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diff --git a/37974-h/37974-h.htm b/37974-h/37974-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3129b0e --- /dev/null +++ b/37974-h/37974-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7119 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Diana Tempest, Volume II (of 3), by Mary Cholmondeley</title> + <style type="text/css"> + + blockquote { + text-align:justify; + } + + body { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + } + + .booktitle { + letter-spacing:3px; + } + + div.inset16 { + margin-top:1em; + margin-bottom:1em; + margin-left:auto; + margin-right:auto; + width:16em; + text-indent:0; + } + + div.main { + font-size:100%; + } + + .dropimg { + float:left; + margin-right:.5em; + margin-bottom:0; + } + + .figcenter { + padding:1em; + text-align:center; + font-size:0.8em; + border:none; + margin:auto; + text-indent:1em; + } + + .h1 { + font-size:2em; + margin:.67em 0; + } + + .h1, .h2, .h3, .h4 { + font-weight:bolder; + text-align:center; + text-indent:0; + } + + h1, h2, h3, h4 { + text-align:center; + } + + .h2 { + font-size:1.5em; + margin:.75em 0; + } + + .h3 { + font-size:1.17em; + margin:.83em 0; + } + + .h4 { + margin:1.12em 0 ; + } + + hr.chapter { + margin-top:6em; + margin-bottom:4em; + } + + hr.tb { + margin:2em 25%; + width:50%; + } + + p { + text-align:justify; + margin-top:.75em; + margin-bottom:.75em; + text-indent:0; + } + + p.author { + text-align:right; + margin-right:5%; + } + + p.quote { + float:left; + margin-right:.2em; + margin-top:-.1em; + } + + p.spacer { + margin-top:2em; + margin-bottom:3em; + } + + .pagenum { +/* visibility:hidden; remove comment out to hide page numbers */ + position:absolute; + right:2%; + font-size:75%; + color:gray; + background-color:inherit; + text-align:right; + text-indent:0; + font-style:normal; + font-weight:normal; + font-variant:normal; + } + + .poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + margin-bottom:1em; + text-align:left; + } + + .poem .stanza { + margin:1em 0em 1em 0em; + } + + .poem p { + margin:0; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i0 { + display:block; + margin-left:0em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i2 { + display:block; + margin-left:2em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i8 { + display:block; + margin-left:8em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i10 { + display:block; + margin-left:10em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i12 { + display:block; + margin-left:12em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i14 { + display:block; + margin-left:14em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .smcap { + font-variant:small-caps; + } + + span.hide { + display:none + } + + .topbox { + width:400px; + margin-top:5%; + margin-bottom:5%; + padding:1em; + color:black; + border:2px solid black; + } + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Diana Tempest, Volume II (of 3), by Mary +Cholmondeley</h1> +<pre> +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 <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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