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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:09:13 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/37974-8.txt b/37974-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8a5fb84 --- /dev/null +++ b/37974-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4710 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Diana Tempest, Volume II (of 3), by Mary +Cholmondeley + + +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: Diana Tempest, Volume II (of 3) + + +Author: Mary Cholmondeley + + + +Release Date: November 10, 2011 [eBook #37974] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIANA TEMPEST, VOLUME II (OF 3)*** + + +E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Matthew Wheaton, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images +generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries +(http://www.archive.org/details/americana) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illuminations. + See 37974-h.htm or 37974-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37974/37974-h/37974-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37974/37974-h.zip) + + + Project Gutenberg also has Volumes I and III of this + work. See + Volume I: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37973 + Volume III: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37975 + + + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive/American Libraries. See + http://www.archive.org/details/dianatempest02chol + + + + + +DIANA TEMPEST. + +by + +MARY CHOLMONDELEY, + +Author of +"The Danvers Jewels," +"Sir Charles Danvers," etc. + +In Three Volumes. +VOL. II. + + + + + + + +London: +Richard Bentley & Son, +Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen. +1893. +(All rights reserved.) + + + + +DIANA TEMPEST. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "The fact is, I have never loved any one well enough to put + myself into a noose for them. It _is_ a noose, you + know."--GEORGE ELIOT. + + +It was the middle of July. The season had reached the climax which +precedes a collapse. The heat was intense. The pace had been too great +to last. The rich sane were already on their way to Scotch moor or +Norwegian river; the rich insane and the poor remained, and people with +daughters--assiduously entertaining the dwindling numbers of the +"uncertain, coy, and hard to please" _jeunesse dorée_ of the present +day. There were some great weddings fixed for the end of July, proving +that marriage was not extinct,--prospective weddings which, like iron +rivets, held the crumbling fabric of the season together. + +If the unusual heat had driven away half the world, still the greater +part of the little world mentioned in these pages remained. Not quite +all, for Sir Henry and Lady Verelst had departed rather suddenly for +Norway, and Lord Frederick was drinking the water at Homburg or Aix; and +thriving on a beverage which never passed his lips without admixture in +his own country, except in connection with the toothbrush. + +But John and his aunt Miss Fane were still in the large cool house in +Park Lane. Lord Hemsworth was still baking himself for no apparent +reason in his rooms over his club. Mrs. Courtenay and Di were still in +town, because they could not afford to go until their country visits +began. + +"Oh, granny," said Di one afternoon as they sat together in the darkened +drawing-room, "let us cut everything. Do be ill, and let me write round +to say we have been obliged to leave town." + +Mrs. Courtenay shook her head. + +"We can't go till we have somewhere to go to, and we are not due at +Archelot till the first of August." + +"Could not we afford a week, just one week, at the sea first?" + +"No, Di," said Mrs. Courtenay, "I have thought it over. Only the rich +can have their cake and eat it. We had a victoria for a fortnight in +June. That meant no seaside this year." + +There was a pause. + +"I wish I were married," said Di, looking affectionately at Mrs. +Ccurtenay's pale face. "I wish I had a rich, kind husband. I would not +mind if he parted his hair down the middle, or even if he came down to +breakfast in slippers, if only he would give me everything I wanted. And +he should stay up in London, and we would run down to the seaside +together, G., first-class; I am not sure I should not take a _coupé_ for +you; and you should go out on the sands in the donkey-chairs that your +soul loves; and have ice on the butter and cream in the tea; and in the +evening we would sit on a first-floor balcony (no more second-floors if +I were rich) and watch a cool moon rising over a cool sea. I wish +moonlight on the sea were not so expensive. The beauties of nature are +very dear, granny. Sunsets cost money nowadays." + +"Everything costs money," said Mrs. Courtenay. + +Di was silent a little while; it was too hot to talk except at +intervals. + +"I don't think I mind being poor," she said at last. "For myself, I +mean. I have looked at being poor in the face, and it is not half so bad +as rich people seem to think. I mean our kind of poorness; of course, +not the poverty of nothing a year and ten children to educate, who ought +never to have been born. But some people think that the kind of means +(like ours) which narrow down pleasures, and check one at every turn, +and want a sharp tug to meet at the end of the year, are a dreadful +misfortune. Really I don't see it. Of course it is annoying being less +well off than any of our friends, and now I come to think of it, all the +people we know are richer than ourselves. I wonder how it happens. But +there is something rather interesting after all in combating small +means. Look at that screen I made you last year, and think of the +gnawing envy it has awakened in the hearts of friends. It was a +clothes-horse once, but genius was brought to bear upon it, and it is a +very imposing object now. And then my dear Emersons, all eleven of them, +I don't think I could have valued them so much, or have been so furious +with Jane for spilling water on one of them, if they had not emerged one +by one out of my glove and shoe money." + +"Oh, my dear, poverty does not matter, nothing matters while you are +young and strong. But it presses hard when one is growing old. Money +eases everything." + +"I feel that; and sometimes when I see you working a sovereign out of +the neck of that horrid little woollen jug in the writing-table drawer, +I simply long for money for your sake, that you may never be worried +about it any more. And sometimes I should like it for the sake of all +the lovely places in the world that other people go to (people who only +remember the _table d'hôte_ dinners when they come back), and the books +that I cannot afford, and the pictures that seem my very own, only they +belong to some one else; and the kind things one could do to poor people +who could not return them, which rich people don't seem to think of: +rich people's kindnesses are always so expensive. Yes, I long for money +sometimes, but all the time I know I don't really care about it. There +seems to be no pleasure in having anything if there is no difficulty in +getting it. I would rather marry a poor man with brains and do my best +with his small income, and help him up, than spend a rich man's money. +Any one can do that. I fear I shall never take you to the seaside, my +own G., or send you pre-paid hampers of hothouse flowers, or game, after +Mr. Di's _battues_, for I am certain Providence intends me to be a poor +man's wife, if I enter the holy estate at all, because--I should make +such a good one." + +"You would make a good wife, Di, but I sometimes think you will never +marry," said Mrs. Courtenay, sadly. She felt the heat. + +"Well, granny, I won't say I feel sure I shall never marry, because all +girls say that, and it generally means nothing. But still that is what I +feel without saying it. Do you remember poor old Aunt Belle when she was +dying, and how nothing pleased her, and how she said at last: 'I want--I +want--I don't know what I want'? Well, when I come to think of it, I +really don't know what _I_ want. I know what I _don't_ want. I don't +want a kind, indulgent husband, and a large income, and good horses, and +pretty little frilled children with their mother's eyes, that one shows +to people and is proud of. It is all very nice. I am glad when I see +other people happy like that. I should like to see you pleased; but for +myself--really--I think I should find them rather in the way. I dare say +I might make a good wife, as you say. I believe I could be rather a +cheerful companion, and affectionate if it was not exacted of me. But +somehow all that does not hit the mark. The men who have cared for me +have never seemed to like me for myself, or to understand the something +behind the chatter and the fun which is the real part of me--which, if I +married one of them, would never be brought into play, and would die of +starvation. The only kind of marriage I have ever had a chance of seems +to me like a sort of suicide--seems as if it would be one's best self +that would be killed, while the other self, the well-dressed, +society-loving, ball-going, easy-going self, would be all that was left +of me, and would dance upon my grave." + +Mrs. Courtenay was silent. She never ridiculed any thought, however +crude and young, if it were genuine. She was one of the few people who +knew whether Di was in fun or in earnest, and she knew she was in +earnest now. + +"There are such things as happy marriages," she said. + +"Yes, granny; but I think it is the _happy_ marriages I see which make +me afraid of marrying. I know it is foolish to expect to meet with +anything better than the ordinary happy marriage, and one ought to be +thankful if one met with that, for half the world does not. But when I +see what is _called_ a happy marriage I always think, is that all? +Somebody who believes everything I do is right, however silly it is, and +knows how many lumps of sugar I take in my tea--like Arnold and +Lily--people point at that marriage as such a model, because they have +been married two years and are still as silly as they were. But whenever +I stay with them, and she talks nonsense, and he thinks it is all the +wisdom of Solomon; and she gives him a blotting-pad, and he gives her a +fan; and then they look at each other, and then run races in the garden, +and each waits for the other, and they come in hand-in-hand as if they +had done something clever--whenever I behold these things it all seems +to me a sort of game that I should be ashamed to play at, and I feel, if +that is all, at least all I ought to expect, that it is a kind of +happiness I don't care to have. Must love be always a sort of pretence, +granny, and such a blind, silly, unreasoning feeling when it does exist? +If ever I fall in love, shall I set up an assortment of lamentable, +ludicrous illusions about some commonplace young man, as Lily does +about that pink Arnold? Can't love be real, like hate? Can't people ever +look at each other, and see each other as they _are_, and love each +other for _what_ they are?" + +"The Lilies and the Arnolds would not marry if they saw each other as +they are, my dear, and they would miss a great deal of happiness in +consequence. There would be very few marriages if there were no +illusions." + +Di was silent. + +Mrs. Courtenay stitched a resolution into her lace-work concerning a man +whom no one could call commonplace, and presently spoke again. + +"You are confusing 'being in love' with love itself," she said. "The one +is common to vulgarity, the other rare, at least between men and women. +It is the best thing life has to offer. But I have noticed that those +who believe in it, and hope for it, and refuse the commoner love for it, +generally--remain unmarried. And now, my dear, send down Evans with my +black lace mantilla, and my new bonnet, for Mrs. Darcy said she would +lend us her carriage for the afternoon, and it comes at five. Put on a +white gown, and make yourself look cool. I must call on Miss Fane, and +afterwards we will go down and see the pony races at Hurlingham. Lord +Hemsworth sent us tickets for to-day. He is riding, I think." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "The little waves make the large ones, and are of the same + pattern."--GEORGE ELIOT. + + +John was dragging himself feebly across the hall to the smoking-room, +after a dutiful cup of tea with his aunt, who was prostrate with a +headache, when the door-bell rang, and he saw the champing profiles of a +pair of horses through one of the windows. Following his masculine +instincts, he hurried across the hall with all the celerity he could +muster, and had just got safe under cover when the footman answered the +bell. His ear caught the name of Mrs. Courtenay through the open door of +the smoking-room, and presently, though he knew Miss Fane did not +consider herself well enough to see visitors, there was a slow rustling +across the hall, and up the stairs, accompanied by a light firm footfall +that could hardly belong to James, whose elephantine rush had so often +disturbed him when he was ill. + +As James came down again, John looked out of the smoking-room door. + +"Who is with Miss Fane?" + +"Mrs. Courtenay, sir." + +"Any one else?" + +"No, sir. Miss Fane could only see Mrs. Courtenay. Miss Tempest, as come +with her, is in the gold drawing-room." + +John shut the smoking-room door and went and looked out of the window. +It was not a cheerful prospect, but that did not matter much, as he +happened to be looking at it without seeing it. Lindo got up on a chair +and looked solemnly out too, rolling the whites of his eyes +occasionally at his master from under his bushy brows, and yawning long +tongue-curling yawns of sheer _ennui_. The cowls on the chimney-pots +twirled. The dead plants on the leads were still dead. The cook's canary +was going up and down on its two perches like a machine. John reflected +that it was rather a waste of canary power; but, perhaps, there was +nothing to hold back for in its bachelor existence. It would stand still +enough presently when it was stuffed. + +Could he get upstairs by himself? That was the question. He could come +down, but that was not of much interest to him just now. Could he get up +again? Only the first floor. Shallow stairs. Sit down half way. Awkward +to be found sitting there, certainly. One thing was certain: that he was +not going to be conveyed up in Marshall's solemn embrace as heretofore. +John reflected that he must begin to walk by himself some time. Why not +now? Very slowly, of course. Why not now? + +It certainly was slow. But the stairs were shallow. There were +balusters. It was done at last. If that alpine summit--the upper +mat--was finally reached on hands and knees, who was the wiser? + +John was breathless but triumphant. His hands were a trifle black; but +what of that? The door of the gold drawing-room was open. It was a +historic room, the decoration of which had been left untouched since the +days when the witty Mrs. Tempest, whom Gainsborough painted, held her +salon there. It was a long pillared room. Curtains of some old-fashioned +pale gold brocade, not made now, hung from the white pillars and +windows. The gold-coloured walls were closely lined with dim pictures +from the ceiling to the old Venetian leather of the dado. Tall, gilt +eastern figures, life size, meant to hold lamps, stood here and there, +raising their empty hands, hideous, but peculiar to the room, with its +bygone stately taste, and stiff white and gilt chairs and settees. John +drew aside the curtain, and then hesitated. A family of tall white +lilies in pots were gathered together in one of the further windows. Di +was standing by them, turned towards him, but without perceiving him. +She had evidently introduced herself to the lilies as a friend of the +family, and was touching the heads of those nearest to her very gently, +very tenderly with one finger. She stood in the full light, like some +tall splendid lily herself, against the golden background. + +John drew in his breath. It was _his_ house; they were _his_ lilies. The +empty setting which seemed to claim her for its own, to group itself so +naturally round her, was all his. There was a tremor of prophesy in the +air. His brain seemed to turn slowly round in his head. He had come +upstairs too quickly. His hand clutched the curtain. He felt momentarily +incapable of stirring or speaking. The old physical pain, which only +loosed him at intervals, tightened its thongs. But he dreaded to see her +look up and find him watching her. He went forward and held out his hand +in silence. + +Di looked up and her expression changed instantly. A lovely colour came +into her face, and her eyes shone. She advanced quickly towards him. + +"Oh, John!" she said. "Is it really you? I was afraid we should not see +you before we left town. But you ought not to stand." (John's complexion +was passing from white to ashen grey, to pale green.) "Sit down." She +held both his passive hands in hers. She would not for worlds have let +him see that she thought he was going to faint. "This is a nice chair by +the window," drawing him gently to it. "I was just admiring your lilies. +You will let me ring for a cup of tea, I know. I am so thirsty." It was +done in a moment, and she was back again beside him, only a voice now, a +voice among the lilies, which appeared and disappeared at intervals. One +tall furled lily head came and went with astonishing celerity, and the +voice spoke gently and cheerfully from time to time. It was like a +wonderful dream in a golden dusk. And then there was a little clink and +clatter, and a cup of tea suddenly appeared close to him out of the +darkness; and there was Di's voice again, and a momentary glimpse of +Di's earnest eyes, which did not match her tranquil unconcerned voice. + +He drank the tea mechanically without troubling to hold the cup, which +seemed to take the initiative with a precision and an independence of +support, which would have surprised him at any other time. The tea, what +little there was of it, was the nastiest he had ever tasted. It might +have been made in a brandy bottle. But it certainly cleared the air. +Gradually the room came back. The light came back. He came back himself. +It was all hardly credible. There was Di sitting opposite him, evidently +quite unaware that he had been momentarily overcome, and assiduously +engaged in pouring out another cup of tea. She had taken off her gloves, +and he watched her cool slender hands give herself a lump of sugar. +(Only one _small_ lump, John observed. He must remember that.) Then she +filled up the teapot from the little gurgling silver kettle. What +forethought. Wonderful! and yet all apparently so natural. She seemed to +do it as a matter of course. He ought to be helping her, but somehow he +was not. Would she take bread and butter, or one of those little round +things? She took a piece of bread and butter. Perhaps it would be as +well to listen to what she was saying. He lost the first part of the +sentence because she began to stir her tea at the moment, and he could +not attend to two things at once. But presently he heard her say-- + +"Mrs. Courtenay thinks young people ought not to mind missing tea +altogether. But I do mind; don't you? I think it is the pleasantest meal +in the day." + +John cautiously assented that it was. He felt that he must be very +careful, or a slight dizziness which was now rapidly passing off might +be noticed. + +Di went on talking unconcernedly, bending her burnished golden head in +its little white bonnet over the teacups. She seemed to take a great +interest in the tea-things, and the date of the apostle spoons. +Presently she looked at him again, and a relieved smile came into her +face. + +"Are you ready for another cup?" she said. And it was not a dream any +longer, but all quite real and true, and he was real too. + +"No, thanks," said John, taking his cup with extreme deliberation from a +table at his elbow, where he supposed he had set it down. "There is +something wrong about the tea, I think. Do send yours away and have some +more. It has a very odd taste." + +"Has it?" said Di, meeting his eye firmly, but with an effort. "I don't +notice it. On the contrary, I think it is rather good. Try another cup." + +"Perhaps the water did not boil," suggested John feebly, reflecting that +his temporary indisposition might have been the cause of his dislike, +but anxious to conceal the fact. + +"That is a direct reflection on my tea-making," said Di. "You had better +be more careful what you say." And she quickly pushed a stumpy little +liqueur-bottle behind the silver tea-caddy. + +"I beg pardon, and ask humbly for another cup," said John, smiling. The +pain had left him again, as it generally did after he had remained quiet +for a time, and in the relief from it he had a vague impression that the +present moment was too good to last. He did not know that it was usual +to wash out a cup so carefully as Di did his, but she seemed to think it +the right thing, and she probably knew. Anyhow, the second cup was +capital. John was not allowed to drink tea. The doctors who were +knitting firmly together again the slender threads that had so far bound +him to this world, believed he was imbibing an emulsion of something or +other strengthening and nauseous at that moment. + +"Oh! There is a tea-cake," said Di, discovering another dish behind the +kettle. "Why did not I see it before?" + +"It is not too late, I hope," said John, anxiously. The stupidity of +James in putting a tea-cake (which might have been preferred to bread +and butter) out of sight behind an opaque kettle, caused him profound +annoyance. + +But Di could not take a personal interest in the tea-cake. She looked +back at the lilies. + +"Don't you long to be in the country?" she said. "I find myself dreaming +about green fields and flowers gratis. I have not seen a country lane +since Easter, and then it rained all the time. It is three years since I +have found a hedge-sparrow's nest with eggs in it. Don't you long to get +away?" + +"I long to get back to Overleigh," said John. "I went there for a few +days in the spring on my return from Russia. The place was looking +lovely; but," he added, as if it were a matter of course, "naturally +Overleigh always looks beautiful to me." + +Di did not answer. + +"You know the wood below the house," he went on. "When I saw it last all +the rhododendrons were out." + +"I have never seen Overleigh," said Di, looking at the lilies again, and +trying to speak unconcernedly. She knew Lord Hemsworth's tiresome old +Border castle. She had visited at many historic houses. She and Mrs. +Courtenay were going to some shortly. But her own family place, the one +house of all others in the whole world which she would have cared +to see, she had never seen. She had often heard about it from +acquaintances, had looked wistfully at drawings of it in illustrated +magazines, had questioned Mrs. Courtenay and Archie about it, had +wandered in imagination in its long gallery, and down the lichened steps +from the postern in the wall, that every artist vignetted, to the +stone-flagged Italian gardens below. But with her bodily eyes she had +never beheld it, and the longing returned at intervals. It had returned +now. + +"Will you come and see it?" said John, looking away from her. It seemed +to him that he was playing a game in which he had staked heavily, +against some one who had staked nothing, who was not even conscious of +playing, and might inadvertently knock over the board at any moment. He +felt as if he had noiselessly pushed forward his piece, and as if +everything depended on the withdrawal of his hand from it unobserved. + +"I have wished to see Overleigh from a child," said Di, flushing a +little. "Think what you feel about it, and my father, and our +grandfather. Well--I am a Tempest too." + +John was vaguely relieved. He glanced from her to the Gainsborough in +the feathered hat that hung behind her. There was just a touch of +resemblance under the unlikeness, a look in the pose of the head, in its +curled and powdered wig that had reminded him of Di before. It reminded +him of her more than ever now. + +"Archie has been to Overleigh so constantly that I had not realized you +had never seen it," said John. "But I suppose you were not grown up in +those days; and since you grew up I have been abroad." + +"Shall you go abroad again?" + +"No. I have given up my secretaryship. I have come back to England for +good." + +"I am glad of that." + +"I have been away too long as it is." + +"Yes," said Di. "I have often thought so." + +"Why?" + +There was a pause. + +"We are not represented," said Di proudly. She was speaking to one of +her own family, and consequently she was not careful to choose her +words. She had evidently no fear of being misunderstood by John. "We +have always taken a place," she went on. "Not a particularly high one, +but one of some kind. There was Amyas Tempest the cavalier general, and +John who was with Charles of Bourbon at the sacking of Rome; and there +were judges and admirals. Not that that is much when one looks at other +families, the Cecils, for instance, but still they were always among the +men of the day. And then our great-grandfather who lies in Westminster +Abbey really was a great man. I was reading his life over again the +other day. I suppose his son only passed muster because he was his son, +and owing to his wife's ability. She amused old George IV., and made +herself a power, and pushed her husband." + +"My father never did anything," said John. + +"No. I have always heard he had brains, but that he let things go +because he was unhappy. Just the reason for holding on to them all the +tighter, I should have thought, wouldn't you?" + +"Not with some people. Some people can't do anything if there is no one +to be glad when they have done it. I partly understand the feeling." + +"I don't," said Di. "I mean, I do, but I don't understand giving in to +it, and letting a little bit of personal unhappiness, which will die +with one, prevent one's being a good useful link in a chain. One owes +that to the chain." + +"Yes," said John. "And yet I know he had a very strong feeling of +responsibility from what he said to me on his death-bed. I have often +thought about him since, and tried to piece together all the little +fragments I can remember of him; but I think there is no one I can +understand less than my own father. He seemed a hard cold man, and yet +that face is neither hard nor cold." + +John pointed to a picture behind her, and Di rose and turned to look at +it. + +It was an interesting refined face, destitute of any kind of good looks, +except those of high breeding. The eyes had a certain thoughtful +challenge in them. The lips were thin and firm. + +Both gazed in silence for a moment. + +"He looks as if he might have been one of those quiet equable people who +may be pushed into a corner," said Di, "and then become rather +dangerous. I can imagine his being a harsh man, and an unforgiving one +if life went wrong." + +"I am afraid he did become that," said John. "As he could not find room +for forgiveness, there was naturally no room for happiness either." + +"Was there some one whom he could not forgive?" asked Di, turning her +keen glance upon him. She evidently knew nothing of the feud of the last +generation. + +At this moment the rush of James the elephant-footed was heard, and he +announced that Mrs. Courtenay was getting into the carriage, and had +sent for Miss Tempest. + +"Good-bye," said Di, cordially, gathering up her gloves and parasol. "Go +to Overleigh and get strong. And--you will have so many other things to +think of--try not to forget about asking us." + +"I will remember," said John, as if he would make a point of burdening +his memory. + +He was holding aside the curtain for her to pass. + +"You see," said Di, looking back, "when we are on the move we can do +things, but once we get back to London we cannot go north again till +next year. We can't afford it." + +"I will be sure to remember," said John again. He was a little +crestfallen, and yet relieved that she should think he might forget. He +felt that he could trust his memory. + +She smiled gratefully and was gone. She had forgotten to shake hands +with him. He knew she had not been aware of the omission. She had been +thinking of something else at the moment. But it remained a grievous +fact all the same. + +He walked back absently into the drawing-room and stopped opposite the +tea-table. + +"Vinegar," he said to himself. "What can James have been about? I draw +the line at vinegar at five o'clock tea. I hope she did not see it." + +He took out the glass stopper. + +Not vinegar. No. There is but one name for that familiar, that searching +smell. + +"It's brandy," said John aloud, speaking to himself, while the past +unrolled itself like a map before his eyes. "Yes, look at it. Would you +like to smell it again? There is no need to be so surprised. You had +some of it not ten minutes ago, you poor deluded, blinded, bandaged +idiot." + + * * * * * + +"Whom do you think _I_ have seen?" said Di, as they drove away. + +Mrs. Courtenay made no attempt to guess, which was the more remarkable +because, when Miss Fane had ordered a cup of tea for Di, James had +volunteered the information that he had already taken tea to Mr. and +Miss Tempest. + +"Whom but John himself," continued Di. + +"I thought he was still invisible." + +"I am sure he ought to be. I never saw any one look so ill. We had tea +together. I really thought you were never going away at all, but I was +glad you were such a long time, because it was so pleasant seeing him +again. I like John; don't you? I have liked him from the first." + +"He is a sensible man, but I prefer people with easier manners myself." + +"He is more than sensible, I think." + +"We shall be too late for the pony races," said Mrs. Courtenay. "It is +nearly six now, and I told Lord Hemsworth we would be at the entrance at +half-past five." + +"He will survive it," said Di, archly. "And, granny, John is going to +ask us to Overleigh. I told him I had never seen it." + +"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Courtenay, and there was no doubt about +her interest this time. "You did not _suggest_ our going, did you?" + +"I am not sure I did not," said Di, unfurling her parasol. "Look, +granny, there is Mrs. Buller nodding to you, and you won't look at her. +Yes, I rather think I did. I can't remember exactly what I said, but he +promised he would not forget, and I told him we could only come when we +were on the move. I impressed that upon him." + +"Really, Di," said Mrs. Courtenay with asperity, "I wish you would +prevent your parasol catching in my bonnet, and not offer visits without +consulting me. It would have been quite time enough to have gone when he +had asked us." + +"He might not have asked us." + +Mrs. Courtenay, who had seen a good deal of John in the weeks that +preceded his accident, was perhaps of a different opinion; but she did +not express it. Neither did she mention her own previously fixed +intention of going to Overleigh somehow or other during the course of +her summer visits. + +"What is the use of near relations," continued Di, "if you can't tell +them anything of that kind? I believe John will be quite pleased to have +us now that he knows we wish to come; if only he remembers. Come, +granny, if I take you to Archelot to please you, you ought to take me to +Overleigh to please me. That's fair now, isn't it?" + +"It may be extremely inconvenient," said Mrs. Courtenay, still ruffled. +"And I had rheumatism last time I was there." + +"Think what rheumatism you always have at Archelot, which sits up to its +knees in mist every night in the middle of its moat; and yet you would +insist on going again. There is that nice Mr. Sinclair taking off his +hat. Won't you recognize him? You thought him so improved, you said, +since his elder brother's death." + +"My dear," said Mrs. Courtenay, "I am not so perpetually on the look out +for young men as you appear to be. All the same, you may put up my +parasol, for I can see nothing with the sun in my eyes." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "The moving Finger writes; and having writ, + Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit + Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, + Nor all your tears wash out a Word of it." + OMAR KHAYYÁM. + + +"What thou doest do quickly," has been advice which, in its melancholy +sarcasm, has been followed for eighteen hundred years when any special +evil has been afoot in the dark. And yet surely the words apply still +more urgently when the doing that is premeditated is good. What thou +doest do quickly, for even while we speak those to whom we feel tenderly +grow old and grey, and slip beyond the reach of human comfort. Even +while we dream of love, those whom we love are parted from us in an +early hour when we think not, without so much as a rose to take with +them, out of the garden of roses that were planted and fostered for them +alone. And even while we tardily forgive our friend, lo! the page is +turned and we see that there was no injury, as now there is no +compensation for our lack of trust. + +Colonel Tempest acted with promptitude, but though he was as expeditious +as he knew how to be, that was not saying much. His continual dread was +that others might be beforehand with him. He had at this time a dream +that recurred, or seemed to recur, over and over again--that he was +running blindly at night, and that unknown adversaries were coming +swiftly up behind him, were breathing close, and passing him in the +darkness, unseen, but felt. It haunted him in the daytime like a +reality. + +Superstition would not be superstition if it were amenable to reason. +Punishment hung over him like a sword in mid-air--it might fall at any +moment--what form of punishment it would be hard to say--something evil +to himself. If he struck down another might not the Almighty strike him +down? It seemed to him that God's hand was raised. + +"Sin no more." Wipe it out. Obliterate it. Expiate it. Quick, quick. + +He set to work in feverish haste to find out Larkin. But although he had +a certain knowledge of how to approach gentlemen of Swayne's class, he +could not at first unearth Larkin. The habitation of the wren is not +more secluded than that of some of our fellow-creatures. Colonel Tempest +went very quietly to work. He never went near the address given him; he +wrote anonymous letters repeatedly, suggesting a personal interview +which would be found greatly to Mr. Larkin's advantage. Mr. Larkin, +however, appeared to take a different view of his own advantage. It was +in vain that Colonel Tempest said he should be walking on the Thames +Embankment the following evening, and would be found at a given point at +a certain hour. No one found him there, or at any other of the places he +mentioned. He took a good deal of unnecessary exercise, or what appeared +so at the time. Still he persisted. While the quarry remained in London, +the hunter would probably remain there also. John had not gone yet. +Colonel Tempest went on every few days making appointments for meeting, +and keeping them rigorously himself. + +A fortnight passed. Larkin made no sign. + +At last Colonel Tempest heard that John was leaving town. He went to see +him, and came away heavy at heart. John was out; and the servant +informed him that Mr. Tempest was going to Overleigh the following +morning. Colonel Tempest had a presentiment that a stone would be +dropped between the points of the Great Northern. The train would come +to grief, somehow. It would all happen in a moment. There would be one +fierce thrust in the dark which he should not be able to parry. And if +John got safe to Overleigh he would be followed there. The shooting +season was coming on, and some one would load for him, and there would +be an _accident_. + +Colonel Tempest went back to his rooms in Brook Street, and stared at +the carpet. He did not know how long it was before he caught sight of a +batch of letters on the table. He looked carelessly at them; the +uppermost was from his tailor. The address of the next was written in +printed letters; he knew in an instant that it was from Larkin, without +the further confirmation of the heavy seal with its shilling impression. +His hands shook so much that he opened it with difficulty. The sheet +contained a somewhat guarded communication also written in laboriously +printed capitals. + + "_Yours of the 14th to hand. All right. Place and time you + say._ + + "_L._" + +The writer had been so very desirous to avoid publicity that he had even +taken the trouble to tear off the left inner side of the envelope on +which the maker's name is printed. + +That significant precaution gave Colonel Tempest a sickening qualm. It +suggested networks of other precautions in the background, snares which +he might not perceive till too late, subtleties for which he was no +match. He began to feel that it was physically impossible for him to +meet this man; that he must get out of the interview at any cost. The +maddening sense of being lured into a trap came upon him, and he flung +in the opposite direction. + +But the facts came and looked him in the face. He seldom allowed them to +do so, but they did it now in spite of him. Eyes that have been once +avoided are ever after difficult to meet. Nevertheless, he had to meet +them--the cold inexorable eyes of facts come up to the surface of his +mind to have justice done them, grimy but redoubtable, like miners on +strike. Cost what it might, he saw that he must capitulate; that he must +take this, his one--his last chance, or--hateful alternative--take +instead the consequences of neglecting it. + +He went over the old well-worn ground once again. Detection was +impossible. That nightmare of a murder, and of a voice that cried aloud, +while all the world stood still to hear: "_Thou art the man_:" was only +a nightmare after all. And this was the best way, the only way to get +rid of it. + +He tried to recall the time and place of meeting, but it was gone from +him. There had been so many. No, he had scrawled it down on the fly-leaf +of his pocket-book. Six o'clock. It was nearly five now. He had had the +money in readiness for the last fortnight. He had drawn one thousand of +the ten which John had placed to his credit. He got out the ten crisp +hundred pound notes, and put them carefully into his breast pocket. Then +he sat down and waited. When the half-hour chimed he went out. + + * * * * * + +There is a straight and quiet path behind Kensington Palace which the +lovers and nursery-maids of Kensington Gardens frequent but little. A +line of low-growing knotted trees separates it from the Broad Walk at a +little distance. A hedge and fence on the other side divides the Gardens +from a strip of meadow not yet covered by buildings. + +The public esteem this particular walk but lightly. Invalids in +bath-chairs toil down it sometimes; nurses with grown-up children, who +are children still, go there occasionally, where the uncouth gambols and +vacant bearded laugh of forty-five will not attract attention. + +But as a rule it is deserted. + +Colonel Tempest had it almost to himself for the first ten minutes, +except for a covey of little boys who fought and clambered and jumped on +some stacked timber at one end. He had not chosen the place without +forethought. It would be presumed that he would have a large sum of +money with him, and he had taken care on each occasion to select a +rendezvous where foul play would not be possible. He was within reach of +numbers of persons merely by raising his voice. + +An old man on the arm of a young one passed him slowly, absorbed in +earnest conversation. A girl in mourning sat down on one of the benches. +There was privacy enough for business, and not too much for safety. + +Colonel Tempest paced up and down, giving each face that passed a +furtive glance. He did not know what to expect. + +The three quarters struck. The girl got up and turned away. A stout, +shabby-looking man, whose approach Colonel Tempest had not noticed, was +sitting on one of the benches under a gnarled yew, staring vacantly in +front of him. The old man and the young one were coming down the walk +again. A check suit with six depressed, amber-eyed dachshunds in a leash +passed among the trees. + +A few more turns. + +The clock began to strike six. + +Colonel Tempest's pulse quickened. As he turned once more at the end of +the walk, he could see that the hunched-up figure, with the hat over the +eyes, was still sitting under the yew at the further end. He walked +slowly towards it. How should they recognize each other? Who would speak +first? + +A quietly-dressed man, walking rapidly in the opposite direction, +touched his hat respectfully as he passed him. Colonel Tempest +recognized John's valet, and slackened his pace, for he was approaching +the bench under the yew tree, and he did not care to be addressed while +any one was within earshot. He was opposite it now, and he looked hard +at the occupant. The latter stared vacantly, if not sleepily, back at +him, and made no sign. + +"He is shamming," said Colonel Tempest to himself. "Or else he is not +sure of me." And he took yet another turn. + +The man had moved a little when he came towards him again. He was +leaning back in the corner of the bench, with his head on his chest, and +his legs stretched out. An elderly lady, with curls, and an umbrella +clutched like a defensive weapon, was passing him with evident distrust, +calling to her side a fleecy little toy dog, which seemed to have left +its stand and wheels at home, and to be rather at a loss without them. +Colonel Tempest looked hard a second time at the figure on the bench, +when he came opposite him, and then stopped short. + +The man was sleeping the sleep of the just, or, to speak more correctly, +of the just inebriated. His under lip was thrust out. He breathed +stertorously. If it was a sham, it was very well done. + +Colonel Tempest stood a moment in perplexity, looking fixedly at him. +Should he wake him? Was he, perhaps, waiting to be waked? Was he really +asleep? He half put out his hand. + +"I think, sir," said a respectful voice behind him, "begging your +pardon, sir, the party is very intoxicated. Sometimes if woke sudden +they're vicious." + +Colonel Tempest wheeled round. + +It was Marshall, John's valet, who had spoken to him, and who was now +regarding the slumbering rough with the resigned melancholy of an +undertaker. + +The quarter struck. + +"Sorry to have kept you waiting, sir," said Marshall, after a pause, in +which Colonel Tempest wondered why he did not go. + +And then, at last, Colonel Tempest understood. + +He put his hand feebly to his head. + +"Oh, my God!" he said below his breath, and was silent. + +Marshall cleared his throat. + +There are situations in which, as Johnson has observed respecting the +routine of married life, little can be said, but much must be done. + +The slumbering backslider slid a little further back in his seat, and +gurgled something very low down about "jolly good fellows," until, his +voice suddenly going upstairs in the middle, he added in a high quaver, +"daylight does appear." + +The musical outburst recalled Colonel Tempest somewhat to himself. He +turned his eyes carefully away from Marshall, after that first long look +of mutual understanding. + +The man's apparent respectability, his smooth shaved face and quiet +dress, from his well-brushed hat and black silk cravat to the dark +dog-skin glove that held his irreproachable umbrella, set Colonel +Tempest's teeth on edge. + +He had not known what to expect, but--_this_! + +In a flash of memory he recalled the several occasions on which he had +seen Marshall in attendance on John, his attentive manner, and noiseless +tread. Once before John could move he had seen Marshall lift him +carefully into a more upright position. The remembrance of that helpless +figure in Marshall's arms came back to him with a shudder that could not +be repressed. Marshall, whose expressionless face had undergone no +change whatever, cleared his throat again and looked at his watch. + +"Begging your pardon, sir," he said, "it's nearly half-past six, and +Mr. Tempest dines early to-night." + +"Did you receive my other letters?" said Colonel Tempest, pulling +himself together, and beginning to walk slowly down the path. + +"Yes, sir. I'm sorry to have put you to the inconvenience of going to so +many places, 'specially as I saw for myself how regular you turned up at +'em. But I wanted to make sure you were in earnest before I showed. My +character is my livelihood, sir. There was a time when I was in trouble +and got into Mr. Johnson's hands, but before that I'd been in service in +'igh families, very 'igh, sir. Mr. Tempest took me on the recommendation +of the Earl of Carmian. I was with him two year." + +"Mr. Johnson," said Colonel Tempest, stopping short, and turning a shade +whiter than he had been before. "By ---- I don't know anything about a +Mr. Johnson. What do you mean?" + +The two men eyed each other as if each suspected treachery. + +"Did you write this?" said Marshall, producing Colonel Tempest's last +letter. + +"Yes." + +"Then it's all right," said Marshall, who had forgotten the _sir_. "He +had a sight of names. Johnson he was when he found I'd took up +your--your bet. But I wrote to him, I remember, at one place as +Crosbie." + +Colonel Tempest recalled the curate's mention of Swayne under the name +of Crosbie. + +"Swayne, or Crosbie, or Johnson, it's all one," he said hastily. "I want +a certain bit of paper you have in your possession, and I have ten Bank +of England notes, of a hundred each, in my pocket now to give you in +exchange. I suppose we understand each other. Have you got it on you?" + +"Yes." + +"Produce it." + +"Show up the notes, too, then." + +Unnoticed by either, the manner of both, as between gentleman and +servant, had merged into that of perfect equality. Love is not the only +leveller of disparities of rank and position. + +They were walking together side by side. There was not a soul in sight. +Each cautiously showed what he had brought. The dirty half-sheet of +common note-paper, with Colonel Tempest's signature, seemed hardly worth +the crisp notes, each one of which Colonel Tempest turned slowly over. + +"Ten," said Marshall. "All right." + +"Stop," said Colonel Tempest, hoarsely, the date on the ragged sheet he +had just seen suggesting a new idea. "You're too young. You're not five +and thirty. By ---- it's nearly sixteen years ago. You weren't in it. +You couldn't have been in it. How did you come by that? Whom did you +have it from?" + +"From one who'll tell no tales," returned Marshall. "He was sick of it. +He had tried twice, and he was near his end, and I took it off him just +before he died." + +"Did he die?" said Colonel Tempest. "I am not so sure of that." + +"I am," said the man; "or I'd never have had nothing to do with the +business." + +"How long have you been with Mr. Tempest?" + +"A matter of three months. He engaged me when he came back from Russia +in the spring." + +"You will leave at once. That, of course, is understood." + +"Yes. I will give warning to-night if----" and the man glanced at the +packet in Colonel Tempest's hand. + +Without another word they exchanged papers. Colonel Tempest did not tear +the document that had cost him so much into a thousand pieces. He looked +at it, recognized that it was genuine, put it in his pocket, and +buttoned his coat over it. Then he got out a note-book and pencil. + +"And now," he said, "the others. How am I to get at them?" + +The man stared. "The others?" he repeated. "What others?" + +"You were one," said Colonel Tempest. "Now about the rest. I mean to pay +them all off. There were ten in it. Where are the nine?" + +Marshall stood stock still, as if he were realizing something +unperceived till now. Then he shook his fist. + +"That Johnson lied to me. I might have known. He took me in from first +to last. I never thought but that I was the--_the only one_. And all +I've spent, and the work I've been put to, when I might just as well +have let one of them others risk it. He never acted square. Damn him." + +Colonel Tempest looked at him horror-struck. The man's anger was +genuine. + +"Do you mean to say you don't _know_?" he said, in a harsh whisper, all +that was left of his voice. "Swayne, Johnson said you did. On his +death-bed he said so." + +"Know," retorted the man, his expressionless face having some meaning in +it at last. "Do you suppose if I'd _known_, I'd have---- But that's been +the line he has gone on from the first, you may depend upon it. He's let +each one think he was alone at the job to bring it round quicker; a +double-tongued, double-dealing devil. Each of them others is working for +himself now, single-handed. I wonder they haven't brought it off before. +Why _that fire_! We was both nearly done for that night. I slept just +above 'im, and it was precious near. If he had not run up hisself and +woke me--that fire----" + +Marshall stopped short. His mouth fell ajar. His mind was gradually +putting two and two together. There was no horror in his face, only a +malignant sense of having been duped. + +"By----," he said fiercely. "I see it all." + +A cold hand seemed to be laid on Colonel Tempest's heart, to press +closer and closer. The sweat burst from his brow. Swayne had been an +economizer of truth to the last. He had deliberately lied even on his +death-bed, in order to thrust away the distasteful subject to which +Colonel Tempest had so pertinaciously nailed him. The two men stood +staring at each other. A governess and three little girls, evidently out +for a stroll after tea, were coming towards them. The sight of the four +advancing figures seemed to shake the two men back in a moment, with a +gasp, to their former relations. + +Marshall drew himself up, and touched his hat. + +"I ought to be going, sir," he said, almost in his usual ordered tones. +"Mr. Tempest dines early to-night." + +Colonel Tempest nodded. He had forgotten for the moment how to speak. + +"And it's all right, sir, about--about me," rather anxiously. + +Colonel Tempest perceived that Marshall had not realized the possible +hold he might obtain over him by the mere fact of his knowledge of this +last revelation. He had been obtuse before. He was obtuse now. + +"As long as you are silent and leave at once," said Colonel Tempest, +commanding his tongue to articulate, "I will be silent too. Not a moment +longer." + +Marshall touched his hat again, and went. + +Colonel Tempest walked unsteadily to a bench under a twisted yew, a +little way from the path, and sat down heavily upon it. + +How cold it was, how bitterly cold! He shivered, and drew his hand +across his damp forehead. The tinkling of voices reached him at +intervals. Foolish birds were making choruses of small jokes in the +branches above his head. Some one laughed at a little distance. + +He alone was wretched beyond endurance. Perhaps he did not know what +endurance meant. Panic shook him like a leaf. + +And there was no refuge. He did not know how to live. Dared he die? die, +and struggle up the other side only to find an angry judge waiting on +the brink to strike him down to hell even while he put up supplicating +hands? But his hands were red with John's blood, so that even his +prayers convicted him of sin--were turned into sin. + +A feeling as near despair as his nature could approach to overwhelmed +him. + +One of the most fatal results of evil is that in the same measure that +it exists in ourselves, we imply it in others, and not less in God +Himself. Poor Colonel Tempest saw in his Creator only an omniscient +detective, an avenger, an executioner who had mocked at his endeavours +to propitiate Him, to escape out of His hand, who held him as in a +pillory, and would presently break him upon the wheel. + +Superstition has its uses, but, like most imitations, it does not wear +well--not much better, perhaps, than the brown paper boots in which the +English soldier goes forth to war. + +A cheap faith is an expensive experience. I believe Colonel Tempest +suffered horribly as he sat alone under that yew tree; underwent all +the throes which self-centred people do undergo, who, in saving their +life, see it slipping through their fingers; who in clutching at their +own interest and pleasure, find themselves sliding into a gulf; who in +sacrificing the happiness and welfare of those that love them to their +whim, their caprice, their shifting temper of the moment, find +themselves at last--alone--unloved. + +Are there many sorrows like this sorrow? There is perhaps only one +worse--namely, to realize what onlookers have seen from the first, what +has brought it about. This is hard. But Colonel Tempest was spared this +pain. Those for whom others can feel least compassion are, as a rule, +fortunately able to bestow most upon themselves. Colonel Tempest +belonged to the self-pitying class, and with him to suffer was to begin +at once to be sorry for himself. The tears ran slowly down his cheeks +and his lip quivered. Perhaps there is nothing quite so heartbreaking as +the tears of middle-age for itself. + +He saw himself sitting there, so lonely, so miserable, without a +creature in the world to turn to for comfort; entrapped into evil as all +are at times, for he was but human, he had never set up to be better +than his fellows; but to have striven so hard against evil--to have +tried, as not many would have done, to repair what had been wrong (and +the greatest wrong had not been with him) and yet to have been repulsed +by God Himself! Everybody had turned against him. And now God had turned +against him too. His last hope was gone. He should never find those +other men, never buy back those other bets. John would be killed sooner +or later, and he himself would _suffer_. + +That was the refrain, the key-note to which he always returned. _He +should suffer._ + +Natures like Colonel Tempest's go through the same paroxysms of blind +despairing grief as do those of children. They see only the present. The +maturer mind is sustained in its deeper anguish by the power of looking +beyond its pain. It has bought, perhaps dear, the chill experience that +all things pass, that sorrow endures but for a night, even as the joy +that comes in the morning endures but for a morning. But as a child +weeps and is disconsolate, and dries its eyes and forgets, so Colonel +Tempest would presently forget again--for a time. + +Indeed, he soon took the best means within his reach of doing so. He +felt that he was too wretched to remain in England. It was therefore +imperative that he should go abroad. Persons of his temperament have a +delightful confidence in the benign influences of the Continent. He +wrote to John, returning him £8,500 of the £10,000, saying that the +object for which it had been given had become so altered as to prevent +the application of the money. He did not mention that he had found a use +for one thousand, and that pressing personal expenses had obliged him to +retain another five hundred, but he was vaguely conscious of doing an +honourable action in returning the remainder. + +John wrote back at once, saying that he had given him the money, and +that as his uncle did not wish to keep it, he should invest it in his +name, and settle it on his daughter, while the interest at four per +cent. would be paid to Colonel Tempest during his lifetime. + +"Well," said Colonel Tempest to himself, after reading this letter, +"beggars can't be choosers, but if _I_ had been in John's place I _hope_ +I should not have shown such a grudging spirit. Eight thousand five +hundred! Out of all his wealth he might have made it ten thousand for +my poor penniless girl. No wonder he does not wish her to know about +it." + +And having a little ready money about him, Colonel Tempest took his +penniless girl, much to her surprise, a lapis-lazuli necklace when he +went to say good-bye to her. + +On the last evening before he left England he got out the paper Marshall +had given him, and having locked the door, spread it on the table before +him. He had done this secretly many times a day since he had obtained +possession of it. + +There it was, unmistakable in black and grime that had once been white. +The one thing of all others in this world that Colonel Tempest loathed +was to be obliged to face anything. Like Peer Gynt, he went round, or if +like Balaam he came to a narrow place where there was no turning room, +he struck furiously at the nearest sentient body. But a widower has no +beast of burden at hand to strike, and there was no power of going +round, no power of backing either, from before that sheet of crumpled +paper. When he first looked at it he had a kind of recollection that was +no recollection of having seen it before. + +The words were as distinct as a death-warrant. Perhaps they were one. +Colonel Tempest read them over once again. + +"I, Edward Tempest, lay one thousand pounds to one sovereign that I do +never inherit the property of Overleigh in Yorkshire." + +There was his own undeniable scrawling signature beneath Swayne's +crab-like characters. There below his own was the signature of that +obscure speculator, since dead, who had taken up the bet. + +If anything is forced upon the notice, which yet it is distasteful to +contemplate, the only remedy for avoiding present discomfort is to +close the eyes. + +Colonel Tempest struck a match, lit the paper, and dropped it into the +black July grate. It would not burn at first, but after a moment it +flared up and turned over. He watched it writhe under the little +chuckling flame. The word Overleigh came out distinctly for a second, +and then the flame went out, leaving a charred curled nothing behind. +One solitary spark flew swiftly up like a little soul released from an +evil body. Colonel Tempest rubbed the ashes with his foot, and once +again--closed his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + "I give thee sixpence! I will see thee d----d first." + CANNING. + + +Some one rejoiced exceedingly when, in those burning August days, John +came back to Overleigh. Mitty loved him. She was the only woman who as +yet had shown him any love at all, and his nature was not an unthankful +one. Mitty was bound up with all the little meagre happiness of his +childhood. She had given him his only glimpse of woman's tenderness. +There had never been a time when he had not read aloud to Mitty during +the holidays--when he had forgotten to write to her periodically from +school. When she had been discharged with the other servants at his +father's death, he had gone in person to one of his guardians to request +that she might remain, and had offered half his pocket-money annually +for that purpose, and a sum down in the shape of a collection of foreign +coins in a sock. Perhaps his guardian had a little boy of his own in +Eton jackets who collected coins. At any rate, something was arranged. +Mitty remained in the long low nurseries in the attic gallery. She was +waiting for him on the steps on that sultry August evening when he +returned. John saw her white cap twinkling under the stone archway as he +drove along the straight wide drive between the double rows of beeches +which approached the castle by the northern side. + +Some houses have the soothing influence of the presence of a friend. +Once established in the cool familiar rooms and strong air of his +native home, he regained his health by a succession of strides, which +contrasted curiously with the stumbling ups and downs and constant +relapses which in the earlier part of his recovery had puzzled his +doctors. + +For the first few days just to live was enough. John had no desire +beyond sitting in the shadow of the castle with Mitty, and feeling the +fresh heather-scented air from the moors upon his face and hands. Then +came the day when he went on Mr. Goodwin's arm down the grey lichened +steps to the Italian garden, and took one turn among the stone-edged +beds, under the high south wall. Gradually as the languor of weakness +passed he wandered further and further into the woods, and lay for hours +under the trees among the ling and fern. The irritation of weakness had +left him, the enforced inaction of slowly returning strength had not +yet begun to chafe. His mind urged nothing on him, required no +decisions of him, but, like a dear companion instead of a taskmaster, +rested and let him rest. He watched for hours the sunlight on the +bracken, listened for hours to the tiny dissensions and confabulations +of little creatures that crept in and out. + +There had been days and nights in London when the lamp of life had +burned exceeding low, when he had never thought to lie in his own dear +woods again, to see the squirrel swinging and chiding against the sky, +to hear the cry of the water-hen to its mate from the reeded pools +below. He had loved these things always, but to see them again after +toiling up from the gates of death is to find them transfigured. "The +light that never was on sea or land" gleams for a moment on wood and +wold for eyes that have looked but now into the darkness of the grave. +Almost it seems in such hours as if God had passed by that way, as if +the forest had knowledge of Him, as if the awed pines kept Him ever in +remembrance. Almost. Almost. + + * * * * * + +Di was never absent from John's thoughts for long together. His dawning +love for her had as yet no pain in it. It wandered still in glades of +hyacinth and asphodel. Truly-- + + "Love is bonny, a little while, while it is new." + +Its feet had not yet reached the stony desert places and the lands of +fierce heat and fiercer frost, through which all human love which does +not die in infancy must one day travel. The strain and stress were not +yet. + + * * * * * + +John was coming back one evening from a longer expedition than usual. +The violet dusk had gathered over the gardens. The massive flank and +towers of the castle were hardly visible against the sky. As he came +near he saw a light in the arched windows of the chapel, and through the +open lattice came the sound of the organ. Some one was playing within, +and the night listened from without; John stood and listened too. The +organ, so long dumb, was speaking in an audible voice--was telling of +many things that had lain long in its heart, and that now at last +trembled into speech. Some unknown touch was bringing all its pure +passionate soul to its lips. Its voice rose and fell, and the listening +night sighed in the ivy. + +John went noiselessly indoors by the postern, and up the short spiral +staircase in the thickness of the wall, into the chapel, an arched +Elizabethan chamber leading out of the dining-hall. He stopped short in +the doorway. + +The light of a solitary candle at the further end gave shadows to the +darkness. As by an artistic instinct, it just touched the nearest of the +pipes, and passing entirely over the prosaic footman, blowing in his +shirt-sleeves, lit up every feature of the fair exquisite face of the +player. Beauty remains beauty, when all has been said and done to +detract from it. Archie was very good to look upon. Even the footman, +who had been ruthlessly torn away from his supper to blow, thought so. +John thought so as he stood and looked at his cousin, who nodded to him, +and went on playing. The contrast between the two was rather a cruel +one, though John was unconscious of it. It was Archie who mentally made +the comparison whenever they were together. Ugliness would be no +disadvantage, and beauty would have no power, if they did not appear to +be the outward and visible signs of the inner and spiritual man. + +Archie was so fair-haired, he had such a perfect profile, such a clear +complexion, and such tender faithful eyes, that it was impossible to +believe that the virtues which clear complexions and lovely eyes so +plainly represent were not all packed with sardine-like regularity in +his heart. His very hair looked good. It was parted so beautifully, and +it had a little innocent wave on the temple which carried conviction +with it--to the young of the opposite sex. It was not because he was so +handsome that he was the object of a tender solicitude in many young +girls' hearts--at least, so they told themselves repeatedly--but because +there was so much good in him, because he was so misunderstood by +elders, so interesting, so unlike other young men. In short, Archie was +his father over again. + +Nature had been hard on John. Some ugly men look well, and their +ugliness does not matter. John's was not of that type dear to fiction. +His features were irregular and rough, his deep-set eyes did not redeem +the rest of his face. Nothing did. A certain gleam of nobility shining +dimly through its harsh setting would make him better-looking later in +life, when expression gets the mastery over features. But it was not so +yet. John looked hard and cold and forbidding, and though his face awoke +a certain interest by its very force, the interest itself was without +attraction. It must be inferred that John had hair, as he was not bald, +but no one had ever noticed it except his hair-cutter. It was short and +dark. In fact, it was hair, and that was all. Mitty was the only other +person who had any of it, in a lozenge-box; but who shall say in what +lockets and jewel-cases one of Archie's flaxen rings might not be +treasured? Archie was a collector of hair himself, and there is a +give-and-take in these things. He had a cigar-box full of locks of +different colours, which were occasionally spread out before his more +intimate friends, with little anecdotes respecting the acquisition of +each. A vain man has no reticence except on the subject of his rebuffs. +Bets were freely exchanged on the respective chances of the donors of +these samples of devotion, and their probable identity commented on. +"Three to one on the black." "Ten to one on the dyed amber." "Forty to +one on the lank and sandy, it's an heiress." + +Archie would listen in silence, and smile his small saintly smile. +Archie's smile suggested anthems and summer dawns and blanc-mange all +blent in one. And then he would gather up the landmarks of his +affections, and put them back into the cigar-box. They were called +"Tempest's scalps" in the regiment. + +Archie had sat for "Sir Galahad" to one of the principal painters of +the day. He might have sat for something very spiritual and elevating +now. What historic heroes and saints have played the organ? He would +have done beautifully for any one of them, or Dicksee might have worked +him up into a pendant to his "Harmony," with an angel blowing instead of +the footman. + +And just at the critical moment when the organ was arriving at a final +confession, and swelling towards a dominant seventh, the footman let the +wind out of her. There was a discord, and a wheeze, and a death-rattle. +Archie took off his hands with a shudder, and smiled a microscopic smile +at the perspiring footman. Archie never, never, never swore; not even +when he was alone, and when he cut himself shaving. He differed from his +father in that. He smiled instead. Sometimes, if things went very +wrong, the smile became a grin, but that was all. + +"That will do, thank you!" he said, rising. "Well, John, how are you? +Better? I did not wait dinner for you. I was too hungry, but I told them +to keep the soup and things hot till you came in." + +They had gone through the open double doors into the dining-hall. At the +further end a table was laid for one. + +"When did you arrive?" asked John. + +"By the seven-ten. I walked up and found you were missing. It is +distressing to see a man eat when one is not hungry one's self," +continued Archie plaintively as the servant brought in the "hot things" +which he had been recently devastating. "No, thanks, I won't sit +opposite you and watch you satisfying your country appetite. You don't +mind my smoking in here, I suppose? No womankind to grumble as yet." + +He lit his pipe, and began wandering slowly about the room, which was +lit with candles in silver sconces at intervals along the panelled +walls. + +John wondered how much money he wanted, and ate his cutlets in silence. +He had as few illusions about his fellow-creatures as the steward of a +Channel steamer, and it did not occur to him that Archie could have any +reason but one for coming to Overleigh out of the shooting season. + +Archie was evidently pensive. + +"It is a large sum," said John to himself. + +Presently he stopped short before the fireplace, and contemplated the +little silver figures standing in the niches of the highcarved +mantelshelf. They had always stood there in John's childhood, and when +he had come back from Russia in the spring he had looked for them in the +plate-room, and had put them back himself: the quaint-frilled courtier +beside the quaint-ruffed lady, and the little Cavalier in long boots +beside the Abbess. The dresses were of Charles I.'s date, and there was +a family legend to the effect that that victim of a progressive age had +given them to his devoted adherent Amyas Tempest the night before his +execution. It was extremely improbable that he had done anything of the +kind, but, at any rate, there they were, each in his little niche. +Archie lifted one down and examined it curiously. + +"Never saw that before," he said, keeping his teeth on the pipe, which +desecrated his profile. + +"Everything was put away when I was not regularly living here," said +John. "I dug out all the old things when I came home in the spring, and +Mitty and I put them all back in their places." + +"Barford had a sale the other day," continued Archie, speaking through +his teeth. "He was let in for a lot of money by his training stables, +and directly the old chap died he sold the library and half the +pictures, and a lot of stuff out of the house. I went to see them at +Christie's, and a very mouldy-looking assortment they were; but they +fetched a pile of money. Barford and I looked in when the sale of the +books was on, and you should have seen the roomful of Jews and the way +they bid. One book, a regular old fossil, went for three hundred while +we were there; it would have killed old Barford on the spot if he had +been there, so it was just as well he was dead already. And there were +two silver figures something like these, but not perfect. Barford said +he had no use for them, and they fetched a hundred apiece. He says +there's no place like home for raising a little money. Why, John, +Gunningham can't hold a candle to Overleigh. There must be a mint of +money in an old barrack stuffed full of gimcracks like this." + +"Yes, but they belong to the house." + +"Do they? Well, if I were in your place I should say they belonged to +the owner. What is the use of having anything if you can't do what you +like with it? If ever I wanted a hundred or two I would trot out one of +those little silver Johnnies in no time if they were mine." + +John did not answer. He was wondering what would have happened to the +dear old stately place if he had died a month ago, and it had fallen +into the hands of those two spendthrifts, Archie and his father. He +could see them in possession whittling it away to nothing, throwing its +substance from them with both hands. Easy-going, self-indulgent, weakly +violent, unstable as water, he saw them both in one lightning-flash of +prophetic imagination drinking in that very room, at that very table. +The physical pain of certain thoughts is almost unbearable. He rose +suddenly and went across to the deep bay window, on the stone sill of +which Amyas Tempest and Tom Fairfax, his friend, who together had held +Overleigh against the Roundheads, had cut their names. He looked out +into the latticed darkness, and longed fiercely, passionately for a son. + +Archie's light laugh recalled him to himself with a sense of shame. It +is irritating to be goaded into violent emotion by one who is feeling +nothing. + +"A penny for your thoughts," said Sir Galahad. + +There was something commonplace about the young warrior's manner of +expressing himself in daily life which accorded ill with the refined +beauty of his face. + +"They would be dear at the price," said John, still looking out. + +"Care killed a cat," said Archie. + +He had a stock of small sayings of that calibre. Sometimes they fitted +the occasion, and sometimes not. + +There was a short silence. + +"Quicksilver is lame," said Archie. + +"What have you been doing with her?" asked John, facing round. + +"Nothing in particular. I rode her in the Pierpoint steeplechase last +week, and she came down at the last fence, and lost me fifty pounds. I +came in third, but I should have been first to a dead certainty if she +had stood up." + +"Send her down here at once." + +"Yes, and thanks awfully and all that sort of thing for lending her, +don't you know. Very good of you, though of course you could not use her +yourself when you were laid up. I am going back to town first thing +to-morrow morning; only got a day's leave to run down here; thought I +ought to tell you about her. I'll send her off the day after to-morrow +if you like, but the truth is----" + +A good deal of circumlocution, that favourite attire of certain truths, +was necessary before the simple fact could be arrived at that +Quicksilver had been used as security for the modest sum of four hundred +and forty-five pounds, which it had been absolutely incumbent on Archie +to raise at a moment's notice. Heaven only knew what would not have been +involved if he had not had reluctant recourse to this obvious means of +averting dishonour. When Colonel Tempest and Archie began to talk about +their honour, which was invariably mixed up with debts of a dubious +nature, and an overdrawn banking account, and an unpaid tailor, John +always froze perceptibly. The Tempest honour was always having narrow +escapes, according to them. It required constant support. + +"I would not have done it if I could have helped it," explained Archie +in an easy attitude on the window-seat. "Your mare, not mine. I knew +that well enough. I felt that at the time; but I had to get the money +somehow, and positively the poor old gee was the only security I had to +give." + +Archie was not in the least ashamed. It was always John who was ashamed +on these occasions. + +There was a long silence. Archie contemplated his nails. + +"It's not the money I mind," said John at last, "you know that." + +"I know it isn't, old chap. It's my morals you're afraid of; you said so +in the spring." + +"Well, I'm not going to hold forth on morals again, as it seems to have +been of so little use. But look here, Archie, I've paid up a good many +times, and I'm getting tired of it. I would rather build an infants' +school or a home for cats, or something with a pretence of common sense, +with the money in future. It does you no manner of good. You only chuck +it away. You are the worse for having it, and so am I for being such a +fool as to give it you. It's nonsense telling you suddenly that I won't +go on paying when I've led you to expect I always shall because I always +have. Of course you think, as I'm well off, that you can draw on me for +ever and ever. Well, I'll pay up again this once. You promised me in +April it should be the last time you would run up bills. Now it is my +turn to say this is the last time I'll throw money away in paying +them." + +Archie raised his eyebrows. How very "close-fisted" John was becoming! +And as a boy at school, and afterwards at college, he had been +remarkably open-handed, even as a minor on a very moderate allowance. +Archie did not understand it. + +"I'll buy back my own horse," continued John, trying to swallow down a +sense of intense irritation; "and if there is anything else--I suppose +there is a new crop by this time--I'll settle them. You must start fair. +And I'll go on allowing you three hundred a year, and when you want to +marry I'll make a settlement on your wife, but, by ---- I'll never pay +another sixpence for your debts as long as I live." + +Archie smiled faintly, and stretched out his legs. John rarely "cut up +rough" like this. He had an uneasy suspicion that the present promptly +afforded assistance would hardly compensate for the opening vista of +discomfort in the future. And John's tone jarred upon him. There was +something fixed in it, and Archie's nebulous easy-going temperament had +an invincible repugnance to anything unpliable. He had as little power +to move John as a mist has to move a mountain. He had proved on many +occasions how little amenable John was to persuasion, and each recurring +occasion had filled him with momentary apprehension. He felt distinctly +uncomfortable after the two had parted for the night, until a train of +reasoning, the logic of which could not be questioned, soothed him into +his usual trustful calm. + +John, he said to himself, had been out of temper. He had eaten something +that had disagreed with him. That was why he had flown out. How +frightfully cross he himself was when he had indigestion! And he, +Archie, would never have grudged John a few pounds now and again if +their positions had been reversed. Therefore, it was not likely John +would either. And John had always been fond of him. He had nursed him +once at college through a tedious illness, unadorned on his side by +Christian patience and fortitude. Of course John was fond of him. +Everybody was fond of him. It had been an unlucky business about +Quicksilver. No wonder John had been annoyed. He would have been annoyed +himself in his place. But (oh, all-embracing phrase!) _it would be all +right_. He was eased of money difficulties for the moment, and John was +not such a bad fellow after all. He would not really "turn against" him. +He would be sure to come round in the future, as he had always done with +clock-like regularity in the past. + +Archie slept the sleep of the just, and went off in the best of spirits +and the most expensive of light overcoats next morning with a cheque in +his pocket. + +John went back into the dining-hall after his departure to finish his +breakfast, but apparently he was not hungry, for he forgot all about it. +He went and stood in the bay window, as he had a habit of doing when in +thought, and looked out. He did not see the purple pageant of the +thunderstorm sweeping up across the moor and valley and already +vibrating among the crests of the trees in the vivid sunshine below the +castle wall. He was thinking intently of those two men, his next-of-kin. + +Supposing he did not marry. Supposing he died childless. Overleigh and +the other vast Tempest properties were entailed, in default of himself +and his children, on Colonel Tempest and his children. Colonel Tempest +and Archie came next behind him; one slip, and they would be in +possession. + +And John had almost slipped several times, had several times touched +that narrow brink where two worlds meet. He had no fear of death, but +nevertheless Death had assumed larger proportions in his mind and in his +calculations than is usual with the young and the strong, simply because +he had seen him very near more than once, and had ceased to ignore his +reality. He might die. What then? + +John had an attachment which had the intensity of a passion and the +unreasoning faithfulness of an instinct for certain carved and pictured +rooms and lichened walls and forests and valleys and moors. He loved +Overleigh. His affections had been "planted under a north wall," and +like some hardy tenacious ivy they clung to that wall. Overleigh meant +much to him, had always meant much, more than was in the least +consistent with the rather advanced tenets which he, in common with +most young men of ability, had held at various times. Theories have +fortunately little to do with the affections. + +He could not bear to think of Overleigh passing out of his protecting +love to the careless hands and selfish heedlessness of Colonel Tempest +and Archie. There are persons for whom no income will suffice. John's +nearest relations were of this time-honoured stamp. As has been well +said, "In the midst of life they are in debt." + +John saw Archie in imagination "trotting out the silver Johnnies." The +miniatures, the pictures, the cameos, the old Tempest manuscripts, for +which America made periodic bids, the older plate--all, all would go, +would melt away from niche and wall and cabinet. Perhaps the books would +go first of all; the library to which he in his turn was even now +adding, as those who had gone before him had done. + +How they had loved the place, those who had gone before! How they must +have fought for it in the early days of ravages by Borderer and Scot! +How Amyas the Cavalier must have sworn to avenge those Roundhead +cannon-balls which crashed into his oak staircase, and had remained +imbedded in the stubborn wood to this day! Had any one of them loved it, +John wondered, with a greater love than his? + +He turned from the blaze outside, and looked back into the great +shadowed room, in the recesses of which a beautiful twilight ever +lingered. The sunlight filtered richly but dimly through the time-worn +splendour of its high windows of painted glass, touching here and there +inlaid panel and carved wainscoting, and laying a faint mosaic of varied +colour on the black polished floor. + +It was a room which long association had invested with a kind of halo in +John's eyes, far removed from the appreciative or ignorant admiration +of the stranger, who saw in it only an unique Elizabethan relic. + +Artists worshipped it whenever they got the chance, went wild over the +Tudor fan vaulting of the ceiling with its long pendants, and the quaint +inlaid frets on the oak chimney-piece; talked learnedly of the panels +above the wainscot, on which a series of genealogical trees were painted +representing each of the wapentakes into which Yorkshire was divided, +having shields on them with armorial bearings of the gentry of the +county entitled in Elizabeth's time to bear arms. + +Strangers took note of these things, and spelt out the rather apocryphal +marriages of the Tempests on the painted glass, or examined the date +below the dial in the southern window with the name of the artist +beneath it who had blazoned the arms.--_Bernard Diminckhoff fecit, +1585._ + +John knew every detail by heart, and saw them never, as a man in love +with a noble woman gradually ceases to see beauty or the absence of +beauty in brow and lip and eyelid, in adoration of the face itself which +means so much to him. + +John's deep-set steady eyes absently followed the slow travelling of the +coloured sunshine across the room. Overleigh had coloured his life as +its painted glass was colouring the sunshine. It was bound up with his +whole existence. The Tempest motto graven on the pane beside him, _Je le +feray durant ma vie_, was graven on John's heart as indelibly. Mr. +Tempest's dying words to him had never been forgotten. "It is an honour +to be a Tempest. You are the head of the family. Do your duty by it." +The words were sunk into the deep places of his mind. What the child had +promised, the man was resolved to keep. His responsibility in the great +position in which God had placed him, his duty, not only as a man, but +as a Tempest, were the backbone of his religion--if those can be called +religious who "trust high instincts more than all the creeds." The +family motto had become a part of his life. It was perhaps the only oath +of allegiance which John had ever taken. He turned towards the window +again, against which his dark head had been resting. + +The old thoughts and resolutions so inextricably intertwined with the +fibre of pride of birth, the old hopes and aspirations, matured during +three years' absence, temporarily dormant during these months of +illness, returned upon him with the unerring swiftness of swallows to +the eaves. + +He pressed his hand upon the pane. + +The thunderstorm wept hard against the glass. + +The sable Tempest lion rampant on a field argent surmounted the scroll +on which the motto was painted, legible still after three hundred years. + +John said the words aloud. + +_Je le feray durant ma vie._ + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + "There are many wonderful mixtures in the world which are all + alike called love."--GEORGE ELIOT. + + +"These are troublous times, granny," said Di to Mrs. Courtenay, coming +into her grandmother's room on a hot afternoon early in September. "I +can't get out, so you see I am reduced to coming and sitting with you." + +"And why are the times troublous, and why don't you go out-of-doors +again?" + +"I have been to reconnoitre," said Di, wrathfully, "and the coast is not +clear. He is sitting on the stairs again, as he did yesterday." + +"Lord Hemsworth?" + +"No, of course not. When does he ever do such things? The Infant." + +"Oh dear!" + +The Infant was Lord Hemsworth's younger brother. + +"And it is becoming so expensive, granny. I keep on losing things. His +complaint is complicated by kleptomania. He has got my two best evening +handkerchiefs and my white fan already; and I can't find one of the +gloves I wore at the picnic to-day. I dare not leave anything downstairs +now. It is really very inconvenient." + +"Poor boy!" said Mrs. Courtenay, reflectively. "How old _is_ he?" + +"Oh, he is quite sixteen, I believe. What with this anxiety, and the +suspense as to how my primrose cotton will wash, which I am counting on +to impress John with, I find life very wearing. Oh, granny, we ought +not to have come here at all, according to my ideas; but if we ever do +again, I do beg and pray it may not be in the holidays. I wish I had not +been so kind to him when we first arrived. I only wanted to show Lord +Hemsworth he need not be so unnecessarily elated at our coming here. I +wish I had not spent so many hours in the workshop with the boy and the +white rats. The white rats did it, granny. Interests in common are the +really dangerous things, as you have often observed. Love me, love my +rats." + +"Poor boy!" said Mrs. Courtenay again. "Make it as easy as you can for +him, Di. Don't wound his pride. We leave to-morrow, and the Verelsts are +coming to-day. That will create a diversion. I have never known +Madeleine allow any man, or boy, or creeping child attend to any one but +herself if she is present. She will do her best to relieve you of him. +How she will patronize you, Di, if she is anything like what she used +to be!" + +And in truth when Madeleine drove up to the house half an hour later it +was soon apparent that she was unaltered in essentials. Although she had +been married several months she was still the bride; the bride in every +fold of her pretty travelling gown, in her demure dignity and enjoyment +of the situation. + +It was her first visit to her cousin Lady Hemsworth since her marriage, +and her eyes brightened with real pleasure when that lady mentioned that +Di was in the house, whom she had not seen since her wedding day. She +was conscious that she had some of her best gowns with her. + +"I have always been so fond of Di," she said to Di's would-be +mother-in-law. "She was one of my bridesmaids. You remember Di, Henry?" +turning with a model gesture to her husband. + +Sir Henry sucked his tea noisily off his moustache, and said he +remembered Miss Tempest. + +"Now do tell me," said Madeleine, as she unfastened her hat in her room, +whither she had insisted on Di's accompanying her, "is there a large +party in the house? I always hate a large party to meet a bride." + +"There is really hardly any one," said Di. "I don't think you need be +alarmed. The Forresters left yesterday. There are Mr. Rivers and a +Captain Vivian, friends of Lord Hemsworth's, and Lord Hemsworth himself, +and a Mrs. Clifford, a widow. That is all. Oh, I had forgotten Mr. +Lumley, the comic man--he is here. You may remember him. He always comes +into a room either polkaing or walking lame, and beats himself all over +with a tambourine after dinner." + +"How droll!" said Madeleine. "Henry would like that. I must have him to +stay with us some time. One is so glad of really amusing people; they +make a party go off so much better. He does not black himself, does he? +That nice Mr. Carnegie, who imitated the pig being killed, always did. I +am glad it is a small party," she continued, reverting to the previous +topic, with a very moderate appearance of satisfaction. "It is very +thoughtful of Lady Hemsworth not to have a crowd to meet me. I dislike +so being stared at when I am sent out first; so embarrassing, every eye +upon one. And I always flush up so. And now tell me, you dear thing, all +about yourself. Fancy my not having seen you since my wedding. I don't +know how we missed each other in London in June. I know I called twice, +but Kensington is such miles away; and--and I have often longed to ask +you how you thought the wedding went off." + +"Perfectly." + +"And you thought I looked well--well for me, I mean?" + +"You looked particularly well." + +"I thought it so unkind of mother to cry. I would not let her come into +my room when I was dressing, or indeed all that morning, for fear of her +breaking down; but I had to go with her in the carriage, and she held my +hand and cried all the way. Poor mother always is so thoughtless. I did +not cry myself, but I quite feared at one time I should flush. I was not +flushed when I came in, was I?" + +"Not in the least. You looked your best." + +"Several of the papers said so," said Madeleine. "Remarks on personal +appearance are so vulgar, I think. 'The lovely bride,' one paper called +me. I dare say other girls don't mind that sort of thing being said, +but it is just the kind of thing I dislike. And there was a drawing of +me, in my wedding gown, in the _Lady's Pictorial_. They simply would +have it. I had to stand, ready dressed, the day before, while they did +it. And then my photograph was in one of the other papers. Did you see +it? I don't think it is _quite_ a nice idea, do you?--so public; but +they wrote so urgently. They said a photograph would oblige, and I had +to send one in the end. I sometimes think," she continued reflectively, +"that I did not choose part of my trousseau altogether wisely. I +_think_, with the summer before me, I might have ventured on rather +lighter colours. But, you see, I had to decide on everything in Lent, +when one's mind is turned to other things. I never wear any colour but +violet in Lent. I never have since I was confirmed, and it puts one out +for brighter colours. Things that look quite suitable after Easter seem +so gaudy before. I am not sure what I shall wear to-night." + +"Wear that mauve and silver," said Di, suddenly, and their eyes met. + +Madeleine looked away again instantly, and broke into a little laugh. + +"You dear thing," she said; "I wish I had your memory for clothes. I +remember now, though I had almost forgotten it, that the mauve brocade +was brought in the morning you came to hear about my engagement. And do +you remember, you quixotic old darling, how you wanted me to break it +off. You were quite excited about it." + +"I had not seen the diamonds then," interposed Di, with a faint blush at +the remembrance of her own useless emotion. "I am sure I never said +anything about breaking it off after I had seen the two tiaras, or even +hinted at throwing over that rivière." + +Madeleine looked puzzled. Whenever she did not quite understand what Di +meant, she assumed the tone of gentle authority, which persons, +conscious of a reserved front seat or possibly a leading part in the +orchestra in the next world, naturally do assume in conversation with +those whose future is less assured. + +"I think marriage is too solemn a thing to make a joke of," she said +softly. "And talking of marriage"--in a lowered tone--"you would hardly +believe, Di, the difference it makes, the way it widens one's influence. +With men now, such a responsibility. I always think a married woman can +help young men so much. I find it so much easier now than before I was +married to give conversation a graver turn, even at a ball. I feel I +know what people really are almost at once. I have had such earnest +talks in ball-rooms, Di, and at dinner parties. Haven't you?" + +"No," said Di. "I distrust a man who talks seriously over a pink ice the +first time I meet him. If he is genuine he is probably shallow, and the +odds are he is not genuine, or he would not do it. I don't like +religious flirtations, though I know they are the last new thing." + +"You always take a low view, Di," said Madeleine, regretfully. "You +always have, and I suppose you always will. It does not make me less +fond of you; but I am often sorry, when we talk together, to notice how +unrefined your ideas are. Your mind seems to run on flirtations. I see +things very differently. You wanted me to throw over Henry, though I had +given my solemn promise----" + +"And it had been in the papers," interposed Di; "don't forget that. +But"--she added, rising--"I _was_ wrong. I ought never to have said a +word on the subject; and there is the dressing-bell, so I will leave +you to prepare for victory. I warn you, Mrs. Clifford has one gown, a +Cresser, which is bad to beat--a lemon satin, with an emerald velvet +train; but she may not put it on." + +"I never vie with others in dress," said Madeleine. "I think it shows +such a want of good taste. Did she wear it last night?" + +"She did." + +"Oh! Then she won't wear it again." + +But Di had departed. + +"In change unchanged," Di said to herself, as she uncoiled her hair in +her own room. "I don't know what I expected of Madeleine, yet I thought +that somehow she would be different. But she isn't. How is it that some +people can do things that one would be ashamed one's self even to think +of, and yet keep a good opinion of themselves afterwards, and _feel_ +superior to others? It is the feeling superior that I envy. It must +make the world such an easy place to live in. People with a good opinion +of themselves have such an immense pull in being able to do the most +peculiar things without a qualm. It must be very pleasant to truly and +honestly consider one's self better than others, and to believe that +young men in white waistcoats hang upon one's words. Yes, Madeleine is +not changed, and I shall be late for dinner if I moralize any longer," +and Di brushed back her yellow hair, which was obliging enough to +arrange itself in the most interesting little waves and ripples of its +own accord, without any trouble on her part. Di's hair was perhaps the +thing of all others that womankind envied her most. It had the +brightness of colouring and easy fascination of a child's. Even the most +wily and painstaking curling-tongs could only produce on other +less-favoured heads a laboured imitation which was seen to be an +imitation. Madeleine, as she sailed into the drawing-room in mauve and +silver half an hour later, felt that her own rather colourless, +elaborate fringe was not redeemed from mediocrity even by the diamonds +mounting guard over it. The Infant would willingly have bartered his +immortal soul for one lock off Di's shining head. The hope that one +small lock might be conceded to a last wild appeal, possibly upon his +knees, sustained him throughout the evening, and he needed support. He +had a rooted conviction that if only his mother had allowed him a new +evening coat this half, if he had only been more obviously in tails, Di +might have smiled upon his devotion. He had been moderately fond of his +elder brother till now, but Lord Hemsworth's cable-patterned shooting +stockings and fair, well-defined moustache were in themselves enough to +rouse the hatred of one whose own upper lip had only reached the stage +when it suggested nothing so much as a reminiscence of treacle, and +whose only pair of heather stockings tarried long at the wash. But the +Infant had other grounds for nursing Cain-like sentiments towards his +rival. Had not Lord Hemsworth repeatedly called him in the actual +presence of the adored one by the nickname of "Trousers"! The Infant's +sobriquet among those of his contemporaries who valued him was "Bags," +but in ladies' society Lord Hemsworth was wont to soften the +unrefinement of the name by modifying it to Trousers. The Infant writhed +under the absolutely groundless suspicion that his brother already had +or might at any moment confide the original to Di. And even if he did +not, even if the horrible appellation never did transpire, Lord +Hemsworth's society term was almost as opprobrious. The name of Trousers +was a death-blow to young romance. Sentiment withered in its presence. +Years of devotion could not wipe out that odious word from her memory. +He could see that it had set her against him. The mere sight of him was +obviously painful to her sense of delicacy. She avoided him. She would +marry Lord Hemsworth. In short, she would be the bride of another. +Perhaps there was not within a radius of ten miles a more miserable +creature than the Infant, as he stood that evening before dinner, with +folded arms, alone, aloof, by a pillar, looking daggers at any one who +spoke to Di. + +After dinner things did not go much better. There were round games, in +which he joined with Byronic gloom in order to sit near Di. But Mr. +Lumley, the licensed buffoon of the party, dropped into his chair when +he left it for a moment to get Di a footstool, and, when sternly +requested to vacate it, only replied in fluent falsetto in the French +tongue, "Je voudrais si je coudrais, mais je ne cannais pas." + +The Infant controlled himself. He was outwardly calm, but there was +murder in his eye. + +Lord Hemsworth, sitting opposite shuffling the cards, looked up, and +seeing the boy's white face, said, good-naturedly-- + +"Come, Lumley, move up one. That is Trousers' place." + +"Oh, if Trousers wants it to press his suit," said Mr. Lumley, vaulting +into the next place. "Anything to oblige a fellow-sufferer." + +And Sir Henry neighed suddenly as his manner was when amused, and the +Infant, clenching his hands under the table, felt that there was nothing +left to live for in this world or the next save only revenge. + +As the last evening came to an end even Lord Hemsworth's cheerful +spirits flagged a little. He let the Infant press forward to light Di's +candle, and hardly touched her hand after the Infant had released his +spasmodic clutch upon it. His clear honest eyes met hers with the +wistful _chien soumis_ look in them which she had learned to dread. She +knew well enough, though she would _not_ have known it had she cared for +him, that he had only remained silent during the last few days because +he saw it was no good to speak. He had enough perception not to strike +at cold or lukewarm iron. + +"Why can't I like him?" she said to herself as she sat alone in her own +room. "I would rather like him than any one else. I do like him better, +much better than any one I know, and yet I don't care a bit about him. +When he is not there I always think I am going to care next time I see +him. I wonder if I should mind if he fell in love with some one else? I +dare say I should. I wish I could feel a little jealous. I tried to when +he talked the whole of one afternoon to that lovely Lady Kitty;--what a +little treasure that girl is! I would marry her if I were a man. But it +was no good. I knew he only did it because he was vexed with me about--I +forget what. + +"Well, to-morrow I shall be at Overleigh. I shall really see it at last +with my own eyes. Why, it is after twelve o'clock. It is to-morrow +already. It certainly does not pay to have a date in one's mind. Ever +since the end of July I have been waiting for September the third, and +it has not hurried up in consequence. Anyhow, here it is at last." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + "It's a deep mystery--the way the heart of man turns to one + woman out of all the rest he's seen i' the world, and makes it + easier for him to work seven year for _her_, like Jacob did for + Rachel, sooner than have any other woman for th' + asking."--GEORGE ELIOT. + + +Life has its crystal days, its rare hours of a stainless beauty, and a +joy so pure that we may dare to call in the flowers to rejoice with us, +and the language of the birds ceases to be an unknown tongue. Our real +life as we look back seems to have been lived in those days that memory +holds so tenderly. But it is not so in reality. Fortitude, +steadfastness, the makings of character, come not of rainbow-dawns and +quiet evenings, and the facile attainment of small desires. More +frequently they are the outcome of "the sleepless nights that mould +youth;" of hopes not dead, but run to seed; of the inadequate loves and +friendships that embitter early life, and warn off the young soul from +any more mistaking husks for bread. + +John had had many heavy days, and, latterly, many days and long-drawn +nights, when it had been uphill work to bear in silence, or bear at all, +the lessons of that expensive teacher physical pain. And now pain was +past and convalescence was past, and Fate smiled, and drew from out her +knotted medley of bright and sombre colours one thread of pure +untarnished gold for John, and worked it into the pattern of his life. + +Di was at Overleigh. Tall lilies had been ranged in the hall to welcome +her on her arrival. The dogs had been introduced to her at tea time. +Lindo had allowed himself to be patted, and after sniffing her dress +attentively with the air of a connoisseur, had retired with dignity to +his chair. Fritz, on the contrary, the amber-eyed dachshund, all +tail-wagging, and smiles, and saliva, had made himself cheap at once, +and had even turned over on his back, inviting friction where he valued +it most, before he had known Di five minutes. + +Di was really at Overleigh. Each morning John woke up incredulous that +such a thing could be, each morning listened for her light footfall on +the stairs, and saw her come into the dining-hall, an active living +presence, through the cedar and ebony doors. There were a few other +people in the house, the sort of chance collection which poor relations, +arriving with great expectations and their best clothes, consider to be +a party. There were his aunt, Miss Fane, and a young painter who was +making studies for an Elizabethan interior, and some one else--no, more +than one, two or three others, John never clearly remembered afterwards +who, or whether they were male or female. Perhaps they were friends of +his aunt's. Anyhow, Mrs. Courtenay, who had proposed herself at her own +time, was apparently quite content. Di seemed content also, with the +light-hearted joyous content of a life that has in it no regret, no +story, no past. + +John often wondered in these days whether there had ever been a time +when he had known what Di was like, what she looked like to other +people. He tried to recall her as he had seen her first at the +Speaker's; but that photograph of memory of a tall handsome girl was not +the least like Di. Di had become Di to John, not like anything or +anybody; Di in a shady hat sitting on the low wall of the bowling-green; +or Di riding with him through the forest, and up and away across the +opal moors; or, better still, Di singing ballads in the pictured +music-room in the evening, in her low small voice, that was not +considered good enough for general society, but which, in John's +opinion, was good enough for heaven itself. + +The painter used to leave the others in the gallery and stroll in on +these occasions. He was a gentle, elegant person, with the pensive, +regretful air often observable in an imaginative man who has married +young. He made a little sketch of Di. He said it would not interfere, as +John feared it might, with the prosecution of his larger work. + +Presently a wet morning came, and John took Di on an expedition to the +dungeons with torches, and afterwards over the castle. He showed her the +chapel, with its rose window and high altar, where the daughters of the +house had been married, where her namesake, Diana, had been wed to +Vernon of the Red Hand. He showed her the state-rooms with their +tapestried walls and painted ceilings. Di extorted a plaintive music +from the old spinet in the garret gallery where John's nurseries were. +Mitty came out to listen, and then it was her turn. She invited Di into +the nursery, which, in these later days, was resplendent with John's +gifts, the pride of Mitty's heart, the envy of the elect ladies of the +village. There were richly bound Bibles and church-services, and Russia +leather writing-cases, and inlaid tea-caddies, and china stands and +book-slides, and satin-lined workboxes bristling with cutlery, and +photograph frames and tea-sets--in fact, there was everything. There, +also, John's prizes were kept, for Mitty had taken charge of them for +him since the first holidays, when he had rushed up to the nursery to +dazzle her with the slim red volume, which he had not thought of showing +to his father; to which as time went on many others were added, and even +great volumes of Stuart Mill in calf and gold during the Oxford days. + +Mitty showed them to Di, showed her John's little high chair by the +fire, and his Noah's ark. She gave Di full particulars of all his most +unromantic illnesses, and produced photographs, taken at her own +expense, of her lamb in every stage of bullet-headed childhood; from an +open-mouthed face and two clutching hands set in a lather of white lace, +to a sturdy, frowning little boy in a black velvet suit leaning on a +bat. + +"There's the last," said Mitty, pointing with pride to a large steel +engraving of John in his heaviest expression, in a heavy gilt frame. +"That was done for the tenantry when Master John come of age." And +Mitty, in spite of a desperate attempt on John's part to divert the +conversation to other topics, went on to expatiate on that event until +John fairly bolted, leaving her in delighted possession of a new and +sympathetic listener. + +"And all the steps was covered with red cloth," continued Mitty to her +visitor, "and the crowd, Miss Dinah, you could have walked on their +heads. And Mr. John come down into the hall, and Mr. Goodwin was with +him, and he turns round to us, for we was all in the hall drawn up in +two rows, from Mrs. Alcock to the scullery-maid, and he says, 'Where is +Mrs. Emson?' Those were his very words, Miss Tempest, my dear; and I +says, 'Here, sir!' for I was along of Mrs. Alcock. And he says to +Parker, 'Open both the doors, Parker,' and then he says, quite quiet, +as if it was just every day, 'I have not many relations here,' for there +was not a soul of his own family, miss, and he did not ask his mother's +folk, 'but,' he says, 'I have my two best friends here, and that is +enough. Goodwin,' he says, 'will you stand on my right, and you must +stand on the other side, Mitty.'" + +"It took me here, miss," said Mitty, passing her hand over her +waistband. "And me in my cap and everything. I was all in a tremble. I +felt I could not go. But he just took me by the hand, and there we was, +miss, us three on the steps, and all the servants agathered round +behind, and a crowd such as never was in front. They trod down all the +flower-beds to nothing. Eh dear! when we come out, you should have heard +'em cheer, and when they seed me by him, I heard 'em saying, 'Who's +yon?' And they said, 'That's the old nuss as reared him from a babby,' +and they shouted till they was fit to crack, and called out, 'Three +cheers for the old nuss.' And Master John, he kept smilin' at me, and I +could do nothin' but roar, and there was Mrs. Alcock, I could hear her +crying behind, and Parker cried too, and he's not a man to show, isn't +Parker. But we'd known 'im, miss, since he was born, and there was no +one else there that did; only me and Parker, and Mrs. Alcock, and +Charles, as had been footman in the family, and come down special from +London at Master John's expense. And such a speech as my precious lamb +did make before them all, saying it was a day he should remember all his +life. Those were his very words. Eh! it was beautiful. And all the +presents as the deputations brought, one after another, and the cannon +fired off fit to break all the glass in the winders. And then in the +evening a hox roasted whole in the courtyard, and a bonfire such as +never was on Moat Hill. And when it got dark, you could see the bonfires +burning at Carley and Gilling, and Wet Waste, and right away to +Kenstone, all where his land is, bless him. Eh! dear me, Miss Tempest, +why was not some of you there?" + +"John!" said Di half an hour later, as he was showing her some +miniatures in the ebony cabinet in the picture-gallery, which Cardinal +Wolsey had given the Tempest of his day, "why were not some of us, +Archie or father, at your coming of age?" + +They were sitting in the deep window-seat, with the miniatures spread +out between them. + +"There was no question about their coming," said John. "Archie was going +in for his examination for the army that week, and your father would not +have come if he had been asked. I did invite our great-uncle, General +Hugh, but he was ill. He died soon afterwards. There was no one else to +ask. You and your father, and Archie and I are the only Tempests there +are." + +The miniatures were covered with dust. John's and Di's +pocket-handkerchiefs had an interest in common, which gradually +obliterated all difference between them. + +"Why would not father have come if you had asked him?" said Di +presently. "You are friends, aren't you?" + +"I suppose we are," said John, "if by friends one only means that we are +not enemies. But there is nothing more than civility between us. You +seem wonderfully well up in ancient family history, Di. Don't you know +the story of the last generation?" + +"No," said Di. "I don't know anything for certain. Granny hardly ever +mentions my mother even now. I know she is barely on speaking terms with +father. I hardly ever see him. When she took me, it was on condition +that father should have no claim on me." + +"You did not know, then," said John slowly, "that your mother was +engaged to my father at the very time that she ran away with his own +brother, Colonel Tempest?" + +Di shook her head. She coloured painfully. John looked at her in +silence, and then pulled out another drawer. + +"She was only seventeen," he said at last, with a gentleness that was +new to Di. "She was just old enough to wreck her own life and my poor +father's, but not old enough to be harshly judged. The heaviest blame +was not with _her_. There is a miniature of her here. I suppose my +father had it painted when she was engaged to him. I found it in the +corner of his writing-table drawer, as if he had been in the habit of +looking at it." + +He opened the case, and put it into her hand. + +Miniatures have generally a monotonous resemblance to one another in +their pink-and-white complexions and red lips and pencilled eyebrows. +This one possessed no marked peculiarity to distinguish it from those +already lying on Di's knee and on the window-seat. It was a lovely face +enough, oval, and pale and young, with dark hair, and still darker eyes. +It had a look of shy innocent dignity, which gave it a certain +individuality and charm. The miniature was set in diamonds, and at the +top the name "Diana" followed the oval in diamonds too. + +John and Di looked long at it together. + +"Do you think he cared for her very deeply?" said Di at last. + +"I am afraid he did." + +"Always?" + +"I think always. The miniature was in the drawer he used every day. I +don't think he would have kept it there unless he had cared." + +Di raised the lid of the case to close it, and as she did so a piece of +yellow paper which had adhered to the faded satin lining of the lid +became dislodged, and fell back over the miniature on which it had +evidently been originally laid. On the reverse side, now uppermost, was +written in a large firm hand the one word, "False." + +John started. + +"I never noticed that paper before," he said. + +"It stuck to the lining of the lid," she replied. + +"It must have been always there." + +The soft rain whispered at the lattice. In the silence, one of the +plants dropped a few faint petals on the polished floor. + +"Then he never forgave her," said Di at last, turning her full deep +glance upon her companion. + +"He did not readily forgive." + +"He must have been a hard man." + +"I do not think he was hard at first. He became so." + +"If he became so, he must have had it in him all the time. Trouble could +not have brought it out, unless it had been in his nature to start with. +Trouble only shows what spirit we are of. Even after she was dead he did +not forgive her. He put the miniature where he could look at it; he must +have often looked at it. And he left that bitter word always there. He +might have taken it away when she died. He might have taken it away when +he began to die himself." + +"I am afraid," said John, "there were shadows on his life even to the +very end." + +"The shadow of an unforgiving spirit." + +"Yes," said John gently, "but that is a deep one, Di. It numbs the +heart. He took it down with him to the grave. If it is true that we can +carry nothing away with us out of the world, I hope he left his +bitterness of spirit behind." + +Di did not answer. + +"That very unforgiveness and bitterness were in him only the seamy side +of constancy," said John at last. "He really loved your mother." + +"If he had really loved her, he would have forgiven her." + +"Not necessarily. A nobler nature would. But he had not a very noble +nature. That is just the sad part of it." + +There was a long silence. At last Di closed the case, and put it back in +the drawer. She held the little slip of paper in her hand, and looked up +at John rather wistfully. + +He took it from her, and, walking down the gallery, dropped it into the +wood fire burning at the further end. He came back and stood before her, +and their grave eyes met. The growing intimacy between them seemed to +have made a stride within the last half-hour, which left the +conversation of yesterday miles behind. + +"Thank you," she said. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + "Oh, the little more, and how much it is! + And the little less, and what worlds away!" + R. BROWNING. + + +Miss Fane, John's aunt, was one of those large, soft, fleecy persons who +act as tea-cosies to the domestic affections, and whom the perspicacity +of the nobler sex rarely allows to remain unmarried. That by some +inexplicable mischance she had so remained was, of course, a blessing to +her orphaned nephew which it would be hard to overrate. John was +supposed to be fortunate indeed to have such an aunt. He had been told +so from a child. She had certainly been kind to him in her way, and +perhaps he owed her more than he was fully aware of; for it is difficult +to feel an exalted degree of gratitude and affection towards a person +who journeys through life with a snort and a plush reticule, who is ever +seeking to eat some new thing, and who sleeps heavily in the morning +over a lapful of magenta crochet-work. + +On religious topics also little real sympathy existed between the aunt +and nephew. Miss Fane was one of those fortunate individuals who can +derive spiritual benefit and consolation from the conviction that they +belong to a lost tribe, and that John Bull was originally the Bull of +Bashan. + +Very wonderful are the dispensations of Providence respecting the +various forms in which religion appeals to different intellects. Miss +Fane derived the same peace of mind and support from her bull, and what +she called "its promises," as Madeleine did from the monster altar +candles which she had just introduced into the church at her new home, +candles which were really gas-burners--a pious fraud which it was to be +hoped a Deity so partial to wax candles, especially in the daytime, +would not detect. + +Miss Fane had an uneasy feeling, as years went by, that, in spite of the +floods of literature on the subject with which she kept him supplied, +John appeared to make little real progress towards Anglo-Israelitism. +Even the pamphlet which she had read aloud to him when he was ill, which +proved beyond a doubt that the unicorn of Ezekiel was the prototype of +the individual of that genus which now supports the royal arms,--even +that pamphlet, all-conclusive as it was, appeared to have made no +lasting impression on his mind. + +But if the desire to proselytize was her weak point, good nature was +her strong one. She was always ready, as on this occasion, to go to +Overleigh or to John's house in London, if her presence was required. If +she slept heavily amid his guests, it was only because "it was her +nature to." + +She slept more heavily than usual on this particular evening, for it was +chilly; and the ladies had congregated in the music-room after dinner, +where there was a fire, and a fire always reduced Miss Fane to a state +of coma. + +Mrs. Courtenay was bored almost to extinction--had been bored all day, +and all yesterday--but nevertheless her fine countenance expressed a +courteous interest in the rheumatic pains and Jäger underclothing of one +of the elder ladies. She asked appropriate questions from time to time, +bringing Miss Goodwin, who with her brother was dining at the Castle, +into the conversation whenever she could. + +Miss Goodwin, a gentle, placid woman of nine and twenty, clad in the +violent colours betokening small means and the want of taste of richer +relations, took but little part in the great Jäger question. Her pale +eyes under their white eyelashes followed Di rather wistfully as the +latter rose and left the room to fetch Mrs. Courtenay some wool. Between +women of the same class, and even of the same age, there is sometimes an +inequality as great as that between royalty and pauperism. + +Soon afterwards the men came in. Miss Fane regained a precarious +consciousness. The painter dropped into a low chair by Mrs. Courtenay, +some one else into a seat by Mary Goodwin; Mr. Goodwin addressed himself +indiscriminately to Miss Fane and the lady of the clandestine Jägers. +John, after a glance round the room, and a short sojourn on the +hearthrug, which proved too hot for him, seated himself on a strictly +neutral settee away from the fire, and took up _Punch_. Immediately +afterwards Di came back. + +She gave Mrs. Courtenay her wool, and then, instead of returning to her +former seat by the fire, gathered up her work, crossed the room, and sat +down on the settee by John. + +The blood rushed to his face. Her quiet unconcerned manner stung him to +the quick. She spoke to him, but he did not answer. Indeed, he did not +hear what she said. A moment before he had been wondering what excuse he +could make for getting up and going to her. He had been about to draw +her attention to the cartoon in a two-days-old _Punch_, for persons in +John's state of mind lose sight of the realities of life; and in the +presence of half a dozen people, she could calmly make her way to him, +and seat herself beside him, exactly as she might have done if he had +been her brother. He felt himself becoming paler and paler. An entirely +new idea was forcing itself upon him like a growing physical pain. But +there was not time to think of it now. He wondered whether there was any +noticeable difference in his face, and whether his voice would betray +him to Di if he spoke. He need not have been afraid. Di did not know the +meaning of a certain stolid look which John's countenance could +occasionally take. She was perfectly unconscious of what was going on a +couple of feet away from her, and picked up her stitches in a cheerful +silence. Mary Goodwin saw that he was vexed, and, not being versed in +the intricacies of love in its early stages, or, indeed, in any stages, +wondered why his face fell when his beautiful cousin came to sit by him. + +"Don't you sing?" she said, turning to Di. + +"I whisper a little sometimes with the soft pedal down," said Di. "But +not in public. There is a painful discrepancy between me and my voice. +It is several sizes too small for me." + +"Do whisper a little all the same," said the painter. + +"John," said Di, "I am afraid you do not observe that I am being pressed +to sing by two of your guests. Why don't you, in the language of the +_Quiver_, conduct me to the instrument?" + +The unreasoning, delighted pride with which John had until now listened +to the smallest of Di's remarks, whether addressed to himself or others, +had entirely left him. + +"Do sing," he said, without looking at her; and he rose to light the +candles on the piano. + +And Di sang. John sat down by Mary, and actually allowed the painter to +turn over. + +It was a very small voice, low and clear, which, while it disarmed +criticism, made one feel tenderly towards the singer. John, with his +hand over his eyes, watched Di intently. She seemed to have suddenly +receded from him to a great and impassable distance, at the very moment +when he had thought they were drawing nearer to each other. He took new +note of every line of form and feature. There was a growing tumult in +his mind, a glimpse of breakers ahead. The atmosphere of peace and +quietude of the familiar room, and the low voice singing in the +listening silence, seemed to his newly awakened consciousness to veil +some stern underlying reality, the features of which he could not see. + +Mary Goodwin, who had the music in her which those who possess a lesser +degree of it are often able more fluently to express, left John, and, +going to the piano, began to turn over Di's music. + +Presently she set up an old leather manuscript book before Di, who, +after a moment's hesitation, began to sing-- + + "Oh, broken heart of mine, + Death lays his lips to thine; + His draught of deadly wine + He proffereth to thee! + But listen! low and near, + In thy close-shrouded ear, + I whisper. Dost thou hear? + 'Arise and work with me.' + + "The death-weights on thine eyes + Shut out God's patient skies. + Cast off thy shroud and rise! + What dost thou mid the dead? + Thine idle hands and cold + Once more the plough must hold, + Must labour as of old. + Come forth, and earn thy bread." + +The voice ceased. The accompaniment echoed the stern sadness of the +last words, and then was suddenly silent. + +What is it in a voice that so mightily stirs the fibre of emotion in us? +It seemed to John that Di had taken his heart into the hollow of her +slender hands. + +"Thank you," said Mary Goodwin, after a pause; and one of the elder +ladies felt it was an opportune moment to express her preference for +cheerful songs. + +Di had risen from the piano, and was gathering up her music. +Involuntarily John crossed the room, and came and stood beside her. He +did not know he had done so till he found himself at her side. Mary +Goodwin turned to Miss Fane to say "Good night." + +Di slowly put one piece of music on another, absently turning them right +side upwards. He saw what was passing through her mind as clearly as if +it had been reflected in a glass. He stood by her watching her bend +over the piano. He was unable to speak to her or help her. Presently she +looked slowly up at him. He had no conception until he tried how +difficult it was to meet without flinching the quiet friendship of her +eyes. + +"John," she said, "my mother wrote that song. Do you remember what a +happy, innocent kind of look the miniature had? She was seventeen then, +and she was only four and twenty when she died. I don't know how to +express it, but somehow the miniature seems a very long way off from the +song. I am afraid there must have been a good deal of travelling +between-whiles, and not over easy country." + +John would have answered something, but the Goodwins were saying "Good +night;" and shortly afterwards the others dispersed for the night. But +John sat up late over the smoking-room fire, turning things over in his +mind, and vainly endeavouring to nail shadows to the wall. It seemed to +him as if, while straining towards a goal, he had suddenly discovered, +by the merest accident, that he was walking in a circle. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + "Vous me quittez, n'ayant pu voir + Mon âme à travers mon silence." + VICTOR HUGO. + + +It was Saturday morning. The few guests had departed by an early train. +The painter cast a backward glance at Overleigh and the two figures +standing together in the sunshine on the grey green steps which, with +their wide hospitable balustrade, he had sketched so carefully. He was +returning to the chastened joys of domestic life in London lodgings; to +his pretty young jaded, fluffy wife, and fluffy, delicate child; to the +Irish stew, and the warm drinking-water, and the blistered gravy of his +home-life. Sordid surroundings have the sad power of making some lives +sordid too. It requires a rare nobility of character to rise permanently +above the dirty table-cloth, and ill-trimmed paraffin-lamp of poor +circumstances. Poverty demoralizes. A smell of cooking, and, why I know +not, but especially an aroma of boiled cabbage, can undermine the +dignity of existence. A reminiscence of yesterday on the morning fork +dims the ideals of youth. + +As he drove away between the double row of beeches, with a hand on his +boarded picture, the poor painter reflected that John was a fortunate +kind of person. The dogcart was full of grapes and peaches and game. +Perhaps the power to be generous is one of the most enviable attributes +of riches. + +"Poor fellow!" said John, as he and Di turned back into the cool gloom +of the white stone hall. + +"He has given granny the sketch of me," said Di. "He is a nice man, but +after the first few days he hardly spoke to me, which I consider a bad +sign in any one. It shows a want of discernment; don't you think so? +Alas! we are going away this afternoon. I wish, John, you would try and +look a little more moved at the prospect of losing us. It would be +gratifying to think of you creeping on all-fours under a sofa after our +departure, dissolved in tears." + +John winced, but the reflections of the night before had led to certain +conclusions, and he answered lightly--that is, lightly for him, for he +had not an airy manner at the best of times-- + +"I am afraid I could not rise to tears. Would a shriek from the +battlements do?" + +"I should prefer tears," said Di, who was in a foolish mood this +morning, in which high spirits take the form of nonsense, looking at +her cousin, whose sedate and rather impenetrable face stirred the latent +mischief in her. "Not idle tears, John, that 'I know not what they +mean,' you know, but large solemn drops, full man's size, sixty to a +teaspoonful. That's the measure by granny's medicine-glass." + +She looked very provoking as she stood poising herself on her slender +feet on the low edge of the hearthstone, with one hand holding the stone +paw of the ragged old Tempest lion carved on the chimney-piece. John +looked at her with amused irritation, and wished--there is a practical +form of repartee eminently satisfactory to the masculine mind which an +absurd conventionality forbids--wished, but what is the good of wishing? + +"I must go and pack," said Di, with a sigh; "and see how granny is +getting on. She is generally down before this. You won't go and get +lost, will you, and only turn up at luncheon?" + +"I will be about," said John. "If I am not in the library, look for me +under the drawing-room sofa." + +Di laughed, and went lightly away across the grey and white stone flags. +There was a lamentable discrepancy between his feelings and hers which +outraged John's sense of proportion. He went into the study and sat down +there, staring at the shelves of embodied thought and speculation and +aspiration with which at one time he had been content to live, which, +now that he had begun to live, seemed entirely beside the mark. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Courtenay was a person of courage and endurance, but even her +powers had been sorely tried during the past week. She had been bored to +the verge of distraction by the people of whom she had taken such a +cordial leave the night before. There are persons who never, when out +visiting, wish to retire to their rooms to rest, who never have letters +to write, who never take up a book downstairs, who work for deep-sea +fishermen, and are always ready for conversation. Such had been the +departed. Miss Fane herself, for whom Mrs. Courtenay professed a certain +friendship, was a person with whom she would have had nothing in common, +whom she would hardly have tolerated, if it had not been for her nephew. +But for him she was willing to sacrifice herself even further. She had +seen undemonstrative men in love before now. Their actions had the same +bald significance for her as a string of molehills for a mole-catcher. +She was certain he was seriously attracted, and she was determined to +give him a fair field, and as much favour as possible. That Di had not +as yet the remotest suspicion of his intentions she regarded as little +short of providential, considering the irritating and impracticable turn +of that young lady's mind. + +Di entered her grandmother's room, and found that conspirator sitting up +in bed, looking with rueful interest at a boiled egg and untouched rack +of toast on a tray before her. Mrs. Courtenay always breakfasted in bed, +and could generally thank Providence for a very substantial meal. + +"Take the tray away, Brown," said Mrs. Courtenay, with an effort. + +"Why, you've not touched a single thing, ma'am," remarked Brown, +reproachfully. + +"I have drunk a little coffee," said Mrs. Courtenay, faintly. + +"Granny, aren't you well?" asked Di. + +Brown removed the tray, which Mrs. Courtenay's eyes followed regretfully +from the room. + +"I am not _very_ well, my love," she replied, adjusting her spectacles, +"but not positively ill. I had a threatening of one of those tiresome +spasms in the night. I dare say it will pass off in an hour or two." + +Di scrutinized her grandmother remorsefully. + +"I never noticed you were feeling ill when I came in before breakfast," +she said. + +"My dear, you are generally the first to observe how I am," returned +Mrs. Courtenay, hurriedly. "I was feeling better just then, but--and we +are due at Carmyan to-day. It is very provoking." + +Di looked perturbed. + +"The others are gone," she said; "even the painter has just driven off. +Do you think you will be able to travel by the afternoon, granny?" + +"I am afraid _not_," said Mrs. Courtenay, closing her eyes; "but I +think--I feel sure I could go to-morrow." + +"To-morrow is Sunday." + +"Dear me! so it is," said Mrs. Courtenay, with mild surprise. "To-day is +Saturday. It certainly is unfortunate. But after all," she continued, +"it could not have happened at a better place. Miss Fane is a +good-natured person and will quite understand, and John is a relation. +Perhaps you had better tell Miss Fane I am feeling unwell, and ask her +to come here; and before you go pull down the blinds half-way, and put +that sheaf of her 'lost tribes' and 'unicorns' and 'stone ages' on the +bed." + + * * * * * + +What induced John to spend the whole of Saturday afternoon and the +greater part of a valuable evening at a small colliery town some twenty +miles distant, it would be hard to say. The fact that some days ago he +had arranged to go there after the departure of his guests did not +account for it, for he had dismissed all thought of doing so directly +he heard that Di and Mrs. Courtenay were staying on. It was not +important. The following Saturday would do equally well to inspect a +reading-room he was building, and the new shaft of one of his mines, +about the safety of which he was not satisfied. Yet somehow or other, +when the afternoon came, John went. Up to the last moment after luncheon +he had intended to remain. Nevertheless, he went. The actions of persons +under a certain influence cannot be predicted or accounted for. They can +only be chronicled. + +John did not return to Overleigh till after ten o'clock. He told himself +most of the way home that Miss Fane and Di would be sure not to sit up +later than ten. He made up his mind that he should only arrive after +they had gone to bed. As he drove up through the semi-darkness he looked +eagerly for Di's window. There was a light in it. He perceived it with +sudden resentment. She _had_ gone to bed, then. He should not see her +till to-morrow. John had a vague impression that he was glad he had been +away all day, that he had somehow done rather a clever thing. But +apparently he was not much exhilarated by the achievement. It lost +somewhat in its complete success. + +And Mrs. Courtenay, who heard the wheels of his dogcart drive up just +after Di had wished her "Good night," said aloud in the darkness the one +word, "Idiot!" + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + "Love, how it sells poor bliss + For proud despair!" + SHELLEY. + + +It was Sunday morning, and it was something more. There was a subtle +change in the air, a mystery in the sunshine. Autumn and summer were met +in tremulous wedlock. But the hand of the bride trembled in the +bridegroom's. In the rapture of bridal there was a prophesy of parting +and death. The birds knew it. In the songless silence the robin was +practising his autumn reverie. Joy and sadness were blent together in +the solemn beauty of transition. + +The voice of the brook was sunk to a whisper to-day. Through the still +air the tangled voices of the church bells came from the little grey +church in the valley. A rival service was going on in the rookery on +Moat Hill, in which the congregation joined with hoarse unanimity. + +Miss Fane did not go to church in the morning, so John and Di went +together down the steep path through the wood, across the park, over the +village beck, and up the low hollowed steps into the churchyard. +Overleigh was a primitive place. + +The little congregation was sitting on the wall, or standing about among +the tilted tombstones, according to custom, to see John and the +clergyman come in. And then there was a general clump and clatter after +them into church; the bells stopped, and the service began. + +Di and John sat at a little distance from each other in the carved +Tempest pew. The Tempests were an overbearing race. The little rough +stone church with its round Norman arches was a memorial of their race. + +"Lord, Thou hast been our Refuge from one generation to another," was +graven in the stones of the wall just before Di's eyes. Beneath was a +low arch surmounting the tomb of a knight in effigy. Beyond there were +more tombs and arches. The building was thronged with the sculptured +dead of one family--was a mortuary chapel in itself. Tattered flags hung +where pious hands, red with infidel blood, had fastened them. With a +simple confidence in their own importance, and the approval of their +Creator, the Tempests had raised their memorials and hung their battered +swords in the house of their God. The very sun himself smote, not +through the gaudy figures of Scripture story, but through the painted +arms of the Malbys; of the penniless, pious Malby who sold his land to +his clutching Tempest brother-in-law in order to get out to the +Crusades. + +Had God really been their Refuge from all those bygone generations to +this? Di wondered. In these latter days of millionaire cheesemongers who +dwell _h_-less in the feudal castles of the poor, what wonder if the +faith even of the strongest waxes cold? + +She looked fixedly at John as he went to the reading-desk and stood up +to read the First Lesson. It was difficult to believe the dead were not +listening too; that the Knight Templar lying in armour, with his drawn +sword beside him and broken hands joined, did not turn his head a +little, pillowed so uncomfortably on his helmet, to hear John's low +clear voice. + +And as John read, a feeling of pride in him, not unmixed with awe, arose +in Di's mind. All he did and said, even when in his gentlest mood--and +Di had not as yet seen him in any other--had a hint of power in it; +power restrained, perhaps, but existent. How strong his iron hand looked +touching the book! She could more easily imagine it grasping a +sword-hilt. He stood before her as the head of the race, his rugged +profile and heavy jaw silhouetted in all their native strength and +ugliness against the uncompromising light of the eastern window. + +She looked at him, and was glad. + +"He will do us honour," she said to herself. + +Some one else was watching John too. + +"I will arise and go to my Father," John read. And Mr. Goodwin closed +his eyes, and prayed the old worn prayer--our prayers for others are +mainly tacit reproaches to the Almighty--that God would touch John's +heart. + +Humanity has many sides, but perhaps none more incomprehensible than +that represented by the patient middle-aged man leaning back in his +corner and praying for John's soul; none more difficult to describe +without an appearance of ridicule; for certain aspects of character, +like some faces, lend themselves to caricature more readily than to a +portrait. + +Mr. Goodwin was one of that class of persons who belong so entirely to a +class that it is difficult to individualize them; whose peculiar object +in life it is to stick in clusters like limpets to existing, and +especially to superseded, forms of religion. Their whole constitution +and central ganglion consists of one adhesive organism. The quality of +that to which they adhere does not appear to affect them, provided it is +stationary. To their constitution movement is torture, uprootal is +death. It would be impossible to chip Mr. Goodwin from his rock, and +hold him up to the scrutiny of the reader, without distorting him to a +caricature, which is an insult to our common nature. Unless he is in the +full exercise of his adhesive muscle in company with large numbers of +his kind, he is nothing. And even then he is not much. + +_Not much?_ Ah, yes, he is! + +His class has played an important part in all crises of religious +history. It was instrumental in the crucifixion of Christ. It called a +new truth blasphemy as fiercely then as now. By its law truth, if new, +must ever be put to death. But when Christianity took form, this class +settled on it nevertheless; adhered to it as strictly as its forbears +had done to the Jewish ritual. It was this class which resisted and +would have burned out the Reformation, but when the Reformation gained +bulk enough for it to stick to, it spread itself upon its surface in due +course. As it still does to-day. + +Let who will sweat and agonize for the sake of a new truth, or a newer +and purer form of an old one. There will always be those who will stand +aside and coldly regard, if they cannot crush, the struggle and the +heartbreak of the pioneers, and then will enter into the fruit of their +labours, and complacently point in later years to the advance of thought +in their time, which they have done nothing to advance, but to which, +when sanctioned by time and custom and the populace, they will _adhere_. + +John shut the book, and Mr. Goodwin, taken up with his own mournful +reflections, heard no more of the service until he was wakened by the +shriek of the village choir-- + + "Before Jehovah's awful throne, + Ye nations bow-wow-wow with sacred joy." + +When the clergyman had blessed his flock, and the flock had hurried with +his blessing into the open air, Di and John remained behind to look at +the nibbled old stone font, engraved with tangled signs, and unknown +beasts with protruding unknown tongues, where little Tempests had +whimpered and protested against a Christianity they did not understand. +The aisle and chancel were paved with worn lettered stones, obliterated +memorials of forgotten Tempests who had passed at midnight with flaring +torches from their first home on the crag to their last in the valley. +The walls bore record too. John had put up a tablet to his predecessor. +It contained only the name, and date of birth and death, and underneath +the single sentence-- + +"Until the day break, and the shadows flee away." + +Di read the words in silence, and then turned the splendour of her deep +glance upon him. Since when had the bare fact of meeting her eyes become +so exceeding sharp and sweet, such an epoch in the day? John writhed +inwardly under their gentle scrutiny. + +"You are very loyal," she said. + +He felt a sudden furious irritation against her which took him by +surprise, and then turned to scornful anger against himself. He led the +way out of the church into the sad September sunshine, and talked of +indifferent subjects till they reached the Castle. And after luncheon +John went to the library and stared at the shelves again, and Miss Fane +ambled and grunted to church, and Di sat with her grandmother. + +There are some acts of self-sacrifice for which the performers will +never in this world obtain the credit they deserve. Mrs. Courtenay, who +was addicted to standing proxy for Providence, and was not afraid to +take upon herself responsibilities which belong to Omniscience alone, +had not hesitated to perform such an act, in the belief that the cause +justified the means. Indeed, in her eyes a good cause justified many +sorts and conditions of means. + +All Saturday and half Sunday she had repressed the pangs of a healthy +appetite, and had partaken only of the mutton-broth and splintered toast +of invalidism. With a not ill-grounded dread lest Di's quick eyes should +detect a subterfuge, she had gone so far as to take "heart-drops" three +times a day from the hand of her granddaughter, and had been careful to +have recourse to her tin of arrowroot biscuits only in the strictest +privacy. But now that Sunday afternoon had come, she felt that she could +safely relax into convalescence. The blinds were drawn up, and she was +established in an armchair by the window. + +"You seem really better," said Di. "I should hardly have known you had +had one of your attacks. You generally look so pale afterwards." + +"It has been very slight," said Mrs. Courtenay, blushing faintly. "I +took it in time. I shall be able to travel to-morrow. I suppose you and +Miss Fane went to church this morning?" + +"Miss Fane would not go, but John and I did." + +Mrs. Courtenay closed her eyes. Virtue may be its own reward, but it is +gratifying when it is not the only one. + +"Granny," said Di, suddenly, "I never knew, till John told me, that my +mother had been engaged to his father." + +"What has John been raking up those old stories for?" + +"I don't think he raked up anything. He seemed to think I knew all about +it. He was showing me my mother's miniature which he had found among his +father's papers. I always supposed that the reason you never would talk +about her was because you had felt her death too much." + +"I was glad when she died," said Mrs. Courtenay. + +"Was she unhappy, then? Father speaks of her rather sadly when he does +mention her, as if he had been devoted to her, but she had not cared +much for him, and had felt aggrieved at his being poor. He once said he +had many faults, but that was the one she could never forgive. And he +told me that when she died he was away on business, and she did not +leave so much as a note or a message for him." + +"It is quite true; she did not," said Mrs. Courtenay, in a suppressed +voice. "I have never talked to you about your mother, Di, because I knew +if I did I should prejudice you against your father, and I have no right +to do that." + +"I think," said Di, "that now I know a little you had better tell me the +rest, or I shall only imagine things were worse than the reality." + +So Mrs. Courtenay told her; told her of the little daughter who had been +born to her in the first desolation of her widowhood, round whom she had +wrapped in its entirety the love that many women divide between husband +and sons and daughters. + +She told Di of young Mr. Tempest, then just coming forward in political +life, between whom and herself a friendship had sprung up in the days +when he had been secretary to her brother, then in the Ministry. The +young man was constantly at her house. He was serious, earnest, +diffident, ambitious. Di reached the age of seventeen. Mrs. Courtenay +saw the probable result, and hoped for it. With some persons to hope for +anything is to remove obstacles from the path of its achievement. + +"And yet, Di," said Mrs. Courtenay, "I can't reproach myself. They +_were_ suited to each other. It is as clear to me now as it was then. +She did not love him, but I knew she would; and she had seen no one +else. And he worshipped her. I threw them together, but I did not press +her to accept him. She did accept him, and we went down to Overleigh +together. She had--this room. I remembered it directly I saw it again. +The engagement had not been formally given out, and the wedding was not +to have been till the following spring on account of her youth. I think +Mr. Tempest and I were the two happiest people in the world. I felt such +entire confidence in him, and I was thankful she should not run the +gauntlet of all that a beautiful girl is exposed to in society. She was +as innocent as a child of ten, and as unconscious of her beauty--which, +poor child! was very great. + +"And then he--your father--came to Overleigh. Ten days afterwards they +went away together, and I--I who had never been parted from her for a +night since her birth--I never saw her again, except once across a room +at a party, until four years afterwards, when her first child was born. +I went to her then. I tried not to go, for she did not send for me; but +she was the only child I had ever had, and I remembered my own +loneliness when she was born. And the pain of staying away became too +great, and I went. And--she was quite changed. She was not the least +like my child, except about the eyes; and she was taller. Mr. Tempest +never forgave her, because he loved her; but I forgave her at last, +because I loved her more than he did. I saw her often after that. She +used to tell me when your father would be away--and he was much +away--and then I went to her. I would not meet _him_. We never spoke of +her married life. It did not bear talking about, for she had really +loved him, and it took him a long time to break her of it. We talked of +the baby, and servants, and the price of things, for she was very poor. +She was loyal to her husband. She never spoke about him except once. I +remember that day. It was one of the last before she died. I found her +sitting by the fire reading 'Consuelo.' I sat down by her, and we +remained a long time without speaking. Often we sat in silence together. +You have not come to the places on the road, my dear, when somehow words +are no use any more, and the only poor comfort left is to be with some +one who understands and says nothing. When you do, you will find silence +one degree more bearable than speech. + +"At last she turned to the book, and pointed to a sentence in it. I can +see the page now, and the tall French print. 'Le caractère de cet homme +entraîne les actions de sa vie. Jamais tu ne le changeras.' + +"'I think that is true,' she said. 'Some characters seem to be settled +beforehand, like a weathercock with its leaded tail. They cannot really +change, because they are always changing. Nothing teaches them. +Happiness, trouble, love, and hate bring no experience. They swing round +to every wind that blows on one pivot always--themselves. There was a +time when I am afraid I tired God with one name. "Jamais tu ne le +changeras." No, never. One changes one's self. That is all. And now, +instead of reproaching others, I reproach myself--bitterly--bitterly.' + +"And she never begged my pardon. She once said, when I found her very +miserable, that it was right that one who had made others suffer should +suffer too. But those were the only times she alluded to the past, and +I never did. I did not go to her to reproach her. The kind of people who +are cut by reproaches have generally reproached themselves more harshly +than any one else can. She had, I know. It would have been better if she +had been less reserved, and if she could have taken more interest in +little things. But she did not seem able to. Some women, and they are +the happy ones, can comfort themselves in a loveless marriage with +pretty note-paper, and tying up the legs of chairs with blue ribbon. She +could not do that, and I think she suffered more in consequence. Those +little feminine instincts are not given us for nothing. + +"She never gave in until she knew she was dying. Then she tried to +speak, but she sank rapidly. She said something about you, and then +smiled when her voice failed her, and gave up the attempt. I think she +was so glad to go that she did not mind anything else much. They held +the baby to her as a last chance, and made it cry. Oh, Di, how you +cried! And she trembled very much just for a moment, and then did not +seem to take any more notice, though they put its little hand against +her face. I think the end came all the quicker. It seemed too good to be +true at first.... + +"Don't cry, my dear. Young people don't know where trouble lies. They +think it is in external calamity, and sickness and death. But one does +not find it so. The only real troubles are those which we cause each +other through the affections. Those whom we love chasten us. I never +shed a single tear for her when she died. There had been too many during +her life, for I loved her better than anything in the world except my +husband, who died when he was twenty-five and I was twenty-two. You +often remind me of him. You are a very dear child to me. She said she +hoped you would make up a little to me; and you have--not a little. I +have brought you up differently. I saw my mistake with her. I sheltered +her too much. I hope I have not run into the opposite extreme with you. +I have allowed you more liberty than is usual, and I have encouraged you +to look at life for yourself, and to think and act for yourself, and +learn by your own experience. And now go and bathe your eyes, and see if +you can find me Fitzgerald's 'Omar Khayyám.' I think I saw it last in +the morning-room. John and I were talking about it on Friday. I dare say +he will know where it is." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + "Si tu ne m'aimes pas moi je t'aime." + + +It was the time of afternoon tea. Miss Fane rolled off the sofa, and +with the hydraulic sniff that can temporarily suspend the laws of +nature, proceeded to pour out tea. Presently John and the dogs came in, +and Di, who had found Mrs. Courtenay's book without his assistance, +followed. John had not the art of small-talk. Miss Fane, who was in the +habit of attempting the simultaneous absorption of liquid and +farinaceous nutriment with a perseverance not marked by success, was +necessarily silent, save when a carroway seed took the wrong turn. She +seldom spoke in the presence of food, any more than others do in church. +Few things apart from the Bull of Bashan commanded Miss Fane's undivided +homage, but food never failed to, though it was reserved for plovers' +eggs and the roe of the sturgeon to stir the latent emotion of her +nature to its depths. + +The dogs did their tricks. Lindo contrived to swallow all his own and +half Fritz's portion, but, fortunately for the cause of justice, during +a muffin-scattering choke on Lindo's part, Fritz's long red tongue was +able to glean together fragments of what he imagined he had lost sight +of for ever. + +Di inquired whether there were evening service. + +"Evening service at seven," said Miss Fane; "supper at quarter past +eight." + +"Do not go to church again," said John. "Come for a walk with me." + +Di readily agreed. It was very pleasant to her to be with John. She had +begun to feel that he and she were near akin. He was her only first +cousin. The nearness of their relationship, accounting as it did in her +mind for a growing intimacy, prevented any suspicion of that intimacy +having sprung from another source. + +They walked together through the forest in the still opal light of the +waning day. Through the enlacing fingers of the trees the western sun +made ladders of light. Breast-high among the bracken they went, +disturbing the deer; across the heather, under the whisper of the pines, +down to the steel-white reeded pools below. + +They sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, and a faint air came across +the water from the trees on the further side, with a message to the +trees on this. Neither talked much. The lurking sadness in the air just +touched and soothed the lurking sadness in Di's mind. She did not notice +John's silence, for he was often silent. She wound a blade of grass +round her finger, and then unwound it again. John watched her do it. He +had noticed before, as a peculiarity of Di's, not observable in other +women, that whatever she did was interesting. She asked some question +about the lower pool gleaming before them through the trunks of the +trees, and he answered absently the reverse of what was true. + +"Then perhaps we had better be turning back," she said. + +He rose, and they went back another way, climbing slowly up and up by a +little winding track through steepest forest places. Many burrs left +their native stems to accompany them on their way. They showed to great +advantage on Di's primrose cotton gown. At last they reached the top of +the rocky ridge, and she sat down, out of breath, under a group of +silver firs, and, taking off her gloves, began idly to pick the burrs +one by one off the folds of her gown. + +There was no hurry. He sat down by her, and watched her hands. She put +the burrs on a stone near her. + +They were sitting on the topmost verge of the crag, and the forest fell +away in a shimmer of green beneath their feet to the pools below, and +then climbed the other side of the valley and melted into the purple of +the Overleigh and Oulston moors. Far away, the steep ridge of Hambleton +and the headland of Sutton Brow stood out against the evening sky. Some +Tempest of bygone days had dared to perpetrate a Greek temple in a +clearing among the silver firs where they were sitting, but time had +effaced that desecration of one of God's high places by transforming it +to a lichened ruin of scattered stones. It was on one of these +scattered stones that Di was raising a little cairn of burrs. + +"Forty-one," she said at last. "You have not even begun your toilet yet, +John." + +No answer. + +The sun was going down unseen behind a bar of cloud. A purple light was +on the hills. Their faces showed that they saw the glory, but the +twilight deepened over all the nearer land. Slowly the sun passed below +the leaden bar, and looked back once more in full heaven, and drowned +the world in light. Then with dying strength he smote the leaden bar to +one long line of quivering gold, and sank dimly, redly, to the +enshrouding west. All colour died. The hills were gone. The land lay +dark. But far across the sky, from north to south, the line of light +remained. + +Di had watched the sunset alone. John had not seen it. His eyes were +fixed on her calm face with the western glow upon it. She did not even +notice that he was looking at her. One of her ungloved hands lay on her +knee, so near to him yet so immeasurably far away. Could he stretch +across the gulf to touch it? His expressionless face took some meaning +at last. He leaned a little towards her, and laid his hand on hers. + +She started violently, and dropped her sunset thoughts like a surprised +child its flowers. Even a less vain man than John might have been cut to +the quick by the sudden horrified bewilderment of her face, and of the +dazzled light-blinded eyes which turned to peer at him with such +unseeing distress. + +"Oh, John!" she said, "not you;" and she put her other hand quickly for +one second on his. + +"Yes," he said, "that is just it." + +Her mouth quivered painfully. + +"I thought," she said, "we were--surely we _are_ friends." + +"No," said John, mastering the insane emotion which had leapt within him +at the touch of her hand. "We never were, and we never shall be. I will +have nothing to do with any friendship of yours. I'm not a beggar to be +shaken off with coppers. I want everything or nothing." + +Her manner changed. Her self-possession came back. + +"I am sorry it must be nothing," she said gently, and she tried quietly +but firmly to withdraw her hand. + +His grasp on it tightened ever so little, but in an unmistakable manner, +and she instantly gave up the attempt. + +A splendid colour mounted slowly to her face. She drew herself up. Her +lightning-bright intrepid eyes met his without flinching. They looked +hard at each other in the waning light. Once again they seemed to +measure swords as at the moment when they first met. Each felt the other +formidable. There was no slightest shred of disguise between them. + +There was a breathless silence. + +Di went through a frightful revulsion of mind. The sunset and the light +along the sky seemed to have betrayed her. These pleasant days had been +in league against her. And now, goaded by the grasp of his hand on hers, +her mind made one headlong rush at the goal towards which these +accomplices had been luring her. Where were they leading her? Glamour +dropped dead. Marriage remained. To become this man's wife; to merge her +life in his; to give up everything into the hand that still held hers, +the pressure of which was like a claim! He had only laid his hand upon +her hand, but it seemed to her that he had laid it upon her soul. Her +whole being rose up against him in sudden passionate antagonism horrible +to bear. And all the time she knew instinctively that he was stronger +than she. + +John saw and understood that mental struggle almost with compassion, yet +with an exultant sense of power over her. One conviction of the soul +ever remains unshaken, that whom we understand is ours to have and to +hold. + +He deliberately released her hand. She did not make the slightest +movement at regaining possession of it. + +John wrestled with his voice, and forced it back, harsh and unfamiliar, +to do his bidding. + +"Di," he said, "I believe in truth even between men and women. I know +what you are feeling about me at this moment. Well, that, even that, is +better than a mistake; and you were making one. You had not the +faintest suspicion of what has been the one object of my life since the +day I first met you. The fault was mine, not yours. You could not see +what was not on the surface to be seen. You would have gone on for the +remainder of your natural life liking me in a way I--I cannot tolerate, +if I had not--done as I did. I have not the power like some men of +showing their feelings. I can't say the little things and do the little +things that come to others by instinct. My instinct is to keep things to +myself. I always have--till now." + +Silence again; a silence which seemed to grow in a moment to such +colossal dimensions that it was hardly credible a voice would have power +to break it. + +The twilight had advanced suddenly upon them. The young pheasants crept +and called among the bracken. The night-birds passed swift and silent as +sudden thoughts. + +Di struggled with an unreasoning, furious anger, which, like a fiery +horse, took her whole strength to control. + +"I love you," said John, "and I shall go on loving you; and it is better +you should know it." + +And as he spoke she became aware that her anger was but a little thing +beside his. + +"What is the good of telling me," she said, "what I--what you know +I--don't wish to hear?" + +"What good?" said John, fiercely, his face working. "Great God! do you +imagine I have put myself through the torture of making myself +intolerable to you for no purpose? Do you think that you can dismiss me +with a few angry words? What good? The greatest good in the world, which +I would turn heaven and earth to win; which please God I will win." + +Di became as white as he. He was too strong, this man, with his set +face, and clenched trembling hand. She was horribly frightened, but she +kept a brave front. She turned towards him and would have spoken, but +her lips only moved. + +"You need not speak," he said more gently. "You cannot refuse what you +have not been asked for. I ask nothing of you. Do you understand? +_Nothing._ When I ask it will be time enough to refuse. It is getting +late. Let us go home." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + "Those who have called the world profane have succeeded in + making it so."--J. H. THOM. + + +The dreams of youth and love so frequently fade unfulfilled into "the +light of common day," that it is a pleasure to be able to record that +Madeleine saw the greater part of hers realized. She was received with +what she termed _éclat_ in her new neighbourhood. She remarked with +complacency that everybody made much too much of her; that she had been +quite touched by the enthusiasm of her reception. It was an ascertained +fact that she would open the hunt ball with the President--a point on +which her maiden meditation had been much exercised. The Duchess of +Southark was among the first to call upon her. If that lady's principal +motive in doing so was curiosity to see what kind of wife Sir Henry, or, +as he was called in his own county, "the Solicitor-General," had at +length procured, Madeleine was comfortably unaware of the fact. After +that single call, the duration of which was confined to nine minutes, +Madeleine spoke of the duchess as "kindness and cordiality itself." + +She was invited to stay at Alvery, and afterwards to fill her house for +a fancy ball, in October, in honour of the coming of age of Lord Elver, +the duke's eldest son and chief thorn in the flesh; a young man of great +promise "when you got to know him," as Madeleine averred, in which case +few shared that advantage with her. + +Other invitations poured in. The neighbourhood was really surprised at +the grace and beauty of the bride--_considering_. It was soon rumoured +that she was a saint as well; that she read prayers every morning at +Cantalupe, which the stablemen were expected to attend; and that she +taught in the Sunday school. The ardent young vicar of the parish, who +had hitherto languished unsupported and misunderstood at Sir Henry's +door, in the flapping draperies that so well become the Church militant, +was enthusiastic about her. She was what he called "a true woman." Those +who use this expression best know what it means. Processions, monster +candles, crucifixes, and other ingredients of the pharmacopoeia of +religion, swam before his mental vision. The little illegal side-altar, +to which his two "crosses," namely, the churchwardens, had objected, but +without which his soul could not rest in peace, was reinstated after a +conversation with Madeleine. A promise on that lady's part to embroider +an altar-cloth for the same was noised abroad. + +Sir Henry was jubilant at his wife's popularity, which lost nothing from +her own comments on it. Although nearly six months had elapsed since his +marriage, he was still in a state of blind adoration--an adoration so +blind that none of the ordinary events by which disillusion begins had +any power to affect him. + +He was not conscious that once or twice during the season in London he +had been duped; that the jealousy which had flamed up so suddenly +against Archie Tempest had more grounds than the single note he found in +his wife's pocket, when in a fit of clumsy fondness he had turned out +all its contents on her knee, solely to cogitate and wonder over them. +He had a habit which tried her more than his slow faculties had any +idea of, of examining Madeleine's belongings. His admiring curiosity had +no suspicion in it. He liked to look at them solely because they were +hers. + +One day, shortly after their arrival at Cantalupe, when he was sitting +in stolid inconvenient sympathy in her room, whither she had vainly +retreated from him on the plea of a headache, he occupied himself by +opening the drawers of her dressing-table one after the other, +investigating with aboriginal interest small boxes of hairpins, +curling-irons, and that various assortment of feminine gear which the +hairdresser elegantly designates as "toilet requisites." At last he +peeped into a box where, carefully arranged side by side, were the +dearest of curls on tortoiseshell combs which he had often seen on his +wife's head, and some smaller much becrimped bodies which filled him +with wondering dislike--hair caricatured--_frisettes_. + +"What _are_ you doing?" said Madeleine, faintly, lying on the sofa with +her back to him, holding her salts to her nose. Oh, if he would only go +away, this large dreadful man, and leave her half an hour in peace, +without hearing him clear his throat and sniff! On the contrary, he came +and sat down by her chuckling, holding the curls and frisettes in his +thick hands. She dropped her smelling-bottle and looked at them in an +outraged silence. Was there, then, no sanctity, no privacy, in married +life? Was everything about her to be made common and profane? She hated +Sir Henry at that moment. As long as he had remained an invoice +accompanying the arrival of coveted possessions, she had felt only a +vague uneasiness about him. Directly he became, after the wedding, a +heavy bill demanding cash payment "to account rendered," she had found +that the marriage market is not a very cheap one after all. + +Sir Henry was not the least chagrined at a discovery which might have +tried the devotion of a more romantic lover. + +"Why, Maddy," he said, "you are much too young and pretty to wear this +sort of toggery. Leave 'em to the old dowagers, my dear;" and he dropped +them into the fire. + +She saw them burn, but she made no sign. Presently, however, when he had +left her, she began to cry feebly; for even feminine fortitude has its +limits. She was in reality satisfied with her marriage on the whole, +though she was wiping away a few natural tears at this moment. But in +this class of union there is generally one item which is found almost +intolerable, namely, the husband. He really was the only drawback in +this case. The furniture, the house, the southern aspect of the +reception-rooms, everything else, was satisfactory. The park was +handsomer than she had expected. And she had not known there was a +silver dinner-service. It had been a love match as far as that was +concerned. If Henry himself had only been different, Madeleine often +reflected! If he had not been so red, and if he had had curly hair, or +any hair at all! But whose lot has not some secret sorrow? + +So Madeleine cried a little, and then wiped her eyes, and fell to +thinking of her gown for the fancy ball at Alvery next month. She called +to mind Di's height and regal figure with a pang. Perhaps, after all, +she had been unwise in asking her dear friend, whom it would be +difficult to eclipse, for this particular ball. Madeleine was under the +impression that she was "having Di" out of good nature. This was her +tame caged motive, kept for the inspection of others, especially of Di. +Nevertheless there were others which were none the less genuine because +they did not wait to have salt put on their tails, and invariably flew +away at the approach of strangers. + +Madeleine had not remembered to be good-natured until a certain obstacle +to the completion of her ball-party, as she intended it, had arisen. The +subject of young men was one which she had approached with the utmost +delicacy; for, according to Sir Henry, all young men--at least, all +good-looking ones--were fools and oafs whom he was not going to have +wounding _his_ birds. She agreed with him entirely, but reminded him of +the duchess's solemn injunction to bring a party of even numbers. + +Sir Henry at last gave in so far as to propose an elderly colonel. +Madeleine in turn suggested Lord Hemsworth, who was allowed to be "a +good sort," and was invited. + +"Then we ought to have Miss Di Tempest, if we have Hemsworth," said Sir +Henry, blowing like a grampus, as his manner was in moments of +inspiration. "I'm quite a matchmaker now I'm married myself. Ask her to +meet him, Maddy. She's your special pal, ain't she?" + +Madeleine felt that she required strength greater than her own to bear +with a person who says "ain't" and "a good sort," and designates a +lady-friend as a "pal." + +She pressed the silver knob of her pencil to her lips. There was, she +remarked, no one whom she would like to have so much as Di; but Mr. +Lumley was her next suggestion, and Sir Henry slapped himself on the +leg, and said he was the very thing. + +"We want one other man," said Madeleine, reflectively, after a few more +had passed through the needle's eye of Sir Henry's criticism. "Let me +see. Oh, there's Captain Tempest. He dances well." + +"I won't have him," said Sir Henry at once, his eyes assuming their most +prawnlike expression. "You may have his cousin if you like, the owl with +the jowl, as Lumley calls him--Tempest of Overleigh." + +"He is sure to be asked to the house itself, being a relation," said +Madeleine, dropping the subject of Archie instantly. She did not recur +to it again. But after their return home from the visit to the +Hemsworths', at which she had met Di, she told her husband she had +invited Di for the fancy ball, as he had wished her to do. + +"Me?" said Sir Henry, reddening. "Lord bless me, what do I want with +her?" And it was some time before he could be made to recollect what he +had said nearly a month ago about asking Di to meet Lord Hemsworth. + +"You forget your own wishes more quickly than I do," she said, putting +her hand in his. + +He did, by Jove, he did; and he bent over the little hand and kissed it, +while she noticed how red the back of his neck was. When he became +unusually apoplectic in appearance, as at this moment, Madeleine always +caught a glimpse of herself as a young widow, and the idea softened her +towards him. If he were once really gone, without any possibility of +return, she felt that she could have said, "Poor Henry!" + +"The only awkward part about having asked Di," said Madeleine, after a +pause, "is that Mrs. Courtenay does not allow her to visit alone." + +"Well, my dear, ask Mrs. Courtenay. I like her. She has always been very +civil to me." + +She had indeed. + +"I don't like her very much myself," said Madeleine. "She is so worldly; +and I think she has made Di so. And she would be the only older person. +You know you decided it should be a _young_ party this time. It is very +awkward Di not being able to come alone, at her age. She evidently +wanted me to ask her brother to bring her, who, she almost told me, was +anxious to meet Miss Crupps, the carpet heiress; but I did not quite +like to ask him without your leave." + +"Ask him by all means," said Sir Henry, entirely oblivious of his former +refusal. "After that poor little girl, is he? Well, we'll sit out +together, and watch the lovemaking, eh?" + +Madeleine experienced a tremor wholly unmixed with compunction at +gaining her point. She would have been aware, if she had read it in a +book, that any one who had acted as she had done, had departed from the +truth in suggesting that Di could not visit alone. She would have felt +also that it was reprehensible in the extreme to invite to her house a +man who had secretly, though not without provocation, made love to her +since her marriage. + +But just in the same way that what we regret as conceit in others we +perceive to be a legitimate self-respect in ourselves, so Madeleine, as +on previous occasions, "saw things very differently." + +She was incapable of what she called "a low view." She had often +"frankly" told herself that she took a deep interest in Archie. She had +put his initials against some of her favourite passages in her morocco +manual. She prayed for him on his birthday, and sometimes, when she woke +up and looked at her luminous cross at night. She believed that she had +a great influence for good over him which it was her duty to use. She +was sincere in her wish to proselytize, but the sincerity of an +insincere nature is like the kernel of a deaf nut; a mere shred of +undeveloped fibre. What Madeleine wished to believe became a reality to +her. Gratification of a very common form of vanity was a religious duty. +She wrote to Archie with a clear conscience, and, when he accepted, had +a box of autumn hats down from London. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + "Oh, Love's but a dance, + Where Time plays the fiddle! + See the couples advance,-- + Oh, Love's but a dance! + A whisper, a glance,-- + 'Shall we twirl down the middle?' + Oh, Love's but a dance, + Where Time plays the fiddle!" + AUSTIN DOBSON. + + +It was the night of the fancy dress ball. + +The carriages were already at the door, and could be heard crunching +round and round upon the gravel. Sir Henry, all yeomanry red and gold, +was having the bursting hooks and eyes at his throat altered in his +wife's room. Something had to be done to his belt, too. At last he went +blushing downstairs before the cluster of maids with his sword under his +arm. The guests, who had gone up to dress after an early dinner, were +reappearing by degrees. Lord Hemsworth, in claret-coloured coat and long +Georgian waistcoat and tie-wig, came down, handsome and quiet as usual, +with his young sister, whose imagination had stopped short at +cotton-wool snowflakes on a tulle skirt. An impecunious young man in a +red hunt coat rushed in, hooted on the stairs by Mr. Lumley for having +come without a wedding garment. Madeleine sailed down in Watteau +costume. Two married ladies followed in Elizabethan ones. Presently +Archie made his appearance, a dream of beauty in white satin from head +to foot, as the Earl of Leicester, his curling hair, fair to whiteness, +looking like the wig which it was not. Every one, men and women alike, +turned to look at him; and Mr. Lumley, following in harlequin costume, +was quite overlooked, until he turned a somersault, saying, "Here we are +again!" whereat Sir Henry instantly lost a hook and eye in a cackle of +admiration. + +"We ought to be starting," said Madeleine. "We are all down now." + +"Not quite all," said Mr. Lumley, sinking on one knee, as Di came in +crowned and sceptred, in a green and silver gown edged with ermine. + +Lord Hemsworth drew in his breath. Madeleine's face fell. + +"Good gracious, Di!" she said, with a very thin laugh. "This is dressing +up indeed!" + +The party, already late, got under way, Mr. Lumley, of course, calling +in falsetto to each carriage in turn not to go without him, and then +refusing to enter any vehicle in which, as he expressed it, Miss +Tempest was not already an ornamental fixture. + +"This is getting beyond a joke," said Lord Hemsworth, as a burst of song +issued from the carriage leaving the door, and the lamp inside showed +Di's crowned head, Sir Henry's violet complexion, and the gutta-percha +face of the warbling Mr. Lumley. + +Di sat very silent in her corner, and after a time, as the drive was a +long one, the desultory conversation dropped, and Sir Henry fell into a +nasal slumber, from which, as Madeleine was in another carriage, no one +attempted to rouse him. + +Di shut her eyes as a safeguard against being spoken to, and her mind +went back to the subject which had been occupying much of her thoughts +since the previous evening, namely, the fact that she should meet John +at the ball. She knew he would be there, for she had seen him get out +of the train at Alvery station the afternoon before. + +As she had found on a previous occasion, when they had suddenly been +confronted with each other at Doncaster races, to meet John had ceased +to be easy to her--became more difficult every time. + +Possibly John had found it as difficult to speak to Di as she had found +it to receive him. But however that may have been, it would certainly +have been impossible to divine that he was awaiting the arrival of any +one to-night with the faintest degree of interest. He did not take his +stand where it would be obvious that he could command a view of the door +through which the guests entered. He had seen others do that on previous +occasions, and had observed that the effect was not happy. Nevertheless, +from the bay window where he was watching the dancing, the guests as +they arrived were visible to him. + +"He! he!" said Lord Frederick, joining him. "Such a row in the men's +cloak-room! Young Talbot has come as Little Bo-Peep, and the men would +not have him in their room; said it was improper, and tried to hustle +him into the ladies' room. He is still swearing in his ulster in the +passage. Why aren't you dancing?" + +"I can't. My left arm is weak since I burned it in the spring." + +"Well," rejoined Lord Frederick, who as a French marquis, with cane and +snuff-box, was one of the best-dressed figures in the room, "you don't +miss much. Onlookers see most of the game. Look at that fairy twirling +with the little man in the kilt. Their skirts are just the same length. +The worst part of this species of entertainment is that one cuts one's +dearest friends. Some one asked me just now whether the 'Mauvaise +Langue' was here to-night. Did not recognize the wolf in sheep's +clothing. More arrivals. A Turk and a Norwegian peasant, and a man in a +smock frock. And--now--what on earth is the creature in blue and red, +with a female to match?" + +"Otter-hounds," suggested John. + +"Is it possible? Never saw it before. There goes Freemantle as a private +in the Blues, saluting as he is introduced, instead of bowing. What a +fund of humour the youth of the present day possess! Who is that +bleached earwig he is dancing with?" + +"I think it is Miss Crupps, the heiress." + +"H'm! Might have known it. That is the sort of little pill that no one +takes unless it is very much gilt. Here comes the Verelst party at last. +Lady Verelst has put herself together well. I would not mind buying her +at my valuation and selling her at her own. She hates me, that little +painted saint. I always cultivate a genuine saint. I make a point of +it. They may look deuced dowdy down here--they generally do, though I +believe it is only their wings under their clothes; but they will +probably form the aristocracy up yonder, and it is as well to know them +beforehand. But Lady Verelst is a sham, and I hate shams. I am a sham +myself. He! he! When last I met her she talked pious, and implied +intimacy with the Almighty, till at last I told her that it was the +vulgarest thing in life to be always dragging in your swell +acquaintance. He! he! I shall go and speak to her directly she has done +introducing her party. Mrs. Dundas--and--I don't know the other woman. +Who is the girl in white?" + +"Miss Everard." + +"What! Hemsworth's sister? Then he will be here too, probably. I like +Hemsworth. There's no more harm in that young man than there is in a +tablet of Pears' soap. A crowned head next. Why, it's Di Tempest. By +---- she is handsomer every time I see her! If that girl knew how to +advertise herself, she might become a professional beauty." + +"Heaven forbid!" said John, involuntarily, watching Di with the intense +concentration of one who has long pored over memory's dim portrait, and +now corrects it by the original. + +Lord Frederick did not see the look. For once something escaped him. He +too was watching Di, who with the remainder of the Verelst party was +being drifted towards them by a strong current of fresh arrivals in +their wake. + +The usual general recognition and non-recognition peculiar to fancy +balls ensued, in which old acquaintances looked blankly at each other, +gasped each other's names, and then shook hands effusively; amid which +one small greeting between two people who had seen and recognized each +other from the first instant took place, and was over in a moment. + +"I cannot recognize any one," said Di, her head held a shade higher than +usual, looking round the room, and saying to herself, "He would not have +spoken to me if he could have helped it." + +"Some of the people are unrecognizable," said John, with originality +equal to hers, and stung by the conviction that she had tried to avoid +shaking hands with him. + +The music struck up suddenly as if it were a new idea. + +"Are you engaged for this dance?" said Mr. Lumley, flying to her side. + +"Yes," said Di with decision. + +"So am I," said he, and was gone again. + +"Dance?" said a _Sporting Times_, rushing up in turn, and shooting out +the one word like a pea from a pop-gun. + +"Thanks, I should like to, but I am not allowed," said Di. "My +grandmother is very particular. If you had been the _Sunday at Home_ I +should have been charmed." + +The "Pink 'un" expostulated vehemently, and said he would have come as +the _Church Times_ if he had only known; but Di remained firm. + +John walked away, pricking himself with his little dagger, the sheath of +which had somehow got lost, and watched the knot of men who gradually +gathered round Di. Presently she moved away with Lord Frederick in the +direction of Madeleine, who had installed herself at the further end of +the room among the _fenders_, as our latter-day youth gracefully +designates the tiaras of the chaperones. + +John was seized upon and introduced to an elderly minister with an +order, who told him he had known his father, and began to sound him as +to his political views. John, who was inured to this form of address, +answered somewhat vaguely, for at that moment Di began to dance. She had +a partner worthy of her in the shape of a sedate young Russian, +resplendent in the white-and-gold uniform of the imperial _Gardes à +cheval_. + +Lord Frederick gravitated back to John. No young man among the former's +large acquaintance was given the benefit of his experience more +liberally than John. Lord Frederick took an interest in him which was +neither returned nor repelled. + +"Elver is down at last," he said. "It seems he had to wait till his +mother's maid could be spared to sew him into his clothes. It is a pity +you are not dancing, John. You might dance with your cousin. She and +Prince Blazinski made a splendid couple. What a crowd of moths round +that candle! I hope you are not one of them. It is not the candle that +gets singed. Another set of arrivals. Look at Carruthers coming in with +a bouquet. Cox of the _Monarch_ still, I suppose. He can't dance with +it; no, he has given it to his father to hold. Supper at last. I must go +and take some one in." + +John took Miss Everard in to supper. In spite of her brother's and Di's +efforts, she had not danced much. She did not find him so formidable as +she expected, and before supper was over had told him all about her +doves, and how the grey one sat on her shoulder, and how she loved +poetry better than anything in the world, except "Donovan." John proved +a sympathetic listener. He in his turn confided to her his difficulty in +conveying soup over the edge of his ruff; and after providing her with a +pink cream, judging with intuition unusual to his sex that a pink cream +is ever more acceptable to young ladyhood than a white one, he took her +back to the ball-room. The crowd had thinned. The kilt and the fairy and +a few other couples were careering wildly in open space. John looked +round in vain for Madeleine, to whom he could deliver up his snowflake, +and catching sight of Mrs. Dundas on the chaperon's dais, made in her +direction. Di, who was sitting with Mrs. Dundas, suddenly perceived them +coming up the room together. What was it, what could it be, that +indescribable feeling that went through her like a knife as she saw Miss +Everard on John's arm, smiling at something he was saying to her? Had +they been at supper together all this long time? + +"What a striking face your cousin has!" said Mrs. Dundas. "I do not +wonder that people ask who he is. I used to think him rather alarming, +but Miss Everard does not seem to find him so." + +"He can be alarming," said Di, lightly. "You should see him when he is +discussing his country's weal, or welcoming his guests." + +"Why did I say that?" she asked herself the moment the words were out of +her mouth. "It's ill-natured and it's not true. Why did I say it?" + +Mrs. Dundas laughed. + +"It's the old story," she said. "One never sees the virtues of one's +relations. Now, as he is not _my_ first cousin, I am able to perceive +that he is a very remarkable person, with a jaw that means business. +There is tenacity and strength of purpose in his face. He would be a +terrible person to oppose." + +Di laughed, but she quailed inwardly. + +"I am told he is immensely run after," continued Mrs. Dundas. "I dare +say you know," in a whisper, "that the duchess wants him for Lady +Alice, and they _say_ he has given her encouragement, but I don't +believe it. Anyhow, her mother is making her read up political economy +and Bain, poor girl. It must be an appalling fate to marry a great +intellect. I am thankful to say Charlie only had two ideas in his head; +one was chemical manures, and the other was to marry me. Well, Miss +Everard. Lady Verelst is at supper, but I will extend a wing over you +till she returns. Here comes a crowd from the supper-room. Now, Miss +Tempest, do go in. You owned you were hungry a minute ago, though you +refused the tragic entreaties of the Turk and the stage villain." + +"I was afraid," said Di; "for though the villain is my esteemed friend +in private life, I know his wide hat or the turban of the infidel would +catch in my crown and drag it from my head. I wish I had not come so +regally. I enjoyed sewing penny rubies into my crown, and making the +ermine out of an old black muff and some rabbit-fur; but--uneasy is the +head that wears a crown." + +"I am very harmless and inaggressive," said John, in his most level +voice. "The only person I prick with my little dagger is myself. If you +are hungry, I think you may safely go in to supper with me." + +"Very well," said Di, rising and taking his offered arm. "I am too +famished to refuse." + +"She is taller than he is," said Miss Everard, as they went together +down the rapidly filling room. + +"No, my dear; it is only her crown. They are exactly the same height." + + * * * * * + +No one is more useful in everyday life than the man, seldom a rich man, +who can command two sixpences, and can in an emergency produce a +threepenny bit and some coppers. The capitalist with his halfcrown is +nowhere--for the time. + +In conversation, small change is everything. Who does not know the look +of the clever man in society, conscious of a large banking account, but +uncomfortably conscious also that, like Goldsmith, he has not a sixpence +of ready money? And who has not envied the fool jingling his few +halfpence on a tombstone or anywhere, to the satisfaction of himself and +every one else? + +Thrice-blessed is small-talk. + +But between some persons it is an impossibility, though each may have a +very respectable stock of his own. Like different coinages, they will +not amalgamate. Di and John had not wanted any in talking to each +other--till now. And now, in their hour of need, to the alarm of both, +they found they were destitute. After a short mental struggle they +succumbed into the abyss of the commonplace, the only neutral ground on +which those who have once been open and sincere with each other can +still meet--to the certain exasperation of both. + +John was dutifully attentive. He procured a fresh bottle of champagne +for her, and an unnibbled roll, and made suitable remarks at intervals; +but her sense of irritation increased. Something in his manner annoyed +her. And yet it was only the same courteous, rather expressionless +manner that she remembered was habitual to him towards others. Now that +it was gone she realized that there had once been a subtle difference in +his voice and bearing to herself. She felt defrauded of she knew not +what, and the wing of cold pheasant before her loomed larger and larger, +till it seemed to stretch over the whole plate. Why on earth had she +said she was hungry? And why had he brought her to the large table, +where there was so much light and noise, and where she was elbowed by an +enormous hairy Buffalo Bill, when she had seen as she came in that one +of the little tables for two was at that instant vacant? She forgot that +when she first caught sight of it she had said within herself that she +would never forgive him if he had the bad taste to entrap her into a +_tête-à-tête_ by taking her there. + +But he had shown at once that he had no such intention. Was this +dignified, formal man, with his air of distinction, and his harsh +immobile face, and his black velvet dress,--was this stranger really the +John with whom she had been on such easy terms six weeks ago; the John +who, pale and determined, had measured swords with her in the dusk of a +September evening? + +And as she sat beside him in the brilliant light, amid the Babel of +tongues, a voice in her heart said suddenly, "That was not the end; that +was only the beginning--only the beginning." + +Her eyes met his, fixed inquiringly upon her. He was only offering her +some grapes, but it appeared to her that he must have heard the words, +and a sense of impotent terror seized her, as the terror of one who, +wrestling for his life, finds at the first throw that he is overmatched. + +She rose hastily, and asked to go back to the ball-room. He complied at +once, but did not speak. They went, a grave and silent couple, through +the hall and down the gallery. + +"Have I annoyed you?" he said at last, as they neared the ball-room. + +She did not answer. + +"I mean, have I done anything more that has annoyed you?" + +"Nothing more, thanks." + +"I am glad," said John. "I feared I had. Of course, I would not have +asked you to go in to supper with me if Mrs. Dundas had not obliged me. +I intended to ask you to do so, when you could have made some excuse for +refusing if you did not wish it. I was sorry to force your hand." + +"You will never do that," said Di, to her own astonishment. It seemed to +her that she was constrained by a power stronger than herself to defy +him. + +She felt him start. + +"We will take another turn," he said instantly; and before she had the +presence of mind to resist, they had turned and were walking slowly down +the gallery again between the rows of life-size figures of knights and +chargers in armour, which loomed gigantic in the feeble light. A wave of +music broke in the distance, and the few couples sitting in recesses +rose and passed them on their way back to the ball-room, leaving the +gallery deserted. + +A peering moon had laid a faint criss-cross whiteness on the floor. + +The place took a new significance. + +Each was at first too acutely conscious of being alone with the other to +speak. She wondered if he could feel how her hand trembled on his arm, +and he whether it was possible she did not hear the loud hammering of +his heart. Either would have died rather than have betrayed their +emotion to the other. + +"You tell me I shall never force your hand," he repeated slowly at last. +"No, indeed, I trust I never shall. But when, may I ask, have I shown +any intention of doing so?" + +Di had put herself so palpably and irretrievably in the wrong, that she +had no refuge left but silence. She was horror-struck by his repetition +of the words which her lips, but surely not she herself, had spoken. + +"If you ever marry me," said John, "it will be of your own accord. If +you don't, we shall both miss happiness--you as well as I, for we are +meant for each other. Most people are so constituted that they can marry +whom they please, but you and I have no choice. We have a claim upon +each other. I recognize yours, with thankfulness. I did not know life +held anything so good. You ignore mine, and wilfully turn away from it. +I don't wonder. I am not a man whom any woman would choose, much less +_you_. It is natural on your part to dislike me--at first. In the mean +while you need not distress yourself by telling me so. I am under no +delusion on that point." + +His voice was firm and gentle. If it had been cold, Di's pride would +have flamed up in a moment. As it was, its gentleness, under great and +undeserved provocation, made her writhe with shame. She spoke +impulsively. + +"But I _am_ distressed, I can't help being so, at having spoken so +harshly; no--_worse_ than harshly, so unpardonably." + +"There is no question of pardon between you and me," said John, turning +to look at her with the grave smile that seemed for a moment to bring +back her old friend to her; but only for a moment. His eyes contradicted +it. "I know you have never forgiven me for telling you that I loved you, +but nevertheless you see I have not asked pardon yet, though I had not +intended to annoy you by speaking of it again--at present." + +"No," said Di, eagerly. "But that is just it. It was my own fault this +time. I brought it on myself. But--but I can't help knowing--I feel +directly I see you that you are still thinking of it. And then I become +angry, and say dreadful things like----" + +"Exactly," said John, nodding. + +"Because I--not only because I am ill-tempered, but because though I do +like being liked, still I don't want you or any one to make a mistake, +or go on making it. It doesn't seem fair." + +"Not if it really is a mistake." + +"It is in this instance." + +"Not on my part." + +There was a short silence. Di felt as if she had walked up against a +stone wall. + +"John," she said with decision. "Believe me. I sometimes mean what I +say, and I mean it now. I really and truly am a person who knows my own +mind." + +"So do I," said John. + +Rather a longer silence. + +"And--and oh, John! Don't you see how wretched, how foolish it is, our +being on these absurd formal terms? Have you forgotten what friends we +used to be? I have not. It makes me angry still when I think how you +have taken yourself away for nothing, and how all the pleasure is gone +out of meeting you or talking to you. I don't think you half knew how +much I liked you." + +"Di," said John, stopping short, and facing her with indignation in his +eyes, "I desire that you will never again tell me you _like_ me. I +really cannot stand it. Let us go back to the ball-room." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + "Ah, man's pride + Or woman's--which is greatest?" + E. B. BROWNING. + + +"Di," said Archie, sauntering up to her on the terrace at Cantalupe, +where she was sitting the morning after the ball, and planting himself +in front of her, as he had a habit of doing before all women, so as to +spare them the trouble of turning round to look at him, "I can't swallow +little Crupps." + +"No one wants you to," said Di. "If you don't like her, you had better +leave her alone." + +"Women are not meant to be let alone," said Archie, yawning, "except the +ugly ones." + +"Well, Miss Crupps is not pretty." + +"No, but she is gilt up to the eyes. Poor eyes, too, and light +eyelashes. I could not marry light eyelashes." + +"I am glad to hear it." + +"Oh! I know you don't care a straw whether I settle well or not. You +never have cared. Women are all alike. There's not a woman in the world, +or a man either, who cares a straw what becomes of me." + +"Or you what becomes of them." + +"John's just as bad as the rest," continued the victim of a worldly age. +"And John and I were great chums in old days. But it is the way of the +world." + +Men who attract by a certain charm of manner which the character is +unable to bear out, who make unconscious promises to the _hope_ of +others without ability to keep them, are ever those who complain most +loudly of the fickleness of women, of the uncertainty of friendship, of +their loveless lot. + +Di did not answer. Any allusion to John, even the bare mention of his +name, had become of moment to her. She never by any chance spoke of him, +neither did she ever miss a word that was said about him in her +presence; and often raged inwardly at the ruthless judgments and +superficial criticisms that were freely passed upon him by his +contemporaries, and especially his kinsfolk. From a very early date in +this world's history, ability has been felt to be distressing in its own +country, especially in the country. If a clever man would preserve +unflawed the amulet of humility, let him at intervals visit among his +country cousins. John had not many of these invaluable relations; but, +happily for him, he had contemporaries who did just as well--men who, +when he was mentioned with praise in their hearing, could always break +in that they had known him at Eton, and relate how he had over-eaten +himself at the sock-shop. + +"One thing I am determined I won't do," continued Archie, "and that is +marry poverty, like the poor old governor. He has often talked about it, +and what a grind it was, with the tears in his eyes." + +"What has turned your mind to marriage on this particular morning, of +all others?" + +"I don't know, unless it is the vision of little Crupps. I suppose I +shall come to something of that kind some day. If it isn't her it will +be something like her. One must live. You are on the look out for money, +too, Di, so you need not be so disdainful. You can't marry a poor man." + +"They don't often ask me," said Di. "I fancy I look more expensive to +keep up than I really am." + +"Ah! here comes Lady Verelst," said Archie, patronizingly. "I'd marry +_her_, now, if she were a rich widow. I would indeed. She is putting up +her red parasol. Quite right. She has not your complexion, Di, nor mine +either." + +Archie got up as Madeleine came towards them, and offered her his chair. +Archie had several cheap effects. To offer a chair with a glance and a +smile was one of them. Perhaps he could not help it if the glance +suggested unbounded homage, if the smile conveyed an admiration as +concentrated as Liebig's extract. His faithful, tender eyes could wear +the sweetest, the saddest, or the most reproachful expression to order. +Every slight passing feeling was magnified by the beauty of the face +that reflected it into a great emotion. He felt almost nothing, but he +appeared to feel a great deal. A man who possesses this talisman is very +dangerous. + +Poor Madeleine, confident of her appearance in her new Cresser garment, +with its gold-flowered waistcoat, firmly believed, as Archie silently +pushed forward the chair, that she had inspired--had been so unfortunate +as to inspire--"une grande passion malheureuse." Almost all Archie's +lovemaking, and that is saying a good deal, was speechless. He could +look unutterable things, but he had not, as he himself expressed it, +"the gift of the gab." + +Madeleine was sorry for him, but she could not allow him to remain +enraptured beside her in full view of Sir Henry's study windows. + +"How delicious it is here!" she said, after dismissing him to the +billiard-room. "I never lie in bed after a ball, do you, Di? I seem to +crave for the sunshine and the face of nature after all the glitter and +the worldliness of a ball-room." + +"I don't find ball-rooms more worldly than other places--than this +bench, for instance." + +"Now, how strange that is of you, Di! This spot is quite sacred to _me_. +I come and read here." + +Madeleine had, by degrees, sanctified all the seats in the garden; had +taken the impious chill even off the iron ones, by reading her little +manuals on each in turn. + +"It was here," continued Madeleine, "that I persuaded dear Fred to go +into the Church. It was settled he was to be a clergyman ever since he +had that slight stroke as a boy; but when he went to college he must +have got into a bad set, for he said he did not think he had a vocation. +And mother--you know what mother is--did not like to press it, and the +whole thing was slipping through, when I had him to stay here, and +talked to him very seriously, and explained that a living in the family +_was_ the call." + +"Madeleine," said Di, rising precipitately, "it is getting late. I must +fly and pack." + +If she stayed another moment she knew she should inevitably say +something that would scandalize Madeleine. + +"And I did not say it," she said with modest triumph that evening, as +she sat in her grandmother's room before going to bed; having rejoined +her at Garstone, a relation's house, whither Mrs. Courtenay had preceded +her. "I refrained even from bad words. Granny, you know everything: why +is it that the people who shock me so dreadfully, like Madeleine, are +just the very ones who are shocked at me? You are not. All the really +good earnest people I know are not. But _they_ are. What is the matter +with them?" + +"Oh, my dear, what is the matter with all insincere people? It is only +one of the symptoms of an incurable disease." + +"But the being shocked is genuine. They really feel it. There is +something wrong somewhere, but I don't know where it is." + +"It is not hard to find, Di," said Mrs. Courtenay, sadly; "and it is not +worth growing hot about. You are only running a little tilt against +religiosity. Most young persons do. But it is not worth powder and shot. +Keep your ammunition for a nobler enemy. There is plenty of sin in the +world. Strike at that whenever you can, but don't pop away at shadows." + +"Ah! but, granny, these people do such harm. They bring such discredit +on religion. That is what enrages me." + +"My dear, you are wrong; they bring discredit upon nothing but their own +lamentable caricatures of holy things. These people are solemn +warnings--danger-signals on the broad paths of religiosity, which, +remember, are very easy walking. There's no life so easy. The religious +life is hard enough, God knows. Providence put those people there to +make their creed hideous, and they do it. Upon my word, I think your +indignation against them is positively unpardonable." + +Di was silent. + +"You don't mind being disliked by these creatures, do you, Di?" + +"Yes, granny, I think I do. I believe, if I only knew the truth about +myself, I want every one to like me; and it ruffles me because they make +round eyes, and don't like me when their superiors often do." + +"Mere pride and love of admiration on your part, my dear. You have no +business with them. To be liked and admired by certain persons is a +stigma in itself. Look at the kind of mediocrity and feebleness they set +on pedestals, and be thankful you don't fit into their mutual admiration +societies. That 'like cleaves to like,' is a saying we seldom get to the +bottom of. These unfortunates find blots, faults, evil, in everything, +especially everything original, because they are sensitive to blots and +faults. They commit themselves out of their own mouths. 'Those that seek +shall find,' is especially true of the fault-finders. The truth and +beauty which others receptive of truth and beauty perceive, escape them. +Good nature sees good in others. The reverent impute reverence. This +false reverence finds irreverence, as a mean nature takes for granted a +low motive in its fellow. Oh dear me, Di! Have I expended on you for +years the wisdom of a Socrates and a Solomon, that at one and twenty you +should need to be taught your alphabet? Go to bed and pray for wisdom, +instead of complaining of the lack of it in others." + +Di had had but little leisure lately, and the unbounded leisure of her +long visit at Garstone came as a relief. + +"I shall have time to think here," she said to herself, as she looked +out the first morning over the grey park and lake distorted by the +little panes of old glass of her low window. + +Two very old people lived at Garstone, who regarded their niece, Mrs. +Courtenay, as still quite a young person, in spite of her tall +granddaughter. Time seemed to have forgotten the dear old couple, and +they in turn had forgotten it. It never mattered what time of day it +was. Nothing depended on the hour. In the course of the morning the +butler would open both the folding doors at the end of the long +"parlour" leading to the chapel, and would announce, "Prayers are +served." Long prayers they were. Long meals were served too, with long +intervals between them, during which, in spite of a week of heavy rain, +Di escaped regularly into the gardens and so away to the park. The house +oppressed her. She was restless and ill at ease. She was never missed +because she was never wanted; and she wandered for hours in the park, +listening to the low cry of the deer, standing on the bridge over the +artificial 1745 lake, or pacing mile on mile a sheltered path under the +park wall. The thinking for which she had such ample opportunity did not +come off. It shirked regularly. A certain vague trouble of soul was upon +her, like the unrest of nature at the spring of the year. And day after +day she watched the autumn leaves drop from the trees into the water, +and there was a great silence in her heart, and underneath the silence a +fear--or was it a hope? She knew not. + +There was one subject to which Di's thoughts returned, and ever +returned, in spite of herself. John was that subject. Gradually, as the +days wore on, her shamed remorse at having wounded him gave place to the +old animosity against him. She had never been angry with any of her +numerous lovers before. She had, on the contrary, been rather sorry for +them. But she was desperately angry with John. It seemed to her--why she +would have been at a loss to explain--that he had taken a very great +liberty in venturing to love her, and in daring to assert that they were +suited to other. + +She went through silent paroxysms of rage against him, sitting on a +fallen tree among the bracken with clenched hands. Her sense of his +growing power over her, over her thought, over her will, was +intolerable. Why so fierce? why such a fool? she asked herself over and +over again. He could not marry her against her will. Indeed, he had said +he did not want to. Why, then, all this silly indignation about nothing? +There was no answer until one day Mrs. Courtenay happened to mention to +Mrs. Garstone, in her presence, the probability of John's eventually +marrying Lady Alice Fane--"a very charming and suitable person," etc. + +Then suddenly it became clear to Di that, though she would never marry +him herself, the possibility of his marrying any one else was not to be +borne for a moment. John, of course, was to--was to remain unmarried all +his life. Her sense of the ludicrous showed her in a lightning-flash +where she stood. + +To discover a new world is all very well for people like Columbus, who +want to find one. But to discover a new world by mistake when quite +content with the old one, and to be swept towards it uncertain of your +reception by the natives assembling on the beach, is another thing +altogether. For the second time in her life Di was frightened. + +"Then all these horrible feelings are being in love," she said to +herself, with a sense of stupefaction. "This is what other people have +felt for me, and I treated it as of little consequence. This is what I +have read about, and sung about, and always rather wished to feel. I am +in love with John. Oh, I hope to God he will never find it out!" + +Probably no man will ever understand the agonies of humiliation, of +furious unreasoning antagonism, which a proud woman goes through when +she becomes aware that she is falling in love. Pride and love go as ill +together in the beginning as they go exceeding well together later on. +To be loved is incense at first, until the sense of justice--fortunately +rare in women--is aroused. "Shall I take all, and give nothing?" + +Pride, often a very tender pride for the lover himself, asks that +question. Directly it is asked the battle begins. + +"I will not give less than all. How _can_ I give all?" The very young +are spared the conflict, because the future husband is regarded only as +the favoured ball-partner, the perpetual admirer of a new existence. But +women who know something of life--of the great demands of marriage--of +the absolute sacrifice of individual existence which it involves--when +they begin to tremble beneath the sway of a deep human passion suffer +much, fear greatly until the perfect love comes that casts out fear. + +Some natures, and very lovable they are, give all, counting not the +cost. Others, a very few, count the cost and then give all. + +Di was one of these. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + "Austerity in women is sometimes the accompaniment of a rare + power of loving. And when it is so their attachment is strong + as death; their fidelity as resisting as the diamond."--AMIEL. + + +The newspapers arrived at tea-time at Garstone. Every afternoon Mrs. +Garstone and Mrs. Courtenay drove out along the straight high-road to +D---- to fetch the papers and post the letters; four miles in and four +miles out; the grey pair one day and the bays the next, in the old +yellow chariot. It was the rule of the house. And after tea and rusks, +and a poached egg under a cover for Mr. Garstone, that gentleman read +the papers aloud in a voice that trembled and halted like the spinnet +in the southern parlour. + +"Is Parliament prorogued yet?" Mrs. Garstone asked regularly every +afternoon. + +Mr. Garstone, without answering, struck his key-note at the births, and +quavered slowly through the marriages and deaths. Before he had arrived +on this particular afternoon at the fact that Princess Beatrice had +walked with Prince Henry of Battenberg, Mrs. Garstone was already +nodding between her little rows of white curls. Mrs. Courtenay was +awake, but she looked too solemnly attentive to continue in one stay. + +"The remains of the Dean of Gloucester," continued Mr. Garstone, "will +be interred at Gloucester Cathedral on Friday next." + +The information was received, like most sedatives, without comment. + +Latest intelligence. Colliery explosion at Snarley. + +"Di, has not John coal-pits at Snarley?" asked Mrs. Courtenay, becoming +suddenly wide awake. + +"Yes," said Di. + +"Explosion of fire-damp," continued Mr. Garstone, slower than ever. "No +particulars known. Great loss of life apprehended. Mr. Tempest of +Overleigh, to whom the mine belonged, instantly left Godalmington Court, +where he was the guest of Lord Carradock, and proceeded at once to the +spot, where he organized a rescue party led by himself. Mr. Tempest was +the first to descend the shaft. The gravest anxiety was felt respecting +the fate of the rescuing party. Vast crowds assembled at the pit's +mouth. No further news obtainable up to date of going to press." + +Mrs. Courtenay looked at Di. + +"He must be mad to have gone down himself," she said agitatedly. "What +could he possibly do there?" + +"His duty," said Di; and she got up and left the room. How could any one +exist in that hot close atmosphere? She was suffocating. + +The hall was cold enough. She shivered as she crossed it, and went up +the white shallow stairs to her own room, where a newly lit fire was +spluttering. She knelt down before it and pushed a burning stick further +between the bars, blackening her fingers. It would catch the paper at +the side now.--John had gone down the shaft.--Yes, it would catch. The +paper stretched itself and flared up. She went and stood by the window. + +"John has gone down," she said, half aloud. Her heart was quite numb. +Only her body seemed to care. Her limbs trembled, and she sat down on +the narrow window seat, her hands clutching the dragon hasp of the +window, her eyes looking absently out. + +There was a fire in the west. Upon the dreaming land the dreaming mist +lay pale. The sentinel trees stood motionless and dark, each folded in +his mantle of grey. Only the water waked and knew its God. And far +across the sleeping land, in the long lines of flooded meadow, the fire +trembled on the upturned face of the water, like the reflection of the +divine glory in a passionate human soul. + +It passed. The light throbbed and died, but Di did not stir. And as she +sat motionless, her mind slipped sharp and keen out of its lethargy and +restlessness, like a sword from its scabbard. + +"Now, at this moment, is he alive or dead?" + +And at the thought of death, that holiest minister who waits on life, +all the rebellious anger, all the nameless fierce resentment against her +lover--because he _was_ her lover--fell from her like a garment, died +down like Peter's lies at the glance of Christ. + +The evening deepened its mourning for the dead day. One star shook in +the empty sky, above the shadow and the mist. + +"Love the gift is Love the debt." Di perceived that at last. A great +shame fell upon her for the divided feelings, the unconscious struggle +with her own heart, of the last few weeks. It appeared to her now +ignoble, as all elementary phases of feeling, all sheaths of deep +affections must appear, in the moment when that which they enfolded and +protected grows beyond the narrow confines which it no longer needs. + +_If he is dead?_ Di twisted her hands. + +Who, one of two that have loved and stood apart has escaped that pang, +if death intervene? A moment ago and the world was full of messengers +waiting to speed between them at the slightest bidding. A penny stamp +could do it. But there was no bidding. A moment more and all +communication is cut off. No Armada can cross that sea. + +"Perhaps he is dying; and I sit here," she said. "I would give my life +for him, and I cannot do a hand's turn." And she rocked herself to and +fro. + +For the first time in her life Di dashed herself blindly against one of +God's boundaries; and the shock that a first realization of our +helplessness always brings, struck her like a blow. She could do +nothing. + +Many impulsive people, under the intolerable pressure of their own +impotence, make a feverish pretence of action, and turn stones and +pebbles, as they cannot turn heaven and earth; but Di was not impulsive. + +And the gong sounded, first far away in the western wing, and then at +the foot of the staircase. + +Many things fail us in this world; youth, love, friendship, take to +themselves wings; but meals are not among our migratory joys. Amid the +shifting quicksands of life they stand fast as milestones. + +Di dressed and went downstairs. It seemed years since she had last seen +the "parlour," and old Mr. Garstone standing alone before the fire. + +He did not appear aged. + +"It's later than it was," he remarked; and she had a dim recollection +that in some misty bygone time he invariably used to say those +particular words every evening, and that she used to smile and nod and +say, "Yes, Uncle George." + +And so she smiled now, and repeated like a parrot, "Yes, Uncle George." + +And he said, "Yes, Diana, yes." + + * * * * * + +Breakfast was later than usual next morning. It always is when one has +lain awake all night. But it ended at last, and Di was at last at +liberty to rush up to her room, pull on an old waterproof and felt hat, +and dart out unobserved into the rain. + +The white mist closed in upon her, and directly she was out of sight of +the house she began to run. There were no aimless wanderings and pacings +to-day. Oh, the relief of rapid movement after the long inertia of the +night, the joy of feeling the rain sweeping against her face! She did +not know the way to D----, but she could not miss it. It was only four +miles off. It was eleven now. The morning papers would be in by this +time. If she walked hard she would be back by luncheon-time. + +And, in truth, a few minutes before two Di emerged from her room in the +neatest and driest of blue serge gowns. Only her hair, which curled more +crisply than usual, showed that she had been out in the damp. She had +come home dead beat and wet to the skin, but she had hardly known it. A +new climbing agitated joy pulsated in her heart, in the presence of +which cold and fatigue could not exist; in the presence of which no +other feeling can exist--for the time. + +"Are you glad John is out of danger?" said Mrs. Courtenay that evening +as they went upstairs together, after Mr. Garstone had read of John's +narrow escape--John had been one of the few among the rescuing party who +had returned. + +"Very glad," said Di; and she was on the point of telling her +grandmother of her expedition to D---- that morning, when a sudden novel +sensation of shyness seized her, and she stopped short. + +Mrs. Courtenay sighed as she settled herself for her nap before dinner. + +"Has she inherited her father's heartlessness as well as his yellow +hair?" she asked herself. + +Mrs. Courtenay had lived long enough to know how few and far between are +those among our fellow-creatures whose hearts are not entirely engrossed +by the function of their own circulation. Youth believes in universal +warmth of heart. It is as common as rhubarb in April. Later on we +discern that easily touched feelings, youth's dearest toys, are but +toys; shaped stones that look like bread. Later on we discern how +fragile is the woof of sentiment to bear the wear and tear of life. +Later still, when sorrow chills us, we learn on how few amid the many +hearths where we are welcome guests a fire burns to which we may stretch +our cold hands and find warmth and comfort. + +END OF VOL. II. + +PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, +LONDON AND BECCLES. _D. & Co._ + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIANA TEMPEST, VOLUME II (OF 3)*** + + +******* This file should be named 37974-8.txt or 37974-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/7/9/7/37974 + + + +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. 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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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Diana Tempest, Volume II (of 3)</p> +<p>Author: Mary Cholmondeley</p> +<p>Release Date: November 10, 2011 [eBook #37974]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIANA TEMPEST, VOLUME II (OF 3)***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4>E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Matthew Wheaton,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> + from page images generously made available by<br /> + Internet Archive/American Libraries<br /> + (<a href="http://www.archive.org/details/americana">http://www.archive.org/details/americana</a>)</h4> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Project Gutenberg also has Volumes I and III of this + work. See<br /> + Volume I: <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37973">http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37973</a><br /> + Volume III: <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37975">http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37975</a><br /> + <br /> + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive/American Libraries. See + <a href="http://www.archive.org/details/dianatempest02chol"> + http://www.archive.org/details/dianatempest02chol</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1 class="booktitle">DIANA TEMPEST.</h1> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter topbox"> +<img src="images/tp-2.jpg" width="400" height="688" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="h3"><i>Diana Tempest.</i></p> + +<p class="h4"><i>By<br /> +Mary Cholmondeley,<br /> +Author of<br /> +"The Danvers Jewels,"<br /> +"Sir Charles Danvers," etc.</i></p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h3">In Three Volumes.<br /> +Vol. II.</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h3">London:<br /> +Richard Bentley & Son,<br /> +Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.<br /> +1893.<br /> +(All rights reserved.)</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<div class="inset16"> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a><br /> +</div> + +<div class="main"> <!-- main text --> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<span class="pagenum">[1]</span> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch01.jpg" width="600" height="182" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2>DIANA TEMPEST.</h2> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"The fact is, I have never loved any one well enough +to put myself into a noose for them. It <i>is</i> a noose, you +know."—<span class="smcap">George Eliot.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_i.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="I" /> + <span class="hide">I</span>T was the middle of July. The season +had reached the climax which precedes +a collapse. The heat was intense. +The pace had been too great to last. The +rich sane were already on their way to +Scotch moor or Norwegian river; the rich +insane and the poor remained, and people +with daughters—assiduously entertaining the +dwindling numbers of the "uncertain, coy,<span class="pagenum">[2]</span> +and hard to please" <i>jeunesse dorée</i> of the +present day. There were some great +weddings fixed for the end of July, proving +that marriage was not extinct,—prospective +weddings which, like iron rivets, held the +crumbling fabric of the season together.</p> + +<p>If the unusual heat had driven away half +the world, still the greater part of the little +world mentioned in these pages remained. +Not quite all, for Sir Henry and Lady +Verelst had departed rather suddenly for +Norway, and Lord Frederick was drinking +the water at Homburg or Aix; and thriving +on a beverage which never passed his +lips without admixture in his own country, +except in connection with the toothbrush.</p> + +<p>But John and his aunt Miss Fane were +still in the large cool house in Park Lane. +Lord Hemsworth was still baking himself +for no apparent reason in his rooms over his +club. Mrs. Courtenay and Di were still in<span class="pagenum">[3]</span> +town, because they could not afford to go +until their country visits began.</p> + +<p>"Oh, granny," said Di one afternoon as +they sat together in the darkened drawing-room, +"let us cut everything. Do be ill, +and let me write round to say we have been +obliged to leave town."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Courtenay shook her head.</p> + +<p>"We can't go till we have somewhere to +go to, and we are not due at Archelot till +the first of August."</p> + +<p>"Could not we afford a week, just one +week, at the sea first?"</p> + +<p>"No, Di," said Mrs. Courtenay, "I have +thought it over. Only the rich can have +their cake and eat it. We had a victoria for +a fortnight in June. That meant no seaside +this year."</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>"I wish I were married," said Di, looking +affectionately at Mrs. Ccurtenay's pale face.<span class="pagenum">[4]</span> +"I wish I had a rich, kind husband. I would +not mind if he parted his hair down the +middle, or even if he came down to breakfast +in slippers, if only he would give me +everything I wanted. And he should stay +up in London, and we would run down to +the seaside together, G., first-class; I am +not sure I should not take a <i>coupé</i> for you; +and you should go out on the sands in the +donkey-chairs that your soul loves; and +have ice on the butter and cream in the +tea; and in the evening we would sit +on a first-floor balcony (no more second-floors +if I were rich) and watch a cool +moon rising over a cool sea. I wish +moonlight on the sea were not so expensive. +The beauties of nature are very +dear, granny. Sunsets cost money nowadays."</p> + +<p>"Everything costs money," said Mrs. +Courtenay.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[5]</span></p> + +<p>Di was silent a little while; it was too hot +to talk except at intervals.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I mind being poor," she +said at last. "For myself, I mean. I have +looked at being poor in the face, and it is +not half so bad as rich people seem to think. +I mean our kind of poorness; of course, not +the poverty of nothing a year and ten children +to educate, who ought never to have +been born. But some people think that the +kind of means (like ours) which narrow down +pleasures, and check one at every turn, +and want a sharp tug to meet at the end +of the year, are a dreadful misfortune. +Really I don't see it. Of course it is annoying +being less well off than any of our +friends, and now I come to think of it, all +the people we know are richer than ourselves. +I wonder how it happens. But +there is something rather interesting after +all in combating small means. Look at that<span class="pagenum">[6]</span> +screen I made you last year, and think of +the gnawing envy it has awakened in the +hearts of friends. It was a clothes-horse +once, but genius was brought to bear upon +it, and it is a very imposing object now. +And then my dear Emersons, all eleven of +them, I don't think I could have valued +them so much, or have been so furious with +Jane for spilling water on one of them, if +they had not emerged one by one out of my +glove and shoe money."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear, poverty does not matter, +nothing matters while you are young and +strong. But it presses hard when one is +growing old. Money eases everything."</p> + +<p>"I feel that; and sometimes when I see +you working a sovereign out of the neck of +that horrid little woollen jug in the writing-table +drawer, I simply long for money for your +sake, that you may never be worried about +it any more. And sometimes I should like<span class="pagenum">[7]</span> +it for the sake of all the lovely places in the +world that other people go to (people who +only remember the <i>table d'hôte</i> dinners when +they come back), and the books that I cannot +afford, and the pictures that seem my +very own, only they belong to some one else; +and the kind things one could do to poor +people who could not return them, which +rich people don't seem to think of: rich +people's kindnesses are always so expensive. +Yes, I long for money sometimes, but all the +time I know I don't really care about it. +There seems to be no pleasure in having +anything if there is no difficulty in getting +it. I would rather marry a poor man with +brains and do my best with his small income, +and help him up, than spend a rich man's +money. Any one can do that. I fear I +shall never take you to the seaside, my own +G., or send you pre-paid hampers of hothouse +flowers, or game, after Mr. Di's<span class="pagenum">[8]</span> +<i>battues</i>, for I am certain Providence intends +me to be a poor man's wife, if I enter the +holy estate at all, because—I should make +such a good one."</p> + +<p>"You would make a good wife, Di, but I +sometimes think you will never marry," said +Mrs. Courtenay, sadly. She felt the heat.</p> + +<p>"Well, granny, I won't say I feel sure I +shall never marry, because all girls say that, +and it generally means nothing. But still +that is what I feel without saying it. Do +you remember poor old Aunt Belle when +she was dying, and how nothing pleased +her, and how she said at last: 'I want—I +want—I don't know what I want'? Well, +when I come to think of it, I really don't +know what <i>I</i> want. I know what I <i>don't</i> +want. I don't want a kind, indulgent +husband, and a large income, and good +horses, and pretty little frilled children +with their mother's eyes, that one shows<span class="pagenum">[9]</span> +to people and is proud of. It is all very +nice. I am glad when I see other people +happy like that. I should like to see you +pleased; but for myself—really—I think +I should find them rather in the way. I +dare say I might make a good wife, as +you say. I believe I could be rather a +cheerful companion, and affectionate if it was +not exacted of me. But somehow all that +does not hit the mark. The men who have +cared for me have never seemed to like me +for myself, or to understand the something +behind the chatter and the fun which is the +real part of me—which, if I married one +of them, would never be brought into play, +and would die of starvation. The only kind +of marriage I have ever had a chance of +seems to me like a sort of suicide—seems as +if it would be one's best self that would be +killed, while the other self, the well-dressed, +society-loving, ball-going, easy-going self,<span class="pagenum">[10]</span> +would be all that was left of me, and would +dance upon my grave."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Courtenay was silent. She never +ridiculed any thought, however crude and +young, if it were genuine. She was one +of the few people who knew whether Di +was in fun or in earnest, and she knew she +was in earnest now.</p> + +<p>"There are such things as happy +marriages," she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, granny; but I think it is the <i>happy</i> +marriages I see which make me afraid of +marrying. I know it is foolish to expect to +meet with anything better than the ordinary +happy marriage, and one ought to be +thankful if one met with that, for half the +world does not. But when I see what is +<i>called</i> a happy marriage I always think, is +that all? Somebody who believes everything +I do is right, however silly it is, and +knows how many lumps of sugar I take in<span class="pagenum">[11]</span> +my tea—like Arnold and Lily—people point +at that marriage as such a model, because +they have been married two years and are +still as silly as they were. But whenever +I stay with them, and she talks nonsense, +and he thinks it is all the wisdom of Solomon; +and she gives him a blotting-pad, and he +gives her a fan; and then they look at each +other, and then run races in the garden, and +each waits for the other, and they come in +hand-in-hand as if they had done something +clever—whenever I behold these things it +all seems to me a sort of game that I should +be ashamed to play at, and I feel, if that is +all, at least all I ought to expect, that it is +a kind of happiness I don't care to have. +Must love be always a sort of pretence, +granny, and such a blind, silly, unreasoning +feeling when it does exist? If ever I fall +in love, shall I set up an assortment of +lamentable, ludicrous illusions about some<span class="pagenum">[12]</span> +commonplace young man, as Lily does about +that pink Arnold? Can't love be real, like +hate? Can't people ever look at each other, +and see each other as they <i>are</i>, and love +each other for <i>what</i> they are?"</p> + +<p>"The Lilies and the Arnolds would not +marry if they saw each other as they are, +my dear, and they would miss a great deal +of happiness in consequence. There would +be very few marriages if there were no +illusions."</p> + +<p>Di was silent.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Courtenay stitched a resolution into +her lace-work concerning a man whom no +one could call commonplace, and presently +spoke again.</p> + +<p>"You are confusing 'being in love' with +love itself," she said. "The one is common +to vulgarity, the other rare, at least between +men and women. It is the best thing life +has to offer. But I have noticed that those<span class="pagenum">[13]</span> +who believe in it, and hope for it, and refuse +the commoner love for it, generally—remain +unmarried. And now, my dear, send down +Evans with my black lace mantilla, and my +new bonnet, for Mrs. Darcy said she would +lend us her carriage for the afternoon, and +it comes at five. Put on a white gown, and +make yourself look cool. I must call on +Miss Fane, and afterwards we will go down +and see the pony races at Hurlingham. +Lord Hemsworth sent us tickets for to-day. +He is riding, I think."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ep01.jpg" width="500" height="261" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[14]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch02.jpg" width="600" height="187" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"The little waves make the large ones, and are of the +same pattern."—<span class="smcap">George Eliot.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_j.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="J" /> + <span class="hide">J</span>OHN was dragging himself feebly +across the hall to the smoking-room, +after a dutiful cup of tea with his aunt, who +was prostrate with a headache, when the +door-bell rang, and he saw the champing +profiles of a pair of horses through one of +the windows. Following his masculine instincts, +he hurried across the hall with all +the celerity he could muster, and had just +got safe under cover when the footman +answered the bell. His ear caught the +name of Mrs. Courtenay through the open +door of the smoking-room, and presently,<span class="pagenum">[15]</span> +though he knew Miss Fane did not consider +herself well enough to see visitors, there +was a slow rustling across the hall, and up +the stairs, accompanied by a light firm footfall +that could hardly belong to James, whose +elephantine rush had so often disturbed him +when he was ill.</p> + +<p>As James came down again, John looked +out of the smoking-room door.</p> + +<p>"Who is with Miss Fane?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Courtenay, sir."</p> + +<p>"Any one else?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. Miss Fane could only see Mrs. +Courtenay. Miss Tempest, as come with +her, is in the gold drawing-room."</p> + +<p>John shut the smoking-room door and +went and looked out of the window. It was +not a cheerful prospect, but that did not +matter much, as he happened to be looking +at it without seeing it. Lindo got up on a +chair and looked solemnly out too, rolling the<span class="pagenum">[16]</span> +whites of his eyes occasionally at his master +from under his bushy brows, and yawning +long tongue-curling yawns of sheer <i>ennui</i>. +The cowls on the chimney-pots twirled. +The dead plants on the leads were still dead. +The cook's canary was going up and down +on its two perches like a machine. John +reflected that it was rather a waste of canary +power; but, perhaps, there was nothing to +hold back for in its bachelor existence. It +would stand still enough presently when it +was stuffed.</p> + +<p>Could he get upstairs by himself? That +was the question. He could come down, but +that was not of much interest to him just +now. Could he get up again? Only the +first floor. Shallow stairs. Sit down half +way. Awkward to be found sitting there, +certainly. One thing was certain: that he +was not going to be conveyed up in Marshall's +solemn embrace as heretofore. John<span class="pagenum">[17]</span> +reflected that he must begin to walk by +himself some time. Why not now? Very +slowly, of course. Why not now?</p> + +<p>It certainly was slow. But the stairs were +shallow. There were balusters. It was +done at last. If that alpine summit—the +upper mat—was finally reached on hands +and knees, who was the wiser?</p> + +<p>John was breathless but triumphant. His +hands were a trifle black; but what of that? +The door of the gold drawing-room was +open. It was a historic room, the decoration +of which had been left untouched since +the days when the witty Mrs. Tempest, +whom Gainsborough painted, held her salon +there. It was a long pillared room. Curtains +of some old-fashioned pale gold brocade, +not made now, hung from the white pillars +and windows. The gold-coloured walls were +closely lined with dim pictures from the ceiling +to the old Venetian leather of the dado.<span class="pagenum">[18]</span> +Tall, gilt eastern figures, life size, meant to +hold lamps, stood here and there, raising +their empty hands, hideous, but peculiar to +the room, with its bygone stately taste, and +stiff white and gilt chairs and settees. John +drew aside the curtain, and then hesitated. +A family of tall white lilies in pots were +gathered together in one of the further +windows. Di was standing by them, turned +towards him, but without perceiving him. +She had evidently introduced herself to the +lilies as a friend of the family, and was +touching the heads of those nearest to her +very gently, very tenderly with one finger. +She stood in the full light, like some tall +splendid lily herself, against the golden +background.</p> + +<p>John drew in his breath. It was <i>his</i> house; +they were <i>his</i> lilies. The empty setting +which seemed to claim her for its own, to +group itself so naturally round her, was all<span class="pagenum">[19]</span> +his. There was a tremor of prophesy in the +air. His brain seemed to turn slowly round +in his head. He had come upstairs too +quickly. His hand clutched the curtain. +He felt momentarily incapable of stirring or +speaking. The old physical pain, which only +loosed him at intervals, tightened its thongs. +But he dreaded to see her look up and find +him watching her. He went forward and +held out his hand in silence.</p> + +<p>Di looked up and her expression changed +instantly. A lovely colour came into her +face, and her eyes shone. She advanced +quickly towards him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, John!" she said. "Is it really +you? I was afraid we should not see you +before we left town. But you ought not +to stand." (John's complexion was passing +from white to ashen grey, to pale green.) +"Sit down." She held both his passive +hands in hers. She would not for worlds<span class="pagenum">[20]</span> +have let him see that she thought he was +going to faint. "This is a nice chair by the +window," drawing him gently to it. "I was +just admiring your lilies. You will let me +ring for a cup of tea, I know. I am so +thirsty." It was done in a moment, and she +was back again beside him, only a voice now, +a voice among the lilies, which appeared and +disappeared at intervals. One tall furled lily +head came and went with astonishing celerity, +and the voice spoke gently and cheerfully +from time to time. It was like a wonderful +dream in a golden dusk. And then there +was a little clink and clatter, and a cup of tea +suddenly appeared close to him out of the +darkness; and there was Di's voice again, +and a momentary glimpse of Di's earnest +eyes, which did not match her tranquil unconcerned +voice.</p> + +<p>He drank the tea mechanically without +troubling to hold the cup, which seemed to<span class="pagenum">[21]</span> +take the initiative with a precision and an +independence of support, which would have +surprised him at any other time. The tea, +what little there was of it, was the nastiest he +had ever tasted. It might have been made +in a brandy bottle. But it certainly cleared +the air. Gradually the room came back. +The light came back. He came back himself. +It was all hardly credible. There was +Di sitting opposite him, evidently quite +unaware that he had been momentarily overcome, +and assiduously engaged in pouring +out another cup of tea. She had taken off +her gloves, and he watched her cool slender +hands give herself a lump of sugar. (Only +one <i>small</i> lump, John observed. He must +remember that.) Then she filled up the +teapot from the little gurgling silver kettle. +What forethought. Wonderful! and yet all +apparently so natural. She seemed to do it +as a matter of course. He ought to be<span class="pagenum">[22]</span> +helping her, but somehow he was not. +Would she take bread and butter, or one of +those little round things? She took a piece +of bread and butter. Perhaps it would be as +well to listen to what she was saying. He +lost the first part of the sentence because she +began to stir her tea at the moment, and he +could not attend to two things at once. But +presently he heard her say—</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Courtenay thinks young people +ought not to mind missing tea altogether. +But I do mind; don't you? I think it is +the pleasantest meal in the day."</p> + +<p>John cautiously assented that it was. He +felt that he must be very careful, or a slight +dizziness which was now rapidly passing off +might be noticed.</p> + +<p>Di went on talking unconcernedly, bending +her burnished golden head in its little white +bonnet over the teacups. She seemed to +take a great interest in the tea-things, and<span class="pagenum">[23]</span> +the date of the apostle spoons. Presently +she looked at him again, and a relieved +smile came into her face.</p> + +<p>"Are you ready for another cup?" she said. +And it was not a dream any longer, but all +quite real and true, and he was real too.</p> + +<p>"No, thanks," said John, taking his cup +with extreme deliberation from a table at +his elbow, where he supposed he had set it +down. "There is something wrong about +the tea, I think. Do send yours away and +have some more. It has a very odd taste."</p> + +<p>"Has it?" said Di, meeting his eye +firmly, but with an effort. "I don't notice +it. On the contrary, I think it is rather +good. Try another cup."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps the water did not boil," suggested +John feebly, reflecting that his temporary +indisposition might have been the cause of +his dislike, but anxious to conceal the fact.</p> + +<p>"That is a direct reflection on my tea-<span class="pagenum">[24]</span>making," +said Di. "You had better be more +careful what you say." And she quickly +pushed a stumpy little liqueur-bottle behind +the silver tea-caddy.</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon, and ask humbly for another +cup," said John, smiling. The pain had left +him again, as it generally did after he had +remained quiet for a time, and in the relief +from it he had a vague impression that the +present moment was too good to last. He +did not know that it was usual to wash out +a cup so carefully as Di did his, but she +seemed to think it the right thing, and she +probably knew. Anyhow, the second cup +was capital. John was not allowed to drink +tea. The doctors who were knitting firmly +together again the slender threads that had +so far bound him to this world, believed he +was imbibing an emulsion of something or +other strengthening and nauseous at that +moment.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[25]</span></p> + +<p>"Oh! There is a tea-cake," said Di, discovering +another dish behind the kettle. +"Why did not I see it before?"</p> + +<p>"It is not too late, I hope," said John, +anxiously. The stupidity of James in putting +a tea-cake (which might have been preferred +to bread and butter) out of sight behind an +opaque kettle, caused him profound annoyance.</p> + +<p>But Di could not take a personal interest +in the tea-cake. She looked back at the +lilies.</p> + +<p>"Don't you long to be in the country?" +she said. "I find myself dreaming about +green fields and flowers gratis. I have not +seen a country lane since Easter, and then +it rained all the time. It is three years +since I have found a hedge-sparrow's nest +with eggs in it. Don't you long to get +away?"</p> + +<p>"I long to get back to Overleigh," said<span class="pagenum">[26]</span> +John. "I went there for a few days in the +spring on my return from Russia. The +place was looking lovely; but," he added, +as if it were a matter of course, "naturally +Overleigh always looks beautiful to me."</p> + +<p>Di did not answer.</p> + +<p>"You know the wood below the house," +he went on. "When I saw it last all the +rhododendrons were out."</p> + +<p>"I have never seen Overleigh," said Di, +looking at the lilies again, and trying to +speak unconcernedly. She knew Lord +Hemsworth's tiresome old Border castle. +She had visited at many historic houses. +She and Mrs. Courtenay were going to some +shortly. But her own family place, the one +house of all others in the whole world which +she would have cared to see, she had never +seen. She had often heard about it from +acquaintances, had looked wistfully at drawings +of it in illustrated magazines, had<span class="pagenum">[27]</span> +questioned Mrs. Courtenay and Archie about +it, had wandered in imagination in its long +gallery, and down the lichened steps from +the postern in the wall, that every artist +vignetted, to the stone-flagged Italian gardens +below. But with her bodily eyes she had +never beheld it, and the longing returned +at intervals. It had returned now.</p> + +<p>"Will you come and see it?" said John, +looking away from her. It seemed to him +that he was playing a game in which he had +staked heavily, against some one who had +staked nothing, who was not even conscious +of playing, and might inadvertently knock +over the board at any moment. He felt as +if he had noiselessly pushed forward his +piece, and as if everything depended on the +withdrawal of his hand from it unobserved.</p> + +<p>"I have wished to see Overleigh from a +child," said Di, flushing a little. "Think +what you feel about it, and my father, and<span class="pagenum">[28]</span> +our grandfather. Well—I am a Tempest +too."</p> + +<p>John was vaguely relieved. He glanced +from her to the Gainsborough in the feathered +hat that hung behind her. There was just +a touch of resemblance under the unlikeness, +a look in the pose of the head, in its curled +and powdered wig that had reminded him +of Di before. It reminded him of her more +than ever now.</p> + +<p>"Archie has been to Overleigh so constantly +that I had not realized you had never +seen it," said John. "But I suppose you +were not grown up in those days; and since +you grew up I have been abroad."</p> + +<p>"Shall you go abroad again?"</p> + +<p>"No. I have given up my secretaryship. +I have come back to England for +good."</p> + +<p>"I am glad of that."</p> + +<p>"I have been away too long as it is."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[29]</span></p> + +<p>"Yes," said Di. "I have often thought +so."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>"We are not represented," said Di proudly. +She was speaking to one of her own family, +and consequently she was not careful to +choose her words. She had evidently no +fear of being misunderstood by John. "We +have always taken a place," she went on. +"Not a particularly high one, but one of +some kind. There was Amyas Tempest the +cavalier general, and John who was with +Charles of Bourbon at the sacking of Rome; +and there were judges and admirals. Not +that that is much when one looks at other +families, the Cecils, for instance, but still they +were always among the men of the day. +And then our great-grandfather who lies in +Westminster Abbey really was a great man. +I was reading his life over again the other<span class="pagenum">[30]</span> +day. I suppose his son only passed muster +because he was his son, and owing to his +wife's ability. She amused old George IV., +and made herself a power, and pushed her +husband."</p> + +<p>"My father never did anything," said John.</p> + +<p>"No. I have always heard he had brains, +but that he let things go because he was +unhappy. Just the reason for holding on to +them all the tighter, I should have thought, +wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Not with some people. Some people +can't do anything if there is no one to be +glad when they have done it. I partly +understand the feeling."</p> + +<p>"I don't," said Di. "I mean, I do, but +I don't understand giving in to it, and letting +a little bit of personal unhappiness, which +will die with one, prevent one's being a good +useful link in a chain. One owes that to the +chain."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[31]</span></p> + +<p>"Yes," said John. "And yet I know he +had a very strong feeling of responsibility +from what he said to me on his death-bed. +I have often thought about him since, and +tried to piece together all the little fragments +I can remember of him; but I think there is +no one I can understand less than my own +father. He seemed a hard cold man, and +yet that face is neither hard nor cold."</p> + +<p>John pointed to a picture behind her, and +Di rose and turned to look at it.</p> + +<p>It was an interesting refined face, destitute +of any kind of good looks, except those of +high breeding. The eyes had a certain +thoughtful challenge in them. The lips were +thin and firm.</p> + +<p>Both gazed in silence for a moment.</p> + +<p>"He looks as if he might have been one +of those quiet equable people who may be +pushed into a corner," said Di, "and then +become rather dangerous. I can imagine<span class="pagenum">[32]</span> +his being a harsh man, and an unforgiving +one if life went wrong."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid he did become that," said +John. "As he could not find room for +forgiveness, there was naturally no room for +happiness either."</p> + +<p>"Was there some one whom he could not +forgive?" asked Di, turning her keen glance +upon him. She evidently knew nothing of +the feud of the last generation.</p> + +<p>At this moment the rush of James the +elephant-footed was heard, and he announced +that Mrs. Courtenay was getting into the +carriage, and had sent for Miss Tempest.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," said Di, cordially, gathering +up her gloves and parasol. "Go to Overleigh +and get strong. And—you will have +so many other things to think of—try not to +forget about asking us."</p> + +<p>"I will remember," said John, as if he +would make a point of burdening his memory.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[33]</span></p> + +<p>He was holding aside the curtain for her +to pass.</p> + +<p>"You see," said Di, looking back, "when +we are on the move we can do things, but +once we get back to London we cannot +go north again till next year. We can't +afford it."</p> + +<p>"I will be sure to remember," said John +again. He was a little crestfallen, and yet +relieved that she should think he might +forget. He felt that he could trust his +memory.</p> + +<p>She smiled gratefully and was gone. She +had forgotten to shake hands with him. He +knew she had not been aware of the omission. +She had been thinking of something else at +the moment. But it remained a grievous +fact all the same.</p> + +<p>He walked back absently into the drawing-room +and stopped opposite the tea-table.</p> + +<p>"Vinegar," he said to himself. "What<span class="pagenum">[34]</span> +can James have been about? I draw the +line at vinegar at five o'clock tea. I hope +she did not see it."</p> + +<p>He took out the glass stopper.</p> + +<p>Not vinegar. No. There is but one +name for that familiar, that searching +smell.</p> + +<p>"It's brandy," said John aloud, speaking +to himself, while the past unrolled itself like +a map before his eyes. "Yes, look at it. +Would you like to smell it again? There is +no need to be so surprised. You had some +of it not ten minutes ago, you poor deluded, +blinded, bandaged idiot."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>"Whom do you think <i>I</i> have seen?" said +Di, as they drove away.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Courtenay made no attempt to guess, +which was the more remarkable because, +when Miss Fane had ordered a cup of tea +for Di, James had volunteered the information<span class="pagenum">[35]</span> +that he had already taken tea to Mr. +and Miss Tempest.</p> + +<p>"Whom but John himself," continued Di.</p> + +<p>"I thought he was still invisible."</p> + +<p>"I am sure he ought to be. I never saw +any one look so ill. We had tea together. +I really thought you were never going away +at all, but I was glad you were such a long +time, because it was so pleasant seeing him +again. I like John; don't you? I have +liked him from the first."</p> + +<p>"He is a sensible man, but I prefer people +with easier manners myself."</p> + +<p>"He is more than sensible, I think."</p> + +<p>"We shall be too late for the pony races," +said Mrs. Courtenay. "It is nearly six now, +and I told Lord Hemsworth we would be at +the entrance at half-past five."</p> + +<p>"He will survive it," said Di, archly. +"And, granny, John is going to ask us to +Overleigh. I told him I had never seen it."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[36]</span></p> + +<p>"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Courtenay, +and there was no doubt about her +interest this time. "You did not <i>suggest</i> our +going, did you?"</p> + +<p>"I am not sure I did not," said Di, unfurling +her parasol. "Look, granny, there is Mrs. +Buller nodding to you, and you won't look +at her. Yes, I rather think I did. I can't +remember exactly what I said, but he +promised he would not forget, and I told +him we could only come when we were on +the move. I impressed that upon him."</p> + +<p>"Really, Di," said Mrs. Courtenay with +asperity, "I wish you would prevent your +parasol catching in my bonnet, and not offer +visits without consulting me. It would have +been quite time enough to have gone when +he had asked us."</p> + +<p>"He might not have asked us."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Courtenay, who had seen a good +deal of John in the weeks that preceded his<span class="pagenum">[37]</span> +accident, was perhaps of a different opinion; +but she did not express it. Neither did she +mention her own previously fixed intention +of going to Overleigh somehow or other +during the course of her summer visits.</p> + +<p>"What is the use of near relations," continued +Di, "if you can't tell them anything +of that kind? I believe John will be quite +pleased to have us now that he knows we +wish to come; if only he remembers. Come, +granny, if I take you to Archelot to please +you, you ought to take me to Overleigh to +please me. That's fair now, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"It may be extremely inconvenient," said +Mrs. Courtenay, still ruffled. "And I had +rheumatism last time I was there."</p> + +<p>"Think what rheumatism you always have +at Archelot, which sits up to its knees in +mist every night in the middle of its moat; +and yet you would insist on going again. +There is that nice Mr. Sinclair taking off<span class="pagenum">[38]</span> +his hat. Won't you recognize him? You +thought him so improved, you said, since his +elder brother's death."</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Mrs. Courtenay, "I am +not so perpetually on the look out for young +men as you appear to be. All the same, +you may put up my parasol, for I can see +nothing with the sun in my eyes."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ep02.jpg" width="500" height="242" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[39]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch03.jpg" width="600" height="195" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The moving Finger writes; and having writ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor all your tears wash out a Word of it."<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><span class="smcap">Omar Khayyám.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="quote">"</p> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_w.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="W" /> + <span class="hide">W</span>HAT thou doest do quickly," has been +advice which, in its melancholy +sarcasm, has been followed for eighteen +hundred years when any special evil has +been afoot in the dark. And yet surely the +words apply still more urgently when the +doing that is premeditated is good. What +thou doest do quickly, for even while we +speak those to whom we feel tenderly grow<span class="pagenum">[40]</span> +old and grey, and slip beyond the reach of +human comfort. Even while we dream of +love, those whom we love are parted from +us in an early hour when we think not, +without so much as a rose to take with them, +out of the garden of roses that were planted +and fostered for them alone. And even +while we tardily forgive our friend, lo! the +page is turned and we see that there was no +injury, as now there is no compensation for +our lack of trust.</p> + +<p>Colonel Tempest acted with promptitude, +but though he was as expeditious as he +knew how to be, that was not saying much. +His continual dread was that others might +be beforehand with him. He had at this +time a dream that recurred, or seemed to +recur, over and over again—that he was +running blindly at night, and that unknown +adversaries were coming swiftly up behind +him, were breathing close, and passing him<span class="pagenum">[41]</span> +in the darkness, unseen, but felt. It haunted +him in the daytime like a reality.</p> + +<p>Superstition would not be superstition if +it were amenable to reason. Punishment +hung over him like a sword in mid-air—it +might fall at any moment—what form +of punishment it would be hard to say—something +evil to himself. If he struck +down another might not the Almighty strike +him down? It seemed to him that God's +hand was raised.</p> + +<p>"Sin no more." Wipe it out. Obliterate +it. Expiate it. Quick, quick.</p> + +<p>He set to work in feverish haste to find +out Larkin. But although he had a certain +knowledge of how to approach gentlemen +of Swayne's class, he could not at first +unearth Larkin. The habitation of the +wren is not more secluded than that of +some of our fellow-creatures. Colonel +Tempest went very quietly to work. He<span class="pagenum">[42]</span> +never went near the address given him; +he wrote anonymous letters repeatedly, +suggesting a personal interview which would +be found greatly to Mr. Larkin's advantage. +Mr. Larkin, however, appeared to take a +different view of his own advantage. It +was in vain that Colonel Tempest said he +should be walking on the Thames Embankment +the following evening, and would be +found at a given point at a certain hour. +No one found him there, or at any other +of the places he mentioned. He took a +good deal of unnecessary exercise, or what +appeared so at the time. Still he persisted. +While the quarry remained in London, the +hunter would probably remain there also. +John had not gone yet. Colonel Tempest +went on every few days making appointments +for meeting, and keeping them +rigorously himself.</p> + +<p>A fortnight passed. Larkin made no sign.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[43]</span></p> + +<p>At last Colonel Tempest heard that John +was leaving town. He went to see him, +and came away heavy at heart. John was +out; and the servant informed him that +Mr. Tempest was going to Overleigh the +following morning. Colonel Tempest had a +presentiment that a stone would be dropped +between the points of the Great Northern. +The train would come to grief, somehow. +It would all happen in a moment. There +would be one fierce thrust in the dark +which he should not be able to parry. +And if John got safe to Overleigh he +would be followed there. The shooting +season was coming on, and some one would +load for him, and there would be an +<i>accident</i>.</p> + +<p>Colonel Tempest went back to his rooms +in Brook Street, and stared at the carpet. +He did not know how long it was before +he caught sight of a batch of letters on the<span class="pagenum">[44]</span> +table. He looked carelessly at them; the +uppermost was from his tailor. The address +of the next was written in printed letters; +he knew in an instant that it was from +Larkin, without the further confirmation of +the heavy seal with its shilling impression. +His hands shook so much that he opened +it with difficulty. The sheet contained a +somewhat guarded communication also +written in laboriously printed capitals.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<i>Yours of the 14th to hand. All right. Place and +time you say.</i></p> + +<p class="author"> +"<i>L.</i>"<br /> +</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The writer had been so very desirous to +avoid publicity that he had even taken the +trouble to tear off the left inner side of the +envelope on which the maker's name is +printed.</p> + +<p>That significant precaution gave Colonel +Tempest a sickening qualm. It suggested +networks of other precautions in the background, +snares which he might not perceive<span class="pagenum">[45]</span> +till too late, subtleties for which he was +no match. He began to feel that it was +physically impossible for him to meet this +man; that he must get out of the interview +at any cost. The maddening sense of being +lured into a trap came upon him, and he +flung in the opposite direction.</p> + +<p>But the facts came and looked him in +the face. He seldom allowed them to do +so, but they did it now in spite of him. +Eyes that have been once avoided are ever +after difficult to meet. Nevertheless, he had +to meet them—the cold inexorable eyes of +facts come up to the surface of his mind to +have justice done them, grimy but redoubtable, +like miners on strike. Cost what it +might, he saw that he must capitulate; that +he must take this, his one—his last chance, +or—hateful alternative—take instead the +consequences of neglecting it.</p> + +<p>He went over the old well-worn ground<span class="pagenum">[46]</span> +once again. Detection was impossible. +That nightmare of a murder, and of a voice +that cried aloud, while all the world stood +still to hear: "<i>Thou art the man</i>:" was only +a nightmare after all. And this was the best +way, the only way to get rid of it.</p> + +<p>He tried to recall the time and place of +meeting, but it was gone from him. There +had been so many. No, he had scrawled it +down on the fly-leaf of his pocket-book. +Six o'clock. It was nearly five now. He +had had the money in readiness for the last +fortnight. He had drawn one thousand of +the ten which John had placed to his credit. +He got out the ten crisp hundred pound +notes, and put them carefully into his breast +pocket. Then he sat down and waited. +When the half-hour chimed he went out.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>There is a straight and quiet path behind +Kensington Palace which the lovers and<span class="pagenum">[47]</span> +nursery-maids of Kensington Gardens frequent +but little. A line of low-growing +knotted trees separates it from the Broad +Walk at a little distance. A hedge and +fence on the other side divides the Gardens +from a strip of meadow not yet covered by +buildings.</p> + +<p>The public esteem this particular walk but +lightly. Invalids in bath-chairs toil down +it sometimes; nurses with grown-up children, +who are children still, go there occasionally, +where the uncouth gambols and vacant +bearded laugh of forty-five will not attract +attention.</p> + +<p>But as a rule it is deserted.</p> + +<p>Colonel Tempest had it almost to himself +for the first ten minutes, except for a covey +of little boys who fought and clambered and +jumped on some stacked timber at one end. +He had not chosen the place without forethought. +It would be presumed that he<span class="pagenum">[48]</span> +would have a large sum of money with him, +and he had taken care on each occasion to +select a rendezvous where foul play would +not be possible. He was within reach of +numbers of persons merely by raising his +voice.</p> + +<p>An old man on the arm of a young one +passed him slowly, absorbed in earnest conversation. +A girl in mourning sat down on +one of the benches. There was privacy +enough for business, and not too much for +safety.</p> + +<p>Colonel Tempest paced up and down, +giving each face that passed a furtive glance. +He did not know what to expect.</p> + +<p>The three quarters struck. The girl got +up and turned away. A stout, shabby-looking +man, whose approach Colonel Tempest had +not noticed, was sitting on one of the benches +under a gnarled yew, staring vacantly in +front of him. The old man and the young<span class="pagenum">[49]</span> +one were coming down the walk again. A +check suit with six depressed, amber-eyed +dachshunds in a leash passed among the +trees.</p> + +<p>A few more turns.</p> + +<p>The clock began to strike six.</p> + +<p>Colonel Tempest's pulse quickened. As +he turned once more at the end of the walk, +he could see that the hunched-up figure, with +the hat over the eyes, was still sitting under +the yew at the further end. He walked +slowly towards it. How should they recognize +each other? Who would speak first?</p> + +<p>A quietly-dressed man, walking rapidly +in the opposite direction, touched his hat +respectfully as he passed him. Colonel Tempest +recognized John's valet, and slackened +his pace, for he was approaching the bench +under the yew tree, and he did not care to +be addressed while any one was within +earshot. He was opposite it now, and he<span class="pagenum">[50]</span> +looked hard at the occupant. The latter +stared vacantly, if not sleepily, back at him, +and made no sign.</p> + +<p>"He is shamming," said Colonel Tempest +to himself. "Or else he is not sure of me." +And he took yet another turn.</p> + +<p>The man had moved a little when he +came towards him again. He was leaning +back in the corner of the bench, with his +head on his chest, and his legs stretched out. +An elderly lady, with curls, and an umbrella +clutched like a defensive weapon, was passing +him with evident distrust, calling to her side +a fleecy little toy dog, which seemed to have +left its stand and wheels at home, and to be +rather at a loss without them. Colonel +Tempest looked hard a second time at the +figure on the bench, when he came opposite +him, and then stopped short.</p> + +<p>The man was sleeping the sleep of the +just, or, to speak more correctly, of the just<span class="pagenum">[51]</span> +inebriated. His under lip was thrust out. +He breathed stertorously. If it was a sham, +it was very well done.</p> + +<p>Colonel Tempest stood a moment in perplexity, +looking fixedly at him. Should he +wake him? Was he, perhaps, waiting to be +waked? Was he really asleep? He half +put out his hand.</p> + +<p>"I think, sir," said a respectful voice +behind him, "begging your pardon, sir, the +party is very intoxicated. Sometimes if +woke sudden they're vicious."</p> + +<p>Colonel Tempest wheeled round.</p> + +<p>It was Marshall, John's valet, who had +spoken to him, and who was now regarding +the slumbering rough with the resigned +melancholy of an undertaker.</p> + +<p>The quarter struck.</p> + +<p>"Sorry to have kept you waiting, sir," said +Marshall, after a pause, in which Colonel +Tempest wondered why he did not go.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[52]</span></p> + +<p>And then, at last, Colonel Tempest understood.</p> + +<p>He put his hand feebly to his head.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my God!" he said below his breath, +and was silent.</p> + +<p>Marshall cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>There are situations in which, as Johnson +has observed respecting the routine of +married life, little can be said, but much +must be done.</p> + +<p>The slumbering backslider slid a little +further back in his seat, and gurgled something +very low down about "jolly good +fellows," until, his voice suddenly going upstairs +in the middle, he added in a high +quaver, "daylight does appear."</p> + +<p>The musical outburst recalled Colonel +Tempest somewhat to himself. He turned +his eyes carefully away from Marshall, +after that first long look of mutual understanding.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[53]</span></p> + +<p>The man's apparent respectability, his +smooth shaved face and quiet dress, from his +well-brushed hat and black silk cravat to the +dark dog-skin glove that held his irreproachable +umbrella, set Colonel Tempest's teeth +on edge.</p> + +<p>He had not known what to expect, but—<i>this</i>!</p> + +<p>In a flash of memory he recalled the +several occasions on which he had seen +Marshall in attendance on John, his attentive +manner, and noiseless tread. Once before +John could move he had seen Marshall lift +him carefully into a more upright position. +The remembrance of that helpless figure in +Marshall's arms came back to him with a +shudder that could not be repressed. Marshall, +whose expressionless face had undergone +no change whatever, cleared his throat +again and looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>"Begging your pardon, sir," he said, "it's<span class="pagenum">[54]</span> +nearly half-past six, and Mr. Tempest dines +early to-night."</p> + +<p>"Did you receive my other letters?" said +Colonel Tempest, pulling himself together, +and beginning to walk slowly down the +path.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I'm sorry to have put you to +the inconvenience of going to so many +places, 'specially as I saw for myself how +regular you turned up at 'em. But I wanted +to make sure you were in earnest before +I showed. My character is my livelihood, +sir. There was a time when I was in trouble +and got into Mr. Johnson's hands, but before +that I'd been in service in 'igh families, very +'igh, sir. Mr. Tempest took me on the +recommendation of the Earl of Carmian. I +was with him two year."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Johnson," said Colonel Tempest, +stopping short, and turning a shade whiter +<span class="pagenum">[55]</span>than he had been before. "By —— I don't +know anything about a Mr. Johnson. What +do you mean?"</p> + +<p>The two men eyed each other as if each +suspected treachery.</p> + +<p>"Did you write this?" said Marshall, +producing Colonel Tempest's last letter.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then it's all right," said Marshall, who +had forgotten the <i>sir</i>. "He had a sight of +names. Johnson he was when he found I'd +took up your—your bet. But I wrote to +him, I remember, at one place as Crosbie."</p> + +<p>Colonel Tempest recalled the curate's mention +of Swayne under the name of Crosbie.</p> + +<p>"Swayne, or Crosbie, or Johnson, it's all +one," he said hastily. "I want a certain bit +of paper you have in your possession, and I +have ten Bank of England notes, of a +hundred each, in my pocket now to give you +in exchange. I suppose we understand each +other. Have you got it on you?"</p><p><span class="pagenum">[56]</span></p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Produce it."</p> + +<p>"Show up the notes, too, then."</p> + +<p>Unnoticed by either, the manner of both, +as between gentleman and servant, had +merged into that of perfect equality. Love +is not the only leveller of disparities of rank +and position.</p> + +<p>They were walking together side by side. +There was not a soul in sight. Each +cautiously showed what he had brought. +The dirty half-sheet of common note-paper, +with Colonel Tempest's signature, seemed +hardly worth the crisp notes, each one of +which Colonel Tempest turned slowly over.</p> + +<p>"Ten," said Marshall. "All right."</p> + +<p>"Stop," said Colonel Tempest, hoarsely, +the date on the ragged sheet he had just +seen suggesting a new idea. "You're too +young. You're not five and thirty. By —— it's +nearly sixteen years ago. You<span class="pagenum">[57]</span> +weren't in it. You couldn't have been in it. +How did you come by that? Whom did +you have it from?"</p> + +<p>"From one who'll tell no tales," returned +Marshall. "He was sick of it. He had +tried twice, and he was near his end, and I +took it off him just before he died."</p> + +<p>"Did he die?" said Colonel Tempest. +"I am not so sure of that."</p> + +<p>"I am," said the man; "or I'd never have +had nothing to do with the business."</p> + +<p>"How long have you been with Mr. +Tempest?"</p> + +<p>"A matter of three months. He engaged +me when he came back from Russia in the +spring."</p> + +<p>"You will leave at once. That, of course, +is understood."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I will give warning to-night +if——" and the man glanced at the packet +in Colonel Tempest's hand.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[58]</span></p> + +<p>Without another word they exchanged +papers. Colonel Tempest did not tear the +document that had cost him so much into a +thousand pieces. He looked at it, recognized +that it was genuine, put it in his pocket, and +buttoned his coat over it. Then he got out +a note-book and pencil.</p> + +<p>"And now," he said, "the others. How +am I to get at them?"</p> + +<p>The man stared. "The others?" he +repeated. "What others?"</p> + +<p>"You were one," said Colonel Tempest. +"Now about the rest. I mean to pay them +all off. There were ten in it. Where are +the nine?"</p> + +<p>Marshall stood stock still, as if he were +realizing something unperceived till now. +Then he shook his fist.</p> + +<p>"That Johnson lied to me. I might have +known. He took me in from first to last. +I never thought but that I was the—<i>the<span class="pagenum">[59]</span> only one</i>. +And all I've spent, and the work +I've been put to, when I might just as well +have let one of them others risk it. He +never acted square. Damn him."</p> + +<p>Colonel Tempest looked at him horror-struck. +The man's anger was genuine.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say you don't <i>know</i>?" +he said, in a harsh whisper, all that was left +of his voice. "Swayne, Johnson said you +did. On his death-bed he said so."</p> + +<p>"Know," retorted the man, his expressionless +face having some meaning in it at last. +"Do you suppose if I'd <i>known</i>, I'd have—— But +that's been the line he has gone on from +the first, you may depend upon it. He's +let each one think he was alone at the job +to bring it round quicker; a double-tongued, +double-dealing devil. Each of them others +is working for himself now, single-handed. +I wonder they haven't brought it off before. +Why <i>that fire</i>! We was both nearly done<span class="pagenum">[60]</span> +for that night. I slept just above 'im, and +it was precious near. If he had not run up +hisself and woke me—that fire——"</p> + +<p>Marshall stopped short. His mouth fell +ajar. His mind was gradually putting two +and two together. There was no horror in +his face, only a malignant sense of having +been duped.</p> + +<p>"By——," he said fiercely. "I see it all."</p> + +<p>A cold hand seemed to be laid on Colonel +Tempest's heart, to press closer and closer. +The sweat burst from his brow. Swayne +had been an economizer of truth to the last. +He had deliberately lied even on his death-bed, +in order to thrust away the distasteful +subject to which Colonel Tempest had so +pertinaciously nailed him. The two men +stood staring at each other. A governess +and three little girls, evidently out for a +stroll after tea, were coming towards them. +The sight of the four advancing figures<span class="pagenum">[61]</span> +seemed to shake the two men back in a +moment, with a gasp, to their former +relations.</p> + +<p>Marshall drew himself up, and touched +his hat.</p> + +<p>"I ought to be going, sir," he said, almost +in his usual ordered tones. "Mr. Tempest +dines early to-night."</p> + +<p>Colonel Tempest nodded. He had forgotten +for the moment how to speak.</p> + +<p>"And it's all right, sir, about—about me," +rather anxiously.</p> + +<p>Colonel Tempest perceived that Marshall +had not realized the possible hold he might +obtain over him by the mere fact of his +knowledge of this last revelation. He had +been obtuse before. He was obtuse now.</p> + +<p>"As long as you are silent and leave at +once," said Colonel Tempest, commanding +his tongue to articulate, "I will be silent too. +Not a moment longer."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[62]</span></p> + +<p>Marshall touched his hat again, and went.</p> + +<p>Colonel Tempest walked unsteadily to a +bench under a twisted yew, a little way from +the path, and sat down heavily upon it.</p> + +<p>How cold it was, how bitterly cold! He +shivered, and drew his hand across his damp +forehead. The tinkling of voices reached +him at intervals. Foolish birds were making +choruses of small jokes in the branches above +his head. Some one laughed at a little +distance.</p> + +<p>He alone was wretched beyond endurance. +Perhaps he did not know what endurance +meant. Panic shook him like a leaf.</p> + +<p>And there was no refuge. He did not +know how to live. Dared he die? die, and +struggle up the other side only to find an +angry judge waiting on the brink to strike +him down to hell even while he put up +supplicating hands? But his hands were +red with John's blood, so that even his<span class="pagenum">[63]</span> +prayers convicted him of sin—were turned +into sin.</p> + +<p>A feeling as near despair as his nature +could approach to overwhelmed him.</p> + +<p>One of the most fatal results of evil is +that in the same measure that it exists in +ourselves, we imply it in others, and not less +in God Himself. Poor Colonel Tempest saw +in his Creator only an omniscient detective, +an avenger, an executioner who had mocked +at his endeavours to propitiate Him, to +escape out of His hand, who held him as in +a pillory, and would presently break him +upon the wheel.</p> + +<p>Superstition has its uses, but, like most +imitations, it does not wear well—not much +better, perhaps, than the brown paper boots +in which the English soldier goes forth +to war.</p> + +<p>A cheap faith is an expensive experience. +I believe Colonel Tempest suffered horribly<span class="pagenum">[64]</span> +as he sat alone under that yew tree; underwent +all the throes which self-centred people +do undergo, who, in saving their life, see +it slipping through their fingers; who in +clutching at their own interest and pleasure, +find themselves sliding into a gulf; who in +sacrificing the happiness and welfare of those +that love them to their whim, their caprice, +their shifting temper of the moment, find +themselves at last—alone—unloved.</p> + +<p>Are there many sorrows like this sorrow? +There is perhaps only one worse—namely, to +realize what onlookers have seen from the +first, what has brought it about. This is +hard. But Colonel Tempest was spared this +pain. Those for whom others can feel least +compassion are, as a rule, fortunately able +to bestow most upon themselves. Colonel +Tempest belonged to the self-pitying class, +and with him to suffer was to begin at +once to be sorry for himself. The tears ran<span class="pagenum">[65]</span> +slowly down his cheeks and his lip quivered. +Perhaps there is nothing quite so heartbreaking +as the tears of middle-age for itself.</p> + +<p>He saw himself sitting there, so lonely, so +miserable, without a creature in the world to +turn to for comfort; entrapped into evil as +all are at times, for he was but human, he +had never set up to be better than his +fellows; but to have striven so hard against +evil—to have tried, as not many would have +done, to repair what had been wrong (and +the greatest wrong had not been with him) +and yet to have been repulsed by God +Himself! Everybody had turned against +him. And now God had turned against him +too. His last hope was gone. He should +never find those other men, never buy back +those other bets. John would be killed +sooner or later, and he himself would <i>suffer</i>.</p> + +<p>That was the refrain, the key-note to +which he always returned. <i>He should suffer.</i></p><p><span class="pagenum">[66]</span></p> + +<p>Natures like Colonel Tempest's go through +the same paroxysms of blind despairing grief +as do those of children. They see only the +present. The maturer mind is sustained in +its deeper anguish by the power of looking +beyond its pain. It has bought, perhaps +dear, the chill experience that all things pass, +that sorrow endures but for a night, even as +the joy that comes in the morning endures +but for a morning. But as a child weeps +and is disconsolate, and dries its eyes and +forgets, so Colonel Tempest would presently +forget again—for a time.</p> + +<p>Indeed, he soon took the best means within +his reach of doing so. He felt that he was +too wretched to remain in England. It was +therefore imperative that he should go +abroad. Persons of his temperament have a +delightful confidence in the benign influences +of the Continent. He wrote to John, returning +him £8,500 of the £10,000, saying that<span class="pagenum">[67]</span> +the object for which it had been given had +become so altered as to prevent the application +of the money. He did not mention +that he had found a use for one thousand, +and that pressing personal expenses had +obliged him to retain another five hundred, +but he was vaguely conscious of doing an +honourable action in returning the remainder.</p> + +<p>John wrote back at once, saying that he +had given him the money, and that as his +uncle did not wish to keep it, he should +invest it in his name, and settle it on his +daughter, while the interest at four per cent. +would be paid to Colonel Tempest during +his lifetime.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Colonel Tempest to himself, +after reading this letter, "beggars can't be +choosers, but if <i>I</i> had been in John's +place I <i>hope</i> I should not have shown +such a grudging spirit. Eight thousand five +hundred! Out of all his wealth he might<span class="pagenum">[68]</span> +have made it ten thousand for my poor +penniless girl. No wonder he does not wish +her to know about it."</p> + +<p>And having a little ready money about +him, Colonel Tempest took his penniless +girl, much to her surprise, a lapis-lazuli necklace +when he went to say good-bye to her.</p> + +<p>On the last evening before he left England +he got out the paper Marshall had given +him, and having locked the door, spread it +on the table before him. He had done this +secretly many times a day since he had +obtained possession of it.</p> + +<p>There it was, unmistakable in black and +grime that had once been white. The one +thing of all others in this world that Colonel +Tempest loathed was to be obliged to face +anything. Like Peer Gynt, he went round, +or if like Balaam he came to a narrow place +where there was no turning room, he struck +furiously at the nearest sentient body. But<span class="pagenum">[69]</span> +a widower has no beast of burden at hand to +strike, and there was no power of going +round, no power of backing either, from +before that sheet of crumpled paper. When +he first looked at it he had a kind of recollection +that was no recollection of having seen +it before.</p> + +<p>The words were as distinct as a death-warrant. +Perhaps they were one. Colonel +Tempest read them over once again.</p> + +<p>"I, Edward Tempest, lay one thousand +pounds to one sovereign that I do never +inherit the property of Overleigh in Yorkshire."</p> + +<p>There was his own undeniable scrawling +signature beneath Swayne's crab-like characters. +There below his own was the +signature of that obscure speculator, since +dead, who had taken up the bet.</p> + +<p>If anything is forced upon the notice, +which yet it is distasteful to contemplate, the<span class="pagenum">[70]</span> +only remedy for avoiding present discomfort +is to close the eyes.</p> + +<p>Colonel Tempest struck a match, lit the +paper, and dropped it into the black July +grate. It would not burn at first, but after +a moment it flared up and turned over. He +watched it writhe under the little chuckling +flame. The word Overleigh came out +distinctly for a second, and then the flame +went out, leaving a charred curled nothing +behind. One solitary spark flew swiftly up +like a little soul released from an evil body. +Colonel Tempest rubbed the ashes with his +foot, and once again—closed his eyes.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ep03.jpg" width="500" height="190" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[71]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch04.jpg" width="600" height="192" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I give thee sixpence! I will see thee d—d first."<br /></span> +<span class="i14"><span class="smcap">Canning.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_s.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="S" /> + <span class="hide">S</span>OME one rejoiced exceedingly when, +in those burning August days, John +came back to Overleigh. Mitty loved him. +She was the only woman who as yet had +shown him any love at all, and his nature +was not an unthankful one. Mitty was +bound up with all the little meagre happiness +of his childhood. She had given him +his only glimpse of woman's tenderness. +There had never been a time when he had +not read aloud to Mitty during the holidays—when +he had forgotten to write to her<span class="pagenum">[72]</span> +periodically from school. When she had +been discharged with the other servants at +his father's death, he had gone in person to +one of his guardians to request that she +might remain, and had offered half his +pocket-money annually for that purpose, +and a sum down in the shape of a collection +of foreign coins in a sock. Perhaps +his guardian had a little boy of his own in +Eton jackets who collected coins. At any +rate, something was arranged. Mitty remained +in the long low nurseries in the +attic gallery. She was waiting for him on +the steps on that sultry August evening +when he returned. John saw her white cap +twinkling under the stone archway as he +drove along the straight wide drive between +the double rows of beeches which approached +the castle by the northern side.</p> + +<p>Some houses have the soothing influence +of the presence of a friend. Once established<span class="pagenum">[73]</span> +in the cool familiar rooms and strong air of +his native home, he regained his health by +a succession of strides, which contrasted +curiously with the stumbling ups and downs +and constant relapses which in the earlier +part of his recovery had puzzled his doctors.</p> + +<p>For the first few days just to live was +enough. John had no desire beyond sitting +in the shadow of the castle with Mitty, and +feeling the fresh heather-scented air from +the moors upon his face and hands. Then +came the day when he went on Mr. Goodwin's +arm down the grey lichened steps to the +Italian garden, and took one turn among +the stone-edged beds, under the high south +wall. Gradually as the languor of weakness +passed he wandered further and further into +the woods, and lay for hours under the trees +among the ling and fern. The irritation of +weakness had left him, the enforced inaction +of slowly returning strength had not yet<span class="pagenum">[74]</span> +begun to chafe. His mind urged nothing +on him, required no decisions of him, but, +like a dear companion instead of a taskmaster, +rested and let him rest. He watched +for hours the sunlight on the bracken, +listened for hours to the tiny dissensions +and confabulations of little creatures that +crept in and out.</p> + +<p>There had been days and nights in London +when the lamp of life had burned exceeding +low, when he had never thought to lie in +his own dear woods again, to see the squirrel +swinging and chiding against the sky, to +hear the cry of the water-hen to its mate +from the reeded pools below. He had loved +these things always, but to see them again +after toiling up from the gates of death is +to find them transfigured. "The light that +never was on sea or land" gleams for a +moment on wood and wold for eyes that +have looked but now into the darkness of<span class="pagenum">[75]</span> +the grave. Almost it seems in such hours +as if God had passed by that way, as if the +forest had knowledge of Him, as if the +awed pines kept Him ever in remembrance. +Almost. Almost.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Di was never absent from John's thoughts +for long together. His dawning love for her +had as yet no pain in it. It wandered still +in glades of hyacinth and asphodel. Truly—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Love is bonny, a little while, while it is new."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Its feet had not yet reached the stony +desert places and the lands of fierce heat +and fiercer frost, through which all human +love which does not die in infancy must +one day travel. The strain and stress were +not yet.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>John was coming back one evening from +a longer expedition than usual. The violet +dusk had gathered over the gardens. The<span class="pagenum">[76]</span> +massive flank and towers of the castle were +hardly visible against the sky. As he came +near he saw a light in the arched windows +of the chapel, and through the open lattice +came the sound of the organ. Some one +was playing within, and the night listened +from without; John stood and listened too. +The organ, so long dumb, was speaking in +an audible voice—was telling of many things +that had lain long in its heart, and that now +at last trembled into speech. Some unknown +touch was bringing all its pure passionate +soul to its lips. Its voice rose and fell, and +the listening night sighed in the ivy.</p> + +<p>John went noiselessly indoors by the +postern, and up the short spiral staircase in +the thickness of the wall, into the chapel, an +arched Elizabethan chamber leading out of +the dining-hall. He stopped short in the +doorway.</p> + +<p>The light of a solitary candle at the further<span class="pagenum">[77]</span> +end gave shadows to the darkness. As by +an artistic instinct, it just touched the +nearest of the pipes, and passing entirely +over the prosaic footman, blowing in his +shirt-sleeves, lit up every feature of the fair +exquisite face of the player. Beauty remains +beauty, when all has been said and done to +detract from it. Archie was very good to +look upon. Even the footman, who had +been ruthlessly torn away from his supper +to blow, thought so. John thought so as he +stood and looked at his cousin, who nodded +to him, and went on playing. The contrast +between the two was rather a cruel one, +though John was unconscious of it. It was +Archie who mentally made the comparison +whenever they were together. Ugliness +would be no disadvantage, and beauty would +have no power, if they did not appear to be +the outward and visible signs of the inner +and spiritual man.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[78]</span></p> + +<p>Archie was so fair-haired, he had such a +perfect profile, such a clear complexion, and +such tender faithful eyes, that it was impossible +to believe that the virtues which +clear complexions and lovely eyes so plainly +represent were not all packed with sardine-like +regularity in his heart. His very hair +looked good. It was parted so beautifully, +and it had a little innocent wave on the +temple which carried conviction with it—to +the young of the opposite sex. It was not +because he was so handsome that he was +the object of a tender solicitude in many +young girls' hearts—at least, so they told +themselves repeatedly—but because there +was so much good in him, because he was so +misunderstood by elders, so interesting, so +unlike other young men. In short, Archie +was his father over again.</p> + +<p>Nature had been hard on John. Some +ugly men look well, and their ugliness does<span class="pagenum">[79]</span> +not matter. John's was not of that type +dear to fiction. His features were irregular +and rough, his deep-set eyes did not redeem +the rest of his face. Nothing did. A certain +gleam of nobility shining dimly through its +harsh setting would make him better-looking +later in life, when expression gets the mastery +over features. But it was not so yet. John +looked hard and cold and forbidding, and +though his face awoke a certain interest by +its very force, the interest itself was without +attraction. It must be inferred that John +had hair, as he was not bald, but no one had +ever noticed it except his hair-cutter. It was +short and dark. In fact, it was hair, and that +was all. Mitty was the only other person +who had any of it, in a lozenge-box; but who +shall say in what lockets and jewel-cases +one of Archie's flaxen rings might not be +treasured? Archie was a collector of hair +himself, and there is a give-and-take in these<span class="pagenum">[80]</span> +things. He had a cigar-box full of locks of +different colours, which were occasionally +spread out before his more intimate friends, +with little anecdotes respecting the acquisition +of each. A vain man has no reticence +except on the subject of his rebuffs. Bets +were freely exchanged on the respective +chances of the donors of these samples of +devotion, and their probable identity commented +on. "Three to one on the black." +"Ten to one on the dyed amber." "Forty +to one on the lank and sandy, it's an heiress."</p> + +<p>Archie would listen in silence, and smile +his small saintly smile. Archie's smile suggested +anthems and summer dawns and +blanc-mange all blent in one. And then +he would gather up the landmarks of his +affections, and put them back into the cigar-box. +They were called "Tempest's scalps" +in the regiment.</p> + +<p>Archie had sat for "Sir Galahad" to one<span class="pagenum">[81]</span> +of the principal painters of the day. He +might have sat for something very spiritual +and elevating now. What historic heroes +and saints have played the organ? He +would have done beautifully for any one +of them, or Dicksee might have worked +him up into a pendant to his "Harmony," +with an angel blowing instead of the +footman.</p> + +<p>And just at the critical moment when the +organ was arriving at a final confession, and +swelling towards a dominant seventh, the +footman let the wind out of her. There +was a discord, and a wheeze, and a death-rattle. +Archie took off his hands with a +shudder, and smiled a microscopic smile at +the perspiring footman. Archie never, never, +never swore; not even when he was alone, +and when he cut himself shaving. He +differed from his father in that. He smiled +instead. Sometimes, if things went very<span class="pagenum">[82]</span> +wrong, the smile became a grin, but that +was all.</p> + +<p>"That will do, thank you!" he said, +rising. "Well, John, how are you? Better? +I did not wait dinner for you. I was too +hungry, but I told them to keep the soup +and things hot till you came in."</p> + +<p>They had gone through the open double +doors into the dining-hall. At the further +end a table was laid for one.</p> + +<p>"When did you arrive?" asked John.</p> + +<p>"By the seven-ten. I walked up and +found you were missing. It is distressing +to see a man eat when one is not hungry +one's self," continued Archie plaintively as the +servant brought in the "hot things" which +he had been recently devastating. "No, +thanks, I won't sit opposite you and watch +you satisfying your country appetite. You +don't mind my smoking in here, I suppose? +No womankind to grumble as yet."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[83]</span></p> + +<p>He lit his pipe, and began wandering +slowly about the room, which was lit with +candles in silver sconces at intervals along +the panelled walls.</p> + +<p>John wondered how much money he +wanted, and ate his cutlets in silence. He +had as few illusions about his fellow-creatures +as the steward of a Channel steamer, and it +did not occur to him that Archie could have +any reason but one for coming to Overleigh +out of the shooting season.</p> + +<p>Archie was evidently pensive.</p> + +<p>"It is a large sum," said John to himself.</p> + +<p>Presently he stopped short before the fireplace, +and contemplated the little silver +figures standing in the niches of the highcarved +mantelshelf. They had always stood +there in John's childhood, and when he had +come back from Russia in the spring he had +looked for them in the plate-room, and had +put them back himself: the quaint-frilled<span class="pagenum">[84]</span> +courtier beside the quaint-ruffed lady, and +the little Cavalier in long boots beside the +Abbess. The dresses were of Charles I.'s +date, and there was a family legend to the +effect that that victim of a progressive age +had given them to his devoted adherent +Amyas Tempest the night before his execution. +It was extremely improbable that he +had done anything of the kind, but, at any +rate, there they were, each in his little niche. +Archie lifted one down and examined it +curiously.</p> + +<p>"Never saw that before," he said, keeping +his teeth on the pipe, which desecrated his +profile.</p> + +<p>"Everything was put away when I was +not regularly living here," said John. "I +dug out all the old things when I came +home in the spring, and Mitty and I put +them all back in their places."</p> + +<p>"Barford had a sale the other day," continued<span class="pagenum">[85]</span> +Archie, speaking through his teeth. +"He was let in for a lot of money by his +training stables, and directly the old chap +died he sold the library and half the pictures, +and a lot of stuff out of the house. I went +to see them at Christie's, and a very mouldy-looking +assortment they were; but they +fetched a pile of money. Barford and I +looked in when the sale of the books was +on, and you should have seen the roomful +of Jews and the way they bid. One book, +a regular old fossil, went for three hundred +while we were there; it would have killed +old Barford on the spot if he had been there, +so it was just as well he was dead already. +And there were two silver figures something +like these, but not perfect. Barford said +he had no use for them, and they fetched a +hundred apiece. He says there's no place +like home for raising a little money. Why, +John, Gunningham can't hold a candle to<span class="pagenum">[86]</span> +Overleigh. There must be a mint of money +in an old barrack stuffed full of gimcracks +like this."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but they belong to the house."</p> + +<p>"Do they? Well, if I were in your place +I should say they belonged to the owner. +What is the use of having anything if you +can't do what you like with it? If ever I +wanted a hundred or two I would trot out +one of those little silver Johnnies in no time +if they were mine."</p> + +<p>John did not answer. He was wondering +what would have happened to the dear old +stately place if he had died a month ago, +and it had fallen into the hands of those two +spendthrifts, Archie and his father. He +could see them in possession whittling it +away to nothing, throwing its substance from +them with both hands. Easy-going, self-indulgent, +weakly violent, unstable as water, +he saw them both in one lightning-flash of<span class="pagenum">[87]</span> +prophetic imagination drinking in that very +room, at that very table. The physical pain +of certain thoughts is almost unbearable. +He rose suddenly and went across to the +deep bay window, on the stone sill of which +Amyas Tempest and Tom Fairfax, his +friend, who together had held Overleigh +against the Roundheads, had cut their names. +He looked out into the latticed darkness, +and longed fiercely, passionately for a +son.</p> + +<p>Archie's light laugh recalled him to himself +with a sense of shame. It is irritating +to be goaded into violent emotion by one +who is feeling nothing.</p> + +<p>"A penny for your thoughts," said Sir +Galahad.</p> + +<p>There was something commonplace about +the young warrior's manner of expressing +himself in daily life which accorded ill with +the refined beauty of his face.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[88]</span></p> + +<p>"They would be dear at the price," said +John, still looking out.</p> + +<p>"Care killed a cat," said Archie.</p> + +<p>He had a stock of small sayings of that +calibre. Sometimes they fitted the occasion, +and sometimes not.</p> + +<p>There was a short silence.</p> + +<p>"Quicksilver is lame," said Archie.</p> + +<p>"What have you been doing with her?" +asked John, facing round.</p> + +<p>"Nothing in particular. I rode her in the +Pierpoint steeplechase last week, and she +came down at the last fence, and lost me +fifty pounds. I came in third, but I should +have been first to a dead certainty if she +had stood up."</p> + +<p>"Send her down here at once."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and thanks awfully and all that sort +of thing for lending her, don't you know. +Very good of you, though of course you +could not use her yourself when you were<span class="pagenum">[89]</span> +laid up. I am going back to town first thing +to-morrow morning; only got a day's leave +to run down here; thought I ought to tell +you about her. I'll send her off the day +after to-morrow if you like, but the truth +is——"</p> + +<p>A good deal of circumlocution, that +favourite attire of certain truths, was necessary +before the simple fact could be arrived +at that Quicksilver had been used as security +for the modest sum of four hundred and +forty-five pounds, which it had been absolutely +incumbent on Archie to raise at a +moment's notice. Heaven only knew what +would not have been involved if he had not +had reluctant recourse to this obvious means +of averting dishonour. When Colonel Tempest +and Archie began to talk about their +honour, which was invariably mixed up with +debts of a dubious nature, and an overdrawn +banking account, and an unpaid tailor, John<span class="pagenum">[90]</span> +always froze perceptibly. The Tempest +honour was always having narrow escapes, +according to them. It required constant +support.</p> + +<p>"I would not have done it if I could have +helped it," explained Archie in an easy attitude +on the window-seat. "Your mare, not +mine. I knew that well enough. I felt +that at the time; but I had to get the +money somehow, and positively the poor old +gee was the only security I had to give."</p> + +<p>Archie was not in the least ashamed. It +was always John who was ashamed on these +occasions.</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. Archie contemplated +his nails.</p> + +<p>"It's not the money I mind," said John at +last, "you know that."</p> + +<p>"I know it isn't, old chap. It's my +morals you're afraid of; you said so in the +spring."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[91]</span></p> + +<p>"Well, I'm not going to hold forth on +morals again, as it seems to have been of +so little use. But look here, Archie, I've +paid up a good many times, and I'm getting +tired of it. I would rather build an infants' +school or a home for cats, or something with +a pretence of common sense, with the money +in future. It does you no manner of good. +You only chuck it away. You are the +worse for having it, and so am I for being +such a fool as to give it you. It's nonsense +telling you suddenly that I won't go on +paying when I've led you to expect I always +shall because I always have. Of course you +think, as I'm well off, that you can draw on +me for ever and ever. Well, I'll pay up +again this once. You promised me in April +it should be the last time you would run +up bills. Now it is my turn to say this is +the last time I'll throw money away in +paying them."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[92]</span></p> + +<p>Archie raised his eyebrows. How very +"close-fisted" John was becoming! And as +a boy at school, and afterwards at college, +he had been remarkably open-handed, even +as a minor on a very moderate allowance. +Archie did not understand it.</p> + +<p>"I'll buy back my own horse," continued +John, trying to swallow down a sense of +intense irritation; "and if there is anything +else—I suppose there is a new crop by this +time—I'll settle them. You must start fair. +And I'll go on allowing you three hundred +a year, and when you want to marry I'll +make a settlement on your wife, but, by —— +I'll never pay another sixpence for your +debts as long as I live."</p> + +<p>Archie smiled faintly, and stretched out +his legs. John rarely "cut up rough" like +this. He had an uneasy suspicion that the +present promptly afforded assistance would +hardly compensate for the opening vista of<span class="pagenum">[93]</span> +discomfort in the future. And John's tone +jarred upon him. There was something +fixed in it, and Archie's nebulous easy-going +temperament had an invincible repugnance +to anything unpliable. He had as little +power to move John as a mist has to move +a mountain. He had proved on many +occasions how little amenable John was to +persuasion, and each recurring occasion had +filled him with momentary apprehension. +He felt distinctly uncomfortable after the +two had parted for the night, until a train +of reasoning, the logic of which could not +be questioned, soothed him into his usual +trustful calm.</p> + +<p>John, he said to himself, had been out of +temper. He had eaten something that had +disagreed with him. That was why he had +flown out. How frightfully cross he himself +was when he had indigestion! And he, +Archie, would never have grudged John a<span class="pagenum">[94]</span> +few pounds now and again if their positions +had been reversed. Therefore, it was not +likely John would either. And John had +always been fond of him. He had nursed +him once at college through a tedious illness, +unadorned on his side by Christian patience +and fortitude. Of course John was fond +of him. Everybody was fond of him. It +had been an unlucky business about Quicksilver. +No wonder John had been annoyed. +He would have been annoyed himself in +his place. But (oh, all-embracing phrase!) +<i>it would be all right</i>. He was eased of +money difficulties for the moment, and John +was not such a bad fellow after all. He +would not really "turn against" him. He +would be sure to come round in the future, +as he had always done with clock-like +regularity in the past.</p> + +<p>Archie slept the sleep of the just, and +went off in the best of spirits and the most<span class="pagenum">[95]</span> +expensive of light overcoats next morning +with a cheque in his pocket.</p> + +<p>John went back into the dining-hall after +his departure to finish his breakfast, but +apparently he was not hungry, for he forgot +all about it. He went and stood in the bay +window, as he had a habit of doing when in +thought, and looked out. He did not see +the purple pageant of the thunderstorm +sweeping up across the moor and valley and +already vibrating among the crests of the +trees in the vivid sunshine below the castle +wall. He was thinking intently of those +two men, his next-of-kin.</p> + +<p>Supposing he did not marry. Supposing +he died childless. Overleigh and the other +vast Tempest properties were entailed, in +default of himself and his children, on +Colonel Tempest and his children. Colonel +Tempest and Archie came next behind him; +one slip, and they would be in possession.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[96]</span></p> + +<p>And John had almost slipped several +times, had several times touched that narrow +brink where two worlds meet. He had no +fear of death, but nevertheless Death had +assumed larger proportions in his mind and +in his calculations than is usual with the +young and the strong, simply because he +had seen him very near more than once, +and had ceased to ignore his reality. He +might die. What then?</p> + +<p>John had an attachment which had the +intensity of a passion and the unreasoning +faithfulness of an instinct for certain carved +and pictured rooms and lichened walls and +forests and valleys and moors. He loved +Overleigh. His affections had been "planted +under a north wall," and like some hardy +tenacious ivy they clung to that wall. Overleigh +meant much to him, had always meant +much, more than was in the least consistent +with the rather advanced tenets which he,<span class="pagenum">[97]</span> +in common with most young men of ability, +had held at various times. Theories have +fortunately little to do with the affections.</p> + +<p>He could not bear to think of Overleigh +passing out of his protecting love to the +careless hands and selfish heedlessness of +Colonel Tempest and Archie. There are +persons for whom no income will suffice. +John's nearest relations were of this time-honoured +stamp. As has been well said, +"In the midst of life they are in debt."</p> + +<p>John saw Archie in imagination "trotting +out the silver Johnnies." The miniatures, +the pictures, the cameos, the old Tempest +manuscripts, for which America made periodic +bids, the older plate—all, all would go, +would melt away from niche and wall and +cabinet. Perhaps the books would go first +of all; the library to which he in his turn +was even now adding, as those who had +gone before him had done.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[98]</span></p> + +<p>How they had loved the place, those who +had gone before! How they must have +fought for it in the early days of ravages +by Borderer and Scot! How Amyas the +Cavalier must have sworn to avenge those +Roundhead cannon-balls which crashed into +his oak staircase, and had remained imbedded +in the stubborn wood to this day! Had +any one of them loved it, John wondered, +with a greater love than his?</p> + +<p>He turned from the blaze outside, and +looked back into the great shadowed room, +in the recesses of which a beautiful twilight +ever lingered. The sunlight filtered richly +but dimly through the time-worn splendour +of its high windows of painted glass, touching +here and there inlaid panel and carved +wainscoting, and laying a faint mosaic of +varied colour on the black polished floor.</p> + +<p>It was a room which long association had +invested with a kind of halo in John's eyes,<span class="pagenum">[99]</span> +far removed from the appreciative or ignorant +admiration of the stranger, who saw in it +only an unique Elizabethan relic.</p> + +<p>Artists worshipped it whenever they got +the chance, went wild over the Tudor fan +vaulting of the ceiling with its long pendants, +and the quaint inlaid frets on the oak +chimney-piece; talked learnedly of the panels +above the wainscot, on which a series of +genealogical trees were painted representing +each of the wapentakes into which Yorkshire +was divided, having shields on them with +armorial bearings of the gentry of the county +entitled in Elizabeth's time to bear arms.</p> + +<p>Strangers took note of these things, and +spelt out the rather apocryphal marriages +of the Tempests on the painted glass, or +examined the date below the dial in the +southern window with the name of the artist +beneath it who had blazoned the arms.—<i>Bernard +Diminckhoff fecit, 1585.</i></p><p><span class="pagenum">[100]</span></p> + +<p>John knew every detail by heart, and saw +them never, as a man in love with a noble +woman gradually ceases to see beauty or the +absence of beauty in brow and lip and +eyelid, in adoration of the face itself which +means so much to him.</p> + +<p>John's deep-set steady eyes absently +followed the slow travelling of the coloured +sunshine across the room. Overleigh had +coloured his life as its painted glass was +colouring the sunshine. It was bound up +with his whole existence. The Tempest +motto graven on the pane beside him, <i>Je le +feray durant ma vie</i>, was graven on John's +heart as indelibly. Mr. Tempest's dying +words to him had never been forgotten. +"It is an honour to be a Tempest. You +are the head of the family. Do your duty +by it." The words were sunk into the deep +places of his mind. What the child had +promised, the man was resolved to keep.<span class="pagenum">[101]</span> +His responsibility in the great position in +which God had placed him, his duty, not +only as a man, but as a Tempest, were the +backbone of his religion—if those can be +called religious who "trust high instincts +more than all the creeds." The family motto +had become a part of his life. It was perhaps +the only oath of allegiance which John +had ever taken. He turned towards the +window again, against which his dark head +had been resting.</p> + +<p>The old thoughts and resolutions so +inextricably intertwined with the fibre of +pride of birth, the old hopes and aspirations, +matured during three years' absence, temporarily +dormant during these months of illness, +returned upon him with the unerring swiftness +of swallows to the eaves.</p> + +<p>He pressed his hand upon the pane.</p> + +<p>The thunderstorm wept hard against the +glass.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[102]</span></p> + +<p>The sable Tempest lion rampant on a +field argent surmounted the scroll on which +the motto was painted, legible still after +three hundred years.</p> + +<p>John said the words aloud.</p> + +<p><i>Je le feray durant ma vie.</i></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ep04.jpg" width="500" height="260" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[103]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch05.jpg" width="600" height="195" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"There are many wonderful mixtures in the world +which are all alike called love."—<span class="smcap">George Eliot.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p class="quote">"</p> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_t.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="T" /> + <span class="hide">T</span>HESE are troublous times, granny," +said Di to Mrs. Courtenay, coming +into her grandmother's room on a hot afternoon +early in September. "I can't get out, +so you see I am reduced to coming and +sitting with you."</p> + +<p>"And why are the times troublous, and +why don't you go out-of-doors again?"</p> + +<p>"I have been to reconnoitre," said Di, +wrathfully, "and the coast is not clear. He +is sitting on the stairs again, as he did +yesterday."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[104]</span></p> + +<p>"Lord Hemsworth?"</p> + +<p>"No, of course not. When does he ever +do such things? The Infant."</p> + +<p>"Oh dear!"</p> + +<p>The Infant was Lord Hemsworth's younger +brother.</p> + +<p>"And it is becoming so expensive, granny. +I keep on losing things. His complaint is +complicated by kleptomania. He has got +my two best evening handkerchiefs and my +white fan already; and I can't find one of +the gloves I wore at the picnic to-day. I +dare not leave anything downstairs now. It +is really very inconvenient."</p> + +<p>"Poor boy!" said Mrs. Courtenay, reflectively. +"How old <i>is</i> he?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is quite sixteen, I believe. What +with this anxiety, and the suspense as to +how my primrose cotton will wash, which I +am counting on to impress John with, I find +life very wearing. Oh, granny, we ought<span class="pagenum">[105]</span> +not to have come here at all, according to +my ideas; but if we ever do again, I do beg +and pray it may not be in the holidays. I +wish I had not been so kind to him when we +first arrived. I only wanted to show Lord +Hemsworth he need not be so unnecessarily +elated at our coming here. I wish I had +not spent so many hours in the workshop +with the boy and the white rats. The white +rats did it, granny. Interests in common +are the really dangerous things, as you have +often observed. Love me, love my rats."</p> + +<p>"Poor boy!" said Mrs. Courtenay again. +"Make it as easy as you can for him, Di. +Don't wound his pride. We leave to-morrow, +and the Verelsts are coming to-day. That +will create a diversion. I have never known +Madeleine allow any man, or boy, or creeping +child attend to any one but herself if she is +present. She will do her best to relieve you +of him. How she will patronize you, Di,<span class="pagenum">[106]</span> +if she is anything like what she used to +be!"</p> + +<p>And in truth when Madeleine drove up +to the house half an hour later it was soon +apparent that she was unaltered in essentials. +Although she had been married several +months she was still the bride; the bride in +every fold of her pretty travelling gown, in her +demure dignity and enjoyment of the situation.</p> + +<p>It was her first visit to her cousin Lady +Hemsworth since her marriage, and her eyes +brightened with real pleasure when that lady +mentioned that Di was in the house, whom +she had not seen since her wedding day. +She was conscious that she had some of her +best gowns with her.</p> + +<p>"I have always been so fond of Di," she +said to Di's would-be mother-in-law. "She +was one of my bridesmaids. You remember +Di, Henry?" turning with a model gesture +to her husband.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[107]</span></p> + +<p>Sir Henry sucked his tea noisily off his +moustache, and said he remembered Miss +Tempest.</p> + +<p>"Now do tell me," said Madeleine, as she +unfastened her hat in her room, whither she +had insisted on Di's accompanying her, "is +there a large party in the house? I always +hate a large party to meet a bride."</p> + +<p>"There is really hardly any one," said +Di. "I don't think you need be alarmed. +The Forresters left yesterday. There are +Mr. Rivers and a Captain Vivian, friends +of Lord Hemsworth's, and Lord Hemsworth +himself, and a Mrs. Clifford, a widow. +That is all. Oh, I had forgotten Mr. +Lumley, the comic man—he is here. You +may remember him. He always comes into +a room either polkaing or walking lame, and +beats himself all over with a tambourine +after dinner."</p> + +<p>"How droll!" said Madeleine. "Henry<span class="pagenum">[108]</span> +would like that. I must have him to stay +with us some time. One is so glad of really +amusing people; they make a party go off +so much better. He does not black himself, +does he? That nice Mr. Carnegie, who +imitated the pig being killed, always did. +I am glad it is a small party," she continued, +reverting to the previous topic, with a very +moderate appearance of satisfaction. "It +is very thoughtful of Lady Hemsworth not +to have a crowd to meet me. I dislike so +being stared at when I am sent out first; so +embarrassing, every eye upon one. And I +always flush up so. And now tell me, you +dear thing, all about yourself. Fancy my +not having seen you since my wedding. I +don't know how we missed each other in +London in June. I know I called twice, +but Kensington is such miles away; and—and +I have often longed to ask you how +you thought the wedding went off."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[109]</span></p> + +<p>"Perfectly."</p> + +<p>"And you thought I looked well—well +for me, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"You looked particularly well."</p> + +<p>"I thought it so unkind of mother to cry. +I would not let her come into my room +when I was dressing, or indeed all that +morning, for fear of her breaking down; +but I had to go with her in the carriage, +and she held my hand and cried all the +way. Poor mother always is so thoughtless. +I did not cry myself, but I quite +feared at one time I should flush. I was +not flushed when I came in, was I?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least. You looked your +best."</p> + +<p>"Several of the papers said so," said +Madeleine. "Remarks on personal appearance +are so vulgar, I think. 'The lovely +bride,' one paper called me. I dare say +other girls don't mind that sort of thing<span class="pagenum">[110]</span> +being said, but it is just the kind of thing +I dislike. And there was a drawing of me, +in my wedding gown, in the <i>Lady's Pictorial</i>. +They simply would have it. I had to stand, +ready dressed, the day before, while they +did it. And then my photograph was in +one of the other papers. Did you see it? +I don't think it is <i>quite</i> a nice idea, do you?—so +public; but they wrote so urgently. +They said a photograph would oblige, and +I had to send one in the end. I sometimes +think," she continued reflectively, "that I +did not choose part of my trousseau altogether +wisely. I <i>think</i>, with the summer before +me, I might have ventured on rather lighter +colours. But, you see, I had to decide on +everything in Lent, when one's mind is +turned to other things. I never wear any +colour but violet in Lent. I never have +since I was confirmed, and it puts one out +for brighter colours. Things that look quite<span class="pagenum">[111]</span> +suitable after Easter seem so gaudy before. +I am not sure what I shall wear to-night."</p> + +<p>"Wear that mauve and silver," said Di, +suddenly, and their eyes met.</p> + +<p>Madeleine looked away again instantly, +and broke into a little laugh.</p> + +<p>"You dear thing," she said; "I wish I +had your memory for clothes. I remember +now, though I had almost forgotten it, that +the mauve brocade was brought in the morning +you came to hear about my engagement. +And do you remember, you quixotic old +darling, how you wanted me to break it +off. You were quite excited about it."</p> + +<p>"I had not seen the diamonds then," +interposed Di, with a faint blush at the +remembrance of her own useless emotion. +"I am sure I never said anything about +breaking it off after I had seen the two +tiaras, or even hinted at throwing over that +rivière."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[112]</span></p> + +<p>Madeleine looked puzzled. Whenever she +did not quite understand what Di meant, she +assumed the tone of gentle authority, which +persons, conscious of a reserved front seat or +possibly a leading part in the orchestra in +the next world, naturally do assume in conversation +with those whose future is less assured.</p> + +<p>"I think marriage is too solemn a thing +to make a joke of," she said softly. "And +talking of marriage"—in a lowered tone—"you +would hardly believe, Di, the difference +it makes, the way it widens one's +influence. With men now, such a responsibility. +I always think a married woman +can help young men so much. I find it +so much easier now than before I was +married to give conversation a graver turn, +even at a ball. I feel I know what people +really are almost at once. I have had such +earnest talks in ball-rooms, Di, and at dinner +parties. Haven't you?"</p><p><span class="pagenum">[113]</span></p> + +<p>"No," said Di. "I distrust a man who +talks seriously over a pink ice the first time +I meet him. If he is genuine he is probably +shallow, and the odds are he is not genuine, +or he would not do it. I don't like religious +flirtations, though I know they are the last +new thing."</p> + +<p>"You always take a low view, Di," said +Madeleine, regretfully. "You always have, +and I suppose you always will. It does not +make me less fond of you; but I am often +sorry, when we talk together, to notice how +unrefined your ideas are. Your mind seems +to run on flirtations. I see things very +differently. You wanted me to throw over +Henry, though I had given my solemn +promise——"</p> + +<p>"And it had been in the papers," interposed +Di; "don't forget that. But"—she +added, rising—"I <i>was</i> wrong. I ought +never to have said a word on the subject;<span class="pagenum">[114]</span> +and there is the dressing-bell, so I will leave +you to prepare for victory. I warn you, +Mrs. Clifford has one gown, a Cresser, which +is bad to beat—a lemon satin, with an +emerald velvet train; but she may not put +it on."</p> + +<p>"I never vie with others in dress," said +Madeleine. "I think it shows such a want +of good taste. Did she wear it last night?"</p> + +<p>"She did."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Then she won't wear it again."</p> + +<p>But Di had departed.</p> + +<p>"In change unchanged," Di said to herself, +as she uncoiled her hair in her own +room. "I don't know what I expected of +Madeleine, yet I thought that somehow she +would be different. But she isn't. How is +it that some people can do things that one +would be ashamed one's self even to think of, +and yet keep a good opinion of themselves +afterwards, and <i>feel</i> superior to others? It<span class="pagenum">[115]</span> +is the feeling superior that I envy. It must +make the world such an easy place to live +in. People with a good opinion of themselves +have such an immense pull in being +able to do the most peculiar things without +a qualm. It must be very pleasant to +truly and honestly consider one's self better +than others, and to believe that young men +in white waistcoats hang upon one's words. +Yes, Madeleine is not changed, and I shall +be late for dinner if I moralize any longer," +and Di brushed back her yellow hair, +which was obliging enough to arrange itself +in the most interesting little waves and +ripples of its own accord, without any trouble +on her part. Di's hair was perhaps the +thing of all others that womankind envied +her most. It had the brightness of colouring +and easy fascination of a child's. Even +the most wily and painstaking curling-tongs +could only produce on other less-favoured<span class="pagenum">[116]</span> +heads a laboured imitation which was seen +to be an imitation. Madeleine, as she sailed +into the drawing-room in mauve and silver +half an hour later, felt that her own rather +colourless, elaborate fringe was not redeemed +from mediocrity even by the +diamonds mounting guard over it. The +Infant would willingly have bartered his +immortal soul for one lock off Di's shining +head. The hope that one small lock might +be conceded to a last wild appeal, possibly +upon his knees, sustained him throughout +the evening, and he needed support. He +had a rooted conviction that if only his +mother had allowed him a new evening coat +this half, if he had only been more obviously +in tails, Di might have smiled upon his +devotion. He had been moderately fond of +his elder brother till now, but Lord Hemsworth's +cable-patterned shooting stockings +and fair, well-defined moustache were in<span class="pagenum">[117]</span> +themselves enough to rouse the hatred of +one whose own upper lip had only reached +the stage when it suggested nothing so much +as a reminiscence of treacle, and whose only +pair of heather stockings tarried long at the +wash. But the Infant had other grounds +for nursing Cain-like sentiments towards his +rival. Had not Lord Hemsworth repeatedly +called him in the actual presence +of the adored one by the nickname of +"Trousers"! The Infant's sobriquet among +those of his contemporaries who valued +him was "Bags," but in ladies' society +Lord Hemsworth was wont to soften the +unrefinement of the name by modifying +it to Trousers. The Infant writhed under +the absolutely groundless suspicion that +his brother already had or might at any +moment confide the original to Di. And +even if he did not, even if the horrible +appellation never did transpire, Lord<span class="pagenum">[118]</span> +Hemsworth's society term was almost as +opprobrious. The name of Trousers was a +death-blow to young romance. Sentiment +withered in its presence. Years of devotion +could not wipe out that odious word from +her memory. He could see that it had set +her against him. The mere sight of him +was obviously painful to her sense of +delicacy. She avoided him. She would +marry Lord Hemsworth. In short, she +would be the bride of another. Perhaps +there was not within a radius of ten miles +a more miserable creature than the Infant, +as he stood that evening before dinner, with +folded arms, alone, aloof, by a pillar, looking +daggers at any one who spoke to Di.</p> + +<p>After dinner things did not go much +better. There were round games, in which +he joined with Byronic gloom in order to +sit near Di. But Mr. Lumley, the licensed +buffoon of the party, dropped into his chair<span class="pagenum">[119]</span> +when he left it for a moment to get Di a +footstool, and, when sternly requested to +vacate it, only replied in fluent falsetto in +the French tongue, "Je voudrais si je coudrais, +mais je ne cannais pas."</p> + +<p>The Infant controlled himself. He was +outwardly calm, but there was murder in +his eye.</p> + +<p>Lord Hemsworth, sitting opposite shuffling +the cards, looked up, and seeing the boy's +white face, said, good-naturedly—</p> + +<p>"Come, Lumley, move up one. That is +Trousers' place."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if Trousers wants it to press his +suit," said Mr. Lumley, vaulting into the +next place. "Anything to oblige a fellow-sufferer."</p> + +<p>And Sir Henry neighed suddenly as his +manner was when amused, and the Infant, +clenching his hands under the table, felt +that there was nothing left to live for<span class="pagenum">[120]</span> +in this world or the next save only +revenge.</p> + +<p>As the last evening came to an end even +Lord Hemsworth's cheerful spirits flagged +a little. He let the Infant press forward to +light Di's candle, and hardly touched her +hand after the Infant had released his spasmodic +clutch upon it. His clear honest eyes +met hers with the wistful <i>chien soumis</i> look +in them which she had learned to dread. +She knew well enough, though she would +<i>not</i> have known it had she cared for him, +that he had only remained silent during the +last few days because he saw it was no +good to speak. He had enough perception +not to strike at cold or lukewarm iron.</p> + +<p>"Why can't I like him?" she said to +herself as she sat alone in her own room. +"I would rather like him than any one else. +I do like him better, much better than any +one I know, and yet I don't care a bit about<span class="pagenum">[121]</span> +him. When he is not there I always think +I am going to care next time I see him. I +wonder if I should mind if he fell in love +with some one else? I dare say I should. +I wish I could feel a little jealous. I tried +to when he talked the whole of one afternoon +to that lovely Lady Kitty;—what a +little treasure that girl is! I would marry +her if I were a man. But it was no good. +I knew he only did it because he was vexed +with me about—I forget what.</p> + +<p>"Well, to-morrow I shall be at Overleigh. +I shall really see it at last with my own +eyes. Why, it is after twelve o'clock. It +is to-morrow already. It certainly does not +pay to have a date in one's mind. Ever +since the end of July I have been waiting +for September the third, and it has not +hurried up in consequence. Anyhow, here +it is at last."</p> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[122]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch06.jpg" width="600" height="195" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"It's a deep mystery—the way the heart of man turns +to one woman out of all the rest he's seen i' the world, +and makes it easier for him to work seven year for <i>her</i>, +like Jacob did for Rachel, sooner than have any other +woman for th' asking."—<span class="smcap">George Eliot.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_l.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="L" /> + <span class="hide">L</span>IFE has its crystal days, its rare hours +of a stainless beauty, and a joy so pure +that we may dare to call in the flowers to +rejoice with us, and the language of the +birds ceases to be an unknown tongue. Our +real life as we look back seems to have been +lived in those days that memory holds so +tenderly. But it is not so in reality. Fortitude, +steadfastness, the makings of character, +come not of rainbow-dawns and quiet evenings,<span class="pagenum">[123]</span> +and the facile attainment of small +desires. More frequently they are the outcome +of "the sleepless nights that mould +youth;" of hopes not dead, but run to seed; +of the inadequate loves and friendships that +embitter early life, and warn off the young +soul from any more mistaking husks for +bread.</p> + +<p>John had had many heavy days, and, +latterly, many days and long-drawn nights, +when it had been uphill work to bear in +silence, or bear at all, the lessons of that +expensive teacher physical pain. And now +pain was past and convalescence was past, +and Fate smiled, and drew from out her +knotted medley of bright and sombre colours +one thread of pure untarnished gold for +John, and worked it into the pattern of his +life.</p> + +<p>Di was at Overleigh. Tall lilies had been +ranged in the hall to welcome her on her<span class="pagenum">[124]</span> +arrival. The dogs had been introduced to +her at tea time. Lindo had allowed himself +to be patted, and after sniffing her dress +attentively with the air of a connoisseur, +had retired with dignity to his chair. Fritz, +on the contrary, the amber-eyed dachshund, +all tail-wagging, and smiles, and saliva, had +made himself cheap at once, and had even +turned over on his back, inviting friction +where he valued it most, before he had +known Di five minutes.</p> + +<p>Di was really at Overleigh. Each morning +John woke up incredulous that such a +thing could be, each morning listened for +her light footfall on the stairs, and saw +her come into the dining-hall, an active +living presence, through the cedar and ebony +doors. There were a few other people in +the house, the sort of chance collection +which poor relations, arriving with great +expectations and their best clothes, consider<span class="pagenum">[125]</span> +to be a party. There were his aunt, Miss +Fane, and a young painter who was making +studies for an Elizabethan interior, and some +one else—no, more than one, two or three +others, John never clearly remembered afterwards +who, or whether they were male or +female. Perhaps they were friends of his +aunt's. Anyhow, Mrs. Courtenay, who had +proposed herself at her own time, was +apparently quite content. Di seemed content +also, with the light-hearted joyous content +of a life that has in it no regret, no +story, no past.</p> + +<p>John often wondered in these days +whether there had ever been a time when +he had known what Di was like, what she +looked like to other people. He tried to +recall her as he had seen her first at the +Speaker's; but that photograph of memory +of a tall handsome girl was not the least like +Di. Di had become Di to John, not like<span class="pagenum">[126]</span> +anything or anybody; Di in a shady hat +sitting on the low wall of the bowling-green; +or Di riding with him through the forest, +and up and away across the opal moors; or, +better still, Di singing ballads in the pictured +music-room in the evening, in her low small +voice, that was not considered good enough +for general society, but which, in John's +opinion, was good enough for heaven itself.</p> + +<p>The painter used to leave the others in +the gallery and stroll in on these occasions. +He was a gentle, elegant person, with the +pensive, regretful air often observable in an +imaginative man who has married young. +He made a little sketch of Di. He said it +would not interfere, as John feared it might, +with the prosecution of his larger work.</p> + +<p>Presently a wet morning came, and John +took Di on an expedition to the dungeons +with torches, and afterwards over the castle. +He showed her the chapel, with its rose<span class="pagenum">[127]</span> +window and high altar, where the daughters +of the house had been married, where her +namesake, Diana, had been wed to Vernon +of the Red Hand. He showed her the +state-rooms with their tapestried walls and +painted ceilings. Di extorted a plaintive +music from the old spinet in the garret +gallery where John's nurseries were. Mitty +came out to listen, and then it was her turn. +She invited Di into the nursery, which, in +these later days, was resplendent with John's +gifts, the pride of Mitty's heart, the envy of +the elect ladies of the village. There were +richly bound Bibles and church-services, and +Russia leather writing-cases, and inlaid +tea-caddies, and china stands and book-slides, +and satin-lined workboxes bristling with +cutlery, and photograph frames and tea-sets—in +fact, there was everything. There, +also, John's prizes were kept, for Mitty had +taken charge of them for him since the first<span class="pagenum">[128]</span> +holidays, when he had rushed up to the +nursery to dazzle her with the slim red +volume, which he had not thought of +showing to his father; to which as time went +on many others were added, and even great +volumes of Stuart Mill in calf and gold +during the Oxford days.</p> + +<p>Mitty showed them to Di, showed her +John's little high chair by the fire, and his +Noah's ark. She gave Di full particulars of +all his most unromantic illnesses, and produced +photographs, taken at her own +expense, of her lamb in every stage of +bullet-headed childhood; from an open-mouthed +face and two clutching hands set +in a lather of white lace, to a sturdy, frowning +little boy in a black velvet suit leaning on +a bat.</p> + +<p>"There's the last," said Mitty, pointing +with pride to a large steel engraving of John +in his heaviest expression, in a heavy gilt<span class="pagenum">[129]</span> +frame. "That was done for the tenantry +when Master John come of age." And +Mitty, in spite of a desperate attempt on +John's part to divert the conversation to +other topics, went on to expatiate on that +event until John fairly bolted, leaving her in +delighted possession of a new and sympathetic +listener.</p> + +<p>"And all the steps was covered with red +cloth," continued Mitty to her visitor, "and +the crowd, Miss Dinah, you could have +walked on their heads. And Mr. John come +down into the hall, and Mr. Goodwin was +with him, and he turns round to us, for we +was all in the hall drawn up in two rows, +from Mrs. Alcock to the scullery-maid, and +he says, 'Where is Mrs. Emson?' Those +were his very words, Miss Tempest, my +dear; and I says, 'Here, sir!' for I was +along of Mrs. Alcock. And he says to +Parker, 'Open both the doors, Parker,' and<span class="pagenum">[130]</span> +then he says, quite quiet, as if it was just +every day, 'I have not many relations here,' +for there was not a soul of his own family, +miss, and he did not ask his mother's folk, +'but,' he says, 'I have my two best friends +here, and that is enough. Goodwin,' he +says, 'will you stand on my right, and you +must stand on the other side, Mitty.'"</p> + +<p>"It took me here, miss," said Mitty, +passing her hand over her waistband. "And +me in my cap and everything. I was all in +a tremble. I felt I could not go. But he +just took me by the hand, and there we was, +miss, us three on the steps, and all the +servants agathered round behind, and a +crowd such as never was in front. They +trod down all the flower-beds to nothing. +Eh dear! when we come out, you should +have heard 'em cheer, and when they seed +me by him, I heard 'em saying, 'Who's yon?' +And they said, 'That's the old nuss as reared<span class="pagenum">[131]</span> +him from a babby,' and they shouted till +they was fit to crack, and called out, 'Three +cheers for the old nuss.' And Master John, +he kept smilin' at me, and I could do nothin' +but roar, and there was Mrs. Alcock, I could +hear her crying behind, and Parker cried too, +and he's not a man to show, isn't Parker. +But we'd known 'im, miss, since he was born, +and there was no one else there that did; +only me and Parker, and Mrs. Alcock, and +Charles, as had been footman in the family, +and come down special from London at +Master John's expense. And such a speech +as my precious lamb did make before them +all, saying it was a day he should remember +all his life. Those were his very words. +Eh! it was beautiful. And all the presents +as the deputations brought, one after +another, and the cannon fired off fit to break +all the glass in the winders. And then in +the evening a hox roasted whole in the<span class="pagenum">[132]</span> +courtyard, and a bonfire such as never was +on Moat Hill. And when it got dark, you +could see the bonfires burning at Carley and +Gilling, and Wet Waste, and right away to +Kenstone, all where his land is, bless him. +Eh! dear me, Miss Tempest, why was not +some of you there?"</p> + +<p>"John!" said Di half an hour later, as he +was showing her some miniatures in the +ebony cabinet in the picture-gallery, which +Cardinal Wolsey had given the Tempest of +his day, "why were not some of us, Archie +or father, at your coming of age?"</p> + +<p>They were sitting in the deep window-seat, +with the miniatures spread out between +them.</p> + +<p>"There was no question about their +coming," said John. "Archie was going in +for his examination for the army that week, +and your father would not have come if he +had been asked. I did invite our great-uncle,<span class="pagenum">[133]</span> +General Hugh, but he was ill. He died +soon afterwards. There was no one else to +ask. You and your father, and Archie and +I are the only Tempests there are."</p> + +<p>The miniatures were covered with dust. +John's and Di's pocket-handkerchiefs had +an interest in common, which gradually +obliterated all difference between them.</p> + +<p>"Why would not father have come if you +had asked him?" said Di presently. "You +are friends, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose we are," said John, "if by +friends one only means that we are not +enemies. But there is nothing more than +civility between us. You seem wonderfully +well up in ancient family history, Di. Don't +you know the story of the last generation?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Di. "I don't know anything +for certain. Granny hardly ever mentions +my mother even now. I know she is +barely on speaking terms with father. I<span class="pagenum">[134]</span> +hardly ever see him. When she took me, +it was on condition that father should have +no claim on me."</p> + +<p>"You did not know, then," said John +slowly, "that your mother was engaged to +my father at the very time that she ran +away with his own brother, Colonel +Tempest?"</p> + +<p>Di shook her head. She coloured painfully. +John looked at her in silence, and +then pulled out another drawer.</p> + +<p>"She was only seventeen," he said at last, +with a gentleness that was new to Di. +"She was just old enough to wreck her own +life and my poor father's, but not old enough +to be harshly judged. The heaviest blame +was not with <i>her</i>. There is a miniature of +her here. I suppose my father had it painted +when she was engaged to him. I found it +in the corner of his writing-table drawer, as +if he had been in the habit of looking at it."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[135]</span></p> + +<p>He opened the case, and put it into her +hand.</p> + +<p>Miniatures have generally a monotonous +resemblance to one another in their pink-and-white +complexions and red lips and pencilled +eyebrows. This one possessed no marked +peculiarity to distinguish it from those already +lying on Di's knee and on the window-seat. +It was a lovely face enough, oval, and pale +and young, with dark hair, and still darker +eyes. It had a look of shy innocent dignity, +which gave it a certain individuality and +charm. The miniature was set in diamonds, +and at the top the name "Diana" followed +the oval in diamonds too.</p> + +<p>John and Di looked long at it together.</p> + +<p>"Do you think he cared for her very +deeply?" said Di at last.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid he did."</p> + +<p>"Always?"</p> + +<p>"I think always. The miniature was in<span class="pagenum">[136]</span> +the drawer he used every day. I don't +think he would have kept it there unless he +had cared."</p> + +<p>Di raised the lid of the case to close it, +and as she did so a piece of yellow paper +which had adhered to the faded satin +lining of the lid became dislodged, and fell +back over the miniature on which it had +evidently been originally laid. On the +reverse side, now uppermost, was written in +a large firm hand the one word, "False."</p> + +<p>John started.</p> + +<p>"I never noticed that paper before," he +said.</p> + +<p>"It stuck to the lining of the lid," she +replied.</p> + +<p>"It must have been always there."</p> + +<p>The soft rain whispered at the lattice. In +the silence, one of the plants dropped a few +faint petals on the polished floor.</p> + +<p>"Then he never forgave her," said Di at<span class="pagenum">[137]</span> +last, turning her full deep glance upon her +companion.</p> + +<p>"He did not readily forgive."</p> + +<p>"He must have been a hard man."</p> + +<p>"I do not think he was hard at first. He +became so."</p> + +<p>"If he became so, he must have had it in +him all the time. Trouble could not have +brought it out, unless it had been in his +nature to start with. Trouble only shows +what spirit we are of. Even after she was +dead he did not forgive her. He put the +miniature where he could look at it; he +must have often looked at it. And he left +that bitter word always there. He might +have taken it away when she died. He +might have taken it away when he began to +die himself."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid," said John, "there were +shadows on his life even to the very end."</p> + +<p>"The shadow of an unforgiving spirit."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[138]</span></p> + +<p>"Yes," said John gently, "but that is a +deep one, Di. It numbs the heart. He took +it down with him to the grave. If it is true +that we can carry nothing away with us out +of the world, I hope he left his bitterness of +spirit behind."</p> + +<p>Di did not answer.</p> + +<p>"That very unforgiveness and bitterness +were in him only the seamy side of constancy," +said John at last. "He really loved +your mother."</p> + +<p>"If he had really loved her, he would have +forgiven her."</p> + +<p>"Not necessarily. A nobler nature would. +But he had not a very noble nature. That +is just the sad part of it."</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. At last Di +closed the case, and put it back in the drawer. +She held the little slip of paper in her hand, +and looked up at John rather wistfully.</p> + +<p>He took it from her, and, walking down<span class="pagenum">[139]</span> +the gallery, dropped it into the wood fire +burning at the further end. He came back +and stood before her, and their grave eyes +met. The growing intimacy between them +seemed to have made a stride within the +last half-hour, which left the conversation of +yesterday miles behind.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ep06.jpg" width="500" height="266" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[140]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch07.jpg" width="600" height="193" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, the little more, and how much it is!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the little less, and what worlds away!"<br /></span> +<span class="i14"><span class="smcap">R. Browning.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_m.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="M" /> + <span class="hide">M</span>ISS FANE, John's aunt, was one of +those large, soft, fleecy persons who +act as tea-cosies to the domestic affections, +and whom the perspicacity of the nobler sex +rarely allows to remain unmarried. That +by some inexplicable mischance she had so +remained was, of course, a blessing to her +orphaned nephew which it would be hard +to overrate. John was supposed to be fortunate +indeed to have such an aunt. He had +been told so from a child. She had certainly<span class="pagenum">[141]</span> +been kind to him in her way, and perhaps +he owed her more than he was fully aware +of; for it is difficult to feel an exalted degree +of gratitude and affection towards a person +who journeys through life with a snort and +a plush reticule, who is ever seeking to eat +some new thing, and who sleeps heavily in +the morning over a lapful of magenta crochet-work.</p> + +<p>On religious topics also little real sympathy +existed between the aunt and nephew. +Miss Fane was one of those fortunate individuals +who can derive spiritual benefit and +consolation from the conviction that they +belong to a lost tribe, and that John Bull +was originally the Bull of Bashan.</p> + +<p>Very wonderful are the dispensations of +Providence respecting the various forms in +which religion appeals to different intellects. +Miss Fane derived the same peace of mind +and support from her bull, and what she<span class="pagenum">[142]</span> +called "its promises," as Madeleine did from +the monster altar candles which she had +just introduced into the church at her new +home, candles which were really gas-burners—a +pious fraud which it was to be hoped +a Deity so partial to wax candles, especially +in the daytime, would not detect.</p> + +<p>Miss Fane had an uneasy feeling, as years +went by, that, in spite of the floods of literature +on the subject with which she kept him +supplied, John appeared to make little real +progress towards Anglo-Israelitism. Even +the pamphlet which she had read aloud to +him when he was ill, which proved beyond +a doubt that the unicorn of Ezekiel was the +prototype of the individual of that genus +which now supports the royal arms,—even +that pamphlet, all-conclusive as it was, +appeared to have made no lasting impression +on his mind.</p> + +<p>But if the desire to proselytize was her<span class="pagenum">[143]</span> +weak point, good nature was her strong one. +She was always ready, as on this occasion, +to go to Overleigh or to John's house in +London, if her presence was required. If +she slept heavily amid his guests, it was +only because "it was her nature to."</p> + +<p>She slept more heavily than usual on this +particular evening, for it was chilly; and the +ladies had congregated in the music-room +after dinner, where there was a fire, and a fire +always reduced Miss Fane to a state of coma.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Courtenay was bored almost to extinction—had +been bored all day, and all +yesterday—but nevertheless her fine countenance +expressed a courteous interest in the +rheumatic pains and Jäger underclothing of +one of the elder ladies. She asked appropriate +questions from time to time, bringing +Miss Goodwin, who with her brother was +dining at the Castle, into the conversation +whenever she could.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[144]</span></p> + +<p>Miss Goodwin, a gentle, placid woman of +nine and twenty, clad in the violent colours +betokening small means and the want of +taste of richer relations, took but little part +in the great Jäger question. Her pale eyes +under their white eyelashes followed Di +rather wistfully as the latter rose and left +the room to fetch Mrs. Courtenay some +wool. Between women of the same class, +and even of the same age, there is sometimes +an inequality as great as that between royalty +and pauperism.</p> + +<p>Soon afterwards the men came in. Miss +Fane regained a precarious consciousness. +The painter dropped into a low chair by +Mrs. Courtenay, some one else into a seat +by Mary Goodwin; Mr. Goodwin addressed +himself indiscriminately to Miss Fane and +the lady of the clandestine Jägers. John, +after a glance round the room, and a short +sojourn on the hearthrug, which proved too<span class="pagenum">[145]</span> +hot for him, seated himself on a strictly +neutral settee away from the fire, and took +up <i>Punch</i>. Immediately afterwards Di came +back.</p> + +<p>She gave Mrs. Courtenay her wool, and +then, instead of returning to her former seat +by the fire, gathered up her work, crossed +the room, and sat down on the settee by +John.</p> + +<p>The blood rushed to his face. Her quiet +unconcerned manner stung him to the quick. +She spoke to him, but he did not answer. +Indeed, he did not hear what she said. A +moment before he had been wondering what +excuse he could make for getting up and +going to her. He had been about to draw +her attention to the cartoon in a two-days-old +<i>Punch</i>, for persons in John's state of +mind lose sight of the realities of life; and +in the presence of half a dozen people, she +could calmly make her way to him, and seat<span class="pagenum">[146]</span> +herself beside him, exactly as she might have +done if he had been her brother. He felt +himself becoming paler and paler. An +entirely new idea was forcing itself upon +him like a growing physical pain. But there +was not time to think of it now. He +wondered whether there was any noticeable +difference in his face, and whether his voice +would betray him to Di if he spoke. He +need not have been afraid. Di did not +know the meaning of a certain stolid look +which John's countenance could occasionally +take. She was perfectly unconscious of what +was going on a couple of feet away from her, +and picked up her stitches in a cheerful +silence. Mary Goodwin saw that he was +vexed, and, not being versed in the intricacies +of love in its early stages, or, indeed, in any +stages, wondered why his face fell when his +beautiful cousin came to sit by him.</p> + +<p>"Don't you sing?" she said, turning to Di.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[147]</span></p> + +<p>"I whisper a little sometimes with the +soft pedal down," said Di. "But not in +public. There is a painful discrepancy +between me and my voice. It is several +sizes too small for me."</p> + +<p>"Do whisper a little all the same," said +the painter.</p> + +<p>"John," said Di, "I am afraid you do not +observe that I am being pressed to sing by +two of your guests. Why don't you, in the +language of the <i>Quiver</i>, conduct me to the +instrument?"</p> + +<p>The unreasoning, delighted pride with +which John had until now listened to the +smallest of Di's remarks, whether addressed +to himself or others, had entirely +left him.</p> + +<p>"Do sing," he said, without looking at +her; and he rose to light the candles on the +piano.</p> + +<p>And Di sang. John sat down by Mary,<span class="pagenum">[148]</span> +and actually allowed the painter to turn +over.</p> + +<p>It was a very small voice, low and clear, +which, while it disarmed criticism, made one +feel tenderly towards the singer. John, +with his hand over his eyes, watched Di +intently. She seemed to have suddenly +receded from him to a great and impassable +distance, at the very moment when he had +thought they were drawing nearer to each +other. He took new note of every line of +form and feature. There was a growing +tumult in his mind, a glimpse of breakers +ahead. The atmosphere of peace and +quietude of the familiar room, and the low +voice singing in the listening silence, seemed +to his newly awakened consciousness to veil +some stern underlying reality, the features +of which he could not see.</p> + +<p>Mary Goodwin, who had the music in her +which those who possess a lesser degree of<span class="pagenum">[149]</span> +it are often able more fluently to express, +left John, and, going to the piano, began +to turn over Di's music.</p> + +<p>Presently she set up an old leather manuscript +book before Di, who, after a moment's +hesitation, began to sing—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, broken heart of mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death lays his lips to thine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His draught of deadly wine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He proffereth to thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But listen! low and near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thy close-shrouded ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I whisper. Dost thou hear?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Arise and work with me.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The death-weights on thine eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shut out God's patient skies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cast off thy shroud and rise!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What dost thou mid the dead?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine idle hands and cold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more the plough must hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must labour as of old.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come forth, and earn thy bread."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The voice ceased. The accompaniment<span class="pagenum">[150]</span> +echoed the stern sadness of the last words, +and then was suddenly silent.</p> + +<p>What is it in a voice that so mightily stirs +the fibre of emotion in us? It seemed to +John that Di had taken his heart into the +hollow of her slender hands.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Mary Goodwin, after +a pause; and one of the elder ladies felt it +was an opportune moment to express her +preference for cheerful songs.</p> + +<p>Di had risen from the piano, and was +gathering up her music. Involuntarily John +crossed the room, and came and stood beside +her. He did not know he had done so till +he found himself at her side. Mary Goodwin +turned to Miss Fane to say "Good +night."</p> + +<p>Di slowly put one piece of music on +another, absently turning them right side +upwards. He saw what was passing through +her mind as clearly as if it had been reflected<span class="pagenum">[151]</span> +in a glass. He stood by her watching +her bend over the piano. He was unable +to speak to her or help her. Presently she +looked slowly up at him. He had no conception +until he tried how difficult it was +to meet without flinching the quiet friendship +of her eyes.</p> + +<p>"John," she said, "my mother wrote that +song. Do you remember what a happy, +innocent kind of look the miniature had? +She was seventeen then, and she was only +four and twenty when she died. I don't +know how to express it, but somehow the +miniature seems a very long way off from +the song. I am afraid there must have +been a good deal of travelling between-whiles, +and not over easy country."</p> + +<p>John would have answered something, +but the Goodwins were saying "Good night;" +and shortly afterwards the others dispersed +for the night. But John sat up late over<span class="pagenum">[152]</span> +the smoking-room fire, turning things over +in his mind, and vainly endeavouring to nail +shadows to the wall. It seemed to him as +if, while straining towards a goal, he had +suddenly discovered, by the merest accident, +that he was walking in a circle.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ep07.jpg" width="500" height="258" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[153]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch08.jpg" width="600" height="185" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Vous me quittez, n'ayant pu voir<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mon âme à travers mon silence."<br /></span> +<span class="i10"><span class="smcap">Victor Hugo.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_i.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="I" /> + <span class="hide">I</span>T was Saturday morning. The few +guests had departed by an early +train. The painter cast a backward glance +at Overleigh and the two figures standing +together in the sunshine on the grey green +steps which, with their wide hospitable balustrade, +he had sketched so carefully. He was +returning to the chastened joys of domestic +life in London lodgings; to his pretty young +jaded, fluffy wife, and fluffy, delicate child; to +the Irish stew, and the warm drinking-water,<span class="pagenum">[154]</span> +and the blistered gravy of his home-life. +Sordid surroundings have the sad power of +making some lives sordid too. It requires a +rare nobility of character to rise permanently +above the dirty table-cloth, and ill-trimmed +paraffin-lamp of poor circumstances. Poverty +demoralizes. A smell of cooking, and, why +I know not, but especially an aroma of boiled +cabbage, can undermine the dignity of existence. +A reminiscence of yesterday on the +morning fork dims the ideals of youth.</p> + +<p>As he drove away between the double row +of beeches, with a hand on his boarded picture, +the poor painter reflected that John was +a fortunate kind of person. The dogcart was +full of grapes and peaches and game. Perhaps +the power to be generous is one of the +most enviable attributes of riches.</p> + +<p>"Poor fellow!" said John, as he and Di +turned back into the cool gloom of the white +stone hall.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[155]</span></p> + +<p>"He has given granny the sketch of me," +said Di. "He is a nice man, but after the +first few days he hardly spoke to me, which I +consider a bad sign in any one. It shows a +want of discernment; don't you think so? +Alas! we are going away this afternoon. +I wish, John, you would try and look a little +more moved at the prospect of losing us. It +would be gratifying to think of you creeping +on all-fours under a sofa after our departure, +dissolved in tears."</p> + +<p>John winced, but the reflections of the +night before had led to certain conclusions, +and he answered lightly—that is, lightly for +him, for he had not an airy manner at the +best of times—</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I could not rise to tears. +Would a shriek from the battlements do?"</p> + +<p>"I should prefer tears," said Di, who was +in a foolish mood this morning, in which high +spirits take the form of nonsense, looking at<span class="pagenum">[156]</span> +her cousin, whose sedate and rather impenetrable +face stirred the latent mischief in her. +"Not idle tears, John, that 'I know not what +they mean,' you know, but large solemn +drops, full man's size, sixty to a teaspoonful. +That's the measure by granny's medicine-glass."</p> + +<p>She looked very provoking as she stood +poising herself on her slender feet on the low +edge of the hearthstone, with one hand +holding the stone paw of the ragged old +Tempest lion carved on the chimney-piece. +John looked at her with amused irritation, +and wished—there is a practical form of +repartee eminently satisfactory to the masculine +mind which an absurd conventionality +forbids—wished, but what is the good of +wishing?</p> + +<p>"I must go and pack," said Di, with a +sigh; "and see how granny is getting on. +She is generally down before this. You<span class="pagenum">[157]</span> +won't go and get lost, will you, and only turn +up at luncheon?"</p> + +<p>"I will be about," said John. "If I am +not in the library, look for me under the +drawing-room sofa."</p> + +<p>Di laughed, and went lightly away across +the grey and white stone flags. There was +a lamentable discrepancy between his feelings +and hers which outraged John's sense of +proportion. He went into the study and sat +down there, staring at the shelves of embodied +thought and speculation and aspiration +with which at one time he had been +content to live, which, now that he had begun +to live, seemed entirely beside the mark.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Mrs. Courtenay was a person of courage +and endurance, but even her powers had +been sorely tried during the past week. She +had been bored to the verge of distraction by +the people of whom she had taken such a<span class="pagenum">[158]</span> +cordial leave the night before. There are +persons who never, when out visiting, wish +to retire to their rooms to rest, who never +have letters to write, who never take up a +book downstairs, who work for deep-sea +fishermen, and are always ready for conversation. +Such had been the departed. Miss +Fane herself, for whom Mrs. Courtenay +professed a certain friendship, was a person +with whom she would have had nothing in +common, whom she would hardly have +tolerated, if it had not been for her nephew. +But for him she was willing to sacrifice +herself even further. She had seen undemonstrative +men in love before now. Their +actions had the same bald significance for her +as a string of molehills for a mole-catcher. +She was certain he was seriously attracted, +and she was determined to give him a fair +field, and as much favour as possible. That +Di had not as yet the remotest suspicion of<span class="pagenum">[159]</span> +his intentions she regarded as little short of +providential, considering the irritating and +impracticable turn of that young lady's mind.</p> + +<p>Di entered her grandmother's room, and +found that conspirator sitting up in bed, +looking with rueful interest at a boiled egg +and untouched rack of toast on a tray before +her. Mrs. Courtenay always breakfasted in +bed, and could generally thank Providence +for a very substantial meal.</p> + +<p>"Take the tray away, Brown," said Mrs. +Courtenay, with an effort.</p> + +<p>"Why, you've not touched a single thing, +ma'am," remarked Brown, reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"I have drunk a little coffee," said Mrs. +Courtenay, faintly.</p> + +<p>"Granny, aren't you well?" asked Di.</p> + +<p>Brown removed the tray, which Mrs. +Courtenay's eyes followed regretfully from +the room.</p> + +<p>"I am not <i>very</i> well, my love," she replied,<span class="pagenum">[160]</span> +adjusting her spectacles, "but not positively +ill. I had a threatening of one of those +tiresome spasms in the night. I dare say it +will pass off in an hour or two."</p> + +<p>Di scrutinized her grandmother remorsefully.</p> + +<p>"I never noticed you were feeling ill when +I came in before breakfast," she said.</p> + +<p>"My dear, you are generally the first to +observe how I am," returned Mrs. Courtenay, +hurriedly. "I was feeling better just then, +but—and we are due at Carmyan to-day. +It is very provoking."</p> + +<p>Di looked perturbed.</p> + +<p>"The others are gone," she said; "even +the painter has just driven off. Do you +think you will be able to travel by the afternoon, +granny?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid <i>not</i>," said Mrs. Courtenay, +closing her eyes; "but I think—I feel sure +I could go to-morrow."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[161]</span></p> + +<p>"To-morrow is Sunday."</p> + +<p>"Dear me! so it is," said Mrs. Courtenay, +with mild surprise. "To-day is +Saturday. It certainly is unfortunate. But +after all," she continued, "it could not have +happened at a better place. Miss Fane is a +good-natured person and will quite understand, +and John is a relation. Perhaps you +had better tell Miss Fane I am feeling +unwell, and ask her to come here; and before +you go pull down the blinds half-way, and +put that sheaf of her 'lost tribes' and +'unicorns' and 'stone ages' on the bed."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>What induced John to spend the whole of +Saturday afternoon and the greater part of a +valuable evening at a small colliery town +some twenty miles distant, it would be hard +to say. The fact that some days ago he had +arranged to go there after the departure of +his guests did not account for it, for he had<span class="pagenum">[162]</span> +dismissed all thought of doing so directly +he heard that Di and Mrs. Courtenay were +staying on. It was not important. The +following Saturday would do equally well to +inspect a reading-room he was building, and +the new shaft of one of his mines, about the +safety of which he was not satisfied. Yet +somehow or other, when the afternoon came, +John went. Up to the last moment after +luncheon he had intended to remain. Nevertheless, +he went. The actions of persons +under a certain influence cannot be predicted +or accounted for. They can only be +chronicled.</p> + +<p>John did not return to Overleigh till after +ten o'clock. He told himself most of the +way home that Miss Fane and Di would be +sure not to sit up later than ten. He made +up his mind that he should only arrive after +they had gone to bed. As he drove up +through the semi-darkness he looked eagerly<span class="pagenum">[163]</span> +for Di's window. There was a light in it. +He perceived it with sudden resentment. +She <i>had</i> gone to bed, then. He should not +see her till to-morrow. John had a vague +impression that he was glad he had been +away all day, that he had somehow done +rather a clever thing. But apparently he +was not much exhilarated by the achievement. +It lost somewhat in its complete +success.</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Courtenay, who heard the +wheels of his dogcart drive up just after Di +had wished her "Good night," said aloud in +the darkness the one word, "Idiot!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ep08.jpg" width="500" height="280" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[164]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch09.jpg" width="600" height="190" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Love, how it sells poor bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For proud despair!"<br /></span> +<span class="i10"><span class="smcap">Shelley.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_i.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="I" /> + <span class="hide">I</span>T was Sunday morning, and it was +something more. There was a subtle +change in the air, a mystery in the sunshine. +Autumn and summer were met in tremulous +wedlock. But the hand of the bride trembled +in the bridegroom's. In the rapture of +bridal there was a prophesy of parting and +death. The birds knew it. In the songless +silence the robin was practising his autumn +reverie. Joy and sadness were blent together +in the solemn beauty of transition.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[165]</span></p> + +<p>The voice of the brook was sunk to a +whisper to-day. Through the still air the +tangled voices of the church bells came from +the little grey church in the valley. A rival +service was going on in the rookery on Moat +Hill, in which the congregation joined with +hoarse unanimity.</p> + +<p>Miss Fane did not go to church in the +morning, so John and Di went together down +the steep path through the wood, across the +park, over the village beck, and up the low +hollowed steps into the churchyard. Overleigh +was a primitive place.</p> + +<p>The little congregation was sitting on the +wall, or standing about among the tilted +tombstones, according to custom, to see John +and the clergyman come in. And then +there was a general clump and clatter after +them into church; the bells stopped, and the +service began.</p> + +<p>Di and John sat at a little distance from<span class="pagenum">[166]</span> +each other in the carved Tempest pew. The +Tempests were an overbearing race. The +little rough stone church with its round +Norman arches was a memorial of their +race.</p> + +<p>"Lord, Thou hast been our Refuge from +one generation to another," was graven in +the stones of the wall just before Di's eyes. +Beneath was a low arch surmounting the +tomb of a knight in effigy. Beyond there +were more tombs and arches. The building +was thronged with the sculptured dead of +one family—was a mortuary chapel in itself. +Tattered flags hung where pious hands, red +with infidel blood, had fastened them. With +a simple confidence in their own importance, +and the approval of their Creator, the Tempests +had raised their memorials and hung +their battered swords in the house of their +God. The very sun himself smote, not +through the gaudy figures of Scripture story,<span class="pagenum">[167]</span> +but through the painted arms of the Malbys; +of the penniless, pious Malby who sold his +land to his clutching Tempest brother-in-law +in order to get out to the Crusades.</p> + +<p>Had God really been their Refuge from +all those bygone generations to this? Di +wondered. In these latter days of millionaire +cheesemongers who dwell <i>h</i>-less in the +feudal castles of the poor, what wonder if +the faith even of the strongest waxes cold?</p> + +<p>She looked fixedly at John as he went to the +reading-desk and stood up to read the First +Lesson. It was difficult to believe the dead +were not listening too; that the Knight +Templar lying in armour, with his drawn +sword beside him and broken hands joined, +did not turn his head a little, pillowed so +uncomfortably on his helmet, to hear John's +low clear voice.</p> + +<p>And as John read, a feeling of pride in +him, not unmixed with awe, arose in Di's<span class="pagenum">[168]</span> +mind. All he did and said, even when in his +gentlest mood—and Di had not as yet seen +him in any other—had a hint of power in it; +power restrained, perhaps, but existent. How +strong his iron hand looked touching the +book! She could more easily imagine it +grasping a sword-hilt. He stood before her +as the head of the race, his rugged profile +and heavy jaw silhouetted in all their native +strength and ugliness against the uncompromising +light of the eastern window.</p> + +<p>She looked at him, and was glad.</p> + +<p>"He will do us honour," she said to herself.</p> + +<p>Some one else was watching John too.</p> + +<p>"I will arise and go to my Father," John +read. And Mr. Goodwin closed his eyes, +and prayed the old worn prayer—our prayers +for others are mainly tacit reproaches to the +Almighty—that God would touch John's +heart.</p> + +<p>Humanity has many sides, but perhaps<span class="pagenum">[169]</span> +none more incomprehensible than that represented +by the patient middle-aged man +leaning back in his corner and praying for +John's soul; none more difficult to describe +without an appearance of ridicule; for certain +aspects of character, like some faces, lend +themselves to caricature more readily than to +a portrait.</p> + +<p>Mr. Goodwin was one of that class of +persons who belong so entirely to a class +that it is difficult to individualize them; +whose peculiar object in life it is to stick in +clusters like limpets to existing, and especially +to superseded, forms of religion. Their +whole constitution and central ganglion consists +of one adhesive organism. The quality +of that to which they adhere does not appear +to affect them, provided it is stationary. To +their constitution movement is torture, uprootal +is death. It would be impossible to +chip Mr. Goodwin from his rock, and hold<span class="pagenum">[170]</span> +him up to the scrutiny of the reader, without +distorting him to a caricature, which is an +insult to our common nature. Unless he is +in the full exercise of his adhesive muscle in +company with large numbers of his kind, he +is nothing. And even then he is not much.</p> + +<p><i>Not much?</i> Ah, yes, he is!</p> + +<p>His class has played an important part in +all crises of religious history. It was instrumental +in the crucifixion of Christ. It +called a new truth blasphemy as fiercely then +as now. By its law truth, if new, must ever +be put to death. But when Christianity +took form, this class settled on it nevertheless; +adhered to it as strictly as its forbears +had done to the Jewish ritual. It was this +class which resisted and would have burned +out the Reformation, but when the Reformation +gained bulk enough for it to stick to, it +spread itself upon its surface in due course. +As it still does to-day.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[171]</span></p> + +<p>Let who will sweat and agonize for the +sake of a new truth, or a newer and purer +form of an old one. There will always be +those who will stand aside and coldly regard, +if they cannot crush, the struggle and the +heartbreak of the pioneers, and then will +enter into the fruit of their labours, and complacently +point in later years to the advance +of thought in their time, which they have +done nothing to advance, but to which, when +sanctioned by time and custom and the +populace, they will <i>adhere</i>.</p> + +<p>John shut the book, and Mr. Goodwin, +taken up with his own mournful reflections, +heard no more of the service until he was +wakened by the shriek of the village choir—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Before Jehovah's awful throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye nations bow-wow-wow with sacred joy."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>When the clergyman had blessed his +flock, and the flock had hurried with his +blessing into the open air, Di and John<span class="pagenum">[172]</span> +remained behind to look at the nibbled old +stone font, engraved with tangled signs, and +unknown beasts with protruding unknown +tongues, where little Tempests had whimpered +and protested against a Christianity +they did not understand. The aisle and +chancel were paved with worn lettered +stones, obliterated memorials of forgotten +Tempests who had passed at midnight with +flaring torches from their first home on the +crag to their last in the valley. The walls +bore record too. John had put up a +tablet to his predecessor. It contained only +the name, and date of birth and death, and +underneath the single sentence—</p> + +<p>"Until the day break, and the shadows +flee away."</p> + +<p>Di read the words in silence, and then +turned the splendour of her deep glance +upon him. Since when had the bare fact +of meeting her eyes become so exceeding<span class="pagenum">[173]</span> +sharp and sweet, such an epoch in the day? +John writhed inwardly under their gentle +scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"You are very loyal," she said.</p> + +<p>He felt a sudden furious irritation against +her which took him by surprise, and then +turned to scornful anger against himself. +He led the way out of the church into the +sad September sunshine, and talked of indifferent +subjects till they reached the Castle. +And after luncheon John went to the library +and stared at the shelves again, and Miss +Fane ambled and grunted to church, and Di +sat with her grandmother.</p> + +<p>There are some acts of self-sacrifice for +which the performers will never in this world +obtain the credit they deserve. Mrs. Courtenay, +who was addicted to standing proxy +for Providence, and was not afraid to take +upon herself responsibilities which belong to +Omniscience alone, had not hesitated to perform<span class="pagenum">[174]</span> +such an act, in the belief that the cause +justified the means. Indeed, in her eyes a +good cause justified many sorts and conditions +of means.</p> + +<p>All Saturday and half Sunday she had +repressed the pangs of a healthy appetite, +and had partaken only of the mutton-broth +and splintered toast of invalidism. With a +not ill-grounded dread lest Di's quick eyes +should detect a subterfuge, she had gone so +far as to take "heart-drops" three times a +day from the hand of her granddaughter, and +had been careful to have recourse to her tin +of arrowroot biscuits only in the strictest +privacy. But now that Sunday afternoon +had come, she felt that she could safely relax +into convalescence. The blinds were drawn +up, and she was established in an armchair +by the window.</p> + +<p>"You seem really better," said Di. "I +should hardly have known you had had one<span class="pagenum">[175]</span> +of your attacks. You generally look so pale +afterwards."</p> + +<p>"It has been very slight," said Mrs. +Courtenay, blushing faintly. "I took it in +time. I shall be able to travel to-morrow. +I suppose you and Miss Fane went to +church this morning?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Fane would not go, but John and I +did."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Courtenay closed her eyes. Virtue +may be its own reward, but it is gratifying +when it is not the only one.</p> + +<p>"Granny," said Di, suddenly, "I never +knew, till John told me, that my mother had +been engaged to his father."</p> + +<p>"What has John been raking up those old +stories for?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think he raked up anything. He +seemed to think I knew all about it. He +was showing me my mother's miniature +which he had found among his father's<span class="pagenum">[176]</span> +papers. I always supposed that the reason +you never would talk about her was because +you had felt her death too much."</p> + +<p>"I was glad when she died," said Mrs. +Courtenay.</p> + +<p>"Was she unhappy, then? Father speaks +of her rather sadly when he does mention +her, as if he had been devoted to her, but +she had not cared much for him, and had felt +aggrieved at his being poor. He once said +he had many faults, but that was the one she +could never forgive. And he told me that +when she died he was away on business, and +she did not leave so much as a note or a +message for him."</p> + +<p>"It is quite true; she did not," said Mrs. +Courtenay, in a suppressed voice. "I have +never talked to you about your mother, Di, +because I knew if I did I should prejudice +you against your father, and I have no right +to do that."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[177]</span></p> + +<p>"I think," said Di, "that now I know a little +you had better tell me the rest, or I shall only +imagine things were worse than the reality."</p> + +<p>So Mrs. Courtenay told her; told her of +the little daughter who had been born to her +in the first desolation of her widowhood, +round whom she had wrapped in its entirety +the love that many women divide between +husband and sons and daughters.</p> + +<p>She told Di of young Mr. Tempest, then +just coming forward in political life, between +whom and herself a friendship had sprung +up in the days when he had been secretary +to her brother, then in the Ministry. The +young man was constantly at her house. +He was serious, earnest, diffident, ambitious. +Di reached the age of seventeen. Mrs. +Courtenay saw the probable result, and +hoped for it. With some persons to hope +for anything is to remove obstacles from the +path of its achievement.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[178]</span></p> + +<p>"And yet, Di," said Mrs. Courtenay, "I +can't reproach myself. They <i>were</i> suited to +each other. It is as clear to me now as it +was then. She did not love him, but I knew +she would; and she had seen no one else. +And he worshipped her. I threw them +together, but I did not press her to accept +him. She did accept him, and we went +down to Overleigh together. She had—this +room. I remembered it directly I saw it +again. The engagement had not been +formally given out, and the wedding was not +to have been till the following spring on +account of her youth. I think Mr. Tempest +and I were the two happiest people in the +world. I felt such entire confidence in him, +and I was thankful she should not run the +gauntlet of all that a beautiful girl is exposed +to in society. She was as innocent as a child +of ten, and as unconscious of her beauty—which, +poor child! was very great.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[179]</span></p> + +<p>"And then he—your father—came to +Overleigh. Ten days afterwards they went +away together, and I—I who had never +been parted from her for a night since her +birth—I never saw her again, except once +across a room at a party, until four years +afterwards, when her first child was born. +I went to her then. I tried not to go, for +she did not send for me; but she was the +only child I had ever had, and I remembered +my own loneliness when she was born. And +the pain of staying away became too great, +and I went. And—she was quite changed. +She was not the least like my child, except +about the eyes; and she was taller. Mr. +Tempest never forgave her, because he +loved her; but I forgave her at last, because +I loved her more than he did. I saw her +often after that. She used to tell me when +your father would be away—and he was +much away—and then I went to her. I<span class="pagenum">[180]</span> +would not meet <i>him</i>. We never spoke of +her married life. It did not bear talking +about, for she had really loved him, and it +took him a long time to break her of it. +We talked of the baby, and servants, and +the price of things, for she was very poor. +She was loyal to her husband. She never +spoke about him except once. I remember +that day. It was one of the last before +she died. I found her sitting by the fire +reading 'Consuelo.' I sat down by her, +and we remained a long time without speaking. +Often we sat in silence together. You +have not come to the places on the road, +my dear, when somehow words are no use +any more, and the only poor comfort left is +to be with some one who understands and +says nothing. When you do, you will find +silence one degree more bearable than speech.</p> + +<p>"At last she turned to the book, and +pointed to a sentence in it. I can see the<span class="pagenum">[181]</span> +page now, and the tall French print. 'Le +caractère de cet homme entraîne les actions +de sa vie. Jamais tu ne le changeras.'</p> + +<p>"'I think that is true,' she said. 'Some +characters seem to be settled beforehand, +like a weathercock with its leaded tail. +They cannot really change, because they +are always changing. Nothing teaches them. +Happiness, trouble, love, and hate bring no +experience. They swing round to every +wind that blows on one pivot always—themselves. +There was a time when I am +afraid I tired God with one name. "Jamais +tu ne le changeras." No, never. One +changes one's self. That is all. And now, +instead of reproaching others, I reproach +myself—bitterly—bitterly.'</p> + +<p>"And she never begged my pardon. She +once said, when I found her very miserable, +that it was right that one who had made +others suffer should suffer too. But those<span class="pagenum">[182]</span> +were the only times she alluded to the past, +and I never did. I did not go to her to +reproach her. The kind of people who are +cut by reproaches have generally reproached +themselves more harshly than any one else +can. She had, I know. It would have been +better if she had been less reserved, and if +she could have taken more interest in little +things. But she did not seem able to. +Some women, and they are the happy ones, +can comfort themselves in a loveless marriage +with pretty note-paper, and tying up +the legs of chairs with blue ribbon. She +could not do that, and I think she suffered +more in consequence. Those little feminine +instincts are not given us for nothing.</p> + +<p>"She never gave in until she knew she was +dying. Then she tried to speak, but she +sank rapidly. She said something about +you, and then smiled when her voice failed +her, and gave up the attempt. I think she<span class="pagenum">[183]</span> +was so glad to go that she did not mind +anything else much. They held the baby +to her as a last chance, and made it cry. +Oh, Di, how you cried! And she trembled +very much just for a moment, and then did +not seem to take any more notice, though +they put its little hand against her face. I +think the end came all the quicker. It +seemed too good to be true at first....</p> + +<p>"Don't cry, my dear. Young people don't +know where trouble lies. They think it is +in external calamity, and sickness and death. +But one does not find it so. The only real +troubles are those which we cause each +other through the affections. Those whom +we love chasten us. I never shed a single +tear for her when she died. There had +been too many during her life, for I loved +her better than anything in the world except +my husband, who died when he was twenty-five +and I was twenty-two. You often remind<span class="pagenum">[184]</span> +me of him. You are a very dear child +to me. She said she hoped you would make +up a little to me; and you have—not a little. +I have brought you up differently. I saw +my mistake with her. I sheltered her too +much. I hope I have not run into the +opposite extreme with you. I have allowed +you more liberty than is usual, and I have +encouraged you to look at life for yourself, +and to think and act for yourself, and learn +by your own experience. And now go and +bathe your eyes, and see if you can find me +Fitzgerald's 'Omar Khayyám.' I think I +saw it last in the morning-room. John and +I were talking about it on Friday. I dare +say he will know where it is."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ep09.jpg" width="500" height="279" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[185]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch10.jpg" width="600" height="184" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Si tu ne m'aimes pas moi je t'aime."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_i.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="I" /> + <span class="hide">I</span>T was the time of afternoon tea. Miss +Fane rolled off the sofa, and with the +hydraulic sniff that can temporarily suspend +the laws of nature, proceeded to pour out +tea. Presently John and the dogs came in, +and Di, who had found Mrs. Courtenay's +book without his assistance, followed. John +had not the art of small-talk. Miss Fane, +who was in the habit of attempting the +simultaneous absorption of liquid and farinaceous +nutriment with a perseverance not +marked by success, was necessarily silent, +save when a carroway seed took the wrong<span class="pagenum">[186]</span> +turn. She seldom spoke in the presence +of food, any more than others do in church. +Few things apart from the Bull of Bashan +commanded Miss Fane's undivided homage, +but food never failed to, though it was reserved +for plovers' eggs and the roe of the +sturgeon to stir the latent emotion of her +nature to its depths.</p> + +<p>The dogs did their tricks. Lindo contrived +to swallow all his own and half Fritz's +portion, but, fortunately for the cause of +justice, during a muffin-scattering choke on +Lindo's part, Fritz's long red tongue was +able to glean together fragments of what he +imagined he had lost sight of for ever.</p> + +<p>Di inquired whether there were evening +service.</p> + +<p>"Evening service at seven," said Miss +Fane; "supper at quarter past eight."</p> + +<p>"Do not go to church again," said John. +"Come for a walk with me."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[187]</span></p> + +<p>Di readily agreed. It was very pleasant +to her to be with John. She had begun to +feel that he and she were near akin. He +was her only first cousin. The nearness of +their relationship, accounting as it did in her +mind for a growing intimacy, prevented any +suspicion of that intimacy having sprung +from another source.</p> + +<p>They walked together through the forest +in the still opal light of the waning day. +Through the enlacing fingers of the trees the +western sun made ladders of light. Breast-high +among the bracken they went, disturbing +the deer; across the heather, under the +whisper of the pines, down to the steel-white +reeded pools below.</p> + +<p>They sat down on the trunk of a fallen +tree, and a faint air came across the water +from the trees on the further side, with +a message to the trees on this. Neither +talked much. The lurking sadness in the air<span class="pagenum">[188]</span> +just touched and soothed the lurking sadness +in Di's mind. She did not notice John's +silence, for he was often silent. She wound +a blade of grass round her finger, and then +unwound it again. John watched her do it. +He had noticed before, as a peculiarity of +Di's, not observable in other women, that +whatever she did was interesting. She asked +some question about the lower pool gleaming +before them through the trunks of the trees, +and he answered absently the reverse of what +was true.</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps we had better be turning +back," she said.</p> + +<p>He rose, and they went back another +way, climbing slowly up and up by a little +winding track through steepest forest places. +Many burrs left their native stems to accompany +them on their way. They showed to +great advantage on Di's primrose cotton +gown. At last they reached the top of the<span class="pagenum">[189]</span> +rocky ridge, and she sat down, out of breath, +under a group of silver firs, and, taking off +her gloves, began idly to pick the burrs one +by one off the folds of her gown.</p> + +<p>There was no hurry. He sat down by +her, and watched her hands. She put the +burrs on a stone near her.</p> + +<p>They were sitting on the topmost verge +of the crag, and the forest fell away in a +shimmer of green beneath their feet to the +pools below, and then climbed the other side +of the valley and melted into the purple of +the Overleigh and Oulston moors. Far +away, the steep ridge of Hambleton and +the headland of Sutton Brow stood out +against the evening sky. Some Tempest of +bygone days had dared to perpetrate a Greek +temple in a clearing among the silver firs +where they were sitting, but time had effaced +that desecration of one of God's high places +by transforming it to a lichened ruin of<span class="pagenum">[190]</span> +scattered stones. It was on one of these +scattered stones that Di was raising a little +cairn of burrs.</p> + +<p>"Forty-one," she said at last. "You +have not even begun your toilet yet, John."</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>The sun was going down unseen behind +a bar of cloud. A purple light was on the +hills. Their faces showed that they saw the +glory, but the twilight deepened over all the +nearer land. Slowly the sun passed below +the leaden bar, and looked back once more +in full heaven, and drowned the world in +light. Then with dying strength he smote +the leaden bar to one long line of quivering +gold, and sank dimly, redly, to the enshrouding +west. All colour died. The hills were +gone. The land lay dark. But far across +the sky, from north to south, the line of light +remained.</p> + +<p>Di had watched the sunset alone. John<span class="pagenum">[191]</span> +had not seen it. His eyes were fixed on her +calm face with the western glow upon it. +She did not even notice that he was looking +at her. One of her ungloved hands lay on +her knee, so near to him yet so immeasurably +far away. Could he stretch across the gulf +to touch it? His expressionless face took +some meaning at last. He leaned a little +towards her, and laid his hand on hers.</p> + +<p>She started violently, and dropped her +sunset thoughts like a surprised child its +flowers. Even a less vain man than John +might have been cut to the quick by the +sudden horrified bewilderment of her face, +and of the dazzled light-blinded eyes which +turned to peer at him with such unseeing +distress.</p> + +<p>"Oh, John!" she said, "not you;" and +she put her other hand quickly for one +second on his.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "that is just it."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[192]</span></p> + +<p>Her mouth quivered painfully.</p> + +<p>"I thought," she said, "we were—surely +we <i>are</i> friends."</p> + +<p>"No," said John, mastering the insane +emotion which had leapt within him at the +touch of her hand. "We never were, and +we never shall be. I will have nothing to +do with any friendship of yours. I'm not a +beggar to be shaken off with coppers. I +want everything or nothing."</p> + +<p>Her manner changed. Her self-possession +came back.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry it must be nothing," she said +gently, and she tried quietly but firmly to +withdraw her hand.</p> + +<p>His grasp on it tightened ever so little, but +in an unmistakable manner, and she instantly +gave up the attempt.</p> + +<p>A splendid colour mounted slowly to her +face. She drew herself up. Her lightning-bright +intrepid eyes met his without flinching.<span class="pagenum">[193]</span> +They looked hard at each other in the +waning light. Once again they seemed to +measure swords as at the moment when they +first met. Each felt the other formidable. +There was no slightest shred of disguise +between them.</p> + +<p>There was a breathless silence.</p> + +<p>Di went through a frightful revulsion of +mind. The sunset and the light along the +sky seemed to have betrayed her. These +pleasant days had been in league against +her. And now, goaded by the grasp of his +hand on hers, her mind made one headlong +rush at the goal towards which these accomplices +had been luring her. Where were +they leading her? Glamour dropped dead. +Marriage remained. To become this man's +wife; to merge her life in his; to give up +everything into the hand that still held hers, +the pressure of which was like a claim! He +had only laid his hand upon her hand, but it<span class="pagenum">[194]</span> +seemed to her that he had laid it upon her +soul. Her whole being rose up against him +in sudden passionate antagonism horrible to +bear. And all the time she knew instinctively +that he was stronger than she.</p> + +<p>John saw and understood that mental +struggle almost with compassion, yet with +an exultant sense of power over her. One +conviction of the soul ever remains unshaken, +that whom we understand is ours to have +and to hold.</p> + +<p>He deliberately released her hand. She +did not make the slightest movement at +regaining possession of it.</p> + +<p>John wrestled with his voice, and forced it +back, harsh and unfamiliar, to do his bidding.</p> + +<p>"Di," he said, "I believe in truth even +between men and women. I know what you +are feeling about me at this moment. Well, +that, even that, is better than a mistake; and +you were making one. You had not the<span class="pagenum">[195]</span> +faintest suspicion of what has been the one +object of my life since the day I first met you. +The fault was mine, not yours. You could +not see what was not on the surface to be +seen. You would have gone on for the +remainder of your natural life liking me in a +way I—I cannot tolerate, if I had not—done +as I did. I have not the power like some +men of showing their feelings. I can't say +the little things and do the little things that +come to others by instinct. My instinct is to +keep things to myself. I always have—till +now."</p> + +<p>Silence again; a silence which seemed to +grow in a moment to such colossal dimensions +that it was hardly credible a voice +would have power to break it.</p> + +<p>The twilight had advanced suddenly upon +them. The young pheasants crept and +called among the bracken. The night-birds +passed swift and silent as sudden thoughts.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[196]</span></p> + +<p>Di struggled with an unreasoning, furious +anger, which, like a fiery horse, took her +whole strength to control.</p> + +<p>"I love you," said John, "and I shall go +on loving you; and it is better you should +know it."</p> + +<p>And as he spoke she became aware that +her anger was but a little thing beside his.</p> + +<p>"What is the good of telling me," she +said, "what I—what you know I—don't +wish to hear?"</p> + +<p>"What good?" said John, fiercely, his face +working. "Great God! do you imagine I +have put myself through the torture of +making myself intolerable to you for no +purpose? Do you think that you can dismiss +me with a few angry words? What good? +The greatest good in the world, which I +would turn heaven and earth to win; which +please God I will win."</p> + +<p>Di became as white as he. He was too<span class="pagenum">[197]</span> +strong, this man, with his set face, and +clenched trembling hand. She was horribly +frightened, but she kept a brave front. She +turned towards him and would have spoken, +but her lips only moved.</p> + +<p>"You need not speak," he said more +gently. "You cannot refuse what you have +not been asked for. I ask nothing of you. +Do you understand? <i>Nothing.</i> When I ask +it will be time enough to refuse. It is getting +late. Let us go home."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ep09.jpg" width="500" height="279" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[198]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch11.jpg" width="600" height="189" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"Those who have called the world profane have +succeeded in making it so."—<span class="smcap">J. H. Thom.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_t.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="T" /> + <span class="hide">T</span>HE dreams of youth and love so frequently +fade unfulfilled into "the +light of common day," that it is a pleasure +to be able to record that Madeleine saw +the greater part of hers realized. She was +received with what she termed <i>éclat</i> in her +new neighbourhood. She remarked with +complacency that everybody made much +too much of her; that she had been quite +touched by the enthusiasm of her reception. +It was an ascertained fact that she would +open the hunt ball with the President—a<span class="pagenum">[199]</span> +point on which her maiden meditation had +been much exercised. The Duchess of +Southark was among the first to call upon +her. If that lady's principal motive in +doing so was curiosity to see what kind of +wife Sir Henry, or, as he was called in his +own county, "the Solicitor-General," had +at length procured, Madeleine was comfortably +unaware of the fact. After that +single call, the duration of which was confined +to nine minutes, Madeleine spoke of +the duchess as "kindness and cordiality +itself."</p> + +<p>She was invited to stay at Alvery, and +afterwards to fill her house for a fancy ball, +in October, in honour of the coming of age +of Lord Elver, the duke's eldest son and +chief thorn in the flesh; a young man of +great promise "when you got to know him," +as Madeleine averred, in which case few +shared that advantage with her.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[200]</span></p> + +<p>Other invitations poured in. The neighbourhood +was really surprised at the grace +and beauty of the bride—<i>considering</i>. It +was soon rumoured that she was a saint as +well; that she read prayers every morning +at Cantalupe, which the stablemen were +expected to attend; and that she taught in +the Sunday school. The ardent young vicar +of the parish, who had hitherto languished +unsupported and misunderstood at Sir +Henry's door, in the flapping draperies that +so well become the Church militant, was +enthusiastic about her. She was what he +called "a true woman." Those who use +this expression best know what it means. +Processions, monster candles, crucifixes, and +other ingredients of the pharmacopœia of +religion, swam before his mental vision. +The little illegal side-altar, to which his two +"crosses," namely, the churchwardens, had +objected, but without which his soul could<span class="pagenum">[201]</span> +not rest in peace, was reinstated after a +conversation with Madeleine. A promise +on that lady's part to embroider an altar-cloth +for the same was noised abroad.</p> + +<p>Sir Henry was jubilant at his wife's popularity, +which lost nothing from her own +comments on it. Although nearly six months +had elapsed since his marriage, he was still +in a state of blind adoration—an adoration +so blind that none of the ordinary events +by which disillusion begins had any power +to affect him.</p> + +<p>He was not conscious that once or twice +during the season in London he had been +duped; that the jealousy which had flamed +up so suddenly against Archie Tempest had +more grounds than the single note he found +in his wife's pocket, when in a fit of clumsy +fondness he had turned out all its contents +on her knee, solely to cogitate and wonder +over them. He had a habit which tried<span class="pagenum">[202]</span> +her more than his slow faculties had any +idea of, of examining Madeleine's belongings. +His admiring curiosity had no suspicion in +it. He liked to look at them solely because +they were hers.</p> + +<p>One day, shortly after their arrival at +Cantalupe, when he was sitting in stolid +inconvenient sympathy in her room, whither +she had vainly retreated from him on the +plea of a headache, he occupied himself by +opening the drawers of her dressing-table +one after the other, investigating with +aboriginal interest small boxes of hairpins, +curling-irons, and that various assortment +of feminine gear which the hairdresser +elegantly designates as "toilet requisites." +At last he peeped into a box where, carefully +arranged side by side, were the dearest of +curls on tortoiseshell combs which he had +often seen on his wife's head, and some +smaller much becrimped bodies which filled<span class="pagenum">[203]</span> +him with wondering dislike—hair caricatured—<i>frisettes</i>.</p> + +<p>"What <i>are</i> you doing?" said Madeleine, +faintly, lying on the sofa with her back to +him, holding her salts to her nose. Oh, if +he would only go away, this large dreadful +man, and leave her half an hour in peace, +without hearing him clear his throat and +sniff! On the contrary, he came and sat +down by her chuckling, holding the curls +and frisettes in his thick hands. She +dropped her smelling-bottle and looked at +them in an outraged silence. Was there, +then, no sanctity, no privacy, in married life? +Was everything about her to be made common +and profane? She hated Sir Henry at +that moment. As long as he had remained +an invoice accompanying the arrival +of coveted possessions, she had felt only +a vague uneasiness about him. Directly he +became, after the wedding, a heavy bill demanding<span class="pagenum">[204]</span> +cash payment "to account rendered," +she had found that the marriage +market is not a very cheap one after all.</p> + +<p>Sir Henry was not the least chagrined +at a discovery which might have tried the +devotion of a more romantic lover.</p> + +<p>"Why, Maddy," he said, "you are much +too young and pretty to wear this sort of +toggery. Leave 'em to the old dowagers, +my dear;" and he dropped them into the +fire.</p> + +<p>She saw them burn, but she made no sign. +Presently, however, when he had left her, +she began to cry feebly; for even feminine +fortitude has its limits. She was in reality +satisfied with her marriage on the whole, +though she was wiping away a few natural +tears at this moment. But in this class of +union there is generally one item which is +found almost intolerable, namely, the husband. +He really was the only drawback in<span class="pagenum">[205]</span> +this case. The furniture, the house, the +southern aspect of the reception-rooms, +everything else, was satisfactory. The park +was handsomer than she had expected. +And she had not known there was a silver +dinner-service. It had been a love match +as far as that was concerned. If Henry +himself had only been different, Madeleine +often reflected! If he had not been so red, +and if he had had curly hair, or any hair at +all! But whose lot has not some secret +sorrow?</p> + +<p>So Madeleine cried a little, and then +wiped her eyes, and fell to thinking of her +gown for the fancy ball at Alvery next +month. She called to mind Di's height and +regal figure with a pang. Perhaps, after +all, she had been unwise in asking her dear +friend, whom it would be difficult to eclipse, +for this particular ball. Madeleine was +under the impression that she was "having<span class="pagenum">[206]</span> +Di" out of good nature. This was her +tame caged motive, kept for the inspection +of others, especially of Di. Nevertheless +there were others which were none the less +genuine because they did not wait to have +salt put on their tails, and invariably flew +away at the approach of strangers.</p> + +<p>Madeleine had not remembered to be +good-natured until a certain obstacle to the +completion of her ball-party, as she intended +it, had arisen. The subject of young men +was one which she had approached with +the utmost delicacy; for, according to Sir +Henry, all young men—at least, all good-looking +ones—were fools and oafs whom he +was not going to have wounding <i>his</i> birds. +She agreed with him entirely, but reminded +him of the duchess's solemn injunction to +bring a party of even numbers.</p> + +<p>Sir Henry at last gave in so far as to +propose an elderly colonel. Madeleine in<span class="pagenum">[207]</span> +turn suggested Lord Hemsworth, who was +allowed to be "a good sort," and was +invited.</p> + +<p>"Then we ought to have Miss Di +Tempest, if we have Hemsworth," said Sir +Henry, blowing like a grampus, as his manner +was in moments of inspiration. "I'm quite +a matchmaker now I'm married myself. +Ask her to meet him, Maddy. She's your +special pal, ain't she?"</p> + +<p>Madeleine felt that she required strength +greater than her own to bear with a person +who says "ain't" and "a good sort," and +designates a lady-friend as a "pal."</p> + +<p>She pressed the silver knob of her pencil +to her lips. There was, she remarked, no +one whom she would like to have so +much as Di; but Mr. Lumley was her next +suggestion, and Sir Henry slapped himself +on the leg, and said he was the very thing.</p> + +<p>"We want one other man," said Madeleine,<span class="pagenum">[208]</span> +reflectively, after a few more had passed +through the needle's eye of Sir Henry's +criticism. "Let me see. Oh, there's +Captain Tempest. He dances well."</p> + +<p>"I won't have him," said Sir Henry at +once, his eyes assuming their most prawnlike +expression. "You may have his cousin +if you like, the owl with the jowl, as Lumley +calls him—Tempest of Overleigh."</p> + +<p>"He is sure to be asked to the house +itself, being a relation," said Madeleine, +dropping the subject of Archie instantly. +She did not recur to it again. But after +their return home from the visit to the +Hemsworths', at which she had met Di, she +told her husband she had invited Di for +the fancy ball, as he had wished her to do.</p> + +<p>"Me?" said Sir Henry, reddening. "Lord +bless me, what do I want with her?" And +it was some time before he could be made +to recollect what he had said nearly a<span class="pagenum">[209]</span> +month ago about asking Di to meet Lord +Hemsworth.</p> + +<p>"You forget your own wishes more quickly +than I do," she said, putting her hand in his.</p> + +<p>He did, by Jove, he did; and he bent +over the little hand and kissed it, while she +noticed how red the back of his neck was. +When he became unusually apoplectic in +appearance, as at this moment, Madeleine +always caught a glimpse of herself as a +young widow, and the idea softened her +towards him. If he were once really gone, +without any possibility of return, she felt +that she could have said, "Poor Henry!"</p> + +<p>"The only awkward part about having +asked Di," said Madeleine, after a pause, "is +that Mrs. Courtenay does not allow her to +visit alone."</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, ask Mrs. Courtenay. I +like her. She has always been very civil +to me."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[210]</span></p> + +<p>She had indeed.</p> + +<p>"I don't like her very much myself," said +Madeleine. "She is so worldly; and I think +she has made Di so. And she would be the +only older person. You know you decided +it should be a <i>young</i> party this time. It is +very awkward Di not being able to come +alone, at her age. She evidently wanted +me to ask her brother to bring her, who, she +almost told me, was anxious to meet Miss +Crupps, the carpet heiress; but I did not quite +like to ask him without your leave."</p> + +<p>"Ask him by all means," said Sir Henry, +entirely oblivious of his former refusal. +"After that poor little girl, is he? Well, +we'll sit out together, and watch the lovemaking, +eh?"</p> + +<p>Madeleine experienced a tremor wholly +unmixed with compunction at gaining her +point. She would have been aware, if she +had read it in a book, that any one who had<span class="pagenum">[211]</span> +acted as she had done, had departed from +the truth in suggesting that Di could not +visit alone. She would have felt also that it +was reprehensible in the extreme to invite to +her house a man who had secretly, though +not without provocation, made love to her +since her marriage.</p> + +<p>But just in the same way that what we +regret as conceit in others we perceive to +be a legitimate self-respect in ourselves, so +Madeleine, as on previous occasions, "saw +things very differently."</p> + +<p>She was incapable of what she called "a +low view." She had often "frankly" told +herself that she took a deep interest in +Archie. She had put his initials against +some of her favourite passages in her +morocco manual. She prayed for him on +his birthday, and sometimes, when she woke +up and looked at her luminous cross at night. +She believed that she had a great influence<span class="pagenum">[212]</span> +for good over him which it was her +duty to use. She was sincere in her wish to +proselytize, but the sincerity of an insincere +nature is like the kernel of a deaf nut; a +mere shred of undeveloped fibre. What +Madeleine wished to believe became a reality +to her. Gratification of a very common +form of vanity was a religious duty. She +wrote to Archie with a clear conscience, and, +when he accepted, had a box of autumn +hats down from London.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ep11.jpg" width="500" height="276" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[213]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch12.jpg" width="600" height="187" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, Love's but a dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Time plays the fiddle!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See the couples advance,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, Love's but a dance!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A whisper, a glance,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Shall we twirl down the middle?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, Love's but a dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Time plays the fiddle!"<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><span class="smcap">Austin Dobson.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_i.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="I" /> + <span class="hide">I</span>T was the night of the fancy dress ball.</p> + +<p>The carriages were already at the +door, and could be heard crunching round +and round upon the gravel. Sir Henry, all +yeomanry red and gold, was having the +bursting hooks and eyes at his throat altered +in his wife's room. Something had to be<span class="pagenum">[214]</span> +done to his belt, too. At last he went +blushing downstairs before the cluster of +maids with his sword under his arm. The +guests, who had gone up to dress after an +early dinner, were reappearing by degrees. +Lord Hemsworth, in claret-coloured coat and +long Georgian waistcoat and tie-wig, came +down, handsome and quiet as usual, with his +young sister, whose imagination had stopped +short at cotton-wool snowflakes on a tulle +skirt. An impecunious young man in a red +hunt coat rushed in, hooted on the stairs +by Mr. Lumley for having come without a +wedding garment. Madeleine sailed down +in Watteau costume. Two married ladies +followed in Elizabethan ones. Presently +Archie made his appearance, a dream of +beauty in white satin from head to foot, as +the Earl of Leicester, his curling hair, fair to +whiteness, looking like the wig which it was +not. Every one, men and women alike,<span class="pagenum">[215]</span> +turned to look at him; and Mr. Lumley, +following in harlequin costume, was quite +overlooked, until he turned a somersault, +saying, "Here we are again!" whereat Sir +Henry instantly lost a hook and eye in a +cackle of admiration.</p> + +<p>"We ought to be starting," said Madeleine. +"We are all down now."</p> + +<p>"Not quite all," said Mr. Lumley, sinking +on one knee, as Di came in crowned and +sceptred, in a green and silver gown edged +with ermine.</p> + +<p>Lord Hemsworth drew in his breath. +Madeleine's face fell.</p> + +<p>"Good gracious, Di!" she said, with a +very thin laugh. "This is dressing up +indeed!"</p> + +<p>The party, already late, got under way, +Mr. Lumley, of course, calling in falsetto to +each carriage in turn not to go without him, +and then refusing to enter any vehicle in<span class="pagenum">[216]</span> +which, as he expressed it, Miss Tempest +was not already an ornamental fixture.</p> + +<p>"This is getting beyond a joke," said +Lord Hemsworth, as a burst of song issued +from the carriage leaving the door, and the +lamp inside showed Di's crowned head, Sir +Henry's violet complexion, and the gutta-percha +face of the warbling Mr. Lumley.</p> + +<p>Di sat very silent in her corner, and after +a time, as the drive was a long one, the +desultory conversation dropped, and Sir +Henry fell into a nasal slumber, from which, +as Madeleine was in another carriage, no one +attempted to rouse him.</p> + +<p>Di shut her eyes as a safeguard against +being spoken to, and her mind went back +to the subject which had been occupying +much of her thoughts since the previous +evening, namely, the fact that she should +meet John at the ball. She knew he would +be there, for she had seen him get out of<span class="pagenum">[217]</span> +the train at Alvery station the afternoon +before.</p> + +<p>As she had found on a previous occasion, +when they had suddenly been confronted +with each other at Doncaster races, to meet +John had ceased to be easy to her—became +more difficult every time.</p> + +<p>Possibly John had found it as difficult to +speak to Di as she had found it to receive him. +But however that may have been, it would +certainly have been impossible to divine that +he was awaiting the arrival of any one to-night +with the faintest degree of interest. +He did not take his stand where it would +be obvious that he could command a view of +the door through which the guests entered. +He had seen others do that on previous +occasions, and had observed that the effect +was not happy. Nevertheless, from the bay +window where he was watching the dancing, +the guests as they arrived were visible to him.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[218]</span></p> + +<p>"He! he!" said Lord Frederick, joining +him. "Such a row in the men's cloak-room! +Young Talbot has come as Little Bo-Peep, +and the men would not have him in their +room; said it was improper, and tried to +hustle him into the ladies' room. He is still +swearing in his ulster in the passage. Why +aren't you dancing?"</p> + +<p>"I can't. My left arm is weak since I +burned it in the spring."</p> + +<p>"Well," rejoined Lord Frederick, who as +a French marquis, with cane and snuff-box, +was one of the best-dressed figures in the +room, "you don't miss much. Onlookers +see most of the game. Look at that fairy +twirling with the little man in the kilt. +Their skirts are just the same length. The +worst part of this species of entertainment +is that one cuts one's dearest friends. Some +one asked me just now whether the 'Mauvaise +Langue' was here to-night. Did not<span class="pagenum">[219]</span> +recognize the wolf in sheep's clothing. More +arrivals. A Turk and a Norwegian peasant, +and a man in a smock frock. And—now—what +on earth is the creature in blue and +red, with a female to match?"</p> + +<p>"Otter-hounds," suggested John.</p> + +<p>"Is it possible? Never saw it before. +There goes Freemantle as a private in the +Blues, saluting as he is introduced, instead +of bowing. What a fund of humour the +youth of the present day possess! Who is +that bleached earwig he is dancing with?"</p> + +<p>"I think it is Miss Crupps, the heiress."</p> + +<p>"H'm! Might have known it. That is +the sort of little pill that no one takes unless +it is very much gilt. Here comes the +Verelst party at last. Lady Verelst has +put herself together well. I would not +mind buying her at my valuation and selling +her at her own. She hates me, that little +painted saint. I always cultivate a genuine<span class="pagenum">[220]</span> +saint. I make a point of it. They may +look deuced dowdy down here—they generally +do, though I believe it is only their +wings under their clothes; but they will +probably form the aristocracy up yonder, +and it is as well to know them beforehand. +But Lady Verelst is a sham, and I hate +shams. I am a sham myself. He! he! +When last I met her she talked pious, and +implied intimacy with the Almighty, till at +last I told her that it was the vulgarest thing +in life to be always dragging in your swell +acquaintance. He! he! I shall go and +speak to her directly she has done introducing +her party. Mrs. Dundas—and—I don't +know the other woman. Who is the girl in +white?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Everard."</p> + +<p>"What! Hemsworth's sister? Then he +will be here too, probably. I like Hemsworth. +There's no more harm in that young<span class="pagenum">[221]</span> +man than there is in a tablet of Pears' soap. +A crowned head next. Why, it's Di +Tempest. By —— she is handsomer every +time I see her! If that girl knew how to +advertise herself, she might become a professional +beauty."</p> + +<p>"Heaven forbid!" said John, involuntarily, +watching Di with the intense concentration of +one who has long pored over memory's dim +portrait, and now corrects it by the original.</p> + +<p>Lord Frederick did not see the look. +For once something escaped him. He too +was watching Di, who with the remainder +of the Verelst party was being drifted +towards them by a strong current of fresh +arrivals in their wake.</p> + +<p>The usual general recognition and non-recognition +peculiar to fancy balls ensued, +in which old acquaintances looked blankly +at each other, gasped each other's names, +and then shook hands effusively; amid which<span class="pagenum">[222]</span> +one small greeting between two people who +had seen and recognized each other from +the first instant took place, and was over in +a moment.</p> + +<p>"I cannot recognize any one," said Di, +her head held a shade higher than usual, +looking round the room, and saying to herself, +"He would not have spoken to me if +he could have helped it."</p> + +<p>"Some of the people are unrecognizable," +said John, with originality equal to hers, +and stung by the conviction that she had +tried to avoid shaking hands with him.</p> + +<p>The music struck up suddenly as if it +were a new idea.</p> + +<p>"Are you engaged for this dance?" said +Mr. Lumley, flying to her side.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Di with decision.</p> + +<p>"So am I," said he, and was gone +again.</p> + +<p>"Dance?" said a <i>Sporting Times</i>, rushing<span class="pagenum">[223]</span> +up in turn, and shooting out the one word +like a pea from a pop-gun.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, I should like to, but I am not +allowed," said Di. "My grandmother is +very particular. If you had been the <i>Sunday +at Home</i> I should have been charmed."</p> + +<p>The "Pink 'un" expostulated vehemently, +and said he would have come as the <i>Church +Times</i> if he had only known; but Di remained +firm.</p> + +<p>John walked away, pricking himself with +his little dagger, the sheath of which had +somehow got lost, and watched the knot of +men who gradually gathered round Di. +Presently she moved away with Lord +Frederick in the direction of Madeleine, who +had installed herself at the further end of +the room among the <i>fenders</i>, as our latter-day +youth gracefully designates the tiaras of +the chaperones.</p> + +<p>John was seized upon and introduced to<span class="pagenum">[224]</span> +an elderly minister with an order, who told +him he had known his father, and began to +sound him as to his political views. John, +who was inured to this form of address, +answered somewhat vaguely, for at that +moment Di began to dance. She had a +partner worthy of her in the shape of a +sedate young Russian, resplendent in the +white-and-gold uniform of the imperial +<i>Gardes à cheval</i>.</p> + +<p>Lord Frederick gravitated back to John. +No young man among the former's large +acquaintance was given the benefit of his +experience more liberally than John. Lord +Frederick took an interest in him which +was neither returned nor repelled.</p> + +<p>"Elver is down at last," he said. "It +seems he had to wait till his mother's maid +could be spared to sew him into his clothes. +It is a pity you are not dancing, John. You +might dance with your cousin. She and<span class="pagenum">[225]</span> +Prince Blazinski made a splendid couple. +What a crowd of moths round that candle! +I hope you are not one of them. It is not +the candle that gets singed. Another set +of arrivals. Look at Carruthers coming in +with a bouquet. Cox of the <i>Monarch</i> still, +I suppose. He can't dance with it; no, he +has given it to his father to hold. Supper +at last. I must go and take some one in."</p> + +<p>John took Miss Everard in to supper. +In spite of her brother's and Di's efforts, she +had not danced much. She did not find him +so formidable as she expected, and before +supper was over had told him all about her +doves, and how the grey one sat on her +shoulder, and how she loved poetry better +than anything in the world, except "Donovan." +John proved a sympathetic listener. He in +his turn confided to her his difficulty in +conveying soup over the edge of his ruff; +and after providing her with a pink cream,<span class="pagenum">[226]</span> +judging with intuition unusual to his sex +that a pink cream is ever more acceptable +to young ladyhood than a white one, he took +her back to the ball-room. The crowd had +thinned. The kilt and the fairy and a few +other couples were careering wildly in open +space. John looked round in vain for Madeleine, +to whom he could deliver up his snowflake, +and catching sight of Mrs. Dundas on +the chaperon's dais, made in her direction. +Di, who was sitting with Mrs. Dundas, +suddenly perceived them coming up the +room together. What was it, what could +it be, that indescribable feeling that went +through her like a knife as she saw Miss +Everard on John's arm, smiling at something +he was saying to her? Had they been at +supper together all this long time?</p> + +<p>"What a striking face your cousin has!" +said Mrs. Dundas. "I do not wonder that +people ask who he is. I used to think him<span class="pagenum">[227]</span> +rather alarming, but Miss Everard does not +seem to find him so."</p> + +<p>"He can be alarming," said Di, lightly. +"You should see him when he is discussing +his country's weal, or welcoming his guests."</p> + +<p>"Why did I say that?" she asked herself +the moment the words were out of her +mouth. "It's ill-natured and it's not true. +Why did I say it?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Dundas laughed.</p> + +<p>"It's the old story," she said. "One +never sees the virtues of one's relations. +Now, as he is not <i>my</i> first cousin, I am able +to perceive that he is a very remarkable +person, with a jaw that means business. +There is tenacity and strength of purpose +in his face. He would be a terrible person +to oppose."</p> + +<p>Di laughed, but she quailed inwardly.</p> + +<p>"I am told he is immensely run after," +continued Mrs. Dundas. "I dare say you<span class="pagenum">[228]</span> +know," in a whisper, "that the duchess wants +him for Lady Alice, and they <i>say</i> he has +given her encouragement, but I don't believe +it. Anyhow, her mother is making her read +up political economy and Bain, poor girl. +It must be an appalling fate to marry a +great intellect. I am thankful to say Charlie +only had two ideas in his head; one was +chemical manures, and the other was to +marry me. Well, Miss Everard. Lady +Verelst is at supper, but I will extend a +wing over you till she returns. Here comes +a crowd from the supper-room. Now, Miss +Tempest, do go in. You owned you were +hungry a minute ago, though you refused +the tragic entreaties of the Turk and the +stage villain."</p> + +<p>"I was afraid," said Di; "for though the +villain is my esteemed friend in private life, +I know his wide hat or the turban of the +infidel would catch in my crown and drag<span class="pagenum">[229]</span> +it from my head. I wish I had not come +so regally. I enjoyed sewing penny rubies +into my crown, and making the ermine out +of an old black muff and some rabbit-fur; +but—uneasy is the head that wears a +crown."</p> + +<p>"I am very harmless and inaggressive," +said John, in his most level voice. "The +only person I prick with my little dagger is +myself. If you are hungry, I think you may +safely go in to supper with me."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Di, rising and taking +his offered arm. "I am too famished to +refuse."</p> + +<p>"She is taller than he is," said Miss +Everard, as they went together down the +rapidly filling room.</p> + +<p>"No, my dear; it is only her crown. +They are exactly the same height."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>No one is more useful in everyday life<span class="pagenum">[230]</span> +than the man, seldom a rich man, who can +command two sixpences, and can in an +emergency produce a threepenny bit and +some coppers. The capitalist with his halfcrown +is nowhere—for the time.</p> + +<p>In conversation, small change is everything. +Who does not know the look of the +clever man in society, conscious of a large +banking account, but uncomfortably conscious +also that, like Goldsmith, he has not +a sixpence of ready money? And who has +not envied the fool jingling his few halfpence +on a tombstone or anywhere, to the satisfaction +of himself and every one else?</p> + +<p>Thrice-blessed is small-talk.</p> + +<p>But between some persons it is an impossibility, +though each may have a very +respectable stock of his own. Like different +coinages, they will not amalgamate. Di and +John had not wanted any in talking to each +other—till now. And now, in their hour of<span class="pagenum">[231]</span> +need, to the alarm of both, they found they +were destitute. After a short mental struggle +they succumbed into the abyss of the commonplace, +the only neutral ground on which those +who have once been open and sincere with +each other can still meet—to the certain +exasperation of both.</p> + +<p>John was dutifully attentive. He procured +a fresh bottle of champagne for her, +and an unnibbled roll, and made suitable +remarks at intervals; but her sense of irritation +increased. Something in his manner +annoyed her. And yet it was only the same +courteous, rather expressionless manner that +she remembered was habitual to him towards +others. Now that it was gone she realized +that there had once been a subtle difference +in his voice and bearing to herself. She felt +defrauded of she knew not what, and the +wing of cold pheasant before her loomed +larger and larger, till it seemed to stretch<span class="pagenum">[232]</span> +over the whole plate. Why on earth had +she said she was hungry? And why had he +brought her to the large table, where there +was so much light and noise, and where she +was elbowed by an enormous hairy Buffalo +Bill, when she had seen as she came in that +one of the little tables for two was at that +instant vacant? She forgot that when she +first caught sight of it she had said within +herself that she would never forgive him if +he had the bad taste to entrap her into a +<i>tête-à-tête</i> by taking her there.</p> + +<p>But he had shown at once that he had no +such intention. Was this dignified, formal +man, with his air of distinction, and his harsh +immobile face, and his black velvet dress,—was +this stranger really the John with whom +she had been on such easy terms six weeks +ago; the John who, pale and determined, +had measured swords with her in the dusk +of a September evening?</p><p><span class="pagenum">[233]</span></p> + +<p>And as she sat beside him in the brilliant +light, amid the Babel of tongues, a voice in +her heart said suddenly, "That was not the +end; that was only the beginning—only the +beginning."</p> + +<p>Her eyes met his, fixed inquiringly upon +her. He was only offering her some grapes, +but it appeared to her that he must have +heard the words, and a sense of impotent +terror seized her, as the terror of one who, +wrestling for his life, finds at the first throw +that he is overmatched.</p> + +<p>She rose hastily, and asked to go back to +the ball-room. He complied at once, but did +not speak. They went, a grave and silent +couple, through the hall and down the gallery.</p> + +<p>"Have I annoyed you?" he said at last, +as they neared the ball-room.</p> + +<p>She did not answer.</p> + +<p>"I mean, have I done anything more that +has annoyed you?"</p><p><span class="pagenum">[234]</span></p> + +<p>"Nothing more, thanks."</p> + +<p>"I am glad," said John. "I feared I had. +Of course, I would not have asked you to go +in to supper with me if Mrs. Dundas had not +obliged me. I intended to ask you to do so, +when you could have made some excuse for +refusing if you did not wish it. I was sorry +to force your hand."</p> + +<p>"You will never do that," said Di, to her +own astonishment. It seemed to her that +she was constrained by a power stronger +than herself to defy him.</p> + +<p>She felt him start.</p> + +<p>"We will take another turn," he said +instantly; and before she had the presence +of mind to resist, they had turned and were +walking slowly down the gallery again between +the rows of life-size figures of knights +and chargers in armour, which loomed +gigantic in the feeble light. A wave of +music broke in the distance, and the few<span class="pagenum">[235]</span> +couples sitting in recesses rose and passed +them on their way back to the ball-room, +leaving the gallery deserted.</p> + +<p>A peering moon had laid a faint criss-cross +whiteness on the floor.</p> + +<p>The place took a new significance.</p> + +<p>Each was at first too acutely conscious of +being alone with the other to speak. She +wondered if he could feel how her hand +trembled on his arm, and he whether it was +possible she did not hear the loud hammering +of his heart. Either would have died +rather than have betrayed their emotion to +the other.</p> + +<p>"You tell me I shall never force your +hand," he repeated slowly at last. "No, +indeed, I trust I never shall. But when, +may I ask, have I shown any intention of +doing so?"</p> + +<p>Di had put herself so palpably and irretrievably +in the wrong, that she had no<span class="pagenum">[236]</span> +refuge left but silence. She was horror-struck +by his repetition of the words which +her lips, but surely not she herself, had +spoken.</p> + +<p>"If you ever marry me," said John, "it +will be of your own accord. If you don't, +we shall both miss happiness—you as well as +I, for we are meant for each other. Most +people are so constituted that they can +marry whom they please, but you and I have +no choice. We have a claim upon each +other. I recognize yours, with thankfulness. +I did not know life held anything so good. +You ignore mine, and wilfully turn away +from it. I don't wonder. I am not a man +whom any woman would choose, much less +<i>you</i>. It is natural on your part to dislike +me—at first. In the mean while you need +not distress yourself by telling me so. I am +under no delusion on that point."</p> + +<p>His voice was firm and gentle. If it had<span class="pagenum">[237]</span> +been cold, Di's pride would have flamed up +in a moment. As it was, its gentleness, +under great and undeserved provocation, +made her writhe with shame. She spoke +impulsively.</p> + +<p>"But I <i>am</i> distressed, I can't help being +so, at having spoken so harshly; no—<i>worse</i> +than harshly, so unpardonably."</p> + +<p>"There is no question of pardon between +you and me," said John, turning to look at +her with the grave smile that seemed for a +moment to bring back her old friend to her; +but only for a moment. His eyes contradicted +it. "I know you have never forgiven +me for telling you that I loved you, +but nevertheless you see I have not asked +pardon yet, though I had not intended to +annoy you by speaking of it again—at +present."</p> + +<p>"No," said Di, eagerly. "But that is just +it. It was my own fault this time. I<span class="pagenum">[238]</span> +brought it on myself. But—but I can't help +knowing—I feel directly I see you that you +are still thinking of it. And then I become +angry, and say dreadful things like——"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said John, nodding.</p> + +<p>"Because I—not only because I am ill-tempered, +but because though I do like +being liked, still I don't want you or any one +to make a mistake, or go on making it. It +doesn't seem fair."</p> + +<p>"Not if it really is a mistake."</p> + +<p>"It is in this instance."</p> + +<p>"Not on my part."</p> + +<p>There was a short silence. Di felt as if +she had walked up against a stone wall.</p> + +<p>"John," she said with decision. "Believe +me. I sometimes mean what I say, and I +mean it now. I really and truly am a person +who knows my own mind."</p> + +<p>"So do I," said John.</p> + +<p>Rather a longer silence.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[239]</span></p> + +<p>"And—and oh, John! Don't you see +how wretched, how foolish it is, our being on +these absurd formal terms? Have you forgotten +what friends we used to be? I have +not. It makes me angry still when I think +how you have taken yourself away for +nothing, and how all the pleasure is gone +out of meeting you or talking to you. I +don't think you half knew how much I liked +you."</p> + +<p>"Di," said John, stopping short, and facing +her with indignation in his eyes, "I desire +that you will never again tell me you <i>like</i> me. +I really cannot stand it. Let us go back to +the ball-room."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ep12.jpg" width="500" height="245" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[240]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch01.jpg" width="600" height="182" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">"Ah, man's pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or woman's—which is greatest?"<br /></span> +<span class="i12"><span class="smcap">E. B. Browning.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="quote">"</p> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_d.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="D" /> + <span class="hide">D</span>I," said Archie, sauntering up to her +on the terrace at Cantalupe, where +she was sitting the morning after the ball, +and planting himself in front of her, as he +had a habit of doing before all women, so as +to spare them the trouble of turning round +to look at him, "I can't swallow little +Crupps."</p> + +<p>"No one wants you to," said Di. "If +you don't like her, you had better leave her +alone."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[241]</span></p> + +<p>"Women are not meant to be let alone," +said Archie, yawning, "except the ugly +ones."</p> + +<p>"Well, Miss Crupps is not pretty."</p> + +<p>"No, but she is gilt up to the eyes. Poor +eyes, too, and light eyelashes. I could not +marry light eyelashes."</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear it."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I know you don't care a straw +whether I settle well or not. You never +have cared. Women are all alike. There's +not a woman in the world, or a man either, +who cares a straw what becomes of me."</p> + +<p>"Or you what becomes of them."</p> + +<p>"John's just as bad as the rest," continued +the victim of a worldly age. "And John +and I were great chums in old days. But it +is the way of the world."</p> + +<p>Men who attract by a certain charm of +manner which the character is unable to +bear out, who make unconscious promises to<span class="pagenum">[242]</span> +the <i>hope</i> of others without ability to keep +them, are ever those who complain most +loudly of the fickleness of women, of the +uncertainty of friendship, of their loveless +lot.</p> + +<p>Di did not answer. Any allusion to John, +even the bare mention of his name, had +become of moment to her. She never by +any chance spoke of him, neither did she +ever miss a word that was said about him in +her presence; and often raged inwardly at +the ruthless judgments and superficial criticisms +that were freely passed upon him by +his contemporaries, and especially his kinsfolk. +From a very early date in this world's +history, ability has been felt to be distressing +in its own country, especially in the country. +If a clever man would preserve unflawed the +amulet of humility, let him at intervals visit +among his country cousins. John had not +many of these invaluable relations; but,<span class="pagenum">[243]</span> +happily for him, he had contemporaries who +did just as well—men who, when he was +mentioned with praise in their hearing, could +always break in that they had known him +at Eton, and relate how he had over-eaten +himself at the sock-shop.</p> + +<p>"One thing I am determined I won't +do," continued Archie, "and that is marry +poverty, like the poor old governor. He +has often talked about it, and what a grind +it was, with the tears in his eyes."</p> + +<p>"What has turned your mind to marriage +on this particular morning, of all others?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, unless it is the vision of +little Crupps. I suppose I shall come to +something of that kind some day. If it isn't +her it will be something like her. One must +live. You are on the look out for money, +too, Di, so you need not be so disdainful. +You can't marry a poor man."</p> + +<p>"They don't often ask me," said Di. "I<span class="pagenum">[244]</span> +fancy I look more expensive to keep up than +I really am."</p> + +<p>"Ah! here comes Lady Verelst," said +Archie, patronizingly. "I'd marry <i>her</i>, now, +if she were a rich widow. I would indeed. +She is putting up her red parasol. Quite +right. She has not your complexion, Di, +nor mine either."</p> + +<p>Archie got up as Madeleine came towards +them, and offered her his chair. Archie had +several cheap effects. To offer a chair with +a glance and a smile was one of them. +Perhaps he could not help it if the glance +suggested unbounded homage, if the smile +conveyed an admiration as concentrated as +Liebig's extract. His faithful, tender eyes +could wear the sweetest, the saddest, or +the most reproachful expression to order. +Every slight passing feeling was magnified +by the beauty of the face that reflected it +into a great emotion. He felt almost<span class="pagenum">[245]</span> +nothing, but he appeared to feel a great +deal. A man who possesses this talisman +is very dangerous.</p> + +<p>Poor Madeleine, confident of her appearance +in her new Cresser garment, with its +gold-flowered waistcoat, firmly believed, as +Archie silently pushed forward the chair, +that she had inspired—had been so unfortunate +as to inspire—"une grande passion +malheureuse." Almost all Archie's lovemaking, +and that is saying a good deal, +was speechless. He could look unutterable +things, but he had not, as he himself expressed +it, "the gift of the gab."</p> + +<p>Madeleine was sorry for him, but she +could not allow him to remain enraptured +beside her in full view of Sir Henry's study +windows.</p> + +<p>"How delicious it is here!" she said, +after dismissing him to the billiard-room. +"I never lie in bed after a ball, do you, Di?<span class="pagenum">[246]</span> +I seem to crave for the sunshine and the +face of nature after all the glitter and the +worldliness of a ball-room."</p> + +<p>"I don't find ball-rooms more worldly +than other places—than this bench, for +instance."</p> + +<p>"Now, how strange that is of you, Di! +This spot is quite sacred to <i>me</i>. I come and +read here."</p> + +<p>Madeleine had, by degrees, sanctified all +the seats in the garden; had taken the +impious chill even off the iron ones, by +reading her little manuals on each in turn.</p> + +<p>"It was here," continued Madeleine, +"that I persuaded dear Fred to go into +the Church. It was settled he was to be +a clergyman ever since he had that slight +stroke as a boy; but when he went to +college he must have got into a bad set, +for he said he did not think he had a vocation. +And mother—you know what mother<span class="pagenum">[247]</span> +is—did not like to press it, and the whole +thing was slipping through, when I had +him to stay here, and talked to him very +seriously, and explained that a living in the +family <i>was</i> the call."</p> + +<p>"Madeleine," said Di, rising precipitately, +"it is getting late. I must fly and pack."</p> + +<p>If she stayed another moment she knew +she should inevitably say something that +would scandalize Madeleine.</p> + +<p>"And I did not say it," she said with +modest triumph that evening, as she sat in +her grandmother's room before going to bed; +having rejoined her at Garstone, a relation's +house, whither Mrs. Courtenay had preceded +her. "I refrained even from bad words. +Granny, you know everything: why is it +that the people who shock me so dreadfully, +like Madeleine, are just the very ones who +are shocked at me? You are not. All the +really good earnest people I know are not.<span class="pagenum">[248]</span> +But <i>they</i> are. What is the matter with +them?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear, what is the matter with all +insincere people? It is only one of the +symptoms of an incurable disease."</p> + +<p>"But the being shocked is genuine. +They really feel it. There is something +wrong somewhere, but I don't know where +it is."</p> + +<p>"It is not hard to find, Di," said Mrs. +Courtenay, sadly; "and it is not worth +growing hot about. You are only running +a little tilt against religiosity. Most young +persons do. But it is not worth powder and +shot. Keep your ammunition for a nobler +enemy. There is plenty of sin in the world. +Strike at that whenever you can, but don't +pop away at shadows."</p> + +<p>"Ah! but, granny, these people do such +harm. They bring such discredit on religion. +That is what enrages me."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[249]</span></p> + +<p>"My dear, you are wrong; they bring +discredit upon nothing but their own lamentable +caricatures of holy things. These +people are solemn warnings—danger-signals +on the broad paths of religiosity, which, remember, +are very easy walking. There's +no life so easy. The religious life is hard +enough, God knows. Providence put those +people there to make their creed hideous, +and they do it. Upon my word, I think +your indignation against them is positively +unpardonable."</p> + +<p>Di was silent.</p> + +<p>"You don't mind being disliked by these +creatures, do you, Di?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, granny, I think I do. I believe, if +I only knew the truth about myself, I want +every one to like me; and it ruffles me +because they make round eyes, and don't +like me when their superiors often do."</p> + +<p>"Mere pride and love of admiration on<span class="pagenum">[250]</span> +your part, my dear. You have no business +with them. To be liked and admired by +certain persons is a stigma in itself. Look +at the kind of mediocrity and feebleness +they set on pedestals, and be thankful you +don't fit into their mutual admiration +societies. That 'like cleaves to like,' is a +saying we seldom get to the bottom of. +These unfortunates find blots, faults, evil, in +everything, especially everything original, +because they are sensitive to blots and faults. +They commit themselves out of their own +mouths. 'Those that seek shall find,' is +especially true of the fault-finders. The +truth and beauty which others receptive of +truth and beauty perceive, escape them. +Good nature sees good in others. The +reverent impute reverence. This false reverence +finds irreverence, as a mean nature +takes for granted a low motive in its fellow. +Oh dear me, Di! Have I expended on<span class="pagenum">[251]</span> +you for years the wisdom of a Socrates and +a Solomon, that at one and twenty you +should need to be taught your alphabet? +Go to bed and pray for wisdom, instead of +complaining of the lack of it in others."</p> + +<p>Di had had but little leisure lately, and +the unbounded leisure of her long visit at +Garstone came as a relief.</p> + +<p>"I shall have time to think here," she said +to herself, as she looked out the first morning +over the grey park and lake distorted +by the little panes of old glass of her low +window.</p> + +<p>Two very old people lived at Garstone, +who regarded their niece, Mrs. Courtenay, +as still quite a young person, in spite of her +tall granddaughter. Time seemed to have +forgotten the dear old couple, and they in +turn had forgotten it. It never mattered +what time of day it was. Nothing depended +on the hour. In the course of the morning<span class="pagenum">[252]</span> +the butler would open both the folding doors +at the end of the long "parlour" leading to +the chapel, and would announce, "Prayers +are served." Long prayers they were. +Long meals were served too, with long intervals +between them, during which, in spite +of a week of heavy rain, Di escaped regularly +into the gardens and so away to the +park. The house oppressed her. She was +restless and ill at ease. She was never +missed because she was never wanted; +and she wandered for hours in the park, +listening to the low cry of the deer, standing +on the bridge over the artificial 1745 lake, +or pacing mile on mile a sheltered path +under the park wall. The thinking for +which she had such ample opportunity did +not come off. It shirked regularly. A certain +vague trouble of soul was upon her, +like the unrest of nature at the spring of +the year. And day after day she watched<span class="pagenum">[253]</span> +the autumn leaves drop from the trees +into the water, and there was a great silence +in her heart, and underneath the silence a +fear—or was it a hope? She knew not.</p> + +<p>There was one subject to which Di's +thoughts returned, and ever returned, in +spite of herself. John was that subject. +Gradually, as the days wore on, her shamed +remorse at having wounded him gave place +to the old animosity against him. She had +never been angry with any of her numerous +lovers before. She had, on the contrary, +been rather sorry for them. But she was +desperately angry with John. It seemed to +her—why she would have been at a loss to +explain—that he had taken a very great +liberty in venturing to love her, and in +daring to assert that they were suited to +other.</p> + +<p>She went through silent paroxysms of +rage against him, sitting on a fallen tree<span class="pagenum">[254]</span> +among the bracken with clenched hands. +Her sense of his growing power over her, +over her thought, over her will, was intolerable. +Why so fierce? why such a fool? +she asked herself over and over again. He +could not marry her against her will. Indeed, +he had said he did not want to. Why, +then, all this silly indignation about nothing? +There was no answer until one day Mrs. +Courtenay happened to mention to Mrs. +Garstone, in her presence, the probability +of John's eventually marrying Lady Alice +Fane—"a very charming and suitable person," +etc.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly it became clear to Di that, +though she would never marry him herself, +the possibility of his marrying any one else +was not to be borne for a moment. John, of +course, was to—was to remain unmarried all +his life. Her sense of the ludicrous showed +her in a lightning-flash where she stood.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[255]</span></p> + +<p>To discover a new world is all very well +for people like Columbus, who want to find +one. But to discover a new world by mistake +when quite content with the old one, +and to be swept towards it uncertain of your +reception by the natives assembling on the +beach, is another thing altogether. For the +second time in her life Di was frightened.</p> + +<p>"Then all these horrible feelings are +being in love," she said to herself, with a +sense of stupefaction. "This is what other +people have felt for me, and I treated it as +of little consequence. This is what I have +read about, and sung about, and always +rather wished to feel. I am in love with +John. Oh, I hope to God he will never +find it out!"</p> + +<p>Probably no man will ever understand the +agonies of humiliation, of furious unreasoning +antagonism, which a proud woman goes +through when she becomes aware that she<span class="pagenum">[256]</span> +is falling in love. Pride and love go as ill +together in the beginning as they go exceeding +well together later on. To be loved +is incense at first, until the sense of justice—fortunately +rare in women—is aroused. +"Shall I take all, and give nothing?"</p> + +<p>Pride, often a very tender pride for the +lover himself, asks that question. Directly +it is asked the battle begins.</p> + +<p>"I will not give less than all. How <i>can</i> +I give all?" The very young are spared +the conflict, because the future husband is +regarded only as the favoured ball-partner, +the perpetual admirer of a new existence. +But women who know something of life—of +the great demands of marriage—of the absolute +sacrifice of individual existence which +it involves—when they begin to tremble +beneath the sway of a deep human passion +suffer much, fear greatly until the perfect +love comes that casts out fear.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[257]</span></p> + +<p>Some natures, and very lovable they are, +give all, counting not the cost. Others, a +very few, count the cost and then give all.</p> + +<p>Di was one of these.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ep13.jpg" width="500" height="260" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chapter" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[258]</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/ch02.jpg" width="600" height="187" alt="" /> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<blockquote><p>"Austerity in women is sometimes the accompaniment +of a rare power of loving. And when it is so their +attachment is strong as death; their fidelity as resisting +as the diamond."—<span class="smcap">Amiel.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p><img class="dropimg" src="images/drop_t.jpg" height="80" width="80" alt="T" /> + <span class="hide">T</span>HE newspapers arrived at tea-time at +Garstone. Every afternoon Mrs. +Garstone and Mrs. Courtenay drove out +along the straight high-road to D—— to +fetch the papers and post the letters; four +miles in and four miles out; the grey pair +one day and the bays the next, in the old +yellow chariot. It was the rule of the house. +And after tea and rusks, and a poached egg +under a cover for Mr. Garstone, that gentleman +read the papers aloud in a voice that<span class="pagenum">[259]</span> +trembled and halted like the spinnet in the +southern parlour.</p> + +<p>"Is Parliament prorogued yet?" Mrs. +Garstone asked regularly every afternoon.</p> + +<p>Mr. Garstone, without answering, struck +his key-note at the births, and quavered +slowly through the marriages and deaths. +Before he had arrived on this particular +afternoon at the fact that Princess Beatrice +had walked with Prince Henry of Battenberg, +Mrs. Garstone was already nodding +between her little rows of white curls. Mrs. +Courtenay was awake, but she looked too +solemnly attentive to continue in one stay.</p> + +<p>"The remains of the Dean of Gloucester," +continued Mr. Garstone, "will be interred at +Gloucester Cathedral on Friday next."</p> + +<p>The information was received, like most +sedatives, without comment.</p> + +<p>Latest intelligence. Colliery explosion at +Snarley.</p><p><span class="pagenum">[260]</span></p> + +<p>"Di, has not John coal-pits at Snarley?" +asked Mrs. Courtenay, becoming suddenly +wide awake.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Di.</p> + +<p>"Explosion of fire-damp," continued Mr. +Garstone, slower than ever. "No particulars +known. Great loss of life apprehended. +Mr. Tempest of Overleigh, to +whom the mine belonged, instantly left +Godalmington Court, where he was the +guest of Lord Carradock, and proceeded +at once to the spot, where he organized a +rescue party led by himself. Mr. Tempest +was the first to descend the shaft. The +gravest anxiety was felt respecting the +fate of the rescuing party. Vast crowds +assembled at the pit's mouth. No further +news obtainable up to date of going to +press."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Courtenay looked at Di.</p> + +<p>"He must be mad to have gone down<span class="pagenum">[261]</span> +himself," she said agitatedly. "What could +he possibly do there?"</p> + +<p>"His duty," said Di; and she got up and +left the room. How could any one exist in +that hot close atmosphere? She was suffocating.</p> + +<p>The hall was cold enough. She shivered +as she crossed it, and went up the white +shallow stairs to her own room, where a +newly lit fire was spluttering. She knelt +down before it and pushed a burning stick +further between the bars, blackening her +fingers. It would catch the paper at the +side now.—John had gone down the shaft.—Yes, +it would catch. The paper stretched +itself and flared up. She went and stood by +the window.</p> + +<p>"John has gone down," she said, half +aloud. Her heart was quite numb. Only +her body seemed to care. Her limbs +trembled, and she sat down on the narrow<span class="pagenum">[262]</span> +window seat, her hands clutching the dragon +hasp of the window, her eyes looking +absently out.</p> + +<p>There was a fire in the west. Upon the +dreaming land the dreaming mist lay pale. +The sentinel trees stood motionless and +dark, each folded in his mantle of grey. +Only the water waked and knew its God. +And far across the sleeping land, in the long +lines of flooded meadow, the fire trembled +on the upturned face of the water, like the +reflection of the divine glory in a passionate +human soul.</p> + +<p>It passed. The light throbbed and died, +but Di did not stir. And as she sat motionless, +her mind slipped sharp and keen out of +its lethargy and restlessness, like a sword +from its scabbard.</p> + +<p>"Now, at this moment, is he alive or +dead?"</p> + +<p>And at the thought of death, that holiest<span class="pagenum">[263]</span> +minister who waits on life, all the rebellious +anger, all the nameless fierce resentment +against her lover—because he <i>was</i> her lover—fell +from her like a garment, died down +like Peter's lies at the glance of Christ.</p> + +<p>The evening deepened its mourning for +the dead day. One star shook in the +empty sky, above the shadow and the +mist.</p> + +<p>"Love the gift is Love the debt." Di +perceived that at last. A great shame fell +upon her for the divided feelings, the unconscious +struggle with her own heart, of the last +few weeks. It appeared to her now ignoble, +as all elementary phases of feeling, all sheaths +of deep affections must appear, in the moment +when that which they enfolded and protected +grows beyond the narrow confines which it +no longer needs.</p> + +<p><i>If he is dead?</i> Di twisted her hands.</p> + +<p>Who, one of two that have loved and<span class="pagenum">[264]</span> +stood apart has escaped that pang, if death +intervene? A moment ago and the world +was full of messengers waiting to speed +between them at the slightest bidding. A +penny stamp could do it. But there was no +bidding. A moment more and all communication +is cut off. No Armada can cross +that sea.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he is dying; and I sit here," +she said. "I would give my life for him, +and I cannot do a hand's turn." And she +rocked herself to and fro.</p> + +<p>For the first time in her life Di dashed +herself blindly against one of God's boundaries; +and the shock that a first realization +of our helplessness always brings, +struck her like a blow. She could do +nothing.</p> + +<p>Many impulsive people, under the intolerable +pressure of their own impotence, make +a feverish pretence of action, and turn stones<span class="pagenum">[265]</span> +and pebbles, as they cannot turn heaven and +earth; but Di was not impulsive.</p> + +<p>And the gong sounded, first far away in +the western wing, and then at the foot of the +staircase.</p> + +<p>Many things fail us in this world; youth, +love, friendship, take to themselves wings; +but meals are not among our migratory joys. +Amid the shifting quicksands of life they +stand fast as milestones.</p> + +<p>Di dressed and went downstairs. It +seemed years since she had last seen the +"parlour," and old Mr. Garstone standing +alone before the fire.</p> + +<p>He did not appear aged.</p> + +<p>"It's later than it was," he remarked; +and she had a dim recollection that in some +misty bygone time he invariably used to say +those particular words every evening, and +that she used to smile and nod and say, +"Yes, Uncle George."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[266]</span></p> + +<p>And so she smiled now, and repeated like +a parrot, "Yes, Uncle George."</p> + +<p>And he said, "Yes, Diana, yes."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Breakfast was later than usual next +morning. It always is when one has lain +awake all night. But it ended at last, +and Di was at last at liberty to rush up to +her room, pull on an old waterproof and +felt hat, and dart out unobserved into the +rain.</p> + +<p>The white mist closed in upon her, and +directly she was out of sight of the house +she began to run. There were no aimless +wanderings and pacings to-day. Oh, the +relief of rapid movement after the long +inertia of the night, the joy of feeling the +rain sweeping against her face! She did not +know the way to D——, but she could not +miss it. It was only four miles off. It was +eleven now. The morning papers would be<span class="pagenum">[267]</span> +in by this time. If she walked hard she +would be back by luncheon-time.</p> + +<p>And, in truth, a few minutes before two Di +emerged from her room in the neatest and +driest of blue serge gowns. Only her hair, +which curled more crisply than usual, showed +that she had been out in the damp. She +had come home dead beat and wet to the +skin, but she had hardly known it. A +new climbing agitated joy pulsated in her +heart, in the presence of which cold and +fatigue could not exist; in the presence of +which no other feeling can exist—for the +time.</p> + +<p>"Are you glad John is out of danger?" +said Mrs. Courtenay that evening as they +went upstairs together, after Mr. Garstone +had read of John's narrow escape—John had +been one of the few among the rescuing +party who had returned.</p> + +<p>"Very glad," said Di; and she was on the<span class="pagenum">[268]</span> +point of telling her grandmother of her +expedition to D—— that morning, when a +sudden novel sensation of shyness seized her, +and she stopped short.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Courtenay sighed as she settled herself +for her nap before dinner.</p> + +<p>"Has she inherited her father's heartlessness +as well as his yellow hair?" she +asked herself.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Courtenay had lived long enough to +know how few and far between are those +among our fellow-creatures whose hearts are +not entirely engrossed by the function of +their own circulation. Youth believes in +universal warmth of heart. It is as common +as rhubarb in April. Later on we discern +that easily touched feelings, youth's dearest +toys, are but toys; shaped stones that look +like bread. Later on we discern how fragile +is the woof of sentiment to bear the wear and +tear of life. Later still, when sorrow chills<span class="pagenum">[269]</span> +us, we learn on how few amid the many +hearths where we are welcome guests a fire +burns to which we may stretch our cold +hands and find warmth and comfort.</p> +</div> + +<p class="h3"> +END OF VOL. II.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h4"> +PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,<br /> +LONDON AND BECCLES. <i>D. & Co.</i><br /> +</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIANA TEMPEST, VOLUME II (OF 3)***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 37974-h.txt or 37974-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/7/9/7/37974">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/9/7/37974</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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/dev/null +++ b/37974.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4710 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Diana Tempest, Volume II (of 3), by Mary +Cholmondeley + + +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: Diana Tempest, Volume II (of 3) + + +Author: Mary Cholmondeley + + + +Release Date: November 10, 2011 [eBook #37974] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIANA TEMPEST, VOLUME II (OF 3)*** + + +E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Matthew Wheaton, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images +generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries +(http://www.archive.org/details/americana) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illuminations. + See 37974-h.htm or 37974-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37974/37974-h/37974-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37974/37974-h.zip) + + + Project Gutenberg also has Volumes I and II of this + work. See + Volume I: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37973 + Volume III: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37975 + + + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive/American Libraries. See + http://www.archive.org/details/dianatempest02chol + + + + + +DIANA TEMPEST. + +by + +MARY CHOLMONDELEY, + +Author of +"The Danvers Jewels," +"Sir Charles Danvers," etc. + +In Three Volumes. +VOL. II. + + + + + + + +London: +Richard Bentley & Son, +Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen. +1893. +(All rights reserved.) + + + + +DIANA TEMPEST. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + "The fact is, I have never loved any one well enough to put + myself into a noose for them. It _is_ a noose, you + know."--GEORGE ELIOT. + + +It was the middle of July. The season had reached the climax which +precedes a collapse. The heat was intense. The pace had been too great +to last. The rich sane were already on their way to Scotch moor or +Norwegian river; the rich insane and the poor remained, and people with +daughters--assiduously entertaining the dwindling numbers of the +"uncertain, coy, and hard to please" _jeunesse doree_ of the present +day. There were some great weddings fixed for the end of July, proving +that marriage was not extinct,--prospective weddings which, like iron +rivets, held the crumbling fabric of the season together. + +If the unusual heat had driven away half the world, still the greater +part of the little world mentioned in these pages remained. Not quite +all, for Sir Henry and Lady Verelst had departed rather suddenly for +Norway, and Lord Frederick was drinking the water at Homburg or Aix; and +thriving on a beverage which never passed his lips without admixture in +his own country, except in connection with the toothbrush. + +But John and his aunt Miss Fane were still in the large cool house in +Park Lane. Lord Hemsworth was still baking himself for no apparent +reason in his rooms over his club. Mrs. Courtenay and Di were still in +town, because they could not afford to go until their country visits +began. + +"Oh, granny," said Di one afternoon as they sat together in the darkened +drawing-room, "let us cut everything. Do be ill, and let me write round +to say we have been obliged to leave town." + +Mrs. Courtenay shook her head. + +"We can't go till we have somewhere to go to, and we are not due at +Archelot till the first of August." + +"Could not we afford a week, just one week, at the sea first?" + +"No, Di," said Mrs. Courtenay, "I have thought it over. Only the rich +can have their cake and eat it. We had a victoria for a fortnight in +June. That meant no seaside this year." + +There was a pause. + +"I wish I were married," said Di, looking affectionately at Mrs. +Ccurtenay's pale face. "I wish I had a rich, kind husband. I would not +mind if he parted his hair down the middle, or even if he came down to +breakfast in slippers, if only he would give me everything I wanted. And +he should stay up in London, and we would run down to the seaside +together, G., first-class; I am not sure I should not take a _coupe_ for +you; and you should go out on the sands in the donkey-chairs that your +soul loves; and have ice on the butter and cream in the tea; and in the +evening we would sit on a first-floor balcony (no more second-floors if +I were rich) and watch a cool moon rising over a cool sea. I wish +moonlight on the sea were not so expensive. The beauties of nature are +very dear, granny. Sunsets cost money nowadays." + +"Everything costs money," said Mrs. Courtenay. + +Di was silent a little while; it was too hot to talk except at +intervals. + +"I don't think I mind being poor," she said at last. "For myself, I +mean. I have looked at being poor in the face, and it is not half so bad +as rich people seem to think. I mean our kind of poorness; of course, +not the poverty of nothing a year and ten children to educate, who ought +never to have been born. But some people think that the kind of means +(like ours) which narrow down pleasures, and check one at every turn, +and want a sharp tug to meet at the end of the year, are a dreadful +misfortune. Really I don't see it. Of course it is annoying being less +well off than any of our friends, and now I come to think of it, all the +people we know are richer than ourselves. I wonder how it happens. But +there is something rather interesting after all in combating small +means. Look at that screen I made you last year, and think of the +gnawing envy it has awakened in the hearts of friends. It was a +clothes-horse once, but genius was brought to bear upon it, and it is a +very imposing object now. And then my dear Emersons, all eleven of them, +I don't think I could have valued them so much, or have been so furious +with Jane for spilling water on one of them, if they had not emerged one +by one out of my glove and shoe money." + +"Oh, my dear, poverty does not matter, nothing matters while you are +young and strong. But it presses hard when one is growing old. Money +eases everything." + +"I feel that; and sometimes when I see you working a sovereign out of +the neck of that horrid little woollen jug in the writing-table drawer, +I simply long for money for your sake, that you may never be worried +about it any more. And sometimes I should like it for the sake of all +the lovely places in the world that other people go to (people who only +remember the _table d'hote_ dinners when they come back), and the books +that I cannot afford, and the pictures that seem my very own, only they +belong to some one else; and the kind things one could do to poor people +who could not return them, which rich people don't seem to think of: +rich people's kindnesses are always so expensive. Yes, I long for money +sometimes, but all the time I know I don't really care about it. There +seems to be no pleasure in having anything if there is no difficulty in +getting it. I would rather marry a poor man with brains and do my best +with his small income, and help him up, than spend a rich man's money. +Any one can do that. I fear I shall never take you to the seaside, my +own G., or send you pre-paid hampers of hothouse flowers, or game, after +Mr. Di's _battues_, for I am certain Providence intends me to be a poor +man's wife, if I enter the holy estate at all, because--I should make +such a good one." + +"You would make a good wife, Di, but I sometimes think you will never +marry," said Mrs. Courtenay, sadly. She felt the heat. + +"Well, granny, I won't say I feel sure I shall never marry, because all +girls say that, and it generally means nothing. But still that is what I +feel without saying it. Do you remember poor old Aunt Belle when she was +dying, and how nothing pleased her, and how she said at last: 'I want--I +want--I don't know what I want'? Well, when I come to think of it, I +really don't know what _I_ want. I know what I _don't_ want. I don't +want a kind, indulgent husband, and a large income, and good horses, and +pretty little frilled children with their mother's eyes, that one shows +to people and is proud of. It is all very nice. I am glad when I see +other people happy like that. I should like to see you pleased; but for +myself--really--I think I should find them rather in the way. I dare say +I might make a good wife, as you say. I believe I could be rather a +cheerful companion, and affectionate if it was not exacted of me. But +somehow all that does not hit the mark. The men who have cared for me +have never seemed to like me for myself, or to understand the something +behind the chatter and the fun which is the real part of me--which, if I +married one of them, would never be brought into play, and would die of +starvation. The only kind of marriage I have ever had a chance of seems +to me like a sort of suicide--seems as if it would be one's best self +that would be killed, while the other self, the well-dressed, +society-loving, ball-going, easy-going self, would be all that was left +of me, and would dance upon my grave." + +Mrs. Courtenay was silent. She never ridiculed any thought, however +crude and young, if it were genuine. She was one of the few people who +knew whether Di was in fun or in earnest, and she knew she was in +earnest now. + +"There are such things as happy marriages," she said. + +"Yes, granny; but I think it is the _happy_ marriages I see which make +me afraid of marrying. I know it is foolish to expect to meet with +anything better than the ordinary happy marriage, and one ought to be +thankful if one met with that, for half the world does not. But when I +see what is _called_ a happy marriage I always think, is that all? +Somebody who believes everything I do is right, however silly it is, and +knows how many lumps of sugar I take in my tea--like Arnold and +Lily--people point at that marriage as such a model, because they have +been married two years and are still as silly as they were. But whenever +I stay with them, and she talks nonsense, and he thinks it is all the +wisdom of Solomon; and she gives him a blotting-pad, and he gives her a +fan; and then they look at each other, and then run races in the garden, +and each waits for the other, and they come in hand-in-hand as if they +had done something clever--whenever I behold these things it all seems +to me a sort of game that I should be ashamed to play at, and I feel, if +that is all, at least all I ought to expect, that it is a kind of +happiness I don't care to have. Must love be always a sort of pretence, +granny, and such a blind, silly, unreasoning feeling when it does exist? +If ever I fall in love, shall I set up an assortment of lamentable, +ludicrous illusions about some commonplace young man, as Lily does +about that pink Arnold? Can't love be real, like hate? Can't people ever +look at each other, and see each other as they _are_, and love each +other for _what_ they are?" + +"The Lilies and the Arnolds would not marry if they saw each other as +they are, my dear, and they would miss a great deal of happiness in +consequence. There would be very few marriages if there were no +illusions." + +Di was silent. + +Mrs. Courtenay stitched a resolution into her lace-work concerning a man +whom no one could call commonplace, and presently spoke again. + +"You are confusing 'being in love' with love itself," she said. "The one +is common to vulgarity, the other rare, at least between men and women. +It is the best thing life has to offer. But I have noticed that those +who believe in it, and hope for it, and refuse the commoner love for it, +generally--remain unmarried. And now, my dear, send down Evans with my +black lace mantilla, and my new bonnet, for Mrs. Darcy said she would +lend us her carriage for the afternoon, and it comes at five. Put on a +white gown, and make yourself look cool. I must call on Miss Fane, and +afterwards we will go down and see the pony races at Hurlingham. Lord +Hemsworth sent us tickets for to-day. He is riding, I think." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "The little waves make the large ones, and are of the same + pattern."--GEORGE ELIOT. + + +John was dragging himself feebly across the hall to the smoking-room, +after a dutiful cup of tea with his aunt, who was prostrate with a +headache, when the door-bell rang, and he saw the champing profiles of a +pair of horses through one of the windows. Following his masculine +instincts, he hurried across the hall with all the celerity he could +muster, and had just got safe under cover when the footman answered the +bell. His ear caught the name of Mrs. Courtenay through the open door of +the smoking-room, and presently, though he knew Miss Fane did not +consider herself well enough to see visitors, there was a slow rustling +across the hall, and up the stairs, accompanied by a light firm footfall +that could hardly belong to James, whose elephantine rush had so often +disturbed him when he was ill. + +As James came down again, John looked out of the smoking-room door. + +"Who is with Miss Fane?" + +"Mrs. Courtenay, sir." + +"Any one else?" + +"No, sir. Miss Fane could only see Mrs. Courtenay. Miss Tempest, as come +with her, is in the gold drawing-room." + +John shut the smoking-room door and went and looked out of the window. +It was not a cheerful prospect, but that did not matter much, as he +happened to be looking at it without seeing it. Lindo got up on a chair +and looked solemnly out too, rolling the whites of his eyes +occasionally at his master from under his bushy brows, and yawning long +tongue-curling yawns of sheer _ennui_. The cowls on the chimney-pots +twirled. The dead plants on the leads were still dead. The cook's canary +was going up and down on its two perches like a machine. John reflected +that it was rather a waste of canary power; but, perhaps, there was +nothing to hold back for in its bachelor existence. It would stand still +enough presently when it was stuffed. + +Could he get upstairs by himself? That was the question. He could come +down, but that was not of much interest to him just now. Could he get up +again? Only the first floor. Shallow stairs. Sit down half way. Awkward +to be found sitting there, certainly. One thing was certain: that he was +not going to be conveyed up in Marshall's solemn embrace as heretofore. +John reflected that he must begin to walk by himself some time. Why not +now? Very slowly, of course. Why not now? + +It certainly was slow. But the stairs were shallow. There were +balusters. It was done at last. If that alpine summit--the upper +mat--was finally reached on hands and knees, who was the wiser? + +John was breathless but triumphant. His hands were a trifle black; but +what of that? The door of the gold drawing-room was open. It was a +historic room, the decoration of which had been left untouched since the +days when the witty Mrs. Tempest, whom Gainsborough painted, held her +salon there. It was a long pillared room. Curtains of some old-fashioned +pale gold brocade, not made now, hung from the white pillars and +windows. The gold-coloured walls were closely lined with dim pictures +from the ceiling to the old Venetian leather of the dado. Tall, gilt +eastern figures, life size, meant to hold lamps, stood here and there, +raising their empty hands, hideous, but peculiar to the room, with its +bygone stately taste, and stiff white and gilt chairs and settees. John +drew aside the curtain, and then hesitated. A family of tall white +lilies in pots were gathered together in one of the further windows. Di +was standing by them, turned towards him, but without perceiving him. +She had evidently introduced herself to the lilies as a friend of the +family, and was touching the heads of those nearest to her very gently, +very tenderly with one finger. She stood in the full light, like some +tall splendid lily herself, against the golden background. + +John drew in his breath. It was _his_ house; they were _his_ lilies. The +empty setting which seemed to claim her for its own, to group itself so +naturally round her, was all his. There was a tremor of prophesy in the +air. His brain seemed to turn slowly round in his head. He had come +upstairs too quickly. His hand clutched the curtain. He felt momentarily +incapable of stirring or speaking. The old physical pain, which only +loosed him at intervals, tightened its thongs. But he dreaded to see her +look up and find him watching her. He went forward and held out his hand +in silence. + +Di looked up and her expression changed instantly. A lovely colour came +into her face, and her eyes shone. She advanced quickly towards him. + +"Oh, John!" she said. "Is it really you? I was afraid we should not see +you before we left town. But you ought not to stand." (John's complexion +was passing from white to ashen grey, to pale green.) "Sit down." She +held both his passive hands in hers. She would not for worlds have let +him see that she thought he was going to faint. "This is a nice chair by +the window," drawing him gently to it. "I was just admiring your lilies. +You will let me ring for a cup of tea, I know. I am so thirsty." It was +done in a moment, and she was back again beside him, only a voice now, a +voice among the lilies, which appeared and disappeared at intervals. One +tall furled lily head came and went with astonishing celerity, and the +voice spoke gently and cheerfully from time to time. It was like a +wonderful dream in a golden dusk. And then there was a little clink and +clatter, and a cup of tea suddenly appeared close to him out of the +darkness; and there was Di's voice again, and a momentary glimpse of +Di's earnest eyes, which did not match her tranquil unconcerned voice. + +He drank the tea mechanically without troubling to hold the cup, which +seemed to take the initiative with a precision and an independence of +support, which would have surprised him at any other time. The tea, what +little there was of it, was the nastiest he had ever tasted. It might +have been made in a brandy bottle. But it certainly cleared the air. +Gradually the room came back. The light came back. He came back himself. +It was all hardly credible. There was Di sitting opposite him, evidently +quite unaware that he had been momentarily overcome, and assiduously +engaged in pouring out another cup of tea. She had taken off her gloves, +and he watched her cool slender hands give herself a lump of sugar. +(Only one _small_ lump, John observed. He must remember that.) Then she +filled up the teapot from the little gurgling silver kettle. What +forethought. Wonderful! and yet all apparently so natural. She seemed to +do it as a matter of course. He ought to be helping her, but somehow he +was not. Would she take bread and butter, or one of those little round +things? She took a piece of bread and butter. Perhaps it would be as +well to listen to what she was saying. He lost the first part of the +sentence because she began to stir her tea at the moment, and he could +not attend to two things at once. But presently he heard her say-- + +"Mrs. Courtenay thinks young people ought not to mind missing tea +altogether. But I do mind; don't you? I think it is the pleasantest meal +in the day." + +John cautiously assented that it was. He felt that he must be very +careful, or a slight dizziness which was now rapidly passing off might +be noticed. + +Di went on talking unconcernedly, bending her burnished golden head in +its little white bonnet over the teacups. She seemed to take a great +interest in the tea-things, and the date of the apostle spoons. +Presently she looked at him again, and a relieved smile came into her +face. + +"Are you ready for another cup?" she said. And it was not a dream any +longer, but all quite real and true, and he was real too. + +"No, thanks," said John, taking his cup with extreme deliberation from a +table at his elbow, where he supposed he had set it down. "There is +something wrong about the tea, I think. Do send yours away and have some +more. It has a very odd taste." + +"Has it?" said Di, meeting his eye firmly, but with an effort. "I don't +notice it. On the contrary, I think it is rather good. Try another cup." + +"Perhaps the water did not boil," suggested John feebly, reflecting that +his temporary indisposition might have been the cause of his dislike, +but anxious to conceal the fact. + +"That is a direct reflection on my tea-making," said Di. "You had better +be more careful what you say." And she quickly pushed a stumpy little +liqueur-bottle behind the silver tea-caddy. + +"I beg pardon, and ask humbly for another cup," said John, smiling. The +pain had left him again, as it generally did after he had remained quiet +for a time, and in the relief from it he had a vague impression that the +present moment was too good to last. He did not know that it was usual +to wash out a cup so carefully as Di did his, but she seemed to think it +the right thing, and she probably knew. Anyhow, the second cup was +capital. John was not allowed to drink tea. The doctors who were +knitting firmly together again the slender threads that had so far bound +him to this world, believed he was imbibing an emulsion of something or +other strengthening and nauseous at that moment. + +"Oh! There is a tea-cake," said Di, discovering another dish behind the +kettle. "Why did not I see it before?" + +"It is not too late, I hope," said John, anxiously. The stupidity of +James in putting a tea-cake (which might have been preferred to bread +and butter) out of sight behind an opaque kettle, caused him profound +annoyance. + +But Di could not take a personal interest in the tea-cake. She looked +back at the lilies. + +"Don't you long to be in the country?" she said. "I find myself dreaming +about green fields and flowers gratis. I have not seen a country lane +since Easter, and then it rained all the time. It is three years since I +have found a hedge-sparrow's nest with eggs in it. Don't you long to get +away?" + +"I long to get back to Overleigh," said John. "I went there for a few +days in the spring on my return from Russia. The place was looking +lovely; but," he added, as if it were a matter of course, "naturally +Overleigh always looks beautiful to me." + +Di did not answer. + +"You know the wood below the house," he went on. "When I saw it last all +the rhododendrons were out." + +"I have never seen Overleigh," said Di, looking at the lilies again, and +trying to speak unconcernedly. She knew Lord Hemsworth's tiresome old +Border castle. She had visited at many historic houses. She and Mrs. +Courtenay were going to some shortly. But her own family place, the one +house of all others in the whole world which she would have cared +to see, she had never seen. She had often heard about it from +acquaintances, had looked wistfully at drawings of it in illustrated +magazines, had questioned Mrs. Courtenay and Archie about it, had +wandered in imagination in its long gallery, and down the lichened steps +from the postern in the wall, that every artist vignetted, to the +stone-flagged Italian gardens below. But with her bodily eyes she had +never beheld it, and the longing returned at intervals. It had returned +now. + +"Will you come and see it?" said John, looking away from her. It seemed +to him that he was playing a game in which he had staked heavily, +against some one who had staked nothing, who was not even conscious of +playing, and might inadvertently knock over the board at any moment. He +felt as if he had noiselessly pushed forward his piece, and as if +everything depended on the withdrawal of his hand from it unobserved. + +"I have wished to see Overleigh from a child," said Di, flushing a +little. "Think what you feel about it, and my father, and our +grandfather. Well--I am a Tempest too." + +John was vaguely relieved. He glanced from her to the Gainsborough in +the feathered hat that hung behind her. There was just a touch of +resemblance under the unlikeness, a look in the pose of the head, in its +curled and powdered wig that had reminded him of Di before. It reminded +him of her more than ever now. + +"Archie has been to Overleigh so constantly that I had not realized you +had never seen it," said John. "But I suppose you were not grown up in +those days; and since you grew up I have been abroad." + +"Shall you go abroad again?" + +"No. I have given up my secretaryship. I have come back to England for +good." + +"I am glad of that." + +"I have been away too long as it is." + +"Yes," said Di. "I have often thought so." + +"Why?" + +There was a pause. + +"We are not represented," said Di proudly. She was speaking to one of +her own family, and consequently she was not careful to choose her +words. She had evidently no fear of being misunderstood by John. "We +have always taken a place," she went on. "Not a particularly high one, +but one of some kind. There was Amyas Tempest the cavalier general, and +John who was with Charles of Bourbon at the sacking of Rome; and there +were judges and admirals. Not that that is much when one looks at other +families, the Cecils, for instance, but still they were always among the +men of the day. And then our great-grandfather who lies in Westminster +Abbey really was a great man. I was reading his life over again the +other day. I suppose his son only passed muster because he was his son, +and owing to his wife's ability. She amused old George IV., and made +herself a power, and pushed her husband." + +"My father never did anything," said John. + +"No. I have always heard he had brains, but that he let things go +because he was unhappy. Just the reason for holding on to them all the +tighter, I should have thought, wouldn't you?" + +"Not with some people. Some people can't do anything if there is no one +to be glad when they have done it. I partly understand the feeling." + +"I don't," said Di. "I mean, I do, but I don't understand giving in to +it, and letting a little bit of personal unhappiness, which will die +with one, prevent one's being a good useful link in a chain. One owes +that to the chain." + +"Yes," said John. "And yet I know he had a very strong feeling of +responsibility from what he said to me on his death-bed. I have often +thought about him since, and tried to piece together all the little +fragments I can remember of him; but I think there is no one I can +understand less than my own father. He seemed a hard cold man, and yet +that face is neither hard nor cold." + +John pointed to a picture behind her, and Di rose and turned to look at +it. + +It was an interesting refined face, destitute of any kind of good looks, +except those of high breeding. The eyes had a certain thoughtful +challenge in them. The lips were thin and firm. + +Both gazed in silence for a moment. + +"He looks as if he might have been one of those quiet equable people who +may be pushed into a corner," said Di, "and then become rather +dangerous. I can imagine his being a harsh man, and an unforgiving one +if life went wrong." + +"I am afraid he did become that," said John. "As he could not find room +for forgiveness, there was naturally no room for happiness either." + +"Was there some one whom he could not forgive?" asked Di, turning her +keen glance upon him. She evidently knew nothing of the feud of the last +generation. + +At this moment the rush of James the elephant-footed was heard, and he +announced that Mrs. Courtenay was getting into the carriage, and had +sent for Miss Tempest. + +"Good-bye," said Di, cordially, gathering up her gloves and parasol. "Go +to Overleigh and get strong. And--you will have so many other things to +think of--try not to forget about asking us." + +"I will remember," said John, as if he would make a point of burdening +his memory. + +He was holding aside the curtain for her to pass. + +"You see," said Di, looking back, "when we are on the move we can do +things, but once we get back to London we cannot go north again till +next year. We can't afford it." + +"I will be sure to remember," said John again. He was a little +crestfallen, and yet relieved that she should think he might forget. He +felt that he could trust his memory. + +She smiled gratefully and was gone. She had forgotten to shake hands +with him. He knew she had not been aware of the omission. She had been +thinking of something else at the moment. But it remained a grievous +fact all the same. + +He walked back absently into the drawing-room and stopped opposite the +tea-table. + +"Vinegar," he said to himself. "What can James have been about? I draw +the line at vinegar at five o'clock tea. I hope she did not see it." + +He took out the glass stopper. + +Not vinegar. No. There is but one name for that familiar, that searching +smell. + +"It's brandy," said John aloud, speaking to himself, while the past +unrolled itself like a map before his eyes. "Yes, look at it. Would you +like to smell it again? There is no need to be so surprised. You had +some of it not ten minutes ago, you poor deluded, blinded, bandaged +idiot." + + * * * * * + +"Whom do you think _I_ have seen?" said Di, as they drove away. + +Mrs. Courtenay made no attempt to guess, which was the more remarkable +because, when Miss Fane had ordered a cup of tea for Di, James had +volunteered the information that he had already taken tea to Mr. and +Miss Tempest. + +"Whom but John himself," continued Di. + +"I thought he was still invisible." + +"I am sure he ought to be. I never saw any one look so ill. We had tea +together. I really thought you were never going away at all, but I was +glad you were such a long time, because it was so pleasant seeing him +again. I like John; don't you? I have liked him from the first." + +"He is a sensible man, but I prefer people with easier manners myself." + +"He is more than sensible, I think." + +"We shall be too late for the pony races," said Mrs. Courtenay. "It is +nearly six now, and I told Lord Hemsworth we would be at the entrance at +half-past five." + +"He will survive it," said Di, archly. "And, granny, John is going to +ask us to Overleigh. I told him I had never seen it." + +"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Courtenay, and there was no doubt about +her interest this time. "You did not _suggest_ our going, did you?" + +"I am not sure I did not," said Di, unfurling her parasol. "Look, +granny, there is Mrs. Buller nodding to you, and you won't look at her. +Yes, I rather think I did. I can't remember exactly what I said, but he +promised he would not forget, and I told him we could only come when we +were on the move. I impressed that upon him." + +"Really, Di," said Mrs. Courtenay with asperity, "I wish you would +prevent your parasol catching in my bonnet, and not offer visits without +consulting me. It would have been quite time enough to have gone when he +had asked us." + +"He might not have asked us." + +Mrs. Courtenay, who had seen a good deal of John in the weeks that +preceded his accident, was perhaps of a different opinion; but she did +not express it. Neither did she mention her own previously fixed +intention of going to Overleigh somehow or other during the course of +her summer visits. + +"What is the use of near relations," continued Di, "if you can't tell +them anything of that kind? I believe John will be quite pleased to have +us now that he knows we wish to come; if only he remembers. Come, +granny, if I take you to Archelot to please you, you ought to take me to +Overleigh to please me. That's fair now, isn't it?" + +"It may be extremely inconvenient," said Mrs. Courtenay, still ruffled. +"And I had rheumatism last time I was there." + +"Think what rheumatism you always have at Archelot, which sits up to its +knees in mist every night in the middle of its moat; and yet you would +insist on going again. There is that nice Mr. Sinclair taking off his +hat. Won't you recognize him? You thought him so improved, you said, +since his elder brother's death." + +"My dear," said Mrs. Courtenay, "I am not so perpetually on the look out +for young men as you appear to be. All the same, you may put up my +parasol, for I can see nothing with the sun in my eyes." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "The moving Finger writes; and having writ, + Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit + Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, + Nor all your tears wash out a Word of it." + OMAR KHAYYAM. + + +"What thou doest do quickly," has been advice which, in its melancholy +sarcasm, has been followed for eighteen hundred years when any special +evil has been afoot in the dark. And yet surely the words apply still +more urgently when the doing that is premeditated is good. What thou +doest do quickly, for even while we speak those to whom we feel tenderly +grow old and grey, and slip beyond the reach of human comfort. Even +while we dream of love, those whom we love are parted from us in an +early hour when we think not, without so much as a rose to take with +them, out of the garden of roses that were planted and fostered for them +alone. And even while we tardily forgive our friend, lo! the page is +turned and we see that there was no injury, as now there is no +compensation for our lack of trust. + +Colonel Tempest acted with promptitude, but though he was as expeditious +as he knew how to be, that was not saying much. His continual dread was +that others might be beforehand with him. He had at this time a dream +that recurred, or seemed to recur, over and over again--that he was +running blindly at night, and that unknown adversaries were coming +swiftly up behind him, were breathing close, and passing him in the +darkness, unseen, but felt. It haunted him in the daytime like a +reality. + +Superstition would not be superstition if it were amenable to reason. +Punishment hung over him like a sword in mid-air--it might fall at any +moment--what form of punishment it would be hard to say--something evil +to himself. If he struck down another might not the Almighty strike him +down? It seemed to him that God's hand was raised. + +"Sin no more." Wipe it out. Obliterate it. Expiate it. Quick, quick. + +He set to work in feverish haste to find out Larkin. But although he had +a certain knowledge of how to approach gentlemen of Swayne's class, he +could not at first unearth Larkin. The habitation of the wren is not +more secluded than that of some of our fellow-creatures. Colonel Tempest +went very quietly to work. He never went near the address given him; he +wrote anonymous letters repeatedly, suggesting a personal interview +which would be found greatly to Mr. Larkin's advantage. Mr. Larkin, +however, appeared to take a different view of his own advantage. It was +in vain that Colonel Tempest said he should be walking on the Thames +Embankment the following evening, and would be found at a given point at +a certain hour. No one found him there, or at any other of the places he +mentioned. He took a good deal of unnecessary exercise, or what appeared +so at the time. Still he persisted. While the quarry remained in London, +the hunter would probably remain there also. John had not gone yet. +Colonel Tempest went on every few days making appointments for meeting, +and keeping them rigorously himself. + +A fortnight passed. Larkin made no sign. + +At last Colonel Tempest heard that John was leaving town. He went to see +him, and came away heavy at heart. John was out; and the servant +informed him that Mr. Tempest was going to Overleigh the following +morning. Colonel Tempest had a presentiment that a stone would be +dropped between the points of the Great Northern. The train would come +to grief, somehow. It would all happen in a moment. There would be one +fierce thrust in the dark which he should not be able to parry. And if +John got safe to Overleigh he would be followed there. The shooting +season was coming on, and some one would load for him, and there would +be an _accident_. + +Colonel Tempest went back to his rooms in Brook Street, and stared at +the carpet. He did not know how long it was before he caught sight of a +batch of letters on the table. He looked carelessly at them; the +uppermost was from his tailor. The address of the next was written in +printed letters; he knew in an instant that it was from Larkin, without +the further confirmation of the heavy seal with its shilling impression. +His hands shook so much that he opened it with difficulty. The sheet +contained a somewhat guarded communication also written in laboriously +printed capitals. + + "_Yours of the 14th to hand. All right. Place and time you + say._ + + "_L._" + +The writer had been so very desirous to avoid publicity that he had even +taken the trouble to tear off the left inner side of the envelope on +which the maker's name is printed. + +That significant precaution gave Colonel Tempest a sickening qualm. It +suggested networks of other precautions in the background, snares which +he might not perceive till too late, subtleties for which he was no +match. He began to feel that it was physically impossible for him to +meet this man; that he must get out of the interview at any cost. The +maddening sense of being lured into a trap came upon him, and he flung +in the opposite direction. + +But the facts came and looked him in the face. He seldom allowed them to +do so, but they did it now in spite of him. Eyes that have been once +avoided are ever after difficult to meet. Nevertheless, he had to meet +them--the cold inexorable eyes of facts come up to the surface of his +mind to have justice done them, grimy but redoubtable, like miners on +strike. Cost what it might, he saw that he must capitulate; that he must +take this, his one--his last chance, or--hateful alternative--take +instead the consequences of neglecting it. + +He went over the old well-worn ground once again. Detection was +impossible. That nightmare of a murder, and of a voice that cried aloud, +while all the world stood still to hear: "_Thou art the man_:" was only +a nightmare after all. And this was the best way, the only way to get +rid of it. + +He tried to recall the time and place of meeting, but it was gone from +him. There had been so many. No, he had scrawled it down on the fly-leaf +of his pocket-book. Six o'clock. It was nearly five now. He had had the +money in readiness for the last fortnight. He had drawn one thousand of +the ten which John had placed to his credit. He got out the ten crisp +hundred pound notes, and put them carefully into his breast pocket. Then +he sat down and waited. When the half-hour chimed he went out. + + * * * * * + +There is a straight and quiet path behind Kensington Palace which the +lovers and nursery-maids of Kensington Gardens frequent but little. A +line of low-growing knotted trees separates it from the Broad Walk at a +little distance. A hedge and fence on the other side divides the Gardens +from a strip of meadow not yet covered by buildings. + +The public esteem this particular walk but lightly. Invalids in +bath-chairs toil down it sometimes; nurses with grown-up children, who +are children still, go there occasionally, where the uncouth gambols and +vacant bearded laugh of forty-five will not attract attention. + +But as a rule it is deserted. + +Colonel Tempest had it almost to himself for the first ten minutes, +except for a covey of little boys who fought and clambered and jumped on +some stacked timber at one end. He had not chosen the place without +forethought. It would be presumed that he would have a large sum of +money with him, and he had taken care on each occasion to select a +rendezvous where foul play would not be possible. He was within reach of +numbers of persons merely by raising his voice. + +An old man on the arm of a young one passed him slowly, absorbed in +earnest conversation. A girl in mourning sat down on one of the benches. +There was privacy enough for business, and not too much for safety. + +Colonel Tempest paced up and down, giving each face that passed a +furtive glance. He did not know what to expect. + +The three quarters struck. The girl got up and turned away. A stout, +shabby-looking man, whose approach Colonel Tempest had not noticed, was +sitting on one of the benches under a gnarled yew, staring vacantly in +front of him. The old man and the young one were coming down the walk +again. A check suit with six depressed, amber-eyed dachshunds in a leash +passed among the trees. + +A few more turns. + +The clock began to strike six. + +Colonel Tempest's pulse quickened. As he turned once more at the end of +the walk, he could see that the hunched-up figure, with the hat over the +eyes, was still sitting under the yew at the further end. He walked +slowly towards it. How should they recognize each other? Who would speak +first? + +A quietly-dressed man, walking rapidly in the opposite direction, +touched his hat respectfully as he passed him. Colonel Tempest +recognized John's valet, and slackened his pace, for he was approaching +the bench under the yew tree, and he did not care to be addressed while +any one was within earshot. He was opposite it now, and he looked hard +at the occupant. The latter stared vacantly, if not sleepily, back at +him, and made no sign. + +"He is shamming," said Colonel Tempest to himself. "Or else he is not +sure of me." And he took yet another turn. + +The man had moved a little when he came towards him again. He was +leaning back in the corner of the bench, with his head on his chest, and +his legs stretched out. An elderly lady, with curls, and an umbrella +clutched like a defensive weapon, was passing him with evident distrust, +calling to her side a fleecy little toy dog, which seemed to have left +its stand and wheels at home, and to be rather at a loss without them. +Colonel Tempest looked hard a second time at the figure on the bench, +when he came opposite him, and then stopped short. + +The man was sleeping the sleep of the just, or, to speak more correctly, +of the just inebriated. His under lip was thrust out. He breathed +stertorously. If it was a sham, it was very well done. + +Colonel Tempest stood a moment in perplexity, looking fixedly at him. +Should he wake him? Was he, perhaps, waiting to be waked? Was he really +asleep? He half put out his hand. + +"I think, sir," said a respectful voice behind him, "begging your +pardon, sir, the party is very intoxicated. Sometimes if woke sudden +they're vicious." + +Colonel Tempest wheeled round. + +It was Marshall, John's valet, who had spoken to him, and who was now +regarding the slumbering rough with the resigned melancholy of an +undertaker. + +The quarter struck. + +"Sorry to have kept you waiting, sir," said Marshall, after a pause, in +which Colonel Tempest wondered why he did not go. + +And then, at last, Colonel Tempest understood. + +He put his hand feebly to his head. + +"Oh, my God!" he said below his breath, and was silent. + +Marshall cleared his throat. + +There are situations in which, as Johnson has observed respecting the +routine of married life, little can be said, but much must be done. + +The slumbering backslider slid a little further back in his seat, and +gurgled something very low down about "jolly good fellows," until, his +voice suddenly going upstairs in the middle, he added in a high quaver, +"daylight does appear." + +The musical outburst recalled Colonel Tempest somewhat to himself. He +turned his eyes carefully away from Marshall, after that first long look +of mutual understanding. + +The man's apparent respectability, his smooth shaved face and quiet +dress, from his well-brushed hat and black silk cravat to the dark +dog-skin glove that held his irreproachable umbrella, set Colonel +Tempest's teeth on edge. + +He had not known what to expect, but--_this_! + +In a flash of memory he recalled the several occasions on which he had +seen Marshall in attendance on John, his attentive manner, and noiseless +tread. Once before John could move he had seen Marshall lift him +carefully into a more upright position. The remembrance of that helpless +figure in Marshall's arms came back to him with a shudder that could not +be repressed. Marshall, whose expressionless face had undergone no +change whatever, cleared his throat again and looked at his watch. + +"Begging your pardon, sir," he said, "it's nearly half-past six, and +Mr. Tempest dines early to-night." + +"Did you receive my other letters?" said Colonel Tempest, pulling +himself together, and beginning to walk slowly down the path. + +"Yes, sir. I'm sorry to have put you to the inconvenience of going to so +many places, 'specially as I saw for myself how regular you turned up at +'em. But I wanted to make sure you were in earnest before I showed. My +character is my livelihood, sir. There was a time when I was in trouble +and got into Mr. Johnson's hands, but before that I'd been in service in +'igh families, very 'igh, sir. Mr. Tempest took me on the recommendation +of the Earl of Carmian. I was with him two year." + +"Mr. Johnson," said Colonel Tempest, stopping short, and turning a shade +whiter than he had been before. "By ---- I don't know anything about a +Mr. Johnson. What do you mean?" + +The two men eyed each other as if each suspected treachery. + +"Did you write this?" said Marshall, producing Colonel Tempest's last +letter. + +"Yes." + +"Then it's all right," said Marshall, who had forgotten the _sir_. "He +had a sight of names. Johnson he was when he found I'd took up +your--your bet. But I wrote to him, I remember, at one place as +Crosbie." + +Colonel Tempest recalled the curate's mention of Swayne under the name +of Crosbie. + +"Swayne, or Crosbie, or Johnson, it's all one," he said hastily. "I want +a certain bit of paper you have in your possession, and I have ten Bank +of England notes, of a hundred each, in my pocket now to give you in +exchange. I suppose we understand each other. Have you got it on you?" + +"Yes." + +"Produce it." + +"Show up the notes, too, then." + +Unnoticed by either, the manner of both, as between gentleman and +servant, had merged into that of perfect equality. Love is not the only +leveller of disparities of rank and position. + +They were walking together side by side. There was not a soul in sight. +Each cautiously showed what he had brought. The dirty half-sheet of +common note-paper, with Colonel Tempest's signature, seemed hardly worth +the crisp notes, each one of which Colonel Tempest turned slowly over. + +"Ten," said Marshall. "All right." + +"Stop," said Colonel Tempest, hoarsely, the date on the ragged sheet he +had just seen suggesting a new idea. "You're too young. You're not five +and thirty. By ---- it's nearly sixteen years ago. You weren't in it. +You couldn't have been in it. How did you come by that? Whom did you +have it from?" + +"From one who'll tell no tales," returned Marshall. "He was sick of it. +He had tried twice, and he was near his end, and I took it off him just +before he died." + +"Did he die?" said Colonel Tempest. "I am not so sure of that." + +"I am," said the man; "or I'd never have had nothing to do with the +business." + +"How long have you been with Mr. Tempest?" + +"A matter of three months. He engaged me when he came back from Russia +in the spring." + +"You will leave at once. That, of course, is understood." + +"Yes. I will give warning to-night if----" and the man glanced at the +packet in Colonel Tempest's hand. + +Without another word they exchanged papers. Colonel Tempest did not tear +the document that had cost him so much into a thousand pieces. He looked +at it, recognized that it was genuine, put it in his pocket, and +buttoned his coat over it. Then he got out a note-book and pencil. + +"And now," he said, "the others. How am I to get at them?" + +The man stared. "The others?" he repeated. "What others?" + +"You were one," said Colonel Tempest. "Now about the rest. I mean to pay +them all off. There were ten in it. Where are the nine?" + +Marshall stood stock still, as if he were realizing something +unperceived till now. Then he shook his fist. + +"That Johnson lied to me. I might have known. He took me in from first +to last. I never thought but that I was the--_the only one_. And all +I've spent, and the work I've been put to, when I might just as well +have let one of them others risk it. He never acted square. Damn him." + +Colonel Tempest looked at him horror-struck. The man's anger was +genuine. + +"Do you mean to say you don't _know_?" he said, in a harsh whisper, all +that was left of his voice. "Swayne, Johnson said you did. On his +death-bed he said so." + +"Know," retorted the man, his expressionless face having some meaning in +it at last. "Do you suppose if I'd _known_, I'd have---- But that's been +the line he has gone on from the first, you may depend upon it. He's let +each one think he was alone at the job to bring it round quicker; a +double-tongued, double-dealing devil. Each of them others is working for +himself now, single-handed. I wonder they haven't brought it off before. +Why _that fire_! We was both nearly done for that night. I slept just +above 'im, and it was precious near. If he had not run up hisself and +woke me--that fire----" + +Marshall stopped short. His mouth fell ajar. His mind was gradually +putting two and two together. There was no horror in his face, only a +malignant sense of having been duped. + +"By----," he said fiercely. "I see it all." + +A cold hand seemed to be laid on Colonel Tempest's heart, to press +closer and closer. The sweat burst from his brow. Swayne had been an +economizer of truth to the last. He had deliberately lied even on his +death-bed, in order to thrust away the distasteful subject to which +Colonel Tempest had so pertinaciously nailed him. The two men stood +staring at each other. A governess and three little girls, evidently out +for a stroll after tea, were coming towards them. The sight of the four +advancing figures seemed to shake the two men back in a moment, with a +gasp, to their former relations. + +Marshall drew himself up, and touched his hat. + +"I ought to be going, sir," he said, almost in his usual ordered tones. +"Mr. Tempest dines early to-night." + +Colonel Tempest nodded. He had forgotten for the moment how to speak. + +"And it's all right, sir, about--about me," rather anxiously. + +Colonel Tempest perceived that Marshall had not realized the possible +hold he might obtain over him by the mere fact of his knowledge of this +last revelation. He had been obtuse before. He was obtuse now. + +"As long as you are silent and leave at once," said Colonel Tempest, +commanding his tongue to articulate, "I will be silent too. Not a moment +longer." + +Marshall touched his hat again, and went. + +Colonel Tempest walked unsteadily to a bench under a twisted yew, a +little way from the path, and sat down heavily upon it. + +How cold it was, how bitterly cold! He shivered, and drew his hand +across his damp forehead. The tinkling of voices reached him at +intervals. Foolish birds were making choruses of small jokes in the +branches above his head. Some one laughed at a little distance. + +He alone was wretched beyond endurance. Perhaps he did not know what +endurance meant. Panic shook him like a leaf. + +And there was no refuge. He did not know how to live. Dared he die? die, +and struggle up the other side only to find an angry judge waiting on +the brink to strike him down to hell even while he put up supplicating +hands? But his hands were red with John's blood, so that even his +prayers convicted him of sin--were turned into sin. + +A feeling as near despair as his nature could approach to overwhelmed +him. + +One of the most fatal results of evil is that in the same measure that +it exists in ourselves, we imply it in others, and not less in God +Himself. Poor Colonel Tempest saw in his Creator only an omniscient +detective, an avenger, an executioner who had mocked at his endeavours +to propitiate Him, to escape out of His hand, who held him as in a +pillory, and would presently break him upon the wheel. + +Superstition has its uses, but, like most imitations, it does not wear +well--not much better, perhaps, than the brown paper boots in which the +English soldier goes forth to war. + +A cheap faith is an expensive experience. I believe Colonel Tempest +suffered horribly as he sat alone under that yew tree; underwent all +the throes which self-centred people do undergo, who, in saving their +life, see it slipping through their fingers; who in clutching at their +own interest and pleasure, find themselves sliding into a gulf; who in +sacrificing the happiness and welfare of those that love them to their +whim, their caprice, their shifting temper of the moment, find +themselves at last--alone--unloved. + +Are there many sorrows like this sorrow? There is perhaps only one +worse--namely, to realize what onlookers have seen from the first, what +has brought it about. This is hard. But Colonel Tempest was spared this +pain. Those for whom others can feel least compassion are, as a rule, +fortunately able to bestow most upon themselves. Colonel Tempest +belonged to the self-pitying class, and with him to suffer was to begin +at once to be sorry for himself. The tears ran slowly down his cheeks +and his lip quivered. Perhaps there is nothing quite so heartbreaking as +the tears of middle-age for itself. + +He saw himself sitting there, so lonely, so miserable, without a +creature in the world to turn to for comfort; entrapped into evil as all +are at times, for he was but human, he had never set up to be better +than his fellows; but to have striven so hard against evil--to have +tried, as not many would have done, to repair what had been wrong (and +the greatest wrong had not been with him) and yet to have been repulsed +by God Himself! Everybody had turned against him. And now God had turned +against him too. His last hope was gone. He should never find those +other men, never buy back those other bets. John would be killed sooner +or later, and he himself would _suffer_. + +That was the refrain, the key-note to which he always returned. _He +should suffer._ + +Natures like Colonel Tempest's go through the same paroxysms of blind +despairing grief as do those of children. They see only the present. The +maturer mind is sustained in its deeper anguish by the power of looking +beyond its pain. It has bought, perhaps dear, the chill experience that +all things pass, that sorrow endures but for a night, even as the joy +that comes in the morning endures but for a morning. But as a child +weeps and is disconsolate, and dries its eyes and forgets, so Colonel +Tempest would presently forget again--for a time. + +Indeed, he soon took the best means within his reach of doing so. He +felt that he was too wretched to remain in England. It was therefore +imperative that he should go abroad. Persons of his temperament have a +delightful confidence in the benign influences of the Continent. He +wrote to John, returning him L8,500 of the L10,000, saying that the +object for which it had been given had become so altered as to prevent +the application of the money. He did not mention that he had found a use +for one thousand, and that pressing personal expenses had obliged him to +retain another five hundred, but he was vaguely conscious of doing an +honourable action in returning the remainder. + +John wrote back at once, saying that he had given him the money, and +that as his uncle did not wish to keep it, he should invest it in his +name, and settle it on his daughter, while the interest at four per +cent. would be paid to Colonel Tempest during his lifetime. + +"Well," said Colonel Tempest to himself, after reading this letter, +"beggars can't be choosers, but if _I_ had been in John's place I _hope_ +I should not have shown such a grudging spirit. Eight thousand five +hundred! Out of all his wealth he might have made it ten thousand for +my poor penniless girl. No wonder he does not wish her to know about +it." + +And having a little ready money about him, Colonel Tempest took his +penniless girl, much to her surprise, a lapis-lazuli necklace when he +went to say good-bye to her. + +On the last evening before he left England he got out the paper Marshall +had given him, and having locked the door, spread it on the table before +him. He had done this secretly many times a day since he had obtained +possession of it. + +There it was, unmistakable in black and grime that had once been white. +The one thing of all others in this world that Colonel Tempest loathed +was to be obliged to face anything. Like Peer Gynt, he went round, or if +like Balaam he came to a narrow place where there was no turning room, +he struck furiously at the nearest sentient body. But a widower has no +beast of burden at hand to strike, and there was no power of going +round, no power of backing either, from before that sheet of crumpled +paper. When he first looked at it he had a kind of recollection that was +no recollection of having seen it before. + +The words were as distinct as a death-warrant. Perhaps they were one. +Colonel Tempest read them over once again. + +"I, Edward Tempest, lay one thousand pounds to one sovereign that I do +never inherit the property of Overleigh in Yorkshire." + +There was his own undeniable scrawling signature beneath Swayne's +crab-like characters. There below his own was the signature of that +obscure speculator, since dead, who had taken up the bet. + +If anything is forced upon the notice, which yet it is distasteful to +contemplate, the only remedy for avoiding present discomfort is to +close the eyes. + +Colonel Tempest struck a match, lit the paper, and dropped it into the +black July grate. It would not burn at first, but after a moment it +flared up and turned over. He watched it writhe under the little +chuckling flame. The word Overleigh came out distinctly for a second, +and then the flame went out, leaving a charred curled nothing behind. +One solitary spark flew swiftly up like a little soul released from an +evil body. Colonel Tempest rubbed the ashes with his foot, and once +again--closed his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + "I give thee sixpence! I will see thee d----d first." + CANNING. + + +Some one rejoiced exceedingly when, in those burning August days, John +came back to Overleigh. Mitty loved him. She was the only woman who as +yet had shown him any love at all, and his nature was not an unthankful +one. Mitty was bound up with all the little meagre happiness of his +childhood. She had given him his only glimpse of woman's tenderness. +There had never been a time when he had not read aloud to Mitty during +the holidays--when he had forgotten to write to her periodically from +school. When she had been discharged with the other servants at his +father's death, he had gone in person to one of his guardians to request +that she might remain, and had offered half his pocket-money annually +for that purpose, and a sum down in the shape of a collection of foreign +coins in a sock. Perhaps his guardian had a little boy of his own in +Eton jackets who collected coins. At any rate, something was arranged. +Mitty remained in the long low nurseries in the attic gallery. She was +waiting for him on the steps on that sultry August evening when he +returned. John saw her white cap twinkling under the stone archway as he +drove along the straight wide drive between the double rows of beeches +which approached the castle by the northern side. + +Some houses have the soothing influence of the presence of a friend. +Once established in the cool familiar rooms and strong air of his +native home, he regained his health by a succession of strides, which +contrasted curiously with the stumbling ups and downs and constant +relapses which in the earlier part of his recovery had puzzled his +doctors. + +For the first few days just to live was enough. John had no desire +beyond sitting in the shadow of the castle with Mitty, and feeling the +fresh heather-scented air from the moors upon his face and hands. Then +came the day when he went on Mr. Goodwin's arm down the grey lichened +steps to the Italian garden, and took one turn among the stone-edged +beds, under the high south wall. Gradually as the languor of weakness +passed he wandered further and further into the woods, and lay for hours +under the trees among the ling and fern. The irritation of weakness had +left him, the enforced inaction of slowly returning strength had not +yet begun to chafe. His mind urged nothing on him, required no +decisions of him, but, like a dear companion instead of a taskmaster, +rested and let him rest. He watched for hours the sunlight on the +bracken, listened for hours to the tiny dissensions and confabulations +of little creatures that crept in and out. + +There had been days and nights in London when the lamp of life had +burned exceeding low, when he had never thought to lie in his own dear +woods again, to see the squirrel swinging and chiding against the sky, +to hear the cry of the water-hen to its mate from the reeded pools +below. He had loved these things always, but to see them again after +toiling up from the gates of death is to find them transfigured. "The +light that never was on sea or land" gleams for a moment on wood and +wold for eyes that have looked but now into the darkness of the grave. +Almost it seems in such hours as if God had passed by that way, as if +the forest had knowledge of Him, as if the awed pines kept Him ever in +remembrance. Almost. Almost. + + * * * * * + +Di was never absent from John's thoughts for long together. His dawning +love for her had as yet no pain in it. It wandered still in glades of +hyacinth and asphodel. Truly-- + + "Love is bonny, a little while, while it is new." + +Its feet had not yet reached the stony desert places and the lands of +fierce heat and fiercer frost, through which all human love which does +not die in infancy must one day travel. The strain and stress were not +yet. + + * * * * * + +John was coming back one evening from a longer expedition than usual. +The violet dusk had gathered over the gardens. The massive flank and +towers of the castle were hardly visible against the sky. As he came +near he saw a light in the arched windows of the chapel, and through the +open lattice came the sound of the organ. Some one was playing within, +and the night listened from without; John stood and listened too. The +organ, so long dumb, was speaking in an audible voice--was telling of +many things that had lain long in its heart, and that now at last +trembled into speech. Some unknown touch was bringing all its pure +passionate soul to its lips. Its voice rose and fell, and the listening +night sighed in the ivy. + +John went noiselessly indoors by the postern, and up the short spiral +staircase in the thickness of the wall, into the chapel, an arched +Elizabethan chamber leading out of the dining-hall. He stopped short in +the doorway. + +The light of a solitary candle at the further end gave shadows to the +darkness. As by an artistic instinct, it just touched the nearest of the +pipes, and passing entirely over the prosaic footman, blowing in his +shirt-sleeves, lit up every feature of the fair exquisite face of the +player. Beauty remains beauty, when all has been said and done to +detract from it. Archie was very good to look upon. Even the footman, +who had been ruthlessly torn away from his supper to blow, thought so. +John thought so as he stood and looked at his cousin, who nodded to him, +and went on playing. The contrast between the two was rather a cruel +one, though John was unconscious of it. It was Archie who mentally made +the comparison whenever they were together. Ugliness would be no +disadvantage, and beauty would have no power, if they did not appear to +be the outward and visible signs of the inner and spiritual man. + +Archie was so fair-haired, he had such a perfect profile, such a clear +complexion, and such tender faithful eyes, that it was impossible to +believe that the virtues which clear complexions and lovely eyes so +plainly represent were not all packed with sardine-like regularity in +his heart. His very hair looked good. It was parted so beautifully, and +it had a little innocent wave on the temple which carried conviction +with it--to the young of the opposite sex. It was not because he was so +handsome that he was the object of a tender solicitude in many young +girls' hearts--at least, so they told themselves repeatedly--but because +there was so much good in him, because he was so misunderstood by +elders, so interesting, so unlike other young men. In short, Archie was +his father over again. + +Nature had been hard on John. Some ugly men look well, and their +ugliness does not matter. John's was not of that type dear to fiction. +His features were irregular and rough, his deep-set eyes did not redeem +the rest of his face. Nothing did. A certain gleam of nobility shining +dimly through its harsh setting would make him better-looking later in +life, when expression gets the mastery over features. But it was not so +yet. John looked hard and cold and forbidding, and though his face awoke +a certain interest by its very force, the interest itself was without +attraction. It must be inferred that John had hair, as he was not bald, +but no one had ever noticed it except his hair-cutter. It was short and +dark. In fact, it was hair, and that was all. Mitty was the only other +person who had any of it, in a lozenge-box; but who shall say in what +lockets and jewel-cases one of Archie's flaxen rings might not be +treasured? Archie was a collector of hair himself, and there is a +give-and-take in these things. He had a cigar-box full of locks of +different colours, which were occasionally spread out before his more +intimate friends, with little anecdotes respecting the acquisition of +each. A vain man has no reticence except on the subject of his rebuffs. +Bets were freely exchanged on the respective chances of the donors of +these samples of devotion, and their probable identity commented on. +"Three to one on the black." "Ten to one on the dyed amber." "Forty to +one on the lank and sandy, it's an heiress." + +Archie would listen in silence, and smile his small saintly smile. +Archie's smile suggested anthems and summer dawns and blanc-mange all +blent in one. And then he would gather up the landmarks of his +affections, and put them back into the cigar-box. They were called +"Tempest's scalps" in the regiment. + +Archie had sat for "Sir Galahad" to one of the principal painters of +the day. He might have sat for something very spiritual and elevating +now. What historic heroes and saints have played the organ? He would +have done beautifully for any one of them, or Dicksee might have worked +him up into a pendant to his "Harmony," with an angel blowing instead of +the footman. + +And just at the critical moment when the organ was arriving at a final +confession, and swelling towards a dominant seventh, the footman let the +wind out of her. There was a discord, and a wheeze, and a death-rattle. +Archie took off his hands with a shudder, and smiled a microscopic smile +at the perspiring footman. Archie never, never, never swore; not even +when he was alone, and when he cut himself shaving. He differed from his +father in that. He smiled instead. Sometimes, if things went very +wrong, the smile became a grin, but that was all. + +"That will do, thank you!" he said, rising. "Well, John, how are you? +Better? I did not wait dinner for you. I was too hungry, but I told them +to keep the soup and things hot till you came in." + +They had gone through the open double doors into the dining-hall. At the +further end a table was laid for one. + +"When did you arrive?" asked John. + +"By the seven-ten. I walked up and found you were missing. It is +distressing to see a man eat when one is not hungry one's self," +continued Archie plaintively as the servant brought in the "hot things" +which he had been recently devastating. "No, thanks, I won't sit +opposite you and watch you satisfying your country appetite. You don't +mind my smoking in here, I suppose? No womankind to grumble as yet." + +He lit his pipe, and began wandering slowly about the room, which was +lit with candles in silver sconces at intervals along the panelled +walls. + +John wondered how much money he wanted, and ate his cutlets in silence. +He had as few illusions about his fellow-creatures as the steward of a +Channel steamer, and it did not occur to him that Archie could have any +reason but one for coming to Overleigh out of the shooting season. + +Archie was evidently pensive. + +"It is a large sum," said John to himself. + +Presently he stopped short before the fireplace, and contemplated the +little silver figures standing in the niches of the highcarved +mantelshelf. They had always stood there in John's childhood, and when +he had come back from Russia in the spring he had looked for them in the +plate-room, and had put them back himself: the quaint-frilled courtier +beside the quaint-ruffed lady, and the little Cavalier in long boots +beside the Abbess. The dresses were of Charles I.'s date, and there was +a family legend to the effect that that victim of a progressive age had +given them to his devoted adherent Amyas Tempest the night before his +execution. It was extremely improbable that he had done anything of the +kind, but, at any rate, there they were, each in his little niche. +Archie lifted one down and examined it curiously. + +"Never saw that before," he said, keeping his teeth on the pipe, which +desecrated his profile. + +"Everything was put away when I was not regularly living here," said +John. "I dug out all the old things when I came home in the spring, and +Mitty and I put them all back in their places." + +"Barford had a sale the other day," continued Archie, speaking through +his teeth. "He was let in for a lot of money by his training stables, +and directly the old chap died he sold the library and half the +pictures, and a lot of stuff out of the house. I went to see them at +Christie's, and a very mouldy-looking assortment they were; but they +fetched a pile of money. Barford and I looked in when the sale of the +books was on, and you should have seen the roomful of Jews and the way +they bid. One book, a regular old fossil, went for three hundred while +we were there; it would have killed old Barford on the spot if he had +been there, so it was just as well he was dead already. And there were +two silver figures something like these, but not perfect. Barford said +he had no use for them, and they fetched a hundred apiece. He says +there's no place like home for raising a little money. Why, John, +Gunningham can't hold a candle to Overleigh. There must be a mint of +money in an old barrack stuffed full of gimcracks like this." + +"Yes, but they belong to the house." + +"Do they? Well, if I were in your place I should say they belonged to +the owner. What is the use of having anything if you can't do what you +like with it? If ever I wanted a hundred or two I would trot out one of +those little silver Johnnies in no time if they were mine." + +John did not answer. He was wondering what would have happened to the +dear old stately place if he had died a month ago, and it had fallen +into the hands of those two spendthrifts, Archie and his father. He +could see them in possession whittling it away to nothing, throwing its +substance from them with both hands. Easy-going, self-indulgent, weakly +violent, unstable as water, he saw them both in one lightning-flash of +prophetic imagination drinking in that very room, at that very table. +The physical pain of certain thoughts is almost unbearable. He rose +suddenly and went across to the deep bay window, on the stone sill of +which Amyas Tempest and Tom Fairfax, his friend, who together had held +Overleigh against the Roundheads, had cut their names. He looked out +into the latticed darkness, and longed fiercely, passionately for a son. + +Archie's light laugh recalled him to himself with a sense of shame. It +is irritating to be goaded into violent emotion by one who is feeling +nothing. + +"A penny for your thoughts," said Sir Galahad. + +There was something commonplace about the young warrior's manner of +expressing himself in daily life which accorded ill with the refined +beauty of his face. + +"They would be dear at the price," said John, still looking out. + +"Care killed a cat," said Archie. + +He had a stock of small sayings of that calibre. Sometimes they fitted +the occasion, and sometimes not. + +There was a short silence. + +"Quicksilver is lame," said Archie. + +"What have you been doing with her?" asked John, facing round. + +"Nothing in particular. I rode her in the Pierpoint steeplechase last +week, and she came down at the last fence, and lost me fifty pounds. I +came in third, but I should have been first to a dead certainty if she +had stood up." + +"Send her down here at once." + +"Yes, and thanks awfully and all that sort of thing for lending her, +don't you know. Very good of you, though of course you could not use her +yourself when you were laid up. I am going back to town first thing +to-morrow morning; only got a day's leave to run down here; thought I +ought to tell you about her. I'll send her off the day after to-morrow +if you like, but the truth is----" + +A good deal of circumlocution, that favourite attire of certain truths, +was necessary before the simple fact could be arrived at that +Quicksilver had been used as security for the modest sum of four hundred +and forty-five pounds, which it had been absolutely incumbent on Archie +to raise at a moment's notice. Heaven only knew what would not have been +involved if he had not had reluctant recourse to this obvious means of +averting dishonour. When Colonel Tempest and Archie began to talk about +their honour, which was invariably mixed up with debts of a dubious +nature, and an overdrawn banking account, and an unpaid tailor, John +always froze perceptibly. The Tempest honour was always having narrow +escapes, according to them. It required constant support. + +"I would not have done it if I could have helped it," explained Archie +in an easy attitude on the window-seat. "Your mare, not mine. I knew +that well enough. I felt that at the time; but I had to get the money +somehow, and positively the poor old gee was the only security I had to +give." + +Archie was not in the least ashamed. It was always John who was ashamed +on these occasions. + +There was a long silence. Archie contemplated his nails. + +"It's not the money I mind," said John at last, "you know that." + +"I know it isn't, old chap. It's my morals you're afraid of; you said so +in the spring." + +"Well, I'm not going to hold forth on morals again, as it seems to have +been of so little use. But look here, Archie, I've paid up a good many +times, and I'm getting tired of it. I would rather build an infants' +school or a home for cats, or something with a pretence of common sense, +with the money in future. It does you no manner of good. You only chuck +it away. You are the worse for having it, and so am I for being such a +fool as to give it you. It's nonsense telling you suddenly that I won't +go on paying when I've led you to expect I always shall because I always +have. Of course you think, as I'm well off, that you can draw on me for +ever and ever. Well, I'll pay up again this once. You promised me in +April it should be the last time you would run up bills. Now it is my +turn to say this is the last time I'll throw money away in paying +them." + +Archie raised his eyebrows. How very "close-fisted" John was becoming! +And as a boy at school, and afterwards at college, he had been +remarkably open-handed, even as a minor on a very moderate allowance. +Archie did not understand it. + +"I'll buy back my own horse," continued John, trying to swallow down a +sense of intense irritation; "and if there is anything else--I suppose +there is a new crop by this time--I'll settle them. You must start fair. +And I'll go on allowing you three hundred a year, and when you want to +marry I'll make a settlement on your wife, but, by ---- I'll never pay +another sixpence for your debts as long as I live." + +Archie smiled faintly, and stretched out his legs. John rarely "cut up +rough" like this. He had an uneasy suspicion that the present promptly +afforded assistance would hardly compensate for the opening vista of +discomfort in the future. And John's tone jarred upon him. There was +something fixed in it, and Archie's nebulous easy-going temperament had +an invincible repugnance to anything unpliable. He had as little power +to move John as a mist has to move a mountain. He had proved on many +occasions how little amenable John was to persuasion, and each recurring +occasion had filled him with momentary apprehension. He felt distinctly +uncomfortable after the two had parted for the night, until a train of +reasoning, the logic of which could not be questioned, soothed him into +his usual trustful calm. + +John, he said to himself, had been out of temper. He had eaten something +that had disagreed with him. That was why he had flown out. How +frightfully cross he himself was when he had indigestion! And he, +Archie, would never have grudged John a few pounds now and again if +their positions had been reversed. Therefore, it was not likely John +would either. And John had always been fond of him. He had nursed him +once at college through a tedious illness, unadorned on his side by +Christian patience and fortitude. Of course John was fond of him. +Everybody was fond of him. It had been an unlucky business about +Quicksilver. No wonder John had been annoyed. He would have been annoyed +himself in his place. But (oh, all-embracing phrase!) _it would be all +right_. He was eased of money difficulties for the moment, and John was +not such a bad fellow after all. He would not really "turn against" him. +He would be sure to come round in the future, as he had always done with +clock-like regularity in the past. + +Archie slept the sleep of the just, and went off in the best of spirits +and the most expensive of light overcoats next morning with a cheque in +his pocket. + +John went back into the dining-hall after his departure to finish his +breakfast, but apparently he was not hungry, for he forgot all about it. +He went and stood in the bay window, as he had a habit of doing when in +thought, and looked out. He did not see the purple pageant of the +thunderstorm sweeping up across the moor and valley and already +vibrating among the crests of the trees in the vivid sunshine below the +castle wall. He was thinking intently of those two men, his next-of-kin. + +Supposing he did not marry. Supposing he died childless. Overleigh and +the other vast Tempest properties were entailed, in default of himself +and his children, on Colonel Tempest and his children. Colonel Tempest +and Archie came next behind him; one slip, and they would be in +possession. + +And John had almost slipped several times, had several times touched +that narrow brink where two worlds meet. He had no fear of death, but +nevertheless Death had assumed larger proportions in his mind and in his +calculations than is usual with the young and the strong, simply because +he had seen him very near more than once, and had ceased to ignore his +reality. He might die. What then? + +John had an attachment which had the intensity of a passion and the +unreasoning faithfulness of an instinct for certain carved and pictured +rooms and lichened walls and forests and valleys and moors. He loved +Overleigh. His affections had been "planted under a north wall," and +like some hardy tenacious ivy they clung to that wall. Overleigh meant +much to him, had always meant much, more than was in the least +consistent with the rather advanced tenets which he, in common with +most young men of ability, had held at various times. Theories have +fortunately little to do with the affections. + +He could not bear to think of Overleigh passing out of his protecting +love to the careless hands and selfish heedlessness of Colonel Tempest +and Archie. There are persons for whom no income will suffice. John's +nearest relations were of this time-honoured stamp. As has been well +said, "In the midst of life they are in debt." + +John saw Archie in imagination "trotting out the silver Johnnies." The +miniatures, the pictures, the cameos, the old Tempest manuscripts, for +which America made periodic bids, the older plate--all, all would go, +would melt away from niche and wall and cabinet. Perhaps the books would +go first of all; the library to which he in his turn was even now +adding, as those who had gone before him had done. + +How they had loved the place, those who had gone before! How they must +have fought for it in the early days of ravages by Borderer and Scot! +How Amyas the Cavalier must have sworn to avenge those Roundhead +cannon-balls which crashed into his oak staircase, and had remained +imbedded in the stubborn wood to this day! Had any one of them loved it, +John wondered, with a greater love than his? + +He turned from the blaze outside, and looked back into the great +shadowed room, in the recesses of which a beautiful twilight ever +lingered. The sunlight filtered richly but dimly through the time-worn +splendour of its high windows of painted glass, touching here and there +inlaid panel and carved wainscoting, and laying a faint mosaic of varied +colour on the black polished floor. + +It was a room which long association had invested with a kind of halo in +John's eyes, far removed from the appreciative or ignorant admiration +of the stranger, who saw in it only an unique Elizabethan relic. + +Artists worshipped it whenever they got the chance, went wild over the +Tudor fan vaulting of the ceiling with its long pendants, and the quaint +inlaid frets on the oak chimney-piece; talked learnedly of the panels +above the wainscot, on which a series of genealogical trees were painted +representing each of the wapentakes into which Yorkshire was divided, +having shields on them with armorial bearings of the gentry of the +county entitled in Elizabeth's time to bear arms. + +Strangers took note of these things, and spelt out the rather apocryphal +marriages of the Tempests on the painted glass, or examined the date +below the dial in the southern window with the name of the artist +beneath it who had blazoned the arms.--_Bernard Diminckhoff fecit, +1585._ + +John knew every detail by heart, and saw them never, as a man in love +with a noble woman gradually ceases to see beauty or the absence of +beauty in brow and lip and eyelid, in adoration of the face itself which +means so much to him. + +John's deep-set steady eyes absently followed the slow travelling of the +coloured sunshine across the room. Overleigh had coloured his life as +its painted glass was colouring the sunshine. It was bound up with his +whole existence. The Tempest motto graven on the pane beside him, _Je le +feray durant ma vie_, was graven on John's heart as indelibly. Mr. +Tempest's dying words to him had never been forgotten. "It is an honour +to be a Tempest. You are the head of the family. Do your duty by it." +The words were sunk into the deep places of his mind. What the child had +promised, the man was resolved to keep. His responsibility in the great +position in which God had placed him, his duty, not only as a man, but +as a Tempest, were the backbone of his religion--if those can be called +religious who "trust high instincts more than all the creeds." The +family motto had become a part of his life. It was perhaps the only oath +of allegiance which John had ever taken. He turned towards the window +again, against which his dark head had been resting. + +The old thoughts and resolutions so inextricably intertwined with the +fibre of pride of birth, the old hopes and aspirations, matured during +three years' absence, temporarily dormant during these months of +illness, returned upon him with the unerring swiftness of swallows to +the eaves. + +He pressed his hand upon the pane. + +The thunderstorm wept hard against the glass. + +The sable Tempest lion rampant on a field argent surmounted the scroll +on which the motto was painted, legible still after three hundred years. + +John said the words aloud. + +_Je le feray durant ma vie._ + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + "There are many wonderful mixtures in the world which are all + alike called love."--GEORGE ELIOT. + + +"These are troublous times, granny," said Di to Mrs. Courtenay, coming +into her grandmother's room on a hot afternoon early in September. "I +can't get out, so you see I am reduced to coming and sitting with you." + +"And why are the times troublous, and why don't you go out-of-doors +again?" + +"I have been to reconnoitre," said Di, wrathfully, "and the coast is not +clear. He is sitting on the stairs again, as he did yesterday." + +"Lord Hemsworth?" + +"No, of course not. When does he ever do such things? The Infant." + +"Oh dear!" + +The Infant was Lord Hemsworth's younger brother. + +"And it is becoming so expensive, granny. I keep on losing things. His +complaint is complicated by kleptomania. He has got my two best evening +handkerchiefs and my white fan already; and I can't find one of the +gloves I wore at the picnic to-day. I dare not leave anything downstairs +now. It is really very inconvenient." + +"Poor boy!" said Mrs. Courtenay, reflectively. "How old _is_ he?" + +"Oh, he is quite sixteen, I believe. What with this anxiety, and the +suspense as to how my primrose cotton will wash, which I am counting on +to impress John with, I find life very wearing. Oh, granny, we ought +not to have come here at all, according to my ideas; but if we ever do +again, I do beg and pray it may not be in the holidays. I wish I had not +been so kind to him when we first arrived. I only wanted to show Lord +Hemsworth he need not be so unnecessarily elated at our coming here. I +wish I had not spent so many hours in the workshop with the boy and the +white rats. The white rats did it, granny. Interests in common are the +really dangerous things, as you have often observed. Love me, love my +rats." + +"Poor boy!" said Mrs. Courtenay again. "Make it as easy as you can for +him, Di. Don't wound his pride. We leave to-morrow, and the Verelsts are +coming to-day. That will create a diversion. I have never known +Madeleine allow any man, or boy, or creeping child attend to any one but +herself if she is present. She will do her best to relieve you of him. +How she will patronize you, Di, if she is anything like what she used +to be!" + +And in truth when Madeleine drove up to the house half an hour later it +was soon apparent that she was unaltered in essentials. Although she had +been married several months she was still the bride; the bride in every +fold of her pretty travelling gown, in her demure dignity and enjoyment +of the situation. + +It was her first visit to her cousin Lady Hemsworth since her marriage, +and her eyes brightened with real pleasure when that lady mentioned that +Di was in the house, whom she had not seen since her wedding day. She +was conscious that she had some of her best gowns with her. + +"I have always been so fond of Di," she said to Di's would-be +mother-in-law. "She was one of my bridesmaids. You remember Di, Henry?" +turning with a model gesture to her husband. + +Sir Henry sucked his tea noisily off his moustache, and said he +remembered Miss Tempest. + +"Now do tell me," said Madeleine, as she unfastened her hat in her room, +whither she had insisted on Di's accompanying her, "is there a large +party in the house? I always hate a large party to meet a bride." + +"There is really hardly any one," said Di. "I don't think you need be +alarmed. The Forresters left yesterday. There are Mr. Rivers and a +Captain Vivian, friends of Lord Hemsworth's, and Lord Hemsworth himself, +and a Mrs. Clifford, a widow. That is all. Oh, I had forgotten Mr. +Lumley, the comic man--he is here. You may remember him. He always comes +into a room either polkaing or walking lame, and beats himself all over +with a tambourine after dinner." + +"How droll!" said Madeleine. "Henry would like that. I must have him to +stay with us some time. One is so glad of really amusing people; they +make a party go off so much better. He does not black himself, does he? +That nice Mr. Carnegie, who imitated the pig being killed, always did. I +am glad it is a small party," she continued, reverting to the previous +topic, with a very moderate appearance of satisfaction. "It is very +thoughtful of Lady Hemsworth not to have a crowd to meet me. I dislike +so being stared at when I am sent out first; so embarrassing, every eye +upon one. And I always flush up so. And now tell me, you dear thing, all +about yourself. Fancy my not having seen you since my wedding. I don't +know how we missed each other in London in June. I know I called twice, +but Kensington is such miles away; and--and I have often longed to ask +you how you thought the wedding went off." + +"Perfectly." + +"And you thought I looked well--well for me, I mean?" + +"You looked particularly well." + +"I thought it so unkind of mother to cry. I would not let her come into +my room when I was dressing, or indeed all that morning, for fear of her +breaking down; but I had to go with her in the carriage, and she held my +hand and cried all the way. Poor mother always is so thoughtless. I did +not cry myself, but I quite feared at one time I should flush. I was not +flushed when I came in, was I?" + +"Not in the least. You looked your best." + +"Several of the papers said so," said Madeleine. "Remarks on personal +appearance are so vulgar, I think. 'The lovely bride,' one paper called +me. I dare say other girls don't mind that sort of thing being said, +but it is just the kind of thing I dislike. And there was a drawing of +me, in my wedding gown, in the _Lady's Pictorial_. They simply would +have it. I had to stand, ready dressed, the day before, while they did +it. And then my photograph was in one of the other papers. Did you see +it? I don't think it is _quite_ a nice idea, do you?--so public; but +they wrote so urgently. They said a photograph would oblige, and I had +to send one in the end. I sometimes think," she continued reflectively, +"that I did not choose part of my trousseau altogether wisely. I +_think_, with the summer before me, I might have ventured on rather +lighter colours. But, you see, I had to decide on everything in Lent, +when one's mind is turned to other things. I never wear any colour but +violet in Lent. I never have since I was confirmed, and it puts one out +for brighter colours. Things that look quite suitable after Easter seem +so gaudy before. I am not sure what I shall wear to-night." + +"Wear that mauve and silver," said Di, suddenly, and their eyes met. + +Madeleine looked away again instantly, and broke into a little laugh. + +"You dear thing," she said; "I wish I had your memory for clothes. I +remember now, though I had almost forgotten it, that the mauve brocade +was brought in the morning you came to hear about my engagement. And do +you remember, you quixotic old darling, how you wanted me to break it +off. You were quite excited about it." + +"I had not seen the diamonds then," interposed Di, with a faint blush at +the remembrance of her own useless emotion. "I am sure I never said +anything about breaking it off after I had seen the two tiaras, or even +hinted at throwing over that riviere." + +Madeleine looked puzzled. Whenever she did not quite understand what Di +meant, she assumed the tone of gentle authority, which persons, +conscious of a reserved front seat or possibly a leading part in the +orchestra in the next world, naturally do assume in conversation with +those whose future is less assured. + +"I think marriage is too solemn a thing to make a joke of," she said +softly. "And talking of marriage"--in a lowered tone--"you would hardly +believe, Di, the difference it makes, the way it widens one's influence. +With men now, such a responsibility. I always think a married woman can +help young men so much. I find it so much easier now than before I was +married to give conversation a graver turn, even at a ball. I feel I +know what people really are almost at once. I have had such earnest +talks in ball-rooms, Di, and at dinner parties. Haven't you?" + +"No," said Di. "I distrust a man who talks seriously over a pink ice the +first time I meet him. If he is genuine he is probably shallow, and the +odds are he is not genuine, or he would not do it. I don't like +religious flirtations, though I know they are the last new thing." + +"You always take a low view, Di," said Madeleine, regretfully. "You +always have, and I suppose you always will. It does not make me less +fond of you; but I am often sorry, when we talk together, to notice how +unrefined your ideas are. Your mind seems to run on flirtations. I see +things very differently. You wanted me to throw over Henry, though I had +given my solemn promise----" + +"And it had been in the papers," interposed Di; "don't forget that. +But"--she added, rising--"I _was_ wrong. I ought never to have said a +word on the subject; and there is the dressing-bell, so I will leave +you to prepare for victory. I warn you, Mrs. Clifford has one gown, a +Cresser, which is bad to beat--a lemon satin, with an emerald velvet +train; but she may not put it on." + +"I never vie with others in dress," said Madeleine. "I think it shows +such a want of good taste. Did she wear it last night?" + +"She did." + +"Oh! Then she won't wear it again." + +But Di had departed. + +"In change unchanged," Di said to herself, as she uncoiled her hair in +her own room. "I don't know what I expected of Madeleine, yet I thought +that somehow she would be different. But she isn't. How is it that some +people can do things that one would be ashamed one's self even to think +of, and yet keep a good opinion of themselves afterwards, and _feel_ +superior to others? It is the feeling superior that I envy. It must +make the world such an easy place to live in. People with a good opinion +of themselves have such an immense pull in being able to do the most +peculiar things without a qualm. It must be very pleasant to truly and +honestly consider one's self better than others, and to believe that +young men in white waistcoats hang upon one's words. Yes, Madeleine is +not changed, and I shall be late for dinner if I moralize any longer," +and Di brushed back her yellow hair, which was obliging enough to +arrange itself in the most interesting little waves and ripples of its +own accord, without any trouble on her part. Di's hair was perhaps the +thing of all others that womankind envied her most. It had the +brightness of colouring and easy fascination of a child's. Even the most +wily and painstaking curling-tongs could only produce on other +less-favoured heads a laboured imitation which was seen to be an +imitation. Madeleine, as she sailed into the drawing-room in mauve and +silver half an hour later, felt that her own rather colourless, +elaborate fringe was not redeemed from mediocrity even by the diamonds +mounting guard over it. The Infant would willingly have bartered his +immortal soul for one lock off Di's shining head. The hope that one +small lock might be conceded to a last wild appeal, possibly upon his +knees, sustained him throughout the evening, and he needed support. He +had a rooted conviction that if only his mother had allowed him a new +evening coat this half, if he had only been more obviously in tails, Di +might have smiled upon his devotion. He had been moderately fond of his +elder brother till now, but Lord Hemsworth's cable-patterned shooting +stockings and fair, well-defined moustache were in themselves enough to +rouse the hatred of one whose own upper lip had only reached the stage +when it suggested nothing so much as a reminiscence of treacle, and +whose only pair of heather stockings tarried long at the wash. But the +Infant had other grounds for nursing Cain-like sentiments towards his +rival. Had not Lord Hemsworth repeatedly called him in the actual +presence of the adored one by the nickname of "Trousers"! The Infant's +sobriquet among those of his contemporaries who valued him was "Bags," +but in ladies' society Lord Hemsworth was wont to soften the +unrefinement of the name by modifying it to Trousers. The Infant writhed +under the absolutely groundless suspicion that his brother already had +or might at any moment confide the original to Di. And even if he did +not, even if the horrible appellation never did transpire, Lord +Hemsworth's society term was almost as opprobrious. The name of Trousers +was a death-blow to young romance. Sentiment withered in its presence. +Years of devotion could not wipe out that odious word from her memory. +He could see that it had set her against him. The mere sight of him was +obviously painful to her sense of delicacy. She avoided him. She would +marry Lord Hemsworth. In short, she would be the bride of another. +Perhaps there was not within a radius of ten miles a more miserable +creature than the Infant, as he stood that evening before dinner, with +folded arms, alone, aloof, by a pillar, looking daggers at any one who +spoke to Di. + +After dinner things did not go much better. There were round games, in +which he joined with Byronic gloom in order to sit near Di. But Mr. +Lumley, the licensed buffoon of the party, dropped into his chair when +he left it for a moment to get Di a footstool, and, when sternly +requested to vacate it, only replied in fluent falsetto in the French +tongue, "Je voudrais si je coudrais, mais je ne cannais pas." + +The Infant controlled himself. He was outwardly calm, but there was +murder in his eye. + +Lord Hemsworth, sitting opposite shuffling the cards, looked up, and +seeing the boy's white face, said, good-naturedly-- + +"Come, Lumley, move up one. That is Trousers' place." + +"Oh, if Trousers wants it to press his suit," said Mr. Lumley, vaulting +into the next place. "Anything to oblige a fellow-sufferer." + +And Sir Henry neighed suddenly as his manner was when amused, and the +Infant, clenching his hands under the table, felt that there was nothing +left to live for in this world or the next save only revenge. + +As the last evening came to an end even Lord Hemsworth's cheerful +spirits flagged a little. He let the Infant press forward to light Di's +candle, and hardly touched her hand after the Infant had released his +spasmodic clutch upon it. His clear honest eyes met hers with the +wistful _chien soumis_ look in them which she had learned to dread. She +knew well enough, though she would _not_ have known it had she cared for +him, that he had only remained silent during the last few days because +he saw it was no good to speak. He had enough perception not to strike +at cold or lukewarm iron. + +"Why can't I like him?" she said to herself as she sat alone in her own +room. "I would rather like him than any one else. I do like him better, +much better than any one I know, and yet I don't care a bit about him. +When he is not there I always think I am going to care next time I see +him. I wonder if I should mind if he fell in love with some one else? I +dare say I should. I wish I could feel a little jealous. I tried to when +he talked the whole of one afternoon to that lovely Lady Kitty;--what a +little treasure that girl is! I would marry her if I were a man. But it +was no good. I knew he only did it because he was vexed with me about--I +forget what. + +"Well, to-morrow I shall be at Overleigh. I shall really see it at last +with my own eyes. Why, it is after twelve o'clock. It is to-morrow +already. It certainly does not pay to have a date in one's mind. Ever +since the end of July I have been waiting for September the third, and +it has not hurried up in consequence. Anyhow, here it is at last." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + "It's a deep mystery--the way the heart of man turns to one + woman out of all the rest he's seen i' the world, and makes it + easier for him to work seven year for _her_, like Jacob did for + Rachel, sooner than have any other woman for th' + asking."--GEORGE ELIOT. + + +Life has its crystal days, its rare hours of a stainless beauty, and a +joy so pure that we may dare to call in the flowers to rejoice with us, +and the language of the birds ceases to be an unknown tongue. Our real +life as we look back seems to have been lived in those days that memory +holds so tenderly. But it is not so in reality. Fortitude, +steadfastness, the makings of character, come not of rainbow-dawns and +quiet evenings, and the facile attainment of small desires. More +frequently they are the outcome of "the sleepless nights that mould +youth;" of hopes not dead, but run to seed; of the inadequate loves and +friendships that embitter early life, and warn off the young soul from +any more mistaking husks for bread. + +John had had many heavy days, and, latterly, many days and long-drawn +nights, when it had been uphill work to bear in silence, or bear at all, +the lessons of that expensive teacher physical pain. And now pain was +past and convalescence was past, and Fate smiled, and drew from out her +knotted medley of bright and sombre colours one thread of pure +untarnished gold for John, and worked it into the pattern of his life. + +Di was at Overleigh. Tall lilies had been ranged in the hall to welcome +her on her arrival. The dogs had been introduced to her at tea time. +Lindo had allowed himself to be patted, and after sniffing her dress +attentively with the air of a connoisseur, had retired with dignity to +his chair. Fritz, on the contrary, the amber-eyed dachshund, all +tail-wagging, and smiles, and saliva, had made himself cheap at once, +and had even turned over on his back, inviting friction where he valued +it most, before he had known Di five minutes. + +Di was really at Overleigh. Each morning John woke up incredulous that +such a thing could be, each morning listened for her light footfall on +the stairs, and saw her come into the dining-hall, an active living +presence, through the cedar and ebony doors. There were a few other +people in the house, the sort of chance collection which poor relations, +arriving with great expectations and their best clothes, consider to be +a party. There were his aunt, Miss Fane, and a young painter who was +making studies for an Elizabethan interior, and some one else--no, more +than one, two or three others, John never clearly remembered afterwards +who, or whether they were male or female. Perhaps they were friends of +his aunt's. Anyhow, Mrs. Courtenay, who had proposed herself at her own +time, was apparently quite content. Di seemed content also, with the +light-hearted joyous content of a life that has in it no regret, no +story, no past. + +John often wondered in these days whether there had ever been a time +when he had known what Di was like, what she looked like to other +people. He tried to recall her as he had seen her first at the +Speaker's; but that photograph of memory of a tall handsome girl was not +the least like Di. Di had become Di to John, not like anything or +anybody; Di in a shady hat sitting on the low wall of the bowling-green; +or Di riding with him through the forest, and up and away across the +opal moors; or, better still, Di singing ballads in the pictured +music-room in the evening, in her low small voice, that was not +considered good enough for general society, but which, in John's +opinion, was good enough for heaven itself. + +The painter used to leave the others in the gallery and stroll in on +these occasions. He was a gentle, elegant person, with the pensive, +regretful air often observable in an imaginative man who has married +young. He made a little sketch of Di. He said it would not interfere, as +John feared it might, with the prosecution of his larger work. + +Presently a wet morning came, and John took Di on an expedition to the +dungeons with torches, and afterwards over the castle. He showed her the +chapel, with its rose window and high altar, where the daughters of the +house had been married, where her namesake, Diana, had been wed to +Vernon of the Red Hand. He showed her the state-rooms with their +tapestried walls and painted ceilings. Di extorted a plaintive music +from the old spinet in the garret gallery where John's nurseries were. +Mitty came out to listen, and then it was her turn. She invited Di into +the nursery, which, in these later days, was resplendent with John's +gifts, the pride of Mitty's heart, the envy of the elect ladies of the +village. There were richly bound Bibles and church-services, and Russia +leather writing-cases, and inlaid tea-caddies, and china stands and +book-slides, and satin-lined workboxes bristling with cutlery, and +photograph frames and tea-sets--in fact, there was everything. There, +also, John's prizes were kept, for Mitty had taken charge of them for +him since the first holidays, when he had rushed up to the nursery to +dazzle her with the slim red volume, which he had not thought of showing +to his father; to which as time went on many others were added, and even +great volumes of Stuart Mill in calf and gold during the Oxford days. + +Mitty showed them to Di, showed her John's little high chair by the +fire, and his Noah's ark. She gave Di full particulars of all his most +unromantic illnesses, and produced photographs, taken at her own +expense, of her lamb in every stage of bullet-headed childhood; from an +open-mouthed face and two clutching hands set in a lather of white lace, +to a sturdy, frowning little boy in a black velvet suit leaning on a +bat. + +"There's the last," said Mitty, pointing with pride to a large steel +engraving of John in his heaviest expression, in a heavy gilt frame. +"That was done for the tenantry when Master John come of age." And +Mitty, in spite of a desperate attempt on John's part to divert the +conversation to other topics, went on to expatiate on that event until +John fairly bolted, leaving her in delighted possession of a new and +sympathetic listener. + +"And all the steps was covered with red cloth," continued Mitty to her +visitor, "and the crowd, Miss Dinah, you could have walked on their +heads. And Mr. John come down into the hall, and Mr. Goodwin was with +him, and he turns round to us, for we was all in the hall drawn up in +two rows, from Mrs. Alcock to the scullery-maid, and he says, 'Where is +Mrs. Emson?' Those were his very words, Miss Tempest, my dear; and I +says, 'Here, sir!' for I was along of Mrs. Alcock. And he says to +Parker, 'Open both the doors, Parker,' and then he says, quite quiet, +as if it was just every day, 'I have not many relations here,' for there +was not a soul of his own family, miss, and he did not ask his mother's +folk, 'but,' he says, 'I have my two best friends here, and that is +enough. Goodwin,' he says, 'will you stand on my right, and you must +stand on the other side, Mitty.'" + +"It took me here, miss," said Mitty, passing her hand over her +waistband. "And me in my cap and everything. I was all in a tremble. I +felt I could not go. But he just took me by the hand, and there we was, +miss, us three on the steps, and all the servants agathered round +behind, and a crowd such as never was in front. They trod down all the +flower-beds to nothing. Eh dear! when we come out, you should have heard +'em cheer, and when they seed me by him, I heard 'em saying, 'Who's +yon?' And they said, 'That's the old nuss as reared him from a babby,' +and they shouted till they was fit to crack, and called out, 'Three +cheers for the old nuss.' And Master John, he kept smilin' at me, and I +could do nothin' but roar, and there was Mrs. Alcock, I could hear her +crying behind, and Parker cried too, and he's not a man to show, isn't +Parker. But we'd known 'im, miss, since he was born, and there was no +one else there that did; only me and Parker, and Mrs. Alcock, and +Charles, as had been footman in the family, and come down special from +London at Master John's expense. And such a speech as my precious lamb +did make before them all, saying it was a day he should remember all his +life. Those were his very words. Eh! it was beautiful. And all the +presents as the deputations brought, one after another, and the cannon +fired off fit to break all the glass in the winders. And then in the +evening a hox roasted whole in the courtyard, and a bonfire such as +never was on Moat Hill. And when it got dark, you could see the bonfires +burning at Carley and Gilling, and Wet Waste, and right away to +Kenstone, all where his land is, bless him. Eh! dear me, Miss Tempest, +why was not some of you there?" + +"John!" said Di half an hour later, as he was showing her some +miniatures in the ebony cabinet in the picture-gallery, which Cardinal +Wolsey had given the Tempest of his day, "why were not some of us, +Archie or father, at your coming of age?" + +They were sitting in the deep window-seat, with the miniatures spread +out between them. + +"There was no question about their coming," said John. "Archie was going +in for his examination for the army that week, and your father would not +have come if he had been asked. I did invite our great-uncle, General +Hugh, but he was ill. He died soon afterwards. There was no one else to +ask. You and your father, and Archie and I are the only Tempests there +are." + +The miniatures were covered with dust. John's and Di's +pocket-handkerchiefs had an interest in common, which gradually +obliterated all difference between them. + +"Why would not father have come if you had asked him?" said Di +presently. "You are friends, aren't you?" + +"I suppose we are," said John, "if by friends one only means that we are +not enemies. But there is nothing more than civility between us. You +seem wonderfully well up in ancient family history, Di. Don't you know +the story of the last generation?" + +"No," said Di. "I don't know anything for certain. Granny hardly ever +mentions my mother even now. I know she is barely on speaking terms with +father. I hardly ever see him. When she took me, it was on condition +that father should have no claim on me." + +"You did not know, then," said John slowly, "that your mother was +engaged to my father at the very time that she ran away with his own +brother, Colonel Tempest?" + +Di shook her head. She coloured painfully. John looked at her in +silence, and then pulled out another drawer. + +"She was only seventeen," he said at last, with a gentleness that was +new to Di. "She was just old enough to wreck her own life and my poor +father's, but not old enough to be harshly judged. The heaviest blame +was not with _her_. There is a miniature of her here. I suppose my +father had it painted when she was engaged to him. I found it in the +corner of his writing-table drawer, as if he had been in the habit of +looking at it." + +He opened the case, and put it into her hand. + +Miniatures have generally a monotonous resemblance to one another in +their pink-and-white complexions and red lips and pencilled eyebrows. +This one possessed no marked peculiarity to distinguish it from those +already lying on Di's knee and on the window-seat. It was a lovely face +enough, oval, and pale and young, with dark hair, and still darker eyes. +It had a look of shy innocent dignity, which gave it a certain +individuality and charm. The miniature was set in diamonds, and at the +top the name "Diana" followed the oval in diamonds too. + +John and Di looked long at it together. + +"Do you think he cared for her very deeply?" said Di at last. + +"I am afraid he did." + +"Always?" + +"I think always. The miniature was in the drawer he used every day. I +don't think he would have kept it there unless he had cared." + +Di raised the lid of the case to close it, and as she did so a piece of +yellow paper which had adhered to the faded satin lining of the lid +became dislodged, and fell back over the miniature on which it had +evidently been originally laid. On the reverse side, now uppermost, was +written in a large firm hand the one word, "False." + +John started. + +"I never noticed that paper before," he said. + +"It stuck to the lining of the lid," she replied. + +"It must have been always there." + +The soft rain whispered at the lattice. In the silence, one of the +plants dropped a few faint petals on the polished floor. + +"Then he never forgave her," said Di at last, turning her full deep +glance upon her companion. + +"He did not readily forgive." + +"He must have been a hard man." + +"I do not think he was hard at first. He became so." + +"If he became so, he must have had it in him all the time. Trouble could +not have brought it out, unless it had been in his nature to start with. +Trouble only shows what spirit we are of. Even after she was dead he did +not forgive her. He put the miniature where he could look at it; he must +have often looked at it. And he left that bitter word always there. He +might have taken it away when she died. He might have taken it away when +he began to die himself." + +"I am afraid," said John, "there were shadows on his life even to the +very end." + +"The shadow of an unforgiving spirit." + +"Yes," said John gently, "but that is a deep one, Di. It numbs the +heart. He took it down with him to the grave. If it is true that we can +carry nothing away with us out of the world, I hope he left his +bitterness of spirit behind." + +Di did not answer. + +"That very unforgiveness and bitterness were in him only the seamy side +of constancy," said John at last. "He really loved your mother." + +"If he had really loved her, he would have forgiven her." + +"Not necessarily. A nobler nature would. But he had not a very noble +nature. That is just the sad part of it." + +There was a long silence. At last Di closed the case, and put it back in +the drawer. She held the little slip of paper in her hand, and looked up +at John rather wistfully. + +He took it from her, and, walking down the gallery, dropped it into the +wood fire burning at the further end. He came back and stood before her, +and their grave eyes met. The growing intimacy between them seemed to +have made a stride within the last half-hour, which left the +conversation of yesterday miles behind. + +"Thank you," she said. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + "Oh, the little more, and how much it is! + And the little less, and what worlds away!" + R. BROWNING. + + +Miss Fane, John's aunt, was one of those large, soft, fleecy persons who +act as tea-cosies to the domestic affections, and whom the perspicacity +of the nobler sex rarely allows to remain unmarried. That by some +inexplicable mischance she had so remained was, of course, a blessing to +her orphaned nephew which it would be hard to overrate. John was +supposed to be fortunate indeed to have such an aunt. He had been told +so from a child. She had certainly been kind to him in her way, and +perhaps he owed her more than he was fully aware of; for it is difficult +to feel an exalted degree of gratitude and affection towards a person +who journeys through life with a snort and a plush reticule, who is ever +seeking to eat some new thing, and who sleeps heavily in the morning +over a lapful of magenta crochet-work. + +On religious topics also little real sympathy existed between the aunt +and nephew. Miss Fane was one of those fortunate individuals who can +derive spiritual benefit and consolation from the conviction that they +belong to a lost tribe, and that John Bull was originally the Bull of +Bashan. + +Very wonderful are the dispensations of Providence respecting the +various forms in which religion appeals to different intellects. Miss +Fane derived the same peace of mind and support from her bull, and what +she called "its promises," as Madeleine did from the monster altar +candles which she had just introduced into the church at her new home, +candles which were really gas-burners--a pious fraud which it was to be +hoped a Deity so partial to wax candles, especially in the daytime, +would not detect. + +Miss Fane had an uneasy feeling, as years went by, that, in spite of the +floods of literature on the subject with which she kept him supplied, +John appeared to make little real progress towards Anglo-Israelitism. +Even the pamphlet which she had read aloud to him when he was ill, which +proved beyond a doubt that the unicorn of Ezekiel was the prototype of +the individual of that genus which now supports the royal arms,--even +that pamphlet, all-conclusive as it was, appeared to have made no +lasting impression on his mind. + +But if the desire to proselytize was her weak point, good nature was +her strong one. She was always ready, as on this occasion, to go to +Overleigh or to John's house in London, if her presence was required. If +she slept heavily amid his guests, it was only because "it was her +nature to." + +She slept more heavily than usual on this particular evening, for it was +chilly; and the ladies had congregated in the music-room after dinner, +where there was a fire, and a fire always reduced Miss Fane to a state +of coma. + +Mrs. Courtenay was bored almost to extinction--had been bored all day, +and all yesterday--but nevertheless her fine countenance expressed a +courteous interest in the rheumatic pains and Jaeger underclothing of one +of the elder ladies. She asked appropriate questions from time to time, +bringing Miss Goodwin, who with her brother was dining at the Castle, +into the conversation whenever she could. + +Miss Goodwin, a gentle, placid woman of nine and twenty, clad in the +violent colours betokening small means and the want of taste of richer +relations, took but little part in the great Jaeger question. Her pale +eyes under their white eyelashes followed Di rather wistfully as the +latter rose and left the room to fetch Mrs. Courtenay some wool. Between +women of the same class, and even of the same age, there is sometimes an +inequality as great as that between royalty and pauperism. + +Soon afterwards the men came in. Miss Fane regained a precarious +consciousness. The painter dropped into a low chair by Mrs. Courtenay, +some one else into a seat by Mary Goodwin; Mr. Goodwin addressed himself +indiscriminately to Miss Fane and the lady of the clandestine Jaegers. +John, after a glance round the room, and a short sojourn on the +hearthrug, which proved too hot for him, seated himself on a strictly +neutral settee away from the fire, and took up _Punch_. Immediately +afterwards Di came back. + +She gave Mrs. Courtenay her wool, and then, instead of returning to her +former seat by the fire, gathered up her work, crossed the room, and sat +down on the settee by John. + +The blood rushed to his face. Her quiet unconcerned manner stung him to +the quick. She spoke to him, but he did not answer. Indeed, he did not +hear what she said. A moment before he had been wondering what excuse he +could make for getting up and going to her. He had been about to draw +her attention to the cartoon in a two-days-old _Punch_, for persons in +John's state of mind lose sight of the realities of life; and in the +presence of half a dozen people, she could calmly make her way to him, +and seat herself beside him, exactly as she might have done if he had +been her brother. He felt himself becoming paler and paler. An entirely +new idea was forcing itself upon him like a growing physical pain. But +there was not time to think of it now. He wondered whether there was any +noticeable difference in his face, and whether his voice would betray +him to Di if he spoke. He need not have been afraid. Di did not know the +meaning of a certain stolid look which John's countenance could +occasionally take. She was perfectly unconscious of what was going on a +couple of feet away from her, and picked up her stitches in a cheerful +silence. Mary Goodwin saw that he was vexed, and, not being versed in +the intricacies of love in its early stages, or, indeed, in any stages, +wondered why his face fell when his beautiful cousin came to sit by him. + +"Don't you sing?" she said, turning to Di. + +"I whisper a little sometimes with the soft pedal down," said Di. "But +not in public. There is a painful discrepancy between me and my voice. +It is several sizes too small for me." + +"Do whisper a little all the same," said the painter. + +"John," said Di, "I am afraid you do not observe that I am being pressed +to sing by two of your guests. Why don't you, in the language of the +_Quiver_, conduct me to the instrument?" + +The unreasoning, delighted pride with which John had until now listened +to the smallest of Di's remarks, whether addressed to himself or others, +had entirely left him. + +"Do sing," he said, without looking at her; and he rose to light the +candles on the piano. + +And Di sang. John sat down by Mary, and actually allowed the painter to +turn over. + +It was a very small voice, low and clear, which, while it disarmed +criticism, made one feel tenderly towards the singer. John, with his +hand over his eyes, watched Di intently. She seemed to have suddenly +receded from him to a great and impassable distance, at the very moment +when he had thought they were drawing nearer to each other. He took new +note of every line of form and feature. There was a growing tumult in +his mind, a glimpse of breakers ahead. The atmosphere of peace and +quietude of the familiar room, and the low voice singing in the +listening silence, seemed to his newly awakened consciousness to veil +some stern underlying reality, the features of which he could not see. + +Mary Goodwin, who had the music in her which those who possess a lesser +degree of it are often able more fluently to express, left John, and, +going to the piano, began to turn over Di's music. + +Presently she set up an old leather manuscript book before Di, who, +after a moment's hesitation, began to sing-- + + "Oh, broken heart of mine, + Death lays his lips to thine; + His draught of deadly wine + He proffereth to thee! + But listen! low and near, + In thy close-shrouded ear, + I whisper. Dost thou hear? + 'Arise and work with me.' + + "The death-weights on thine eyes + Shut out God's patient skies. + Cast off thy shroud and rise! + What dost thou mid the dead? + Thine idle hands and cold + Once more the plough must hold, + Must labour as of old. + Come forth, and earn thy bread." + +The voice ceased. The accompaniment echoed the stern sadness of the +last words, and then was suddenly silent. + +What is it in a voice that so mightily stirs the fibre of emotion in us? +It seemed to John that Di had taken his heart into the hollow of her +slender hands. + +"Thank you," said Mary Goodwin, after a pause; and one of the elder +ladies felt it was an opportune moment to express her preference for +cheerful songs. + +Di had risen from the piano, and was gathering up her music. +Involuntarily John crossed the room, and came and stood beside her. He +did not know he had done so till he found himself at her side. Mary +Goodwin turned to Miss Fane to say "Good night." + +Di slowly put one piece of music on another, absently turning them right +side upwards. He saw what was passing through her mind as clearly as if +it had been reflected in a glass. He stood by her watching her bend +over the piano. He was unable to speak to her or help her. Presently she +looked slowly up at him. He had no conception until he tried how +difficult it was to meet without flinching the quiet friendship of her +eyes. + +"John," she said, "my mother wrote that song. Do you remember what a +happy, innocent kind of look the miniature had? She was seventeen then, +and she was only four and twenty when she died. I don't know how to +express it, but somehow the miniature seems a very long way off from the +song. I am afraid there must have been a good deal of travelling +between-whiles, and not over easy country." + +John would have answered something, but the Goodwins were saying "Good +night;" and shortly afterwards the others dispersed for the night. But +John sat up late over the smoking-room fire, turning things over in his +mind, and vainly endeavouring to nail shadows to the wall. It seemed to +him as if, while straining towards a goal, he had suddenly discovered, +by the merest accident, that he was walking in a circle. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + "Vous me quittez, n'ayant pu voir + Mon ame a travers mon silence." + VICTOR HUGO. + + +It was Saturday morning. The few guests had departed by an early train. +The painter cast a backward glance at Overleigh and the two figures +standing together in the sunshine on the grey green steps which, with +their wide hospitable balustrade, he had sketched so carefully. He was +returning to the chastened joys of domestic life in London lodgings; to +his pretty young jaded, fluffy wife, and fluffy, delicate child; to the +Irish stew, and the warm drinking-water, and the blistered gravy of his +home-life. Sordid surroundings have the sad power of making some lives +sordid too. It requires a rare nobility of character to rise permanently +above the dirty table-cloth, and ill-trimmed paraffin-lamp of poor +circumstances. Poverty demoralizes. A smell of cooking, and, why I know +not, but especially an aroma of boiled cabbage, can undermine the +dignity of existence. A reminiscence of yesterday on the morning fork +dims the ideals of youth. + +As he drove away between the double row of beeches, with a hand on his +boarded picture, the poor painter reflected that John was a fortunate +kind of person. The dogcart was full of grapes and peaches and game. +Perhaps the power to be generous is one of the most enviable attributes +of riches. + +"Poor fellow!" said John, as he and Di turned back into the cool gloom +of the white stone hall. + +"He has given granny the sketch of me," said Di. "He is a nice man, but +after the first few days he hardly spoke to me, which I consider a bad +sign in any one. It shows a want of discernment; don't you think so? +Alas! we are going away this afternoon. I wish, John, you would try and +look a little more moved at the prospect of losing us. It would be +gratifying to think of you creeping on all-fours under a sofa after our +departure, dissolved in tears." + +John winced, but the reflections of the night before had led to certain +conclusions, and he answered lightly--that is, lightly for him, for he +had not an airy manner at the best of times-- + +"I am afraid I could not rise to tears. Would a shriek from the +battlements do?" + +"I should prefer tears," said Di, who was in a foolish mood this +morning, in which high spirits take the form of nonsense, looking at +her cousin, whose sedate and rather impenetrable face stirred the latent +mischief in her. "Not idle tears, John, that 'I know not what they +mean,' you know, but large solemn drops, full man's size, sixty to a +teaspoonful. That's the measure by granny's medicine-glass." + +She looked very provoking as she stood poising herself on her slender +feet on the low edge of the hearthstone, with one hand holding the stone +paw of the ragged old Tempest lion carved on the chimney-piece. John +looked at her with amused irritation, and wished--there is a practical +form of repartee eminently satisfactory to the masculine mind which an +absurd conventionality forbids--wished, but what is the good of wishing? + +"I must go and pack," said Di, with a sigh; "and see how granny is +getting on. She is generally down before this. You won't go and get +lost, will you, and only turn up at luncheon?" + +"I will be about," said John. "If I am not in the library, look for me +under the drawing-room sofa." + +Di laughed, and went lightly away across the grey and white stone flags. +There was a lamentable discrepancy between his feelings and hers which +outraged John's sense of proportion. He went into the study and sat down +there, staring at the shelves of embodied thought and speculation and +aspiration with which at one time he had been content to live, which, +now that he had begun to live, seemed entirely beside the mark. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Courtenay was a person of courage and endurance, but even her +powers had been sorely tried during the past week. She had been bored to +the verge of distraction by the people of whom she had taken such a +cordial leave the night before. There are persons who never, when out +visiting, wish to retire to their rooms to rest, who never have letters +to write, who never take up a book downstairs, who work for deep-sea +fishermen, and are always ready for conversation. Such had been the +departed. Miss Fane herself, for whom Mrs. Courtenay professed a certain +friendship, was a person with whom she would have had nothing in common, +whom she would hardly have tolerated, if it had not been for her nephew. +But for him she was willing to sacrifice herself even further. She had +seen undemonstrative men in love before now. Their actions had the same +bald significance for her as a string of molehills for a mole-catcher. +She was certain he was seriously attracted, and she was determined to +give him a fair field, and as much favour as possible. That Di had not +as yet the remotest suspicion of his intentions she regarded as little +short of providential, considering the irritating and impracticable turn +of that young lady's mind. + +Di entered her grandmother's room, and found that conspirator sitting up +in bed, looking with rueful interest at a boiled egg and untouched rack +of toast on a tray before her. Mrs. Courtenay always breakfasted in bed, +and could generally thank Providence for a very substantial meal. + +"Take the tray away, Brown," said Mrs. Courtenay, with an effort. + +"Why, you've not touched a single thing, ma'am," remarked Brown, +reproachfully. + +"I have drunk a little coffee," said Mrs. Courtenay, faintly. + +"Granny, aren't you well?" asked Di. + +Brown removed the tray, which Mrs. Courtenay's eyes followed regretfully +from the room. + +"I am not _very_ well, my love," she replied, adjusting her spectacles, +"but not positively ill. I had a threatening of one of those tiresome +spasms in the night. I dare say it will pass off in an hour or two." + +Di scrutinized her grandmother remorsefully. + +"I never noticed you were feeling ill when I came in before breakfast," +she said. + +"My dear, you are generally the first to observe how I am," returned +Mrs. Courtenay, hurriedly. "I was feeling better just then, but--and we +are due at Carmyan to-day. It is very provoking." + +Di looked perturbed. + +"The others are gone," she said; "even the painter has just driven off. +Do you think you will be able to travel by the afternoon, granny?" + +"I am afraid _not_," said Mrs. Courtenay, closing her eyes; "but I +think--I feel sure I could go to-morrow." + +"To-morrow is Sunday." + +"Dear me! so it is," said Mrs. Courtenay, with mild surprise. "To-day is +Saturday. It certainly is unfortunate. But after all," she continued, +"it could not have happened at a better place. Miss Fane is a +good-natured person and will quite understand, and John is a relation. +Perhaps you had better tell Miss Fane I am feeling unwell, and ask her +to come here; and before you go pull down the blinds half-way, and put +that sheaf of her 'lost tribes' and 'unicorns' and 'stone ages' on the +bed." + + * * * * * + +What induced John to spend the whole of Saturday afternoon and the +greater part of a valuable evening at a small colliery town some twenty +miles distant, it would be hard to say. The fact that some days ago he +had arranged to go there after the departure of his guests did not +account for it, for he had dismissed all thought of doing so directly +he heard that Di and Mrs. Courtenay were staying on. It was not +important. The following Saturday would do equally well to inspect a +reading-room he was building, and the new shaft of one of his mines, +about the safety of which he was not satisfied. Yet somehow or other, +when the afternoon came, John went. Up to the last moment after luncheon +he had intended to remain. Nevertheless, he went. The actions of persons +under a certain influence cannot be predicted or accounted for. They can +only be chronicled. + +John did not return to Overleigh till after ten o'clock. He told himself +most of the way home that Miss Fane and Di would be sure not to sit up +later than ten. He made up his mind that he should only arrive after +they had gone to bed. As he drove up through the semi-darkness he looked +eagerly for Di's window. There was a light in it. He perceived it with +sudden resentment. She _had_ gone to bed, then. He should not see her +till to-morrow. John had a vague impression that he was glad he had been +away all day, that he had somehow done rather a clever thing. But +apparently he was not much exhilarated by the achievement. It lost +somewhat in its complete success. + +And Mrs. Courtenay, who heard the wheels of his dogcart drive up just +after Di had wished her "Good night," said aloud in the darkness the one +word, "Idiot!" + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + "Love, how it sells poor bliss + For proud despair!" + SHELLEY. + + +It was Sunday morning, and it was something more. There was a subtle +change in the air, a mystery in the sunshine. Autumn and summer were met +in tremulous wedlock. But the hand of the bride trembled in the +bridegroom's. In the rapture of bridal there was a prophesy of parting +and death. The birds knew it. In the songless silence the robin was +practising his autumn reverie. Joy and sadness were blent together in +the solemn beauty of transition. + +The voice of the brook was sunk to a whisper to-day. Through the still +air the tangled voices of the church bells came from the little grey +church in the valley. A rival service was going on in the rookery on +Moat Hill, in which the congregation joined with hoarse unanimity. + +Miss Fane did not go to church in the morning, so John and Di went +together down the steep path through the wood, across the park, over the +village beck, and up the low hollowed steps into the churchyard. +Overleigh was a primitive place. + +The little congregation was sitting on the wall, or standing about among +the tilted tombstones, according to custom, to see John and the +clergyman come in. And then there was a general clump and clatter after +them into church; the bells stopped, and the service began. + +Di and John sat at a little distance from each other in the carved +Tempest pew. The Tempests were an overbearing race. The little rough +stone church with its round Norman arches was a memorial of their race. + +"Lord, Thou hast been our Refuge from one generation to another," was +graven in the stones of the wall just before Di's eyes. Beneath was a +low arch surmounting the tomb of a knight in effigy. Beyond there were +more tombs and arches. The building was thronged with the sculptured +dead of one family--was a mortuary chapel in itself. Tattered flags hung +where pious hands, red with infidel blood, had fastened them. With a +simple confidence in their own importance, and the approval of their +Creator, the Tempests had raised their memorials and hung their battered +swords in the house of their God. The very sun himself smote, not +through the gaudy figures of Scripture story, but through the painted +arms of the Malbys; of the penniless, pious Malby who sold his land to +his clutching Tempest brother-in-law in order to get out to the +Crusades. + +Had God really been their Refuge from all those bygone generations to +this? Di wondered. In these latter days of millionaire cheesemongers who +dwell _h_-less in the feudal castles of the poor, what wonder if the +faith even of the strongest waxes cold? + +She looked fixedly at John as he went to the reading-desk and stood up +to read the First Lesson. It was difficult to believe the dead were not +listening too; that the Knight Templar lying in armour, with his drawn +sword beside him and broken hands joined, did not turn his head a +little, pillowed so uncomfortably on his helmet, to hear John's low +clear voice. + +And as John read, a feeling of pride in him, not unmixed with awe, arose +in Di's mind. All he did and said, even when in his gentlest mood--and +Di had not as yet seen him in any other--had a hint of power in it; +power restrained, perhaps, but existent. How strong his iron hand looked +touching the book! She could more easily imagine it grasping a +sword-hilt. He stood before her as the head of the race, his rugged +profile and heavy jaw silhouetted in all their native strength and +ugliness against the uncompromising light of the eastern window. + +She looked at him, and was glad. + +"He will do us honour," she said to herself. + +Some one else was watching John too. + +"I will arise and go to my Father," John read. And Mr. Goodwin closed +his eyes, and prayed the old worn prayer--our prayers for others are +mainly tacit reproaches to the Almighty--that God would touch John's +heart. + +Humanity has many sides, but perhaps none more incomprehensible than +that represented by the patient middle-aged man leaning back in his +corner and praying for John's soul; none more difficult to describe +without an appearance of ridicule; for certain aspects of character, +like some faces, lend themselves to caricature more readily than to a +portrait. + +Mr. Goodwin was one of that class of persons who belong so entirely to a +class that it is difficult to individualize them; whose peculiar object +in life it is to stick in clusters like limpets to existing, and +especially to superseded, forms of religion. Their whole constitution +and central ganglion consists of one adhesive organism. The quality of +that to which they adhere does not appear to affect them, provided it is +stationary. To their constitution movement is torture, uprootal is +death. It would be impossible to chip Mr. Goodwin from his rock, and +hold him up to the scrutiny of the reader, without distorting him to a +caricature, which is an insult to our common nature. Unless he is in the +full exercise of his adhesive muscle in company with large numbers of +his kind, he is nothing. And even then he is not much. + +_Not much?_ Ah, yes, he is! + +His class has played an important part in all crises of religious +history. It was instrumental in the crucifixion of Christ. It called a +new truth blasphemy as fiercely then as now. By its law truth, if new, +must ever be put to death. But when Christianity took form, this class +settled on it nevertheless; adhered to it as strictly as its forbears +had done to the Jewish ritual. It was this class which resisted and +would have burned out the Reformation, but when the Reformation gained +bulk enough for it to stick to, it spread itself upon its surface in due +course. As it still does to-day. + +Let who will sweat and agonize for the sake of a new truth, or a newer +and purer form of an old one. There will always be those who will stand +aside and coldly regard, if they cannot crush, the struggle and the +heartbreak of the pioneers, and then will enter into the fruit of their +labours, and complacently point in later years to the advance of thought +in their time, which they have done nothing to advance, but to which, +when sanctioned by time and custom and the populace, they will _adhere_. + +John shut the book, and Mr. Goodwin, taken up with his own mournful +reflections, heard no more of the service until he was wakened by the +shriek of the village choir-- + + "Before Jehovah's awful throne, + Ye nations bow-wow-wow with sacred joy." + +When the clergyman had blessed his flock, and the flock had hurried with +his blessing into the open air, Di and John remained behind to look at +the nibbled old stone font, engraved with tangled signs, and unknown +beasts with protruding unknown tongues, where little Tempests had +whimpered and protested against a Christianity they did not understand. +The aisle and chancel were paved with worn lettered stones, obliterated +memorials of forgotten Tempests who had passed at midnight with flaring +torches from their first home on the crag to their last in the valley. +The walls bore record too. John had put up a tablet to his predecessor. +It contained only the name, and date of birth and death, and underneath +the single sentence-- + +"Until the day break, and the shadows flee away." + +Di read the words in silence, and then turned the splendour of her deep +glance upon him. Since when had the bare fact of meeting her eyes become +so exceeding sharp and sweet, such an epoch in the day? John writhed +inwardly under their gentle scrutiny. + +"You are very loyal," she said. + +He felt a sudden furious irritation against her which took him by +surprise, and then turned to scornful anger against himself. He led the +way out of the church into the sad September sunshine, and talked of +indifferent subjects till they reached the Castle. And after luncheon +John went to the library and stared at the shelves again, and Miss Fane +ambled and grunted to church, and Di sat with her grandmother. + +There are some acts of self-sacrifice for which the performers will +never in this world obtain the credit they deserve. Mrs. Courtenay, who +was addicted to standing proxy for Providence, and was not afraid to +take upon herself responsibilities which belong to Omniscience alone, +had not hesitated to perform such an act, in the belief that the cause +justified the means. Indeed, in her eyes a good cause justified many +sorts and conditions of means. + +All Saturday and half Sunday she had repressed the pangs of a healthy +appetite, and had partaken only of the mutton-broth and splintered toast +of invalidism. With a not ill-grounded dread lest Di's quick eyes should +detect a subterfuge, she had gone so far as to take "heart-drops" three +times a day from the hand of her granddaughter, and had been careful to +have recourse to her tin of arrowroot biscuits only in the strictest +privacy. But now that Sunday afternoon had come, she felt that she could +safely relax into convalescence. The blinds were drawn up, and she was +established in an armchair by the window. + +"You seem really better," said Di. "I should hardly have known you had +had one of your attacks. You generally look so pale afterwards." + +"It has been very slight," said Mrs. Courtenay, blushing faintly. "I +took it in time. I shall be able to travel to-morrow. I suppose you and +Miss Fane went to church this morning?" + +"Miss Fane would not go, but John and I did." + +Mrs. Courtenay closed her eyes. Virtue may be its own reward, but it is +gratifying when it is not the only one. + +"Granny," said Di, suddenly, "I never knew, till John told me, that my +mother had been engaged to his father." + +"What has John been raking up those old stories for?" + +"I don't think he raked up anything. He seemed to think I knew all about +it. He was showing me my mother's miniature which he had found among his +father's papers. I always supposed that the reason you never would talk +about her was because you had felt her death too much." + +"I was glad when she died," said Mrs. Courtenay. + +"Was she unhappy, then? Father speaks of her rather sadly when he does +mention her, as if he had been devoted to her, but she had not cared +much for him, and had felt aggrieved at his being poor. He once said he +had many faults, but that was the one she could never forgive. And he +told me that when she died he was away on business, and she did not +leave so much as a note or a message for him." + +"It is quite true; she did not," said Mrs. Courtenay, in a suppressed +voice. "I have never talked to you about your mother, Di, because I knew +if I did I should prejudice you against your father, and I have no right +to do that." + +"I think," said Di, "that now I know a little you had better tell me the +rest, or I shall only imagine things were worse than the reality." + +So Mrs. Courtenay told her; told her of the little daughter who had been +born to her in the first desolation of her widowhood, round whom she had +wrapped in its entirety the love that many women divide between husband +and sons and daughters. + +She told Di of young Mr. Tempest, then just coming forward in political +life, between whom and herself a friendship had sprung up in the days +when he had been secretary to her brother, then in the Ministry. The +young man was constantly at her house. He was serious, earnest, +diffident, ambitious. Di reached the age of seventeen. Mrs. Courtenay +saw the probable result, and hoped for it. With some persons to hope for +anything is to remove obstacles from the path of its achievement. + +"And yet, Di," said Mrs. Courtenay, "I can't reproach myself. They +_were_ suited to each other. It is as clear to me now as it was then. +She did not love him, but I knew she would; and she had seen no one +else. And he worshipped her. I threw them together, but I did not press +her to accept him. She did accept him, and we went down to Overleigh +together. She had--this room. I remembered it directly I saw it again. +The engagement had not been formally given out, and the wedding was not +to have been till the following spring on account of her youth. I think +Mr. Tempest and I were the two happiest people in the world. I felt such +entire confidence in him, and I was thankful she should not run the +gauntlet of all that a beautiful girl is exposed to in society. She was +as innocent as a child of ten, and as unconscious of her beauty--which, +poor child! was very great. + +"And then he--your father--came to Overleigh. Ten days afterwards they +went away together, and I--I who had never been parted from her for a +night since her birth--I never saw her again, except once across a room +at a party, until four years afterwards, when her first child was born. +I went to her then. I tried not to go, for she did not send for me; but +she was the only child I had ever had, and I remembered my own +loneliness when she was born. And the pain of staying away became too +great, and I went. And--she was quite changed. She was not the least +like my child, except about the eyes; and she was taller. Mr. Tempest +never forgave her, because he loved her; but I forgave her at last, +because I loved her more than he did. I saw her often after that. She +used to tell me when your father would be away--and he was much +away--and then I went to her. I would not meet _him_. We never spoke of +her married life. It did not bear talking about, for she had really +loved him, and it took him a long time to break her of it. We talked of +the baby, and servants, and the price of things, for she was very poor. +She was loyal to her husband. She never spoke about him except once. I +remember that day. It was one of the last before she died. I found her +sitting by the fire reading 'Consuelo.' I sat down by her, and we +remained a long time without speaking. Often we sat in silence together. +You have not come to the places on the road, my dear, when somehow words +are no use any more, and the only poor comfort left is to be with some +one who understands and says nothing. When you do, you will find silence +one degree more bearable than speech. + +"At last she turned to the book, and pointed to a sentence in it. I can +see the page now, and the tall French print. 'Le caractere de cet homme +entraine les actions de sa vie. Jamais tu ne le changeras.' + +"'I think that is true,' she said. 'Some characters seem to be settled +beforehand, like a weathercock with its leaded tail. They cannot really +change, because they are always changing. Nothing teaches them. +Happiness, trouble, love, and hate bring no experience. They swing round +to every wind that blows on one pivot always--themselves. There was a +time when I am afraid I tired God with one name. "Jamais tu ne le +changeras." No, never. One changes one's self. That is all. And now, +instead of reproaching others, I reproach myself--bitterly--bitterly.' + +"And she never begged my pardon. She once said, when I found her very +miserable, that it was right that one who had made others suffer should +suffer too. But those were the only times she alluded to the past, and +I never did. I did not go to her to reproach her. The kind of people who +are cut by reproaches have generally reproached themselves more harshly +than any one else can. She had, I know. It would have been better if she +had been less reserved, and if she could have taken more interest in +little things. But she did not seem able to. Some women, and they are +the happy ones, can comfort themselves in a loveless marriage with +pretty note-paper, and tying up the legs of chairs with blue ribbon. She +could not do that, and I think she suffered more in consequence. Those +little feminine instincts are not given us for nothing. + +"She never gave in until she knew she was dying. Then she tried to +speak, but she sank rapidly. She said something about you, and then +smiled when her voice failed her, and gave up the attempt. I think she +was so glad to go that she did not mind anything else much. They held +the baby to her as a last chance, and made it cry. Oh, Di, how you +cried! And she trembled very much just for a moment, and then did not +seem to take any more notice, though they put its little hand against +her face. I think the end came all the quicker. It seemed too good to be +true at first.... + +"Don't cry, my dear. Young people don't know where trouble lies. They +think it is in external calamity, and sickness and death. But one does +not find it so. The only real troubles are those which we cause each +other through the affections. Those whom we love chasten us. I never +shed a single tear for her when she died. There had been too many during +her life, for I loved her better than anything in the world except my +husband, who died when he was twenty-five and I was twenty-two. You +often remind me of him. You are a very dear child to me. She said she +hoped you would make up a little to me; and you have--not a little. I +have brought you up differently. I saw my mistake with her. I sheltered +her too much. I hope I have not run into the opposite extreme with you. +I have allowed you more liberty than is usual, and I have encouraged you +to look at life for yourself, and to think and act for yourself, and +learn by your own experience. And now go and bathe your eyes, and see if +you can find me Fitzgerald's 'Omar Khayyam.' I think I saw it last in +the morning-room. John and I were talking about it on Friday. I dare say +he will know where it is." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + "Si tu ne m'aimes pas moi je t'aime." + + +It was the time of afternoon tea. Miss Fane rolled off the sofa, and +with the hydraulic sniff that can temporarily suspend the laws of +nature, proceeded to pour out tea. Presently John and the dogs came in, +and Di, who had found Mrs. Courtenay's book without his assistance, +followed. John had not the art of small-talk. Miss Fane, who was in the +habit of attempting the simultaneous absorption of liquid and +farinaceous nutriment with a perseverance not marked by success, was +necessarily silent, save when a carroway seed took the wrong turn. She +seldom spoke in the presence of food, any more than others do in church. +Few things apart from the Bull of Bashan commanded Miss Fane's undivided +homage, but food never failed to, though it was reserved for plovers' +eggs and the roe of the sturgeon to stir the latent emotion of her +nature to its depths. + +The dogs did their tricks. Lindo contrived to swallow all his own and +half Fritz's portion, but, fortunately for the cause of justice, during +a muffin-scattering choke on Lindo's part, Fritz's long red tongue was +able to glean together fragments of what he imagined he had lost sight +of for ever. + +Di inquired whether there were evening service. + +"Evening service at seven," said Miss Fane; "supper at quarter past +eight." + +"Do not go to church again," said John. "Come for a walk with me." + +Di readily agreed. It was very pleasant to her to be with John. She had +begun to feel that he and she were near akin. He was her only first +cousin. The nearness of their relationship, accounting as it did in her +mind for a growing intimacy, prevented any suspicion of that intimacy +having sprung from another source. + +They walked together through the forest in the still opal light of the +waning day. Through the enlacing fingers of the trees the western sun +made ladders of light. Breast-high among the bracken they went, +disturbing the deer; across the heather, under the whisper of the pines, +down to the steel-white reeded pools below. + +They sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, and a faint air came across +the water from the trees on the further side, with a message to the +trees on this. Neither talked much. The lurking sadness in the air just +touched and soothed the lurking sadness in Di's mind. She did not notice +John's silence, for he was often silent. She wound a blade of grass +round her finger, and then unwound it again. John watched her do it. He +had noticed before, as a peculiarity of Di's, not observable in other +women, that whatever she did was interesting. She asked some question +about the lower pool gleaming before them through the trunks of the +trees, and he answered absently the reverse of what was true. + +"Then perhaps we had better be turning back," she said. + +He rose, and they went back another way, climbing slowly up and up by a +little winding track through steepest forest places. Many burrs left +their native stems to accompany them on their way. They showed to great +advantage on Di's primrose cotton gown. At last they reached the top of +the rocky ridge, and she sat down, out of breath, under a group of +silver firs, and, taking off her gloves, began idly to pick the burrs +one by one off the folds of her gown. + +There was no hurry. He sat down by her, and watched her hands. She put +the burrs on a stone near her. + +They were sitting on the topmost verge of the crag, and the forest fell +away in a shimmer of green beneath their feet to the pools below, and +then climbed the other side of the valley and melted into the purple of +the Overleigh and Oulston moors. Far away, the steep ridge of Hambleton +and the headland of Sutton Brow stood out against the evening sky. Some +Tempest of bygone days had dared to perpetrate a Greek temple in a +clearing among the silver firs where they were sitting, but time had +effaced that desecration of one of God's high places by transforming it +to a lichened ruin of scattered stones. It was on one of these +scattered stones that Di was raising a little cairn of burrs. + +"Forty-one," she said at last. "You have not even begun your toilet yet, +John." + +No answer. + +The sun was going down unseen behind a bar of cloud. A purple light was +on the hills. Their faces showed that they saw the glory, but the +twilight deepened over all the nearer land. Slowly the sun passed below +the leaden bar, and looked back once more in full heaven, and drowned +the world in light. Then with dying strength he smote the leaden bar to +one long line of quivering gold, and sank dimly, redly, to the +enshrouding west. All colour died. The hills were gone. The land lay +dark. But far across the sky, from north to south, the line of light +remained. + +Di had watched the sunset alone. John had not seen it. His eyes were +fixed on her calm face with the western glow upon it. She did not even +notice that he was looking at her. One of her ungloved hands lay on her +knee, so near to him yet so immeasurably far away. Could he stretch +across the gulf to touch it? His expressionless face took some meaning +at last. He leaned a little towards her, and laid his hand on hers. + +She started violently, and dropped her sunset thoughts like a surprised +child its flowers. Even a less vain man than John might have been cut to +the quick by the sudden horrified bewilderment of her face, and of the +dazzled light-blinded eyes which turned to peer at him with such +unseeing distress. + +"Oh, John!" she said, "not you;" and she put her other hand quickly for +one second on his. + +"Yes," he said, "that is just it." + +Her mouth quivered painfully. + +"I thought," she said, "we were--surely we _are_ friends." + +"No," said John, mastering the insane emotion which had leapt within him +at the touch of her hand. "We never were, and we never shall be. I will +have nothing to do with any friendship of yours. I'm not a beggar to be +shaken off with coppers. I want everything or nothing." + +Her manner changed. Her self-possession came back. + +"I am sorry it must be nothing," she said gently, and she tried quietly +but firmly to withdraw her hand. + +His grasp on it tightened ever so little, but in an unmistakable manner, +and she instantly gave up the attempt. + +A splendid colour mounted slowly to her face. She drew herself up. Her +lightning-bright intrepid eyes met his without flinching. They looked +hard at each other in the waning light. Once again they seemed to +measure swords as at the moment when they first met. Each felt the other +formidable. There was no slightest shred of disguise between them. + +There was a breathless silence. + +Di went through a frightful revulsion of mind. The sunset and the light +along the sky seemed to have betrayed her. These pleasant days had been +in league against her. And now, goaded by the grasp of his hand on hers, +her mind made one headlong rush at the goal towards which these +accomplices had been luring her. Where were they leading her? Glamour +dropped dead. Marriage remained. To become this man's wife; to merge her +life in his; to give up everything into the hand that still held hers, +the pressure of which was like a claim! He had only laid his hand upon +her hand, but it seemed to her that he had laid it upon her soul. Her +whole being rose up against him in sudden passionate antagonism horrible +to bear. And all the time she knew instinctively that he was stronger +than she. + +John saw and understood that mental struggle almost with compassion, yet +with an exultant sense of power over her. One conviction of the soul +ever remains unshaken, that whom we understand is ours to have and to +hold. + +He deliberately released her hand. She did not make the slightest +movement at regaining possession of it. + +John wrestled with his voice, and forced it back, harsh and unfamiliar, +to do his bidding. + +"Di," he said, "I believe in truth even between men and women. I know +what you are feeling about me at this moment. Well, that, even that, is +better than a mistake; and you were making one. You had not the +faintest suspicion of what has been the one object of my life since the +day I first met you. The fault was mine, not yours. You could not see +what was not on the surface to be seen. You would have gone on for the +remainder of your natural life liking me in a way I--I cannot tolerate, +if I had not--done as I did. I have not the power like some men of +showing their feelings. I can't say the little things and do the little +things that come to others by instinct. My instinct is to keep things to +myself. I always have--till now." + +Silence again; a silence which seemed to grow in a moment to such +colossal dimensions that it was hardly credible a voice would have power +to break it. + +The twilight had advanced suddenly upon them. The young pheasants crept +and called among the bracken. The night-birds passed swift and silent as +sudden thoughts. + +Di struggled with an unreasoning, furious anger, which, like a fiery +horse, took her whole strength to control. + +"I love you," said John, "and I shall go on loving you; and it is better +you should know it." + +And as he spoke she became aware that her anger was but a little thing +beside his. + +"What is the good of telling me," she said, "what I--what you know +I--don't wish to hear?" + +"What good?" said John, fiercely, his face working. "Great God! do you +imagine I have put myself through the torture of making myself +intolerable to you for no purpose? Do you think that you can dismiss me +with a few angry words? What good? The greatest good in the world, which +I would turn heaven and earth to win; which please God I will win." + +Di became as white as he. He was too strong, this man, with his set +face, and clenched trembling hand. She was horribly frightened, but she +kept a brave front. She turned towards him and would have spoken, but +her lips only moved. + +"You need not speak," he said more gently. "You cannot refuse what you +have not been asked for. I ask nothing of you. Do you understand? +_Nothing._ When I ask it will be time enough to refuse. It is getting +late. Let us go home." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + "Those who have called the world profane have succeeded in + making it so."--J. H. THOM. + + +The dreams of youth and love so frequently fade unfulfilled into "the +light of common day," that it is a pleasure to be able to record that +Madeleine saw the greater part of hers realized. She was received with +what she termed _eclat_ in her new neighbourhood. She remarked with +complacency that everybody made much too much of her; that she had been +quite touched by the enthusiasm of her reception. It was an ascertained +fact that she would open the hunt ball with the President--a point on +which her maiden meditation had been much exercised. The Duchess of +Southark was among the first to call upon her. If that lady's principal +motive in doing so was curiosity to see what kind of wife Sir Henry, or, +as he was called in his own county, "the Solicitor-General," had at +length procured, Madeleine was comfortably unaware of the fact. After +that single call, the duration of which was confined to nine minutes, +Madeleine spoke of the duchess as "kindness and cordiality itself." + +She was invited to stay at Alvery, and afterwards to fill her house for +a fancy ball, in October, in honour of the coming of age of Lord Elver, +the duke's eldest son and chief thorn in the flesh; a young man of great +promise "when you got to know him," as Madeleine averred, in which case +few shared that advantage with her. + +Other invitations poured in. The neighbourhood was really surprised at +the grace and beauty of the bride--_considering_. It was soon rumoured +that she was a saint as well; that she read prayers every morning at +Cantalupe, which the stablemen were expected to attend; and that she +taught in the Sunday school. The ardent young vicar of the parish, who +had hitherto languished unsupported and misunderstood at Sir Henry's +door, in the flapping draperies that so well become the Church militant, +was enthusiastic about her. She was what he called "a true woman." Those +who use this expression best know what it means. Processions, monster +candles, crucifixes, and other ingredients of the pharmacopoeia of +religion, swam before his mental vision. The little illegal side-altar, +to which his two "crosses," namely, the churchwardens, had objected, but +without which his soul could not rest in peace, was reinstated after a +conversation with Madeleine. A promise on that lady's part to embroider +an altar-cloth for the same was noised abroad. + +Sir Henry was jubilant at his wife's popularity, which lost nothing from +her own comments on it. Although nearly six months had elapsed since his +marriage, he was still in a state of blind adoration--an adoration so +blind that none of the ordinary events by which disillusion begins had +any power to affect him. + +He was not conscious that once or twice during the season in London he +had been duped; that the jealousy which had flamed up so suddenly +against Archie Tempest had more grounds than the single note he found in +his wife's pocket, when in a fit of clumsy fondness he had turned out +all its contents on her knee, solely to cogitate and wonder over them. +He had a habit which tried her more than his slow faculties had any +idea of, of examining Madeleine's belongings. His admiring curiosity had +no suspicion in it. He liked to look at them solely because they were +hers. + +One day, shortly after their arrival at Cantalupe, when he was sitting +in stolid inconvenient sympathy in her room, whither she had vainly +retreated from him on the plea of a headache, he occupied himself by +opening the drawers of her dressing-table one after the other, +investigating with aboriginal interest small boxes of hairpins, +curling-irons, and that various assortment of feminine gear which the +hairdresser elegantly designates as "toilet requisites." At last he +peeped into a box where, carefully arranged side by side, were the +dearest of curls on tortoiseshell combs which he had often seen on his +wife's head, and some smaller much becrimped bodies which filled him +with wondering dislike--hair caricatured--_frisettes_. + +"What _are_ you doing?" said Madeleine, faintly, lying on the sofa with +her back to him, holding her salts to her nose. Oh, if he would only go +away, this large dreadful man, and leave her half an hour in peace, +without hearing him clear his throat and sniff! On the contrary, he came +and sat down by her chuckling, holding the curls and frisettes in his +thick hands. She dropped her smelling-bottle and looked at them in an +outraged silence. Was there, then, no sanctity, no privacy, in married +life? Was everything about her to be made common and profane? She hated +Sir Henry at that moment. As long as he had remained an invoice +accompanying the arrival of coveted possessions, she had felt only a +vague uneasiness about him. Directly he became, after the wedding, a +heavy bill demanding cash payment "to account rendered," she had found +that the marriage market is not a very cheap one after all. + +Sir Henry was not the least chagrined at a discovery which might have +tried the devotion of a more romantic lover. + +"Why, Maddy," he said, "you are much too young and pretty to wear this +sort of toggery. Leave 'em to the old dowagers, my dear;" and he dropped +them into the fire. + +She saw them burn, but she made no sign. Presently, however, when he had +left her, she began to cry feebly; for even feminine fortitude has its +limits. She was in reality satisfied with her marriage on the whole, +though she was wiping away a few natural tears at this moment. But in +this class of union there is generally one item which is found almost +intolerable, namely, the husband. He really was the only drawback in +this case. The furniture, the house, the southern aspect of the +reception-rooms, everything else, was satisfactory. The park was +handsomer than she had expected. And she had not known there was a +silver dinner-service. It had been a love match as far as that was +concerned. If Henry himself had only been different, Madeleine often +reflected! If he had not been so red, and if he had had curly hair, or +any hair at all! But whose lot has not some secret sorrow? + +So Madeleine cried a little, and then wiped her eyes, and fell to +thinking of her gown for the fancy ball at Alvery next month. She called +to mind Di's height and regal figure with a pang. Perhaps, after all, +she had been unwise in asking her dear friend, whom it would be +difficult to eclipse, for this particular ball. Madeleine was under the +impression that she was "having Di" out of good nature. This was her +tame caged motive, kept for the inspection of others, especially of Di. +Nevertheless there were others which were none the less genuine because +they did not wait to have salt put on their tails, and invariably flew +away at the approach of strangers. + +Madeleine had not remembered to be good-natured until a certain obstacle +to the completion of her ball-party, as she intended it, had arisen. The +subject of young men was one which she had approached with the utmost +delicacy; for, according to Sir Henry, all young men--at least, all +good-looking ones--were fools and oafs whom he was not going to have +wounding _his_ birds. She agreed with him entirely, but reminded him of +the duchess's solemn injunction to bring a party of even numbers. + +Sir Henry at last gave in so far as to propose an elderly colonel. +Madeleine in turn suggested Lord Hemsworth, who was allowed to be "a +good sort," and was invited. + +"Then we ought to have Miss Di Tempest, if we have Hemsworth," said Sir +Henry, blowing like a grampus, as his manner was in moments of +inspiration. "I'm quite a matchmaker now I'm married myself. Ask her to +meet him, Maddy. She's your special pal, ain't she?" + +Madeleine felt that she required strength greater than her own to bear +with a person who says "ain't" and "a good sort," and designates a +lady-friend as a "pal." + +She pressed the silver knob of her pencil to her lips. There was, she +remarked, no one whom she would like to have so much as Di; but Mr. +Lumley was her next suggestion, and Sir Henry slapped himself on the +leg, and said he was the very thing. + +"We want one other man," said Madeleine, reflectively, after a few more +had passed through the needle's eye of Sir Henry's criticism. "Let me +see. Oh, there's Captain Tempest. He dances well." + +"I won't have him," said Sir Henry at once, his eyes assuming their most +prawnlike expression. "You may have his cousin if you like, the owl with +the jowl, as Lumley calls him--Tempest of Overleigh." + +"He is sure to be asked to the house itself, being a relation," said +Madeleine, dropping the subject of Archie instantly. She did not recur +to it again. But after their return home from the visit to the +Hemsworths', at which she had met Di, she told her husband she had +invited Di for the fancy ball, as he had wished her to do. + +"Me?" said Sir Henry, reddening. "Lord bless me, what do I want with +her?" And it was some time before he could be made to recollect what he +had said nearly a month ago about asking Di to meet Lord Hemsworth. + +"You forget your own wishes more quickly than I do," she said, putting +her hand in his. + +He did, by Jove, he did; and he bent over the little hand and kissed it, +while she noticed how red the back of his neck was. When he became +unusually apoplectic in appearance, as at this moment, Madeleine always +caught a glimpse of herself as a young widow, and the idea softened her +towards him. If he were once really gone, without any possibility of +return, she felt that she could have said, "Poor Henry!" + +"The only awkward part about having asked Di," said Madeleine, after a +pause, "is that Mrs. Courtenay does not allow her to visit alone." + +"Well, my dear, ask Mrs. Courtenay. I like her. She has always been very +civil to me." + +She had indeed. + +"I don't like her very much myself," said Madeleine. "She is so worldly; +and I think she has made Di so. And she would be the only older person. +You know you decided it should be a _young_ party this time. It is very +awkward Di not being able to come alone, at her age. She evidently +wanted me to ask her brother to bring her, who, she almost told me, was +anxious to meet Miss Crupps, the carpet heiress; but I did not quite +like to ask him without your leave." + +"Ask him by all means," said Sir Henry, entirely oblivious of his former +refusal. "After that poor little girl, is he? Well, we'll sit out +together, and watch the lovemaking, eh?" + +Madeleine experienced a tremor wholly unmixed with compunction at +gaining her point. She would have been aware, if she had read it in a +book, that any one who had acted as she had done, had departed from the +truth in suggesting that Di could not visit alone. She would have felt +also that it was reprehensible in the extreme to invite to her house a +man who had secretly, though not without provocation, made love to her +since her marriage. + +But just in the same way that what we regret as conceit in others we +perceive to be a legitimate self-respect in ourselves, so Madeleine, as +on previous occasions, "saw things very differently." + +She was incapable of what she called "a low view." She had often +"frankly" told herself that she took a deep interest in Archie. She had +put his initials against some of her favourite passages in her morocco +manual. She prayed for him on his birthday, and sometimes, when she woke +up and looked at her luminous cross at night. She believed that she had +a great influence for good over him which it was her duty to use. She +was sincere in her wish to proselytize, but the sincerity of an +insincere nature is like the kernel of a deaf nut; a mere shred of +undeveloped fibre. What Madeleine wished to believe became a reality to +her. Gratification of a very common form of vanity was a religious duty. +She wrote to Archie with a clear conscience, and, when he accepted, had +a box of autumn hats down from London. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + "Oh, Love's but a dance, + Where Time plays the fiddle! + See the couples advance,-- + Oh, Love's but a dance! + A whisper, a glance,-- + 'Shall we twirl down the middle?' + Oh, Love's but a dance, + Where Time plays the fiddle!" + AUSTIN DOBSON. + + +It was the night of the fancy dress ball. + +The carriages were already at the door, and could be heard crunching +round and round upon the gravel. Sir Henry, all yeomanry red and gold, +was having the bursting hooks and eyes at his throat altered in his +wife's room. Something had to be done to his belt, too. At last he went +blushing downstairs before the cluster of maids with his sword under his +arm. The guests, who had gone up to dress after an early dinner, were +reappearing by degrees. Lord Hemsworth, in claret-coloured coat and long +Georgian waistcoat and tie-wig, came down, handsome and quiet as usual, +with his young sister, whose imagination had stopped short at +cotton-wool snowflakes on a tulle skirt. An impecunious young man in a +red hunt coat rushed in, hooted on the stairs by Mr. Lumley for having +come without a wedding garment. Madeleine sailed down in Watteau +costume. Two married ladies followed in Elizabethan ones. Presently +Archie made his appearance, a dream of beauty in white satin from head +to foot, as the Earl of Leicester, his curling hair, fair to whiteness, +looking like the wig which it was not. Every one, men and women alike, +turned to look at him; and Mr. Lumley, following in harlequin costume, +was quite overlooked, until he turned a somersault, saying, "Here we are +again!" whereat Sir Henry instantly lost a hook and eye in a cackle of +admiration. + +"We ought to be starting," said Madeleine. "We are all down now." + +"Not quite all," said Mr. Lumley, sinking on one knee, as Di came in +crowned and sceptred, in a green and silver gown edged with ermine. + +Lord Hemsworth drew in his breath. Madeleine's face fell. + +"Good gracious, Di!" she said, with a very thin laugh. "This is dressing +up indeed!" + +The party, already late, got under way, Mr. Lumley, of course, calling +in falsetto to each carriage in turn not to go without him, and then +refusing to enter any vehicle in which, as he expressed it, Miss +Tempest was not already an ornamental fixture. + +"This is getting beyond a joke," said Lord Hemsworth, as a burst of song +issued from the carriage leaving the door, and the lamp inside showed +Di's crowned head, Sir Henry's violet complexion, and the gutta-percha +face of the warbling Mr. Lumley. + +Di sat very silent in her corner, and after a time, as the drive was a +long one, the desultory conversation dropped, and Sir Henry fell into a +nasal slumber, from which, as Madeleine was in another carriage, no one +attempted to rouse him. + +Di shut her eyes as a safeguard against being spoken to, and her mind +went back to the subject which had been occupying much of her thoughts +since the previous evening, namely, the fact that she should meet John +at the ball. She knew he would be there, for she had seen him get out +of the train at Alvery station the afternoon before. + +As she had found on a previous occasion, when they had suddenly been +confronted with each other at Doncaster races, to meet John had ceased +to be easy to her--became more difficult every time. + +Possibly John had found it as difficult to speak to Di as she had found +it to receive him. But however that may have been, it would certainly +have been impossible to divine that he was awaiting the arrival of any +one to-night with the faintest degree of interest. He did not take his +stand where it would be obvious that he could command a view of the door +through which the guests entered. He had seen others do that on previous +occasions, and had observed that the effect was not happy. Nevertheless, +from the bay window where he was watching the dancing, the guests as +they arrived were visible to him. + +"He! he!" said Lord Frederick, joining him. "Such a row in the men's +cloak-room! Young Talbot has come as Little Bo-Peep, and the men would +not have him in their room; said it was improper, and tried to hustle +him into the ladies' room. He is still swearing in his ulster in the +passage. Why aren't you dancing?" + +"I can't. My left arm is weak since I burned it in the spring." + +"Well," rejoined Lord Frederick, who as a French marquis, with cane and +snuff-box, was one of the best-dressed figures in the room, "you don't +miss much. Onlookers see most of the game. Look at that fairy twirling +with the little man in the kilt. Their skirts are just the same length. +The worst part of this species of entertainment is that one cuts one's +dearest friends. Some one asked me just now whether the 'Mauvaise +Langue' was here to-night. Did not recognize the wolf in sheep's +clothing. More arrivals. A Turk and a Norwegian peasant, and a man in a +smock frock. And--now--what on earth is the creature in blue and red, +with a female to match?" + +"Otter-hounds," suggested John. + +"Is it possible? Never saw it before. There goes Freemantle as a private +in the Blues, saluting as he is introduced, instead of bowing. What a +fund of humour the youth of the present day possess! Who is that +bleached earwig he is dancing with?" + +"I think it is Miss Crupps, the heiress." + +"H'm! Might have known it. That is the sort of little pill that no one +takes unless it is very much gilt. Here comes the Verelst party at last. +Lady Verelst has put herself together well. I would not mind buying her +at my valuation and selling her at her own. She hates me, that little +painted saint. I always cultivate a genuine saint. I make a point of +it. They may look deuced dowdy down here--they generally do, though I +believe it is only their wings under their clothes; but they will +probably form the aristocracy up yonder, and it is as well to know them +beforehand. But Lady Verelst is a sham, and I hate shams. I am a sham +myself. He! he! When last I met her she talked pious, and implied +intimacy with the Almighty, till at last I told her that it was the +vulgarest thing in life to be always dragging in your swell +acquaintance. He! he! I shall go and speak to her directly she has done +introducing her party. Mrs. Dundas--and--I don't know the other woman. +Who is the girl in white?" + +"Miss Everard." + +"What! Hemsworth's sister? Then he will be here too, probably. I like +Hemsworth. There's no more harm in that young man than there is in a +tablet of Pears' soap. A crowned head next. Why, it's Di Tempest. By +---- she is handsomer every time I see her! If that girl knew how to +advertise herself, she might become a professional beauty." + +"Heaven forbid!" said John, involuntarily, watching Di with the intense +concentration of one who has long pored over memory's dim portrait, and +now corrects it by the original. + +Lord Frederick did not see the look. For once something escaped him. He +too was watching Di, who with the remainder of the Verelst party was +being drifted towards them by a strong current of fresh arrivals in +their wake. + +The usual general recognition and non-recognition peculiar to fancy +balls ensued, in which old acquaintances looked blankly at each other, +gasped each other's names, and then shook hands effusively; amid which +one small greeting between two people who had seen and recognized each +other from the first instant took place, and was over in a moment. + +"I cannot recognize any one," said Di, her head held a shade higher than +usual, looking round the room, and saying to herself, "He would not have +spoken to me if he could have helped it." + +"Some of the people are unrecognizable," said John, with originality +equal to hers, and stung by the conviction that she had tried to avoid +shaking hands with him. + +The music struck up suddenly as if it were a new idea. + +"Are you engaged for this dance?" said Mr. Lumley, flying to her side. + +"Yes," said Di with decision. + +"So am I," said he, and was gone again. + +"Dance?" said a _Sporting Times_, rushing up in turn, and shooting out +the one word like a pea from a pop-gun. + +"Thanks, I should like to, but I am not allowed," said Di. "My +grandmother is very particular. If you had been the _Sunday at Home_ I +should have been charmed." + +The "Pink 'un" expostulated vehemently, and said he would have come as +the _Church Times_ if he had only known; but Di remained firm. + +John walked away, pricking himself with his little dagger, the sheath of +which had somehow got lost, and watched the knot of men who gradually +gathered round Di. Presently she moved away with Lord Frederick in the +direction of Madeleine, who had installed herself at the further end of +the room among the _fenders_, as our latter-day youth gracefully +designates the tiaras of the chaperones. + +John was seized upon and introduced to an elderly minister with an +order, who told him he had known his father, and began to sound him as +to his political views. John, who was inured to this form of address, +answered somewhat vaguely, for at that moment Di began to dance. She had +a partner worthy of her in the shape of a sedate young Russian, +resplendent in the white-and-gold uniform of the imperial _Gardes a +cheval_. + +Lord Frederick gravitated back to John. No young man among the former's +large acquaintance was given the benefit of his experience more +liberally than John. Lord Frederick took an interest in him which was +neither returned nor repelled. + +"Elver is down at last," he said. "It seems he had to wait till his +mother's maid could be spared to sew him into his clothes. It is a pity +you are not dancing, John. You might dance with your cousin. She and +Prince Blazinski made a splendid couple. What a crowd of moths round +that candle! I hope you are not one of them. It is not the candle that +gets singed. Another set of arrivals. Look at Carruthers coming in with +a bouquet. Cox of the _Monarch_ still, I suppose. He can't dance with +it; no, he has given it to his father to hold. Supper at last. I must go +and take some one in." + +John took Miss Everard in to supper. In spite of her brother's and Di's +efforts, she had not danced much. She did not find him so formidable as +she expected, and before supper was over had told him all about her +doves, and how the grey one sat on her shoulder, and how she loved +poetry better than anything in the world, except "Donovan." John proved +a sympathetic listener. He in his turn confided to her his difficulty in +conveying soup over the edge of his ruff; and after providing her with a +pink cream, judging with intuition unusual to his sex that a pink cream +is ever more acceptable to young ladyhood than a white one, he took her +back to the ball-room. The crowd had thinned. The kilt and the fairy and +a few other couples were careering wildly in open space. John looked +round in vain for Madeleine, to whom he could deliver up his snowflake, +and catching sight of Mrs. Dundas on the chaperon's dais, made in her +direction. Di, who was sitting with Mrs. Dundas, suddenly perceived them +coming up the room together. What was it, what could it be, that +indescribable feeling that went through her like a knife as she saw Miss +Everard on John's arm, smiling at something he was saying to her? Had +they been at supper together all this long time? + +"What a striking face your cousin has!" said Mrs. Dundas. "I do not +wonder that people ask who he is. I used to think him rather alarming, +but Miss Everard does not seem to find him so." + +"He can be alarming," said Di, lightly. "You should see him when he is +discussing his country's weal, or welcoming his guests." + +"Why did I say that?" she asked herself the moment the words were out of +her mouth. "It's ill-natured and it's not true. Why did I say it?" + +Mrs. Dundas laughed. + +"It's the old story," she said. "One never sees the virtues of one's +relations. Now, as he is not _my_ first cousin, I am able to perceive +that he is a very remarkable person, with a jaw that means business. +There is tenacity and strength of purpose in his face. He would be a +terrible person to oppose." + +Di laughed, but she quailed inwardly. + +"I am told he is immensely run after," continued Mrs. Dundas. "I dare +say you know," in a whisper, "that the duchess wants him for Lady +Alice, and they _say_ he has given her encouragement, but I don't +believe it. Anyhow, her mother is making her read up political economy +and Bain, poor girl. It must be an appalling fate to marry a great +intellect. I am thankful to say Charlie only had two ideas in his head; +one was chemical manures, and the other was to marry me. Well, Miss +Everard. Lady Verelst is at supper, but I will extend a wing over you +till she returns. Here comes a crowd from the supper-room. Now, Miss +Tempest, do go in. You owned you were hungry a minute ago, though you +refused the tragic entreaties of the Turk and the stage villain." + +"I was afraid," said Di; "for though the villain is my esteemed friend +in private life, I know his wide hat or the turban of the infidel would +catch in my crown and drag it from my head. I wish I had not come so +regally. I enjoyed sewing penny rubies into my crown, and making the +ermine out of an old black muff and some rabbit-fur; but--uneasy is the +head that wears a crown." + +"I am very harmless and inaggressive," said John, in his most level +voice. "The only person I prick with my little dagger is myself. If you +are hungry, I think you may safely go in to supper with me." + +"Very well," said Di, rising and taking his offered arm. "I am too +famished to refuse." + +"She is taller than he is," said Miss Everard, as they went together +down the rapidly filling room. + +"No, my dear; it is only her crown. They are exactly the same height." + + * * * * * + +No one is more useful in everyday life than the man, seldom a rich man, +who can command two sixpences, and can in an emergency produce a +threepenny bit and some coppers. The capitalist with his halfcrown is +nowhere--for the time. + +In conversation, small change is everything. Who does not know the look +of the clever man in society, conscious of a large banking account, but +uncomfortably conscious also that, like Goldsmith, he has not a sixpence +of ready money? And who has not envied the fool jingling his few +halfpence on a tombstone or anywhere, to the satisfaction of himself and +every one else? + +Thrice-blessed is small-talk. + +But between some persons it is an impossibility, though each may have a +very respectable stock of his own. Like different coinages, they will +not amalgamate. Di and John had not wanted any in talking to each +other--till now. And now, in their hour of need, to the alarm of both, +they found they were destitute. After a short mental struggle they +succumbed into the abyss of the commonplace, the only neutral ground on +which those who have once been open and sincere with each other can +still meet--to the certain exasperation of both. + +John was dutifully attentive. He procured a fresh bottle of champagne +for her, and an unnibbled roll, and made suitable remarks at intervals; +but her sense of irritation increased. Something in his manner annoyed +her. And yet it was only the same courteous, rather expressionless +manner that she remembered was habitual to him towards others. Now that +it was gone she realized that there had once been a subtle difference in +his voice and bearing to herself. She felt defrauded of she knew not +what, and the wing of cold pheasant before her loomed larger and larger, +till it seemed to stretch over the whole plate. Why on earth had she +said she was hungry? And why had he brought her to the large table, +where there was so much light and noise, and where she was elbowed by an +enormous hairy Buffalo Bill, when she had seen as she came in that one +of the little tables for two was at that instant vacant? She forgot that +when she first caught sight of it she had said within herself that she +would never forgive him if he had the bad taste to entrap her into a +_tete-a-tete_ by taking her there. + +But he had shown at once that he had no such intention. Was this +dignified, formal man, with his air of distinction, and his harsh +immobile face, and his black velvet dress,--was this stranger really the +John with whom she had been on such easy terms six weeks ago; the John +who, pale and determined, had measured swords with her in the dusk of a +September evening? + +And as she sat beside him in the brilliant light, amid the Babel of +tongues, a voice in her heart said suddenly, "That was not the end; that +was only the beginning--only the beginning." + +Her eyes met his, fixed inquiringly upon her. He was only offering her +some grapes, but it appeared to her that he must have heard the words, +and a sense of impotent terror seized her, as the terror of one who, +wrestling for his life, finds at the first throw that he is overmatched. + +She rose hastily, and asked to go back to the ball-room. He complied at +once, but did not speak. They went, a grave and silent couple, through +the hall and down the gallery. + +"Have I annoyed you?" he said at last, as they neared the ball-room. + +She did not answer. + +"I mean, have I done anything more that has annoyed you?" + +"Nothing more, thanks." + +"I am glad," said John. "I feared I had. Of course, I would not have +asked you to go in to supper with me if Mrs. Dundas had not obliged me. +I intended to ask you to do so, when you could have made some excuse for +refusing if you did not wish it. I was sorry to force your hand." + +"You will never do that," said Di, to her own astonishment. It seemed to +her that she was constrained by a power stronger than herself to defy +him. + +She felt him start. + +"We will take another turn," he said instantly; and before she had the +presence of mind to resist, they had turned and were walking slowly down +the gallery again between the rows of life-size figures of knights and +chargers in armour, which loomed gigantic in the feeble light. A wave of +music broke in the distance, and the few couples sitting in recesses +rose and passed them on their way back to the ball-room, leaving the +gallery deserted. + +A peering moon had laid a faint criss-cross whiteness on the floor. + +The place took a new significance. + +Each was at first too acutely conscious of being alone with the other to +speak. She wondered if he could feel how her hand trembled on his arm, +and he whether it was possible she did not hear the loud hammering of +his heart. Either would have died rather than have betrayed their +emotion to the other. + +"You tell me I shall never force your hand," he repeated slowly at last. +"No, indeed, I trust I never shall. But when, may I ask, have I shown +any intention of doing so?" + +Di had put herself so palpably and irretrievably in the wrong, that she +had no refuge left but silence. She was horror-struck by his repetition +of the words which her lips, but surely not she herself, had spoken. + +"If you ever marry me," said John, "it will be of your own accord. If +you don't, we shall both miss happiness--you as well as I, for we are +meant for each other. Most people are so constituted that they can marry +whom they please, but you and I have no choice. We have a claim upon +each other. I recognize yours, with thankfulness. I did not know life +held anything so good. You ignore mine, and wilfully turn away from it. +I don't wonder. I am not a man whom any woman would choose, much less +_you_. It is natural on your part to dislike me--at first. In the mean +while you need not distress yourself by telling me so. I am under no +delusion on that point." + +His voice was firm and gentle. If it had been cold, Di's pride would +have flamed up in a moment. As it was, its gentleness, under great and +undeserved provocation, made her writhe with shame. She spoke +impulsively. + +"But I _am_ distressed, I can't help being so, at having spoken so +harshly; no--_worse_ than harshly, so unpardonably." + +"There is no question of pardon between you and me," said John, turning +to look at her with the grave smile that seemed for a moment to bring +back her old friend to her; but only for a moment. His eyes contradicted +it. "I know you have never forgiven me for telling you that I loved you, +but nevertheless you see I have not asked pardon yet, though I had not +intended to annoy you by speaking of it again--at present." + +"No," said Di, eagerly. "But that is just it. It was my own fault this +time. I brought it on myself. But--but I can't help knowing--I feel +directly I see you that you are still thinking of it. And then I become +angry, and say dreadful things like----" + +"Exactly," said John, nodding. + +"Because I--not only because I am ill-tempered, but because though I do +like being liked, still I don't want you or any one to make a mistake, +or go on making it. It doesn't seem fair." + +"Not if it really is a mistake." + +"It is in this instance." + +"Not on my part." + +There was a short silence. Di felt as if she had walked up against a +stone wall. + +"John," she said with decision. "Believe me. I sometimes mean what I +say, and I mean it now. I really and truly am a person who knows my own +mind." + +"So do I," said John. + +Rather a longer silence. + +"And--and oh, John! Don't you see how wretched, how foolish it is, our +being on these absurd formal terms? Have you forgotten what friends we +used to be? I have not. It makes me angry still when I think how you +have taken yourself away for nothing, and how all the pleasure is gone +out of meeting you or talking to you. I don't think you half knew how +much I liked you." + +"Di," said John, stopping short, and facing her with indignation in his +eyes, "I desire that you will never again tell me you _like_ me. I +really cannot stand it. Let us go back to the ball-room." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + "Ah, man's pride + Or woman's--which is greatest?" + E. B. BROWNING. + + +"Di," said Archie, sauntering up to her on the terrace at Cantalupe, +where she was sitting the morning after the ball, and planting himself +in front of her, as he had a habit of doing before all women, so as to +spare them the trouble of turning round to look at him, "I can't swallow +little Crupps." + +"No one wants you to," said Di. "If you don't like her, you had better +leave her alone." + +"Women are not meant to be let alone," said Archie, yawning, "except the +ugly ones." + +"Well, Miss Crupps is not pretty." + +"No, but she is gilt up to the eyes. Poor eyes, too, and light +eyelashes. I could not marry light eyelashes." + +"I am glad to hear it." + +"Oh! I know you don't care a straw whether I settle well or not. You +never have cared. Women are all alike. There's not a woman in the world, +or a man either, who cares a straw what becomes of me." + +"Or you what becomes of them." + +"John's just as bad as the rest," continued the victim of a worldly age. +"And John and I were great chums in old days. But it is the way of the +world." + +Men who attract by a certain charm of manner which the character is +unable to bear out, who make unconscious promises to the _hope_ of +others without ability to keep them, are ever those who complain most +loudly of the fickleness of women, of the uncertainty of friendship, of +their loveless lot. + +Di did not answer. Any allusion to John, even the bare mention of his +name, had become of moment to her. She never by any chance spoke of him, +neither did she ever miss a word that was said about him in her +presence; and often raged inwardly at the ruthless judgments and +superficial criticisms that were freely passed upon him by his +contemporaries, and especially his kinsfolk. From a very early date in +this world's history, ability has been felt to be distressing in its own +country, especially in the country. If a clever man would preserve +unflawed the amulet of humility, let him at intervals visit among his +country cousins. John had not many of these invaluable relations; but, +happily for him, he had contemporaries who did just as well--men who, +when he was mentioned with praise in their hearing, could always break +in that they had known him at Eton, and relate how he had over-eaten +himself at the sock-shop. + +"One thing I am determined I won't do," continued Archie, "and that is +marry poverty, like the poor old governor. He has often talked about it, +and what a grind it was, with the tears in his eyes." + +"What has turned your mind to marriage on this particular morning, of +all others?" + +"I don't know, unless it is the vision of little Crupps. I suppose I +shall come to something of that kind some day. If it isn't her it will +be something like her. One must live. You are on the look out for money, +too, Di, so you need not be so disdainful. You can't marry a poor man." + +"They don't often ask me," said Di. "I fancy I look more expensive to +keep up than I really am." + +"Ah! here comes Lady Verelst," said Archie, patronizingly. "I'd marry +_her_, now, if she were a rich widow. I would indeed. She is putting up +her red parasol. Quite right. She has not your complexion, Di, nor mine +either." + +Archie got up as Madeleine came towards them, and offered her his chair. +Archie had several cheap effects. To offer a chair with a glance and a +smile was one of them. Perhaps he could not help it if the glance +suggested unbounded homage, if the smile conveyed an admiration as +concentrated as Liebig's extract. His faithful, tender eyes could wear +the sweetest, the saddest, or the most reproachful expression to order. +Every slight passing feeling was magnified by the beauty of the face +that reflected it into a great emotion. He felt almost nothing, but he +appeared to feel a great deal. A man who possesses this talisman is very +dangerous. + +Poor Madeleine, confident of her appearance in her new Cresser garment, +with its gold-flowered waistcoat, firmly believed, as Archie silently +pushed forward the chair, that she had inspired--had been so unfortunate +as to inspire--"une grande passion malheureuse." Almost all Archie's +lovemaking, and that is saying a good deal, was speechless. He could +look unutterable things, but he had not, as he himself expressed it, +"the gift of the gab." + +Madeleine was sorry for him, but she could not allow him to remain +enraptured beside her in full view of Sir Henry's study windows. + +"How delicious it is here!" she said, after dismissing him to the +billiard-room. "I never lie in bed after a ball, do you, Di? I seem to +crave for the sunshine and the face of nature after all the glitter and +the worldliness of a ball-room." + +"I don't find ball-rooms more worldly than other places--than this +bench, for instance." + +"Now, how strange that is of you, Di! This spot is quite sacred to _me_. +I come and read here." + +Madeleine had, by degrees, sanctified all the seats in the garden; had +taken the impious chill even off the iron ones, by reading her little +manuals on each in turn. + +"It was here," continued Madeleine, "that I persuaded dear Fred to go +into the Church. It was settled he was to be a clergyman ever since he +had that slight stroke as a boy; but when he went to college he must +have got into a bad set, for he said he did not think he had a vocation. +And mother--you know what mother is--did not like to press it, and the +whole thing was slipping through, when I had him to stay here, and +talked to him very seriously, and explained that a living in the family +_was_ the call." + +"Madeleine," said Di, rising precipitately, "it is getting late. I must +fly and pack." + +If she stayed another moment she knew she should inevitably say +something that would scandalize Madeleine. + +"And I did not say it," she said with modest triumph that evening, as +she sat in her grandmother's room before going to bed; having rejoined +her at Garstone, a relation's house, whither Mrs. Courtenay had preceded +her. "I refrained even from bad words. Granny, you know everything: why +is it that the people who shock me so dreadfully, like Madeleine, are +just the very ones who are shocked at me? You are not. All the really +good earnest people I know are not. But _they_ are. What is the matter +with them?" + +"Oh, my dear, what is the matter with all insincere people? It is only +one of the symptoms of an incurable disease." + +"But the being shocked is genuine. They really feel it. There is +something wrong somewhere, but I don't know where it is." + +"It is not hard to find, Di," said Mrs. Courtenay, sadly; "and it is not +worth growing hot about. You are only running a little tilt against +religiosity. Most young persons do. But it is not worth powder and shot. +Keep your ammunition for a nobler enemy. There is plenty of sin in the +world. Strike at that whenever you can, but don't pop away at shadows." + +"Ah! but, granny, these people do such harm. They bring such discredit +on religion. That is what enrages me." + +"My dear, you are wrong; they bring discredit upon nothing but their own +lamentable caricatures of holy things. These people are solemn +warnings--danger-signals on the broad paths of religiosity, which, +remember, are very easy walking. There's no life so easy. The religious +life is hard enough, God knows. Providence put those people there to +make their creed hideous, and they do it. Upon my word, I think your +indignation against them is positively unpardonable." + +Di was silent. + +"You don't mind being disliked by these creatures, do you, Di?" + +"Yes, granny, I think I do. I believe, if I only knew the truth about +myself, I want every one to like me; and it ruffles me because they make +round eyes, and don't like me when their superiors often do." + +"Mere pride and love of admiration on your part, my dear. You have no +business with them. To be liked and admired by certain persons is a +stigma in itself. Look at the kind of mediocrity and feebleness they set +on pedestals, and be thankful you don't fit into their mutual admiration +societies. That 'like cleaves to like,' is a saying we seldom get to the +bottom of. These unfortunates find blots, faults, evil, in everything, +especially everything original, because they are sensitive to blots and +faults. They commit themselves out of their own mouths. 'Those that seek +shall find,' is especially true of the fault-finders. The truth and +beauty which others receptive of truth and beauty perceive, escape them. +Good nature sees good in others. The reverent impute reverence. This +false reverence finds irreverence, as a mean nature takes for granted a +low motive in its fellow. Oh dear me, Di! Have I expended on you for +years the wisdom of a Socrates and a Solomon, that at one and twenty you +should need to be taught your alphabet? Go to bed and pray for wisdom, +instead of complaining of the lack of it in others." + +Di had had but little leisure lately, and the unbounded leisure of her +long visit at Garstone came as a relief. + +"I shall have time to think here," she said to herself, as she looked +out the first morning over the grey park and lake distorted by the +little panes of old glass of her low window. + +Two very old people lived at Garstone, who regarded their niece, Mrs. +Courtenay, as still quite a young person, in spite of her tall +granddaughter. Time seemed to have forgotten the dear old couple, and +they in turn had forgotten it. It never mattered what time of day it +was. Nothing depended on the hour. In the course of the morning the +butler would open both the folding doors at the end of the long +"parlour" leading to the chapel, and would announce, "Prayers are +served." Long prayers they were. Long meals were served too, with long +intervals between them, during which, in spite of a week of heavy rain, +Di escaped regularly into the gardens and so away to the park. The house +oppressed her. She was restless and ill at ease. She was never missed +because she was never wanted; and she wandered for hours in the park, +listening to the low cry of the deer, standing on the bridge over the +artificial 1745 lake, or pacing mile on mile a sheltered path under the +park wall. The thinking for which she had such ample opportunity did not +come off. It shirked regularly. A certain vague trouble of soul was upon +her, like the unrest of nature at the spring of the year. And day after +day she watched the autumn leaves drop from the trees into the water, +and there was a great silence in her heart, and underneath the silence a +fear--or was it a hope? She knew not. + +There was one subject to which Di's thoughts returned, and ever +returned, in spite of herself. John was that subject. Gradually, as the +days wore on, her shamed remorse at having wounded him gave place to the +old animosity against him. She had never been angry with any of her +numerous lovers before. She had, on the contrary, been rather sorry for +them. But she was desperately angry with John. It seemed to her--why she +would have been at a loss to explain--that he had taken a very great +liberty in venturing to love her, and in daring to assert that they were +suited to other. + +She went through silent paroxysms of rage against him, sitting on a +fallen tree among the bracken with clenched hands. Her sense of his +growing power over her, over her thought, over her will, was +intolerable. Why so fierce? why such a fool? she asked herself over and +over again. He could not marry her against her will. Indeed, he had said +he did not want to. Why, then, all this silly indignation about nothing? +There was no answer until one day Mrs. Courtenay happened to mention to +Mrs. Garstone, in her presence, the probability of John's eventually +marrying Lady Alice Fane--"a very charming and suitable person," etc. + +Then suddenly it became clear to Di that, though she would never marry +him herself, the possibility of his marrying any one else was not to be +borne for a moment. John, of course, was to--was to remain unmarried all +his life. Her sense of the ludicrous showed her in a lightning-flash +where she stood. + +To discover a new world is all very well for people like Columbus, who +want to find one. But to discover a new world by mistake when quite +content with the old one, and to be swept towards it uncertain of your +reception by the natives assembling on the beach, is another thing +altogether. For the second time in her life Di was frightened. + +"Then all these horrible feelings are being in love," she said to +herself, with a sense of stupefaction. "This is what other people have +felt for me, and I treated it as of little consequence. This is what I +have read about, and sung about, and always rather wished to feel. I am +in love with John. Oh, I hope to God he will never find it out!" + +Probably no man will ever understand the agonies of humiliation, of +furious unreasoning antagonism, which a proud woman goes through when +she becomes aware that she is falling in love. Pride and love go as ill +together in the beginning as they go exceeding well together later on. +To be loved is incense at first, until the sense of justice--fortunately +rare in women--is aroused. "Shall I take all, and give nothing?" + +Pride, often a very tender pride for the lover himself, asks that +question. Directly it is asked the battle begins. + +"I will not give less than all. How _can_ I give all?" The very young +are spared the conflict, because the future husband is regarded only as +the favoured ball-partner, the perpetual admirer of a new existence. But +women who know something of life--of the great demands of marriage--of +the absolute sacrifice of individual existence which it involves--when +they begin to tremble beneath the sway of a deep human passion suffer +much, fear greatly until the perfect love comes that casts out fear. + +Some natures, and very lovable they are, give all, counting not the +cost. Others, a very few, count the cost and then give all. + +Di was one of these. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + "Austerity in women is sometimes the accompaniment of a rare + power of loving. And when it is so their attachment is strong + as death; their fidelity as resisting as the diamond."--AMIEL. + + +The newspapers arrived at tea-time at Garstone. Every afternoon Mrs. +Garstone and Mrs. Courtenay drove out along the straight high-road to +D---- to fetch the papers and post the letters; four miles in and four +miles out; the grey pair one day and the bays the next, in the old +yellow chariot. It was the rule of the house. And after tea and rusks, +and a poached egg under a cover for Mr. Garstone, that gentleman read +the papers aloud in a voice that trembled and halted like the spinnet +in the southern parlour. + +"Is Parliament prorogued yet?" Mrs. Garstone asked regularly every +afternoon. + +Mr. Garstone, without answering, struck his key-note at the births, and +quavered slowly through the marriages and deaths. Before he had arrived +on this particular afternoon at the fact that Princess Beatrice had +walked with Prince Henry of Battenberg, Mrs. Garstone was already +nodding between her little rows of white curls. Mrs. Courtenay was +awake, but she looked too solemnly attentive to continue in one stay. + +"The remains of the Dean of Gloucester," continued Mr. Garstone, "will +be interred at Gloucester Cathedral on Friday next." + +The information was received, like most sedatives, without comment. + +Latest intelligence. Colliery explosion at Snarley. + +"Di, has not John coal-pits at Snarley?" asked Mrs. Courtenay, becoming +suddenly wide awake. + +"Yes," said Di. + +"Explosion of fire-damp," continued Mr. Garstone, slower than ever. "No +particulars known. Great loss of life apprehended. Mr. Tempest of +Overleigh, to whom the mine belonged, instantly left Godalmington Court, +where he was the guest of Lord Carradock, and proceeded at once to the +spot, where he organized a rescue party led by himself. Mr. Tempest was +the first to descend the shaft. The gravest anxiety was felt respecting +the fate of the rescuing party. Vast crowds assembled at the pit's +mouth. No further news obtainable up to date of going to press." + +Mrs. Courtenay looked at Di. + +"He must be mad to have gone down himself," she said agitatedly. "What +could he possibly do there?" + +"His duty," said Di; and she got up and left the room. How could any one +exist in that hot close atmosphere? She was suffocating. + +The hall was cold enough. She shivered as she crossed it, and went up +the white shallow stairs to her own room, where a newly lit fire was +spluttering. She knelt down before it and pushed a burning stick further +between the bars, blackening her fingers. It would catch the paper at +the side now.--John had gone down the shaft.--Yes, it would catch. The +paper stretched itself and flared up. She went and stood by the window. + +"John has gone down," she said, half aloud. Her heart was quite numb. +Only her body seemed to care. Her limbs trembled, and she sat down on +the narrow window seat, her hands clutching the dragon hasp of the +window, her eyes looking absently out. + +There was a fire in the west. Upon the dreaming land the dreaming mist +lay pale. The sentinel trees stood motionless and dark, each folded in +his mantle of grey. Only the water waked and knew its God. And far +across the sleeping land, in the long lines of flooded meadow, the fire +trembled on the upturned face of the water, like the reflection of the +divine glory in a passionate human soul. + +It passed. The light throbbed and died, but Di did not stir. And as she +sat motionless, her mind slipped sharp and keen out of its lethargy and +restlessness, like a sword from its scabbard. + +"Now, at this moment, is he alive or dead?" + +And at the thought of death, that holiest minister who waits on life, +all the rebellious anger, all the nameless fierce resentment against her +lover--because he _was_ her lover--fell from her like a garment, died +down like Peter's lies at the glance of Christ. + +The evening deepened its mourning for the dead day. One star shook in +the empty sky, above the shadow and the mist. + +"Love the gift is Love the debt." Di perceived that at last. A great +shame fell upon her for the divided feelings, the unconscious struggle +with her own heart, of the last few weeks. It appeared to her now +ignoble, as all elementary phases of feeling, all sheaths of deep +affections must appear, in the moment when that which they enfolded and +protected grows beyond the narrow confines which it no longer needs. + +_If he is dead?_ Di twisted her hands. + +Who, one of two that have loved and stood apart has escaped that pang, +if death intervene? A moment ago and the world was full of messengers +waiting to speed between them at the slightest bidding. A penny stamp +could do it. But there was no bidding. A moment more and all +communication is cut off. No Armada can cross that sea. + +"Perhaps he is dying; and I sit here," she said. "I would give my life +for him, and I cannot do a hand's turn." And she rocked herself to and +fro. + +For the first time in her life Di dashed herself blindly against one of +God's boundaries; and the shock that a first realization of our +helplessness always brings, struck her like a blow. She could do +nothing. + +Many impulsive people, under the intolerable pressure of their own +impotence, make a feverish pretence of action, and turn stones and +pebbles, as they cannot turn heaven and earth; but Di was not impulsive. + +And the gong sounded, first far away in the western wing, and then at +the foot of the staircase. + +Many things fail us in this world; youth, love, friendship, take to +themselves wings; but meals are not among our migratory joys. Amid the +shifting quicksands of life they stand fast as milestones. + +Di dressed and went downstairs. It seemed years since she had last seen +the "parlour," and old Mr. Garstone standing alone before the fire. + +He did not appear aged. + +"It's later than it was," he remarked; and she had a dim recollection +that in some misty bygone time he invariably used to say those +particular words every evening, and that she used to smile and nod and +say, "Yes, Uncle George." + +And so she smiled now, and repeated like a parrot, "Yes, Uncle George." + +And he said, "Yes, Diana, yes." + + * * * * * + +Breakfast was later than usual next morning. It always is when one has +lain awake all night. But it ended at last, and Di was at last at +liberty to rush up to her room, pull on an old waterproof and felt hat, +and dart out unobserved into the rain. + +The white mist closed in upon her, and directly she was out of sight of +the house she began to run. There were no aimless wanderings and pacings +to-day. Oh, the relief of rapid movement after the long inertia of the +night, the joy of feeling the rain sweeping against her face! She did +not know the way to D----, but she could not miss it. It was only four +miles off. It was eleven now. The morning papers would be in by this +time. If she walked hard she would be back by luncheon-time. + +And, in truth, a few minutes before two Di emerged from her room in the +neatest and driest of blue serge gowns. Only her hair, which curled more +crisply than usual, showed that she had been out in the damp. She had +come home dead beat and wet to the skin, but she had hardly known it. A +new climbing agitated joy pulsated in her heart, in the presence of +which cold and fatigue could not exist; in the presence of which no +other feeling can exist--for the time. + +"Are you glad John is out of danger?" said Mrs. Courtenay that evening +as they went upstairs together, after Mr. Garstone had read of John's +narrow escape--John had been one of the few among the rescuing party who +had returned. + +"Very glad," said Di; and she was on the point of telling her +grandmother of her expedition to D---- that morning, when a sudden novel +sensation of shyness seized her, and she stopped short. + +Mrs. Courtenay sighed as she settled herself for her nap before dinner. + +"Has she inherited her father's heartlessness as well as his yellow +hair?" she asked herself. + +Mrs. Courtenay had lived long enough to know how few and far between are +those among our fellow-creatures whose hearts are not entirely engrossed +by the function of their own circulation. Youth believes in universal +warmth of heart. It is as common as rhubarb in April. Later on we +discern that easily touched feelings, youth's dearest toys, are but +toys; shaped stones that look like bread. Later on we discern how +fragile is the woof of sentiment to bear the wear and tear of life. +Later still, when sorrow chills us, we learn on how few amid the many +hearths where we are welcome guests a fire burns to which we may stretch +our cold hands and find warmth and comfort. + +END OF VOL. II. + +PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, +LONDON AND BECCLES. _D. & Co._ + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIANA TEMPEST, VOLUME II (OF 3)*** + + +******* This file should be named 37974.txt or 37974.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/7/9/7/37974 + + + +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. 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