
+head. The neighbours had asked to visit him, but this he resolutely
+declined, and appealed to Mary for protection.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm quite happy alone here with you, and if anyone else comes I swear
+I'll fall ill again."</p>
+
+<p>And with a little flush of pleasure and a smile, Mary answered that she
+would tell them all he was very grateful for their sympathy, but didn't
+feel strong enough to see them.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't feel a bit grateful, really," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you ought to."</p>
+
+<p>Her manner was much gentler now that James was ill, and her rigid moral
+sense relaxed a little in favour of his weakness. Mary's common sense
+became less aggressive, and if she was practical and unimaginative as
+ever, she was less afraid than before of giving way to him. She became
+almost tolerant, allowing him little petulances and little
+evasions&mdash;petty weaknesses which in complete health she would have felt
+it her duty not to compromise with. She treated him like a child, with
+whom it was possible to be indulgent without a surrender of principle;
+he could still claim to be spoiled and petted, and made much of.</p>
+
+<p>And James found that he could look forward with something like
+satisfaction to the condition of things which was evolving. He did not
+doubt that if he proposed to Mary again, she would accept him, and all
+their difficulties would be at an end. After all, why not? He was deeply
+touched by the loving, ceaseless care she had taken of him; indeed, no
+words from his father were needed to make him realise what she had gone
+through. She was kindness itself, tender, considerate, cheerful; he felt
+an utter prig to hesitate. And now that he had got used to her again,
+James was really very fond of Mary. In his physical weakness, her
+strength was peculiarly comforting. He could rely upon her entirely, and
+trust her; he admired her rectitude and her truthfulness. She reminded
+him of a granite cross standing alone in a desolate Scotch island,
+steadfast to wind and weather, unyielding even to time, erect and stern,
+and yet somehow pathetic in its solemn loneliness.</p>
+
+<p>Was it a lot of nonsense that he had thought about the immaculacy of the
+flesh? The world in general found his theories ridiculous or obscene.
+The world might be right. After all, the majority is not necessarily
+wrong. Jamie's illness interfered like a blank space between his
+present self and the old one, with its strenuous ideals of a purity of
+body which vulgar persons knew nothing of. Weak and ill, dependent upon
+the strength of others, his former opinions seemed singularly uncertain.
+How much more easy and comfortable was it to fall back upon the ideas of
+all and sundry? One cannot help being a little conscience-stricken
+sometimes when one thinks differently from others. That is why society
+holds together; conscience is its most efficient policeman. But when one
+shares common opinions, the whole authority of civilisation backs one
+up, and the reward is an ineffable self-complacency. It is the easiest
+thing possible to wallow in the prejudices of all the world, and the
+most eminently satisfactory. For nineteen hundred years we have learnt
+that the body is shameful, a pitfall and a snare to the soul. It is to
+be hoped we have one, for our bodies, since we began worrying about our
+souls, leave much to be desired. The common idea is that the flesh is
+beastly, the spirit divine; and it sounds reasonable enough. If it means
+little, one need not care, for the world has turned eternally to one
+senseless formula after another. All one can be sure about is that in
+the things of this world there is no absolute certainty.</p>
+
+<p>James, in his prostration, felt only indifference; and his old
+strenuousness, with its tragic despair, seemed not a little ridiculous.
+His eagerness to keep clean from what he thought prostitution was
+melodramatic and silly, his idea of purity mere foolishness. If the body
+was excrement, as from his youth he had been taught, what could it
+matter how one used it! Did anything matter, when a few years would see
+the flesh he had thought divine corrupt and worm-eaten? James was
+willing now to float along the stream, sociably, with his fellows, and
+had no doubt that he would soon find a set of high-sounding phrases to
+justify his degradation. What importance could his actions have, who was
+an obscure unit in an ephemeral race? It was much better to cease
+troubling, and let things come as they would. People were obviously
+right when they said that Mary must be an excellent helpmate. How often
+had he not told himself that she would be all that a wife should&mdash;kind,
+helpful, trustworthy. Was it not enough?</p>
+
+<p>And his marriage would give such pleasure to his father and mother, such
+happiness to Mary. If he could make a little return for all her
+goodness, was he not bound to do so? He smiled with bitter scorn at his
+dead, lofty ideals. The workaday world was not fit for them; it was much
+safer and easier to conform oneself to its terrestrial standard. And the
+amusing part of it was that these new opinions which seemed to him a
+falling away, to others meant precisely the reverse. They thought it
+purer and more ethereal that a man should marry because a woman would be
+a housekeeper of good character than because the divine instincts of
+Nature irresistibly propelled him.</p>
+
+<p>James shrugged his shoulders, and turned to look at Mary, who was coming
+towards him with letters in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Three letters for you, Jamie!"</p>
+
+<p>"Whom are they from?"</p>
+
+<p>"Look." She handed him one.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a bill, I bet," he said. "Open it and see."</p>
+
+<p>She opened and read out an account for boots.</p>
+
+<p>"Throw it away."</p>
+
+<p>Mary opened her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"It must be paid, Jamie."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course it must; but not for a long time yet. Let him send it in a
+few times more. Now the next one."</p>
+
+<p>He looked at the envelope, and did not recognise the handwriting.</p>
+
+<p>"You can open that, too."</p>
+
+<p>It was from the Larchers, repeating their invitation to go and see them.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder if they're still worrying about the death of their boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well, it's six months ago, isn't it?" replied Mary.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose in that time one gets over most griefs. I must go over some
+day. Now the third."</p>
+
+<p>He reddened slightly, recognising again the handwriting of Mrs. Wallace.
+But this time it affected him very little; he was too weak to care, and
+he felt almost indifferent.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I open it?" said Mary.</p>
+
+<p>James hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said; "tear it up." And then in reply to her astonishment, he
+added, smiling: "It's all right, I'm not off my head. Tear it up, and
+don't ask questions, there's a dear!"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, I'll tear it up if you want me to," said Mary, looking
+rather perplexed.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, go to the hedge and throw the pieces in the field."</p>
+
+<p>She did so, and sat down again.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I read to you?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I'm sick of the 'Antiquary.' Why the goodness they can't talk
+English like rational human beings, Heaven only knows!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we must finish it now we've begun."</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think something dreadful will happen to us if we don't?"</p>
+
+<p>"If one begins a book I think one should finish it, however dull it is.
+One is sure to get some good out of it."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, you're a perfect monster of conscientiousness."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if you don't want me to read, I shall go on with my knitting."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want you to knit either. I want you to talk to me."</p>
+
+<p>Mary looked almost charming in the subdued light of the sun as it broke
+through the leaves, giving a softness of expression and a richness of
+colour that James had never seen in her before. And the summer frock she
+wore made her more girlish and irresponsible than usual.</p>
+
+<p>"You've been very, very good to me all this time, Mary," said James,
+suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>Mary flushed. "I?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can never thank you enough."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense! Your father has been telling you a lot of rubbish, and he
+promised he wouldn't."</p>
+
+<p>"No, he's said nothing. Did you make him promise? That was very nice,
+and just like you."</p>
+
+<p>"I was afraid he'd say more than he ought."</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think I haven't been able to see for myself? I owe my life to
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"You owe it to God, Jamie."</p>
+
+<p>He smiled, and took her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm very, very grateful!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's been a pleasure to nurse you, Jamie. I never knew you'd make such
+a good patient."</p>
+
+<p>"And for all you've done, I've made you wretched and miserable. Can you
+ever forgive me?"</p>
+
+<p>"There's nothing to forgive, dear. You know I always think of you as a
+brother."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, that's what you told the curate!" cried James, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>Mary reddened.</p>
+
+<p>"How d'you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"He told Mrs. Jackson, and she told father."</p>
+
+<p>"You're not angry with me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think you might have made it second cousin," said James, with a
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>Mary did not answer, but tried to withdraw her hand. He held it fast.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary, I've treated you vilely. If you don't hate me, it's only because
+you're a perfect angel."</p>
+
+<p>Mary looked down, blushing deep red.</p>
+
+<p>"I can never hate you," she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mary, can you forgive me? Can you forget? It sounds almost
+impertinent to ask you again&mdash;Will you marry me, Mary?"</p>
+
+<p>She withdrew her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"It's very kind of you, Jamie. You're only asking me out of gratitude,
+because I've helped a little to look after you. But I want no gratitude;
+it was all pleasure. And I'm only too glad that you're getting well."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm perfectly in earnest, Mary. I wouldn't ask you merely from
+gratitude. I know I have humiliated you dreadfully, and I have done my
+best to kill the love you had for me. But I really honestly love you
+now&mdash;with all my heart. If you still care for me a little, I beseech you
+not to dismiss me."</p>
+
+<p>"If I still care for you!" cried Mary, hoarsely. "Oh, my God!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mary, forgive me! I want you to marry me."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him distractedly, the fire burning through her heart. He
+took both her hands and drew her towards him.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary, say yes."</p>
+
+<p>She sank helplessly to her knees beside him.</p>
+
+<p>"It would make me very happy," she murmured, with touching humility.</p>
+
+<p>Then he bent forward and kissed her tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go and tell them," he said. "They'll be so pleased."</p>
+
+<p>Mary, smiling and joyful, helped him to his feet, and supporting him as
+best she could, they went towards the house.</p>
+
+<p>Colonel Parsons was sitting in the dining-room, twirling his old Panama
+in a great state of excitement; he had interrupted his wife at her
+accounts, and she was looking at him good-humouredly over her
+spectacles.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure something's happening," he said. "I went out to take Jamie his
+beef-tea, and he was holding Mary's hand. I coughed as loud as I could,
+but they took no notice at all. So I thought I'd better not disturb
+them."</p>
+
+<p>"Here they come," said Mrs. Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother," said James, "Mary has something to tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't anything of the sort!" cried Mary, blushing and laughing.
+"Jamie has something to tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, the fact is, I've asked Mary to marry me and she's said she
+would."</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h3>
+
+
+<p>James was vastly relieved. His people's obvious delight, Mary's quiet
+happiness, were very grateful to him, and if he laughed at himself a
+little for feeling so virtuous, he could not help thoroughly enjoying
+the pleasure he had given. He was willing to acknowledge now that his
+conscience had been uneasy after the rupture of his engagement: although
+he had assured himself so vehemently that reason was upon his side, the
+common disapproval, and the influence of all his bringing-up, had
+affected him in his own despite.</p>
+
+<p>"When shall we get married, Mary?" he asked, when the four of them were
+sitting together in the garden.</p>
+
+<p>"Quickly!" cried Colonel Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, shall we say in a month, or six weeks?"</p>
+
+<p>"D'you think you'll be strong enough?" replied Mary, looking
+affectionately at him. And then, blushing a little: "I can get ready
+very soon."</p>
+
+<p>The night before, she had gone home and taken out the trousseau which
+with tears had been put away. She smoothed out the things, unfolded
+them, and carefully folded them up. Never in her life had she possessed
+such dainty linen. Mary cried a while with pleasure to think that she
+could begin again to collect her little store. No one knew what agony it
+had been to write to the shops at Tunbridge Wells countermanding her
+orders, and now she looked forward with quiet delight to buying all that
+remained to get.</p>
+
+<p>Finally, it was decided that the wedding should take place at the
+beginning of October. Mrs. Parsons wrote to her brother, who answered
+that he had expected the event all along, being certain that his
+conversation with James would eventually bear fruit. He was happy to be
+able to congratulate himself on the issue of his diplomacy; it was
+wonderful how easily all difficulties were settled, if one took them
+from the point of view of a man of the world. Mrs. Jackson likewise
+flattered herself that the renewed engagement was due to her
+intervention.</p>
+
+<p>"I saw he was paying attention to what I said," she told her husband. "I
+knew all he wanted was a good, straight talking to."</p>
+
+<p>"I am sorry for poor Dryland," said the Vicar.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I think we ought to do our best to console him. Don't you think he
+might go away for a month, Archibald?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dryland came to tea, and the Vicar's wife surrounded him with little
+attentions. She put an extra lump of sugar in his tea, and cut him even
+a larger piece of seed-cake than usual.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you've heard, Mr. Dryland?" she said, solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you referring to Miss Clibborn's engagement to Captain Parsons?" he
+asked, with a gloomy face. "Bad news travels fast."</p>
+
+<p>"You have all our sympathies. We did everything we could for you."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't deny that it's a great blow to me. I confess I thought that
+time and patience on my part might induce Miss Clibborn to change her
+mind. But if she's happy, I cannot complain. I must bear my misfortune
+with resignation."</p>
+
+<p>"But will she be happy?" asked Mrs. Jackson, with foreboding in her
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I sincerely hope so. Anyhow, I think it my duty to go to Captain
+Parsons and offer him my congratulations."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you do that, Mr. Dryland?" cried Mrs. Jackson. "That is noble of
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>"If you'd like to take your holiday now, Dryland," said the Vicar, "I
+daresay we can manage it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, thanks; I'm not the man to desert from the field of battle."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Jackson sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"Things never come right in this world. That's what I always say; the
+clergy are continually doing deeds of heroism which the world never
+hears anything about."</p>
+
+<p>The curate went to Primpton House and inquired whether he might see
+Captain Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go and ask if he's well enough," answered the Colonel, with his
+admirable respect for the cloth.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think he wants to talk to me about my soul?" asked James,
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know; but I think you'd better see him."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dryland came forward and shook hands with James in an ecclesiastical
+and suave manner, trying to be dignified, as behoved a rejected lover in
+the presence of his rival, and at the same time cordial, as befitted a
+Christian who could bear no malice.</p>
+
+<p>"Captain Parsons, you will not be unaware that I asked Miss Clibborn to
+be my wife?"</p>
+
+<p>"The fact was fairly generally known in the village," replied James,
+trying to restrain a smile.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Dryland blushed.</p>
+
+<p>"I was annoyed at the publicity which the circumstance obtained. The
+worst of these little places is that people will talk."</p>
+
+<p>"It was a very noble deed," said James gravely, repeating the common
+opinion.</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," answered the curate, with characteristic modesty. "But
+since it was not to be, since Miss Clibborn's choice has fallen on you,
+I think it my duty to inform you of my hearty goodwill. I wish, in
+short, to offer you again my sincerest congratulations."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure that's very kind of you."</p>
+
+<p class="tb">Two days, later Mrs. Jackson called on a similar errand.</p>
+
+<p>She tripped up to James and frankly held out her hand, neatly encased as
+ever in a shining black kid glove.</p>
+
+<p>"Captain Parsons, let us shake hands, and let bygones be bygones. You
+have taken my advice, and if, in the heat of the moment, we both said
+things which we regret, after all, we're only human."</p>
+
+<p>"Surely, Mrs. Jackson, I was moderation itself?&mdash;even when you told me I
+should infallibly go to Hell."</p>
+
+<p>"You were extremely irritating," said the Vicar's lady, smiling, "but I
+forgive you. After all, you paid more attention to what I said than I
+expected you would."</p>
+
+<p>"It must be very satisfactory for you to think that."</p>
+
+<p>"You know I have no ill-feeling towards you at all. I gave you a piece
+of my mind because I thought it was my duty. If you think I stepped over
+the limits of&mdash;moderation, I am willing and ready to apologise."</p>
+
+<p>"What a funny woman you are!" said James, looking at her with a
+good-humoured, but rather astonished smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure I don't know what makes you think so," she answered, bridling
+a little.</p>
+
+<p>"It never occurred to me that you honestly thought you were acting
+rightly when you came and gave me a piece of your mind, as you call it.
+I thought your motives were simply malicious and uncharitable."</p>
+
+<p>"I have a very high ideal of my duties as a clergyman's wife."</p>
+
+<p>"The human animal is very odd."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't look upon myself as an animal, Captain Parsons."</p>
+
+<p>James smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder why we all torture ourselves so unnecessarily. It really seems
+as if the chief use we made of our reason was to inflict as much pain
+upon ourselves and upon one another as we possibly could."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Captain Parsons."</p>
+
+<p>"When you do anything, are you ever tormented by a doubt whether you are
+doing right or wrong?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never," she answered, firmly. "There is always a right way and a wrong
+way, and, I'm thankful to say, God has given me sufficient intelligence
+to know which is which; and obviously I choose the right way."</p>
+
+<p>"What a comfortable idea! I can never help thinking that every right way
+is partly wrong, and every wrong way partly right. There's always so
+much to be said on both sides; to me it's very hard to know which is
+which."</p>
+
+<p>"Only a very weak man could think like that."</p>
+
+<p>"Possibly! I have long since ceased to flatter myself on my strength of
+mind. I find it is chiefly a characteristic of unintelligent persons."</p>
+
+<p class="tb">It was Mary's way to take herself seriously. It flattered her to think
+that she was not blind to Jamie's faults; she loved him none the less on
+their account, but determined to correct them. He had an unusual way of
+looking at things, and an occasional flippancy in his conversation, both
+of which she hoped in time to eradicate. With patience, gentleness, and
+dignity a woman can do a great deal with a man.</p>
+
+<p>One of Mary's friends had a husband with a bad habit of swearing, which
+was cured in a very simple manner. Whenever he swore, his wife swore
+too. For instance, he would say: "That's a damned bad job;" and his wife
+answered, smiling: "Yes, damned bad." He was rather surprised, but
+quickly ceased to employ objectionable words. Story does not relate
+whether he also got out of the habit of loving his wife; but that,
+doubtless, is a minor detail. Mary always looked upon her friend as a
+pattern.</p>
+
+<p>"James is not really cynical," she told herself. "He says things, not
+because he means them, but because he likes to startle people."</p>
+
+<p>It was inconceivable that James should not think on all subjects as she
+had been brought up to do, and the least originality struck her
+naturally as a sort of pose. But on account of his illness Mary allowed
+him a certain latitude, and when he said anything she did not approve
+of, instead of arguing the point, merely smiled indulgently and changed
+the subject. There was plenty of time before her, and when James became
+her husband she would have abundant opportunity of raising him to that
+exalted level upon which she was so comfortably settled. The influence
+of a simple Christian woman could not fail to have effect; at bottom
+James was as good as gold, and she was clever enough to guide him
+insensibly along the right path.</p>
+
+<p>James, perceiving this, scarcely knew whether to be incensed or amused.
+Sometimes he could see the humour in Mary's ingenuous conceit, and in
+the dogmatic assurance with which she uttered the most astounding
+opinions; but at others, when she waved aside superciliously a remark
+that did not square with her prejudices, or complacently denied a
+statement because she had never heard it before, he was irritated beyond
+all endurance. And it was nothing very outrageous he said, but merely
+some commonplace of science which all the world had accepted for twenty
+years. Mary, however, entrenched herself behind the impenetrable rock of
+her self-sufficiency.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not clever enough to argue with you," she said; "but I know I'm
+right; and I'm quite satisfied."</p>
+
+<p>Generally she merely smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"What nonsense you talk, Jamie! You don't really believe what you say."</p>
+
+<p>"But, my dear Mary, it's a solemn fact. There's no possibility of
+doubting it. It's a truism."</p>
+
+<p>Then with admirable self-command, remembering that James was still an
+invalid, she would pat his hand and say:</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it doesn't matter. Of course, you're much cleverer than I am. It
+must be almost time for your beef-tea."</p>
+
+<p>James sank back, baffled. Mary's ignorance was an impenetrable cuirass;
+she would not try to understand, she could not even realise that she
+might possibly be mistaken. Quite seriously she thought that what she
+ignored could be hardly worth knowing. People talk of the advance of
+education; there may be a little among the lower classes, but it is
+inconceivable that the English gentry can ever have been more illiterate
+than they are now. Throughout the country, in the comfortable villa or
+in the stately mansion, you will find as much prejudice and superstition
+in the drawing-room as in the kitchen; and you will find the masters
+less receptive of new ideas than their servants; and into the bargain,
+presumptuously satisfied with their own nescience.</p>
+
+<p>James saw that the only way to deal with Mary and with his people was to
+give in to all their prejudices. He let them talk, and held his tongue.
+He shut himself off from them, recognising that there was, and could be,
+no bond between them. They were strangers to him; their ways of looking
+at every detail of life were different from his; they had not an
+interest, not a thought, in common.... The preparations for the marriage
+went on.</p>
+
+<p>One day Mary decided that it was her duty to speak with James about his
+religion. Some of his remarks had made her a little uneasy, and he was
+quite strong enough now to be seriously dealt with.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me, Jamie," she said, in reply to an observation which she was
+pleased to consider flippant, "you do believe in God, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>But James had learnt his lesson well.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, that seems to me a private affair of my own."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you ashamed to say?" she asked, gravely.</p>
+
+<p>"No; but I don't see the advantage of discussing the matter."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you ought to tell me as I'm going to be your wife. I shouldn't
+like you to be an atheist."</p>
+
+<p>"Atheism is exploded, Mary. Only very ignorant persons are certain of
+what they cannot possibly know."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I don't see why you should be afraid to tell me."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not; only I think you have no right to ask. We both think that in
+marriage each should leave the other perfect freedom. I used to imagine
+the ideal was that married folk should not have a thought, nor an idea
+apart; but that is all rot. The best thing is evidently for each to go
+his own way, and respect the privacy of the other. Complete trust
+entails complete liberty."</p>
+
+<p>"I think that is certainly the noblest way of looking at marriage."</p>
+
+<p>"You may be quite sure I shall not intrude upon <i>your</i> privacy, Mary."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry I asked you any question. I suppose it's no business of
+mine."</p>
+
+<p>James returned to his book; he had fallen into the habit again of
+reading incessantly, finding therein his only release from the daily
+affairs of life; but when Mary left him, he let his novel drop and began
+to think. He was bitterly amused at what he had said. The parrot words
+which he had so often heard on Mary's lips sounded strangely on his own.
+He understood now why the view of matrimony had become prevalent that it
+was an institution in which two casual persons lived together, for the
+support of one and the material comfort of the other. Without love it
+was the most natural thing that husband and wife should seek all manner
+of protection from each other; with love none was needed. It harmonised
+well with the paradox that a marriage of passion was rather indecent,
+while lukewarm affection and paltry motives of convenience were
+elevating and noble.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Mary! James knew that she loved him with all her soul, such as it
+was (a delicate conscience and a collection of principles are not
+enough to make a great lover), and again he acknowledged to himself that
+he could give her only friendship. It had been but an ephemeral
+tenderness which drew him to her for the second time, due to weakness of
+body and to gratitude. If he ever thought it was love, he knew by now
+that he had been mistaken. Still, what did it matter? He supposed they
+would get along very well&mdash;as well as most people; better even than if
+they adored one another; for passion is not conducive to an even life.
+Fortunately she was cold and reserved, little given to demonstrative
+affection; she made few demands upon him, and occupied with her work in
+the parish and the collection of her trousseau, was content that he
+should remain with his books.</p>
+
+<p>The day fixed upon for the marriage came nearer.</p>
+
+<p>But at last James was seized with a wild revolt. His father was sitting
+by him.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary's wedding-dress is nearly ready," he said, suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>"So soon?" cried James, his heart sinking.</p>
+
+<p>"She's afraid that something may happen at the last moment, and it won't
+be finished in time."</p>
+
+<p>"What could happen?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I mean something at the dressmaker's!"</p>
+
+<p>"Is that all? I imagine there's little danger."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause, broken again by the Colonel.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so glad you're going to be happily married, Jamie."</p>
+
+<p>His son did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>"But man is never satisfied. I used to think that when I got you
+spliced, I should have nothing else to wish for; but now I'm beginning
+to want little grandsons to rock upon my knees."</p>
+
+<p>Jamie's face grew dark.</p>
+
+<p>"We should never be able to afford children."</p>
+
+<p>"But they come if one wants them or not, and I shall be able to increase
+your allowance a little, you know. I don't want you to go short of
+anything."</p>
+
+<p>James said nothing, but he thought: "If I had children by her, I should
+hate them." And then with sudden dismay, losing all the artificial
+indifference of the last week, he rebelled passionately against his
+fate. "Oh, I hate and loathe her!"</p>
+
+<p>He felt he could no longer continue the pretence he had been making&mdash;for
+it was all pretence. The effort to be loving and affectionate was
+torture, so that all his nerves seemed to vibrate with exasperation.
+Sometimes he had to clench his hands in order to keep himself under
+restraint. He was acting all the time. James asked himself what madness
+blinded Mary that she did not see? He remembered how easily speech had
+come in the old days when they were boy and girl together; they could
+pass hours side by side, without a thought of time, talking of little
+insignificant things, silent often, and always happy. But now he racked
+his brain for topics of conversation, and the slightest pause seemed
+irksome and unnatural. He was sometimes bored to death, savagely,
+cruelly; so that he was obliged to leave Mary for fear that he would say
+bitter and horrible things. Without his books he would have gone mad.
+She must be blind not to see. Then he thought of their married life. How
+long would it last? The years stretched themselves out endlessly,
+passing one after another in dreary monotony. Could they possibly be
+happy? Sooner or later Mary would learn how little he cared for her, and
+what agony must she suffer then! But it was inevitable. Now, whatever
+happened, he could not draw back; it was too late for explanations.
+Would love come? He felt it impossible; he felt, rather, that the
+physical repulsion which vainly he tried to crush would increase till he
+abhorred the very sight of his wife.</p>
+
+<p>Passionately he cried out against Fate because he had escaped death so
+often. The gods played with him as a cat plays with a mouse. He had been
+through dangers innumerable; twice he had lain on the very threshold of
+eternal night, and twice he had been snatched back. Far rather would he
+have died the soldier's death, gallantly, than live on to this
+humiliation and despair. A friendly bullet could have saved him many
+difficulties and much unhappiness. And why had he recovered from the
+fever? What an irony it was that Mary should claim gratitude for doing
+him the greatest possible disservice!</p>
+
+<p>"I can't help it," he cried; "I loathe her!"</p>
+
+<p>The strain upon him was becoming intolerable. James felt that he could
+not much longer conceal the anguish which was destroying him. But what
+was to be done? Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!</p>
+
+<p>James held his head in his hands, cursing his pitiful weakness. Why did
+he not realise, in his convalescence, that it was but a passing emotion
+which endeared Mary to him? He had been so anxious to love her, so eager
+to give happiness to all concerned, that he had welcomed the least sign
+of affection; but he knew what love was, and there could be no excuse.
+He should have had the courage to resist his gratitude.</p>
+
+<p>"Why should I sacrifice myself?" he cried. "My life is as valuable as
+theirs. Why should it be always I from whom sacrifice is demanded?"</p>
+
+<p>But it was no use rebelling. Mary's claims were too strong, and if he
+lived he must satisfy them. Yet some respite he could not do without;
+away from Primpton he might regain his calm. James hated London, but
+even that would be better than the horrible oppression, the constraint
+he was forced to put upon himself.</p>
+
+<p>He walked up and down the garden for a few minutes to calm down, and
+went in to his mother. He spoke as naturally as he could.</p>
+
+<p>"Father tells me that Mary's wedding-dress is nearly ready."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; it's a little early. But it's well to be on the safe side."</p>
+
+<p>"It's just occurred to me that I can hardly be married in rags. I think
+I had better go up to town for a few days to get some things."</p>
+
+<p>"Must you do that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think so. And there's a lot I want to do."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well, I daresay Mary won't mind, if you don't stay too long. But
+you must take care not to tire yourself."</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>XX</h3>
+
+
+<p>On his second visit to London, James was more fortunate, for immediately
+he got inside his club he found an old friend, a man named Barker, late
+adjutant of his regiment. Barker had a great deal to tell James of
+mutual acquaintance, and the pair dined together, going afterwards to a
+music-hall. James felt in better spirits than for some time past, and
+his good humour carried him well into the following day. In the
+afternoon, while he was reading a paper, Barker came up to him.</p>
+
+<p>"I say, old chap," he said, "I quite forgot to tell you yesterday. You
+remember Mrs. Wallace, don't you&mdash;Pritchard, of that ilk? She's in town,
+and in a passion with you. She says she's written to you twice, and
+you've taken no notice."</p>
+
+<p>"Really? I thought nobody was in town now."</p>
+
+<p>"She is; I forget why. She told me a long story, but I didn't listen, as
+I knew it would be mostly fibs. She's probably up to some mischief.
+Let's go round to her place and have tea, shall we?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hardly think I can," replied James, reddening. "I've got an
+engagement at four."</p>
+
+<p>"Rot&mdash;come on! She's just as stunning as ever. By Gad, you should have
+seen her in her weeds!"</p>
+
+<p>"In her weeds! What the devil do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't you know? P. W. was bowled over at the beginning of the
+war&mdash;after Colenso, I think."</p>
+
+<p>"By God!&mdash;I didn't know. I never saw!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well, I didn't know till I came home.... Let's stroll along, shall
+we? She's looking out for number two; but she wants money, so there's no
+danger for us!"</p>
+
+<p>James rose mechanically, and putting on his hat, accompanied Barker, all
+unwitting of the thunder-blow that his words had been.... Mrs. Wallace
+was at home. James went upstairs, forgetting everything but that the
+woman he loved was free&mdash;free! His heart beat so that he could scarcely
+breathe; he was afraid of betraying his agitation, and had to make a
+deliberate effort to contain himself.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Wallace gave a little cry of surprise on seeing James.... She had
+not changed. The black gown she wore, fashionable, but slightly
+fantastic, set off the dazzling olive clearness of her skin and the rich
+colour of her hair. James turned pale with the passion that consumed
+him; he could hardly speak.</p>
+
+<p>"You wretch!" she cried, her eyes sparkling, "I've written to you
+twice&mdash;once to congratulate you, and then to ask you to come and see
+me&mdash;and you took not the least notice."</p>
+
+<p>"Barker has just told me you wrote. I am so sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, well, I thought you might not receive the letters. I'll forgive
+you."</p>
+
+<p>She wore Indian anklets on her wrists and a barbaric chain about her
+neck, so that even in the London lodging-house she preserved a
+mysterious Oriental charm. In her movements there was a sinuous feline
+grace which was delightful, and yet rather terrifying. One fancied that
+she was not quite human, but some cruel animal turned into the likeness
+of a woman. Vague stories floated through the mind of Lamia, and the
+unhappy end of her lovers.</p>
+
+<p>The three of them began to talk, chattering of the old days in India, of
+the war. Mrs. Wallace bemoaned her fate in having to stay in town when
+all smart people had left. Barker told stories. James did not know how
+he joined in the flippant conversation; he wondered at his self-command
+in saying insignificant things, in laughing heartily, when his whole
+soul was in a turmoil. At length the adjutant went away, and James was
+left alone with Mrs. Wallace.</p>
+
+<p>"D'you wish me to go?" he asked. "You can turn me out if you do."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I should&mdash;without hesitation," she retorted, laughing; "but I'm
+bored to death, and I want you to amuse me."</p>
+
+<p>Strangely enough, James felt that the long absence had created no
+barrier between them. Thinking of Mrs. Wallace incessantly, sometimes
+against his will, sometimes with a fierce delight, holding with her
+imaginary conversations, he felt, on the contrary, that he knew her far
+more intimately than he had ever done. There seemed to be a link between
+them, as though something had passed which prevented them from ever
+again becoming strangers. James felt he had her confidence, and he was
+able to talk frankly as before, in his timidity, he had never ventured.
+He treated her with the loving friendliness with which he had been used
+to treat the imaginary creature of his dreams.</p>
+
+<p>"You haven't changed a bit," he said, looking at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you expect me to be haggard and wrinkled? I never let myself grow
+old. One only needs strength of mind to keep young indefinitely."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm surprised, because you're so exactly as I've thought of you."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you thought of me often?"</p>
+
+<p>The fire flashed to Jamie's eyes, and it was on his lips to break out
+passionately, telling her how he had lived constantly with her
+recollection, how she had been meat and drink to him, life, and breath,
+and soul; but he restrained himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Sometimes," he answered, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Wallace smiled, too.</p>
+
+<p>"I seem to remember that you vowed once to think of me always."</p>
+
+<p>"One vows all sorts of things." He hoped she could not hear the
+trembling in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"You're very cool, friend Jim&mdash;and much less shy than you used to be.
+You were a perfect monster of bashfulness, and your conscience was a
+most alarming animal. It used to frighten me out of my wits; I hope you
+keep it now under lock and key, like the beasts in the Zoo."</p>
+
+<p>James was telling himself that it was folly to remain, that he must go
+at once and never return. The recollection of Mary came back to him, in
+the straw hat and the soiled serge dress, sitting in the dining-room
+with his father and mother; she had brought her knitting so as not to
+waste a minute; and while they talked of him, her needles clicked
+rapidly to and fro. Mrs. Wallace was lying in a long chair, coiled up in
+a serpentine, characteristic attitude; every movement wafted to him the
+oppressive perfume she wore; the smile on her lips, the caress of her
+eyes, were maddening. He loved her more even than he had imagined; his
+love was a fury, blind and destroying. He repeated to himself that he
+must fly, but the heaviness in his limbs chained him to her side; he had
+no will, no strength; he was a reed, bending to every word she spoke and
+to every look. Her fascination was not human, the calm, voluptuous look
+of her eyes was too cruel; and she was poised like a serpent about to
+spring.</p>
+
+<p>At last, however, James was obliged to take his leave.</p>
+
+<p>"I've stayed an unconscionable time."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you? I've not noticed it."</p>
+
+<p>Did she care for him? He took her hand to say good-bye, and the pressure
+sent the blood racing through his veins. He remembered vividly the
+passionate embrace of their last farewell. He thought then that he
+should never see her again, and it was Fate which had carried him to her
+feet. Oh, how he longed now to take her in his arms and to cover her
+soft mouth with his kisses!</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing this evening?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you like to take me to the Carlton? You remember you promised."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that is good of you! Of course I should like it!"</p>
+
+<p>At last he could not hide the fire in his heart, and the simple words
+were said so vehemently that Mrs. Wallace looked up in surprise. She
+withdrew the hand which he was still holding.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. You may fetch me at a quarter to eight."</p>
+
+<p class="tb">After taking Mrs. Wallace home, James paced the streets for an hour in a
+turmoil of wild excitement. They had dined at the Carlton expensively,
+as was her wish, and then, driving to the Empire, James had taken a box.
+Through the evening he had scarcely known how to maintain his calm, how
+to prevent himself from telling her all that was in his heart. After the
+misery he had gone through, he snatched at happiness with eager grasp,
+determined to enjoy to the full every single moment of it. He threw all
+scruples to the wind. He was sick and tired of holding himself in; he
+had checked himself too long, and now, at all hazards, must let himself
+go. Bridle and curb now were of no avail. He neither could nor would
+suppress his passion, though it devoured him like a raging fire. He
+thought his conscientiousness absurd. Why could he not, like other men,
+take the brief joy of life? Why could he not gather the roses without
+caring whether they would quickly fade? "Let me eat, drink, and be
+merry," he cried, "for to-morrow I die!"</p>
+
+<p>It was Wednesday, and on the Saturday he had promised to return to
+Little Primpton. But he put aside all thought of that, except as an
+incentive to make the most of his time. He had wrestled with temptation
+and been overcome, and he gloried in his defeat. He would make no
+further effort to stifle his love. His strength had finally deserted
+him, and he had no will to protect himself; he would give himself over
+entirely to his passion, and the future might bring what it would.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a fool to torment myself!" he cried. "After all, what does anything
+matter but love?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Wallace was engaged for the afternoon of the next day, but she had
+invited him to dine with her.</p>
+
+<p>"They feed you abominably at my place," she said, "but I'll do my best.
+And we shall be able to talk."</p>
+
+<p>Until then he would not live; and all sorts of wild, mad thoughts ran
+through his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Is there a greater fool on earth than the virtuous prig?" he muttered,
+savagely.</p>
+
+<p>He could not sleep, but tossed from side to side, thinking ever of the
+soft hands and the red lips that he so ardently wished to kiss. In the
+morning he sent to Half Moon Street a huge basket of flowers.</p>
+
+<p class="tb">"It was good of you," said Mrs. Wallace, when he arrived, pointing to
+the roses scattered through the room. She wore three in her hair,
+trailing behind one ear in an exotic, charming fashion.</p>
+
+<p>"It's only you who could think of wearing them like that."</p>
+
+<p>"Do they make me look very barbaric?" She was flattered by the
+admiration in his eyes. "You certainly have improved since I saw you
+last."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, shall we stay here or go somewhere?" she asked after dinner, when
+they were smoking cigarettes.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us stay here."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Wallace began talking the old nonsense which, in days past, had
+delighted James; it enchanted him to hear her say, in the tone of voice
+he knew so well, just those things which he had a thousand times
+repeated to himself. He looked at her with a happy smile, his eyes fixed
+upon her, taking in every movement.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe you're listening to a word I'm saying!" she cried at
+last. "Why don't you answer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Go on. I like to see you talk. It's long since I've had the chance."</p>
+
+<p>"You spoke yesterday as though you hadn't missed me much."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't mean it. You knew I didn't mean it."</p>
+
+<p>She smiled mockingly.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought it doubtful. If it had been true, you could hardly have said
+anything so impolite."</p>
+
+<p>"I've thought of you always. That's why I feel I know you so much better
+now. I don't change. What I felt once, I feel always."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder what you mean by that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I mean that I love you as passionately as when last I saw you. Oh, I
+love you ten times more!"</p>
+
+<p>"And the girl with the bun and the strenuous look? You were engaged when
+I knew you last."</p>
+
+<p>James was silent for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to be married to her on the 10th of October," he said
+finally, in an expressionless voice.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't say that as if you were wildly enthusiastic."</p>
+
+<p>"Why did you remind me?" cried James. "I was so happy. Oh, I hate her!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then why on earth are you marrying her?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't help it; I must. You've brought it all back. How could you be
+so cruel! When I came back from the Cape, I broke the engagement off. I
+made her utterly miserable, and I took all the pleasure out of my poor
+father's life. I knew I'd done right; I knew that unless I loved her it
+was madness to marry; I felt even that it was unclean. Oh, you don't
+know how I've argued it all out with myself time after time! I was
+anxious to do right, and I felt such a cad. I can't escape from my
+bringing-up. You can't imagine what are the chains that bind us in
+England. We're wrapped from our infancy in the swaddling-clothes of
+prejudice, ignorance, and false ideas; and when we grow up, though we
+know they're all absurd and horrible, we can't escape from them; they've
+become part of our very flesh. Then I grew ill&mdash;I nearly died; and Mary
+nursed me devotedly. I don't know what came over me, I felt so ill and
+weak. I was grateful to her. The old self seized me again, and I was
+ashamed of what I'd done. I wanted to make them all happy. I asked her
+again to marry me, and she said she would. I thought I could love her,
+but I can't&mdash;I can't, God help me!"</p>
+
+<p>Jamie's passion was growing uncontrollable. He walked up and down the
+room, and then threw himself heavily on a chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I know it was weakness! I used to pride myself on my strength of
+mind, but I'm weak. I'm weaker than a woman. I'm a poor
+reed&mdash;vacillating, uncertain, purposeless. I don't know my own mind. I
+haven't the courage to act according to my convictions. I'm afraid to
+give pain. They all think I'm brave, but I'm simply a pitiful
+coward...."</p>
+
+<p>"I feel that Mary has entrapped me, and I hate her. I know she has good
+qualities&mdash;heaps of them&mdash;but I can't see them. I only know that the
+mere touch of her hand curdles my blood. She excites absolute physical
+repulsion in me; I can't help it. I know it's madness to marry her, but
+I can't do anything else. I daren't inflict a second time the
+humiliation and misery upon her, or the unhappiness upon my people."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Wallace now was serious.</p>
+
+<p>"And do you really care for anyone else?"</p>
+
+<p>He turned savagely upon her.</p>
+
+<p>"You know I do. You know I love you with all my heart and soul. You know
+I've loved you passionately from the first day I saw you. Didn't you
+feel, even when we were separated, that my love was inextinguishable?
+Didn't you feel it always with you? Oh, my dear, my dear, you must have
+known that death was too weak to touch my love! I tried to crush it,
+because neither you nor I was free. Your husband was my friend. I
+couldn't do anything blackguardly. I ran away from you. What a fool you
+must have thought me! And now I know that at last we were both free, I
+might have made you love me. I had my chance of happiness at last; what
+I'd longed for, cursing myself for treachery, had come to pass. But I
+never knew. In my weakness I surrendered my freedom. O God! what shall I
+do?"</p>
+
+<p>He hid his face in his hands and groaned with agony. Mrs. Wallace was
+silent for a while.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know if it will be any consolation for you," she said at last;
+"you're sure to know sooner or later, and I may as well tell you now.
+I'm engaged to be married."</p>
+
+<p>"What!" cried James, springing up. "It's not true; it's not true!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why not? Of course it's true!"</p>
+
+<p>"You can't&mdash;oh, my dearest, be kind to me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be silly, there's a good boy! You're going to be married yourself
+in a month, and you really can't expect me to remain single because you
+fancy you care for me. I shouldn't have told you, only I thought it
+would make things easier for you."</p>
+
+<p>"You never cared two straws for me! I knew that. You needn't throw it in
+my face."</p>
+
+<p>"After all, I was a married woman."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder how much you minded when you heard your husband was lying dead
+on the veldt?"</p>
+
+<p>"My dear boy, he wasn't; he died of fever at Durban&mdash;quite comfortably,
+in a bed."</p>
+
+<p>"Were you sorry?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I was! He was extremely satisfactory&mdash;and not at all
+exacting."</p>
+
+<p>James did not know why he asked the questions; they came to his lips
+unbidden. He was sick at heart, angry, contemptuous.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to marry a Mr. Bryant&mdash;but, of course, not immediately," she
+went on, occupied with her own thoughts, and pleased to talk of them.</p>
+
+<p>"What is he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing! He's a landed proprietor." She said this with a certain pride.</p>
+
+<p>James looked at her scornfully; his love all through had been mingled
+with contrary elements; and trying to subdue it, he had often insisted
+upon the woman's vulgarity, and lack of taste, and snobbishness. He
+thought bitterly now that the daughter of the Portuguese and of the
+riding-master had done very well for herself.</p>
+
+<p>"Really, I think you're awfully unreasonable," she said. "You might make
+yourself pleasant."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't," he said, gravely. "Let me go away. You don't know what I've
+felt for you. In my madness, I fancied that you must realise my love; I
+thought even that you might care for me a little in return."</p>
+
+<p>"You're quite the nicest boy I've ever known. I like you immensely."</p>
+
+<p>"But you like the landed proprietor better. You're very wise. He can
+marry you. Good-bye!"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want you to think I'm horrid," she said, going up to him and
+taking his arm. It was an instinct with her to caress people and make
+them fond of her. "After all, it's not my fault."</p>
+
+<p>"Have I blamed you? I'm sorry; I had no right to."</p>
+
+<p>"What are you going to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know&mdash;I can always shoot myself if things get unendurable.
+Thank God, there's always that refuge!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I hope you won't do anything silly!"</p>
+
+<p>"It would be unlike me," James murmured, grimly. "I'm so dreadfully
+prosaic and matter-of-fact. Good-bye!"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Wallace was really sorry for James, and she took his hand
+affectionately. She always thought it cost so little to be amiable.</p>
+
+<p>"We may never meet again," she said; "but we shall still be friends,
+Jim."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to say that you'll be a sister to me, as Mary told the
+curate?"</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you kiss me before you go?"</p>
+
+<p>James shook his head, not trusting himself to answer. The light in his
+life had all gone; the ray of sunshine was hidden; the heavy clouds had
+closed in, and all the rest was darkness. But he tried to smile at Mrs.
+Wallace as he touched her hand; he hardly dared look at her again,
+knowing from old experience how every incident and every detail of her
+person would rise tormentingly before his recollection. But at last he
+pulled himself together.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry I've made a fool of myself," he said, quietly. "I hope you'll
+be very happy. Please forget all I've said to you. It was only nonsense.
+Good-bye! I'll send you a bit of my wedding-cake."</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a>XXI</h3>
+
+
+<p>James was again in Little Primpton, ill at ease and unhappy. The scene
+with Mrs. Wallace had broken his spirit, and he was listless now,
+indifferent to what happened; the world had lost its colour and the sun
+its light. In his quieter moments he had known that it was impossible
+for her to care anything about him; he understood her character fairly
+well, and realised that he had been only a toy, a pastime to a woman who
+needed admiration as the breath of her nostrils. But notwithstanding,
+some inner voice had whispered constantly that his love could not be
+altogether in vain; it seemed strong enough to travel the infinite
+distance to her heart and awaken at least a kindly feeling. He was
+humble, and wanted very little. Sometimes he had even felt sure that he
+was loved. The truth rent his heart, and filled it with bitterness; the
+woman who was his whole being had forgotten him, and the woman who loved
+him he hated.... He tried to read, striving to forget; but his trouble
+overpowered him, and he could think of nothing but the future, dreadful
+and inevitable. The days passed slowly, monotonously; and as each night
+came he shuddered at the thought that time was flying. He was drifting
+on without hope, tortured and uncertain.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm so weak," he cried; "I'm so weak!"</p>
+
+<p>He knew very well what he should do if he were strong of will. A firm
+man in his place would cut the knot brutally&mdash;a letter to Mary, a letter
+to his people, and flight. After all, why should he sacrifice his life
+for the sake of others? The catastrophe was only partly his fault; it
+was unreasonable that he alone should suffer.</p>
+
+<p>If his Colonel came to hear of the circumstance, and disapproving,
+questioned him, he could send in his papers. James was bored intensely
+by the dull routine of regimental life in time of peace; it was a
+question of performing day after day the same rather unnecessary duties,
+seeing the same people, listening to the same chatter, the same jokes,
+the same chaff. And added to the incurable dulness of the mess was the
+irksome feeling of being merely an overgrown schoolboy at the beck and
+call of every incompetent and foolish senior. Life was too short to
+waste in such solemn trifling, masquerading in a ridiculous costume
+which had to be left at home when any work was to be done. But he was
+young, with the world before him; there were many careers free to the
+man who had no fear of death. Africa opened her dusky arms to the
+adventurer, ruthless and desperate; the world was so large and manifold,
+there was ample scope for all his longing. If there were difficulties,
+he could overcome them; perils would add salt to the attempt, freedom
+would be like strong wine. Ah, that was what he desired,
+freedom&mdash;freedom to feel that he was his own master; that he was not
+enchained by the love and hate of others, by the ties of convention and
+of habit. Every bond was tedious. He had nothing to lose, and everything
+to win. But just those ties which every man may divide of his own free
+will are the most oppressive; they are unfelt, unseen, till suddenly
+they burn the wrists like fetters of fire, and the poor wretch who wears
+them has no power to help himself.</p>
+
+<p>James knew he had not strength for this fearless disregard of others; he
+dared not face the pain he would cause. He was acting like a fool; his
+kindness was only cowardly. But to be cruel required more courage than
+he possessed. If he went away, his anguish would never cease; his vivid
+imagination would keep before his mind's eye the humiliation of Mary,
+the unhappiness of his people. He pictured the consternation and the
+horror when they discovered what he had done. At first they would refuse
+to believe that he was capable of acting in so blackguardly a way; they
+would think it a joke, or that he was mad. And then the shame when they
+realised the truth! How could he make such a return for all the
+affection and the gentleness be had received? His father, whom he loved
+devotedly, would be utterly crushed.</p>
+
+<p>"It would kill him," muttered James.</p>
+
+<p>And then he thought of his poor mother, affectionate and kind, but
+capable of hating him if he acted contrary to her code of honour. Her
+immaculate virtue made her very hard; she exacted the highest from
+herself, and demanded no less from others. James remembered in his
+boyhood how she punished his petty crimes by refusing to speak to him,
+going about in cold and angry silence; he had never forgotten the icy
+indignation of her face when once she had caught him lying. Oh, these
+good people, how pitiless they can be!</p>
+
+<p>He would never have courage to confront the unknown dangers of a new
+life, unloved, unknown, unfriended. He was too merciful; his heart bled
+at the pain of others, he was constantly afraid of soiling his hands. It
+required a more unscrupulous man than he to cut all ties, and push out
+into the world with no weapons but intelligence and a ruthless heart.
+Above all, he dreaded his remorse. He knew that he would brood over what
+he had done till it attained the proportions of a monomania; his
+conscience would never give him peace. So long as he lived, the claims
+of Mary would call to him, and in the furthermost parts of the earth he
+would see her silent agony. James knew himself too well.</p>
+
+<p>And the only solution was that which, in a moment of passionate
+bitterness, had come thoughtlessly to his lips:</p>
+
+<p>"I can always shoot myself."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you won't do anything silly," Mrs. Wallace had answered.</p>
+
+<p>It would be silly. After all, one has only one life. But sometimes one
+has to do silly things.</p>
+
+<p class="tb">The whim seized James to visit the Larchers, and one day he set out for
+Ashford, near which they lived.... He was very modest about his attempt
+to save their boy, and told himself that such courage as it required was
+purely instinctive. He had gone back without realising in the least that
+there was any danger. Seeing young Larcher wounded and helpless, it had
+seemed the obvious thing to get him to a place of safety. In the heat of
+action fellows were constantly doing reckless things. Everyone had a
+sort of idea that he, at least, would not be hit; and James, by no means
+oppressed with his own heroism, knew that courageous deeds without
+number were performed and passed unseen. It was a mere chance that the
+incident in which he took part was noticed.</p>
+
+<p>Again, he had from the beginning an absolute conviction that his
+interference was nothing less than disastrous. Probably the Boer
+sharpshooters would have let alone the wounded man, and afterwards their
+doctors would have picked him up and properly attended to him.</p>
+
+<p>James could not forget that it was in his very arms that Larcher had
+been killed, and he repeated: "If I had minded my own business, he might
+have been alive to this day." It occurred to him also that with his
+experience he was much more useful than the callow, ignorant boy, so
+that to risk his more valuable life to save the other's, from the point
+of view of the general good, was foolish rather than praiseworthy. But
+it appealed to his sense of irony to receive the honour which he was so
+little conscious of deserving.</p>
+
+<p>The Larchers had been anxious to meet James, and he was curious to know
+what they were like. There was at the back of his mind also a desire to
+see how they conducted themselves, whether they were still prostrate
+with grief or reconciled to the inevitable. Reggie had been an only
+son&mdash;just as he was. James sent no message, but arrived unexpectedly,
+and found that they lived some way from the station, in a new, red-brick
+villa. As he walked to the front door, he saw people playing tennis at
+the side of the house.</p>
+
+<p>He asked if Mrs. Larcher was at home, and, being shown into the
+drawing-room the lady came to him from the tennis-lawn. He explained who
+he was.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, I know quite well," she said. "I saw your portrait in the
+illustrated papers."</p>
+
+<p>She shook hands cordially, but James fancied she tried to conceal a
+slight look of annoyance. He saw his visit was inopportune.</p>
+
+<p>"We're having a little tennis-party," she said, "It seems a pity to
+waste the fine weather, doesn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>A shout of laughter came from the lawn, and a number of voices were
+heard talking loudly. Mrs. Larcher glanced towards them uneasily; she
+felt that James would expect them to be deeply mourning for the dead
+son, and it was a little incongruous that on his first visit he should
+find the whole family so boisterously gay.</p>
+
+<p>"Shall we go out to them?" said Mrs. Larcher. "We're just going to have
+tea, and I'm sure you must be dying for some. If you'd let us know you
+were coming we should have sent to meet you."</p>
+
+<p>James had divined that if he came at a fixed hour they would all have
+tuned their minds to a certain key, and he would see nothing of their
+natural state.</p>
+
+<p>They went to the lawn, and James was introduced to a pair of buxom,
+healthy-looking girls, panting a little after their violent exercise.
+They were dressed in white, in a rather masculine fashion, and the only
+sign of mourning was the black tie that each wore in a sailor's knot.
+They shook hands vigorously (it was a family trait), and then seemed at
+a loss for conversation; James, as was his way, did not help them, and
+they plunged at last into a discussion about the weather and the
+dustiness of the road from Ashford to their house.</p>
+
+<p>Presently a loose-limbed young man strolled up, and was presented to
+James. He appeared on friendly terms with the two girls, who called him
+Bobbikins.</p>
+
+<p>"How long have you been back?" he asked. "I was out in the Imperial
+Yeomanry&mdash;only I got fever and had to come home."</p>
+
+<p>James stiffened himself a little, with the instinctive dislike of the
+regular for the volunteer.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes! Did you go as a trooper?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; and pretty rough it was, I can tell you."</p>
+
+<p>He began to talk of his experience in a resonant voice, apparently
+well-pleased with himself, while the red-faced girls looked at him
+admiringly. James wondered whether the youth intended to marry them
+both.</p>
+
+<p>The conversation was broken by the appearance of Mr. Larcher, a
+rosy-cheeked and be-whiskered man, dapper and suave. He had been picking
+flowers, and handed a bouquet to one of his guests. James fancied he was
+a prosperous merchant, who had retired and set up as a country
+gentleman; but if he was the least polished of the family, he was also
+the most simple. He greeted the visitor very heartily, and offered to
+take him over his new conservatory.</p>
+
+<p>"My husband takes everyone to the new conservatory," said Mrs. Larcher,
+laughing apologetically.</p>
+
+<p>"It's the biggest round Ashford," explained the worthy man.</p>
+
+<p>James, thinking he wished to talk of his son, consented, and as they
+walked away, Mr. Larcher pointed out his fruit trees, his pigeons. He
+was a fancier, said he, and attended to the birds entirely himself; then
+in the conservatory, made James admire his orchids and the luxuriance of
+his maidenhair.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose these sort of things grow in the open air at the Cape?" he
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I believe everything grows there."</p>
+
+<p>Of his son he said absolutely nothing, and presently they rejoined the
+others. The Larchers were evidently estimable persons, healthy-minded
+and normal, but a little common. James asked himself why they had
+invited him if they wished to hear nothing of their boy's tragic death.
+Could they be so anxious to forget him that every reference was
+distasteful? He wondered how Reggie had managed to grow up so simple,
+frank, and charming amid these surroundings. There was a certain
+pretentiousness about his people which caused them to escape complete
+vulgarity only by a hair's-breadth. But they appeared anxious to make
+much of James, and in his absence had explained who he was to the
+remaining visitors, and these beheld him now with an awe which the hero
+found rather comic.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Larcher invited him to play tennis, and when he declined seemed
+hardly to know what to do with him. Once when her younger daughter
+laughed more loudly than usual at the very pointed chaff of the Imperial
+Yeoman, she slightly frowned at her, with a scarcely perceptible but
+significant glance in Jamie's direction. To her relief, however, the
+conversation became general, and James found himself talking with Miss
+Larcher of the cricket week at Canterbury.</p>
+
+<p>After all, he could not be surprised at the family's general happiness.
+Six months had passed since Reggie's death, and they could not remain
+in perpetual mourning. It was very natural that the living should forget
+the dead, otherwise life would be too horrible; and it was possibly only
+the Larchers' nature to laugh and to talk more loudly than most people.
+James saw that it was a united, affectionate household, homely and kind,
+cursed with no particular depth of feeling; and if they had not resigned
+themselves to the boy's death, they were doing their best to forget that
+he had ever lived. It was obviously the best thing, and it would be
+cruel&mdash;too cruel&mdash;to expect people never to regain their cheerfulness.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I must be off," said James, after a while; "the trains run so
+awkwardly to Tunbridge Wells."</p>
+
+<p>They made polite efforts to detain him, but James fancied they were not
+sorry for him to go.</p>
+
+<p>"You must come and see us another day when we're alone," said Mrs.
+Larcher. "We want to have a long talk with you."</p>
+
+<p>"It's very kind of you to ask me," he replied, not committing himself.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Larcher accompanied him back to the drawing-room, followed by her
+husband.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you might like a photograph of Reggie," she said.</p>
+
+<p>This was her first mention of the dead son, and her voice neither shook
+nor had in it any unwonted expression.</p>
+
+<p>"I should like it very much."</p>
+
+<p>It was on Jamie's tongue to say how fond he had been of the boy, and how
+he regretted his sad end; but he restrained himself, thinking if the
+wounds of grief were closed, it was cruel and unnecessary to reopen
+them.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Larcher found the photograph and gave it to James. Her husband
+stood by, saying nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"I think that's the best we have of him."</p>
+
+<p>She shook hands, and then evidently nerved herself to say something
+further.</p>
+
+<p>"We're very grateful to you, Captain Parsons, for what you did. And
+we're glad they gave you the Victoria Cross."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you didn't bring it to-day?" inquired Mr. Larcher.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid not."</p>
+
+<p>They showed him out of the front door.</p>
+
+<p>"Mind you come and see us again. But let us know beforehand, if you
+possibly can."</p>
+
+<p class="tb">Shortly afterwards James received from the Larchers a golden
+cigarette-case, with a Victoria Cross in diamonds on one side and an
+inscription on the other. It was much too magnificent for use,
+evidently expensive, and not in very good taste.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder whether they take that as equal in value to their son?" said
+James.</p>
+
+<p>Mary was rather dazzled.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it beautiful!" she cried, "Of course, it's too valuable to use;
+but it'll do to put in our drawing-room."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think it should be kept under a glass case?" asked James,
+with his grave smile.</p>
+
+<p>"It'll get so dirty if we leave it out, won't it?" replied Mary,
+seriously.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish there were no inscription. It won't fetch so much if we get
+hard-up and have to pop our jewels."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, James," cried Mary, shocked, "you surely wouldn't do a thing like
+that!"</p>
+
+<p>James was pleased to have seen the Larchers. It satisfied and relieved
+him to know that human sorrow was not beyond human endurance: as the
+greatest of their gifts, the gods have vouchsafed to man a happy
+forgetfulness.</p>
+
+<p>In six months the boy's family were able to give parties, to laugh and
+jest as if they had suffered no loss at all; and the thought of this
+cleared his way a little. If the worst came to the worst&mdash;and that
+desperate step of which he had spoken seemed his only refuge&mdash;he could
+take it with less apprehension. Pain to those he loved was inevitable,
+but it would not last very long; and his death would trouble them far
+less than his dishonour.</p>
+
+<p>Time was pressing, and James still hesitated, hoping distractedly for
+some unforeseen occurrence that would at least delay the marriage. The
+House of Death was dark and terrible, and he could not walk rashly to
+its dreadful gates: something would surely happen! He wanted time to
+think&mdash;time to see whether there was really no escape. How horrible it
+was that one could know nothing for certain! He was torn and rent by his
+indecision.</p>
+
+<p>Major Forsyth had been put off by several duchesses, and was driven to
+spend a few economical weeks at Little Primpton; he announced that since
+Jamie's wedding was so near he would stay till it was over. Finding also
+that his nephew had not thought of a best man, he offered himself; he
+had acted as such many times&mdash;at the most genteel functions; and with a
+pleasant confusion of metaphor, assured James that he knew the ropes
+right down to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Three weeks to-day, my boy!" he said heartily to James one morning, on
+coming down to breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it?" replied James.</p>
+
+<p>"Getting excited?"</p>
+
+<p>"Wildly!"</p>
+
+<p>"Upon my word, Jamie, you're the coolest lover I've ever seen. Why, I've
+hardly known how to keep in some of the fellows I've been best man to."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm feeling a bit seedy to-day, Uncle William."</p>
+
+<p>James thanked his stars that ill-health was deemed sufficient excuse for
+all his moodiness. Mary spared him the rounds among her sick and needy,
+whom, notwithstanding the approaching event, she would on no account
+neglect. She told Uncle William he was not to worry her lover, but leave
+him quietly with his books; and no one interfered when he took long,
+solitary walks in the country. Jamie's reading now was a pretence; his
+brain was too confused, he was too harassed and uncertain to understand
+a word; and he spent his time face to face with the eternal problem,
+trying to see a way out, when before him was an impassable wall, still
+hoping blindly that something would happen, some catastrophe which
+should finish at once all his perplexities, and everything else
+besides.</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a>XXII</h3>
+
+
+<p>In solitary walks James had found his only consolation. He knew even in
+that populous district unfrequented parts where he could wander without
+fear of interruption. Among the trees and the flowers, in the broad
+meadows, he forgot himself; and, his senses sharpened by long absence,
+he learnt for the first time the exquisite charm of English country. He
+loved the spring, with its yellow, countless buttercups, spread over the
+green fields like a cloth of gold, whereon might fitly walk the angels
+of Messer Perugino. The colours were so delicate that one could not
+believe it possible for paints and paint-brush to reproduce them; the
+atmosphere visibly surrounded things, softening their outlines.
+Sometimes from a hill higher than the rest James looked down at the
+plain, bathed in golden sunlight. The fields of corn, the fields of
+clover, the roads and the rivulets, formed themselves in that flood of
+light into an harmonious pattern, luminous and ethereal. A pleasant
+reverie filled his mind, unanalysable, a waking dream of
+half-voluptuous sensation.</p>
+
+<p>On the other side of the common, James knew a wood of tall fir trees,
+dark and ragged, their sombre green veiled in a silvery mist, as though,
+like a chill vapour, the hoar-frost of a hundred winters still lingered
+among their branches. At the edge of the hill, up which they climbed in
+serried hundreds, stood here and there an oak tree, just bursting into
+leaf, clothed with its new-born verdure, like the bride of the young
+god, Spring. And the ever-lasting youth of the oak trees contrasted
+wonderfully with the undying age of the firs. Then later, in the height
+of the summer, James found the pine wood cool and silent, fitting his
+humour. It was like the forest of life, the grey and sombre labyrinth
+where wandered the poet of Hell and Death. The tall trees rose straight
+and slender, like the barren masts of sailing ships; the gentle aromatic
+odour, the light subdued; the purple mist, so faint as to be scarcely
+discernible, a mere tinge of warmth in the day&mdash;all gave him an
+exquisite sense of rest. Here he could forget his trouble, and give
+himself over to the love which seemed his real life; here the
+recollection of Mrs. Wallace gained flesh and blood, seeming so real
+that he almost stretched out his arms to seize her.... His footfall on
+the brown needles was noiseless, and the tread was soft and easy; the
+odours filled him like an Eastern drug with drowsy intoxication.</p>
+
+<p>But all that now was gone. When, unbidden, the well-known laugh rang
+again in his ears, or he felt on his hands the touch of the slender
+fingers, James turned away with a gesture of distaste. Now Mrs. Wallace
+brought him only bitterness, and he tortured himself insanely trying to
+forget her.... With tenfold force the sensation returned which had so
+terribly oppressed him before his illness; he felt that Nature had
+become intolerably monotonous; the circumscribed, prim country was
+horrible. On every inch of it the hand of man was apparent. It was a
+prison, and his hands and feet were chained with heavy iron.... The
+dark, immovable clouds were piled upon one another in giant masses&mdash;so
+distinct and sharply cut, so rounded, that one almost saw the impressure
+of the fingers of some Titanic sculptor; and they hung low down,
+overwhelming, so that James could scarcely breathe. The sombre elms were
+too well-ordered, the meadows too carefully tended. All round, the hills
+were dark and drear; and that very fertility, that fat Kentish
+luxuriance, added to the oppression. It was a task impossible to escape
+from that iron circle. All power of flight abandoned him. Oh! he loathed
+it!</p>
+
+<p>The past centuries of people, living in a certain way, with certain
+standards, influenced by certain emotions, were too strong for him.
+James was like a foolish bird&mdash;a bird born in a cage, without power to
+attain its freedom. His lust for a free life was futile; he acknowledged
+with cruel self-contempt that he was weaker than a woman&mdash;ineffectual.
+He could not lead the life of his little circle, purposeless and untrue;
+and yet he had not power to lead a life of his own. Uncertain,
+vacillating, torn between the old and the new, his reason led him; his
+conscience drew him back. But the ties of his birth and ancestry were
+too strong; he had not the energy even of the poor tramp, who carries
+with him his whole fortune, and leaves in the lap of the gods the
+uncertain future. James envied with all his heart the beggar boy,
+wandering homeless and penniless, but free. He, at least, had not these
+inhuman fetters which it was death to suffer and death to cast off; he,
+indeed, could make the world his servant. Freedom, freedom! If one were
+only unconscious of captivity, what would it matter? It is the knowledge
+that kills. And James walked again by the neat, iron railing which
+enclosed the fields, his head aching with the rigidity and decorum,
+wishing vainly for just one piece of barren, unkept land to remind him
+that all the world was not a prison.</p>
+
+<p>Already the autumn had come. The rich, mouldering colours were like an
+air melancholy with the approach of inevitable death; but in those
+passionate tints, in the red and gold of the apples, in the many tones
+of the first-fallen leaves, there was still something which forbade one
+to forget that in the death and decay of Nature there was always the
+beginning of other life. Yet to James the autumn heralded death, with no
+consoling afterthought. He had nothing to live for since he knew that
+Mrs. Wallace could never love him. His love for her had borne him up and
+sustained him; but now it was hateful and despicable. After all, his
+life was his own to do what he liked with; the love of others had no
+right to claim his self-respect. If he had duties to them, he had duties
+to himself also; and more vehemently than ever James felt that such a
+union as was before him could only be a degradation. He repeated with
+new emotion that marriage without love was prostitution. If death was
+the only way in which he could keep clean that body ignorantly despised,
+why, he was not afraid of death! He had seen it too often for the
+thought to excite alarm. It was but a common, mechanical process,
+quickly finished, and not more painful than could be borne. The flesh is
+all which is certainly immortal; the dissolution of consciousness is the
+signal of new birth. Out of corruption springs fresh life, like the
+roses from a Roman tomb; and the body, one with the earth, pursues the
+eternal round.</p>
+
+<p>But one day James told himself impatiently that all these thoughts were
+mad and foolish; he could only have them because he was still out of
+health. Life, after all, was the most precious thing in the world. It
+was absurd to throw it away like a broken toy. He rebelled against the
+fate which seemed forcing itself upon him. He determined to make the
+effort and, come what might, break the hateful bonds. It only required a
+little courage, a little strength of mind. If others suffered, he had
+suffered too. The sacrifice they demanded was too great.... But when he
+returned to Primpton House, the inevitability of it all forced itself
+once again upon him. He shrugged his shoulders despairingly; it was no
+good.</p>
+
+<p>The whole atmosphere oppressed him so that he felt powerless; some
+hidden influence surrounded James, sucking from his blood, as it were,
+all manliness, dulling his brain. He became a mere puppet, acting in
+accordance to principles that were not his own, automatic, will-less.
+His father sat, as ever, in the dining-room by the fire, for only in the
+warmest weather could he do without artificial heat, and he read the
+paper, sometimes aloud, making little comments. His mother, at the
+table, on a stiff-backed chair, was knitting&mdash;everlastingly knitting.
+Outwardly there was in them a placid content, and a gentleness which
+made them seem pliant as wax; but really they were iron. James knew at
+last how pitiless was their love, how inhumanly cruel their intolerance;
+and of the two his father seemed more implacable, more horribly
+relentless. His mother's anger was bearable, but the Colonel's very
+weakness was a deadly weapon. His despair, his dumb sorrow, his entire
+dependence on the forbearance of others, were more tyrannical than the
+most despotic power. James was indeed a bird beating himself against the
+imprisoning cage; and its bars were loving-kindness and trust, tears,
+silent distress, bitter disillusion, and old age.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Mary?" asked James.</p>
+
+<p>"She's in the garden, walking with Uncle William."</p>
+
+<p>"How well they get on together," said the Colonel, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>James looked at his father, and thought he had never seen him so old and
+feeble. His hands were almost transparent; his thin white hair, his
+bowed shoulders, gave an impression of utter weakness.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you very glad the wedding is so near, father?" asked James, placing
+his hand gently on the old man's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"I should think I was."</p>
+
+<p>"You want to get rid of me so badly?"</p>
+
+<p>"'A man shall leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his
+wife; and they shall be one flesh.' We shall have to do without you."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder whether you are fonder of Mary than of me?"</p>
+
+<p>The Colonel did not answer, but Mrs. Parsons laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"My impression is that your father has grown so devoted to Mary that he
+hardly thinks you worthy of her."</p>
+
+<p>"Really? And yet you want me to marry her, don't you, daddy?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's the wish of my heart."</p>
+
+<p>"Were you very wretched when our engagement was broken off?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't talk of it! Now it's all settled, Jamie, I can tell you that I'd
+sooner see you dead at my feet than that you should break your word to
+Mary."</p>
+
+<p>James laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"And you, mother?" he asked, lightly.</p>
+
+<p>She did not answer, but looked at him earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>"What, you too? Would you rather see me dead than not married to Mary?
+What a bloodthirsty pair you are!"</p>
+
+<p>James, laughing, spoke so gaily, it never dawned on them that his words
+meant more than was obvious; and yet he felt that they, loving but
+implacable, had signed his death-warrant. With smiling faces they had
+thrown open the portals of that House, and he, smiling, was ready to
+enter.</p>
+
+<p>Mary at that moment came in, followed by Uncle William.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Jamie, there you are!" she cried, in that hard, metallic voice
+which to James betrayed so obviously the meanness of her spirit and her
+self-complacency. "Where on earth have you been?"</p>
+
+<p>She stood by the table, straight, uncompromising, self-reliant; by her
+immaculate virtue, by the strength of her narrow will, she completely
+domineered the others. She felt herself capable of managing them all,
+and, in fact, had been giving Uncle William a friendly little lecture
+upon some action of which she disapproved. Mary had left off her summer
+things and wore again the plain serge skirt, and because it was rainy,
+the battered straw hat of the preceding winter. She was using up her old
+things, and having got all possible wear out of them, intended on the
+day before her marriage generously to distribute them among the poor.</p>
+
+<p>"Is my face very red?" she asked. "There's a lot of wind to-day."</p>
+
+<p>To James she had never seemed more unfeminine; that physical repulsion
+which at first had terrified him now was grown into an ungovernable
+hate. Everything Mary did irritated and exasperated him; he wondered she
+did not see the hatred in his eyes as he looked at her, answering her
+question.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no," he said to himself, "I would rather shoot myself than marry
+you!"</p>
+
+<p>His dislike was unreasonable, but he could not help it; and the devotion
+of his parents made him detest her all the more; he could not imagine
+what they saw in her. With hostile glance he watched her movements as
+she took off her hat and arranged her hair, grimly drawn back and
+excessively neat; she fetched her knitting from Mrs. Parsons's
+work-basket and sat down. All her actions had in them an insufferable
+air of patronage, and she seemed more than usually pleased with herself.
+James had an insane desire to hurt her, to ruffle that
+self-satisfaction; and he wanted to say something that should wound her
+to the quick. And all the time he laughed and jested as though he were
+in the highest spirits.</p>
+
+<p>"And what were you doing this morning, Mary?" asked Colonel Parsons.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I biked in to Tunbridge Wells with Mr. Dryland to play golf. He
+plays a rattling good game."</p>
+
+<p>"Did he beat you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, no," she answered, modestly. "It so happened that I beat him. But
+he took his thrashing remarkably well&mdash;some men get so angry when
+they're beaten by a girl."</p>
+
+<p>"The curate has many virtues," said James.</p>
+
+<p>"He was talking about you, Jamie. He said he thought you disliked him;
+but I told him I was certain you didn't. He's really such a good man,
+one can't help liking him. He said he'd like to teach you golf."</p>
+
+<p>"And is he going to?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not. I mean to do that myself."</p>
+
+<p>"There are many things you want to teach me, Mary. You'll have your
+hands full."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, by the way, father told me to remind you and Uncle William that you
+were shooting with him the day after to-morrow. You're to fetch him at
+ten."</p>
+
+<p>"I hadn't forgotten," replied James. "Uncle William, we shall have to
+clean our guns to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>James had come to a decision at last, and meant to waste no time;
+indeed, there was none to waste. And to remind him how near was the date
+fixed for the wedding were the preparations almost complete. One or two
+presents had already arrived. With all his heart he thanked his father
+and mother for having made the way easier for him. He thought what he
+was about to do the kindest thing both to them and to Mary. Under no
+circumstances could he marry her; that would be adding a greater lie to
+those which he had already been forced into, and the misery was more
+than he could bear. But his death was the only other way of satisfying
+her undoubted claims. He had little doubt that in six months he would be
+as well forgotten as poor Reggie Larcher, and he did not care; he was
+sick of the whole business, and wanted the quiet of death. His love for
+Mrs. Wallace would never give him peace upon earth; it was utterly
+futile, and yet unconquerable.</p>
+
+<p>James saw his opportunity in Colonel Clibborn's invitation to shoot; he
+was most anxious to make the affair seem accidental, and that, in
+cleaning his gun, was easy. He had been wounded before and knew that the
+pain was not very great. He had, therefore, nothing to fear.</p>
+
+<p>Now at last he regained his spirits. He did not read or walk, but spent
+the day talking with his father; he wished the last impression he would
+leave to be as charming as possible, and took great pains to appear at
+his best.</p>
+
+<p>He slept well that night, and in the morning dressed himself with
+unusual care. At Primpton House they breakfasted at eight, and
+afterwards James smoked his pipe, reading the newspaper. He was a little
+astonished at his calm, for doubt no longer assailed him, and the
+indecision which paralysed all his faculties had disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the beginning of my freedom," he thought. All human interests had
+abandoned him, except a vague sensation of amusement. He saw the humour
+of the comedy he was acting, and dispassionately approved himself,
+because he did not give way to histrionics.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Uncle William," he said, at last, "what d'you say to setting to
+work on our guns?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm always ready for everything," said Major Forsyth.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on, then."</p>
+
+<p>They went into what they called the harness-room, and James began
+carefully to clean his gun.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I'll take my coat off," he said; "I can work better without."</p>
+
+<p>The gun had not been used for several months, and James had a good deal
+to do. He leant over and rubbed a little rust off the lock.</p>
+
+<p>"Upon my word," said Uncle William, "I've never seen anyone handle a gun
+so carelessly as you. D'you call yourself a soldier?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am a bit slack," replied James, laughing. "People are always telling
+me that."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, take care, for goodness' sake! It may be loaded."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, there's no danger. It's not loaded, and besides, it's locked."</p>
+
+<p>"Still, you oughtn't to hold it like that."</p>
+
+<p>"It would be rather comic if I killed myself accidentally. I wonder what
+Mary would say?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you've escaped death so often by the skin of your teeth, I think
+you're pretty safe from everything but old age."</p>
+
+<p>Presently James turned to his uncle.</p>
+
+<p>"I say, this is rotten oil. I wish we could get some fresh."</p>
+
+<p>"I was just thinking that."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you're a pal of the cook. Go and ask her for some, there's a good
+chap."</p>
+
+<p>"She'll do anything for me," said Major Forsyth, with a self-satisfied
+smile. It was his opinion that no woman, countess or scullery-maid,
+could resist his fascinations; and taking the cup, he trotted off.</p>
+
+<p>James immediately went to the cupboard and took out a cartridge. He
+slipped it in, rested the butt on the ground, pointed the barrel to his
+heart, and&mdash;fired!</p>
+
+
+
+<h3><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE"></a>EPILOGUE</h3>
+
+
+<p>A letter from Mrs. Clibborn to General Sir Charles Clow, K.C.B., 8
+Gladhorn Terrace, Bath:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Charles</span>,&mdash;I am so glad to hear you are settled in your new
+house in Bath, and it is <i>most</i> kind to ask us down. I am devoted
+to Bath; one meets such <i>nice</i> people there, and all one's friends
+whom one knew centuries ago. It is such a comfort to see how
+fearfully old they're looking! I don't know whether we can manage
+to accept your kind invitation, but I must say I should be glad of
+a change after the truly <i>awful</i> things that have happened here. I
+have been dreadfully upset all the winter, and have had several
+touches of rheumatism, which is a thing I never suffered from
+before.</p>
+
+<p>"I wrote and told you of the sudden and <i>mysterious</i> death of poor
+James Parsons, a fortnight before he was going to marry my dear
+Mary. He shot himself accidentally while cleaning a gun&mdash;that is to
+say, every one <i>thinks</i> it was an accident. But I am certain it
+was nothing of the kind. Ever since the dreadful thing
+happened&mdash;six months ago&mdash;it has been on my conscience, and I
+assure you that the whole time I have not slept a wink. My
+sufferings have been <i>horrible</i>! You will be surprised at the
+change in me; I am beginning to look like an <i>old</i> woman. I tell
+you this in strict confidence. <i>I believe he committed suicide.</i> He
+confessed that he loved me, Charles. Of course, I told him I was
+old enough to be his mother; but love is blind. When I think of the
+tragic end of poor Algy Turner, who poisoned himself in India for
+my sake, I don't know how I shall ever forgive myself. I never gave
+James the least encouragement, and when he said that he loved me, I
+was so taken aback that I <i>nearly fainted</i>. I am convinced that he
+shot himself rather than marry a woman he did not love, and what is
+more, <i>my</i> daughter. You can imagine my feelings! I have taken care
+not to breathe a word of this to Reginald, whose gout is making him
+more irritable every day, or to anyone else. So no one suspects the
+truth.</p>
+
+<p>"But I shall never get over it. I could not bear to think of poor
+Algy Turner, and now I have on my head as well the blood of James
+Parsons. They were dear boys, both of them. I think I am the only
+one who is really sorry for him. If it had been my son who was
+killed I should either have gone <i>raving mad</i> or had hysterics for
+a week; but Mrs. Parsons merely said: 'The Lord has given, and the
+Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.' I cannot
+help thinking it was rather profane, and <i>most</i> unfeeling. <i>I</i> was
+dreadfully upset, and Mary had to sit up with me for several
+nights. I don't believe Mary really loved him. I hate to say
+anything against my own daughter, but I feel bound to tell the
+truth, and my private opinion is that she loved <i>herself</i> better.
+She loved her constancy and the good opinion of Little Primpton;
+the fuss the Parsons have made of her I'm sure is very bad for
+anyone. It can't be good for a girl to be given way to so much; and
+I never really liked the Parsons. They're very good people, of
+course; but only infantry!</p>
+
+<p>"I am happy to say that poor Jamie's death was almost
+instantaneous. When they found him he said: 'It was an accident; I
+didn't know the gun was loaded.' (<i>Most improbable</i>, I think. It's
+wonderful how they've all been taken in; but then they didn't know
+his secret!) A few minutes later, just before he died, he said:
+'Tell Mary she's to marry the curate.'</p>
+
+<p>"If my betrothed had died, <i>nothing</i> would have induced me to marry
+anybody else. I would have remained an <i>old maid</i>. But so few
+people have any really <i>nice</i> feeling! Mr. Dryland, the curate,
+had already proposed to Mary, and she had refused him. He is a
+pleasant-spoken young man, with a rather fine presence&mdash;not <i>my</i>
+ideal at all; but that, of course, doesn't matter! Well, a month
+after the funeral, Mary told me that he had asked her again, and
+she had declined. I think it was very bad taste on his part, but
+Mary said she thought it <i>most noble</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"It appears that Colonel and Mrs. Parsons both pressed her very
+much to accept the curate. They said it was Jamie's dying wish, and
+that his last thought had been for her happiness. There is no doubt
+that Mr. Dryland is an excellent young man, but if the Parsons had
+<i>really</i> loved their son, they would never have advised Mary to get
+married. I think it was most <i>heartless</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, a few days ago, Mr. Dryland came and told us that he had
+been appointed vicar of Stone Fairley, in Kent. I went to see Mrs.
+Jackson, the wife of our Vicar, and she looked it out in the clergy
+list. The stipend is £300 a year, and I am told that there is a
+good house. Of course, it's not very much, but better than nothing.
+This morning Mr. Dryland called and asked for a private interview
+with Mary. He said he must, of course, leave Little Primpton, and
+his vicarage would sadly want a mistress; and finally, for the
+third time, <i>begged</i> her on his <i>bended knees</i> to marry her. He had
+previously been to the Parsons, and the Colonel sent for Mary, and
+told her that he hoped she would not refuse Mr. Dryland for their
+sake, and that they thought it was her duty to marry. The result is
+that Mary accepted him, and is to be married very quietly by
+special license in a month. The widow of the late incumbent of
+Stone Fairley moves out in six weeks, so this will give them time
+for a fortnight's honeymoon before settling down. They think of
+spending it in Paris.</p>
+
+<p>"I think, on the whole, it is as good a match as poor Mary could
+<i>expect to make</i>. The stipend is paid by the Ecclesiastical
+Commissioners, which, of course, is much safer than glebe. She is
+no longer a young girl, and I think it was her last chance.
+Although she is my own daughter, I cannot help confessing that she
+is not the sort of girl that wears well; she has always been
+<i>plain</i>&mdash;(no one would think she was my daughter)&mdash;and as time goes
+on, she will grow <i>plainer</i>. When I was eighteen my mother's maid
+used to say: 'Why, miss, there's many a married woman of thirty who
+would be proud to have your bust.' But our poor, <i>dear</i> Mary has
+<i>no figure</i>. She will do excellently for the wife of a country
+vicar. She's so fond of giving people advice, and of looking after
+the poor, and it won't matter that she's dowdy. She has no idea of
+dressing herself, although I've always done my best for her.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Dryland is, of course, in the seventh heaven of delight. He
+has gone into Tunbridge Wells to get a ring, and as an engagement
+present has just sent round a complete edition of the works of Mr.
+Hall Caine. He is evidently <i>generous</i>. I think they will suit one
+another very well, and I am glad to get my only daughter married.
+She was always rather a tie on Reginald and me. We are so devoted
+to one another that a third person has often seemed a little in the
+way. Although you would not believe it, and we have been married
+for nearly thirty years, nothing gives us more happiness than to
+sit holding one another's hands. I have always been sentimental,
+and I am not ashamed to own it. Reggie is sometimes afraid that I
+shall get an attack of my rheumatism when we sit out together at
+night; but I always take care to wrap myself up well, and I
+invariably make him put a muffler on.</p>
+
+<p>"Give my kindest regards to your wife, and tell her I hope to see
+her soon.&mdash;Yours very sincerely,</p>
+
+<p class="r smcap">"Clara de Tulleville Clibborn."</p></div>
+
+
+<p class="c top15"><b>THE END</b></p>
+
+<p class="c"><i>Printed by Cowan &amp; Co., Limited, Perth.</i></p>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hero, by William Somerset Maugham
+
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+
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,9383 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hero, by William Somerset Maugham
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Hero
+
+Author: William Somerset Maugham
+
+Release Date: October 27, 2008 [EBook #27063]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HERO ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
+produced from scanned images of public domain material
+from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE HERO
+
+BY
+
+WILLIAM SOMERSET MAUGHAM
+
+AUTHOR OF
+"LIZA OF LAMBETH," "THE MAKING Of A SAINT," "ORIENTATIONS"
+
+London . . . . .
+HUTCHINSON & CO.
+Paternoster Row. 1901
+
+
+      "Rule, Britannia!
+  Britannia, rule the waves;
+  Britons never will be slaves."
+        _"Alfred": a Masque. By James Thomson._
+
+  "O Sophonisba, Sophonisba, O!"
+     _"Sophonisba": a Tragedy. By the same Author._
+
+
+To
+
+MISS JULIA MAUGHAM
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE HERO
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+Colonel Parsons sat by the window in the dining-room to catch the last
+glimmer of the fading day, looking through his _Standard_ to make sure
+that he had overlooked no part of it. Finally, with a little sigh, he
+folded it up, and taking off his spectacles, put them in their case.
+
+"Have you finished the paper?" asked his wife
+
+"Yes, I think I've read it all. There's nothing in it."
+
+He looked out of window at the well-kept drive that led to the house,
+and at the trim laurel bushes which separated the front garden from the
+village green. His eyes rested, with a happy smile, upon the triumphal
+arch which decorated the gate for the home-coming of his son, expected
+the next day from South Africa. Mrs. Parsons knitted diligently at a
+sock for her husband, working with quick and clever fingers. He watched
+the rapid glint of the needles.
+
+"You'll try your eyes if you go on much longer with this light, my
+dear."
+
+"Oh, I don't require to see," replied his wife, with a gentle,
+affectionate smile. But she stopped, rather tired, and laying the sock
+on the table, smoothed it out with her hand.
+
+"I shouldn't mind if you made it a bit higher in the leg than the last
+pair."
+
+"How high would you like it?"
+
+She went to the window so that the Colonel might show the exact length
+he desired; and when he had made up his mind, sat down again quietly on
+her chair by the fireside, with hands crossed on her lap, waiting
+placidly for the maid to bring the lamp.
+
+Mrs. Parsons was a tall woman of fifty-five, carrying herself with a
+certain diffidence, as though a little ashamed of her stature, greater
+than the Colonel's; it had seemed to her through life that those extra
+inches savoured, after a fashion, of disrespect. She knew it was her
+duty spiritually to look up to her husband, yet physically she was
+always forced to look down. And eager to prevent even the remotest
+suspicion of wrong-doing, she had taken care to be so submissive in her
+behaviour as to leave no doubt that she recognised the obligation of
+respectful obedience enjoined by the Bible, and confirmed by her own
+conscience. Mrs. Parsons was the gentlest of creatures, and the most
+kind-hearted; she looked upon her husband with great and unalterable
+affection, admiring intensely both his head and his heart. He was her
+type of the upright man, walking in the ways of the Lord. You saw in the
+placid, smooth brow of the Colonel's wife, in her calm eyes, even in the
+severe arrangement of the hair, parted in the middle and drawn back,
+that her character was frank, simple, and straightforward. She was a
+woman to whom evil had never offered the smallest attraction; she was
+merely aware of its existence theoretically. To her the only way of life
+had been that which led to God; the others had been non-existent. Duty
+had one hand only, and only one finger; and that finger had always
+pointed definitely in one direction. Yet Mrs. Parsons had a firm mouth,
+and a chin square enough to add another impression. As she sat
+motionless, hands crossed, watching her husband with loving eyes, you
+might have divined that, however kind-hearted, she was not indulgent,
+neither lenient to her own faults nor to those of others; perfectly
+unassuming, but with a sense of duty, a feeling of the absolute
+rightness of some deeds and of the absolute wrongness of others, which
+would be, even to those she loved best in the world, utterly unsparing.
+
+"Here's a telegraph boy!" said Colonel Parsons suddenly. "Jamie can't
+have arrived yet!"
+
+"Oh, Richmond!"
+
+Mrs. Parsons sprang from her chair, and a colour brightened her pale
+cheeks. Her heart beat painfully, and tears of eager expectation filled
+her eyes.
+
+"It's probably only from William, to say the ship is signalled," said
+the Colonel, to quieten her; but his own voice trembled with anxiety.
+
+"Nothing can have happened, Richmond, can it?" said Mrs. Parsons, her
+cheeks blanching again at the idea.
+
+"No, no! Of course not! How silly you are!" The telegram was brought in
+by the servant. "I can't see without a light," said the Colonel.
+
+"Oh, give it me; I can see quite well."
+
+Mrs. Parsons took it to the window, and with trembling hand tore it
+open.
+
+"_Arriving to-night; 7.25._--JAMIE."
+
+Mrs. Parson looked for one moment at her husband, and then, unable to
+restrain herself, sank on a chair, and hiding her face with her hands,
+burst into tears.
+
+"Come, come, Frances," said the Colonel, trying to smile, but half
+choked with his own emotion, "don't cry! You ought to laugh when you
+know the boy's coming home."
+
+He patted her on the shoulder, and she took his hand, holding it for
+comfort. With the other, the Colonel loudly blew his nose. At last Mrs
+Parsons dried her eyes.
+
+"Oh, I thank God that it's all over! He's coming home. I hope we shall
+never have to endure again that anxiety. It makes me tremble still when
+I think how we used to long for the paper to come, and dread it; how we
+used to look all through the list of casualties, fearing to see the
+boy's name."
+
+"Well, well, it's all over now," said the Colonel cheerily, blowing his
+nose again. "How pleased Mary will be!"
+
+It was characteristic of him that almost his first thought was of the
+pleasure this earlier arrival would cause to Mary Clibborn, the girl to
+whom, for five years, his son had been engaged.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Parson, "but she'll be dreadfully disappointed not to
+be here; she's gone to the Polsons in Tunbridge Wells, and she won't be
+home till after supper."
+
+"That is a pity. I'm afraid it's too late to go and meet him; it's
+nearly seven already."
+
+"Oh, yes; and it's damp this evening. I don't think you ought to go
+out."
+
+Then Mrs. Parsons roused herself to household matters.
+
+"There's the supper to think of, Richmond," she said; "we've only the
+rest of the cold mutton, and there's not time to cook one of to-morrow's
+chickens."
+
+They had invited three or four friends to dinner on the following day to
+celebrate the return of their son, and Mrs. Parsons had laid in for the
+occasion a store of solid things.
+
+"Well, we might try and get some chops. I expect Howe is open still."
+
+"Yes, I'll send Betty out. And we can have a blanc-mange for a sweet."
+
+Mrs. Parsons went to give the necessary orders, and the Colonel walked
+up to his son's room to see, for the hundredth time, that everything was
+in order. They had discussed for days the question whether the young
+soldier should be given the best spare bedroom or that which he had used
+from his boyhood. It was wonderful the thought they expended in
+preparing everything as they fancied he would like it; no detail slipped
+their memory, and they arranged and rearranged so that he should find
+nothing altered in his absence. They attempted to satisfy in this manner
+the eager longing of their hearts; it made them both a little happier to
+know that they were actually doing something for their son. No pain in
+love is so hard to bear as that which comes from the impossibility of
+doing any service for the well-beloved, and no service is so repulsive
+that love cannot make it delightful and easy. They had not seen him for
+five years, their only child; for he had gone from Sandhurst straight to
+India, and thence, on the outbreak of war, to the Cape. No one knew how
+much the lonely parents had felt the long separation, how eagerly they
+awaited his letters, how often they read them.
+
+* * *
+
+But it was more than parental affection which caused the passionate
+interest they took in Jamie's career. They looked to him to restore the
+good name which his father had lost. Four generations of Parsons had
+been in the army, and had borne themselves with honour to their family
+and with credit to themselves. It was a fine record that Colonel Parsons
+inherited of brave men and good soldiers; and he, the truest, bravest,
+most honourable of them all, had dragged the name through the dust; had
+been forced from the service under a storm of obloquy, disgraced,
+dishonoured, ruined.
+
+Colonel Parsons had done the greater portion of his service creditably
+enough. He had always put his God before the War Office, but the result
+had not been objectionable; he looked upon his men with fatherly
+affection, and the regiment, under his command, was almost a model of
+propriety and seemliness. His influence was invariably for good, and his
+subordinates knew that in him they had always a trusty friend; few men
+had gained more love. He was a mild, even-tempered fellow, and in no
+circumstance of life forgot to love his neighbour as himself; he never
+allowed it to slip his memory that even the lowest caste native had an
+immortal soul, and before God equal rights with him. Colonel Parsons was
+a man whose piety was so unaggressive, so good-humoured, so simple, that
+none could resist it; ribaldry and blasphemy were instinctively hushed
+in his presence, and even the most hardened ruffian was softened by his
+contact.
+
+But a couple of years before he would naturally have been put on
+half-pay under the age limit, a little expedition was arranged against
+some unruly hill-tribes, and Colonel Parsons was given the command. He
+took the enemy by surprise, finding them at the foot of the hills, and
+cut off, by means of flanking bodies, their retreat through the two
+passes behind. He placed his guns on a line of hillocks to the right,
+and held the tribesmen in the hollow of his hand. He could have
+massacred them all, but nothing was farther from his thoughts. He
+summoned them to surrender, and towards evening the headmen came in and
+agreed to give up their rifles next day; the night was cold, and dark,
+and stormy. The good Colonel was delighted with the success both of his
+stratagem and of his humanity. He had not shed a single drop of blood.
+
+"Treat them well," he said, "and they'll treat you better."
+
+He acted like a gentleman and a Christian; but the enemy were neither.
+He never dreamed that he was being completely overreached, that the
+natives were using the delay he had unsuspectingly granted to send over
+the hills urgent messages for help. Through the night armed men had been
+coming stealthily, silently, from all sides; and in the early morning,
+before dawn, his flanking parties were attacked. Colonel Parsons, rather
+astonished, sent them help, and thinking himself still superior in
+numbers to the rebellious tribesmen, attacked their main body. They
+wanted nothing better. Falling back slowly, they drew him into the
+mountain defiles until he found himself entrapped. His little force was
+surrounded. Five hours were passed in almost blind confusion; men were
+shot down like flies by an enemy they could not see; and when, by
+desperate fighting, they managed to cut their way out, fifty were
+killed and over a hundred more were wounded.
+
+Colonel Parsons escaped with only the remnants of the fine force he had
+commanded, and they were nerveless, broken, almost panic-stricken. He
+was obliged to retreat. The Colonel was a brave man; he did what he could
+to prevent the march from becoming a disorderly rout. He gathered his
+men together, put courage into them, risked his life a dozen times; but
+nothing could disguise the fact that his failure was disastrous. It was
+a small affair and was hushed up, but the consequences were not to be
+forgotten. The hill-tribes, emboldened by their success, became more
+venturesome, more unruly. A disturbance which might have been settled
+without difficulty now required a large force to put it down, and ten
+times more lives were lost.
+
+Colonel Parsons was required to send in his papers, and left India a
+broken man.... He came back to England, and settled in his father's
+house at Little Primpton. His agony continued, and looking into the
+future, he saw only hideous despair, unavailing regret. For months he
+could bear to see no one, imagining always that he was pointed out as
+the man whose folly had cost so many lives. When he heard people laugh
+he thought it was in scorn of him; when he saw compassion in their eyes
+he could scarcely restrain his tears. He was indeed utterly broken. He
+walked in his garden, away from the eyes of his fellows, up and down,
+continually turning over in his mind the events of that terrible week.
+And he could not console himself by thinking that any other course would
+have led to just as bad results. His error was too plain; he could put
+his finger exactly on the point of his failure and say, "O God! why did
+I do it?" And as he walked restlessly, unmindful of heat and cold, the
+tears ran down his thin cheeks, painful and scalding. He would not take
+his wife's comfort.
+
+"You acted for the best, Richmond," she said.
+
+"Yes, dear; I acted for the best. When I got those fellows hemmed in I
+could have killed them all. But I'm not a butcher; I couldn't have them
+shot down in cold blood. That's not war; that's murder. What should I
+have said to my Maker when He asked me to account for those many souls?
+I spared them; I imagined they'd understand; but they thought it was
+weakness. I couldn't know they were preparing a trap for me. And now my
+name is shameful. I shall never hold up my head again."
+
+"You acted rightly in the sight of God, Richmond."
+
+"I think and trust I acted as a Christian, Frances."
+
+"If you have pleased God, you need not mind the opinion of man."
+
+"Oh, it's not that they called me a fool and a coward--I could have
+borne that. I did what I thought was right. I thought it my duty to save
+the lives of my men and to spare the enemy; and the result was that ten
+times more lives have been lost than if I had struck boldly and
+mercilessly. There are widows and orphans in England who must curse me
+because I am the cause that their husbands are dead, and that their
+fathers are rotting on the hills of India. If I had acted like a savage,
+like a brute-beast, like a butcher, all those men would have been alive
+to-day. I was merciful, and I was met with treachery; I was
+long-suffering, and they thought me weak; I was forgiving, and they
+laughed at me."
+
+Mrs. Parsons put her hand on her husband's shoulder.
+
+"You must try to forget it, Richmond," she said. "It's over, and it
+can't be helped now. You acted like a God-fearing man; your conscience
+is clear of evil intent. What is the judgment of man beside the judgment
+of God? If you have received insult and humiliation at the hands of man,
+God will repay you an hundredfold, for you acted as his servant. And I
+believe in you, Richmond; and I'm proud of what you did."
+
+"I have always tried to act like a Christian and a gentleman, Frances."
+
+At night he would continually dream of those days of confusion and
+mortal anxiety. He would imagine he was again making that horrible
+retreat, cheering his men, doing all he could to retrieve the disaster;
+but aware that ruin only awaited him, conscious that the most ignorant
+sepoy in his command thought him incapable and mad. He saw the look in
+the eyes of the officers under him, their bitter contempt, their anger
+because he forced them to retire before the enemy; and because, instead
+of honour and glory, they had earned only ridicule. His limbs shook and
+he sweated with agony as he recalled the interview with his chief:
+"You're only fit to be a damned missionary," and the last contemptuous
+words, "I shan't want you any more. You can send in your papers."
+
+But human sorrow is like water in an earthen pot. Little by little
+Colonel Parsons forgot his misery; he had turned it over in his mind so
+often that at last he grew confused. It became then only a deep wound
+partly healed, scarring over; and he began to take an interest in the
+affairs of the life surrounding him. He could read his paper without
+every word stabbing him by some chance association; and there is nothing
+like the daily and thorough perusal of a newspaper for dulling a man's
+brain. He pottered about his garden gossiping with the gardener; made
+little alterations in the house--bricks and mortar are like an anodyne;
+he collected stamps; played bezique with his wife; and finally, in his
+mild, gentle way, found peace of mind.
+
+But when James passed brilliantly out of Sandhurst, the thought seized
+him that the good name which he valued so highly might be retrieved.
+Colonel Parsons had shrunk from telling the youth anything of the
+catastrophe which had driven him from the service; but now he forced
+himself to give an exact account thereof. His wife sat by, listening
+with pain in her eyes, for she knew what torture it was to revive that
+half-forgotten story.
+
+"I thought you had better hear it from me than from a stranger," the
+Colonel said when he had finished. "I entered the army with the
+reputation of my father behind me; my reputation can only harm you. Men
+will nudge one another and say, 'There's the son of old Parsons, who
+bungled the affair against the Madda Khels.' You must show them that
+you're of good stuff. I acted for the best, and my conscience is at
+ease. I think I did my duty; but if you can distinguish yourself--if
+you can make them forget--I think I shall die a little happier."
+
+The commanding officer of Jamie's regiment was an old friend of the
+Colonel's, and wrote to him after a while to say that he thought well of
+the boy. He had already distinguished himself in a frontier skirmish,
+and presently, for gallantry in some other little expedition, his name
+was mentioned in despatches. Colonel Parsons regained entirely his old
+cheerfulness; Jamie's courage and manifest knowledge of his business
+made him feel that at last he could again look the world frankly in the
+face. Then came the Boer War; for the parents at Little Primpton and for
+Mary Clibborn days of fearful anxiety, of gnawing pain--all the greater
+because each, for the other's sake, tried to conceal it; and at last the
+announcement in the paper that James Parsons had been severely wounded
+while attempting to save the life of a brother officer, and was
+recommended for the Victoria Cross.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+The Parsons sat again in their dining-room, counting the minutes which
+must pass before Jamie's arrival. The table was laid simply, for all
+their habits were simple; and the blanc-mange prepared for the morrow's
+festivities stood, uncompromising and stiff as a dissenting minister, in
+the middle of the table. I wish someone would write an invective upon
+that most detestable of all the national dishes, pallid, chilly,
+glutinous, unpleasant to look upon, insipid in the mouth. It is a
+preparation which seems to mark a transition stage in culture; just as
+the South Sea Islanders, with the advance of civilisation, forsook
+putrid whale for roast missionary, the great English middle classes
+complained that tarts and plum-puddings were too substantial, more
+suited to the robust digestions of a past generation. In the
+blanc-mange, on the other hand, they found almost an appearance of
+distinction; its name, at least, suggested French cookery; it was
+possible to the plainest cook, and it required no mastication.
+
+"I shall have to tell Betty to make a jelly for dinner to-morrow," said
+Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"Yes," replied the Colonel; and after a pause: "Don't you think we ought
+to let Mary know that Jamie has come back? She'd like to see him
+to-night."
+
+"I've sent over already."
+
+It was understood that James, having got his Company, would marry Mary
+Clibborn almost at once. His father and mother had been delighted when
+he announced the engagement. They had ever tried to shield him from all
+knowledge of evil--no easy matter when a boy has been to a public school
+and to Sandhurst--holding the approved opinion that ignorance is
+synonymous with virtue; and they could imagine no better safeguard for
+his innocence in the multi-coloured life of India than betrothal with a
+pure, sweet English girl. They looked upon Mary Clibborn already as a
+daughter, and she, in Jamie's absence, had been their only solace. They
+loved her gentleness, her goodness, her simple piety, and congratulated
+themselves on the fact that with her their son could not fail to lead a
+happy and a godly life.
+
+Mary, during those five years, had come to see them every day; her own
+mother and father were rather worldly people, and she felt less happy
+with them than with Colonel Parsons and his wife. The trio talked
+continually of the absent soldier, always reading to one another his
+letters. They laughed together over his jokes, mildly, as befitted
+persons for whom a sense of humour might conceivably be a Satanic snare,
+and trembled together at his dangers. Mary's affection was free from
+anything so degrading as passion, and she felt no bashfulness in reading
+Jamie's love-letters to his parents; she was too frank to suspect that
+there might be in them anything for her eyes alone, and too candid to
+feel any delicacy.
+
+But a lumbering fly rolled in at the gate, and the good people, happy at
+last, sprang to the door.
+
+"Jamie!"
+
+Trembling with joy, they brought him in and sat him down; they knew no
+words to express their delight, and stood looking at him open-mouthed,
+smiling.
+
+"Well, here you are! We were surprised to get your telegram. When did
+you land?"
+
+When they found their tongues, it was only to say commonplace things
+such as they might have spoken to a casual friend who had come from
+London for the day. They were so used to controlling themselves, that
+when their emotion was overpowering they were at a loss to express it.
+
+"Would you like to go upstairs and wash your hands?"
+
+They both accompanied him.
+
+"You see it's all just as it was. We thought you'd like your old room.
+If you want anything you can ring the bell."
+
+They left him, and going downstairs, sat opposite one another by the
+fire. The dining-room was furnished with a saddle-bag suite; and Colonel
+Parsons sat in the "gentleman's chair," which had arms, while Mrs.
+Parsons sat in the "lady's chair," which had none; nor did either dream,
+under any circumstances, of using the other's seat. They were a little
+overcome.
+
+"How thin he is!" said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"We must feed him up," answered the Colonel.
+
+And then, till the soldier came, they remained in silence. Mrs. Parsons
+rang the bell for the chops as soon as he appeared, and they sat down;
+but James ate alone. His people were too happy to do anything but watch
+him.
+
+"I have had tea made," said Mrs. Parsons, "but you can have some claret,
+if you prefer it."
+
+Five years' absence had not dulled Jamie's memory of his father's wine,
+and he chose the tea.
+
+"I think a strong cup of tea will do you most good," said his mother,
+and she poured it out for him as when he was a boy, with plenty of milk
+and sugar.
+
+His tastes had never been much consulted; things had been done, in the
+kindest manner possible, solely for his good. James detested sweetness.
+
+"No sugar, please, mother," he said, as she dived into the sugar-basin.
+
+"Nonsense, Jamie," answered Mrs. Parsons, with her good-humoured,
+indulgent smile. "Sugar's good for you." And she put in two big lumps.
+
+"You don't ask after Mary," said Colonel Parsons.
+
+"How is she?" said James. "Where is she?"
+
+"If you wait a little she'll be here."
+
+Then Mrs. Parsons broke in.
+
+"I don't know what we should have done without her; she's been so good
+and kind to us, and such a comfort. We're simply devoted to her, aren't
+we, Richmond?"
+
+"She's the nicest girl I've ever seen."
+
+"And she's so good. She works among the poor like a professional nurse.
+We told you that she lived with us for six months while Colonel and Mrs.
+Clibborn went abroad. She was never put out at anything, but was always
+smiling and cheerful. She has the sweetest character."
+
+The good people thought they were delighting their son by these
+eulogies. He looked at them gravely.
+
+"I'm glad you like her," he said.
+
+Supper was finished, and Mrs. Parsons went out of the room for a moment.
+James took out his case and offered a cigar to his father.
+
+"I don't smoke, Jamie," replied the Colonel.
+
+James lit up. The old man looked at him with a start, but said nothing;
+he withdrew his chair a little and tried to look unconcerned. When Mrs.
+Parsons returned, the room was full of smoke; she gave a cry of
+surprise.
+
+"James!" she said, in a tone of reproach. "Your father objects to
+smoking."
+
+"It doesn't matter just this once," said the Colonel, good-humouredly.
+
+But James threw his cigar into the fire, with a laugh.
+
+"I quite forgot; I'm so sorry."
+
+"You never told us you'd started smoking," observed Mrs. Parsons, almost
+with disapprobation, "Would you like the windows open to let the smell
+out, Richmond?"
+
+There was a ring at the door, and Mary's voice was heard.
+
+"Has Captain Parsons arrived?"
+
+"There she is, Jamie!" said the Colonel, "Rush out to her, my boy!"
+
+But James contented himself with rising to his feet; he turned quite
+pale, and a singular expression came over his grave face.
+
+Mary entered.
+
+"I ran round as soon as I got your note," she said. "Well, Jamie!"
+
+She stopped, smiling, and a blush brightened her healthy cheeks. Her
+eyes glistened with happiness, and for a moment, strong as she was, Mary
+thought she must burst into tears.
+
+"Aren't you going to kiss her, Jamie?" said the father. "You needn't be
+bashful before us."
+
+James went up to her, and taking her hands, kissed the cheek she
+offered.
+
+The impression that Mary Clibborn gave was of absolute healthiness,
+moral and physical. Her appearance was not distinguished, but she was
+well set up, with strong hands and solid feet; you knew at once that a
+ten-mile walk invigorated rather than tired her; her arms were muscular
+and energetic. She was in no way striking; a typical, country-bred girl,
+with a fine digestion and an excellent conscience; if not very pretty,
+obviously good. Her face showed a happy mingling of strength and
+cheerfulness; her blue eyes were guileless and frank; her hair even was
+rather pretty, arranged in the simplest manner; her skin was tanned by
+wind and weather. The elements were friendly, and she enjoyed a long
+walk in a gale, with the rain beating against her cheeks. She was
+dressed simply and without adornment, as befitted her character.
+
+"I am sorry I wasn't at home when you arrived, Jamie," she said; "but
+the Polsons asked me to go and play golf at Tunbridge Wells. I went
+round in bogy, Colonel Parsons."
+
+"Did you, my dear? That's very good."
+
+The Colonel and his wife looked at her with affectionate satisfaction.
+
+"I'm going to take off my hat."
+
+She gave James to put in the hall her sailor hat and her rough tweed
+cloak. She wore a bicycling skirt and heavy, square-toed boots.
+
+"Say you're glad to see us, Jamie!" she cried, laughing.
+
+Her voice was rather loud, clear and strong, perhaps wanting variety of
+inflection. She sat by Jamie's side, and broke into a cheerful, rather
+humorous, account of the day's excursion.
+
+"How silent you are, Jamie!" she cried at last.
+
+"You haven't given me a chance to get a word in yet," he said, smiling
+gravely.
+
+They all laughed, ready to be pleased at the smallest joke, and banter
+was the only form of humour they knew.
+
+"Are you tired?" asked Mary, her cheerful eyes softening.
+
+"A little."
+
+"Well, I won't worry you to-night; but to-morrow you must be put through
+your paces."
+
+"Mary will stand no nonsense," said the Colonel, laughing gently. "We
+all have to do as she tells us. She'll turn you round her little
+finger."
+
+"Will she?" said James, glancing down at the solid boots, which the
+short bicycle skirt rather obtrusively exposed to view.
+
+"Don't frighten him the moment he comes home," cried Mary. "As a matter
+of fact, I shan't be able to come to-morrow morning; I've got my
+district-visiting to do, and I don't think Jamie is strong enough to go
+with me yet. Does your wound hurt you still, Jamie?"
+
+"No," he said, "I can't use my arm much, though. It'll be all right
+soon."
+
+"You must tell us about the great event to-morrow," said Mary, referring
+to the deed which had won him the decoration. "You've put us all out by
+coming sooner than you were expected."
+
+"Have I? I'm sorry."
+
+"Didn't you notice anything when you drove in this evening?"
+
+"No, it was quite dark."
+
+"Good heavens! Why, we've put up a triumphal arch, and there was going
+to be a great celebration. All the school children were coming to
+welcome you."
+
+"I'm very glad I missed it," said James, laughing. "I should have hated
+it."
+
+"Oh, I don't know that you have missed it yet. We must see."
+
+Then Mary rose to go.
+
+"Well, at all events, we're all coming to dinner to-morrow at one."
+
+They went to the door to let her out, and the elder couple smiled again
+with pleasure when James and Mary exchanged a brotherly and sisterly
+kiss.
+
+* * *
+
+At last James found himself alone in his room; he gave a sigh of
+relief--a sigh which was almost a groan of pain. He took out his pipe
+unconsciously and filled it; but then, remembering where he was, put it
+down. He knew his father's sensitiveness of smell. If he began to smoke
+there would quickly be a knock at the door, and the inquiry: "There's
+such a smell of burning in the house; there's nothing on fire in your
+room, is there, Jamie?"
+
+He began to walk up and down, and then in exhaustion sank on a chair.
+He opened the window and looked into the night. He could see nothing.
+The sky was dark with unmoving clouds, but the fresh air blew gratefully
+against his face, laden with the scent of the vernal country; a light
+rain was falling noiselessly, and the earth seemed languid and weary,
+accepting the moisture with little shuddering gasps of relief.
+
+After an event which has been long expected, there is always something
+in the nature of reaction. James had looked forward to this meeting,
+partly with terror, partly with eagerness; and now that it was over, his
+brain, confused and weary, would not help him to order his thoughts. He
+clenched his hands, trying to force himself to think clearly; he knew he
+must decide upon some course at once, and a terrible indecision
+paralysed his ideas. He loved his people so tenderly, he was so anxious
+to make them happy, and yet--and yet! If he loved one better than the
+other it was perhaps his father, because of the pitiful weakness,
+because of the fragility which seemed to call for a protective
+gentleness. The old man had altered little in the five years. James
+could not remember him other than thin and bent and frail, with long
+wisps of silvery hair brushed over the crown to conceal his baldness,
+with the cheeks hollow and wrinkled, and a white moustache
+ineffectually concealing the weak, good-natured mouth. Ever since James
+could recollect his father had appeared old and worn as now; and there
+had always been that gentle look in the blue eyes, that manner which was
+almost painful in its diffidence. Colonel Parsons was a man who made
+people love him by a modesty which seemed to claim nothing. He was like
+a child compelling sympathy on account of its utter helplessness, so
+unsuited to the wear and tear of life that he aroused his fellows'
+instincts of protection.
+
+And James knew besides what a bitter humiliation it was to his father
+that he had been forced to leave the service. He remembered, like a
+deadly, incurable pain suffered by a friend, the occasion on which the
+old soldier had told him the cause of his disgrace, a sweat of agony
+standing on his brow. The scene had eaten into Jamie's mind alongside of
+that other when he had first watched a man die, livid with pain, his
+eyes glazed and sightless. He had grown callous to such events since
+then.
+
+Colonel Parsons had come to grief on account of the very kindness of
+heart, on account of the exquisite humanity which endeared him to the
+most casual acquaintance. James swore that he would do anything to save
+him from needless suffering. Nor did he forget his mother, for through
+the harder manner he saw her gentleness and tender love. He knew that
+he was all in the world to both of them, that in his hands lay their
+happiness and their misery. Their love made them feel every act of his
+with a force out of reason to the circumstance. He had seen in their
+letters, piercing through the assumed cheerfulness, a mortal anxiety
+when he was in danger, an anguish of mind that seemed hardly bearable.
+They had gone through so much for his sake; they deprived themselves of
+luxury, so that, in the various expenses of his regiment, he should not
+need to economise. All his life they had surrounded him with loving
+care. And what their hearts were set upon now was that he should marry
+Mary Clibborn quickly.
+
+James turned from the window and put his head between his hands, swaying
+to and fro.
+
+"Oh, I can't," he groaned; "I can't!"
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+In the morning, after breakfast, James went for a walk. He wanted to
+think out clearly what he had better do, feeling that he must make up
+his mind at once. Hesitation would be fatal, and yet to speak
+immediately seemed so cruel, so brutally callous.
+
+Wishing to be absolutely alone, he wandered through the garden to a
+little wood of beech-trees, which in his boyhood had been a favourite
+haunt. The day was fresh and sweet after the happy rain of April, the
+sky so clear that it affected one like a very beautiful action.
+
+James stood still when he came into the wood, inhaling the odour of
+moist soil, the voluptuous scents of our mother, the Earth, gravid with
+silent life. For a moment he was intoxicated by the paradise of verdure.
+The beech-trees rose very tall, with their delicate branches singularly
+black amid the young leaves of the spring, tender and vivid. The eye
+could not pierce the intricate greenery; it was more delicate than the
+summer rain, subtler than the mists of the sunset. It was a scene to
+drive away all thought of the sadness of life, of the bitterness. Its
+exquisite fresh purity made James feel pure also, and like a little
+child he wandered over the undulating earth, broken by the tortuous
+courses of the streamlets of winter.
+
+The ground was soft, covered with brown dead leaves, and he tried to see
+the rabbit rustling among them, or the hasty springing of a squirrel.
+The long branches of the briar entangled his feet; and here and there,
+in sheltered corners, blossomed the primrose and the violet He listened
+to the chant of the birds, so joyous that it seemed impossible they sang
+in a world of sorrow. Hidden among the leaves, aloft in the beeches, the
+linnet sang with full-throated melody, and the blackbird and the thrush.
+In the distance a cuckoo called its mysterious note, and far away, like
+an echo, a fellow-bird called back.
+
+All Nature was rejoicing in the delight of the sunshine; all Nature was
+rejoicing, and his heart alone was heavy as lead. He stood by a
+fir-tree, which rose far above the others, immensely tall, like the mast
+of a solitary ship; it was straight as a life without reproach, but
+cheerless, cold, and silent. His life, too, was without reproach,
+thought James--without reproach till now.... He had loved Mary Clibborn.
+But was it love, or was it merely affection, habit, esteem? She was the
+only girl he knew, and they had grown up together. When he came from
+school for his holidays, or later from Sandhurst, on leave, Mary was his
+constant friend, without whom he would have been miserably dull. She was
+masculine enough to enter into his boyish games, and even their thoughts
+were common. There were so few people in Little Primpton that those who
+lived there saw one another continually; and though Tunbridge Wells was
+only four miles away, the distance effectually prevented very close
+intimacy with its inhabitants. It was natural, then, that James should
+only look forward to an existence in which Mary took part; without that
+pleasant companionship the road seemed long and dreary. When he was
+appointed to a regiment in India, and his heart softened at the prospect
+of the first long parting from all he cared for, it was the separation
+from Mary that seemed hardest to bear.
+
+"I don't know what I shall do without you, Mary," he said.
+
+"You will forget all about us when you've been in India a month."
+
+But her lips twitched, and he noticed that she found difficulty in
+speaking quite firmly. She hesitated a moment, and spoke again.
+
+"It's different for us," she said, "Those who go forget, but those who
+stay--remember. We shall be always doing the same things to remind us
+of you. Oh, you won't forget me, Jamie?"
+
+The last words slipped out against the girl's intention.
+
+"Mary!" he cried.
+
+And then he put his arms round her, and Mary rested her face on his
+shoulder and began to cry. He kissed her, trying to stop her tears; he
+pressed her to his heart. He really thought he loved her then with all
+his strength.
+
+"Mary," he whispered, "Mary, do you care for me? Will you marry me?"
+
+Then quickly he explained that it would make it so much better for both
+if they became engaged.
+
+"I shan't be able to marry you for a long time; but will you wait for
+me, Mary?"
+
+She began to smile through her tears.
+
+"I would wait for you to the end of my life."
+
+During the first two years in India the tie had been to James entirely
+pleasurable; and if, among the manifold experiences of his new life, he
+bore Mary's absence with greater equanimity than he had thought
+possible, he was always glad to receive her letters, with their delicate
+aroma of the English country; and it pleased him to think that his
+future was comfortably settled. The engagement was a sort of ballast,
+and he felt that he could compass his journey without fear and without
+disturbance. James did not ask himself whether his passion was very
+ardent, for his whole education had led him to believe that passion was
+hardly moral. The proper and decent basis of marriage was similarity of
+station, and the good, solid qualities which might be supposed
+endurable. From his youth, the wisdom of the world had been instilled
+into him through many proverbs, showing the advisability of caution, the
+transitoriness of beauty and desire; and, on the other hand, the lasting
+merit of honesty, virtue, domesticity, and good temper....
+
+But we all know that Nature is a goddess with no sense of decency, for
+whom the proprieties are simply non-existent; men and women in her eyes
+have but one point of interest, and she walks abroad, with her
+fashioning fingers, setting in order the only work she cares for. All
+the rest is subsidiary, and she is callous to suffering and to death,
+indifferent to the Ten Commandments and even to the code of Good
+Society.
+
+James at last made the acquaintance of a certain Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace,
+the wife of a man in a native regiment, a little, dark-hatred person,
+with an olive skin and big brown eyes--rather common, but excessively
+pretty. She was the daughter of a riding-master by a Portuguese woman
+from Goa, and it had been something of a scandal when
+Pritchard-Wallace, who was an excellent fellow, had married her against
+the advice of all the regimental ladies. But if those charitable persons
+had not ceased to look upon her with doubtful eyes, her wit and her good
+looks for others counterbalanced every disadvantage; and she did not
+fail to have a little court of subalterns and the like hanging
+perpetually about her skirts. At first Mrs. Wallace merely amused James.
+Her absolute frivolity, her cynical tongue, her light-heartedness, were
+a relief after the rather puritanical atmosphere in which he had passed
+his youth; he was astonished to hear the gay contempt which she poured
+upon all the things that he had held most sacred--things like the Tower
+of London and the British Constitution. Prejudices and cherished beliefs
+were dissipated before her sharp-tongued raillery; she was a woman with
+almost a witty way of seeing the world, with a peculiarly feminine gift
+for putting old things in a new, absurd light. To Mrs. Wallace, James
+seemed a miracle of ingenuousness, and she laughed at him continually;
+then she began to like him, and took him about with her, at which he was
+much flattered.
+
+James had been brought up in the belief that women were fashioned of
+different clay from men, less gross, less earthly; he thought not only
+that they were pious, sweet and innocent, ignorant entirely of
+disagreeable things, but that it was man's first duty to protect them
+from all knowledge of the realities of life. To him they were an
+ethereal blending of milk-and-water with high principles; it had never
+occurred to him that they were flesh and blood, and sense, and fire and
+nerves--especially nerves. Most topics, of course, could not be broached
+in their presence; in fact, almost the only safe subject of conversation
+was the weather.
+
+But Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace prided herself on frankness, which is less
+common in pretty women than in plain; and she had no hesitation in
+discussing with James matters that he had never heard discussed before.
+She was hugely amused at the embarrassment which made him hesitate and
+falter, trying to find polite ways of expressing the things which his
+whole training had taught him to keep rigidly to himself. Then
+sometimes, from pure devilry, Mrs. Wallace told stories on purpose to
+shock him; and revelled in his forced, polite smile, and in his strong
+look of disapproval.
+
+"What a funny boy you are!" she said. "But you must take care, you know;
+you have all the makings of a perfect prig."
+
+"D'you think so?"
+
+"You must try to be less moral. The moral young man is rather funny for
+a change, but he palls after a time."
+
+"If I bore you, you have only to say so, and I won't bother you again."
+
+"And moral young men shouldn't get cross; it's very bad manners," she
+answered, smiling.
+
+Before he knew what had happened, James found himself madly in love with
+Mrs. Wallace. But what a different passion was this, resembling not at
+all that pallid flame which alone he had experienced! How could he
+recognise the gentle mingling of friendship and of common-sense which he
+called love in that destroying violence which troubled his days like a
+fever? He dreamed of the woman at night; he seemed only to live when he
+was with her. The mention of her name made his heart beat, and meeting
+her he trembled and turned cold. By her side he found nothing to say; he
+was like wax in her hands, without will or strength. The touch of her
+fingers sent the blood rushing through his veins insanely; and
+understanding his condition, she took pleasure in touching him, to watch
+the little shiver of desire that convulsed his frame. In a very
+self-restrained man love works ruinously; and it burnt James now, this
+invisible, unconscious fire, till he was consumed utterly--till he was
+mad with passion. And then suddenly, at some chance word, he knew what
+had happened; he knew that he was in love with the wife of his good
+friend, Pritchard-Wallace; and he thought of Mary Clibborn.
+
+There was no hesitation now, nor doubt; James had only been in danger
+because he was unaware of it. He never thought of treachery to his
+friend or to Mary; he was horror-stricken, hating himself. He looked
+over the brink of the precipice at the deadly sin, and recoiled,
+shuddering. He bitterly reproached himself, taking for granted that some
+error of his had led to the catastrophe. But his duty was obvious; he
+knew he must kill the sinful love, whatever pain it cost him; he must
+crush it as he would some noxious vermin.
+
+James made up his mind never to see Mrs. Wallace again; and he thought
+that God was on his side helping him, since, with her husband, she was
+leaving in a month for England. He applied for leave. He could get away
+for a few weeks, and on his return Mrs. Wallace would be gone. He
+managed to avoid her for several days, but at last she came across him
+by chance, and he could not escape.
+
+"I didn't know you were so fond of hide-and-seek," she said, "I think
+it's rather a stupid game."
+
+"I don't understand," replied James, growing pale.
+
+"Why have you been dodging round corners to avoid me as if I were a dun,
+and inventing the feeblest excuses not to come to me?"
+
+James stood for a moment, not knowing what to answer; his knees
+trembled, and he sweated with the agony of his love. It was an angry,
+furious passion, that made him feel he could almost seize the woman by
+the throat and strangle her.
+
+"Did you know that I am engaged to be married?" he asked at length.
+
+"I've never known a sub who wasn't. It's the most objectionable of all
+their vicious habits. What then?" She looked at him, smiling; she knew
+very well the power of her dark eyes, fringed with long lashes. "Don't
+be silly," she added. "Come and see me, and bring her photograph, and
+you shall talk to me for two hours about her. Will you come?"
+
+"It's very kind of you. I don't think I can."
+
+"Why not? You're really very rude."
+
+"I'm extremely busy."
+
+"Nonsense! You must come. Don't look as if I were asking you to do
+something quite horrible. I shall expect you to tea."
+
+She bound him by his word, and James was forced to go. When he showed
+the photograph, Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace looked at it with a curious
+expression. It was the work of a country photographer, awkward and
+ungainly, with the head stiffly poised, and the eyes hard and fixed; the
+general impression was ungraceful and devoid of charm, Mrs. Wallace
+noticed the country fashion of her clothes.
+
+"It's extraordinary that subalterns should always get engaged to the
+same sort of girl."
+
+James flushed, "It's not a very good one of her."
+
+"They always photograph badly," murmured Mrs. Wallace.
+
+"She's the best girl in the world. You can't think how good, and kind,
+and simple she is; she reminds me always of an English breeze."
+
+"I don't like east winds myself," said Mrs. Wallace. "But I can see she
+has all sorts of admirable qualities."
+
+"D'you know why I came to see you to-day?"
+
+"Because I forced you," said Mrs. Wallace, laughing.
+
+"I came to say good-bye; I've got a month's leave."
+
+"Oh, but I shall be gone by the time you come back."
+
+"I know. It is for that reason."
+
+Mrs. Wallace looked at him quickly, hesitated, then glanced away.
+
+"Is it so bad as that?"
+
+"Oh, don't you understand?" cried James, breaking suddenly from his
+reserve. "I must tell you. I shall never see you again, and it can't
+matter. I love you with all my heart and soul. I didn't know what love
+was till I met you. God help me, it was only friendship I had for Mary!
+This is so different. Oh, I hate myself! I can't help it; the mere touch
+of your hand sends me mad with passion. I daren't see you again--I'm not
+a blackguard. I know it's quite hopeless. And I've given my word to
+Mary."
+
+The look of her eyes, the sound of her voice, sent half his fine
+intentions flying before the wind. He lost command over himself--but
+only for a moment; the old habits were strong.
+
+"I beg your pardon! I oughtn't to have spoken. Don't be angry with me
+for what I've said. I couldn't help it. You thought me a fool because I
+ran away from you. It was all I could do. I couldn't help loving you.
+You understand now, don't you? I know that you will never wish to see me
+again, and it's better for both of us. Good-bye."
+
+He stretched out his hand.
+
+"I didn't know it was so bad as that," she said, looking at him with
+kindly eyes.
+
+"Didn't you see me tremble when the hem of your dress touched me by
+accident? Didn't you hear that I couldn't speak; the words were dried
+up in my throat?" He sank into a chair weakly; but then immediately
+gathering himself together, sprang up. "Good-bye," he said. "Let me go
+quickly."
+
+She gave him her hand, and then, partly in kindness, partly in malice,
+bent forward and kissed his lips. James gave a cry, a sob; now he lost
+command over himself entirely. He took her in his arms roughly, and
+kissed her mouth, her eyes, her hair--so passionately that Mrs. Wallace
+was frightened. She tried to free herself; but he only held her closer,
+madly kissing her lips.
+
+"Take care," she said. "What are you doing? Let me go!" And she pushed
+him away.
+
+She was a cautious woman, who never allowed flirtation to go beyond
+certain decorous lengths, and she was used to a milder form of
+philandering.
+
+"You've disarranged my hair, you silly boy!" She went to the glass to
+put it in order, and when she turned back found that James had gone.
+"What an odd creature!" she muttered.
+
+To Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace the affair was but an incident, such as might
+have been the love of Phaedra had she flourished in an age when the art
+of living consists in not taking things too seriously; but for
+Hippolitus a tragedy of one sort or another is inevitable. James was not
+a man of easy affections; he made the acquaintance of people with a
+feeling of hostility rather than with the more usual sensation of
+friendly curiosity. He was shy, and even with his best friends could not
+lessen his reserve. Some persons are able to form close intimacies with
+admirable facility, but James felt always between himself and his
+fellows a sort of barrier. He could not realise that deep and sudden
+sympathy was even possible, and was apt to look with mistrust upon the
+appearance thereof. He seemed frigid and perhaps supercilious to those
+with whom he came in contact; he was forced to go his way, hiding from
+all eyes the emotions he felt. And when at last he fell passionately in
+love, it meant to him ten times more than to most men; it was a sudden
+freedom from himself. He was like a prisoner who sees for the first time
+in his life the trees and the hurrying clouds, and all the various
+movement of the world. For a little while James had known a wonderful
+liberty, an ineffable bliss which coloured the whole universe with new,
+strange colours. But then he learnt that the happiness was only sin, and
+he returned voluntarily to his cold prison.... Till he tried to crush
+it, he did not know how strong was this passion; he did not realise that
+it had made of him a different man; it was the only thing in the world
+to him, beside which everything else was meaningless. He became
+ruthless towards himself, undergoing every torture which he fancied
+might cleanse him of the deadly sin.
+
+And when Mrs. Wallace, against his will, forced herself upon his
+imagination, he tried to remember her vulgarity, her underbred manners,
+her excessive use of scent. She had merely played with him, without
+thinking or caring what the result to him might be. She was bent on as
+much enjoyment as possible without exposing herself to awkward
+consequences; common scandal told him that he was not the first callow
+youth that she had entangled with her provoking glances and her witty
+tongue. The epithet by which his brother officers qualified her was
+expressive, though impolite. James repeated these things a hundred
+times: he said that Mrs. Wallace was not fit to wipe Mary's boots; he
+paraded before himself, like a set of unread school-books, all Mary's
+excellent qualities. He recalled her simple piety, her good-nature, and
+kindly heart; she had every attribute that a man could possibly want in
+his wife. And yet--and yet, when he slept he dreamed he was talking to
+the other; all day her voice sang in his ears, her gay smile danced
+before his eyes. He remembered every word she had ever said; he
+remembered the passionate kisses he had given her. How could he forget
+that ecstasy? He writhed, trying to expel the importunate image; but
+nothing served.
+
+Time could not weaken the impression. Since then he had never seen Mrs.
+Wallace, but the thought of her was still enough to send the blood
+racing through his veins. He had done everything to kill the mad,
+hopeless passion; and always, like a rank weed, it had thriven with
+greater strength. James knew it was his duty to marry Mary Clibborn, and
+yet he felt he would rather die. As the months passed on, and he knew he
+must shortly see her, he was never free from a sense of terrible
+anxiety. Doubt came to him, and he could not drive it away. The
+recollection of her was dim, cold, formless; his only hope was that when
+he saw her love might rise up again, and kill that other passion which
+made him so utterly despise himself. But he had welcomed the war as a
+respite, and the thought came to him that its chances might easily solve
+the difficulty. Then followed the months of hardship and of fighting;
+and during these the image of Mrs. Wallace had been less persistent, so
+that James fancied he was regaining the freedom he longed for. And when
+he lay wounded and ill, his absolute weariness made him ardently look
+forward to seeing his people again. A hotter love sprang up for them;
+and the hope became stronger that reunion with Mary might awaken the
+dead emotion. He wished for it with all his heart.
+
+But he had seen Mary, and he felt it hopeless; she left him cold, almost
+hostile. And with a mocking laugh, James heard Mrs. Wallace's words:
+
+"Subalterns always get engaged to the same type of girl. They photograph
+so badly."
+
+* * *
+
+And now he did not know what to do. The long recalling of the past had
+left James more uncertain than ever. Some devil within him cried, "Wait,
+wait! Something may happen!" It really seemed better to let things slide
+a little. Perhaps--who could tell?--in a day or two the old habit might
+render Mary as dear to him as when last he had wandered with her in that
+green wood, James sighed, and looked about him.... The birds still sang
+merrily, the squirrel leaped from tree to tree; even the blades of grass
+stood with a certain conscious pleasure, as the light breeze rustled
+through them. In the mid-day sun all things took pleasure in their life;
+and all Nature appeared full of joy, coloured and various and
+insouciant. He alone was sad.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+When James went home he found that the Vicar of Little Primpton and his
+wife had already arrived. They were both of them little, dried-up
+persons, with an earnest manner and no sense of humour, quite excellent
+in a rather unpleasant way; they resembled one another like peas, but
+none knew whether the likeness had grown from the propinquity of twenty
+years, or had been the original attraction. Deeply impressed with their
+sacred calling--for Mrs. Jackson would never have acknowledged that the
+Vicar's wife held a position inferior to the Vicar's--they argued that
+the whole world was God's, and they God's particular ministrants; so
+that it was their plain duty to concern themselves with the business of
+their fellows--and it must be confessed that they never shrank from this
+duty. They were neither well-educated, nor experienced, nor tactful; but
+blissfully ignorant of these defects, they shepherded their flock with
+little moral barks, and gave them, rather self-consciously, a good
+example in the difficult way to eternal life. They were eminently
+worthy people, who thought light-heartedness somewhat indecent. They did
+endless good in the most disagreeable manner possible; and in their
+fervour not only bore unnecessary crosses themselves, but saddled them
+on to everyone else, as the only certain passport to the Golden City.
+
+The Reverend Archibald Jackson had been appointed to the living of
+Little Primpton while James was in India, and consequently had never
+seen him.
+
+"I was telling your father," said Mrs. Jackson, on shaking hands, "that
+I hoped you were properly grateful for all the mercies that have been
+bestowed upon you."
+
+James stared at her a little. "Were you?"
+
+He hated the fashion these people had of discussing matters which he
+himself thought most private.
+
+"Mr. Jackson was asking if you'd like a short prayer offered up next
+Sunday, James," said his mother.
+
+"I shouldn't at all."
+
+"Why not?" asked the Vicar, "I think it's your duty to thank your Maker
+for your safe return, and I think your parents should join in the
+thanksgiving."
+
+"We're probably none of us less grateful," said James, "because we
+don't want to express our feelings before the united congregation."
+
+Jamie's parents looked at him with relief, for the same thought filled
+their minds; but thinking it their duty to submit themselves to the
+spiritual direction of the Vicar and his wife, they had not thought it
+quite right to decline the proposal. Mrs. Jackson glanced at her husband
+with pained astonishment, but further argument was prevented by the
+arrival of Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn, and Mary.
+
+Colonel Clibborn was a tall man, with oily black hair and fierce
+eyebrows, both dyed; aggressively military and reminiscent He had been
+in a cavalry regiment, where he had come to the philosophic conclusion
+that all men are dust--except cavalry-men; and he was able to look upon
+Jamie's prowess--the prowess of an infantryman--from superior heights.
+He was a great authority upon war, and could tell anyone what were the
+mistakes in South Africa, and how they might have been avoided; likewise
+he had known in the service half the peers of the realm, and talked of
+them by their Christian names. He spent three weeks every season in
+London, and dined late, at seven o'clock, so he had every qualification
+for considering himself a man of fashion.
+
+"I don't know what they'd do in Little Primpton without us," he said.
+"It's only us who keep it alive."
+
+But Mrs. Clibborn missed society.
+
+"The only people I can speak to are the Parsons," she told her husband,
+plaintively. "They're very good people--but only infantry, Reggie."
+
+"Of course, they're only infantry," agreed Colonel Clibborn.
+
+Mrs. Clibborn was a regimental beauty--of fifty, who had grown stout;
+but not for that ceased to use the weapons which Nature had given her
+against the natural enemies of the sex. In her dealings with several
+generations of adorers, she had acquired such a habit of languishing
+glances that now she used them unconsciously. Whether ordering meat from
+the butcher or discussing parochial matters with Mr. Jackson, Mrs.
+Clibborn's tone and manner were such that she might have been saying the
+most tender things. She had been very popular in the service, because
+she was the type of philandering woman who required no beating about the
+bush; her neighbour at the dinner-table, even if he had not seen her
+before, need never have hesitated to tell her with the soup that she was
+the handsomest creature he had ever seen, and with the _entree_ that he
+adored her.
+
+On coming in, Mrs. Clibborn for a moment looked at James, quite
+speechless, her head on one side and her eyes screwing into the corner
+of the room.
+
+"Oh, how wonderful!" she said, at last "I suppose I mustn't call you
+Jamie now." She spoke very slowly, and every word sounded like a caress.
+Then she looked at James again in silent ecstasy. "Colonel Parsons, how
+proud you must be! And when I think that soon he will be my son! How
+thin you look, James!"
+
+"And how well you look, dear lady!"
+
+It was understood that everyone must make compliments to Mrs. Clibborn;
+otherwise she grew cross, and when she was cross she was horrid.
+
+She smiled to show her really beautiful teeth.
+
+"I should like to kiss you, James. May I, Mrs. Parsons?"
+
+"Certainly," replied Jamie's mother, who didn't approve of Mrs. Clibborn
+at all.
+
+She turned her cheek to James, and assumed a seraphic expression while
+he lightly touched it with his lips.
+
+"I'm only an old woman," she murmured to the company in general.
+
+She seldom made more than one remark at a time, and at the end of each
+assumed an appropriate attitude--coy, Madonna-like, resigned, as the
+circumstances might require. Mr. Jackson came forward to shake hands,
+and she turned her languishing glance on him.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Jackson, how beautiful your sermon was!"
+
+* * *
+
+They sat down to dinner, and ate their ox-tail soup. It is terrible to
+think of the subtlety with which the Evil One can insinuate himself
+among the most pious; for soup at middle-day is one of his most
+dangerous wiles, and it is precisely with the simple-minded inhabitants
+of the country and of the suburbs that this vice is most prevalent.
+
+James was sitting next to Mrs. Clibborn, and presently she looked at him
+with the melancholy smile which had always seemed to her so effective.
+
+"We want you to tell us how you won your Victoria Cross, Jamie."
+
+The others, eager to hear the story from the hero's lips, had been,
+notwithstanding, too tactful to ask; but they were willing to take
+advantage of Mrs. Clibborn's lack of that quality.
+
+"We've all been looking forward to it," said the Vicar.
+
+"I don't think there's anything to tell," replied James.
+
+His father and mother were looking at him with happy eyes, and the
+Colonel nodded to Mary.
+
+"Please, Jamie, tell us," she said. "We only saw the shortest account in
+the papers, and you said nothing about it in your letters."
+
+"D'you think it's very good form of me to tell you about it?" asked
+James, smiling gravely.
+
+"We're all friends here," said the Vicar.
+
+And Colonel Clibborn added, making sheep's eyes at his wife:
+
+"You can't refuse a lady!"
+
+"I'm an old woman," sighed Mrs. Clibborn, with a doleful glance. "I
+can't expect him to do it for me."
+
+The only clever thing Mrs. Clibborn had done in her life was to
+acknowledge to old age at thirty, and then she did not mean it. It had
+been one of her methods in flirtation, covering all excesses under a
+maternal aspect. She must have told hundreds of young officers that she
+was old enough to be their mother; and she always said it looking
+plaintively at the ceiling, when they squeezed her hand.
+
+"It wasn't a very wonderful thing I did," said James, at last, "and it
+was completely useless."
+
+"No fine deed is useless," said the Vicar, sententiously.
+
+James looked at him a moment, but proceeded with his story.
+
+"It was only that I tried to save the life of a sub who'd just
+joined--and didn't."
+
+"Would you pass me the salt?" said Mrs. Clibborn.
+
+"Mamma!" cried Mary, with a look as near irritation as her gentle nature
+permitted.
+
+"Go on, Jamie, there's a good boy," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+And James, seeing his father's charming, pathetic look of pride, told
+the story to him alone. The others did not care how much they hurt him
+so long as they could gape in admiration, but in his father he saw the
+most touching sympathy.
+
+"It was a chap called Larcher, a boy of eighteen, with fair hair and
+blue eyes, who looked quite absurdly young. His people live somewhere
+round here, near Ashford."
+
+"Larcher, did you say?" asked Mrs. Clibborn, "I've never heard the name.
+It's not a county family."
+
+"Go on, Jamie," said Mary, with some impatience.
+
+"Well, he'd only been with us three or four weeks; but I knew him rather
+well. Oddly enough, he'd taken a sort of fancy to me. He was such a
+nice, bright boy, so enthusiastic and simple. I used to tell him that
+he ought to have been at school, rather than roughing it at the Cape."
+
+Mrs. Clibborn sat with an idiotic smile on her lips, and a fixed
+expression of girlish innocence.
+
+"Well, we knew we should be fighting in a day or so; and the evening
+before the battle young Larcher was talking to me. 'How d'you feel?' I
+said. He didn't answer quite so quickly as usual. 'D'you know,' he said,
+'I'm so awfully afraid that I shall funk it.' 'You needn't mind that,' I
+said, and I laughed. 'The first time we most of us do funk it. For five
+minutes or so you just have to cling on to your eyelashes to prevent
+yourself from running away, and then you feel all right, and you think
+it's rather sport.' 'I've got a sort of presentiment that I shall be
+killed,' he said. 'Don't be an ass,' I answered. 'We've all got a
+presentiment that we shall be killed the first time we're under fire. If
+all the people were killed who had presentiments, half the army would
+have gone to kingdom come long ago.'"
+
+"You should have told him to lay his trust in the hands of Him who has
+power to turn the bullet and to break the sword," said Mrs. Jackson.
+
+"He wasn't that sort," replied James, drily, "I laughed at him, thinking
+it the better way.... Well, next day we did really fight. We were sent
+to take an unoccupied hill. Our maxim was that a hill is always
+unoccupied unless the enemy are actually firing from it. Of course, the
+place was chock full of Boers; they waited till we had come within easy
+range for a toy-pistol, and then fired murderously. We did all we could.
+We tried to storm the place, but we hadn't a chance. Men tumbled down
+like nine-pins. I've never seen anything like it. The order was given to
+fire, and there was nothing to fire at but the naked rocks. We had to
+retire--we couldn't do anything else; and presently I found that poor
+Larcher had been wounded. Well, I thought he couldn't be left where he
+was, so I went back for him. I asked him if he could move. 'No,' he
+said, 'I think I'm hurt in the leg.' I knelt down and bandaged him up as
+well as I could. He was simply bleeding like a pig; and meanwhile
+brother Boer potted at us for all he was worth. 'How d'you feel?' I
+asked. 'Bit dicky; but comfortable. I didn't funk it, did I?' 'No, of
+course not, you juggins!' I said. 'Can you walk, d'you think?' 'I'll
+try.' I lifted him up and put my arm round him, and we got along for a
+bit; then he became awfully white and groaned, 'I do feel so bad,
+Parsons,' and then he fainted. So I had to carry him; and we went a bit
+farther, and then--and then I was hit in the arm. 'I say, I can't carry
+you now,' I said; 'for God's sake, buck up.' He opened his eyes, and I
+prevented him from falling. 'I think I can stand,' he said, and as he
+spoke a bullet got him in the neck, and his blood splashed over my face.
+He gave a gasp and died."
+
+James finished, and his mother and Mary wiped the tears from their eyes.
+Mrs. Clibborn turned to her husband.
+
+"Reggie, I'm sure the Larchers are not a county family."
+
+"There was a sapper of that name whom we met at Simla once, my dear,"
+replied the Colonel.
+
+"I thought I'd heard it before," said Mrs. Clibborn, with an air of
+triumph, as though she'd found out a very difficult puzzle. "Had he a
+red moustache?"
+
+"Have you heard from the young man's people, Captain Parsons?" asked
+Mrs. Jackson.
+
+"I had a letter from Mrs. Larcher, the boy's mother, asking me to go
+over and see her."
+
+"She must be very grateful to you, Jamie."
+
+"Why? She has no reason to be."
+
+"You did all you could to save him."
+
+"It would have been better if I'd left him alone. Don't you see that if
+he had remained where he was he might have been alive now. He would have
+been taken prisoner and sent to Pretoria, but that is better than
+rotting on the veldt. He was killed because I tried to save him."
+
+"There are worse things than death," said Colonel Parsons. "I have often
+thought that those fellows who surrendered did the braver thing. It is
+easy to stand and be shot down, but to hoist the white flag so as to
+save the lives of the men under one--that requires courage."
+
+"It is a sort of courage which seemed not uncommon," answered James,
+drily. "And they had a fairly pleasant time in Pretoria. Eventually, I
+believe, wars will be quite bloodless; rival armies will perambulate,
+and whenever one side has got into a good position, the other will
+surrender wholesale. Campaigns will be conducted like manoeuvres, and
+the special correspondents will decide which lot has won."
+
+"If they were surrounded and couldn't escape, it would have been wicked
+not to hoist the white flag," said Mrs. Jackson.
+
+"I daresay you know more about it than I," replied James.
+
+But the Vicar's lady insisted:
+
+"If you were so placed that on one hand was certain death for yourself
+and all your men, and on the other hand surrender, which would you
+chose?"
+
+"One can never tell; and in those matters it is wiser not to boast.
+Certain death is an awful thing, but our fathers preferred it to
+surrender."
+
+"War is horrible!" said Mary, shuddering.
+
+"Oh, no!" cried James, shaking himself out of his despondency. "War is
+the most splendid thing in the world. I shall never forget those few
+minutes, now and then, when we got on top of the Boers and fought with
+them, man to man, in the old way. Ah, life seemed worth living then! One
+day, I remember, they'd been giving it us awfully hot all the morning,
+and we'd lost frightfully. At last we rushed their position, and, by
+Jove, we let 'em have it! How we did hate them! You should have heard
+the Tommies cursing as they killed! I shall never forget the
+exhilaration of it, the joy of thinking that we were getting our own
+again. By Gad, it beat cock-fighting!"
+
+Jamie's cheeks were flushed and his eyes shone; but he had forgotten
+where he was, and his father's voice came to him through a mist of blood
+and a roar of sound.
+
+"I have fought, too," said Colonel Parsons, looking at his son with
+troubled eyes--"I have fought, too, but never with anger in my heart,
+nor lust of vengeance. I hope I did my duty, but I never forgot that my
+enemy was a fellow-creature. I never felt joy at killing, but pain and
+grief. War is inevitable, but it is horrible, horrible! It is only the
+righteous cause that can excuse it; and then it must be tempered with
+mercy and forgiveness."
+
+"Cause? Every cause is righteous. I can think of no war in which right
+has not been fairly equal on both sides; in every question there is
+about as much to be said on either part, and in none more than in war.
+Each country is necessarily convinced of the justice of its own cause."
+
+"They can't both be right."
+
+"Oh, yes, they can. It's generally six to one and half a dozen of the
+other."
+
+"Do you mean to say that you, a military man, think the Boers were
+justified?" asked Colonel Clibborn, with some indignation.
+
+James laughed.
+
+"You must remember that if any nation but ourselves had been engaged,
+our sympathies would have been entirely with the sturdy peasants
+fighting for their independence. The two great powers in the affairs of
+the world are sentiment and self-interest. The Boers are the smaller,
+weaker nation, and they have been beaten; it is only natural that
+sympathy should be with them. It was with the French for the same
+reason, after the Franco-Prussian War. But we, who were fighting,
+couldn't think of sentiment; to us it was really a matter of life and
+death, I was interested to see how soon the English put aside their
+ideas of fair play and equal terms when we had had a few reverses. They
+forgot that one Englishman was equal to ten foreigners, and insisted on
+sending out as many troops as possible. I fancy you were badly
+panic-stricken over here."
+
+James saw that his listeners looked at him with surprise, even with
+consternation; and he hastened to explain.
+
+"Of course, I don't blame them. They were quite right to send as many
+men as possible. The object of war is not to do glorious actions, but to
+win. Other things being equal, it is obviously better to be ten to one;
+it is less heroic, but more reasonable."
+
+"You take from war all the honour and all the chivalry!" cried Mary.
+"The only excuse for war is that it brings out the noblest qualities of
+man--self-sacrifice, unselfishness, endurance."
+
+"But war doesn't want any excuse," replied James, smiling gently. "Many
+people say that war is inhuman and absurd; many people are uncommonly
+silly. When they think war can be abolished, they show a phenomenal
+ignorance of the conditions of all development. War in one way and
+another is at the very root of life. War is not conducted only by fire
+and sword; it is in all nature, it is the condition of existence for
+all created things. Even the wild flowers in the meadow wage war, and
+they wage it more ruthlessly even than man, for with them defeat means
+extermination. The law of Nature is that the fit should kill the unfit.
+The Lord is the Lord of Hosts. The lame, and the halt, and the blind
+must remain behind, while the strong man goes his way rejoicing."
+
+"How hard you are!" said Mary. "Have you no pity, James?"
+
+"D'you know, I've got an idea that there's too much pity in the world.
+People seem to be losing their nerve; reality shocks them, and they live
+slothfully in the shoddy palaces of Sham Ideals. The sentimentalists,
+the cowards, and the cranks have broken the spirit of mankind. The
+general in battle now is afraid to strike because men may be killed.
+Sometimes it is worth while to lose men. When we become soldiers, we
+know that we cease to be human beings, and are merely the instruments
+for a certain work; we know that sometimes it may be part of a general's
+deliberate plan that we should be killed. I have no confidence in a
+leader who is tender-hearted. Compassion weakens his brain, and the
+result, too often, is disaster."
+
+But as he spoke, James realised with a start how his father would take
+what he was saying. He could have torn out his tongue, he would have
+given anything that the words should remain unspoken. His father, in
+pity and in humanity, had committed just such a fatal mistake, and
+trying tender-heartedly to save life had brought about death and
+disaster. He would take the thoughtless words as a deliberate
+condemnation; the wound, barely closed, was torn open by his very son,
+and he must feel again the humiliation which had nearly killed him.
+
+Colonel Parsons sat motionless, as though he were stunned, his eyes
+fixed on James with horror and pain; he looked like some hunted animal,
+terror-stricken, and yet surprised, wondering that man should be so
+cruel.
+
+"What can I do?" thought James. "How can I make it good for him?"
+
+The conversation was carried on by the Clibborns and by the Vicar, all
+happily unconscious that a tragedy was acting under their noses. James
+looked at his father. He wanted to show how bitterly he regretted the
+pain he had caused, but knew not what to say; he wanted to give a sign
+of his eager love, and tortured himself, knowing the impossibility of
+showing in any way his devotion.
+
+Fortunately, the maid came in to announce that the school children were
+without, to welcome Captain Parsons; and they all rose from the table.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+Colonel Parsons and his wife had wished no function to celebrate the
+home-coming of James; but gave in to the persuasions of Mary and of Mr.
+Dryland, the curate, who said that a public ceremony would be
+undoubtedly a stimulus to the moral welfare of Little Primpton. No man
+could escape from his obligations, and Captain Parsons owed it to his
+fellow-countrymen of Little Primpton to let them show their appreciation
+of his great deed.
+
+The Vicar went so far as to assert that a hearty greeting to the hero
+would be as salutory to the parishioners as a sermon of his own, while
+it would awaken James, a young man and possibly thoughtless, to a proper
+sense of his responsibilities. But the sudden arrival of James had
+disturbed the arrangements, and Mr. Dryland, in some perplexity, went to
+see Mary.
+
+"What are we to do, Miss Clibborn? The school children will be so
+disappointed."
+
+The original plan had been to meet the hero as he drove towards
+Primpton House from the station, and the curate was unwilling to give it
+up.
+
+"D'you think Captain Parsons would go into Tunbridge Wells and drive in
+at two o'clock, as if he were just arriving?"
+
+"I'm afraid he wouldn't," replied Mary, doubtfully, "and I think he'd
+only laugh if I asked him. He seemed glad when he thought he had escaped
+the celebration."
+
+"Did he, indeed? How true it is that real courage is always modest! But
+it would be an eternal disgrace to Little Primpton if we did not welcome
+our hero, especially now that everything is prepared. It must not be
+said that Little Primpton neglects to honour him whom the Empire has
+distinguished."
+
+After turning over many plans, they decided that the procession should
+come to Primpton House at the appointed hour, when Captain Parsons would
+receive it from the triumphal arch at the gate.... When the servant
+announced that the function was ready to begin, an announcement
+emphasised by the discordant notes of the brass band, Mary hurriedly
+explained to James what was expected of him, and they all made for the
+front door.
+
+Primpton House faced the green, and opposite the little village shops
+were gay with bunting; at the side, against the highroad that led to
+Groombridge, the church and the public-house stood together in friendly
+neighbourhood, decorated with Union Jacks. The whole scene, with its
+great chestnut-trees, and the stretch of greenery beyond, was pleasantly
+rural, old-fashioned and very English; and to complete it, the sun shone
+down comfortably like a good-natured, mild old gentleman. The curate,
+with a fine sense of order, had arranged on the right the school-boys,
+nicely scrubbed and redolent of pomatum; and on the left the girls,
+supported by their teachers. In the middle stood the choir, the brass
+band, and Mr. Dryland. The village yokels were collected round in
+open-mouthed admiration. The little party from the house took their
+places under the triumphal arch, the Clibborns assuming an expression of
+genteel superciliousness; and as they all wore their Sunday clothes,
+they made quite an imposing group.
+
+Seeing that they were ready, Mr. Dryland stepped forward, turned his
+back so as to command the musicians, and coughed significantly. He
+raised above his head his large, white clerical hand, stretching out the
+index-finger, and began to beat time. He bellowed aloud, and the choir,
+a bar or so late, followed lustily. The band joined in with a hearty
+braying of trumpets.
+
+    "_See, the conquering Hero comes,_
+    _Sound the trumpets; beat the drums._"
+
+But growing excited at the music issuing from his throat, the curate
+raised the other hand which held his soft felt hat, and beat time
+energetically with that also.
+
+At the end of the verse the performers took a rapid breath, as though
+afraid of being left behind, and then galloped on, a little less evenly,
+until one by one they reached the highly-decorated Amen.
+
+When the last note of the last cornet had died away on the startled air,
+Mr. Dryland made a sign to the head boy of the school, who thereupon
+advanced and waved his cap, shouting:
+
+"Three cheers for Capting Parsons, V.C.!"
+
+Then the curate, wiping his heated brow, turned round and cleared his
+throat.
+
+"Captain Parsons," he said, in a loud voice, so that none should miss
+his honeyed words, "we, the inhabitants of Little Primpton, welcome you
+to your home. I need not say that it is with great pleasure that we have
+gathered together this day to offer you our congratulations on your safe
+return to those that love you. I need not remind you that there is no
+place like home. ("Hear, hear!" from the Vicar.) We are proud to think
+that our fellow-parishioner should have gained the coveted glory of the
+Victoria Cross. Little Primpton need not be ashamed now to hold up its
+head among the proudest cities of the Empire. You have brought honour to
+yourself, but you have brought honour to us also. You have shown that
+Englishmen know how to die; you have shown the rival nations of the
+Continent that the purity and the godliness of Old England still bear
+fruit. But I will say no more; I wished only to utter a few words to
+welcome you on behalf of those who cannot, perhaps, express themselves
+so well as I can. I will say no more. Captain Parsons, we hope that you
+will live long to enjoy your honour and glory, side by side with her who
+is to shortly become your wife. I would only assure you that your
+example has not been lost upon us; we all feel better, nobler, and more
+truly Christian. And we say to you, now that you have overcome all
+dangers and tribulation, now that you have returned to the bosom of your
+beloved family, take her who has also given us an example of
+resignation, of courage, and of--and of resignation. Take her, we say,
+and be happy; confident in the respect, esteem, and affection of the
+people of Little Primpton. James Brown, who has the honour to bear the
+same Christian name as yourself, and is also the top boy of the Parish
+School, will now recite a short poem entitled 'Casabianca.'
+
+Mr. Dryland had wished to compose an ode especially for the occasion.
+It would evidently have been effective to welcome the hero, to glorify
+his deed, and to point the moral in a few original verses; but,
+unhappily, the muse was froward, which was singular, since the _elite_
+of Little Primpton had unimpeachable morals, ideals of the most approved
+character, and principles enough to build a church with; nor was an
+acquaintance with literature wanting. They all read the daily papers,
+and Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, in addition, read the _Church Times_. Mary
+even knew by heart whole chunks of Sir Lewis Morris, and Mr. Dryland
+recited Tennyson at penny readings. But when inspiration is wanting, a
+rhyming dictionary, for which the curate sent to London, will not help
+to any great extent; and finally the unanimous decision was reached to
+give some well-known poem apposite to the circumstance. It shows in what
+charming unity of spirit these simple, God-fearing people lived, and how
+fine was their sense of literary excellence, that without hesitation
+they voted in chorus for "Casabianca."
+
+The head boy stepped forward--he had been carefully trained by Mr.
+Dryland--and with appropriate gestures recited the immortal verses of
+Felicia Hemans:
+
+    "_The boy stood on the burning deck,
+      Whence all but 'e 'ad fled;
+      The flame that lit the battle's wreck,
+      Shone round 'im o'er the dead._"
+
+When he finished, amid the discreet applause of the little party beneath
+the archway, Mr. Dryland again advanced.
+
+"Polly Game, the top girl of the Parish School, will now present Miss
+Clibborn with a bouquet. Step forward, Polly Game."
+
+This was a surprise arranged by the curate, and he watched with pleasure
+Mary's look of delighted astonishment.
+
+Polly Game stepped forward, and made a little speech in the ingenuous
+words which Mr. Dryland had thought natural to her character and
+station.
+
+"Please, Miss Clibborn, we, the girls of Little Primpton, wish to
+present you with this bouquet as a slight token of our esteem. We wish
+you a long life and a 'appy marriage with the choice of your 'eart."
+
+She then handed a very stiff bunch of flowers, surrounded with frilled
+paper like the knuckle of a leg of mutton.
+
+"We will now sing hymn number one hundred and thirty-seven," said Mr.
+Dryland.
+
+The verses were given vigorously, while Mrs. Clibborn, with a tender
+smile, murmured to Mrs. Parsons that it was beautiful to see such a nice
+spirit among the lower classes. The strains of the brass band died away
+on the summer breeze, and there was a momentary pause. Then the Vicar,
+with a discreet cough to clear his throat, came forward.
+
+"Captain Parsons, ladies and gentlemen, parishioners of Little Primpton,
+I wish to take the opportunity to say a few words."
+
+The Vicar made an admirable speech. The sentiments were hackneyed, the
+observations self-evident, and the moral obvious. His phrases had the
+well-known ring which distinguishes the true orator. Mr. Jackson was
+recognised everywhere to be a fine platform speaker, but his varied
+excellence could not be appreciated in a summary, and he had a fine
+verbosity. It is sufficient to say that he concluded by asking for more
+cheers, which were heartily given.
+
+James found the whole affair distasteful and ridiculous; and indeed
+scarcely noticed what was going on, for his thoughts were entirely
+occupied with his father. At first Colonel Parsons seemed too depressed
+to pay attention to the ceremony, and his eyes travelled every now and
+again to James, with that startled, unhappy expression which was
+horribly painful to see. But his age and weakness prevented him from
+feeling very intensely for more than a short while; time had brought its
+own good medicine, and the old man's mind was easily turned. Presently
+he began to smile, and the look of pride and happiness returned to his
+face.
+
+But James was not satisfied. He felt he must make active reparation.
+When the Vicar finished, and he understood that some reply was expected,
+it occurred to him that he had an opportunity of salving the bitter
+wound he had caused. The very hatred he felt at making open allusion to
+his feelings made him think it a just punishment; none knew but himself
+how painful it was to talk in that strain to stupid, curious people.
+
+"I thank you very much for the welcome you have all given me," he said.
+
+His voice trembled in his nervousness, so that he could hardly command
+it, and he reddened. It seemed to James a frightful humiliation to have
+to say the things he had in mind, it made them all ugly and vulgar; he
+was troubled also by his inability to express what he felt. He noticed a
+reporter for the local newspaper rapidly taking notes.
+
+"I have been very much touched by your kindness. Of course, I am
+extremely proud to have won the Victoria Cross, but I feel it is really
+more owing to my father than to any deed of mine. You all know my
+father, and you know what a brave and gallant soldier he was. It was
+owing to his fine example, and to his teaching, and to his constant,
+loving care, that I was able to do the little I did. And I should like
+to say that it is to him and to my mother that I owe everything. It is
+the thought of his unblemished and exquisite career, of the beautiful
+spirit which brightly coloured all his actions, that has supported me in
+times of difficulty. And my earnest desire has always been to prove
+myself worthy of my father and the name he has handed on to me. You have
+cheered me very kindly; now I should like to ask you for three cheers
+for my father."
+
+Colonel Parsons looked at his son as he began to speak. When he realised
+Jamie's meaning, tears filled his eyes and streamed down his
+cheeks--tears of happiness and gratitude. All recollection of the
+affront quickly vanished, and he felt an ecstatic joy such as he had
+never known before. The idea came to him in his weakness: "Now I can die
+happy!" He was too overcome to be ashamed of his emotion, and taking out
+his handkerchief, quite unaffectedly wiped his eyes.
+
+The band struck up "Rule, Britannia" and "God Save the Queen"; and in
+orderly fashion, as Mr. Dryland had arranged, they all marched off. The
+group under the triumphal arch broke up, and the Jacksons and Colonel
+and Mrs. Clibborn went their ways.
+
+Mary came into the house. She took Jamie's hands, her eyes wet with
+tears.
+
+"Oh, Jamie," she said, "you are good! It was charming of you to speak as
+you did of your father. You don't know how happy you've made him."
+
+"I'm very glad you are pleased," he said gravely, and bending forward,
+put his arm round her waist and kissed her.
+
+For a moment she leant her head against his shoulder; but with her
+emotion was a thing soon vanquished. She wished, above all things, to be
+manly, as befitted a soldier's wife. She shook herself, and withdrew
+from Jamie's arms.
+
+"But I must be running off, or mamma will be angry with me. Good-bye for
+the present."
+
+* * *
+
+James went into the dining-room, where his father, exhausted by the
+varied agitations of the day, was seeking composure in the leading
+articles of the morning paper. Mrs. Parsons sat on her usual chair,
+knitting, and she greeted him with a loving smile. James saw that they
+were both pleased with his few awkward words, which still rang in his
+own ears as shoddy and sentimental, and he tasted, somewhat ruefully,
+the delight of making the kind creatures happy.
+
+"Has Mary gone?" asked Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"Yes. She said her mother would be angry if she stayed."
+
+"I saw that Mrs. Clibborn was put out. I suppose because someone besides
+herself attracted attention. I do think she is the wickedest woman I've
+ever known."
+
+"Frances, Frances!" expostulated the Colonel.
+
+"She is, Richmond. She's a thoroughly bad woman. The way she treats Mary
+is simply scandalous."
+
+"Poor girl!" said the Colonel.
+
+"Oh, Jamie, it makes my blood boil when I think of it. Sometimes the
+poor thing used to come here quite upset, and simply cry as if her heart
+was breaking."
+
+"But what does Mrs. Clibborn do?" asked James, surprised.
+
+"Oh, I can't tell you! She's dreadfully unkind. She hates Mary because
+she's grown up, and because she sometimes attracts attention. She's
+always making little cruel remarks. You only see her when she's on her
+good behaviour; but when she's alone with Mary, Mrs. Clibborn is simply
+horrible. She abuses her; she tells her she's ugly, and that she
+dresses badly. How can she dress any better when Mrs. Clibborn spends
+all the money on herself? I've heard her myself say to Mary: 'How stupid
+and clumsy you are! I'm ashamed to take you anywhere.' And Mary's the
+very soul of goodness. She teaches in the Sunday School, and she trains
+the choir-boys, and she visits the poor; and yet Mrs. Clibborn complains
+that she's useless. I wanted Richmond to talk to Colonel Clibborn about
+it."
+
+"Mary particularly asked me not to," said Colonel Parsons. "She
+preferred to bear anything rather than create unhappiness between her
+father and mother."
+
+"She's a perfect angel of goodness!" cried Mrs. Parsons,
+enthusiastically. "She's simply a martyr, and all the time she's as kind
+and affectionate to her mother as if she were the best woman in the
+world. She never lets anyone say a word against her."
+
+"Sometimes," murmured Colonel Parsons, "she used to say that her only
+happiness was in the thought of you, Jamie."
+
+"The thought of me?" said James; and then hesitatingly: "Do you think
+she is very fond of me, mother?"
+
+"Fond of you?" Mrs Parsons laughed. "She worships the very ground you
+tread on. You can't imagine all you are to her."
+
+"You'll make the boy vain," said Colonel Parsons, laughing.
+
+"Often the only way we could comfort her was by saying that you would
+come back some day and take her away from here."
+
+"We shall have to be thinking of weddings soon, I suppose?" said Colonel
+Parsons, looking at James, with a bantering smile.
+
+James turned white. "It's rather early to think of that just yet."
+
+"We spoke of June," said his mother.
+
+"We must see."
+
+"You've waited so long," said Colonel Parsons; "I'm sure you don't want
+to wait any longer."
+
+"She _will_ make you a good wife, Jamie. You are lucky to have found
+such a dear, sweet girl. It's a blessing to us to think that you will be
+so happy."
+
+"As I was saying to Mary the other day," added Colonel Parsons, laughing
+gently, "'you must begin thinking of your trousseau, my dear,' I said,
+'If I know anything of Jamie, he'll want to get married in a week. These
+young fellows are always impatient.'"
+
+Mrs Parsons smiled.
+
+"Well, it's a great secret, and Mary would be dreadfully annoyed if she
+thought you knew; but when we heard you were coming home, she started
+to order things. Her father has given her a hundred pounds to begin
+with."
+
+They had no mercy, thought James. They were horribly cruel in their
+loving-kindness, in their affectionate interest for his welfare.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+James had been away from England for five years; and in that time a
+curious change, long silently proceeding, had made itself openly
+felt--becoming manifest, like an insidious disease, only when every limb
+and every organ were infected. A new spirit had been in action, eating
+into the foundations of the national character; it worked through the
+masses of the great cities, unnerved by the three poisons of drink, the
+Salvation Army, and popular journalism. A mighty force of hysteria and
+sensationalism was created, seething, ready to burst its bonds ... The
+canker spread through the country-side; the boundaries of class and
+class are now so vague that quickly the whole population was affected;
+the current literature of the day flourished upon it; the people of
+England, neurotic from the stress of the last sixty years, became
+unstable as water. And with the petty reverses of the beginning of the
+war, the last barriers of shame were broken down; their arrogance was
+dissipated, and suddenly the English became timorous as a conquered
+nation, deprecating, apologetic; like frightened women, they ran to and
+fro, wringing their hands. Reserve, restraint, self-possession, were
+swept away ... And now we are frankly emotional; reeds tottering in the
+wind, our boast is that we are not even reeds that think; we cry out for
+idols. Who is there that will set up a golden ass that we may fall down
+and worship? We glory in our shame, in our swelling hearts, in our eyes
+heavy with tears. We want sympathy at all costs; we run about showing
+our bleeding vitals, asking one another whether they are not indeed a
+horrible sight. Englishmen now are proud of being womanish, and nothing
+is more manly than to weep. To be a man of feeling is better than to be
+a gentleman--it is certainly much easier. The halt of mind, the maim,
+the blind of wit, have come by their own; and the poor in spirit have
+inherited the earth.
+
+James had left England when this emotional state was contemptible. Found
+chiefly in the dregs of the populace, it was ascribed to ignorance and
+to the abuse of stimulants. When he returned, it had the public
+conscience behind it. He could not understand the change. The persons he
+had known sober, equal-minded, and restrained, now seemed violently
+hysterical. James still shuddered, remembering the curate's allusions to
+his engagement; and he wondered that Mary, far from thinking them
+impertinent, had been vastly gratified. She seemed to take pleasure in
+publicly advertising her connection, in giving her private affairs to
+the inspection of all and sundry. The whole ceremony had been revolting;
+he loathed the adulation and the fulsome sentiment. His own emotions
+seemed vulgar now that he had been forced to display them to the gaping
+crowd.
+
+But the function of the previous day had the effect also of sealing his
+engagement. Everyone knew of it. Jamie's name was indissolubly joined
+with Mary's; he could not break the tie now without exposing her to the
+utmost humiliation. And how could he offer her such an affront when she
+loved him devotedly? It was not vanity that made him think so, his
+mother had told him outright; and he saw it in every look of Mary's
+eyes, in the least inflection of her voice. James asked himself
+desperately why Mary should care for him. He was not good-looking; he
+was silent; he was not amusing; he had no particular attraction.
+
+James was sitting in his room, and presently heard Mary's voice calling
+from the hall.
+
+"Jamie! Jamie!"
+
+He got up and came downstairs.
+
+"Why, Jamie," said his father, "you ought to have gone to fetch Mary,
+instead of waiting here for her to come to you."
+
+"You certainly ought, Jamie," said Mary, laughing; and then, looking at
+him, with sudden feeling: "But how seedy you look!"
+
+James had hardly slept, troubling over his perplexity, and he looked
+haggard and tired.
+
+"I'm all right," he said; "I'm not very strong yet, and I was rather
+exhausted yesterday."
+
+"Mary thought you would like to go with her this morning, while she does
+her district visiting."
+
+"It's a beautiful morning, Jamie; it will do you good!" cried Mary.
+
+"I should like it very much."
+
+They started out. Mary wore her every-day costume--a serge gown, a
+sailor hat, and solid, square-toed boots. She walked fast, with long
+steps and firm carriage. James set himself to talk, asking her
+insignificant questions about the people she visited. Mary answered with
+feeling and at length, but was interrupted by arriving at a cottage.
+
+"You'd better not come in here," she said, blushing slightly; "although
+I want to take you in to some of the people. I think it will be a lesson
+to them."
+
+"A lesson in what?"
+
+"Oh, I can't tell you to your face, I don't want to make you conceited;
+but you can guess while you're waiting for me."
+
+Mary's patient was about to be confined, and thinking her condition
+rather indecent, quite rightly, Mary had left James outside. But the
+good lady, since it was all in the way of nature, was not so ashamed of
+herself as she should have been, and insisted on coming to the door to
+show Miss Clibborn out.
+
+"Take care he doesn't see you!" cried Mary in alarm, pushing her back.
+
+"Well, there's no harm in it. I'm a married woman. You'll have to go
+through it yourself one day, miss."
+
+Mary rejoined her lover, suffused in blushes, hoping he had seen
+nothing.
+
+"It's very difficult to teach these people propriety. Somehow the lower
+classes seem to have no sense of decency."
+
+"What's the matter?"
+
+"Oh, nothing I can tell you," replied Mary, modestly. Then, to turn the
+conversation: "She asked after my young man, and was very anxious to see
+you."
+
+"Was she? How did she know you had a young man?" asked James, grimly.
+
+"Oh, everyone knows that! You can't keep secrets in Primpton. And
+besides, I'm not ashamed of it. Are you?"
+
+"I haven't got a young man."
+
+Mary laughed.
+
+They walked on. The morning was crisp and bright, sending a healthy
+colour through Mary's cheeks. The blue sky and the bracing air made her
+feel more self-reliant, better assured than ever of her upright purpose
+and her candid heart. The road, firm underfoot and delightful to walk
+upon, stretched before them in a sinuous line. A pleasant odour came
+from the adjoining fields, from the farm-yards, as they passed them; the
+larks soared singing with happy heart, while the sparrows chirruped in
+the hedges. The hawthorn was bursting into leaf, all bright and green,
+and here and there the wild flowers were showing themselves, the
+buttercup and the speedwell. But while the charm of Nature made James
+anxious to linger, to lean on a gate and look for a while at the cows
+lazily grazing, Mary had too sound a constitution to find in it anything
+but a stimulus to renewed activity.
+
+"We mustn't dawdle, you lazy creature!" she cried merrily. "I shall
+never get through my round before one o'clock if we don't put our best
+foot foremost."
+
+"Can't you see them some other time?"
+
+The limpid air softened his heart; he thought for a moment that if he
+could wander aimlessly with Mary, gossiping without purpose, they might
+end by understanding one another. The sun, the wild flowers, the
+inconstant breeze, might help to create a new feeling.
+
+But Mary turned to him with grave tenderness.
+
+"You know I'd do anything to please you, Jamie. But even for you I
+cannot neglect my duty."
+
+James froze.
+
+"Of course, you're quite right," he said. "It really doesn't matter."
+
+They came to another cottage, and this time Mary took James in.
+
+"It's a poor old man," she said. "I'm so sorry for him; he's always so
+grateful for what I do."
+
+They found him lying in bed, writhing with pain, his head supported by a
+pillow.
+
+"Oh, how uncomfortable you look!" cried Mary. "You poor thing! Who on
+earth arranged your pillows like that?"
+
+"My daughter, miss."
+
+"I must talk to her; she ought to know better."
+
+Miss Clibborn drew away the pillows very gently, smoothed them out, and
+replaced them.
+
+"I can't bear 'em like that, miss. The other is the only way I'm
+comfortable."
+
+"Nonsense, John!" cried Mary, brightly. "You couldn't be comfortable
+with your head all on one side; you're much better as you are."
+
+James saw the look of pain in the man's face, and ventured to
+expostulate.
+
+"Don't you think you'd better put them back in the old way? He seemed
+much easier."
+
+"Nonsense, Jamie. You must know that the head ought to be higher than
+the body."
+
+"Please, miss, I can't bear the pillow like this."
+
+"Oh, yes, you can. You must show more forbearance and fortitude.
+Remember that God sends you pain in order to try you. Think of Our Lord
+suffering silently on the Cross."
+
+"You're putting him to quite unnecessary torture, Mary," said James. "He
+must know best how he's comfortable."
+
+"It's only because he's obstinate. Those people are always complaining.
+Really, you must permit me to know more about nursing than you do,
+Jamie."
+
+Jamie's face grew dark and grim, but he made no answer.
+
+"I shall send you some soup, John," said Mary, as they went out, "You
+know, one can never get these people to do anything in a rational way,"
+she added to James. "It's perfectly heartrending trying to teach them
+even such a natural thing as making themselves comfortable."
+
+James was silent.
+
+They walked a few yards farther, and passed a man in a dog-cart Mary
+turned very red, staring in front of her with the fixed awkwardness of
+one not adept in the useful art of cutting.
+
+"Oh," she said, with vexation, "he's going to John."
+
+"Who is it?"
+
+"It's Dr. Higgins--a horrid, vulgar man. He's been dreadfully rude to
+me, and I make a point of cutting him."
+
+"Really?"
+
+"Oh, he behaved scandalously. I can't bear doctors, they're so
+dreadfully interfering. And they seem to think no one can know anything
+about doctoring but themselves! He was attending one of my patients; it
+was a woman, and of course I knew what she wanted. She was ill and weak,
+and needed strengthening; so I sent her down a bottle of port. Well, Dr.
+Higgins came to the house, and asked to see me. He's not a gentleman,
+you know, and he was so rude! 'I've come to see you about Mrs. Gandy,'
+he said. 'I particularly ordered her not to take stimulants, and I find
+you've sent her down port.' 'I thought she wanted it,' I said. 'She
+told me that you had said she wasn't to touch anything, but I thought a
+little port would do her good.' Then he said, 'I wish to goodness you
+wouldn't interfere with what you know nothing about.' 'I should like you
+to remember that you're speaking to a gentlewoman,' I said. 'I don't
+care twopence,' he answered, in the rudest way. 'I'm not going to allow
+you to interfere with my patients. I took the port away, and I wish you
+to understand that you're not to send any more.'
+
+"Then I confess I lost my temper. 'I suppose you took it away to drink
+yourself?' I said. Then what d'you think he did? He burst out laughing,
+and said: 'A bottle of port that cost two bob at the local grocer's! The
+saints preserve us!'"
+
+James repressed a smile.
+
+"'You impertinent man!' I said. 'You ought to be ashamed to talk to a
+woman like that. I shall at once send Mrs. Gandy another bottle of port,
+and it's no business of yours how much it cost.' 'If you do,' he said,
+'and anything happens, by God, I'll have you up for manslaughter.' I
+rang the bell. 'Leave the house,' I said, 'and never dare come here
+again!' Now don't you think I was right, Jamie?"
+
+"My dear Mary, you always are!"
+
+James looked back at the doctor entering the cottage. It was some
+comfort to think that he would put the old man into a comfortable
+position.
+
+"When I told papa," added Mary, "he got in a most fearful rage. He
+insisted on going out with a horsewhip, and said he meant to thrash Dr.
+Higgins. He looked for him all the morning, but couldn't find him; and
+then your mother and I persuaded him it was better to treat such a
+vulgar man with silent contempt."
+
+James had noticed that the doctor was a burly, broad-shouldered fellow,
+and he could not help thinking Colonel Clibborn's resolution distinctly
+wise. How sad it is that in this world right is so often subordinate to
+brute force!
+
+"But he's not received anywhere. We all cut him; and I get everyone I
+can not to employ him."
+
+"Ah!" murmured James.
+
+Mary's next patient was feminine, and James was again left to cool his
+heels in the road; but not alone, for Mr. Dryland came out of the
+cottage. The curate was a big, stout man, with reddish hair, and a
+complexion like squashed strawberries and cream; his large, heavy face,
+hairless except for scanty red eyebrows, gave a disconcerting impression
+of nakedness. His eyes were blue and his mouth small, with the
+expression which young ladies, eighty years back, strove to acquire by
+repeating the words prune and prism. He had a fat, full voice, with
+unctuous modulations not entirely under his control, so that sometimes,
+unintentionally, he would utter the most commonplace remark in a tone
+fitted for a benediction. Mr. Dryland was possessed by the laudable
+ambition to be all things to all men; and he tried, without conspicuous
+success, always to suit his conversation to his hearers. With old ladies
+he was bland; with sportsmen slangy; with yokels he was broadly
+humorous; and with young people aggressively juvenile. But above all, he
+wished to be manly, and cultivated a boisterous laugh and a jovial
+manner.
+
+"I don't know if you remember me," he cried, with a ripple of fat
+laughter, going up to James, "I had the pleasure of addressing a few
+words to you yesterday in my official capacity. Miss Clibborn told me
+you were waiting, and I thought I would introduce myself. My name is
+Dryland."
+
+"I remember quite well."
+
+"I'm the Vicar's bottle-washer, you know," added the curate, with a
+guffaw. "Change for you--going round to the sick and needy of the
+parish--after fighting the good fight. I hear you were wounded."
+
+"I was, rather badly."
+
+"I wish I could have gone out and had a smack at the Boers. Nothing I
+should have liked better. But, of course, I'm only a parson, you know.
+It wouldn't have been thought the correct thing." Mr. Dryland, from his
+superior height, beamed down on James. "I don't know whether you
+remember the few words which I was privileged to address to you
+yesterday--"
+
+"Perfectly," put in James.
+
+"Impromptu, you know; but they expressed my feelings. That is one of the
+best things the war has done for us. It has permitted us to express our
+emotions more openly. I thought it a beautiful sight to see the noble
+tears coursing down your father's furrowed cheeks. Those few words of
+yours have won all our hearts. I may say that our little endeavours were
+nothing beside that short, unstudied speech. I hope there will be a full
+report in the Tunbridge Wells papers."
+
+"I hope not!" cried James.
+
+"You're too modest, Captain Parsons. That is what I said to Miss
+Clibborn yesterday; true courage is always modest. But it is our duty to
+see that it does not hide its light under a bushel. I hope you won't
+think it a liberty, but I myself gave the reporter a few notes."
+
+"Will Miss Clibborn be long?" asked James, looking at the cottage.
+
+"Ah, what a good woman she is, Captain Parsons. My dear sir, I assure
+you she's an angel of mercy."
+
+"It's very kind of you to say so."
+
+"Not at all! It's a pleasure. The good she does is beyond praise. She's
+a wonderful help in the parish. She has at heart the spiritual welfare
+of the people, and I may say that she is a moral force of the first
+magnitude."
+
+"I'm sure that's a very delightful thing to be."
+
+"You know I can't help thinking," laughed Mr. Dryland fatly, "that she
+ought to be the wife of a clergyman, rather than of a military man."
+
+Mary came out.
+
+"I've been telling Mrs. Gray that I don't approve of the things her
+daughter wears in church," she said. "I don't think it's nice for people
+of that class to wear such bright colours."
+
+"I don't know what we should do in the parish without you," replied the
+curate, unctuously. "It's so rare to find someone who knows what is
+right, and isn't afraid of speaking out."
+
+Mary said that she and James were walking home, and asked Mr. Dryland
+whether he would not accompany them.
+
+"I shall be delighted, if I'm not _de trop_."
+
+He looked with laughing significance from one to the other.
+
+"I wanted to talk to you about my girls," said Mary.
+
+She had a class of village maidens, to whom she taught sewing, respect
+for their betters, and other useful things.
+
+"I was just telling Captain Parsons that you were an angel of mercy,
+Miss Clibborn."
+
+"I'm afraid I'm not that," replied Mary, gravely. "But I try to do my
+duty."
+
+"Ah!" cried Mr. Dryland, raising his eyes so that he looked exactly like
+a codfish, "how few of us can say that!"
+
+"I'm seriously distressed about my girls. They live in nasty little
+cottages, and eat filthy things; they pass their whole lives under the
+most disgusting conditions, and yet they're happy. I can't get them to
+see that they ought to be utterly miserable."
+
+"Oh, I know," sighed the curate; "it makes me sad to think of it."
+
+"Surely, if they're happy, you can want nothing better," said James,
+rather impatiently.
+
+"But I do. They have no right to be happy under such circumstances. I
+want to make them feel their wretchedness."
+
+"What a brutal thing to do!" cried James.
+
+"It's the only way to improve them. I want them to see things as I see
+them."
+
+"And how d'you know that you see them any more correctly than they do?"
+
+"My dear Jamie!" cried Mary; and then as the humour of such a suggestion
+dawned upon her, she burst into a little shout of laughter.
+
+"What d'you think is the good of making them dissatisfied?" asked James,
+grimly.
+
+"I want to make them better, nobler, worthier; I want to make their
+lives more beautiful and holy."
+
+"If you saw a man happily wearing a tinsel crown, would you go to him
+and say, 'My good friend, you're making a fool of yourself. Your crown
+isn't of real gold, and you must throw it away. I haven't a golden crown
+to give you instead, but you're wicked to take pleasure in that sham
+thing.' They're just as comfortable, after their fashion, in a hovel as
+you in your fine house; they enjoy the snack of fat pork they have on
+Sunday just as much as you enjoy your boiled chickens and blanc-manges.
+They're happy, and that's the chief thing."
+
+"Happiness is not the chief thing in this world, James," said Mary,
+gravely.
+
+"Isn't it? I thought it was."
+
+"Captain Parsons is a cynic," said Mr. Dryland, with a slightly
+supercilious smile.
+
+"Because I say it's idiotic to apply your standards to people who have
+nothing in common with you? I hate all this interfering. For God's sake
+let us go our way; and if we can get a little pleasure out of dross and
+tinsel, let us keep it."
+
+"I want to give the poor high ideals," said Mary.
+
+"I should have thought bread and cheese would be more useful."
+
+"My dear Jamie," said Mary, good-naturedly, "I think you're talking of
+things you know nothing about."
+
+"You must remember that Miss Clibborn has worked nobly among the poor
+for many years."
+
+"My own conscience tells me I'm right," pursued Mary, "and you see Mr.
+Dryland agrees with me. I know you mean well, Jamie; but I don't think
+you quite understand the matter, and I fancy we had better change the
+conversation."
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+
+Next day Mary went into Primpton House. Colonel Parsons nodded to her as
+she walked up the drive, and took off his spectacles. The front door was
+neither locked nor bolted in that confiding neighbourhood, and Mary
+walked straight in.
+
+"Well, my dear?" said the Colonel, smiling with pleasure, for he was as
+fond of her as of his own son.
+
+"I thought I'd come and see you alone. Jamie's still out, isn't he? I
+saw him pass our house. I was standing at the window, but he didn't look
+up."
+
+"I daresay he was thinking. He's grown very thoughtful now."
+
+Mrs. Parsons came in, and her quiet face lit up, too, as she greeted
+Mary. She kissed her tenderly.
+
+"Jamie's out, you know."
+
+"Mary has come to see us," said the Colonel. "She doesn't want us to
+feel neglected now that she has the boy."
+
+"We shall never dream that you can do anything unkind, dear Mary,"
+replied Mrs. Parsons, stroking the girl's hair. "It's natural that you
+should think more of him than of us."
+
+Mary hesitated a moment.
+
+"Don't you think Jamie has changed?"
+
+Mrs. Parsons looked at her quickly.
+
+"I think he has grown more silent. But he's been through so much. And
+then he's a man now; he was only a boy when we saw him last."
+
+"D'you think he cares for me any more?" asked Mary, with a rapid tremor
+in her voice.
+
+"Mary!"
+
+"Of course he does! He talks of you continually," said Colonel Parsons,
+"and always as if he were devoted. Doesn't he, Frances?"
+
+The old man's deep love for Mary had prevented him from seeing in
+Jamie's behaviour anything incongruous with that of a true lover.
+
+"What makes you ask that question, Mary?" said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+Her feminine tact had led her to notice a difference in Jamie's feeling
+towards his betrothed; but she had been unwilling to think that it
+amounted even to coldness. Such a change could be explained in a hundred
+natural ways, and might, indeed, exist merely in her own imagination.
+
+"Oh, he's not the same as he was!" cried Mary, "I don't know what it is,
+but I feel it in his whole manner. Yesterday evening he barely said a
+word."
+
+James had dined with the Clibborns in solemn state.
+
+"I daresay he's not very well yet. His wound troubles him still."
+
+"I try to put it down to that," said Mary, "but he seems to force
+himself to speak to me. He's not natural. I've got an awful fear that he
+has ceased to care for me."
+
+She looked from Colonel Parsons to his wife, who stared at her in
+dismay.
+
+"Don't be angry with me," she said; "I couldn't talk like this to anyone
+else, but I know you love me. I look upon you already as my father and
+mother. I don't want to be unkind to mamma, but I couldn't talk of it to
+her; she would only sneer at me. And I'm afraid it's making me rather
+unhappy."
+
+"Of course, we want you to treat us as your real parents, Mary. We both
+love you as we love Jamie. We have always looked upon you as our
+daughter."
+
+"You're so good to me!"
+
+"Has your mother said anything to annoy you?"
+
+Mary faltered.
+
+"Last night, when he went away, she said she didn't think he was devoted
+to me."
+
+"Oh, I knew it was your mother who'd put this in your head! She has
+always been jealous of you. I suppose she thinks he's in love with her."
+
+"Mrs. Parsons!" cried Mary, in a tone of entreaty.
+
+"I know you can't bear anything said against your mother, and it's
+wicked of me to vex you; but she has no right to suggest such things."
+
+"It's not only that. It's what I feel."
+
+"I'm sure Jamie is most fond of you," said Colonel Parsons, kindly.
+"You've not seen one another for five years, and you find yourselves
+altered. Even we feel a little strange with Jamie sometimes; don't we,
+Frances? What children they are, Frances!" Colonel Parsons laughed in
+that irresistibly sweet fashion of his. "Why, it was only the day before
+yesterday that Jamie came to us with a long face and asked if you cared
+for _him_."
+
+"Did he?" asked Mary, with pleased surprise, anxious to believe what the
+Colonel suggested. "Oh, he must see that I love him! Perhaps he finds me
+unresponsive.... How could I help caring for him? I think if he ceased
+to love me, I should die."
+
+"My dearest Mary," cried Mrs. Parsons, the tears rising to her eyes,
+"don't talk like that! I'm sure he can't help loving you, either;
+you're so good and sweet. You're both of you fanciful, and he's not
+well. Be patient. Jamie is shy and reserved; he hasn't quite got used to
+us yet. He doesn't know how to show his feelings. It will all come right
+soon."
+
+"Of course he loves you!" said Colonel Parsons. "Who could help it? Why,
+if I were a young fellow I should be mad to marry you."
+
+"And what about me, Richmond?" asked Mrs. Parsons, smiling.
+
+"Well, I think I should have to commit bigamy, and marry you both."
+
+They laughed at the Colonel's mild little joke, happy to break through
+the cloud of doubt which oppressed them.
+
+"You're a dear thing," said Mary, kissing the old man, "and I'm a very
+silly girl. It's wrong of me to give way to whims and fancies."
+
+"You must be very brave when you're the wife of a V.C.," said the
+Colonel, patting her hand.
+
+"Oh, it was a beautiful action!" cried Mary. "And he's as modest about
+it as though he had done nothing that any man might not do. I think
+there can be no sight more pleasing to God than that of a brave man
+risking his life to save a comrade."
+
+"And that ought to be an assurance to you, Mary, that James will never
+do anything unkind or dishonourable. Trust him, and forgive his little
+faults of manner. I'm sure he loves you, and soon you'll get married and
+be completely happy."
+
+Mary's face darkened once more.
+
+"He's been here three days, and he's not said a word about getting
+married. Oh, I can't help it; I'm so frightened! I wish he'd say
+something--just one word to show that he really cares for me. He seems
+to have forgotten that we're even engaged."
+
+Colonel Parsons looked at his wife, begging her by his glance to say
+something that would comfort Mary. Mrs. Parsons looked down, uncertain,
+ill at ease.
+
+"You don't despise me for talking like this, Mrs. Parsons?"
+
+"Despise you, my dear! How can I, when I love you so dearly? Shall I
+speak to Jamie? I'm sure when he understands that he's making you
+unhappy, he'll be different. He has the kindest heart in the world; I've
+never known him do an unkind thing in his life."
+
+"No, don't say anything to him," replied Mary. "I daresay it's all
+nonsense. I don't want him to be driven into making love to me."
+
+* * *
+
+Meanwhile James wandered thoughtfully. The country was undulating, and
+little hill rose after little hill, affording spacious views of the fat
+Kentish fields, encircled by oak trees and by chestnuts. Owned by rich
+landlords, each generation had done its best, and the fruitful land was
+tended like a garden. But it had no abandonment, no freedom; the hand of
+man was obvious, perpetually, in the trimness and in the careful
+arrangement, so that the landscape, in its formality, reminded one of
+those set pieces chosen by the classic painters. But the fields were
+fresh with the tall young grass of the new year, the buttercups flaunted
+themselves gaily, careless of the pitiless night, rejoicing in the
+sunshine, as before they had rejoiced in the enlivening rain. The
+pleasant rain-drops still lingered on the daisies. The feathery ball of
+the dandelion, carried by the breeze, floated past like a symbol of the
+life of man--a random thing, resistless to the merest breath, with no
+mission but to spread its seed upon the fertile earth, so that things
+like unto it should spring up in the succeeding summer, and flower
+uncared for, and reproduce themselves, and die.
+
+James decided finally that he must break that very evening his
+engagement with Mary. He could not put it off. Every day made his
+difficulty greater, and it was impossible any longer to avoid the
+discussion of their marriage, nor could he continue to treat Mary with
+nothing better than friendliness. He realised all her good qualities;
+she was frank, and honest, and simple; anxious to do right; charitable
+according to her light; kindness itself. James felt sincerely grateful
+for the affectionate tenderness which Mary showed to his father and
+mother. He was thankful for that and for much else, and was prepared to
+look upon her as a very good friend, even as a sister; but he did not
+love her. He could not look upon the prospect of marriage without
+repulsion. Nor did Mary, he said, really love him. He knew what love
+was--something different entirely from that pallid flame of affection
+and esteem, of which alone she was capable. Mary loved him for certain
+qualities of mind, because his station in life was decent, his manners
+passable, his morals beyond reproach.
+
+"She might as well marry the Ten Commandments!" he cried impatiently.
+
+Mary cared for him from habit, from a sense of decorum, and for the
+fitness of things; but that was not love. He shrugged his shoulders
+scornfully, looking for some word to express the mildly pleasant,
+unagitating emotion. James, who had been devoured by it, who had
+struggled with it as with a deadly sin, who had killed it finally while,
+like a serpent of evil, it clung to his throat, drinking his life's
+blood, James knew what love was--a fire in the veins, a divine
+affliction, a passion, a frenzy, a madness. The love he knew was the
+love of the body of flesh and blood, the love that engenders, the love
+that kills. At the bottom of it is sex, and sex is not ugly or immoral,
+for sex is the root of life. The woman is fair because man shall love
+her body; her lips are red and passionate that he may kiss them; her
+hair is beautiful that he may take it in his hands--a river of living
+gold.
+
+James stopped, and the dead love rose again and tore his entrails like a
+beast of prey. He gasped with agony, with bitter joy. Ah, that was the
+true love! What did he care that the woman lacked this and that? He
+loved her because he loved her; he loved her for her faults. And in
+spite of the poignant anguish, he thanked her from the bottom of his
+heart, for she had taught him love. She had caused him endless pain, but
+she had given him the strength to bear it. She had ruined his life,
+perhaps, but had shown him that life was worth living. What were the
+agony, the torture, the despair, beside that radiant passion which made
+him godlike? It is only the lover who lives, and of his life every
+moment is intense and fervid. James felt that his most precious
+recollection was that ardent month, during which, at last, he had seen
+the world in all its dazzling movement, in its manifold colour, singing
+with his youth and laughing to his joy.
+
+And he did not care that hideous names have been given to that dear
+passion, to that rich desire. The vulgar call it lust, and blush and
+hide their faces; in their folly is the shame, in their prurience the
+disgrace. They do not know that the appetite which shocks them is the
+very origin of the highest qualities of man. It is they, weaklings
+afraid to look life in the face, dotards and sentimentalists, who have
+made the body unclean. They have covered the nakedness of Aphrodite with
+the rags of their own impurity. They have disembowelled the great lovers
+of antiquity till Cleopatra serves to adorn a prudish tale and Lancelot
+to point a moral. Oh, Mother Nature, give us back our freedom, with its
+strength of sinew and its humour! For lack of it we perish in false
+shame, and our fig-leaves point our immodesty to all the world. Teach us
+that love is not a tawdry sentiment, but a fire divine in order to the
+procreation of children; teach us not to dishonour our bodies, for they
+are beautiful and pure, and all thy works are sweet. Teach us, again, in
+thy merciful goodness, that man is made for woman, his body for her
+body, and that the flesh cannot sin.
+
+Teach us also not to rant too much, even in thy service; and though we
+do set up for prophets and the like, let us not forget occasionally to
+laugh at our very august selves.
+
+* * *
+
+Then, harking back, Jamie's thoughts returned to the dinner of the
+previous evening at the Clibborns. He was the only guest, and when he
+arrived, found Mary and the Colonel by themselves in the drawing-room.
+It was an old habit of Mrs. Clibborn's not to appear till after her
+visitors, thinking that so she created a greater effect. The Colonel
+wore a very high collar, which made his head look like some queer flower
+on a long white stalk; hair and eyebrows were freshly dyed, and
+glistened like the oiled locks of a young Jewess. He was the perfect
+dandy, even to his bejewelled fingers and his scented handkerchief. His
+manner was a happy mixture of cordiality and condescension, by the side
+of which Mary's unaffected simplicity contrasted oddly. She seemed less
+at home in an evening dress than in the walking costume she vastly
+preferred; her free, rather masculine movements were ungainly in the
+silk frock, badly made and countrified, while lace and ribbons suited
+her most awkwardly. She was out of place, too, in that room, decorated
+with all the abominations of pseudo-fashion, with draperies and
+tissue-paper, uncomfortable little chairs and rickety tables. In every
+available place stood photographs of Mrs. Clibborn--Mrs. Clibborn
+sitting, standing, lying; Mrs. Clibborn full face, three-quarter face,
+side face; Mrs. Clibborn in this costume or in that costume--grave, gay,
+thoughtful, or smiling; Mrs. Clibborn showing her beautiful teeth, her
+rounded arms, her vast shoulders; Mrs. Clibborn dressed to the nines,
+and Mrs. Clibborn as undressed as she dared.
+
+Finally, the beauty swept in with a great rustle of silk, displaying to
+the full her very opulent charms. Her hair was lightly powdered, and
+honestly she looked remarkably handsome.
+
+"Don't say I've kept you waiting," she murmured. "I could never forgive
+myself."
+
+James made some polite reply, and they went down to dinner. The
+conversation was kept at the high level which one naturally expects from
+persons fashionable enough to dine late. They discussed Literature, by
+which they meant the last novel but one; Art, by which they meant the
+Royal Academy; and Society, by which they meant their friends who kept
+carriages. Mrs. Clibborn said that, of course, she could not expect
+James to pay any attention to her, since all his thoughts must be for
+Mary, and then proceeded entirely to absorb him.
+
+"You must find it very dull here," she moaned. "I'm afraid you'll be
+bored to death." And she looked at Mary with her most smilingly cruel
+expression. "Oh, Mary, why did you put on that dreadfully dowdy frock?
+I've asked you over and over again to give it away, but you never pay
+attention to your poor mother."
+
+"It's all right," said Mary, looking down at it, laughing and blushing a
+little.
+
+Mrs. Clibborn turned again to James.
+
+"I think it's such a mistake for women not to dress well. I'm an old
+woman now, but I always try to look my best. Reggie has never seen me in
+a dowdy gown. Have you, Reggie?"
+
+"Any dress would become you, my love."
+
+"Oh, Reggie, don't say that before James. He looks upon his future
+mother as an old woman."
+
+Then at the end of dinner:
+
+"Don't sit too long over your wine. I shall be so dull with nobody but
+Mary to amuse me."
+
+Mrs. Clibborn had been fond enough of Mary when she was a little girl,
+who could be petted on occasion and sent away when necessary; but as she
+grew up and exhibited a will of her own, she found her almost an
+intolerable nuisance. The girl developed a conscience, and refused
+indignantly to tell the little fibs which her mother occasionally
+suggested. She put her sense of right and wrong before Mrs. Clibborn's
+wishes, which that lady considered undutiful, if not entirely wicked. It
+seemed nothing short of an impertinence that Mary should disapprove of
+theatres when there was nothing to which the elder woman was more
+devoted. And Mrs. Clibborn felt that the girl saw through all her little
+tricks and artful dodges, often speaking out strongly when her mother
+proposed to do something particularly underhand. It was another
+grievance that Mary had inherited no good looks, and the faded beauty,
+in her vanity, was convinced that the girl spitefully observed every
+fresh wrinkle that appeared upon her face. But Mrs. Clibborn was also a
+little afraid of her daughter; such meekness and such good temper were
+difficult to overcome; and when she snubbed her, it was not only to
+chasten a proud spirit, but also to reassure herself.
+
+When the ladies had retired, the Colonel handed James an execrable
+cigar.
+
+"Now, I'm going to give you some very special port I've got," he said.
+
+He poured out a glass with extreme care, and passed it over with evident
+pride. James remembered Mary's story of the doctor, and having tasted
+the wine, entirely sympathised with him. It was no wonder that invalids
+did not thrive upon it.
+
+"Fine wine, isn't it?" said Colonel Clibborn. "Had it in my cellar for
+years." He shook it so as to inhale the aroma. "I got it from my old
+friend, the Duke of St. Olphert's. 'Reggie, my boy,' he said--'Reggie,
+do you want some good port?' 'Good port, Bill!' I cried--I always called
+him Bill, you know; his Christian name was William--'I should think I
+do, Billy, old boy.' 'Well,' said the Duke, 'I've got some I can let you
+have.'"
+
+"He was a wine-merchant, was he?" asked James.
+
+"Wine-merchant! My dear fellow, he was the Duke of St. Olphert's. He'd
+bought up the cellar of an Austrian nobleman, and he had more port than
+he wanted."
+
+"And this is some of it?" asked James, gravely, holding the murky fluid
+to the light.
+
+Then the Colonel stretched his legs and began to talk of the war. James,
+rather tired of the subject, sought to change the conversation; but
+Colonel Clibborn was anxious to tell one who had been through it how the
+thing should have been conducted; so his guest, with a mixture of
+astonishment and indignation, resigned himself to listen to the most
+pitiful inanities. He marvelled that a man should have spent his life in
+the service, and yet apparently be ignorant of the very elements of
+warfare; but having already learnt to hold his tongue, he let the
+Colonel talk, and was presently rewarded by a break. Something reminded
+the gallant cavalryman of a hoary anecdote, and he gave James that
+dreary round of stories which have dragged their heavy feet for thirty
+years from garrison to garrison. Then, naturally, he proceeded to the
+account of his own youthful conquests. The Colonel had evidently been a
+devil with the ladies, for he knew all about the forgotten
+ballet-dancers of the seventies, and related with gusto a number of
+scabrous tales.
+
+"Ah, my boy, in my day we went the pace! I tell you in confidence, I was
+a deuce of a rake before I got married."
+
+When they returned to the drawing-room, Mrs. Clibborn was ready with her
+langorous smile, and made James sit beside her on the sofa. In a few
+minutes the Colonel, as was his habit, closed his eyes, dropped his
+chin, and fell comfortably asleep. Mrs. Clibborn slowly turned to Mary.
+
+"Will you try and find me my glasses, darling," she murmured. "They're
+either in my work-basket or on the morning-room table. And if you can't
+see them there, perhaps they're in your father's study. I want to read
+Jamie a letter."
+
+"I'll go and look, mother."
+
+Mary went out, and Mrs. Clibborn put her hand on Jamie's arm.
+
+"Do you dislike me very much, Jamie?" she murmured softly.
+
+"On the contrary!"
+
+"I'm afraid your mother doesn't care for me."
+
+"I'm sure she does."
+
+"Women have never liked me. I don't know why. I can't help it if I'm not
+exactly--plain, I'm as God made me."
+
+James thought that the Almighty in that case must have an unexpected
+familiarity with the rouge-pot and the powder-puff.
+
+"Do you know that I did all I could to prevent your engagement to Mary?"
+
+"You!" cried James, thunderstruck. "I never knew that."
+
+"I thought I had better tell you myself. You mustn't be angry with me.
+It was for your own good. If I had had my way you would never have
+become engaged. I thought you were so much too young."
+
+"Five years ago, d'you mean--when it first happened?"
+
+"You were only a boy--a very nice boy, Jamie. I always liked you. I
+don't approve of long engagements, and I thought you'd change your mind.
+Most young men are a little wild; it's right that they should be."
+
+James looked at her, wondering suddenly whether she knew or divined
+anything. It was impossible, she was too silly.
+
+"You're very wise."
+
+"Oh, don't say that!" cried Mrs. Clibborn, with a positive groan. "It
+sounds so middle-aged.... I always thought Mary was too old for you. A
+woman should be ten years younger than her husband."
+
+"Tell me all about it," insisted James.
+
+"They wouldn't listen to me. They said you had better be engaged. They
+thought it would benefit your morals. I was very much against it. I
+think boys are so much nicer when they haven't got encumbrances--or
+morals."
+
+At that moment Mary came in.
+
+"I can't find your glasses, mamma."
+
+"Oh, it doesn't matter," replied Mrs. Clibborn, smiling softly; "I've
+just remembered that I sent them into Tunbridge Wells yesterday to be
+mended."
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+
+James knew he would see Mary at the tea-party which Mrs. Jackson that
+afternoon was giving at the Vicarage. Society in Little Primpton was
+exclusive, with the result that the same people met each other day after
+day, and the only intruders were occasional visitors of irreproachable
+antecedents from Tunbridge Wells. Respectability is a plant which in
+that fashionable watering-place has been so assiduously cultivated that
+it flourishes now in the open air; like the yellow gorse, it is found in
+every corner, thriving hardily under the most unfavourable conditions;
+and the keener the wind, the harder the frost, the more proudly does it
+hold its head. But on this particular day the gathering was confined to
+the immediate neighbours, and when the Parsons arrived they found,
+beside their hosts, only the Clibborns and the inevitable curate. There
+was a prolonged shaking of hands, inquiries concerning the health of all
+present, and observations suggested by the weather; then they sat down
+in a circle, and set themselves to discuss the questions of the day.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Dryland," cried Mary, "thanks so much for that book! I am
+enjoying it!"
+
+"I thought you'd like it," replied the curate, smiling blandly. "I know
+you share my admiration for Miss Corelli."
+
+"Mr. Dryland has just lent me 'The Master Christian,'" Mary explained,
+turning to Mrs. Jackson.
+
+"Oh, I was thinking of putting it on the list for my next book."
+
+They had formed a club in Little Primpton of twelve persons, each buying
+a six-shilling book at the beginning of the year, and passing it on in
+return for another after a certain interval, so that at the end of
+twelve months all had read a dozen masterpieces of contemporary fiction.
+
+"I thought I'd like to buy it at once," said Mr. Dryland. "I always
+think one ought to possess Marie Corelli's books. She's the only really
+great novelist we have in England now."
+
+Mr. Dryland was a man of taste and authority, so that his literary
+judgments could always be relied on.
+
+"Of course, I don't pretend to know much about the matter," said Mary,
+modestly. "There are more important things in life than books; but I do
+think she's splendid. I can't help feeling I'm wasting my time when I
+read most novels, but I never feel that with Marie Corelli."
+
+"No one would think she was a woman," said the Vicar.
+
+To which the curate answered: "_Le genie n'a pas de sexe._"
+
+The others, being no scholars, did not quite understand the remark, but
+they looked intelligent.
+
+"I always think it's so disgraceful the way the newspapers sneer at
+her," said Mrs. Jackson. "And, I'm sure, merely because she's a woman."
+
+"And because she has genius, my dear," put in the Vicar. "Some minds are
+so contemptibly small that they are simply crushed by greatness. It
+requires an eagle to look at the sun."
+
+And the excellent people looked at one another with a certain
+self-satisfaction, for they had the fearless gaze of the king of birds
+in face of that brilliant orb.
+
+"The critics are willing to do anything for money. Miss Corelli has said
+herself that there is a vile conspiracy to blacken her, and for my part
+I am quite prepared to believe it. They're all afraid of her because she
+dares to show them up."
+
+"Besides, most of the critics are unsuccessful novelists," added Mr.
+Dryland, "and they are as envious as they can be."
+
+"It makes one boil with indignation," cried Mary, "to think that people
+can be so utterly base. Those who revile her are not worthy to unloose
+the latchet of her shoes."
+
+"It does one good to hear such whole-hearted admiration," replied the
+curate, beaming. "But you must remember that genius has always been
+persecuted. Look at Keats and Shelley. The critics abused them just as
+they abuse Marie Corelli. Even Shakespeare was slandered. But time has
+vindicated our immortal William; time will vindicate as brightly our
+gentle Marie."
+
+"I wonder how many of us here could get through Hamlet without yawning!"
+meditatively said the Vicar.
+
+"I see your point!" cried Mr. Dryland, opening his eyes. "While we could
+all read the 'Sorrows of Satan' without a break. I've read it three
+times, and each perusal leaves me more astounded. Miss Corelli has her
+revenge in her own hand; what can she care for the petty snarling of
+critics when the wreath of immortality is on her brow. I don't hesitate
+to say it, I'm not ashamed of my opinion; I consider Miss Corelli every
+bit as great as William Shakespeare. I've gone into the matter
+carefully, and if I may say so, I'm speaking of what I know something
+about. My deliberate opinion is that in wit, and humour, and language,
+she's every bit his equal."
+
+"Her language is beautiful," said Mrs. Jackson. "When I read her I feel
+just as if I were listening to hymns."
+
+"And where, I should like to know," continued the curate, raising his
+voice, "can you find in a play of Shakespeare's such a gallery of
+portraits as in the 'Master Christian'?"
+
+"And there is one thing you must never forget," said the Vicar, gravely,
+"she has a deep, religious feeling which you will find in none of
+Shakespeare's plays. Every one of her books has a lofty moral purpose.
+That is the justification of fiction. The novelist has a high vocation,
+if he could only see it; he can inculcate submission to authority, hope,
+charity, obedience--in fact, all the higher virtues; he can become a
+handmaid of the Church. And now, when irreligion, and immorality, and
+scepticism are rampant, we must not despise the humblest instruments."
+
+"How true that is!" said Mrs. Jackson.
+
+"If all novelists were like Marie Corelli, I should willingly hold them
+out my hand. I think every Christian ought to read 'Barabbas.' It gives
+an entirely new view of Christ. It puts the incidents of the Gospel in a
+way that one had never dreamed. I was never so impressed in my life."
+
+"But all her books are the same in that way!" cried Mary. "They all
+make me feel so much better and nobler, and more truly Christian."
+
+"I think she's vulgar and blasphemous," murmured Mrs. Clibborn quietly,
+as though she were making the simplest observation.
+
+"Mamma!" cried Mary, deeply shocked; and among the others there was a
+little movement of indignation and disgust.
+
+Mrs. Clibborn was continually mortifying her daughter by this kind of
+illiterate gaucherie. But the most painful part of it was that the good
+lady always remained perfectly unconscious of having said anything
+incredibly silly, and continued with perfect self-assurance:
+
+"I've never been able to finish a book of hers. I began one about
+electricity, which I couldn't understand, and then I tried another. I
+forget what it was, but there was something in it about a bed of roses,
+and I thought it very improper. I don't think it was a nice book for
+Mary to read, but girls seem to read everything now."
+
+There was a pained hush, such as naturally occurs when someone has made
+a very horrible _faux pas_. They all looked at one another awkwardly;
+while Mary, ashamed at her mother's want of taste, kept her eyes glued
+to the carpet But Mrs. Clibborn's folly was so notorious that presently
+anger was succeeded by contemptuous amusement, and the curate came to
+the rescue with a loud guffaw.
+
+"Of course, you know your Marie Corelli by heart, Captain Parsons?"
+
+"I'm afraid I've never read one of them."
+
+"Not?" they all cried in surprise.
+
+"Oh, I'll send them to you to Primpton House," said Mr. Dryland. "I have
+them all. Why, no one's education is complete till he's read Marie
+Corelli."
+
+This was considered a very good hit at Mrs. Clibborn, and the dear
+people smiled at one another significantly. Even Mary could scarcely
+keep a straight face.
+
+The tea then appeared, and was taken more or less silently. With the
+exception of the fashionable Mrs. Clibborn, they were all more used to
+making a sit-down meal of it, and the care of holding a cup, with a
+piece of cake unsteadily balanced in the saucer, prevented them from
+indulging in very brilliant conversational feats; they found one
+gymnastic exercise quite sufficient at a time. But when the tea-cups
+were safely restored to the table, Mrs. Jackson suggested a little
+music.
+
+"Will you open the proceedings, Mary?"
+
+The curate went up to Miss Clibborn with a bow, gallantly offering his
+arm to escort her to the piano. Mary had thoughtfully brought her
+music, and began to play a 'Song Without Words,' by Mendelssohn. She was
+considered a fine pianist in Little Primpton. She attacked the notes
+with marked resolution, keeping the loud pedal down throughout; her eyes
+were fixed on the music with an intense, determined air, in which you
+saw an eagerness to perform a social duty, and her lips moved as
+conscientiously she counted time. Mary played the whole piece without
+making a single mistake, and at the end was much applauded.
+
+"There's nothing like classical music, is there?" cried the curate
+enthusiastically, as Mary stopped, rather out of breath, for she played,
+as she did everything else, with energy and thoroughness.
+
+"It's the only music I really love."
+
+"And those 'Songs Without Words' are beautiful," said Colonel Parsons,
+who was standing on Mary's other side.
+
+"Mendelssohn is my favourite composer," she replied. "He's so full of
+soul."
+
+"Ah, yes," murmured Mr. Dryland. "His heart seems to throb through all
+his music. It's strange that he should have been a Jew."
+
+"But then Our Lord was a Jew, wasn't He?" said Mary.
+
+"Yes, one is so apt to forget that."
+
+Mary turned the leaves, and finding another piece which was familiar to
+her, set about it. It was a satisfactory thing to listen to her
+performance. In Mary's decided touch one felt all the strength of her
+character, with its simple, unaffected candour and its eminent sense of
+propriety. In her execution one perceived the high purpose which
+animated her whole conduct; it was pure and wholesome, and thoroughly
+English. And her piano-playing served also as a moral lesson, for none
+could listen without remembering that life was not an affair to be taken
+lightly, but a strenuous endeavour: the world was a battlefield (this
+one realised more particularly when Mary forgot for a page or so to take
+her foot off the pedal); each one of us had a mission to perform, a duty
+to do, a function to fulfil.
+
+Meanwhile, James was trying to make conversation with Mrs. Clibborn.
+
+"How well Mary plays!"
+
+"D'you think so? I can't bear amateurs. I wish they wouldn't play."
+
+James looked at Mrs. Clibborn quickly. It rather surprised him that she,
+the very silliest woman he had ever known, should say the only sensible
+things he had heard that day. Nor could he forget that she had done her
+best to prevent his engagement.
+
+"I think you're a very wonderful woman," he said.
+
+"Oh, Jamie!"
+
+Mrs. Clibborn smiled and sighed, slipping forward her hand for him to
+take; but James was too preoccupied to notice the movement.
+
+"I'm beginning to think you really like me," murmured Mrs. Clibborn,
+cooing like an amorous dove.
+
+Then James was invited to sing, and refused.
+
+"Please do, Jamie!" cried Mary, smiling. "For my sake. You used to sing
+so nicely!"
+
+He still tried to excuse himself, but finding everyone insistent, went
+at last, with very bad grace, to the piano. He not only sang badly, but
+knew it, and was irritated that he should be forced to make a fool of
+himself. Mr. Dryland sang badly, but perfectly satisfied with himself,
+needed no pressing when his turn came. He made a speciality of old
+English songs, and thundered out in his most ecclesiastical manner a
+jovial ditty entitled, "Down Among the Dead Men."
+
+The afternoon was concluded by an adjournment to the dining-room to play
+bagatelle, the most inane of games, to which the billiard-player goes
+with contempt, changed quickly to wrath when he cannot put the balls
+into absurd little holes. Mary was an adept, and took pleasure in
+showing James how the thing should be done. He noticed that she and the
+curate managed the whole affair between them, arranging partners and
+advising freely. Mrs. Clibborn alone refused to play, saying frankly it
+was too idiotic a pastime.
+
+At last the party broke up, and in a group bade their farewells.
+
+"I'll walk home with you, Mary, if you don't mind," said James, "and
+smoke a pipe."
+
+Mary suddenly became radiant, and Colonel Parsons gave her a happy
+little smile and a friendly nod.... At last James had his opportunity.
+He lingered while Mary gathered together her music, and waited again to
+light his pipe, so that when they came out of the Vicarage gates the
+rest of the company were no longer in sight. The day had become overcast
+and sombre; on the even surface of the sky floated little ragged black
+clouds, like the fragments cast to the wind of some widowed, ample
+garment. It had grown cold, and James, accustomed to a warmer air,
+shivered a little. The country suddenly appeared cramped and
+circumscribed; in the fading light a dulness of colour came over tree
+and hedgerow which was singularly depressing. They walked in silence,
+while James looked for words. All day he had been trying to find some
+manner to express himself, but his mind, perplexed and weary, refused to
+help him. The walk to Mary's house could not take more than five
+minutes, and he saw the distance slipping away rapidly. If he meant to
+say anything it must be said at once; and his mouth was dry, he felt
+almost a physical inability to speak. He did not know how to prepare the
+way, how to approach the subject; and he was doubly tormented by the
+absolute necessity of breaking the silence.
+
+But it was Mary who spoke first.
+
+"D'you know, I've been worrying a little about you, Jamie."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I'm afraid I hurt your feelings yesterday. Don't you remember, when we
+were visiting my patients--I think I spoke rather harshly. I didn't mean
+to. I'm very sorry."
+
+"I had forgotten all about it," he said, looking at her. "I have no
+notion what you said to offend me."
+
+"I'm glad of that," she answered, smiling, "but it does me good to
+apologise. Will you think me very silly if I say something to you?"
+
+"Of course not!"
+
+"Well, I want to say that if I ever do anything you don't like, or don't
+approve of, I wish you would tell me."
+
+After that, how could he say immediately that he no longer loved her,
+and wished to be released from his engagement?
+
+"I'm afraid you think I'm a very terrifying person," answered James.
+
+Her words had made his announcement impossible; another day had gone,
+and weakly he had let it pass.
+
+"What shall I do?" he murmured under his breath. "What a coward I am!"
+
+They came to the door of the Clibborns' house and Mary turned to say
+good-bye. She bent forward, smiling and blushing, and he quickly kissed
+her.
+
+* * *
+
+In the evening, James was sitting by the fire in the dining-room,
+thinking of that one subject which occupied all his thoughts. Colonel
+Parsons and his wife were at the table, engaged upon the game of
+backgammon which invariably filled the interval between supper and
+prayers. The rattle of dice came to James indistinctly, as in a dream,
+and he imagined fantastically that unseen powers were playing for his
+life. He sat with his head between his hands, staring at the flames as
+though to find in them a solution to his difficulty; but mockingly they
+spoke only of Mrs. Wallace and the caress of her limpid eyes. He turned
+away with a gesture of impatience. The game was just finished, and Mrs.
+Parsons, catching the expression on his face, asked:
+
+"What are you thinking of, Jamie?"
+
+"I?" he answered, looking up quickly, as though afraid that his secret
+had been divined. "Nothing!"
+
+Mrs. Parsons put the backgammon board away, making up her mind to speak,
+for she too suffered from a shyness which made the subjects she had
+nearest at heart precisely those that she could least bear to talk
+about.
+
+"When do you think of getting married, Jamie?"
+
+James started.
+
+"Why, you asked me that yesterday," He tried to make a joke of it. "Upon
+my word, you're very anxious to get rid of me."
+
+"I wonder if it's occurred to you that you're making Mary a little
+unhappy?"
+
+James stood up and leaned against the mantelpiece, his face upon his
+hand.
+
+"I should be sorry to do that, mother."
+
+"You've been home four days, and you've not said a word to show you love
+her."
+
+"I'm afraid I'm not very demonstrative."
+
+"That's what I said!" cried the Colonel, triumphantly.
+
+"Can't you try to say a word or two to prove you care for her, Jamie?
+She _is_ so fond of you," continued his mother. "I don't want to
+interfere with your private concerns, but I think it's only
+thoughtlessness on your part; and I'm sure you don't wish to make Mary
+miserable. Poor thing, she's so unhappy at home; she yearns for a little
+affection.... Won't you say something to her about your marriage?"
+
+"Has she asked you to speak to me?" inquired James.
+
+"No, dear. You know that she would never do anything of the kind. She
+would hate to think that I had said anything."
+
+James paused a moment.
+
+"I will speak to her to-morrow, mother."
+
+"That's right!" said the Colonel, cheerfully. "I know she's going to be
+in all the morning. Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn are going into Tunbridge
+Wells."
+
+"It will be a good opportunity."
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+
+In the morning Mrs. Parsons was in the hall, arranging flowers, when
+James passed through to get his hat.
+
+"Are you going to see Mary now?"
+
+"Yes, mother."
+
+"That's a good boy."
+
+She did not notice that her son's usual gravity was intensified, or that
+his very lips were pallid, and his eyes careworn and lustreless.
+
+It was raining. The young fresh leaves, in the colourless day, had lost
+their verdure, and the massive shapes of the elm trees were obscured in
+the mist. The sky had so melancholy a tone that it seemed a work of
+man--a lifeless hue of infinite sorrow, dreary and cheerless.
+
+James arrived at the Clibborns' house.
+
+"Miss Mary is in the drawing-room," he was told by a servant, who smiled
+on him, the accepted lover, with obtrusive friendliness.
+
+He went in and found her seated at the piano, industriously playing
+scales. She wore the weather-beaten straw hat without which she never
+seemed comfortable.
+
+"Oh, I'm glad you've come," she said. "I'm alone in the house, and I was
+taking the opportunity to have a good practice." She turned round on the
+music-stool, and ran one hand chromatically up the piano, smiling the
+while with pleasure at Jamie's visit. "Would you like to go for a walk?"
+she asked. "I don't mind the rain a bit."
+
+"I would rather stay here, if you don't mind."
+
+James sat down and began playing with a paper-knife. Still he did not
+know how to express himself. He was torn asunder by rival emotions; he
+felt absolutely bound to speak, and yet could not bear the thought of
+the agony he must cause. He was very tender-hearted; he had never in his
+life consciously given pain to any living creature, and would far rather
+have inflicted hurt upon himself.
+
+"I've been wanting to have a long talk with you alone ever since I came
+back."
+
+"Have you? Why didn't you tell me?"
+
+"Because what I want to say is very difficult, Mary; and I'm afraid it
+must be very--distressing to both of us."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+Mary suddenly became grave, James glanced at her, and hesitated; but
+there was no room for hesitation now. Somehow he must get to the end of
+what he had to say, attempting only to be as gentle as possible. He
+stood up and leant against the mantelpiece, still toying with the
+paper-knife; Mary also changed her seat, and took a chair by the table.
+
+"Do you know that we've been engaged for over five years now, Mary?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+She looked at him steadily, and he dropped his eyes.
+
+"I want to thank you for all you've done for my sake, Mary. I know how
+good you have been to my people; it was very kind of you. I cannot think
+how they would have got along without you."
+
+"I love them as I love my own father and mother, Jamie. I tried to act
+towards them as though I was indeed their daughter."
+
+He was silent for a while.
+
+"We were both very young when we became engaged," he said at last.
+
+He looked up quickly, but she did not answer. She stared with frightened
+eyes, as if already she understood. It was harder even than he thought.
+James asked himself desperately whether he could not stop there, taking
+back what he had said. The cup was too bitter! But what was the
+alternative? He could not go on pretending one thing when he felt
+another; he could not live a constant, horrible lie. He felt there was
+only one course open to him. Like a man with an ill that must be fatal
+unless instantly treated, he was bound to undergo everything, however
+great the torture.
+
+"And it's a very bad return I'm making you for all your kindness. You
+have done everything for me, Mary. You've waited for me patiently and
+lovingly; you've sacrificed yourself in every way; and I'm afraid I must
+make you very unhappy--Oh, don't think I'm not grateful to you; I can
+never thank you sufficiently."
+
+He wished Mary would say something to help him, but she kept silent. She
+merely dropped her eyes, and now her face seemed quite expressionless.
+
+"I have asked myself day and night what I ought to do, and I can see no
+way clear before me. I've tried to say this to you before, but I've
+funked it. You think I'm brave--I'm not; I'm a pitiful coward! Sometimes
+I can only loathe and despise myself. I want to do my duty, but I can't
+tell what my duty is. If I only knew for sure which way I ought to take,
+I should have strength to take it; but it is all so uncertain."
+
+James gave Mary a look of supplication, but she did not see it; her
+glance was still riveted to the ground.
+
+"I think it's better to tell you the whole truth, Mary; I'm afraid I'm
+speaking awfully priggishly. I feel I'm acting like a cad, and yet I
+don't know how else to act. God help me!"
+
+"I've known almost from the beginning that you no longer cared for me,"
+said Mary quietly, her face showing no expression, her voice hushed till
+it was only a whisper.
+
+"Forgive me, Mary; I've tried to love you. Oh, how humiliating that must
+sound! I hardly know what I'm saying. Try to understand me. If my words
+are harsh and ugly, it's because I don't know how to express myself. But
+I must tell you the whole truth. The chief thing is that I should be
+honest with you. It's the only return I can make for all you've done for
+me."
+
+Mary bent her head a little lower, and heavy tears rolled down her
+cheeks.
+
+"Oh, Mary, don't cry!" said James, his voice breaking; and he stepped
+forward, with outstretched arms, as though to comfort her.
+
+"I'm sorry," she said; "I didn't mean to."
+
+She took out her handkerchief and dried her eyes, trying to smile. Her
+courageous self-command was like a stab in Jamie's heart.
+
+"I am an absolute cad!" he said, hoarsely.
+
+Mary made no gesture; she sat perfectly still, rigid, not seeking to
+hide her emotion, but merely to master it. One could see the effort she
+made.
+
+"I'm awfully sorry, Mary! Please forgive me--I don't ask you to release
+me. All I want to do is to explain exactly what I feel, and then leave
+you to decide."
+
+"Are you--are you in love with anyone else?"
+
+"No!"
+
+The smile of Mrs. Wallace flashed scornfully across his mind, but he set
+his teeth. He hated and despised her; he would not love her.
+
+"Is there anything in me that you don't like which I might be able to
+correct?"
+
+Her humility was more than he could bear.
+
+"No, no, no!" he cried. "I can never make you understand. You must think
+me simply brutal. You have all that a man could wish for. I know how
+kind you are, and how good you are. I think you have every quality which
+a good woman should have. I respect you entirely; I can never help
+feeling for you the most intense gratitude and affection."
+
+In his own ears the words he spoke rang hollow, awkward, even
+impertinent. He could say nothing which did not seem hideously
+supercilious; and yet he wanted to abase himself! He knew that Mary's
+humiliation must be very, very bitter.
+
+"I'm afraid that I am distressing you frightfully, and I don't see how I
+can make things easier."
+
+"Oh, I knew you didn't love me! I felt it. D'you think I could talk to
+you for five minutes without seeing the constraint in your manner? They
+told me I was foolish and fanciful, but I knew better."
+
+"I must have caused you very great unhappiness?"
+
+Mary did not answer, and James looked at her with pity and remorse. At
+last he broke out passionately:
+
+"I can't command my love! It's not a thing I have at my beck and call.
+If it were, do you think I should give you this pain? Love is outside
+all calculation. You think love can be tamed, and led about on a chain
+like a dog. You think it's a gentle sentiment that one can subject to
+considerations of propriety and decorum, and God knows what. Oh, you
+don't know! Love is a madness that seizes one and shakes one like a leaf
+in the wind. I can't counterfeit love; I can't pretend to have it. I
+can't command the nerves of my body."
+
+"Do you think I don't know what love is, James? How little you know me."
+
+James sank on a chair and hid his face.
+
+"We none of us understand one another. We're all alike, and yet so
+different. I don't even know myself. Don't think I'm a prig when I say
+that I've tried with all my might to love you. I would have given worlds
+to feel as I felt five years ago. But I can't. God help me!... Oh, you
+must hate and despise me, Mary!"
+
+"I, my dear?" she shook her head sadly. "I shall never do that. I want
+you to speak frankly. It is much better that we should try to understand
+one another."
+
+"That is what I felt. I did not think it honest to marry you with a lie
+in my heart. I don't know whether we can ever be happy; but our only
+chance is to speak the whole truth."
+
+Mary looked helplessly at him, cowed by her grief.
+
+"I knew it was coming. Every day I dreaded it."
+
+The pain in her eyes was more than James could bear; it was cruel to
+make her suffer so much. He could not do it. He felt an intense pity,
+and the idea came to him that there might be a middle way, which would
+lessen the difficulty. He hesitated a moment, and then, looking down,
+spoke in a low voice:
+
+"I am anxious to do my duty, Mary. I have promised to marry you. I do
+not wish to break my word. I don't ask you to release me. Will you take
+what I can offer? I will be a good husband to you. I will do all I can
+to make you happy. I can give you affection and confidence--friendship;
+but I can't give you love. It is much better that I should tell you than
+that you should find out painfully by yourself--perhaps when it is too
+late."
+
+"You came to ask me to release you. Why do you hesitate now? Do you
+think I shall refuse?"
+
+James was silent.
+
+"You cannot think that I will accept a compromise. Do you suppose that
+because I am a woman I am not made of flesh and blood? You said you
+wished to be frank."
+
+"I had not thought of the other way till just now."
+
+"Do you imagine that it softens the blow? How could I live with you as
+your wife, and yet not your wife? What are affection and esteem to me
+without love? You must think me a very poor creature, James, when you
+want to make me a sort of legal housekeeper."
+
+"I'm sorry. I didn't think you would look upon it as an impertinence. I
+didn't mean to say anything offensive. It struck me as a possible way
+out of the difficulty. You would, at all events, be happier than you are
+here."
+
+"It is you who despise me now!"
+
+"Mary!"
+
+"I can bear pain. It's not the first humiliation I have suffered. It is
+very simple, and there's no reason why we should make a fuss about it.
+You thought you loved me, and you asked me to marry you. I don't know
+whether you ever really loved me; you certainly don't now, and you wish
+me to release you. You know that I cannot and will not refuse."
+
+"I see no way out of it, Mary," he said, hoarsely. "I wish to God I did!
+It's frightfully cruel to you."
+
+"I can bear it. I don't blame you. It's not your fault. God will give me
+strength." Mary thought of her mother's cruel sympathy. Her parents
+would have to be told that James had cast her aside like a plaything he
+was tired of. "God will give me strength."
+
+"I'm so sorry, Mary," cried James, kneeling by her side. "You'll have to
+suffer dreadfully; and I can't think how to make it any better for you."
+
+"There is no way. We must tell them the whole truth, and let them say
+what they will."
+
+"Would you like me to go away from Primpton?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It might make it easier for you."
+
+"Nothing can make it easier. I can face it out. And I don't want you to
+run away and hide yourself as if you had done something to be ashamed
+of. And your people want you. Oh, Jamie, you will be as gentle with them
+as you can, won't you? I'm afraid it will--disappoint them very much."
+
+"They had set their hearts upon our marriage."
+
+"I'm afraid they'll feel it a good deal. But it can't be helped.
+Anything is better than a loveless marriage."
+
+James was profoundly touched that at the time of her own bitter grief,
+Mary could think of the pain of others.
+
+"I wish I had your courage, Mary. I've never seen such strength."
+
+"It's well that I have some qualities. I haven't the power to make you
+love me, and I deserve something to make up."
+
+"Oh, Mary, don't speak like that! I do love you! There's no one for whom
+I have a purer, more sincere affection. Why won't you take me with what
+I can offer? I promise that you will never regret it. You know exactly
+what I am now--weak, but anxious to do right. Why shouldn't we be
+married? Perhaps things may change. Who can tell what time may bring
+about?"
+
+"It's impossible. You ask me to do more than I can. And I know very well
+that you only make the offer out of charity. Even from you I cannot
+accept charity."
+
+"My earnest wish is to make you happy."
+
+"And I know you would sacrifice yourself willingly for that; but I can
+sacrifice myself, too. You think that if we got married love might
+arise; but it wouldn't. You would feel perpetually that I was a reproach
+to you; you would hate me."
+
+"I should never do that."
+
+"How can you tell? We are the same age now, but each year I should seem
+older. At forty I should be an old woman, and you would still be a young
+man. Only the deepest love can make that difference endurable; but the
+love would be all on my side--if _I_ had any then. I should probably
+have grown bitter and ill-humoured. Ah, no, Jamie, you know it is
+utterly impracticable. You know it as well as I do. Let us part
+altogether. I give you back your word. It is not your fault that you do
+not love me. I don't blame you. One gets over everything in this world
+eventually. All I ask you is not to trouble too much about me; I shan't
+die of it."
+
+She stretched out her hand, and he took it, his eyes all blurred, unable
+to speak.
+
+"And I thank you," she continued, "for having come to me frankly and
+openly, and told me everything. It is still something that you have
+confidence in me. You need never fear that I shall feel bitter towards
+you. I can see that you have suffered--perhaps more than you have made
+me suffer. Good-bye!"
+
+"Is there nothing I can do, Mary?"
+
+"Nothing," she said, trying to smile, "except not to worry."
+
+"Good-bye," he said. "And don't think too ill of me."
+
+She could not trust herself to answer. She stood perfectly quiet till he
+had gone out of the room; then with a moan sank to the floor and hid her
+face, bursting into tears. She had restrained herself too long; the
+composure became intolerable. She could have screamed, as though
+suffering some physical pain that destroyed all self-control. The heavy
+sobs rent her chest, and she did not attempt to stop them. She was
+heart-broken.
+
+"Oh, how could he!" she groaned. "How could he!"
+
+Her vision of happiness was utterly gone. In James she had placed the
+joy of her life; in him had found strength to bear every displeasure.
+Mary had no thought in which he did not take part; her whole future was
+inextricably mingled with his. But now the years to come, which had
+seemed so bright and sunny, turned suddenly grey as the melancholy sky
+without. She saw her life at Little Primpton, continuing as in the past
+years, monotonous and dull--a dreary round of little duties, of little
+vexations, of little pleasures.
+
+"Oh, God help me!" she cried.
+
+And lifting herself painfully to her knees, she prayed for strength to
+bear the woeful burden, for courage to endure it steadfastly, for
+resignation to believe that it was God's will.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+
+James felt no relief. He had looked forward to a sensation of freedom
+such as a man might feel when he had escaped from some tyrannous
+servitude, and was at liberty again to breathe the buoyant air of
+heaven. He imagined that his depression would vanish like an evil spirit
+exorcised so soon as ever he got from Mary his release; but instead it
+sat more heavily upon him. Unconvinced even yet that he had acted
+rightly, he went over the conversation word for word. It seemed
+singularly ineffectual. Wishing to show Mary that he did not break with
+her from caprice or frivolous reason, but with sorrowful reluctance, and
+full knowledge of her suffering, he had succeeded only in being futile
+and commonplace.
+
+He walked slowly towards Primpton House. He had before him the
+announcement to his mother and father; and he tried to order his
+thoughts.
+
+Mrs. Parsons, her household work finished, was knitting the inevitable
+socks; while the Colonel sat at the table, putting new stamps into his
+album. He chattered delightedly over his treasures, getting up now and
+then gravely to ask his wife some question or to point out a surcharge;
+she, good woman, showed interest by appropriate rejoinders.
+
+"There's no one in Tunbridge Wells who has such a fine collection as I
+have."
+
+"General Newsmith showed me his the other day, but it's not nearly so
+good as yours, Richmond."
+
+"I'm glad of that. I suppose his Mauritius are fine?" replied the
+Colonel, with some envy, for the general had lived several years on the
+island.
+
+"They're fair," said Mrs. Parsons, reassuringly; "but not so good as one
+would expect."
+
+"It takes a clever man to get together a good collection of stamps,
+although I shouldn't say it."
+
+They looked up when James entered.
+
+"I've just been putting in those Free States you brought me, Jamie. They
+look very well."
+
+The Colonel leant back to view them, with the satisfied look with which
+he might have examined an old master.
+
+"It was very thoughtful of Jamie to bring them," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"Ah, I knew he wouldn't forget his old father. Don't you remember,
+Frances, I said to you, 'I'll be bound the boy will bring some stamps
+with him.' They'll be valuable in a year or two. That's what I always
+say with regard to postage stamps; you can't waste your money. Now
+jewellery, for instance, gets old-fashioned, and china breaks; but you
+run no risk with stamps. When I buy stamps, I really feel that I'm as
+good as investing my money in consols."
+
+"Well, how's Mary this morning?"
+
+"I've been having a long talk with her."
+
+"Settled the day yet?" asked the Colonel, with a knowing little laugh.
+
+"No!"
+
+"Upon my word, Frances, I think we shall have to settle it for them.
+Things weren't like this when we were young. Why, Jamie, your mother and
+I got married six weeks after I was introduced to her at a croquet
+party."
+
+"We were married in haste, Richmond," said Mrs. Parsons, laughing.
+
+"Well, we've taken a long time to repent of it, my dear. It's over
+thirty years."
+
+"I fancy it's too late now."
+
+The Colonel took her hand and patted it.
+
+"If you get such a good wife as I have, Jamie, I don't think you'll have
+reason to complain. Will he, my dear?"
+
+"It's not for me to say, Richmond," replied Mrs. Parsons, smiling
+contentedly.
+
+"Do you want me to get married very much, father?"
+
+"Of course I do. I've set my heart upon it. I want to see what the new
+generations of Parsons are like before I die."
+
+"Listen, Richmond, Jamie has something to tell us."
+
+Mrs. Parsons had been looking at her son, and was struck at last by the
+agony of his expression.
+
+"What is it, Jamie?" she asked.
+
+"I'm afraid you'll be dreadfully disappointed. I'm so sorry--Mary and I
+are no longer engaged to be married."
+
+For a minute there was silence in the room. The old Colonel looked
+helplessly from wife to son.
+
+"What does he mean, Frances?" he said at last.
+
+Mrs. Parsons did not answer, and he turned to James.
+
+"You're not in earnest, Jamie? You're joking with us?"
+
+James went over to his father, as the weaker of the two, and put his arm
+round his shoulders.
+
+"I'm awfully sorry to have to grieve you, father. It's quite true--worse
+luck! It was impossible for me to marry Mary."
+
+"D'you mean that you've broken your engagement with her after she's
+waited five years for you?" said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"I couldn't do anything else. I found I no longer loved her. We should
+both have been unhappy if we had married."
+
+The Colonel recovered himself slowly, he turned round and looked at his
+son.
+
+"Jamie, Jamie, what have you done?"
+
+"Oh, you can say nothing that I've not said to myself. D'you think it's
+a step I should have taken lightly? I feel nothing towards Mary but
+friendship. I don't love her."
+
+"But--" the Colonel stopped, and then a light shone in his face, and he
+began to laugh. "Oh, it's only a lovers' quarrel, Frances. They've had a
+little tiff, and they say they'll never speak to one another again. I
+warrant they're both heartily sorry already, and before night they'll be
+engaged as fast as ever."
+
+James, by a look, implored his mother to speak. She understood, and
+shook her head sadly.
+
+"No, Richmond, I'm afraid it's not that. It's serious."
+
+"But Mary loves him, Frances."
+
+"I know," said James. "That's the tragedy of it. If I could only
+persuade myself that she didn't care for me, it would be all right."
+
+Colonel Parsons sank into his chair, suddenly collapsing. He seemed
+smaller than ever, wizened and frail; the wisp of white hair that
+concealed his baldness fell forward grotesquely. His face assumed again
+that expression, which was almost habitual, of anxious fear.
+
+"Oh, father, don't look like that! I can't help it! Don't make it harder
+for me than possible. You talk to him, mother. Explain that it's not my
+fault. There was nothing else I could do."
+
+Colonel Parsons sat silent, with his head bent down, but Mrs. Parsons
+asked:
+
+"What did you say to Mary this morning?"
+
+"I told her exactly what I felt."
+
+"You said you didn't love her?"
+
+"I had to."
+
+"Poor thing!"
+
+They all remained for a while without speaking, each one thinking his
+painful thoughts.
+
+"Richmond," said Mrs. Parsons at last, "we mustn't blame the boy. It's
+not his fault. He can't help it if he doesn't love her."
+
+"You wouldn't have me marry her without love, father?"
+
+The question was answered by Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"No; if you don't love her, you mustn't marry her. But what's to be
+done, I don't know. Poor thing, poor thing, how unhappy she must be!"
+
+James sat with his face in his hands, utterly wretched, beginning
+already to see the great circle of confusion that he had caused. Mrs.
+Parsons looked at him and looked at her husband. Presently she went up
+to James.
+
+"Jamie, will you leave us for a little? Your father and I would like to
+talk it over alone."
+
+"Yes, mother."
+
+James got up, and putting her hands on his shoulders, she kissed him.
+
+When James had gone, Mrs. Parsons looked compassionately at her husband;
+he glanced up, and catching her eye, tried to smile. But it was a poor
+attempt, and it finished with a sigh.
+
+"What's to be done, Richmond?"
+
+Colonel Parsons shook his head without answering.
+
+"I ought to have warned you that something might happen. I saw there was
+a difference in Jamie's feelings, but I fancied it would pass over. I
+believed it was only strangeness. Mary is so fond of him, I thought he
+would soon love her as much as ever."
+
+"But it's not honourable what he's done, Frances," said the old man at
+last, his voice trembling with emotion. "It's not honourable."
+
+"He can't help it if he doesn't love her."
+
+"It's his duty to marry her. She's waited five years; she's given him
+the best of her youth--and he jilts her. He can't, Frances; he must
+behave like a gentleman."
+
+The tears fell down Mrs. Parsons' careworn cheeks--the slow, sparse
+tears of the woman who has endured much sorrow.
+
+"Don't let us judge him, Richmond. We're so ignorant of the world. You
+and I are old-fashioned."
+
+"There are no fashions in honesty."
+
+"Let us send for William. Perhaps he'll be able to advise us."
+
+William was Major Forsyth, the brother of Mrs. Parsons. He was a
+bachelor, living in London, and considered by his relatives a typical
+man of the world.
+
+"He'll be able to talk to the boy better than we can."
+
+"Very well, let us send for him."
+
+They were both overcome by the catastrophe, but as yet hardly grasped
+the full extent of it. All their hopes had been centred on this
+marriage; all their plans for the future had been in it so intricately
+woven that they could not realise the total over-throw. They felt as a
+man might feel who was crippled by a sudden accident, and yet still
+pictured his life as though he had free use of his limbs.... Mrs.
+Parsons wrote a telegram, and gave it to the maid. The servant went out
+of the room, but as she did so, stepped back and announced:
+
+"Miss Clibborn, ma'am."
+
+"Mary!"
+
+The girl came in, and lifted the veil which she had put on to hide her
+pallor and her eyes, red and heavy with weeping.
+
+"I thought I'd better come round and see you quietly," she said. "I
+suppose you've heard?"
+
+"Mary, Mary!"
+
+Mrs. Parsons took her in her arms, kissing her tenderly. Mary pretended
+to laugh, and hastily dried the tears which came to her eyes.
+
+"You've been crying, Mrs. Parsons. You mustn't do that.... Let us sit
+down and talk sensibly."
+
+She took the Colonel's hand, and gently pressed it.
+
+"Is it true, Mary?" he asked. "I can't believe it."
+
+"Yes, it's quite true. We've decided that we don't wish to marry one
+another. I want to ask you not to think badly of Jamie. He's very--cut
+up about it. He's not to blame."
+
+"We're thinking of you, my dear."
+
+"Oh, I shall be all right. I can bear it."
+
+"It's not honourable what he's done, Mary," said the Colonel.
+
+"Oh, don't say that, please! That is why I came round to you quickly. I
+want you to think that Jamie did what he considered right. For my sake,
+don't think ill of him. He can't help it if he doesn't love me. I'm not
+very attractive; he must have known in India girls far nicer than I. How
+could I hope to keep him all these years? I was a fool to expect it."
+
+"I am so sorry, Mary!" cried Mrs. Parsons. "We've looked forward to your
+marriage with all our hearts. You know Jamie's been a good son to us;
+he's never given us any worry. We did want him to marry you. We're so
+fond of you, and we know how really good you are. We felt that whatever
+happened after that--if we died--Jamie would be safe and happy."
+
+"It can't be helped. Things never turn out in this world as one wants
+them. Don't be too distressed about it, and, above all things, don't let
+Jamie see that you think he hasn't acted--as he might have done."
+
+"How can you think of him now, when your heart must be almost breaking?"
+
+"You see, I've thought of him for years," answered Mary, smiling sadly.
+"I can't help it now. Oh, I don't want him to suffer! His worrying can
+do no good, I should like him to be completely happy."
+
+Colonel Parsons sighed.
+
+"He's my son, and he's behaved dishonourably."
+
+"Don't say that. It's not fair to him. He did not ask me for his
+release. But I couldn't marry him when I knew he no longer cared for
+me."
+
+"He might have learned to love you, Mary," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"No, no! I could see, as he pressed me to marry him notwithstanding, he
+was hoping with all his might that I would refuse. He would have hated
+me. No; it's the end. We have separated for ever, and I will do my best
+to get over it."
+
+They fell into silence, and presently Mary got up. "I must go home now,
+and tell mamma."
+
+"She'll probably have hysterics," said Mrs. Parsons, with a little sniff
+of contempt.
+
+"No, she'll be delighted," returned Mary. "I know her so well."
+
+"Oh, how much you will have to suffer, dearest!"
+
+"It'll do me good. I was too happy."
+
+"Don't you think you could wait a little before telling anyone else?"
+asked the Colonel. "Major Forsyth is coming down. He may be able to
+arrange it; he's a man of the world."
+
+"Can he make Jamie love me? Ah, no, it's no good waiting. Let me get it
+over quickly while I have the courage. And it helps me to think I have
+something to do. It only means a few sneers and a little false
+sympathy."
+
+"A great deal of real sympathy."
+
+"People are always rather glad when some unhappiness befalls their
+friends! Oh, I didn't mean that! I don't want to be bitter. Don't think
+badly of me either. I shall be different to-morrow."
+
+"We can never think of you without the sincerest, fondest love."
+
+At that moment James, who did not know that Mary was there, came into
+the room. He started when he saw her and turned red; but Mary, with a
+woman's self-possession, braced herself together.
+
+"Oh, Jamie, I've just been having a little chat with your people."
+
+"I'm sorry I interrupted you," he answered, awkwardly. "I didn't know
+you were here."
+
+"You need not avoid me because we've broken off our engagement. At all
+events, you have no reason to be afraid of me now. Good-bye! I'm just
+going home."
+
+She went out, and James looked uncertainly at his parents. His father
+did not speak, staring at the ground, but Mrs. Parsons said:
+
+"Mary has been asking us not to be angry with you, Jamie. She says it's
+not your fault."
+
+"It's very kind of her."
+
+"Oh, how could you? How could you?"
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+
+Not till luncheon was nearly finished did Mary brace herself for the
+further ordeal, and in a steady, unmoved voice tell Colonel and Mrs.
+Clibborn what had happened. The faded beauty merely smiled, and lifted
+her eyes to the chandelier with the expression that had melted the
+hearts of a thousand and one impressionable subalterns.
+
+"I knew it," she murmured; "I knew it! You can't deceive a woman and a
+mother."
+
+But the Colonel for a moment was speechless. His face grew red, and his
+dyed eyebrows stood up in a fury of indignation.
+
+"Impossible!" he spluttered at last.
+
+"You'd better drink a little water, Reggie dear," said his wife. "You
+look as if you were going to have a fit."
+
+"I won't have it," he shouted, bringing his fist down on the table so
+that the cheese-plates clattered and the biscuits danced a rapid jig.
+"I'll make him marry you. He forgets he has me to deal with! I
+disapproved of the match from the beginning, didn't I, Clara? I said I
+would never allow my daughter to marry beneath her."
+
+"Papa!"
+
+"Don't talk to me, Mary! Do you mean to deny that James Parsons is
+infantry, or that his father was infantry before him? But he shall marry
+you now. By George! he shall marry you if I have to lead him to the
+altar by the scruff of his neck!"
+
+Neglecting his cheese, the Colonel sprang to his feet and walked to and
+fro, vehemently giving his opinion of James, his father, and all his
+ancestors; of the regiments to which they had belonged, and all else
+that was theirs. He traced their origin from a pork butcher's shop, and
+prophesied their end, ignominiously, in hell. Every now and then he
+assured Mary that she need have no fear; the rascal should marry her, or
+die a violent death.
+
+"But there's nothing more to be said now, papa. We've agreed quite
+amicably to separate. All I want you to do is to treat him as if nothing
+had happened."
+
+"I'll horsewhip him," said Colonel Clibborn. "He's insulted you, and
+I'll make him beg your pardon on his bended knees. Clara, where's my
+horsewhip?"
+
+"Papa, do be reasonable!"
+
+"I am reasonable, Mary," roared the gallant soldier, becoming a rich
+purple. "I know my duty, thank God! and I'm going to do it. When a man
+insults my daughter, it's my duty, as a gentleman and an officer, to
+give him a jolly good thrashing. When that twopenny sawbones of a doctor
+was rude to you, I licked him within an inch of his life. I kicked him
+till he begged for mercy; and if more men had the courage to take the
+law into their own hands, there'd be fewer damned blackguards in the
+world."
+
+As a matter of fact, the Colonel had neither thrashed nor kicked the
+doctor, but it pleased him to think he had. Moralists teach us that the
+intention is praiseworthy, rather than the brutal act; consequently,
+there could be no objection if the fearless cavalryman took credit for
+things which he had thought of doing, but, from circumstances beyond his
+control, had not actually done.
+
+Mary felt no great alarm at her father's horrid threats, for she knew
+him well, but still was doubtful about her mother.
+
+"You will treat James as you did before, won't you, mamma?"
+
+Mrs. Clibborn smiled, a portly seraph.
+
+"My dear, I trust I am a gentlewoman."
+
+"He shall never darken my doors again!" cried the Colonel. "I tell you,
+Clara, keep him out of my way. If I meet him I won't be responsible for
+my actions; I shall knock him down."
+
+"Reggie dear, you'll have such dreadful indigestion if you don't calm
+down. You know it always upsets you to get excited immediately after
+meals."
+
+"It's disgraceful! I suppose he forgets all those half-crowns I gave him
+when he was a boy, and the cigars, and the port wine he's had since. I
+opened a special bottle for him only the night before last. I'll never
+sit down to dinner with him again--don't ask me to, Clara.... It's the
+confounded impertinence of it which gets over me. But he shall marry
+you, my dear; or I'll know the reason why."
+
+"You can't have him up for breach of promise, Reggie," cooed Mrs.
+Clibborn.
+
+"A gentleman takes the law in his own hands in these matters. Ah, it's a
+pity the good old days have gone when they settled such things with cold
+steel!"
+
+And the Colonel, to emphasise his words, flung himself into the
+appropriate attitude, throwing his left hand up behind his head, and
+lunging fiercely with the right.
+
+"Go and look for my _pince-nez_, my dear," said Mrs. Clibborn, turning
+to Mary. "I think they're in my work-basket or in your father's study."
+
+Mary was glad to leave the room, about which the Colonel stamped in an
+ever-increasing rage, pausing now and then to take a mouthful of bread
+and cheese. The request for the glasses was Mrs. Clibborn's usual way of
+getting rid of Mary, a typical subterfuge of a woman who never, except
+by chance, put anything straightforwardly.... When the door was closed,
+the buxom lady clasped her hands, and cried:
+
+"Reginald! Reginald! I have a confession to make."
+
+"What's the matter with you?" said the Colonel, stopping short.
+
+"I am to blame for this, Reginald." Mrs. Clibborn threw her head on one
+side, and looked at the ceiling as the only substitute for heaven.
+"James Parsons has jilted Mary--on my account."
+
+"What the devil have you been doing now?"
+
+"Oh, forgive me, Reginald!" she cried, sliding off the chair and falling
+heavily on her knees. "It's not my fault: he loves me."
+
+"Fiddlesticks!" said her husband angrily, walking on again.
+
+"It isn't, Reginald. How unjust you are to me!"
+
+The facile tears began to flow down Mrs. Clibborn's well-powdered
+cheeks.
+
+"I know he loves me. You can't deceive a woman and a mother."
+
+"You're double his age!"
+
+"These boys always fall in love with women older than themselves; I've
+noticed it so often. And he's almost told me in so many words, though
+I'm sure I've given him no encouragement."
+
+"Fiddlesticks, Clara!"
+
+"You wouldn't believe me when I told you that poor Algy Turner loved me,
+and he killed himself."
+
+"Nothing of the kind; he died of cholera."
+
+"Reginald," retorted Mrs. Clibborn, with asperity, "his death was most
+mysterious. None of the doctors understood it. If he didn't poison
+himself, he died of a broken heart. And I think you're very unkind to
+me."
+
+With some difficulty, being a heavy woman, she lifted herself from the
+floor; and by the time she was safely on her feet, Mrs. Clibborn was
+blowing and puffing like a grampus.
+
+The Colonel, whose mind had wandered to other things, suddenly bethought
+himself that he had a duty to perform.
+
+"Where's my horsewhip, Clara? I command you to give it me."
+
+"Reginald, if you have the smallest remnant of affection for me, you
+will not hurt this unfortunate young man. Remember that Algy Turner
+killed himself. You can't blame him for not wanting to marry poor Mary.
+My dear, she has absolutely no figure. And men are so susceptible to
+those things."
+
+The Colonel stalked out of the room, and Mrs. Clibborn sat down to
+meditate.
+
+"I thought my day for such things was past," she murmured. "I knew it
+all along. The way he looked at me was enough--we women have such quick
+perceptions! Poor boy, how he must suffer!"
+
+She promised herself that no harsh word of hers should drive James into
+the early grave where lay the love-lorn Algy Turner. And she sighed,
+thinking what a curse it was to possess that fatal gift of beauty!
+
+* * *
+
+When Little Primpton heard the news, Little Primpton was agitated.
+Certainly it was distressed, and even virtuously indignant, but at the
+same time completely unable to divest itself of that little flutter of
+excitement which was so rare, yet so enchanting, a variation from the
+monotony of its daily course. The well-informed walked with a lighter
+step, and held their heads more jauntily, for life had suddenly acquired
+a novel interest. With something new to talk about, something fresh to
+think over, with a legitimate object of sympathy and resentment, the
+torpid blood raced through their veins as might that of statesmen during
+some crisis in national affairs. Let us thank God, who has made our
+neighbours frail, and in His infinite mercy caused husband and wife to
+quarrel; Tom, Dick, and Harry to fall more or less discreditably in
+love; this dear friend of ours to lose his money, and that her
+reputation. In all humility, let us be grateful for the scandal which
+falls at our feet like ripe fruit, for the Divorce Court and for the
+newspapers that, with a witty semblance of horror, report for us the
+spicy details. If at certain intervals propriety obliges us to confess
+that we are miserable sinners, has not the Lord sought to comfort us in
+the recollection that we are not half so bad as most people?
+
+Mr. Dryland went to the Vicarage to enter certificates in the parish
+books. The Vicar was in his study, and gave his curate the keys of the
+iron safe.
+
+"Sophie Bunch came last night to put up her banns," he said.
+
+"She's going to marry out of the parish, isn't she?"
+
+"Yes, a Tunbridge Wells man."
+
+The curate carefully blotted the entries he had made, and returned the
+heavy books to their place.
+
+"Will you come into the dining-room, Dryland?" said the Vicar, with a
+certain solemnity. "Mrs Jackson would like to speak to you."
+
+"Certainly."
+
+Mrs. Jackson was reading the _Church Times_. Her thin, sharp face wore
+an expression of strong disapproval; her tightly-closed mouth, her sharp
+nose, even the angular lines of her body, signified clearly that her
+moral sense was outraged. She put her hand quickly to her massive fringe
+to see that it was straight, and rose to shake hands with Mr. Dryland.
+His heavy red face assumed at once a grave look; his moral sense was
+outraged, too.
+
+"Isn't this dreadful news, Mr. Dryland?"
+
+"Oh, very sad! Very sad!"
+
+In both their voices, hidden below an intense sobriety, there was
+discernible a slight ring of exultation.
+
+"The moment I saw him I felt he would give trouble," said Mrs. Jackson,
+shaking her head. "I told you, Archibald, that I didn't like the look of
+him."
+
+"I'm bound to say you did," admitted her lord and master.
+
+"Mary Clibborn is much too good for him," added Mrs. Jackson,
+decisively. "She's a saint."
+
+"The fact is, that he's suffering from a swollen head," remarked the
+curate, who used slang as a proof of manliness.
+
+"There, Archibald!" cried the lady, triumphantly. "What did I tell you?"
+
+"Mrs. Jackson thought he was conceited."
+
+"I don't think it; I'm sure of it. He's odiously conceited. All the time
+I was talking to him I felt he considered himself superior to me. No
+nice-minded man would have refused our offer to say a short prayer on
+his behalf during morning service."
+
+"Those army men always have a very good opinion of themselves," said Mr.
+Dryland, taking advantage of his seat opposite a looking-glass to
+arrange his hair.
+
+He spoke in such a round, full voice that his shortest words carried a
+sort of polysyllabic weight.
+
+"I can't see what he has done to be so proud of," said Mrs. Jackson.
+"Anyone would have done the same in his position. I'm sure it's no more
+heroic than what clergymen do every day of their lives, without making
+the least fuss about it."
+
+"They say that true courage is always modest," answered Mr. Dryland.
+
+The remark was not very apposite, but sounded damaging.
+
+"I didn't like the way he had when he came to tea here--as if he were
+dreadfully bored. I'm sure he's not so clever as all that."
+
+"No clever man would act in an ungentlemanly way," said the curate, and
+then smiled, for he thought he had unconsciously made an epigram.
+
+"I couldn't express in words what I feel with regard to his treatment of
+Mary!" cried Mrs. Jackson; and then proceeded to do so--and in many, to
+boot.
+
+They had all been a little oppressed by the greatness which, much
+against his will, they had thrust upon the unfortunate James. They had
+set him on a pedestal, and then were disconcerted because he towered
+above their heads, and the halo with which they had surrounded him
+dazzled their eyes. They had wished to make a lion of James, and his
+modest resistance wounded their self-esteem; it was a relief to learn
+that he was not worth making a lion of. Halo and pedestal were quickly
+demolished, for the golden idol had feet of clay, and his late adorers
+were ready to reproach him because he had not accepted with proper
+humility the gifts he did not want. Their little vanities were comforted
+by the assurance that, far from being a hero, James was, in fact,
+distinctly inferior to themselves. For there is no superiority like
+moral superiority. A man who stands akimbo on the top of the Ten
+Commandments need bow the knee to no earthly potentate.
+
+Little Primpton was conscious of its virtue, and did not hesitate to
+condemn.
+
+"He has lowered himself dreadfully."
+
+"Yes, it's very sad. It only shows how necessary it is to preserve a
+meek and contrite spirit in prosperity. Pride always goes before a
+fall."
+
+The Jacksons and Mr. Dryland discussed the various accounts which had
+reached them. Mary and Mrs. Parsons were determinedly silent, but Mrs.
+Clibborn was loquacious, and it needed little artifice to extract the
+whole story from Colonel Parsons.
+
+"One thing is unfortunately certain," said Mrs. Jackson, with a sort of
+pious vindictiveness, "Captain Parsons has behaved abominably, and it's
+our duty to do something."
+
+"Colonel Clibborn threatens to horsewhip him."
+
+"It would do him good," cried Mrs. Jackson; "and I should like to be
+there to see it!"
+
+They paused a moment to gloat over the imaginary scene of Jamie's
+chastisement.
+
+"He's a wicked man. Fancy throwing the poor girl over when she's waited
+five years. I think he ought to be made to marry her."
+
+"I'm bound to say that no gentleman would have acted like that," said
+the Vicar.
+
+"I wanted Archibald to go and speak seriously to Captain Parsons. He
+ought to know what we think of him, and it's obviously our duty to tell
+him."
+
+"His parents are very much distressed. One can see that, although they
+say so little."
+
+"It's not enough to be distressed. They ought to have the strength of
+mind to insist upon his marrying Mary Clibborn. But they stick up for
+everything he does. They think he's perfect. I'm sure it's not
+respectful to God to worship a human being as they do their son."
+
+"They certainly have a very exaggerated opinion of him," assented Mr.
+Dryland.
+
+"And I should like to know why. He's not good-looking."
+
+"Very ordinary," agreed Mr. Dryland, with a rapid glance at the
+convenient mirror. "I don't think his appearance is manly."
+
+Whatever the curate's defects of person--and he flattered himself that
+he was modest enough to know his bad points--no one, he fancied, could
+deny him manliness. It is possible that he was not deceived. Put him in
+a bowler-hat and a bell-bottomed coat, and few could have distinguished
+him from a cab-driver.
+
+"I don't see anything particular in his eyes or hair," pursued Mrs.
+Jackson.
+
+"His features are fairly regular. But that always strikes me as insipid
+in a man."
+
+"And he's not a good conversationalist."
+
+"I'm bound to confess I've never heard him say anything clever,"
+remarked the Vicar.
+
+"No," smiled the curate; "one could hardly call him a brilliant
+epigrammatist."
+
+"I don't think he's well informed."
+
+"Oh, well, you know, one doesn't expect knowledge from army men," said
+the curate, with a contemptuous smile and a shrug of the shoulders. "I
+must say I was rather amused when he confessed he hadn't read Marie
+Corelli."
+
+"I can hardly believe that. I think it was only pose."
+
+"I'm sorry to say that my experience of young officers is that there are
+absolutely no bounds to their ignorance."
+
+They had satisfactorily stripped James of every quality, mental and
+physical, which could have made him attractive in Mary's eyes; and the
+curate's next remark was quite natural.
+
+"I'm afraid it sounds a conceited thing to say, but I can't help asking
+myself what Miss Clibborn saw in him."
+
+"Love is blind," replied Mrs. Jackson. "She could have done much better
+for herself."
+
+They paused to consider the vagaries of the tender passion, and the
+matches which Mary might have made, had she been so inclined.
+
+"Archibald," said Mrs. Jackson at last, with the decision characteristic
+of her, "I've made up my mind. As vicar of the parish, _you_ must go to
+Captain Parsons."
+
+"I, my dear?"
+
+"Yes, Archibald. You must insist upon him fulfilling his engagement with
+Mary. Say that you are shocked and grieved; and ask him if his own
+conscience does not tell him that he has done wrong."
+
+"I'm not sure that he'd listen to reason," nervously remarked the Vicar.
+
+"It's your duty to try, Archibald. We're so afraid of being called
+busybodies that even when we ought to step in we hesitate. No motives of
+delicacy should stop one when a wicked action is to be prevented. It's
+often the clergy's duty to interfere with other people's affairs. For my
+part, I will never shrink from doing my duty. People may call me a
+busybody if they like; hard words break no bones."
+
+"Captain Parsons is very reserved. He might think it an impertinence if
+I went to him."
+
+"How could he? Isn't it our business if he breaks his word with a
+parishioner of ours? If you don't talk to him, I shall. So there,
+Archibald!"
+
+"Why don't you, Mrs. Jackson?"
+
+"Nothing would please me better, I should thoroughly enjoy giving him a
+piece of my mind. It would do him good to be told frankly that he's not
+quite so great as he thinks himself. I will never shrink from doing my
+duty."
+
+"My dear," remonstrated the Vicar, "if you really think I ought to
+speak--"
+
+"Perhaps Mrs. Jackson would do better. A women can say many things that
+a man can't."
+
+This was a grateful suggestion to the Vicar, who could not rid himself
+of the discomforting thought that James, incensed and hot-tempered,
+might use the strength of his arms--or legs--in lieu of argument. Mr.
+Jackson would have affronted horrid tortures for his faith, but shrank
+timidly before the least suspicion of ridicule. His wife was braver, or
+less imaginative.
+
+"Very well, I'll go," she said. "It's true he might be rude to
+Archibald, and he couldn't be rude to a lady. And what's more, I shall
+go at once."
+
+Mrs. Jackson kept her hat on a peg in the hall, and was quickly ready.
+She put on her black kid gloves; determination sat upon her mouth, and
+Christian virtue rested between her brows. Setting out with a brisk
+step, the conviction was obvious in every movement that duty called, and
+to that clarion note Maria Jackson would never turn a deaf ear. She went
+like a Hebrew prophet, conscious that the voice of the Lord was in her.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+
+James was wandering in the garden of Primpton House while Mrs. Jackson
+thither went her way. Since the termination of his engagement with Mary
+three days back, the subject had not been broached between him and his
+parents; but he divined their thoughts. He knew that they awaited the
+arrival of his uncle, Major Forsyth, to set the matter right. They did
+not seek to reconcile themselves with the idea that the break was final;
+it seemed too monstrous a thing to be true. James smiled, with bitter
+amusement, at their simple trust in the man of the world who was due
+that day.
+
+Major Forsyth was fifty-three, a haunter of military clubs, a busy
+sluggard, who set his pride in appearing dissipated, and yet led the
+blameless life of a clergyman's daughter; preserving a spotless virtue,
+nothing pleased him more than to be thought a rake. He had been on
+half-pay for many years, and blamed the War Office on that account
+rather than his own incompetence. Ever since retiring he had told people
+that advancement, in these degenerate days, was impossible without
+influence: he was, indeed, one of those men to whom powerful friends
+offer the only chance of success; and possessing none, inveighed
+constantly against the corrupt officialism of those in authority. But to
+his Jeremiads upon the decay of the public services he added a keen
+interest in the world of fashion; it is always well that a man should
+have varied activities; it widens his horizon, and gives him a greater
+usefulness. If his attention had been limited to red-tape, Major
+Forsyth, even in his own circle, might have been thought a little
+one-sided; but his knowledge of etiquette and tailors effectually
+prevented the reproach. He was pleased to consider himself in society;
+he read assiduously those papers which give detailed accounts of the
+goings-on in the "hupper succles," and could give you with considerable
+accuracy the whereabouts of titled people. If he had a weakness, it was
+by his manner of speaking to insinuate that he knew certain noble
+persons whom, as a matter of fact, he had never set eyes on; he would
+not have told a direct lie on the subject, but his conscience permitted
+him a slight equivocation. Major Forsyth was well up in all the gossip
+of the clubs, and if he could not call himself a man of the world, he
+had not the least notion who could. But for all that, he had the
+strictest principles; he was true brother to Mrs. Parsons, and though he
+concealed the fact like something disreputable, regularly went to church
+on Sunday mornings. There was also a certain straitness in his income
+which confined him to the paths shared by the needy and the pure at
+heart.
+
+Major Forsyth had found no difficulty in imposing upon his sister and
+her husband.
+
+"Of course, William is rather rackety," they said. "It's a pity he
+hasn't a wife to steady him; but he has a good heart."
+
+For them Major Forsyth had the double advantage of a wiliness gained in
+the turmoil of the world and an upright character. They scarcely knew
+how in the present juncture he could help, but had no doubt that from
+the boundless store of his worldly wisdom he would invent a solution to
+their difficulty.
+
+James had found his uncle out when he was quite a boy, and seeing his
+absurdity, had treated him ever since with good-natured ridicule.
+
+"I wonder what they think he can say?" he asked himself.
+
+James was profoundly grieved at the unhappiness which bowed his father
+down. His parents had looked forward with such ecstatic pleasure to his
+arrival, and what sorrow had he not brought them!
+
+"I wish I'd never come back," he muttered.
+
+He thought of the flowing, undulating plains of the Orange Country, and
+the blue sky, with its sense of infinite freedom. In that trim Kentish
+landscape he felt hemmed in; when the clouds were low it seemed scarcely
+possible to breathe; and he suffered from the constraint of his father
+and mother, who treated him formally, as though he had become a
+stranger. There was always between them and him that painful topic which
+for the time was carefully shunned. They did not mention Mary's name,
+and the care they took to avoid it was more painful than would have been
+an open reference. They sat silent and sad, trying to appear natural,
+and dismally failing; their embarrassed manner was such as they might
+have adopted had he committed some crime, the mention of which for his
+sake must never be made, but whose recollection perpetually haunted
+them. In every action was the belief that James must be suffering from
+remorse, and that it was their duty not to make his burden heavier.
+James knew that his father was convinced that he had acted
+dishonourably, and he--what did he himself think?
+
+James asked himself a hundred times a day whether he had acted well or
+ill; and though he forced himself to answer that he had done the only
+possible thing, deep down in his heart was a terrible, a perfectly
+maddening uncertainty. He tried to crush it, and would not listen, for
+his intelligence told him clearly it was absurd; but it was stronger
+than intelligence, an incorporeal shape through which passed harmlessly
+the sword-cuts of his reason. It was a little devil curled up in his
+heart, muttering to all his arguments, "Are you sure?"
+
+Sometimes he was nearly distracted, and then the demon laughed, so that
+the mocking shrillness rang in his ears:
+
+"Are you sure, my friend--are you sure? And where, pray, is the honour
+which only a while ago you thought so much of?"
+
+* * *
+
+James walked to and fro restlessly, impatient, angry with himself and
+with all the world.
+
+But then on the breath of the wind, on the perfume of the roses, yellow
+and red, came suddenly the irresistible recollection of Mrs. Wallace.
+Why should he not think of her now? He was free; he could do her no
+harm; he would never see her again. The thought of her was the only
+sunshine in his life; he was tired of denying himself every pleasure.
+Why should he continue the pretence that he no longer loved her? It was,
+indeed, a consolation to think that the long absence had not dulled his
+passion; the strength of it was its justification. It was useless to
+fight against it, for it was part of his very soul; he might as well
+have fought against the beating of his heart. And if it was torture to
+remember those old days in India, he delighted in it; it was a pain more
+exquisite than the suffocating odours of tropical flowers, a voluptuous
+agony such as might feel the fakir lacerating his flesh in a divine
+possession.... Every little occurrence was clear, as if it had taken
+place but a day before.
+
+James repeated to himself the conversations they had had, of no
+consequence, the idle gossip of a stray half-hour; but each word was
+opulent in the charming smile, in the caressing glance of her eyes. He
+was able to imagine Mrs. Wallace quite close to him, wearing the things
+that he had seen her wear, and with her movements he noticed the
+excessive scent she used. He wondered whether she had overcome that
+failing, whether she still affected the artificiality which was so
+adorable a relief from the primness of manner which he had thought the
+natural way of women.
+
+If her cheeks were not altogether innocent of rouge or her eyebrows of
+pencil, what did he care; he delighted in her very faults; he would not
+have her different in the very slightest detail; everything was part of
+that complex, elusive fascination. And James thought of the skin which
+had the even softness of fine velvet, and the little hands. He called
+himself a fool for his shyness. What could have been the harm if he had
+taken those hands and kissed them? Now, in imagination, he pressed his
+lips passionately on the warm palms. He liked the barbaric touch in the
+many rings which bedecked her fingers.
+
+"Why do you wear so many rings?" he asked. "Your hands are too fine."
+
+He would never have ventured the question, but now there was no danger.
+Her answer came with a little, good-humoured laugh; she stretched out
+her fingers, looking complacently at the brilliant gems.
+
+"I like to be gaudy. I should like to be encrusted with jewels. I want
+to wear bracelets to my elbow and diamond spangles on my arms; and
+jewelled belts, and jewels in my hair, and on my neck. I should like to
+flash from head to foot with exotic stones."
+
+Then she looked at him with amusement.
+
+"Of course, you think it's vulgar. What do I care? You all of you think
+it's vulgar to be different from other people. I want to be unique."
+
+"You want everybody to look at you?"
+
+"Of course I do! Is it sinful? Oh, I get so impatient with all of you,
+with your good taste and your delicacy, and your insupportable dulness.
+When you admire a woman, you think it impertinent to tell her she's
+beautiful; when you have good looks, you carry yourselves as though you
+were ashamed."
+
+And in a bold moment he replied:
+
+"Yet you would give your soul to have no drop of foreign blood in your
+veins!"
+
+"I?" she cried, her eyes flashing with scorn. "I'm proud of my Eastern
+blood. It's not blood I have in my veins, it's fire--a fire of gold.
+It's because of it that I have no prejudices, and know how to enjoy my
+life."
+
+James smiled, and did not answer.
+
+"You don't believe me?" she asked.
+
+"No!"
+
+"Well, perhaps I should like to be quite English. I should feel more
+comfortable in my scorn of these regimental ladies if I thought they
+could find no reason to look down on me."
+
+"I don't think they look down on you."
+
+"Oh, don't they? They despise and loathe me."
+
+"When you were ill, they did all they could for you."
+
+"Foolish creature! Don't you know that to do good to your enemy is the
+very best way of showing your contempt."
+
+And so James could go on, questioning, replying, putting little jests
+into her mouth, or half-cynical repartees. Sometimes he spoke aloud,
+and then Mrs. Wallace's voice sounded in his ears, clear and rich and
+passionate, as though she were really standing in the flesh beside him.
+But always he finished by taking her in his arms and kissing her lips
+and her closed eyes, the lids transparent like the finest alabaster. He
+knew no pleasure greater than to place his hands on that lustrous hair.
+What could it matter now? He was not bound to Mary; he could do no harm
+to Mrs. Wallace, ten thousand miles away.
+
+* * *
+
+But Colonel Parsons broke into the charming dream. Bent and weary, he
+came across the lawn to find his son. The wan, pathetic figure brought
+back to James all the present bitterness. He sighed, and advanced to
+meet him.
+
+"You're very reckless to come out without a hat, father. I'll fetch you
+one, shall I?"
+
+"No, I'm not going to stay." The Colonel could summon up no answering
+smile to his boy's kind words. "I only came to tell you that Mrs.
+Jackson is in the drawing-room, and would like to see you."
+
+"What does she want?"
+
+"She'll explain herself. She has asked to see you alone."
+
+Jamie's face darkened, as some notion of Mrs. Jackson's object dawned
+upon him.
+
+"I don't know what she can have to talk to me about alone."
+
+"Please listen to her, Jamie. She's a very clever woman, and you can't
+fail to benefit by her advice."
+
+The Colonel never had an unfriendly word to say of anyone, and even for
+Mrs. Jackson's unwarrantable interferences could always find a
+good-natured justification. He was one of those deprecatory men who, in
+every difference of opinion, are convinced that they are certainly in
+the wrong. He would have borne with the most cheerful submission any
+rebuke of his own conduct, and been, indeed, vastly grateful to the
+Vicar's wife for pointing out his error.
+
+James found Mrs. Jackson sitting bolt upright on a straight-backed
+chair, convinced, such was her admirable sense of propriety, that a
+lounging attitude was incompatible with the performance of a duty. She
+held her hands on her lap, gently clasped; and her tight lips expressed
+as plainly as possible her conviction that though the way of
+righteousness was hard, she, thank God! had strength to walk it.
+
+"How d'you do, Mrs. Jackson?"
+
+"Good morning," she replied, with a stiff bow.
+
+James, though there was no fire, went over to the mantelpiece and leant
+against it, waiting for the lady to speak.
+
+"Captain Parsons, I have a very painful duty to perform."
+
+Those were her words, but it must have been a dense person who failed to
+perceive that Mrs. Jackson found her duty anything but painful. There
+was just that hard resonance in her voice that an inquisitor might have
+in condemning to the stake a Jew to whom he owed much money.
+
+"I suppose you will call me a busybody?"
+
+"Oh, I'm sure you would never interfere with what does not concern you,"
+replied James, slowly.
+
+"Certainly not!" said Mrs. Jackson. "I come here because my conscience
+tells me to. What I wish to talk to you about concerns us all."
+
+"Shall I call my people? I'm sure they'd be interested."
+
+"I asked to see you alone, Captain Parsons," answered Mrs. Jackson,
+frigidly. "And it was for your sake. When one has to tell a person
+home-truths, he generally prefers that there should be no audience."
+
+"So you're going to tell me some home-truths, Mrs. Jackson?" said James,
+with a laugh. "You must think me very good-natured. How long have I had
+the pleasure of your acquaintance?"
+
+Mrs. Jackson's grimness did not relax.
+
+"One learns a good deal about people in a week."
+
+"D'you think so? I have an idea that ten years is a short time to get to
+know them. You must be very quick."
+
+"Actions often speak."
+
+"Actions are the most lying things in the world. They are due mostly to
+adventitious circumstances which have nothing to do with the character
+of the agent. I would never judge a man by his actions."
+
+"I didn't come here to discuss abstract things with you, Captain
+Parsons."
+
+"Why not? The abstract is so much more entertaining than the concrete.
+It affords opportunities for generalisation, which is the salt of
+conversation."
+
+"I'm a very busy woman," retorted Mrs. Jackson sharply, thinking that
+James was not treating her with proper seriousness. He was not so easy
+to tackle as she had imagined.
+
+"It's very good of you, then, to spare time to come and have a little
+chat with me," said James.
+
+"I did not come for that purpose, Captain Parsons."
+
+"Oh, I forgot--home-truths, wasn't it? I was thinking of Shakespeare and
+the musical glasses!"
+
+"Would you kindly remember that I am a clergyman's wife, Captain
+Parsons? I daresay you are not used to the society of such."
+
+"Pardon me, I even know an archdeacon quite well. He has a great gift of
+humour; a man wants it when he wears a silk apron."
+
+"Captain Parsons," said Mrs. Jackson, sternly, "there are some things
+over which it is unbecoming to jest. I wish to be as gentle as possible
+with you, but I may remind you that flippancy is not the best course for
+you to pursue."
+
+James looked at her with a good-tempered stare.
+
+"Upon my word," he said to himself, "I never knew I was so patient."
+
+"I can't beat about the bush any longer," continued the Vicar's lady; "I
+have a very painful duty to perform."
+
+"That quite excuses your hesitation."
+
+"You must guess why I have asked to see you alone."
+
+"I haven't the least idea."
+
+"Does your conscience say nothing to you?"
+
+"My conscience is very well-bred. It never says unpleasant things."
+
+"Then I'm sincerely sorry for you."
+
+James smiled.
+
+"Oh, my good woman," he thought, "if you only knew what a troublesome
+spirit I carry about with me!"
+
+But Mrs. Jackson saw only hardness of heart in the grave face; she never
+dreamed that behind those quiet eyes was a turmoil of discordant
+passions, tearing, rending, burning.
+
+"I'm sorry for you," she repeated. "I think it's very sad, very sad
+indeed, that you should stand there and boast of the sluggishness of
+your conscience. Conscience is the voice of God, Captain Parsons; if it
+does not speak to you, it behoves others to speak in its place."
+
+"And supposing I knew what you wanted to say, do you think I should like
+to hear?"
+
+"I'm afraid not."
+
+"Then don't you think discretion points to silence?"
+
+"No, Captain Parsons. There are some things which one is morally bound
+to say, however distasteful they may be."
+
+"The easiest way to get through life is to say pleasant things on all
+possible occasions."
+
+"That is not my way, and that is not the right way."
+
+"I think it rash to conclude that a course is right merely because it is
+difficult. Likewise an uncivil speech is not necessarily a true one."
+
+"I repeat that I did not come here to bandy words with you."
+
+"My dear Mrs. Jackson, I have been wondering why you did not come to the
+point at once."
+
+"You have been wilfully interrupting me."
+
+"I'm so sorry. I thought I had been making a series of rather
+entertaining observations."
+
+"Captain Parsons, what does your conscience say to you about Mary
+Clibborn?"
+
+James looked at Mrs. Jackson very coolly, and she never imagined with
+what difficulty he was repressing himself.
+
+"I thought you said your subject was of national concern. Upon my word,
+I thought you proposed to hold a thanksgiving service in Little Primpton
+Church for the success of the British arms."
+
+"Well, you know different now," retorted Mrs. Jackson, with distinct
+asperity. "I look upon your treatment of Mary Clibborn as a matter which
+concerns us all."
+
+"Then, as politely as possible, I must beg to differ from you. I really
+cannot permit you to discuss my private concerns. You have, doubtless,
+much evil to say of me; say it behind my back."
+
+"I presumed that you were a gentleman, Captain Parsons."
+
+"You certainly presumed."
+
+"And I should be obliged if you would treat me like a lady."
+
+James smiled. He saw that it was folly to grow angry.
+
+"We'll do our best to be civil to one another, Mrs. Jackson. But I don't
+think you must talk of what really is not your business."
+
+"D'you think you can act shamefully and then slink away as soon as you
+are brought to book? Do you know what you've done to Mary Clibborn?"
+
+"Whatever I've done, you may be sure that I have not acted rashly.
+Really, nothing you can say will make the slightest difference. Don't
+you think we had better bring our conversation to an end?"
+
+James made a movement towards the door.
+
+"Your father and mother wish me to speak with you, Colonel Parsons,"
+said Mrs. Jackson. "And they wish you to listen to what I have to say."
+
+James paused. "Very well."
+
+He sat down and waited. Mrs. Jackson felt unaccountably nervous; it had
+never occurred to her that a mere soldier could be so hard to deal with,
+and it was she who hesitated now. Jamie's stern eyes made her feel
+singularly like a culprit; but she cleared her throat and straightened
+herself.
+
+"It's very sad," she said, "to find how much we've been mistaken in you,
+Captain Parsons. When we were making all sorts of preparations to
+welcome you, we never thought that you would repay us like this. It
+grieves me to have to tell you that you have done a very wicked thing. I
+was hoping that your conscience would have something to say to you, but
+unhappily I was mistaken. You induced Mary to become engaged to you; you
+kept her waiting for years; you wrote constantly, pretending to love
+her, deceiving her odiously; you let her waste the best part of her
+life, and then, without excuse and without reason, you calmly say that
+you're sick of her, and won't marry her. I think it is horrible, and
+brutal, and most ungentlemanly. Even a common man wouldn't have behaved
+in that way. Of course, it doesn't matter to you, but it means the ruin
+of Mary's whole life. How can she get a husband now when she's wasted
+her best years? You've spoilt all her chances. You've thrown a slur upon
+her which people will never forget. You're a cruel, wicked man, and
+however you won the Victoria Cross I don't know; I'm sure you don't
+deserve it."
+
+Mrs. Jackson stopped.
+
+"Is that all?" asked James, quietly.
+
+"It's quite enough."
+
+"Quite! In that case, I think we may finish our little interview."
+
+"Have you nothing to say?" asked Mrs. Jackson indignantly, realising
+that she had not triumphed after all.
+
+"I? Nothing."
+
+Mrs. Jackson was perplexed, and still those disconcerting eyes were
+fixed upon her; she angrily resented their polite contempt.
+
+"Well, I think it's disgraceful!" she cried. "You must be utterly
+shameless!"
+
+"My dear lady, you asked me to listen to you, and I have. If you thought
+I was going to argue, I'm afraid you were mistaken. But since you have
+been very frank with me, you can hardly mind if I am equally frank with
+you. I absolutely object to the way in which not only you, but all the
+persons who took part in that ridiculous function the other day, talk of
+my private concerns. I am a perfect stranger to you, and you have no
+business to speak to me of my engagement with Miss Clibborn or the
+rupture of it. Finally, I would remark that I consider your particular
+interference a very gross piece of impertinence. I am sorry to have to
+speak so directly, but apparently nothing but the very plainest language
+can have any effect upon you."
+
+Then Mrs. Jackson lost her temper.
+
+"Captain Parsons, I am considerably older than you, and you have no
+right to speak to me like that. You forget that I am a lady; and if I
+didn't know your father and mother, I should say that you were no
+gentleman. And you forget also that I come here on the part of God. You
+are certainly no Christian. You've been very rude to me, indeed."
+
+"I didn't mean to be," replied James, smiling.
+
+"If I'd known you would be so rude to a lady, I should have sent
+Archibald to speak with you."
+
+"Perhaps it's fortunate you didn't. I might have kicked him."
+
+"Captain Parsons, he's a minister of the gospel."
+
+"Surely it is possible to be that without being a malicious busybody."
+
+"You're heartless and vain! You're odiously conceited."
+
+"I should have thought it a proof of modesty that for half an hour I
+have listened to you with some respect and with great attention."
+
+"I must say in my heart I'm glad that Providence has stepped in and
+prevented Mary from marrying you. You are a bad man. And I leave you now
+to the mercies of your own conscience; I am a Christian woman, thank
+Heaven! and I forgive you. But I sincerely hope that God will see fit to
+punish you for your wickedness."
+
+Mrs. Jackson bounced to the door, which James very politely opened.
+
+"Oh, don't trouble!" she said, with a sarcastic shake of the head. "I
+can find my way out alone, and I shan't steal the umbrellas."
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+
+Major Forsyth arrived in time for tea, red-faced, dapper, and
+immaculate. He wore a check suit, very new and very pronounced, with a
+beautiful line down each trouser-leg; and his collar and his tie were of
+the latest mode. His scanty hair was carefully parted in the middle, and
+his moustache bristled with a martial ardour. He had lately bought a
+fine set of artificial teeth, which, with pardonable pride, he
+constantly exhibited to the admiration of all and sundry. Major
+Forsyth's consuming desire was to appear juvenile; he affected slang,
+and carried himself with a youthful jauntiness. He vowed he felt a mere
+boy, and flattered himself that on his good days, with the light behind
+him, he might pass for five-and-thirty.
+
+"A woman," he repeated--"a woman is as old as she looks; but a man is as
+old as he feels!"
+
+The dandiness which in a crammer's pup--most overdressed of all the
+human race--would merely have aroused a smile, looked oddly with the
+Major's wrinkled skin and his old eyes. There was something almost
+uncanny in the exaggerated boyishness; he reminded one of some figure
+in a dance of death, of a living skeleton, hollow-eyed, strutting gaily
+by the side of a gallant youth.
+
+It was not difficult to impose upon the Parsons, and Major Forsyth had
+gained over them a complete ascendancy. They took his opinion on every
+possible matter, accepting whatever he said with gratified respect. He
+was a man of the world, and well acquainted with the goings-on of
+society. They had an idea that he disappointed duchesses to come down to
+Little Primpton, and always felt that it was a condescension on his part
+to put up with their simple manners. They altered their hours; luncheon
+was served at the middle of the day, and dinner in the evening.
+
+Mrs. Parsons put on a Sabbath garment of black silk to receive her
+brother, and round her neck a lace fichu. When he arrived with Colonel
+Parsons from the station, she went into the hall to meet him.
+
+"Well, William, have you had a pleasant journey?"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes! I came down with the prettiest woman I've seen for many a
+long day. I made eyes at her all the way, but she wouldn't look at me."
+
+"William, William!" expostulated Mr. Parsons, smiling.
+
+"You see he hasn't improved since we saw him last, Frances," laughed the
+Colonel, leading the way into the drawing-room.
+
+"No harm in looking at a pretty woman, you know. I'm a bachelor still,
+thank the Lord! That reminds me of a funny story I heard at the club."
+
+"Oh, we're rather frightened of your stories, William," said Mrs.
+Parsons.
+
+"Yes, you're very risky sometimes," assented the Colonel,
+good-humouredly shaking his head.
+
+Major Forsyth was anecdotal, as is only decent in an old bachelor, and
+he made a speciality of stories which he thought wicked, but which, as a
+matter of fact, would not have brought a blush to any cheek less
+innocent than that of Colonel Parsons.
+
+"There's no harm in a little spice," said Uncle William. "And you're a
+married woman, Frances."
+
+He told an absolutely pointless story of how a man had helped a young
+woman across the street, and seen her ankle in the process. He told it
+with immense gusto, laughing and repeating the point at least six times.
+
+"William, William!" laughed Colonel Parsons, heartily. "You should keep
+those things for the smoking-room."
+
+"What d'you think of it, Frances?" asked the gallant Major, still hugely
+enjoying the joke.
+
+Mrs. Parsons blushed a little, and for decency's sake prevented herself
+from smiling; she felt rather wicked.
+
+"I don't want to hear any more of your tales, William."
+
+"Ha, ha!" laughed Uncle William, "I knew you'd like it. And that one I
+told you in the fly, Richmond--you know, about the petticoat."
+
+"Sh-sh!" said the Colonel, smiling. "You can't tell that to a lady."
+
+"P'r'aps I'd better not. But it's a good story, though."
+
+They both laughed.
+
+"I think it's dreadful the things you men talk about as soon as you're
+alone," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+The two God-fearing old soldiers laughed again, admitting their
+wickedness.
+
+"One must talk about something," said Uncle William. "And upon my word,
+I don't know anything better to talk about than the fair sex."
+
+Soon James appeared, and shook hands with his uncle.
+
+"You're looking younger than ever, Uncle William. You make me feel quite
+old."
+
+"Oh, I never age, bless you! Why, I was talking to my old friend, Lady
+Green, the other day--she was a Miss Lake, you know--and she said to
+me: 'Upon my word, Major Forsyth, you're wonderful. I believe you've
+found the secret of perpetual youth.' 'The fact is,' I said, 'I never
+let myself grow old. If you once give way to it, you're done.' 'How do
+you manage it?' she said. 'Madam,' I answered, 'it's the simplest thing
+in the world. I keep regular hours, and I wear flannel next to my
+skin.'"
+
+"Come, come, Uncle William," said James, with a smile. "You didn't
+mention your underlinen to a lady!"
+
+"Upon my word, I'm telling you exactly what I said."
+
+"You're very free in your conversation."
+
+"Well, you know, I find the women expect it from me. Of course, I never
+go beyond the line."
+
+Then Major Forsyth talked of the fashions, and of his clothes, of the
+scandal of the day, and the ancestry of the persons concerned, of the
+war.
+
+"You can say what you like," he remarked, "but my opinion is that
+Roberts is vastly overrated. I met at the club the other day a man whose
+first cousin has served under Roberts in India--his first cousin, mind
+you, so it's good authority--and this chap told me, in strict
+confidence, of course, that his first cousin had no opinion of Roberts.
+That's what a man says who has actually served under him."
+
+"It is certainly conclusive," said James. "I wonder your friend's first
+cousin didn't go to the War Office and protest against Bobs being sent
+out."
+
+"What's the good of going to the War Office? They're all corrupt and
+incompetent there. If I had my way, I'd make a clean sweep of them.
+Talking of red-tape, I'll just give you an instance. Now, this is a
+fact. It was told me by the brother-in-law of the uncle of the man it
+happened to."
+
+Major Forsyth told his story at great length, finishing up with the
+assertion that if the army wasn't going to the dogs, he didn't know what
+going to the dogs meant.
+
+James, meanwhile, catching the glances which passed between his mother
+and Colonel Parsons, understood that they were thinking of the great
+subject upon which Uncle William was to be consulted. Half scornfully he
+gave them their opportunity.
+
+"I'm going for a stroll," he said, "through Groombridge. I shan't be
+back till dinner-time."
+
+"How lucky!" remarked Colonel Parsons naively, when James had gone. "We
+wanted to talk with you privately, William. You're a man of the world."
+
+"I think there's not much that I don't know," replied the Major,
+shooting his linen.
+
+"Tell him, Frances."
+
+Mrs. Parsons, accustomed to the part of spokeswoman, gave her tale,
+interrupted now and again by a long whistle with which the Major
+signified his shrewdness, or by an energetic nod which meant that the
+difficulty was nothing to him.
+
+"You're quite right," he said at last; "one has to look upon these
+things from the point of view of the man of the world."
+
+"We knew you'd be able to help us," said Colonel Parsons.
+
+"Of course! I shall settle the whole thing in five minutes. You leave it
+to me."
+
+"I told you he would, Frances," cried the Colonel, with a happy smile.
+"You think that James ought to marry the girl, don't you?"
+
+"Certainly. Whatever his feelings are, he must act as a gentleman and an
+officer. Just you let me talk it over with him. He has great respect for
+all I say; I've noticed that already."
+
+Mrs. Parsons looked at her brother doubtfully.
+
+"We haven't known what to do," she murmured. "We've prayed for guidance,
+haven't we, Richmond? We're anxious not to be hard on the boy, but we
+must be just."
+
+"Leave it to me," repeated Uncle William. "I'm a man of the world, and
+I'm thoroughly at home in matters of this sort."
+
+* * *
+
+According to the little plan which, in his subtlety, Major Forsyth had
+suggested, Mrs. Parsons, soon after dinner, fetched the backgammon
+board.
+
+"Shall we have our usual game, Richmond?"
+
+Colonel Parsons looked significantly at his brother-in-law.
+
+"If William doesn't mind?"
+
+"No, no, of course not! I'll have a little chat with Jamie."
+
+The players sat down at the corner of the table, and rather nervously
+began to set out the men. James stood by the window, silent as ever,
+looking at the day that was a-dying, with a milk-blue sky and tenuous
+clouds, copper and gold. Major Forsyth took a chair opposite him, and
+pulled his moustache.
+
+"Well, Jamie, my boy, what is all this nonsense I hear about you and
+Mary Clibborn?"
+
+Colonel Parsons started at the expected question, and stole a hurried
+look at his son. His wife noisily shook the dice-box and threw the dice
+on the board.
+
+"Nine!" she said.
+
+James turned to look at his uncle, noting a little contemptuously the
+change of his costume, and its extravagant juvenility.
+
+"A lot of stuff and nonsense, isn't it?"
+
+"D'you think so?" asked James, wearily. "We've been taking it very
+seriously."
+
+"You're a set of old fogies down here. You want a man of the world to
+set things right."
+
+"Ah, well, you're a man of the world, Uncle William," replied James,
+smiling.
+
+The dice-box rattled obtrusively as Colonel Parsons and his wife played
+on with elaborate unconcern of the conversation.
+
+"A gentleman doesn't jilt a girl when he's been engaged to her for five
+years."
+
+James squared himself to answer Major Forsyth. The interview with Mrs.
+Jackson in the morning had left him extremely irritated. He was resolved
+to say now all he had to say and have done with it, hoping that a
+complete explanation would relieve the tension between his people and
+himself.
+
+"It is with the greatest sorrow that I broke off my engagement with Mary
+Clibborn. It seemed to me the only honest thing to do since I no longer
+loved her. I can imagine nothing in the world so horrible as a loveless
+marriage."
+
+"Of course, it's unfortunate; but the first thing is to keep one's
+word."
+
+"No," answered James, "that is prejudice. There are many more important
+things."
+
+Colonel Parsons stopped the pretence of his game.
+
+"Do you know that Mary is breaking her heart?" he asked in a low voice.
+
+"I'm afraid she's suffering very much. I don't see how I can help it."
+
+"Leave this to me, Richmond," interrupted the Major, impatiently.
+"You'll make a mess of it."
+
+But Colonel Parsons took no notice.
+
+"She looked forward with all her heart to marrying you. She's very
+unhappy at home, and her only consolation was the hope that you would
+soon take her away."
+
+"Am I managing this or are you, Richmond? I'm a man of the world."
+
+"If I married a woman I did not care for because she was rich, you would
+say I had dishonoured myself. The discredit would not be in her wealth,
+but in my lack of love."
+
+"That's not the same thing," replied Major Forsyth. "You gave your word,
+and now you take it back."
+
+"I promised to do a thing over which I had no control. When I was a boy,
+before I had seen anything of the world, before I had ever known a woman
+besides my mother, I promised to love Mary Clibborn all my life. Oh, it
+was cruel to let me be engaged to her! You blame me; don't you think
+all of you are a little to blame as well?"
+
+"What could we have done?"
+
+"Why didn't you tell me not to be hasty? Why didn't you say that I was
+too young to become engaged?"
+
+"We thought it would steady you."
+
+"But a young man doesn't want to be steadied. Let him see life and taste
+all it has to offer. It is wicked to put fetters on his wrists before
+ever he has seen anything worth taking. What is the virtue that exists
+only because temptation is impossible!"
+
+"I can't understand you, Jamie," said Mrs. Parsons, sadly. "You talk so
+differently from when you were a boy."
+
+"Did you expect me to remain all my life an ignorant child. You've never
+given me any freedom. You've hemmed me in with every imaginable barrier.
+You've put me on a leading-string, and thanked God that I did not
+stray."
+
+"We tried to bring you up like a good man, and a true Christian."
+
+"If I'm not a hopeless prig, it's only by miracle."
+
+"James, that's not the way to talk to your mother," said Major Forsyth.
+
+"Oh, mother, I'm sorry; I don't want to be unkind to you. But we must
+talk things out freely; we've lived in a hot-house too long."
+
+"I don't know what you mean. You became engaged to Mary of your own free
+will; we did nothing to hinder it, nothing to bring it about. But I
+confess we were heartily thankful, thinking that no influence could be
+better for you than the love of a pure, sweet English girl."
+
+"It would have been kinder and wiser if you had forbidden it."
+
+"We could not have taken the responsibility of crossing your
+affections."
+
+"Mrs. Clibborn did."
+
+"Could you expect us to be guided by her?"
+
+"She was the only one who showed the least common sense."
+
+"How you have changed, Jamie!"
+
+"I would have obeyed you if you had told me I was too young to become
+engaged. After all, you are more responsible than I am. I was a child.
+It was cruel to let me bind myself."
+
+"I never thought you would speak to us like that."
+
+"All that's ancient history," said Major Forsyth, with what he flattered
+himself was a very good assumption of jocularity. It was his idea to
+treat the matter lightly, as a man of the world naturally would. But his
+interruption was unnoticed.
+
+"We acted for the best. You know that we have always had your interests
+at heart."
+
+James did not speak, for his only answer would have been bitter.
+Throughout, they had been unwilling to let him live his own life, but
+desirous rather that he should live theirs. They loved him tyrannically,
+on the condition that he should conform to all their prejudices. Though
+full of affectionate kindness, they wished him always to dance to their
+piping--a marionette of which they pulled the strings.
+
+"What would you have me do?"
+
+"Keep your word, James," answered his father.
+
+"I can't, I can't! I don't understand how you can wish me to marry Mary
+Clibborn when I don't love her. _That_ seems to me dishonourable."
+
+"It would be nothing worse than a _mariage de convenance_," said Uncle
+William. "Many people marry in that sort of way, and are perfectly
+happy."
+
+"I couldn't," said James. "That seems to me nothing better than
+prostitution. It is no worse for a street-walker to sell her body to any
+that care to buy."
+
+"James, remember your mother is present."
+
+"For God's sake, let us speak plainly. You must know what life is. One
+can do no good by shutting one's eyes to everything that doesn't square
+with a shoddy, false ideal. On one side I must break my word, on the
+other I must prostitute myself. There is no middle way. You live here
+surrounded by all sorts of impossible ways of looking at life. How can
+your outlook be sane when it is founded on a sham morality? You think
+the body is indecent and ugly, and that the flesh is shameful. Oh, you
+don't understand. I'm sick of this prudery which throws its own
+hideousness over all it sees. The soul and the body are one,
+indissoluble. Soul is body, and body is soul. Love is the God-like
+instinct of procreation. You think sexual attraction is something to be
+ignored, and in its place you put a bloodless sentimentality--the vulgar
+rhetoric of a penny novelette. If I marry a woman, it is that she may be
+the mother of children. Passion is the only reason for marriage; unless
+it exists, marriage is ugly and beastly. It's worse than beastly; the
+beasts of the field are clean. Don't you understand why I can't marry
+Mary Clibborn?"
+
+"What you call love, James," said Colonel Parsons, "is what I call
+lust."
+
+"I well believe it," replied James, bitterly.
+
+"Love is something higher and purer."
+
+"I know nothing purer than the body, nothing higher than the divine
+instincts of nature."
+
+"But that sort of love doesn't last, my dear," said Mrs. Parsons,
+gently. "In a very little while it is exhausted, and then you look for
+something different in your wife. You look for friendship and
+companionship, confidence, consolation in your sorrows, sympathy with
+your success. Beside all that, the sexual love sinks into nothing."
+
+"It may be. The passion arises for the purposes of nature, and dies away
+when those purposes are fulfilled. It seems to me that the recollection
+of it must be the surest and tenderest tie between husband and wife; and
+there remains for them, then, the fruit of their love, the children whom
+it is their blessed duty to rear till they are of fit age to go into the
+world and continue the endless cycle."
+
+There was a pause, while Major Forsyth racked his brain for some
+apposite remark; but the conversation had run out of his depth.
+
+Colonel Parsons at last got up and put his hands on Jamie's shoulders.
+
+"And can't you bring yourself to marry that poor girl, when you think of
+the terrible unhappiness she suffers?"
+
+James shook his head.
+
+"You were willing to sacrifice your life for a mere stranger, and cannot
+you sacrifice yourself for Mary, who has loved you long and tenderly,
+and unselfishly?"
+
+"I would willingly risk my life if she were in danger. But you ask
+more."
+
+Colonel Parsons was silent for a little, looking into his son's eyes.
+Then he spoke with trembling voice.
+
+"I think you love me, James. I've always tried to be a good father to
+you; and God knows I've done all I could to make you happy. If I did
+wrong in letting you become engaged, I beg your pardon. No; let me go
+on." This he said in answer to Jamie's movement of affectionate protest.
+"I don't say it to reproach you, but your mother and I have denied
+ourselves in all we could so that you should be happy and comfortable.
+It's been a pleasure to us, for we love you with all our hearts. You
+know what happened to me when I left the army. I told you years ago of
+the awful disgrace I suffered. I could never have lived except for my
+trust in God and my trust in you. I looked to you to regain the honour
+which I had lost. Ah! you don't know how anxiously I watched you, and
+the joy with which I said to myself, 'There is a good and honourable
+man.' And now you want to stain that honour. Oh, James, James! I'm old,
+and I can't live long. If you love me, if you think you have cause for
+gratitude to me, do this one little thing I ask you! For my sake, my
+dear, keep your word to Mary Clibborn."
+
+"You're asking me to do something immoral, father."
+
+Then Colonel Parsons helplessly dropped his hands from Jamie's
+shoulders, and turned to the others, his eyes full of tears.
+
+"I don't understand what he means!" he groaned.
+
+He sank on a chair and hid his face.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+
+Major Forsyth was not at all discouraged by the issue of his
+intervention.
+
+"Now I see how the land lies," he said, "it's all plain sailing.
+Reconnoitre first, and then wire in."
+
+He bravely attacked James next day, when they were smoking in the garden
+after breakfast. Uncle William smoked nothing but gold-tipped
+cigarettes, which excited his nephew's open scorn.
+
+"I've been thinking about what you said yesterday, James," he began.
+
+"For Heaven's sake, Uncle William, don't talk about it any more. I'm
+heartily sick of the whole thing. I've made up my mind, and I really
+shall not alter it for anything you may say."
+
+Major Forsyth changed the conversation with what might have been
+described as a strategic movement to the rear. He said that Jamie's
+answer told him all he wished to know, and he was content now to leave
+the seeds which he had sown to spring up of their own accord.
+
+"I'm perfectly satisfied," he told his sister, complacently. "You'll
+see that if it'll all come right now."
+
+Meanwhile, Mary conducted herself admirably. She neither avoided James
+nor sought him, but when chance brought them together, was perfectly
+natural. Her affection had never been demonstrative, and now there was
+in her manner but little change. She talked frankly, as though nothing
+had passed between them, with no suspicion of reproach in her tone. She
+was, indeed, far more at ease than James. He could not hide the effort
+it was to make conversation, nor the nervous discomfort which in her
+presence he felt. He watched her furtively, asking himself whether she
+still suffered. But Mary's face betrayed few of her emotions; tanned by
+exposure to all weathers, her robust colour remained unaltered; and it
+was only in her eyes that James fancied he saw a difference. They had
+just that perplexed, sorrowful expression which a dog has, unjustly
+beaten. James, imaginative and conscience-stricken, tortured himself by
+reading in their brown softness all manner of dreadful anguish. He
+watched them, unlit by the smile which played upon the lips, looking at
+him against their will, with a pitiful longing. He exaggerated the pain
+he saw till it became an obsession, intolerable and ruthless; if Mary
+desired revenge, she need not have been dissatisfied. But that
+apparently was the last thing she thought of. He was grateful to hear
+of her anger with Mrs. Jackson, whose sympathy had expressed itself in
+round abuse of him. His mother repeated the words.
+
+"I will never listen to a word against Captain Parsons, Mrs. Jackson.
+Whatever he did, he had a perfect right to do. He's incapable of acting
+otherwise than as an honourable gentleman."
+
+But if Mary's conduct aroused the admiration of all that knew her, it
+rendered James still more blameworthy.
+
+The hero-worship was conveniently forgotten, and none strove to conceal
+the dislike, even the contempt, which he felt for the fallen idol. James
+had outraged the moral sense of the community; his name could not be
+mentioned without indignation; everything he did was wrong, even his
+very real modesty was explained as overweening conceit.
+
+And curiously enough, James was profoundly distressed by the general
+disapproval. A silent, shy man, he was unreasonably sensitive to the
+opinion of his fellows; and though he told himself that they were
+stupid, ignorant, and narrow, their hostility nevertheless made him
+miserable. Even though he contemned them, he was anxious that they
+should like him. He refused to pander to their prejudices, and was too
+proud to be conciliatory; yet felt bitterly wounded when he had excited
+their aversion. Now he set to tormenting himself because he had despised
+the adulation of Little Primpton, and could not equally despise its
+censure.
+
+* * *
+
+Sunday came, and the good people of Little Primpton trooped to church.
+Mrs Clibborn turned round and smiled at James when he took his seat, but
+the Colonel sat rigid, showing by the stiffness of his backbone that his
+indignation was supreme.
+
+The service proceeded, and in due course Mr. Jackson mounted the pulpit
+steps. He delivered his text: "_The fear of the Lord is to hate evil:
+pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth, do I
+hate._"
+
+The Vicar of Little Primpton was an earnest man, and he devoted much
+care to the composition of his sermons. He was used to expound twice a
+Sunday the more obvious parts of Holy Scripture, making in twenty
+minutes or half an hour, for the benefit of the vulgar, a number of
+trite reflections; and it must be confessed that he had great facility
+for explaining at decorous length texts which were plain to the meanest
+intelligence.
+
+But having a fair acquaintance with the thought of others, Mr. Jackson
+flattered himself that he was a thinker; and on suitable occasions
+attacked from his village pulpit the scarlet weed of heresy, expounding
+to an intelligent congregation of yokels and small boys the manifold
+difficulties of the Athanasian Creed. He was at his best in pouring
+vials of contempt upon the false creed of atheists, Romanists,
+Dissenters, and men of science. The theory of Evolution excited his
+bitterest scorn, and he would set up, like a row of nine-pins, the
+hypotheses of the greatest philosophers of the century, triumphantly to
+knock them down by the force of his own fearless intellect. His
+congregation were inattentive, and convinced beyond the need of
+argument, so they remained pious members of the Church of England.
+
+But this particular sermon, after mature consideration, the Vicar had
+made up his mind to devote to a matter of more pressing interest. He
+repeated the text. Mrs. Jackson, who knew what was coming, caught the
+curate's eye, and looked significantly at James. The homily, in fact,
+was directed against him; his were the pride, the arrogancy, and the
+evil way. He was blissfully unconscious of these faults, and for a
+minute or two the application missed him; but the Vicar of Little
+Primpton, intent upon what he honestly thought his duty, meant that
+there should be no mistake. He crossed his t's and dotted his i's, with
+the scrupulous accuracy of the scandal-monger telling a malicious story
+about some person whom charitably he does not name, yet wishes everyone
+to identify.
+
+Colonel Parsons started when suddenly the drift of the sermon dawned
+upon him, and then bowed his head with shame. His wife looked straight
+in front of her, two flaming spots upon her pale cheeks. Mary, in the
+next pew, dared not move, hardly dared breathe; her heart sank with
+dismay, and she feared she would faint.
+
+"How he must be suffering!" she muttered.
+
+They all felt for James intensely; the form of Mr. Jackson, hooded and
+surpliced, had acquired a new authority, and his solemn invective was
+sulphurous with the fires of Hell. They wondered how James could bear
+it.
+
+"He hasn't deserved this," thought Mrs. Parsons.
+
+But the Colonel bent his head still lower, accepting for his son the
+reproof, taking part of it himself. The humiliation seemed merited, and
+the only thing to do was to bear it meekly. James alone appeared
+unconcerned; the rapid glances at him saw no change in his calm,
+indifferent face. His eyes were closed, and one might have thought him
+asleep. Mr. Jackson noted the attitude, and attributed it to a wicked
+obstinacy. For the repentant sinner, acknowledging his fault, he would
+have had entire forgiveness; but James showed no contrition.
+Stiff-necked and sin-hardened, he required a further chastisement.
+
+"Courage, what is courage?" asked the preacher. "There is nothing more
+easy than to do a brave deed when the blood is hot. But to conduct one's
+life simply, modestly, with a meek spirit and a Christ-like submission,
+that is ten times more difficult Courage, unaccompanied by moral worth,
+is the quality of a brute-beast."
+
+He showed how much more creditable were the artless virtues of honesty
+and truthfulness; how better it was to keep one's word, to be
+kind-hearted and dutiful. Becoming more pointed, he mentioned the case
+which had caused them so much sorrow, warning the delinquent against
+conceit and self-assurance.
+
+"Pride goeth before a fall," he said. "And he that is mighty shall be
+abased."
+
+* * *
+
+They walked home silently, Colonel Parsons and his wife with downcast
+eyes, feeling that everyone was looking at them. Their hearts were too
+full for them to speak to one another, and they dared say nothing to
+James. But Major Forsyth had no scruples of delicacy; he attacked his
+nephew the moment they sat down to dinner.
+
+"Well, James, what did you think of the sermon? Feel a bit sore?"
+
+"Why should I?"
+
+"I fancy it was addressed pretty directly to you."
+
+"So I imagine," replied James, good-humouredly smiling. "I thought it
+singularly impertinent, but otherwise uninteresting."
+
+"Mr. Jackson doesn't think much of you," said Uncle William, with a
+laugh, ignoring his sister's look, which implored him to be silent.
+
+"I can bear that with equanimity. I never set up for a very wonderful
+person."
+
+"He was wrong to make little of your attempt to save young Larcher,"
+said Mrs. Parsons, gently.
+
+"Why?" asked James. "He was partly right. Physical courage is more or
+less accidental. In battle one takes one's chance. One soon gets used to
+shells flying about; they're not so dangerous as they look, and after a
+while one forgets all about them. Now and then one gets hit, and then
+it's too late to be nervous."
+
+"But you went back--into the very jaws of death--to save that boy."
+
+"I've never been able to understand why. It didn't occur to me that I
+might get killed; it seemed the natural thing to do. It wasn't really
+brave, because I never realised that there was danger."
+
+* * *
+
+In the afternoon James received a note from Mrs. Clibborn, asking him
+to call upon her. Mary and her father were out walking, she said, so
+there would be no one to disturb them, and they could have a pleasant
+little chat. The invitation was a climax to Jamie's many vexations, and
+he laughed grimly at the prospect of that very foolish lady's
+indignation. Still, he felt bound to go. It was, after a fashion, a
+point of honour with him to avoid none of the annoyances which his act
+had brought upon him. It was partly in order to face every infliction
+that he insisted on remaining at Little Primpton.
+
+"Why haven't you been to see me, James?" Mrs. Clibborn murmured, with a
+surprisingly tender smile.
+
+"I thought you wouldn't wish me to."
+
+"James!"
+
+She sighed and cast up her eyes to heaven.
+
+"I always liked you. I shall never feel differently towards you."
+
+"It's very kind of you to say so," replied James, somewhat relieved.
+
+"You must come and see me often. It'll comfort you."
+
+"I'm afraid you and Colonel Clibborn must be very angry with me?"
+
+"I could never be angry with you, James.... Poor Reginald, he doesn't
+understand! But you can't deceive a woman." Mrs. Clibborn put her hand
+on Jamie's arm and gazed into his eyes. "I want you to tell me
+something. Do you love anyone else?"
+
+James looked at her quickly and hesitated.
+
+"If you had asked me the other day, I should have denied it with all my
+might. But now--I don't know."
+
+Mrs. Clibborn smiled.
+
+"I thought so," she said. "You can tell me, you know."
+
+She was convinced that James adored her, but wanted to hear him say so.
+It is notorious that to a handsome woman even the admiration of a
+crossing-sweeper is welcome.
+
+"Oh, it's no good any longer trying to conceal it from myself!" cried
+James, forgetting almost to whom he was speaking. "I'm sorry about Mary;
+no one knows how much. But I do love someone else, and I love her with
+all my heart and soul; and I shall never get over it now."
+
+"I knew it," sighed Mrs. Clibborn, complacently, "I knew it!" Then
+looking coyly at him: "Tell me about her."
+
+"I can't. I know my love is idiotic and impossible; but I can't help it.
+It's fate."
+
+"You're in love with a married woman, James."
+
+"How d'you know?"
+
+"My poor boy, d'you think you can deceive me! And is it not the wife of
+an officer?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"A very old friend of yours?"
+
+"It's just that which makes it so terrible."
+
+"I knew it."
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Clibborn, I swear you're the only woman here who's got two
+ounces of gumption. If they'd only listened to you five years ago, we
+might all have been saved this awful wretchedness."
+
+He could not understand that Mrs. Clibborn, whose affectations were
+manifest, whose folly was notorious, should alone have guessed his
+secret. He was tired of perpetually concealing his thoughts.
+
+"I wish I could tell you everything!" he cried.
+
+"Don't! You'd only regret it. And I know all you can tell me."
+
+"You can't think how hard I've struggled. When I found I loved her, I
+nearly killed myself trying to kill my love. But it's no good. It's
+stronger than I am."
+
+"And nothing can ever come of it, you know," said Mrs. Clibborn.
+
+"Oh, I know! Of course, I know! I'm not a cad. The only thing is to live
+on and suffer."
+
+"I'm so sorry for you."
+
+Mrs. Clibborn thought that even poor Algy Turner, who had killed
+himself for love of her, had not been so desperately hit.
+
+"It's very kind of you to listen to me," said James. "I have nobody to
+speak to, and sometimes I feel I shall go mad."
+
+"You're such a nice boy, James. What a pity it is you didn't go into the
+cavalry!"
+
+James scarcely heard; he stared at the floor, brooding sorrowfully.
+
+"Fate is against me," he muttered.
+
+"If things had only happened a little differently. Poor Reggie!"
+
+Mrs. Clibborn was thinking that if she were a widow, she could never
+have resisted the unhappy young man's pleading.
+
+James got up to go.
+
+"It's no good," he said; "talking makes it no better. I must go on
+trying to crush it. And the worst of it is, I don't want to crush it; I
+love my love. Though it embitters my whole life, I would rather die than
+lose it. Good-bye, Mrs. Clibborn. Thank you for being so kind. You can't
+imagine what good it does me to receive a little sympathy."
+
+"I know. You're not the first who has told me that he is miserable. I
+think it's fate, too."
+
+James looked at her, perplexed, not understanding what she meant. With
+her sharp, feminine intuition, Mrs. Clibborn read in his eyes the
+hopeless yearning of his heart, and for a moment her rigid virtue
+faltered.
+
+"I can't be hard on you, Jamie," she said, with that effective, sad
+smile of hers. "I don't want you to go away from here quite wretched."
+
+"What can you do to ease the bitter aching of my heart?"
+
+Mrs. Clibborn, quickly looking at the window, noticed that she could not
+possibly be seen by anyone outside. She stretched out her hand.
+
+"Jamie, if you like you may kiss me."
+
+She offered her powdered cheek, and James, rather astonished, pressed it
+with his lips.
+
+"I will always be a mother to you. You can depend on me whatever
+happens.... Now go away, there's a good boy."
+
+She watched him as he walked down the garden, and then sighed deeply,
+wiping away a tear from the corner of her eyes.
+
+"Poor boy!" she murmured.
+
+Mary was surprised, when she came home, to find her mother quite
+affectionate and tender. Mrs. Clibborn, indeed, intoxicated with her
+triumph, could afford to be gracious to a fallen rival.
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+
+A Few days later Mary was surprised to receive a little note from Mr.
+Dryland:
+
+     "MY DEAR MISS CLIBBORN,--With some trepidation I take up my pen to
+     address you on a matter which, to me at least, is of the very
+     greatest importance. We have so many sympathies in common that my
+     meaning will hardly escape you. I daresay you will find my
+     diffidence ridiculous, but, under the circumstances, I think it is
+     not unpardonable. It will be no news to you when I confess that I
+     am an exceptionally shy man, and that must be my excuse in sending
+     you this letter. In short, I wish to ask you to grant me a brief
+     interview; we have so few opportunities of seeing one another in
+     private that I can find no occasion of saying to you what I wish.
+     Indeed, for a long period my duty has made it necessary for me to
+     crush my inclination. Now, however, that things have taken a
+     different turn, I venture, as I said, to ask you to give me a few
+     minutes' conversation.--I am, my dear Miss Clibborn, your very
+     sincere,
+
+     "THOMAS DRYLAND.
+
+     "P.S.--I open this letter to say that I have just met your father
+     on the Green, who tells me that he and Mrs. Clibborn are going into
+     Tunbridge Wells this afternoon. Unless, therefore, I hear from you
+     to the contrary, I shall (D.V.) present myself at your house at 3
+     P.M."
+
+"What can he want to see me about?" exclaimed Mary, the truth occurring
+to her only to be chased away as a piece of egregious vanity. It was
+more reasonable to suppose that Mr. Dryland had on hand some charitable
+scheme in which he desired her to take part.
+
+"Anyhow," she thought philosophically, "I suppose I shall know when he
+comes."
+
+At one and the same moment the church clock struck three, and Mr.
+Dryland rang the Clibborns' bell.
+
+He came into the dining-room in his best coat, his honest red face
+shining with soap, and with a consciousness that he was about to perform
+an heroic deed.
+
+"This is kind of you, Miss Clibborn! Do you know, I feared the servant
+was going to say you were 'not at home.'"
+
+"Oh, I never let her say that when I'm in. Mamma doesn't think it wrong,
+but one can't deny that it's an untruth."
+
+"What a beautiful character you have!" cried the curate, with
+enthusiasm.
+
+"I'm afraid I haven't really; but I like to be truthful."
+
+"Were you surprised to receive my letter?"
+
+"I'm afraid I didn't understand it."
+
+"I was under the impression that I expressed myself with considerable
+perspicacity," remarked the curate, with a genial smile.
+
+"I don't pretend to be clever."
+
+"Oh, but you are, Miss Clibborn. There's no denying it."
+
+"I wish I thought so."
+
+"You're so modest. I have always thought that your mental powers were
+very considerable indeed. I can assure you it has been a great blessing
+to me to find someone here who was capable of taking an intelligent
+interest in Art and Literature. In these little country places one
+misses intellectual society so much."
+
+"I'm not ashamed to say that I've learnt a lot from you, Mr. Dryland."
+
+"No, that is impossible. All I lay claim to is that I was fortunate
+enough to be able to lend you the works of Ruskin and Marie Corelli."
+
+"That reminds me that I must return you the 'Master Christian.'"
+
+"Please don't hurry over it. I think it's a book worth pondering over;
+quite unlike the average trashy novel."
+
+"I haven't had much time for reading lately."
+
+"Ah, Miss Clibborn, I understand! I'm afraid you've been very much
+upset. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was; but I felt it would be
+perhaps indelicate."
+
+"It is very kind of you to think of me."
+
+"Besides, I must confess that I cannot bring myself to be very sorry.
+It's an ill wind that blows nobody good."
+
+"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean, Mr. Dryland."
+
+"Miss Clibborn, I have come here to-day to converse with you on a matter
+which I venture to think of some importance. At least, it is to me. I
+will not beat about the bush. In these matters it is always best, I
+believe, to come straight to the point." The curate cleared his throat,
+and assumed his best clerical manner. "Miss Clibborn, I have the honour
+to solemnly ask you for your hand."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+Mary blushed scarlet, and her heart went pit-a-pat in the most alarming
+fashion.
+
+"I think I should tell you that I am thirty-three years of age. I have
+some private means, small, but sufficient, with my income and economy,
+to support a wife. My father was for over a quarter of a century vicar
+of Easterham."
+
+Mary by this time had recovered herself.
+
+"I feel very much honoured by your proposal, Mr. Dryland. And no one can
+be more convinced than I of my unworthiness. But I'm afraid I must
+refuse."
+
+"I don't press for an immediate answer, Miss Clibborn. I know at first
+blush it must surprise you that I should come forward with an offer so
+soon after the rupture of your engagement with Captain Parsons. But if
+you examine the matter closely, you will see that it is less surprising
+than it seems. While you were engaged to Captain Parsons it was my duty
+to stifle my feelings; but now I cannot. Indeed, I have not the right to
+conceal from you that for a long time they have been of the tenderest
+description."
+
+"I feel very much flattered."
+
+"Not at all," reassuringly answered Mr. Dryland. "I can honestly say
+that you are deserving of the very highest--er--admiration and esteem.
+Miss Clibborn, I have loved you in secret almost ever since I came to
+the parish. The moment I saw you I felt an affinity between us. Our
+tastes are so similar; we both understand Art and Literature. When you
+played to me the divine melodies of Mendelssohn, when I read to you the
+melodious verses of Lord Tennyson, I felt that my happiness in life
+would be a union with you."
+
+"I'm afraid I can never be unfaithful to my old love."
+
+"Perhaps I'm a little previous?"
+
+"No; time can make no possible difference. I'm very grateful to you."
+
+"You have no need to be. I have always tried to do my duty, and while
+you were engaged to another, I allowed not even a sigh to escape my
+lips. But now I venture to think that the circumstances are altered. I
+know I am not a gallant officer, I have done no doughty deeds, and the
+Victoria Cross does not adorn my bosom. I am comparatively poor; but I
+can offer an honest heart and a very sincere and respectful love. Oh,
+Miss Clibborn, cannot you give me hope that as time wears on you will be
+able to look upon my suit with favour?"
+
+"I'm afraid my answer must be final."
+
+"I hope to be soon appointed to a living, and I looked forward ardently
+to the life of usefulness and of Christian fellowship which we might
+have lived together. You are an angel of mercy, Miss Clibborn. I cannot
+help thinking that you are eminently suitable for the position which I
+make so bold as to offer you."
+
+"I won't deny that nothing could attract me more than to be the wife of
+a clergyman. One has such influence for good, such power of improving
+one's fellow-men. But I love Captain Parsons. Even if he has ceased to
+care for me, I could never look upon him with other feelings."
+
+"Even though it touches me to the quick, Miss. Clibborn," said the
+curate, earnestly, "I respect and admire you for your sentiments. You
+are wonderful. I wonder if you'd allow me to make a little confession?"
+The curate hesitated and reddened. "The fact is, I have written a few
+verses comparing you to Penelope, which, if you will allow me, I should
+very much like to send you."
+
+"I should like to see them very much," said Mary, blushing a little and
+smiling.
+
+"Of course, I'm not a poet, I'm too busy for that; but they are the
+outpouring of an honest, loving heart."
+
+"I'm sure," said Mary, encouragingly, "that it's better to be sincere
+and upright than to be the greatest poet in the world."
+
+"It's very kind of you to say so. I should like to ask one question,
+Miss Clibborn. Have you any objection to me personally?"
+
+"Oh, no!" cried Mary. "How can you suggest such a thing? I have the
+highest respect and esteem for you, Mr. Dryland. I can never forget the
+great compliment you have paid me. I shall always think of you as the
+best friend I have."
+
+"Can you say nothing more to me than that?" asked the curate,
+despondently.
+
+Mary stretched out her hand. "I will be a sister to you."
+
+"Oh, Miss Clibborn, how sad it is to think that your affections should
+be unrequited. Why am I not Captain Parsons? Miss Clibborn, can you give
+me no hope?"
+
+"I should not be acting rightly towards you if I did not tell you at
+once that so long as Captain Parsons lives, my love for him can never
+alter."
+
+"I wish I were a soldier!" murmured Mr. Dryland.
+
+"Oh, it's not that. I think there's nothing so noble as a clergyman. If
+it is any consolation to you, I may confess that if I had never known
+Captain Parsons, things might have gone differently."
+
+"Well, I suppose I had better go away now. I must try to bear my
+disappointment."
+
+Mary gave him her hand, and, bending down with the utmost gallantry, the
+curate kissed it; then, taking up his low, clerical hat, hurriedly left
+her.
+
+* * *
+
+Mrs. Jackson was a woman of singular penetration, so that it was not
+strange if she quickly discovered what had happened. Mr. Dryland was
+taking tea at the Vicarage, whither, with characteristic manliness, he
+had gone to face his disappointment. Not for him was the solitary
+moping, nor the privacy of a bedchamber; his robust courage sent him
+rather into the field of battle, or what was under the circumstances the
+only equivalent, Mrs. Jackson's drawing-room.
+
+But even he could not conceal the torments of unsuccessful love. He
+stirred his tea moodily, and his usual appetite for plum-cake had quite
+deserted him.
+
+"What's the matter with you, Mr. Dryland?" asked the Vicar's wife, with
+those sharp eyes which could see into the best hidden family secret.
+
+Mr. Dryland started at the question. "Nothing!"
+
+"You're very funny this afternoon."
+
+"I've had a great disappointment."
+
+"Oh!" replied Mrs. Jackson, in a tone which half-a-dozen marks of
+interrogation could inadequately express.
+
+"It's nothing. Life is not all beer and skittles. Ha! ha!"
+
+"Did you say you'd been calling on Mary Clibborn this afternoon?"
+
+Mr. Dryland blushed, and to cover his confusion filled his mouth with a
+large piece of cake.
+
+"Yes," he said, as soon as he could. "I paid her a little call."
+
+"Mr. Dryland, you can't deceive me. You've proposed to Mary Clibborn."
+
+He swallowed his food with a gulp. "It's quite true."
+
+"And she's refused you?"
+
+"Yes!"
+
+"Mr. Dryland, it was a noble thing to do. I must tell Archibald."
+
+"Oh, please don't, Mrs. Jackson! I don't want it to get about."
+
+"Oh, but I shall. We can't let you hide your light under a bushel. Fancy
+you proposing to that poor, dear girl! But it's just what I should have
+expected of you. That's what I always say. The clergy are constantly
+doing the most beautiful actions that no one hears anything about. You
+ought to receive a moral Victoria Cross. I'm sure you deserve it far
+more than that wicked and misguided young man."
+
+"I don't think I ought to take any credit for what I've done," modestly
+remonstrated the curate.
+
+"It was a beautiful action. You don't know how much it means to that
+poor, jilted girl."
+
+"It's true my indignation was aroused at the heartless conduct of
+Captain Parsons; but I have long loved her, Mrs. Jackson."
+
+"I knew it; I knew it! When I saw you together I said to Archibald:
+'What a good pair they'd make!' I'm sure you deserve her far more than
+that worthless creature."
+
+"I wish she thought so."
+
+"I'll go and speak to her myself. I think she ought to accept you.
+You've behaved like a knight-errant, Mr. Dryland. You're a true
+Christian saint."
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Jackson, you embarrass me!"
+
+The news spread like wild-fire, and with it the opinion that the curate
+had vastly distinguished himself. Neither pagan hero nor Christian
+martyr could have acted more becomingly. The consideration which had
+once been Jamie's was bodily transferred to Mr. Dryland. He was the man
+of the hour, and the contemplation of his gallant deed made everyone
+feel nobler, purer. The curate accepted with quiet satisfaction the
+homage that was laid at his feet, modestly denying that he had done
+anything out of the way. With James, all unconscious of what had
+happened, he was mildly patronising; with Mary, tender, respectful,
+subdued. If he had been an archbishop, he could not have behaved with
+greater delicacy, manliness, and decorum.
+
+"I don't care what anyone says," cried Mrs. Jackson, "I think he's worth
+ten Captain Parsons! He's so modest and gentlemanly. Why, Captain
+Parsons simply used to look bored when one told him he was brave."
+
+"He's a conceited creature!"
+
+But in Primpton House the proposal was met with consternation.
+
+"Suppose she accepted him?" said Colonel Parsons, anxiously.
+
+"She'd never do that."
+
+Major Forsyth suggested that James should be told, in the belief that
+his jealousy would be excited.
+
+"I'll tell him," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+She waited till she was alone with her son, and then, without stopping
+her needlework, said suddenly:
+
+"James, have you heard that Mr. Dryland has proposed to Mary?"
+
+He looked up nonchalantly. "Has she accepted him?"
+
+"James!" cried his mother, indignantly, "how can you ask such a
+question? Have you no respect for her? You must know that for nothing in
+the world would she be faithless to you."
+
+"I should like her to marry the curate. I think it would be a very
+suitable match."
+
+"You need not insult her, James."
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+
+The tension between James and his parents became not less, but greater.
+That barrier which, almost from the beginning, they had watched with
+pain rise up between them now seemed indestructible, and all their
+efforts only made it more obvious and more stable. It was like some
+tropical plant which, for being cut down, grew ever with greater
+luxuriance. And there was a mischievous devil present at all their
+conversations that made them misunderstand one another as completely as
+though they spoke in different tongues. Notwithstanding their love, they
+were like strangers together; they could look at nothing from the same
+point of view.
+
+The Parsons had lived their whole lives in an artificial state.
+Ill-educated as most of their contemporaries in that particular class,
+they had just enough knowledge to render them dogmatic and intolerant.
+It requires a good deal of information to discover one's own ignorance,
+but to the consciousness of this the good people had never arrived. They
+felt they knew as much as necessary, and naturally on the most
+debatable questions were most assured. Their standpoint was
+inconceivably narrow. They had the best intentions in the world of doing
+their duty, but what their duty was they accepted on trust, frivolously.
+They walked round and round in a narrow circle, hemmed in by false
+ideals and by ugly prejudices, putting for the love of God unnecessary
+obstacles in their path and convinced that theirs was the only possible
+way, while all others led to damnation. They had never worked out an
+idea for themselves, never done a single deed on their own account, but
+invariably acted and thought according to the rule of their caste. They
+were not living creatures, but dogmatic machines.
+
+James, going into the world, quickly realised that he had been brought
+up to a state of things which did not exist. He was like a sailor who
+has put out to sea in an ornamental boat, and finds that his sail is
+useless, the ropes not made to work, and the rudder immovable. The long,
+buoyant wind of the world blew away like thistle-down the conventions
+which had seemed so secure a foundation. But he discovered in himself a
+wonderful curiosity, an eagerness for adventure which led him boldly to
+affront every peril; and the unknown lands of the intellect are every
+bit as dangerously fascinating as are those of sober fact. He read
+omnivorously, saw many and varied things; the universe was spread out
+before him like an enthralling play. Knowledge is like the root of a
+tree, attaching man by its tendrils to the life about him. James found
+in existence new beauties, new interests, new complexities; and he
+gained a lighter heart and, above all, an exquisite sense of freedom. At
+length he looked back with something like horror at that old life in
+which the fetters of ignorance had weighed so terribly upon him.
+
+On his return to Little Primpton, he found his people as he had left
+them, doing the same things, repeating at every well-known juncture the
+same trite observations. Their ingenuousness affected him as a negro,
+civilised and educated, on visiting after many years his native tribe,
+might be affected by their nose-rings and yellow ochre. James was
+astounded that they should ignore matters which he fancied common
+knowledge, and at the same time accept beliefs that he had thought
+completely dead. He was willing enough to shrug his shoulders and humour
+their prejudices, but they had made of them a rule of life which
+governed every action with an iron tyranny. It was in accordance with
+all these outworn conventions that they conducted the daily round. And
+presently James found that his father and mother were striving to draw
+him back into the prison. Unconsciously, even with the greatest
+tenderness, they sought to place upon his neck again that irksome yoke
+which he had so difficultly thrown off.
+
+If James had learnt anything, it was at all hazards to think for
+himself, accepting nothing on authority, questioning, doubting; it was
+to look upon life with a critical eye, trying to understand it, and to
+receive no ready-made explanations. Above all, he had learnt that every
+question has two sides. Now this was precisely what Colonel Parsons and
+his wife could never acknowledge; for them one view was certainly right,
+and the other as certainly wrong. There was no middle way. To doubt what
+they believed could only be ascribed to arrant folly or to wickedness.
+Sometimes James was thrown into a blind rage by the complacency with
+which from the depths of his nescience his father dogmatised. No man
+could have been more unassuming than he, and yet on just the points
+which were most uncertain his attitude was almost inconceivably
+arrogant.
+
+And James was horrified at the pettiness and the prejudice which he
+found in his home. Reading no books, for they thought it waste of time
+to read, the minds of his father and mother had sunk into such a narrow
+sluggishness that they could interest themselves only in trivialities.
+Their thoughts were occupied by their neighbours and the humdrum
+details of the life about them. Flattering themselves on their ideals
+and their high principles, they vegetated in stupid sloth and in a less
+than animal vacuity. Every topic of conversation above the most
+commonplace they found dull or incomprehensible. James learned that he
+had to talk to them almost as if they were children, and the tedium of
+those endless days was intolerable.
+
+Occasionally he was exasperated that he could not avoid the discussions
+which his father, with a weak man's obstinacy, forced upon him. Some
+unhappy, baneful power seemed to drive Colonel Parsons to widen the
+rift, the existence of which caused him such exquisite pain; his natural
+kindliness was obscured by an uncontrollable irritation. One day he was
+reading the paper.
+
+"I see we've had another unfortunate reverse," he said, looking up.
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"I suppose you're delighted, Jamie?"
+
+"I'm very sorry. Why should I be otherwise?"
+
+"You always stick up for the enemies of your country." Turning to his
+brother-in-law, he explained: "James says that if he'd been a Cape
+Dutchman he'd have fought against us."
+
+"Well, he deserves to be court-martialled for saying so! "cried Major
+Forsyth.
+
+"I don't think he means to be taken seriously," said his mother.
+
+"Oh, yes, I do." It constantly annoyed James that when he said anything
+that was not quite an obvious truism, they should think he was speaking
+merely for effect. "Why, my dear mother, if you'd been a Boer woman
+you'd have potted at us from behind a haystack with the best of them."
+
+"The Boers are robbers and brigands."
+
+"That's just what they say we are."
+
+"But we're right."
+
+"And they're equally convinced that they are."
+
+"God can't be on both sides, James."
+
+"The odd thing is the certainty with which both sides claim His
+exclusive protection."
+
+"I should think it wicked to doubt that God is with us in a righteous
+war," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"If the Boers weren't deceived by that old villain Kruger, they'd never
+have fought us."
+
+"The Boers are strange people," replied James. "They actually prefer
+their independence to all the privileges and advantages of
+subjection.... The wonderful thing to me is that people should really
+think Mr. Kruger a hypocrite. A ruler who didn't honestly believe in
+himself and in his mission would never have had such influence. If a man
+wants power he must have self-faith; but then he may be narrow,
+intolerant, and vicious. His fellows will be like wax in his hands."
+
+"If Kruger had been honest, he wouldn't have put up with bribery and
+corruption."
+
+"The last thing I expect is consistency in an animal of such contrary
+instincts as man."
+
+"Every true Englishman, I'm thankful to say, thinks him a scoundrel and
+a blackguard."
+
+"In a hundred years he will probably think him a patriot and a hero. In
+that time the sentimental view will be the only one of interest; and the
+sentimental view will put the Transvaal in the same category as Poland."
+
+"You're nothing better than a pro-Boer, James."
+
+"I'm nothing of the kind; but seeing how conflicting was current
+opinion, I took some trouble to find for myself a justification of the
+war. I couldn't help wondering why I went and killed people to whom I
+was personally quite indifferent."
+
+"I hope because it was your duty as an officer of Her Majesty the
+Queen."
+
+"Not exactly. I came to the conclusion that I killed people because I
+liked it. The fighting instinct is in my blood, and I'm never so happy
+as when I'm shooting things. Killing tigers is very good sport, but it's
+not in it with killing men. That is my justification, so far as I
+personally am concerned. As a member of society, I wage war for a
+different reason. War is the natural instinct of all creatures; not only
+do progress and civilisation arise from it, but it is the very condition
+of existence. Men, beasts, and plants are all in the same position:
+unless they fight incessantly they're wiped out; there's no sitting on
+one side and looking on.... When a state wants a neighbour's land, it
+has a perfect right to take it--if it can. Success is its justification.
+We English wanted the Transvaal for our greater numbers, for our trade,
+for the continuance of our power; that was our right to take it. The
+only thing that seems to me undignified is the rather pitiful set of
+excuses we made up."
+
+"If those are your ideas, I think they are utterly ignoble."
+
+"I believe they're scientific."
+
+"D'you think men go to war for scientific reasons?"
+
+"No, of course not; they don't realise them. The great majority are
+incapable of abstract ideas, but fortunately they're emotional and
+sentimental; and the pill can be gilded with high falutin. It's for them
+that the Union Jack and the honour of Old England are dragged through
+every newspaper and brandished in every music hall. It's for them that
+all these atrocities are invented--most of them bunkum. Men are only
+savages with a thin veneer of civilisation, which is rather easily
+rubbed off, and then they act just like Red Indians; but as a general
+rule they're well enough behaved. The Boer isn't a bad sort, and the
+Englishman isn't a bad sort; but there's not room for both of them on
+the earth, and one of them has to go."
+
+"My father fought for duty and honour's sake, and so fought his father
+before him."
+
+"Men have always fought really for the same reasons--for self-protection
+and gain; but perhaps they have not seen quite so clearly as now the
+truth behind all their big words. The world and mankind haven't altered
+suddenly in the last few years."
+
+* * *
+
+Afterwards, when Colonel Parsons and his wife were alone together, and
+she saw that he was brooding over his son's words, she laid her hand on
+his shoulder, and said:
+
+"Don't worry, Richmond; it'll come right in the end, if we trust and
+pray."
+
+"I don't know what to make of him," he returned, sadly shaking his head.
+"It's not our boy, Frances; he couldn't be callous and unscrupulous,
+and--dishonourable. God forgive me for saying it!"
+
+"Don't be hard on him, Richmond. I daresay he doesn't mean all he says.
+And remember that he's been very ill. He's not himself yet."
+
+The Colonel sighed bitterly.
+
+"When we looked forward so anxiously to his return, we didn't know that
+he would be like this."
+
+James had gone out. He wandered along the silent roads, taking in large
+breaths of the fresh air, for his home affected him like a hot-house.
+The atmosphere was close and heavy, so that he could neither think
+freely nor see things in any reasonable light. He felt sometimes as
+though a weight were placed upon his head, that pressed him down, and
+pressed him down till he seemed almost forced to his knees.
+
+He blamed himself for his lack of moderation. Why, remembering ever his
+father's unhappiness and his infirmities, could he not humour him? He
+was an old man, weak and frail; it should not have been so difficult to
+use restraint towards him. James knew he had left them in Primpton House
+distressed and angry; but the only way to please them was to surrender
+his whole personality, giving up to their bidding all his thoughts and
+all his actions. They wished to exercise over him the most intolerable
+of all tyrannies, the tyranny of love. It was a heavy return they
+demanded for their affection if he must abandon his freedom, body and
+soul; he earnestly wished to make them happy, but that was too hard a
+price to pay. And then, with sudden rage, James asked himself why they
+should be so self-sufficiently certain that they were right. What an
+outrageous assumption it was that age must be infallible! Their idea of
+filial duty was that he should accept their authority, not because they
+were wise, but because they were old. When he was a child they had
+insisted on the utmost submission, and now they expected the same
+submission--to their prejudice, intolerance, and lack of knowledge. They
+had almost ridiculously that calm, quiet, well-satisfied assurance which
+a king by right divine might have in the certainty that he could do no
+wrong.
+
+And James, with bitter, painful scorn, thought of that frightful blunder
+which had forced Colonel Parsons to leave the service. At first his
+belief in his father had been such that James could not conceive the
+possibility even that he had acted wrongly; the mere fact that his
+father had chosen a certain course was proof of its being right and
+proper, and the shame lay with his chief, who had used him ill. But when
+he examined the affair and thought over it, the truth became only too
+clear; it came to him like a blow, and for a while he was overcome with
+shame. The fact was evident--alas! only too evident--his father was
+incapable of command. James was simply astounded; he tried not to hear
+the cruel words that buzzed in his ears, but he could not help
+it--imbecility, crass idiocy, madness. It was worse than madness, the
+folly of it was almost criminal; he thought now that his father had
+escaped very easily.
+
+James hastened his step, trying to rid himself of the irritating
+thoughts. He walked along the fat and fertile Kentish fields, by the
+neat iron railing with which they were enclosed. All about him was
+visible the care of man. Nothing was left wild. The trees were lopped
+into proper shape, cut down where their presence seemed inelegant,
+planted to complete the symmetry of a group. Nature herself was under
+the power of the formal influence, and flourished with a certain
+rigidity and decorum. After a while the impression became singularly
+irksome; it seemed to emphasise man's lack of freedom, reminding one of
+the iron conventions with which he is inevitably bound. In the sun, the
+valley, all green and wooded, was pleasantly cool; but when the clouds
+rolled up from the west heavily, brushing the surrounding hills, the
+aspect was so circumscribed that James could have cried out as with
+physical pain. The primness of the scene then was insufferable; the
+sombre, well-ordered elms, the meadows so carefully kept, seemed the
+garden of some great voluptuous prison, and the air was close with
+servitude.
+
+James panted for breath. He thought of the vast distances of South
+Africa, bush and prairie stretching illimitably, and above, the blue
+sky, vaster still. There, at least, one could breathe freely, and
+stretch one's limbs.
+
+"Why did I ever come back?" he cried.
+
+The blood went thrilling through his veins at the mere thought of those
+days in which every minute had been intensely worth living. Then,
+indeed, was no restraint or pettiness; then men were hard and firm and
+strong. By comparison, people in England appeared so pitifully weak,
+vain, paltry, insignificant. What were the privations and the hardships
+beside the sense of mastery, the happy adventure, and the carelessness
+of life?
+
+But the grey clouds hung over the valley, pregnant with rain. It gave
+him a singular feeling of discomfort to see them laden with water, and
+yet painfully holding it up.
+
+"I can't stay in this place," he muttered. "I shall go mad."
+
+A sudden desire for flight seized him. The clouds sank lower and lower,
+till he imagined he must bend his head to avoid them. If he could only
+get away for a little, he might regain his calm. At least, absence, he
+thought bitterly, was the only way to restore the old affection between
+him and his father.
+
+He went home, and announced that he was going to London.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+
+After the quiet of Little Primpton, the hurry and the noise of Victoria
+were a singular relief to James. Waiting for his luggage, he watched the
+various movements of the scene--the trollies pushed along with warning
+cries, the porters lifting heavy packages on to the bellied roof of
+hansoms, the people running to and fro, the crowd of cabs; and driving
+out, he was exhilarated by the confusion in the station yard, and the
+intense life, half gay, half sordid, of the Wilton Road. He took a room
+in Jermyn Street, according to Major Forsyth's recommendation, and
+walked to his club. James had been out of London so long that he came
+back with the emotions of a stranger; common scenes, the glitter of
+shops, the turmoil of the Circus, affected him with pleased surprise,
+and with a child's amusement he paused to stare at the advertisements on
+a hoarding. He looked forward to seeing old friends, and on his way down
+Piccadilly even expected to meet one or two of them sauntering along.
+
+As a matter of form, James asked at his club whether there were any
+letters for him.
+
+"I don't think so, sir," said the porter, but turned to the pigeon-holes
+and took out a bundle. He looked them over, and then handed one to
+James.
+
+"Hulloa, who's this from?"
+
+Suddenly something gripped his heart; he felt the blood rush to his
+cheeks, and a cold tremor ran through all his limbs. He recognised the
+handwriting of Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace, and there was a penny stamp on
+the envelope. She was in England. The letter had been posted in London.
+
+He turned away and walked towards a table that stood near the window of
+the hall. A thousand recollections surged across his memory
+tumultuously; the paper was scented (how characteristic that was of her,
+and in what bad taste!); he saw at once her smile and the look of her
+eyes. He had a mad desire passionately to kiss the letter; a load of
+weariness fell from his heart; he felt insanely happy, as though angry
+storm-clouds had been torn asunder, and the sun in its golden majesty
+shone calmly upon the earth.... Then, with sudden impulse, he tore the
+unopened letter into a dozen pieces and threw them away. He straightened
+himself, and walked into the smoking-room.
+
+James looked round and saw nobody he knew, quietly took a magazine from
+the table, and sat down; but the blood-vessels in his brain throbbed so
+violently that he thought something horrible would happen to him. He
+heard the regular, quick beating, like the implacable hammering of
+gnomes upon some hidden, distant anvil.
+
+"She's in London," he repeated.
+
+When had the letter been posted? At least, he might have looked at the
+mark on the envelope. Was it a year ago? Was it lately? The letter did
+not look as though it had been lying about the club for many months. Had
+it not still the odour of those dreadful Parma violets? She must have
+seen in the paper his return from Africa, wounded and ill. And what did
+she say? Did she merely write a few cold words of congratulation
+or--more?
+
+It was terrible that after three years the mere sight of her handwriting
+should have power to throw him into this state of eager, passionate
+anguish. He was seized with the old panic, the terrified perception of
+his surrender, of his utter weakness, which made flight the only
+possible resistance. That was why he had destroyed the letter unread.
+When Mrs. Wallace was many thousand miles away there had been no danger
+in confessing that he loved her; but now it was different. What did she
+say in the letter? Had she in some feminine, mysterious fashion
+discovered his secret? Did she ask him to go and see her? James
+remembered one of their conversations.
+
+"Oh, I love going to London!" she had cried, opening her arms with the
+charming, exotic gesticulation which distinguished her from all other
+women. "I enjoy myself awfully."
+
+"What do you do?"
+
+"Everything. And I write to poor Dick three times a week, and tell him
+all I haven't done."
+
+"I can't bear the grass-widow," said James.
+
+"Poor boy, you can't bear anything that's amusing! I never knew anyone
+with such an ideal of woman as you have--a gloomy mixture of
+frumpishness and angularity."
+
+James did not answer.
+
+"Don't you wish we were in London now?" she went on. "You and I
+together? I really believe I should have to take you about. You're as
+innocent as a babe."
+
+"D'you think so?" said James, rather hurt.
+
+"Now, if we were in town, on our own, what would you do?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. I suppose make a little party and dine somewhere, and
+go to the Savoy to see the 'Mikado.'"
+
+Mrs. Wallace laughed.
+
+"I know. A party of four--yourself and me, and two maiden aunts. And we
+should be very prim, and talk about the weather, and go in a growler for
+propriety's sake. I know that sort of evening. And after the maiden
+aunts had seen me safety home, I should simply howl from boredom. My
+dear boy, I'm respectable enough here. When I'm on my own, I want to go
+on the loose. Now, I'll tell you what I want to do if ever we are in
+town together. Will you promise to do it?"
+
+"If I possibly can."
+
+"All right! Well, you shall fetch me in the fastest hansom you can find,
+and remember to tell the driver to go as quick as ever he dare. We'll
+dine alone, please, at the most expensive restaurant in London! You'll
+engage a table in the middle of the room, and you must see that the
+people all round us are very smart and very shady. It always makes me
+feel so virtuous to look at disreputable women! Do I shock you?"
+
+"Not more than usual."
+
+"How absurd you are! Then we'll go to the Empire. And after that we'll
+go somewhere else, and have supper where the people are still smarter
+and still shadier; and then we'll go to Covent Garden Ball. Oh, you
+don't know how I long to go on the rampage sometimes! I get so tired of
+propriety."
+
+"And what will P. W. say to all this?"
+
+"Oh, I'll write and tell him that I spent the evening with some of his
+poor relations, and give eight pages of corroborative evidence."
+
+James thought of Pritchard-Wallace, gentlest and best-humoured of men.
+He was a great big fellow, with a heavy moustache and kind eyes; always
+ready to stand by anyone in difficulties, always ready with comfort or
+with cheery advice; whoever wanted help went to him as though it were
+the most natural thing in the world. And it was touching to see the
+dog-like devotion to his wife; he had such confidence in her that he
+never noticed her numerous flirtations. Pritchard-Wallace thought
+himself rather a dull stick, and he wanted her to amuse herself. So
+brilliant a creature could not be expected to find sufficient
+entertainment in a quiet man of easy-going habits.
+
+"Go your own way, my girl," he said; "I know you're all right. And so
+long as you keep a place for me in the bottom of your heart, you can do
+whatever you like."
+
+"Of course, I don't care two straws for anyone but you, silly old
+thing!"
+
+And she pulled his moustache and kissed his lips; and he went off on
+his business, his heart swelling with gratitude, because Providence had
+given him the enduring love of so beautiful and enchanting a little
+woman.
+
+"P. W. is worth ten of you," James told her indignantly one day, when he
+had been witness to some audacious deception.
+
+"Well, he doesn't think so. And that's the chief thing."
+
+* * *
+
+James dared not see her. It was obviously best to have destroyed the
+letter. After all, it was probably nothing more than a curt, formal
+congratulation, and its coldness would nearly have broken his heart. He
+feared also lest in his never-ceasing thought he had crystallised his
+beloved into something quite different from reality. His imagination was
+very active, and its constant play upon those few recollections might
+easily have added many a false delight. To meet Mrs. Wallace would only
+bring perhaps a painful disillusion; and of that James was terrified,
+for without this passion which occupied his whole soul he would be now
+singularly alone in the world. It was a fantastic, charming figure that
+he had made for himself, and he could worship it without danger and
+without reproach. Was it not better to preserve his dream from the
+sullen irruption of fact? But why would that perfume come perpetually
+entangling itself with his memory? It gave the image new substance; and
+when he closed his eyes, the woman seemed so near that he could feel
+against his face the fragrance of her breath.
+
+He dined alone, and spent the hours that followed in reading. By some
+chance he was able to find no one he knew, and he felt rather bored. He
+went to bed with a headache, feeling already the dreariness of London
+without friends.
+
+Next morning James wandered in the Park, fresh and delightful with the
+rhododendrons; but the people he saw hurt him by their almost aggressive
+happiness--vivacious, cheerful, and careless, they were all evidently of
+opinion that no reasonable creature could complain with the best of all
+possible worlds. The girls that hurried past on ponies, or on bicycles
+up and down the well-kept road, gave him an impression of
+light-heartedness which was fascinating, yet made his own solitude more
+intolerable. Their cheeks glowed with healthiness in the summer air, and
+their gestures, their laughter, were charmingly animated. He noticed the
+smile which a slender Amazon gave to a man who raised his hat, and read
+suddenly in their eyes a happy, successful tenderness. Once, galloping
+towards him, he saw a woman who resembled Mrs. Wallace, and his heart
+stood still. He had an intense longing to behold her just once more,
+unseen of her; but he was mistaken. The rider approached and passed, and
+it was no one he knew.
+
+Then, tired and sore at heart, James went back to his club. The day
+passed monotonously, and the day after he was seized by the peculiar
+discomfort of the lonely sojourner in great cities. The thronging, busy
+crowd added to his solitariness. When he saw acquaintances address one
+another in the club, or walk along the streets in conversation, he could
+hardly bear his own friendlessness; the interests of all these people
+seemed so fixed and circumscribed, their lives were already so full,
+that they could only look upon a new-comer with hostility. He would have
+felt less lonely on a desert island than in the multitudinous city,
+surrounded by hurrying strangers. He scarcely knew how he managed to
+drag through the day, tired of the eternal smoking-room, tired of
+wandering about. The lodgings which Major Forsyth had recommended were
+like barracks; a tall, narrow house, in which James had a room at the
+top, looking on to a blank wall. They were dreadfully cheerless. And as
+James climbed the endless stairs he felt an irritation at the joyous
+laughter that came from other rooms. Behind those closed, forbidding
+doors people were happy and light of heart; only he was alone, and must
+remain perpetually imprisoned within himself. He went to the theatre,
+but here again, half insanely, he felt a barrier between himself and the
+rest of the audience. For him the piece offered no illusions; he could
+only see painted actors strutting affectedly in unnatural costumes; the
+scenery was mere painted cloth, and the dialogue senseless inanity. With
+all his might James wished that he were again in Africa, with work to do
+and danger to encounter. There the solitude was never lonely, and the
+nights were blue and silent, rich with the countless stars.
+
+He had been in London a week. One day, towards evening, while he walked
+down Piccadilly, looking aimlessly at the people and asking himself what
+their inmost thoughts could be, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and a
+cheery voice called out his name.
+
+"I knew it was you, Parsons! Where the devil have you sprung from?"
+
+He turned round and saw a man he had known in India. Jamie's solitude
+and boredom had made him almost effusive.
+
+"By Jove, I am glad to see you!" he said, wringing the fellow's hand.
+"Come and have a drink. I've seen no one for days, and I'm dying to
+have some one to talk to."
+
+"I think I can manage it. I've got a train to catch at eight; I'm just
+off to Scotland."
+
+Jamie's face fell.
+
+"I was going to ask you to dine with me."
+
+"I'm awfully sorry! I'm afraid I can't."
+
+They talked of one thing and another, till Jamie's friend said he must
+go immediately; they shook hands.
+
+"Oh, by the way," said the man, suddenly remembering, "I saw a pal of
+yours the other day, who's clamouring for you."
+
+"For me?"
+
+James reddened, knowing at once, instinctively, that it could only be
+one person.
+
+"D'you remember Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace? She's in London. I saw her at a
+party, and she asked me if I knew anything about you. She's staying in
+Half Moon Street, at 201. You'd better go and see her. Good-bye! I must
+simply bolt."
+
+He left James hurriedly, and did not notice the effect of his few
+words.... She still thought of him, she asked for him, she wished him to
+go to her. The gods in their mercy had sent him the address; with
+beating heart and joyful step, James immediately set out. The throng in
+his way vanished, and he felt himself walking along some roadway of
+ethereal fire, straight to his passionate love--a roadway miraculously
+fashioned for his feet, leading only to her. Every thought left him but
+that the woman he adored was waiting, waiting, ready to welcome him with
+that exquisite smile, with the hands which were like the caresses of
+Aphrodite, turned to visible flesh. But he stopped short.
+
+"What's the good?" he cried, bitterly.
+
+Before him the sun was setting like a vision of love, colouring with
+softness and with quiet the manifold life of the city. James looked at
+it, his heart swelling with sadness; for with it seemed to die his short
+joy, and the shadows lengthening were like the sad facts of reality
+which crept into his soul one by one silently.
+
+"I won't go," he cried; "I daren't! Oh, God help me, and give me
+strength!"
+
+He turned into the Green Park, where lovers sat entwined upon the
+benches, and in the pleasant warmth the idlers and the weary slept upon
+the grass. James sank heavily upon a seat, and gave himself over to his
+wretchedness.
+
+The night fell, and the lamps upon Piccadilly were lit, and in the
+increasing silence the roar of London sounded more intensely. From the
+darkness, as if it were the scene of a play, James watched the cabs and
+'buses pass rapidly in the light, the endless procession of people like
+disembodied souls drifting aimlessly before the wind. It was a comfort
+and a relief to sit there unseen, under cover of the night. He observed
+the turmoil with a new, disinterested curiosity, feeling strangely as if
+he were no longer among the living. He found himself surprised that they
+thought it worth while to hurry and to trouble. The couples on the
+benches remained in silent ecstasy; and sometimes a dark figure slouched
+past, sorrowful and mysterious.
+
+At last James went out, surprised to find it was so late. The theatres
+had disgorged their crowds, and Piccadilly was thronged, gay, vivacious,
+and insouciant. For a moment there was a certain luxury about its vice;
+the harlot gained the pompousness of a Roman courtesan, and the vulgar
+debauchee had for a little while the rich, corrupt decadence of art and
+splendour.
+
+James turned into Half Moon Street, which now was all deserted and
+silent, and walked slowly, with anguish tearing at his heart, towards
+the house in which lodged Mrs. Wallace. One window was still lit, and he
+wondered whether it was hers; it would have been an exquisite pleasure
+if he could but have seen her form pass the drawn blind. Ah, he could
+not have mistaken it! Presently the light was put out, and the whole
+house was in darkness. He waited on, for no reason--pleased to be near
+her. He waited half the night, till he was so tired he could scarcely
+drag himself home.
+
+In the morning James was ill and tired, and disillusioned; his head
+ached so that he could hardly bear the pain, and in all his limbs he
+felt a strange and heavy lassitude. He wondered why he had troubled
+himself about the woman who cared nothing--nothing whatever for him. He
+repeated about her the bitter, scornful things he had said so often. He
+fancied he had suddenly grown indifferent.
+
+"I shall go back to Primpton," he said; "London is too horrible."
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+
+The lassitude and the headache explained themselves, for the day after
+Jamie's arrival at Little Primpton he fell ill, and the doctor announced
+that he had enteric fever. He explained that it was not uncommon for
+persons to develop the disease after their return from the Cape. In
+their distress, the first thought of Mrs. Parsons and the Colonel was to
+send for Mary; they knew her to be quick and resourceful.
+
+"Dr. Radley says we must have a nurse down. Jamie is never to be left
+alone, and I couldn't manage by myself."
+
+Mary hesitated and reddened:
+
+"Oh, I wish Jamie would let me nurse him! You and I could do everything
+much better than a strange woman. D'you think he'd mind?"
+
+Mrs. Parsons looked at her doubtfully.
+
+"It's very kind of you, Mary. I'm afraid he's not treated you so as to
+deserve that. And it would exhaust you dreadfully."
+
+"I'm very strong; I should like it so much. Won't you ask Jamie? He can
+only refuse."
+
+"Very well."
+
+Mrs. Parsons went up to her son, by whom sat the Colonel, looking at him
+wistfully. James lay on his back, breathing quickly, dull, listless, and
+apathetic. Every now and then his dark dry lips contracted as the
+unceasing pain of his head became suddenly almost insufferable.
+
+"Jamie, dear," said Mrs. Parsons, "Dr. Radley says you must have a
+second nurse, and we thought of getting one from Tunbridge Wells. Would
+you mind if Mary came instead?"
+
+James opened his eyes, bright and unnatural, and the dilated pupils gave
+them a strangely piercing expression.
+
+"Does she want to?"
+
+"It would make her very happy."
+
+"Does she know that enteric is horrid to nurse?"
+
+"For your sake she will do everything willingly."
+
+"Then let her." He smiled faintly. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody
+good. That's what the curate said."
+
+He had sufficient strength to smile to Mary when she came up, and to
+stretch out his hand.
+
+"It's very good of you, Mary."
+
+"Nonsense!" she said, cheerily. "You mustn't talk. And you must do
+whatever I tell you, and let yourself be treated like a little boy."
+
+For days James remained in the same condition, with aching head, his
+face livid in its pallor, except for the bright, the terrifying flush of
+the cheeks; and the lips were dark with the sickly darkness of death. He
+lay on his back continually, apathetic and listless, his eyes closed.
+Now and again he opened them, and their vacant brilliancy was almost
+unearthly. He seemed to see horrible things, impossible to prevent,
+staring in front of him with the ghastly intensity of the blind.
+
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Parsons and Mary nursed him devotedly. Mary was quite
+splendid. In her loving quickness she forestalled all Jamie's wants, so
+that they were satisfied almost before he had realised them. She was
+always bright and good-tempered and fresh; she performed with constant
+cheerfulness the little revolting services which the disease
+necessitates; nothing was too difficult, or too harassing, or too
+unpleasant for her to do. She sacrificed herself with delight, taking
+upon her shoulders the major part of the work, leaving James only when
+Mrs. Parsons forced her to rest. She sat up night after night
+uncomplainingly; having sent for her clothes, and, notwithstanding Mrs.
+Clibborn's protests, taken up her abode altogether at Primpton House.
+
+Mrs. Clibborn said it was a most improper proceeding; that a trained
+nurse would be more capable, and the Parsons could well afford it; and
+also that it was indelicate for Mary to force herself upon James when he
+was too ill to defend himself.
+
+"I don't know what we should do without you, Mary," said Colonel
+Parsons, with tears in his eyes. "If we save him it will be your doing."
+
+"Of course we shall save him! All I ask you is to say nothing of what
+I've done. It's been a pleasure to me to serve him, and I don't deserve,
+and I don't want, gratitude."
+
+But it became more than doubtful whether it would be possible to save
+James, weakened by his wound and by the privations of the campaign. The
+disease grew worse. He was constantly delirious, and his prostration
+extreme. His cheeks sank in, and he seemed to have lost all power of
+holding himself together; he lay low down in the bed, as if he had given
+up trying to save himself. His face became dusky, so that it was
+terrifying to look upon.
+
+The doctor could no longer conceal his anxiety, and at last Mrs.
+Parsons, alone with him, insisted upon knowing the truth.
+
+"Is there any chance?" she asked, tremulously. "I would much rather know
+the worst."
+
+"I'm afraid very, very little."
+
+Mrs. Parsons shook hands silently with Dr. Radley and returned to the
+sick room, where Mary and the Colonel were sitting at the bedside.
+
+"Well?"
+
+Mrs. Parsons bent her head, and the silent tears rolled down her cheeks.
+The others understood only too well.
+
+"The Lord's will be done," whispered the father. "Blessed be the name of
+the Lord!"
+
+They looked at James with aching hearts. All their bitterness had long
+gone, and they loved him again with the old devotion of past time.
+
+"D'you think I was hard on him, dear?" said the Colonel.
+
+Mary took his hand and held it affectionately.
+
+"Don't worry about that," she said. "I'm sure he never felt any
+bitterness towards you."
+
+James now was comatose. But sometimes a reflex movement would pass
+through him, a sort of quiver, which seemed horribly as though the soul
+were parting from his body; and feebly he clutched at the bed-clothes.
+
+"Was it for this that he was saved from war and pestilence?" muttered
+the Colonel, hopelessly.
+
+* * *
+
+But the Fates love nothing better than to mock the poor little creatures
+whose destinies ceaselessly they weave, refusing the wretched heart's
+desire till long waiting has made it listless, and giving with both
+hands only when the gift entails destruction.... James did not die; the
+passionate love of those three persons who watched him day by day and
+night by night seemed to have exorcised the might of Death. He grew a
+little better; his vigorous frame battled for life with all the force of
+that unknown mysterious power which cements into existence the myriad
+wandering atoms. He was listless, indifferent to the issue; but the will
+to live fought for him, and he grew better. Quickly he was out of
+danger.
+
+His father and Mary and Mrs. Parsons looked at one another almost with
+surprise, hardly daring to believe that they had saved him. They had
+suffered so much, all three of them, that they hesitated to trust their
+good fortune, superstitiously fearing that if they congratulated
+themselves too soon, some dreadful thing would happen to plunge back
+their beloved into deadly danger. But at last he was able to get up, to
+sit in the garden, now luxuriant with the ripe foliage of August; and
+they felt the load of anxiety gradually lift itself from their
+shoulders. They ventured again to laugh, and to talk of little trivial
+things, and of the future. They no longer had that panic terror when
+they looked at him, pale and weak and emaciated.
+
+Then again the old couple thanked Mary for what she had done; and one
+day, in secret, went off to Tunbridge Wells to buy a little present as a
+proof of their gratitude. Colonel Parsons suggested a bracelet, but his
+wife was sure that Mary would prefer something useful; so they brought
+back with them a very elaborate and expensive writing-case, which with a
+few shy words they presented to her. Mary, poor thing, was overcome with
+pleasure.
+
+"It's awfully good of you," she said. "I've done nothing that I wouldn't
+have done for any of the cottagers."
+
+"We know it was you who saved him. You--you snatched him from the very
+jaws of Death."
+
+Mary paused, and held out her hand.
+
+"Will you promise me one thing?"
+
+"What is it?" asked Colonel Parsons, unwilling to give his word rashly.
+
+"Well, promise that you will never tell James that he owes anything to
+me. I couldn't bear him to think I had forced myself on him so as to
+have a sort of claim. Please promise me that."
+
+"I should never be able to keep it!" cried the Colonel.
+
+"I think she's right, Richmond. We'll promise, Mary. Besides, James
+can't help knowing."
+
+The hopes of the dear people were reviving, and they began to look upon
+Jamie's illness, piously, as a blessing of Providence in disguise.
+While Mrs. Parsons was about her household work in the morning, the
+Colonel would sometimes come in, rubbing his hands gleefully.
+
+"I've been watching them from the kitchen garden," he said.
+
+James lay on a long chair, in a sheltered, shady place, and Mary sat
+beside him, reading aloud or knitting.
+
+"Oh, you shouldn't have done that, Richmond," said his wife, with an
+indulgent smile, "it's very cruel."
+
+"I couldn't help it, my dear. They're sitting there together just like a
+pair of turtle-doves."
+
+"Are they talking or reading?"
+
+"She's reading to him, and he's looking at her. He never takes his eyes
+off her."
+
+Mrs. Parsons sighed with a happy sadness.
+
+"God is very good to us, Richmond."
+
+* * *
+
+James was surprised to find how happily he could spend his days with
+Mary. He was carried into the garden as soon as he got up, and remained
+there most of the day. Mary, as ever, was untiring in her devotion,
+thoughtful, anxious to obey his smallest whim.... He saw very soon the
+thoughts which were springing up again in the minds of his father and
+mother, intercepting the little significant glances which passed between
+them when Mary went away on some errand and he told her not to be long,
+when they exchanged gentle chaff, or she arranged the cushions under his
+head. The neighbours had asked to visit him, but this he resolutely
+declined, and appealed to Mary for protection.
+
+"I'm quite happy alone here with you, and if anyone else comes I swear
+I'll fall ill again."
+
+And with a little flush of pleasure and a smile, Mary answered that she
+would tell them all he was very grateful for their sympathy, but didn't
+feel strong enough to see them.
+
+"I don't feel a bit grateful, really," he said.
+
+"Then you ought to."
+
+Her manner was much gentler now that James was ill, and her rigid moral
+sense relaxed a little in favour of his weakness. Mary's common sense
+became less aggressive, and if she was practical and unimaginative as
+ever, she was less afraid than before of giving way to him. She became
+almost tolerant, allowing him little petulances and little
+evasions--petty weaknesses which in complete health she would have felt
+it her duty not to compromise with. She treated him like a child, with
+whom it was possible to be indulgent without a surrender of principle;
+he could still claim to be spoiled and petted, and made much of.
+
+And James found that he could look forward with something like
+satisfaction to the condition of things which was evolving. He did not
+doubt that if he proposed to Mary again, she would accept him, and all
+their difficulties would be at an end. After all, why not? He was deeply
+touched by the loving, ceaseless care she had taken of him; indeed, no
+words from his father were needed to make him realise what she had gone
+through. She was kindness itself, tender, considerate, cheerful; he felt
+an utter prig to hesitate. And now that he had got used to her again,
+James was really very fond of Mary. In his physical weakness, her
+strength was peculiarly comforting. He could rely upon her entirely, and
+trust her; he admired her rectitude and her truthfulness. She reminded
+him of a granite cross standing alone in a desolate Scotch island,
+steadfast to wind and weather, unyielding even to time, erect and stern,
+and yet somehow pathetic in its solemn loneliness.
+
+Was it a lot of nonsense that he had thought about the immaculacy of the
+flesh? The world in general found his theories ridiculous or obscene.
+The world might be right. After all, the majority is not necessarily
+wrong. Jamie's illness interfered like a blank space between his
+present self and the old one, with its strenuous ideals of a purity of
+body which vulgar persons knew nothing of. Weak and ill, dependent upon
+the strength of others, his former opinions seemed singularly uncertain.
+How much more easy and comfortable was it to fall back upon the ideas of
+all and sundry? One cannot help being a little conscience-stricken
+sometimes when one thinks differently from others. That is why society
+holds together; conscience is its most efficient policeman. But when one
+shares common opinions, the whole authority of civilisation backs one
+up, and the reward is an ineffable self-complacency. It is the easiest
+thing possible to wallow in the prejudices of all the world, and the
+most eminently satisfactory. For nineteen hundred years we have learnt
+that the body is shameful, a pitfall and a snare to the soul. It is to
+be hoped we have one, for our bodies, since we began worrying about our
+souls, leave much to be desired. The common idea is that the flesh is
+beastly, the spirit divine; and it sounds reasonable enough. If it means
+little, one need not care, for the world has turned eternally to one
+senseless formula after another. All one can be sure about is that in
+the things of this world there is no absolute certainty.
+
+James, in his prostration, felt only indifference; and his old
+strenuousness, with its tragic despair, seemed not a little ridiculous.
+His eagerness to keep clean from what he thought prostitution was
+melodramatic and silly, his idea of purity mere foolishness. If the body
+was excrement, as from his youth he had been taught, what could it
+matter how one used it! Did anything matter, when a few years would see
+the flesh he had thought divine corrupt and worm-eaten? James was
+willing now to float along the stream, sociably, with his fellows, and
+had no doubt that he would soon find a set of high-sounding phrases to
+justify his degradation. What importance could his actions have, who was
+an obscure unit in an ephemeral race? It was much better to cease
+troubling, and let things come as they would. People were obviously
+right when they said that Mary must be an excellent helpmate. How often
+had he not told himself that she would be all that a wife should--kind,
+helpful, trustworthy. Was it not enough?
+
+And his marriage would give such pleasure to his father and mother, such
+happiness to Mary. If he could make a little return for all her
+goodness, was he not bound to do so? He smiled with bitter scorn at his
+dead, lofty ideals. The workaday world was not fit for them; it was much
+safer and easier to conform oneself to its terrestrial standard. And the
+amusing part of it was that these new opinions which seemed to him a
+falling away, to others meant precisely the reverse. They thought it
+purer and more ethereal that a man should marry because a woman would be
+a housekeeper of good character than because the divine instincts of
+Nature irresistibly propelled him.
+
+James shrugged his shoulders, and turned to look at Mary, who was coming
+towards him with letters in her hand.
+
+"Three letters for you, Jamie!"
+
+"Whom are they from?"
+
+"Look." She handed him one.
+
+"That's a bill, I bet," he said. "Open it and see."
+
+She opened and read out an account for boots.
+
+"Throw it away."
+
+Mary opened her eyes.
+
+"It must be paid, Jamie."
+
+"Of course it must; but not for a long time yet. Let him send it in a
+few times more. Now the next one."
+
+He looked at the envelope, and did not recognise the handwriting.
+
+"You can open that, too."
+
+It was from the Larchers, repeating their invitation to go and see them.
+
+"I wonder if they're still worrying about the death of their boy?"
+
+"Oh, well, it's six months ago, isn't it?" replied Mary.
+
+"I suppose in that time one gets over most griefs. I must go over some
+day. Now the third."
+
+He reddened slightly, recognising again the handwriting of Mrs. Wallace.
+But this time it affected him very little; he was too weak to care, and
+he felt almost indifferent.
+
+"Shall I open it?" said Mary.
+
+James hesitated.
+
+"No," he said; "tear it up." And then in reply to her astonishment, he
+added, smiling: "It's all right, I'm not off my head. Tear it up, and
+don't ask questions, there's a dear!"
+
+"Of course, I'll tear it up if you want me to," said Mary, looking
+rather perplexed.
+
+"Now, go to the hedge and throw the pieces in the field."
+
+She did so, and sat down again.
+
+"Shall I read to you?"
+
+"No, I'm sick of the 'Antiquary.' Why the goodness they can't talk
+English like rational human beings, Heaven only knows!"
+
+"Well, we must finish it now we've begun."
+
+"D'you think something dreadful will happen to us if we don't?"
+
+"If one begins a book I think one should finish it, however dull it is.
+One is sure to get some good out of it."
+
+"My dear, you're a perfect monster of conscientiousness."
+
+"Well, if you don't want me to read, I shall go on with my knitting."
+
+"I don't want you to knit either. I want you to talk to me."
+
+Mary looked almost charming in the subdued light of the sun as it broke
+through the leaves, giving a softness of expression and a richness of
+colour that James had never seen in her before. And the summer frock she
+wore made her more girlish and irresponsible than usual.
+
+"You've been very, very good to me all this time, Mary," said James,
+suddenly.
+
+Mary flushed. "I?"
+
+"I can never thank you enough."
+
+"Nonsense! Your father has been telling you a lot of rubbish, and he
+promised he wouldn't."
+
+"No, he's said nothing. Did you make him promise? That was very nice,
+and just like you."
+
+"I was afraid he'd say more than he ought."
+
+"D'you think I haven't been able to see for myself? I owe my life to
+you."
+
+"You owe it to God, Jamie."
+
+He smiled, and took her hand.
+
+"I'm very, very grateful!"
+
+"It's been a pleasure to nurse you, Jamie. I never knew you'd make such
+a good patient."
+
+"And for all you've done, I've made you wretched and miserable. Can you
+ever forgive me?"
+
+"There's nothing to forgive, dear. You know I always think of you as a
+brother."
+
+"Ah, that's what you told the curate!" cried James, laughing.
+
+Mary reddened.
+
+"How d'you know?"
+
+"He told Mrs. Jackson, and she told father."
+
+"You're not angry with me?"
+
+"I think you might have made it second cousin," said James, with a
+smile.
+
+Mary did not answer, but tried to withdraw her hand. He held it fast.
+
+"Mary, I've treated you vilely. If you don't hate me, it's only because
+you're a perfect angel."
+
+Mary looked down, blushing deep red.
+
+"I can never hate you," she whispered.
+
+"Oh, Mary, can you forgive me? Can you forget? It sounds almost
+impertinent to ask you again--Will you marry me, Mary?"
+
+She withdrew her hand.
+
+"It's very kind of you, Jamie. You're only asking me out of gratitude,
+because I've helped a little to look after you. But I want no gratitude;
+it was all pleasure. And I'm only too glad that you're getting well."
+
+"I'm perfectly in earnest, Mary. I wouldn't ask you merely from
+gratitude. I know I have humiliated you dreadfully, and I have done my
+best to kill the love you had for me. But I really honestly love you
+now--with all my heart. If you still care for me a little, I beseech you
+not to dismiss me."
+
+"If I still care for you!" cried Mary, hoarsely. "Oh, my God!"
+
+"Mary, forgive me! I want you to marry me."
+
+She looked at him distractedly, the fire burning through her heart. He
+took both her hands and drew her towards him.
+
+"Mary, say yes."
+
+She sank helplessly to her knees beside him.
+
+"It would make me very happy," she murmured, with touching humility.
+
+Then he bent forward and kissed her tenderly.
+
+"Let's go and tell them," he said. "They'll be so pleased."
+
+Mary, smiling and joyful, helped him to his feet, and supporting him as
+best she could, they went towards the house.
+
+Colonel Parsons was sitting in the dining-room, twirling his old Panama
+in a great state of excitement; he had interrupted his wife at her
+accounts, and she was looking at him good-humouredly over her
+spectacles.
+
+"I'm sure something's happening," he said. "I went out to take Jamie his
+beef-tea, and he was holding Mary's hand. I coughed as loud as I could,
+but they took no notice at all. So I thought I'd better not disturb
+them."
+
+"Here they come," said Mrs. Parsons.
+
+"Mother," said James, "Mary has something to tell you."
+
+"I haven't anything of the sort!" cried Mary, blushing and laughing.
+"Jamie has something to tell you."
+
+"Well, the fact is, I've asked Mary to marry me and she's said she
+would."
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+
+James was vastly relieved. His people's obvious delight, Mary's quiet
+happiness, were very grateful to him, and if he laughed at himself a
+little for feeling so virtuous, he could not help thoroughly enjoying
+the pleasure he had given. He was willing to acknowledge now that his
+conscience had been uneasy after the rupture of his engagement: although
+he had assured himself so vehemently that reason was upon his side, the
+common disapproval, and the influence of all his bringing-up, had
+affected him in his own despite.
+
+"When shall we get married, Mary?" he asked, when the four of them were
+sitting together in the garden.
+
+"Quickly!" cried Colonel Parsons.
+
+"Well, shall we say in a month, or six weeks?"
+
+"D'you think you'll be strong enough?" replied Mary, looking
+affectionately at him. And then, blushing a little: "I can get ready
+very soon."
+
+The night before, she had gone home and taken out the trousseau which
+with tears had been put away. She smoothed out the things, unfolded
+them, and carefully folded them up. Never in her life had she possessed
+such dainty linen. Mary cried a while with pleasure to think that she
+could begin again to collect her little store. No one knew what agony it
+had been to write to the shops at Tunbridge Wells countermanding her
+orders, and now she looked forward with quiet delight to buying all that
+remained to get.
+
+Finally, it was decided that the wedding should take place at the
+beginning of October. Mrs. Parsons wrote to her brother, who answered
+that he had expected the event all along, being certain that his
+conversation with James would eventually bear fruit. He was happy to be
+able to congratulate himself on the issue of his diplomacy; it was
+wonderful how easily all difficulties were settled, if one took them
+from the point of view of a man of the world. Mrs. Jackson likewise
+flattered herself that the renewed engagement was due to her
+intervention.
+
+"I saw he was paying attention to what I said," she told her husband. "I
+knew all he wanted was a good, straight talking to."
+
+"I am sorry for poor Dryland," said the Vicar.
+
+"Yes, I think we ought to do our best to console him. Don't you think he
+might go away for a month, Archibald?"
+
+Mr. Dryland came to tea, and the Vicar's wife surrounded him with little
+attentions. She put an extra lump of sugar in his tea, and cut him even
+a larger piece of seed-cake than usual.
+
+"Of course you've heard, Mr. Dryland?" she said, solemnly.
+
+"Are you referring to Miss Clibborn's engagement to Captain Parsons?" he
+asked, with a gloomy face. "Bad news travels fast."
+
+"You have all our sympathies. We did everything we could for you."
+
+"I can't deny that it's a great blow to me. I confess I thought that
+time and patience on my part might induce Miss Clibborn to change her
+mind. But if she's happy, I cannot complain. I must bear my misfortune
+with resignation."
+
+"But will she be happy?" asked Mrs. Jackson, with foreboding in her
+voice.
+
+"I sincerely hope so. Anyhow, I think it my duty to go to Captain
+Parsons and offer him my congratulations."
+
+"Will you do that, Mr. Dryland?" cried Mrs. Jackson. "That is noble of
+you!"
+
+"If you'd like to take your holiday now, Dryland," said the Vicar, "I
+daresay we can manage it."
+
+"Oh, no, thanks; I'm not the man to desert from the field of battle."
+
+Mrs. Jackson sighed.
+
+"Things never come right in this world. That's what I always say; the
+clergy are continually doing deeds of heroism which the world never
+hears anything about."
+
+The curate went to Primpton House and inquired whether he might see
+Captain Parsons.
+
+"I'll go and ask if he's well enough," answered the Colonel, with his
+admirable respect for the cloth.
+
+"Do you think he wants to talk to me about my soul?" asked James,
+smiling.
+
+"I don't know; but I think you'd better see him."
+
+"Very well."
+
+Mr. Dryland came forward and shook hands with James in an ecclesiastical
+and suave manner, trying to be dignified, as behoved a rejected lover in
+the presence of his rival, and at the same time cordial, as befitted a
+Christian who could bear no malice.
+
+"Captain Parsons, you will not be unaware that I asked Miss Clibborn to
+be my wife?"
+
+"The fact was fairly generally known in the village," replied James,
+trying to restrain a smile.
+
+Mr. Dryland blushed.
+
+"I was annoyed at the publicity which the circumstance obtained. The
+worst of these little places is that people will talk."
+
+"It was a very noble deed," said James gravely, repeating the common
+opinion.
+
+"Not at all," answered the curate, with characteristic modesty. "But
+since it was not to be, since Miss Clibborn's choice has fallen on you,
+I think it my duty to inform you of my hearty goodwill. I wish, in
+short, to offer you again my sincerest congratulations."
+
+"I'm sure that's very kind of you."
+
+* * *
+
+Two days, later Mrs. Jackson called on a similar errand.
+
+She tripped up to James and frankly held out her hand, neatly encased as
+ever in a shining black kid glove.
+
+"Captain Parsons, let us shake hands, and let bygones be bygones. You
+have taken my advice, and if, in the heat of the moment, we both said
+things which we regret, after all, we're only human."
+
+"Surely, Mrs. Jackson, I was moderation itself?--even when you told me I
+should infallibly go to Hell."
+
+"You were extremely irritating," said the Vicar's lady, smiling, "but I
+forgive you. After all, you paid more attention to what I said than I
+expected you would."
+
+"It must be very satisfactory for you to think that."
+
+"You know I have no ill-feeling towards you at all. I gave you a piece
+of my mind because I thought it was my duty. If you think I stepped over
+the limits of--moderation, I am willing and ready to apologise."
+
+"What a funny woman you are!" said James, looking at her with a
+good-humoured, but rather astonished smile.
+
+"I'm sure I don't know what makes you think so," she answered, bridling
+a little.
+
+"It never occurred to me that you honestly thought you were acting
+rightly when you came and gave me a piece of your mind, as you call it.
+I thought your motives were simply malicious and uncharitable."
+
+"I have a very high ideal of my duties as a clergyman's wife."
+
+"The human animal is very odd."
+
+"I don't look upon myself as an animal, Captain Parsons."
+
+James smiled.
+
+"I wonder why we all torture ourselves so unnecessarily. It really seems
+as if the chief use we made of our reason was to inflict as much pain
+upon ourselves and upon one another as we possibly could."
+
+"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Captain Parsons."
+
+"When you do anything, are you ever tormented by a doubt whether you are
+doing right or wrong?"
+
+"Never," she answered, firmly. "There is always a right way and a wrong
+way, and, I'm thankful to say, God has given me sufficient intelligence
+to know which is which; and obviously I choose the right way."
+
+"What a comfortable idea! I can never help thinking that every right way
+is partly wrong, and every wrong way partly right. There's always so
+much to be said on both sides; to me it's very hard to know which is
+which."
+
+"Only a very weak man could think like that."
+
+"Possibly! I have long since ceased to flatter myself on my strength of
+mind. I find it is chiefly a characteristic of unintelligent persons."
+
+* * *
+
+It was Mary's way to take herself seriously. It flattered her to think
+that she was not blind to Jamie's faults; she loved him none the less on
+their account, but determined to correct them. He had an unusual way of
+looking at things, and an occasional flippancy in his conversation, both
+of which she hoped in time to eradicate. With patience, gentleness, and
+dignity a woman can do a great deal with a man.
+
+One of Mary's friends had a husband with a bad habit of swearing, which
+was cured in a very simple manner. Whenever he swore, his wife swore
+too. For instance, he would say: "That's a damned bad job;" and his wife
+answered, smiling: "Yes, damned bad." He was rather surprised, but
+quickly ceased to employ objectionable words. Story does not relate
+whether he also got out of the habit of loving his wife; but that,
+doubtless, is a minor detail. Mary always looked upon her friend as a
+pattern.
+
+"James is not really cynical," she told herself. "He says things, not
+because he means them, but because he likes to startle people."
+
+It was inconceivable that James should not think on all subjects as she
+had been brought up to do, and the least originality struck her
+naturally as a sort of pose. But on account of his illness Mary allowed
+him a certain latitude, and when he said anything she did not approve
+of, instead of arguing the point, merely smiled indulgently and changed
+the subject. There was plenty of time before her, and when James became
+her husband she would have abundant opportunity of raising him to that
+exalted level upon which she was so comfortably settled. The influence
+of a simple Christian woman could not fail to have effect; at bottom
+James was as good as gold, and she was clever enough to guide him
+insensibly along the right path.
+
+James, perceiving this, scarcely knew whether to be incensed or amused.
+Sometimes he could see the humour in Mary's ingenuous conceit, and in
+the dogmatic assurance with which she uttered the most astounding
+opinions; but at others, when she waved aside superciliously a remark
+that did not square with her prejudices, or complacently denied a
+statement because she had never heard it before, he was irritated beyond
+all endurance. And it was nothing very outrageous he said, but merely
+some commonplace of science which all the world had accepted for twenty
+years. Mary, however, entrenched herself behind the impenetrable rock of
+her self-sufficiency.
+
+"I'm not clever enough to argue with you," she said; "but I know I'm
+right; and I'm quite satisfied."
+
+Generally she merely smiled.
+
+"What nonsense you talk, Jamie! You don't really believe what you say."
+
+"But, my dear Mary, it's a solemn fact. There's no possibility of
+doubting it. It's a truism."
+
+Then with admirable self-command, remembering that James was still an
+invalid, she would pat his hand and say:
+
+"Well, it doesn't matter. Of course, you're much cleverer than I am. It
+must be almost time for your beef-tea."
+
+James sank back, baffled. Mary's ignorance was an impenetrable cuirass;
+she would not try to understand, she could not even realise that she
+might possibly be mistaken. Quite seriously she thought that what she
+ignored could be hardly worth knowing. People talk of the advance of
+education; there may be a little among the lower classes, but it is
+inconceivable that the English gentry can ever have been more illiterate
+than they are now. Throughout the country, in the comfortable villa or
+in the stately mansion, you will find as much prejudice and superstition
+in the drawing-room as in the kitchen; and you will find the masters
+less receptive of new ideas than their servants; and into the bargain,
+presumptuously satisfied with their own nescience.
+
+James saw that the only way to deal with Mary and with his people was to
+give in to all their prejudices. He let them talk, and held his tongue.
+He shut himself off from them, recognising that there was, and could be,
+no bond between them. They were strangers to him; their ways of looking
+at every detail of life were different from his; they had not an
+interest, not a thought, in common.... The preparations for the marriage
+went on.
+
+One day Mary decided that it was her duty to speak with James about his
+religion. Some of his remarks had made her a little uneasy, and he was
+quite strong enough now to be seriously dealt with.
+
+"Tell me, Jamie," she said, in reply to an observation which she was
+pleased to consider flippant, "you do believe in God, don't you?"
+
+But James had learnt his lesson well.
+
+"My dear, that seems to me a private affair of my own."
+
+"Are you ashamed to say?" she asked, gravely.
+
+"No; but I don't see the advantage of discussing the matter."
+
+"I think you ought to tell me as I'm going to be your wife. I shouldn't
+like you to be an atheist."
+
+"Atheism is exploded, Mary. Only very ignorant persons are certain of
+what they cannot possibly know."
+
+"Then I don't see why you should be afraid to tell me."
+
+"I'm not; only I think you have no right to ask. We both think that in
+marriage each should leave the other perfect freedom. I used to imagine
+the ideal was that married folk should not have a thought, nor an idea
+apart; but that is all rot. The best thing is evidently for each to go
+his own way, and respect the privacy of the other. Complete trust
+entails complete liberty."
+
+"I think that is certainly the noblest way of looking at marriage."
+
+"You may be quite sure I shall not intrude upon _your_ privacy, Mary."
+
+"I'm sorry I asked you any question. I suppose it's no business of
+mine."
+
+James returned to his book; he had fallen into the habit again of
+reading incessantly, finding therein his only release from the daily
+affairs of life; but when Mary left him, he let his novel drop and began
+to think. He was bitterly amused at what he had said. The parrot words
+which he had so often heard on Mary's lips sounded strangely on his own.
+He understood now why the view of matrimony had become prevalent that it
+was an institution in which two casual persons lived together, for the
+support of one and the material comfort of the other. Without love it
+was the most natural thing that husband and wife should seek all manner
+of protection from each other; with love none was needed. It harmonised
+well with the paradox that a marriage of passion was rather indecent,
+while lukewarm affection and paltry motives of convenience were
+elevating and noble.
+
+Poor Mary! James knew that she loved him with all her soul, such as it
+was (a delicate conscience and a collection of principles are not
+enough to make a great lover), and again he acknowledged to himself that
+he could give her only friendship. It had been but an ephemeral
+tenderness which drew him to her for the second time, due to weakness of
+body and to gratitude. If he ever thought it was love, he knew by now
+that he had been mistaken. Still, what did it matter? He supposed they
+would get along very well--as well as most people; better even than if
+they adored one another; for passion is not conducive to an even life.
+Fortunately she was cold and reserved, little given to demonstrative
+affection; she made few demands upon him, and occupied with her work in
+the parish and the collection of her trousseau, was content that he
+should remain with his books.
+
+The day fixed upon for the marriage came nearer.
+
+But at last James was seized with a wild revolt. His father was sitting
+by him.
+
+"Mary's wedding-dress is nearly ready," he said, suddenly.
+
+"So soon?" cried James, his heart sinking.
+
+"She's afraid that something may happen at the last moment, and it won't
+be finished in time."
+
+"What could happen?"
+
+"Oh, I mean something at the dressmaker's!"
+
+"Is that all? I imagine there's little danger."
+
+There was a pause, broken again by the Colonel.
+
+"I'm so glad you're going to be happily married, Jamie."
+
+His son did not answer.
+
+"But man is never satisfied. I used to think that when I got you
+spliced, I should have nothing else to wish for; but now I'm beginning
+to want little grandsons to rock upon my knees."
+
+Jamie's face grew dark.
+
+"We should never be able to afford children."
+
+"But they come if one wants them or not, and I shall be able to increase
+your allowance a little, you know. I don't want you to go short of
+anything."
+
+James said nothing, but he thought: "If I had children by her, I should
+hate them." And then with sudden dismay, losing all the artificial
+indifference of the last week, he rebelled passionately against his
+fate. "Oh, I hate and loathe her!"
+
+He felt he could no longer continue the pretence he had been making--for
+it was all pretence. The effort to be loving and affectionate was
+torture, so that all his nerves seemed to vibrate with exasperation.
+Sometimes he had to clench his hands in order to keep himself under
+restraint. He was acting all the time. James asked himself what madness
+blinded Mary that she did not see? He remembered how easily speech had
+come in the old days when they were boy and girl together; they could
+pass hours side by side, without a thought of time, talking of little
+insignificant things, silent often, and always happy. But now he racked
+his brain for topics of conversation, and the slightest pause seemed
+irksome and unnatural. He was sometimes bored to death, savagely,
+cruelly; so that he was obliged to leave Mary for fear that he would say
+bitter and horrible things. Without his books he would have gone mad.
+She must be blind not to see. Then he thought of their married life. How
+long would it last? The years stretched themselves out endlessly,
+passing one after another in dreary monotony. Could they possibly be
+happy? Sooner or later Mary would learn how little he cared for her, and
+what agony must she suffer then! But it was inevitable. Now, whatever
+happened, he could not draw back; it was too late for explanations.
+Would love come? He felt it impossible; he felt, rather, that the
+physical repulsion which vainly he tried to crush would increase till he
+abhorred the very sight of his wife.
+
+Passionately he cried out against Fate because he had escaped death so
+often. The gods played with him as a cat plays with a mouse. He had been
+through dangers innumerable; twice he had lain on the very threshold of
+eternal night, and twice he had been snatched back. Far rather would he
+have died the soldier's death, gallantly, than live on to this
+humiliation and despair. A friendly bullet could have saved him many
+difficulties and much unhappiness. And why had he recovered from the
+fever? What an irony it was that Mary should claim gratitude for doing
+him the greatest possible disservice!
+
+"I can't help it," he cried; "I loathe her!"
+
+The strain upon him was becoming intolerable. James felt that he could
+not much longer conceal the anguish which was destroying him. But what
+was to be done? Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!
+
+James held his head in his hands, cursing his pitiful weakness. Why did
+he not realise, in his convalescence, that it was but a passing emotion
+which endeared Mary to him? He had been so anxious to love her, so eager
+to give happiness to all concerned, that he had welcomed the least sign
+of affection; but he knew what love was, and there could be no excuse.
+He should have had the courage to resist his gratitude.
+
+"Why should I sacrifice myself?" he cried. "My life is as valuable as
+theirs. Why should it be always I from whom sacrifice is demanded?"
+
+But it was no use rebelling. Mary's claims were too strong, and if he
+lived he must satisfy them. Yet some respite he could not do without;
+away from Primpton he might regain his calm. James hated London, but
+even that would be better than the horrible oppression, the constraint
+he was forced to put upon himself.
+
+He walked up and down the garden for a few minutes to calm down, and
+went in to his mother. He spoke as naturally as he could.
+
+"Father tells me that Mary's wedding-dress is nearly ready."
+
+"Yes; it's a little early. But it's well to be on the safe side."
+
+"It's just occurred to me that I can hardly be married in rags. I think
+I had better go up to town for a few days to get some things."
+
+"Must you do that?"
+
+"I think so. And there's a lot I want to do."
+
+"Oh, well, I daresay Mary won't mind, if you don't stay too long. But
+you must take care not to tire yourself."
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+
+On his second visit to London, James was more fortunate, for immediately
+he got inside his club he found an old friend, a man named Barker, late
+adjutant of his regiment. Barker had a great deal to tell James of
+mutual acquaintance, and the pair dined together, going afterwards to a
+music-hall. James felt in better spirits than for some time past, and
+his good humour carried him well into the following day. In the
+afternoon, while he was reading a paper, Barker came up to him.
+
+"I say, old chap," he said, "I quite forgot to tell you yesterday. You
+remember Mrs. Wallace, don't you--Pritchard, of that ilk? She's in town,
+and in a passion with you. She says she's written to you twice, and
+you've taken no notice."
+
+"Really? I thought nobody was in town now."
+
+"She is; I forget why. She told me a long story, but I didn't listen, as
+I knew it would be mostly fibs. She's probably up to some mischief.
+Let's go round to her place and have tea, shall we?"
+
+"I hardly think I can," replied James, reddening. "I've got an
+engagement at four."
+
+"Rot--come on! She's just as stunning as ever. By Gad, you should have
+seen her in her weeds!"
+
+"In her weeds! What the devil do you mean?"
+
+"Didn't you know? P. W. was bowled over at the beginning of the
+war--after Colenso, I think."
+
+"By God!--I didn't know. I never saw!"
+
+"Oh, well, I didn't know till I came home.... Let's stroll along, shall
+we? She's looking out for number two; but she wants money, so there's no
+danger for us!"
+
+James rose mechanically, and putting on his hat, accompanied Barker, all
+unwitting of the thunder-blow that his words had been.... Mrs. Wallace
+was at home. James went upstairs, forgetting everything but that the
+woman he loved was free--free! His heart beat so that he could scarcely
+breathe; he was afraid of betraying his agitation, and had to make a
+deliberate effort to contain himself.
+
+Mrs. Wallace gave a little cry of surprise on seeing James.... She had
+not changed. The black gown she wore, fashionable, but slightly
+fantastic, set off the dazzling olive clearness of her skin and the rich
+colour of her hair. James turned pale with the passion that consumed
+him; he could hardly speak.
+
+"You wretch!" she cried, her eyes sparkling, "I've written to you
+twice--once to congratulate you, and then to ask you to come and see
+me--and you took not the least notice."
+
+"Barker has just told me you wrote. I am so sorry."
+
+"Oh, well, I thought you might not receive the letters. I'll forgive
+you."
+
+She wore Indian anklets on her wrists and a barbaric chain about her
+neck, so that even in the London lodging-house she preserved a
+mysterious Oriental charm. In her movements there was a sinuous feline
+grace which was delightful, and yet rather terrifying. One fancied that
+she was not quite human, but some cruel animal turned into the likeness
+of a woman. Vague stories floated through the mind of Lamia, and the
+unhappy end of her lovers.
+
+The three of them began to talk, chattering of the old days in India, of
+the war. Mrs. Wallace bemoaned her fate in having to stay in town when
+all smart people had left. Barker told stories. James did not know how
+he joined in the flippant conversation; he wondered at his self-command
+in saying insignificant things, in laughing heartily, when his whole
+soul was in a turmoil. At length the adjutant went away, and James was
+left alone with Mrs. Wallace.
+
+"D'you wish me to go?" he asked. "You can turn me out if you do."
+
+"Oh, I should--without hesitation," she retorted, laughing; "but I'm
+bored to death, and I want you to amuse me."
+
+Strangely enough, James felt that the long absence had created no
+barrier between them. Thinking of Mrs. Wallace incessantly, sometimes
+against his will, sometimes with a fierce delight, holding with her
+imaginary conversations, he felt, on the contrary, that he knew her far
+more intimately than he had ever done. There seemed to be a link between
+them, as though something had passed which prevented them from ever
+again becoming strangers. James felt he had her confidence, and he was
+able to talk frankly as before, in his timidity, he had never ventured.
+He treated her with the loving friendliness with which he had been used
+to treat the imaginary creature of his dreams.
+
+"You haven't changed a bit," he said, looking at her.
+
+"Did you expect me to be haggard and wrinkled? I never let myself grow
+old. One only needs strength of mind to keep young indefinitely."
+
+"I'm surprised, because you're so exactly as I've thought of you."
+
+"Have you thought of me often?"
+
+The fire flashed to Jamie's eyes, and it was on his lips to break out
+passionately, telling her how he had lived constantly with her
+recollection, how she had been meat and drink to him, life, and breath,
+and soul; but he restrained himself.
+
+"Sometimes," he answered, smiling.
+
+Mrs. Wallace smiled, too.
+
+"I seem to remember that you vowed once to think of me always."
+
+"One vows all sorts of things." He hoped she could not hear the
+trembling in his voice.
+
+"You're very cool, friend Jim--and much less shy than you used to be.
+You were a perfect monster of bashfulness, and your conscience was a
+most alarming animal. It used to frighten me out of my wits; I hope you
+keep it now under lock and key, like the beasts in the Zoo."
+
+James was telling himself that it was folly to remain, that he must go
+at once and never return. The recollection of Mary came back to him, in
+the straw hat and the soiled serge dress, sitting in the dining-room
+with his father and mother; she had brought her knitting so as not to
+waste a minute; and while they talked of him, her needles clicked
+rapidly to and fro. Mrs. Wallace was lying in a long chair, coiled up in
+a serpentine, characteristic attitude; every movement wafted to him the
+oppressive perfume she wore; the smile on her lips, the caress of her
+eyes, were maddening. He loved her more even than he had imagined; his
+love was a fury, blind and destroying. He repeated to himself that he
+must fly, but the heaviness in his limbs chained him to her side; he had
+no will, no strength; he was a reed, bending to every word she spoke and
+to every look. Her fascination was not human, the calm, voluptuous look
+of her eyes was too cruel; and she was poised like a serpent about to
+spring.
+
+At last, however, James was obliged to take his leave.
+
+"I've stayed an unconscionable time."
+
+"Have you? I've not noticed it."
+
+Did she care for him? He took her hand to say good-bye, and the pressure
+sent the blood racing through his veins. He remembered vividly the
+passionate embrace of their last farewell. He thought then that he
+should never see her again, and it was Fate which had carried him to her
+feet. Oh, how he longed now to take her in his arms and to cover her
+soft mouth with his kisses!
+
+"What are you doing this evening?" she said.
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Would you like to take me to the Carlton? You remember you promised."
+
+"Oh, that is good of you! Of course I should like it!"
+
+At last he could not hide the fire in his heart, and the simple words
+were said so vehemently that Mrs. Wallace looked up in surprise. She
+withdrew the hand which he was still holding.
+
+"Very well. You may fetch me at a quarter to eight."
+
+* * *
+
+After taking Mrs. Wallace home, James paced the streets for an hour in a
+turmoil of wild excitement. They had dined at the Carlton expensively,
+as was her wish, and then, driving to the Empire, James had taken a box.
+Through the evening he had scarcely known how to maintain his calm, how
+to prevent himself from telling her all that was in his heart. After the
+misery he had gone through, he snatched at happiness with eager grasp,
+determined to enjoy to the full every single moment of it. He threw all
+scruples to the wind. He was sick and tired of holding himself in; he
+had checked himself too long, and now, at all hazards, must let himself
+go. Bridle and curb now were of no avail. He neither could nor would
+suppress his passion, though it devoured him like a raging fire. He
+thought his conscientiousness absurd. Why could he not, like other men,
+take the brief joy of life? Why could he not gather the roses without
+caring whether they would quickly fade? "Let me eat, drink, and be
+merry," he cried, "for to-morrow I die!"
+
+It was Wednesday, and on the Saturday he had promised to return to
+Little Primpton. But he put aside all thought of that, except as an
+incentive to make the most of his time. He had wrestled with temptation
+and been overcome, and he gloried in his defeat. He would make no
+further effort to stifle his love. His strength had finally deserted
+him, and he had no will to protect himself; he would give himself over
+entirely to his passion, and the future might bring what it would.
+
+"I'm a fool to torment myself!" he cried. "After all, what does anything
+matter but love?"
+
+Mrs. Wallace was engaged for the afternoon of the next day, but she had
+invited him to dine with her.
+
+"They feed you abominably at my place," she said, "but I'll do my best.
+And we shall be able to talk."
+
+Until then he would not live; and all sorts of wild, mad thoughts ran
+through his head.
+
+"Is there a greater fool on earth than the virtuous prig?" he muttered,
+savagely.
+
+He could not sleep, but tossed from side to side, thinking ever of the
+soft hands and the red lips that he so ardently wished to kiss. In the
+morning he sent to Half Moon Street a huge basket of flowers.
+
+* * *
+
+"It was good of you," said Mrs. Wallace, when he arrived, pointing to
+the roses scattered through the room. She wore three in her hair,
+trailing behind one ear in an exotic, charming fashion.
+
+"It's only you who could think of wearing them like that."
+
+"Do they make me look very barbaric?" She was flattered by the
+admiration in his eyes. "You certainly have improved since I saw you
+last."
+
+"Now, shall we stay here or go somewhere?" she asked after dinner, when
+they were smoking cigarettes.
+
+"Let us stay here."
+
+Mrs. Wallace began talking the old nonsense which, in days past, had
+delighted James; it enchanted him to hear her say, in the tone of voice
+he knew so well, just those things which he had a thousand times
+repeated to himself. He looked at her with a happy smile, his eyes fixed
+upon her, taking in every movement.
+
+"I don't believe you're listening to a word I'm saying!" she cried at
+last. "Why don't you answer?"
+
+"Go on. I like to see you talk. It's long since I've had the chance."
+
+"You spoke yesterday as though you hadn't missed me much."
+
+"I didn't mean it. You knew I didn't mean it."
+
+She smiled mockingly.
+
+"I thought it doubtful. If it had been true, you could hardly have said
+anything so impolite."
+
+"I've thought of you always. That's why I feel I know you so much better
+now. I don't change. What I felt once, I feel always."
+
+"I wonder what you mean by that?"
+
+"I mean that I love you as passionately as when last I saw you. Oh, I
+love you ten times more!"
+
+"And the girl with the bun and the strenuous look? You were engaged when
+I knew you last."
+
+James was silent for a moment.
+
+"I'm going to be married to her on the 10th of October," he said
+finally, in an expressionless voice.
+
+"You don't say that as if you were wildly enthusiastic."
+
+"Why did you remind me?" cried James. "I was so happy. Oh, I hate her!"
+
+"Then why on earth are you marrying her?"
+
+"I can't help it; I must. You've brought it all back. How could you be
+so cruel! When I came back from the Cape, I broke the engagement off. I
+made her utterly miserable, and I took all the pleasure out of my poor
+father's life. I knew I'd done right; I knew that unless I loved her it
+was madness to marry; I felt even that it was unclean. Oh, you don't
+know how I've argued it all out with myself time after time! I was
+anxious to do right, and I felt such a cad. I can't escape from my
+bringing-up. You can't imagine what are the chains that bind us in
+England. We're wrapped from our infancy in the swaddling-clothes of
+prejudice, ignorance, and false ideas; and when we grow up, though we
+know they're all absurd and horrible, we can't escape from them; they've
+become part of our very flesh. Then I grew ill--I nearly died; and Mary
+nursed me devotedly. I don't know what came over me, I felt so ill and
+weak. I was grateful to her. The old self seized me again, and I was
+ashamed of what I'd done. I wanted to make them all happy. I asked her
+again to marry me, and she said she would. I thought I could love her,
+but I can't--I can't, God help me!"
+
+Jamie's passion was growing uncontrollable. He walked up and down the
+room, and then threw himself heavily on a chair.
+
+"Oh, I know it was weakness! I used to pride myself on my strength of
+mind, but I'm weak. I'm weaker than a woman. I'm a poor
+reed--vacillating, uncertain, purposeless. I don't know my own mind. I
+haven't the courage to act according to my convictions. I'm afraid to
+give pain. They all think I'm brave, but I'm simply a pitiful
+coward...."
+
+"I feel that Mary has entrapped me, and I hate her. I know she has good
+qualities--heaps of them--but I can't see them. I only know that the
+mere touch of her hand curdles my blood. She excites absolute physical
+repulsion in me; I can't help it. I know it's madness to marry her, but
+I can't do anything else. I daren't inflict a second time the
+humiliation and misery upon her, or the unhappiness upon my people."
+
+Mrs. Wallace now was serious.
+
+"And do you really care for anyone else?"
+
+He turned savagely upon her.
+
+"You know I do. You know I love you with all my heart and soul. You know
+I've loved you passionately from the first day I saw you. Didn't you
+feel, even when we were separated, that my love was inextinguishable?
+Didn't you feel it always with you? Oh, my dear, my dear, you must have
+known that death was too weak to touch my love! I tried to crush it,
+because neither you nor I was free. Your husband was my friend. I
+couldn't do anything blackguardly. I ran away from you. What a fool you
+must have thought me! And now I know that at last we were both free, I
+might have made you love me. I had my chance of happiness at last; what
+I'd longed for, cursing myself for treachery, had come to pass. But I
+never knew. In my weakness I surrendered my freedom. O God! what shall I
+do?"
+
+He hid his face in his hands and groaned with agony. Mrs. Wallace was
+silent for a while.
+
+"I don't know if it will be any consolation for you," she said at last;
+"you're sure to know sooner or later, and I may as well tell you now.
+I'm engaged to be married."
+
+"What!" cried James, springing up. "It's not true; it's not true!"
+
+"Why not? Of course it's true!"
+
+"You can't--oh, my dearest, be kind to me!"
+
+"Don't be silly, there's a good boy! You're going to be married yourself
+in a month, and you really can't expect me to remain single because you
+fancy you care for me. I shouldn't have told you, only I thought it
+would make things easier for you."
+
+"You never cared two straws for me! I knew that. You needn't throw it in
+my face."
+
+"After all, I was a married woman."
+
+"I wonder how much you minded when you heard your husband was lying dead
+on the veldt?"
+
+"My dear boy, he wasn't; he died of fever at Durban--quite comfortably,
+in a bed."
+
+"Were you sorry?"
+
+"Of course I was! He was extremely satisfactory--and not at all
+exacting."
+
+James did not know why he asked the questions; they came to his lips
+unbidden. He was sick at heart, angry, contemptuous.
+
+"I'm going to marry a Mr. Bryant--but, of course, not immediately," she
+went on, occupied with her own thoughts, and pleased to talk of them.
+
+"What is he?"
+
+"Nothing! He's a landed proprietor." She said this with a certain pride.
+
+James looked at her scornfully; his love all through had been mingled
+with contrary elements; and trying to subdue it, he had often insisted
+upon the woman's vulgarity, and lack of taste, and snobbishness. He
+thought bitterly now that the daughter of the Portuguese and of the
+riding-master had done very well for herself.
+
+"Really, I think you're awfully unreasonable," she said. "You might make
+yourself pleasant."
+
+"I can't," he said, gravely. "Let me go away. You don't know what I've
+felt for you. In my madness, I fancied that you must realise my love; I
+thought even that you might care for me a little in return."
+
+"You're quite the nicest boy I've ever known. I like you immensely."
+
+"But you like the landed proprietor better. You're very wise. He can
+marry you. Good-bye!"
+
+"I don't want you to think I'm horrid," she said, going up to him and
+taking his arm. It was an instinct with her to caress people and make
+them fond of her. "After all, it's not my fault."
+
+"Have I blamed you? I'm sorry; I had no right to."
+
+"What are you going to do?"
+
+"I don't know--I can always shoot myself if things get unendurable.
+Thank God, there's always that refuge!"
+
+"Oh, I hope you won't do anything silly!"
+
+"It would be unlike me," James murmured, grimly. "I'm so dreadfully
+prosaic and matter-of-fact. Good-bye!"
+
+Mrs. Wallace was really sorry for James, and she took his hand
+affectionately. She always thought it cost so little to be amiable.
+
+"We may never meet again," she said; "but we shall still be friends,
+Jim."
+
+"Are you going to say that you'll be a sister to me, as Mary told the
+curate?"
+
+"Won't you kiss me before you go?"
+
+James shook his head, not trusting himself to answer. The light in his
+life had all gone; the ray of sunshine was hidden; the heavy clouds had
+closed in, and all the rest was darkness. But he tried to smile at Mrs.
+Wallace as he touched her hand; he hardly dared look at her again,
+knowing from old experience how every incident and every detail of her
+person would rise tormentingly before his recollection. But at last he
+pulled himself together.
+
+"I'm sorry I've made a fool of myself," he said, quietly. "I hope you'll
+be very happy. Please forget all I've said to you. It was only nonsense.
+Good-bye! I'll send you a bit of my wedding-cake."
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+
+James was again in Little Primpton, ill at ease and unhappy. The scene
+with Mrs. Wallace had broken his spirit, and he was listless now,
+indifferent to what happened; the world had lost its colour and the sun
+its light. In his quieter moments he had known that it was impossible
+for her to care anything about him; he understood her character fairly
+well, and realised that he had been only a toy, a pastime to a woman who
+needed admiration as the breath of her nostrils. But notwithstanding,
+some inner voice had whispered constantly that his love could not be
+altogether in vain; it seemed strong enough to travel the infinite
+distance to her heart and awaken at least a kindly feeling. He was
+humble, and wanted very little. Sometimes he had even felt sure that he
+was loved. The truth rent his heart, and filled it with bitterness; the
+woman who was his whole being had forgotten him, and the woman who loved
+him he hated.... He tried to read, striving to forget; but his trouble
+overpowered him, and he could think of nothing but the future, dreadful
+and inevitable. The days passed slowly, monotonously; and as each night
+came he shuddered at the thought that time was flying. He was drifting
+on without hope, tortured and uncertain.
+
+"Oh, I'm so weak," he cried; "I'm so weak!"
+
+He knew very well what he should do if he were strong of will. A firm
+man in his place would cut the knot brutally--a letter to Mary, a letter
+to his people, and flight. After all, why should he sacrifice his life
+for the sake of others? The catastrophe was only partly his fault; it
+was unreasonable that he alone should suffer.
+
+If his Colonel came to hear of the circumstance, and disapproving,
+questioned him, he could send in his papers. James was bored intensely
+by the dull routine of regimental life in time of peace; it was a
+question of performing day after day the same rather unnecessary duties,
+seeing the same people, listening to the same chatter, the same jokes,
+the same chaff. And added to the incurable dulness of the mess was the
+irksome feeling of being merely an overgrown schoolboy at the beck and
+call of every incompetent and foolish senior. Life was too short to
+waste in such solemn trifling, masquerading in a ridiculous costume
+which had to be left at home when any work was to be done. But he was
+young, with the world before him; there were many careers free to the
+man who had no fear of death. Africa opened her dusky arms to the
+adventurer, ruthless and desperate; the world was so large and manifold,
+there was ample scope for all his longing. If there were difficulties,
+he could overcome them; perils would add salt to the attempt, freedom
+would be like strong wine. Ah, that was what he desired,
+freedom--freedom to feel that he was his own master; that he was not
+enchained by the love and hate of others, by the ties of convention and
+of habit. Every bond was tedious. He had nothing to lose, and everything
+to win. But just those ties which every man may divide of his own free
+will are the most oppressive; they are unfelt, unseen, till suddenly
+they burn the wrists like fetters of fire, and the poor wretch who wears
+them has no power to help himself.
+
+James knew he had not strength for this fearless disregard of others; he
+dared not face the pain he would cause. He was acting like a fool; his
+kindness was only cowardly. But to be cruel required more courage than
+he possessed. If he went away, his anguish would never cease; his vivid
+imagination would keep before his mind's eye the humiliation of Mary,
+the unhappiness of his people. He pictured the consternation and the
+horror when they discovered what he had done. At first they would refuse
+to believe that he was capable of acting in so blackguardly a way; they
+would think it a joke, or that he was mad. And then the shame when they
+realised the truth! How could he make such a return for all the
+affection and the gentleness be had received? His father, whom he loved
+devotedly, would be utterly crushed.
+
+"It would kill him," muttered James.
+
+And then he thought of his poor mother, affectionate and kind, but
+capable of hating him if he acted contrary to her code of honour. Her
+immaculate virtue made her very hard; she exacted the highest from
+herself, and demanded no less from others. James remembered in his
+boyhood how she punished his petty crimes by refusing to speak to him,
+going about in cold and angry silence; he had never forgotten the icy
+indignation of her face when once she had caught him lying. Oh, these
+good people, how pitiless they can be!
+
+He would never have courage to confront the unknown dangers of a new
+life, unloved, unknown, unfriended. He was too merciful; his heart bled
+at the pain of others, he was constantly afraid of soiling his hands. It
+required a more unscrupulous man than he to cut all ties, and push out
+into the world with no weapons but intelligence and a ruthless heart.
+Above all, he dreaded his remorse. He knew that he would brood over what
+he had done till it attained the proportions of a monomania; his
+conscience would never give him peace. So long as he lived, the claims
+of Mary would call to him, and in the furthermost parts of the earth he
+would see her silent agony. James knew himself too well.
+
+And the only solution was that which, in a moment of passionate
+bitterness, had come thoughtlessly to his lips:
+
+"I can always shoot myself."
+
+"I hope you won't do anything silly," Mrs. Wallace had answered.
+
+It would be silly. After all, one has only one life. But sometimes one
+has to do silly things.
+
+* * *
+
+The whim seized James to visit the Larchers, and one day he set out for
+Ashford, near which they lived.... He was very modest about his attempt
+to save their boy, and told himself that such courage as it required was
+purely instinctive. He had gone back without realising in the least that
+there was any danger. Seeing young Larcher wounded and helpless, it had
+seemed the obvious thing to get him to a place of safety. In the heat of
+action fellows were constantly doing reckless things. Everyone had a
+sort of idea that he, at least, would not be hit; and James, by no means
+oppressed with his own heroism, knew that courageous deeds without
+number were performed and passed unseen. It was a mere chance that the
+incident in which he took part was noticed.
+
+Again, he had from the beginning an absolute conviction that his
+interference was nothing less than disastrous. Probably the Boer
+sharpshooters would have let alone the wounded man, and afterwards their
+doctors would have picked him up and properly attended to him.
+
+James could not forget that it was in his very arms that Larcher had
+been killed, and he repeated: "If I had minded my own business, he might
+have been alive to this day." It occurred to him also that with his
+experience he was much more useful than the callow, ignorant boy, so
+that to risk his more valuable life to save the other's, from the point
+of view of the general good, was foolish rather than praiseworthy. But
+it appealed to his sense of irony to receive the honour which he was so
+little conscious of deserving.
+
+The Larchers had been anxious to meet James, and he was curious to know
+what they were like. There was at the back of his mind also a desire to
+see how they conducted themselves, whether they were still prostrate
+with grief or reconciled to the inevitable. Reggie had been an only
+son--just as he was. James sent no message, but arrived unexpectedly,
+and found that they lived some way from the station, in a new, red-brick
+villa. As he walked to the front door, he saw people playing tennis at
+the side of the house.
+
+He asked if Mrs. Larcher was at home, and, being shown into the
+drawing-room the lady came to him from the tennis-lawn. He explained who
+he was.
+
+"Of course, I know quite well," she said. "I saw your portrait in the
+illustrated papers."
+
+She shook hands cordially, but James fancied she tried to conceal a
+slight look of annoyance. He saw his visit was inopportune.
+
+"We're having a little tennis-party," she said, "It seems a pity to
+waste the fine weather, doesn't it?"
+
+A shout of laughter came from the lawn, and a number of voices were
+heard talking loudly. Mrs. Larcher glanced towards them uneasily; she
+felt that James would expect them to be deeply mourning for the dead
+son, and it was a little incongruous that on his first visit he should
+find the whole family so boisterously gay.
+
+"Shall we go out to them?" said Mrs. Larcher. "We're just going to have
+tea, and I'm sure you must be dying for some. If you'd let us know you
+were coming we should have sent to meet you."
+
+James had divined that if he came at a fixed hour they would all have
+tuned their minds to a certain key, and he would see nothing of their
+natural state.
+
+They went to the lawn, and James was introduced to a pair of buxom,
+healthy-looking girls, panting a little after their violent exercise.
+They were dressed in white, in a rather masculine fashion, and the only
+sign of mourning was the black tie that each wore in a sailor's knot.
+They shook hands vigorously (it was a family trait), and then seemed at
+a loss for conversation; James, as was his way, did not help them, and
+they plunged at last into a discussion about the weather and the
+dustiness of the road from Ashford to their house.
+
+Presently a loose-limbed young man strolled up, and was presented to
+James. He appeared on friendly terms with the two girls, who called him
+Bobbikins.
+
+"How long have you been back?" he asked. "I was out in the Imperial
+Yeomanry--only I got fever and had to come home."
+
+James stiffened himself a little, with the instinctive dislike of the
+regular for the volunteer.
+
+"Oh, yes! Did you go as a trooper?"
+
+"Yes; and pretty rough it was, I can tell you."
+
+He began to talk of his experience in a resonant voice, apparently
+well-pleased with himself, while the red-faced girls looked at him
+admiringly. James wondered whether the youth intended to marry them
+both.
+
+The conversation was broken by the appearance of Mr. Larcher, a
+rosy-cheeked and be-whiskered man, dapper and suave. He had been picking
+flowers, and handed a bouquet to one of his guests. James fancied he was
+a prosperous merchant, who had retired and set up as a country
+gentleman; but if he was the least polished of the family, he was also
+the most simple. He greeted the visitor very heartily, and offered to
+take him over his new conservatory.
+
+"My husband takes everyone to the new conservatory," said Mrs. Larcher,
+laughing apologetically.
+
+"It's the biggest round Ashford," explained the worthy man.
+
+James, thinking he wished to talk of his son, consented, and as they
+walked away, Mr. Larcher pointed out his fruit trees, his pigeons. He
+was a fancier, said he, and attended to the birds entirely himself; then
+in the conservatory, made James admire his orchids and the luxuriance of
+his maidenhair.
+
+"I suppose these sort of things grow in the open air at the Cape?" he
+asked.
+
+"I believe everything grows there."
+
+Of his son he said absolutely nothing, and presently they rejoined the
+others. The Larchers were evidently estimable persons, healthy-minded
+and normal, but a little common. James asked himself why they had
+invited him if they wished to hear nothing of their boy's tragic death.
+Could they be so anxious to forget him that every reference was
+distasteful? He wondered how Reggie had managed to grow up so simple,
+frank, and charming amid these surroundings. There was a certain
+pretentiousness about his people which caused them to escape complete
+vulgarity only by a hair's-breadth. But they appeared anxious to make
+much of James, and in his absence had explained who he was to the
+remaining visitors, and these beheld him now with an awe which the hero
+found rather comic.
+
+Mrs. Larcher invited him to play tennis, and when he declined seemed
+hardly to know what to do with him. Once when her younger daughter
+laughed more loudly than usual at the very pointed chaff of the Imperial
+Yeoman, she slightly frowned at her, with a scarcely perceptible but
+significant glance in Jamie's direction. To her relief, however, the
+conversation became general, and James found himself talking with Miss
+Larcher of the cricket week at Canterbury.
+
+After all, he could not be surprised at the family's general happiness.
+Six months had passed since Reggie's death, and they could not remain
+in perpetual mourning. It was very natural that the living should forget
+the dead, otherwise life would be too horrible; and it was possibly only
+the Larchers' nature to laugh and to talk more loudly than most people.
+James saw that it was a united, affectionate household, homely and kind,
+cursed with no particular depth of feeling; and if they had not resigned
+themselves to the boy's death, they were doing their best to forget that
+he had ever lived. It was obviously the best thing, and it would be
+cruel--too cruel--to expect people never to regain their cheerfulness.
+
+"I think I must be off," said James, after a while; "the trains run so
+awkwardly to Tunbridge Wells."
+
+They made polite efforts to detain him, but James fancied they were not
+sorry for him to go.
+
+"You must come and see us another day when we're alone," said Mrs.
+Larcher. "We want to have a long talk with you."
+
+"It's very kind of you to ask me," he replied, not committing himself.
+
+Mrs. Larcher accompanied him back to the drawing-room, followed by her
+husband.
+
+"I thought you might like a photograph of Reggie," she said.
+
+This was her first mention of the dead son, and her voice neither shook
+nor had in it any unwonted expression.
+
+"I should like it very much."
+
+It was on Jamie's tongue to say how fond he had been of the boy, and how
+he regretted his sad end; but he restrained himself, thinking if the
+wounds of grief were closed, it was cruel and unnecessary to reopen
+them.
+
+Mrs. Larcher found the photograph and gave it to James. Her husband
+stood by, saying nothing.
+
+"I think that's the best we have of him."
+
+She shook hands, and then evidently nerved herself to say something
+further.
+
+"We're very grateful to you, Captain Parsons, for what you did. And
+we're glad they gave you the Victoria Cross."
+
+"I suppose you didn't bring it to-day?" inquired Mr. Larcher.
+
+"I'm afraid not."
+
+They showed him out of the front door.
+
+"Mind you come and see us again. But let us know beforehand, if you
+possibly can."
+
+* * *
+
+Shortly afterwards James received from the Larchers a golden
+cigarette-case, with a Victoria Cross in diamonds on one side and an
+inscription on the other. It was much too magnificent for use,
+evidently expensive, and not in very good taste.
+
+"I wonder whether they take that as equal in value to their son?" said
+James.
+
+Mary was rather dazzled.
+
+"Isn't it beautiful!" she cried, "Of course, it's too valuable to use;
+but it'll do to put in our drawing-room."
+
+"Don't you think it should be kept under a glass case?" asked James,
+with his grave smile.
+
+"It'll get so dirty if we leave it out, won't it?" replied Mary,
+seriously.
+
+"I wish there were no inscription. It won't fetch so much if we get
+hard-up and have to pop our jewels."
+
+"Oh, James," cried Mary, shocked, "you surely wouldn't do a thing like
+that!"
+
+James was pleased to have seen the Larchers. It satisfied and relieved
+him to know that human sorrow was not beyond human endurance: as the
+greatest of their gifts, the gods have vouchsafed to man a happy
+forgetfulness.
+
+In six months the boy's family were able to give parties, to laugh and
+jest as if they had suffered no loss at all; and the thought of this
+cleared his way a little. If the worst came to the worst--and that
+desperate step of which he had spoken seemed his only refuge--he could
+take it with less apprehension. Pain to those he loved was inevitable,
+but it would not last very long; and his death would trouble them far
+less than his dishonour.
+
+Time was pressing, and James still hesitated, hoping distractedly for
+some unforeseen occurrence that would at least delay the marriage. The
+House of Death was dark and terrible, and he could not walk rashly to
+its dreadful gates: something would surely happen! He wanted time to
+think--time to see whether there was really no escape. How horrible it
+was that one could know nothing for certain! He was torn and rent by his
+indecision.
+
+Major Forsyth had been put off by several duchesses, and was driven to
+spend a few economical weeks at Little Primpton; he announced that since
+Jamie's wedding was so near he would stay till it was over. Finding also
+that his nephew had not thought of a best man, he offered himself; he
+had acted as such many times--at the most genteel functions; and with a
+pleasant confusion of metaphor, assured James that he knew the ropes
+right down to the ground.
+
+"Three weeks to-day, my boy!" he said heartily to James one morning, on
+coming down to breakfast.
+
+"Is it?" replied James.
+
+"Getting excited?"
+
+"Wildly!"
+
+"Upon my word, Jamie, you're the coolest lover I've ever seen. Why, I've
+hardly known how to keep in some of the fellows I've been best man to."
+
+"I'm feeling a bit seedy to-day, Uncle William."
+
+James thanked his stars that ill-health was deemed sufficient excuse for
+all his moodiness. Mary spared him the rounds among her sick and needy,
+whom, notwithstanding the approaching event, she would on no account
+neglect. She told Uncle William he was not to worry her lover, but leave
+him quietly with his books; and no one interfered when he took long,
+solitary walks in the country. Jamie's reading now was a pretence; his
+brain was too confused, he was too harassed and uncertain to understand
+a word; and he spent his time face to face with the eternal problem,
+trying to see a way out, when before him was an impassable wall, still
+hoping blindly that something would happen, some catastrophe which
+should finish at once all his perplexities, and everything else
+besides.
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+
+In solitary walks James had found his only consolation. He knew even in
+that populous district unfrequented parts where he could wander without
+fear of interruption. Among the trees and the flowers, in the broad
+meadows, he forgot himself; and, his senses sharpened by long absence,
+he learnt for the first time the exquisite charm of English country. He
+loved the spring, with its yellow, countless buttercups, spread over the
+green fields like a cloth of gold, whereon might fitly walk the angels
+of Messer Perugino. The colours were so delicate that one could not
+believe it possible for paints and paint-brush to reproduce them; the
+atmosphere visibly surrounded things, softening their outlines.
+Sometimes from a hill higher than the rest James looked down at the
+plain, bathed in golden sunlight. The fields of corn, the fields of
+clover, the roads and the rivulets, formed themselves in that flood of
+light into an harmonious pattern, luminous and ethereal. A pleasant
+reverie filled his mind, unanalysable, a waking dream of
+half-voluptuous sensation.
+
+On the other side of the common, James knew a wood of tall fir trees,
+dark and ragged, their sombre green veiled in a silvery mist, as though,
+like a chill vapour, the hoar-frost of a hundred winters still lingered
+among their branches. At the edge of the hill, up which they climbed in
+serried hundreds, stood here and there an oak tree, just bursting into
+leaf, clothed with its new-born verdure, like the bride of the young
+god, Spring. And the ever-lasting youth of the oak trees contrasted
+wonderfully with the undying age of the firs. Then later, in the height
+of the summer, James found the pine wood cool and silent, fitting his
+humour. It was like the forest of life, the grey and sombre labyrinth
+where wandered the poet of Hell and Death. The tall trees rose straight
+and slender, like the barren masts of sailing ships; the gentle aromatic
+odour, the light subdued; the purple mist, so faint as to be scarcely
+discernible, a mere tinge of warmth in the day--all gave him an
+exquisite sense of rest. Here he could forget his trouble, and give
+himself over to the love which seemed his real life; here the
+recollection of Mrs. Wallace gained flesh and blood, seeming so real
+that he almost stretched out his arms to seize her.... His footfall on
+the brown needles was noiseless, and the tread was soft and easy; the
+odours filled him like an Eastern drug with drowsy intoxication.
+
+But all that now was gone. When, unbidden, the well-known laugh rang
+again in his ears, or he felt on his hands the touch of the slender
+fingers, James turned away with a gesture of distaste. Now Mrs. Wallace
+brought him only bitterness, and he tortured himself insanely trying to
+forget her.... With tenfold force the sensation returned which had so
+terribly oppressed him before his illness; he felt that Nature had
+become intolerably monotonous; the circumscribed, prim country was
+horrible. On every inch of it the hand of man was apparent. It was a
+prison, and his hands and feet were chained with heavy iron.... The
+dark, immovable clouds were piled upon one another in giant masses--so
+distinct and sharply cut, so rounded, that one almost saw the impressure
+of the fingers of some Titanic sculptor; and they hung low down,
+overwhelming, so that James could scarcely breathe. The sombre elms were
+too well-ordered, the meadows too carefully tended. All round, the hills
+were dark and drear; and that very fertility, that fat Kentish
+luxuriance, added to the oppression. It was a task impossible to escape
+from that iron circle. All power of flight abandoned him. Oh! he loathed
+it!
+
+The past centuries of people, living in a certain way, with certain
+standards, influenced by certain emotions, were too strong for him.
+James was like a foolish bird--a bird born in a cage, without power to
+attain its freedom. His lust for a free life was futile; he acknowledged
+with cruel self-contempt that he was weaker than a woman--ineffectual.
+He could not lead the life of his little circle, purposeless and untrue;
+and yet he had not power to lead a life of his own. Uncertain,
+vacillating, torn between the old and the new, his reason led him; his
+conscience drew him back. But the ties of his birth and ancestry were
+too strong; he had not the energy even of the poor tramp, who carries
+with him his whole fortune, and leaves in the lap of the gods the
+uncertain future. James envied with all his heart the beggar boy,
+wandering homeless and penniless, but free. He, at least, had not these
+inhuman fetters which it was death to suffer and death to cast off; he,
+indeed, could make the world his servant. Freedom, freedom! If one were
+only unconscious of captivity, what would it matter? It is the knowledge
+that kills. And James walked again by the neat, iron railing which
+enclosed the fields, his head aching with the rigidity and decorum,
+wishing vainly for just one piece of barren, unkept land to remind him
+that all the world was not a prison.
+
+Already the autumn had come. The rich, mouldering colours were like an
+air melancholy with the approach of inevitable death; but in those
+passionate tints, in the red and gold of the apples, in the many tones
+of the first-fallen leaves, there was still something which forbade one
+to forget that in the death and decay of Nature there was always the
+beginning of other life. Yet to James the autumn heralded death, with no
+consoling afterthought. He had nothing to live for since he knew that
+Mrs. Wallace could never love him. His love for her had borne him up and
+sustained him; but now it was hateful and despicable. After all, his
+life was his own to do what he liked with; the love of others had no
+right to claim his self-respect. If he had duties to them, he had duties
+to himself also; and more vehemently than ever James felt that such a
+union as was before him could only be a degradation. He repeated with
+new emotion that marriage without love was prostitution. If death was
+the only way in which he could keep clean that body ignorantly despised,
+why, he was not afraid of death! He had seen it too often for the
+thought to excite alarm. It was but a common, mechanical process,
+quickly finished, and not more painful than could be borne. The flesh is
+all which is certainly immortal; the dissolution of consciousness is the
+signal of new birth. Out of corruption springs fresh life, like the
+roses from a Roman tomb; and the body, one with the earth, pursues the
+eternal round.
+
+But one day James told himself impatiently that all these thoughts were
+mad and foolish; he could only have them because he was still out of
+health. Life, after all, was the most precious thing in the world. It
+was absurd to throw it away like a broken toy. He rebelled against the
+fate which seemed forcing itself upon him. He determined to make the
+effort and, come what might, break the hateful bonds. It only required a
+little courage, a little strength of mind. If others suffered, he had
+suffered too. The sacrifice they demanded was too great.... But when he
+returned to Primpton House, the inevitability of it all forced itself
+once again upon him. He shrugged his shoulders despairingly; it was no
+good.
+
+The whole atmosphere oppressed him so that he felt powerless; some
+hidden influence surrounded James, sucking from his blood, as it were,
+all manliness, dulling his brain. He became a mere puppet, acting in
+accordance to principles that were not his own, automatic, will-less.
+His father sat, as ever, in the dining-room by the fire, for only in the
+warmest weather could he do without artificial heat, and he read the
+paper, sometimes aloud, making little comments. His mother, at the
+table, on a stiff-backed chair, was knitting--everlastingly knitting.
+Outwardly there was in them a placid content, and a gentleness which
+made them seem pliant as wax; but really they were iron. James knew at
+last how pitiless was their love, how inhumanly cruel their intolerance;
+and of the two his father seemed more implacable, more horribly
+relentless. His mother's anger was bearable, but the Colonel's very
+weakness was a deadly weapon. His despair, his dumb sorrow, his entire
+dependence on the forbearance of others, were more tyrannical than the
+most despotic power. James was indeed a bird beating himself against the
+imprisoning cage; and its bars were loving-kindness and trust, tears,
+silent distress, bitter disillusion, and old age.
+
+"Where's Mary?" asked James.
+
+"She's in the garden, walking with Uncle William."
+
+"How well they get on together," said the Colonel, smiling.
+
+James looked at his father, and thought he had never seen him so old and
+feeble. His hands were almost transparent; his thin white hair, his
+bowed shoulders, gave an impression of utter weakness.
+
+"Are you very glad the wedding is so near, father?" asked James, placing
+his hand gently on the old man's shoulder.
+
+"I should think I was."
+
+"You want to get rid of me so badly?"
+
+"'A man shall leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his
+wife; and they shall be one flesh.' We shall have to do without you."
+
+"I wonder whether you are fonder of Mary than of me?"
+
+The Colonel did not answer, but Mrs. Parsons laughed.
+
+"My impression is that your father has grown so devoted to Mary that he
+hardly thinks you worthy of her."
+
+"Really? And yet you want me to marry her, don't you, daddy?"
+
+"It's the wish of my heart."
+
+"Were you very wretched when our engagement was broken off?"
+
+"Don't talk of it! Now it's all settled, Jamie, I can tell you that I'd
+sooner see you dead at my feet than that you should break your word to
+Mary."
+
+James laughed.
+
+"And you, mother?" he asked, lightly.
+
+She did not answer, but looked at him earnestly.
+
+"What, you too? Would you rather see me dead than not married to Mary?
+What a bloodthirsty pair you are!"
+
+James, laughing, spoke so gaily, it never dawned on them that his words
+meant more than was obvious; and yet he felt that they, loving but
+implacable, had signed his death-warrant. With smiling faces they had
+thrown open the portals of that House, and he, smiling, was ready to
+enter.
+
+Mary at that moment came in, followed by Uncle William.
+
+"Well, Jamie, there you are!" she cried, in that hard, metallic voice
+which to James betrayed so obviously the meanness of her spirit and her
+self-complacency. "Where on earth have you been?"
+
+She stood by the table, straight, uncompromising, self-reliant; by her
+immaculate virtue, by the strength of her narrow will, she completely
+domineered the others. She felt herself capable of managing them all,
+and, in fact, had been giving Uncle William a friendly little lecture
+upon some action of which she disapproved. Mary had left off her summer
+things and wore again the plain serge skirt, and because it was rainy,
+the battered straw hat of the preceding winter. She was using up her old
+things, and having got all possible wear out of them, intended on the
+day before her marriage generously to distribute them among the poor.
+
+"Is my face very red?" she asked. "There's a lot of wind to-day."
+
+To James she had never seemed more unfeminine; that physical repulsion
+which at first had terrified him now was grown into an ungovernable
+hate. Everything Mary did irritated and exasperated him; he wondered she
+did not see the hatred in his eyes as he looked at her, answering her
+question.
+
+"Oh, no," he said to himself, "I would rather shoot myself than marry
+you!"
+
+His dislike was unreasonable, but he could not help it; and the devotion
+of his parents made him detest her all the more; he could not imagine
+what they saw in her. With hostile glance he watched her movements as
+she took off her hat and arranged her hair, grimly drawn back and
+excessively neat; she fetched her knitting from Mrs. Parsons's
+work-basket and sat down. All her actions had in them an insufferable
+air of patronage, and she seemed more than usually pleased with herself.
+James had an insane desire to hurt her, to ruffle that
+self-satisfaction; and he wanted to say something that should wound her
+to the quick. And all the time he laughed and jested as though he were
+in the highest spirits.
+
+"And what were you doing this morning, Mary?" asked Colonel Parsons.
+
+"Oh, I biked in to Tunbridge Wells with Mr. Dryland to play golf. He
+plays a rattling good game."
+
+"Did he beat you?"
+
+"Well, no," she answered, modestly. "It so happened that I beat him. But
+he took his thrashing remarkably well--some men get so angry when
+they're beaten by a girl."
+
+"The curate has many virtues," said James.
+
+"He was talking about you, Jamie. He said he thought you disliked him;
+but I told him I was certain you didn't. He's really such a good man,
+one can't help liking him. He said he'd like to teach you golf."
+
+"And is he going to?"
+
+"Certainly not. I mean to do that myself."
+
+"There are many things you want to teach me, Mary. You'll have your
+hands full."
+
+"Oh, by the way, father told me to remind you and Uncle William that you
+were shooting with him the day after to-morrow. You're to fetch him at
+ten."
+
+"I hadn't forgotten," replied James. "Uncle William, we shall have to
+clean our guns to-morrow."
+
+James had come to a decision at last, and meant to waste no time;
+indeed, there was none to waste. And to remind him how near was the date
+fixed for the wedding were the preparations almost complete. One or two
+presents had already arrived. With all his heart he thanked his father
+and mother for having made the way easier for him. He thought what he
+was about to do the kindest thing both to them and to Mary. Under no
+circumstances could he marry her; that would be adding a greater lie to
+those which he had already been forced into, and the misery was more
+than he could bear. But his death was the only other way of satisfying
+her undoubted claims. He had little doubt that in six months he would be
+as well forgotten as poor Reggie Larcher, and he did not care; he was
+sick of the whole business, and wanted the quiet of death. His love for
+Mrs. Wallace would never give him peace upon earth; it was utterly
+futile, and yet unconquerable.
+
+James saw his opportunity in Colonel Clibborn's invitation to shoot; he
+was most anxious to make the affair seem accidental, and that, in
+cleaning his gun, was easy. He had been wounded before and knew that the
+pain was not very great. He had, therefore, nothing to fear.
+
+Now at last he regained his spirits. He did not read or walk, but spent
+the day talking with his father; he wished the last impression he would
+leave to be as charming as possible, and took great pains to appear at
+his best.
+
+He slept well that night, and in the morning dressed himself with
+unusual care. At Primpton House they breakfasted at eight, and
+afterwards James smoked his pipe, reading the newspaper. He was a little
+astonished at his calm, for doubt no longer assailed him, and the
+indecision which paralysed all his faculties had disappeared.
+
+"It is the beginning of my freedom," he thought. All human interests had
+abandoned him, except a vague sensation of amusement. He saw the humour
+of the comedy he was acting, and dispassionately approved himself,
+because he did not give way to histrionics.
+
+"Well, Uncle William," he said, at last, "what d'you say to setting to
+work on our guns?"
+
+"I'm always ready for everything," said Major Forsyth.
+
+"Come on, then."
+
+They went into what they called the harness-room, and James began
+carefully to clean his gun.
+
+"I think I'll take my coat off," he said; "I can work better without."
+
+The gun had not been used for several months, and James had a good deal
+to do. He leant over and rubbed a little rust off the lock.
+
+"Upon my word," said Uncle William, "I've never seen anyone handle a gun
+so carelessly as you. D'you call yourself a soldier?"
+
+"I am a bit slack," replied James, laughing. "People are always telling
+me that."
+
+"Well, take care, for goodness' sake! It may be loaded."
+
+"Oh, no, there's no danger. It's not loaded, and besides, it's locked."
+
+"Still, you oughtn't to hold it like that."
+
+"It would be rather comic if I killed myself accidentally. I wonder what
+Mary would say?"
+
+"Well, you've escaped death so often by the skin of your teeth, I think
+you're pretty safe from everything but old age."
+
+Presently James turned to his uncle.
+
+"I say, this is rotten oil. I wish we could get some fresh."
+
+"I was just thinking that."
+
+"Well, you're a pal of the cook. Go and ask her for some, there's a good
+chap."
+
+"She'll do anything for me," said Major Forsyth, with a self-satisfied
+smile. It was his opinion that no woman, countess or scullery-maid,
+could resist his fascinations; and taking the cup, he trotted off.
+
+James immediately went to the cupboard and took out a cartridge. He
+slipped it in, rested the butt on the ground, pointed the barrel to his
+heart, and--fired!
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+A letter from Mrs. Clibborn to General Sir Charles Clow, K.C.B., 8
+Gladhorn Terrace, Bath:
+
+     "DEAR CHARLES,--I am so glad to hear you are settled in your new
+     house in Bath, and it is _most_ kind to ask us down. I am devoted
+     to Bath; one meets such _nice_ people there, and all one's friends
+     whom one knew centuries ago. It is such a comfort to see how
+     fearfully old they're looking! I don't know whether we can manage
+     to accept your kind invitation, but I must say I should be glad of
+     a change after the truly _awful_ things that have happened here. I
+     have been dreadfully upset all the winter, and have had several
+     touches of rheumatism, which is a thing I never suffered from
+     before.
+
+     "I wrote and told you of the sudden and _mysterious_ death of poor
+     James Parsons, a fortnight before he was going to marry my dear
+     Mary. He shot himself accidentally while cleaning a gun--that is to
+     say, every one _thinks_ it was an accident. But I am certain it
+     was nothing of the kind. Ever since the dreadful thing
+     happened--six months ago--it has been on my conscience, and I
+     assure you that the whole time I have not slept a wink. My
+     sufferings have been _horrible_! You will be surprised at the
+     change in me; I am beginning to look like an _old_ woman. I tell
+     you this in strict confidence. _I believe he committed suicide._ He
+     confessed that he loved me, Charles. Of course, I told him I was
+     old enough to be his mother; but love is blind. When I think of the
+     tragic end of poor Algy Turner, who poisoned himself in India for
+     my sake, I don't know how I shall ever forgive myself. I never gave
+     James the least encouragement, and when he said that he loved me, I
+     was so taken aback that I _nearly fainted_. I am convinced that he
+     shot himself rather than marry a woman he did not love, and what is
+     more, _my_ daughter. You can imagine my feelings! I have taken care
+     not to breathe a word of this to Reginald, whose gout is making him
+     more irritable every day, or to anyone else. So no one suspects the
+     truth.
+
+     "But I shall never get over it. I could not bear to think of poor
+     Algy Turner, and now I have on my head as well the blood of James
+     Parsons. They were dear boys, both of them. I think I am the only
+     one who is really sorry for him. If it had been my son who was
+     killed I should either have gone _raving mad_ or had hysterics for
+     a week; but Mrs. Parsons merely said: 'The Lord has given, and the
+     Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.' I cannot
+     help thinking it was rather profane, and _most_ unfeeling. _I_ was
+     dreadfully upset, and Mary had to sit up with me for several
+     nights. I don't believe Mary really loved him. I hate to say
+     anything against my own daughter, but I feel bound to tell the
+     truth, and my private opinion is that she loved _herself_ better.
+     She loved her constancy and the good opinion of Little Primpton;
+     the fuss the Parsons have made of her I'm sure is very bad for
+     anyone. It can't be good for a girl to be given way to so much; and
+     I never really liked the Parsons. They're very good people, of
+     course; but only infantry!
+
+     "I am happy to say that poor Jamie's death was almost
+     instantaneous. When they found him he said: 'It was an accident; I
+     didn't know the gun was loaded.' (_Most improbable_, I think. It's
+     wonderful how they've all been taken in; but then they didn't know
+     his secret!) A few minutes later, just before he died, he said:
+     'Tell Mary she's to marry the curate.'
+
+     "If my betrothed had died, _nothing_ would have induced me to marry
+     anybody else. I would have remained an _old maid_. But so few
+     people have any really _nice_ feeling! Mr. Dryland, the curate,
+     had already proposed to Mary, and she had refused him. He is a
+     pleasant-spoken young man, with a rather fine presence--not _my_
+     ideal at all; but that, of course, doesn't matter! Well, a month
+     after the funeral, Mary told me that he had asked her again, and
+     she had declined. I think it was very bad taste on his part, but
+     Mary said she thought it _most noble_.
+
+     "It appears that Colonel and Mrs. Parsons both pressed her very
+     much to accept the curate. They said it was Jamie's dying wish, and
+     that his last thought had been for her happiness. There is no doubt
+     that Mr. Dryland is an excellent young man, but if the Parsons had
+     _really_ loved their son, they would never have advised Mary to get
+     married. I think it was most _heartless_.
+
+     "Well, a few days ago, Mr. Dryland came and told us that he had
+     been appointed vicar of Stone Fairley, in Kent. I went to see Mrs.
+     Jackson, the wife of our Vicar, and she looked it out in the clergy
+     list. The stipend is L300 a year, and I am told that there is a
+     good house. Of course, it's not very much, but better than nothing.
+     This morning Mr. Dryland called and asked for a private interview
+     with Mary. He said he must, of course, leave Little Primpton, and
+     his vicarage would sadly want a mistress; and finally, for the
+     third time, _begged_ her on his _bended knees_ to marry her. He had
+     previously been to the Parsons, and the Colonel sent for Mary, and
+     told her that he hoped she would not refuse Mr. Dryland for their
+     sake, and that they thought it was her duty to marry. The result is
+     that Mary accepted him, and is to be married very quietly by
+     special license in a month. The widow of the late incumbent of
+     Stone Fairley moves out in six weeks, so this will give them time
+     for a fortnight's honeymoon before settling down. They think of
+     spending it in Paris.
+
+     "I think, on the whole, it is as good a match as poor Mary could
+     _expect to make_. The stipend is paid by the Ecclesiastical
+     Commissioners, which, of course, is much safer than glebe. She is
+     no longer a young girl, and I think it was her last chance.
+     Although she is my own daughter, I cannot help confessing that she
+     is not the sort of girl that wears well; she has always been
+     _plain_--(no one would think she was my daughter)--and as time goes
+     on, she will grow _plainer_. When I was eighteen my mother's maid
+     used to say: 'Why, miss, there's many a married woman of thirty who
+     would be proud to have your bust.' But our poor, _dear_ Mary has
+     _no figure_. She will do excellently for the wife of a country
+     vicar. She's so fond of giving people advice, and of looking after
+     the poor, and it won't matter that she's dowdy. She has no idea of
+     dressing herself, although I've always done my best for her.
+
+     "Mr. Dryland is, of course, in the seventh heaven of delight. He
+     has gone into Tunbridge Wells to get a ring, and as an engagement
+     present has just sent round a complete edition of the works of Mr.
+     Hall Caine. He is evidently _generous_. I think they will suit one
+     another very well, and I am glad to get my only daughter married.
+     She was always rather a tie on Reginald and me. We are so devoted
+     to one another that a third person has often seemed a little in the
+     way. Although you would not believe it, and we have been married
+     for nearly thirty years, nothing gives us more happiness than to
+     sit holding one another's hands. I have always been sentimental,
+     and I am not ashamed to own it. Reggie is sometimes afraid that I
+     shall get an attack of my rheumatism when we sit out together at
+     night; but I always take care to wrap myself up well, and I
+     invariably make him put a muffler on.
+
+     "Give my kindest regards to your wife, and tell her I hope to see
+     her soon.--Yours very sincerely,
+
+"CLARA DE TULLEVILLE CLIBBORN."
+
+
+
+THE END
+
+_Printed by Cowan & Co., Limited, Perth._
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hero, by William Somerset Maugham
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