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diff --git a/33557-8.txt b/33557-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef1372a --- /dev/null +++ b/33557-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16255 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Moonlit Way, by Robert W. Chambers, +Illustrated by A. I. Keller + + +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 Moonlit Way + + +Author: Robert W. Chambers + + + +Release Date: August 28, 2010 [eBook #33557] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOONLIT WAY*** + + +E-text prepared by Katherine Ward, Darleen Dove, Roger Frank, and the +Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team +(http://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 33557-h.htm or 33557-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/33557/33557-h/33557-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/33557/33557-h.zip) + + + + + +THE MOONLIT WAY + +A Novel + +by + +ROBERT W. CHAMBERS + +Author of "The Common Law," "The Fighting Chance," Etc. + +Illustrated by A. I. Keller + + + + + + + +D. Appleton and Company New York London 1919 + + +[Illustration: HIS STRAINED GAZE SOUGHT TO FIX ITSELF ON THIS +FACE--(PAGE 325)] + + +Copyright, 1919, by Robert W. Chambers + +Copyright, 1918, 1919, by the International Magazine Co. + +Printed in the United States of America + + + + +TO MY FRIEND FRANK HITCHCOCK + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + Prologue--Claire-de-Lune 1 + I. A Shadow Dance 19 + II. Sunrise 28 + III. Sunset 39 + IV. Dusk 46 + V. In Dragon Court 57 + VI. Dulcie 78 + VII. Opportunity Knocks 87 + VIII. Dulcie Answers 102 + IX. Her Day 109 + X. Her Evening 123 + XI. Her Night 131 + XII. The Last Mail 155 + XIII. A Midnight Tête-à-Tête 170 + XIV. Problems 186 + XV. Blackmail 194 + XVI. The Watcher 205 + XVII. A Conference 216 + XVIII. The Babbler 233 + XIX. A Chance Encounter 249 + XX. Grogan's 265 + XXI. The White Blackbird 278 + XXII. Foreland Farms 292 + XXIII. A Lion in the Path 312 + XXIV. A Silent House 328 + XXV. Starlight 339 + XXVI. 'Be-N Eirinn I! 349 + XXVII. The Moonlit Way 366 + XXVIII. Green Jackets 385 + XXIX. Asthore 407 + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + His strained gaze sought to fix itself on this face + before him Frontispiece + Nihla put her feathered steed through its absurd + paces 8 + "You little miracle!" 100 + He came toward her stealthily 382 + + + + + Novels By Robert W. Chambers + + The Laughing Girl + The Restless Sex + Barbarians + The Dark Star + The Girl Philippa + Who Goes There! + Athalie + The Business of Life + The Gay Rebellion + The Streets of Ascalon + The Common Law + The Fighting Chance + The Younger Set + The Danger Mark + The Firing Line + Japonette + Quick Action + The Adventures of A Modest Man + Anne's Bridge + Between Friends + The Better Man + Police!!! + Some Ladies in Haste + The Tree of Heaven + The Tracer of Lost Persons + The Hidden Children + The Moonlit Way + Cardigan + The Reckoning + The Maid-at-Arms + Ailsa Paige + Special Messenger + The Haunts of Men + Lorraine + Maids of Paradise + Ashes of Empire + The Red Republic + Blue-Bird Weather + A Young Man in a Hurry + The Green Mouse + Iole + The Mystery of Choice + The Cambric Mask + The Maker of Moons + The King in Yellow + In Search of the Unknown + The Conspiritors + A King and a Few Dukes + In the Quarter + Outsiders + + + + +PROLOGUE + +CLAIRE-DE-LUNE + + +There was a big moon over the Bosphorus; the limpid waters off +Seraglio Point glimmered; the Golden Horn was like a sheet of beaten +silver inset with topaz and ruby where lanterns on rusting Turkish +warships dyed the tarnished argent of the flood. Except for these, and +the fixed lights on the foreign guard-ships and on a big American +steam yacht, only a pale and nebulous shoreward glow betrayed the +monster city. + +Over Pera the full moon's lustre fell, silvering palace, villa, sea +and coast; its rays glimmered on bridge and wharf, bastion, tower +arsenal, and minarette, transforming those big, sprawling, ramshackle +blotches of architecture called Constantinople into that shadowy, +magnificent enchantment of the East, which all believe in, but which +exists only in a poet's heart and mind. + +Night veiled the squalour of Balat, and its filth, its meanness, its +flimsy sham. Moonlight made of Galata a marvel, ennobling every +bastard dome, every starved façade, every unlovely and attenuated +minarette, and invested with added charm each really lovely ruin, each +tower, palace, mosque, garden wall and balcony, and every crenelated +battlement, where the bronze bulk of ancient cannon slanted, outlined +in silver under the Prophet's moon. + +Tiny moving lights twinkled on the Galata Bridge; pale points of +radiance dotted Scutari; but the group of amazing cities called +Constantinople lay almost blotted out under the moon. + +Darker at night than any capital in the world, its huge, solid and +ancient shapes bulking gigantic in the night, its noble ruins cloaked, +its cheap filth hidden, its flimsy Coney Island aspect transfigured +and the stylographic-pen architecture of a hundred minarettes softened +into slender elegance, Constantinople lay dreaming its immemorial +dreams under the black shadow of the Prussian eagle. + + * * * * * + +The German Embassy was lighted up like a Pera café; the drawing-rooms +crowded with a brilliant throng where sashes, orders, epaulettes and +sabre-tache glittered, and jewels blazed and aigrettes waved under the +crystal chandeliers, accenting and isolating sombre civilian evening +dress, which seemed mournful, rusty, and out of the picture, even when +plastered over with jewelled stars. + +Few Turkish officials and officers were present, but the disquieting +sight of German officers in Turkish uniforms was not uncommon. And the +Count d'Eblis, Senator of France, noted this phenomenon with lively +curiosity, and mentioned it to his companion, Ferez Bey. + +Ferez Bey, lounging in a corner with Adolf Gerhardt, for whom he had +procured an invitation, and flanked by the Count d'Eblis, likewise a +guest aboard the rich German-American banker's yacht, was very much in +his element as friend and mentor. + +For Ferez Bey knew everybody in the Orient--knew when to cringe, when +to be patronising, when to fawn, when to assert himself, when to be +servile, when impudent. + +He was as impudent to Adolf Gerhardt as he dared be, the banker not +knowing the subtler shades and differences; he was on an equality with +the French senator, Monsieur le Comte d'Eblis because he knew that +d'Eblis dared not resent his familiarity. + +Otherwise, in that brilliant company, Ferez Bey was a jackal--and he +knew it perfectly--but a valuable jackal; and he also knew that. + +So when the German Ambassador spoke pleasantly to him, his attitude +was just sufficiently servile, but not overdone; and when Von-der-Hohe +Pasha, in the uniform of a Turkish General of Division, graciously +exchanged a polite word with him during a moment's easy gossip with +the Count d'Eblis, Ferez Bey writhed moderately under the honour, but +did not exactly squirm. + +To Conrad von Heimholz he ventured to present his German-American +patron, Adolf Gerhardt, and the thin young military attaché +condescended in his Prussian way to notice the introduction. + +"Saw your yacht in the harbour," he admitted stiffly. "It is +astonishing how you Americans permit no bounds to your somewhat +noticeable magnificence." + +"She's a good boat, the _Mirage_," rumbled Gerhardt, in his bushy red +beard, "but there are plenty in America finer than mine." + +"Not many, Adolf," insisted Ferez, in his flat, Eurasian voice--"not +ver' many anyw'ere so fine like your _Mirage_." + +"I saw none finer at Kiel," said the attaché, staring at Gerhardt +through his monocle, with the habitual insolence and disapproval of +the Prussian junker. "To me it exhibits bad taste"--he turned to the +Count d'Eblis--"particularly when the _Meteor_ is there." + +"Where?" asked the Count. + +"At Kiel. I speak of Kiel and the ostentation of certain foreign yacht +owners at the recent regatta." + +Gerhardt, redder than ever, was still German enough to swallow the +meaningless insolence. He was not getting on very well at the Embassy +of his fellow countrymen. Americans, properly presented, they endured +without too open resentment; for German-Americans, even when +millionaires, their contempt and bad manners were often undisguised. + +"I'm going to get out of this," growled Gerhardt, who held a good +position socially in New York and in the fashionable colony at +Northbrook. "I've seen enough puffed up Germans and over-embroidered +Turks to last me. Come on, d'Eblis----" + +Ferez detained them both: + +"Surely," he protested, "you would not miss Nihla!" + +"Nihla?" repeated d'Eblis, who had passed his arm through Gerhardt's. +"Is that the girl who set St. Petersburg by the ears?" + +"Nihla Quellen," rumbled Gerhardt. "I've heard of her. She's a dancer, +isn't she?" + +Ferez, of course, knew all about her, and he drew the two men into the +embrasure of a long window. + +It was not happening just exactly as he and the German Ambassador had +planned it together; they had intended to let Nihla burst like a +flaming jewel on the vision of d'Eblis and blind him then and there. + +Perhaps, after all, it was better drama to prepare her entrance. And +who but Ferez was qualified to prepare that entrée, or to speak with +authority concerning the history of this strange and beautiful young +girl who had suddenly appeared like a burning star in the East, had +passed like a meteor through St. Petersburg, leaving several +susceptible young men--notably the Grand Duke Cyril--mentally unhinged +and hopelessly dissatisfied with fate. + +"It is ver' fonny, d'Eblis--une histoire chic, vous savez! Figurez +vous----" + +"Talk English," growled Gerhardt, eyeing the serene progress of a +pretty Highness, Austrian, of course, surrounded by gorgeous uniforms +and empressement. + +"Who's that?" he added. + +Ferez turned; the gorgeous lady snubbed him, but bowed to d'Eblis. + +"The Archduchess Zilka," he said, not a whit abashed. "She is a ver' +great frien' of mine." + +"Can't you present me?" enquired Gerhardt, restlessly; "--or you, +d'Eblis--can't you ask permission?" + +The Count d'Eblis nodded inattentively, then turned his heavy and +rather vulgar face to Ferez, plainly interested in the "histoire" of +the girl, Nihla. + +"What were you going to say about that dancer?" he demanded. + +Ferez pretended to forget, then, apparently recollecting: + +"Ah! Apropos of Nihla? It is a ver' piquant storee--the storee of +Nihla Quellen. Zat is not 'er name. No! Her name is Dunois--Thessalie +Dunois." + +"French," nodded d'Eblis. + +"Alsatian," replied Ferez slyly. "Her fathaire was captain--Achille +Dunois?--you know----?" + +"What!" exclaimed d'Eblis. "Do you mean that notorious fellow, the +Grand Duke Cyril's hunting cheetah?" + +"The same, dear frien'. Dunois is dead--his bullet head was crack +open, doubtless by som' ladee's angree husban'. There are a few +thousan' roubles--not more--to stan' between some kind gentleman and +the prettee Nihla. You see?" he added to Gerhardt, who was listening +without interest, "--Dunois, if he was the Gran' Duke's cheetah, kept +all such merry gentlemen from his charming daughtaire." + +Gerhardt, whose aspirations lay higher, socially, than a dancing girl, +merely grunted. But d'Eblis, whose aspirations were always below even +his own level, listened with visibly increasing curiosity. And this +was according to the programme of Ferez Bey and Excellenz. As the Hun +has it, "according to plan." + +"Well," enquired d'Eblis heavily, "did Cyril get her?" + +"All St. Petersburg is still laughing at heem," replied the voluble +Eurasian. "Cyril indeed launched her. And that was sufficient--yet, +that first night she storm St. Petersburg. And Cyril's reward? Listen, +d'Eblis, they say she slapped his sillee face. For me, I don't know. +That is the storee. And he was ver' angree, Cyril. You know? And, by +God, it was what Gerhardt calls a 'raw deal.' Yess? Figurez +vous!--this girl, déjà lancée--and her fathaire the Grand Duke's +hunting cheetah, and her mothaire, what? Yes, mon ami, a 'andsome +Géorgianne, caught quite wild, they say, by Prince Haledine! For me, I +believe it. Why not?... And then the beautiful Géorgianne, she fell to +Dunois--on a bet?--a service rendered?--gratitude of Cyril?----Who +knows? Only that Dunois must marry her. And Nihla is their daughtaire. +Voilà!" + +"Then why," demanded d'Eblis, "does she make such a fuss about being +grateful? I hate ingratitude, Ferez. And how can she last, anyway? To +dance for the German Ambassador in Constantinople is all very well, +but unless somebody launches her properly--in Paris--she'll end in a +Pera café." + +Ferez held his peace and listened with all his might. + +"I could do that," added d'Eblis. + +"Please?" inquired Ferez suavely. + +"Launch her in Paris." + +The programme of Excellenz and Ferez Bey was certainly proceeding as +planned. + +But Gerhardt was becoming restless and dully irritated as he began to +realise more and more what caste meant to Prussians and how +insignificant to these people was a German-American multimillionaire. +And Ferez realised that he must do something. + +There was a Bavarian Baroness there, uglier than the usual run of +Bavarian baronesses; and to her Ferez nailed Gerhardt, and wriggled +free himself, making his way amid the gorgeous throngs to the Count +d'Eblis once more. + +"I left Gerhardt planted," he remarked with satisfaction; "by God, she +is uglee like camels--the Baroness von Schaunitz! Nev' mind. It is +nobility; it is the same to Adolf Gerhardt." + +"A homely woman makes me sick!" remarked d'Eblis. "Eh, mon Dieu!--one +has merely to look at these ladies to guess their nationality! Only in +Germany can one gather together such a collection of horrors. The only +pretty ones are Austrian." + +Perhaps even the cynicism of Excellenz had not realised the perfection +of this setting, but Ferez, the nimble witted, had foreseen it. + +Already the glittering crowds in the drawing rooms were drawing aside +like jewelled curtains; already the stringed orchestra had become mute +aloft in its gilded gallery. + +The gay tumult softened; laughter, voices, the rustle of silks and +fans, the metallic murmur of drawing-room equipment died away. Through +the increasing stillness, from the gilded gallery a Thessalonian reed +began skirling like a thrush in the underbrush. + +Suddenly a sand-coloured curtain at the end of the east room twitched +open, and a great desert ostrich trotted in. And, astride of the big, +excited, bridled bird, sat a young girl, controlling her restless +mount with disdainful indifference. + +"Nihla!" whispered Ferez, in the large, fat ear of the Count d'Eblis. +The latter's pallid jowl reddened and his pendulous lips tightened to +a deep-bitten crease across his face. + +To the weird skirling of the Thessalonian pipe the girl, Nihla, put +her feathered steed through its absurd paces, aping the haute-école. + +There is little humour in your Teuton; they were too amazed to laugh; +too fascinated, possibly by the girl herself, to follow the panicky +gambols of the reptile-headed bird. + +The girl wore absolutely nothing except a Yashmak and a zone of blue +jewels across her breasts and hips. + +Her childish throat, her limbs, her slim, snowy body, her little naked +feet were lovely beyond words. Her thick dark hair flew loose, now +framing, now veiling an oval face from which, above the gauzy +Yashmak's edge, two dark eyes coolly swept her breathless audience. + +But under the frail wisp of cobweb, her cheeks glowed pink, and two +full red lips parted deliciously in the half-checked laughter of +confident, reckless youth. + +[Illustration: NIHLA PUT HER FEATHERED STEED THROUGH ITS ABSURD PACES] + +Over hurdle after hurdle she lifted her powerful, half-terrified +mount; she backed it, pirouetted, made it squat, leap, pace, trot, +run with wings half spread and neck stretched level. + +She rode sideways, then kneeling, standing, then poised on one foot; +she threw somersaults, faced to the rear, mounted and dismounted at +full speed. And through the frail, transparent Yashmak her parted red +lips revealed the glimmer of teeth and her childishly engaging +laughter rang delightfully. + +Then, abruptly, she had enough of her bird; she wheeled, sprang to the +polished parquet, and sent her feathered steed scampering away through +the sand-coloured curtains, which switched into place again +immediately. + +Breathless, laughing that frank, youthful, irresistible laugh which +was to become so celebrated in Europe, Nihla Quellen strolled +leisurely around the circle of her applauding audience, carelessly +blowing a kiss or two from her slim finger-tips, evidently quite +unspoiled by her success and equally delighted to please and to be +pleased. + +Then, in the gilded gallery the strings began; and quite naturally, +without any trace of preparation or self-consciousness, Nihla +began to sing, dancing when the fascinating, irresponsible measure +called for it, singing again as the sequence occurred. And the +enchantment of it all lay in its accidental and detached allure--as +though it all were quite spontaneous--the song a passing whim, the +dance a capricious after-thought, and the whole thing done entirely to +please herself and give vent to the sheer delight of a young girl, in +her own overwhelming energy and youthful spirits. + +Even the Teuton comprehended that, and the applause grew to a roar +with that odd undertone of animal menace always to be detected when +the German herd is gratified and expresses pleasure en masse. + +But she wouldn't stay, wouldn't return. Like one of those beautiful +Persian cats, she had lingered long enough to arouse delight. Then she +went, deaf to recall, to persuasion, to caress--indifferent to praise, +to blandishment, to entreaty. Cat and dancer were similar; Nihla, like +the Persian puss, knew when she had had enough. That was sufficient +for her: nothing could stop her, nothing lure her to return. + +Beads of sweat were glistening upon the heavy features of the Count +d'Eblis. Von-der-Goltz Pasha, strolling near, did him the honour to +remember him, but d'Eblis seemed dazed and unresponsive; and the old +Pasha understood, perhaps, when he caught the beady and expressive +eyes of Ferez fixed on him in exultation. + +"Whose is she?" demanded d'Eblis abruptly. His voice was hoarse and +evidently out of control, for he spoke too loudly to please Ferez, who +took him by the arm and led him out to the moonlit terrace. + +"Mon pauvere ami," he said soothingly, "she is actually the propertee +of nobodee at present. Cyril, they say, is following her--quite ready +for anything--marriage----" + +"What!" + +Ferez shrugged: + +"That is the gosseep. No doubt som' man of wealth, more acceptable to +her----" + +"I wish to meet her!" said d'Eblis. + +"Ah! That is, of course, not easee----" + +"Why?" + +Ferez laughed: + +"Ask yo'self the question again! Excellenz and his guests have gone +quite mad ovaire Nihla----" + +"I care nothing for them," retorted d'Eblis thickly; "I wish to know +her.... I wish to know her!... _Do you understand?_" + +After a silence, Ferez turned in the moonlight and looked at the Count +d'Eblis. + +"And your newspapaire--_Le Mot d'Ordre_?" + +"Yes.... If you get her for me." + +"You sell to me for two million francs the control stock in _Le Mot +d'Ordre_?" + +"Yes." + +"An' the two million, eh?" + +"I shall use my influence with Gerhardt. That is all I can do. If your +Emperor chooses to decorate him--something--the Red Eagle, third +class, perhaps----" + +"I attend to those," smiled Ferez. "Hit's ver' fonny, d'Eblis, how I +am thinking about those Red Eagles all time since I know Gerhardt. I +spik to Von-der-Goltz de votre part, si vous le voulez? Oui? +Alors----" + +"Ask her to supper aboard the yacht." + +"God knows----" + +The Count d'Eblis said through closed teeth: + +"There is the first woman I ever really wanted in all my life!... I am +standing here now waiting for her--waiting to be presented to her +now." + +"I spik to Von-der-Goltz Pasha," said Ferez; and he slipped through +the palms and orange trees and vanished. + +For half an hour the Count d'Eblis stood there, motionless in the +moonlight. + +She came about that time, on the arm of Ferez Bey, her father's friend +of many years. + +And Ferez left her there in the creamy Turkish moonlight on the +flowering terrace, alone with the Count d'Eblis. + +When Ferez came again, long after midnight, with Excellenz on one arm +and the proud and happy Adolf Gerhardt on the other, the whole cycle +of a little drama had been played to a conclusion between those two +shadowy figures under the flowering almonds on the terrace--between +this slender, dark-eyed girl and this big, bulky, heavy-visaged man of +the world. + +And the man had been beaten and the girl had laid down every term. And +the compact was this: that she was to be launched in Paris; she was +merely to borrow any sum needed, with privilege to acquit the debt +within the year; that, if she ever came to care for this man +sufficiently, she was to become only one species of masculine +property--a legal wife. + +And to every condition--and finally even to the last, the man had +bowed his heavy, burning head. + +"D'Eblis!" began Gerhardt, almost stammering in his joy and pride. +"His highness tells me that I am to have an order--an Imperial +d-decoration----" + +D'Eblis stared at him out of unseeing eyes; Nihla laughed outright, +alas, too early wise and not even troubling her lovely head to wonder +why a decoration had been asked for this burly, bushy-bearded man from +nowhere. + +But within his sinuous, twisted soul Ferez writhed exultingly, and +patted Gerhardt on the arm, and patted d'Eblis, too--dared even to +squirm visibly closer to Excellenz, like a fawning dog that fears too +much to venture contact in his wriggling demonstrations. + +"You take with you our pretty wonder-child to Paris to be launched, I +hear," remarked Excellenz, most affably, to d'Eblis. And to Nihla: +"And upon a yacht fit for an emperor, I understand. Ach! Such a going +forth is only heard of in the Arabian Nights. Eh bien, ma petite, go +West, conquer, and reign! It is a prophecy!" + +And Nihla threw back her head and laughed her full-throated laughter +under the Turkish moon. + + * * * * * + +Later, Ferez, walking with the Ambassador, replied humbly to the curt +question: + +"Yes, I have become his jackal. But always at the orders of +Excellenz." + + * * * * * + +Later still, aboard the _Mirage_, Ferez stood alone by the after-rail, +staring with ratty eyes at the blackness beyond the New Bridge. + +"Oh, God, be merciful!" he whispered. He had often said it on the +eve of crime. Even an Eurasian rat has emotions. And Ferez had +been in love with Nihla many years, and was selling her now at a +price--selling her and Adolf Gerhardt and the Count d'Eblis and +France--all he had to barter--for he had sold his soul too long +ago to remember even what he got for it. + +The silence seemed more intense for the sounds that made it audible. +From, the unlighted cities on the seven hills came an unbroken howling +of dogs; transparent waves of the limpid Bosphorus slapped the +vessel's sides, making a mellow and ceaseless clatter. Far away beyond +Galata Quay, in the inner reek of unseen Stamboul, the notes of a +Turkish flute stole out across the darkness, where some Tzigane--some +unseen wretch in rags--was playing the melancholy song of Mourad. And, +mournfully responsive to the reedy complaint of a homeless wanderer +from a nation without a home, the homeless dogs of Islam wailed their +miserere under the Prophet's moon. + +The tragic wolf-song wavered from hill to hill; from the Fields of the +Dead to the Seven Towers, from Kassim to Tophane, seeming to swell +into one dreadful, endless plaint: + +"My God, why hast Thou forsaken me?" + +"And me!" muttered Ferez, shivering in the windy vapours from the +Black Sea, which already dampened his face with their creeping summer +chill. + +"Ferez!" + +He turned slowly. Swathed in a white wool bernous, Nihla stood there +in the foggy moonlight. + +"Why?" she enquired, without preliminaries and with the unfeigned +curiosity of a child. + +He did not pretend to misunderstand her in French: + +"Thou knowest, Nihla. I have never touched thy heart. I could do +nothing for thee----" + +"Except to sell me," she smiled, interrupting him in English, without +the slightest trace of accent. + +But Ferez preferred the refuge of French: + +"Except to launch thee and make possible thy career," he corrected her +very gently. + +"I thought you were in love with me?" + +"I have loved thee, Nihla, since thy childhood." + +"Is there anything on earth or in paradise, Ferez, that you would not +sell for a price?" + +"I tell thee----" + +"Zut! I know thee, Ferez!" she mocked him, slipping easily into +French. "What was my price? Who pays thee, Colonel Ferez? This big, +shambling, world-wearied Count, who is, nevertheless, afraid of me? +Did he pay thee? Or was it this rich American, Gerhardt? Or was it +Von-der-Goltz? Or Excellenz?" + +"Nihla! Thou knowest me----" + +Her clear, untroubled laughter checked him: + +"I know you, Ferez. That is why I ask. That is why I shall have no +reply from you. Only my wits can ever answer me any questions." + +She stood laughing at him, swathed in her white wool, looming like +some mocking spectre in the misty moonlight of the after-deck. + +"Oh, Ferez," she said in her sweet, malicious voice, "there was a +curse on Midas, too! You play at high finance; you sell what you never +had to sell, and you are paid for it. All your life you have been busy +selling, re-selling, bargaining, betraying, seeking always gain where +only loss is possible--loss of all that justifies a man in daring to +stand alive before the God that made him!... And yet--that which you +call love--that shadowy emotion which you have also sold to-night--I +think you really feel for me.... Yes, I believe it.... But it, too, +has its price.... _What_ was that price, Ferez?" + +"Believe me, Nihla----" + +"Oh, Ferez, you ask too much! No! Let _me_ tell _you_, then. The price +was paid by that American, who is not one but a German." + +"That is absurd!" + +"Why the Red Eagle, then? And the friendship of Excellenz? What is +he then, this Gerhardt, but a millionaire? Why is nobility so +gracious then? What does Gerhardt give for his Red Eagle?--for the +politeness of Excellenz?--for the crooked smile of a Bavarian +Baroness and the lifted lorgnette of Austria? What does he give for +_me_? Who buys me after all? Enver? Talaat? Hilmi? Who sells me? +Excellenz? Von-der-Goltz? You? And who pays for me? Gerhardt, who +takes his profit in Red Eagles and offers me to d'Eblis for +something in exchange to please Excellenz--and you? And what, at the +end of the bargaining, does d'Eblis pay for me--pay through Gerhardt +to you, and through you to Excellenz, and through Excellenz to the +Kaiser Wilhelm II----" + +Ferez, showing his teeth, came close to her and spoke very softly: + +"See how white is the moonlight off Seraglio Point, my Nihla!... It is +no whiter than those loveliest ones who lie fathoms deep below these +little silver waves.... Each with her bowstring snug about her snowy +neck.... As fair and young, as warm and fresh and sweet as thou, my +Nihla." + +He smiled at her; and if the smile stiffened an instant on her lips, +the next instant her light, dauntless laughter mocked him. + +"For a price," she said, "you would sell even Life to that old miser, +Death! Then listen what you have done, little smiling, whining jackal +of his Excellency! I go to Paris and to my career, certain of my happy +destiny, sure of myself! For my opportunity I pay if I choose--pay +_what_ I choose--when and where it suits me to pay!----" + +She slipped into French with a little laugh: + +"Now go and lick thy fingers of whatever crumbs have stuck there. The +Count d'Eblis is doubtless licking his. Good appetite, my Ferez! Lick +away lustily, for God does not temper the jackal's appetite to his +opportunities!" + +Ferez let his level gaze rest on her in silence. + +"Well, trafficker in Eagles, dealer in love, vendor of youth, merchant +of souls, what strikes you silent?" + +But he was thinking of something sharper than her tongue and less +subtle, which one day might strike her silent if she laughed too much +at Fate. + +And, thinking, he showed his teeth again in that noiseless snicker +which was his smile and laughter too. + +The girl regarded him for a moment, then deliberately mimicked his +smile: + +"The dogs of Stamboul laugh that way, too," she said, baring her +pretty teeth. "What amuses you? Did the silly old Von-der-Goltz Pasha +promise you, also, a dish of Eagle?--old Von-der-Goltz with his +spectacles an inch thick and nothing living within what he carries +about on his two doddering old legs! There's a German!--who died +twenty years ago and still walks like a damned man--jingling his iron +crosses and mumbling his gums! Is it a resurrection from 1870 come to +foretell another war? And why are these Prussian vultures gathering +here in Stamboul? Can you tell me, Ferez?--these Prussians in Turkish +uniforms! Is there anything dying or dead here, that these buzzards +appear from the sky and alight? Why do they crowd and huddle in a +circle around Constantinople? Is there something dead in Persia? Is +the Bagdad railroad dying? Is Enver Bey at his last gasp? Is Talaat? +Or perhaps the savoury odour comes from the Yildiz----" + +"Nihla! Is there nothing sacred--nothing thou fearest on earth?" + +"Only old age--and thy smile, my Ferez. Neither agrees with me." She +stretched her arms lazily. + +"Allons," she said, stifling a pleasant yawn with one slim hand,"--my +maid will wake below and miss me; and then the dogs of Stamboul yonder +will hear a solo such as they never heard before.... Tell me, Ferez, +do you know when we are to weigh anchor?" + +"At sunrise." + +"It is the same to me,"--she yawned again--"my maid is aboard and all +my luggage. And my Ferez, also.... Mon dieu! And what will Cyril have +to say when he arrives to find me vanished! It is, perhaps, well for +us that we shall be at sea!" + +Her quick laughter pealed; she turned with a careless gesture of +salute, friendly and contemptuous; and her white bernous faded away in +the moonlit fog. + +And Ferez Bey stood staring after her out of his near-set, beady eyes, +loving her, desiring her, fearing her, unrepentant that he had sold +her, wondering whether the day might dawn when he would find it best +to kill her for the prosperity and peace of mind of the only living +being in whose service he never tired--himself. + + + + +I + +A SHADOW DANCE + + +Three years later Destiny still wore a rosy face for Nihla Quellen. +And, for a young American of whom Nihla had never even heard, Destiny +still remained the laughing jade he had always known, beckoning him +ever nearer, with the coquettish promise of her curved forefinger, to +fame and wealth immeasurable. + + * * * * * + +Seated now on a moonlit lawn, before his sketching easel, this +optimistic young man, whose name was Barres, continued to observe the +movements of a dim white figure which had emerged from the villa +opposite, and was now stealing toward him across the dew-drenched +grass. + +When the white figure was quite near it halted, holding up filmy +skirts and peering intently at him. + +"May one look?" she inquired, in that now celebrated voice of hers, +through which ever seemed to sound a hint of hidden laughter. + +"Certainly," he replied, rising from his folding camp stool. + +She tiptoed over the wet grass, came up beside him, gazed down at the +canvas on his easel. + +"Can you really see to paint? Is the moon bright enough?" she asked. + +"Yes. But one has to be familiar with one's palette." + +"Oh. You seem to know yours quite perfectly, monsieur." + +"Enough to mix colours properly." + +"I didn't realise that painters ever actually painted pictures by +moonlight." + +"It's a sort of hit or miss business, but the notes made are +interesting," he explained. + +"What do you do with these moonlight studies?" + +"Use them as notes in the studio when a moonlight picture is to be +painted." + +"Are you then a realist, monsieur?" + +"As much of a realist as anybody with imagination can be," he replied, +smiling at her charming, moonlit face. + +"I understand. Realism is merely honesty plus the imagination of the +individual." + +"A delightful _mot_, madam----" + +"Mademoiselle," she corrected him demurely. "Are you English?" + +"American." + +"Oh. Then may I venture to converse with you in English?" She said it +in exquisite English, entirely without accent. + +"You _are_ English!" he exclaimed under his breath. + +"No ... I don't know what I am.... Isn't it charming out here? What +particular view are you painting?" + +"The Seine, yonder." + +She bent daintily over his sketch, holding up the skirts of her +ball-gown. + +"Your sketch isn't very far advanced, is it?" she inquired seriously. + +"Not very," he smiled. + +They stood there together in silence for a while, looking out over +the moonlit river to the misty, tree-covered heights. + +Through lighted rows of open windows in the elaborate little villa +across the lawn came lively music and the distant noise of animated +voices. + +"Do you know," he ventured smilingly, "that your skirts and slippers +are soaking wet?" + +"I don't care. Isn't this June night heavenly?" + +She glanced across at the lighted house. "It's so hot and noisy in +there; one dances only with discomfort. A distaste for it all sent me +out on the terrace. Then I walked on the lawn. Then I beheld you!... +Am I interrupting your work, monsieur? I suppose I am." She looked up +at him naïvely. + +He said something polite. An odd sense of having seen her somewhere +possessed him now. From the distant house came the noisy American +music of a two-step. With charming grace, still inspecting him out of +her dark eyes, the girl began to move her pretty feet in rhythm with +the music. + +"Shall we?" she inquired mischievously.... "Unless you are too +busy----" + +The next moment they were dancing together there on the wet lawn, +under the high lustre of the moon, her fresh young face and fragrant +figure close to his. + +During their second dance she said serenely: + +"They'll raise the dickens if I stay here any longer. Do you know the +Comte d'Eblis?" + +"The Senator? The numismatist?" + +"Yes." + +"No, I don't know him. I am only a Latin Quarter student." + +"Well, he is giving that party. He is giving it for me--in my honour. +That is his villa. And I"--she laughed--"am going to marry +him--_perhaps_! Isn't this a delightful escapade of mine?" + +"Isn't it rather an indiscreet one?" he asked smilingly. + +"Frightfully. But I like it. How did you happen to pitch your easel on +his lawn?" + +"The river and the hills--their composition appealed to me from here. +It is the best view of the Seine." + +"Are you glad you came?" + +They both laughed at the mischievous question. + + * * * * * + +During their third dance she became a little apprehensive and kept +looking over her shoulder toward the house. + +"There's a man expected there," she whispered, "Ferez Bey. He's as +soft-footed as a cat and he always prowls in my vicinity. At times it +almost seems to me as though he were slyly watching me--as though he +were employed to keep an eye on me." + +"A Turk?" + +"Eurasian.... I wonder what they think of my absence? Alexandre--the +Comte d'Eblis--won't like it." + +"Had you better go?" + +"Yes; I ought to, but I won't.... Wait a moment!" She disengaged +herself from his arms. "Hide your easel and colour-box in the +shrubbery, in case anybody comes to look for me." + +She helped him strap up and fasten the telescope-easel; they placed +the paraphernalia behind the blossoming screen of syringa. Then, +coming together, she gave herself to him again, nestling between his +arms with a little laugh; and they fell into step once more with the +distant dance-music. Over the grass their united shadows glided, +swaying, gracefully interlocked--moon-born phantoms which dogged +their light young feet.... + + * * * * * + +A man came out on the stone terrace under the Chinese lanterns. When +they saw him they hastily backed into the obscurity of the shrubbery. + +"Nihla!" he called, and his heavy voice was vibrant with irritation +and impatience. + +He was a big man. He walked with a bulky, awkward gait--a few paces +only, out across the terrace. + +"Nihla!" he bawled hoarsely. + +Then two other men and a woman appeared on the terrace where the +lanterns were strung. The woman called aloud in the darkness: + +"Nihla! Nihla! Where are you, little devil?" Then she and the two men +with her went indoors, laughing and skylarking, leaving the bulky man +there alone. + +The young fellow in the shrubbery felt the girl's hand tighten on his +coat sleeve, felt her slender body quiver with stifled laughter. The +desire to laugh seized him, too; and they clung there together, +choking back their mirth while the big man who had first appeared +waddled out across the lawn toward the shrubbery, shouting: + +"Nihla! Where are you then?" He came quite close to where they stood, +then turned, shouted once or twice and presently disappeared across +the lawn toward a walled garden. Later, several other people came out +on the terrace, calling, "Nihla, Nihla," and then went indoors, +laughing boisterously. + +The young fellow and the girl beside him were now quite weak and +trembling with suppressed mirth. + + * * * * * + +They had not dared venture out on the lawn, although dance music had +begun again. + +"Is it your name they called?" he asked, his eyes very intent upon her +face. + +"Yes, Nihla." + +"I recognise you now," he said, with a little thrill of wonder. + +"I suppose so," she replied with amiable indifference. "Everybody +knows me." + +She did not ask his name; he did not offer to enlighten her. What +difference, after all, could the name of an American student make to +the idol of Europe, Nihla Quellen? + +"I'm in a mess," she remarked presently. "He will be quite furious +with me. It is going to be most disagreeable for me to go back into +that house. He has really an atrocious temper when made ridiculous." + +"I'm awfully sorry," he said, sobered by her seriousness. + +She laughed: + +"Oh, pouf! I really don't care. But perhaps you had better leave me +now. I've spoiled your moonlight picture, haven't I?" + +"But think what you have given me to make amends!" he replied. + +She turned and caught his hands in hers with adorable impulsiveness: + +"You're a sweet boy--do you know it! We've had a heavenly time, +haven't we? Do you really think you ought to go--so soon?" + +"Don't you think so, Nihla?" + +"I don't want you to go. Anyway, there's a train every two hours----" + +"I've a canoe down by the landing. I shall paddle back as I came----" + +"A canoe!" she exclaimed, enchanted. "Will you take me with you?" + +"To Paris?" + +"Of course! Will you?" + +"In your ball-gown?" + +"I'd adore it! Will you?" + +"That is an absolutely crazy suggestion," he said. + +"I know it. The world is only a big asylum. There's a path to the +river behind these bushes. Quick--pick up your painting traps----" + +"But, Nihla, dear----" + +"Oh, please! I'm dying to run away with you!" + +"To Paris?" he demanded, still incredulous that the girl really meant +it. + +"Of course! You can get a taxi at the Pont-au-Change and take me home. +Will you?" + +"It would be wonderful, of course----" + +"It will be paradise!" she exclaimed, slipping her hand into his. +"Now, let us run like the dickens!" + +In the uncertain moonlight, filtering through the shrubbery, they +found a hidden path to the river; and they took it together, lightly, +swiftly, speeding down the slope, all breathless with laughter, along +the moonlit way. + + * * * * * + +In the suburban villa of the Comte d'Eblis a wine-flushed and very +noisy company danced on, supped at midnight, continued the revel into +the starlit morning hours. The place was a jungle of confetti. + +Their host, restless, mortified, angry, perplexed by turns, was +becoming obsessed at length with dull premonitions and vaguer alarms. + +He waddled out to the lawn several times, still wearing his fancy gilt +and tissue cap, and called: + +"Nihla! Damnation! Answer me, you little fool!" + +He went down to the river, where the gaily painted row-boats and punts +lay, and scanned the silvered flood, tortured by indefinite +apprehensions. About dawn he started toward the weed-grown, slippery +river-stairs for the last time, still crowned with his tinsel cap; and +there in the darkness he found his aged boat-man, fishing for gudgeon +with a four-cornered net suspended to the end of a bamboo pole. + +"Have you see anything of Mademoiselle Nihla?" he demanded, in a +heavy, unsteady voice, tremulous with indefinable fears. + +"Monsieur le Comte, Mademoiselle Quellen went out in a canoe with a +young gentleman." + +"W-what is that you tell me!" faltered the Comte d'Eblis, turning grey +in the face. + +"Last night, about ten o'clock, M'sieu le Comte. I was out in the +moonlight fishing for eels. She came down to the shore--took a canoe +yonder by the willows. The young man had a double-bladed paddle. They +were singing." + +"They--they have not returned?" + +"No, M'sieu le Comte----" + +"Who was the--man?" + +"I could not see----" + +"Very well." He turned and looked down the dusky river out of +light-coloured, murderous eyes. Then, always awkward in his gait, he +retraced his steps to the house. There a servant accosted him on the +terrace: + +"The telephone, if Monsieur le Comte pleases----" + +"Who is calling?" he demanded with a flare of fury. + +"Paris, if it pleases Monsieur le Comte." + +The Count d'Eblis went to his own quarters, seated himself, and picked +up the receiver: + +"Who is it?" he asked thickly. + +"Max Freund." + +"What has h-happened?" he stammered in sudden terror. + +Over the wire came the distant reply, perfectly clear and distinct: + +"Ferez Bey was arrested in his own house at dinner last evening, and +was immediately conducted to the frontier, escorted by Government +detectives.... Is Nihla with you?" + +The Count's teeth were chattering now. He managed to say: + +"No, I don't know where she is. She was dancing. Then, all at once, +she was gone. Of what was Colonel Ferez suspected?" + +"I don't know. But perhaps we might guess." + +"Are _you_ followed?" + +"Yes." + +"By--by whom?" + +"By Souchez.... Good-bye, if I don't see you. I join Ferez. And look +out for Nihla. She'll trick you yet!" + +The Count d'Eblis called: + +"Wait, for God's sake, Max!"--listened; called again in vain. "The +one-eyed rabbit!" he panted, breathing hard and irregularly. His large +hand shook as he replaced the instrument. He sat there as though +paralysed, for a moment or two. Mechanically he removed his tinsel cap +and thrust it into the pocket of his evening coat. Suddenly the dull +hue of anger dyed neck, ears and temple: + +"By God!" he gasped. "What is that she-devil trying to do to me? What +has she _done_!" + +After another moment of staring fixedly at nothing, he opened the +table drawer, picked up a pistol and poked it into his breast pocket. + +Then he rose, heavily, and stood looking out of the window at the +paling east, his pendulous under lip aquiver. + + + + +II + +SUNRISE + + +The first sunbeams had already gilded her bedroom windows, barring the +drawn curtains with light, when the man arrived. He was still wearing +his disordered evening dress under a light overcoat; his soiled shirt +front was still crossed by the red ribbon of watered silk; third class +orders striped his breast, where also the brand new Turkish sunburst +glimmered. + +A sleepy maid in night attire answered his furious ringing; the man +pushed her aside with an oath and strode into the semi-darkness of the +corridor. He was nearly six feet tall, bulky; but his legs were either +too short or something else was the matter with them, for when he +walked he waddled, breathing noisily from the ascent of the stairs. + +"Is your mistress here?" he demanded, hoarse with his effort. + +"Y--yes, monsieur----" + +"When did she come in?" And, as the scared and bewildered maid +hesitated: "Damn you, answer me! When did Mademoiselle Quellen come +in? I'll wring your neck if you lie to me!" + +The maid began to whimper: + +"Monsieur le Comte--I do not wish to lie to you.... Mademoiselle Nihla +came back with the dawn----" + +"Alone?" + +The maid wrung her hands: + +"Does Monsieur le Comte m-mean to harm her?" + +"Will you answer me, you snivelling cat!" he panted between his big, +discoloured teeth. He had fished out a pistol from his breast pocket, +dragging with it a silk handkerchief, a fancy cap of tissue and gilt, +and some streamers of confetti which fell to the carpet around his +feet. + +"Now," he breathed in a half-strangled voice, "answer my questions. +Was she alone when she came in?" + +"N-no." + +"Who was with her?" + +"A--a----" + +"A man?" + +The maid trembled violently and nodded. + +"What man?" + +"M-Monsieur le Comte, I have never before beheld him----" + +"You lie!" + +"I do not lie! I have never before seen him, Monsieur le----" + +"Did you learn his name?" + +"No----" + +"Did you hear what they said?" + +"They spoke in English----" + +"What!" The man's puffy face went flabby white, and his big, badly +made frame seemed to sag for a moment. He laid a large fat hand flat +against the wall, as though to support and steady himself, and gazed +dully at the terrified maid. + +And she, shivering in her night-robe and naked feet, stared back into +the pallid face, with its coarse, greyish moustache and little short +side-whiskers which vulgarized it completely--gazed in unfeigned +terror at the sagging, deadly, lead-coloured eyes. + +"Is the man there--in there now--with her?" demanded the Comte d'Eblis +heavily. + +"No, monsieur." + +"Gone?" + +"Oh, Monsieur le Comte, the young man stayed but a moment----" + +"Where were they? In her bedroom?" + +"In the salon. I--I served a pâté--a glass of wine--and the young +gentleman was gone the next minute----" + +A dull red discoloured the neck and features of the Count. + +"That's enough," he said; and waddled past her along the corridor to +the furthest door; and wrenched it open with one powerful jerk. + +In the still, golden gloom of the drawn curtains, now striped with +sunlight, a young girl suddenly sat up in bed. + +"Alexandre!" she exclaimed in angry astonishment. + +"You slut!" he said, already enraged again at the mere sight of her. +"Where did you go last night!" + +"What are you doing in my bedroom?" she demanded, confused but flushed +with anger. "Leave it! Do you hear!--" She caught sight of the pistol +in his hand and stiffened. + +He stepped nearer; her dark, dilated gaze remained fixed on the +pistol. + +"Answer me," he said, the menacing roar rising in his voice. "Where +did you go last night when you left the house?" + +"I--I went out--on the lawn." + +"And then?" + +"I had had enough of your party: I came back to Paris." + +"And _then_?" + +"I came here, of course." + +"Who was with you?" + +Then, for the first time, she began to comprehend. She swallowed +desperately. + +"Who was your companion?" he repeated. + +"A--man." + +"You brought him here?" + +"He--came in--for a moment." + +"Who was he?" + +"I--never before saw him." + +"You picked up a man in the street and brought him here with you?" + +"N-not on the street----" + +"Where?" + +"On the lawn--while your guests were dancing----" + +"And you came to Paris with him?" + +"Y-yes." + +"Who was he?" + +"I don't know----" + +"If you don't name him, I'll kill you!" he yelled, losing the last +vestige of self-control. "What kind of story are you trying to tell +me, you lying drab! You've got a lover! Confess it!" + +"I have not!" + +"Liar! So this is how you've laughed at me, mocked me, betrayed me, +made a fool of me! You!--with your fierce little snappish ways of a +virgin! You with your dangerous airs of a tiger-cat if a man so much +as laid a finger on your vicious body! So Mademoiselle-Don't-touch-me +had a lover all the while. Max Freund warned me to keep an eye on +you!" He lost control of himself again; his voice became a hoarse +shout: "Max Freund begged me not to trust you! You filthy little +beast! Good God! Was I crazy to believe in you--to talk without +reserve in your presence! What kind of imbecile was I to offer you +marriage because I was crazy enough to believe that there was no other +way to possess you! You--a Levantine dancing girl--a common painted +thing of the public footlights--a creature of brasserie and cabaret! +And you posed as Mademoiselle Nitouche! A novice! A devotee of +chastity! And, by God, your devilish ingenuity at last persuaded me +that you actually were what you said you were. And all Paris knew you +were fooling me--all Paris was laughing in its dirty sleeve--mocking +me--spitting on me----" + +"All Paris," she said, in an unsteady voice, "gave you credit for +being my lover. And I endured it. And you knew it was not true. Yet +you never denied it.... But as for me, I never had a lover. When I +told you that I told you the truth. And it is true to-day as it was +yesterday. Nobody believes it of a dancing girl. Now, _you_ no longer +believe it. Very well, there is no occasion for melodrama. I tried to +fall in love with you: I couldn't. I did not desire to marry you. You +insisted. Very well; you can go." + +"Not before I learn the name of your lover of last night!" he +retorted, now almost beside himself with fury, and once more menacing +her with his pistol. "I'll get that much change out of all the money +I've lavished on you!" he yelled. "Tell me his name or I'll kill +you!" + +She reached under her pillow, clutched a jewelled watch and purse, and +hurled them at him. She twisted from her arm a gemmed bracelet, tore +every flashing ring from her fingers, and flung them in a handful +straight at his head. + +"There's some more change for you!" she panted. "Now, leave my +bedroom!" + +"I'll have that man's name first!" + +The girl laughed in his distorted face. He was within an ace of +shooting her--of firing point-blank into the lovely, flushed features, +merely to shatter them, destroy, annihilate. He had the desire to do +it. But her breathless, contemptuous laugh broke that impulse--relaxed +it, leaving it flaccid. And after an interval something else +intervened to stay his hand at the trigger--something that crept into +his mind; something he had begun to suspect that she knew. Suddenly he +became convinced that she _did_ know it--that she believed that he +dared not kill her and stand the investigation of a public trial +before a _juge d'instruction_--that he could not afford to have his +own personal affairs scrutinised too closely. + +He still wanted to kill her--shoot her there where she sat in bed, +watching him out of scornful young eyes. So intense was his need to +slay--to disfigure, brutalise this girl who had mocked him, that the +raging desire hurt him physically. He leaned back, resting against the +silken wall, momentarily weakened by the violence of passion. But his +pistol still threatened her. + +No; he dared not. There was a better, surer way to utterly destroy +her,--a way he had long ago prepared,--not expecting any such +contingency as this, but merely as a matter of self-insurance. + +His levelled weapon wavered, dropped, held loosely now. He still +glared at her out of pallid and blood-shot eyes in silence. After a +while: + +"You hell-cat," he said slowly and distinctly. "Who is your English +lover? Tell me his name or I'll beat your face to a pulp!" + +"I have no English lover." + +"Do you think," he went on heavily, disregarding her reply, "that I +don't know why you chose an Englishman? You thought you could +blackmail me, didn't you?" + +"How?" she demanded wearily. + +Again he ignored her reply: + +"Is he one of the Embassy?" he demanded. "Is he some emissary of +Grey's? Does he come from their intelligence department? Or is he only +a police jackal? Or some lesser rat?" + +She shrugged; her night-robe slipped and she drew it over her shoulder +with a quick movement. And the man saw the deep blush spreading over +face and throat. + +"By God!" he said, "you _are_ an actress! I admit it. But now you are +going to learn something about real life. You think you've got me, +don't you?--you and your Englishman? Because I have been fool enough +to trust you--hide nothing from you--act frankly and openly in your +presence. You thought you'd get a hold on me, so that if I ever caught +you at your treacherous game you could defy me and extort from me the +last penny! You thought all that out--very thriftily and cleverly--you +and your Englishman between you--didn't you?" + +"I don't know what you mean." + +"Don't you? Then why did you ask me the other day whether it was not +German money which was paying for the newspaper which I bought?" + +"The _Mot d'Ordre_?" + +"Certainly." + +"I asked you that because Ferez Bey is notoriously in Germany's pay. +And Ferez Bey financed the affair. You said so. Besides, you and he +discussed it before me in my own salon." + +"And you suspected that I bought the _Mot d'Ordre_ with German money +for the purpose of carrying out German propaganda in a Paris daily +paper?" + +"I don't know why Ferez Bey gave you the money to buy it." + +"He did not give me the money." + +"You said so. Who did?" + +"_You!_" he fairly yelled. + +"W-what!" stammered the girl, confounded. + +"Listen to me, you rat!" he said fiercely. "I was not such a fool as +you believed me to be. I lavished money on you; you made a fortune for +yourself out of your popularity, too. Do you remember endorsing a +cheque drawn to your order by Ferez Bey?" + +"Yes. You had borrowed every penny I possessed. You said that Ferez +Bey owed you as much. So I accepted his cheque----" + +"That cheque paid for the _Mot d'Ordre_. It is drawn to your order; +it bears your endorsement; the _Mot d'Ordre_ was purchased in your +name. And it was Max Freund who insisted that I take that precaution. +Now, try to blackmail me!--you and your English spy!" he cried +triumphantly, his voice breaking into a squeak. + +Not yet understanding, merely conscious of some vague and monstrous +danger, the girl sat motionless, regarding him intently out of +beautiful, intelligent eyes. + +He burst into laughter, made falsetto by the hysteria of sheer +hatred: + +"That's where you are now!" he said, leering down at her. "Every paper +I ever made you sign incriminates you; your cancelled cheque is in the +same packet; your _dossier_ is damning and complete. You didn't know +that Ferez Bey was sent across the frontier yesterday, did you? Your +English spy didn't inform you last night, did he?" + +"N-no." + +"You lie! You _did_ know it! That was why you stole away last night +and met your jackal--to sell him something besides yourself, this +time! You knew they had arrested Ferez! I don't know how you knew it, +but you did. And you told your lover. And both of you thought you had +me at last, didn't you?" + +"I--what are you trying to say to me--do to me?" she stammered, losing +colour for the first time. + +"Put you where you belong--you dirty spy!" he said with grinning +ferocity. "If there is to be trouble, I've prepared for it. When they +try you for espionage, they'll try you as a foreigner--a dancing girl +in the pay of Germany--as my mistress whom Max Freund and I discover +in treachery to France, and whom I instantly denounce to the proper +authorities!" + +He shoved his pistol into his breast pocket and put on his marred silk +hat. + +"Which do you think they will believe--you or the Count d'Eblis?" he +demanded, the nervous leer twitching at his heavy lips. "Which do you +think they will believe--your denials and counter-accusations against +me, or Max Freund's corroboration, and the evidence of the packet I +shall now deliver to the authorities--the packet containing every +cursed document necessary to convict you!--you filthy little----" + +The girl bounded from her bed to the floor, her dark eyes blazing: + +"Damn you!" she said. "Get out of my bedroom!" + +Taken aback, he retreated a pace or two, and, at the furious menace of +the little clenched fist, stepped another pace out into the corridor. +The door crashed in his face; the bolt shot home. + + * * * * * + +In twenty minutes Nihla Quellen, the celebrated and adored of European +capitals, crept out of the street door. She wore the dress of a +Finistère peasant; her hair was grey, her step infirm. + +The _commissaire_, two _agents de police_, and a Government detective, +one Souchez, already on their way to identify and arrest her, never +even glanced at the shabby, infirm figure which hobbled past them on +the sidewalk and feebly mounted an omnibus marked Gare du Nord. + + * * * * * + +For a long time Paris was carefully combed for the dancer, Nihla +Quellen, until more serious affairs occupied the authorities, and +presently the world at large. For, in a few weeks, war burst like a +clap of thunder over Europe, leaving the whole world stunned and +reeling. The dossier of Nihla Quellen, the dancing girl, was tossed +into secret archives, together with the dossier of one Ferez Bey, an +Eurasian, now far beyond French jurisdiction, and already very +industrious in the United States about God knows what, in company with +one Max Freund. + +As for Monsieur the Count d'Eblis, he remained a senator, an owner of +many third-rate decorations, and of the _Mot d'Ordre_. + +And he remained on excellent terms with everybody at the Swedish, +Greek, and Bulgarian legations, and the Turkish Embassy, too. And +continued in cipher communication with Max Freund and Ferez Bey in +America. + +Otherwise, he was still president of the Numismatic Society of Spain, +and he continued to add to his wonderful collection of coins, and to +keep up his voluminous numismatic correspondence. + +He was growing stouter, too, which increased his spinal waddle when he +walked; and he became very prosperous financially, through fortunate +"operations," as he explained, with one Bolo Pasha. + +He had only one regret to interfere with his sleep and his digestion; +he was sorry he had not fired his pistol into the youthful face of +Nihla Quellen. He should have avenged himself, taken his chances, and +above everything else he should have destroyed her beauty. His +timidity and caution still caused him deep and bitter chagrin. + +For nearly a year he heard absolutely nothing concerning her. Then one +day a letter arrived from Ferez Bey through Max Freund, both being in +New York. And when, using his key to the cipher, he extracted the +message it contained, he had learned, among other things, that Nihla +Quellen was in New York, employed as a teacher in a school for +dancing. + +The gist of his reply to Ferez Bey was that Nihla Quellen had already +outlived her usefulness on earth, and that Max Freund should attend to +the matter at the first favourable opportunity. + + + + +III + +SUNSET + + +On the edge of evening she came out of the Palace of Mirrors and +crossed the wet asphalt, which already reflected primrose lights from +a clearing western sky. + +A few moments before, he had been thinking of her, never dreaming that +she was in America. But he knew her instantly, there amid the rush and +clatter of the street, recognised her even in the twilight of the +passing storm--perhaps not alone from the half-caught glimpse of her +shadowy, averted face, nor even from that young, lissome figure so +celebrated in Europe. There is a sixth sense--the sense of nearness to +what is familiar. When it awakes we call it premonition. + +The shock of seeing her, the moment's exciting incredulity, passed +before he became aware that he was already following her through +swarming metropolitan throngs released from the toil of a long, wet +day in early spring. + +Through every twilit avenue poured the crowds; through every +cross-street a rosy glory from the west was streaming; and in its +magic he saw her immortally transfigured, where the pink light +suffused the crossings, only to put on again her lovely mortality in +the shadowy avenue. + +At Times Square she turned west, straight into the dazzling fire of +sunset, and he at her slender heels, not knowing why, not even asking +it of himself, not thinking, not caring. + +A third figure followed them both. + +The bronze giants south of them stirred, swung their great hammers +against the iron bell; strokes of the hour rang out above the din of +Herald Square, inaudible in the traffic roar another square away, +lost, drowned out long before the pleasant bell-notes penetrated to +Forty-second Street, into which they both had turned. + +Yet, as though occultly conscious that some hour had struck on earth, +significant to her, she stopped, turned, and looked back--looked quite +through him, seeing neither him nor the one-eyed man who followed them +both--as though her line of vision were the East itself, where, across +the grey sea's peril, a thousand miles of cannon were sounding the +hour from the North Sea to the Alps. + +He passed her at her very elbow--aware of her nearness, as though +suddenly close to a young orchard in April. The girl, too, resumed her +way, unconscious of him, of his youthful face set hard with controlled +emotion. + +The one-eyed man followed them both. + +A few steps further and she turned into the entrance to one of those +sprawling, pretentious restaurants, the sham magnificence of which +becomes grimy overnight. He halted, swung around, retraced his steps +and followed her. And at his heels two shapes followed them very +silently--her shadow and his own--so close together now, against the +stucco wall that they seemed like Destiny and Fate linked arm in arm. + +The one-eyed man halted at the door for a few moments. Then he, too, +went in, dogged by his sinister shadow. + +The red sunset's rays penetrated to the rotunda and were quenched +there in a flood of artificial light; and there their sun-born +shadows vanished, and three strange new shadows, twisted and +grotesque, took their places. + +She continued on into the almost empty restaurant, looming dimly +beyond. He followed; the one-eyed man followed both. + +The place into which they stepped was circular, centred by a waterfall +splashing over concrete rocks. In the ruffled pool goldfish glimmered, +nearly motionless, and mandarin ducks floated, preening exotic +plumage. + +A wilderness of tables surrounded the pool, set for the expected +patronage of the coming evening. The girl seated herself at one of +these. + +At the next table he found a place for himself, entirely unnoticed by +her. The one-eyed man took the table behind them. A waiter presented +himself to take her order; another waiter came up leisurely to attend +to him. A third served the one-eyed man. There were only a few inches +between the three tables. Yet the girl, deeply preoccupied, paid no +attention to either man, although both kept their eyes on her. + +But already, under the younger man's spellbound eyes, an odd and +unforeseen thing was occurring: he gradually became aware that, almost +imperceptibly, the girl and the table where she sat, and the sleepy +waiter who was taking her orders, were slowly moving nearer to him on +a floor which was moving, too. + +He had never before been in that particular restaurant, and it took +him a moment or two to realise that the floor was one of those trick +floors, the central part of which slowly revolves. + +Her table stood on the revolving part of the floor, his upon fixed +terrain; and he now beheld her moving toward him, as the circle of +tables rotated on its axis, which was the waterfall and pool in the +middle of the restaurant. + +A few people began to arrive--theatrical people, who are obliged to +dine early. Some took seats at tables placed upon the revolving +section of the floor, others preferred the outer circles, where he sat +in a fixed position. + +Her table was already abreast of his, with only the circular crack in +the floor between them; he could easily have touched her. + +As the distance began to widen between them, the girl, her gloved +hands clasped in her lap, and studying the table-cloth with unseeing +gaze, lifted her dark eyes--looked at him without seeing, and once +more gazed through him at something invisible upon which her thoughts +remained fixed--something absorbing, vital, perhaps tragic--for her +face had become as colourless, now, as one of those translucent +marbles, vaguely warmed by some buried vein of rose beneath the snowy +surface. + +Slowly she was being swept away from him--his gaze following--hers +lost in concentrated abstraction. + +He saw her slipping away, disappearing behind the noisy waterfall. +Around him the restaurant continued to fill, slowly at first, then +more rapidly after the orchestra had entered its marble gallery. + +The music began with something Russian, plaintive at first, then +beguiling, then noisy, savage in its brutal precision--something +sinister--a trampling melody that was turning into thunder with the +throb of doom all through it. And out of the vicious, Asiatic +clangour, from behind the dash of too obvious waterfalls, glided the +girl he had followed, now on her way toward him again, still seated at +her table, still gazing at nothing out of dark, unseeing eyes. + +It seemed to him an hour before her table approached his own again. +Already she had been served by a waiter--was eating. + +He became aware, then, that somebody had also served him. But he could +not even pretend to eat, so preoccupied was he by her approach. + +Scarcely seeming to move at all, the revolving floor was steadily +drawing her table closer and closer to his. She was not looking at the +strawberries which she was leisurely eating--did not lift her eyes as +her table swept smoothly abreast of his. + +Scarcely aware that he spoke aloud, he said: + +"Nihla--Nihla Quellen!..." + +Like a flash the girl wheeled in her chair to face him. She had lost +all her colour. Her fork had dropped and a blood-red berry rolled over +the table-cloth toward him. + +"I'm sorry," he said, flushing. "I did not mean to startle you----" + +The girl did not utter a word, nor did she move; but in her dark eyes +he seemed to see her every sense concentrated upon him to identify his +features, made shadowy by the lighted candles behind his head. + +By degrees, smoothly, silently, her table swept nearer, nearer, +bringing with it her chair, her slender person, her dark, intelligent +eyes, so unsmilingly and steadily intent on him. + +He began to stammer: + +"--Two years ago--at--the Villa Tresse d'Or--on the Seine.... And we +promised to see each other--in the morning----" + +She said coolly: + +"My name is Thessalie Dunois. You mistake me for another." + +"No," he said, in a low voice, "I am not mistaken." + +Her brown eyes seemed to plunge their clear regard into the depths of +his very soul--not in recognition, but in watchful, dangerous +defiance. + +He began again, still stammering a trifle: + +"--In the morning, we were to--to meet--at eleven--near the fountain +of Marie de Médicis--unless you do not care to remember----" + +At that her gaze altered swiftly, melted into the exquisite relief of +recognition. Suspended breath, released, parted her blanched lips; her +little guardian heart, relieved of fear, beat more freely. + +"Are you Garry?" + +"Yes." + +"I know you now," she murmured. "You are Garret Barres, of the rue +d'Eryx.... You _are_ Garry!" A smile already haunted her dark young +eyes; colour was returning to lip and cheek. She drew a deep, +noiseless breath. + +The table where she sat continued to slip past him; the distance +between them was widening. She had to turn her head a little to face +him. + +"You do remember me then, Nihla?" + +The girl inclined her head a trifle. A smile curved her lips--lips now +vivid but still a little tremulous from the shock of the encounter. + +"May I join you at your table?" + +She smiled, drew a deeper breath, looked down at the strawberry on the +cloth, looked over her shoulder at him. + +"You owe me an explanation," he insisted, leaning forward to span the +increasing distance between them. + +"Do I?" + +"Ask yourself." + +After a moment, still studying him, she nodded as though the nod +answered some silent question of her own: + +"Yes, I owe you one." + +"Then may I join you?" + +"My table is more prudent than I. It is running away from an +explanation." She fixed her eyes on her tightly clasped hands, as +though to concentrate thought. He could see only the back of her head, +white neck and lovely dark hair. + +Her table was quite a distance away when she turned, leisurely, and +looked back at him. + +"May I come?" he asked. + +She lifted her delicate brows in demure surprise. + +"I've been waiting for you," she said, amiably. + +The one-eyed man had never taken his eyes off them. + + + + +IV + +DUSK + + +She had offered him her hand; he had bent over it, seated himself, and +they smilingly exchanged the formal banalities of a pleasantly renewed +acquaintance. + +A waiter laid a cover for him. She continued to concern herself, +leisurely, with her strawberries. + +"When did you leave Paris?" she enquired. + +"Nearly two years ago." + +"Before war was declared?" + +"Yes, in June of that year." + +She looked up at him very seriously; but they both smiled as she +said: + +"It was a momentous month for you then--the month of June, 1914?" + +"Very. A charming young girl broke my heart in 1914; and so I came +home, a wreck--to recuperate." + +At that she laughed outright, glancing at his youthful, sunburnt face +and lean, vigorous figure. + +"When did _you_ come over?" he asked curiously. + +"I have been here longer than you have. In fact, I left France the day +I last saw you." + +"The same day?" + +"I started that very same day--shortly after sunrise. I crossed the +Belgian frontier that night, and I sailed for New York the morning +after. I landed here a week later, and I've been here ever since. +That, monsieur, is my history." + +"You've been here in New York for two years!" he repeated in +astonishment. "Have you really left the stage then? I supposed you had +just arrived to fill an engagement here." + +"They gave me a try-out this afternoon." + +"_You?_ A try-out!" he exclaimed, amazed. + +She carelessly transfixed a berry with her fork: + +"If I secure an engagement I shall be very glad to fill it ... and my +stomach, also. If I don't secure one--well--charity or starvation +confronts me." + +He smiled at her with easy incredulity. + +"I had not heard that you were here!" he repeated. "I've read nothing +at all about you in the papers----" + +"No ... I am here incognito.... I have taken my sister's name. After +all, your American public does not know me." + +"But----" + +"Wait! I don't wish it to know me!" + +"But if you----" + +The girl's slight gesture checked him, although her smile became +humorous and friendly: + +"Please! We need not discuss my future. Only the past!" She laughed: +"How it all comes back to me now, as you speak--that crazy evening of +ours together! What children we were--two years ago!" + +Smilingly she clasped her hands together on the table's edge, +regarding him with that winning directness which was a celebrated part +of her celebrated personality; and happened to be natural to her. + +"Why did I not recognise you immediately?" she demanded of herself, +frowning in self-reproof. "I _am_ stupid! Also I have, now and then, +thought about you----" She shrugged her shoulders, and again her face +faltered subtly: + +"Much has happened to distract my memories," she added carelessly, +impaling a strawberry, "--since you and I took the key to the fields +and the road to the moon--like the pair of irresponsibles we were that +night in June." + +"Have you really had trouble?" + +Her slim figure straightened as at a challenge, then became adorably +supple again; and she rested her elbows on the table's edge and took +her cheeks between her hands. + +"Trouble?" she repeated, studying his face. "I don't know that word, +trouble. I don't admit such a word to the honour of my happy +vocabulary." + +They both laughed a little. + +She said, still looking at him, and at first speaking as though to +herself: + +"Of course, you are that same, delightful Garry! My youthful American +accomplice!... Quite unspoiled, still, but very, very irresponsible +... like all painters--like all students. And the mischief which is in +me recognised the mischief in you, I suppose.... I _did_ surprise you +that night, didn't I?... And what a night! What a moon! And how we +danced there on the wet lawn until my skirts and slippers and +stockings were drenched with dew!... And how we laughed! Oh, that +full-hearted, full-throated laughter of ours! How wonderful that we +have lived to laugh like that! It is something to remember after +death. Just think of it!--you and I, absolute strangers, dancing every +dance there in the drenched grass to the music that came through the +open windows.... And do you remember how we hid in the flowering +bushes when my sister and the others came out to look for me? How they +called, 'Nihla! Nihla! Little devil, where are you?' Oh, it was +funny--funny! And to see _him_ come out on the lawn--do you remember? +He looked so fat and stupid and anxious and bad-tempered! And you and +I expiring with stifled laughter! And he, with his sash, his +decorations and his academic palms! He'd have shot us both, you +know...." + +They were laughing unrestrainedly now at the memory of that impossible +night a year ago; and the girl seemed suddenly transformed into an +irresponsible gamine of eighteen. Her eyes grew brighter with mischief +and laughter--laughter, the greatest magician and doctor emeritus of +them all! The immortal restorer of youth and beauty. + +Bluish shadows had gone from under her lower lashes; her eyes were +starry as a child's. + +"Oh, Garry," she gasped, laying one slim hand across his on the +table-cloth, "it was one of those encounters--one of those heavenly +accidents that reconcile one to living.... I think the moon had made +me a perfect lunatic.... Because you don't yet know what I risked.... +Garry!... It ruined me--ruined me utterly--our night together under +the June moon!" + +"What!" he exclaimed, incredulously. + +But she only laughed her gay, undaunted little laugh: + +"It was worth it! Such moments are worth anything we pay for them! I +laughed; I pay. What of it?" + +"But if I am partly responsible I wish to know----" + +"You shall know nothing about it! As for me, I care nothing about it. +I'd do it again to-night! That is living--to go forward, laugh, and +accept what comes--to have heart enough, gaiety enough, brains enough +to seize the few rare dispensations that the niggardly gods fling +across this calvary which we call life! _Tenez_, that alone is living; +the rest is making the endless stations on bleeding knees." + +"Yet, if I thought--" he began, perplexed and troubled, "--if I +thought that through my folly----" + +"Folly! _Non pas!_ Wisdom! Oh, my blessed accomplice! And do you +remember the canoe? Were we indeed quite mad to embark for Paris on +the moonlit Seine, you and I?--I in evening gown, soaked with dew to +the knees!--you with your sketching block and easel! _Quelle +déménagement en famille!_ Oh, Garry, my friend of gayer days, was that +really folly! No, no, no, it was infinite wisdom; and its memory is +helping me to live through this very moment!" + +She leaned there on her elbows and laughed across the cloth at him. +The mockery began to dance again and glimmer in her eyes: + +"After all I've told you," she added, "you are no wiser, are you? +You don't know why I never went to the Fountain of Marie de +Médicis--whether I forgot to go--whether I remembered but decided that +I had had quite enough of you. You don't know, do you?" + +He shook his head, smiling. The girl's face grew gradually serious: + +"And you never heard anything more about me?" she demanded. + +"No. Your name simply disappeared from the billboards, kiosques, and +newspapers." + +"And you heard no malicious gossip? None about my sister, either?" + +"None." + +She nodded: + +"Europe is a senile creature which forgets overnight. _Tant mieux_.... +You know, I shall sing and dance under my sister's name here. I told +you that, didn't I?" + +"Oh! That would be a great mistake----" + +"Listen! Nihla Quellen disappeared--married some fat bourgeois, died, +perhaps,"--she shrugged,--"anything you wish, my friend. Who cares to +listen to what is said about a dancing girl in all this din of war? +Who is interested?" + +It was scarcely a question, yet her eyes seemed to make it so. + +"Who cares?" she repeated impatiently. "Who remembers?" + +"I have remembered you," he said, meeting her intently questioning +gaze. + +"You? Oh, you are not like those others over there. Your country is +not at war. You still have leisure to remember. But they forget. They +haven't time to remember anything--anybody--over there. Don't you +think so?" She turned in her chair unconsciously, and gazed eastward. +"--They have forgotten me over there--" And her lips tightened, +contracted, bitten into silence. + +The strange beauty of the girl left him dumb. He was recalling, now, +all that he had ever heard concerning her. The gossip of Europe had +informed him that, though Nihla Quellen was passionately and devotedly +French in soul and heart, her mother had been one of those unmoral and +lovely Georgians, and her father an Alsatian, named Dunois--a French +officer who entered the Russian service ultimately, and became a +hunting cheetah for the Grand Duke Cyril, until himself hunted into +another world by that old bag of bones on the pale and shaky nag. His +daughter took the name of Nihla Quellen and what money was left, and +made her début in Constantinople. + +As the young fellow sat there watching her, all the petty gossip of +Europe came back to him--anecdotes, panegyrics, eulogies, scandals, +stage chatter, Quarter "divers," paid réclames--all that he had ever +read and heard about this notorious young girl, now seated there +across the table, with her pretty head framed by slender, unjewelled +fingers. He remembered the gems she had worn that June night, a year +ago, and their magnificence. + +"Well," she said, "life is a pleasantry, a jest, a bon-mot flung over +his shoulder by some god too drunk with nectar to invent a better +joke. Life is an Olympian epigram made between immortal yawns. What do +you think of _my_ epigram, Garry?" + +"I think you are just as clever and amusing as I remember you, +Nihla." + +"Amusing to _you_, perhaps. But I don't entertain myself very +successfully. I don't think poverty is a very funny joke. Do you?" + +"Poverty!" he repeated, smiling his unbelief. + +She smiled too, displayed her pretty, ringless hands humorously, for +his inspection, then framed her oval face between them again and made +a deliberate grimace. + +"All gone," she said. "I am, as you say, here on my uppers." + +"I can't understand, Nihla----" + +"Don't try to. It doesn't concern you. Also, please forget me as Nihla +Quellen. I told you that I've taken my sister's name, Thessalie +Dunois." + +"But all Europe knows you as Nihla Quellen----" + +"Listen!" she interrupted sharply. "I have troubles enough. Don't add +to them, or I shall be sorry I met you again. I tell you my name is +Thessa. Please remember it." + +"Very well," he said, reddening under the rebuke. + +She noted the painful colour in his face, then looked elsewhere, +indifferently. Her features remained expressionless for a while. After +a few moments she looked around at him again, and her smile began to +glimmer: + +"It's only this," she said; "the girl you met once in your life--the +dancing singing-girl they knew over there--is already an episode to be +forgotten. End her career any way you wish, Garry,--natural death, +suicide--or she can repent and take the veil, if you like--or perish +at sea--only end her.... Please?" she added, with the sweet, trailing +inflection characteristic of her. + +He nodded. The girl smiled mischievously. + +"Don't nod your head so owlishly and pretend to understand. You don't +understand. Only two or three people do. And I hope they'll believe me +dead, even if you are not polite enough to agree with them." + +"How can you expect to maintain your incognito?" he insisted. "There +will be plenty of people in your very first audience----" + +"I had a sister, did I not?" + +"_Was_ she your sister?--the one who danced with you--the one called +Thessa?" + +"No. But the play-bills said she was. Now, I've told you something +that nobody knows except two or three unpleasant devils--" She dropped +her arms on the table and leaned a trifle forward: + +"Oh, pouf!" she said. "Don't let's be mysterious and dramatic, you and +I. I'll tell you: I gave that woman the last of my jewels and she +promised to disappear and leave her name to me to use. It was my own +name, anyway, Thessalie Dunois. Now, you know. Be as discreet and nice +as I once found you. Will you?" + +"Of course." + +"'Of course,'" she repeated, smiling, and with a little twitch of her +shoulders, as though letting fall a burdensome cloak. "Allons! With a +free heart, then! I am Thessalie Dunois; I am here; I am poor--don't +be frightened! I shall not borrow----" + +"That's rotten, Thessa!" he said, turning very red. + +"Oh, go lightly, please, my friend Garry. I have no claim on you. +Besides, I know men----" + +"You don't appear to!" + +"Tiens! Our first quarrel!" she exclaimed, laughingly. "This is indeed +serious----" + +"If you need aid----" + +"No, I don't! Please, why do you scowl at me? Do you then wish I +needed aid? Yours? Allez, Monsieur Garry, if I did I'd venture, +perhaps, to say so to you. Does that make amends?" she added sweetly. + +She clasped her white hands on the cloth and looked at him with that +engaging, humorous little air which had so easily captivated her +audiences in Europe--that, and her voice with the hint of recklessness +ever echoing through its sweetness and youthful gaiety. + +"What are you doing in New York?" she asked. "Painting?" + +"I have a studio, but----" + +"But no clients? Is that it? Pouf! Everybody begins that way. I sang +in a café at Dijon for five francs and my soup! At Rennes I nearly +starved. Oh, yes, Garry, in spite of a number of obliging gentlemen +who, like you, offered--first aid----" + +"That is absolutely rotten of you, Thessa. Did I ever----" + +"No! For goodness' sake let me jest with you without flying into +tempers!" + +"But----" + +"Oh, pouf! I shall not quarrel with you! Whatever you and I were going +to say during the next ten minutes shall remain unsaid!... Now, the +ten minutes are over; now, we're reconciled and you are in good humour +again. And now, tell me about yourself, your painting--in other +words, tell me the things about yourself that would interest a +friend." + +"Are you?" + +"Your friend? Yes, I am--if you wish." + +"I do wish it." + +"Then I am your friend. I once had a wonderful evening with you.... +I'm having a very good time now. You were _nice_ to me, Garry. I +really was sorry not to see you again." + +"At the fountain of Marie de Médicis," he said reproachfully. + +"Yes. Flatter yourself, monsieur, because I did _not_ forget our +rendezvous. I might have forgotten it easily enough--there was +sufficient excuse, God knows--a girl awakened by the crash of +ruin--springing out of bed to face the end of the world without a +moment's warning--yes, the end of all things--death, too! Tenez, it +was permissible to forget our rendezvous under such circumstances, was +it not? But--I did _not_ forget. I thought about it in a dumb, calm +way all the while--even while _he_ stood there denouncing me, +threatening me, noisy, furious--with the button of the Legion in his +lapel--and an ugly pistol which he waved in the air--" She laughed: + +"Oh, it was not at all gay, I assure you.... And even when I took to +my heels after he had gone--for it was a matter of life or death, and +I hadn't a minute to lose--oh, very dramatic, of course, for I ran +away in disguise and I had a frightful time of it leaving France! +Well, even then, at top speed and scared to death, I remembered the +fountain of Marie de Médicis, and you. Don't be too deeply flattered. +I remembered these items principally because they had caused my +downfall." + +"I? I caused----" + +"No. _I_ caused it! It was I who went out on the lawn. It was I who +came across to see who was painting by moonlight. That began +it--seeing you there--in moonlight bright enough to read by--bright +enough to paint by. Oh, Garry--and you were _so_ good-looking! It was +the moon--and the way you smiled at me. And they all were dancing +inside, and _he_ was so big and fat and complacent, dancing away in +there!... And so I fell a prey to folly." + +"Was it really our escapade that--that ruined you?" + +"Well--it was partly that. Pouf! It is over. And I am here. So are +you. It's been nice to see you.... Please call our waiter." She +glanced at her cheap, leather wrist watch. + +As they rose and left the dining-room, he asked her if they were not +to see each other again. A one-eyed man, close behind them, listened +for her reply. + +She continued to walk on slowly beside him without answering, until +they reached the rotunda. + +"Do you wish to see me again?" she enquired abruptly. + +"Don't you also wish it?" + +"I don't know, Garry.... I've been annoyed in New +York--bothered--seriously.... I can't explain, but somehow--I don't +seem to wish to begin a friendship with anybody...." + +"Ours began two years ago." + +"Did it?" + +"Did it not, Thessa?" + +"Perhaps.... I don't know. After all--it doesn't matter. I think--I +think we had better say good-bye--until some happy hazard--like +to-day's encounter--" She hesitated, looked up at him, laughed: + +"Where is your studio?" she asked mischievously. + +The one-eyed man at their heels was listening. + + + + +V + +IN DRAGON COURT + + +There was a young moon in the southwest--a slender tracery in the +April twilight--curved high over his right shoulder as he walked +northward and homeward through the flare of Broadway. + +His thoughts were still occupied with the pleasant excitement of his +encounter with Thessalie Dunois; his mind and heart still responded to +the delightful stimulation. Out of an already half-forgotten realm of +romance, where, often now, he found it increasingly difficult to +realise that he had lived for five happy years, a young girl had +suddenly emerged as bodily witness, to corroborate, revive, and +refresh his fading faith in the reality of what once had been. + +Five years in France!--France with its clear sun and lovely moon; its +silver-grey cities, its lilac haze, its sweet, deep greenness, its +atmosphere of living light!--France, the dwelling-place of God in all +His myriad aspects--in all His protean forms! France, the sanctuary of +Truth and all her ancient and her future liberties; France, blossoming +domain of Love in Love's million exquisite transfigurations, wherein +only the eye of faith can recognise the winged god amid his +camouflage! + + * * * * * + +Wine-strong winds of the Western World, and a pitiless Western sun +which etches every contour with terrible precision, leaving nothing to +imagination--no delicate mystery to rest and shelter souls--had swept +away and partly erased from his mind the actuality of those five past +years. + +Already that past, of which he had been a part, was becoming +disturbingly unreal to him. Phantoms haunted its ever-paling sunlight; +its scenes were fading; its voices grew vague and distant; its hushed +laughter dwindled to a whisper, dying like a sigh. + +Then, suddenly, against that misty tapestry of tinted spectres, +appeared Thessalie Dunois in the flesh!--straight out of the +phantom-haunted void had stepped this glowing thing of life! Into the +raw reek and familiar dissonance of Broadway she had vanished. Small +wonder that he had followed her to keep in touch with the vanishing +past, as a sleeper, waking against his will, strives still to grasp +the fragile fabric of a happy dream. + +Yet, in spite of Thessalie, in spite of dreams, in spite of his own +home-coming, and the touch of familiar pavements under his own feet, +the past, to Barres, was utterly dead, the present strange and unreal, +the future obscure and all aflame behind a world afire with war. + +For two years, now, no human mind in America had been able to adjust +itself to the new heaven and the new earth which had sprung into lurid +being at the thunderclap of war. + +All things familiar had changed in the twinkling of an eye; all former +things had passed away, leaving the stunned brain of humanity dulled +under the shock. + +Slowly, by degrees, the world was beginning to realise that the +civilisation of Christ was being menaced once again by a resurgence +from that ancient land of legend where the wild Hun denned;--that +again the endless hordes of barbarians were rushing in on Europe out +of their Eastern fastnesses--hordes which filled the shrinking skies +with their clamour, vaunting the might of Baal, cheering their +antichrist, drenching the knees of their own red gods with the blood +of little children. + +It seemed impossible for Americans to understand that these things +could be--were really true--that the horrors the papers printed were +actualities happening to civilised people like themselves and their +neighbours. + +Out of their own mouths the German tribes thundered their own disgrace +and condemnation, yet America sat dazed, incredulous, motionless. +Emperor and general, professor and junker, shouted at the top of their +lungs the new creed, horrible as the Black Mass, reversing every +precept taught by Christ. + +Millions of Teuton mouths cheered fiercely for the new +religion--Frightfulness; worshipped with frantic yells the new +trinity--Wotan, Kaiser and Brute Strength. + +Stunned, blinded, deafened, the Western World, still half-paralysed, +stirred stiffly from its inertia. Slowly, mechanically, its arteries +resumed their functions; the reflex, operating automatically, started +trade again in its old channels; old habits were timidly resumed; +minds groped backward, searching for severed threads which connected +yesterday with to-day--groped, hunted, found nothing, and, perplexed, +turned slowly toward the smoke-choked future for some reason for it +all--some outlook. + +There was no explanation, no outlook--nothing save dust and flame and +the din of Teutonic hordes trampling to death the Son of Man. + +So America moved about her worn, deep-trodden and familiar ways, her +mind slowly clearing from the cataclysmic concussion, her power of +vision gradually returning, adjusting itself, little by little, to +this new heaven and new earth and this hell entirely new. + +The _Lusitania_ went down; the Great Republic merely quivered. Other +ships followed; only a low murmur of pain came from the Western +Colossus. + +But now, after the second year, through the thickening nightmare the +Great Republic groaned aloud; and a new note of menace sounded in her +drugged and dreary voice. + +And the thick ears of the Hun twitched and he paused, squatting +belly-deep in blood, to listen. + + * * * * * + +Barres walked homeward. Somewhere along in the 40's he turned eastward +into one of those cross-streets originally built up of brownstone +dwelling houses, and now in process of transformation into that +architectural and commercial miscellany which marks the transition +stage of the metropolis anywhere from Westchester to the sea. + +Altered for business purposes, basements displayed signs and +merchandise of bootmakers, dealers in oriental porcelains, rare +prints, silverware; parlour windows modified into bay windows, sheeted +with plate-glass, exposed, perhaps, feminine headgear, or an expensive +model gown or two, or the sign of a real-estate man, or of an +upholsterer. + +Above the parlour floors lived people of one sort or another; +furnished and unfurnished rooms and suites prevailed; and the +brownstone monotony was already indented along the building line by +brand-new constructions of Indiana limestone, behind the glittering +plate-glass of which were to be seen reticent displays of artistic +furniture, modern and antique oil paintings, here and there the +lace-curtained den of some superior ladies' hair-dresser, where +beautifying also was accomplished at a price, alas! + +Halfway between Sixth Avenue and Fifth, on the north side of the +street, an enterprising architect had purchased half a dozen squatty, +three-storied houses, set back from the sidewalk behind grass-plots. +These had been lavishly stuccoed and transformed into abodes for those +irregulars in the army of life known as "artists." + +In the rear the back fences had been levelled; six corresponding +houses on the next street had been purchased; a sort of inner court +established, with a common grass-plot planted with trees and +embellished by a number of concrete works of art, battered statues, +sundials, and well-curbs. + +Always the army of civilisation trudges along screened, flanked, and +tagged after by life's irregulars, who cannot or will not conform to +routine. And these are always roaming around seeking their own +cantonments, where, for a while, they seem content to dwell at the end +of one more aimless étape through the world--not in regulation +barracks, but in regions too unconventional, too inconvenient to +attract others. + +Of this sort was the collection of squatty houses, forming a +"community," where, in the neighbourhood of other irregulars, Garret +Barres dwelt; and into the lighted entrance of which he now turned, +still exhilarated by his meeting with Thessalie Dunois. + +The architectural agglomeration was known as Dragon Court--a faïence +Fu-dog above the electric light over the green entrance door +furnishing that priceless idea--a Fu-dog now veiled by mesh-wire to +provide against the indiscretions of sparrows lured thither by +housekeeping possibilities lurking among the dense screens of Japanese +ivy covering the façade. + +Larry Soane, the irresponsible superintendent, always turned gardener +with April's advent in Dragon Court, contributions from its denizens +enabling him to pepper a few flower-beds with hyacinths and tulips, +and later with geraniums. These former bulbs had now gratefully +appeared in promising thickets, and Barres saw the dark form of the +handsome, reckless-looking Irishman fussing over them in the +lantern-lit dusk, while his little daughter, Dulcie, kneeling on the +dim grass, caressed the first blue hyacinth blossom with thin, +childish fingers. + +Barres glanced into his letter-box behind the desk, above which a +drop-light threw more shadows than illumination. Little Dulcie Soane +was supposed to sit under it and emit information, deliver and receive +letters, pay charges on packages, and generally supervise things when +she was not attending school. + +There were no letters for the young man. He examined a package, found +it contained his collars from the laundry, tucked them under his left +arm, and walked to the door looking out upon the dusky interior +court. + +"Soane," he said, "your garden begins to look very fine." He nodded +pleasantly to Dulcie, and the child responded to his friendly greeting +with the tired but dauntless smile of the young who are missing those +golden years to which all childhood has a claim. + +Dulcie's three cats came strolling out of the dusk across the lamplit +grass--a coal black one with sea-green eyes, known as "The Prophet," +and his platonic mate, white as snow, and with magnificent azure-blue +eyes which, in white cats, usually betokens total deafness. She was +known as "The Houri" to the irregulars of Dragon Court. The third cat, +unanimously but misleadingly christened "Strindberg" by the dwellers +in Dragon Court, has already crooked her tortoise-shell tail and was +tearing around in eccentric circles or darting halfway up trees in a +manner characteristic, and, possibly accounting for the name, if not +for the sex. + +"Thim cats of the kid's," observed Soane, "do be scratchin' up the +plants all night long--bad cess to thim! Barrin' thim three omadhauns +yonder, I'd show ye a purty bed o' poisies, Misther Barres. But +Sthrin'berg, God help her, is f'r diggin' through to China." + +Dulcie impulsively caressed the Prophet, who turned his solemn, +incandescent eyes on Barres. The Houri also looked at him, then, +intoxicated by the soft spring evening, rolled lithely upon the new +grass and lay there twitching her snowy tail and challenging the stars +out of eyes that matched their brilliance. + +Dulcie got up and walked slowly across the grass to where Barres +stood: + +"May I come to see you this evening?" she asked, diffidently, and with +a swift, sidelong glance toward her father. + +"Ah, then, don't be worritin' him!" grumbled Soane. "Hasn't Misther +Barres enough to do, what with all thim idees he has slitherin' in his +head, an' all the books an' learnin' an' picters he has to think +of--whithout the likes of you at his heels every blessed minute, day +an' night!----" + +"But he always lets me--" she remonstrated. + +"G'wan, now, and lave the poor gentleman be! Quit your futtherin' an' +muttherin'. G'wan in the house, ye little scut, an' see what there is +f'r ye to do!----" + +"What's the matter with you, Soane?" interrupted Barres good-humouredly. +"Of course she can come up if she wants to. Do you feel like paying me +a visit, Dulcie, before you go to bed?" + +"Yes," she nodded diffidently. + +"Well, come ahead then, Sweetness! And whenever you want to come you +say so. Your father knows well enough I like to have you." + +He smiled at Dulcie; the child's shy preference for his society always +had amused him. Besides, she was always docile and obedient; and she +was very sensitive, too, never outwearing her welcome in his studio, +and always leaving without a murmur when, looking up from book or +drawing he would exclaim cheerfully: "Now, Sweetness! Time's up! Bed +for yours, little lady!" + +It had been a very gradual acquaintance between them--more than two +years in developing. From his first pleasant nod to her when he first +came to live in Dragon Court, it had progressed for a few months, +conservatively on her part, and on his with a detached but kindly +interest born of easy sympathy for youth and loneliness. + +But he had no idea of the passionate response he was stirring in the +motherless, neglected child--of what hunger he was carelessly +stimulating, what latent qualities and dormant characteristics he was +arousing. + +Her appearance, one evening, in her night-dress at his studio doorway, +accompanied by her three cats, began to enlighten him in regard to her +mental starvation. Tremulous, almost at the point of tears, she had +asked for a book and permission to remain for a few moments in the +studio. He had rung for Selinda, ordered fruit, cake, and a glass of +milk, and had installed Dulcie upon the sofa with a lapful of books. +That was the beginning. + +But Barres still did not entirely understand what particular magnet +drew the child to his studio. The place was full of beautiful things, +books, rugs, pictures, fine old furniture, cabinets glimmering with +porcelains, ivories, jades, Chinese crystals. These all, in minutest +detail, seemed to fascinate the girl. Yet, after giving her permission +to enter whenever she desired, often while reading or absorbed in +other affairs, he became conscious of being watched; and, glancing up, +would frequently surprise her sitting there very silently, with an +open book on her knees, and her strange grey eyes intently fixed on +him. + +Then he would always smile and say something friendly; and usually +forget her the next moment in his absorption of whatever work he had +under way. + +Only one other man inhabiting Dragon Court ever took the trouble to +notice or speak to the child--James Westmore, the sculptor. And he was +very friendly in his vigorous, jolly, rather boisterous way, catching +her up and tossing her about as gaily and irresponsibly as though she +were a rag doll; and always telling her he was her adopted godfather +and would have to chastise her if she ever deserved it. Also, he was +always urging her to hurry and grow up, because he had a wedding +present for her. And though Dulcie's smile was friendly, and +Westmore's nonsense pleased the shy child, she merely submitted, never +made any advance. + + * * * * * + +Barres's ménage was accomplished by two specimens of mankind, totally +opposite in sex and colour; Selinda, a blonde, slant-eyed, and very +trim Finn, doing duty as maid; and Aristocrates W. Johnson, lately +employed in the capacity of waiter on a dining-car by the New York +Central Railroad--tall, dignified, graceful, and Ethiopian--who cooked +as daintily as a débutante trifling with culinary duty, and served at +table with the languid condescension of a dilettante and wealthy +amateur of domestic arts. + + * * * * * + +Barres ascended the two low, easy flights of stairs and unlocked his +door. Aristocrates, setting the table in the dining-room, approached +gracefully and relieved his master of hat, coat, and stick. + +Half an hour later, a bath and fresh linen keyed up his already +lively spirits; he whistled while he tied his tie, took a critical +look at himself, and, dropping both hands into the pockets of his +dinner jacket, walked out into the big studio, which also was his +living-room. + +There was a piano there; he sat down and rattled off a rollicking air +from the most recent spring production, beginning to realise that he +was keyed up for something livelier than a solitary dinner at home. + +His hands fell from the keys and he swung around on the piano stool +and looked into the dining-room rather doubtfully. + +"Aristocrates!" he called. + +The tall pullman butler sauntered gracefully in. + +Barres gave him a telephone number to call. Aristocrates returned +presently with the information that the lady was not at home. + +"All right. Try Amsterdam 6703. Ask for Miss Souval." + +But Miss Souval, also, was out. + +Barres possessed a red-leather covered note-book; he went to his desk +and got it; and under his direction Aristocrates called up several +numbers, reporting adversely in every case. + +It was a fine evening; ladies were abroad or preparing to fulfil +engagements wisely made on such a day as this had been. And the more +numbers he called up the lonelier the young man began to feel. + +Thessalie had not given him either her address or telephone number. It +would have been charming to have her dine with him. He was now +thoroughly inclined for company. He glanced at the empty dining-room +with aversion. + +"All right; never mind," he said, dismissing Aristocrates, who receded +as lithely as though leading a cake-walk. + +"The devil," muttered the young fellow. "I'm not going to dine here +alone. I've had too happy a day of it." + +He got up restlessly and began to pace the studio. He knew he could +get some man, but he didn't want one. However, it began to look like +that or a solitary dinner. + +So after a few more moments' scowling cogitation he went out and down +the stairs, with the vague idea of inviting some brother painter--any +one of the regular irregulars who inhabited Dragon Court. + +Dulcie sat behind the little desk near the door, head bowed, her thin +hands clasped over the closed ledger, and in her pallid face the +expressionless dullness of a child forgotten. + +"Hello, Sweetness!" he said cheerfully. + +She looked up; a slight colour tinted her cheeks, and she smiled. + +"What's the matter, Dulcie?" + +"Nothing." + +"Nothing? That's a very dreary malady--nothing. You look lonely. Are +you?" + +"I don't know." + +"You don't know whether you are lonely or not?" he demanded. + +"I suppose I am," she ventured, with a shy smile. + +"Where is your father?" + +"He went out." + +"Any letters for me--or messages?" + +"A man--he had one eye--came. He asked who you are." + +"What?" + +"I think he was German. He had only one eye. He asked your name." + +"What did you say?" + +"I told him. Then he went away." + +Barres shrugged: + +"Somebody who wants to sell artists' materials," he concluded. Then he +looked at the girl: "So you're lonely, are you? Where are your three +cats? Aren't they company for you?" + +"Yes...." + +"Well, then," he said gaily, "why not give a party for them? That +ought to amuse you, Dulcie." + +The child still smiled; Barres walked on past her a pace or two, +halted, turned irresolutely, arrived at some swift decision, and came +back, suddenly understanding that he need seek no further--that he had +discovered his guest of the evening at his very elbow. + +"Did you and your father have your supper, Dulcie?" + +"My father went out to eat at Grogan's." + +"How about you?" + +"I can find something." + +"Why not dine with me?" he suggested. + +The child stared, bewildered, then went a little pale. + +"Shall we have a dinner party for two--you and I, Dulcie? What do you +say?" + +She said nothing, but her big grey eyes were fixed on him in a passion +of inquiry. + +"A real party," he repeated. "Let the people get their own mail and +packages until your father returns. Nobody's going to sneak in, +anyway. Or, if that won't do, I'll call up Grogan's and tell your +father to come back because you are going to dine in my studio with +me. Do you know the telephone number? Very well; get Grogan's for me. +I'll speak to your father." + +Dulcie's hand trembled on the receiver as she called up Grogan's; +Barres bent over the transmitter: + +"Soane, Dulcie is going to take dinner in my studio with me. You'll +have to come back on duty, when you've eaten." He hung up, looked at +Dulcie and laughed. + +"I wanted company as much as you did," he confessed. "Now, go and put +on your prettiest frock, and we'll be very grand and magnificent. And +afterward we'll talk and look at books and pretty things--and maybe +we'll turn on the Victrola and I'll teach you to dance--" He had +already begun to ascend the stairs: + +"In half an hour, Dulcie!" he called back; "--and you may bring the +Prophet if you like.... Shall I ask Mr. Westmore to join us?" + +"I'd rather be all alone with you," she said shyly. + +He laughed and ran on up the stairs. + + * * * * * + +In half an hour the electric bell rang very timidly. Aristocrates, +having been instructed and rehearsed, and, loftily condescending to +his rôle in a kindly comedy to be played seriously, announced: "Miss +Soane!" in his most courtly manner. + +Barres threw aside the evening paper and came forward, taking both +hands of the white and slightly frightened child. + +"Aristocrates ought to have announced the Prophet, too," he said +gaily, breaking the ice and swinging Dulcie around to face the open +door again. + +The Prophet entered, perfectly at ease, his eyes of living jade +shining, his tail urbanely hoisted. + +Dulcie ventured to smile; Barres laughed outright; Aristocrates +surveyed the Prophet with toleration mingled with a certain respect. +For a black cat is never without occult significance to a gentleman of +colour. + +With Dulcie's hand still in his, Barres led her into the living-room, +where, presently, Aristocrates brought a silver tray upon which was +a glass of iced orange juice for Dulcie, and a "Bronnix," as +Aristocrates called it, for the master. + +"To your health and good fortune in life, Dulcie," he said politely. + +The child gazed mutely at him over her glass, then, blushing, ventured +to taste her orange juice. + +When she finished, Barres drew her frail arm through his and took her +out, seating her. Ceremonies began in silence, and the master of the +place was not quite sure whether the flush on Dulcie's face indicated +unhappy embarrassment or pleasure. + +He need not have worried: the child adored it all. The Prophet came in +and gravely seated himself on a neighbouring chair, whence he could +survey the table and seriously inspect each course. + +"Dulcie," he said, "how grown-up you look with your bobbed hair put +up, and your fluffy gown." + +She lifted her enchanted eyes to him: + +"It is my first communion dress.... I've had to make it longer for a +graduation dress." + +"Oh, that's so; you're graduating this summer!" + +"Yes." + +"And what then?" + +"Nothing." She sighed unconsciously and sat very still with folded +hands, while Aristocrates refilled her glass of water. + +She no longer felt embarrassed; her gravity matched Aristocrates's; +she seriously accepted whatever was offered or set before her, but +Barres noticed that she ate it all, merely leaving on her plate, with +inculcated and mathematical precision, a small portion as concession +to good manners. + +They had, toward the banquet's end, water ices, bon-bons, French +pastry, and ice cream. And presently a slight and blissful sigh of +repletion escaped the child's red lips. The symptoms were satisfactory +but unmistakable; Dulcie was perfectly feminine; her capacity had +proven it. + +The Prophet's stately self-control in the fragrant vicinity of +nourishment was now to be rewarded: Barres conducted Dulcie to the +studio and installed her among cushions upon a huge sofa. Then, +lighting a cigarette, he dropped down beside her and crossed one knee +over the other. + +"Dulcie," he said in his lazy, humorous way, "it's a funny old world +any way you view it." + +"Do you think it is always funny?" inquired the child, her deep, grey +eyes on his face. + +He smiled: + +"Yes, I do; but sometimes the joke in on one's self. And then, +although it is still a funny world, from the world's point of view, +you, of course, fail to see the humour of it.... I don't suppose you +understand." + +"I do," nodded the child, with the ghost of a smile. + +"Really? Well, I was afraid I'd been talking nonsense, but if you +understand, it's all right." + +They both laughed. + +"Do you want to look at some books?" he suggested. + +"I'd rather listen to you." + +He smiled: + +"All right. I'll begin at this corner of the room and tell you about +the things in it." And for a while he rambled lazily on about old +French chairs and Spanish chests, and the panels of Mille Fleur +tapestry which hung behind them; the two lovely pre-Raphael panels in +their exquisite ancient frames; the old Venetian velvet covering +triple choir-stalls in the corner; the ivory-toned marble figure on +its wood and compos pedestal, where tendrils and delicate foliations +of water gilt had become slightly irridescent, harmonising with the +patine on the ancient Chinese garniture flanking a mantel clock of +dullest gold. + +About these things, their workmanship, the histories of their times, +he told her in his easy, unaccented voice, glancing sideways at her +from time to time to note how she stood it. + +But she listened, fascinated, her gaze moving from the object +discussed to the man who discussed it; her slim limbs curled under +her, her hands clasped around a silken cushion made from the robe of +some Chinese princess. + +Lounging there beside her, amused, humorously flattered by her +attention, and perhaps a little touched, he held forth a little +longer. + +"Is it a nice party, so far, Dulcie?" he concluded with a smile. + +She flushed, found no words, nodded, and sat with lowered head as +though pondering. + +"What would you rather do if you could do what you want to in the +world, Dulcie?" + +"I don't know." + +"Think a minute." + +She thought for a while. + +"Live with you," she said seriously. + +"Oh, Dulcie! That is no sort of ambition for a growing girl!" he +laughed; and she laughed, too, watching his every expression out of +grey eyes that were her chiefest beauty. + +"You're a little too young to know what you want yet," he concluded, +still smiling. "By the time that bobbed mop of red hair grows to a +proper length, you'll know more about yourself." + +"Do you like it up?" she enquired naïvely. + +"It makes you look older." + +"I want it to." + +"I suppose so," he nodded, noticing the snowy neck which the new +coiffure revealed. It was becoming evident to him that Dulcie had her +own vanities--little pathetic vanities which touched him as he glanced +at the reconstructed first communion dress and the drooping hyacinth +pinned at the waist, and the cheap white slippers on a foot as +slenderly constructed as her long and narrow hands. + +"Did your mother die long ago, Dulcie?" + +"Yes." + +"In America?" + +"In Ireland." + +"You look like her, I fancy--" thinking of Soane. + +"I don't know." + +Barres had heard Soane hold forth in his cups on one or two +occasions--nothing more than the vague garrulousness of a Celt made +more loquacious by the whiskey of one Grogan--something about his +having been a gamekeeper in his youth, and that his wife--"God rest +her!"--might have held up her head with "anny wan o' thim in th' Big +House." + +Recollecting this, he idly wondered what the story might have been--a +young girl's perverse infatuation for her father's gamekeeper, +perhaps--a handsome, common, ignorant youth, reckless and irresponsible +enough to take advantage of her--probably some such story--resembling +similar histories of chauffeurs, riding-masters, grooms, and +coachmen at home. + +The Prophet came noiselessly into the studio, stopped at sight of his +little mistress, twitched his tail reflectively, then leaped onto a +carved table and calmly began his ablutions. + +Barres got up and wound up the Victrola. Then he kicked aside a rug or +two. + +"This is to be a real party, you know," he remarked. "You don't dance, +do you?" + +"Yes," she said diffidently, "a little." + +"Oh! That's fine!" he exclaimed. + +Dulcie got off the sofa, shook out her reconstructed gown. When he +came over to where she stood, she laid her hand in his almost +solemnly, so overpowering had become the heavenly sequence of events. +For the rite of his hospitality had indeed become a rite to her. Never +before had she stood in awe, enthralled before such an altar as this +man's hearthstone. Never had she dreamed that he who so wondrously +served it could look at such an offering as hers--herself. + +But the miracle had happened; altar and priest were accepting her; she +laid her hand, which trembled, in his; gave herself to his guidance +and to the celestial music, scarcely seeing, scarcely hearing his +voice. + +"You dance delightfully," he was saying; "you're a born dancer, +Dulcie. I do it fairly well myself, and I ought to know." + +He was really very much surprised. He was enjoying it immensely. When +the Victrola gave up the ghost he wound it again and came back to +resume. Under his suggestions and tutelage, they tried more intricate +steps, devious and ambitious, and Dulcie, unterrified by terpsichorean +complications, surmounted every one with his whispered coaching and +expert aid. + +Now it came to a point where time was not for him. He was too +interested, enjoying it too genuinely. + +Sometimes, when they paused to enable him to resurrect the defunct +music in the Victrola, they laughed at the Prophet, who sat upon the +ancient carved table, gravely surveying them. Sometimes they rested +because he thought she ought to--himself a trifle pumped--only to +find, to his amazement, that he need not be solicitous concerning +her. + + * * * * * + +A tall and ancient clock ringing midnight from clear, uncompromising +bells, brought Barres to himself. + +"Good Lord!" he exclaimed, "this won't do! Dear child, I'm having a +wonderful time, but I've got to deliver you to your father!" + +He drew her arm through his, laughingly pretending horror and haste; +she fled lightly along beside him as he whisked her through the hall +and down the stairs. + +A candle burned on the desk. Soane sat there, asleep, and odorous of +alcohol, his flushed face buried in his arms. + +But Soane was what is known as a "sob-souse"; never ugly in his cups, +merely inclined to weep over the immemorial wrongs of Ireland. + +He woke up when Barres touched his shoulder, rubbed his swollen eyes +and black, curly head, gazed tragically at his daughter: + +"G'wan to bed, ye little scut!" he said, getting to his feet with a +terrific yawn. + +Barres took her hand: + +"We've had a wonderful party, haven't we, Sweetness?" + +"Yes," whispered the child. + +The next instant she was gone like a ghost, through the dusky, +whitewashed corridor where distorted shadows trembled in the +candlelight. + +"Soane," said Barres, "this won't do, you know. They'll sack you if +you keep on drinking." + +The man, not yet forty, a battered, middle-aged by-product of hale and +reckless vigour, passed his hands over his temples with the dignity +of a Hibernian Hamlet: + +"The harp that wanst through Tara's halls--" he began; but memory +failed; and two tears--by-products, also, of Grogan's whiskey--sparkled +in his reproachful eyes. + +"I'm merely telling you," remarked Barres. "We all like you, Soane, +but the landlord won't stand for it." + +"May God forgive him," muttered Soane. "Was there ever a landlord but +he was a tyrant, too?" + +Barres blew out the candle; a faint light above the Fu-dog outside, +over the street door, illuminated the stone hall. + +"You ought to keep sober for your little daughter's sake," insisted +Barres in a low voice. "You love her, don't you?" + +"I do that!" said Soane--"God bless her and her poor mother, who could +hould up her pretty head with anny wan till she tuk up with th' like +o' me!" + +His brogue always increased in his cups; devotion to Ireland and a +lofty scorn of landlords grew with both. + +"You'd better keep away from Grogan's," remarked Barres. + +"I had a bite an' a sup at Grogan's. Is there anny harrm in that, +sorr?" + +"Cut out the 'sup,' Larry. Cut out that gang of bums at Grogan's, too. +There are too many Germans hanging out around Grogan's these days. You +Sinn Feiners or Clan-na-Gael, or whatever you are, had better manage +your own affairs, anyway. The old-time Feinans stood on their own +sturdy legs, not on German beer-skids." + +"Wisha then, sorr, d'ye mind th' ould song they sang in thim days: + + "_Then up steps Bonyparty + An' takes me by the hand, + And how is ould Ireland, + And how does she shtand? + It's a poor, disthressed country + As ever yet was seen, + And they're hangin' men and women + For the wearing of the green!_ + + _Oh, the wearing of the_----" + +"That'll do," said Barres drily. "Do you want to wake the house? Don't +go to Grogan's and talk about Ireland to any Germans. I'll tell you +why: we'll probably be at war with Germany ourselves within a year, +and that's a pretty good reason for you Irish to keep clear of all +Germans. Go to bed!" + + + + +VI + +DULCIE + + +One warm afternoon late in spring, Dulcie Soane, returning from school +to Dragon Court, found her father behind the desk, as usual, awaiting +his daughter's advent, to release him from duty. + +A tall, bony man with hectic and sunken cheeks and only a single eye +was standing by the desk, earnestly engaged in whispered conversation +with her father. + +He drew aside instantly as Dulcie came up and laid her school books on +the desk. Soane, already redolent of Grogan's whiskey, pushed back his +chair and got to his feet. + +"G'wan in f'r a bite an' a sup," he said to his daughter, "while I +talk to the gintleman." + +So Dulcie went slowly into the superintendent's dingy quarters for her +mid-day meal, which was dinner; and between her and a sloppy +scrub-woman who cooked for them, she managed to warm up and eat what +Soane had left for her from his own meal. + +When she returned to the desk in the hall, the one-eyed man had gone. +Soane sat on the chair behind the desk, his face over-red and shiny, +his heels drumming the devil's tattoo on the tessellated pavement. + +"I'll be at Grogan's," he said, as Dulcie seated herself in the +ancient leather chair behind the desk telephone, and began to sort the +pile of mail which the postman evidently had just delivered. + +"Very well," she murmured absently, turning around and beginning +to distribute the letters and parcels in the various numbered +compartments behind her. Soane slid off his chair to his feet and +straightened up, stretching and yawning. + +"Av anny wan tilliphones to Misther Barres," he said, "listen in." + +"What!" + +"Listen in, I'm tellin' you. And if it's a lady, ask her name first, +and then listen in. And if she says her name is Quellen or Dunois, +mind what she says to Misther Barres." + +"Why?" enquired Dulcie, astonished. + +"Becuz I'm tellin' ye!" + +"I shall not do that," said the girl, flushing up. + +"Ah, bother! Sure, there's no harm in it, Dulcie! Would I be askin' ye +to do wrong, asthore? Me who is your own blood and kin? Listen then: +'Tis a woman what do be botherin' the poor young gentleman, an' I'll +not have him f'r to be put upon. Listen, m'acushla, and if airy a lady +tilliphones, or if she comes futtherin' an' muttherin' around here, +call me at Grogan's and I'll be soon dishposen' av the likes av her." + +"Has she ever been here--this lady?" asked the girl, uncertain and +painfully perplexed. + +"Sure has she! Manny's the time I've chased her out," replied Soane +glibly. + +"Oh. What does she look like?" + +"God knows--annything ye don't wish f'r to look like yourself! Sure, I +disremember what make of woman she might be--her name's enough for +you. Call me up if she comes or rings. She may be a dangerous woman, +at that," he added, "so speak fair to her and listen in to what she +says." + +Dulcie slowly nodded, looking at him hard. + +Soane put on his faded brown hat at an angle, fished a cigar with a +red and gold band from his fancy but soiled waistcoat, scratched a +match on the seat of his greasy pants, and sauntered out through the +big, whitewashed hallway into the street, with a touch of the swagger +which always characterised him. + + * * * * * + +Dulcie, both hands buried in her ruddy hair and both thin elbows on +the desk, sat poring over her school books. + +Graduation day was approaching; there was much for her to absorb, much +to memorise before then. + +As she studied she hummed to herself the air of the quaint song which +she was to sing at her graduation exercises. That did not interfere +with her concentration; but as she finished one lesson, cast aside the +book, and opened another to prepare the next lesson, vaguely happy +memories of her evening party with Barres came into her mind to +disturb her thoughts, tempting her to reverie and the delicious +idleness she knew only when alone and absorbed in thoughts of him. + +But she resolutely put him out of her mind and opened her book. + +The hall clock ticked loudly through the silence; slanting sun rays +fell through the street grille, across the tessellated floor where +flies crawled and buzzed. + +The Prophet sat full in a bar of sunlight and gravely followed the +movements of the flies as though specialising on the study of those +amazing insects. + +Tenants of Dragon Court passed out or entered at intervals, pausing to +glance at their letter-boxes or requesting their keys. + +Westmore came down the eastern staircase, like an avalanche, with a +cheery: + +"Hello, Dulcie! Any letters? All right, old dear! If you see Mr. +Mandel, tell him I'll be at the club!" + +Corot Mandel came in presently, and she gave him Westmore's message. + +"Thanks," he said, not even glancing at the thin figure in the shabby +dress too small for her. And, after peering into his letter-box, he +went away with the indolent swing of a large and powerful plantigrade, +gazing fixedly ahead of him out of heavy, oriental eyes, and twisting +up his jet black, waxed moustache. + +A tall, handsome girl called and enquired for Mr. Trenor. Dulcie +returned her amiable smile, unhooked the receiver, and telephoned up. +But nobody answered from Esmé Trenor's apartment, and the girl, whose +name was Damaris Souval, and whose profession varied between the stage +and desultory sitting for artists, smiled once more on Dulcie and +sauntered out in her very charming summer gown. + +The shabby child looked after her through the sunny hallway, the smile +still curving her lips--a sensitive, winning smile, untainted by envy. +Then she resumed her book, serenely clearing her youthful mind of +vanity and desire for earthly things. + +Half an hour later Esmé Trenor sauntered in. His was a sensitive +nature and fastidious, too. Dinginess, obscurity--everything that was +shabby, tarnished, humble in life, he consistently ignored. He had +ignored Dulcie Soane for three years: he ignored her now. + +He glanced indifferently into his letter-box as he passed the desk. +Dulcie said, with the effort it always required for her to speak to +him: + +"Miss Souval called, but left no message." + +Trenor's supercilious glance rested on her for the fraction of a +second, then, with a bored nod, he continued on his way and up the +stairs. And Dulcie returned to her book. + +The desk telephone rang: a Mrs. Helmund desired to speak to Mr. +Trenor. Dulcie switched her on, rested her chin on her hand, and +continued her reading. + +Some time afterward the telephone rang again. + +"Dragon Court," said Dulcie, mechanically. + +"I wish to speak to Mr. Barres, please." + +"Mr. Barres has not come in from luncheon." + +"Are you sure?" said the pretty, feminine voice. + +"Quite sure," replied Dulcie. "Wait a minute----" + +She called Barres's apartment; Aristocrates answered and confirmed his +master's absence with courtly effusion. + +"No, he is not in," repeated Dulcie. "Who shall I say called him?" + +"Say that Miss Dunois called him up. If he comes in, say that Miss +Thessalie Dunois will come at five to take tea with him. Thank you. +Good-bye." + +Startled to hear the very name against which her father had warned +her, Dulcie found it difficult to reconcile the sweet voice that came +to her over the wire with the voice of any such person her father had +described. + +Still a trifle startled, she laid aside the receiver with a disturbed +glance toward the wrought-iron door at the further end of the hall. + +She had no desire at all to call up her father at Grogan's and inform +him of what had occurred. The mere thought of surreptitious listening +in, of eavesdropping, of informing, reddened her face. Also, she had +long since lost confidence in the somewhat battered but jaunty man who +had always neglected her, although never otherwise unkind, even when +intoxicated. + +No, she would neither listen in nor inform on anybody at the behest of +a father for whom, alas, she had no respect, merely those shreds of +conventional feeling which might once have been filial affection, but +had become merely an habitual solicitude. + +No, her character, her nature refused such obedience. If there was +trouble between the owner of the unusually sweet voice and Mr. Barres, +it was their affair, not hers, not her father's. + +This settled in her mind, she opened another book and turned the pages +slowly until she came to the lesson to be learned. + +It was hard to concentrate; her thoughts were straying, now, to +Barres. + +And, as she leaned there, musing above her dingy school book, through +the grilled door at the further end of the hall stepped a young girl +in a light summer gown--a beautiful girl, lithe, graceful, exquisitely +groomed--who came swiftly up to the desk, a trifle pale and +breathless: + +"Mr. Barres? He lives here?" + +"Yes." + +"Please announce Miss Dunois." + +Dulcie flushed deeply under the shock: + +"Mr.--Mr. Barres is still out----" + +"Oh. Was it you I talked to over the telephone?" asked Thessalie +Dunois. + +"Yes." + +"Mr. Barres has not returned?" + +"No." + +Thessalie bit her lip, hesitated, turned to go. And at the same +instant Dulcie saw the one-eyed man at the street door, peering +through the iron grille. + +Thessalie saw him, too, stiffened to marble, stood staring straight at +him. + +He turned and went away up the street. But Dulcie, to whom the +incident signified nothing in particular except the impudence of a +one-eyed man, was not prepared for the face which Thessalie Dunois +turned toward her. Not a vestige of colour remained in it, and her +dark eyes seemed feverish and too large. + +"You need not give Mr. Barres any message from me," she said in an +altered voice, which sounded strained and unsteady. "Please do not +even say that I came or mention my name.... May I ask it of you?" + +Dulcie, very silent in her surprise, made no reply. + +"Please may I ask it of you?" whispered Thessalie. "Do you mind not +telling anybody that I was here?" + +"If--you wish it." + +"I do. May I trust you?" + +"Y-yes." + +"Thank you--" A bank bill was in her gloved fingers; intuition warned +her; she took another swift look at Dulcie. The child's face was +flaming scarlet. + +"Forgive me," whispered Thessalie.... "And thank you, dear--" She bent +over quickly, took Dulcie's hand, pressed it, looking her in the +eyes. + +"It's all right," she whispered. "I am not asking you to do anything +you shouldn't. Mr. Barres will understand it all when I write to +him.... Did you see that man at the street door, looking through the +grating?" + +"Yes." + +"Do you know who he is?" whispered Thessalie. + +"No." + +"Have you never before seen him?" + +"Yes. He was here at two o'clock talking to my father." + +"Your father?" + +"My father's name is Lawrence Soane. He is superintendent of Dragon +Court." + +"What is your name?" + +"Dulcie Soane." + +Thessalie still held her hand tightly. Then with a quick but forced +smile, she pressed it, thanking the girl for her consideration, turned +and walked swiftly through the hall out into the street. + + * * * * * + +Dulcie, dreaming over her closed books in the fading light, vaguely +uneasy lest her silence might embrace the faintest shadow of +disloyalty to Barres, looked up quickly at the sound of his familiar +footsteps on the pavement. + +"Hello, little comrade," he called to her on his way to the stairs. +"Didn't we have a jolly party the other evening? I'm going out to +another party this evening, but I bet it won't be as jolly as ours!" + +The girl smiled happily. + +"Any letters, Sweetness?" + +"None, Mr. Barres." + +"All the better. I have too many letters, too many visitors. It leaves +me no time to have another party with you. But we shall have another, +Dulcie--never fear. That is," he added, pretending to doubt her +receptiveness of his invitation, "if you would care to have another +with me." + +She merely looked at him, smiling deliciously. + +"Be a good child and we'll have another!" he called back to her, +running on up the western staircase. + + * * * * * + +Around seven o'clock her father came in, steady enough of foot but +shiny-red in the face and maudlin drunk. + +"That woman was here," he whined, "an' ye never called me up! I am +b-bethrayed be me childer--wurra the day----" + +"Please, father! If any one sees you----" + +"An' phwy not! Am I ashamed o' the tears I shed? No, I am not. No +Irishman need take shame along av the tears he sheds for Ireland--God +bless her where she shtands!--wid the hob-nails av the crool tyrant +foreninst her bleeding neck an'----" + +"Father, please----" + +"That woman I warned ye of! She was here! 'Twas the wan-eyed lad who +seen her----" + +Dulcie rose and took him by his arm. He made no resistance; but he +wept while she conducted him bedward, as the immemorial wrongs of +Ireland tore his soul. + + + + +VII + +OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS + + +The tremendous tragedy in Europe, now nearing the end of the second +act, had been slowly shaking the drowsy Western World out of its snug +slumber of complacency. Young America was already sitting up in bed, +awake, alert, listening. Older America, more difficult to convince, +rolled solemn and interrogative eyes toward Washington, where the +wooden gods still sat nodding in a row, smiling vacuously at destiny +out of carved and painted features. Eyes had they but they saw not, +ears but they heard not; neither spake they through their mouths. + +Yet, they that made them were no longer like unto them, for many an +anxious idolater no longer trusted in them. For their old God's voice +was sounding in their ears. + +The voice of a great ex-president, too, had been thundering from the +wilderness; lesser prophets, endowed, however, with intellect and +vision, had been warning the young West that the second advent of +Attila was at hand; an officer of the army, inspired of God, had +preached preparedness from the market places and had established for +its few disciples an habitation; and a great Admiral had died of a +broken heart because his lips had been officially sealed--the wisest +lips that ever told of those who go down to the sea in ships. + +Plainer and plainer in American ears sounded the mounting surf of +that blood-red sea thundering against the frontiers of Democracy; +clearer and clearer came the discordant clamour of the barbaric +hordes; louder and more menacing the half-crazed blasphemies of their +chief, who had given the very name of the Scourge of God to one among +the degenerate litter he had sired. + + * * * * * + +Garret Barres had been educated like any American of modern New York +type. Harvard, then five years abroad, and a return to his native city +revealed him as an ambitious, receptive, intelligent young man, deeply +interested in himself and his own affairs, theoretically patriotic, a +good citizen by intention, an affectionate son and brother, and +already a pretty good painter of the saner species. + +A modest income of his own enabled him to bide his time and decline +pot-boilers. A comparatively young father and an even more youthful +mother, both of sporting proclivities, together with a sister of the +same tastes, were his preferred companions when he had time to go home +to the family rooftree in northern New York. His lines, indeed, were +cast in pleasant places. Beside still waters in green pastures, he +could always restore his city-tarnished soul when he desired to retire +for a while from the battleground of endeavour. + +The city, after all, offered him a world-wide battlefield; for Garret +Barres was by choice a painter of thoroughbred women, of cosmopolitan +men--a younger warrior of the brush imbued with the old traditions of +those great English captains of portraiture, who recorded for us the +more brilliant human truths of the seventeenth and eighteenth +centuries. + +From their stately canvases aglow, the eyes of the lovely dead look +out at us; the eyes of ambition, of pride, of fatuous complacency; +the haunted eyes of sorrow; the clear eyes of faith. Out of the past +they gaze--those who once lived--deathlessly recorded by Van Dyck, +Lely, Kneller; by Gainsborough, Reynolds, Hoppner, Lawrence, Raeburn; +or consigned to a dignified destiny by Stuart, Sully, Inman, and +Vanderlyn. + + * * * * * + +When Barres returned to New York after many years, he found that the +aspect of the city had not altered very greatly. The usual dirt, +disorder, and municipal confusion still reigned; subways were being +dug, but since the memory of man runneth, the streets of the +metropolis have been dug up, and its market places and byways have +been an abomination. + +The only visible excitement, however, was in the war columns of the +newspapers, and, sometimes, around bulletin boards where wrangling +groups were no uncommon sight, citizens and aliens often coming into +verbal collision--sometimes physical--promptly suppressed by bored +policemen. + +There was a "preparedness" parade; thousands of worthy citizens +marched in it, nervously aware, now, that the Great Republic's only +mobile military division was on the Mexican border, where also certain +Guard regiments were likely to be directed to reinforce the +regulars--pet regiments from the city, among whose corps of officers +and enlisted men everybody had some friend or relative. + +But these regiments had not yet entrained. There were few soldiers to +be seen on the streets. Khaki began to be noticeable in New York only +when the Plattsburg camps opened. After that there was an interim of +the usual dull, unaccented civilian monotony, mitigated at rare +intervals by this dun-coloured ebb and flow from Plattsburg. + +Like the first vague premonitions of a nightmare the first ominous +symptoms of depression were slowly possessing hearts already uneasy +under two years' burden of rumours unprintable, horrors incredible to +those aloof and pursuing the peaceful tenor of their ways. + +A growing restlessness, unbelief, the incapacity to +understand--selfishness, rapacity, self-righteousness, complacency, +cowardice, even stupidity itself were being jolted and shocked into +something resembling a glimmer of comprehension as the hunnish U-boats, +made ravenous by the taste of blood, steered into western shipping lanes +like a vast shoal of sharks. + +And always thicker and thicker came the damning tales of rape +and murder, of cowardly savagery, brutal vileness, degenerate +bestiality--clearer, nearer, distinctly audible, the sigh of a +ravaged and expiring civilisation trampled to obliteration by the +slavering, ferocious swine of the north. + + * * * * * + +Fires among shipping, fires amid great stores of cotton and grain +destined for France or England, explosions of munitions of war ordered +by nations of the Entente, the clumsy propaganda or impudent sneers of +German and pro-German newspapers; reports of German meddling in +Mexico, in South America, in Japan; more sinister news concerning the +insolent activities of certain embassies--all these were beginning to +have their logical effect among a fat and prosperous people which +simply could not bear to be aroused from pleasant dreams of +brotherhood to face the raw and hellish truth. + + * * * * * + +"For fifty years," remarked Barres to his neighbour, Esmé Trenor, +also a painter of somewhat eccentric portraits, "our national +characteristic has been a capacity for absorbing bunk and a fixed +determination to kid ourselves. There really is a war, Trenor, old +top, and we're going to get into it before very long." + +Trenor, a tall, tired, exquisitely groomed young man, who once had +painted a superficially attractive portrait of a popular débutante, +and had been overwhelmed with fashionable orders ever since, was the +adored of women. He dropped one attenuated knee over the other and +lighted an attenuated cigarette. + +"Fancy anybody bothering enough about anything to fight over it!" he +said languidly. + +"We're going to _war_, Trenor," repeated Barres, jamming his brushes +into a bowl of black soap. "That's my positive conviction." + +"Yours is so disturbingly positive a nature," remonstrated the other. +"Why ever raise a row? Nothing positive is of any real importance--not +even opinions." + +Barres, vigorously cleaning his brushes in turpentine and black soap, +glanced around at Trenor, and in his quick smile there glimmered a +hint of good-natured malice. For Esmé Trenor was notoriously anything +except positive in his painting, always enveloping a lack of technical +knowledge with a veil of camouflage. Behind this pretty veil hid many +defects, perhaps even deformities--protected by vague, indefinite +shadows and the effrontery of an adroit exploiter of the restless +sex. + +But Esmé Trenor was both clever and alert. He had not even missed that +slight and momentary glimmer of good-humoured malice in the pleasant +glance of Barres. But, like his more intelligent prototype, Whistler, +it was impossible to know whether or not discovery ever made any +particular difference to him. He tucked a lilac-bordered handkerchief +a little deeper into his cuff, glanced at his jewelled wrist-watch, +shook the long ash from his cigarette. + +"To be positive in anything," he drawled, "is an effort; effort +entails exertion; exertion is merely a degree of violence; violence +engenders toxins; toxins dull the intellect. Quod erat, dear friend. +You see?" + +"Oh, yes, I see," nodded Barres, always frankly amused at Trenor and +his ways. + +"Well, then, if you see----" Trenor waved a long, bony, over-manicured +hand, expelled a ring or two of smoke, meditatively; then, in his +characteristically languid voice: "To be positive closes the door to +further observation and pulls down the window shades. Nothing remains +except to go to bed. Is there anything more uninteresting than to go +to bed? Is there anything more depressing than to know all about +something?" + +"You do converse like an ass sometimes," remarked Barres. + +"Yes--sometimes. Not now, Barres. I don't desire to know all about +anybody or anything. Fancy my knowing all about art, for example!" + +"Yes, fancy!" repeated Barres, laughing. + +"Or about anything specific--a woman, for example!" He shrugged +wearily. + +"If you meet a woman and like her, don't you want to know all there is +to know about her?" inquired Barres. + +"I should say not!" returned the other with languid contempt. "I don't +wish to know anything at all about her." + +"Well, we differ about that, old top." + +"Religiously. A woman can be only an incidental amusement in one's +career. You don't go to a musical comedy twice, do you? And any woman +will reveal herself sufficiently in one evening." + +"Nice, kindly domestic instincts you have, Trenor." + +"I'm merely fastidious," returned the other, dropping his cigarette +out of the open window. He rose, yawned, took his hat, stick and +gloves. + +"Bye," he said languidly. "I'm painting Elsena Helmund this morning." + +Barres said, with good-humoured envy: + +"I've neither commission nor sitter. If I had, you bet I'd not stand +there yawning at my luck." + +"It is you who have the luck, not I," drawled Trenor. "I give a +portion of my spiritual and material self with every brush stroke, +while you remain at liberty to flourish and grow fat in idleness. I +perish as I create; my life exhausts itself to feed my art. What you +call my good luck is my martyrdom. You see, dear friend, how fortunate +you are?" + +"I see," grinned Barres. "But will your spiritual nature stand such a +cruel drain? Aren't you afraid your morality may totter?" + +"Morality," mused Esmé, going; "that is one of those early Gothic +terms now obsolete, I believe----" + +He sauntered out with his hat and gloves and stick, still murmuring: + +"Morality? Gothic--very Gothic--" + +Barres, still amused, sorted his wet brushes, dried them carefully one +by one on a handful of cotton waste, and laid them in a neat row +across the soapstone top of his palette-table. + +"Hang it!" he muttered cheerfully. "I could paint like a streak this +morning if I had the chance--" + +He threw himself back in his chair and sat there smoking for a while, +his narrowing eyes fixed on a great window which opened above the +court. Soft spring breezes stirred the curtains; sparrows were noisy +out there; a strip of cobalt sky smiled at him over the opposite +chimneys; an April cloud floated across it. + +He rose, walked over to the window and glanced down into the court. +Several more hyacinths were now in blossom. The Prophet dozed +majestically, curled up on an Italian garden seat. Beside him sprawled +the snow white Houri, stretched out full length in the sun, her +wonderful blue eyes following the irrational gambols of the +tortoise-shell cat, Strindberg, who had gone loco, as usual, and was +tearing up and down trees, prancing sideways with flattened ears and +crooked tail, in terror at things invisible, or digging furiously +toward China amid the hyacinths. + +Dulcie Soane came out into the court presently and expostulated with +Strindberg, who suffered herself to be removed from the hyacinth bed, +only to make a hysterical charge on her mistress's ankles. + +"Stop it, you crazy thing!" insisted Dulcie, administering a gentle +slap which sent the cat bucketing and corvetting across the lawn, +where the eccentric course of a dead leaf, blown by the April wind, +instantly occupied its entire intellectual vacuum. + +Barres, leaning on the window-sill, said, without raising his voice: + +"Hello, Dulcie! How are you, after our party?" + +The child looked up, smiled shyly her response through the pale glory +of the April sunshine. + +"What are you doing to-day?" he inquired, with casual but friendly +interest. + +"Nothing." + +"Isn't there any school?" + +"It's Saturday." + +"That's so. Well, if you're doing nothing you're just as busy as I +am," he remarked, smiling down at her where she stood below his +window. + +"Why don't you paint pictures?" ventured the girl diffidently. + +"Because I haven't any orders. Isn't that sad?" + +"Yes.... But you could paint a picture just to please yourself, +couldn't you?" + +"I haven't anybody to paint from," he explained with amiable +indifference, lazily watching the effect of alternate shadow and +sunlight on her upturned face. + +"Couldn't you find--somebody?" Her heart had suddenly begun to beat +very fast. + +Barres laughed: + +"Would you like to have your portrait painted?" + +She could scarcely find voice to reply: + +"Will you--let me?" + +The slim young figure down there in the April sunshine had now +arrested his professional attention. With detached interest he +inspected her for a few moments; then: + +"You'd make an interesting study, Dulcie. What do you say?" + +"Do--do you mean that you _want_ me?" + +"Why--yes! Would you like to pose for me? It's pin-money, anyway. +Would you like to try it?" + +"Y-yes." + +"Are you quite sure? It's hard work." + +"Quite--sure----" she stammered. The little flushed face was lifted +very earnestly to his now, almost beseechingly. "I am quite sure," she +repeated breathlessly. + +"So you'd really like to pose for me?" he insisted in smiling surprise +at the girl's visible excitement. Then he added abruptly: "I've half a +mind to give you a job as my private model!" + +Through the rosy confusion of her face her grey eyes were fixed on him +with a wistful intensity, almost painful. For into her empty heart and +starved mind had suddenly flashed a dazzling revelation. Opportunity +was knocking at her door. Her chance had come! Perhaps it had been +inherited from her mother--God knows!--this deep, deep hunger for +things beautiful--this passionate longing for light and knowledge. + +Mere contact with such a man as Barres had already made endurable a +solitary servitude which had been subtly destroying her child's +spirit, and slowly dulling the hunger in her famished mind. And now to +aid him--to feel that he was using her--was to arise from her rags of +ignorance and emerge upright into the light which filled that +wonder-house wherein he dwelt, and on the dark threshold of which her +lonely little soul had crouched so long in silence. + + * * * * * + +She looked up almost blindly at the man who, in careless friendliness, +had already opened his door to her, had permitted her to read his +wonder-books, had allowed her to sit unreproved and silent from sheer +happiness, and gaze unsatiated upon the wondrous things within the +magic mansion where he dwelt. + +And now to serve this man; to aid him, to creep into the light in +which he stood and strive to learn and see!--the thought already had +produced a delicate intoxication in the child, and she gazed up at +Barres from the sunny garden with her naked soul in her eyes. Which +confused, perplexed, and embarrassed him. + +"Come on up," he said briefly. "I'll tell your father over the +'phone." + + * * * * * + +She entered without a sound, closed the door which he had left open +for her, advanced across the thick-meshed rug. She still wore her blue +gingham apron; her bobbed hair, full of ruddy lights, intensified the +whiteness of her throat. In her arms she cradled the Prophet, who +stared solemnly at Barres out of depthless green eyes. + +"Upon my word," thought Barres to himself, "I believe I have found a +model and an uncommon one!" + +Dulcie, watching his expression, smiled slightly and stroked the +Prophet. + +"I'll paint you that way! Don't stir," said the young fellow +pleasantly. "Just stand where you are, Dulcie. You're quite all right +as you are----" He lifted a half-length canvas, placed it on his heavy +easel and clamped it. + +"I feel exactly like painting," he continued, busy with his brushes +and colours. "I'm full of it to-day. It's in me. It's got to come +out.... And you certainly are an interesting subject--with your big +grey eyes and bobbed red hair--oh, quite interesting constructively, +too--as well as from the colour point." + +He finished setting his palette, gathered up a handful of brushes: + +"I won't bother to draw you except with a brush----" + +He looked across at her, remained looking, the pleasantly detached +expression of his features gradually changing to curiosity, to the +severity of increasing interest, to concentrated and silent +absorption. + +"Dulcie," he presently concluded, "you are so unusually interesting +and paintable that you make me think very seriously.... And I'm hanged +if I'm going to waste you by slapping a technically adequate sketch of +you onto this nice new canvas ... which might give me pleasure while +I'm doing it ... and might even tickle my vanity for a week ... and +then be laid away to gather dust ... and be covered over next year and +used for another sketch.... No.... _No_!... You're worth more than +that!" + +He began to pace the place to and fro, thinking very hard, glancing +around at her from moment to moment, where she stood, obediently +immovable on the blue meshed rug, clasping the Prophet to her breast. + +"Do you want to become my private model?" he demanded abruptly. "I +mean seriously. Do you?" + +"Yes." + +"I mean a real model, from whom I can ask anything?" + +"Oh, yes, please," pleaded the girl, trembling a little. + +"Do you understand what it means?" + +"Yes." + +"Sometimes you'll be required to wear few clothes. Sometimes none. Did +you know that?" + +"Yes. Mr. Westmore asked me once." + +"You didn't care to?" + +"Not for him." + +"You don't mind doing it for me?" + +"I'll do anything you ask me," she said, trying to smile and shivering +with excitement. + +"All right. It's a bargain. You're my model, Dulcie. When do you +graduate from school?" + +"In June." + +"Two months! Well--all right. Until then it will be a half day through +the week, and all day Saturdays and Sundays, if I require you. You'll +have a weekly salary----" He smiled and mentioned the figure, and the +girl blushed vividly. She had, it appeared, expected nothing. + +"Why, Dulcie!" he exclaimed, immensely amused. "You didn't intend to +come here and give me all your time for nothing, did you?" + +"Yes." + +"But why on earth should you do such a thing for me?" + +She found no words to explain why. + +"Nonsense," he continued; "you're a business woman now. Your father +will have to find somebody to cook for him and take the desk when he's +out at Grogan's. Don't worry; I'll fix it with him.... By the way, +Dulcie, supposing you sit down." + +She found a chair and took the Prophet onto her lap. + +"Now, this will be very convenient for me," he went on, inspecting her +with increasing satisfaction. "If I ever have any orders--any +sitters--you can have a vacation, of course. Otherwise, I'll always +have an interesting model at hand--I've got chests full of wonderful +costumes--genuine ones----" He fell silent, his eyes studying her. +Already he was planning half a dozen pictures, for he was just +beginning to perceive how adaptable the girl might be. And there was +about her that indefinable something which, when a painter discovers +it, interests him and arouses his intense artistic curiosity. + +"You know," he said musingly, "you are something more than pretty, +Dulcie.... I could put you in eighteenth century clothes and you'd +look logical. Yes, and in seventeenth century clothes, too.... I could +do some amusing things with you in oriental garments.... A young +Herodiade ... Calypso ... Theodora.... She was a child, too, you know. +There's a portrait with bobbed hair--a young girl by Van Dyck.... You +know you are quite stimulating to me, Dulcie. You excite a painter's +imagination. It's rather odd," he added naïvely, "that I never +discovered you before; and I've known you over two years." + +He had seated himself on the sofa while discoursing. Now he got up, +touched a bell twice. The Finnish maid, Selinda, with her high +cheek-bones, frosty blue eyes and colourless hair, appeared in cap and +apron. + +"Selinda," he said, "take Miss Dulcie into my room. In a long, leather +Turkish box on the third shelf of my clothes closet is a silk and gold +costume and a lot of jade jewelry. Please put her into it." + +So Dulcie Soane went away with her cat in her arms, beside the neat +and frosty-eyed Selinda; and Barres opened a portfolio of engravings, +where were gathered the lovely aristocrats of Van Dyck and Rubens and +Gainsborough and his contemporaries--a charmingly mixed company, +separated by centuries and frontiers, yet all characterised by a +common _something_--some inexplicable similarity which Barres +recognised without defining. + +"It's rather amusing," he murmured, "but that kid, Dulcie, seems to +remind me of these people--somehow or other.... One scarcely looks for +qualities in the child of an Irish janitor.... I wonder who her mother +was...." + + * * * * * + +When he looked up again Dulcie was standing there on the thick rug. On +her naked feet were jade bracelets, jade-set rings on her little toes; +a cascade of jade and gold falling over her breasts to the straight, +narrow breadth of peacock hue which fell to her ankles. And on her +childish head, clasping the ruddy bobbed hair, glittered the +jade-incrusted diadem of a fairy princess of Cathay. + +[Illustration: "YOU LITTLE MIRACLE!"] + +The Prophet, gathered close to her breast, stared back at Barres with +eyes that dimmed the splendid jade about him. + +"That settles it," he said, the tint of excitement rising in his +cheeks. "I _have_ discovered a model and a wonder! And right here is +where I paint my winter Academy--right here and right now!... And I +call it 'The Prophets.' Climb up on that model stand and squat there +cross-legged, and stare at me--straight at me--the way your cat +stares!... There you are. That's right! Don't move. Stay put or I'll +come over and bow-string you!--you little miracle!" + +"Do--you mean me?" faltered Dulcie. + +"You bet, Sweetness! Do you know how beautiful you are? Well, never +mind----" He had begun already to draw with a wet brush, and now he +relapsed into absorbed silence. + +The Prophet watched him steadily. The studio became intensely still. + + + + +VIII + +DULCIE ANSWERS + + +The studio door bell rang while Barres was at breakfast one morning +late in June. Aristocrates leisurely answered the door, but shut it +again immediately and walked out into the kitchenette without any +explanation. + +Selinda removed the breakfast cover and fetched the newspaper. Later, +Aristocrates, having washed his master's brushes, brought them into +the studio mincingly, upon a silver service-salver. + +"No letters?" inquired Barres, glancing up over the morning paper and +laying aside his cigarette. + +"No letters, suh. No co'espondence in any shape, fo'm or manner, +suh." + +"Anybody to see me?" inquired Barres, always amused at Aristocrates' +flights of verbiage. + +"Nobody, suh, excusin' a persistless 'viduality inquihin' fo' you, +suh." + +"What persistless individuality was that?" asked Barres. + +"A ve'y or-nary human objec', suh, pahshially afflicted with one bad +eye." + +"That one-eyed man? He's been here several times, hasn't he? Why does +he come?" + +"Fo' commercial puhposes, suh." + +"Oh, a pedlar?" + +"He mentions a desiah, suh, to dispose, commercially, of vahious +impo'ted materials requiahed by ahtists." + +"Didn't you show him the sign in the hall, 'No pedlars allowed'?" + +"Yaas, suh." + +"What did he say?" + +"I would not demean myse'f to repeat what this human objec' said, +suh." + +"And what did you do then?" + +"Mistuh Barres, suh, I totally igno'hed that man," replied Aristocrates +languidly. + +"Quite right. But you tell Soane to enforce the rule against pedlars. +Every day there are two or three of them ringing at the studio, trying +to sell colours, laces, or fake oriental rugs. It annoys me. Selinda +can't hear the bell and I have to leave my work and open the door. +Tell that persistless one-eyed man to keep away. Tell Soane to bounce +him next time he enters Dragon Court. Do you understand?" + +"Yaas, suh. But Soane, suh, he's a might friendly Irish. He's spo'tin' +'round Grogan's nights, 'longa this here one-eyed 'viduality. Yaas, +suh. I done seen 'em co-gatherin' on vahious occasionalities." + +"Oho!" commented Barres. "It's graft, is it? This one-eyed pedlar +meets Soane at Grogan's and bribes him with a few drinks to let him +peddle colours in Dragon Court! That's the Irish of it, Aristocrates. +I began to suspect something like that. All right. I'll speak to Soane +myself.... Leave the studio door open; it's warm in here." + + * * * * * + +The month of May was now turning somewhat sultry as it melted into +June. Every pivot-pane in the big studio window had been swung wide +open. The sun had already clothed every courtyard tree with dense and +tender foliage; hyacinth and tulip were gone and Soane's subscription +geraniums blazed in their place like beds of coals heaped up on the +grass plot of Dragon Court. + +But blue sky, sunshine of approaching summer, gentle winds and +freshening rains brought only restlessness to New Yorkers that month +of May. + +Like the first two years of the war, the present year seemed strange, +unreal; its vernal breezes brought no balm, its blue skies no content. +The early summer sunlight seemed almost uncanny in a world where, +beyond the sea, millions of men at arms swayed ceaselessly under sun +and moon alike, interlocked in one gigantic death grip!--a horrible +and blood-drenched human chain of butchery stretching half around the +earth. + +Into every Western human eye had come strange and subtle shadows which +did not depart with moments of forgetful mirth, intervals of +self-absorption, hours filled with familiar interests--the passions, +hopes, perplexities of those years which were now no more. + +Those years of yesterdays! A vast and depthless cleft already divided +them from to-day. They seemed as remote as dusty centuries--those days +of an ordered and tranquil world--those days of little obvious faiths +unshattered--even those days of little wars, of petty local strifes, +of an almost universal calm and peace and trust in brotherhood and in +the obligations of civilisation. + +Familiar yesterday had vanished, its creeds forgotten. It was already +decades away, and fading like a legend in the ever-increasing glare of +the red and present moment. + +And the month of May seemed strange, and its soft skies and sun seemed +out of place in a world full of dying--a world heavy with death--a +western world aloof from the raging hell beyond the seas, yet already +tense under the distant threat of three continents in flames--and all +aquiver before the deathly menace of that horde of blood-crazed demons +still at large, still unsubdued, still ranging the ruins of the planet +which they had so insanely set on fire. + +Entire nations were still burning beyond the ocean; other nations had +sunk into cinders. Over the Eastern seas the furnace breath began to +be felt along the out-thrust coast lines of the Western World. Inland, +not yet; but every seaward city became now conscious of that first +faint warning wave of heat from hell. Millions of ears strained to +catch the first hushed whisper of the tumult. Silent in its suspense +the Great Republic listened. Only the priesthood of the deaf and +wooden gods continued voluble. But Israel had already begun to lift up +its million eyes; and its ancient faith began to glow again; and its +trust was becoming once more a living thing--the half-forgotten trust +of Israel in that half-forgotten Lord, who, in the beginning, had been +their helper and their shield. + + * * * * * + +Through the open studio door came Dulcie Soane. The Prophet followed +at her slender heels, gently waving an urbane tail. + + * * * * * + +After his first smiling greeting--he always rose, advanced, and took +her hand with that pleasant appearance of formality so adored by +femininity, youthful or mature--he resumed his seat and continued to +write his letters. + +These finished, he stamped them, rang for Aristocrates, picked up his +palette and brushes, and pulled out the easel upon which was the +canvas for the morning. + +Dulcie, still in the hands of Selinda, had not yet emerged. The +Prophet sat upright on the carved table, motionless as a cat of ebony +with green-jewelled eyes. + +"Well, old sport," said Barres, stepping across the rug to caress the +cat, "you and your pretty mistress begin to look very interesting on +my canvas." + +The Prophet received the blandishments with dignified gratitude. A +discreet and feathery purring filled the room as Barres stroked the +jet black, silky fur. + +"Fine cat, you are," commented the young man, turning as Dulcie +entered. + +She laid one hand on his extended arm and sprang lightly to the model +stand. And the next moment she was seated--a slim, gemmed thing +glimmering with imperial jade from top to toe. + +Barres laid the Prophet in her arms, stepped back while Dulcie +arranged the docile cat, then retreated to his canvas. + +"All right, Sweetness?" + +"All right," replied the child happily. And the morning séance was +on. + +Barres was usually inclined to ramble along conversationally in his +pleasant, detached way while at work, particularly if work went well. + +"Where were we yesterday, Dulcie? Oh, yes; we were talking about the +Victorian era and its art; and we decided that it was not the barren +desert that the ultra-moderns would have us believe. That's what we +decided, wasn't it?" + +"_You_ decided," she said. + +"So did you, Dulcie. It was a unanimous decision. Because we both +concluded that some among the Victorians were full of that sweet, +clean sanity which alone endures. You recollect how our decision +started?" + +"Yes. It was about my new pleasure in Tennyson, Browning, Morris, +Arnold, and Swinburne." + +"Exactly. Victorian poets, if sometimes a trifle stilted and +self-conscious, wrote nobly; makers of Victorian prose displayed +qualities of breadth, imagination and vision and a technical +cultivation unsurpassed. The musical compositions of that epoch were +melodious and sometimes truly inspired; never brutal, never vulgar, +never degenerate. And the Victorian sculptors and painters--at first +perhaps austerely pedantic--became, as they should be, recorders of +the times and customs of thought, bringing the end of the reign of a +great Queen to an admirable renaissance." + +Dulcie's grey eyes never left his. And if she did not quite understand +every word, already the dawning familiarity with his vocabulary and a +general comprehension of his modes of self-expansion permitted her to +follow him. + +"A great Queen, a great reign, a great people," he rambled on, +painting away all the while. "And if in that era architecture declined +toward its lowest level of stupidity, and if taste in furniture and in +the plastic, decorative, and textile arts was steadily sinking toward +its lowest ebb, and if Mrs. Grundy trudged the Empire, paramount, dull +and smugly ferocious, while all snobbery saluted her and the humble +grovelled before her dusty brogans, yet, Dulcie, it was a great era. + +"It was great because its faith had not been radically impaired; it +was sane because Germany had not yet inoculated the human race with +its porcine political vulgarities, its bestial degeneracy in art.... +And if, perhaps, the sentimental in British art and literature +predominated, thank God it had not yet been tainted with the stark +ugliness, the swinish nakedness, the ferocious leer of things +Teutonic!" + +He continued to paint in silence for a while. Presently the Prophet +yawned on Dulcie's knees, displaying a pink cavern. + +"Better rest," he said, nodding smilingly at Dulcie. She released the +cat, who stretched, arched his back, yawned again gravely, and stalked +away over the velvety Eastern carpet. + +Dulcie got up lithely and followed him on little jade-encrusted, naked +feet. + +A box of bon-bons lay on the sofa; she picked up Rossetti's poems, +turned the leaves with jewel-laden fingers, while with the other hand +she groped for a bon-bon, her grey eyes riveted on the pages before +her. + +During these intervals between poses it was the young man's custom to +make chalk sketches of the girl, recording swiftly any unstudied +attitude, any unconscious phase of youthful grace that interested +him. + +Dulcie, in the beginning, diffidently aware of this, had now become +entirely accustomed to it, and no longer felt any responsibility to +remain motionless while he was busy with red chalk or charcoal. + +When she had rested sufficiently, she laid aside her book, hunted up +the Prophet, who lazily endured the gentle tyranny, and resumed her +place on the model stand. + +And so they worked away all the morning, until luncheon was served in +the studio by Aristocrates; and Barres in his blouse, and Dulcie in +her peacock silk, her jade, and naked feet, gravely or lightly as +their moods dictated, discussed an omelette and a pot of tea or +chocolate, and the ways and manners and customs of a world which +Dulcie now was discovering as a brand new and most enchanting planet. + + + + +IX + +HER DAY + + +June was ending in a very warm week. Work in the studio lagged, partly +because Dulcie, preparing for graduation, could give Barres little +time; partly because, during June, that young man had been away +spending the week-ends with his parents and his sister at Foreland +Farms, their home. + +From one of these visits he returned to the city just in time to read +a frantic little note from Dulcie Soane: + + "DEAR MR. BARRES, please, _please_ come to my graduation. I do + want _somebody_ there who knows me. And my father is not well. Is + it too much to ask of you? I hadn't the courage to speak to you + about it when you were here, but I have ventured to write because + it will be so lonely for me to graduate without having anybody + there I know. + + "DULCIE SOANE." + +It was still early in the morning; he had taken a night train to +town. + +So when he had been freshened by a bath and change of linen, he took +his hat and went down stairs. + +A heavy, pasty-visaged young woman sat at the desk in the entrance +hall. + +"Where is Soane?" he inquired. + +"He's sick." + +"_Where_ is he?" + +"In bed," she replied indifferently. The woman's manner just +verged on impertinence. He hesitated, then walked across to the +superintendent's apartments and entered without knocking. + +Soane, in his own room, lay sleeping off the consequences of an +evening at Grogan's. One glance was sufficient for Barres, and he +walked out. + +On Madison Avenue he found a florist, selected a bewildering bouquet, +and despatched it with a hasty note, by messenger, to Dulcie at her +school. In the note he wrote: + +"I shall be there. Cheer up!" + +He also sent more flowers to his studio, with pencilled orders to +Aristocrates. + +In a toy-shop he found an appropriate decoration for the centre of the +lunch table. + +Later, in a jeweller's, he discovered a plain gold locket, shaped like +a heart and inset with one little diamond. A slender chain by which to +suspend it was easily chosen; and an extra payment admitted him to the +emergency department where he looked on while an expert engraved upon +the locket: "Dulcie Soane from Garret Barres," and the date. + +After that he went into the nearest telephone booth and called up +several people, inviting them to dine with him that evening. + +It was nearly ten o'clock now. He took his little gift, stopped a +taxi, and arrived at the big brick high-school just in time to enter +with the last straggling parents and family friends. + +The hall was big and austerely bare, except for the ribbons and flags +and palms which decorated it. It was hot, too, though all the great +blank windows had been swung open wide. + +The usual exercises had already begun; there were speeches from +Authority; prayers by Divinity; choral effects by graduating +pulchritude. + +The class, attired in white, appeared to average much older than +Dulcie. He could see her now, in her reconstructed communion dress, +holding the big bouquet which he had sent her, one madonna lily of +which she had detached and pinned over her breast. + +Her features were composed and delicately flushed; her bobbed hair was +tucked up, revealing the snowy neck. + +One girl after another advanced and read or spoke, performing the +particular parlour trick assigned her in the customary and perfectly +unremarkable manner characteristic of such affairs. + +Rapturous parental demonstrations greeted each effort; piano, violin +and harp filled in nobly. A slight haze of dust, incident to +pedalistic applause, invaded the place; there was an odour of flowers +in the heated atmosphere. + +Glancing at a programme which he had found on his seat, Barres read: +"Song: Dulcie Soane." + +Looking up at her where she sat on the stage, among her comrades in white, +he noticed that her eyes were busy searching the audience--possibly +for him, he thought, experiencing an oddly pleasant sensation at the +possibility. + + * * * * * + +The time at length arrived for Dulcie to do her parlour trick; +she rose and came forward, clasping the big, fragrant bouquet, +prettily flushed but self-possessed. The harp began a little minor +prelude--something Irish and not very modern. Then Dulcie's pure, +untrained voice stole winningly through the picked harp-strings' +hesitation: + + "Heart of a colleen, + Where do you roam? + Heart of a colleen, + Far from your home? + Laden with love you stole from her breast! + Wandering dove, return to your nest! + + Sodgers are sailin' + Away to the wars; + Ladies are wailin' + Their woe to the stars; + Why is the heart of you straying so soon-- + Heart that was part of you, Eileen Aroon? + + Lost to a sodger, + Gone is my heart! + Lost to a sodger, + Now we must part---- + I and my heart--for it journeys afar + Along with the sodgers who sail to the war! + + Tears that near blind me + My pride shall dry,---- + Wisha! don't mind me! + Lave a lass cry! + Only a sodger can whistle the tune + That coaxes the heart out of Eileen Aroon!" + +And Dulcie's song ended. + + * * * * * + +Almost instantly the audience had divined in the words she sang a +significance which concerned them--a warning--perhaps a prophecy. The +69th Regiment of New York infantry was Irish, and nearly every seat in +the hall held a relative of some young fellow serving in its ranks. + +The applause was impulsive, stormy, persistent; the audience was +demanding the young girl's recall; the noise they made became +overwhelming, checking the mediating music and baffling the next +embarrassed graduate, scheduled to read an essay, and who stood there +mute, her manuscript in her hand. + +Finally the principal of the school arose, went over to Dulcie, and +exchanged a few words with her. Then he came forward, hand lifted in +appeal for silence. + +"The music and words of the little song you have just heard," he said, +"were written, I have just learned, by the mother of the girl who sang +them. They were written in Ireland a number of years ago, when Irish +regiments were sent away for over-seas service. Neither words nor song +have ever been published. Miss Soane found them among her mother's +effects. + +"I thought the story of the little song might interest you. For, +somehow, I feel--as I think you all feel--that perhaps the day may +come--may be near--when the hearts of our women, too, shall be given +to their soldiers--sons, brothers, fathers--who are 'sailin' away to +the wars.' But if that time comes--which God avert!--then I know that +every man here will do his duty.... And every woman.... And I know +that: + + 'Tears that near blind you, + Your pride shall dry!----'" + +He paused a moment: + +"Miss Soane has prepared no song to sing as an encore. In her behalf, +and in my own, I thank you for your appreciation. Be kind enough to +permit the exercises to proceed." + +And the graduating exercises continued. + +Barres waited for Dulcie. She came out among the first of those +departing, walking all alone in her reconstructed white dress, and +carrying his bouquet. When she caught sight of him, her face became +radiant and she made her way toward him through the crowd, seeking his +outstretched hand with hers, clinging to it in a passion of gratitude +and emotion that made her voice tremulous: + +"My bouquet--it is so wonderful! I love every flower in it! Thank you +with all my heart. You are so kind to have come--so kind to me--so +k-kind----" + +"It is I who should be grateful, Dulcie, for your charming little +song," he insisted. "It was fascinating and exquisitely done." + +"Did you really like it?" she asked shyly. + +"Indeed I did! And I quite fell in love with your voice, too--with +that trick you seem to possess of conveying a hint of tears through +some little grace-note now and then.... And there _were_ tears hidden +in the words; and in the melody, too.... And to think that your mother +wrote it!" + +"Yes." + +After a short interval of silence he released her hand. + +"I have a taxi for you," he said gaily. "We'll drive home in state." + +The girl flushed again with surprise and gratitude: + +"Are--are _you_ coming, too?" + +"Certainly I'm going to take you home. Don't you belong to me?" he +demanded laughingly. + +"Yes," she said. But her forced little smile made the low-voiced +answer almost solemn. + +"Well, then!" he said cheerfully. "Come along. What's mine I look +after. We'll have lunch together in the studio, if you are too proud +to pose for a poor artist this afternoon." + +At this her sensitive face cleared and she laughed happily. + +"The pride of a high-school graduate!" he commented, as he seated +himself beside her in the taxicab. "Can anything equal it?" + +"Yes." + +"What?" + +"Her pride in your--friendship," she ventured. + +Which unexpected reply touched and surprised him. + +"You dear child!" he said; "I'm proud of your friendship, too. Nothing +ought to make a man prouder than winning a young girl's confidence." + +"You are so kind," she sighed, touching the blossoms in her bouquet +with slender fingers that trembled a little. For she would have +offered him a flower from it had she found courage; but it seemed +presumptuous and she dropped her hand into her lap again. + + * * * * * + +Aristocrates opened the door for them: Selinda took her away. + +Barres had ordered flowers for the table. In the middle of it a doll +stood, attired in academic cap and gown, the Stars and Stripes in one +hand, in the other a green flag bearing a gold harp. + +When Dulcie came in she stopped short, enchanted at the sight of the +decorated table. But when Aristocrates opened the kitchen door and her +three cats came trotting in, she was overcome. + +For each cat wore a red, white and blue cravat on which was pinned a +silk shamrock; and although Strindberg immediately keeled over on the +rug and madly attacked her cravat with her hind toes, the general +effect remained admirable. + +Aristocrates seated Dulcie. Upon her plate was the box containing +chain and locket. And the girl cast a swift, inquiring glance across +the centre flowers at Barres. + +"Yes, it's for you, Dulcie," he said. + +She turned quite pale at sight of the little gift. After a silence she +leaned on the table with both elbows, shading her face with her +hands. + +He let her alone--let the first tense moment in her youthful life ebb +out of it; nor noticed, apparently, the furtive and swift touch of her +best handkerchief to her closed eyes. + +Aristocrates brought her a little glass of frosted orange juice. After +an interval, not looking at Barres, she sipped it. Then she took the +locket and chain from the satin-lined box, read the inscription, +closed her lids for a second's silent ecstasy, opened them looking at +him through rapturous tears, and with her eyes still fixed on him +lifted the chain and fastened it around her slender neck. + +The luncheon then proceeded, the Prophet gravely assisting from the +vantage point of a neighbouring chair, the Houri, more emotional, +promenading earnestly at the heels of Aristocrates. As for Strindberg, +she possessed neither manners nor concentration, and she alternately +squalled her desires for food or frisked all over the studio, +attempting complicated maneuvres with every curtain-cord and tassel +within reach. + +Dulcie had found her voice again--a low, uncertain, tremulous little +voice when she tried to thank him for the happiness he had given +her--a clearer, firmer voice when he dexterously led the conversation +into channels more familiar and serene. + +They talked of the graduating exercises, of her part in them, of her +classmates, of education in general. + +She told him that since she was quite young she had learned to play +the piano by remaining for an hour every day after school, and +receiving instruction from a young teacher who needed a little extra +pin money. + +As for singing, she had had no instruction. Her voice had never been +tried, never been cultivated. + +"We'll have it tried some day," he said casually. + +But Dulcie shook her head, explaining that it was an expensive process +and not to be thought of. + +"How did you pay for your piano lessons?" he asked. + +"I paid twenty-five cents an hour. My mother left a little money for +me when I was a baby. I spent it all that way." + +"Every bit of it?" + +"Yes. I had $500. It lasted me seven years--from the time I was ten to +now." + +"_Are_ you seventeen? You don't look it." + +"I know I don't. My teachers tell me that my mind is very quick but my +body is slow. It annoys me to be mistaken for a child of fifteen. And +I have to dress that way, too, because my dresses still fit me and +clothes are very expensive." + +"Are they?" + +Dulcie became confidential and loquacious: + +"Oh, very. You don't know about girls' clothes, I suppose. But they +cost a very great deal. So I've had to wear out dresses I've had ever +since I was fourteen and fifteen. And so I can't put up my hair +because it would make my dresses look ridiculous; and that renders the +situation all the worse--to be obliged to go about with bobbed hair, +you see? There doesn't seem to be any way out of it," she ended, with +a despairing little laugh, "and I was seventeen last February!" + +"Cheer up! You'll grow old fast enough. And now you're going to have a +jolly little salary as my model, and you ought to be able to buy +suitable clothes. Oughtn't you?" + +She did not answer, and he repeated the question. And drew from her, +reluctantly, that her father, so far, had absorbed what money she had +earned by posing. + +A dull red gathered under the young man's cheek-bones, but he said +carelessly: + +"That won't do. I'll talk it over with your father. I'm very sure +he'll agree with me that you should bank your salary and draw out what +you need for your personal expenses." + +Dulcie sat silent over her fruit and bon-bons. Reaction from the keen +emotions of the day had, perhaps, begun to have their effect. + +They rose and reseated themselves on the sofa, where she sat in the +corner among gorgeous Chinese cushions, her reconstructed dress now +limp and shabby, the limp madonna lily hanging from her breast. + +It had been for her the happiest day of her life. It had dawned the +loneliest, but under the magic of this man's kindness the day was +ending like a day in Paradise. + +To Dulcie, however, happiness was less dependent upon receiving than +upon giving; and like all things feminine, mature and immature, she +desired to serve where her heart was enlisted--began to experience the +restless desire to give. What? And as the question silently presented +itself, she looked up at Barres: + +"Could I pose for you?" + +"On a day like this! Nonsense, Dulcie. This is your holiday." + +"I'd really like to--if you want me----" + +"No. Curl up here and take a nap. Slip off your gown so you won't muss +it and ask Selinda for a kimono. Because you're going to need your +gown this evening," he added smilingly. + +"Why? _Please_ tell me why?" + +"No. You've had enough excitement. Tell Selinda to give you a kimono. +Then you can lie down in my room if you like. Selinda will call you in +plenty of time. And after that I'll tell you how we're going to bring +your holiday to a gay conclusion." + +She seemed disinclined to stir, curled up there, her eyes brilliant +with curiosity, her lips a trifle parted in a happy smile. She lay +that way for a few moments, looking up at him, her fingers caressing +the locket, then she sat up swiftly. + +"Must I take a nap?" + +"Certainly." + +She sprang to her feet, flashed past him, and disappeared in the +corridor. + +"Don't forget to wake me!" she called back. + +"I won't forget!" + +When he heard her voice again, conversing with Selinda, he opened the +studio door and went down stairs. + +Soane, rather the worse for wear, was at the desk, and, standing +beside him, was a one-eyed man carrying two pedlar's boxes under his +arms. They both looked around quickly when Barres appeared. Before he +reached the desk the one-eyed man turned and walked out hastily into +the street. + +"Soane," said Barres, "I've one or two things to say to you. The first +is this: if you don't stop drinking and if you don't keep away from +Grogan's, you'll lose your job here." + +"Musha, then, Misther Barres----" + +"Wait a moment; I'm not through. I advise you to stop drinking and to +keep away from Grogan's. That's the first thing. And next, go on and +graft as much as you like, only warn your pedlar-friends to keep away +from Studio No. 9. Do you understand?" + +"F'r the love o' God----" + +"Cut out the injured innocence, Soane. I'm telling you how to avoid +trouble, that's all." + +"Misther Barres, sorr! As God sees me----" + +"I can see you, too. I want you to behave, Soane. This is friendly +advice. That one-eyed pedlar who just beat it has been bothering me. +Other pedlars come ringing at the studio and interrupt and annoy me. +You know the rules. If the other tenants care to stand for it, all +right. But I'm through. Is that plain?" + +"It is, sorr," said the unabashed delinquent. The faintest glimmer of +a grin came into his battered eyes. "Sorra a wan o' thim ever lays a +hand to No. 9 bell or I'll have his life!" + +"One thing more," continued Barres, smiling in spite of himself at the +Irish of it all. "I am paying Dulcie a salary----" + +"Wisha then----" + +"Stop! I tell you that she's in my employment on a salary. Don't ever +touch a penny of it again." + +"Sure the child's wages----" + +"No, they _don't_ belong to the father. Legally, perhaps, but the law +doesn't suit me. So if you take the money that she earns, and blow it +in at Grogan's, I'll have to discharge her because I won't stand for +what you are doing." + +"Would you do that, Mr. Barres?" + +"I certainly would." + +The Irishman scratched his curly head in frank perplexity. + +"Dulcie needs clothes suitable to her age," continued Barres. "She +needs other things. I'm going to take charge of her savings so don't +you attempt to tamper with them. You wouldn't do such a thing, anyway, +Soane, if this miserable drink habit hadn't got a hold on you. If you +don't quit, it will down you. You'll lose your place here. You know +that. Try to brace up. This is a rotten deal you're giving yourself +and your daughter." + +Soane wept easily. He wept now. Tearful volubility followed--picturesque, +lit up with Hibernian flashes, then rambling, and a hint of slyness in +it which kept one weeping eye on duty watching Barres all the while. + +"All right; behave yourself," concluded Barres. "And, Soane, I shall +have three or four people to dinner and a little dancing afterward. I +want Dulcie to enjoy her graduating dance." + +"Sure, Misther Barres, you're that kind to the child----" + +"_Somebody_ ought to be. Do you know that there was nobody she knew to +see her graduate to-day, excepting myself?" + +"Oh, the poor darling! Sure, I was that busy----" + +"Busy sleeping off a souse," said Barres drily. "And by the way, who +is that stolid, German-looking girl who alternates with you here at +the desk?" + +"Miss Kurtz, sorr." + +"Oh. She seems stupid. Where did you dig her up?" + +"A fri'nd o' mine riccominds her highly, sorr." + +"Is that so? Who is he? One of your German pedlar friends at Grogan's? +Be careful, Soane. You Sinn Feiners are headed for trouble." + +He turned and mounted the stairs. Soane looked after him with an +uneasy expression, partly humorous. + +"Ah, then, Mr. Barres," he said, "don't be botherin' afther the likes +of us poor Irish. Is there anny harrm in a sup o' beer av a Dootchman +pays?" + +Barres looked back at him: + +"A one-eyed Dutchman?" + +"Ah, g'wan, sorr, wid yer hokin' an' jokin'! Is it graft ye say? An' +how can ye say it, sorr, knowin' me as ye do, Misther Barres?" + +The impudent grin on the Irishman's face was too much for the young +man. He continued to mount the stairs, laughing. + + + + +X + +HER EVENING + + +As he entered the studio he heard the telephone ringing. Presently +Selinda marched in: + +"A lady, sir, who will not giff her name, desires to spik to Mr. +Barres." + +"I don't talk to anonymous people," he said curtly. + +"I shall tell her, sir?" + +"Certainly. Did you make Miss Dulcie comfortable?" + +"Yess, sir." + +"That's right. Now, take that dress of Miss Dulcie's, go out to some +shop on Fifth Avenue, buy a pretty party gown of similar dimensions, +and bring it back with you. Take a taxi both ways. Wait--take her +stockings and slippers, too, and buy her some fine ones. And some +underwear suitable." He went to a desk, unlocked it, and handed the +maid a flat packet of bank-notes. "Be sure the things are nice," he +insisted. + +Selinda, starched, immaculate, frosty-eyed, marched out. She returned +a few moments later, wearing jacket and hat. + +"Sir, the lady on the telephone hass called again. The lady would +inquire of Mr. Barres if perhaps he has recollection of the Fountain +of Marie de Médicis." + +Barres reddened with surprise and pleasure: + +"Oh! Yes, indeed, I'll speak to _that_ lady. Hang up the service +receiver, Selinda." And he stepped to the studio telephone. + +"Nihla?" he exclaimed in a low, eager voice. + +"C'est moi, Thessa! Have you a letter from me?" + +"No, you little wretch! Oh, Thessa, you're certainly a piker! Fancy my +not hearing one word from you since April!--not a whisper, not a sign +to tell me that you are alive----" + +"Garry, hush! It was not because I did not wish to see you----" + +"Yes, it was! You knew bally well that I hadn't your address and that +you had mine! Is that what you call friendship?" + +"You don't understand what you are saying. I wanted to see you. It has +been impossible----" + +"You are not singing and dancing anywhere in New York. I watched the +papers. I even went to the Palace of Mirrors to enquire if you had +signed with them there." + +"Wait! Be careful, please!----" + +"Why?" + +"Be careful what you say over the telephone. For my sake, Garry. Don't +use my former name or say anything to identify me with any place or +profession. I've been in trouble. I'm in trouble still. Had you no +letter from me this morning?" + +"No." + +"That is disquieting news. I posted a letter to you last night. You +should have had it in your morning mail." + +"No letter has come from you. I had no letters at all in the morning +mail, and only one or two important business letters since." + +"Then I'm deeply worried. I shall have to see you unless that letter +is delivered to you by evening." + +"Splendid! But you'll have to come to me, Thessa. I've invited a few +people to dine here and dance afterwards. If you'll dine with us, I'll +get another man to balance the table. Will you?" + +After a moment she said: + +"Yes. What time?" + +"Eight! This is wonderful of you, Thessa!" he said excitedly. "If +you're in trouble we'll clear it up between us. I'm so happy that you +will give me this proof of friendship." + +"You dear boy," she said in a troubled voice. "I should be more of a +friend if I kept away from you." + +"Nonsense! You promise, don't you?" + +"Yes ... Do you realise that to-night another summer moon is to +witness our reunion?... I shall come to you once more under a full +June moon.... And then, perhaps, no more.... Never.... Unless after +the world ends I come to you through shadowy outer space--a ghost +drifting--a shred of mist across the moon, seeking you once +more!----" + +"My poor child," he said laughing, "you must be in no end of low +spirits to talk that way." + +"It does sound morbid. But I have plenty of courage, Garry. I shall +not snivel on the starched bosom of your evening shirt when we meet. +Donc, à bientôt, monsieur. Soyez tranquille! You shall not be ashamed +of me among your guests." + +"Fancy!" he laughed happily. "Don't worry, Thessa. We'll fix up +whatever bothers you. Eight o'clock! Don't forget!" + +"I am not likely to," she said. + + * * * * * + +Until Selinda returned from her foray along Fifth Avenue, Barres +remained in the studio, lying in his armchair, still possessed by the +delightful spell, still excited by the prospect of seeing Thessalie +Dunois again, here, under his own roof. + +But when the slant-eyed and spotlessly blond Finn arrived, he came +back out of his retrospective trance. + +"Did you get some pretty things for Miss Soane?" he enquired. + +"Yess, sir, be-ootiful." Selinda deposited on the table a sheaf of +paid bills and the balance of the bank-notes. "Would Mr. Barres be +kind enough to inspect the clothes for Miss Soane?" + +"No, thanks. You say they're all right?" + +"Yess, sir. They are heavenly be-ootiful." + +"Very well. Tell Aristocrates to lay out my clothes after you have +dressed Miss Dulcie. There will be two extra people to dinner. Tell +Aristocrates. Is Miss Dulcie still asleep?" + +"Yess, sir." + +"All right. Wake her in time to dress her so she can come out here and +give me a chance----" He glanced at the clock "Better wake her now, +Selinda. It's time for her to dress and evacuate my quarters. I'll +take forty winks here until she's ready." + + * * * * * + +Barres lay dozing on the sofa when Dulcie came in. + +Selinda, enraptured by her own efficiency in grooming and attiring the +girl, marched behind her, unable to detach herself from her own +handiwork. + +From crown to heel the transfiguration was absolute--from the point of +her silk slipper to the topmost curl on the head which Selinda had +dressed to perfection. + +For Selinda had been a lady's maid in great houses, and also had a +mania for grooming herself with the minute and thorough devotion of a +pedigreed cat. And Dulcie emerged from her hands like some youthful +sea-nymph out of a bath of foam, snowy-sweet as some fresh and +slender flower. + +With a shy courage born with her own transfiguration, she went to +Barres, where he lay on the sofa, and bent over him. + +She had made no sound; perhaps her nearness awoke him, for he opened +his eyes. + +"Dulcie!" he exclaimed. + +"Do I please you?" she whispered. + +He sat up abruptly. + +"You wonderful child!" he said, frankly astonished. Whereupon he got +off the sofa, walked all around her inspecting her. + +"What a get-up! What a girl!" he murmured. "You lovely little thing, +you astound me! Selinda, you certainly know a thing or two. Take it +from me, you do Miss Soane and yourself more credit in your way than I +do with paint and canvas." + +Dulcie blushed vividly; the white skin of Selinda also reddened with +pleasure at her master's enthusiasm. + +"Tell Aristocrates to fix my bath and lay out my clothes," he said. +"I've guests coming and I've got to hustle!" And to Dulcie: "We're +going to have a little party in honour of your graduation. That's what +I have to tell you, dear. Does it please you? Do your pretty clothes +please you?" + +The girl, overwhelmed, could only look at him. Her lips, vivid and +slightly parted, quivered as her breath came irregularly. But she +found no words--nothing to say except in the passionate gratitude of +her grey eyes. + +"You dear child," he said gently. Then, after a moment's silence, he +eased the tension with his quick smile: "Wonder-child, go and seat +yourself very carefully, and be jolly careful you don't rumple your +frock, because I want you to astonish one or two people this +evening." + +Dulcie found her voice: + +"I--I'm so astonished at myself that I don't seem real. I seem to be +somebody else--long ago!" She stepped close to him, opened her locket +for his inspection, holding it out to him as far as the chain +permitted. It framed a miniature of a red-haired, grey-eyed girl of +sixteen. + +"Your mother, Dulcie?" + +"Yes. How perfectly it fits into my locket! I carry it always in my +purse." + +"It might easily be yourself, Dulcie," he said in a low voice. "You +are her living image." + +"Yes. That is what astonishes me. To-night, for the first time in my +life, it occurred to me that I look like this girl picture of my +mother." + +"You never thought so before?" + +"Never." She stood looking down at the laughing face in the locket for +a few moments, then, lifting her eyes to his: + +"I've been made over, in a day, to look like this.... You did it!" + +"Nonsense! Selinda and her curling iron did it." + +They laughed a little. + +"No," she said, "you have made me. You began to make me all over three +months ago--oh, longer ago than that!--you began to remake me the +first time you ever spoke to me--the first time you opened your door +to me. That was nearly two years ago. And ever since I have been +slowly becoming somebody quite new--inside and outside--until +to-night, you see, I begin to look like my mother." She smiled at him, +drew a deep breath, closed the locket, dropped it on her breast. + +"I mustn't keep you," she said. "I wanted to show the picture--so you +can understand what you have done for me to make me look like that." + + * * * * * + +When Barres returned to the studio, freshened and groomed for the +evening, he found Dulcie at the piano, playing the little song she had +sung that morning, and singing the words under her breath. But she +ceased as he came up, and swung around on the piano-stool to confront +him with the most radiant smile he had ever seen on a human face. + +"What a day this has been!" she said, clasping her hands tightly. "I +simply cannot make it seem real." + +He laughed: + +"It isn't ended yet, either. There's a night to every day, you know. +And your graduation party will begin in a few moments." + +"I know. I'm fearfully excited. You'll stay near me, won't you?" + +"You bet! Did I tell you who are coming? Well, then, you won't feel +strange, because I've merely asked two or three men who live in Dragon +Court--men you see every day--Mr. Trenor, Mr. Mandel, and Mr. +Westmore." + +"Oh," she said, relieved. + +"Also," he said, "I have asked Miss Souval--that tall, pretty girl who +sometimes sits for Mr. Trenor--Damaris Souval. You remember her?" + +"Yes." + +"Also," he continued, "Mr. Mandel wishes to bring a young married +woman who has developed a violent desire for the artistic and +informal, but who belongs in the Social Register." He laughed. "It's +all right if Corot Mandel wants her. Her name is Mrs. Helmund--Elsena +Helmund. Mr. Trenor is painting her." + +Dulcie's face was serious but calm. + +"And then, to even the table," concluded Barres smilingly, "I invited +a girl I knew long ago in Paris. Her name is Thessalie Dunois; and +she's very lovely to look upon, Dulcie. I am very sure you will like +her." + +There was a silence; then the electric bell rang in the corridor, +announcing the arrival of the first guest. As Barres rose, Dulcie laid +her hand on his arm--a swift, involuntary gesture--as though the girl +were depending on his protection. + +The winning appeal touched him and amused him, too. + +"Don't worry, dear," he said. "You'll have the prettiest frock in the +studio--if you need that knowledge to reassure you----" + +The corridor door opened and closed. Somebody went into his bedroom +with Selinda--that being the only available cloak-room for women. + + + + +XI + +HER NIGHT + + +"Thessalie Dunois! This is charming of you!" said Barres, crossing the +studio swiftly and taking her hand in both of his. + +"I'm so glad to see you, Garry--" she looked past him across the +studio at Dulcie, and her voice died out for a moment. "Who is that +girl?" she enquired under her breath. + +"I'll present you----" + +"Wait. _Who_ is she?" + +"Dulcie Soane----" + +"_Soane?_" + +"Yes. I'll tell you about her later----" + +"In a moment, Garry." Thessalie looked across the room at the girl for +a second or two longer, then turned a troubled, preoccupied gaze on +Barres. "Have you a letter from me? I posted it last night." + +"Not yet." + +The doorbell rang. He could hear more guests entering the corridor +beyond. A faint smile--the forced smile of courage--altered +Thessalie's features now, until it became a fixed and pretty mask. + +"Contrive to give me a moment alone with you this evening," she +whispered. "My need is great, Garry." + +"Whenever you say! Now?" + +"No. I want to talk to that young girl first." + +They walked over to where Dulcie stood by the piano, silent and +self-possessed. + +"Thessa," he said, "this is Miss Soane, who graduated from high school +to-day, and in whose honour I am giving this little party." And to +Dulcie he said: "Miss Dunois and I were friends when I lived in +France. Please tell her about your picture, which you and I are +doing." He turned as he finished speaking, and went forward to welcome +Esmé Trenor and Damaris Souval, who happened to arrive together. + +"Oh, the cunning little girl over there!" exclaimed the tall and +lovely Damaris, greeting Barres with cordial, outstretched hands. +"Where did you find such an engaging little thing?" + +"You don't recognise her?" he asked, amused. + +"I? No. Should I?" + +"She's Dulcie Soane, the girl at the desk down-stairs!" said Barres, +delighted. "This is her party. She has just graduated from high +school, and she----" + +"Belongs to Barres," interrupted Esmé Trenor in his drawling voice. +"Unusual, isn't she, Damaris?--logical anatomy, ornamental, vague +development; nice lines, not obvious--like yours, Damaris," he added +impudently. Then waving his lank hand with its over-polished nails: "I +like the indefinite accented with one ripping value. Look at that +hair!--lac and burnt orange rubbed in, smeared, then wiped off with +the thumb! You follow the intention, Barres?" + +"You talk too much, Esmé," interrupted Damaris tartly. "Who is that +lovely being talking to the little Soane girl, Garry?" + +"A friend of my Paris days--Thessalie Dunois----" Again he checked +himself to turn and greet Corot Mandel, subtle creator and director of +exotic spectacles--another tall and rather heavily built man, with a +mop of black and shiny hair, a monocle, and sanguine features slightly +oriental. + +With Corot Mandel had come Elsena Helmund--an attractive woman of +thoroughbred origin and formal environment, and apparently fed up with +both. For she frankly preferred "grades" to "registered stock," and +she prowled through every art and theatrical purlieu from the Mews to +Westchester, in eternal and unquiet search for an antidote to the +sex-ennui which she erroneously believed to be an intellectual +necessity for self-expression. + +"Who is that winning child with red hair?" she enquired, nodding +informal recognition to the other guests, whom she already knew. +"Don't tell me," she added, elevating a quizzing glass and staring at +Dulcie, "that this engaging infant has a history already! It isn't +possible, with that April smile in her child eyes!" + +"You bet she hasn't a history, Elsena," said Barres, frowning; +"and I'll see that she doesn't begin one as long as she's in my +neighbourhood." + +Corot Mandel, who had been heavily inspecting Dulcie through his +monocle, now stood twirling it by its frayed and greasy cord: + +"I could do something for her--unless she's particularly yours, +Barres?" he suggested. "I've seldom seen a better type in New York." + +"You idiot. Don't you recognise her? She's Dulcie Soane! You could +have picked her yourself if you'd had any flaire." + +"Oh, hell," murmured Mandel, disgusted. "And I thought I possessed +flaire. Your private property, I suppose?" he added sourly. + +"Absolutely. Keep off!" + +"Watch me," murmured Corot Mandel, with a wry face, as they moved +forward to join the others and be presented to the little guest of the +evening. + +Westmore came in at the same moment--a short, blond, vigorous young +man, who knew everybody except Thessalie, and proceeded to smash the +ice in characteristic fashion: + +"Dulcie! You beautiful child! How are you, duckey?"--catching her by +both hands,--"a little salute for Nunky? Yes?"--kissing her heartily +on both cheeks. "I've a gift for you in my overcoat pocket. We'll +sneak out and get it after dinner!" He gave her hands a hearty +squeeze, turned to the others: "I ought to have been Miss Soane's +godfather. So I appointed myself as such. Where are the cocktails, +Garry?" + +Road-to-ruin cocktails were served--frosted orange juice for Dulcie. +Everybody drank her health. Then Aristocrates gracefully condescended +to announce dinner. And Barres took out Dulcie, her arm resting light +as a snowflake on his sleeve. + +There were flowers everywhere in the dining-room; table, buffet, +curtains, lustres were gay with early blossoms, exhaling the haunting +scent of spring. + +"Do you like it, Dulcie?" he whispered. + +She merely turned and looked at him, quite unable to speak, and he +laughed at her brilliant eyes and flushed cheeks, and, dropping his +right hand, squeezed hers. + +"It's your party, Sweetness--all yours! You must have a good time +every minute!" And he turned, still smiling, to Thessalie Dunois on +his left: + +"It's quite wonderful, Thessa, to have you here--to be actually seated +beside you at my own table. I shall not let you slip away from me +again, you enchanting ghost!--and leave me with a dislocated heart." + +"Garry, that sounds almost sentimental. We're not, you know." + +"How do I know? You never gave me a chance to be sentimental." + +She laughed mirthlessly: + +"Never gave you a chance? And our brief but headlong career together, +monsieur? What was it but a continuous cataract of chances?" + +"But we were laughing our silly heads off every minute! I had no +opportunity." + +That seemed to amuse her and awaken the ever-latent humour in her. + +"Opportunity," she observed demurely, "should be created and taken, +not shyly awaited with eyes rolled upward and a sucked thumb." + +They both laughed outright. Her colour rose; the old humorous +challenge was in her eyes again; the subtle mask was already slipping +from her features, revealing them in all their charming recklessness. + +"You know my creed," she said; "to go forward--laugh--and accept what +Destiny sends you--still laughing!" Her smile altered again, became, +for a moment, strange and vague. "God knows that is what I am doing +to-night," she murmured, lifting her slim glass, in which the gush of +sunny bubbles caught the candlelight. "To Destiny--whatever it may be! +Drink with me, Garry!" + +Around them the chatter and vivacity increased, as Damaris ended a +duel of wit with Westmore and prepared for battle with Corot Mandel. +Everybody seemed to be irresponsibly loquacious except Dulcie, who sat +between Barres and Esmé Trenor, a silent, smiling, reserved little +listener. For Barres was still conversationally involved with +Thessalie, and Esmé Trenor, languid and detached, being entirely +ignored by Damaris, whom he had taken out, awaited his own proper +modicum of worship from his silent little neighbour on his left--which +tribute he took for granted was his sacred due, and which, hitherto, +he had invariably received from woman. + +But nobody seemed to be inclined to worship; Damaris scarcely deigned +to notice him, his impudence, perhaps, still rankling. Thessalie, +laughingly engaged with Barres, remained oblivious to the fashionable +portrait painter. As for Elsena Helmund, that youthful matron was +busily pretending to comprehend Corot Mandel's covert orientalisms, +and secretly wondering whether they were, perhaps, as improper as +Westmore kept whispering to her they were, urging her to pick up her +skirts and run. + +Esmé Trenor permitted a few weary but slightly disturbed glances to +rest on Dulcie from time to time, but made no effort to entertain +her. + +And she, on her part, evinced no symptoms of worshipping him. And all +the while he was thinking to himself: + +"Can this be the janitor's daughter? Is she the same rather soiled, +impersonal child whom I scarcely ever noticed--the thin, immature, +negligible little drudge with a head full of bobbed red hair?" + +His lack of vision, of finer discernment, deeply annoyed him. Her lack +of inclination to worship him, now that she had the God-sent +opportunity, irritated him. + +"The silly little bounder," he thought, "how can she sit beside me +without timidly venturing to entertain me?" + +He stole another profoundly annoyed glance at Dulcie. The child was +certainly beautiful--a slim, lovely, sensitive thing of qualities so +delicate that the painter of pretty women became even more surprised +and chagrined that it had taken Barres to discover this desirable girl +in the silent, shabby child of Larry Soane. + +Presently he lurched part way toward her in his chair, and looked at +her with bored but patronising encouragement. + +"Talk to me," he said languidly. + +Dulcie turned and looked at him out of uninterested grey eyes. + +"What?" she said. + +"Talk to me," he repeated pettishly. + +"Talk to yourself," retorted Dulcie, and turned again to listen to the +gay nonsense which Damaris and Westmore were exchanging amid peals of +general laughter. + +But Esmé Trenor was thunderstruck. A deep and painful colour stained +his pallid features. Never before had mortal woman so flouted him. It +was unthinkable. It really wouldn't do. There must be some explanation +for this young girl's monstrous attitude toward offered opportunity. + +"I say," he insisted, still very red, "are you bashful, by any +chance?" + +Dulcie slowly turned toward him again: + +"Sometimes I am bashful; not now." + +"Oh. Then wouldn't you like to talk to me?" + +"I don't think so." + +"Fancy! And why not, Dulcie?" + +"Because I haven't anything to say to you." + +"Dear child, that is the incentive to all conversation--lack of +anything to say. You should practise the art of saying nothing +politely." + +"_You_ should have practised it enough to say good morning to me +during these last five years," said Dulcie gravely. + +"Oh, I say! You're rather severe, you know! You were just a little +thing running about underfoot!--I'm sorry you feel angry----" + +"I do not. But how can I have anything to talk to you about, Mr. +Trenor, when you have never even noticed me all these years, although +often I have handed you your keys and your letters." + +"It was quite stupid of me. I'm sorry. But a man, you see, doesn't +notice children----" + +"Some men do." + +"You mean Mr. Barres! That _is_ unkind. Why rub it in, Dulcie? I'm +rather an interesting fellow, after all." + +"Are you?" she asked absently. + +Her honest indifference to him was perfectly apparent to Esmé Trenor. +This would never do. She must be subdued, made sane, disciplined! + +"Do you know," he drawled, leaning lankly nearer, dropping both arms +on the cloth, and fixing his heavy-lidded eyes intensely on her,"--do +you know--do you guess, perhaps, why I never spoke to you in all these +years?" + +"You did not trouble yourself to speak to me, I imagine." + +"You are wrong. I was _afraid_!" And he stared at her pallidly. + +"Afraid?" she repeated, puzzled. + +He leaned nearer, confidential, sad: + +"Shall I tell you a precious secret, Dulcie? I am a coward. I am a +slave of fear. I am afraid of beauty! Isn't that a very strange thing +to say? Can you understand the subtlety of that indefinable +psychology? Fear is an emotion. Fear of the beautiful is still a +subtler emotion. Fear, itself, is beautiful beyond words. Beauty is +Fear. Fear is Beauty. Do you follow me, Dulcie?" + +"No," said the girl, bewildered. + +Esmé sighed: + +"Some day you will follow me. It is my destiny to be followed, +pursued, haunted by loveliness impotently seeking to express itself to +me, while I, fearing it, dare only to express my fear with brush and +pencil!... _When_ shall I paint you?" he added with sad benevolence. + +"What?" + +"When shall I try to interpret upon canvas my subtle fear of you?" +And, as the girl remained mute: "When," he explained languidly, "shall +I appoint an hour for you to sit to me?" + +"I am Mr. Barres's model," she said, flushing. + +"I shall have to arrange it with him, then," he nodded, wearily. + +"I don't think you can." + +"Fancy! Why not?" + +"Because I do not wish to sit to anybody except Mr. Barres," she said +candidly, "and what you paint does not interest me at all." + +"Are you familiar with my work?" he asked incredulously. + +She shook her head, shrugged, and turned to Barres, who had at last +relinquished Thessalie to Westmore. + +"Well, Sweetness," he said gaily, "do you get on with Esmé Trenor?" + +"He talked," she said in a voice perfectly audible to Esmé. + +Barres glanced toward Esmé, secretly convulsed, but that young apostle +of Fear had swung one thin leg over the other and was now presenting +one shoulder and the back of his head to them both, apparently in +delightful conversation with Elsena Helmund, who was fed up on him and +his fears. + +"You must always talk to your neighbours at dinner," insisted Barres, +still immensely amused. "Esmé is a very popular man with fashionable +women, Dulcie,--a painter in much demand and much adored.... Why do +you smile?" + +Dulcie smiled again, deliciously. + +"Anyway," continued Barres, "you must now give the signal for us to +rise by standing up. I'm so proud of you, Dulcie, darling!" he added +impulsively; "--and everybody is mad about you!" + +"You made me--" she laughed mischievously, "--out of a rag and a bone +and a hank of hair!" + +"You made yourself out of nothing, child! And everybody thinks you +delightful." + +"Do _you_?" + +"You dear girl!--of course I do. Does it make such a difference to +you, Dulcie--my affection for you?" + +"Is it--_affection_?" + +"It certainly is. Didn't you know it?" + +"I didn't--know--what it was." + +"Of course it is affection. Who could be with you as I have been and +not grow tremendously fond of you?" + +"Nobody ever did except you. Mr. Westmore was always nice. But--but +you are so kind--I can't express--I--c-can't----" Her emotion checked +her. + +"Don't try, dear!" he said hastily. "We're going in to have a jolly +dance now. You and I begin it together. Don't you let any other fellow +take you away!" + +She looked up, laughed blissfully, gazing at him with brilliant eyes a +little dimmed. + +"They'll all be at your heels," he said, beginning to comprehend the +beauty he had let loose on the world, "--every man-jack of them, mark +my prophecy! But ours is the first dance, Dulcie. Promise?" + +"I do. And I promise you the next--please----" + +"Well, I'm host," he said doubtfully, and a trifle taken aback. "We'll +have some other dances together, anyway. But I couldn't monopolise +you, Sweetness." + +The girl looked at him silently, then her grey, intelligent eyes +rested directly on Thessalie Dunois. + +"Will you dance with her?" she asked gravely. + +"Yes, of course. And with the others, too. Tell me, Dulcie, did you +find Miss Dunois agreeable?" + +"I--don't--know." + +"Why, you ought to like her. She's very attractive." + +"She is quite beautiful," said the girl, watching Thessalie across his +shoulder. + +"Yes, she really is. What did you and she talk about?" + +"Father," replied Dulcie, determined to have no further commerce with +Thessalie Dunois which involved a secrecy excluding Barres. "She asked +me if he were not my father. Then she asked me a great many stupid +questions about him. And about Miss Kurtz, who takes the desk when +father is out. Also, she asked me about the mail and whether the +postman delivered letters at the desk or in the box outside, and about +the tenants' mail boxes, and who distributed the letters through them. +She seemed interested," added the girl indifferently, "but I thought +it a silly subject for conversation." + +Barres, much perplexed, sat gazing at Dulcie in silence for a moment, +then recollecting his duty, he smiled and whispered: + +"Stand up, now, Dulcie. You are running this show." + +The girl flushed and rose, and the others stood up. Barres took her to +the studio door, then returned to the table with the group of men. + +"Well," he exclaimed happily, "what do you fellows think of Soane's +little girl now? Isn't she the sweetest thing you ever heard of?" + +"A peach!" said Westmore, in his quick, hearty voice. "What's the +idea, Garry? Is it to be her career, this posing business? And where +is it going to land her? In the Winter Garden?" + +"Where is it going to land _you_?" added Esmé impudently. + +"Why, I don't know, myself," replied Barres, with a troubled smile. +"The little thing always appealed to me--her loneliness and neglect, +and--and something about the child--I can't define it----" + +"Possibilities?" suggested Mandel viciously. "Take it from me, you're +some picker, Garry." + +"Perhaps. Anyway, I've given her the run of my place for the last two +years and more. And she has been growing up all the while, and I +didn't notice it. And suddenly, this spring, I discovered her for the +first time.... And--well, look at her to-night!" + +"She's your private model, isn't she?" persisted Mandel. + +"Entirely," replied Barres drily. + +"Selfish dog!" remarked Westmore, with his lively, wholesome laugh. "I +once asked her to sit for me--more out of good nature than anything +else. And a jolly fine little model she ought to make you, Garry. +She's beginning to acquire a figure." + +"She's quite wonderful that way, too," nodded Barres. + +"Undraped?" inquired Esmé. + +"A miracle," nodded Barres absently. "Paint is becoming inadequate. I +shall model her this summer. I tell you I have never seen anything to +compare to her. Never!" + +"What else will you do with her?" drawled Esmé. "You'll go stale on +her some day, of course. Am I next?" + +"_No_!... I don't know what she'll do. It begins to look like a +responsibility, doesn't it? She's such a fine little girl," explained +Barres warmly. "I've grown quite fond of her--interested in her. Do +you know she has an excellent mind? And nice, fastidious instincts? +She _thinks_ straight. That souse of a father of hers ought to be +jailed for the way he neglects her." + +"Are you thinking of adopting her?" asked Trenor, with the faintest of +sneers, which escaped Barres. + +"Adopt a _girl_? Oh, Lord, no! I can't do anything like that. Yet--I +hate to think of her future, too ... unless somebody looks out for +her. But it isn't possible for _me_ to do anything for her except to +give her a good job with a decent man----" + +"Meaning yourself," commented Mandel, acidly. + +"Well, I _am_ decent," retorted Barres warmly, amid general laughter. +"You fellows know what chances she might take with some men," he +added, laughing at his own warm retort. + +Esmé and Corot Mandel nodded piously, each perfectly aware of what +chance any attractive girl would run with his predatory neighbour. + +"To shift the subject of discourse--that girl, Thessalie Dunois," +began Westmore, in his energetic way, "is about the cleverest and +prettiest woman I've seen in New York outside the theatre district." + +"I met her in France," said Barres, carelessly. "She really is +wonderfully clever." + +"I shall let her talk to me," drawled Esmé, flicking at his cigarette. +"It will be a liberal education for her." + +Mandel's slow, oriental eyes blinked contempt; he caressed his waxed +moustache with nicotine-stained fingers: + +"I am going to direct an out-of-door spectacle--a sort of play--not +named yet--up your way, Barres--at Northbrook. It's for the +Belgians.... If Miss Dunois--unless," he added sardonically, "you have +her reserved, also----" + +"Nonsense! You cast Thessalie Dunois and she'll make your show for +you, Mandel!" exclaimed Barres. "I know and I'm telling you. Don't +make any mistake: there's a girl who can make good!" + +"Oh. Is she a professional?" + +It was on the tip of Barres's tongue to say "Rather!" But he checked +himself, not knowing Thessalie's wishes concerning details of her +incognito. + +"Talk to her about it," he said, rising. + +The others laid aside cigars and followed him into the studio, where +already the gramophone was going and Aristocrates and Selinda were +rolling up the rugs. + + * * * * * + +Barres and Dulcie danced until the music, twice revived, expired in +husky dissonance, and a new disc was substituted by Westmore. + +"By heaven!" he said, "I'll dance this with my godchild or I'll murder +you, Garry. Back up, there!--you soulless monopolist!" And Dulcie, +half laughing, half vexed, was swept away in Westmore's vigorous arms, +with a last, long, appealing look at Barres. + +The latter danced in turn with his feminine guests, as in duty +bound--in pleasure bound, as far as concerned Thessalie. + +"And to think, to _think_," he repeated, "that you and I, who once +trod the moonlit way, June-mad, moon-mad, should be dancing here +together once more!" + +"Alas," she said, "though this is June again, moon and madness are +lacking. So is the enchanted river and your canoe. And so is that gay +heart of mine--that funny, careless little heart which was once my +comrade, sending me into a happy gale of laughter every time it +counselled me to folly." + +"What is the matter, Thessa?" + +"Garry, there is so much the matter that I don't know how to tell +you.... And yet, I have nobody else to tell.... Is that maid of yours +German?" + +"No, Finnish." + +"You can't be certain," she murmured. "Your guests are all American, +are they not?" + +"Yes." + +"And the little Soane girl? Are her sympathies with Germany?" + +"Why, certainly not! What gave you that idea, Thessa?" + +The music ran down; Westmore, the indefatigable, still keeping +possession of Dulcie, went over to wind up the gramophone. + +"Isn't there some place where I could be alone with you for a few +minutes?" whispered Thessalie. + +"There's a balcony under the middle window. It overlooks the court." + +She nodded and laid her hand on his arm, and they walked to the long +window, opened it, and stepped out. + +Moonlight fell into the courtyard, silvering everything. Down there on +the grass the Prophet sat, motionless as a black sphynx in the lustre +of the moon. + +Thessalie looked down into the shadowy court, then turned and glanced +up at the tiled roof just above them, where a chimney rose in +silhouette against the pale radiance of the sky. + +Behind the chimney, flat on their stomachs, lay two men who had been +watching, through an upper ventilating pane of glass, the scene in +the brilliantly lighted studio below them. + +The men were Soane and his crony, the one-eyed pedlar. But neither +Thessalie nor Barres could see them up there behind the chimney. + +Yet the girl, as though some unquiet instinct warned her, glanced up +at the eaves above her head once more, and Barres looked up, too. + +"What do you see up there?" he inquired. + +"Nothing.... There could be nobody up there to listen, could there?" + +He laughed: + +"Who would want to climb up on the roof to spy on you or me----" + +"Don't speak so loud, Garry----" + +"What on earth is the trouble?" + +"The same trouble that drove me out of France," she said in a low +voice. "Don't ask me what it was. All I can tell you is this: I am +followed everywhere I go. I cannot make a living. Whenever I secure an +engagement and return at the appointed time to fill it, something +happens." + +"What happens?" he asked bluntly. + +"They repudiate the agreement," she said in a quiet voice. "They give +no reasons; they simply tell me that they don't want me. Do you +remember that evening when I left the Palace of Mirrors?" + +"Indeed, I do----" + +"That was only one example. I left with an excellent contract, signed. +The next day, when I returned, the management took my contract out of +my hands and tore it up." + +"What! Why, that's outrageous----" + +"Hush! That is only one instance. Everywhere it is the same. I am +accepted after a try-out; then, without apparent reason, I am told +not to return." + +"You mean there is some conspiracy----" he began incredulously, but +she interrupted him with a white hand over his, nervously committing +him to silence: + +"Listen, Garry! Men have followed me here from Europe. I am constantly +watched in New York. I cannot shake off this surveillance for very +long at a time. Sooner or later I become conscious again of curious +eyes regarding me; of features that all at once become unpleasantly +familiar in the throng. After several encounters in street or car or +restaurant, I recognise these. Often and often instinct alone warns me +that I am followed; sometimes I am so certain of it that I take pains +to prove it." + +"Do you prove it?" + +"Usually." + +"Well, what the devil----" + +"Hush! I seem to be getting into deeper trouble than that, Garry. I +have changed my residence so many, many times!--but every time +people get into my room when I am away and ransack my effects.... And +now I never enter my room unless the landlady is with me, or the +janitor--especially after dark." + +"Good Lord!----" + +"Listen! I am not really frightened. It isn't fear, Garry. That word +isn't in my creed, you know. But it bewilders me." + +"In the name of common sense," he demanded, "what reason has anybody +to annoy you----" + +Her hand tightened on his: + +"If I only knew who these people are--whether they are agents of the +Count d'Eblis or of the--the French Government! But I can't determine. +They steal letters directed to me; they steal letters which I write +and mail with my own hands. I wrote to you yesterday, because I--I +felt I couldn't stand this persecution--any--longer----" + +Her voice became unsteady; she waited, gripping his hand, until +self-control returned. When she was mistress of herself again, she +forced a smile and her tense hand relaxed. + +"You know," she said, "it is most annoying to have my little +love-letter to you intercepted." + +But his features remained very serious: + +"When did you mail that letter to me?" + +"Yesterday evening." + +"From where?" + +"From a hotel." + +He considered. + +"I ought to have had it this morning, Thessa. But the mails, lately, +have been very irregular. There have been other delays. This is +probably an example." + +"At latest," she said, "you should have my letter this evening." + +"Y-yes. But the evening is young yet." + +After a moment she drew a light sigh of relief, or perhaps of +apprehension, he was not quite sure which. + +"But about this other matter--men following and annoying you," he +began. + +"Not now, Garry. I can't talk about it now. Wait until we are sure +about my letter----" + +"But, Thessa----" + +"Please! If you don't receive it before I leave, I shall come to you +again and ask your aid and advice----" + +"Will you come _here_?" + +"Yes. Now take me in.... Because I am not quite certain about your +maid--and perhaps one other person----" + +His expression of astonishment checked her for a moment, then the old +irresistible laughter rang out sweetly in the moonlight. + +"Oh, Garry! It is funny, isn't it!--to be dogged and hunted day and +night by a pack of shadows? If I only knew who casts them!" + +She took his arm gaily, with that little, courageous lifting of the +head: + +"Allons! We shall dance again and defy the devil! And you may send +your servant down to see whether my letter has arrived--not that maid +with slanting eyes!--I have no confidence in her--but your marvellous +major-domo, Garry----" + +Her smile was bright and untroubled as she stepped back into the +studio, leaning on his arm. + +"You dear boy," she whispered, with the irresponsible undertone of +laughter ringing in her voice, "thank you for bothering with my woes. +I'll be rid of them soon, I hope, and then--perhaps--I'll lead you +another dance along the moonlit way!" + + * * * * * + +On the roof, close to the chimney, the one-eyed man and Soane peered +down into the studio through the smeared ventilator. + +In the studio Dulcie's first party was drawing to an early but jolly +end. + +She had danced a dozen times with Barres, and her heart was full of +sheerest happiness--the unreasoning bliss which asks no questions, is +endowed with neither reason nor vision--the matchless delight which +fills the candid, unquestioning heart of Youth. + +Nothing had marred her party for her, not even the importunity of Esmé +Trenor, which she had calmly disregarded as of no interest to her. + +True, for a few moments, while Barres and Thessalie were on the +balcony outside, Dulcie had become a trifle subdued. But the wistful +glances she kept casting toward the long window were free from meaner +taint; neither jealousy nor envy had ever found lodging in the girl's +mind or heart. There was no room to let them in now. + +Also, she was kept busy enough, one man after another claiming her for +a dance. And she adored it--even with Trenor, who danced extremely +well when he took the trouble. And he was taking it now with Dulcie; +taking a different tone with her, too. For if it _were_ true, as some +said, that Esmé Trenor was three-quarters charlatan, he was no fool. +And Dulcie began to find him entertaining to the point of a smile or +two, as her spontaneous tribute to Esmé's efforts. + +That languid apostle said afterward to Mandel, where they were +lounging over the piano: + +"Little devil! She's got a mind of her own, and she knows it. I've had +to make efforts, Corot!--efforts, if you please, to attract her mere +attention. I'm exhausted!--never before had to make any efforts--never +in my life!" + +Mandel's heavy-lidded eyes of a big bird rested on Dulcie, where she +was seated. Her gaze was lifted to Barres, who bent over her in +jesting conversation. + +Mandel, watching her, said to Esmé: + +"I'm always ready to _train_--that sort of girl; always on the lookout +for them. One discovers a specimen once or twice in a decade.... Two +or three in a lifetime: that's all." + +"Train them?" repeated Esmé, with an indolent smile. "Break them, you +mean, don't you?" + +"Yes. The breaking, however, is usually mutual. However, that girl +could go far under my direction." + +"Yes, she could go as far as hell." + +"I mean artistically," remarked Mandel, undisturbed. + +"As what, for example?" + +"As anything. After all, I _have_ flaire, even if it failed me this +time. But _now_ I see. It's there, in her--what I'm always searching +for." + +"What may that be, dear friend?" + +"What Westmore calls 'the goods.'" + +"And just what are they in her case?" inquired Esmé, persistent as a +stinging gnat around a pachyderm. + +"I don't know--a voice, maybe; maybe the dramatic instinct--genius as +a dancer--who knows? All that is necessary is to discover it--whatever +it may be--and then direct it." + +"Too late, O philanthropic Pasha!" remarked Esmé with a slight sneer. +"I'd be very glad to paint her, too, and become good friends with +her--so would many an honest man, now that she's been discovered--but +our friend Barres, yonder, isn't likely to encourage either you or me. +So"--he shrugged, but his languid gaze remained on Dulcie--"so you and +I had better kiss all hope good-bye and toddle home." + + * * * * * + +Westmore and Thessalie still danced together; Mrs. Helmund and Damaris +were trying new steps in new dances, much interested, indulging in +much merriment. Barres watched them casually, as he conversed with +Dulcie, who, deep in an armchair, never took her eyes from his smiling +face. + +"Now, Sweetness," he was saying, "it's early yet, I know, but your +party ought to end, because you are coming to sit for me in the +morning, and you and I ought to get plenty of sleep. If we don't, I +shall have an unsteady hand, and you a pair of sleepy eyes. Come on, +ducky!" He glanced across at the clock: + +"It's very early yet, I know," he repeated, "but you and I have had +rather a long day of it. And it's been a very happy one, hasn't it, +Dulcie?" + +As she smiled, the youthful soul of her itself seemed to be gazing up +at him out of her enraptured eyes. + +"Fine!" he said, with deepest satisfaction. "Now, you'll put your hand +on my arm and we'll go around and say good-night to everybody, and +then I'll take you down stairs." + +So she rose and placed her hand lightly on his arm, and together +they made her adieux to everybody, and everybody was cordially +demonstrative in thanking her for her party. + +So he took her down stairs to her apartment, off the hall, noticing +that neither Soane nor Miss Kurtz was on duty at the desk, as they +passed, and that a pile of undistributed mail lay on the desk. + +"That's rotten," he said curtly. "Will you have to change your +clothes, sort this mail, and sit here until the last mail is +delivered?" + +"I don't mind," she said. + +"But I wanted you to go to sleep. Where is Miss Kurtz?" + +"It is her evening off." + +"Then your father ought to be here," he said, irritated, looking +around the big, empty hallway. + +But Dulcie only smiled and held out her slim hand: + +"I couldn't sleep, anyway. I had really much rather sit here for a +while and dream it all over again. Good-night.... Thank you--I can't +say what I feel--but m-my heart is very faithful to you, Mr. +Barres--will always be--while I am alive ... because you are my first +friend." + +He stooped impulsively and touched her hair with his lips: + +"You dear child," he said, "I _am_ your friend." + +Halfway up the western staircase he called back: + +"Ring me up, Dulcie, when the last mail comes!" + +"I will," she nodded, almost blindly. + +Out of her lovely, abashed eyes she watched him mount the stairs, her +cheeks a riot of surging colour. It was some few minutes after he was +gone that she recollected herself, turned, and, slowly traversing the +east corridor, entered her bedroom. + +Standing there in darkness, vaguely silvered by reflected moonlight, +she heard through her door ajar the guests of the evening descending +the western staircase; heard their gay adieux exchanged, distinguished +Esmé's impudent drawl, Westmore's lively accents, Mandel's voice, the +easy laughter of Damaris, the smooth, affected tones of Mrs. Helmund. + +But Dulcie listened in vain for the voice which had haunted her ears +since she had left the studio--the lovely voice of Thessalie Dunois. + +If this radiant young creature also had departed with the other +guests, she had gone away in silence.... _Had_ she departed? Or was +she still lingering upstairs in the studio for a little chat with the +most wonderful man in the world?... A very, very beautiful girl.... +And the most wonderful man in the world. Why should they not linger +for a little chat together after the others had departed? + +Dulcie sighed lightly, pensively, as one whose happiness lies in the +happiness of others. To be a witness seemed enough for her. + +For a little while longer she remained standing there in the silvery +dusk, quite motionless, thinking of Barres. + +The Prophet lay asleep, curled up on her bed; her alarm clock ticked +noisily in the darkness, as though to mimic the loud, fast rhythm of +her heart. + +At last, and as in a dream, she groped for a match, lighted the gas +jet, and began to disrobe. Slowly, dreamily, she put from her slender +body the magic garments of light--_his_ gift to her. + +But under these magic garments, clothing her newborn soul, remained +the radiant rainbow robe of that new dawn into which this man had led +her spirit. Did it matter, then, what dingy, outworn clothing covered +her, outside? + + * * * * * + +Clad once more in her shabby, familiar clothes, and bedroom slippers, +Dulcie opened the door of her dim room, and crept out into the +whitewashed hall, moving as in a trance. And at her heels stalked the +Prophet, softly, like a lithe shape that glides through dreams. + +Awaiting the last mail, seated behind the desk on the worn leather +chair, she dropped her linked fingers into her lap, and gazed straight +into an invisible world peopled with enchanting phantoms. And, little +by little, they began to crowd her vision, throng all about her, +laughing, rosy wraiths floating, drifting, whirling in an endless +dance. Everywhere they were invading the big, silent hall, where the +candle's grotesque shadows wavered across whitewashed wall and +ceiling. Drowsily, now, she watched them play and sway around her. Her +head drooped; she opened her eyes. + +The Prophet sat there, staring back at her out of depthless orbs of +jade, in which all the wisdom and mysteries of the centuries seemed +condensed and concentrated into a pair of living sparks. + + + + +XII + +THE LAST MAIL + + +The last mail had not yet arrived at Dragon Court. + +Five people awaited it--Dulcie Soane, behind the desk in the entrance +hall, already wandering drowsily with Barres along the fairy +borderland of sleep; Thessalie Dunois in Barres' studio, her +rose-coloured evening cloak over her shoulders, her slippered foot +tapping the dance-scarred parquet; Barres opposite, deep in his +favourite armchair, chatting with her; Soane on the roof, half stupid +with drink, watching them through the ventilator; and, lurking in the +moonlit court, outside the office window, the dimly sinister figure of +the one-eyed man. He wore a white handkerchief over his face, with a +single hole cut in it. Through this hole his solitary optic was now +fixed upon the back of Dulcie's drowsy head. + +As for the Prophet, perched on the desk top, he continued to gaze upon +shapes invisible to all things mortal save only such as he. + + * * * * * + +The postman's lively whistle aroused Dulcie. The Prophet, knowing him, +observed his advent with indifference. + +"Hello, girlie," he said;--he was a fresh-faced and flippant young +man. "Where's Pop?" he added, depositing a loose sheaf of letters on +the desk before her and sketching in a few jig steps with his feet. + +"I don't know," she murmured, patting with one slim hand her pink and +yawning lips, and watching him unlock the post-box and collect the +outgoing mail. He lingered a moment to caress the Prophet, who endured +it without gratitude. + +"You better go to bed if you want to grow up to be a big, sassy girl +some day," he advised Dulcie. "And hurry up about it, too, because I'm +going to marry you if you behave." And, with a last affable caress for +the Prophet, the young man went his way, singing to himself, and +slamming the iron grille smartly behind him. + +Dulcie, rising from her chair, sorted the mail, sleepily tucking each +letter and parcel into its proper pigeon-hole. There was a thick +letter for Barres. This she held in her left hand, remembering his +request that she call him up when the last mail arrived. + +This she now prepared to do--had already reseated herself, her right +hand extended toward the telephone, when a shadow fell across the +desk, and the Prophet turned, snarled, struck, and fled. + +At the same instant grimy fingers snatched at the letter which she +still held in her left hand, twisted it almost free of her desperate +clutch, tore it clean in two at one violent jerk, leaving her with +half the letter still gripped in her clenched fist. + +She had not uttered a sound during the second's struggle. But +instantly an ungovernable rage blazed up in her at the outrage, and +she leaped clean over the desk and sprang at the throat of the +one-eyed man. + +His neck was bony and muscular; she could not compass it with her +slender hands, but she struck at it furiously, driving a sound out of +his throat, half roar, half cough. + +"Give me my letter!" she breathed. "I'll kill you if you don't!" Her +furious little hands caught his clenched fist, where the torn letter +protruded, and she tore at it and beat upon it, her teeth set and her +grey Irish eyes afire. + +Twice the one-eyed man flung her to her knees on the pavement, but she +was up again and clinging to him before he could tear free of her. + +"My letter!" she gasped. "I shall kill you, I tell you--unless you +return it!" + +His solitary yellow eye began to glare and glitter as he wrenched and +dragged at her wrists and arms about him. + +"Schweinstück!" he panted. "Let los, mioche de malheur! Eh! Los!--or I +strike! No? Also! Attrape!--sale gallopin!----" + +His blow knocked her reeling across the hall. Against the whitewashed +wall she collapsed to her knees, got up half stunned, the clang of the +outer grille ringing in her very brain. + +With dazed eyes she gazed at the remnants of the torn letter, still +crushed in her rigid fingers. Bright drops of blood from her mouth +dripped slowly to the tessellated pavement. + +Reeling still from the shock of the blow, she managed to reach the +outer door, and stood swaying there, striving to pierce with confused +eyes the lamplit darkness of the street. There was no sign of the +one-eyed man. Then she turned and made her way back to the desk, +supporting herself with a hand along the wall. + +Waiting a few moments to control her breathing and her shaky limbs, +she contrived finally to detach the receiver and call Barres. Over the +wire she could hear the gramophone playing again in the studio. + +"Please may I come up?" she whispered. + +"Has the last mail come? Is there a letter for me?" he asked. + +"Yes ... I'll bring you w-what there is--if you'll let me?" + +"Thanks, Sweetness! Come right up!" And she heard him say: "It's +probably your letter, Thessa. Dulcie is bringing it up." + +Her limbs and body were still quivering, and she felt very weak and +tearful as she climbed the stairway to the corridor above. + +The nearer door of his apartment was open. Through it the music of the +gramophone came gaily; and she went toward it and entered the +brilliantly illuminated studio. + +Soane, who still lay flat on the roof overhead, peeping through the +ventilator, saw her enter, all dishevelled, grasping in one hand the +fragments of a letter. And the sight instantly sobered him. He tucked +his shoes under one arm, got to his stockinged feet, made nimbly for +the scuttle, and from there, descending by the service stair, ran +through the courtyard into the empty hall. + +"Be gorry," he muttered, "thot dommed Dootchman has done it now!" And +he pulled on his shoes, crammed his hat over his ears, and started +east, on a run, for Grogan's. + +Grogan's was still the name of the Third Avenue saloon, though Grogan +had been dead some years, and one Franz Lehr now presided within that +palace of cherrywood, brass and pretzels. + +Into the family entrance fled Soane, down a dim hallway past several +doors, from behind which sounded voices joining in guttural song; and +came into a rear room. + +The one-eyed man sat there at a small table, piecing together +fragments of a letter. + +"Arrah, then," cried Soane, "phwat th' devil did ye do, Max?" + +The man barely glanced at him. + +"Vy iss it," he enquired tranquilly, "you don'd vatch Nihla Quellen by +dot wentilator some more?" + +"I axe ye," shouted Soane, "what t'hell ye done to Dulcie!" + +"Vat I haff done already yet?" queried the one-eyed man, not looking +up, and continuing to piece together the torn letter. "Vell, I tell +you, Soane; dot kid she keep dot letter in her handt, und I haff to +grab it. Sacré saligaud de malheur! Dot letter she tear herself in +two. Pas de chance! Your kid she iss mad like tigers! Voici--all zat +rests me de la sacré-nom-de sacrèminton de lettre----" + +"Ah, shut up, y'r Dootch head-cheese!--wid y'r gillipin' gallopin' +gabble!" cut in Soane wrathfully. "D'ye mind phwat ye done? It's not +petty larceny, ye omadhoun!--it's highway robbery ye done--bad cess to +ye!" + +The one-eyed man shrugged: + +"Pourtant, I must haff dot letter----" he observed, undisturbed by +Soane's anger; but Soane cut him short again fiercely: + +"You an' y'r dommed letter! Phwat do you care if I'm fired f'r this +night's wurruk? Y'r letter, is it? An' what about highway robbery, me +bucko! An' me off me post! How'll I be explaining that? Ah, ye sicken +me entirely, ye Dootch square-head! Now, phwat'll I say to them? Tell +me that, Max Freund! Phwat'll I tell th' aygent whin he comes runnin'? +Phwat'll I tell th' po-lice? Arrah, phwat't'hell do you care, +anyway?" he shouted. "I've a mind f'r to knock the block off ye----" + +"You shall say to dot agent you haff gone out to smell," remarked Max +Freund placidly. + +"Smell, is it? Smell what, ye dom----" + +"You smell some smoke. You haff fear of fire. You go out to see. Das +iss so simble, ach! Take shame, you Irish Sinn Fein! You behave like +rabbits!" He pointed to his arrangement of the torn letter on the +table: "Here iss sufficient already--regardez! Look once!" He laid one +long, soiled and bony finger on the fragments: "Read it vat iss +written!" + +"G'wan, now!" + +"I tell you, read!" + +Soane, still cursing under his breath, bent over the table, reading as +Freund's soiled finger moved: + +"Fein plots," he read. "German agents ... disloyal propa ... explo ... +bomb fac ... shipping munitions to ... arms for Ireland can be ... +destruction of interned German li ... disloyal newspapers which ... +controlled by us in Pari ... Ferez Bey ... bankers are duped.... I +need your advi ... hounded day and ni ... d'Eblis or Govern ... not +afraid of death but indignant ... Sinn Fei----" + +Soane's scowl had altered, and a deeper red stained his brow and +neck. + +"Well, by God!" he muttered, jerking up a chair from behind him and +seating himself at the table, but never taking his fascinated eyes off +the torn bits of written paper. + +Presently Freund got up and went out. He returned in a few moments +with a large sheet of wrapping paper and a pot of mucilage. On this +paper, with great care, he arranged the pieces of the torn letter, +neatly gumming each bit and leaving a space between it and the next +fragment. + +"To fill in iss the job of Louis Sendelbeck," remarked Freund, pasting +away industriously. "Is it not time we learn how much she knows--this +Nihla Quellen? Iss she sly like mice? I ask it." + +Soane scratched his curly head. + +"Be gorry," he said, "av that purty girrl is a Frinch spy she don't +look the parrt, Max." + +Freund waved one unclean hand: + +"Vas iss it to look like somedings? Nodding! Also, you Sinn Fein Irish +talk too much. Why iss it in Belfast you march mit drums und music? To +hold our tongues und vatch vat iss we Germans learn already first! +Also! Sendelbeck shall haff his letter." + +"An' phwat d'ye mean to do with that girrl, Max?" + +"Vatch her! Vy you don'd go back by dot wentilator already?" + +"Me? Faith, I'm done f'r th' evenin', an' I thank God I wasn't pinched +on the leads!" + +"Vait I catch dot Nihla somevares," muttered Freund, regarding his +handiwork. + +"Ye'll do no dirty thrick to her? Th' Sinn Fein will shtand f'r no +burkin', mind that!" + +"Ach, wass!" grunted Freund; "iss it your business vat iss done to +somebody by Ferez? If you Irish vant your rifles und machine guns, +leaf it to us Germans und dond speak nonsense aboud nodding!" He +leaned over and pushed a greasy electric button: "Now ve drink a glass +bier. Und after, you go home und vatch dot girl some more." + +"Av Misther Barres an' th' yoong lady makes a holler, they'll fire me +f'r this," snarled Soane. + +"Sei ruhig, mon vieux! Nihla Quellen keeps like a mouse quiet! Und she +keeps dot yoong man quiet! You see! No, no! Not for Nihla to make +some foolishness und publicity. French agents iss vatching for her +too--l'affaire du _Mot d'Ordre_. She iss vat you say, 'in Dutch'! Iss +she, vielleicht, a German spy? In France they believe it. Iss she a +French spy? Ach! Possibly some day; not yet! And it iss for us Germans +to know always vat she iss about. Dot iss my affair, not yours, +Soane." + +A heavy jowled man in a soiled apron brought two big mugs of beer and +retired on felt-slippered feet. + +"Hoch!" grunted Freund, burying his nose in his frothing mug. + +Soane, wasting no words, drank thirstily. After a long pull he shoved +aside his sloppy stein, rose, cautiously unlatched the shutter of a +tiny peep-hole in the wall, and applied one eye to it. + +"Bad luck!" he muttered, "there do be wan av thim secret service lads +drinkin' at the bar! I'll not go home yet, Max." + +"Dot big vone?" inquired Freund, mildly interested. + +"That's the buck! Him wid th' phony whiskers an' th' Dootch get-up!" + +"Vell, vot off it? Can he do somedings?" + +"And how should I know phwat that lad can do to th' likes o' me, or +phwat the divil brings him here at all, at all! Sure, he's been around +these three nights running----" + +Freund laughed his contempt for all things American, including police +and secret service, and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. + +"Look, once, Soane! Do these Yankees know vat it iss a police, a +gendarme, a military intelligence? Vat they call secret service, wass +iss it? I ask it? Schweinerei! Dummheit? Fantoches! Imbeciles! Of the +Treasury they haff a secret service; of the Justice Department also +another; and another of the Army, and yet another of the Posts! Vot +kind of foolish system iss it?--mitout no minister, no chef, no +centre, no head, no organisation--und everybody interfering in vot +efferybody iss doing und nobody knowing vot nobody is doing--ach wass! +Je m'en moque--I make mock myself at dot secret service which iss too +dam dumm!" He yawned. "Trop bête," he added indistinctly. + +Soane, reassured, lowered the shutter, came back to the table, and +finished his beer with loud gulps. + +"Lave us go up to the lodge till he goes out," he suggested. "Maybe +th' boys have news o' thim rifles." + +Freund yawned again, nodded, and rose, and they went out to an +unlighted and ill-smelling back stairway. It was so narrow that they +had to ascend in single file. + +Half way up they set off a hidden bell, by treading on some concealed +button under foot; and a man, dressed only in undershirt and trousers, +appeared at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against a bright light +burning on the wall behind him. + +"Oh, all right," he said, recognising them, and turned on his heel +carelessly, pocketing a black-jack. + +They followed to a closed door, which was made out of iron and painted +like quartered oak. In the wall on their right a small shutter slid +back noiselessly, then was closed without a sound; and the iron door +opened very gently in their faces. + +The room they entered was stifling--all windows being closed--in +spite of a pair of electric fans whirling and droning on shelves. Some +perspiring Germans were playing skat over in a corner. One or two +other men lounged about a centre table, reading Irish and German +newspapers published in New York, Chicago, and Milwaukee. There +were also on file there copies of the _Evening Mail_, the _Evening +Post_, a Chicago paper, and a pile of magazines, including numbers +of _Pearson's_, _The Fatherland_, _The Masses_, and similar +publications. + +Two lithograph portraits hung side by side over the fireplace--Robert +Emmet and Kaiser Wilhelm II. Otherwise, the art gallery included +photographs of Von Hindenburg, Von Bissing, and the King of Greece. + +A large map, on which the battle-line in Europe had been pricked out +in red pins, hung on the wall. Also a map of New York City, on a very +large scale; another map of New York State; and a map of Ireland. A +dumb-waiter, on duty and astonishingly noiseless, slid into sight, +carrying half a dozen steins of beer and some cheese sandwiches, just +as Soane and Freund entered the room, and the silent iron door closed +behind them of its own accord and without any audible click. + +The man who had met them on the stairs, in undershirt and trousers, +went over to the dumb-waiter, scribbled something on a slate which +hung inside the shelf, set the beer and sandwiches beside the skat +players, and returned to seat himself at the table to which Freund and +Soane had pulled up cane-bottomed chairs. + +"Well," he said, in rather a pleasant voice, "did you get that letter, +Max?" + +Freund nodded and leisurely sketched in the episode at Dragon Court. + +The man, whose name was Franz Lehr, and who had been born in New York +of German parents, listened with lively interest to the narrative. But +he whistled softly when it ended: + +"You took a few chances, Max," he remarked. "It's all right, of +course, because you got away with it, but----" He whistled again, +thoughtfully. + +"Sendelbeck must haff his letter. Yess? Also!" + +"Certainly. I guess that was the only way--if she was really going to +take it up to young Barres. And I guess you're right when you conclude +that Nihla won't make any noise about it and won't let her friend, +Barres, either." + +"Sure, I'm right," grunted Freund. "We got the goots on her now. You +bet she's scared. You tell Ferez--yess?" + +"Don't worry; he'll hear it all. You got that letter on you?" + +Freund nodded. + +"Hand it to Hochstein"--he half turned on his rickety chair and +addressed a squat, bushy-haired man with very black eyebrows and +large, angry blue eyes--"Louis, Max got that letter you saw Nihla +writing in the Hotel Astor. Here it is----" taking the pasted +fragments from Freund and passing them over to Hochstein. "Give it to +Sendelbeck, along with the blotter you swiped after she left the +writing room. Dave Sendelbeck ought to fix it up all right for Ferez +Bey." + +Hochstein nodded, shoved the folded brown paper into his pocket, and +resumed his cards. + +"Is thim rifles----" began Soane; but Lehr laid a hand on his +shoulder: + +"Now, listen! They're on the way to Ireland now. I told you that. When +I hear they're landed I'll let you know. You Sinn Feiners don't +understand how to wait. If things don't happen the way you want and +when you want, you all go up in the air!" + +"An' how manny hundred years would ye have us wait f'r to free th' +ould sod!" retorted Soane. + +"You'll not free it with your mouth," retorted Lehr. "No, nor by +drilling with banners and arms in Cork and Belfast, and parading all +over the place!" + +"Is--that--so!" + +"You bet it's so! The way to make England sick is to stick her in the +back, not make faces at her across the Irish Channel. If your friends +in the Clan-na-Gael, and your poets and professors who call themselves +Sinn Feiners, will quit their childish circus playing and trust us, +we'll show you how to make the Lion yowl." + +"Ah, bombs an' fires an' shtrikes is all right, too. An' proppygandy +is fine as far as it goes. But the Clan-na-Gael is all afire f'r to +start the shindy in Ireland----" + +"You start it," interrupted Lehr, "before you're really ready, and +you'll see where it lands the Clan-na-Gael and the Sinn Fein! I tell +you to leave it to Berlin!" + +"An' I tell ye lave it to the Clan-na-Gael!" retorted Soane, +excitedly. "Musha----" + +"For why you yell?" yawned Freund, displaying a very yellow fang. "Dot +big secret service slob, he iss in the bar hinunter. Perhaps he hear +you if like a pig you push forth cries." + +Lehr raised his eyebrows; then, carelessly: + +"He's only a State agent. Johnny Klein is keeping an eye on him. What +does that big piece of cheese expect to get by hanging out in my +bar?" + +Freund yawned again, appallingly; Soane said: + +"I wonder is that purty Frinch girrl agin us Irish?" + +"What does she care about the Irish?" replied Lehr. "Her danger to us +lies in the fact that she may blab about Ferez to some Frenchman, and +that he may believe her in spite of all the proof they have in Paris +against her. Max," he added, turning to Freund, "it's funny that Ferez +doesn't do something to her." + +"I haff no orders." + +"Maybe you'll get 'em when Ferez reads that letter. He's certainly +not going to let that girl go about blabbing and writing letters----" + +Soane struck the table with doubled fist: + +"Ye'll do no vi'lence to anny wan!" he cut in. "The Sinn Fein will +shtand for no dirrty wurruk in America! Av you set fires an' blow up +plants, an' kidnap ladies, an' do murther, g'wan, ye Dootch +scuts!--it's your business, God help us!--not ours. + +"All we axe of ye is machine-goons, an' rifles, an' ships to land +them; an' av ye don't like it, phway th' divil d'ye come botherin' th' +likes of us Irish wid y'r proppygandy! Sorra the day," he added, "I +tuk up wid anny Dootchman at all at all----" + +Lehr and Freund exchanged expressionless glances. The former dropped a +propitiating hand on Soane's shoulder. + +"Can it," he said good-humouredly. "We're trying to help you Irish to +what you want. You want Irish independence, don't you? All right. +We're going to help you get it----" + +A bell rang; Lehr sprang to his feet and hastened out through the iron +door, drawing his black-jack from his hip pocket as he went. + +He returned in a few moments, followed by a very good-looking but +pallid man in rather careless evening dress, who had the dark eyes of +a dreamer and the delicate features of a youthful acolyte. + +He saluted the company with a peculiarly graceful gesture, which +recognition even the gross creatures at the skat table returned with +visible respect. + +Soane, always deeply impressed by the presence of Murtagh Skeel, +offered his chair and drew another one to the table. + +Skeel accepted with a gently preoccupied smile, and seated himself +gracefully. All that is chivalrous, romantic, courteous, and brave in +an Irishman seemed to be visibly embodied in this pale man. + +"I have just come," he said, "from a dinner at Sherry's. A common +hatred of England brought together the dozen odd men with whom I have +been in conference. Ferez Bey was there, the military attachés of the +German, Austrian, and Turkish embassies, one or two bankers, officials +of certain steamship lines, and a United States senator." + +He sipped a glass of plain water which Lehr had brought him, thanked +him, then turning from Soane to Lehr: + +"To get arms and munitions into Ireland in substantial quantities +requires something besides the U-boats which Germany seems willing to +offer. + +"That was fully discussed to-night. Not that I have any doubt at all +that Sir Roger will do his part skilfully and fearlessly----" + +"He will that!" exclaimed Soane, "God bless him!" + +"Amen, Soane," said Murtagh Skeel, with a wistful and involuntary +upward glance from his dark eyes. Then he laid his hand of an +aristocrat on Soane's shoulder. "What I came here to tell you is this: +I want a ship's crew." + +"Sorr?" + +"I want a crew ready to mutiny at a signal from me and take over their +own ship on the high seas." + +"Their own ship, sorr?" + +"Their own ship. That is what has been decided. The ship to be +selected will be a fast steamer loaded with arms and munitions for the +British Government. The Sinn Fein and the Clan-na-Gael, between them, +are to assemble the crew. I shall be one of that crew. Through +powerful friends, enemies to England, it will be made possible to +sign such a crew and put it aboard the steamer to be seized. + +"Her officers will, of course, be British. And I am afraid there may +be a gun crew aboard. But that is nothing. We shall take her over when +the time comes--probably off the Irish coast at night. Now, Soane, and +you, Lehr, I want you to help recruit a picked crew, all Irish, all +Sinn Feiners or members of the Clan-na-Gael. + +"You know the sort. Absolutely reliable, fearless, and skilled men +devoted soul and body to the cause for which we all would so +cheerfully die.... Will you do it?" + +There was a silence. Soane moistened his lips reflectively. Lehr, +intelligent, profoundly interested, kept his keen, pleasant eyes on +Murtagh Skeel. Only the droning electric fans, the rattle of a +newspaper, the slap of greasy cards at the skat table, the slobbering +gulp of some Teuton, guzzling beer, interrupted the sweltering quiet +of the room. + +"Misther Murtagh, sorr," said Soane with a light, careless laugh, +"I've wan recruit f'r to bring ye." + +"Who is he?" + +"Sure, it's meself, sorr--av ye'll sign the likes o' me." + +"Thanks; of course," said Skeel, with one of his rare smiles, and +taking Soane's hand in comradeship. + +"I'll go," said Lehr, coolly; "but my name won't do. Call me Grogan, +if you like, and I'll sign with you, Mr. Skeel." + +Skeel pressed the offered hand: + +"A splendid beginning," he said. "I wanted you both. Now, see what you +can do in the Sinn Fein and Clan-na-Gael for a crew which, please God, +we shall require very soon!" + + + + +XIII + +A MIDNIGHT TÊTE-À-TÊTE + + +When Dulcie had entered the studio that evening, her white face +smeared with blood and a torn letter clutched in her hand, the +gramophone was playing a lively two-step, and Barres and Thessalie +Dunois were dancing there in the big, brilliantly lighted studio, all +by themselves. + +Thessalie caught sight of Dulcie over Barres's shoulder, hastily +slipped out of his arms, and hurried across the polished floor. + +"What is the matter?" she asked breathlessly, a fearful intuition +already enlightening her as her startled glance travelled from the +blood on Dulcie's face to the torn fragments of paper in her rigidly +doubled fingers. + +Barres, coming up at the same moment, slipped a firm arm around +Dulcie's shoulders. + +"Are you badly hurt, dear? What has happened?" he asked very quietly. + +She looked up at him, mute, her bruised mouth quivering, and held out +the remains of the letter. And Thessalie Dunois caught her breath +sharply as her eyes fell on the bits of paper covered with her own +handwriting. + +"There was a man hiding in the court," said Dulcie. "He wore a white +cloth over his face and he came up behind me and tried to snatch your +letter out of my hand; but I held fast and he only tore it in two." + +Barres stared at the sheaf of torn paper, lying crumpled up in his +open hand, then his amazed gaze rested on Thessalie: + +"Is this the letter you wrote to me?" he inquired. + +"Yes. May I have the remains of my letter?" she asked calmly. + +He handed over the bits of paper without a word, and she opened her +gold-mesh bag and dropped them in. + +There was a moment's silence, then Barres said: + +"Did he strike you, Dulcie?" + +"Yes, when he thought he couldn't get away from me." + +"You hung on to him?" + +"I tried to." + +Thessalie stepped closer, impulsively, and framed Dulcie's pallid, +blood-smeared face in both of her cool, white hands. + +"He has cut your lower lip inside," she said. And, to Barres: "Could +you get something to bathe it?" + +Barres went away to his own room. When he returned with a finger-bowl +full of warm water, some powdered boric acid, cotton, and a soft +towel, Dulcie was lying deep in an armchair, her lids closed; and +Thessalie sat beside her on one of the padded arms, smoothing the +ruddy, curly hair from her forehead. + +She opened her eyes when Barres appeared, giving him a clear but +inscrutable look. Thessalie gently washed the traces of battle from +her face, then rinsed her lacerated mouth very tenderly. + +"It is just a little cut," she said. "Your lip is a trifle swelled." + +"It is nothing," murmured Dulcie. + +"Do you feel all right?" inquired Barres anxiously. + +"I feel sleepy." She sat erect, always with her grey eyes on Barres. +"I think I will go to bed." She stood up, conscious, now, of her +shabby clothes and slippers; and there was a painful flush on her face +as she thanked Thessalie and bade her a confused good-night. + +But Thessalie took the girl's hand and retained it. + +"Please don't say anything about what happened," she said. "May I ask +it of you as a very great favour?" + +Dulcie turned her eyes on Barres in silent appeal for guidance. + +"Do you mind not saying anything about this affair," he asked, "as +long as Miss Dunois wishes it?" + +"Should I not tell my father?" + +"Not even to him," replied Thessalie gently. "Because it won't ever +happen again. I am very certain of that. Will you trust my word?" + +Again Dulcie looked at Barres, who nodded. + +"I promise never to speak of it," she said in a low, serious voice. + +Barres took her down stairs. At the desk she pointed out, at his +request, the scene of recent action. Little by little he discovered, +by questioning her, what a dogged battle she had fought there alone in +the whitewashed corridor. + +"Why didn't you call for help?" he asked. + +"I don't know.... I didn't think of it. And when he got away I was +dizzy from the blow." + +At her bedroom door he took both her hands in his. The gas-jet was +still burning in her room. On the bed lay her pretty evening dress. + +"I'm so glad," she remarked naïvely, "that I had on my old clothes." + +He smiled, drew her to him, and lightly smoothed the thick, bright +hair from her brow. + +"You know," he said, "I am becoming very fond of you, Dulcie. You're +such a splendid girl in every way.... We'll always remain firm +friends, won't we?" + +"Yes." + +"And in perplexity and trouble I want you to feel that you can always +come to me. Because--you do like me, don't you, Dulcie?" + +For a moment or two she sustained his smiling, questioning gaze, then +laid her cheek lightly against his hands, which still held both of +hers imprisoned. And for one exquisite instant of spiritual surrender +her grey eyes closed. Then she straightened herself up; he released +her hands; she turned slowly and entered her room, closing the door +very gently behind her. + + * * * * * + +In the studio above, Thessalie, still wearing her rose-coloured cloak, +sat awaiting him by the window. + +He crossed the studio, dropped onto the lounge beside her, and lighted +a cigarette. Neither spoke for a few moments. Then he said: + +"Thessa, don't you think you had better tell me something about this +ugly business which seems to involve you?" + +"I can't, Garry." + +"Why not?" + +"Because I shall not take the risk of dragging you in." + +"Who are these people who seem to be hounding you?" + +"I can't tell you." + +"You trust me, don't you?" + +She nodded, her face partly averted: + +"It isn't that. And I had meant to tell you something concerning this +matter--tell you just enough so that I might ask your advice. In fact, +that is what I wrote you in that letter--being rather scared and +desperate.... But half my letter to you has been stolen. The people +who stole it are clever enough to piece it out and fill in what is +missing----" + +She turned impulsively and took his hands between her own. Her face +had grown quite white. + +"How much harm have I done to you, Garry? Have I already involved you +by writing as much as I did write? I have been wondering.... I +couldn't bear to bring anything like that into your life----" + +"Anything like what?" he asked bluntly. "Why don't you tell me, +Thessa?" + +"No. It's too complicated--too terrible. There are elements in it that +would shock and disgust you.... And perhaps you would not believe +me----" + +"Nonsense!" + +"The Government of a great European Power does not believe me to be +honest!" she said very quietly. "Why should you?" + +"Because I know you." + +She smiled faintly: + +"You're such a dear," she murmured. "But you talk like a boy. What do +you really know about me? We have met just three times in our entire +lives. Do any of those encounters really enlighten you? If you were a +business man in a responsible position, could you honestly vouch for +me?" + +"Don't you credit me with common sense?" he insisted warmly. + +She laughed: + +"No, Garry, dear, not with very much. Even I have more than you, and +that is saying very little. We are inclined to be irresponsible, you +and I--inclined to take the world lightly, inclined to laugh, inclined +to tread the moonlit way! No, Garry, neither you nor I possess very +much of that worldly caution born of hardened wisdom and sharpened +wits." + +She smiled almost tenderly at him and pressed his hands between her +own. + +"If I had been worldly wise," she said, "I should never have danced my +way to America through summer moonlight with you. If I had been wiser +still, I should not now be an exile, my political guilt established, +myself marked for destruction by a great European Power the instant I +dare set foot on its soil." + +"I supposed your trouble to be political," he nodded. + +"Yes, it is." She sighed, looked at him with a weary little smile. +"But, Garry, I am not guilty of being what that nation believes me to +be." + +"I am very sure of it," he said gravely. + +"Yes, you would be. You'd believe in me anyway, even with the terrible +evidence against me.... I don't suppose you'd think me guilty if I +tell you that I am not--in spite of what they might say about +me--might prove, apparently." + +She withdrew her hands, clasped them, her gaze lost in retrospection +for a few moments. Then, coming to herself with a gesture of infinite +weariness: + +"There is no use, Garry. I should never be believed. There are those +who, base enough to entrap me, now are preparing to destroy me because +they are cowardly enough to be afraid of me while I am alive. Yes, +trapped, exiled, utterly discredited as I am to-day, they are still +afraid of me." + +"Who are you, Thessa?" he asked, deeply disturbed. + +"I am what you first saw me--a dancer, Garry, and nothing worse." + +"It seems strange that a European Government should desire your +destruction," he said. + +"If I really were what this Government believes me to be, it would not +seem strange to you." + +She sat thinking, worrying her under lip with delicate white teeth; +then: + +"Garry, do you believe that your country is going to be drawn into +this war?" + +"I don't know what to think," he said bitterly. "The _Lusitania_ ought +to have meant war between us and Germany. Every brutal Teutonic +disregard of decency since then ought to have meant war--every unarmed +ship sunk by their U-boats, every outrage in America perpetrated by +their spies and agents ought to have meant war. I don't know how much +more this Administration will force us to endure--what further +flagrant insult Germany means to offer. They've answered the +President's last note by canning Von Tirpitz and promising, +conditionally, to sink no more unarmed ships without warning. But they +all are liars, the Huns. So that's the way matters stand, Thessa, and +I haven't the slightest idea of what is going to happen to my +humiliated country." + +"Why does not your country prepare?" she asked. + +"God knows why. Washington doesn't believe in it, I suppose." + +"You should build ships," she said. "You should prepare plans for +calling out your young men." + +He nodded indifferently: + +"There was a preparedness parade. I marched in it. But it only +irritated Washington. Now, finally, the latest Mexican insult is +penetrating official stupidity, and we are mobilising our State +Guardsmen for service on the border. And that's about all we are +doing. We are making neither guns nor rifles; we are building no +ships; the increase in our regular army is of little account; some of +the most vital of the great national departments are presided over by +rogues, clowns, and fools--pacifists all!--stupid, dull, grotesque and +impotent. And you ask me what my country is going to do. And I tell +you that I don't know. For real Americans, Thessa, these last two +years have been years of shame. For we should have armed and mobilised +when the first rifle-shot cracked across the Belgian frontier at +Longwy; and we should have declared war when the first Hun set his +filthy hoof on Belgian soil. + +"In our hearts we real Americans know it. But we had no leader--nobody +of faith, conviction, vision, action, to do what was the only thing to +do. No; we had only talkers to face the supreme crisis of the +world--only the shallow noise of words was heard in answer to God's +own summons warning all mankind that hell's deluge was at hand." + +The intense bitterness of what he said had made her very grave. She +listened silently, intent on his every expression. And when he ended +with a gesture of hopelessness and disgust, she sat gazing at him out +of her lovely dark eyes, deep in reflection. + +"Garry," she said at length, "do you know anything about the European +systems of intelligence?" + +"No--only what I read in novels." + +"Do you know that America, to-day, is fairly crawling with German +spies?" + +"I suppose there are some here." + +"There are a hundred thousand paid German spies within an hour's +journey of this city." + +He looked up incredulously. + +"Let me tell you," she said, "how it is arranged here. The German +Ambassador is the master spy in America. Under his immediate +supervision are the so-called diplomatic agents--the personnel of the +embassy and members of the consular service. These people do not +class themselves as agents or as spies; they are the directors of +spies and agents. + +"Agents gather information from spies who perform the direct work of +investigating. Spies usually work alone and report, through local +agents, to consular or diplomatic agents. And these, in turn, report +to the Ambassador, who reports to Berlin. + +"It is all directed from Berlin. The personal source of all German +espionage is the Kaiser. He is the supreme master spy." + +"Where have you learned these things, Thessa?" he asked in a troubled +voice. + +"I have learned, Garry." + +"Are you--a spy?" + +"No." + +"Have you been?" + +"No, Garry." + +"Then how----" + +"Don't ask me; just listen. There are men here in your city who are +here for no good purpose. I do not mean to say that merely because +they seek also to injure me--destroy me, perhaps,--God knows what they +wish to do to me!--but I say it because I believe that your country +will declare war on Germany some day very soon. And that you ought to +watch these spies who move everywhere among you! + +"Germany also believes that war is near. And this is why she strives +to embroil your country with Japan and Mexico. That is why she +discredits you with Holland, with Sweden. It is why she instructs her +spies here to set fires in factories and on ships, blow up powder +mills and great industrial plants which are manufacturing munitions +for the Allies of the Triple Entente. + +"America may doubt that there is to be war between her and Germany, +but Germany does not doubt it. + +"Let me tell you what else Germany is doing. She is spreading +insidious propaganda through a million disloyal Germans and pacifist +Americans, striving to poison the minds of your people against +England. She secretly buys, owns, controls newspapers which are used +as vehicles for that propaganda. + +"She is debauching the Irish here who are discontented with England's +rule; she spends vast sums of money in teaching treachery in your +schools, in arousing suspicion among farmers, in subsidising +mercantile firms. + +"Garry, I tell you that a Hun is always a Hun; a Boche is always a +Boche, call him what else you will. + +"The Germans are the monkeys of the world; they have imitated the +human race. But, Garry, they are still what they always have been at +heart, barbarians who have no business in Europe. + +"In their hearts--and for all their priests and clergymen and +cathedrals and churches--they still believe in their old gods which +they themselves created--fierce, bestial supermen, more cruel, more +powerful, more treacherous, more beastly than they themselves. + +"That is the German. That is the Hun under all his disguises. No white +man can meet him on his own ground; no white man can understand him, +appeal to anything in common between himself and the Boche. He is +brutal and contemptuous to women; he is tyrannical to the weak, +cringing to the strong, fundamentally bestial, utterly selfish, +intolerant of any civilisation which is not his conception of +civilisation--his monkey-like conception of Christ--whom, in his pagan +soul, he secretly sneers at--not always secretly, now!" + +She straightened up with a quick little gesture of contempt. Her face +was brightly flushed; her eyes brilliant with scorn. + +"Garry, has not America heard enough of 'the good German,' the 'kindly +Teuton,' the harmless, sentimental and 'excellent citizen,' whose +morally edifying origin as a model emigrant came out of his own sly +mouth, and who has, by his own propaganda alone, become an accepted +type of good-natured thrift and erudition in your Republic? + +"Let me say to you what a French girl thinks! A hundred years ago you +were a very small nation, but you were homogeneous and the average of +culture was far higher in America then than it is at present. For now, +your people's cultivation and civilisation is diluted by the ignorance +of millions of foreigners to whom you have given hospitality. And, of +these, the Germans have done you the most deadly injury, vulgarising +public taste in art and literature, affronting your clean, sane +intelligence by the new decadence and perversion in music, in +painting, in illustration, in fiction. + +"Whatever the normal Hun touches he vulgarises; whatever the decadent +Boche touches he soils and degrades and transforms into a horrible +abomination. This he has done under your eyes in art, in literature, +in architecture, in modern German music. + +"His filthy touch is even on your domestic life--this Barbarian who +feeds grossly, whose personal habits are a by-word among civilised and +cultured people, whose raw ferocity is being now revealed to the world +day by day in Europe, whose proverbial clumsiness and stupidity have +long furnished your stage with its oafs and clowns. + +"This is the thing that is now also invading you with thousands of +spies, betraying you with millions of traitors, and which will one +day turn on you and tear you and trample you like an enraged hog, +unless you and your people awake to what is passing in the world you +live in!" + +She was on her feet now, flushed, lovely, superb in her deep and +controlled excitement. + +"I'll tell you this much," she said. "It is Germany that wishes my +destruction. Germany trapped me; Germany would have destroyed me in +the trap had I not escaped. Now, Germany is afraid of me, knowing what +I know. And her agents follow me, spy on me, thwart me, prevent me +from earning my living, until I--I can scarcely endure it--this +hounding and persecution----" Her voice broke; she waited to control +it: + +"I am not a spy. I never was one. I never betrayed a human soul--no, +nor any living thing that ever trusted me! These people who hound me +know that I am not guilty of that for which another Government is +ready to try me--and condemn me. They fear that I shall prove to this +other Government my innocence. I can't. But they fear I can. And the +Hun is afraid of me. Because, if I ever proved my innocence, it would +involve the arrest and trial and certain execution of men high in rank +in the capital of this other country. So--the Hun dogs me everywhere I +go. I do not know why he does not try to kill me. Possibly he lacks +courage, so far. Possibly he has not had any good opportunity, because +I am very careful, Garry." + +"But this--this is outrageous!" broke out Barres. "You can't stand +this sort of thing, Thessa! It's a matter for the police----" + +"Don't interfere!" + +"But----" + +"Don't interfere! The last thing I want is publicity. The last thing I +wish for is that your city, state, or national government should +notice me at all or have any curiosity concerning me or any idea of +investigating my affairs." + +"Why?" + +"Because, although as soon as your country is at war with Germany, my +danger from Germany ceases, on the other hand another very deadly +danger begins at once to threaten me." + +"What danger?" + +"It will come from a country with which your country will be allied. +And I shall be arrested here as a _German_ spy, and I shall be sent +back to the country which I am supposed to have betrayed. And there +nothing in the world could save me." + +"You mean--court-martial?" + +"A brief one, Garry. And then the end." + +"Death?" + +She nodded. + +After a few moments she moved toward the door. He went with her, +picking up his hat. + +"I can't let you go with me," she said with a faint smile. + +"Why not?" + +"You are involved sufficiently already." + +"What do I care for----" + +"Hush, Garry. Do you wish to displease me?" + +"No, but I----" + +"Please! Call me a taxicab. I wish to go back alone." + +In spite of argument she remained smilingly firm. Finally he rang up a +taxi for her. When it signalled he walked down stairs, through the dim +hall and out to the grilled gateway beside her. + +"Good-bye," she said, giving her hand. He detained it: + +"I can't bear to have you go alone----" + +"I'm perfectly safe, mon ami. I've had a delightful time at your +party--really I have. This affair of the letter does not spoil it. I'm +accustomed to similar episodes. So now, good-night." + +"Am I to see you again soon?" + +"Soon? Ah, I can't tell you that, Garry." + +"When it is convenient then?" + +"Yes." + +"And will you telephone me on your safe arrival home to-night?" + +She laughed: + +"If you wish. You're so sweet to me, Garry. You always have been. +Don't worry about me. I am not in the least apprehensive. You see I'm +rather a clever girl, and I know something about the Boche." + +"You had your letter stolen." + +"Only half of it!" she retorted gaily. "She is a gallant little thing, +your friend Dulcie. Please give her my love. As for your other +friends, they were amusing.... Mr. Mandel spoke to me about an +engagement." + +"Why don't you consider it? Corot Mandel is the most important +producer in New York." + +"Is he, really? Well, if I'm not interfered with perhaps I shall go to +call on Mr. Mandel." She began to laugh mischievously to herself: +"There was one man there who never gave me a moment's peace until I +promised to lunch with him at the Ritz." + +"Who the devil----" + +"Mr. Westmore," she said demurely. + +"Oh, Jim Westmore! Well, Thessa, he's a corker. He's really a +splendid fellow, but look out for him! He's also a philanderer." + +"Oh, dear. I thought he was just a sculptor and a rather strenuous +young man." + +"I wasn't knocking him," said Barres, laughing, "but he falls in love +with every pretty woman he meets. I'm merely warning you." + +"Thank you, Garry," she smiled. She gave him her hand again, pulled +the rose-coloured cloak around her bare shoulders, ran across the +sidewalk to the taxi, and whispered to the driver. + +"You'll telephone me when you get home?" he reminded her, baffled but +smiling. + +She laughed and nodded. The cab wheeled out into the street, backed, +turned, and sped away eastward. + + * * * * * + +Half an hour later his telephone rang: + +"Garry, dear?" + +"Is it you, Thessa?" + +"Yes. I'm going to bed.... Tell Mr. Westmore that I'm not at all sure +I shall meet him at the Ritz on Monday." + +"He'll go, anyway." + +"Will he? What devotion. What faith in woman! What a lively capacity +for hope eternal! What vanity! Well, then, tell him he may take his +chances." + +"I'll tell him. But I think you might make a date with me, too, you +little fraud!" + +"Maybe I will. Maybe I'll drop in to see you unexpectedly some +morning. And don't let me catch _you_ philandering in your studio with +some pretty woman!" + +"No fear, Thessa." + +"I'm not at all sure. And your little model, Dulcie, is dangerously +attractive." + +"Piffle! She's a kid!" + +"Don't be too sure of that, either! And tell Mr. Westmore that I _may_ +keep my engagement. And then again I may not! Good-night, Garry, +dear!" + +"Good-night!" + + * * * * * + +Walking slowly back to extinguish the lights in the studio before +retiring to his own room for the night, Barres noticed a piece of +paper on the table under the lamp, evidently a fragment from the torn +letter. + +The words "Ferez Bey" and "Murtagh" caught his eye before he realised +that it was not his business to decipher the fragment. + +So he lighted a match, held the shred of letter paper to the flame, +and let it burn between his fingers until only a blackened cinder fell +to the floor. + +But the two names were irrevocably impressed on his mind, and he found +himself wondering who these men might be, as he stood by his bed, +undressing. + + + + +XIV + +PROBLEMS + + +The weather was turning hot in New York, and by the middle of the week +the city sweltered. + +Barres, dropping his brushes and laying aside a dozen pictures in all +stages of incompletion; and being, otherwise, deeply bitten by the +dangerously enchanting art of Manship--dangerous as inspiration but +enchanting to gaze upon--was very busy making out of wax a diminutive +figure of the running Arethusa. + +And Dulcie, poor child, what with being poised on the ball of one +little foot and with the other leg slung up in a padded loop, almost +perished. Perspiration spangled her body like dew powdering a rose; +sweat glistened on the features and shoulder-bared arms of the +impassioned sculptor, even blinding him at times; but he worked on in +a sort of furious exaltation, reeking of ill-smelling wax. And Dulcie, +perfectly willing to die at her post, thought she was going to, and +finally fainted away with an alarming thud. + +Which brought Barres to his senses, even before she had recovered +hers; and he proclaimed a vacation for his overworked Muse and his +model, too. + +"Do you feel better, Sweetness?" he enquired, as she opened her eyes +when Selinda exchanged a wet compress for an ice-bag. + +Dulcie, flat on the lounge, swathed in a crash bathrobe, replied only +by a slight but reassuring flutter of one hand. + +Esmé Trenor sauntered in for a gossip, wearing his celebrated +lilac-velvet jacket and Louis XV slippers. + +"Oh, the devil," he drawled, looking from Dulcie to the Arethusa; +"she's worth more than your amateurish statuette, Garry." + +"You bet she is. And here's where her vacation begins." + +Esmé turned to Dulcie, lifting his eyebrows: + +"You go away with him?" + +The idea had never before entered Barres's head. But he said: + +"Certainly; we both need the country for a few weeks." + +"You'll go to one of those damned artists' colonies, I suppose," +remarked Esmé; "otherwise, washed and unwashed would expel shrill +cries." + +"Probably not in my own home," returned Barres, coolly. "I shall write +my family about it to-day." + +Corot Mandel dropped in, also, that morning--he and Esmé were ever +prowling uneasily around Dulcie in these days--and he studied the +Arethusa through a foggy monocle, and he loitered about Dulcie's +couch. + +"You know," he said to Barres, "there's nothing like dancing to +recuperate from all this metropolitan pandemonium. If you like, I can +let Dulcie in on that thing I'm putting on at Northbrook." + +"That's up to her," said Barres. "It's her vacation, and she can do +what she likes with it----" + +Esmé interposed with characteristic impudence: + +"Barres imitates Manship with impunity; I'd like to have a plagiaristic +try at Sorolla and Zuloaga, if Dulcie says the word. Very agreeable job +for a girl in hot weather," he added, looking at Dulcie, "--an easy +swimming pose in some nice cool little Adirondack lake----" + +"Seriously," interrupted Mandel, twirling his monocle impatiently by +its greasy string, "I mean it, Barres." He turned and looked at the +lithely speeding Arethusa. "If that is Dulcie, I can give her a good +part in----" + +"You hear, Dulcie?" enquired Barres. "These two kind gentlemen have +what they consider attractive jobs for you. All I can offer you is +liberty to tumble around the hayfields at Foreland Farms, with my +sketching easel in the middle distance. Now, choose your job, +Sweetness." + +"The hayfields and----" + +Dulcie's voice faded to a whisper; Barres, seated beside her, leaned +nearer, bending his head to listen. + +"And _you_," she murmured again, "--if you want me." + +"I always want you," he whispered laughingly, in return. + +Esmé regarded the scene with weariness and chagrin. + +"Come on," he said languidly to Mandel, "we'll buy her some flowers +for the evil she does us. She'll need 'em; she'll be finished before +this amateur sculptor finishes his blooming Arethusa." + +Mandel lingered: + +"I'm going up to Northbrook in a day or two, Barres. If you +change--change Dulcie's mind for her, just call me up at the Adolf +Gerhardt's." + +"Dulcie will call you up if she changes my mind." + +Dulcie laughed. + +When they had gone, Barres said: + +"You know I haven't thought about the summer. What was your idea about +it?" + +"My--idea?" + +"Yes. You'd want a couple of weeks in the country somewhere, wouldn't +you?" + +"I don't know. I never went away," she replied vaguely. + +It occurred to him, now, that for all his pleasant toleration of +Soane's little daughter during the two years and more of his residence +in Dragon Court, he had never really interested himself in her +well-being, never thought to enquire about anything which might really +concern her. He had taken it for granted that most people have some +change from the stifling, grinding, endless routine of their +lives--some respite, some quiet interval for recovery and rest. + +And so, returning from his own vacations, it never occurred to him +that the shy girl whom he permitted within his precincts, when +convenient, never knew any other break in the grey monotony--never +left the dusty, soiled, and superheated city from one year's summer to +another. + +Now, for the first time, he realised it. + +"We'll go up there," he said. "My family is accustomed to models I +bring there for my summer work. You'll be very comfortable, and you'll +feel quite at home. We live very simply at Foreland Farms. Everybody +will be kind and nobody will bother you, and you can do exactly as you +please, because we all do that at Foreland Farms. Will you come when +I'm ready to go up?" + +She gave him a sweet, confused glance from her grey eyes. + +"Do you think your family would mind?" + +"Mind?" He smiled. "We never interfere with one another's affairs. +It's not like many families, I fancy. We take it for granted that +nobody in the family could do anything not entirely right. So we take +that for granted and it's a jolly sensible arrangement." + +She turned her face on the pillow presently; the ice-bag slid off; +she sat up in her bathrobe, stretched her arms, smiled faintly: + +"Shall I try again?" she asked. + +"Oh, Lord!" he said, "_would_ you? Upon my word, I believe you would! +No more posing to-day! I'm not a murderer. Lie there until you're +ready to dress, and then ring for Selinda." + +"Don't you want me?" + +"Yes, but I want you alive, not dead! Anyway, I've got to talk to +Westmore this morning, so you may be as lazy as you like--lounge +about, read----" He went over to her, patted her cheek in the smiling, +absent-minded way he had with her: "Tell me, ducky, how are you +feeling, anyway?" + +It confused her dreadfully to blush when he touched her, but she +always did; and she turned her face away now, saying that she was +quite all right again. + +Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he nodded: + +"That's fine," he said. "Now, trot along to Selinda, and when you're +fixed up you can have the run of the place to yourself." + +"Could I have my slippers?" She was very shy even about her bare feet +when she was not actually posing. + +He found her slippers for her, laid them beside the lounge, and +strolled away. Westmore rang a moment later, but when he blew in like +a noisy breeze Dulcie had disappeared. + +"My little model toppled over," said Barres, taking his visitor's +outstretched hand and wincing under the grip. "I shall cut out work +while this weather lasts." + +Westmore turned toward the Arethusa, laughed at the visible influence +of Manship. + +"All the same, Garry," he said, "there's a lot in your running nymph. +It's nice; it's knowing." + +"That is pleasant to hear from a sculptor." + +"Sculptor? Sometimes I feel like a sculpin--prickly heat, you know." +He laughed heartily at his own witticism, slapped Barres on the +shoulder, lighted a pipe, and flung himself on the couch recently +vacated by Dulcie. + +"This damned war," he said, "takes the native gaiety out of a +man--takes the laughter out of life. Over two years of it now, Garry; +and it's as though the sun is slowly growing dimmer every day." + +"I know," nodded Barres. + +"Sure you feel it. Everybody does. By God, I have periods of sickness +when the illustrated London periodicals arrive, and I see those dead +men pictured there--such fine, clean fellows--our own kind--half of +them just kids!--well, it hurts me to look at them, and, for the sheer +pain of it, I'm always inclined to shirk and turn that page quickly. +But I say to myself, 'Jim, they're dead fighting Christ's own battle, +and the least you can do is to read their names and ages, and look +upon their faces.'... And I do it." + +"So do I," nodded Barres, sombrely gazing at the carpet. + +After a silence, Westmore said: + +"Well, the Boche has taken his medicine and canned Tirpitz--the wild +swine that he is. So I don't suppose we'll get mixed up in it." + +"The Hun is a great liar," remarked Barres. "There's no telling." + +"Are you going to Plattsburg again this year?" enquired Westmore. + +"I don't know. Are you?" + +"In the autumn, perhaps.... Garry, it's discouraging. Do you realise +what a gigantic task we have ahead of us if the Hun ever succeeds in +kicking us into this war? And what a gigantic mess we've made of two +years' inactivity?" + +Barres, pondering, scowled at his own thoughts. + +"And now," continued the other, "the Guard is off to the border, and +here we are, stripped clean, with the city lousy with Germans and +every species of Hun deviltry hatching out fires and explosions and +disloyal propaganda from the Atlantic to the Pacific, from the Lakes +to the Gulf! + +"A fine mess!--no troops, nothing to arm them with, no modern +artillery, no preparations; the Boche growing more insolent, more +murderous, but slyer; a row on with Mexico, another brewing with +Japan, all Europe and Great Britain regarding us with contempt--I ask +you, can you beat it, Garry? Are there any lower depths for us?--any +sub-cellars of iniquity into which we can tumble, like the basket of +jelly-fish we seem to be!" + +"It's a nightmare," said Barres. "Since Liège and the _Lusitania_, +it's been a bad dream getting worse. We'll have to wake, you know. If +we don't, we're of no more substance than the dream itself:--we _are_ +the dream, and we'll end like one." + +"I'm going to wait a bit longer," said Westmore restlessly, "and if +there's nothing doing, it's me for the other side." + +"For me, too, Jim." + +"Is it a bargain?" + +"Certainly.... I'd rather go under my own flag, of course.... We'll +see how this Boche backdown turns out. I don't think it will last. I +believe the Huns have been stirring up the Mexicans. It wouldn't +surprise me if they were at the bottom of the Japanese menace. But +what angers me is to think that we have received with innocent +hospitality these hundreds of thousands of Huns in America, and that +now, all over the land, this vast, acclimated nest of snakes rises +hissing at us, menacing us with their filthy fangs!" + +"Thank God our police is still half Irish," growled Westmore, puffing +at his pipe. "These dirty swine might try to rush the city if war +comes while the Guard is away." + +"They're doing enough damage as it is," said Barres, "with their +traitorous press, their pacifists, their agents everywhere inciting +labour to strike, teaching disorganisation, combining commercially, +directing blackmail, bomb outrages, incendiaries, and infesting the +Republic with a plague of spies----" + +The studio bell rang sharply. Barres, who stood near the door, opened +it. + +"Thessa!" he exclaimed, astonished and delighted. + + + + +XV + +BLACKMAIL + + +She came in swiftly, stirring the sultry stillness of the studio with +a little breeze from her gown, faintly fragrant. + +"Garry, dear!--" She gave him both her hands and looked at him; and he +saw the pink tint of excitement in her cheeks and her dark eyes +brilliant. + +"Thessa, this is charming of you----" + +"No! I came----" She cast a swift glance around her, beheld Westmore, +gave him one hand as he came forward. + +"How do you do?" she said, almost breathlessly, plainly controlling +some inward excitement. + +But Westmore retained her hand and laid the other over it. + +"You _said_ you'd come to the Ritz----" + +"I'm sorry.... I have been--bothered--with matters--affairs----" + +"You are bothered now," he said. "If you have something to say to +Garry, I'll go about my business.... Only I'm sorry it's not your +business, too." + +He released her hand and reached for the door-knob: her dark eyes were +resting on him with a strained, intent expression. On impulse she +thrust out her arm and closed the door, which he had begun to open. + +"Please--Mr. Westmore.... I do want to see you. I'm trying to think +clearly--" She turned and looked at Barres. + +"Is it serious?" he said in a low voice. + +"I--suppose so.... Garry, I wish to--to come here ... and stay." + +"What!" + +She nodded. + +"Is it all right?" + +"All right," he replied pleasantly, bewildered and almost inclined to +laugh. + +She said in a low, tense voice. + +"I'm really in trouble, Garry. I told you once that the word was not +in my vocabulary.... I've had to include it." + +"I'm so sorry! Tell me all about----" + +He checked himself: she turned to Westmore--a deeper flush came into +her cheeks--then she said gravely: + +"I scarcely know Mr. Westmore, but if he is like you, Garry--your +sort--perhaps he----" + +"He'd do anything for you, Thessa, if you'll let him. Have you +confidence in me?" + +"You know I have." + +"Then you can have the same confidence in Jim. I suggest it because I +have a hazy idea what your trouble is. And if you came to ask advice, +then I think that you'll get double value if you include Jim Westmore +in your confidence." + +She stood silent and with heightened colour for a moment, then her +expression became humorous, and, partly turning, she put out her +gloved hand behind her and took hold of Westmore's sleeve. It was at +once an appeal and an impulsive admission of her confidence in this +young man whom she had liked from the beginning, and who must be +trustworthy because he was the friend of Garret Barres. + +"I'm scared half to death," she remarked, without a quaver in her +voice, but her smile had now become forced, and a quick, uneven little +sigh escaped her as she passed her arms through Barres' and +Westmore's, and, moving across the carpet between them, suffered +herself to be installed among the Chinese cushions upon the lounge by +the open window. + +In her distractingly pretty summer hat and gown, and with her white +gloves and gold-mesh purse in her lap--her fresh, engaging face and +daintily rounded figure--Thessalie Dunois seemed no more mature, no +more experienced in worldly wisdom, than the charming young girls one +passes on Fifth Avenue on a golden morning in early spring. + +But Westmore, looking into her dark eyes, divined, perhaps, something +less inexperienced, less happy in their lovely, haunted depths. And, +troubled by he knew not what, he waited in silence for her to speak. + +Barres said to her: + +"You are being annoyed, Thessa, dear. I gather that much from what has +already happened. Can Jim and I do anything?" + +"I don't know.... It's come to a point where I--I'm afraid--to be +alone." + +Her gaze fell; she sat brooding for a few moments, then, with a quick +intake of breath: + +"It humiliates me to come to you. Would you believe that of me, Garry, +that it has come to a point where I am actually afraid to be alone? I +thought I had plenty of what the world calls courage." + +"You have!" + +"I _had_. I don't know what's become of it--what has happened to +me.... I don't want to tell you more than I have to----" + +"Tell us as much as you think necessary," said Barres, watching her. + +"Thank you.... Well, then, some years ago I earned the enmity of a +man. And, through him, a European Government blacklisted me. It was a +terrible thing. I did not fully appreciate what it meant at the time." +She turned to Westmore in her pretty, impulsive way: "This European +Government, of which I speak, believes me to be the agent of another +foreign government--believes that I betrayed its interests. This man +whom I offended, to punish me and to cover his own treachery, +furnished evidence which would have convicted me of treachery and +espionage." + +The excited colour began to dye her cheeks again; she stretched out +one arm in appeal to Westmore: + +"Please believe me! I am no spy. I never was. I was too young, too +stupid, too innocent in such matters to know what this man was +about--that he had very cleverly implicated me in this abhorrent +matter. Do you believe me, Mr. Westmore?" + +"Of course I do!" he said with a fervour not, perhaps, necessary. "If +you'll be kind enough to point out that gentleman----" + +"Wait, Jim," interposed Barres, nodding to Thessalie to proceed. + +She had been looking at Westmore, apparently much interested in his +ardour, but she came to herself when Barres interrupted, and sat +silent again as though searching her mind concerning what further she +might say. Slowly the forced smile curved her lips again. She said: + +"I don't know just what that enraged European Government might have +done to me had I been arrested, because I ran away ... and came +here.... But the man whom I offended discovered where I was and never +for a day even have his agents ceased to watch me, annoy me----" + +There was a quick break in her voice; she set her lips in silence +until the moment's emotion had passed, then, turning to Westmore with +winning dignity: "I am a dancer and singer--an entertainer of sorts, +by profession. I----" + +"Tell Westmore a little more, Thessa," said Barres. + +"If you think it necessary." + +"I'll tell him. Miss Dunois was the most celebrated entertainer in +Europe when this happened. Since she came here the man she has +mentioned has, somehow, managed to interfere and spoil every business +arrangement which she has attempted." He looked at Thessa. "I don't +know whether, if Thessalie had cared to use the name under which she +was known all over Europe----" + +"I didn't dare, Garry. I thought that, if some manager would only give +me a chance I could make a new name for myself. But wherever I went I +was dogged, and every arrangement was spoiled.... I had my jewels.... +You remember some of them, Garry. I gave those away--I think I told +you why. _But_ I had other jewels--unset diamonds given to my mother +by Prince Haledine. Well, I sold them and invested the money.... And +my income is all I have--quite a tiny income, Mr. Westmore, but +enough. Only I could have done very well here, I think, if I had not +been interfered with." + +"Thessa," said Barres, "why not tell us both a little more? We're +devoted to you." + +The girl lifted her dark eyes, and unconsciously they were turned to +Westmore. And in that young man's vigorous, virile personality perhaps +she recognised something refreshing, subtlely compelling, for, still +looking at him, she began to speak quite naturally of things which +had long been locked within her lonely heart: + +"I was scarcely more than a child when General Count Klingenkampf +killed my father. The Grand Duke Cyril hushed it up. + +"I had several thousand roubles. I had--trouble with the Grand +Duke.... He annoyed me ... as some men annoy a woman.... And when I +put him in his place he insulted the memory of my mother because she +was a Georgian.... I slapped his face with a whip.... And then I had +to run away." + +She drew a quick, uneven breath, smiling at Westmore from whose intent +gaze her own dark eyes never wandered. + +"My father had been a French officer before he took service in +Russia," she said. "I was educated in Alsace and then in England. Then +my father sent for me and I returned to St. Peters--I mean Petrograd. +And because I loved dancing my father obtained permission for me to +study at the Imperial school. Also, I had it in me to sing, and I had +excellent instruction. + +"And because I did such things in my own way, sometimes my father +permitted me to entertain at the gay gatherings patronised by the +Grand Duke Cyril." + +She smiled in reminiscence, and her gaze became remote for a moment. +Then, coming back, she lifted her eyes once more to Westmore's: + +"I ran away from Cyril and went to Constantinople, where Von-der-Goltz +Pasha and others whom I had met at the Grand Duke's parties, when +little more than a child, were stationed. I entertained at the German +Embassy, and at the Yildiz Palace.... I was successful. And my success +brought me opportunities--of the wrong kind. Do you understand?" + +Westmore nodded. + +"So," she continued, with a slight movement of disdain, "I didn't +quite see how I was to get to Paris all alone and begin a serious +career. And one evening I entertained at the German Embassy--tell me, +do you know Constantinople?" + +"No." + +"Well, it is nothing except a vast mass of gossip and intrigue. One +breakfasts on rumours, lunches on secrets, and dines on scandals. And +my maid told me enough that day to make certain matters quite clear to +me. + +"And so I entertained at the Embassy.... Afterward it was no surprise +when his Excellency whispered to me that an honest career was assured +me if I chose, and that I might be honestly launched in Paris without +paying the price which I would not pay. + +"Later I was not surprised, either, when Ferez Bey, a friend of my +father, and a man I had known since childhood, presented me +to--to----" She glanced at Barres; he nodded; she concluded to name +the man: "--the Count d'Eblis, a Senator of France, and owner of the +newspaper called _Le Mot d'Ordre_." + +After a silence she stole another glance at Barres; a smile hovered on +her lips. He, also, smiled; for he, too, was thinking of that moonlit +way they travelled together on a night in June so long ago. + +Her glance asked: + +"Is it necessary to tell Mr. Westmore this?" + +He shook his head very slightly. + +"Well," she went on, her eyes reverting again to Westmore, "the Count +d'Eblis, it appeared, had fallen in love with me at first sight.... In +the beginning he misunderstood me.... When he realised that I would +endure no nonsense from any man he proved to be sufficiently +infatuated with me to offer me marriage." + +She shrugged: + +"At that age one man resembled another to me. Marriage was a +convention, a desirable business arrangement. The Count was in a +position to launch me into a career. Careers begin in Paris. And I +knew enough to realise that a girl has to pay in one way or another +for such an opportunity. So I said that I would marry him if I came to +care enough for him. Which merely meant that if he were ordinarily +polite and considerate and companionable I would ultimately become his +wife. + +"That was the arrangement. And it caused much trouble. Because I was +a--" she smiled at Barres, "--a success from the first moment. And +d'Eblis immediately began to be abominably jealous and unreasonable. +Again and again he broke his promise and tried to interfere with my +career. He annoyed me constantly by coming to my hotel at inopportune +moments; he made silly scenes if I ventured to have any friends or if +I spoke twice to the same man; he distrusted me--he and Ferez Bey, who +had taken service with him. Together they humiliated me, made my life +miserable by their distrust. + +"I warned d'Eblis that his absurd jealousy and unkindness would not +advance him in my interest. And for a while he seemed to become +more reasonable. In fact, he apparently became sane again, and I had +even consented to our betrothal, when, by accident, I discovered +that he and Ferez were having me followed everywhere I went. And +that very night was to have been a gay one--a party in honour of our +betrothal--the night I discovered what he and Ferez had been doing +to me. + +"I was so hurt, so incensed, that--" She cast an involuntary glance at +Barres; he made a slight movement of negation, and she concluded her +sentence calmly: "--I quarrelled with d'Eblis.... There was a very +dreadful scene. And it transpired that he had sold a preponderating +interest in _Le Mot d'Ordre_ to Ferez Bey, who was operating the paper +in German interests through orders directly from Berlin. And d'Eblis +thought I knew this and that I meant to threaten him, perhaps +blackmail him, to shield some mythical lover with whom, he declared, I +had become involved, and who was betraying him to the British +Ambassador." + +She drew a deep, long breath: + +"Is it necessary for me to say that there was not a particle of truth +in his hysterical accusations?--that I was utterly astounded? But my +amazement became anger and then sheer terror when I learned from his +own lips that he had cunningly involved me in his transactions with +Ferez and with Berlin. So cunningly, so cleverly, so seriously had he +managed to compromise me as a German agent that he had a mass of +evidence against me sufficient to have had me court-martialled and +shot had it been in time of war. + +"To me the situation seemed hopeless. I never would be believed by the +French Government. Horror of arrest overwhelmed me. In a panic I took +my unset jewels and fled to Belgium. And then I came here." + +She paused, trembling a little at the memory of it all. Then: + +"The agents of d'Eblis and Ferez discovered me and have given me no +peace. I do not appeal to the police because that would stir up secret +agents of the French Government. But it has come now to a place +where--where I don't know what to do.... And so--being afraid at +last--I am here to--to ask--advice----" + +She waited to control her voice, then opened her gold-mesh bag and +drew from it a letter. + +"Three weeks ago I received this," she said. "I ignored it. Two weeks +ago, as I opened the door of my room to go out, a shot was fired at +me, and I heard somebody running down stairs.... I was badly scared. +But I went out and did my shopping, and then I went to the writing +room of a hotel and wrote to Garry.... Somebody watching me must have +seen me write it, because an attempt was made to steal the letter. A +man wearing a handkerchief over his face tried to snatch it out of the +hands of Dulcie Soane. But he got only half of the letter. + +"And when I got home that same evening I found that my room had been +ransacked.... That was why I did not go to meet you at the Ritz; I was +too upset. Besides, I was busy moving my quarters.... But it was no +use. Last night I was awakened by hearing somebody working at the lock +of my bedroom. And I sat up till morning with a pistol in my hand.... +And--I don't think I had better live entirely alone--until it is +safer. Do you, Garry?" + +"I should think not!" said Westmore, turning red with anger. + +"Did you wish us to see that letter?" asked Barres. + +She handed it to him. It was typewritten; and he read it aloud, +leisurely and very distinctly, pausing now and then to give full +weight to some particularly significant and sinister sentence: + + "MADEMOISELLE: + + "For two years and more it has been repeatedly intimated to you + that your presence in America is not desirable to certain people, + except under certain conditions, which conditions you refuse to + consider. + + "You have impudently ignored these intimations. + + "Now, you are beginning to meddle. Therefore, this warning is sent + to you: _Mind your business and cease your meddling!_ + + "Moreover, you are invited to leave the United States at your + early convenience. + + "France, England, Russia, and Italy are closed to you. Without + doubt you understand that. Also, doubtless you have no desire to + venture into Germany, Austria, Bulgaria, or Turkey. Scandinavia + remains open to you, and practically no other country except + Spain, because we do not permit you to go to Mexico or to Central + or South America. Do you comprehend? _We_ do not permit it. + + "Therefore, hold your tongue and control your _furor scribendi_ + while in New York. And make arrangements to take the next Danish + steamer for Christiania. + + "This is a friendly warning. For if you are still here in the + United States two weeks after you have received this letter, other + measures will be taken in your regard which will effectually + dispose of your troublesome presence. + + "The necessity which forces us to radical action in this affair is + regrettable, but entirely your own fault. + + "You have, from time to time during the last two years, received + from us overtures of an amicable nature. You have been approached + with discretion and have been offered every necessary guarantee to + cover an understanding with us. + + "You have treated our advances with frivolity and contempt. And + what have you gained by your defiance? + + "Our patience and good nature has reached its limits. We shall ask + nothing further of you; we deliver you our orders hereafter. And + our orders are to leave New York immediately. + + "Yet, even now, at the eleventh hour, it may not be too late for + us to come to some understanding if you change your attitude + entirely and show a proper willingness to negotiate with us in all + good faith. + + "But that must be accomplished within the two weeks' grace given + you before you depart. + + "You know how to proceed. If you try to play us false you had + better not have been born. If you deal honestly with us your + troubles are over. + + "This is final. + + "THE WATCHER." + + + + +XVI + +THE WATCHER + + +"The Watcher," repeated Barres, studying the typewritten signature for +a moment longer. Then he looked at Westmore: "What do you think of +that, Jim?" + +Westmore, naturally short tempered, became very red, got to his feet, +and began striding about the studio as though some sudden blaze of +inward anger were driving him into violent motion. + +"The thing to do," he said, "is to catch this 'Watcher' fellow and +beat him up. That's the way to deal with blackmailers--catch 'em and +beat 'em up--vermin of this sort--this blackmailing fraternity!--I +haven't anything to do; I'll take the job!" + +"We'd better talk it over first," suggested Barres. "There seem to be +several ways of going about it. One way, of course, is to turn +detective and follow Thessa around town. And, as you say, spot any man +who dogs her and beat him up very thoroughly. That's your way, Jim. +But Thessa, unfortunately, doesn't desire to be featured, and you +can't go about beating up people in the streets of New York without +inviting publicity." + +Westmore came back and stood near Thessalie, who looked up at him from +her seat on the Chinese couch with visible interest: + +"Mr. Westmore?" + +"Yes?" + +"Garry is quite right about the way I feel. I don't want notoriety. I +can't afford it. It would mean stirring up every French Government +agent here in New York. And if America should ever declare war on +Germany and become an ally of France, then your own Secret Service +here would instantly arrest me and probably send me to France to stand +trial." + +She bent her pretty head, adding in a quiet voice: + +"Extradition would bring a very swift end to my career. With the lying +evidence against me and a Senator of France to corroborate it by +perjury--ask yourselves, gentlemen, how long it would take a military +court to send me to the parade in the nearest caserne!" + +"Do you mean they'd shoot you?" demanded Westmore, aghast. + +"Any court-martial to-day would turn me over to a firing squad!" + +"You see," said Barres, turning to Westmore, "this is a much more +serious matter than a case of ordinary blackmail." + +"Why not go to our own Secret Service authorities and lay the entire +business before them?" asked Westmore excitedly. + +But Thessalie shook her head: + +"The evidence against me in Paris is overwhelming. My dossier alone, +as it now stands, would surely condemn me without corroborative +evidence. Your people here would never believe in me if the French +Government forwarded to them a copy of my dossier from the secret +archives in Paris. As for my own Government----" She merely shrugged. + +Barres, much troubled, glanced from Thessalie to Westmore. + +"It's rather a rotten situation," he said. "There must be, of course, +some sensible way to tackle it, though I don't quite see it yet. But +one thing is very plain to me: Thessa ought to remain here with us for +the present. Don't you think so, Jim?" + +"How can I, Garry?" she asked. "You have only one room, and I couldn't +turn you out----" + +"I can arrange that," interposed Westmore, turning eagerly to Barres +with a significant gesture toward the door at the end of the studio. +"There's the solution, isn't it?" + +"Certainly," agreed Barres; and to Thessalie, in explanation: +"Westmore's two bedrooms adjoin my studio--beyond that wall. We have +merely to unlock those folding doors and throw his apartment into +mine, making one long suite of rooms. Then you may have my room and +I'll take his spare room." + +She still hesitated. + +"I am very grateful, Garry, and I admit that I am becoming almost +afraid to remain entirely alone, but----" + +"Send for your effects," he insisted cheerfully. "Aristocrates will +move my stuff into Westmore's spare room. Then you shall take my +quarters and be comfortable and well guarded with Aristocrates and +Selinda on one side of you, and Jim and myself just across the +studio." He cast a sombre glance at Westmore: "I suppose those rats +will ultimately trail her to this place." + +Westmore turned to Thessalie: + +"Where are your effects?" he asked. + +She smiled forlornly: + +"I gave up my lodgings this morning, packed everything, and came here, +rather scared." A little flush came over her face and she lifted her +dark eyes and met Westmore's intent gaze. "You are very kind," she +said. "My trunks are at the Grand Central Station--if you desire to +make up my disconcerted mind for me. Do you really want me to come +here and stay a few days?" + +Westmore suppressed himself no longer: + +"I won't _let_ you go!" he said. "I'm worried sick about you!" And to +Barres, who sat slightly amazed at his friend's warmth: + +"Do you suppose any of those dirty dogs have traced the trunks?" + +Thessalie said: + +"I've never yet been able to conceal anything from them." + +"Probably, then," said Barres, "they have traced your luggage and are +watching it." + +"Give me your checks, anyway," said Westmore. "I'll go at once and get +your baggage and bring it here. If they're watching for you it will +jolt them to see a man on the job." + +Barres nodded approval; Thessalie opened her purse and handed Westmore +the checks. + +"You both are so kind," she murmured. "I have not felt so sheltered, +so secure in many, many months." + +Westmore, extremely red again, controlled his emotions--whatever they +were--with a visible effort: + +"Don't worry for one moment," he said. "Garry and I are going to +settle this outrageous business for you. Now, I'm off to find your +trunks. And if you could give me a description of any of these fellows +who follow you about----" + +"Please--you are not to beat up anybody!" she reminded him, with a +troubled smile. + +"I'll remember. I promise you not to." + +Barres said: + +"I think one of them is a tall, bony, one-eyed man, who has been +hanging around here pretending to peddle artists' materials." + +Thessalie made a quick gesture of assent and of caution: + +"Yes! His name is Max Freund. I have found it impossible to conceal my +whereabouts from him. This man, with only one eye, appears to be a +friend of the superintendent, Soane. I am not certain that Soane +himself is employed by this gang of blackmailers, but I believe that +his one-eyed friend may pay him for any scraps of information +concerning me." + +"Then we had better keep an eye on Soane," growled Westmore. "He's no +good; he'll take graft from anybody." + +"Where is his daughter, Dulcie?" asked Thessalie. "Is she not your +model, Garry?" + +"Yes. She's in my room now, lying down. This morning it was pretty hot +in here, and Dulcie fainted on the model stand." + +"The poor child!" exclaimed Thessalie impulsively. "Could I go in and +see her?" + +"Why, yes, if you like," he replied, surprised at her warm-hearted +interest. He added, as Thessalie rose: "She is really all right again. +But go in if you like. And you might tell Dulcie she can have her +lunch in there if she wants it; but if she's going to dress she ought +to be about it, because it's getting on toward the luncheon hour." + +So Thessalie went swiftly away down the corridor to knock at the door +of the bedroom, and Barres walked out with Westmore as far as the +stairs. + +"Jim," he said very soberly, "this whole business looks ugly to me. +Thessa seems to be seriously entangled in the meshes of some +blackmailing spider who is sewing her up tight." + +"It's probably a tighter web than we realise," growled Westmore. "It +looks to me as though Miss Dunois has been caught in the main net of +German intrigue. And that the big spider in Berlin did the spinning." + +"That's certainly what it looks like," admitted the other in a grave +voice. "I don't believe that this is merely a local matter--an affair +of petty, personal vengeance: I believe that the Hun is actually +afraid of her--afraid of the evidence she might be able to furnish +against certain traitors in Paris." + +Westmore nodded gloomily: + +"I'm pretty sure of it, too. They've tried, apparently, to win her +over. They've tried, also, to drive her out of this country. Now, they +mean to force her out, or perhaps kill her! Good God! Garry, did you +ever hear of such filthy impudence as this entire German propaganda in +America?" + +"Go and get her trunks," said Barres, deeply worried. "By the time you +fetch 'em back here, lunch will be ready. Afterward, we'd all better +get together and talk over this unpleasant situation." + +Westmore glanced at his watch, turned and went swinging away in his +quick, energetic stride. Barres walked slowly back to the studio. + +There was nobody there. Thessalie had not yet returned from her visit +to Dulcie Soane. + +The Prophet, however, came in presently, his tail politely hoisted. An +agreeable aroma from the kitchen had doubtless allured him; he made an +amicable remark to Barres, suffered himself to be caressed, then +sprang to the carved table--his favourite vantage point for +observation--and gazed solemnly toward the dining-room. + +For half an hour or more, Barres fussed and pottered about in the +rather aimless manner of all artists, shifting canvases and stacking +them against the wall, twirling his wax Arethusa around to inspect her +from every possible and impossible angle, using clouds of fixitive on +such charcoal studies as required it, scraping away meditatively at a +too long neglected palette. + +He was already frankly concerned about Thessalie, and the more he +considered her situation the keener grew his apprehension. + +Yet he, like all his fellow Americans, had not yet actually persuaded +himself to believe in spies. + +Of course he read about them and their machinations in the daily +papers; the spy scare was already well developed in New York; yet, to +him and to the great majority of his fellow countrymen, people who +made a profession of such a dramatic business seemed unreal--abstract +types, not concrete examples of the human race--and he could not +believe in them--could neither visualise such people nor realise that +they existed outside melodrama or the covers of a best-seller. + +There is an incredulity which knows yet refuses to believe in its own +knowledge. It is very American and it represented the paradoxical +state of mind of this deeply worried young man, as he stood there in +the studio, scraping away mechanically at his crusted palette. + +Then, as he turned to lay it aside, through the open studio door he +saw a strange, bespectacled man looking in at him intently. + +An unpleasant shock passed through him, and his instinct started him +toward the open door to close it. + +"Excuse," said he of the thick spectacles; and Barres stopped short: + +"Well, what is it?" he asked sharply. + +The man, who was well dressed and powerfully built, squinted through +his spectacles out of little, inflamed and pig-like eyes. + +"Miss Dunois iss here?" he enquired politely. "I haff a message----" + +"What is your name?" + +"Excuse, please. My name iss not personally known to Miss Dunois----" + +"Then what is your business with Miss Dunois?" + +"Excuse, please. It iss of a delicacy--of a nature quite private, iff +you please." + +Barres inspected him in hostile silence for a moment, then came to a +swift conclusion. + +"Very well. Step inside," he said briefly. + +"I thank you, I will wait here----" + +"Step inside!" snapped Barres. + +Startled into silence, the man only blinked at him. Under the other's +searching, suspicious gaze, the small, pig-like eyes were now shifting +uneasily; then, as Barres took an abrupt step forward, the man shrank +away and stammered out something about a letter which he was to +deliver to Miss Dunois in private. + +"You say you have a letter for Miss Dunois?" demanded Barres, now +determined to get hold of him. + +"I am instructed to giff it myself to her in private, all alone----" + +"Give it to _me_!" + +"I am instruc----" + +"Give it to me, I tell you!--and come inside here! Do you hear what +I'm saying to you?" + +The spectacled man lost most of his colour as Barres started toward +him. + +"Excuse!" he faltered, backing off down the corridor. "I giff you the +letter!" And he hastily thrust his hand into the side pocket of his +coat. But it was a pistol he poked under the other's nose--a shiny, +lumpy weapon, clutched most unsteadily. + +"Hands up and turn me once around your back!" whispered the man +hoarsely. "Quick!--or I shoot you!"--as the other, astounded, merely +gazed at him. The man had already begun to back away again, but as +Barres moved he stopped and cursed him: + +"Put them up your hands!" snarled the spectacled man, with a final +oath. "Keep your distance or I kill you!" + +Barres heard himself saying, in a voice not much like his own: + +"You can't do this to me and get away with it! It's nonsense! This +sort of thing doesn't go in New York!" + +Suddenly his mind grew coldly, terrible clear: + +"No, you _can't_ get away with it!" he concluded aloud, in the calm, +natural voice of conviction. "Your stunt is scaring women! You try to +keep clear of men--you dirty, blackmailing German crook! I've got your +number! You're the 'Watcher'!--you murderous rat! You're afraid to +shoot!" + +It was plain that the spectacled man had not discounted anything of +this sort--plain now, to Barres, that if, indeed, murder actually had +been meant, it was not his own murder that had been planned with that +big, blunt, silver-plated pistol, now wavering wildly before his +eyes. + +"I blow your face off!" whispered the stranger, beginning to back away +again, and ghastly pale. + +"Keep out of thiss! I am not looking for you. Get you back; step once +again inside that door away!----" + +But Barres had already jumped for him, had almost caught him, was +reaching for him--when the man hurled the pistol straight at his face. +The terrific impact of the heavy weapon striking him between the eyes +dazed him; he stumbled sideways, colliding with the wall, and he +reeled around there a second. + +But that second's leeway was enough for the bespectacled stranger. He +turned and ran like a deer. And when Barres reached the staircase the +whitewashed hall below was still echoing with the slam of the street +grille. + +Nevertheless, he hurried down, but found the desk-chair empty and +Soane nowhere visible, and continued on to the outer door, more or +less confused by the terrific blow on the head. + +Of course the bespectacled man had disappeared amid the noonday +foot-farers now crowding both sidewalks east and west, on their way to +lunch. + +Barres walked slowly back to the desk, still dazed, but now thoroughly +enraged and painfully conscious of a heavy swelling where the blow had +fallen on his forehead. + +In the superintendent's quarters he found Soane, evidently just +awakened after a sodden night at Grogan's, trying to dress. + +Barres said: + +"There is nobody at the desk. Either you or Miss Kurtz should be on +duty. That is the rule. Now, I'm going to tell you something: If I +ever again find that desk without anybody behind it, I shall go to the +owners of this building and tell them what sort of superintendent you +are! And maybe I'll tell the police, also!" + +"Arrah, then, Misther Barres----" + +"That's all!" said Barres, turning on his heel. "Anything more from +you and you'll find yourself in trouble!" + +And he went up stairs. + +The lumpy pistol still lay there in the corridor; he picked it up and +took it into the studio. The weapon was fully loaded. It seemed to be +of some foreign make--German or Austrian, he judged by the marking +which had been almost erased, deliberately obliterated, it appeared to +him. + +He placed it in his desk, seated himself, explored his bruises +gingerly with cautious finger-tips, concluded that the bridge of his +nose was not broken, then threw himself back in his armchair for some +grim and concentrated thinking. + + + + +XVII + +A CONFERENCE + + +The elegantly modulated accents of Aristocrates, announcing the +imminence of luncheon, aroused Barres from disconcerted but wrathful +reflections. + +As he sat up and tenderly caressed his battered head, Thessalie and +Dulcie came slowly into the studio together, their arms interlaced. + +Both exclaimed at the sight of the young man's swollen face, but he +checked their sympathetic enquiries drily: + +"Bumped into something. It's nothing. How are you, Dulcie? All right +again?" + +She nodded, evidently much concerned about his disfigured forehead; so +to terminate sympathetic advice he went away to bathe his bruises in +witch hazel, and presently returned smelling strongly of that +time-honoured panacea, and with a saturated handkerchief adorning his +brow. + +At the same time, there came a considerable thumping and bumping from +the corridor; the bell rang, and Westmore appeared with the +trunks--five of them. These a pair of brawny expressmen rolled into +the studio and carried thence to the storeroom which separated the +bedroom and bath from the kitchen. + +"Any trouble?" enquired Barres of Westmore, when the expressmen had +gone. + +"None at all. Nobody looked at me twice. What's happened to your +noddle?" + +"Bumped it. Lunch is ready." + +Thessalie came over to him: + +"I have included Dulcie among my confidants," she said in a low +voice. + +"You mean you've told her----" + +"Everything. And I am glad I did." + +Barres was silent; Thessalie passed her arm around Dulcie's waist; the +two men walked behind together. + +The table was a mass of flowers, over which netted sunlight played. +Three cats assisted--the Prophet, always dignified, blinked pleasantly +from a window ledge; the blond Houri, beside him, purred loudly. Only +Strindberg was impossible, chasing her own tail under the patient feet +of Aristocrates, or rolling over and over beneath the table in a +mindless assault upon her own hind toes. + +Seated there in the quiet peace and security of the pleasant room, +amid familiar things, with Aristocrates moving noiselessly about, +sunlight lacing wall and ceiling, and the air aromatic with the scent +of brilliant flowers, Barres tried in vain to realise that murder +could throw its shadow over such a place--that its terrible menace +could have touched his threshold, even for an instant. + +No, it was impossible. The fellow could not have intended murder. He +was merely a blackmailer, suddenly detected and instantly frightened, +pulling a gun in a panic, and even then failing in the courage to +shoot. + +It enraged Barres to even think about it, but he could not bring +himself to attach any darker significance to the incident than just +that--a blackmailer, ready to display a gun, but not to use it, had +come to bully a woman; had found himself unexpectedly trapped, and had +behaved according to his kind. + +Barres had meant to catch him. But he admitted to himself that he had +gone about it very unskilfully. This added disgust to his smouldering +wrath, but he realised that he ought to tell the story. + +And after the rather subdued luncheon was ended, and everybody had +gone out to the studio, he did tell it, deliberately including Dulcie +in his audience, because he felt that she also ought to know. + +"And this is the present state of affairs," he concluded, lighting a +cigarette and flinging one knee across the other, "----that my friend, +Thessalie Dunois, who came here to escape the outrageous annoyance of +a gang of blackmailers, is followed immediately and menaced with +further insult on my very threshold. + +"This thing must stop. It's going to be stopped. And I suggest that we +discuss the matter now and decide how it ought to be handled." + +After a silence, Westmore said: + +"You had your nerve, Garry. I'm wondering what I might have done under +the muzzle of that pistol." + +Dulcie's grey eyes had never left Barres. He encountered her gaze now; +smiled at its anxious intensity. + +"I made a botch of it, Sweetness, didn't I?" he said lightly. And, to +Westmore: "The moment I suspected him he was aware of it. Then, when I +tried to figure out how to get him into the studio, it was too late. I +made a mess of it, that's all. And it's too bad, Thessa, that I +haven't more sense." + +She gently shook her head: + +"You haven't any sense, Garry. That man might easily have killed you, +in spite of your coolness and courage----" + +"No. He was just a rat----" + +"In a corner! You couldn't tell what he'd do----" + +"Yes, I could. He _didn't_ shoot. Moreover, he legged it, which was +exactly what I was certain he meant to do. Don't worry about me, +Thessa; if I didn't have brains enough to catch him, at least I was +clever enough to know it was safe to try." He laughed. "There's +nothing of the hero about me; don't think it!" + +"I think that Dulcie and I know what to call your behaviour," she said +quietly, taking the silent girl's hand in hers and resting it in her +lap. + +"Sure; it was bull-headed pluck," growled Westmore. "The drop is the +drop, Garry, and you're no mind-reader." + +But Barres persisted in taking it humorously: + +"I read that gentleman's mind correctly, and his character, too." +Then, to Thessalie: "You say you don't recognise him from my +description?" + +She shook her head thoughtfully. + +"Garry," said Westmore impatiently, "if we're going to discuss various +ways of putting an end to this business, what way do you suggest?" + +Barres lighted another cigarette: + +"I've been thinking. And I haven't a notion how to go about it, unless +we turn over the matter to the police. But Thessa doesn't wish +publicity," he added, "so whatever is to be done we must do by +ourselves." + +Thessalie leaned forward from her seat on the lounge by Dulcie: + +"I don't ask that of you," she remonstrated earnestly. "I only wanted +to stay here for a little while----" + +"You shall do that too," said Westmore, "but this matter seems to +involve something more than annoyance and danger to you. Those +miserable rascals are Germans and they are carrying on their impudent +intrigues, regardless of American laws and probably to the country's +detriment. How do we know what they are about? What else may they be +up to? It seems to me that somebody had better investigate their +activities--this one-eyed man, Freund--this handy gunman in +spectacles--and whoever it was who took a shot at you the other +day----" + +"Certainly," said Barres, "and you and I are going to investigate. But +how?" + +"What about Grogan's?" + +"It's a German joint now," nodded Barres. "One of us might drop in +there and look it over. Thessa, how do you think we ought to go about +this affair?" + +Thessalie, who sat on the sofa with Dulcie's hand clasped in both +of hers--a new intimacy which still surprised and pleasantly +perplexed Barres--said that she could not see that there was +anything in particular for them to do, but that she herself intended +to cease living alone for a while and refrain from going about town +unaccompanied. + +Then it suddenly occurred to Barres that if he and Dulcie went to +Foreland Farms, Thessalie should be invited also; otherwise, she'd be +alone again, except for the servants, and possibly Westmore. And he +said so. + +"This won't do," he insisted. "We four ought to remain in touch with +one another for the present. If Dulcie and I go to Foreland Farms, you +must come, too, Thessa; and you, Jim, ought to be there, too." + +Nobody demurred; Barres, elated at the prospect, gave Thessalie a +brief sketch of his family and their home. + +"There's room for a regiment in the house," he added, "and you will +feel welcome and entirely at home. I'll write my people to-night, if +it's settled. Is it, Thessa?" + +"I'd adore it, Garry. I haven't been in the country since I left +France." + +"And you, Jim?" + +"You bet. I always have a wonderful time at Foreland." + +"Now, this is splendid!" exclaimed Barres, delighted. "If you +disappear, Thessa, those German rats may become discouraged and give +up hounding you. Anyway, you'll have a quiet six weeks and a complete +rest; and by that time Jim and I ought to devise some method of +handling these vermin." + +"Nobody," said Thessalie, smiling, "has asked Dulcie's opinion as to +how this matter ought to be handled." + +Barres turned to meet Dulcie's shy gaze. + +"Tell us what to do, Sweetness!" he said gaily. "It was stupid of me +not to ask for your views." + +For a few moments the girl remained silent, then, the lovely tint +deepening in her cheeks, she suggested diffidently that the people who +were annoying Thessalie had been hired to do it by others more easy to +handle, if discovered. + +There was a moment's silence, then Barres struck his palm with doubled +fist: + +"_That_," he said with emphasis, "is the right way to approach this +business! Hired thugs can be handled in only two ways--beat 'em up or +call in the police. And we can do neither. + +"But the men higher up--the men who inspire and hire these rats--they +can be dealt with in other ways. You're right, Dulcie! You've started +us on the only proper path!" + +Considerably excited, now, as vague ideas crowded in upon him, he sat +smiting his knees, his brows knit in concentrated thought, aware that +they were on the right track, but that the track was but a blind trail +so far. + +Dulcie ventured to interrupt his frowning cogitation: + +"People of position and influence who hire men to do unworthy things +are cowards at heart. To discover them is to end the whole matter, I +think." + +"You're absolutely right, Sweetness! Wait! I begin to see--to see +things--see something--interesting----" + +He looked up at Thessalie: + +"D'Eblis, Ferez Bey, Von-der-Goltz Pasha, Excellenz, Berlin--all these +were mixed up with this German-American banker, Adolf Gerhardt, were +they not?" + +"It was Gerhardt's money, I am sure, that bought the _Mot d'Ordre_ +from d'Eblis for Ferez--that is, for Berlin," she said. + +"Do you mean," asked Westmore, "the New York banker, Adolf Gerhardt, +of Gerhardt, Klein & Schwartzmeyer, who has that big show place at +Northbrook?" + +Barres smiled at him significantly: + +"What do you know about that, Jim! If we go to Foreland we're certain +to be asked to the Gerhardt's! They're part of the Northbrook set; +they're received everywhere. They entertain the personnel of the +German and Austrian Embassies. Probably their place, Hohenlinden, is a +hotbed of German intrigue and propaganda! Thessa, how about you? Would +you care to risk recognition in Gerhardt's drawing-room, and see what +information you could pick up?" + +Thessalie's cheeks grew bright pink, and her dark eyes were full of +dancing light: + +"Garry, I'd adore it! I told you I had never been a spy. And that is +absolutely true. But if you think I am sufficiently intelligent to do +anything to help my country, I'll try. And I don't care how I do it," +she added, with her sweet, reckless little laugh, and squeezed +Dulcie's hand tightly between her fingers. + +"Do you suppose Gerhardt would remember you?" asked Westmore. + +"I don't think so. I don't believe anybody would recollect me. If +anybody there ever saw Nihla Quellen, it wouldn't worry me, because +Nihla Quellen is merely a memory if anything, and only Ferez and +d'Eblis know I am alive and here----" + +"And their hired agents," added Westmore. + +"Yes. But such people would not be guests of Adolf Gerhardt at +Northbrook." + +"Ferez Bey might be his guest." + +"What of it!" she laughed. "I was never afraid of Ferez--never! He is +a jackal always. A threatening gesture and he flees! No, I do not +fear Ferez Bey, but I think he is horribly afraid of me.... I +think, perhaps, he has orders to do me very serious harm--and dares +not. No, Ferez Bey comes sniffing around after the fight is over. He +does no fighting, not Ferez! He slinks outside the smoke. When it +clears away and night comes he ventures forth to feed furtively on +what is left. That is Ferez--my Ferez on whom I would not use a +dog-whip--no!--merely a slight gesture--and he is gone like a swift +shadow in the dark!" + +Fascinated by the transformation in her, the other three sat gazing at +Thessalie in silence. Her colour was high, her dark eyes sparkled, her +lips glowed. And the superb young figure so celebrated in Europe, so +straight and virile, seemed instinct with the reckless gaity and +courage which rang out in her full-throated laughter as she ended with +a gesture and a snap of her white fingers. + +"For my country--for France, whose generous mind has been poisoned +against me--I would do anything--anything!" she said. "If you think, +Garry, that I have wit enough to balk d'Eblis, check Ferez, confuse +the plotters in Berlin--well, then!--I shall try. If you say it is +right, then I shall become what I never have been--a spy!" + +She sat for a moment smiling in her flushed excitement. Nobody spoke. +Then her expression altered, subtlely, and her dark eyes grew +pensive. + +"Perhaps," she said wistfully, "if I could serve my country in some +little way, France might believe me loyal.... I have sometimes wished +I might have a chance to prove it. There is nothing I would not risk +if only France would come to believe in me.... But there seemed to be +no chance for me. It is death for me to go there now, with that +dossier in the secret archives and a Senator of France to swear my +life away----" + +"If you like," said Westmore, very red again, "I'll go into the +business, too, and help you nail some of these Hun plotters. I've +nothing better to do; I'd be delighted to help you land a Hun or +two." + +"I'm with you both, heart and soul!" said Barres. "The whole country +is rotten with Boche intrigue. Who knows what we may uncover at +Northbrook?" + +Dulcie rose and came over to where Barres sat, and he reached up +without turning around, and gave her hand a friendly little squeeze. + +She bent over beside him: + +"Could I help?" she asked in a low voice. + +"You bet, Sweetness! Did you think you were being left out?" And he +drew her closer and passed one arm absently around her as he began +speaking again to Westmore: + +"It seems to me that we ought to stumble on something at Northbrook +worth following up, if we go about it circumspectly, Jim--with all +that Austrian and German Embassy gang coming and going during the +summer, and this picturesque fellow, Murtagh Skeel, being lionised +by----" + +Dulcie's sudden start checked him and he looked up at her. + +"Murtagh Skeel, the Irish poet and patriot," he repeated, "who wants +to lead a Clan-na-Gael raid into Canada or head a death-battalion to +free Ireland. You've read about him in the papers, Dulcie?" + +"Yes ... I want to talk to you alone----" She blushed and dropped a +confused little curtsey to Thessalie: "Would you please pardon my +rudeness----" + +"You darling!" said Thessalie, blowing her a swift, gay kiss. "Go and +talk to your best friend in peace!" + +Barres rose and walked away slowly beside Dulcie. They stood still +when out of earshot. She said: + +"I have a few of my mother's letters.... She knew a young man whose +name was Murtagh Skeel.... He was her dear friend. But only in secret. +Because I think her father and mother disliked him.... It would seem +so from her letters and his.... And she was--in love with him.... And +he with mother.... Then--I don't know.... But she came to America with +father. That is all I know. Do you believe he can be the same man?" + +"Murtagh Skeel," repeated Barres. "It's an unusual name. Possibly he +is the same man whom your mother knew. I should say he might have been +about your mother's age, Dulcie. He is a romantic figure now--one of +those dreamy, graceful, impractical patriots--an enthusiast with one +idea and that an impossible one!--the freedom of Ireland wrenched by +force from the traditional tyrant, England." + +He thought a moment, then: + +"Whatever the fault, and wherever lies the blame for Ireland's unrest +to-day, this is no time to start rebellion. Who strikes at England now +strikes at all Freedom in the world. Who conspires against England +to-day conspires with barbarism against civilisation. + +"My outspoken sympathy of yesterday must remain unspoken to-day. And +if it be insisted on, then it will surely change and become hostility. +No, Dulcie; the line of cleavage is clean: it is Light against +Darkness, Right against Might, Truth against Falsehood, and Christ +against Baal! + +"This man, Murtagh Skeel, is a dreamer, a monomaniac, and a dangerous +fanatic, for all his winning and cultivated personality and the +personal purity of his character.... It is an odd coincidence if he +was once your mother's friend--and her suitor, too." + +Dulcie stood before him, her head a trifle lowered, listening to what +he said. When he ended, she looked up at him, then across the studio +where Westmore had taken her place on the sofa beside Thessalie. They +both seemed to be absorbed in a conversation which interested them +immensely. + +Dulcie hesitated, then ventured to take possession of Barres' arm: + +"Could you and I sit down over here by ourselves?" she asked. + +He smiled, always amused by her increasing confidence and affection, +and always a little touched by it, so plainly she revealed herself, so +quaintly--sometimes very quietly and shyly, sometimes with an ardent +impulse too swift for self-conscious second thoughts which might have +checked her. + +So they seated themselves in the carved compartments of an ancient +choir-stall and she rested one elbow on the partition between them +and set her rounded chin in her palm. + +"You pretty thing," he said lightly. + +At that she blushed and smiled in the confused way she had when +teased. And at such times she never looked at him--never even +pretended to sustain his laughing gaze or brave out her own +embarrassment. + +"I won't torment you, Sweetness," he said. "Only you ought not to let +me, you know. It's a temptation to make you blush; you do it so +prettily." + +"Please----" she said, still smiling but vividly disconcerted again. + +"There, dear! I won't. I'm a brute and a bully. But honestly, you +ought not to let me." + +"I don't know how to stop you," she admitted, laughing. "I could kill +myself for being so silly. Why is it, do you suppose, that I blu----" + +She checked herself, scarlet now, and sat motionless with her head +bent over her clenched palm, and her lip bitten till it quivered. +Perhaps a flash of sudden insight had answered her own question before +she had even finished asking it. And the answer had left her silent, +rigid, as though not daring to move. But her bitten lip trembled, and +her breath, which had stopped, came swiftly now, desperately +controlled. But there seemed to be no control for her violent little +heart, which was racing away and setting every pulse a faster pace. + +Barres, more uneasy than amused, now, and having before this very +unwillingly suspected Dulcie of an exaggerated sentiment concerning +him, inspected her furtively and sideways. + +"I won't tease you any more," he repeated. "I'm sorry. But you +understand, Sweetness; it's just a friendly tease--just because we're +such good friends." + +"Yes," she nodded breathlessly. "Don't notice me, please. I don't seem +to know how to behave myself when I'm with you----" + +"What nonsense, Dulcie! You're a wonderful comrade. We have bully +times when we're together. Don't we?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, then, for the love of Mike! What's a little teasing between +friends? Buck up, Sweetness, and don't ever let me upset you again." + +"No." She turned and looked at him, laughed. But there was a wonderful +beauty in her grey eyes and he noticed it. + +"You little kiddie," he said, "your eyes are all starry like a baby's! +You are not growing up as fast as you think you are!" + +She laughed again deliciously: + +"How wise you are," she said. + +"Aha! So you're joshing me, now!" + +"But aren't you very, very wise?" she asked demurely. + +"You bet I am. And I'm going to prove it." + +"How, please?" + +"Listen, irreverent youngster! If you are going to Foreland Farms with +me, you will require various species of clothes and accessories." + +At that she was frankly dismayed: + +"But I can't afford----" + +"Piffle! I advance you sufficient salary. Thessalie had better advise +you in your shopping----" He hesitated, then: "You and Thessa seem to +have become excellent friends rather suddenly." + +"She was so sweet to me," explained Dulcie. "I hadn't cared for her +very much--that evening of the party--but to-day she came into your +room, where I was lying on the bed, and she stood looking at me for a +moment and then she said, 'Oh, you darling!' and dropped on her knees +and drew me into her arms.... Wasn't that a curious thing to happen? +I--I was too surprised to speak for a minute; then the loveliest +shiver came over me and I--I cuddled up close to her--because I had +never remembered being in mother's arms--and it seemed wonderful--I +had wanted it so--dreamed sometimes--and awoke and cried myself to +sleep again.... She was so sweet to me.... We talked.... She told me, +finally, about the reason of her visit to you. Then she told me about +herself.... So I became her friend very quickly. And I am sure that I +am going to love her dearly.... And when I love"--she looked steadily +away from him--"I would die to serve--my friend." + +The girl's quiet ardour, her simplicity and candour, attracted and +interested him. Always he had seemed to be aware, in her, of hidden +forces--of something fresh and charmingly impetuous held in leash--of +controlled impulses, restless, uneasy, bitted, curbed, and reined in. + +Pride, perhaps, a natural reticence in the opposite sex--perhaps the +habit of control in a girl whose childhood had had no outlet--some of +these, he concluded, accounted for her subdued air, her restraint from +demonstration. Save for the impulsive little hand on his arm at times, +the slightest quiver of lip and voice, there was no sign of the +high-strung, fresh young force that he vaguely divined within her. + +"Dulcie," he said, "how much do you know about the romance of your +mother?" + +She lifted her grey eyes to his: + +"What romance?" + +"Why, her marriage." + +"Was that a romance?" + +"I gather, from your father, that your mother was very much above him +in station." + +"Yes. He was a gamekeeper for my grandfather." + +"What was your mother's name?" + +"Eileen." + +"I mean her family name." + +"Fane." + +He was silent. She remained thoughtful, her chin resting between two +fingers. + +"Once," she murmured, as though speaking to herself, "when my father +was intoxicated, he said that Fane is my name, not Soane.... Do you +know what he meant?" + +"No.... His name is Soane, isn't it?" + +"I suppose so." + +"Well, what do you suppose he meant, if he meant anything?" + +"I don't quite know." + +"He _is_ your father, isn't he?" + +She shook her head slowly: + +"Sometimes, when he is intoxicated, he says that he isn't. And once he +added that my name is not Soane but Fane." + +"Did you question him?" + +"No. He only cries when he is that way.... Or talks about Ireland's +wrongs." + +"Ask him some time." + +"I have asked him when he was sober. But he denied ever saying it." + +"Then ask him when he's the other way. I--well, to be frank, Dulcie, +you haven't the slightest resemblance to your father--not the +slightest--not in any mental or physical particular." + +"He says I'm like mother." + +"And her name was Eileen Fane," murmured Barres. "She must have been +beautiful, Dulcie." + +"She was----" A bright blush stained her face, but this time she +looked steadily at Barres and neither of them smiled. + +"She was in love with Murtagh Skeel," said Dulcie. "I wonder why she +did not marry him." + +"You say her family objected." + +"Yes, but what of that, if she loved him?" + +"But even in those days he may have been a troublemaker and +revolutionist----" + +"Does that matter if a girl is in love?" + +In Dulcie's voice there was again that breathless tone through which +something rang faintly--something curbed back, held in restraint. + +"I suppose," he said, smiling, "that if one is in love nothing else +matters." + +"Nothing matters," she said, half to herself. And he looked askance at +her, and looked again with increasing curiosity. + +Westmore called across the room: + +"Thessalie and I are going shopping! Any objections?" + +A sudden and totally unexpected dart seemed to penetrate the heart +region of Garret Barres. It was jealousy and it hurt. + +"No objection at all," he said, wondering how the devil Westmore had +become so familiar with her name in such a very brief encounter. + +Thessalie rose and came over: + +"Dulcie, will you come with us?" she asked gaily. + +"That's a first rate idea," said Barres, cheering up. "Dulcie, tell +her what things you have and she'll tell you what you need for +Foreland Farms." + +"Indeed I will," cried Thessalie. "We'll make her perfectly adorable +in a most economical manner. Shall we, dear?" + +And she held out her hand to Dulcie, and, smiling, turned her head and +looked across the room at Westmore. + +Which troubled Barres and left him rather silent there in the studio +after they had gone away. For he had rather fancied himself as the +romance in Thessalie's life, and, at times, was inclined to +sentimentalise a little about her. + +And now he permitted himself to wonder how much there really might be +to that agreeable sentiment he entertained for, perhaps, the prettiest +girl he had ever met in his life, and, possibly, the most delightful. + + + + +XVIII + +THE BABBLER + + +The double apartment in Dragon Court, swept by such vagrant July +breezes as wandered into the heated city, had become lively with +preparations for departure. + +Barres fussed about, collecting sketching paraphernalia, choosing +brushes, colours, canvases, field kits, and costumes from his +accumulated store, and boxing them for transportation to Foreland +Farms, with the languid assistance of Aristocrates. + +Westmore had only to ship a modelling stand, a handful of sculptors' +tools, and a ton or two of Plasteline, an evil-smelling composite +clay, very useful to work with. + +But the storm centre of preparation revolved around Dulcie. And +Thessalie, enchanted with her new rôle as adviser, bargainer, and +purchaser, and always attaching either Westmore or Barres to her +skirts when she and Dulcie sallied forth, was selecting and +accumulating a charming and useful little impedimenta. For the young +girl had never before owned a single pretty thing, except those first +unpremeditated gifts of Barres', and her happiness in these +expeditions was alloyed with trepidation at Thessalie's extravagance, +and deep misgivings concerning her ultimate ability to repay out of +the salary allowed her as a private model. + +Intoxicated by ownership, she watched Thessalie and Selinda laying +away in her brand-new trunk the lovely things which had been +selected. And one day, thrilled but bewildered, she went into the +studio, where Barres sat opening his mail, and confessed her fear that +only lifelong devotion in his service could ever liquidate her +overwhelming financial obligations to him. + +He had begun to laugh when she opened the subject: + +"Thessa is managing it," he said. "It looks like a lot of expense, but +it isn't. Don't worry about it, Sweetness." + +"I _do_ worry----" + +"Now, what a ridiculous thing to do!" he interrupted. "It's merely +advanced salary--your own money. I told you to blow it; I'm +responsible. And I shall arrange it so you won't notice that you are +repaying the loan. All I want you to do is to have a good time about +it." + +"I am having a good time--when it doesn't scare me to spend so much +for----" + +"Can't you trust Thessa and me?" + +The girl dropped to her knees beside his chair in a swift passion of +gratitude: + +"Oh, I trust you--I do----" But she could not utter another word, and +only pressed her face against his arm in the tense silence of emotions +which were too powerful to express, too deep and keen to comprehend or +to endure. + +And she sprang to her feet, flushed, confused, turning from him as he +retained one hand and drew her back: + +"Dear child," he said, in his pleasant voice, "this is really a +very little thing I do for you, compared to the help you have +given me by hard, unremitting, uncomplaining physical labour and +endurance. There is no harder work than holding a pose for painter +or sculptor--nothing more cruelly fatiguing. Add to that your +cheerfulness, your willingness, your quiet, loyal, unobtrusive +companionship--and the freshness and inspiration and interest ever +new which you always awake in me--tell me, Sweetness, are you really +in my debt, or am I in yours?" + +"I am in yours. You made me." + +"You always say that. It's foolish. You made yourself, Dulcie. You are +making yourself all the while. Why, good heavens!--if you hadn't had +it in you, somehow, to ignore your surroundings--take the school +opportunities offered you--close your eyes and ears to the sights and +sounds and habits of what was supposed to be your home----" + +He checked himself, thinking of Soane, and his brogue, and his +ignorance and his habits. + +"How the devil you escaped it all I can't understand," he muttered to +himself. "Even when I first knew you, there was nothing resembling +your--your father about you--even if you were almost in rags!" + +"I had been with the Sisters until I went to high school," she +murmured. "It makes a difference in a child's mind what is said and +thought by those around her." + +"Of course. But, Dulcie, it is usually the unfortunate rule that the +lower subtly contaminates the higher, even in casual association--that +the weaker gradually undermines the stronger until it sinks to lesser +levels. It has not been so with you. Your clear mind remained +untarnished, your aspiration uncontaminated. Somewhere within you had +been born the quality of recognition; and when your eyes opened on +better things you recognised them and did not forget after they +disappeared----" + +Again he ceased speaking, aware, suddenly, that for the first time he +was making the effort to analyse this girl for his own information. +Heretofore, he had accepted her, sometimes curious, sometimes amused, +puzzled, doubtful, even uneasy as her mind revealed itself by degrees +and her character glimmered through in little fitful gleams from that +still hidden thing, herself. + +He began to speak again, before he knew he was speaking--indeed, as +though within him somewhere another man were using his lips and voice +as vehicles: + +"You know, Dulcie, it's not going to end--our companionship. Your real +life is all ahead of you; it's already beginning--the life which is +properly yours to shape and direct and make the most of. + +"I don't know what kind of life yours is going to be; I know, merely, +that your career doesn't lie down stairs in the superintendent's +lodgings. And this life of ours here in the studio is only temporary, +only a phase of your development toward clearer aims, higher +aspiration, nobler effort. + +"Tranquillity, self-respect, intelligent responsibility, the +happiness of personal independence are the prizes: the path on which +you have started leads to the only pleasure man has ever really +known--labour." + +He looked down at her hand lying within his own, stroked the slender +fingers thoughtfully, noticing the whiteness and fineness of them, now +that they had rested for three months from their patient martyrdom in +Soane's service. + +"I'll talk to my mother and sister about it," he concluded. "All you +need is a start in whatever you're going to do in life. And you bet +you're going to get it, Sweetness!" + +He patted her hand, laughed, and released it. She couldn't speak just +then--she tried to as she stood there, head averted and grey eyes +brilliant with tears--but she could not utter a sound. + +Perhaps aware that her overcharged heart was meddling with her voice, +he merely smiled as he watched her moving slowly back to Thessalie's +room, where the magic trunk was being packed. Then he turned to his +letters again. One was from his mother: + + "Garry darling, anybody you bring to Foreland is always welcome, + as you know. Your family never inquires of its members concerning + any guests they may see fit to invite. Bring Miss Dunois and + Dulcie Soane, your little model, if you like. There's a world of + room here; nobody ever interferes with anybody else. You and your + guests have two thousand acres to roam about in, ride over, fish + over, paint over. There's plenty for everybody to do, alone or in + company. + + "Your father is well. He looks little older than you. He's fishing + most of the time, or busy reforesting that sandy region beyond the + Foreland hills. + + "Your sister and I ride as usual and continue to improve the + breeds of the various domestic creatures in which we are + interested and you are not. + + "The pheasants are doing well this year, and we're beginning to + turn them out with their foster-mothers. + + "Your father wishes me to tell you and Jim Westmore that the trout + fishing is still fairly good, although it was better, of course, + in May and June. + + "The usual parties and social amenities continue in Northbrook. + Everybody included in that colony seems to have arrived, also the + usual influx of guests, and there is much entertaining, tennis, + golf, dances--the invariable card always offered there. + + "Claire and I go enough to keep from being too completely + forgotten. Your father seldom bothers himself. + + "Also, the war in Europe has made us, at Foreland, disinclined to + frivolity. Others, too, of the older society in Northbrook are + more subdued than usual, devote themselves to quieter pursuits. + And those among us who have sons of military age are prone to + take life soberly in these strange, oppressive days when even + under sunny skies in this land aloof from war, all are conscious + of the tension, the vague foreboding, the brooding stillness that + sometimes heralds storms. + + "But all north-country folk do not feel this way. The Gerhardts, + for example, are very gay with a house full of guests and + overflowing week-ends. The German Embassy, as always, is well + represented at Hohenlinden. Your father won't go there at all now. + As for Claire and myself, we await political ruptures before we + indulge in social ones. And it doesn't look like war, now that Von + Tirpitz has been sent to Coventry. + + "This, Garry darling, is my budget of news. Bring your guests + whenever you please. You wouldn't bring anybody you oughtn't to; + your family is liberal, informal, pleasantly indifferent, and + always delightfully busy with its individual manias and fads; so + come as soon as you please--sooner, please--because, strange as it + may seem, your mother would like to see you." + +The letter was what he had expected. But, as always, it made him very +grateful. + +"Wonderful mother I have," he murmured, opening another letter from +his father: + + "DEAR GARRET: + + "Why the devil don't you come up? You've missed the cream of the + fishing. There's nothing doing in the streams now, but at sunrise + and toward evening they're breaking nicely in the lake. + + "I've put in sixty thousand three-year transplants this year on + that sandy stretch. They are white, Scotch and Austrian. Your + children will enjoy them. + + "The dogs are doing well. There's one youngster, the litter-tyrant + of Goldenrod's brood, who ought to make a field winner. But + there's no telling. You and I'll have 'em out on native woodcock. + + "There are some grouse, but we ought to let them alone for the + next few years. As for the pheasants, they're everywhere now, in + the brake, silver-grass, and weeds, peeping, scurrying, + creeping--cunning little beggars and growing wild as quail. + + "The horses are all right. The crops promise well. Labour is + devilish scarce, and unsatisfactory when induced to accept + preposterous wages. What we need are coolies, if these lazy, + native slackers continue to handicap the farmers who have to + employ them. The American 'hired man'! He makes me sick. With few + exceptions, he is incredibly stupid, ignorant, unwilling, lazy. + + "He's sometimes a crook, too; he takes pay for what he doesn't do; + he steals your time; he cares absolutely nothing about your + interests or convenience; he will leave you stranded in harvest + time, without any notice at all; decent treatment he does not + appreciate; he'll go without a warning even, leaving your horses + unfed, your cattle unwatered, your crops rotting! + + "He's a degenerate relic of those real men who broke up the + primæval wilderness. He is the reason for high prices, the cause + of agricultural and industrial distress, the inert, sodden, + fermenting, indigestible mass in the belly of the body-politic! + + "The American hired man! If the country doesn't spew him up, he'll + kill it! + + "Perhaps you've heard me before on this subject, Garret. I'm + likely to air my views, you know. + + "Well, my son, I look forward to your arrival. I am glad that + Westmore is coming with you. As for your other guests, they are + welcome, of course. + + "Your father, + + "REGINALD BARRES." + +He laughed; this letter so perfectly revealed his father. + +"Dad and his trout and his birds and his pines and his eternally +accursed hired help," he said to himself, "Dad and his monocle and his +immaculate attire--the finest man who ever fussed!" And he laughed +tenderly to himself as he broke the seal of his sister's brief note: + + "Garry dear, I've been so busy schooling horses and dancing that + I've had no time for letter writing. So glad you're coming at + last. Bring along any good novels you see. My best to Jim. Your + guests can be well mounted, if they ride. Father is wild because + there are more foxes than usual, but he's promised not to treat + them as vermin, and the Northbrook pack is to hunt our territory + this season, after all. Poor Dad! He is a brick, isn't he?" + + "Affectionately, + + "LEE." + +Barres pocketed his sheaf of letters and began to stroll about the +studio, whistling the air of some recent musical atrocity. + +Westmore, in his own room, composing verses--a secret vice unsuspected +by Barres--bade him "Shut up!"--the whistling no doubt ruining his +metre. + +But Barres, with politest intentions, forgot himself so many times +that the other man locked up his "Lines to Thessalie when she was +sewing on a button for me," and came into the studio. + +"Where is she?" he inquired naïvely. + +"Where's who?" demanded Barres, still sensitive over the increasing +intimacy of this headlong young man and Thessalie Dunois. + +"Thessa." + +"In there fussing with Dulcie's togs. Go ahead in, if you care to." + +"Is your stuff packed up?" + +Barres nodded: + +"Is yours?" + +"Most of it. How many trunks is Thessa taking?" + +"How do I know?" said Barres, with a trace of irritation. "She's at +liberty to take as many as she likes." + +Westmore didn't notice the irritation; his mind was entirely occupied +by Thessalie--an intellectual condition which had recently become +rather painfully apparent to Barres, and, doubtless, equally if not +painfully apparent to Thessalie herself. + +Probably Dulcie noticed it, too, but gave no sign, except when the +serious grey eyes stole toward Barres at times, as though vaguely +apprehensive that he might not be entirely in sympathy with Westmore's +enchanted state of mind. + +As for Thessalie, though Westmore's naïve and increasing devotion +could scarcely escape her notice, it was utterly impossible to tell +how it affected her--whether, indeed, it made any impression at all. + +For there seemed to be no difference in her attitude toward these two +men; it was plain enough that she liked them both--that she believed +in them implicitly, was happy with them, tranquil now in her new +security, and deeply penetrated with gratitude for their kindness to +her in her hour of need. + + * * * * * + +"Come on in," coaxed Westmore, linking his arm in Barres', and +counting on the latter to give him countenance. + +The arm of Barres remained rigid and unresponsive, but his legs were +reluctantly obliging and carried him along with Westmore to what had +been his own room before Thessalie had installed herself there. + +And there she was on her knees, amid a riot of lingerie and feminine +effects, while Dulcie lovingly smoothed out and folded object after +object which Selinda placed between layers of pale blue tissue paper +in the trunks. + +"How are things going, Thessa?" inquired Westmore, in the hearty, +cheerful voice of the intruder who hopes to be made welcome. But her +attitude was discouraging. + +"You know you are only in the way," she said. "Drive him out, +Dulcie!" + +Dulcie laughed and looked at them both with shyly friendly eyes: + +"Is my trousseau not beautiful?" she asked. "If you'll step outside +I'll put on a hat and gown for you----" + +"Oh, Dulcie!" protested Thessalie, "I want you to dawn upon them, and +a dress rehearsal would spoil it all!" + +Westmore tiptoed around amid lovely, frail mounds of fabrics, until +ordered to an empty chair and forbidden further motion. It was all the +same to him, so long as his fascinated gaze could rest on Thessalie. + +Which further annoyed Barres, and he backed out and walked to the +studio, considerably disturbed in his mind. + +"That man," he thought, "is making an ass of himself, hanging around +Thessa like a half-witted child. She can't help noticing it, but she +doesn't seem to do anything about it. I don't know why she doesn't +squelch him--unless she likes it----" But the idea was so unpleasant +to Barres that he instantly abandoned that train of thought and +prepared for himself a comfortable nest on the lounge, a pipe, and an +uncut volume of flimsy summer fiction. + +In the middle of these somewhat sullen preparations, there came a ring +at his studio door. Only the superintendent or strangers rang that +bell as a rule, and Barres went to his desk, slipped his loaded pistol +into his coat pocket, then walked to the door and opened it. + +Soane stood there, his face a shiny-red from drink, his legs steady +enough. As usual when drunk, he was inclined to be garrulous. + +"What's the matter?" inquired Barres in a low voice. + +"Wisha, Misther Barres, sorr, av ye're not too busy f'r to----" + +"S-h-h! Don't bellow at the top of your voice. Wait a moment!" + +He picked up his hat and came out into the corridor, closing the +studio door behind him so that Dulcie, if she appeared on the scene, +should not be humiliated before the others. + +Soane began again, but the other cut him short: + +"Don't start talking here," he said. "Come down to your own quarters +if you're going to yell your head off!" And he led the way, +impatiently, down the stairs, past the desk where Miss Kurtz sat +stolid and mottled-faced as a lump of uncooked sausage, and into +Soane's quarters. + +"Now, you listen to me first!" he said when Soane had entered and he +had closed the door behind them. "You keep out of my apartment and out +of Dulcie's way, too, when you're drunk! You're not going to last very +long on this job; I can see that plainly----" + +"Faith, sorr, you're right! I'm fired out entirely this blessed +minute!" + +"You've been discharged?" + +"I have that, sorr!" + +"What for? Drunkenness?" + +"Th' divil do I know phwat for! Wisha, then, Misther Barres, is there +anny harrm av a man----" + +"Yes, there is! I told you Grogan's would do the trick for you. Now +you're discharged without a reference, I suppose." + +Soane smiled airily: + +"Misther Barres, dear, don't lave that worrit ye! I want no riference +from anny landlord. Sure, landlords is tyrants, too! An' phwat the +divil should I be wantin'----" + +"What are you going to do then?" + +Soane hooked both thumbs into the armholes of his vest, and swaggered +about the room: + +"God bless yer kind heart, sorr, I've a-plenty to do and more for good +measure!" He came up to confront Barres, and laid a mysterious finger +alongside his over-red nose and began to brag: + +"There's thim in high places as looks afther the likes o' me, sorr. +There's thim that thrusts me, thim that depinds on me----" + +"Have you another job?" + +Soane's scorn was superb: + +"A job is ut? Misther Barres, dear, I was injuced f'r to accept a +_position_ of grave importance!" + +"Here in town?" + +"Somewhere around tin thousand miles away or thereabouts," remarked +Soane airily. + +"Do you mean to take Dulcie with you?" + +"Musha, then, Misther Barres, 'tis why I come to ye above f'r to ax ye +will ye look afther Dulcie av I go away on me thravels?" + +"Yes, I will!... Where are you going? What is all this stuff you're +talking, anyway----" + +"Shtuff? God be good to you, it's no shtuff I talk, Misther Barres! +Sure, can't a decent man thravel f'r to see the wurruld as God made it +an' no harrm in----" + +"Be careful what company you travel in," said Barres, looking at him +intently. "You have been travelling around New York in very suspicious +company, Soane. I know more about it than you think I do. And it +wouldn't surprise me if you have a run-in with the police some day." + +"The po-lice, sorr! Arrah, then, me fut in me hand an' me tongue in me +cheek to the likes o' thim! An' lave them go hoppin' afther me av +they like. The po-lice is ut! Open y'r two ears, asthore, an' listen +here!--there'll be nary po-lice, no nor constabulary, nor excise, nor +landlords the day that Ireland flies her flag on Dublin Castle! Sure, +that will be the grand sight, with all the rats a-runnin', an' all the +hurryin' and scurryin' an' the futther and mutther----" + +"_What_ are you gabbling about, Soane? What's all this boasting +about?" + +"Gabble is ut? Is it boastin' I am? Sorra the day! An' there do be +grand gintlemen and gay ladies to-day that shall look for a roof an' a +sup o' tay this day three weeks, when th' fut o' the tyrant is lifted +from the neck of Ireland an' the landlords is runnin' for their +lives----" + +"I thought so!" exclaimed Barres, disgusted. + +"An' phwat was ye thinkin', sorr?" + +"That your German friends at Grogan's are stirring up trouble among +the Irish. What's all this nonsense, anyway? Are they trying to +persuade you to follow the old Fenian tactics and raid Canada? Or is +it an armed expedition to the Irish coast? You'd better be careful; +they'll only lock you up here, but it's a hanging matter over there!" + +"Is it so?" grinned Soane. + +"It surely is." + +"Well, then, be aisy, Misther Barres, dear. Av there's hangin' to be +done this time, 'twill not be thim as wears the green that hangs!" + +Barres slowly shook his head: + +"This is German work. You're sticking your neck into the noose." + +"Lave the noose for the Clan-na-Gael to pull, sorr, an' 'twill +shqueeze no Irish neck!" + +"You're a fool, Soane! These Germans are exploiting such men as you. +Where's your common sense? Can't you see you're playing a German game? +What do they care what becomes of you or of Ireland? All they want is +for you to annoy England at any cost. And the cost is death! Do you +dream for an instant that you and your friends stand a ghost of a +chance if you are crazy enough to invade Canada? Do you suppose it +possible to land an expedition on the Irish coast?" + +Soane deliberately winked at him. Then he burst into laughter and +stood rocking there on heel and toe while his mirth lasted. + +But the inevitable Celtic reaction presently sobered him and switched +him into a sombre recapitulation of Erin's wrongs. And this tragic +inventory brought the inevitable tears in time. And Woe awoke in him +the memory of the personal and pathetic. + +The world had dealt him a wretched hand. He had sat in a crooked game +from the beginning. The cards had been stacked; the dice were cogged. +And now he meant to make the world disgorge--pay up the living that it +owed him. + +Barres attempted to stem the flow of volubility, but it instantly +became a torrent. + +Nobody knew the sorrows of Ireland or of the Irish. Tyranny had marked +them for its own. As for himself--once a broth of a boy--he had been +torn from the sacred precincts of his native shanty and consigned to a +loveless, unhappy marriage. + +Then Barres listened without interrupting. But the woes of Soane +became vague at that point. Veiled references to being "thrampled on," +to "th' big house," to "thim that was high an' shtiff-necked," +abounded in an unconnected way. There was something about being a +servant at the fireside of his own wife--a footstool on the hearth of +his own home--other incomprehensible plaints and mutterings, many +scalding tears, a blub or two, and a sort of whining silence. + +Then Barres said: + +"Who is Dulcie, Soane?" + +The man, seated now on his bed, lifted a congested and stupid visage +as though he had not comprehended. + +"Is Dulcie your daughter?" demanded Barres. + +Soane's blue eyes wandered wildly in an agony of recollection: + +"Did I say she was _not_, sorr?" he faltered. "Av I told ye that, may +the saints forgive me----" + +"Is it true?" + +"Ah, what was I afther sayin', Misther----" + +"Never mind what you said or left unsaid! I want to ask you another +question. Who was Eileen Fane?" + +Soane bounded to his feet, his blue eyes ablaze: + +"Holy Mother o' God! What have I said!" + +"Was Eileen Fane your wife?" + +"Did I say her blessed name!" shouted Soane. "Sorra the sup I tuk that +loosed the tongue o' me this cursed day! 'Twas the dommed whishkey +inside o' me that told ye that--not me--not Larry Soane! Wurra the day +I said it! An' listen, now, f'r the love o' God! Take pride to +yourself, sorr, for all the goodness ye done to Dulcie. + +"An' av I go, and I come no more to vex her, I thank God 'tis in a +gintleman's hands the child do be----" He choked; his marred hands +dropped by his side, and he stared dumbly at Barres for a moment. +Then: + +"Av I come no more, will ye guard her?" + +"Yes." + +"Will ye do fair by her, Misther Barres?" + +"Yes." + +"Call God to hear ye say ut!" + +"So--help me--God." + +Soane dropped on to the bed and took his battered face and curly head +between his hands. + +"I'll say no more," he said thickly. "Nor you nor she shall know no +more. An' av ye have guessed it out, kape it locked in. I'll say no +more.... I was good to her--in me own way. But ye cud see--anny wan +with half a cock-eye cud see.... I was--honest--with her mother.... +She made the bargain.... I tuk me pay an' held me tongue.... 'Tis +whishkey talks, not me.... I tuk me pay an' I kept to the bargain.... +Wan year.... Then--she was dead of it--like a flower, sorr--like the +rose ye pull an' lave lyin' in the sun.... Like that, sorr--in a +year.... An' I done me best be Dulcie.... I done me best. An' held to +the bargain.... An' done me best be Dulcie--little Dulcie--the wee +baby that had come at last--_her_ baby--Dulcie Fane!..." + + + + +XIX + +A CHANCE ENCOUNTER + + +A single shaded lamp illuminated the studio, making the shapes of +things vague where outline and colour were lost in the golden dusk. +Dulcie, alone at the piano, accompanied her own voice with soft, +scarcely heard harmonies, as she hummed, one after another, old +melodies she had learned from the Sisters so long ago--"The Harp," +"Shandon Bells," "The Exile," "Shannon Water"--songs of that sort and +period: + + "_The Bells of Shandon, + Then sound so grand on + The pleasant waters of the River Lee._" + +Thessalie sat by the open window and Westmore squatted at her feet on +the sill of the little balcony, doing, as usual, all the talking while +she lay deep in her armchair waving her fan, listening, responding +with a low-voiced laugh or word now and again. + +Dulcie sang: + + "_On the banks of the Shannon + When Mary was nigh._" + +From that she changed to a haunting, poignant little song; and Barres +looked up from his desk under the lamp. Then he sealed and stamped the +three letters which he had written to his Foreland kinfolk, and, +holding them in one hand, took his hat from the table with the other, +as though preparing to rise. Dulcie half turned her head, her hands +still idling over the shadowy keys: + +"Are you going out?" + +"Just to the corner." + +"Why don't you mail your letters down stairs?" + +"I'll step around to the branch post office; they'll go quicker.... +What was that air you were playing just now?" + +"It is called 'Mea Culpa.'" + +"Play it again." + +She turned to the keys, recommenced the Celtic air, and sang in a +clear, childish voice: + + "Wake, little maid! + Red dawns the morn, + The last stars fade, + The day is born; + Now the first lark wings high in air, + And sings the Virgin's praises there! + + "I am afraid + To see the morn; + I lie dismayed + Beside the thorn. + Gazing at God with frightened eyes, + Where larks are singing in the skies. + + II + + "Why, mourn, dear maid, + Alone, forlorn, + White and afraid + Beside the thorn, + With weeping eyes and sobbing breath + And fair sweet face as pale as death? + + "For love repayed + By Mary's scorn, + I weep, betrayed + By one unborn! + Where can a poor lass hide her head + Till day be done and she be dead!" + +The voice and playing lingered among the golden shadows, hushed to a +whisper, ceased. + +"Is it very old, that sad little song?" he asked at last. + +"My mother wrote it.... There is the _Mea Culpa_, still, which ends +it. Shall I sing it?" + +"Go on," he nodded. + +So she sang the _Mea Culpa_: + + III + + "Winds in the whinns + Shall kene for me-- + (_For Love is Love though men be men!_) + Till all my sins + Forgiven be-- + (_Maxima culpa, Lord. Amen._) + And Mary's grace my fault shall purge, + While skylarks plead my cause above, + And breezy rivers sing my dirge, + Because I loved and died of Love. + (_I love, and die of Love!_) + Amen." + +When the soft cadence of the last notes was stilled, Dulcie turned +once more toward him in the uncertain light. + +"It's very lovely," he said, "and dreadfully triste. The air alone is +enough to break your heart." + +"My mother, when she wrote it, was unhappy, I imagine----" She swung +slowly around to face the keys again. + +"Do you know why she was so unhappy?" + +"She fell in love," said the girl over her shoulder. "And it saddened +her life, I think." + +He sat motionless for a while. Dulcie did not turn again. Presently he +rose and walked slowly out and down stairs, carrying his letters with +him. + +The stolid, mottled-faced German girl was on duty at the desk, and she +favoured him with a sour look, as usual. + +"There was a gen'l'man to see you," she mumbled. + +"When?" + +"Just now. I didn't know you was in." + +"Well, why didn't you ring up the apartment and find out?" he +demanded. + +She gave him a sullen look: + +"Here's his card," she said, shoving it across the desk. + +Barres picked up the card. "Georges Renoux, Architect," he read. +"Hotel Astor" was pencilled in the corner. + +Barres knit his brows, trying to evoke in his memory a physiognomy to +fit a name which seemed hazily familiar. + +"Did the gentleman leave any message?" he asked. + +"No." + +"Well, please don't make another mistake of this kind," he said. + +She stared at him like a sulky sow, her little eyes red with malice. + +"Where is Soane?" he inquired. + +"Out." + +"Where did he go?" + +"I didn't ask him," she replied, with a slight sneer. + +"I wish to see him," continued Barres patiently. "Could you tell me +whether he was likely to go to Grogans?" + +"What's Grogan's?" + +"Grogan's Café on Third Avenue--where Soane hangs out," he managed to +explain calmly. "You know where it is. You have called him up there." + +"I don't know nothin' about it," she grunted, resuming the greasy +novel she had been reading. + +But when Barres, now thoroughly incensed, turned to leave, her small, +pig-like eyes peeped slyly after him. And after he had disappeared +through the corridor into the street she hastily unhooked the +transmitter and called Grogan's. + +"This is Martha.... Martha Kurtz. Yes, I want Frank Lehr.... Is that +you, Frank?... The artist, Barres, who was pumping Soane the other +night, is after him again. I told you how I listened at the door, and +how I heard that Irish souse blabbing and bragging.... What?... +Sure!... Barres was at the desk just now inquiring if Soane had gone +to Grogan's.... You bet!... Barres is leery since _K17_ hit him with a +gun. Sure; he's stickin' his nose into everything.... Look out for +him, if he comes around Grogan's askin' for Soane.... And say; there +was a French guy here callin' on Barres. I knew he was in, but I said +he was out. I was just goin' to call you when Barres came down.... +Yes, I got his name.... Wait, I copied it out.... Here it is, 'Georges +Renoux, Architect.' And he wrote 'Hotel Astor' in the corner. + +"Yes, he said tell Barres to call him up. Naw, I didn't give him the +message.... You don't say! Is that right? He's one o' them nosey +Frenchman? _A captain_?... Gee!... What's his lay?... In New York? +Well, you better watch out then.... Sure, I'll ring you if he comes +back!... No, there ain't no news.... Yes, I was to the Astor grille +last night, and I talked to _K17_.... There was a guy higher up there. +I don't know who. He looked like he was a dark complected Jew.... +_Ferez Bey_?... Gee!... You expect Skeel? To-night? Doin' _what_? You +think this man Renoux is watchin' the Clan-na-Gael? Well, you better +tell Soane to shut his mouth then. + +"Yes, that Dunois girl is here still. It's a pity _K17_ lost his +nerve.... Well, you better look out for her and for Barres, too. +They're as thick as last year honey! + +"All right, I'll let you know anything. Bye-bye." + + * * * * * + +Barres, walking leisurely up the street, kept watching for Soane +somewhere along the block; but could see nobody in the darkness, +resembling him. + +Outdoors the July night was cooler; young girls, hatless, in summer +frocks, gathered on stoops or strolled through the lamplit dark. +Somewhere a piano sounded, not unpleasantly. + +In the branch post office he mailed his letters, turned to go out, and +caught sight of Soane passing along the sidewalk just outside. + +And with him was the one-eyed man, Max Freund--the man who, perhaps, +had robbed Dulcie of half the letter. + +His first emotion was sheer anger, and it started him toward the door, +bent on swift but unconsidered vengeance. + +But before this impulse culminated in his collaring the one-eyed man, +sufficient common sense came to the rescue. A row meant publicity, and +an inquiry by authority would certainly involve the writer of the +partly stolen letter--Thessalie Dunois. + +Cool and collected now, but mad all through, Barres continued to +follow Soane and Freund, dropping back several yards to keep out of +sight, and trying to make up his mind what he ought to do. + +The cross street was fairly well lighted; there seemed to be plenty of +evening strollers abroad, so that he was not particularly conspicuous +on the long block between Sixth and Fifth Avenues. + +The precious pair, arriving at Fifth Avenue, halted, blocked by the +normal rush of automobiles, unchecked now by a traffic policeman. + +So Barres halted, too, and drew back alongside a shop window. + +And, as he stopped and stepped aside, he saw a man pause on the +sidewalk across the street and move back cautiously into the shadow of +a façade opposite. + +There was nothing significant in the occurrence; Barres merely +happened to notice it; then he turned his eyes toward Soane and +Freund, who now were crossing Fifth Avenue. And he went after them, +with no definite idea in his head. + +Soane and Freund walked on eastward; a tramcar on Madison Avenue +stopped them once more; and, as Barres also halted behind them and +stepped aside into the shadows, there, just across the street, he saw +the same man again halt, retire, and stand motionless in a recess +between two shop windows. + +Barres tried to keep one eye on him and the other on Soane and Freund. +The two latter were crossing Madison Avenue; and as soon as they had +crossed, still headed east, the man on the other side of the street +came out of his shadowy recess and started eastward, too. + +Then Barres also started, but now he was watching the man across the +street as well as keeping Soane and Freund in view--watching the +former solitary individual with increasing curiosity. + +Was that man keeping an eye on him? Was he following Soane and Freund? +Was he, in fact, following anybody, and had the lively imagination of +Barres begun to make something out of nothing? + +At Park Avenue Freund and Soane paused, not apparently because of any +vehicular congestion impeding their progress, but they seemed to be +engaged in vehement conversation, Soane's excitable tones reaching +Barres, where he had halted again beside the tradesmen's gate of a +handsome private house. + +And once more, across the street the solitary figure also halted and +stood unstirring under a porte-cochère. + +Barres, straining his eyes, strove to make out details of his features +and dress. And presently he concluded that, though the man did turn +and glance in his direction occasionally, his attention was +principally fixed on Soane and Freund. + +His movements, too, seemed to corroborate this idea, because as soon +as they started across Park Avenue the man on the opposite side of the +street was in instant motion. And Barres, now intensely curious, +walked eastward once more, following all three. + +At Lexington Avenue Soane sheered off and, despite the clutch of +Freund, went into a saloon. Freund finally followed. + +As usual, across the street the solitary figure had stopped. Barres, +also immobile, kept him in view. Evidently he, too, was awaiting the +reappearance of Soane and Freund. + +Suddenly Barres made up his mind to have a good look at him. He walked +to the corner, walked over to the south side of the street, turned +west, and slowly sauntered past the man, looking him deliberately in +the face. + +As for the stranger, far from shrinking or avoiding the scrutiny, he +on his part betrayed a very lively interest in the physiognomy of +Barres; and as that young man approached he found himself scanned by a +brilliant and alert pair of eyes, as keen as a fox-terrier's. + +In frank but subtly hostile curiosity their glances met and crossed. +Then, in an instant, a rather odd smile glimmered in the stranger's +eyes, twitched at his pleasant mouth, just shaded by a tiny +moustache: + +"If you please, sir," he said in a low, amused voice, "you will +not--as they say in New York--butt in." + +Barres, astonished, stood quite still. The young man continued to +regard him with a very intelligent and slightly ironical expression: + +"I do not know, of course," he said, "whether you are of the city +police, the State service, the Post Office, the Department of Justice, +the Federal Secret Service"--he shrugged expressive shoulders--"but +this I do know very well, that through lack of proper coordination in +the branches of all your departments of City, State, and Federal +surety, there is much bungling, much working at cross purposes, much +interference, and many blunders. + +"Therefore, I beg of you not to do anything further in the matter +which very evidently occupies you." And he bowed and glanced across at +the saloon into which Soane and Freund had disappeared. + +Barres was thinking hard. He drew out his cigarette case, lighted a +cigarette, came to his conclusions: + +"You are watching Freund and Soane?" he asked bluntly. + +"And you, sir? Are you observing the stars?" inquired the young man, +evidently amused at something or other unperceived by Barres. + +The latter said, frankly and pleasantly: + +"I _am_ following those two men. It is evident that you are, also. So +may I ask, have you any idea where they are going?" + +"I can guess, perhaps." + +"To Grogan's?" + +"Of course." + +"Suppose," said Barres quietly, "I put myself under your orders and go +along with you." + +The strange young man was much diverted: + +"In your kind suggestion there appears to be concealed a germ of +common sense," he said. "In which particular service are you employed, +sir?" + +"And you?" inquired Barres, smilingly. + +"I imagine you may have guessed," said the young man, evidently +greatly amused at something or other. + +Sheer intuition prompted Barres, and he took a chance. + +"Yes, I have ventured to guess that you are an Intelligence Officer in +the French service, and secretly on duty in the United States." + +The young man winced but forced a very bland smile. + +"My compliments, whether your guess is born of certainty or not. And +you, sir? May I inquire your status?" + +"I'm merely a civilian with a season's Plattsburg training as my only +professional experience. I'm afraid you won't believe this, but it's +quite true. I'm not in either Municipal, State, or Federal service. +But I don't believe I can stand this Hun business much longer without +enlisting with the Canadians." + +"Oh. May I ask, then, why you follow that pair yonder?" + +"I'll tell you why. I am a painter. I live at Dragon Court. Soane, an +Irishman, is superintendent of the building. I have reason to believe +that German propagandists have been teaching him disloyalty under +promise of aiding Ireland to secure political independence. + +"Coming out of the branch post office this evening, where I had taken +some letters, I saw Soane and that fellow, Freund. I really couldn't +tell you exactly what my object was in following them, except that I +itched to beat up the German and refrained because of the inevitable +notoriety that must follow. + +"Perhaps I had a vague idea of following them to Grogan's, where I +knew they were bound, just to look over the place and see for myself +what that German rendezvous is like. + +"Anyway, what kept me on their trail was noticing _you_; and your +behaviour aroused my curiosity. That is the entire truth concerning +myself and this affair. And if you believe me, and if you think I can +be of any service to you, take me along with you. If not, then I shall +certainly not interfere with whatever you are engaged in." + +For a few moments the young Intelligence Officer looked intently at +Barres, the same amused, inexplicable smile on his face. Then: + +"Your name," he said, with malicious gaiety, "is Garret Barres." + +At that Barres completely lost countenance, but the other man began to +laugh: + +"Certainly you are Garry Barres, a painter, a celebrated Beaux Arts +man of----" + +"Good heavens!" exclaimed Barres, "_you_ are Renoux! You are little +Georges Renoux, of the atelier Ledoux!--on the architect's side!--you +are that man who left his card for me this evening! I've seen you +often! You were a little devil of a nouveau!--but you were always the +centre of every bit of mischief in the rue Bonaparte! You put the +whole Quarter en charette! I saw you do it." + +"I saw _you_," laughed Renoux, "on one notorious occasion, teaching +jiu-jitsu to a policeman! Don't talk to me about my escapades!" + +Cordially, firmly, in grinning silence, they shook hands. And for a +moment the intervening years seemed to melt away; the golden past +became the present; and Renoux even thrilled a little at the +condescension of Barres in shaking hands with him--the _nouveau_ +honoured by the _ancien_!--the reverence never entirely forgotten. + +"What are you, anyway, Renoux?" asked Barres, still astonished at the +encounter, but immensely interested. + +"My friend, you have already guessed. I am Captain: Military +Intelligence Department. You know? There are no longer architects or +butchers or bakers in France, only soldiers. And of those soldiers I +am a very humble one." + +"On secret duty here," nodded Barres. + +"I need not ask an old Beaux Arts comrade to be discreet and loyal." + +"My dear fellow, France is next in my heart after my own country. Tell +me, you are following that Irishman, Soane, and his boche friend, Max +Freund, are you not?" + +"It happens to be as you say," admitted Renoux, smilingly. "A job for +a 'flic,' is it not?" + +"Shall I tell you what I know about those two men?--what I suspect?" + +"I should be very glad----" But at that moment Soane came out of the +saloon across the way, and Freund followed. + +"May I come with you?" whispered Barres. + +"If you care to. Yes, come," nodded Renoux, keeping his clear, +intelligent eyes on the two across the street, who now stood under a +lamp-post, engaged in some sort of drunken altercation. + +Renoux, watching them all the while, continued in a low voice: + +"Remember, Barres, if we chance to meet again here in America, I am +merely Georges Renoux, an architect and a fellow Beaux Arts man." + +"Certainly.... Look! They're starting on, those two!" + +"Come," whispered Renoux. + +Soane, unsteady of leg and talkative, was now making for Third Avenue +beside Freund, who had taken him by the arm, in hopes, apparently, of +steadying them both. + +As Renoux and Barres followed, the latter cautiously requested any +instructions which Renoux might think fit to give. + +Renoux said in his cool, agreeable voice: + +"You know it's rather unusual for an officer to bother personally with +this sort of thing. But my people--even the renegade Germans in our +service--have been unable to obtain necessary information for us in +regard to Grogan's. + +"It happened this afternoon that certain information was brought to me +which suggested that I myself take a look at Grogan's. And that is +what I was going to do when I saw you on the street, carefully +stalking two well-known suspects." + +They both laughed cautiously. + +Grogan's was now in sight on the corner, its cherrywood magnificence +and its bilious imitation of stained glass aglow with electricity. And +into its "Family Entrance" swaggered Soane, followed by the lank +figure of Max Freund. + +Renoux and Barres had halted fifty yards away. Neither spoke. And +presently came to them a short, dark, powerfully built man, who +strolled up casually, puffing a large, rank cigar. + +Renoux named him to Barres: + +"Emile Souchez, one of my men." He added: "Anybody gone in yet?" + +"Otto Klein, of Gerhardt, Klein & Schwartzmeyer went in an hour ago," +replied Souchez. + +"Oho," nodded Renoux softly. "That signifies something really +interesting. Who else went in?" + +"Small fry--Dave Sendelbeck, Louis Hochstein, Terry Madigan, Dolan, +McBride, Clancy--all Clan-na-Gael men." + +"Skeel?" + +"No. He's still at the Astor. Franz Lehr came out about half an hour +ago and took a taxi west. Jacques Alost is following in another." + +Renoux thought a moment: + +"Lehr has probably gone to see Skeel at the Hotel Astor," he +concluded. "We're going to have our chance, I think." + +Then, turning to Barres: + +"We've decided to take a sport-chance to-night. We have most reliable +information that this man Lehr, who now owns Grogan's, will carry here +upon his person papers of importance to my Government--and to yours, +too, Barres. + +"The man from whom he shall procure these papers is an Irish gentleman +named Murtagh Skeel, just arrived from Buffalo and stopping overnight +at the Hotel Astor. + +"Lehr, we were informed, was to go personally and get those papers.... +Do you really wish to help us?" + +"Certainly." + +"Very well. I expect we shall have what you call a mix-up. You will +please, therefore, walk into Grogan's--not by the family entrance, but +by the swinging doors on Lexington Avenue. Kindly refresh yourself +there with some Munich beer; also eat a sandwich at my expense, if you +care to. Then you will give yourself the pains to inquire the way to +the wash-room. And there you will possess your soul in amiable +patience until you shall hear me speak your name in a very quiet, +polite tone." + +Barres, recognising the familiar mock seriousness of student days in +Paris, began to smile. Renoux frowned and continued his instructions: + +"When you hear me politely pronounce your name, mon vieux, then you +shall precipitate yourself valiantly to the aid of Monsieur Souchez +and myself--and perhaps Monsieur Alost--and help us to hold, gag and +search the somewhat violent German animal whom we corner inside the +family entrance of Herr Grogan!" + +Barres had difficulty in restraining his laughter. Renoux was very +serious, with the delightful mock gravity of a witty and perfectly +fearless Frenchman. + +"Lehr?" inquired Barres, still laughing. + +"That is the animal under discussion. There will be a taxicab awaiting +us----" He turned to Souchez: "Dis, donc, Emile, faut employer ton +coup du Pêre François pour nous assurer de cet animal là." + +"B'en sure," nodded Souchez, fishing furtively in the side pocket of +his coat and displaying the corner of a red silk handkerchief. He +stuffed it into his pocket again; Renoux smiled carelessly at Barres. + +"Mon vieux," he said, "I hope it will be like a good fight in the +Quarter--what with all those Irish in there. You desire to get your +head broken?" + +"You bet I do, Renoux!" + +"Bien! So now, if you are quite ready?" he suggested. "Merci, +monsieur, et à bientôt!" He bowed profoundly. + +Barres, still laughing, walked to Lexington Avenue, crossed northward, +and entered the swinging doors of Grogan's, perfectly enchanted to +have his finger in the pie at last, and aching for an old-fashioned +Latin Quarter row, the pleasures of which he had not known for several +too respectable years. + + + + +XX + +GROGAN'S + + +The material attraction of Grogan's was principally German beer; the +æsthetic appeal of the place was also characteristically Teutonic and +consisted of peculiarly offensive decorations, including much red +cherry, much imitation stained glass, many sprawling brass fixtures, +and many electric lights. Only former inmates of the Fatherland could +have conceived and executed the embellishments of Grogan's. + +There was a palatial bar, behind which fat, white-jacketed Teutons +served slopping steins of beer upon a perforated brass surface. There +was a centre table, piled with those barbarous messes known to the +undiscriminating Hun as "delicatessen"--raw fish, sour fish, smoked +fish, flabby portions of defunct pig in various guises--all naturally +nauseating to the white man's olfactories and palate, and all equally +relished by the beer-swilling boche. + +A bartender with Pekinese and apoplectic eyes and the scorbutic facial +symptoms of a Strassburg liver, took the order from Barres and set +before him a frosty glass of Pilsner, incidentally drenching the bar +at the same time with swipes, which he thriftily scraped through the +perforated brass strainer into a slop-bucket underneath. + +Being a stranger there, Barres was furtively scrutinised at first, but +there seemed to be nothing particularly suspicious about a young man +who stopped in for a glass of Pilsner on a July night, and nobody +paid him any further attention. + +Besides, two United States Secret Service men had just gone out, +followed, as usual, by one Johnny Klein; and the Germans at the tables +at the bar, and behind the bar were still sneeringly commenting on the +episode--now a familiar one and of nightly occurrence. + +So only very casual attention was paid to Barres and his Pilsner and +his rye-bread and sardine sandwich, which he took over to a vacant +table to desiccate and discuss at his leisure. + +People came and went; conversation in Hunnish gutturals became +general; soiled evening newspapers were read, raw fish seized in fat +red fingers and suckingly masticated; also, skat and pinochle were +resumed with unwiped hands, and there was loud slapping of cards on +polished table tops, and many porcine noises. + +Barres finished his Pilsner, side-stepped the sandwich, rose, asked a +bartender for the wash-room, and leisurely followed the direction +given. + +There was nobody in there. He had, for company, a mouse, a soiled +towel on a roller, and the remains of some unattractive soap. He +lighted a cigarette, surveyed himself in the looking glass, cast a +friendly glance at the mouse, and stood waiting, flexing his biceps +muscles with a smile of anticipated pleasure in renewing the use of +them after such a very long period wasted in the peaceful pursuit of +art. + +For he was still a boy at heart. All creative minds retain something +of those care-free, irresponsible years as long as the creative talent +lasts. As it fails, worldly caution creeps in like a thief in the +night, to steal the spontaneous pleasures of the past and leave in +their places only the old galoshes of prudence and the finger-prints +of dull routine. + +Barres stood by the open door of the wash-room, listening. The +corridor which passed it led on into another corridor running at right +angles. This was the Family Entrance. + +Now, as he waited there, he heard the street door open, and instantly +the deadened shock of a rush and struggle. + +As he started toward the Family Entrance, straining his ears for the +expected summons, a man in flight turned the corner into his corridor +so abruptly that he had him by the throat even before he recognised in +him the man with the thick eye-glasses who had hit him between the +eyes with a pistol--the "Watcher" of Dragon Court! + +With a swift sigh of gratitude to Chance, Barres folded the fleeing +Watcher to his bosom and began the business he had to transact with +him--an account too long overdue. + +The Watcher fought like a wildcat, but in silence--fought madly, using +both fists, feet, baring his teeth, too, with frantic attempts to use +them. But Barres gave him no opportunity to kick, bite, or to pull out +any weapon; he battered the Watcher right and left, swinging on him +like lightning, and his blows drummed on him like the tattoo of fists +on a punching bag until one stinging crack sent the Watcher's head +snapping back with a jerk, and a terrific jolt knocked him as clean +and as flat as a dead carp. + +There were papers in his coat, also a knuckle-duster, a big +clasp-knife, and an automatic pistol. And Barres took them all, +stuffed them into his own pockets, and, dragging his still dormant but +twitching victim by the collar, as a cat proudly lugs a heavy rat, he +started for the Family Entrance, where Donnybrook had now broken +loose. + +But the silence of the terrific struggle in that narrow entry, the +absence of all yelling, was significant. No Irish whoops, no Teutonic +din of combat shattered the stillness of that dim corridor--only the +deadened sounds of blows and shuffling of frantic feet. It was very +evident that nobody involved desired to be interrupted by the police, +or call attention to the location of the battle field. + +Renoux, Souchez, and a third companion were in intimate and desperate +conflict with half a dozen other men--dim, furious figures fighting +there under the flickering gas jet from which the dirty globe had been +knocked into fragments. + +Into this dusty maelstrom of waving arms and legs went Barres--first +dropping his now inert prey--and began to hit out enthusiastically +right and left, at the nearest hostile countenance visible. + +His was a flank attack and totally unexpected by the attackees; and +the diversion gave Renoux time to seize a muscular, struggling +opponent, hold him squirming while Souchez passed his handkerchief +over his throat and the third man turned his pockets inside out. + +Then Renoux called breathlessly to Barres: + +"All right, mon vieux! Face to the rear front! March!" + +For a moment they stiffened to face a battering rush from the stairs. +Suddenly a pistol spoke, and an Irish voice burst out: + +"Whist, ye domm fool! G'wan wid yer fishtin' an' can th' goon-play!" + +There came a splintering crash as the rickety banisters gave way and +several Teutonic and Hibernian warriors fell in a furious heap, +blocking the entry with an unpremeditated obstacle. + +Instantly Souchez, Barres and the other man backed out into the +street, followed nimbly by Renoux and his plunder. + +Already a typical Third Avenue crowd was gathering, though the ominous +glimmer of a policeman's buttons had not yet caught the lamplight from +the street corner. + +Then the door of Grogan's burst open and an embattled Irishman +appeared. But at first glance the hopelessness of the situation +presented itself to him; a taxi loaded with French and American +franc-tireurs was already honking triumphantly away westward; an +excited and rapidly increasing throng pressed around the Family +Entrance; also, the distant glitter of a policeman's shield and +buttons now extinguished all hope of pursuit. + +Soane glared at the crowd out of enraged and blood-shot eyes: + +"G'wan home, ye bunch of bums!" he said thickly, and slammed the door +to the Family Entrance of Grogan's notorious café. + +At 42d Street and Madison Avenue the taxi stopped and Souchez and +Alost got out and went rapidly across the street toward the Grand +Central depot. Then the taxi proceeded west, north again, then once +more west. + +Renoux, busy with a bleeding nose, remarked carelessly that Souchez +and Alost were taking a train and were in a hurry, and that he himself +was going back to the Astor. + +"You do not mind coming with me, Barres?" he added. "In my rooms we +can have a bite and a glass together, and then we can brush up. That +was a nice little fight, was it not, mon ami?" + +"Fine," said Barres with satisfaction. + +"Quite like the old and happy days," mused Renoux, surveying wilted +collar and rumpled tie of his comrade. "You came off well; you have +merely a bruised cheek." His eyes began to sparkle and he laughed: "Do +you remember that May evening when your very quarrelsome atelier +barricaded the Café de la Source and forbade us to enter--and my +atelier marched down the Boul' Mich' with its Kazoo band playing our +atelier march, determined to take your café by assault? Oh, my! What a +delightful fight that was!" + +"Your crazy comrades stuffed me into the fountain among the goldfish. +I thought I'd drown," said Barres, laughing. + +"I know, but your atelier gained a great victory that night, and you +came over to Müller's with your Kazoo band playing the Fireman's +March, and you carried away our palms and bay-trees in their green +tubs, and you threw them over the Pont-au-Change into the Seine!----" + +They were laughing like a pair of schoolboys now, quite convulsed and +holding to each other. + +"Do you remember," gasped Barres, "that girl who danced the Carmagnole +on the Quay?" + +"Yvonne Tête-de-Linotte!" + +"And the British giant from Julien's, who threw everybody out of the +Café Montparnasse and invited the Quarter in to a free banquet?" + +"McNeil!" + +"What ever became of that pretty girl, Doucette de Valmy?" + +"Oh, it was she who cheered on your atelier to the assault on +Müllers!----" + +Laughter stifled them. + +"What crazy creatures we all were," said Renoux, staunching the last +crimson drops oozing from his nose. Then, more soberly: "We French +have a grimmer affair over there than the joyous rows of the Latin +Quarter. I'm sorry now that we didn't throw every waiter in Müller's +after the bay-trees. There would have been so many fewer spies to +betray France." + +The taxi stopped at the 44th Street entrance to the Astor. They +descended, Renoux leading, walked through the corridor to Peacock +Alley, turned to the right through the bar, then to the left into the +lobby, and thence to the elevator. + +In Renoux's rooms they turned on the electric light, locked the door, +closed the transom, then spread their plunder out on a table. + +To Renoux's disgust his own loot consisted of sealed envelopes full of +clippings from German newspapers published in Chicago, Milwaukee, and +New York. + +"That animal, Lehr," he said with a wry face, "has certainly played us +a filthy turn. These clippings amount to nothing----" His eyes fell on +the packet of papers which Barres was now opening, and he leaned over +his shoulder to look. + +"Thank God!" he said, "here they are! Where on earth did you find +these papers, Barres? They're the documents we were after! They ought +to have been in Lehr's pockets!" + +"He must have passed them to the fellow who bumped into me near the +wash-room," said Barres, enchanted at his luck. "What a fortunate +chance that you sent me around there!" + +Renoux, delighted, stood under the electric light unfolding document +after document, and nodding his handsome, mischievous head with +satisfaction. + +"What luck, Barres! What did you do to the fellow?" + +"Thumped him to sleep and turned out his pockets. Are these really +what you want?" + +"I should say so! This is precisely what we are looking for!" + +"Do you mind if I read them, too?" + +"No, I don't. Why should I? You're my loyal comrade and you understand +discretion.... _What_ do you think of _this_!" displaying a +typewritten document marked "Copy," enclosing a sheaf of maps. + +It contained plans of all the East River and Harlem bridges, a tracing +showing the course of the new aqueduct and the Ashokan Dam, drawings +of the Navy Yard, a map of Iona Island, and a plan of the Welland +Canal. + +The document was brief: + + "Included in report by _K17_ to Diplomatic Agent controlling + Section 7-4-11-B. Recommended that detail plan of DuPont works be + made without delay. + + "SKEEL." + +Followed several sheets in cipher, evidently some intricate variation +of those which are always ultimately solved by experts. + +But the documents that were now unfolded by Captain Renoux proved +readable and intensely interesting. + +These were the papers which Renoux read and which Barres read over his +shoulder: + + "(Copy) + + Berlin Military Telegraph Office Telegram + + Berlin. Political Division of the General Staff + Nr. Pol. 6431. + + (SECRET) + + 8, Moltkestrasse, + Berlin, NW, 40. + March 20, 1916. + + "FEREZ BEY, N. Y. + + "Referring to your correspondence and conversations with Colonel + Skeel, I most urgently request that the necessary funds be raised + through the New York banker, Adolf Gerhardt; also that Bernstorff + be immediately informed through Boy-Ed, so that plans of Head + General Staff of Army on campaign may not be delayed. + + "Begin instantly enlist and train men, secure and arm power-boat + assemble equipment and explosives, Welland Canal Exp'd'n. War + Office No. 159-16, Secret U. K.:--T, 3, P." + + * * * * * + + "Foreign Office, Berlin, + + "Dec. 28, 1914. + + "DEAR SIR ROGER:--I have the honour to acknowledge receipt of your + letter of the 23d inst., in which you submitted to his Imperial + Majesty's Government a proposal for the formation of an Irish + brigade which would be pledged to fight only for the cause of + Irish nationalism, and which is to be composed of any Irish + prisoners of war willing to join such a regiment. + + "In reply I have the honour to inform you that his Imperial + Majesty's Government agrees to your proposal and also to the + conditions under which it might be possible to train an Irish + brigade. These conditions are set out in the declaration enclosed + in your letter of the 13th inst., and are given at foot. I have + the honour to be, dear Roger, your obedient servant, + + "(Signed) ZIMMERMAN, + + "Under Secretary of State for the Foreign Office. + + * * * * * + + "TO HIS HONOUR, SIR ROGER CASEMENT, + "Eden Hotel, Kurfürstendamm, Berlin." + + "(SECRET) + + "COLONEL MURTAGH SKEEL, + "Flying Division, Irish Expeditionary Corps, + "New York. + + "For your information I enclose Zimmerman's letter to Sir Roger, + and also the text of Articles 6 and 7, being part of our first + agreement with Sir Roger Casement. + + "You will note particularly the Article numbered 7. + + "This paragraph, unfortunately, still postpones your suggested + attempt to seize on the high seas a British or neutral steamer + loaded with arms and munitions, and make a landing from her on the + Irish Coast. + + "But, in the meantime, is it not possible for you to seize one of + the large ore steamers on the Great Lakes, transfer to her + sufficient explosives, take her into the Welland Canal and blow up + the locks? + + "No more valuable service could be performed by Irishmen; no + deadlier blow delivered at England. + + "I am, my dear Skeel, your sincere friend and comrade, + + "(Signed) VON PAPEN. + + "P. S.--Herewith appended are Articles 6 and 7 included in the + Casement convention: + + "(SECRET) + + "Text of Articles 6 and 7 of the convention concluded between Sir + Roger Casement and the German Government: + + "6. The German Imperial Government undertakes 'under certain + circumstances' to lend the Irish Brigade adequate military + support, and to send it to Ireland abundantly supplied with arms + and ammunition, in order that once there it may equip any Irish + who would like to join it in making an attempt to re-establish + Ireland's national liberty by force of arms. + + "The 'special circumstances' stipulated above are as follows: + + "In case of a German naval victory which would make it possible to + reach the Irish coast, the German Imperial Government pledges + itself to despatch the Irish Brigade and a German expeditionary + corps commanded by German officers, in German troopships, to + attempt a landing on the Irish coast. + + "7. It will be impossible to contemplate a landing in Ireland + unless the German Navy can gain such a victory as to make it + really likely that an attempt to reach Ireland by sea would + succeed. Should the German Navy not win such a victory, then a use + will be found for the Irish Brigade in Germany or elsewhere. But + in no case will it be used except in such ways as Sir Roger + Casement shall approve, as being completely in accordance with + Article 2. + + "In this case the Irish Brigade might be sent to Egypt to lend + assistance in expelling the English and re-establishing Egyptian + independence. + + "Even if the Irish Brigade should not succeed in fighting for the + liberation of Ireland from the English yoke, nevertheless a blow + dealt at the British intruders in Egypt and intended to help the + Egyptians to recover their freedom would be a blow struck for a + cause closely related to that of Ireland." + +Another paper read as follows: + + "Halbmondlager, + "Aug. 20th, 1915. + + "(SECRET)" + + "To MURTAGH SKEEL, COLONEL, + "Irish Exp. Force, + "N. Y. + + "REPORT + + "On June 7, fifty Irishmen, with one German subaltern, were handed + over to this camp, to be temporarily accommodated here. On June 16 + five more Irishmen arrived, one of whom, having a broken leg, was + sent to the camp hospital. There are, therefore, fifty-four + Irishmen now here, one Sergeant Major, one Deputy Sergeant Major, + three Sergeants, three Corporals, three Lance Corporals, and + forty-three privates. + + "They were accommodated as well as could be among the Indian + battalion, an arrangement which gives rise to much trouble, which + is inevitable, considering the tasks imposed upon Half Moon Camp. + + "The Irish form an Irish brigade, which was constituted after + negotiations between the Foreign Office and Sir Roger Casement, + the champion of Irish independence. + + "Enclosed is the Foreign Office communication of Dec. 28, 1914, + confirming the conditions on which the Irish brigade was to be + formed. + + "The members of the Irish brigade are no longer German prisoners + of war, but receive an Irish uniform; and, according to orders, + instructions are to be issued to treat the Irish as comrades in + arms. + + "The Irish are under the command of a German officer, First Lieut. + Boehm, the representative of the Grand General Staff (Political + Division) which is in direct communication with the subaltern in + charge of the Irish. This subaltern has been receiving money + direct, which he expends in the interests of the Irish; 250 marks + were given him through the Commandant's office, Zossen, and 250 + marks by First Lieut. Boehm. + + "Promotions, also, are made known by being directly communicated + to the subaltern in question. As will appear from the enclosed + copy, dated July 20, these promotions were as follows: (1) + Sergeant Major, (2) Deputy Sergeant Major, and (3) Sergeants. + + "The uniforms arrived between the end of July and the beginning of + August. Their coming was announced in a letter dated July 20 (copy + enclosed), and their distribution was ordered. The box of uniforms + was addressed to Zossen, whence it was brought here. The uniforms + consist of a jacket, trousers, and cap in Irish style, and are of + huntsman's green cloth. Altogether, uniforms arrived for fifty + men, and they have since been given out. Three non-commissioned + officers brought their uniforms with them from Limburg on July 16. + Two photographs of the Irish are annexed. + + "A few Irish are in correspondence with Sir Roger Casement, who, + in a letter from Munich, dated Aug. 16, says that he hears that + the Irish are shortly to be transferred from here to another + place. In a letter dated July 17 he complains of his want of + success, only fifty men having sent in their names as wishing to + join the brigade. + + "Six weeks ago Sir Roger Casement was here with First Lieutenant + Boehm. Since then, however, neither of these gentlemen has + personally visited the Irish. + + "Since the 18th of June the commandant's office has allowed every + penniless Irishman two marks a week--a sum which is now being paid + out to fifty-three men. + + "On Aug. 6 the subaltern in charge of the Irish brigade was given + a German soldier to help him. + + "In this camp every possible endeavour is made to help to attain + the important objects in view, but owing to the Irish being + accommodated with coloured races within the precincts of a closed + camp, it is inevitable that serious dissensions and acts of + violence should take place. Moreover, a German subaltern is not + suited for dealing independently with Irishmen. + + "(Sgd.) HAUPTMANN, d. R. a. D., + + "(Retired Captain on the Reserve List)." + +The last paper read as follows: + + "(COPY) + + "(Wireless via Mexico) + + "Berlin (no date). + + "FEREZ, + "N. Y. + + "Necessary close Nihla Quellen case immediately. Evidently useless + expect her take service with us. Hold you responsible. Advise you + take secret measures to end menace to our interests in Paris. + D'Eblis urges instant action. Bolo under suspicion. Ex-minister + also suspected. Only drastic and final action on your part can end + danger. You know what to do. Do it." + + The telegram was signed with a string of letters and numerals. + +Renoux glanced curiously at Barres, who had turned very red and was +beginning to re-read the wireless. + +When he finished, Renoux folded all the documents and placed them in +the breast pocket of his coat. + +"Mon ami, Barres," he said pleasantly, "you and I have much yet to say +to each other." + +"In the meanwhile, let us wash the stains of combat from our persons. +What is the number of your collar?" + +"Fifteen and a half." + +"I can fit you out. The bathroom is this way, old top!" + + + + +XXI + +THE WHITE BLACKBIRD + + +Refreshed by icy baths and clean linen, and now further fortified +against the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune by a supper of +cold fowl and Moselle, Captain Renoux and Garret Barres sat in the +apartment of the former gentleman, gaily exchanging Latin Quarter +reminiscences through the floating haze of their cigars. + +But the conversation soon switched back toward the far more serious +business which alone accounted for their being there together after +many years. For, as the French officer had remarked, a good deal +remained to be said between them. And Barres knew what he meant, and +was deeply concerned at the prospect. + +But Renoux approached the matter with careless good humour and by a +leisurely, circuitous route, which polite pussy-footing was obviously +to prepare Barres for impending trouble. + +He began by referring to his mission in America, admitting very +frankly that he was a modest link in the system of military and +political intelligence maintained by all European countries in the +domains of their neighbours. + +"I might as well say so," he remarked, "because it's known to the +representatives of enemy governments here as well as to your own +Government, that some of us are here; and anybody can imagine why. + +"And, in the course of my--studies," he said deliberately, while his +clear eyes twinkled, "it has come to my knowledge, and to the +knowledge of the French Ambassador, that there is, in New York, a +young woman who already has proven herself a dangerous enemy to my +country." + +"That is interesting, if true," said Barres, reddening to the temples. +"But it is even more interesting if it is not true.... And it isn't!" + +"You think not?" + +"I don't think anything about it, Renoux; I _know_." + +"I am afraid you have been misled, Barres. And it is natural enough." + +"Why?" + +"Because," said Renoux serenely, "she is very beautiful, very clever, +very young, very appealing.... Tell me, my friend, where did you meet +her?" + +Barres looked him in the eyes: + +"Where did you learn that I had ever met her?" + +"Through the ordinary channels which, if you will pardon me, I am not +at liberty to discuss." + +"All right. It is sufficient that you know I have met her. Now, where +did I meet her?" + +"I don't know," said Renoux candidly. + +"How long have I known her then?" + +"Possibly a few weeks. Our information is that your acquaintance with +her is not of long duration." + +"Wrong, my friend: I met her in France several years ago; I know her +intimately." + +"Yes, the intimacy has been reported," said Renoux, blandly. "But it +doesn't take long, sometimes." + +Barres reddened again and shook his head: + +"You and your agents are all wrong, Renoux. So is your Government. Do +you know what it's doing--what you and your agents are doing? You're +playing a German game for Berlin!" + +This time Renoux flushed and there was a slight quiver to his lips and +nostrils; but he said very pleasantly: + +"That would be rather mortifying, mon ami, if it were true." + +"It is true. Berlin, the traitor in Paris, the conspirator in America, +the German, Austrian, and Turkish diplomatic agents here ask nothing +better than that you manage, somehow, to eliminate the person in +question." + +"Why?" demanded Renoux. + +"Because more than one of your public men in Paris will face charges +of conspiracy and treason if the person in question ever has a fair +hearing and a chance to prove her innocence of the terrible +accusations that have been made against her." + +"Naturally," said Renoux, "those accused bring counter charges. It is +always the history of such cases, mon ami." + +"Your mind is already made up, then?" + +"My mind is a real mind, Barres. Reason is what it seeks--the logical +evidence that leads to truth. If there is anything I don't know, then +I wish to know it, and will spare no pains, permit no prejudice to +warp my judgment." + +"All right. Now, let's have the thing out between us, Renoux. We are +not fencing in the dark; we understand each other and are honest +enough to say so. Now, go on." + +Renoux nodded and said very quietly and pleasantly: + +"The reference in one of these papers to the celebrated Nihla Quellen +reminds me of the first time I ever saw her. I was quite bowled over, +Barres, as you may easily imagine. She sang one of those Asiatic +songs--and then the dance!--a miracle!--a delight--apparently entirely +unprepared, unpremeditated even--you know how she did it?--exquisite +perfection--something charmingly impulsive and spontaneous--a caprice +of the moment! Ah--there is a wonderful artiste, Nihla Quellen!" + +Barres nodded, his level gaze fixed on the French officer. + +"As for the document," continued Renoux, "it does not entirely explain +itself to me. You see, this Eurasian, Ferez Bey, was a very intimate +friend of Nihla Quellen." + +"You are quite mistaken," interposed Barres. But the other merely +smiled with a slight gesture of deference to his friend's opinion, and +went on. + +"This Ferez is one of those persistent, annoying flies which buzz +around chancelleries and stir up diplomats to pernicious activities. +You know there isn't much use in swatting, as you say, the fly. No. +Better find the manure heap which hatched him and burn that!" + +He smiled and shrugged, relighted his cigar, and continued: + +"So, mon ami, I am here in your charming and hospitable city to direct +the necessary sanitary measures, sub rosa, of course. You have been +more than kind. My Government and I have you to thank for this batch +of papers----" He tapped his breast pocket and made salutes which +Frenchmen alone know how to make. + +"Renoux," said Barres bluntly, "you have learned somehow that Nihla +Quellen is under my protection. You conclude I am her lover." + +The officer's face altered gravely, but he said nothing. + +Barres leaned forward in his chair and laid a hand on his comrade's +shoulder: + +"Renoux, do you trust me, personally?" + +"Yes." + +"Very well. Then I shall trust you. Because there is nothing you can +tell me about Nihla Quellen that I do not already know--nothing +concerning her _dossier_ in your secret archives, nothing in regard to +the evidence against her and the testimony of the Count d'Eblis. And +that clears the ground between you and me." + +If Renoux was surprised he scarcely showed it. + +Barres said: + +"As long as you know that she is under my protection, I want you to +come to my place and talk to her. I don't ask you to accept my +judgment in regard to her; I merely wish you to listen to what she has +to say, and then come to your own conclusions. Will you do this?" + +For a few moments Renoux sat quite still, his clear, intelligent eyes +fixed on the smoking tip of his cigar. Without raising them he said +slowly: + +"As we understand it, Nihla Quellen has been a spy from the very +beginning. Our information is clear, concise, logical. We know her +history. She was the mistress of Prince Cyril, then of Ferez, then of +d'Eblis--perhaps of the American banker, Gerhardt, also. She came +directly from the German Embassy at Constantinople to Paris, on +Gerhardt's yacht, the _Mirage_, and under his protection and the +protection of Comte Alexandre d'Eblis. + +"Ferez was of the party. And that companionship of conspirators never +was dissolved as long as Nihla Quellen remained in Europe." + +"That Nihla Quellen has ever been the mistress of any man is +singularly untrue," said Barres coolly. "Your Government has to do +with a chaste woman; and it doesn't even know that much!" + +Renoux regarded him curiously: + +"You have seen her dance?" he enquired gravely. + +"Often. And, Renoux, you are too much a man of the world to be +surprised at the unexpected. There _are_ white blackbirds." + +"Yes, there are." + +"Nihla Quellen is one." + +"My friend, I desire to believe it if it would be agreeable to you." + +"I know, Renoux; I believe in your good-will. Also, I believe in your +honesty and intelligence. And so I do not ask you to accept my word +for what I tell you. Only remember that I am absolutely certain +concerning my belief in Nihla Quellen.... I have no doubt that you +think I am in love with her.... I can't answer you. All Europe was in +love with her. Perhaps I am.... I don't know, Renoux. But this I do +know; she is clean and sweet and honest from the crown of her head to +the sole of her foot. In her heart there has never dwelt treachery. +Talk to her to-night. You're like the best of your compatriots, clear +minded, logical, intelligent, and full of that legitimate imagination +without which intellect is a machine. You know the world; you know +men; you don't know women and you know you don't. Therefore, you are +equipped to learn the truth--to divine it--from Nihla Quellen. Will +you come over to my place now?" + +"Yes," said Renoux pleasantly. + + * * * * * + +The orchestra was playing as they passed through the hotel; supper +rooms, corridors, café and lobby were crowded with post-theatre +throngs in search of food and drink and dance music; and although few +theatres were open in July, Long Acre blazed under its myriad lights +and the sidewalks were packed with the audiences filtering out of the +various summer shows and into all-night cabarets. + +They looked across at the distant war bulletins displayed on Times +Square, around which the usual gesticulating crowd had gathered, but +kept on across Long Acre, and west toward Sixth Avenue. + +Midway in the block, Renoux touched his comrade silently on the arm, +and halted. + +"A few minutes, mon ami, if you don't mind--time for you to smoke a +cigarette while waiting." + +They had stopped before a brownstone house which had been converted +into a basement dwelling, and which was now recessed between two +modern shops constructed as far as the building line. + +All the shades and curtains in the house were drawn and the place +appeared to be quite dark, but a ring at the bell brought a big, +powerfully built porter, who admitted them to a brightly lighted +reception room. Then the porter replaced the chains on the door of +bronze. + +"Just a little while, if you will be amiable enough to have patience," +said Renoux. + +He went away toward the rear of the house and Barres seated himself. +And in a few moments the burly porter reappeared with a tray +containing a box of cigarettes and a tall glass of Moselle. + +"Monsieur Renoux will not be long," he said, bringing a sheaf of +French illustrated periodicals to the little table at Barres' elbow; +and he retired with a bow and resumed his chair in the corridor by the +bronze door. + +Through closed doors, somewhere from the rear of the silent house +came the distant click of a typewriter. At moments, too, looking over +the war pictures in the periodicals, Barres imagined that he heard a +confused murmur as of many voices. + +Later it became evident that there were a number of people somewhere +in the house, because, now and then, the porter unlatched the door and +drew the chains to let out some swiftly walking man. + +Once two men came out together. One carried a satchel; the other +halted in the hallway to slip a clip into an automatic pistol before +dropping it into the side pocket of his coat. + +And after a while Renoux appeared, bland, debonaire, evidently much +pleased with whatever he had been doing. + +Two other men appeared in the corridor behind him; he said something +to them in a low voice; Barres imagined he heard the words, +"Washington" and "Jusserand." + +Then the two men went out, walking at a smart pace, and Renoux +sauntered into the tiny reception room. + +"You don't know," he said, "what a very important service you have +rendered us by catching that fellow to-night and stripping him of his +papers." + +Barres rose and they walked out together. + +"This city," added Renoux, "is fairly verminous with disloyal Huns. +The streets are crawling with them; every German resort, saloon, beer +garden, keller, café, club, society--every German drug store, +delicatessen shop, music store, tobacconist, is lousy with the +treacherous swine. + +"There are two great hotels where the boche gathers and plots; two +great banking firms are centres of German propaganda; three great +department stores, dozens of downtown commercial agencies; various +buildings and piers belonging to certain transatlantic steamship +lines, the offices of certain newspapers and periodicals.... Tell me, +Barres, did you know that the banker, Gerhardt, owns the building in +which you live?" + +"Dragon Court!" + +"You didn't know it, evidently. Yes, he owns it." + +"Is he really involved in pro-German intrigue?" asked Barres. + +"That is our information." + +"I ask," continued Barres thoughtfully, "because his summer home is at +Northbrook, not far from my own home. And to me there is something +peculiarly contemptible about disloyalty in the wealthy who owe every +penny to the country they betray." + +"His place is called Hohenlinden," remarked Renoux. + +"Yes. Are you having it watched?" + +Renoux smiled. Perhaps he was thinking about other places, also--the +German Embassy, for example, where, inside the Embassy itself, not +only France but also the United States Government was represented by a +secret agent among the personnel. + +"We try to learn what goes on among the boches," he said carelessly. +"They try the same game. But, Barres, they are singularly stupid at +such things--not adroit, merely clumsy and brutal. The Hun cannot +camouflage his native ferocity. He reveals himself. + +"And in that respect it is fortunate for civilisation that it is +dealing with barbarians. Their cunning is of the swinish sort. Their +stench ultimately discovers them. You are discovering it for +yourselves; you detected Dernberg; you already sniff Von Papen, +Boy-ed, Bernstorff. All over the world the nauseous effluvia from the +vast Teutonic hog-pen is being detected and recognised. And +civilisation is taking sanitary measures to abate the nuisance.... And +your country, too, will one day send out a sanitary brigade to help +clean up the world, just as you now supply our details with the +necessary chlorides and antiseptics." + +Barres laughed: + +"You are very picturesque," he said. "And I'll tell you one thing, if +we don't join the sanitary corps now operating, I shall go out with a +bottle of chloride myself." + +They entered Dragon Court a few moments later. Nobody was at the desk, +it being late. + +"To-morrow," said Barres, as they ascended the stairs, "my friends, +Miss Soane, Miss Dunois, and Mr. Westmore are to be our guests +at Foreland Farms. You didn't know that, did you?" he added +sarcastically. + +"Oh, yes," replied Renoux, much amused. "Miss Dunois, as you call her, +sent her trunks away this evening." + +Barres, surprised and annoyed, halted on the landing: + +"Your people didn't interfere, I hope." + +"No. There was nothing in them of interest to us," said Renoux +naïvely. "I sent a report when I sent on to Washington the papers +which you secured for us." + +Barres paused before his studio door, key in hand. They could hear the +gramophone going inside. He said: + +"I don't have to ask you to be fair, Renoux, because the man who is +unfair to others swindles himself, and you are too decent, too +intelligent to do that. I am going to present you to Thessalie Dunois, +which happens to be her real name, and I am going to tell her in your +presence who you are. Then I shall leave you alone with her." + +He fitted his latchkey and opened the door. + +Westmore was trying fancy dancing with Dulcie on one side, and +Thessalie on the other--the latter evidently directing operations. + +"Garry!" exclaimed Thessalie. + +"You're a fine one! Where have you been?" began Westmore. Then he +caught sight of Renoux and became silent. + +Barres led his comrade forward and presented him: + +"A fellow student of the Beaux Arts," he explained, "and we've had a +very jolly evening together. And, Thessa, there is something in +particular that I should like to have you explain to Monsieur Renoux, +if you don't mind...." He turned and looked at Dulcie: "If you will +pardon us a moment, Sweetness." + +She nodded and smiled and took Westmore's arm again, and continued the +dance alone with him while Barres, drawing Thessalie's arm through +his, and passing his other arm through Renoux's, walked leisurely +through his studio, through the now open folding doors, past his +bedroom and Westmore's, and into the latter's studio beyond. + +"Thessa, dear," he said very quietly, "I feel very certain that +the worst of your troubles are about to end----" He felt her +start slightly. "And," he continued, "I have brought my comrade, +Renoux, here to-night so that you and he can clear up a terrible +misunderstanding. + +"And Monsieur Renoux, once a student of architecture at the Beaux +Arts, is now Captain Renoux of the Intelligence Department in the +French Army----" + +Thessalie lost her colour and a tremor passed through the arm which +lay within his. + +But he said calmly: + +"It is the only way as well as the best way, Thessa. I know you are +absolutely innocent. I am confident that Captain Renoux is going to +believe it, too. If he does not, you are no worse off. Because it has +already become known to the French Government that you are here. +Renoux knew it." + +They had halted; Barres led Thessalie to a seat. Renoux, straight, +deferential, correct, awaited her pleasure. + +She looked up at him; his keen, intelligent eyes met hers. + +"If you please, Captain Renoux, will you do me the honour to be +seated?" she said in a low voice. + +Barres went to her, bent over her hand, touched it with his lips. + +"Just tell him the truth, Thessa, dear," he said. + +"Everything?" she smiled faintly, "including our first meeting?" + +Barres flushed, then laughed: + +"Yes, tell him about that, too. It was too charming for him not to +appreciate." + +And with a half mischievous, half amused nod to Renoux he went back to +find the dancers, whom he could hear laughing far away in his own +studio. + + * * * * * + +It was nearly one o'clock when Dulcie, who had been sleeping with +Thessalie, whispered to Barres that she was ready to retire. + +"Indeed, you had better," he said, releasing her as the dance music +ran down and ceased. "If you don't get some sleep you won't feel like +travelling to-morrow." + +"Will you explain to Thessa?" + +"Of course. Good-night, dear." + +She gave him her hand in silence, turned and offered it to Westmore, +then went away toward her room. + +Westmore, who had been fidgeting a lot since Thessalie had retired for +a tête-à-tête with a perfectly unknown and alarmingly good-looking +young man whom he never before had laid eyes on, finally turned short +in his restless pacing of the studio. + +"What the deuce can be keeping Thessa?" he demanded. "And who the +devil is that black-eyed young sprig of France you brought home with +you?" + +"Sit down and I'll tell you," said Barres crisply, instinctively +resenting his friend's uncalled for solicitude in Thessalie's behalf. + +So Westmore seated himself and Barres told him all about the evening's +adventures. And he was still lingering unctuously over the details of +the battle at Grogan's, the recital of which, Westmore demanding, he +had begun again, when at the farther end of the studio Thessalie +appeared, coming toward them. + +Renoux was beside her, very deferential and graceful in his +attendance, and with that niceness of attitude which confesses respect +in every movement. + +Thessalie came forward; Barres advanced to meet her with the unspoken +question in his eyes, and she gave him both her hands with a tremulous +little smile of happiness. + +"Is it all right?" he whispered. + +"I think so." + +Barres turned and grasped Renoux by one hand. + +The latter said: + +"There is not the slightest doubt in my mind, mon ami. You were +perfectly right. A frightful injustice has been done in this matter. +Of that I am absolutely convinced." + +"You will do what you can to set things right?" + +"Of course," said Renoux simply. + +There was a moment's silence, then Renoux smiled: + +"You know," he said lightly, "we French have a horror of any more +mistakes like the Dreyfus case. We are terribly sensitive. Be assured +that my Government will take up this affair instantly upon receiving +my report." + +He turned to Barres: + +"Would you, perhaps, offer me a day's hospitality at your home in the +country, if I should request it by telegram sometime this week or +next?" + +"You bet," replied Barres cordially. + +Then Renoux made his adieux, as only such a Frenchman can make them, +saying exactly the right thing to each, in exactly the right manner. + +When he was gone, Barres took Thessalie's hands and pressed them: + +"Pretty merle-blanc, your little friend Dulcie is already asleep. Tell +us to-morrow how you convinced him that you are what you are--the +dearest, sweetest girl in the world!" + +She laughed demurely, then glanced apprehensively, sideways, at +Westmore. + +And the mute but infuriated expression on that young man's countenance +seemed to cause her the loss of all self-possession, for she cast one +more look at him and fled with a hasty "good-night!" + + + + +XXII + +FORELAND FARMS + + +Toward three o'clock on the following afternoon the sun opened up like +a searchlight through the veil of rain, dissolving it to a golden haze +which gradually grew thinner and thinner, revealing glimpses of +rolling country against a horizon of low mountains. + +About the same time the covered station wagon turned in between the +white gates of Foreland Farms, proceeded at a smart trot up the drive, +and stopped under a dripping porte-cochère, where a smiling servant +stood waiting to lift out the luggage. + +A trim looking man of forty odd, in soft shirt and fawn coloured +knickers, and wearing a monocle in his right eye and a flower in his +buttonhole, came out on the porch as Barres and his guests descended. + +"Well, Garry," he said, "I'm glad you're home at last! But you're +rather late for the fishing." And to Westmore: + +"How are you, Jim? Jolly to have you back! But I regret to inform you +that the fishing is very poor just now." + +His son, who stood an inch or two taller than his debonaire parent, +passed one arm around his shoulders and patted them affectionately +while the easy presentations were concluded. + +At the same moment two women, beautifully mounted and very wet, +galloped up to the porch and welcomed Garry's guests from their +saddles in the pleasant, informal, incurious manner characteristic of +Foreland Farm folk--a manner which seemed too amiably certain of +itself to feel responsibility for anybody or anything else. + +Easy, unconcerned, slender and clean-built women these--Mrs. Reginald +Barres, Garry's mother, and her daughter, Lee. And in their smart, +rain-wet riding clothes they might easily have been sisters, with a +few years' difference between them, so agreeably had Time behaved +toward Mrs. Barres, so closely her fair-haired, fair-skinned daughter +resembled her. + +They swung carelessly out of their saddles and set spurred foot to +turf, and, with Garret and his guests, sauntered into the big living +hall, where a maid waited with wine and biscuits and the housekeeper +lingered to conduct Thessalie and Dulcie to their rooms. + +Dulcie Soane, in her pretty travelling gown, walked beside Mrs. +Reginald Barres into the first great house she had ever entered. +Composed, but shyly enchanted, an odd but delightful sensation +possessed her that she was where she belonged--that such environment, +such people should always have been familiar to her--were logical and +familiar to her now. + +Mrs. Barres was saying: + +"And if you like parties, there is always gaiety at Northbrook. But +you don't have to go anywhere or do anything you don't wish to." + +Dulcie said, diffidently, that she liked everything, and Mrs. Barres +laughed. + +"Then you'll be very popular," she said, tossing her riding crop onto +the table and stripping off her wet gloves. + +Barres senior was already in serious confab with Westmore concerning +piscatorial conditions, the natural low water of midsummer, the +capricious conduct of the trout in the streams and in the upper and +lower lakes. + +"They won't look at anything until sunset," he explained, "and then +they don't mean business. You'll see, Jim. I'm sorry; you should have +come in June." + +Lee, Garret's boyishly slim sister, had already begun to exchange +opinions about horses with Thessalie, for both had been familiar with +the saddle since childhood, though the latter's Cossack horsemanship +and mastery of the haute école, incident to her recent and irregular +profession, might have astonished Lee Barres. + +Mrs. Barres was saying to Dulcie: + +"We don't try to entertain one another here, but everybody seems to +have a perfectly good time. The main thing is that we all feel quite +free at Foreland. You'll lose yourself indoors at first. The family +for a hundred years has been adding these absurd two-story wings, so +that the house wanders at random over the landscape, and you may have +to inquire your way about in the beginning." + +She smiled again at Dulcie and took her hand in both of hers: + +"I'm sure you will like the Farms," she said, linking her other arm +through her son's. "I'm rather wet, Garry," she added, "but I think +Lee and I had better dry out in the saddle." And to Dulcie again: "Tea +at five, if anybody wishes it. Would you like to see your room?" + +Thessalie, conversing with Lee, turned smilingly to be included in the +suggestion; and the maid came forward to conduct her and Dulcie +through the intricacies of the big, casual, sprawling house, where +rooms and corridors and halls rambled unexpectedly and irrelevantly +in every direction, and one vista seemed to terminate in another. + +When they had disappeared, the Barres family turned to inspect its son +and heir with habitual and humorous insouciance, commenting frankly +upon his personal appearance and concluding that his health still +remained all that could be desired by the most solicitous of parents +and sisters. + +"There are rods already rigged up in the work-room," remarked his +father, "if you and your guests care to try a dry-fly this evening. As +for me, you'll find me somewhere around the upper lake, if you care to +look for me----" + +He fished out of his pocket a bewildering tangle of fine mist-leaders, +and, leisurely disentangling them, strolled toward the porch, still +talking: + +"There's only one fly they deign to notice, now--a dust-coloured midge +tied in reverse with no hackle, no tinsel, a May-fly tail, and barred +canary wing----" He nodded wisely over his shoulder at his son and +Westmore, as though sharing with them a delightful secret of +world-wide importance, and continued on toward the porch, serenely +interested in his tangled leaders. + +Garret glanced at his mother and sister; they both laughed. He said: + +"Dad is one of those rarest of modern beings, a genuine angler of the +old school. After all the myriad trout and salmon he has caught in a +career devoted to fishing, the next fish he catches gives him just as +fine a thrill as did the very first one he ever hooked! It's quite +wonderful, isn't it, mother?" + +"It's probably what keeps him so youthful," remarked Westmore. "The +thing to do is to have something to do. That's the elixir of youth. +Look at your mother, Garry. She's had a busy handful bringing you +up!" + +Garret looked at his slender, attractive mother and laughed again: + +"Is that what keeps you so young and pretty, mother?--looking after +me?" + +"Alas, Garry, I'm over forty, and I look it!" + +"Do you?--you sweet little thing!" he interrupted, picking her up +suddenly from the floor and marching proudly around the room with her. +"Gaze upon my mother, Jim! Isn't she cunning? Isn't she the smartest +little thing in America? Behave yourself, mother! Your grateful son is +showing you off to the appreciative young gentleman from New +York----" + +"You're ridiculous! Jim! Make him put me down!" + +But her tall son swung her to his shoulder and placed her high on the +mantel shelf over the huge fireplace; where she sat beside the clock, +charming, resentful, but helpless, her spurred boots dangling down. + +"Come on, Lee!" cried her brother, "I'm going to put you up beside +her. That mantel needs ornamental bric-a-brac and objets d'art----" + +Lee turned to escape, but her brother cornered and caught her, and +swung her high, seating her beside his indignant mother. + +"Just as though we were two Angora kittens," remarked Lee, sidling +along the stone shelf toward her mother. Then she glanced out through +the open front door. "Lift us down, quick, Garry. You'd better! The +horses are in the flower beds and there'll be no more bouquets for the +table in another minute!" + +So he lifted them off the mantel and they hastily departed, each +administering correction with her riding crop as she dodged past him +and escaped. + +"If your guests want horses you know where to find them!" called back +his sister from the porch. And presently she and his mother, securely +mounted, went cantering away across country, where grass and fern and +leaf and blossom were glistening in the rising breeze, weighted down +with diamond drops of rain. + +Westmore walked leisurely toward his quarters, to freshen up and don +knickers. Garret followed him into the west wing, whistling +contentedly under his breath, inspecting each remembered object with +great content as he passed, nodding smilingly to the servants he +encountered, lingering on the landing to acknowledge the civilities of +the ancient family cat, who recognised him with effusion but coyly +fled the advances of Westmore, ignoring all former and repeated +introductions. + +Their rooms adjoined and they conversed through the doorway while +engaged in ablutions. + +Presently, from behind his sheer sash-curtains, Westmore caught sight +of Thessalie on the west terrace below. She wore a shell-pink frock +and a most distractingly pretty hat; and he hurried his dressing as +much as he could without awaking Garret's suspicions. + +A few minutes later, radiant in white flannels, he appeared on the +terrace, breathing rather fast but wreathed in persuasive smiles. + +"I know this place; I'll take you for a walk where you won't get your +shoes wet. Shall I?" he suggested, with all his guile and cunning +quite plain to Thessalie, and his purpose perfectly transparent to her +smiling eyes. + +But she consented prettily, and went with him without demurring, +picking her way over the stepping-stone walk with downcast gaze and +the trace of a smile on her lips--a smile as delicately indefinable as +the fancy which moved her to accept this young man's headlong +advances--which had recognized them and accepted them from the first. +But why, she did not even yet understand. + +"Agreeable weather, isn't it?" said Westmore, fatuously revealing his +present paucity of ideas apart from those which concerned the wooing +of her. And he was an intelligent young man at that, and a sculptor of +attainment, too. But now, in his infatuated head, there remained room +only for one thought, the thought of this girl who walked so demurely +and daintily beside him over the flat, grass-set stepping stones +toward the three white pines on the little hill. + +For it had been something or other at first sight with Westmore--love, +perhaps--anyway that is what he called the mental chaos which now +disorganised him. And it was certain that something happened to him +the first time he laid eyes on Thessalie Dunois. He knew it, and she +could not avoid seeing it, so entirely naïve his behaviour, so utterly +guileless his manoeuvres, so direct, unfeigned and childish his +methods of approach. + +At moments she felt nervous and annoyed by his behaviour; at other +times apprehensive and helpless, as though she were responsible for +something that did not know how to take care of itself--something +immature, irrational, and entirely at her mercy. And it may have been +the feminine response to this increasing sense of obligation--the +confused instinct to guide, admonish and protect--that began being the +matter with her. + +Anyway, from the beginning the man had a certain fascination for her, +unwillingly divined on her part, yet specifically agreeable even to +the point of exhilaration. Also, somehow or other, the girl realised +he had a brain. + +And yet he was a pitiably hopeless case; for even now he was saying +such things as: + +"Are you quite sure that your feet are dry? I should never forgive +myself, Thessa, if you took cold.... Are you tired?... How wonderful +it is to be here alone with you, and strive to interpret the mystery +of your mind and heart! Sit here under the pines. I'll spread my coat +for you.... Nature is wonderful, isn't it, Thessa?" + +And when she gravely consented to seat herself he dropped recklessly +onto the wet pine needles at her feet, and spoke with imbecile delight +again of nature--of how wonderful were its protean manifestations, and +how its beauties were not meant to be enjoyed alone but in mystic +communion with another who understood. + +It was curious, too, but this stuff seemed to appeal to her, some +commonplace chord within her evidently responding. She sighed and +looked at the mountains. They really were miracles of colour--masses +of purest cobalt, now, along the horizon. + +But perhaps the trite things they uttered did not really matter; +probably it made no difference to them what they said. And even if he +had murmured: "There are milestones along the road to Dover," she +might have responded: "There was an old woman who lived in a shoe"; +and neither of them would have heard anything at all except the rapid, +confused, and voiceless conversation of two youthful human hearts +beating out endless questions and answers that never moved their +smiling lips. There was the mystery, if any--the constant wireless +current under the haphazard flow of words. + +There was no wind in the pines; meadow and pasture, woodland and swale +stretched away at their feet to the distant, dark-blue hills. And all +around them hung the rain-washed fragrance of midsummer under a still, +cloudless sky. + +"It seems impossible that there can be war anywhere in the world," she +said. + +"You know," he began, "it's getting on my nerves the way those swine +from the Rhine are turning this decent green world into a bloody +wallow! Unless we do something about it pretty soon, I think I'll go +over." + +She looked up: + +"Where?" + +"To France." + +She remained silent for a while, merely lifting her dark eyes to him +at intervals; then she grew preoccupied with other thoughts that left +her brows bent slightly inward and her mouth very grave. + +He gazed reflectively out over the fields and woods: + +"Yes, I can't stand it much longer," he mused aloud. + +"What would you do there?" she inquired. + +"Anything. I could drive a car. But if they'll take me in some +Canadian unit--or one of the Foreign Legions--it would suit me.... You +know a man can't go on just living in the world while this beastly +business continues--can't go on eating and sleeping and shaving and +dressing as though half of civilisation were not rolling in agony and +blood, stabbed through and through----" + +His voice caught--he checked himself and slowly passed his hand over +his smoothly shaven face. + +"Those splendid poilus," he said; "where they stand we Americans ought +to be standing, too.... God knows why we hesitate.... I can't tell you +what we think.... Some of us--don't agree--with the Administration." + +His jaws snapped on the word; he stared out through the sunshine at +the swallows, now skimming the uncut hay fields in their gusty evening +flight. + +"Are you really going?" she asked, at length. + +"Yes. I'll wait a little while longer to see what my country is going +to do. If it doesn't stir during the next month or two, I shall go. I +think Garry will go, too." + +She nodded. + +"Of course," he remarked, "we'd prefer our own flag, Garry and I. But +if it is to remain furled----" He shrugged, picked a spear of grass, +and sat brooding and breaking it into tiny pieces. + +"The only thing that troubles me," he went on presently, keeping his +gaze riveted on his busy fingers, "the only thing that worries me is +you!" + +"Me?" she exclaimed softly. And an inexplicable little thrill shot +through her. + +"You," he repeated. "You worry me to death." + +She considered him a moment, her lips parted as though she were about +to say something, but it remained unsaid, and a slight colour came +into her cheeks. + +"What am I to do about you?" he went on, apparently addressing the +blade of grass he was staring at. "I can't leave you as matters +stand." + +She said: + +"Please, you are not responsible for me, are you?" And tried to laugh, +but scarcely smiled. + +"I want to be," he muttered. "I desire to be entirely----" + +"Thank you. You have been more than kind. And very soon I hope I shall +be on happy terms with my own Government again. Then your solicitude +should cease." + +"If your Government listens to reason----" + +"Then I also could go to France!" she interrupted. "Merely to think of +it excites me beyond words!" + +He looked up quickly: + +"You wish to go back?" + +"Of course!" + +"Why?" + +"How can you ask that! If you had been a disgraced exile as I have +been, as I still am--and falsely accused of shameful things--annoyed, +hounded, blackmailed, offered bribes, constantly importuned to become +what I am not--a traitor to my own people--would you not be wildly +happy to be proven innocent? Would you not be madly impatient to +return and prove your devotion to your own land?" + +"I understand," he said in a low voice. + +"Of course you understand. Do you imagine that I, a French girl, would +have remained here in shameful security if I could have gone back to +France and helped? I would have done anything--anything, I tell +you--scrubbed the floors of hospitals, worked my fingers to the +bone----" + +"I'll wait till you go," he said.... "They'll clear your record very +soon, I expect. I'll wait. And we'll go together. Shall we, Thessa?" + +But she had not seemed to hear him; her dark eyes grew remote, her +gaze swept the sapphire distance. It was his hand laid lightly over +hers that aroused her, and she withdrew her fingers with a frown of +remonstrance. + +"Won't you let me speak?" he said. "Won't you let me tell you what my +heart tells me?" + +She shook her head slowly: + +"I don't desire to hear yet--I don't know where my own heart--or even +my mind is--or what I think about--anything. Please be reasonable." +She stole a look at him to see how he was taking it, and there was +concern enough in her glance to give him a certain amount of hope had +he noticed it. + +"You like me, Thessa, don't you?" he urged. + +"Have I not admitted it? Do you know that you are becoming a serious +responsibility to me? You worry me, too! You are like a boy with all +your emotions reflected on your features and every thought perfectly +unconcealed and every impulse followed by unconsidered behaviour. + +"Be reasonable. I have asked it a hundred times of you in vain. I +shall ask it, probably, innumerable times before you comply with my +request. Don't show so plainly that you imagine yourself in love. It +embarrasses me, it annoys Garry, and I don't know what his family will +think----" + +"But if I _am_ in love, why not----" + +"Does one advertise all one's most intimate and secret and--and sacred +emotions?" she interrupted in sudden and breathless annoyance. "It is +not the way that successful courtship is conducted, I warn you! It is +not delicate, it is not considerate, it is not sensible.... And I _do_ +want you to--to be always--sensible and considerate. I _want_ to like +you." + +He looked at her in a sort of dazed way: + +"I'll try to please you," he said. "But it seems to confuse +me--being so suddenly bowled over--a thing like that rather knocks +a man out--so unexpected, you know!--and there isn't much use +pretending," he went on excitedly. "I can't see anybody else in +the world except you! I can't think of anybody else! I'm madly in +love--blindly, desperately----" + +"Oh, please, _please_!" she remonstrated. "I'm not a girl to be taken +by storm! I've seen too much--lived too much! I'm not a Tzigane to be +galloped alongside of and swung to a man's saddle-bow! Also, I shall +tell you one thing more. Happiness and laughter are necessities to +me! And they seem to be becoming extinct in you." + +"Hang it!" he demanded tragically, "how can I laugh when I'm in +love!" + +At that a sudden, irresponsible little peal of laughter parted her +lips. + +"Oh, dear!" she said, "you _are_ funny! Is it a matter of prayer and +fasting, then, this gloomy sentiment which you say you entertain for +me? I don't know whether to be flattered or vexed--you are _so_ +funny!" And her laughter rang out again, clear and uncontrolled. + +The girl was quite irresistible in her care-free gaiety; her lovely +face and delicious laughter no man could utterly withstand, and +presently a faint grin became visible on his features. + +"Now," she cried gaily, "you are becoming human and not a Grecian mask +or a gargoyle! Remain so, mon ami, if you expect me to wish you good +luck in your love--your various affairs----" She blushed as she +checked herself. But he said very quickly: + +"Will you wish me luck, Thessa, in my various love affairs?" + +"How many have you on hand?" + +"Exactly one. Do you wish me a sporting chance? Do you, Thessa?" + +"Why--yes----" + +"Will you wish me good luck in my courtship of you?" + +The quick colour again swept her cheeks at that, but she laughed +defiantly: + +"Yes," she said, "I wish you luck in that, also. Only remember +this--whether you win or lose you must laugh. _That_ is good +sportsmanship. Do you promise? Very well! Then I wish you the best of +luck in your--various--courtships! And may the girl you win at least +know how to laugh!" + +"She certainly does," he said so naïvely that they both gave way to +laughter again, finding each other delightfully absurd. + +"It's the key to my heart, laughter--in case you are looking for the +key," she said daringly. "The world is a grim scaffold, mon ami; mount +it gaily and go to the far gods laughing. Tell me, is there a better +way to go?" + +"No; it's the right way, Thessa. I shan't be a gloom any more. Come +on; let's walk! What if you do get your bally shoes wet! I'm through +mooning and fussing and worrying over you, young lady! You're as +sturdy and vigorous as I am. After all, it's a comrade a man wants in +the world--not a white mouse in cotton batting! Come! Are you going +for a brisk walk across country? Or are you a white mouse?" + +She stood up in her dainty shoes and frail gown and cast a glance of +hurt reproach at him. + +"Don't be brutal," she said. "I'm not dressed to climb trees and +fences with you." + +"You won't come?" + +Their eyes met in silent conflict for a few moments. Then she said: +"Please don't make me.... It's such a darling gown, Jim." + +A wave of deep happiness enveloped him and he laughed: "All right," he +said, "I won't ask you to spoil your frock!" And he spread his coat on +the pine needles for her once more. + +She considered the situation for a few moments before she sat down. +But she did seat herself. + +"Now," he said, "we are going to discuss a situation. This is the +situation: I am deeply in love. And you're quite right, it's no +funeral; it's a joyous thing to be in love. It's a delight, a gaiety, +a happy enchantment. Isn't it?" + +She cast a rather shy and apprehensive glance at him, but nodded +slightly. + +"Very well," he said, "I'm in love, and I'm happy and proud to be in +love. What I wish then, naturally, is marriage, a home, children----" + +"Please, Jim!" + +"But I can't have 'em! Why? Because I'm going to France. And the girl +I wish to marry is going also. And while I bang away at the boche she +makes herself useful in canteens, rest-houses, hospitals, orphanages, +everywhere, in fact, where she is needed." + +"Yes." + +"And after it's all over--all over--and ended----" + +"Yes?" + +"Then--then if she finds out that she loves me----" + +"Yes, Jim--if she finds that out.... And thank you for--asking me--so +sweetly."... She turned sharply and looked out over a valley suddenly +blurred. + +For it had been otherwise with her in years gone by, and men had +spoken then quite as plainly but differently. Only d'Eblis, burnt out, +done for, and obsessed, had wearily and unwillingly advanced that +far.... And Ferez, too; but that was unthinkable of a creature in whom +virtue and vice were of the same virus. + +Looking blindly out over the valley she said: + +"If my Government deals justly with me, then I shall go to France with +you as your comrade. If I ever find that I love you I will be your +wife.... Until then----" She stretched out her hand, not looking +around at him; and they exchanged a quick, firm clasp. + +And so matters progressed between, these two--rather ominously for +Barres, in case he entertained any really serious sentiments in regard +to Thessalie. And, recently, he had been vaguely conscious that he +entertained something or other concerning the girl which caused him to +look with slight amazement and unsympathetic eyes upon the all too +obvious behaviour of his comrade Westmore. + +At present he was standing in the summer house which terminated the +blossoming tunnel of the rose arbour, watching water falling into a +stone basin from the fishy mouth of a wall fountain, and wondering +where Thessalie and Westmore had gone. + +Dulcie, in a thin white frock and leghorn hat, roaming entranced and +at hazard over lawn and through shrubbery and garden, encountered him +there, still squinting abstractedly at the water spout. + +It was the first time the girl had seen him since their arrival at +Foreland Farms. And now, as she paused under the canopy of fragrant +rain-drenched roses and looked at this man who had made all this +possible for her, she suddenly felt the change within herself, fitting +her for it all--a subtle metamorphosis completing itself within +her--the final accomplishment of a transmutation, deep, radical, +permanent. + +For her, the stark, starved visage which Life had worn had relaxed; in +the grim, forbidding wall which had closed her horizon, a door opened, +showing a corner of a world where she knew, somehow, she belonged. + +And in her heart, too, a door seemed to open, and her youthful soul +stepped out of it, naked, fearless, quite certain of itself and, for +the first time during their brief and earthly partnership, quite +certain of the body wherein it dwelt. + +He was thinking of Thessalie when Dulcie came up and stood beside +him, looking down into the water where a few goldfish swam. + +"Well, Sweetness," he said, brightening, "you look very wonderful in +white, with that big hat on your very enchanting red hair." + +"I feel both wonderful and enchanted," she said, lifting her eyes. "I +shall live in the country some day." + +"Really?" he said smiling. + +"Yes, when I earn enough money. Do you remember the crazy way +Strindberg rolls around? Well, I feel like doing it on that lawn." + +"Go ahead and do it," he urged. But she only laughed and chased the +goldfish around the basin with gentle fingers. + +"Dulcie," he said, "you're unfolding, you're blossoming, you're +developing feminine snap and go and pep and je-ne-sais-quoi." + +"You're teasing. But I believe I'm very feminine--and mature--though +you don't think so." + +"Well, I don't think you're exactly at an age called well-preserved," +he said, laughing. He took her hands and drew her up to confront him. +"You're not too old to have me as a playmate, Sweetness, are you?" + +She seemed to be doubtful. + +"What! Nonsense! And you're not too old to be bullied and coaxed and +petted----" + +"Yes, I am." + +"And you're not too old to pose for me----" + +She grew pink and looked down at the submerged goldfish. And, keeping +her eyes there: + +"I wanted to ask you," she said, "how much longer you think you would +require me--that way." + +There was a silence. Then she looked at him out of her frank grey +eyes. + +"You know I'll do what you wish," she said. "And I know it is quite +all right...." She smiled at him. "I belong to you: you made me.... +And you know all about me. So you ought to use me as you wish." + +"You don't want to pose?" he said. + +"Yes, except----" + +"Very well." + +"Are you annoyed?" + +"No, Sweetness. It's all right." + +"You are annoyed--disappointed! And I won't have it. I--I couldn't +stand it--to have you displeased----" + +He said pleasantly: + +"I'm not displeased, Dulcie. And there's no use discussing it. If you +have the slightest feeling that way, when we go back to town I'll do +things like the Arethusa from somebody else----" + +"Please don't!" she exclaimed in such naïve alarm that he began to +laugh and she blushed vividly. + +"Oh, you are feminine, all right!" he said. "If it isn't to be you it +isn't to be anybody." + +"I didn't mean that.... _Yes_, I did!" + +"Oh, Dulcie! Shame! _You_ jealous!--even to the verge of sacrificing +your own feelings----" + +"I don't know what it is, but I'd rather you used me for your +Arethusa. You know," she added wistfully, "that we began it +together." + +"Right, Sweetness. And we'll finish it together or not at all. Are you +satisfied?" + +She smiled, sighed, nodded. He released her lovely, childlike hands +and she walked to the doorway of the summer house and looked out over +the wall-bed, where tall thickets of hollyhock and blue larkspur +stretched away in perspective toward a grove of trees and a little +pond beyond. + +His painter's eye, already busy with the beauty of her face and +figure against the riot of flowers, and almost mechanically +transposing both into terms of colour and value, went blind suddenly +as she turned and looked at him. + +And for the first time--perhaps with truer vision--he became aware of +what else this young girl was besides a satisfying combination of tint +and contour--this lithe young thing palpitating with life--this +slender, gently breathing girl with her grey eyes meeting his so +candidly--this warm young human being who belonged more truly in the +living scheme of things than she did on painted canvas or in marble. + +From this unexpected angle, and suddenly, he found himself viewing her +for the first time--not as a plaything, not as a petted model, not as +an object appealing to his charity, not as an experiment in +altruism--nor sentimentally either, nor as a wistful child without a +childhood. + +Perhaps, to him, she had once been all of these. He looked at her with +other eyes now, beginning, possibly, to realise something of the +terrific responsibility he was so lightly assuming. + +He got up from his bench and went over to her; and the girl turned a +trifle pale with excitement and delight. + +"Why did you come to me?" she asked breathlessly. + +"I don't know." + +"Did you know I was trying to make you get up and come to me?" + +"What?" + +"Yes! Isn't it curious? I looked at you and kept thinking, 'I want you +to get up and come to me! I want you to _come_! I _want_ you!' And +suddenly you got up and came!" + +He looked at her out of curious, unsmiling eyes: + +"It's your turn, after all, Dulcie." + +"How is it my turn?" + +"I drew you--in the beginning," he said slowly. + +There was a silence. Then, abruptly, her heart began to beat very +rapidly, scaring her dumb with its riotous behaviour. When at length +her consternation subsided and her irregular breathing became +composed, she said, quite calmly: + +"You and all that you are and believe in and care for very naturally +attracted me--drew me one evening to your open door.... It will always +be the same--you, and what of life and knowledge you represent--will +never fail to draw me." + +"But--though I am just beginning to divine it--you also drew _me_, +Dulcie." + +"How could that be?" + +"You did. You do still. I am just waking up to that fact. And that +starts me wondering what I'd do without you." + +"You don't have to do without me," she said, instinctively laying her +hand over her heart; it was beating so hard and, she feared, so loud. +"You can always have me when you wish. You know that." + +"For a while, yes. But some day, when----" + +"Always!" + +He laughed without knowing why. + +"You'll marry some day, Sweetness," he insisted. + +She shook her head. + +"Oh, yes you will----" + +"No!" + +"Why?" + +But she only looked away and shook her head. And the silent motion of +dissent gave him an odd sense of relief. + + + + +XXIII + +A LION IN THE PATH + + +With the decline of day came enough of a chill to spin a delicate +cobweb of mist across the country and cover forests and hills with a +bluish bloom. + +The sunset had become a splashy crimson affair, perhaps a bit too +theatrical. In the red blaze Thessalie and Westmore came wandering +down from the three pines on the hill, and found Barres on the lawn +scowling at the celestial conflagration in the west, and Dulcie seated +near on the fountain rim, silent, distrait, watching the scarlet +ripples spreading from the plashing central jet. + +"You can't paint a thing like that, Garry," remarked Westmore. Barres +looked around: + +"I don't want to. Where have you been, Thessa?" + +"Under those pines over there. We supposed you'd see us and come up." + +Barres glanced at her with an inscrutable expression; Dulcie's grey +eyes rested on Barres. Thessalie walked over to the reddened pool. + +"It's like a prophecy of blood, that water," she said. "And over there +the world is in flames." + +"The Western World," added Westmore, "I hope it's an omen that we +shall soon catch fire. How long are you going to wait, Garry?" + +Barres started to answer, but checked himself, and glanced across at +Dulcie without knowing exactly why. + +"I don't know," he said irresolutely. "I'm fed up now.... But----" he +continued to look vaguely at Dulcie, as though something of his +uncertainty remotely concerned her. + +"I'm ready to go over when you are," remarked Westmore, placidly +smiling at Thessalie, who immediately presented her pretty profile to +him and settled down on the fountain rim beside Dulcie. + +"Darling," she said, "it's about time to dress. Are you going to wear +that enchanting white affair we discovered at Mandel's?" + +Barres senior came sauntering out of the woods and through the wall +gate, switching a limber rod reflectively. He obligingly opened his +creel and displayed half a dozen long, slim trout. + +"They all took that midge fly I described to you this afternoon," he +said, with the virtuous satisfaction of all prophets. + +Everybody inspected the crimson-flecked fish while Barres senior stood +twirling his monocle. + +"Are we dining at home?" inquired his son. + +"I believe so. There is a guest of honour, if I recollect--some fellow +they're lionising--I don't remember.... And one or two others--the +Gerhardts, I believe." + +"Then we'd better dress, I think," said Thessalie, encircling Dulcie's +waist. + +"Sorry," said Barres senior, "hoped to take you young ladies out on +the second lake and let you try for a big fish this evening." + +He walked across the lawn beside them, switching his rod as +complacently as a pleased cat twitches its tail. + +"We'll try it to-morrow evening," he continued reassuringly, as though +all their most passionate hopes had been bound up in the suggested +sport; "it's rather annoying--I can't remember who's dining with +us--some celebrated Irishman--poet of sorts--literary chap--guest of +the Gerhardts--neighbours, you know. It's a nuisance to bother with +dinner when the trout rise only after sunset." + +"Don't you ever dine willingly, Mr. Barres, while the trout are +rising?" inquired Thessalie, laughing. + +"Never willingly," he replied in a perfectly sincere voice. "I prefer +to remain near the water and have a bit of supper when I return." He +smiled at Thessalie indulgently. "No doubt it amuses you, but I wager +that you and little Miss Soane here will feel exactly as I do after +you've caught your first big trout." + +They entered the house together, followed by Garry and Westmore. + +A dim, ruddy glow still lingered in the quiet rooms; every window +glass was still lighted by the sun's smouldering ashes sinking in the +west; no lamps had yet been lighted on the ground floor. + +"It's the magic hour on the water," Barres senior confided to Dulcie, +"and here I am, doomed to a stiff shirt and table talk. In other +words, nailed!" And he gave her a mysterious, melancholy, but +significant look as though she alone were really fitted to understand +the distressing dilemmas of an angler. + +"Would it be too late to fish after dinner?" ventured Dulcie. "I'd +love to go with you----" + +"Would you, really!" he exclaimed, warmly grateful. "That is the +spirit I admire in a girl! It's human, it's discriminating! And yet, +do you know, nobody except myself in this household seems to care very +much about angling? And, actually, I don't believe there is another +soul in this entire house who would care to miss dinner for the sake +of landing the finest trout in the second lake!--unless you would?" + +"I really would!" said Dulcie, smiling. "Please try me, Mr. Barres." + +"Indeed, I shall! I'll give you one of my pet rods, too! I'll----" + +The rich, metallic murmur of a temple gong broke out in the dim quiet +of the house. It was the dressing bell. + +"We'll talk it over at dinner--if they'll let me sit by you," +whispered Barres senior. And with the smile and the cautionary gesture +of the true conspirator, he went away in the demi-light. + +Thessalie came from the bay window, where she had been with Westmore +and Garry, and she and Dulcie walked away toward the staircase hall, +leisurely followed by the two men who, however, turned again into the +western wing. + + * * * * * + +Dulcie was the first to reappear and descend the stairs of the north +wing--a willowy white shape in the early dusk, slim as a young spirit +in the lamplit silence. + +Nobody else had come down; a maid was turning up a lamp here and +there; the plebeian family cat came out of the shadows from somewhere +and made advances as though divining that this quiet stranger was a +friend to cats. + +So Dulcie stooped to pet her, then wandered on through the place and +finally into the music room, where she seated herself at the piano and +touched the keys softly in the semi-dusk. + +Among the songs--words and music--which her mother had left in +manuscript, was one which she had learned recently,--"Blue Eyes"--and +she played the air now, seated there all alone in the subdued lamp +light. + +Presently people began to appear from above--Mrs. Barres, who motioned +her not to rise, and who seated herself near, watching the girl's +slender fingers moving on the keys; then Lee, who came and stood +beside her, followed in a few moments by Thessalie and the two younger +men. + +"What is that lovely little air you are playing?" inquired Mrs. +Barres. + +"It is called 'Blue Eyes,'" said Dulcie, absently. + +"I have never before heard it." + +The girl looked up: + +"No, my mother wrote it." + +After a silence: + +"It is really exquisite," said Mrs. Barres. "Are there words to it?" + +Some people had come into the entrance hall beyond; there was the low +whirring of an automobile outside. + +"Yes, my mother made some verses for it," replied Dulcie. + +"Will you sing them for me after dinner?" + +"Yes, I shall be happy to." + +Mrs. Barres turned to welcome her new guests, now entering the music +room convoyed by Barres senior, who was arrayed in the dreaded "stiff +shirt" and already indulging in "table talk." + +"They took," he was explaining, "a midge-fly with no hackle--Claire, +here are the Gerhardts and Mr. Skeel!" And while his wife welcomed +them and introductions were effected, he continued explaining the +construction of the midge to anybody who listened. + +At the first mention of Murtagh Skeel's name, the glances of Westmore, +Garry and Thessalie crossed like lightning, then their attention +became riveted on this tall, graceful, romantic looking man of early +middle age, who was being lionised at Northbrook. + +The next moment Garry stepped back beside Dulcie Soane, who had turned +white as a flower and was gazing at Skeel as though she had seen a +ghost. + +"Do you suppose he can be the same man your mother knew?" he +whispered, dropping his arm and taking her trembling hand in a firm +clasp. + +"I don't know.... I seem to feel so.... I can't explain to you how it +pierced my heart--the sound of his name.... Oh, Garry!--suppose it is +true--that he is the man my mother knew--and cared for!" + +Before he could speak, cocktails were served, and Adolf Gerhardt, a +large, bearded, pompous man, engaged him in explosive conversation: + +"Yes, this fellow Corot Mandel is producing a new spectacle-play on my +lawn to-morrow evening. Your family and your guests are invited, of +course. And for the dance, also----" He included Dulcie in a pompous +bow, finished his cocktail with another flourish: + +"You will find my friend Skeel very attractive," he went on. "You know +who he is?--_the_ Murtagh Skeel who writes those Irish poems of the +West Coast--and is not, I believe, very well received in England just +now--a matter of nationalism--patriotism, eh? Why should it surprise +your Britisher, eh?--if a gentleman like Murtagh Skeel displays no +sympathy for England?--if a gentleman like my friend, Sir Roger +Casement, prefers to live in Germany?" + +Garry, under his own roof, said pleasantly: + +"It wouldn't do for us to discuss those things, I fear, Mr. Gerhardt. +And your Irish lion seems to be very gentle and charming. He must be +fascinating to women." + +Gerhardt threw up his hands: + +"Oh, Lord! They would like to eat him! Or be eaten by him! You know? +It is that way always between the handsome poet and the sex. Which +eats which is of no consequence, so long as they merge. Eh?" And his +thunderous laughter set the empty glasses faintly ringing on the +butler's silver tray. + +Garry spoke to Mrs. Gerhardt, a large, pallid, slabby German who might +have been somebody's kitchen maid, but had been born a _von_. + +Later, as dinner was announced, he contrived to speak to Thessalie +aside: + +"Gerhardt," he whispered, "doesn't recognise you, of course." + +"No; I'm not at all apprehensive." + +"Yet, it was on his yacht----" + +"He never even looked twice at me. You know what he thought me to be? +Very well, he had only social ambitions then. I think that's all he +has now. You see what he got with his Red Eagle," nodding calmly +toward Mrs. Gerhardt, who now was being convoyed out by the monocled +martyr in the "stiff shirt." + +The others passed out informally; Lee had slipped her arm around +Dulcie. As Garry and Thessalie turned to follow, he said in a low +voice: + +"You feel quite secure, then, Thessa?" + +She halted, put her lips close to his ear, unnoticed by those ahead: + +"Perfectly. The Gerhardts are what you call fatheads--easily used by +anybody, dangerous to no one, governed by greed alone, without a +knowledge of any honour except the German sort. But that Irish dreamer +over there, _he_ is dangerous! That type always is. He menaces the +success of any enterprise to which his quixotic mind turns, because it +instantly becomes a fixed idea with him--an obsession, a monomania!" + +She took his arm and walked on beside him. + +"I know that fascinating, hot-headed, lovable type of mystic +visionary," she said, "handsome, romantic, illogical, governed +entirely by emotion, not fickle yet never to be depended on; not +faithless, but absolutely irresponsible and utterly ignorant of +fear!... My father was that sort. _Not_ the hunting cheetah Cyril and +Ferez pretended. And it was in _defence_ of a woman that my father +died.... Thank God!" + +"Who told you?" + +"Captain Renoux--the other night." + +"I'm so glad, Thessa!" + +She held her flushed head high and smiled at him. + +"You see," she said, "after all it is in my blood to be decent." + + * * * * * + +The Gerhardts, racially vulgar and socially blunt--for the inherent +vulgarity of the Teutonic peoples is an axiom among the civilised--made +themselves characteristically conspicuous at the flower-laden table; +but it was on Murtagh Skeel that all eyes became ultimately focused to +the limit of good-breeding. He was the lode-star--he was the magnet, +the vanishing point for all curiosity, all surmises, all interest. + +Perfect breeding, perfect unconsciousness of self, were his minted +marks to guarantee the fineness of his metal. He was natural without +effort, winning in voice, in manner, in grace of mind and body, this +fascinating Irishman of letters--a charming listener, a persuasive +speaker, modest, light hearted, delightfully deferential. + +Seated on the right of Mrs. Barres, his smiling hostess very quickly +understood the situation and made it pleasantly plain to everybody +that her guest of honour was not to be privately monopolised. + +So almost immediately all currents of conversation flowed from all +sides toward this dark-eyed, handsome man, and in return the +silver-tongued tide of many currents--the Irish Sea at its sparkling +flood--flowed prettily and spread out from its perennial source +within him, and washed and rippled gently over every separate dinner +plate, so that nobody seemed neglected, and there was jetsam and +beach-combing for all. + +And it was inevitable, presently, that Murtagh Skeel's conversation +should become autobiographical in some degree, and his careless, +candid, persuasive phrases turn into little gemlike memories. For he +came ultimately, of course, to speak of Irish nationalism and what it +meant; of the Celt as he had been and must remain--utterly unchanged, +as long as the last Celt remained alive on earth. + +The subject, naturally, invaded the fairy lore, wild legend and lovely +mysticism of the West Coast; and centred about his own exquisite work +of interpreting it. + +He spoke of it very modestly, as his source of inspiration, as the +inception of his own creative work in that field. But always, through +whatever he said, rang low and clear his passionate patriotism and the +only motive which incited him to creative effort--his longing for +national autonomy and the re-gathering of a scattered people in +preparation for its massed journey toward its Destiny. + +His voice was musical, his words unconscious poetry. Without effort, +without pains, alas!--without logic--he held every ear enthralled +there in the soft candlelight and subdued glimmer of crystal and of +silver. + +His was the magic of shadow and half-lights, of vague nuances and lost +outlines, and the valued degrees of impinging shade. No sharp +contours, no stark, uncompromising shapes, no brutality of raw +daylight, and--alas!--no threat of uncompromising logic invaded his +realm of dreamy demi-lights and faded fantasies. + +He reigned there, amid an enchanted twilight of his own creation, the +embodiment of Irish romance, tender, gay, sweet-minded, persuasive, +gallant--and tragic, when, at some unexpected moment, the frail veil +of melancholy made his dark eyes less brilliant. + +All yielded to his charm--even the stuffed Teutons, gorging gravy; all +felt his sway over mind and heart, nor cared to analyse it, there in +the soft light of candles and the scent of old-fashioned flowers. + +There arose some question concerning Sir Roger Casement. + +Murtagh Skeel spoke of him with the pure enthusiasm of passionate +belief in a master by a humble disciple. And the Teutons grunted +assent. + +The subject of the war had been politely avoided, yet, somehow, it +came out that Murtagh Skeel had served in Britain's army overseas, as +an enlisted man in some Irish regiment--a romantic impulse of the +moment, involving a young man's crazy plan to foment rebellion in +India. Which little gem of a memoire presently made the fact of his +exile self-explanatory. Yet, he contrived that the ugly revelation +should end in laughter--an outbreak of spontaneous mirth through which +his glittering wit passed like lightning, cauterising the running sore +of treason.... + + * * * * * + +Coffee served, the diners drifted whither it suited them, together or +singly. + +Like an errant spirit, Dulcie moved about at hazard amid the softened +lights, engaged here, approached there, pausing, wandering on, nowhere +in particular, yet ever listlessly in motion. + +Encountering her near the porch, Barres senior had paused to +whisper that there was no hope for any fishing that evening; and she +had lingered to smile after him, as, unreconciled, he took his +stiff-shirted way toward the pallid, bejewelled, unanimated mass of +Mrs. Gerhardt, settled in the widest armchair and absorbing cordial. + +A moment later the girl encountered Garry. He remained with her for a +while, evidently desiring to be near her without finding anything in +particular to say. And when he, in turn, moved elsewhere, obeying some +hazy mandate of hospitality, he became conscious of a reluctance to +leave her. + +"Do you know, Sweetness," he said, lingering, "that you wear a +delicate beauty to-night lovelier than I have ever seen in you? You +are not only a wonderful girl, Dulcie; you are growing into an +adorable woman." + +The girl looked back at him, blushing vividly in her sheer +surprise--watched him saunter away out of her silent sphere of +influence before she found any word to utter--if, indeed, she had been +seeking any, so deeply, so painfully sweet had sunk his words into +every fibre of her untried, defenceless youth. + +Now, as her cheeks cooled, and she came to herself and moved again, +there seemed to grow around her a magic and faintly fragrant radiance +through which she passed--whither, she paid no heed, so exquisitely +her breast was thrilling under the hurrying pulses of her little +heart.... And presently found herself on the piano bench, quite +motionless, her gaze remote, her fingers resting on the keys.... And, +after a long while, she heard an old air stealing through the +silence, and her own voice,--_à demi-voix_--repeating her mother's +words: + + I + + "Were they as wise as they are blue-- + My eyes-- + They'd teach me not to trust in you!-- + If they were wise as they are blue. + + But they're as blithe as they are blue-- + My eyes-- + They bid my heart rejoice in you, + Because they're blithe as well as blue. + + Believe and love! my gay heart cries; + Believe him not! my mind replies; + What shall I do + When heart affirms and sense denies + All I reveal within my eyes + To you? + + II + + "If they were black instead of blue-- + My eyes-- + Perhaps they'd prove unkind to you! + If they were black instead of blue. + + But God designed them blithe and blue-- + My eyes-- + Designed them to be kind to you, + And made them tender, gay and true. + + Believe me, love, no maid is wise + When from the windows of her eyes, + Her heart looks through! + Alas! My heart, to its surprise, + Has learned to look; and now it sighs + For you!" + +She became conscious of somebody near, as she ended. She turned and +saw Murtagh Skeel at her elbow--saw his agitated, ashen face--looked +beyond him and discovered other people gathered in the tinted light +beyond, listening; then she lifted her clear, still gaze again to the +white-faced man beside her, and saw his shaken soul staring at her +through the dark windows of _his_ eyes. + +"Where did you learn it?" he asked with a futile effort at that +control so difficult for any Celt to grasp where the heart is +involved. + +"The song I sang? 'Blue Eyes'?" she inquired. + +"Yes--that." + +"I have the manuscript of the composer." + +"Could you tell me where you got it--and--and who wrote those words +you sang?" + +"The manuscript came to me from my mother.... She wrote it.... I think +you knew her." + +His strong, handsome hand dropped on the piano's edge, gripped it; and +under his pale skin the quick blood surged to his temples. + +"What was your--your mother's name, Miss Soane?" + +"She was Eileen Fane." + +The throbbing seconds passed and still they looked into each other's +eyes in silence. And at last: + +"So you did know my mother," she said under her breath; and the hushed +finality of her words set his strong hand trembling. + +"Eileen's little daughter," he repeated. "Eileen Fane's child.... And +grown to womanhood.... Yes, I knew your mother--many years ago.... +When I enlisted and went abroad.... Was it Sir Terence Soane who +married your mother?" + +She shook her head. He stared at her, striving to concentrate, to +think. "There were other Soanes," he muttered, "the Ellet Water +folk--no?----But there were many Soanes among the landed gentry in +the East and North.... I cannot seem to recollect--the sudden +shock--hearing a song unexpectedly----" + +His white forehead had grown damp under the curly hair now clinging to +it. He passed his handkerchief over his brow in a confused way, then +leaned heavily on the piano with both hands grasping it. For the ghost +of his youth was interfering, disputing his control over his own mind, +filling his ear with forgotten words, taking possession of his memory +and tormenting it with the distant echoes of a voice long dead. + +Through the increasing chaos in his brain his strained gaze sought to +fix itself on this living, breathing face before him--the child of +Eileen Fane. + +He made the effort: + +"There were the Soanes of Colross----" But he got no farther that way, +for the twin spectres of his youth and _hers_ were busy with his +senses now; and he leaned more heavily on the piano, enduring with +lowered head the ghostly whirlwind rushing up out of that obscurity +and darkness where once, under summer skies, he had sowed a zephyr. + +The girl had become rather white, too. One slim hand still rested on +the ivory keys, the other lay inert in her lap. And after a while she +raised her grey eyes to this man standing beside her: + +"Did you ever hear of my mother's marriage?" + +He looked at her in a dull way: + +"No." + +"You heard--nothing?" + +"I heard that your mother had left Fane Court." + +"What was Fane Court?" + +Murtagh Skeel stared at her in silence. + +"I don't know," she said, trembling a little. "I know nothing about +my mother. She died when I was a few months old." + +"Do you mean that you don't know who your mother was? You don't know +who she married?" he asked, astounded. + +"No." + +"Good God!" he said, gazing at her. His tense features were working +now; the battle for self-control was visible to her, and she sat there +dumbly, looking on at the mute conflict which suddenly sent the tears +flashing into his dark eyes and left his sensitive mouth twitching. + +"I shall not ask you anything now," he said unsteadily; "I shall have +to see you somewhere else--where there are no people--to interrupt.... +But I shall tell you all I know about--your mother.... I was in +trouble--in India. Somehow or other I heard indirectly that your +mother had left Fane Court. Later it was understood that she had +eloped.... Nobody could tell me the man's name.... My people in +Ireland did not know.... And I was not on good terms with your +grandfather. So there was no hope of information from Fane Court.... I +wrote, indeed, begging, beseeching for news of your mother. Sir +Barry--your grandfather--returned my letters unopened.... And that is +all I have ever heard concerning Eileen Fane--your mother--with whom +I--fell in love--nearly twenty years ago." + +Dulcie, marble pale, nodded. + +"I knew you cared for my mother," she said. + +"How did you learn it?" + +"Some letters of hers written to you. Letters from you to her. I have +nothing else of hers except some verses and little songs--like the one +you recognised." + +"Child, she wrote it as I sat beside her!----" His voice choked, +broke, and his lips quivered as he fought for self-control again.... +"I was not welcome at Fane Court.... Sir Barry would not tolerate +me.... Your mother was more kind.... She was very young. And so was I, +Dulcie.... There were political troubles. I was always involved. God +knows which was the stronger passion--it must have been love of +country--the other seeming hopeless--with the folk at Fane Court my +bitter enemies--only excepting your mother.... So I went away.... And +which of the Soanes your mother eloped with I have never learned.... +Now, tell me--for you surely know that much." + +She said: + +"There is a man called Soane who tells me sometimes that he was once a +gamekeeper at what he calls 'the big house.' I have always supposed +him to be my father until within the last year. But recently, when he +has been drinking heavily, he sometimes tells me that my name is not +Soane but Fane.... Did you ever know of such a man?" + +"No. There were gamekeepers about.... No. I cannot recall--and it is +impossible! A gamekeeper! And your _mother_! The man is mad! What in +God's name does all this mean!----" + +He began to tremble, and his white forehead under the clustering curls +grew damp and pinched again. + +"If you are Eileen's daughter----" But his face went dead white and he +got no further. + +People were approaching from behind them, too; voices grew distinct in +conversation; somebody turned up another lamp. + +"Do sing that little song again--the one you sang for Mr. Skeel," said +Lee Barres, coming up to the piano on her brother's arm. "Mrs. +Gerhardt has been waiting very patiently for an opportunity to ask +you." + + + + +XXIV + +A SILENT HOUSE + + +The guests from Hohenlinden had departed from Foreland Farms; the +family had retired. Outside, under a sparkling galaxy of summer stars, +tall trees stood unstirring; indoors nothing stirred except the family +cat, darkly prowling on velvet-shod feet in eternal search of those +viewless things which are manifest only to the feline race--sorcerers +all, whether quadruped or human. + +In various bedrooms upstairs lights went out, one after another, until +only two windows remained illuminated, one in the west wing, one in +the north. + +For Dulcie, in her negligée and night robe, still sat by the open +window, chin resting on palm, her haunted gaze remotely lost somewhere +beyond the July stars. + +And, in his room, Garry had arrived only as far as removing coat and +waistcoat in the process of disrobing for the night. For his mind was +still deeply preoccupied with Dulcie Soane and with the strange +expression of her face at the piano--and with the profoundly altered +visage of Murtagh Skeel. + +And he was asking himself what could have happened between those two +in such a few minutes there at the piano in the music-room. For it was +evident to him that Skeel was labouring under poorly controlled +emotion, was dazed by it, and was recovering self-possession only by a +mighty effort. + +And when Skeel had finally taken his leave and had gone away with the +Gerhardts, he suddenly stopped on the porch, returned to the +music-room, and, bending down, had kissed Dulcie's hand with a grace +and reverence which made the salute more of a serious ceremony than +the impulsive homage of a romantic poet's whim. + +Considered by itself, the abrupt return and quaintly perfect salute +might have been taken as a spontaneous effervescence of that +delightful Celtic gallantry so easily stirred to ebullition by youth +and beauty. And for that it was accepted by the others after Murtagh +Skeel was gone; and everybody ventured to chaff Dulcie a little about +her conquest--merely the gentle humour of gentlefolk--a harmless word +or two, a smile in sympathy. + +Garry alone saw in the girl's smile no genuine response to the light +badinage, and he knew that her serenity was troubled, her careless +composure forced. + +Later, he contrived to say good-night to her alone, and gave her a +chance to speak; but she only murmured her adieux and went slowly away +up the stairs with Thessalie, not looking back. + + * * * * * + +Now, sitting there in his dressing-gown, briar pipe alight, he frowned +and pondered over the matter in the light of what he already knew of +Dulcie, of the dead mother who bore her, of the grotesquely impossible +Soane, of this man, Murtagh Skeel. + +What had he and Dulcie found in common to converse about so earnestly +and so long there in the music-room? What had they talked about to +drive the colour from Dulcie's cheeks and alter Skeel's countenance so +that he had looked more like his own wraith than his living self? + +That Dulcie's mother had known this man, had once, evidently, been in +love with him more or less, doubtless was revealed in their +conversation at the piano. Had Skeel enlightened Dulcie any further? +And on what subject? Soane? Her mother? Her origin--in case the child +had admitted ignorance of it? Was Dulcie, now, in possession of new +facts concerning herself? Were they agreeable facts? Were they +depressing? Had she learned anything definite in regard to her birth? +Her parentage? Did she know, now, who was her real father? Was the +obvious absurdity of Soane finally exploded? Had she learned what the +drunken Soane meant by asserting that her name was not Soane but +Fane? + +His pipe burned out and he laid it aside, but did not rise to resume +his preparation for bed. + +Then, somewhere from the unlighted depths of the house came the sound +of the telephone bell--at that hour of night always a slightly ominous +sound. + +He got up and went down stairs, not troubling to switch on any light, +for the lustre of the starry night outside silvered every window and +made it possible for him to see his way. + +At the clamouring telephone, finally, he unhooked the receiver: + +"Hello?" he said. "Yes! Yes! Oh, is that _you_, Renoux? Where on earth +are you?... At Northbrook?... Where?... At the Summit House? Well, why +didn't you come here to us?... Oh!... No, it isn't very late. We +retire early at Foreland.... Oh, yes, I'm dressed.... Certainly.... +Yes, come over.... Yes!... _Yes_!... I'll wait for you in the +library.... In an hour?... You bet. No, I'm not sleepy.... Sure +thing!... Come on!" + +He hung up the receiver, turned, and made his way through the dusk +toward the library which was opposite the music-room across the big +entrance hall. + +Before he turned on any light he paused to look out at the splendour +of the stars. The night had grown warmer; there was no haze, now, only +an argentine clarity in which shadowy trees stood mysterious and +motionless and the dim lawn stretched away to the distant avenue and +wall, lost against their looming border foliage. + +Once he thought he heard a slight sound somewhere in the house behind +him, but presently remembered that the family cat held sway among the +mice at such an hour. + +A little later he turned from the window to light a lamp, and found +himself facing a slim, white figure in the starry dusk. + +"Dulcie!" he exclaimed under his breath. + +"I want to talk to you." + +"Why on earth are you wandering about at this hour?" he asked. "You +made me jump, I can tell you." + +"I was awake--not in bed yet. I heard the telephone. Then I went out +into the west corridor and saw you going down stairs.... Is it all +right for me to sit here in my night dress with you?" + +He smiled: + +"Well, considering----" + +"Of course!" she said hastily, "only I didn't know whether outside +your studio----" + +"Oh, Dulcie, you're becoming self-conscious! Stop it, Sweetness. Don't +spoil things. Here--tuck yourself into this big armchair!--curl up! +There you are. And here I am----" dropping into another wide, deep +chair. "Lord! but you're a pretty thing, Dulcie, with your hair down +and all glimmering with starlight! We'll try painting you that way +some day--I wouldn't know how to go about it offhand, either. Maybe a +screened arc-lamp in a dark partition, and a peep-hole--I don't +know----" + +He lay back in his chair, studying her, and she watched him in silence +for a while. Presently she sighed, stirred, placed her feet on the +floor as though preparing to rise. And he came out of his impersonal +abstraction: + +"What is it you want to say, Sweetness?" + +"Another time," she murmured. "I don't----" + +"You dear child, you came to me needing the intimacy of our +comradeship--perhaps its sympathy. My mind was wandering--you are so +lovely in the starlight. But you ought to know where my heart is." + +"Is it open--a little?" + +"Knock and see, Sweetness." + +"Well, then, I came to ask you--Mr. Skeel is coming to-morrow--to see +me--alone. Could it be contrived--without offending?" + +"I suppose it could.... Yes, of course.... Only it will be conspicuous. +You see, Mr. Skeel is much sought after in certain circles--beginning to +be pursued and----" + +"He asked me." + +"Dear, it's quite all right----" + +"Let me tell you, please.... He _did_ know my mother." + +"I supposed so." + +"Yes. He was the man. I want you to know what he told me.... I always +wish you to know everything that is in my--mind--always, for ever." + +She leaned forward in her chair, her pretty, bare feet extended. One +silken sleeve of her negligée had fallen to the shoulder, revealing +the perfect symmetry of her arm. But he put from his mind the ever +latent artistic delight in her, closed his painter's eye to her +protean possibilities, and resolutely concentrated his mental forces +upon what she was now saying: + +"He turns out to be the same man my mother wrote to--and who wrote to +her.... They were in love, then. He didn't say why he went away, +except that my mother's family disliked him.... She lived at a house +called Fane Court.... He spoke of my mother's father as Sir Barry +Fane...." + +"That doesn't surprise me, Sweetness." + +"Did _you_ know?" + +"Nothing definite." He looked at the lovely, slender-limbed girl there +in the starry dusk. "I knew nothing definite," he repeated, "but there +was no mistaking the metal from which you had been made--or the mould, +either. And as for Soane----" he smiled. + +She said: + +"If my name is really Fane, there can be only one conclusion; some +kinsman of that name must have married my mother." + +He said: + +"Of course," very gravely. + +"Then who was he? My mother never mentioned him in her letters. What +became of him? He must have been my father. Is he living?" + +"Did you ask Mr. Skeel?" + +"Yes. He seemed too deeply affected to answer me. He must have loved +my mother very dearly to show such emotion before me." + +"What did you ask him, Dulcie?" + +"After we left the piano?" + +"Yes." + +"I asked him that. I had only a few more moments alone with him before +he left. I asked him about my mother--to tell me how she looked--so I +could think of her more clearly. He has a picture of her on ivory. He +is to bring it to me and tell me more about her. That is why I must +see him to-morrow--so I may ask him again about my father." + +"Yes, dear...." He sat very silent for a while, then rose, came over, +and seated himself on the padded arm of Dulcie's chair, and took both +her hands into his: + +"Listen, Sweetness. You are what you are to me--my dear comrade, my +faithful partner sharing our pretty partnership in art; and, more than +these, Dulcie, you are my friend.... Never doubt that. Never forget +it. Nothing can alter it--nothing you learn about your origin can +exalt that friendship.... Nothing lessen it. Do you understand? +_Nothing_ can _lessen_ it, save only if you prove untrue to what you +are--your real self." + +She had rested her cheek against his arm while he was speaking. It lay +there now, pressed closer. + +"As for Murtagh Skeel," he said, "he is a charming, cultivated, +fascinating man. But if he attempts to carry out his agitator's +schemes and his revolutionary propaganda in this country, he is headed +for most serious trouble." + +"Why does he?" + +"Don't ask me why men of his education and character do such things. +They do; that's all I know. Sir Roger Casement is another man not +unlike Skeel. There are many, hot-hearted, generous, brave, +irrational. There is no use blaming them--no justice in it, either. +The history of British rule in Ireland is a matter of record. + +"But, Dulcie, he who strikes at England to-day strikes at civilisation, +at liberty, at God! This is no time to settle old grievances. And to +attempt to do it by violence, by propaganda--to attempt a reckoning of +ancient wrongs in any way, to-day, is a crime--the crime of treachery +against Christ's teachings--of treason against Lord Christ Himself!" + +After a long interval: + +"You are going to this war quite soon. Mr. Westmore said so." + +"I am going--with my country or without it." + +"When?" + +"When I finally lose patience and self-respect.... I don't know +exactly when, but it will be pretty soon." + +"Could I go with you?" + +"Do you wish to?" + +She pressed her cheek against his arm in silence. + +He said: + +"That has troubled me a lot, Dulcie. Of course you could stay here; I +can arrange--I had come to a conclusion in regard to financial +matters----" + +"I can't," she whispered. + +"Can't what?" + +"Stay here--take anything from you--accept without service in +return." + +"What would you do?" + +"I wouldn't care--if you--leave me here alone." + +"But, Dulcie----" + +"I know. You said it this evening. There will come a time when you +would not find it convenient to have me--around----" + +"Dear, it's only because a man and a woman in this world cannot +continue anything of enduring intimacy without business as an excuse. +And even then, the pleasant informality existing now could not be +continued with anything except very serious disadvantage to you." + +"You will grow tired of painting me," she said under her breath. + +"No. But your life is all before you, Dulcie. Girls usually marry +sooner or later." + +"Men do too." + +"That's not what I meant----" + +"You will marry," she whispered. + +Again, at her words, the same odd uneasiness began to possess him as +though something obscure, unformulated as yet, must some day be +cleared up by him and decided. + +"Don't leave me--yet," she said. + +"I couldn't take you with me to France." + +"Let me enlist for service. Could you be patient for a few months so +that I might learn something--anything!--I don't care what, if only I +can go with you? Don't they require women to scrub and do unpleasant +things--humble, unclean, necessary things?" + +"You couldn't--with your slender youth and delicate beauty----" + +"Oh," she whispered, "you don't know what I could do to be near you! +That is all I want--all I want in the world!--just to be somewhere not +too far away. I couldn't stand it, now, if you left me.... I couldn't +live----" + +"Dulcie!" + +But, suddenly, it was a hot-faced, passionate, sobbing child who was +clinging desperately to his arm and staunching her tears against +it--saying nothing more, merely clinging close with quivering lips. + +"Listen," he said impulsively. "I'll give you time. If there's +anything you can learn that will admit you to France, come back to +town with me and learn it.... Because I don't want to leave you, +either.... There ought to be some way--some way----" He checked +himself abruptly, stared at the bowed head under its torrent of +splendid hair--at the desperate white little hands holding so fast to +his sleeve, at the slender body gathered there in the deep chair, and +all aquiver now. + +"We'll go--together," he said unsteadily.... "I'll do what I can; I +promise.... You must go upstairs to bed, now.... Dulcie!... dear +girl...." + +She released his arm, tried to get up from her chair obediently, +blinded by tears and groping in the starlight. + +"Let me guide you----" His voice was strained, his touch feverish and +unsteady, and the convulsive closing of her fingers over his seemed to +burn to his very bones. + +At the stairs she tried to speak, thanking him, asking pardon for her +tears, her loss of self-command, penitent, afraid that she had lowered +herself, strained his friendship--troubled him---- + +"No. I--_want_ you," he said in an odd, indistinct, hesitating voice.... +"Things must be cleared up--matters concerning us--affairs----" he +muttered. + +She closed her eyes a moment and rested both hands on the banisters as +though fatigued, then she looked down at him where he stood watching +her: + +"If you had rather go without me--if it is better for you--less +troublesome----" + +"I've told you," he said in a dull voice, "I want you. You must fit +yourself to go." + +"You are so kind to me--so wonderful----" + +He merely stared at her; she turned almost wearily to resume her +ascent. + +"Dulcie!" + +She had reached the landing above. She bent over, looking down at him +in the dusk. + +"Did you understand?" + +"I--yes, I think so." + +"That I _want_ you?" + +"Yes." + +"It is true. I want you always. I'm just beginning to understand that +myself. Please don't ever forget what I say to you now, Dulcie; I want +you. I shall always want you. Always! As long as I live." + +She leaned heavily on the newel-post above, looking down. + +He could not see that her eyes were closed, that her lips moved in +voiceless answer. She was only a vague white shape there in the dusk +above him--a mystery which seemed to have been suddenly born out of +some poignant confusion of his own mind. + +He saw her turn, fade into the darkness. And he stood there, not +moving, aware of the chaos within him, of shapeless questions being +evolved out of this profound disturbance--of an inner consciousness +groping with these questions--questions involving other questions and +menacing him with the necessity of decision. + +After a while, too, he became conscious of his own voice sounding +there in the darkness: + +"I am very near to love.... I have been close to it.... It would be +very easy to fall in love to-night.... But I am wondering--about +to-morrow.... And afterward.... But I have been very near--very near +to love, to-night...." + +The front doorbell rang through the darkness. + + + + +XXV + +STARLIGHT + + +When Barres opened the front door he saw Renoux standing there in the +shadow of the porch, silhouetted against the starlight. They exchanged +a silent grip; Renoux stepped inside; Barres closed the front door. + +"Shall I light up?" he asked in a low voice. + +"No. There are complications. I've been followed, I think. Take me +somewhere near a window which commands the driveway out there. I'd +like to keep my eye on it while we are talking." + +"Come on," said Barres, under his breath. He guided Renoux through the +shadowy entrance hall to the library, moved two padded armchairs to +the window facing the main drive, motioned Renoux to seat himself. + +"When did you arrive?" he asked in a cautious voice. + +"This morning." + +"What! You got here before we did!" + +"Yes. I followed Souchez and Alost. Do you know who _they_ were +following?" + +"No." + +"One of your guests at dinner this evening." + +"Skeel!" + +Renoux nodded: + +"Yes. You saw them start for the train. Skeel was on the train. But +the conference at your studio delayed me. So I came up by automobile +last night." + +"And you've been here all day?" + +Renoux nodded, but his keen eyes were fixed on the drive, shining +silver-grey in the starlight. And his gaze continually reverted to it +while he continued speaking: + +"My friend, things are happening. Let me first tell you what is the +situation. Over this entire hemisphere German spies are busy, German +intrigue and propaganda are being accelerated, treason is spreading +from a thousand foci of infection. + +"In South America matters are very serious. A revolution is being +planned by the half million Germans in Brazil; the neutrality of +Argentine is being most grossly violated and Count Luxburg, the boche +Ambassador, is already tampering with Chile and other Southern +Republics. + +"Of course, the Mexican trouble is due to German intrigue which is +trying desperately to involve that Republic and yours and also drag in +Japan. + +"In Honolulu the German cruiser which your Government has interned is +sending out wireless information while her band plays to drown the +crackle of the instrument. + +"And from the Golden Gate to the Delaware capes, and from the Soo to +the Gulf, the spies of Germany swarm in your great Republic, planning +your destruction in anticipation of the war which will surely come." + +Barres reddened in the darkness and his heart beat more rapidly: + +"You think it really will come?" + +"War with Germany? My friend, I am certain of it. Your Government +may not be certain. It is, if you permit a foreigner to say +so--an--unusual Administration.... In this way, for example: it is +cognisant of almost everything treasonable that is happening; it +maintains agents in close contact with every mischief-hatching +German diplomat in this hemisphere; it even has agents in the German +Embassies--agents unsuspected, who daily rub elbows with German +Ambassadors themselves! + +"It knows what Luxburg is doing; it is informed every day concerning +Bernstorff's dirty activities; the details of the Mexican and Japanese +affairs are familiar to Mr. Lansing; all that happens aboard the +_Geier_, the interned German liners--all that occurs in German +consulates, commercial offices, business houses, clubs, cafés, +saloons, is no secret to your Government. + +"Yet, nothing has been done, nothing is being done except to continue +to collect data of the most monstrous and stupendous conspiracy that +ever threatened a free nation! I repeat that nothing is being done; no +preparation is being made to face the hurricane which has been looming +for two years and more, growing ever blacker over your horizon. All +the world can see the lightning playing behind those storm clouds. + +"And, my God!--not an umbrella! Not an order for overshoes and +raincoats!... I am not, perhaps, in error when I suggest that the +Administration is an--unusual one." + +Barres nodded slowly. + +Renoux said: + +"I am sorry. The reckoning will be heavy." + +"I know." + +"Yes, you know. Your great politician, Mr. Roosevelt, knows; your +great Admiral, Mahan, knew; your great General, Wood, knows. Also, +perhaps some million or more sane, clear thinking American citizens +know." He made a hopeless gesture. "It is a pity, Barres, my +friend.... Well--it is, of course, the affair of your people to +decide.... We French can only wait.... But we have never doubted your +ultimate decision.... Lafayette did not live in vain. Yorktown was not +merely a battle. Your Washington lighted a torch for your people and +for ours to hold aloft eternally. Even the rain of blood drenching our +Revolution could not extinguish it. It still burned at Gravelotte, at +Metz, at Sedan. It burned above the smoke and dust of the Commune. It +burned at the Marne. It still burns, mon ami." + +"Yes." + +"Alors----" He sat silent for a few moments, his gaze intent on the +starry obscurity outdoors. Then, slow and pleasantly: + +"The particular mess, the cooking of which interests my Government, +the English Government, and yours, is now on the point of boiling +over. It's this Irish stew I speak of. Poor devils--they must be +crazy, every one of them, to do what they are already beginning to +do.... You remember the papers which you secured?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, what we did last night at Grogan's has prematurely dumped the +fat into the fire. They know they've been robbed; they know that their +plans are in our hands. Do you suppose that stops them? No! On the +contrary, they are at this very moment attempting, as you say in New +York, to beat us to it." + +"How do you mean?" + +"This way: the signal for an Irish attempt on Canada is to be the +destruction of the Welland Canal. You remember the German suggestion +that an ore steamer be seized? They're going to try it. And if that +fails, they're to take their power boat into the canal anyway and blow +up a lock, even if they blow up themselves with it. Did you ever hear +of such madness? Mon dieu, if only we had those men under your flag +on our western front!" + +"Do you know who these men are?" asked Barres. + +"Your dinner guest--Murtagh Skeel--leads this company of Death." + +"When?" + +"Now! To-morrow! That's why I'm here! That's why your Secret Service +men are arriving. I tell you the mess is on the point of boiling over. +The crew is already on its way to take over the launch. They're +travelling west singly, by separate trains and routes." + +"Do you know who they are--these madmen?" + +"Here is the list--don't strike a light! I can recall their names, I +think--some of them anyway----" + +"Are any of them Germans?" + +"Not one. Your German doesn't blow himself up with anything but beer. +Not he! No; he lights a fuse and legs it! I don't say he's a coward. +But self-immolation for abstract principle isn't in him. There have +been instances resembling it at sea--probably not genuine--not like +that poor sergeant of ours in 1870, who went into the citadel at Laon +and shoved a torch into the bin of loose powder under the magazine.... +Because the city had surrendered. And Paris was not many miles +away.... So he blew himself up with citadel, magazine, all the +Prussians in the neighbourhood, and most of the town.... Well--these +Irish are planning something of that sort on the Welland Canal.... +Murtagh Skeel leads them. The others I remember are Madigan, Cassidy, +Dolan, McBride--and that fellow Soane!----" + +"Is _he_ one of them?" + +"He surely is. He went west on the same train that brought Skeel here. +And now I'll tell you what has been done and why I'm here. + +"We haven't located the power-boat on the lake. But the Canadians are +watching for it and your agents are following these Irishmen. When the +crew assembles they are to be arrested and their power-boat and +explosives seized. + +"I and my men have no official standing here, of course--would not be +tolerated in any co-operation, _officially_. But we have a certain +understanding with certain authorities." + +Barres nodded. + +"You see? Very well. Then, with delicacy and discretion, we keep in +touch with Mr. Skeel.... And with other people.... You see?... He is +abed in the large house of Mr. Gerhardt over yonder at Northbrook.... +Under surveillance.... He moves? We move--very discreetly. You see?" + +"Certainly." + +"Very well, then. But I am obliged to tell you, also, that the hunting +is not done entirely by our side. No! In turn, I and my men, and also +your agents, are being hunted by German agents.... It is that which +annoys and hampers us, because these German agents continually dog us +and give the alarm to these Irishmen. You see?" + +"Who are the German agents? Do you know?" + +"Very well indeed. Bernstorff is the head; Von Papen and Boy-ed come +next. Under them serve certain so-called 'Diplomatic Agents of Class +No. 1'--Adolf Gerhardt is one of them; his partners, Otto Klein and +Joseph Schwartzmeyer are two others. + +"They, in turn, have under them diplomatic agents of the second +class--men such as Ferez Bey, Franz Lehr, called _K17_. You see? Then, +lower still in the scale, come the spies who actually investigate +under orders; men like Dave Sendelbeck, Johnny Klein, Louis +Hochstein, Max Freund. And, then, lowest of all in rank are the rank +and file--the secret 'shock-troops' who carry out desperate +enterprises under some leader. Among the Germans these are the men who +sneak about setting fires, lighting the fuses of bombs, scuttling +ships, defacing Government placards, poisoning Red Cross bandages to +be sent to the Allies--that sort. But among them are no battalions of +Death. _Non pas!_ And, for that, you see, they use these Irish. You +understand now?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"Well, then! I trust you absolutely, Barres. And so I came over to ask +you--and your clever friends, Mademoiselle Dunois, Miss Soane, Mr. +Westmore, to keep their eyes on this man Skeel to-morrow afternoon and +also to-morrow evening. Because they will be guests at the Gerhardts'. +Is it not so?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, your Government's agents will be there. They will also be in +the neighbourhood, watching roads and railway stations. I have one man +in service with the Gerhardts--their head chauffeur. If anything +happens--if Skeel tries to slip away--if you miss him--I would be very +grateful if you and your friends notify the head chauffeur, Menard." + +"We'll try to do it." + +"That's all I want. Just get word to Menard that Skeel seems to be +missing. That will be sufficient. Will you say this to your friends?" + +"Yes, I will, Renoux. I'll be glad to. I'll be particularly happy to +offer to Miss Dunois this proof of your confidence in her integrity." + +Renoux looked very grave. + +"For me," he said, "Miss Dunois is what she pretends to be. I +have so informed my Government at home and its representatives at +Washington." + +"Have you heard anything yet?" + +"Yes, a telegram in cipher from Washington late this afternoon." + +"Favourable to her?" + +"Yes. Our Ambassador is taking up immediately the clues Miss Dunois +furnished me last night. Also, he has cabled at length to my home +Government. At this hour, no doubt, d'Eblis, Bolo, probably an +ex-minister or two, are being watched. And in this country your +Government is now in possession of facts which must suggest a very +close surveillance of the activities of Ferez Bey." + +"Where is he?" + +Renoux shook his head: + +"He _was_ in New York. But he gave us the slip. An eel!" he added, +rising. "Oh, we shall pick up his slimy traces again in time. But it +is mortifying.... Well, thank you, mon ami. I must go." And he started +toward the hall. + +"Have you a car anywhere?" asked Barres. + +"Yes, up the road a bit." He glanced through the sidelight of the +front door, carelessly. "A couple of men out yonder dodging about. +Have you noticed them, Barres?" + +"No! Where?" + +"They're out there in the shadow of your wall. I imagined that I'd be +followed." He smiled and opened the front door. + +"Wait!" whispered Barres. "You are not going out there alone, are +you?" + +"Certainly. There's no danger." + +"Well, I don't like it, Renoux. I'll walk as far as your car----" + +"Don't trouble! I have no personal apprehension----" + +"All the same," muttered the other, continuing on down the front steps +beside his comrade. + +Renoux shrugged good-humouredly his disapproval of such precaution, +but made no further protest. Nobody was visible anywhere on the +grounds. The big iron gates were still locked, but the wicket was +open. Through this they stepped out onto the macadam. + +A little farther along stood a touring car with two men in it. + +"You see?" began Renoux--when his words were cut by the crack of a +pistol, and the red tail-light of the car crashed into splinters and +went dark. + +"Well, by God!" remarked Renoux calmly, looking at the woods across +the road and leisurely producing an automatic pistol. + +Then, from deeper in the thicket, two bright flames stabbed the +darkness and the crash of the shots re-echoed among the trees. + +Both men in the touring car instantly turned loose their pistols; +Renoux said, in a voice at once perplexed and amused: + +"Go home, Barres. I don't want people to know you are out here.... +I'll see you again soon." + +"Isn't there anything----" + +"Nothing. Please--you would oblige me by keeping clear of this if you +really desire to help me." + +There were no more shots. Renoux stepped leisurely into the tonneau. + +"Well, what the devil do you gentlemen make of this?" Barres heard him +say in his cool, humorous voice. "It really looks as though the boches +were getting nervous." + +The car started. Barres could see Renoux and another man sitting with +pistols levelled as the car glided along the fringe of woods. But +there were no more shots on either side, and, after the car had +disappeared, Barres turned and retraced his way. + +Then, as he entered his own gate by the side wicket, and turned to +lock it with his own key, an electric torch flashed in his face, +blinding him. + +"Let him have it!" muttered somebody behind the dazzling light. + +"That's not one of them!" said another voice distinctly. "Look out +what you're doing! Douse your glim!" + +Instantly the fierce glare faded to a cinder. Barres heard running +feet on the macadam, the crash of shrubbery opposite. But he could see +nobody; and presently the footsteps in the woods were no longer +audible. + +There seemed to be nothing for him to do in the matter. He lingered by +the wicket for a while, peering into the night, listening. He saw +nothing; heard nothing more that night. + + + + +XXVI + +'BE-N EIRINN I! + + +Barres senior rose with the sun. Also with determination, which took +the form of a note slipped under his wife's door as he was leaving the +house: + + "DARLING: + + "I lost last night's fishing and I'm hanged if I lose it to-night! + So don't ask me to fritter away a perfectly good evening at the + Gerhardt's party, because the sun is up; I'm off to the woods; and + I shall remain there until the last trout breaks. + + "Tell the little Soane girl that I left a rod for her in the + work-room, if she cares to join me at the second lake. Garry can + bring her over and leave her if he doesn't wish to fish. Don't + send a man over with a lot of food and shawls. I've a creel full + of provisions, and I am sufficiently clad, and I hate to be + disturbed and I am never grateful to people who try to be good to + me. However, I love you very dearly. + + "Your husband, + + "REGINALD BARRES." + +At half past seven trays were sent to Mrs. Barres and to Lee; and at +eight-thirty they were in the saddle and their horses fetlock deep in +morning dew. + +Dulcie, sipping her chocolate in bed, marked their departure with +sleepy eyes. For the emotions of the night before had told on her, and +when a maid came to remove the tray she settled down among her +pillows again, blinking unresponsively at the invitation of the sun, +which cast over her a fairy net of gold. + +Thessalie, in negligée, came in later and sat down on the edge of her +bed. + +"You sleepy little thing," she said, "the men have breakfasted and are +waiting for us on the tennis court." + +"I don't know how to play," said Dulcie. "I don't know how to do +anything." + +"You soon will, if you get up, you sweet little lazy-bones!" + +"Do you think I'll ever learn to play tennis and golf and to ride?" +inquired Dulcie. "You know how to do everything so well, Thessa." + +"Dear child, it's all locked up in you--the ability to do everything--be +anything! The only difference between us is that I had the chance to +try." + +"But I can't even stand on my head," said Dulcie wistfully. + +"Did you ever try?" + +"N-no." + +"It's easy. Do you want to see me do it?" + +"Oh, please, Thessa!" + +So Thessalie, calmly smiling, rose, cast herself lightly upon her +hands, straightened her lithe figure leisurely, until, amid a cataract +of tumbling silk and chiffon, her rose silk slippers pointed toward +the ceiling. Then, always with graceful deliberation, she brought her +feet to the floor, forming an arc with her body; held it a moment, and +slowly rose upright, her flushed face half-buried in her loosened +hair. + +Dulcie, in raptures, climbed out of bed and insisted on immediate +instruction. Down on the tennis court, Garry and Westmore heard their +peals of laughter and came across the lawn under the window to +remonstrate. + +"Aren't you ever going to get dressed!" called up Westmore. "If you're +going to play doubles with us you'd better get busy, because it's +going to be a hot day!" + +So Thessalie went away to dress and Dulcie tiptoed into her bath, +which the maid had already drawn. + +But it was an hour before they appeared on the lawn, cool and fresh in +their white skirts and shoes, and found Westmore and Barres, red and +drenched, hammering each other across the net in their second furious +set. + +So Dulcie took her first lesson under Garry's auspices; and she took +to it naturally, her instinct being sound, but her technique as +charmingly awkward as a young bird's in its first essay at flying. + +To see her all in white, with sleeves tucked up, throat bare, and the +sun brilliant on her ruddy, rippling hair, produced a curious +impression on Barres. As far as the East is from the West, so far was +this Dulcie of the tennis court separated from the wistful, shabby +child behind the desk at Dragon Court. + +Could they possibly be the same--this lithe, fresh, laughing girl, +with white feet flashing and snowy skirts awhirl?--and the pale, +grey-eyed slip of a thing that had come one day to his threshold with +a faltering request for admittance to that wonderland wherein dwelt +only such as he? + +Now, those grey eyes had turned violet, tinged with the beauty of the +open sky; the loosened hair had become a net entangling the very +sunlight; and the frail body, now but one smooth, soft symmetry, +seemed fairly lustrous with the shining soul it masked within it. + + * * * * * + +She came over to the net, breathless, laughing, to shake hands with +her victorious opponents. + +"I'm so sorry, Garry," she said, turning penitently to him, "but I +need such a lot of help in the world before I'm worth anything to +anybody." + +"You're all right as you are. You always have been all right," he said +in a low voice. "You never were worth less than you are worth now; +you'll never be worth more than you are worth to me at this moment." + +They were walking slowly across the lawn toward the northern veranda. +She halted a moment on the grass and cast a questioning glance at +him: + +"Doesn't it please you to have me learn things?" + +"You always please me." + +"I'm so glad.... I try.... But don't you think you'd like me better if +I were not so ignorant?" + +He looked at her absently, shook his head: + +"No ... I couldn't like you better.... I couldn't care more--for any +girl--than I care for you.... Did you suspect that, Dulcie?" + +"No." + +"Well, it's true." + +They moved slowly forward across the grass--he distrait, his handsome +head lowered, swinging his tennis-bat as he walked; she very still and +lithe and slender, moving beside him with lowered eyes fixed on their +mingled shadows on the grass. + +"When are you to see Mr. Skeel?" he asked abruptly. + +"This afternoon.... He asked if he might hope to find me alone.... I +didn't know exactly what to say. So I told him about the rose +arbour.... He said he would pay his respects to your mother and sister +and then ask their permission to see me there alone." + +They came to the veranda; Dulcie seated herself on the steps and he +remained standing on the grass in front of her. + +"Remember," he said quietly, "that I can never care less for you than +I do at this moment.... Don't forget what I say, Dulcie." + +She looked up at him, happy, wondering, even perhaps a little +apprehensive in her uncertainty as to his meaning. + +He did not seem to care to enlighten her further. His mood changed, +too, even as she looked at him, and she saw the troubled gravity fade +and the old gaiety glimmering in his eyes: + +"I've a mind to put you on a horse, Sweetness, and see what happens," +he remarked. + +"Oh, Garry! I don't want to tumble off before _you_!" + +"Before whom had you rather land on that red head of yours?" he +inquired. "I'd be more sympathetic than many." + +"I'd rather have Thessa watch me break my neck. Do you mind? It's +horrid to be so sensitive, I suppose. But, Garry, I couldn't bear to +have you see me so shamefully awkward and demoralised." + +"Fancy your being awkward! Well, all right----" + +He looked across the lawn, where Thessalie and Westmore sat together, +just outside the tennis court, under a brilliant lawn umbrella. + +Oddly enough, the spectacle caused him no subtle pang, although their +heads were pretty close together and their mutual absorption in +whatever they were saying appeared evident enough. + +"Let 'em chatter," he said after an instant's hesitation. "Thessa or +my sister can ride with you this afternoon when it's cooler. I suppose +you'll take to the saddle as though born there." + +"Oh, I hope so!" + +"Sure thing. All Irish girls--of your quality--take to it." + +"My--quality?" + +"Yours.... It's merely happened so," he added irrelevantly, "--but the +contrary couldn't have mattered ... as long as you are _you_! Nothing +else matters one way or another. You _are_ you: that answers all +questions, fulfils all requirements----" + +"I _don't_ quite understand what you say, Garry!" + +"Don't you, Sweetness? Don't you understand why you've always been +exactly what you appear like at this moment?" + +She looked at him with her lovely, uncertain smile: + +"I've always been myself, I suppose. You are teasing me dreadfully!" + +He laughed in a nervous, excited way, not like himself: + +"You bet you have always been yourself, Sweetness!--in spite of +everything you've always been _yourself_. I am very slow in +discovering it. But I think I realise it now." + +"Please," she remonstrated, "you are laughing at me and I don't know +why. I think you've been talking nonsense and expecting me to pretend +to understand.... If you don't stop laughing at me I shall retire to +my room and--and----" + +"What, Sweetness?" he demanded, still laughing. + +"Change to a cooler gown," she said, humorously vexed at her own +inability to threaten or punish him for his gaiety at her expense. + +"All right; I'll change too, and we'll meet in the music-room!" + +She considered him askance: + +"Will you be more respectful to me, Garry?" + +"Respectful? I don't know." + +"Very well, then, I'm not coming back." + +But when he entered the music-room half an hour later, Dulcie was +seated demurely before the piano, and when he came and stood behind +her she dropped her head straight back and looked up at him. + +"I had a wonderful icy bath," she said, "and I'm ready for anything. +Are you?" + +"Almost," he said, looking down at her. + +She straightened up, gazed silently at the piano for a few moments; +sounded a few chords. Then her fingers wandered uncertainly, as though +groping for something that eluded them--something that they delicately +sought to interpret. But apparently she did not discover it; and her +search among the keys ended in a soft chord like a sigh. Only her lips +could have spoken more plainly. + +At that moment Westmore and Thessalie came in breezily and remained to +gossip a few minutes before bathing and changing. + +"Play something jolly!" said Westmore. "One of those gay Irish things, +you know, like 'The Honourable Michael Dunn,' or 'Finnigan's Wake,' +or----" + +"I don't know any," said Dulcie, smiling. "There's a song called +'Asthore.' My mother wrote it----" + +"Can you sing it?" + +The girl ran her fingers over the keys musingly: + +"I'll remember it presently. I know one or two old songs like +'Irishmen All.' Do you know that song?" + +And she sang it in her gay, unembarrassed way: + + "Warm is our love for the island that bore us, + Ready are we as our fathers before us, + Genial and gallant men, + Fearless and valiant men, + Faithful to Erin we answer her call. + Ulster men, Munster men, + Connaught men, Leinster men, + Irishmen all we answer her call!" + +"Fine!" cried Westmore. "Try it again, Dulcie!" + +"Maybe you'll like this better," she said: + + "Our Irish girls are beautiful, + As all the world will own; + An Irish smile in Irish eyes + Would melt a heart of stone; + But all their smiles and all their wiles + Will quickly turn to sneers + If you fail to fight for Erin + In the Irish Volunteers!" + +"Hurrah!" cried Westmore, beating time and picking up the chorus of +the "Irish Volunteers," which Dulcie played to a thunderous finish +amid frantic applause. + +She sang for them "The West's Awake!", "The Risin' of the Moon," +"Clare's Dragoons," and "Paddy Get Up!" And after Westmore had +exercised his lungs sufficiently in every chorus, he and Thessalie +went off to their respective quarters, leaving Barres leaning on the +piano beside Dulcie. + +"Your people are a splendid lot--given half a chance," he said. + +"My people?" + +"Certainly. After all, Sweetness, you're Irish, you know." + +"Oh." + +"Aren't you?" + +"I don't know what I am," she murmured half to herself. + +"Whoever you are it's the same to me, Dulcie." ... He took a few +short, nervous turns across the room; walked slowly back to her: "Has +it come back to you yet--that song of your mother's you were trying to +remember?" + +Even while he was speaking the song came back to her memory--her +mother's song called "Asthore"--startling her with its poignant +significance to herself. + +"Do you recollect it?" he asked again. + +"Y-yes ... I can't sing it." + +"Why?" + +"I don't wish to sing 'Asthore'----" She bent her head and gazed at +the keyboard, the painful colour dyeing her neck and cheeks. + +When at length she looked up at him out of lovely, distressed eyes, +something in his face--something--some new expression which she dared +not interpret--set her heart flying. And, scarcely knowing what she +was saying in her swift and exquisite confusion: + +"The words of my mother's song would mean nothing to you, Garry," she +faltered. "You could not understand them----" + +"Why not?" + +"B-because you could not be in sympathy with them." + +"How do you know? Try!" + +"I can't----" + +"Please, dear!" + +The smile edging her lips glimmered in her eyes now--a reckless little +glint of humour, almost defiant. + +"Do you insist that I sing 'Asthore'?" + +"Yes." + +He seemed conscious of a latent excitement in her to which something +within himself was already responsive. + +"It's about a lover," she said, "--one of the old-fashioned, head-long, +hot-headed sort--Irish, of course!--you'd not understand--such +things----" Her tongue and colour were running random riot; her words +outstripped her thoughts and tripped up her tongue, scaring her a +little. She drummed on the keys a rollicking trill or two, hesitated, +stole a swift, uncertain glance at him. + +A delicate intoxication enveloped her, stimulating, frightening her a +little, yet hurrying her into speech again: + +"I'll sing it for you, Garry asthore! And if I were a lad I'd be +singing my own gay credo!--if I were the lad--and you but a lass, +asthore!" + +Then, though her gray eyes winced and her flying colour betrayed her +trepidation, she looked straight at him, laughingly, and her clear, +childish voice continued the little prelude to "Asthore": + + I + + "I long for her, who e'er she be-- + The lass that Fate decrees for me; + Or dark or white and fair to see, + My heart is hers _'be n-Eirinn i_! + + I care not, I, + Who ever she be, + I could not love her more! + _'Be n-Eirin i-- + 'Be n-Eirinn i-- + 'Be n-Eirinn i Asthore!_[1] + + II + + "I know her tresses unconfined, + In wanton ringlets woo the wind-- + Or rags or silk her bosom bind + It's one to me; my eyes are blind! + + I care not, I, + Who ever she be, + Or poor, or rich galore! + _'Be n-Eirinn i-- + 'Be n-Eirinn i-- + 'Be n-Eirinn i Asthore!_ + + III + + "At noon, some day, I'll climb a hill, + And find her there and kiss my fill; + And if she won't, I think she will, + For every Jack must have his Jill! + + I care not, I, + Who ever she be, + The lass that I adore! + _'Be n-Eirinn i-- + 'Be n-Eirinn i-- + 'Be n-Eirinn i Asthore!_" + + [1] The refrain, pronounced _Bay-nayring-ee_, is common to a number of + Irish love-songs written during the last century. It should be + translated: "Whoever she be." + + In writing this song, it is evident that Eileen Fane was + inspired by Blind William of Tipperary; and that she was + beholden to Carroll O'Daly for her "Eileen, my Treasure," + although not to Robin Adair of County Wicklow. + + AUTHOR. + +Dulcie's voice and her flushed smile, too, faded, died out. She looked +down at the keyboard, where her white hands rested idly; she bent +lower--a little lower; laid her arms on the music-rest, her face on +her crossed arms. And, slowly, the tears fell without a tremor, +without a sound. + +He had leaned over her shoulders; his bowed head was close to hers--so +close that he became aware of the hot, tearful fragrance of her +breath; but there was not a sound from her, not a stir. + +"What is it, Sweetness?" he whispered. + +"I--don't know.... I didn't m-mean to--cry.... And I don't know why I +should.... I'm very h-happy----" She withdrew one arm and stretched it +out, blindly, seeking him; and he took her hand and held it close to +his lips. + +"Why are you so distressed, Dulcie?" + +"I'm not. I'm happy.... You know I am.... My heart was very full; that +is all.... I don't seem to know how to express myself sometimes.... +Perhaps it's because I don't quite dare.... So something gives way.... +And this happens--tears. Don't mind them, please.... If I could reach +my handkerchief----" She drew the tiny square of sheer stuff from her +bosom and rested her closed eyes on it. + +"It's silly, isn't it, Garry?... W-when a girl is so heavenly +contented.... Is anybody coming?" + +"Westmore and Thessa!" + +She whisked her tears away and sat up swiftly. But Thessa merely +called to them that she and Westmore were off for a walk, and passed +on through the hall and out through the porch. + +"Garry," she murmured, looking away from him. + +"Yes, dear?" + +"May I go to my room and fix my hair? Because Mr. Skeel will be here. +Do you mind if I leave you?" + +He laughed: + +"Of course not, you charming child!" Then, as he looked down at her +hand, which he still retained, his expression altered; he inclosed the +slender fingers, bent slowly and touched the fragrant palm with his +lips. + +They were both on their feet the next second; she passing him with a +pale, breathless little smile, and swiftly crossing the hall; he dumb, +confused by the sudden tumult within him, standing there with one hand +holding to the piano as though for support, and looking after the +slim, receding figure till it disappeared beyond the library door. + +His mother and sister returned from their morning ride, lingered to +chat with him, then went away to dress for luncheon. Murtagh Skeel had +not yet arrived. + +Westmore and Thessalie returned from their walk in the woods by the +second lake, reporting a distant view of Barres senior, fishing madly +from a canoe. + +Dulcie came down and joined them in the library. Later Mrs. Barres and +Lee appeared, and luncheon was announced. + +Murtagh Skeel had not come to Foreland Farms, and there was no word +from him. + +Mrs. Barres spoke of his absence during luncheon, for Garry had told +her he was coming to talk to Dulcie about her mother, whom he had +known very well in Ireland. + +Luncheon ended, and the cool north veranda became the popular +rendezvous for the afternoon, and later for tea. People from +Northbrook drove, rode, or motored up for a cheering cup, and a word +or two of gossip. But Skeel did not come. + +By half-past five the north veranda was thronged with a gaily +chattering and very numerous throng from neighbouring estates. The +lively gossip was of war, of the coming elections, of German +activities, of the Gerhardts' promised moonlight spectacle and dance, +of Murtagh Skeel and the romantic interest he had aroused among +Northbrook folk. + +So many people were arriving or leaving and such a delightful and +general informality reigned that Dulcie, momentarily disengaged from a +vapid but persistent dialogue with a chuckle-headed but persistent +youth, ventured to slip into the house, and through it to the garden +in the faint hope that perhaps Murtagh Skeel might have avoided the +tea-crush and had gone directly there. + +But the rose arbour was empty; only the bubble of the little wall +fountain and a robin's evening melody broke the scented stillness of +the late afternoon. + +Her mind was full of Murtagh Skeel, her heart of Garry Barres, as she +stood there in that blossoming solitude, listening to the robin and +the fountain, while her eyes wandered across flower-bed, pool, and +clipped greensward, and beyond the garden wall to the hill where three +pines stood silver-green against the sky. + +Little by little the thought of Murtagh Skeel faded from her mind; +fuller and fuller grew her heart with confused emotions new to +her--emotions too perplexing, too deep, too powerful, perhaps, for her +to understand--or to know how to resist or to endure. For the first +vague sweetness of her thoughts had grown keen to the verge of +pain--an exquisite spiritual tension which hurt her, bewildered her +with the deep emotions it stirred. + +To love, had been a phrase to her; a lover, a name. For beyond +that childish, passionate adoration which Barres had evoked in +her, and which to her meant friendship, nothing more subtly mature, +more vital, had threatened her unawakened adolescence with any +clearer comprehension of him or any deeper apprehension of herself. + +And even now it was not knowledge that pierced her, lighting little +confusing flashes in her mind and heart. For her heart was still a +child's heart; and her mind, stimulated and rapidly developing under +the warm and magic kindness of this man who had become her only +friend, had not thought of him in any other way.... Until to-day. + +What had happened in her mind, in her heart, she had not +analysed--probably was afraid to, there at the piano in the +music-room. And later, in her bedroom, when she had summoned up +innocent courage sufficient for self-analysis, she didn't know how to +question herself--did not realise exactly what had happened to her, +and never even thought of including him in the enchanted cataclysm +which had befallen her mind and heart and soul. + +Thessalie and Westmore appeared on the lawn by the pool. Behind the +woods the sky was tinted with pale orange. + +It may have been the psychic quality of the Celt in Dulcie--a pale +glimmer of clairvoyance--some momentary and vague premonition +wirelessed through the evening stillness which set her sensitive body +vibrating; for she turned abruptly and gazed northward across the +woods and hills--remained motionless, her grey eyes fixed on the far +horizon, all silvery with the hidden glimmer of unlighted stars. + +Then she slowly said aloud to herself: + +"He will not come. He will never come again--this man who loved my +mother." + +Barres approached across the grass, looking for her. She went forward +through the arbour to meet him. + +"Hasn't he come?" he asked. + +"He is not coming, Garry." + +"Why? Have you heard anything?" + +She shook her head: + +"No. But he isn't coming." + +"Probably he'll explain this evening at the Gerhardts'." + +"I shall never see him again," she said absently. + +He turned and gave her a searching look. Her gaze was remote, her face +a little pale. + +They walked back to the house together in silence. + +A servant met them in the hall with a note on a tray. It was for +Barres; Dulcie passed on with a pale little smile of dismissal; Barres +opened the note: + + "The pot has boiled over, mon ami. Something has scared Skeel. He + gave us the slip very cleverly, leaving Gerhardt's house before + sunrise and motoring north at crazy speed. Where he will strike + the railway I have no means of knowing. Your Government's people + are trying to cover Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. On the Canada side + the authorities have been notified and are alert I hope. + + "Gerhardt's country house is a nest of mischief hatchers. One in + particular is under surveillance and will be arrested. His name is + Tauscher. + + "Because, mon ami, it has just been discovered that there are + _two_ plots to blow up the Welland Canal! One is Skeel's. The + other is Tauscher's. It is a purely German plot. They don't intend + to blow themselves up these Huns. Oh no! They expect to get away. + + "Evidently Bernstorff puts no faith in Skeel's mad plan. So, in + case it doesn't pan out, here is Tauscher with another plan, made + in Germany, and very, very thorough. Isn't it characteristic? Here + is the report I received this morning: + + "'Captain Franz von Papen, Military Attaché on the ambassadorial + staff of Count von Bernstorff, and Captain Hans Tauscher, who, + besides being the Krupp agent in America, is also, by appointment + of the German War Office, von Papen's chief military assistant in + the United States, have plotted the destruction of the Welland + Canal in Canada. + + "'Captain Hans Tauscher will be arrested and indicted for + violation of Section 13 of the United States Criminal Code, for + setting on foot a military enterprise against Canada during the + neutrality of the United States. + + "'Tauscher is a German reserve officer and is subject to the + orders of Captain Franz von Papen, Military Attaché of Count von + Bernstorff. His indictment will be brought about by reason of an + attempt to blow up parts of the Welland Canal, the waterway + connecting Lakes Erie and Ontario. A small party of Germans, under + command of one von der Goltz, have started from New York for the + purpose of committing this act of sabotage, and, incidentally, of + assassination of all men, women and children who might be involved + in the explosion at the point to be selected by the plotters. + + "'Tauscher bought and furnished to this crowd of assassins the + dynamite which was to be used for the purpose. The fact that + Tauscher had bought the dynamite has become known to the United + States authorities and he will be called upon to make an + explanation. + + "'Captain Tauscher is said to be an agreeable companion, but + he had the ordinary predilection of a German officer for + assassinating women and children.' + + "Now, then, mon ami, this is the report. I expect that United + States Secret Service men will arrest Tauscher to-night. Perhaps + Gerhardt, also, will be arrested. + + "At any rate, at the dance to-night you need not look for Skeel. + But may I suggest that you and Mr. Westmore keep your eyes on + Mademoiselle Dunois. Because, at the railway station to-day, the + German agents, Franz Lehr and Max Freund, were recognised by my + men, disguised as liveried chauffeurs, but in whose service we + have not yet been able to discover. + + "Therefore, it might be well for you and Mr. Westmore to remain + near Mademoiselle Dunois during the evening. + + "Au revoir! I shall see you at the dance. + + "RENOUX." + + + + +XXVII + +THE MOONLIT WAY + + +Barres whistled and sang alternately as he tied his evening tie before +his looking glass. + + "_And I care not, I, + Who ever she be + I could not love her more!_" + +he chanted gaily, examining the effect and buttoning his white +waistcoat. + +Westmore, loitering near and waiting for him, referred again, +indignantly, to Renoux's report concerning the presence of Freund and +Lehr at the Northbrook railway station. + +"If I catch them hanging around Thessa," he said, "I'll certainly beat +them up, Garry. + +"Deal with anything of that sort directly; that's always the best way. +No use arguing with a Hun. When he misbehaves, beat him up. It's the +only thing he understands." + +"Well, it's all right for us to do it now, as long as the French +Government knows where Thessa is," remarked Barres, drawing a white +clove-carnation through his buttonhole. "But what do you think of that +dirty swine, Tauscher, planning wholesale murder like that? Isn't it +the fine flower of Prussianism? There's the real and porcine boche for +you, sombre, savage, stupidly ferocious, swinishly persistent, but +never quite cunning enough, never sufficiently subtle in planning his +filthy and murderous holocausts." + +Westmore nodded: + +"Quite right. The _Lusitania_ and Belgium cost the Hun the respect of +civilisation, and are driving the civilised world into a common +understanding. We'll go in before long; don't worry." + +They descended the stairs together just as dinner was announced. + +Mrs. Barres said laughingly to her son: + +"Your father is still fishing, I suppose, so in spite of his +admonition to me by letter this morning, I sent over one of the men +with some thermos bottles and a very nice supper. He grumbles, but he +always likes it." + +"I wonder what Mr. Barres will think of me," ventured Dulcie. "He left +such a pretty little rod for me. Thessa and I have been examining it. +I'd like to go, only--" she added with a wistful smile, "I have never +been to a real party." + +"Of course you're going to the Gerhardts'," insisted Lee, laughing. +"Dad is absurd about his fishing. I don't believe any girl ever lived +who'd prefer fishing on that foggy lake at night to dancing at such a +party as you are going to to-night." + +"Aren't you going?" asked Thessalie, but Lee shook her head, still +smiling. + +"We have two young setters down with distemper, and mother and I +always sit up with our dogs under such circumstances." + +Personal devotion of this sort was new to Thessalie. Mrs. Barres and +Lee told her all about the dreaded contagion and how very dreadful an +epidemic might be in a kennel of such finely bred dogs as was the +well-known Foreland Kennels. + +Dog talk absorbed everybody during dinner. Mrs. Barres and Lee were +intensely interested in Thessalie's description of the Grand Duke +Cyril's Russian wolfhounds, with which she had coursed and hunted as a +child. + +Once she spoke, also, of those strange, pathetic, melancholy +Ishmaelites, pitiable outcasts of their race--the pariah dogs of +Constantinople. For, somehow, while dressing that evening, the distant +complaint of a tethered beagle had made her think of Stamboul. And she +remembered that night so long ago on the moonlit deck of the _Mirage_, +where she had stood with Ferez Bey while, from the unseen, monstrous +city close at hand, arose the endless wailing of homeless dogs. + +How strange it was, too, to think that the owner of the _Mirage_ +should this night be her host here in the Western World, yet remain +unconscious that he had ever before entertained her. + + * * * * * + +Before coffee had been served in the entrance hall, the kennel master +sent in word that one of the pups, a promising Blue Belton, had turned +very sick indeed, and would Mrs. Barres come to the kennels as soon as +convenient. + +It was enough for Mrs. Barres and for Lee; they both excused +themselves without further ceremony and went away together to the +kennels, apparently quite oblivious of their delicate dinner gowns and +slippers. + +"I've seen my mother ruin many a gown on such errands," remarked +Garry, smiling. "No use offering yourself as substitute; my mother +would as soon abandon her own sick baby to strangers as turn over an +ailing pup to anybody except Lee and herself." + +"I think that is very splendid," murmured Dulcie, relinquishing her +coffee cup to Garry and suffering a maid to invest her with a scarf +and light silk wrap. + +"My mother _is_ splendid," said Garry in a low voice. "You will see +her prove it some day, I hope." + +The girl turned her lovely head, curiously, not understanding. Garry +laughed, but his voice was not quite steady when he said: + +"But it all depends on you, Dulcie, how splendid my mother may prove +herself." + +"On _me_!" + +"On your--kindness." + +"My--_kindness_!" + +Thessalie came up in her pretty carnation-rose cloak, esquired by the +enraptured Westmore, expressing admiration for the clothing adorning +the very obvious object of his devotion: + +"All girls can't wear a thing like that cloak," he was explaining +proudly; "now it would look like the devil on you, Dulcie, with your +coppery hair and----" + +"What exquisite tact!" shrugged Thessalie, already a trifle restive +under his constant attendance and unremitting admiration. "Can't you, +out of your richly redundant vocabulary, find something civil to say +to Dulcie?" + +But Dulcie, still preoccupied with what Barres had said, merely gave +her an absent-minded smile and walked slowly out beside her to the +porch, where the headlights of a touring car threw two broad beams of +gold across the lawn. + +It was a swift, short run through the valley northward among the +hills, and very soon the yellow lights of Northbrook summer homes +dotted the darkness ahead, and cars were speeding in from every +direction--from Ilderness, Wythem, East and South Gorloch--carrying +guests for the Gerhardts' moonlight spectacle and dance. + +Apropos of the promised spectacle, Barres observed to Dulcie that +there happened to be no moon, and consequently no moonlight, but the +girl, now delightfully excited by glimpses of Hohenlinden festooned +with electricity, gaily reproached him for being literal. + +"If one is happy," she said, "a word is enough to satisfy one's +imagination. If they call it a moonlight spectacle, I shall certainly +see moonlight whether it's there or not!" + +"They may call it heaven, too, if they like," he said, "and I'll +believe it--if you are there." + +At that she blushed furiously: + +"Oh, Garry! You don't mean it, and it's silly to say it!" + +"I mean it all right," he muttered, as the car swung in through the +great ornamental gates of Hohenlinden. "The trouble is that I mean so +much--and _you_ mean so much to me--that I don't know how to express +it." + +The girl, her face charmingly aglow, looked straight in front of her +out of enchanted eyes, but her heart's soft violence in her breast +left her breathless and mute; and when the car stopped she scarcely +dared rest her hand on the arm which Barres presented to guide her in +her descent to earth. + +It may have been partly the magnificence of Hohenlinden that so +thrillingly overwhelmed her as she seated herself with Garry on the +marble terrace of an amphitheatre among brilliant throngs already +gathered to witness the eagerly discussed spectacle. + +And it really was a bewilderingly beautiful scene, there under the +summer stars, where a thousand rosy lanterns hung tinting the still +waters of the little stream that wound through the clipped greensward +which was the stage. + +The foliage of a young woodland walled in this vernal scene; the +auditorium was a semi-circle of amber marble--rows of low benches, +tier on tier, rising to a level with the lawn above. + +The lantern light glowed on pretty shoulders and bare arms, on laces +and silks and splendid jewels, and stained the sombre black of the men +with vague warm hues of rose. + +Westmore, leaning over to address Barres, said with an amused air: + +"You know, Garry, it's Corot Mandel who is putting on this thing for +the Gerhardts." + +"Certainly I know it," nodded Barres. "Didn't he try to get Thessa for +it?" + +Thessalie, whose colour was high and whose dark eyes, roaming, had +grown very brilliant, suddenly held out her hand to one of two men +who, traversing the inclined aisle beside her, halted to salute her. + +"Your name was on our lips," she said gaily. "How do you do, Mr. +Mandel! How do you do, Mr. Trenor! Are you going to amaze us with a +miracle in this enchanting place?" + +The two men paid their respects to her, and, with unfeigned +astonishment and admiration, to Dulcie, whom they recognised only when +Thessalie named her with delighted malice. + +"Oh, I say, Miss Soane," began Mandel, leaning on the back of the +marble seat, "you and Miss Dunois might have helped me a lot if I'd +known you were to be in this neighbourhood." + +Esmé Trenor bent over Barres, dropping his voice: + +"We had to use a couple of Broadway hacks--you'll recognise 'em +through their paint--you understand?--the two that New York screams +for. It's too bad. Corot wanted something unfamiliarly beautiful and +young and fresh. But these Northbrook amateurs are incredibly +amateurish." + +Thessalie was chattering away with Corot Mandel and Westmore; Esmé +Trenor gazed upon Dulcie in wonder not unmixed with chagrin: + +"You've never forgiven me, Dulcie, have you?" + +"For what?" she inquired indifferently. + +"For not discovering you when I should have." + +She smiled, but the polite effort and her detachment of all interest +in him were painfully visible to Esmé. + +"I'm sorry you still remember me so unkindly," he murmured. + +"But I never do remember you at all," she explained so candidly that +Barres was obliged to avert his amused face, and Esmé Trenor reddened +to the roots of his elaborate hair. Mandel, with a wry grin, linked +his arm in Trenor's and drew him away toward the flight of steps which +was the stage entrance to the dressing rooms below. + +"Good-bye!" he said, waving his hat. "Hope you'll like my moonlight +frolic!" + +"Where's your bally moon!" demanded Westmore. + +As he spoke, an unseen orchestra began to play "_Au Claire de la +Lune_," and, behind the woods, silhouetting every trunk and branch and +twig, the glittering edge of a huge, silvery moon appeared. + +Slowly it rose, flashing a broad path of light across the lawn, +reflected in the still little river. And when it was in the position +properly arranged for it, some local Joshua--probably Corot +Mandel--arrested its further motion, and it hung there, flooding the +stage with a witching lustre. + +All at once the stage swarmed with supple, glimmering shapes: Oberon +and Titania came flitting down through the trees; Puck, scintillating +like a dragon-fly, dropped on the sward, seemingly out of nowhere. + +It was a wonderfully beautiful ballet, with an unseen chorus singing +from within the woods like a thousand seraphim. + +As for the play itself, which began with the calm and silvered +river suddenly swarming alive with water-nymphs, it had to do, +spasmodically, with the love of the fairy crown-prince for the very +attractive water-nymph, Ythali. This nimble lady, otherwise, was +fiercely wooed by the King of the Mud-turtles, a most horrid and +sprawling shape, but a clever foil--with his army of river-rats, +minks and crabs--to the nymphs and wood fairies. + +Also, the music was refreshingly charming, the singing excellent, and +the story interesting enough to keep the audience amused until the +end. + +There was, of course, much moonlight dancing, much frolicking in the +water, few clothes on the Broadway principals, fewer on the chorus, +and apparently no scruples about discarding even these. + +But the whole spectacle was so unreal, so spectral, that its shadowy +beauty robbed it of offence. + +That sort of thing had made Corot Mandel famous. He calculated to the +width of a moonbeam just how far he could go. And he never went a +hair's breadth farther. + +Thessalie looked on with flushed cheeks and parted lips, absorbed in +it all with the savant eyes of a professional. She also had once +coolly decided how far her beauty and talent and adolescent effrontery +could carry her gay disdain of man. And she had flouted him with +indifferent eyes and dainty nose uplifted--mocked him and his +conventions, with a few roubles in her dressing-room--slapped the +collective face of his sex with her insolent loveliness, and careless +smile. + +Perhaps, as she sat there watching the fairy scene, she remembered her +ostrich and the German Embassy, and the aged Von-der-Goltz Pasha, all +over jewels and gold, peeping at her through thick spectacles under +his red fez. + +Perhaps she thought of Ferez, too, and maybe it was thought of him +that caused her smooth young shoulders the slightest of shivers, as +though a harsh breeze had chilled her skin. + +As for Dulcie, she was in the seventh heaven, thrilled with the dreamy +beauty of it all and the exquisite phantoms floating on the greensward +under her enraptured eyes. + +No other thought possessed her save sheer delight in this revelation +of pure enchantment. + +So intent, so still she became, leaning a little forward in her place, +that Barres found her far more interesting and wonderful to watch than +Mandel's cunningly contrived illusions in the artificial moonlight +below. + +And now Titania's trumpets sounded from the woods, warning all of the +impending dawn. Suddenly the magic fairy moon vanished like the flame +of a blown-out candle; a faint, rosy light grew through the trees, +revealing an empty stage and a river on which floated a single swan. + +Then, from somewhere, a distant cock-crow rang through the dawn. The +play was ended. + +Two splendid orchestras were alternating on the vast marble terraces +of Hohenlinden, where hundreds of dancers moved under the white +radiance of a huge silvery moon overhead--another contrivance of +Mandel's--for the splendid sphere aglow with white fire had somehow +been suspended above the linden trees so that no poles and no wires +were visible against the starry sky. + +And in its milky flood of light the dancers moved amid a wilderness of +flowers or thronged the supper-rooms within, where Teutonic +architectural and decorative magnificence reigned in one vast, +incredible, indigestible gastronomic apotheosis of German kultur. + +Barres, for the moment, dancing with Thessalie, pressed her fingers +with mischievous tenderness and whispered: + +"The moonlit way once more with you, Thessa! Do you remember our first +dance?" + +"Can I ever thank God enough for that night's folly!" she said, with +such sudden emotion that his smile altered as he looked into her dark +eyes. + +"Yet that dance by moonlight exiled you," he said. + +"Do you realise what it saved me from, too? And what it has given +me?" + +He wondered whether she included Westmore in the gift. The music +ceased at that moment, and, though the other orchestra began, they +strolled along the flowering balustrade of the terrace together until +they encountered Dulcie and Westmore. + +"Have you spoken to your hostess?" inquired Westmore. "She's over +yonder on a dais, enthroned like Germania or a Metropolitan Opera +Valkyrie. Dulcie and I have paid our homage." + +So Barres and Thessalie went away to comply with the required +formality; and, when they returned from the rite, they found Esmé +Trenor and Corot Mandel cornering Dulcie under a flowering orange tree +while Westmore, beside her, chatted with a most engaging woman who +proved, later, to be a practising physician. + +Esmé was saying languidly, that anybody could fly into a temper and +kick his neighbours, but that indifference to physical violence was a +condition of mind attained only by the spiritual intellect of the +psychic adept. + +"Passivism," he added with a wave of his lank fingers, "is the first +plane to be attained on the journey toward Nirvana. Therefore, I am a +pacifist and this silly war does not interest me in the slightest." + +The very engaging woman, who had been chatting with Westmore, looked +around at Esmé Trenor, evidently much amused. + +"I imagined that you were a pacifist," she said. "I fancy, Mr. Mandel, +also, is one." + +"Indeed, I am, madam!" said Corot Mandel. "I've plenty to do in life +without strutting around and bawling for blood at the top of my +lungs!" + +"Thank heaven," added Esmé, "the President has kept us out of war. +This business of butchering others never appealed to me--except for +the slightly unpleasant sensations which I experience when I read the +details." + +"Oh. Then unpleasant sensations so appeal to you?" inquired Westmore, +very red. + +"Well, they _are_ sensations, you know," drawled Esmé. "And, for a man +who experiences few sensations of any sort, even unpleasant ones are +pleasurable." + +Mandel yawned and said: + +"The war is an outrageous bore. All wars are stupid to a man of +temperament. Therefore, I'm a pacifist. And I had rather live under +Prussian domination than rush about the country with a gun and sixty +pounds of luggage on my back!" + +He looked heavily at Dulcie, who had slipped out of the corner on the +terrace, where he and Esmé had penned her. + +"There are other things to do more interesting than jabbing bayonets +into Germans," he remarked. "Did you say you hadn't any dance to spare +us, Miss Soane? Nor you either, Miss Dunois? Oh, well." He cast a +disgusted glance at Barres, squinted at Westmore through his greasy +monocle in hostile silence; then, taking Esmé's arm, made them all a +too profound obeisance and sauntered away along the terrace. + +"What a pair of beasts!" said Westmore. "They make me actually ill!" + +Barres shrugged and turned to the very engaging lady beside him: + +"What do you think of that breed of human, doctor?" he inquired. + +She smiled at Barres and said: + +"Several of my own patients who are suffering from the same form of +psycho-neurotic trouble are also peace-at-any-price pacifists. They do +not come to me to be cured of their pacifism. On the contrary, they +cherish it most tenderly. In examining them for other troubles I +happened upon what appeared to me a very close relation between the +peculiar attitude of the peace-at-any-price pacifist and a certain +type of unconscious pervert." + +"That passivism is perversion does not surprise me," remarked Barres. + +"Well," she said, "the pacifist is not conscious of his real +desires and therefore cannot be termed a true pervert. But the +very term, passivism, is usually significant and goes very deep +psychologically. In analysing my patients I struck against a buried +impulse in them to suffer tyrannous treatment from an omnipotent +master. The impulse was so strong that it amounted to a craving and +tried to absorb all the psychic material within its reach. They did +not recognise the original impulse, because that had long ago been +crushed down by the exactions of civilised life. Nevertheless, +they were tortured and teased, made unsettled and wretched by a +something which continually baffled them. Deep under the upper crust +of their personalities was concealed a seething desire to be +completely, inevitably, relentlessly, unreservedly overwhelmed by a +subjugation from which there was no escape." + +She turned to Westmore: + +"It's purely pathological, the condition of those two self-confessed +pacifists. The pacifist loves suffering. The ordinary normal person +avoids suffering when possible. He endures it only when something +necessary or desirable cannot be gained in any other way. He may +undergo agony at the mere thought of it. His bravery consists in +facing danger and pain in spite of fear. But the extreme passivist, +who is really an unconscious pervert, loves to dream of martyrdom and +suffering. It must be a suffering, however, which is forced upon him, +and it must be a personal matter, not impersonal and general, as in +war. And he loves to contemplate a condition of complete captivity--of +irresponsible passivity, in which all resistance is in vain." + +"Do you know, they disgust me, those two!" said Westmore angrily. "I +never could endure anything abnormal. And now that I know Esmé is--and +that big lout, Mandel--I'll keep away from them. Do you blame me, +doctor?" + +"Well," she said, much amused and turning to go, "they're very +interesting to physicians, you know--these non-resisting, pacifistic +perverts. But outside a sanatorium I shouldn't expect them to be very +popular." And she laughed and joined a big, good-looking man who had +come to seek her, and who wore, in his buttonhole, the button of the +French Legion of Honour. + +Thessalie had strolled forward along the terrace by herself, +interested in the pretty spectacle and the play of light on jewels and +gowns. + +Westmore, busy in expressing to Barres his opinion of Esmé and Mandel, +did not at the moment miss Thessalie, who continued to saunter on +along the balustrade of the terrace, under the blossoming row of +orange trees. + +Just below her was another terrace and an oval pool set with tiny jets +which seemed to spray the basin with liquid silver. Silvery fish, too, +were swimming in it near the surface, sometimes flinging themselves +clear out of water as though intoxicated by the unwonted lustre which +flooded their crystal pool. + +To see them nearer, Thessalie ran lightly down the steps and walked +toward the shimmering basin. And at the same time the head and +shoulders of a man in evening dress, his bosom crossed by a sash of +watered red silk, appeared climbing nimbly from a still lower level. + +She watched him step swiftly upon the terrace and cross it diagonally, +walking in her direction toward the stone stairs which she had just +descended. Then, paying him no further attention, she looked down into +the water. + +He came along very near to where she stood, gazing into the +pool--peered at her curiously--was already passing at her very +elbow--when something made her lift her head and look around at him. + +The mock moonlight struck full across his features; and the shock of +seeing him drove every vestige of colour from her own face. + +The man halted, staring at her in unfeigned amazement. Suddenly he +snarled at her, baring his teeth in her shrinking face. + +"_Kismet dir!_" he whispered, "it ees _you_!... Nihla Quellen! +_Now_ I begin onderstan'!... Yas, I now onderstan' who arrange it +that they haf arrest my good frien', Tauscher! It ees _you_, then! +Von Igel he has tol' me, look out once eef she escape--thees yoong +leopardess----" + +"Ferez!" Thessalie's young figure stiffened and the colour flamed in +her cheeks. + +"You leopardess!" he repeated, every tooth a-grin again with rage, +"you misbegotten slut of a hunting cheetah! So thees is 'ow you +strike!... Ver' well. Yas, I see 'ow it ees you strike at----" + +"Ferez!" she cried. "Listen to _me_!" + +"I 'ear you! Allez!" + +"Ferez Bey! I am not afraid of you!" + +"Ees it so?" + +"Yes, it is so. I _never_ have been afraid of you! Not even there on +the deck of the _Mirage_, that night when you tapped the hilt of your +Kurdish knife and spoke of Seraglio Point! Nor when your scared spy +shot at me in the corridor of the Tenth Street house; nor afterward at +Dragon Court! Nor now! Do you understand, Eurasian jackal! Nor _now_! +Anybody can see what _Heruli_ whelped you! What are you doing in +America? Kassim Pasha is your den, where your _rayah_ loll and scratch +in the sun! It is their _Keyeff_! And yours!" + +She took a quick step toward him, her eyes flashing, her white hand +clenched: + +"_Allah Kerim_--do you say? _El Hamdu Lillah!_ Do you take yourself +for the _muezzin_ of all jackals, then, howling blasphemies from some +_minaret_ in the hills? Do you understand what they'd do to you in +the _Hirka-i-Sherif Jamesi_? Because you are _nothing_; do you +hear?--nothing but an Eurasian assassin! And Moslem and Christian +alike know where _you_ belong among the lost pariahs of Stamboul!" + +The girl was utterly transfigured. Whatever of the Orient was in her, +now blazed white hot. + +"What have I done to you, Ferez? What have I ever done to you that +you, even from my childhood, come always stepping noiselessly at my +skirt's edge?--always padding behind me at my heels, silent, sinister, +whimpering with bared teeth for the courage to bite which God denies +you!" + +The man stood almost motionless, moistening his dry lips with his +tongue, but his eyes moved continually, stealing uneasy glances around +him and upward, where, on the main terrace above them, the heads of +the throng passed and repassed. + +"Nihla," he said, "for all thees scorn and abuse of me, you know, in +the false heart of you, why it ees so if I have seek you." + +"You dealer in lies! You would have sold me to d'Eblis! You thought +you _had_ sold me! You were paid for it, too!" + +"An' still!" He looked at her furtively. + +"What do you mean? You conspired with d'Eblis to ruin me, soul and +body! You involved me in your treacherous propaganda in Paris. Through +you I am an exile. If I go back to my own country, I shall go to a +shameful death. You have blackened my honour in my country's eyes. But +that was not enough. No! You thought me sufficiently broken, degraded, +terrified to listen to any proposition from you. You sent your agents +to me with offers of money if I would betray my country. Finding I +would not, you whined and threatened. Then, like the Eurasian dog you +are, you tried to bargain. You were eager to offer me anything if I +would keep quiet and not interfere----" + +"Nihla!" + +"What?" she said, contemptuously. + +"In spite of thees--of all you say--I have love you!" + +"Liar!" she retorted wrathfully. "Do you dare say that to me, whom you +have already tried to murder?" + +"I say it. Yas. Eef it has not been so then you were dead long time." + +"You--you are trying to tell me that you spared me!" she demanded +scornfully. + +"It ees so. Alexandre--d'Eblis, you know?--long time since he would +have safety for us all--thees way. Non! Je ne pourrais pas vouz tuer, +moi! It ees not in my heart, Nihla.... Because I have love you long +time--ver' long time." + +"Because you have _feared_ me long time, ver' long time!" she mocked +him. "That is why, Ferez--because you are afraid; because you are only +a jackal. And jackals never kill. No!" + +"You say thees-a to me, Nihla?" + +"Yes, I say it. You're a coward! And I'll tell you something more. I +am going to make a complete statement to the French Government. I +shall relate everything I know about d'Eblis, Bolo Effendi, a certain +bureaucrat, an Italian politician, a Swiss banker, old Von-der-Goltz +Pasha, Heimholz, Von-der-Hohe Pasha, and you, my Ferez--and you, +also! + +[Illustration: HE CAME TOWARD HER STEALTHILY] + +"Do you know what France will do to d'Eblis and his scoundrel friends? +Do you guess what these duped Americans will do to Bolo Effendi? And +to you? And to Von Papen and Boy-ed and Von Igel--yes, and to +Bernstorff and his whole murderous herd of Germans? And can you +imagine what my own doubly duped Government will surely, surely do, +some day, to you, Ferez?" + +She laughed, but her dark eyes fairly glittered: + +"_My_ martyrdom is ending, God be thanked! And then I shall be free to +serve where my heart is ... in Alsace!... Alsace!--forever French!" + +In the white light she saw the sweat break out on the man's +forehead--saw him grope for his handkerchief--and draw out a knife +instead--never taking his eyes off her. + +She turned to run; but he had already blocked the way to the stone +steps; and now he came creeping toward her, white as a cadaver, +distracted from sheer terror, and rubbing the knife flat against his +thigh. + +"So you shall do thees--a filth to me--eh, Nihla?" he whispered with +blanched lips. "It ees on me, your frien', you spring to keel me, eh, +my leopardess? Ver' well. But firs' I teach you somethings you don' +know!--thees-a way, my Nihla!" + +He came toward her stealthily, moving more swiftly as she put the +stone basin of the pool between them and cast an agonised glance up at +the distant terrace. + +"Jim!" she cried frantically. "Jim! Help me, Jim!" + +The gay din of the music above drowned her cry; she fled as Ferez +darted toward her, but again he doubled and sprang back to bar the +stone steps, and she halted, white and breathless, yet poised for +instant flight. + +Again and again she called out desperately for aid; the noise of the +orchestra smothered her cry. And if, indeed, anybody from the terrace +above chanced to glance down, it is likely that they supposed these +two were skylarking merrymakers at some irresponsible game of +catch-who-can. + +Suddenly Thessalie remembered the lower level, where the automobiles +were parked, and from which Ferez had first appeared. She could escape +that way. There were the steps, not very far behind her. The next +instant she turned and ran like a deer. + +And after her sped Ferez, his broad, thin-bladed knife pressed flat +against the crimson sash across his breast, his dead-white visage +distorted with that blind, convulsive fear which makes murderers out +of cowards. + + + + +XXVIII + +GREEN JACKETS + + +Thoroughly worried by this time over the sudden disappearance of +Thessalie Dunois, and unable to discover her anywhere on the terrace +or in the house, Westmore, Barres and Dulcie Soane had followed the +winding main drive as far as the level, where their car was waiting +among scores of other cars. + +But Thessalie was not there; the chauffeur had not seen her. + +"Where in the world could she have gone?" faltered Dulcie. "She was +standing up there on the terrace with us, a moment ago; then, the very +next second, she had vanished utterly." + +Westmore, grim and pallid, walked back along the drive; Dulcie +followed with Barres. As they overtook Westmore, he cast one more +glance back at the ranks of waiting cars, then stared up at the +terraced hill above them, over which the artificial moon hung above +the lindens, glowing with pallid, lambent fires. + +There was a vague whitish object on one of the grassy slopes--something +in motion up there--something that was running erratically but +swiftly--as though in pursuit--or _pursued_! + +"My God! What's that, Garry!" he burst out. "That thing up there on +the hillside!" + +He sprang for the steps, Barres after him, taking the ascent at +incredible speed, up, up, then out along a shrub-set grassy slope. + +"Thessa!" shouted Westmore. "Thessa!" + +But the girl was flat on her back on the grass now, fighting sturdily +for life--twisting, striking, baffling the whining, panting thing that +knelt on her, holding her and trying to drive a knife deep into the +lithe young body which always slipped and writhed out of his trembling +clutch. + +Again and again he tore himself free from her grasp; again and again +his armed hand sought to strike, but she always managed to seize and +drag it aside with the terrible strength of one dying. And at last, +with a last crazed, superhuman effort, she wrested the knife from his +unnerved fist, tore it out of his spent fingers. + +It fell somewhere near her on the grass; he strove to reach it and +pick it up, but already her dauntless resistance began to exhaust him, +and he groped for the knife in vain, trying to pin her down with one +hand while, with desperate little fists, she rained blows on his +bloodless face that dazed him. + +But there was still another way--a much better way, in fact. And, as +the idea came to him, he ripped the red-silk sash from his breast and, +in spite of her struggles, managed to pass it around her bare neck. + +"Now!" he panted. "I keep my word at last. C'est fini, ma petite +Nihla." + +"Jim! Help me!" she gasped, as Ferez pulled savagely at the silk +noose, tightened it with all his strength, knotted it. And in that +same second he heard Westmore crashing through the shrubbery, close to +him. + +Instantly he rose to his knees on the grass; bounded to his feet, +leaped over the low shrubs, and was off down the slope--gone like a +swift hawk's shadow on the hillside. Barres was after him. + + * * * * * + +The soul of Thessalie Dunois was very near to its escape, now, +brightening, glistening within its unconscious chrysalis, stretching +its glorious limbs and wings; preparing to arise from its spectral +tenement and soar aloft to its myriad sisters, where they swarmed +glittering in the zenith. + +Had it not been for the knife lying beside her on the grass--the blade +very bright in the starlight--truly the youthful soul of Thessalie had +been sped. + +At the edge of the Gerhardts' pine woods, Barres, at fault, baffled, +furious, out of breath and glaring around him in the dark, sullenly +gave up the hopeless chase, turned in his tracks, and came back. +Thessalie, lying in Dulcie's arms, unclosed her eyes and looked up at +him. + +"Are you all right?" he asked, kneeling and bending over her. + +"Yes ... Jim came." + +Westmore's voice was shaky. + +"We worked her arms--Dulcie and I--started respiration. She was nearly +gone. That beast strangled her----" + +"I lost him in those woods below. Who was he?" + +"Ferez Bey!" + +Thessalie sighed, closed her eyes. + +"She's about all in," whispered Westmore. And, to Dulcie: "Let me take +her. I'll carry her to the car." + +At that Thessalie opened her eyes again and the old, faintly humorous +smile glimmered out at him as he stooped and lifted her from the +grass. + +"Can I really trust myself to your arms, Jim?" she murmured. + +"You'd better get used to 'em," he retorted. "You'll never get away +from them again--I can tell you that right now!" + +"Oh.... In that case, I hope they'll be--comfortable--your arms." + +"Do you think they will be, Thessa?" + +"Perhaps." She gazed into his eyes very seriously from where she lay +cradled in his powerful arms. + +"I'm tired, Jim.... So sore and bruised.... When he was choking me I +tried to think of you--believing it was the end--my last conscious +thought----" + +"My darling!----" + +"I'm so tired," she breathed, "so lonely.... I shall be--contented--in +your arms.... Always----" She turned her head and rested her cheek +against his breast with a deep sigh. + + * * * * * + +He held her in his arms in the car all the way to Foreland Farms. +Dulcie, however, had possessed herself of Thessalie's left hand, and +when she stroked it and pressed it to her lips the girl's tightening +fingers responded, and she always smiled. + +"I'm just tired and sore," she explained languidly. "Ferez battered me +about so dreadfully!... It was so mortifying. I despised him all the +time. It made me furious to be handled by such a contemptible and +cowardly creature." + +"It's a matter for the police, now," remarked Barres gloomily. + +"Oh, Garry!" she exclaimed. "What a very horrid ending to the moonlit +way we took together so long ago!--the lovely silvery path of +Pierrot!" + +"The story of Pierrot is a tragedy, Thessa! We have been luckier on +our moonlit way." + +"Than Pierrot and Pierrette?" + +"Yes. Death always saunters along the path of the moon, watching for +those who take it.... You are very fortunate, Pierrette." + +"Yes," she murmured, "I am fortunate.... Am I not, Jim?" she added, +looking up wistfully into his shadowy face above her. + +"I don't know about that," he said, "but there'll be no more moonlight +business for you unless I'm with you. And under those circumstances," +he added, "I'll knock the block off Old Man Death if he tries to flirt +with you!" + +"How brutal! Garry, do you hear his language to me?" + +"I hear," said Barres, laughing. "Your young man is a very matter of +fact young man, Thessa, and I fancy he means what he says." + +She looked up at Westmore; her lips barely moved: + +"Do you--dear?" + +"You bet I do," he whispered. "I'll pull this planet to pieces looking +for you if you ever again steal away to a rendezvous with Old Man +Death." + + * * * * * + +When the car arrived at Foreland Farms, Thessalie felt able to proceed +to her room upon her own legs, and with Dulcie's arm around her. + +Westmore bade her good-night, kissing her hand--awkwardly--not being +convincing in any rôle requiring attitudes. + +He wanted to take her into his arms, but seemed to know enough not to +do it. Probably she divined his irresolute state of mind, for she +extended her hand in a pretty manner quite unmistakable. And the +romantic education of James H. Westmore began. + +Barres lingered at the door after Westmore departed, obeying a +whispered aside from Dulcie. She came out in a few moments, carefully +closing the bedroom door, and stood so, one hand behind her still +resting on the knob. + +"Thessa is crying. It's only the natural relaxation from that horrible +tension. I shall sleep with her to-night." + +"Is there anything----" + +"Oh, no. She will be all right.... Garry, are they--are they--in +_love_?" + +"It rather looks that way, doesn't it?" he said, smiling. + +She gazed at him questioningly, almost fearfully. + +"Do _you_ believe that Thessa is in love with Mr. Westmore?" she +whispered. + +"Yes, I do. Don't you?" + +"I didn't know.... I thought so. But----" + +"But what?" + +"I didn't--didn't know--what you would think of it.... I was afraid it +might--might make you--unhappy." + +"Why?" + +"Don't you _care_ if Thessa loves somebody else?" she asked +breathlessly. + +"Did you think I did, Dulcie?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I don't." + +There was a strained silence; then the girl smiled at him in a +confused manner, drew a swift, sudden breath, and, as he stepped +forward to detain her, turned sharply away, pressing her forearm +across her eyes. + +"Dulcie! Did you understand me?" he said in a low, unsteady voice. + +She was already trying to open the door, but he dropped his right hand +over her fingers where they were fumbling with the knob, and felt them +trembling. At the same moment, the sound of Thessalie's smothered and +convulsive sobbing came to him; and Dulcie's nervous hand slipped from +his. + +"Dulcie!" he pleaded. "Will you come back to me if I wait?" + +She had stopped; her back was still toward him, but she nodded +slightly, then moved on toward the bed, where Thessalie lay all +huddled up, her face buried in the tumbled pillows. + +Barres noiselessly closed the door. + +He had already started along the corridor toward his own room, when +the low sound of voices in the staircase hall just below arrested his +attention--his sister's voice and Westmore's. And he retraced his +steps and went down to where they stood together by the library door. + +Lee wore a nurse's dress and apron, such as a kennel-mistress affects, +and her strong, capable hands were full of bottles labelled "Grover's +Specific"--the same being dog medicine of various sorts. + +"Mother is over at the kennels, Garry," she said. "She and I are going +to sit up with those desperately sick pups. If we can pull them +through to-night they'll probably get well, eventually, unless +paralysis sets in. I was just telling Jim that a very attractive young +Frenchman was here only a few minutes before you arrived. His name is +Renoux. And he left this letter for you--fish it out of my apron +pocket, there's a dear----" + +Her brother drew out the letter; his sister said: + +"Mr. Renoux went away in a car with two other men. He asked me to say +to you that there was no time to lose--whatever he meant by that! Now, +I must hurry away!" She turned and sped through the hall and out +through the swinging screen door on the north porch. Garry had +already opened the note from Renoux, glanced over it; then he read it +aloud to Westmore: + + "MY DEAR COMRADE: + + "The fat's in the fire! Your agents took Tauscher in charge + to-day. Max Freund and Franz Lehr have just been arrested by your + excellent Postal authorities. Warrants are out for Sendelbeck, + Johann Klein, and Louis Hochstein. I think the latter are making + for Mexico, but your Secret Service people are close on their + heels. + + "Recall for von Papen and Boy-ed is certain to be demanded by your + Government. Mine will look after Bolo Effendi and d'Eblis and + their international gang of spies and crooks. Ferez Bey, however, + still eludes us. He is somewhere in this vicinity, but of course, + even when we locate him again, we can't touch him. All we can do + is to point him out to your Government agents, who will then keep + him in sight. + + "So far so good. But now I am forced to ask a very great favour of + you, and, if I may, of your friend, Mr. Westmore. It is this: + Skeel, contrary to what was expected of him, did not go to the + place which is being watched. Nor have any of his men appeared at + that rendezvous where there lies the very swift and well-armed + launch, _Togue Rouge_, which we had every reason to suppose was to + be their craft in this outrageous affair. + + "As a matter of fact, this launch is Tauscher's. But it, and the + pretended rendezvous, are what you call a plant. Skeel never + intended to assemble his men there; never intended to use that + particular launch. Tauscher merely planted it. Your men and the + Canadian agents, unfortunately, are covering that vicinity and are + still watching for Skeel, who has a very different plan in his + crazy head. + + "Now, this is Skeel's plan, and this is the situation, learned by + me from papers discovered on Tauscher: + + "The explosives bought and sent there by Tauscher himself are on a + big, fast power-boat which is lying at anchor in a little cove + called Saibling Bay. The boat flies the Quebec Yacht Club ensign, + and a private pennant to which it has no right. + + "Two of Skeel's gang are already aboard--a man named Con McDermott + and another, Kelly Walsh. Skeel joins the others at a hamlet near + the Lake shore, known as Three Ponds. The tavern is a notorious + and disreputable old brick hotel--what you call a speak-easy. That + is their rendezvous. + + "Well, then, I have wired to your people, to Canada, to + Washington. But Three Ponds is not a very long drive from here, if + one ignores speed limits. Yes? Could you help us maintain a close + surveillance over that damned tavern to-night? Is it too much to + ask? + + "And if you and Mr. Westmore are graciously inclined to aid us, + would you be so kind as to come armed? Because, mon ami, unless + your Government people arrive in time, I shall certainly try to + keep Skeel and his gang from boarding that boat. + + "Au revoir, donc! I am off with Jacques Alost and Emile Souchez + for that charming summer resort, the Three Ponds Tavern, where, + from the neighbouring roadside woods, I shall hope to flag your + automobile by sunrise and welcome you and your amiable friend, Mr. + Westmore, as our brothers in arms. + + "RENOUX, your comrade and, friend." + +There was a silence. Then Westmore looked at his watch. + +"We ought to hustle," he remarked. "I'll get on some knickers and +stick a couple of guns in my pocket. You'd better telephone to the +garage." + +As they hastened up the stairs together, Barres said: "Have I time for +a word with Dulcie?" + +"That's up to you. I'm not going to say anything to Thessa. I wouldn't +care to miss this affair. If we arrived too late and they had already +dynamited the Welland Canal, we'd never forgive ourselves." + +Barres ran for his room. + + * * * * * + +They were dressed, armed and driving out of the Foreland Farms gates +inside of ten minutes. Barres had the wheel; Westmore sat beside him +shoving new clips into two automatics and dividing the remaining boxes +of ammunition. + +"The crazy devils," he said to Barres, raising his voice to make +himself heard. "Blow up the Canal, will they! What's the matter with +these Irishmen! The rest are not like 'em. Look at the Flanders +fighting, Garry! Look at the magnificent record of the Irish +regiments! Why don't our Irish play the game?" + +"It's their blind hatred of England," shouted Barres, in his ear. +"They're monomaniacs. They can't see anything else--can't see what +they're doing to civilisation--cutting the very throat of Liberty +every time they jab at England. What's the use? You can't talk to +them. They're lunatics. But when they start things over here they've +got to be put into straitjackets." + +"They _are_ lunatics," repeated Westmore. "If they weren't, they +wouldn't risk the wholesale murder of women and children. That is a +purely German peculiarity; it's what the normal boche delights in. But +the Irish are white men. And it's only when they're crazy they'd try a +thing like this." + +After a long silence: + +"How fast, Garry?" + +"Around fifty." + +"How far is it?" + +"About twenty-five miles further." + +The car rushed on through the night under the brilliant July stars and +over a perfect road. In the hollows, where spring brooks ran under +stone bridges, a slight, chilling mist hung, but otherwise the night +was clear and warm. + +Woods, fields, farms, streamed by in the darkness; the car tore on in +the wake of its glaring, golden headlights, where clouds of little +winged creatures of the night whirled and eddied like flecks of +tinsel. + +Rarely they encountered other cars, for the hour was late, and there +were no lights in the farm houses which they passed along the road. + +They spoke seldom now, their terrific speed and the roaring wind +discouraging conversation. But the night air, which they whipped into +a steadily flowing gale, was still soft and fragrant and warm; and +with every mile their exhilaration increased. + +Now the eastern horizon, which had already paled to a leaden tone, was +becoming pallid; and few stars were visible except directly overhead. + +Barres slowed down to twenty miles. Long double barriers of dense and +misty woodland flanked the road on either hand, with few cultivated +fields between and very rarely a ramshackle barn. + +Acres of alder swamp spread away on either hand, set with swale and +pool and tussock. And across the flat desolation the east was all a +saffron glow now, and the fish-crows were flying in twos and threes +above the bog holes. + +"There's a man in the road ahead," said Westmore. + +"I see him." + +The man threw up one arm in signal, then made a sweeping gesture +indicating that they should turn to the left. The man was Renoux. + +"A cart-track and a pair of bars," said Westmore. "Their car has been +in there, too. You can see the tire marks." + +Renoux sprang onto the running board without a word. + +Barres steered his car very gingerly in through the bars and along the +edge of the woods where, presently, the swampy cart-track turned to +the right among the trees. + +"All right!" said Renoux briskly, dropping to the ground. He shook +hands with the two new arrivals, passed one arm under each of theirs, +and led them forward along a wet, ferny road toward a hardwood ridge. + +Here Souchez and Alost, who lay full length on the dead leaves, got +up, to welcome the reinforcements, and to point out the disreputable +old brick building which stood close to the further edge of the woods, +rear end toward them, and fronting on a rutty crossroad beyond. + +"Are we in time?" inquired Barres in a low voice. + +"Plenty," said Renoux with a shrug. "They've been making a night of it +in there. They're at it yet. Listen!" + +Even at that distance the sound of revelry was audible--shouts, +laughter, cheering, boisterous singing. + +"Skeel is there," remarked Renoux, "and I fancy he's an anxious man. +They ought to have been out of that house before dawn to escape +observation, but I imagine Skeel has an unruly gang to deal with in +those reckless Irishmen." + +Barres and Westmore peered out through the fringe of trees across the +somewhat desolate landscape beyond. + +There were no houses to be seen. Here and there on the bogs were +stakes of swale-hay and a gaunt tree or two. + +"That brick hotel," said Renoux, "is one of those places outside town +limits, where law is defied and license straddles the line. It's run +by McDermott, one of the two men aboard the power-boat." + +"Where is their boat?" inquired Westmore. + +Renoux turned and pointed to the southwest. + +"Over there in a cove--about a mile south of us. If they leave the +tavern we can get to the boat first and block their road." + +"We'll be between two fires then," observed Barres, "from the boat's +deck and from Skeel's gang." + +Renoux nodded coolly: + +"Two on the boat and five in the hotel make seven. We are five." + +"Then we can hold them," said Westmore. + +"That's all I want," rejoined Renoux briskly. "I just want to check +them and hold them until your Government can send its agents here. I +know I have no business to do this--probably I'll get into trouble. +But I can't sit still and twirl my thumbs while people blow up a canal +belonging to an ally of France, can I?" + +"Hark!" motioned Barres. "They're singing! Poor devils. They're like +Cree Indians singing their death song." + +"I suppose," said Westmore sombrely, "that deep in each man's heart +there remains a glimmer of hope that he, at least, may come out of +it." + +Renoux shrugged: + +"Perhaps. But they are brave, these Irish--brave enough without a +skinful of whiskey. And with it they are entirely reckless. No sane +man can foretell what they will attempt." He turned to include Alost +and Souchez: "I think there can be only one plan of action for us, +gentlemen. We should string out here along the edges of the woods. +When they leave the tavern we should run for the landing and get into +the shack that stands there--a rickety sort of boat-house on piles," +he explained to Westmore and Barres. "There is the path through the +woods." He pointed to the left, where a trodden way bisected the +wood-road. "It runs straight to the landing," he added. + +Alost, at a sign from him, started off westward through the woods. +Souchez followed. Renoux leaned back against a big walnut tree and +signified that he would remain there. + +So Barres and Westmore moved forward to the right, very cautiously, +circling the rear of the old brick hotel where a line of ruined +horse-sheds and a rickety barn screened them from view of the hotel's +south windows. + +So close to the tavern did they pass that they could hear the noisy +singing very distinctly and see through the open windows the movement +of shadowy figures under the paling light of a ceiling lamp. + +Westmore ventured nearer in hopes of getting a better view from the +horse-sheds; and Barres crept after him through the rank growth of +swale and weeds. + +"Look at them!" whispered Westmore. "They're in a sort of uniform, +aren't they?" + +"They've got on green jackets and stable-caps! Do you see that stack +of rifles in the corner of the tap-room?" + +"There's Skeel!" muttered Westmore, "the man in the long cloak sitting +by the fireplace with his face buried in his hands!" + +"He looks utterly done in," whispered Barres. "Probably he can't +manage that gang and he begins to realise it. Hark! You can hear every +word of that thing they're singing." + +Every word, indeed, was a yell or a shout, and distinct enough at +that. They were roaring out "Green Jackets": + + "_Oh, Irish maids love none but those + Who wear the jackets green!_" + +--all lolling and carousing around a slopping wet table--all save +Murtagh Skeel, who, seated near the empty fireplace with his white +face buried between his fingers, never stirred from his attitude of +stony immobility. + +"There's Soane!" whispered Barres, "that man who just got up!" + +It was Soane, his cap cocked aslant on his curly head, his green +jacket unbuttoned, a tumbler aloft in his unsteady clutch. + +"Whurroo!" he yelled. "_Gu ma slan a chi mi!--fear a' Bhata!_" And he +laid a reckless hand on Skeel's cloaked shoulder. But the latter never +stirred; and Soane, winking at the company, flourished his tumbler +aloft and broke into "The Risin' o' the Moon": + + "Oh, then tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, + Phwere the gatherin' is to be! + In th' ould shpot be the river;-- + Sure it's known to you an' me!" + +And the others began to shout the words: + + "_Death to every foe and traitor! + Forward! Strike the marchin' tune, + And hurrah, me lads, for freedom! + 'Tis the risin' of the moon!_ + + "At the risin' of the moon, + At the risin' of the moon, + And a thousand blades are flashin' + At the risin' of the moon!" + +"Here's to Murtagh Skeel!" roared Soane, "_An gille dubh ciardubh!_ +Whurroo!" + +Skeel lifted his haggard visage, slowly looked around, got up from his +stool. + +"In God's name," he said hoarsely, "if you're not utterly shameless, +take your rifles and follow me. Look at the sun! Have you lads gone +stark mad? What will McDermott think? What will Kelly Walsh say? It's +too late to weigh anchor now; but it isn't too late to go aboard and +sober up, and wait for dark. + +"If you've a rag of patriotism left you'll quit your drinking and come +with me!" + +"Ah, sure, then, Captain dear," cried Soane, "is there anny harrm in a +bite an' a sup f'r dyin' lads befoor they go whizzin' up to glory?" + +"I tell you we should be aboard! _Now!_" + +Another said: + +"Aw, the cap's right. To hell with the booze. Come on, youse!" And he +began to button his green jacket. Another got up on unsteady legs: + +"Sure," he said, "there do be time f'r to up anchor an' shquare away +for Point Dalhousie. Phwat's interferin', I dunno." + +"A Canadian cruiser," said Skeel with dry bitterness. "Get aboard, +anyway. We'll have to wait for dark." + +There was a reluctant shuffle of feet, a careless adjusting of green +jackets and caps, a reaching for rifles. + +"Come on," whispered Barres, "we've got to get to the landing before +they do." + +They turned and moved off swiftly among the trees. Renoux saw them +coming, understood, turned and hurried southward to warn Alost and +Souchez. Barres and Westmore caught glimpses of them ahead, striding +along the trodden path under the trees, and ran to overtake them. + +"They're going aboard," said Barres to Renoux. "But they will +probably wait till dark before starting." + +"They will unless they're stark mad," said Renoux, hurrying out to the +southern borders of the wood. But no sooner had he arrived on the edge +of the open swale country than he uttered an exclamation of rage and +disgust, and threw up his hands helplessly. + +It was perfectly plain to the others what was happening--and what now +could not be prevented. + +There lay the big, swift power boat, still at anchor; there stood the +ramshackle wharf and boat-house. But already a boat had put off from +the larger craft and was being rowed parallel with the shore toward +the mouth of a marshy creek. + +Two men were rowing; a third steered. + +But what had suddenly upset Renoux was the sight of a line of green +jackets threading the marsh to the north, led by Skeel, who was +already exchanging handkerchief signals with the men in the boat. + +Renoux glanced at his prey escaping by an avenue of which he had no +previous knowledge. It was death to go out into the open with pistols +and face the fire of half a dozen rifles. No man there had any +delusions concerning that. + +Souchez had field-glasses slung around his neck. Renoux took them, +gazed at the receding boat, set his teeth hard. + +"Ferez!" he growled. + +"What!" exclaimed Westmore, turning a violent red. + +"The man steering is Ferez Bey." Renoux handed the binoculars to +Westmore with a shrug. + +Barres, bending double, had gone out into the swale. A thicket of +cat-tails screened him and he advanced very carefully, keeping his +eyes on the green-jacketed men whose heads, shoulders and rifles were +visible above the swampy growth beyond. + +Suddenly Renoux, who was watching him in bitter silence, saw him turn +and beckon violently. + +"Quick!" he said in a low, eager voice. "He may have found a ditch to +shelter us!" + +Renoux was correct in his surmise: Barres stood with drawn pistol, +awaiting them in a muddy ditch which ran through the reeds diagonally +across the marsh. It was shin-deep in water. + +"We could make a pretty good stand in a ditch like this, couldn't we?" +he demanded excitedly. + +"You bet we can!" replied Renoux, jumping down beside him, followed by +Westmore, Alost and Souchez in turn. + +Barres, leading, ran down the ditch as fast as he could, spattering +himself and the others with mud and water at every step. + +"Here!" panted Renoux, clambering nimbly out of the ditch and peering +ahead through the reeds. Then he suddenly stood upright: + +"Halt!" he shouted. "It's all up with you, Skeel! Keep away from that +boat, or I order my men to fire!" + +There was a dead silence for a moment; then Skeel's voice: + +"Better not bother us, my good man. We know our business and you'd +better learn yours." + +"Skeel," retorted Renoux, "my business is other people's business, +sometimes. It's yours just now. I warn you to keep away from that +boat!" He turned and hailed the boat in the next breath: "Boat ahoy! +Keep off or we open fire!" + +The metallic bang of a rifle cut him short and his straw hat was +jerked from his head. Then came Skeel's voice, calmly dangerous: + +"I know you, Renoux! You have no standing here. Keep away or I'll kill +you!" + +"What lawful standing have you--leading an armed expedition from the +United States into Canada!" retorted Renoux, red with anger and +looking about for his hat. + +"If you don't get back I shall surely kill you!" replied Skeel. "I +count three, Renoux:--one--two--three." Bang! went another rifle, and +Renoux shrugged and dropped reluctantly back into the ditch. + +"They're crazy," he said. "Barres, fire across that boat out yonder." + +Westmore also fired, aiming carefully at Ferez. It was too far; they +both knew it. But the ricochetting bullets seemed to sting the rowers +to frantic exertion, and Ferez, at the rudder, ducked and squatted +flat, the tip of his hat alone showing over the gunwale. + +"We can't stop them," said Renoux desperately. "They're certain to +reach that boat." + +Now, suddenly, Skeel's six rifles cracked viciously and the bullets +came screaming over the ditch. + +Renoux fairly gnashed his teeth: + +"If a bluff won't stop them, then I'm through," he said bitterly. "I +haven't any authority. I haven't the audacity to fire on them--to so +insult your Government. And yet, by God!--there's the canal to +remember!" + +Another volley from the Green Jackets, and again the whizzing scream +of bullets through the cat-tails above their heads. + +"Look!" cried Barres. "They're embarking already! There isn't a chance +of holding them." + +It was true. Pell-mell through the shallow water and into the boat +leaped the Green Jackets, holding their rifles high in the early +sunshine; Skeel sprang in last of all; the oars flashed. + +Pistols hanging helplessly, Renoux and his men stood there foolishly +on the edge of their ditch and watched the boat pull back to the big +power-craft. + +Nobody said anything. The Green Jackets climbed aboard with a derisive +cheer. So near was the power-boat that Skeel, Ferez, and Soane were +easily distinguishable there in the brilliant sunshine, on deck. + +"Anyway," burst out Renoux, "they'll not dare lie there at anchor and +wait for dark, now." + +Even as he spoke the anchor came up. + +Very deliberately the small boat was hoisted to the davits; the big +craft began to move, swinging her nose north by west, the spray +breaking under the bows. She was already under way, already headed for +the open sea. + +And then, without any warning whatever, out of the northeast, almost +sheering the jutting point which had concealed her, rushed a Canadian +patrol boat, her forward deck a geyser of spouting foam. + +A red lance of flame leaped from her forward gun; the sharp crack +shattered the summer stillness; the shell went skittering away over +the water, across the bows of the power-boat; a string of signals +broke from the cruiser's mast. + +Then an amazing thing happened; the power-boat's after deck suddenly +swarmed with Green Jackets; there came a flash and a report, and a +shell burst over the Canadian patrol cruiser, cutting her halliards to +ribbons. + +"Well--by--God!" gasped Renoux. Barres and Westmore stood petrified; +but the three Frenchmen, with one accord, and standing up very +straight, uncovered in the presence of these men who were about to +die. + +Suddenly the power-boat broke out a flag at her masthead--a bright +green flag bearing a golden harp. + +Again the small gun flashed from her after-deck; another gun spoke +with a splitting report from the starboard bow; both the shells +exploded close to the patrol cruiser, showering her superstructure +with steel fragments. + +And, as the concussions subsided, and the landward echoes of the shots +died away, far and clear from the power-boat's decks, across the +water, came the defiant chorus: + + "I saw the Shannon's purple tide + Roll by the Irish town, + As I stood in the breach by Donal's side + When England's flag went down!--" + +They were singing "Green Jackets," these doomed men. Barres could hear +them cheering, too, for a moment only--then every gun aboard the +flimsy little craft spat flame at the big Canadian, and the bursting +shells splashed the water all around her with their pigmy fragments. + +Now, from the cruiser, a single gun bellowed. Instantly a red glare +wrapped the launch; there was a heavy report, a fountain of rushing +smoke and debris. + +Against the infernal flare of light Skeel's tall figure showed in +silhouette, standing there with hat lifted as though cheering. Again, +from the cruiser, a gun crashed. Where the burning launch had been a +horrible flare shot up; and the shocking detonation rocked land and +sky. On the water a vast black cloud rested, almost motionless; and +all around rained charred things that had been wood and steel and +clothing, perhaps--perhaps fragments of living creatures. + + * * * * * + +So passed into eternity Murtagh Skeel and his Green Jackets, hurled +skyward in the twinkling of an eye on the roaring blast of their own +magazine. What was left of their green flag attained an altitude +unparalleled that sunny morning. But their souls soared higher into +that blinding light which makes all things clear at last, solves all +questions, all perplexities--which consoles all griefs and quiets at +last the bitter mirth of those who have laughed at Death for +conscience's sake. + + * * * * * + +Very slowly the dull cloud lifted from the sunlit water. Dead fish +floated there; others, half-stunned, lay awash with fins quivering, or +strove to turn over, shining silver white in the morning sun. + + + + +XXIX + +ASTHORE + + +The sun hung low over Northbrook hills as Barres turned his touring +car in between the high, white service gates of Foreland Farms, swung +around the oval and backed into the garage. + +Barres senior, very trim in tweeds, the web-straps of a creel and a +fly-book wallet crossing his breast, glanced up from his absorbing +occupation of preparing evening casts on a twelve-foot, tapered +mist-leader. + +"Hello," he said absently, glancing from his son to Westmore through +his monocle, "where have you been keeping yourselves all day?" + +"I'll tell you all about it later, dad," said Garry, emerging from the +garage with Westmore. "Where is mother?" + +"In the kennels, I believe.... What do you think of this cast, Jim?--a +whirling dun for a dropper, a hare's ear for a----" He checked +himself; glanced doubtfully at the two young men. + +"You're somewhat muddy," he remarked; and continued to explore his +fly-book for new combinations. + +Westmore, very weary, started for the house; Garry walked across to +the kennel gate, let himself in among a dozen segregated and very +demonstrative English setters, walked along the tree-bordered alley +behind the garage, and, shutting out the affectionate but quarantined +dogs, entered the kennels. + +His mother, in smock and apron, and wearing rubber gloves, was seated +on the edge of a straw-littered bunk, a bottle in one hand, a +medicine-dropper in the other. Her four-footed patient, swathed in +blankets, lay on the straw beside her. + +"Well, dear," she said, looking up at her son, "where have you been +all night, and most of to-day?" + +"I'll tell you about it later, mother. There's something else I want +to ask you----" He fell silent, watching her measure out fourteen +drops of Grover's Specific for distemper. + +"I'm listening, Garry," she said, bending over the sick pup and gently +forcing open his feverish jaws. Then she dropped her medicine far back +on his tongue; the pup gulped, sneezed, looked at her out of dull eyes +and feebly wagged his tail. + +"I'm going to pull him through, Garry," she said. "The other pups are +doing well, too. But your sister and I were up with them all night. I +only hope and pray that the distemper doesn't spread." + +She looked up at her son: + +"Well, dear, what is it you have to ask me?" + +"Mother, do you like Dulcie Soane?" + +"I scarcely know her yet.... She's very sweet--very young----" + +"Do you like her?" + +"Why--yes----" She looked intently at her tall, unsmiling son. "But I +don't even know who she is, Garry." + +Her son bent down beside her and put one arm around her shoulder. She +sat quite motionless with the bottle of Grover's Specific in one +rubber-gloved hand, the medicine dropper poised in the other. + +He said: + +"Dulcie's name is Fane, not Soane. Her grandfather was Sir Barry +Fane, of Fane Court--an Irishman. His daughter, Eileen, was Dulcie's +mother.... Her father--is dead--I believe." + +"But--this explains nothing, Garry." + +"Is it not explanation enough, mother?" + +"Is it enough for you, my son?" + +"Yes." + +Her head slowly drooped. She sat gazing in silence at the straw-littered +floor. + +He looked earnestly, anxiously at his mother's face. Her brooding +expression remained tranquil but inscrutable. + +He said, watching her intently: + +"I wasn't sure about myself until last night. I don't know about +Dulcie, whether she can care for me--in this new way.... We were +friends. But I am in love with her now.... Deeply." + +It was one of the moments in his career which remain fixed forever in +a young man's memory. + +In a mother's memory, too. Whatever she says and does then, he never +forgets. She, too, remembers always. + +He stood leaning over her in the dim light of the kennel, one arm +around her shoulders, waiting. And presently she lifted her head, +looked him quietly in the eyes, bent forward very gently, and kissed +him. + + * * * * * + +Dulcie was not in the house, nor was Thessalie. + +Barres and Westmore exchanged conversation between their open doors +while bathing and dressing. + +"You know, Garry," admitted the latter, "I feel all shaken up, yet, +over that ghastly business." + +"So do I.... If they hadn't died so gamely.... But Skeel was a +_man_!" + +"You bet he was, crazy or sane!... What a pity!... And that poor +devil, Soane! Did you hear them cheering there, at the last? And what +superb nerve--breaking out that green flag!" + +"And think of their opening on that big patrol boat! They hadn't a +chance." + +"They had no chance anyway," said Westmore. "It meant execution if +they surrendered--at least, they probably thought so. But how do you +suppose that cowardly strangler, Ferez, felt when he realised that +Skeel was going to fight?" + +"He certainly got what was coming to him, didn't he?" said Barres +grimly. "You'll tell Thessa, won't you?" + +"As soon as I can find her," nodded Westmore, giving his fresh bow-tie +a most killing twist. + +He was ready before Barres was, and he lost no time in starting out to +find Thessalie. + +Barres, following him later, discovered him on the library lounge with +Thessalie's fair cheek resting against his. + +"I'm s-sorry!" he stammered, backing out, and very conscious of +Westmore's unconcealed annoyance. But Thessalie called to him in a +perfectly calm voice, and he ventured to come back. + +"Are you going to tell Dulcie about this horrible affair?" she asked. + +"Not immediately.... Are you feeling all right, Thessa?" + +"Yes. I had a horrid night. Isn't it odd how a girl can so completely +lose her nerve after a thing is all over?" + +"That's the best time to lose it," said Westmore. And to Barres: +"She's bruised from head to foot and her neck hurts yet----" + +"It is nothing," murmured Thessalie, looking smilingly at her lover. +Then they both glanced at Barres. + +There was a silence. Side by side on the library lounge they continued +to gaze expectantly at Barres. And when he got it into his head that +this polite expectancy might express their desire for his early +departure, he backed out again, embarrassed and slightly irritated. + +Thessalie called to him very sweetly: + +"If you are looking for Dulcie, I left her a few minutes ago over by +the wall-fountain in the rose arbour." + +"Thanks," he said, and turned back through the hall, traversing it to +the north veranda. + +There was no sign of Dulcie in the garden or on the lawn. He walked +slowly across the clipped grass, beyond the pool, and, turning to the +right past a sun-dial, stepped into the long rose-arbour. At the +further end of the blossoming tunnel he saw her seated on the low wall +in the rear of the tea-house. Her head was turned toward the woods +beyond. + +When he was near her she heard him and looked around, was on the point +of rising, but something in his expression held her motionless. + +"Where have you been, Garry?" + +He ignored the question, seated himself beside her on the wall, and +drew both her hands into his. He saw the swift colour stain her face, +the lovely, disconcerted eyes lower. + +"Last night," he said, "did you come back as you promised?" + +"Yes." + +"And you found me gone." + +She nodded. + +"What could you have thought of me, Dulcie?" + +"I--my thoughts were--not very clear." + +"Are they clearer?" + +Her head remained lowered but she raised her grey eyes to his. Her +face had become very still and white. + +"Dulcie," he said under his breath, "I am in love with you.... What +will you do about it?" + +And, after a little while: + +"W-what shall I do, Garry?" she whispered. + +"Love me. Can you?" + +She remained silent. + +"Will you?--Dulcie Fane!" + +Her lips stirred, but no sound came. + +"You are so wonderful," he said. "I am just realising that I began to +fall in love with you a long time ago." + +The declining sun sent a red shaft across the fields, painting every +tree-trunk, gilding bramble and brake. A single ray touched the girl's +white neck and turned her copper-tinted hair to burning gold. + +"Do you love me? Can you love me, that way, Dulcie?" + +She rose abruptly, and he rose too, retaining her hands; but as she +turned her head from him he saw her mouth quiver. + +"Dearest--dearest!" But she interrupted him: + +"I want to tell you--that I don't understand why I should be called by +my mother's maiden name.... I w-want you to know that I _don't_ +understand it ... if that would make a difference--in your c-caring +for me.... And I wish you to know that--that I love and worship her +memory--and that I am happy and proud--and _proud_--to bear her +name." + +"My darling----" + +"Do you understand?" + +"Yes, Dulcie." + +"And do you still want me?" + +"You adorable child----" + +"_Do_ you?" + +"Of course I do----" He caught her in his arms, held her close, lifted +her flushed face. "Now, tell me whether you can love _me_! Tell me +everything that's hidden in your mind and heart!" + +"Oh, Garry," she faltered, "I do belong to you. I belong to you +anyway, because you made me. And I've always been in love with +you--always!--always from the very beginning of the world, _Asthore_! +And now--if you want me--this way--Garry _mo veel asthore_----" Her +hands crept from his breast to his shoulders; stole up around his +neck. "Asthore," she murmured; and their lips met in their first kiss. +Then she gravely turned her head and laid her cheek against his; and +he heard her murmuring to herself: + +"_Drahareen o machree, mo veel asthore!_ This man--this man who takes +my heart--and gives me his...." + +"What are you murmuring there all to yourself?" he whispered, laughing +and drawing her closer. But she only clung to him passionately and her +closed lids kept back the starting tears. + +"What is it, dear?" he asked. + +"H-happiness," she whispered, "and pride, perhaps.... And my love for +you, Asthore!" + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOONLIT WAY*** + + +******* This file should be named 33557-8.txt or 33557-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/3/5/5/33557 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. 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