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diff --git a/3824-h/3824-h.htm b/3824-h/3824-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b8b42d --- /dev/null +++ b/3824-h/3824-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16340 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Lamp of Fate, by Margaret Pedler + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lamp of Fate, by Margaret Pedler + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Lamp of Fate + +Author: Margaret Pedler + +Release Date: April 13, 2006 [EBook #3824] +Last Updated: November 18, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAMP OF FATE *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE LAMP OF FATE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Margaret Pedler + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Then to the rolling Heav’n itself I cried, + Asking, “What Lamp of Destiny to guide + Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?” + And—“A blind Understanding!” Heaven replied. + The “Rubaiyat” of Omar Khayyam. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + To AUDREY HEATH <br /><br /> DEAR AUDREY: I always feel that you have + played the part of Fairy <br /> Godmother in a very special and + delightful way to all my stories, and <br /> in particular to this one, + the plot of which I outlined to you one <br /> afternoon in an old + summer-house. So will you let me dedicate it to you? <br /><br /> Yours + always, <br /> <br /> MARGARET PEDLER. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE LAMP OF FATE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART"> <b>PART ONE</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <b>PART TWO</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXII </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE LAMP OF FATE + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART ONE + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <h3> + THE NINTH GENERATION + </h3> + <p> + The house was very silent. An odour of disinfectants pervaded the + atmosphere. Upstairs hushed, swift steps moved to and fro. + </p> + <p> + Hugh Vallincourt stood at the window of his study, staring out with + unseeing eyes at the smooth, shaven lawns and well-kept paths with their + background of leafless trees. It seemed to him that he had been standing + thus for hours, waiting—waiting for someone to come and tell him + that a son and heir was born to him. + </p> + <p> + He never doubted that it would be a son. By some freak of chance the + first-born of the Vallincourts of Coverdale had been, for eight successive + generations, a boy. Indeed, by this time, the thing had become so much a + habit that no doubts or apprehensions concerning the sex of the eldest + child were ever entertained. It was accepted as a foregone conclusion, and + in the eyes of the family there was a certain gratifying propriety about + such regularity. It was like a hall-mark of heavenly approval. + </p> + <p> + Hugh Vallincourt, therefore, was conscious at this critical moment of no + questionings on that particular score. He was merely a prey to the normal + tremors and agitations of a husband and prospective father. + </p> + <p> + For an ageless period, it seemed to him, his thoughts had clung about that + upstairs room where his wife lay battling for her own life and another’s. + Suddenly they swung back to the time, a year ago, when he had first met + her—an elusive feminine thing still reckoning her age in teens—beneath + the glorious blue and gold canopy of the skies of Italy. + </p> + <p> + Their meeting and brief courtship had been pure romance—romance such + as is bred in that land of mellow warmth and colour, where the flower of + passion sometimes buds and blooms within the span of a single day. + </p> + <p> + In like manner had sprung to life the love between Hugh Vallincourt and + Diane Wielitzska, and rarely has the web of love enmeshed two more + dissimilar and ill-matched people—Hugh, a man of seven-and-thirty, + the strict and somewhat self-conscious head of a conspicuously devout old + English family, and Diane, a beautiful dancer of mixed origin, the + illegitimate offspring of a Russian grand-duke and of a French artist’s + model of the Latin Quarter. + </p> + <p> + The three dread Sisters who determine the fate of men must have laughed + amongst themselves at such an obvious mismating, knowing well how + inevitably it would tangle the threads of many other lives than the two + immediately concerned. + </p> + <p> + Vallincourt had been brought up on severely conventional lines, reared in + the narrow tenets of a family whose salient characteristics were an + overweening pride of race and a religious zeal amounting almost to + fanaticism, while Diane had had no up-bringing worth speaking of. As for + religious views, she hadn’t any. + </p> + <p> + Yet neither the one nor the other had counted in the scale when the + crucial moment came. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was by way of an ironical set-off against his environment that + Fate had dowered Hugh with his crop of ruddy hair—and with the + ardent temperament which usually accompanies the type. Be that as it may, + he was swept completely off his feet by the dancer’s magic beauty. The + habits and training of a lifetime went by the board, and nothing was + allowed to impede the swift (not to say violent) course of his + love-making. Within a month from the day of their first meeting, he and + Diane were man and wife. + </p> + <p> + The consequences were almost inevitable, and Hugh found that his married + life speedily resolved itself into an endless struggle between the + dictates of inclination and conscience. Everything that was man in him + responded passionately to the appeal and charm of Diane’s personality, + whilst everything that was narrow and censorious disapproved her total + inability to conform to the ingrained prejudices of the Vallincourts. + </p> + <p> + Not that Diane was in any sense of the word a bad woman. She was merely + beautiful and irresponsible—a typical <i>cigale</i> of the stage—lovable + and kind-hearted and pagan, and possessing but the haziest notions of + self-control and self-discipline. Even so, left to themselves, husband and + wife might ultimately have found the road to happiness across the bridge + of their great love for one another. + </p> + <p> + But such freedom was denied them. Always at Hugh’s elbow stood his sister, + Catherine, a rigidly austere woman, in herself an epitome of all that + Vallincourts had ever stood for. + </p> + <p> + Since the death of their parents, twenty years previously, Catherine had + shared her brother’s home, managing his house—and, on the strength + of her four years’ seniority in age, himself as well—with an iron + hand. Nor had she seen fit to relinquish the reins of government when he + married. + </p> + <p> + Privately, Hugh had hoped she might consider the propriety of withdrawing + to the dower house attached to the Coverdale estates, but if the idea had + occurred to her, she had never given it utterance, and Hugh himself had + lacked the courage to propose such an innovation. + </p> + <p> + So it followed that Catherine was ever at hand to criticise and condemn. + She disapproved of her brother’s marriage wholly and consistently. In her + eyes, he had committed an unpardonable sin in allying himself with Diane + Wielitzska. It was his duty to have married a woman of the type + conventionally termed “good,” whose blood—and religious outlook—were + alike unimpeachable; and since he had lamentably failed in this respect, + she never ceased to reproach him. Diane she regarded with chronic + disapprobation, exaggerating all her faults and opposing her joy-loving, + butterfly nature with an aloofly puritanical disdain. + </p> + <p> + Amid the glacial atmosphere of disapproval into which marriage had thrust + her, Diane found her only solace in Virginie, a devoted French servant who + had formerly been her nurse, and who literally worshipped the ground she + walked on. Conversely, Virginie’s attitude towards Miss Vallincourt was + one of frank hostility. And deep in the hearts of both Diane and Virginie + lurked a confirmed belief that the birth of a child—a son—would + serve to bring about a better understanding between husband and wife, and + in the end assure Diane her rightful place as mistress of the house. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Vois-tu</i>, Virginie,” the latter would say hopefully. “When I have a + little baby, I shall have done my duty as the wife of a great English + milord. Even Miss Catherine will no longer regard me as of no importance.” + </p> + <p> + And Virginie would reply with infinite satisfaction: + </p> + <p> + “Of a certainty, when madame has a little son, Ma’moiselle Catherine will + be returned to her place.” + </p> + <p> + And now at last the great moment had arrived, and upstairs Catherine and + Virginie were in attendance—both ousted from what each considered + her own rightful place of authority by a slim, capable, and apparently + quite unconcerned piece of femininity equipped against rebellion in all + the starched panoply of a nurse’s uniform, while downstairs Hugh stared + dumbly out at the frosted lawns, with their background of bare, brown + trees swaying to the wind from the north. + </p> + <p> + The door behind him opened suddenly. Hugh whirled round. He was a tall man + with a certain rather formal air of stateliness about him, a suggestion of + the <i>grand seigneur</i>, and the unwontedly impulsive movement was + significant of the strain under which he was labouring. + </p> + <p> + Catherine was standing on the threshold of the room with something in her + arms—something almost indistinguishable amid the downy, fleecy froth + of whiteness amid which it lay. + </p> + <p> + Hugh was conscious of a new and strange sensation deep down inside + himself. He felt rather as though all the blood in his body had rushed to + one place—somewhere in the middle of it—and were pounding + there against his ribs. + </p> + <p> + He tried to speak, failed, then instinctively stretched out his arms for + the tiny, orris-scented bundle which Catherine carried. + </p> + <p> + The next thing of which he was conscious was Catherine’s voice as she + placed his child in his arms—very quiet, yet rasping across the + tender silence of the room like a file. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Hugh, is the living seal which God Himself has set upon the sin of + your marriage.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh’s eyes, bent upon the pink, crumpled features of the scrap of + humanity nestled amid the bunchy whiteness in his arms, sought his + sister’s face. It was a thin, hard face, sharply cut like carved ivory; + the eyes a light, cold blue, ablaze with hostility; the pale obstinate + lips, usually folded so impassively one above the other, working + spasmodically. + </p> + <p> + For a moment brother and sister stared at each other in silence. Then, all + at once, Catherine’s rigidly enforced composure snapped. + </p> + <p> + “A girl child, Hugh!” she jeered violently. “A <i>girl</i>—when you + prayed for a boy!” + </p> + <p> + “A girl?” + </p> + <p> + Hugh stared stupidly at the babe in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, a girl!” taunted Catherine, her voice cracking with rising hysteria. + “<i>A girl!</i> . . . For eight generations the first-born has been a son. + And the ninth is a girl! The daughter of a foreign dancing-woman! . . . + God has indeed taken your punishment into His own Hands!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <h3> + THE WIDENING GULF + </h3> + <p> + The birth of a daughter came upon Hugh in the light of an almost + overwhelming shock. He was quite silent when, in response to Catherine’s + imperative gesture, he surrendered the child into her arms once more. As + she took it from him he noticed that those thin, angular arms of hers + seemed to close round the little swaddled body in an almost jealously + possessive clasp. But there was none of the tender possessiveness of love + about it. In some oddly repugnant way it reminded him of the motion of a + bird of prey at last gripping triumphantly in its talons a victim that has + hitherto eluded pursuit. + </p> + <p> + He turned back dully to his contemplation of the wintry garden, nor, in + his absorption, did he hear the whimpering cry—almost of protest—that + issued from the lips of his first-born as Catherine bore the child away. + </p> + <p> + For a space it seemed as though his mind were a blank, every thought and + feeling wiped out of it by the stupendous, nullifying fact that his wife + had given birth to a daughter. Then, with a rush as torturing as the + return of blood to benumbed limbs, emotions crowded in upon him. + </p> + <p> + Catherine’s incessant denunciations of his “sin” in marrying Diane + Wielitzska—poured upon him without stint throughout this first year + of his marriage—seemed to din in his ears anew. Such phrases as + “selling your soul,” “putting a woman of that type in our sainted mother’s + place,” “mingling the blood of a foreign dancing-woman with our own,” + jangled against each other in his mind. + </p> + <p> + Had he really been guilty of a sin against his conscience—satisfied + his desires irrespective of all sense of duty? + </p> + <p> + He began to think he had, and to wonder in a disturbed fashion if God + thought so too. What was it Catherine had said? <i>“God has indeed taken + your punishment into His own Hands.”</i> + </p> + <p> + Hugh was only too well aware of the facts which gave the speech its + trenchant significance. He himself had inherited owing to the death of an + elder brother in early childhood. But there was no younger brother to step + into his own shoes, and failing an heir in the direct line of succession + the title and entailed estate would of necessity go to Rupert Vallincourt, + a cousin—a gay and debonair young rake of much charm of manner and + equal absence of virtue. From both Catherine’s and Hugh’s point of view he + was the last man in the world fitted to become the head of the family. + Hence the eagerness with which they had anticipated the arrival of a son + and heir. + </p> + <p> + And now, prompted by Catherine’s bitter taunt, the birth of a daughter as + his first-born—the first happening of the kind for eight successive + generations—appeared to Hugh in the light of a direct manifestation + of God’s intention that no son born of Diane Wielitzska should be dowered + with such influence as the heir to the Vallincourts must necessarily + wield. + </p> + <p> + Better, even, that the title and estates should go to Rupert! Bad as his + reputation might be, good blood ran in his veins on either side—an + inherited tradition of right-doing which was bound to assert itself in + succeeding generations. Whereas in the offspring of Diane heaven alone + knew what hidden inherited tendencies towards evil might lie fallow, to + develop later and work incalculable mischief in the world. + </p> + <p> + Hugh felt crushed by the unexpected blow which had befallen him. Since his + marriage, he had opposed a forced indifference to his sister’s + irreconcilable attitude, finding compensation in the glowing moments of + his passion for Diane. Nevertheless—since living in an atmosphere of + disapproval tends to fray the strongest nerves—his temper had worn a + little fine beneath the strain; and with Diane’s faults and failings + thrust continually on his notice he had unconsciously grown more critical + of her. + </p> + <p> + And now, all at once, it seemed as though scales had been torn from his + eyes. He saw his marriage for the first time from the same standpoint as + Catherine saw it, and in the unlooked-for birth of a daughter he thought + he recognised the Hand of God, sternly uprooting his most cherished hopes + and minimising, as much as possible, the inevitable evil consequences of + his weakness in marrying Diane. + </p> + <p> + He was conscious of a rising feeling of resentment against his wife. Words + from an old Book flashed into his mind: <i>“The woman tempted me.”</i> + </p> + <p> + With the immediate instinct of a weak nature—the very narrowness and + rigidity of his views was a manifestation of weakness, had he but realised + it—he was already looking for someone with whom to share the blame + for his lapse from the Vallincourt standard of conduct, and in that + handful of wayward charm, red lips, and soft, beguiling eyes which was + Diane he found what he sought. + </p> + <p> + Again the room door opened. This time, instead of putting a longed-for end + to a blank period of suspense, the little quiet clicking of the latch cut + almost aggressively across the conflict of Hugh’s thoughts. He turned + round irritably. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + A uniformed nurse was standing in the doorway. At the sound of his + curtly-spoken question she glanced at him with a certain contemplative + curiosity in her eyes. They might have held surprise as well as curiosity + had she not lately stood beside that huge, canopied bed upstairs, + listening pitifully to a woman’s secret fears and longings, unveiled in + the delirium of pain. + </p> + <p> + “I know you sometimes wish you hadn’t married me. . . . I’m not good + enough. And Catherine hates me. Yes, she does, she does! And she’ll make + you hate me too! But you won’t hate me when my baby comes, will you, Hugh? + You want a little son . . . a little son . . .” + </p> + <p> + Nurse Maynard could hear again the weary, complaining voice, trailing off + at last in the silence of exhaustion, and an impulse of indignation added + a sharp edge to her tone as she responded to Hugh’s query. + </p> + <p> + “Her ladyship is asking to see you, Sir Hugh. She ought to rest now, but + she is too excited. She has been expecting you.” + </p> + <p> + There was no mistaking the implied rebuke in the last sentence, and Hugh’s + face darkened. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll come,” he said, briefly, and followed the crisp starched figure up + the stairs and into a half-darkened room, smelling faintly of antiseptics. + </p> + <p> + Vaguely the white counterpane outlined the slim figure of Diane upon the + bed. The nurse raised the blind a little, and the light of the westering + sun fell across the pillow, revealing a small, dark head which turned + eagerly at the sound of Hugh’s entrance. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh!” The voice from the bed came faintly. + </p> + <p> + Hugh looked down at his wife. Probably never had Diane looked more + beautiful. + </p> + <p> + The little worldly, sophisticated expression common to her features had + been temporarily obliterated by the holy suffering of motherhood, and the + face of the “foreign dancing-woman,” born and bred in a quarter of the + world where virtue is a cheap commodity, was as pure and serene as the + face of a Madonna. + </p> + <p> + She held out her hands to her husband, her lips curving into a smile that + was all love and tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh—<i>mon adore!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The lover in him sent him swiftly to her side, and as he drew her into his + arms she let her head fall back against his shoulder with a tremulous sigh + of infinite content. + </p> + <p> + And then, from the firelit corner of the room, came the sound of a feeble + wailing. Hugh started as though stung, and his eyes left his wife’s face + and riveted themselves upon the figure in the low chair by the hearth—Virginie, + rocking a little as she sat, and crooning a Breton lullaby to the baby in + her arms. + </p> + <p> + In a moment remembrance rushed upon him, cutting in twain as though with a + dividing sword this exquisite moment of reunion with his wife. Insensibly + his arms relaxed their clasp of the frail body they held, and Diane, + sensing their slackening, looked up startled and disconcerted. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes followed the direction of his glance, then, coming back to his + face, searched it wildly. Instantly she knew the meaning of that suddenly + limp clasp and all that it implied. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh!” The throbbing tenderness had gone out of her voice, leaving it dry + and toneless. “Hugh! You don’t mean . . . you’re <i>angry</i> that it’s a + girl?” + </p> + <p> + He looked down at her—at the frightened eyes, the lovely face fined + by recent pain, and all his instinct was to reassure and comfort her. But + something held him back. The old, narrow creed in which he had been + reared, whose shackles he had broken through when he had recklessly + followed the bidding of his heart and married Diane, was once more + mastering him—bidding him resist the natural human impulses of love + and kindliness evoked by his wife’s appeal. + </p> + <p> + <i>“God Himself has taken your punishment into His own Hands.”</i> + </p> + <p> + Again he seemed to hear Catherine’s accusing tones, and the fanatical + strain inbred in him answered like a boat to its helm. There must be no + more compromise, no longer any evasion of the issues of right and wrong. + He had sinned, and both he and the woman for whose sake he had defied his + own creed, and that of his fathers before him, must make atonement. He + drew himself up, and stood stiff and unbending beside the bed. In his + light-grey eyes there shone that same indomitable ardour of the zealot + which had shone in Catherine’s. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. “I am not angry that the child is a girl. I accept it as a + just retribution.” + </p> + <p> + No man possessed of the ordinary instincts of common humanity would have + so greeted his wife just when she had emerged, spent and exhausted, from + woman’s supreme conflict with death. But the fanatic loses sight of normal + values, and Hugh, obsessed by his newly conceived idea of atoning for the + sin of his marriage, was utterly oblivious of the enormity of his conduct + as viewed through unbiased eyes. + </p> + <p> + The woman who had just fought her way through the Valley of the Shadow + stared at him uncomprehendingly. + </p> + <p> + “Retribution?” she repeated blankly. + </p> + <p> + “For my marriage—our marriage.” + </p> + <p> + Diane’s breath came faster. + </p> + <p> + “What—what do you mean?” she asked falteringly. Suddenly a look of + sheer terror leaped into her eyes, and she clutched at Hugh’s sleeve. “Oh, + you’re not going to be like Catherine? Say you’re not! Hugh, you’ve always + said she was crazy to call our marriage a sin. . . . <i>A sin!</i>” She + tried to laugh, but the laugh stuck in her throat, caught and pinned there + by the terror that gripped her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’ve said that. I’ve said it because I wanted to think it,” he + returned remorselessly, “not because I really thought it.” + </p> + <p> + Diane dragged herself up on to her elbow. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand. You’ve not changed?” Then, as he made no answer: + “Hugh, you’re frightening me! What do you mean? What has Catherine been + saying to you?” + </p> + <p> + Her voice rose excitedly. A patch of feverish colour appeared on either + cheek. Old Virginie sprung up from her chair by the fire, alarmed. + </p> + <p> + “You excite madame!” + </p> + <p> + Hugh turned to leave the room. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll discuss this another time, Diane,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Diane moved her head fretfully. + </p> + <p> + “No. Now—now! Don’t go! Hugh!” + </p> + <p> + Her voice rose almost to a scream and simultaneously the nurse came + hurrying in from the adjoining room. She threw one glance at the patient, + huddled flushed and excited against the pillows, then without more ado she + marched up to Hugh and, taking him by the shoulders with her small, + capable hands, she pushed him out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to <i>kill</i> your wife?” she demanded in a low voice of + concentrated anger. “If so, you’re going the right way about it.” + </p> + <p> + The next moment the door closed behind her, and Hugh found himself + standing alone on the landing outside it. + </p> + <p> + Although the scene with her husband did not kill Diane, it went very near + it. For some time she was dangerously ill, but at last the combined + efforts of doctor and nurse restored her once more to a frail hold upon + life, and the resiliency of youth accomplished the rest. + </p> + <p> + Curiously enough, the remembrance of Hugh’s brief visit to her bedside + held for her no force of reality. When the fever which had ensued abated, + she described the whole scene in detail to Virginie and the nurse as an + evil dream which she had had—and pitifully they let her continue in + this belief. + </p> + <p> + Even Hugh himself had been compelled, under protest, to take part in this + deception. The doctor, a personal friend of his, had not minced matters. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve acted the part of an unmitigated coward, Vallincourt—salving + your own fool conscience at your wife’s expense. Even if you no longer + love her—” + </p> + <p> + “But I do love her,” protested Hugh. “I—I <i>worship</i> her!” + </p> + <p> + Jim Lancaster stared. In common with most medical men he was more or less + used to the odd vagaries of human nature, but Hugh’s attitude struck him + as altogether incomprehensible. + </p> + <p> + “Then what in the name of thunder have you been getting at?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I both love and hate her,” declared Hugh wretchedly. + </p> + <p> + “That’s rot,” retorted the other. “It’s impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not impossible.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh rose and began pacing backwards and forwards. Lancaster’s eyes rested + on him thoughtfully. The man had altered during the last few weeks—altered + incredibly. He was a stone lighter to start with, and his blond, clear-cut + face had the worn look born of mental conflict. His eyes were red-rimmed + as though from insufficient sleep. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not impossible.” Hugh paused in his restless pacing to and fro. “I + love her because I can’t help myself. I hate her because I ought never to + have married her—never made a woman of her type the mother of my + child.” + </p> + <p> + “All mothers are sacred,” suggested the doctor quietly. + </p> + <p> + Hugh seemed not to hear him. + </p> + <p> + “How long is this pretence to go on, Lancaster?” he demanded irritably. + </p> + <p> + “What pretence?” + </p> + <p> + “This pretence that nothing is changed—nothing altered—between + my wife and myself?” + </p> + <p> + “For ever, I hope. So that, after all, there will have been no pretence.” + </p> + <p> + But the appeal of the speech was ineffectual. Hugh looked at the other man + unmoved. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use hoping that you and I can see things from the same + standpoint,” he added stubbornly. “I’ve made my decision—laid down + the lines of our future life together. I’m only waiting till you, as a + medical man, tell me that Diane’s health is sufficiently restored for me + to inform her.” + </p> + <p> + “No woman is ever in such health that you can break her heart with + impunity.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh’s light-grey eyes gleamed like steel. + </p> + <p> + “Will you answer my question?” he said curtly. + </p> + <p> + Lancaster sprang up. + </p> + <p> + “Diane is in as good health now as ever she was,” he said violently. And + strode out of the room. + </p> + <p> + During the period of her convalescence Diane, attended by Nurse Maynard, + had occupied rooms situated in a distant wing of the house, where the + invalid was not likely to be disturbed by the coming and going of other + members of the household, and it was with almost the excitement of a + schoolgirl coming home for the holidays that, when she was at last + released from the doctor’s supervision, she retook possession of her own + room. She superintended joyously the restoration to their accustomed place + her various little personal possessions, and finally peeped into her + husband’s adjoining room, thinking she heard him moving there. + </p> + <p> + On the threshold she paused irresolutely, conscious of an odd sense of + confusion. The room was vacant. But, beyond that, its whole aspect was + different somehow, unfamiliar. Her eyes wandered to the dressing-table. + Instead of holding its usual array of silver-backed brushes and polished + shaving tackle, winking in the sunshine, it was empty. She stared at it + blankly. Then her glance travelled slowly round the room. It had a + strangely untenanted look. There was no sign of masculine attire left + carelessly about—not a chair or table was a hairbreadth out of its + appointed place. + </p> + <p> + Her hand, resting lightly on the door-handle, gripped it with a sudden + tensity. The next moment she had crossed the room and torn open the doors + of the great armoire where Hugh kept his clothes. This, too, was empty—shelves + and hanger alike. Impulsively she rang the bell and, when a maid appeared + in response, demanded to know the meaning of the alteration. + </p> + <p> + The girl glanced at her with the veiled curiosity of her class. + </p> + <p> + “It was made by Sir Hugh’s orders, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + With an effort, Diane hid the sudden tumult of bewilderment and fear that + filled her. Her dream! Had it been only a dream? Or had it been an actual + happening—that terrible little scene with her husband when, standing + rigid and unbending beside her bed, he had told her that the birth of + their daughter was a just retribution for a union he regarded as a sin? + </p> + <p> + Memories of their brief year of marriage came surging over her in a + torrent—Catherine’s narrow-minded opposition and disapproval, Hugh’s + own moodiness and irritability and, latterly, his not infrequent censure. + There had been times when Diane—rebuked incessantly—had + fancied she must be the Scarlet Woman herself, or at least a very near + relative. And then had come moments when Hugh, carried away by his ardour, + had once more played the lover as he alone knew how, with all the warmth + and abandon of those days when he had wooed her in Italy, and Diane would + forget her unhappiness and fears in the sure knowledge that she was a + passionately beloved woman. + </p> + <p> + But always she was subconsciously aware of a sense of strife—of + struggle, as though Hugh loved her in spite of himself, in defiance of + some inner mandate of conscience which accused him. + </p> + <p> + And now, fear mastered her. Her dream had been a reality. And this—this + sweeping away from what had been his room of every familiar little + personal possession—was the symbol of some new and terribly changed + relation between them. + </p> + <p> + Forcing herself to move composedly while the maid still watched her, she + walked slowly out of the room, but the instant the door had closed behind + her she flew downstairs to her husband’s study and, not pausing to comply + with the unwritten law which forbade entrance there without express + permission, broke in upon him as he sat at his desk, busily occupied with + his morning mail. + </p> + <p> + “Diane!” + </p> + <p> + Hugh turned towards her with a cold light of astonished disapproval in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You know I don’t like to be interrupted——” + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know. But I <i>had</i> to come. Something’s happened. There’s + been a mistake. . . . Hugh, they’ve taken everything out of your room. All + your things.” + </p> + <p> + She stood beside him breathlessly awaiting his reply—her passionate + dark eyes fixed on his face, two patches of brilliant colour showing on + the high cheek-bones that bore witness to her Russian origin. + </p> + <p> + They made a curious contrast—husband and wife. She, a slender thing + of fire and flame, hands clenched, lips quivering—woman every inch + of her; he, immaculate and composed, his face coldly expressionless, yet + with a hint of something warmer, a suppressed glow, beneath the + deliberately chill glance of those curious light-grey eyes—the man + and bigoted fanatic fighting for supremacy within him. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh! Answer me! Don’t sit staring at me like that!” Diane’s voice held a + sharpened sound. + </p> + <p> + At last he spoke, very slowly and carefully. + </p> + <p> + “There has been no mistake, Diane. Everything that has been done has been + with my sanction—by my order. Our marriage has been a culpable + mistake. Catherine realised it from the beginning. I only realise my full + guilt now that I am punished. But whatever I can do in atonement—reparation, + that I have made up my mind to do. The first—the chief thing—is + that our married life is at an end.” + </p> + <p> + She heard him with a curious absence of surprise. Somehow, from the + instant she had seen his dismantled room she had known, known surely, that + the long fight between herself and Catherine was over. And that Catherine + had won. + </p> + <p> + “At an end? Hugh, what do you mean? What are you going to do? You’re not, + you’re not going to send me away?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not that. I’ve no right to punish you. You’ve been guilty of no fault—” + </p> + <p> + “Except the fault of being myself,” she flung back bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “But I ought never to have married you. I did it, knowing you were not fit—suitable”—he + corrected himself hastily. “So I alone am to blame. You will retain your + position here as my wife—mistress of my home.” Diane, remembering + Catherine’s despotic rule, smiled mirthlessly. “But henceforth you will be + my wife in name only. I shall have no wife.” + </p> + <p> + Diane caught that note of dull endurance in his voice, and seized upon it. + He still cared! + </p> + <p> + “Hugh, you’ve listened to Catherine till you’ve lost all sense of truth.” + She spoke gently, pleadingly. “Don’t do this thing. We’ve been guilty of + no sin that needs atonement. It isn’t wrong to love.” + </p> + <p> + But he was implacable. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he returned. “It isn’t wrong to love—but sometimes love should + be denied.” + </p> + <p> + Diane drew nearer to him, and laid her hand on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Not ours, Hugh,” she whispered. “Not love like ours—” + </p> + <p> + “Be silent!” + </p> + <p> + Hugh sprang to his feet, his eyes ablaze, his voice hoarse and shaking. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t tempt me! Do you think I’ve found it easy to decide on this? When + every fibre of my body is calling out for you? My God, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Then don’t do it! Hugh—dearest—” + </p> + <p> + With sudden violence he caught her by the arms. + </p> + <p> + “Be silent, I tell you! Don’t tempt me! I’ll make my penance, accept the + burden laid on me—that my first-born should be a girl!” + </p> + <p> + Diane clung to him, resisting his attempt to thrust her from him. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh! Ah, wait! Listen to me! . . . Dear, some day there may be a little + son, yours and mine—” + </p> + <p> + He flung her from him violently. + </p> + <p> + “There shall never be a son of ours! Never! It is the Will of God.” + </p> + <p> + With an immense effort he checked the rising frenzy within him—the + ecstasy of the martyr embracing the stake to which he shall be bound. He + moved across to the door and held it open for her. + </p> + <p> + “And now, will you please go? That is my last word on the matter.” + </p> + <p> + Diane turned hesitatingly towards the doorway, then paused. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh——” + </p> + <p> + There was an infinite appeal in her voice. Her eyes were those of a + frightened, bewildered child. + </p> + <p> + “Go, please,” he repeated mechanically. + </p> + <p> + A convulsive sob tore its way through her throat. She stepped blindly + forward. The next moment the door closed inexorably between husband and + wife. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <h3> + SAINT-MICHAEL AND THE WONDER-CHILD + </h3> + <p> + Day by day her husband’s complete estrangement from her was rendered + additionally bitter to Diane by Catherine’s complacent air of triumph. The + latter knew that she had won, severed the tie which bound her brother to + “the foreign dancing-woman,” and she did not scruple to let Diane see that + she openly rejoiced in the fact. + </p> + <p> + At first Diane imagined that Catherine might rest content with what she + had accomplished, but the grim, hard-featured woman still continued to + exhibit the same self-righteous disapproval towards her brother’s wife as + hitherto. + </p> + <p> + Diane endured it in resentful silence for a time, but one day, stung by + some more than usually acid speech of Catherine’s, she turned on her, + demanding passionately why she seemed to hate her even more since the + birth of the child. + </p> + <p> + “I nearly gave my life for her,” she protested with fierce simplicity. “I + could do no more! Is it because <i>le bon dieu</i> has sent me a little + daughter instead of a little son that you hate me so much?” + </p> + <p> + And Catherine had answered her in a voice of quiet, concentrated + animosity: + </p> + <p> + “If you had died then—<i>died childless</i>—I should have + thanked God day and night.” + </p> + <p> + Diane, isolated and unhappy, turned to her baby for consolation. It was + all that was left to her out of the wreck of her life, and the very fact + that both Hugh and Catherine seemed to regard the little daughter with + abhorrence only served to strengthen the passionate worship which she + herself lavished upon her. + </p> + <p> + The child—they had called her Magda—was an odd little + creature, as might have been expected from the violently opposing + characteristics of her parents. + </p> + <p> + She was slenderly made—built on the same lithe lines as her mother—and + almost as soon as she was able to walk she manifested an amazing balance + and suppleness of limb. By the time she was four years old she was trying + to imitate, with uncertain little feet and dimpled, aimlessly waving arms, + the movements of her mother, when to amuse the child, she would sometimes + dance for her. + </p> + <p> + However big a tragedy had occurred in Magda’s small world—whether it + were a crack across the insipid china face of a favourite doll or the + death of an adored Persian kitten—there was still balm in Gilead if + <i>“petite maman”</i> would but dance for her. The tears shining in big + drops on her cheeks, her small chest still heaving with the sobs that were + a passionate protest against unkind fate, Magda would sit on the floor + entranced, watching with adoring eyes every swift, graceful motion of the + dancer, and murmuring in the quaint shibboleth of French and English she + had imbibed from old Virginie. + </p> + <p> + On one of these occasions Hugh came upon the two unexpectedly and brought + the performance to a summary conclusion. + </p> + <p> + “That will do, Diane,” he said icily. “I should have thought you would + have had more self-respect than to dance—in that fashion—in + front of a child.” + </p> + <p> + “It is, then, a sin to dance—as it is to be married?” demanded Diane + bitterly, abruptly checked in an exquisite spring-flower dance of her own + invention. + </p> + <p> + “I forbid it; that is sufficient,” replied Hugh sternly. + </p> + <p> + His assumption of arrogant superiority was unbearable. Diane’s + self-control wavered under it and broke. She turned and upbraided him + despairingly, alternately pleading and reproaching, battering all her + slender forces uselessly against his inflexible determination. + </p> + <p> + “This is a waste of time, Diane—mine, anyway,” he told her. And left + her shaken with grief and anger. + </p> + <p> + Driven by a sense of utter revolt, she stormed her way to Catherine, who + was composedly sorting sheets in the linen room. + </p> + <p> + “I will not bear it!” she burst out at her furiously. “What have I done + that I should be treated as an outcast—a pariah?” + </p> + <p> + Catherine regarded the tense, quivering little figure with chill dislike. + </p> + <p> + “You married my brother,” she replied imperturbably. + </p> + <p> + “And you have separated us! But for you, we should be happy together—he + and baby and I! But you have spoilt it all. I suppose”—a hint of the + Latin Quarter element in her asserting itself—“I suppose you think + no one good enough to marry into your precious family!” + </p> + <p> + Catherine paused on her way to the cupboard, a pile of fine linen + pillowslips in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said quietly. “It is I who have separated you—spoilt your + happiness, if you like. And I am glad of it. I can’t expect anyone like + you to understand”—there was the familiar flavour of disparagement + in her tones—“but I am thankful that my brother has seen the + wickedness of his marriage with you, that he has repented of it, and that + he is making the only atonement possible!” + </p> + <p> + She turned and composedly laid the pile of pillowslips in their appointed + place on the shelf. A faint fragrance of dried lavender drifted out from + the dark depths of the cupboard. Diane always afterwards associated the + smell of lavender with her memories of Catherine Vallincourt, and the + sweet, clean scent of it was spoiled for her henceforward. + </p> + <p> + “I hate you!” she exclaimed in a low voice of helpless rage. “I hate you—and + I wish to God Hugh had never had a sister!” + </p> + <p> + “Well”—composedly—“he will not have one much longer.” + </p> + <p> + Diane stared. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that as far as our life together is concerned, it is very nearly + over.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean”—Diane bent towards her breathlessly—“do you mean + that you are <i>going away</i>—going away from Coverdale?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I am entering a sisterhood—that of the Sisters of Penitence, a + community Hugh is endowing with money that is urgently needed.” + </p> + <p> + “Endowing?” + </p> + <p> + “As part of the penance he has set himself to perform.” Catherine’s steely + glance met and held the younger woman’s. “Thanks to you, the remainder of + his life will be passed in expiation.” + </p> + <p> + Diane shook her head carelessly. Such side-issues were of relatively small + importance compared with the one outstanding, amazing fact: Catherine was + going away! Going away from Coverdale—for ever! + </p> + <p> + “Yes”—Catherine read her thoughts shrewdly—“yes, you will be + rid of me. I shall not be here much longer.” + </p> + <p> + Diane struck her hands together. For once, not even the fear of + Catherine’s gibing tongue could hold her silent. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad—glad—<i>glad</i> you’re going away!” she exclaimed + passionately. “When you are gone I will win back my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” was all she said. + </p> + <p> + But to Diane’s keyed-up consciousness it was as though the four short + words contained a threat—the germ of future disaster. + </p> + <p> + In due time Catherine quitted Coverdale for the austere seclusion of the + sisterhood, and a very few weeks sufficed to convince Diane that her + forebodings had been only too well founded. + </p> + <p> + Catherine had long been anxious to enter a community, restrained from + doing so solely by Hugh’s need of her as mistress of his house, and now + that her wish was an accomplished fact, it seemed as though he were + spurred on to increasing effort by the example of his sister’s + renunciation of the world. He withdrew himself even more completely from + his wife, sometimes avoiding her company for days at a time, and adopted a + stringently ascetic mode of life, denying himself all pleasure, fasting + frequently, and praying and meditating for hours at a stretch in the + private chapel which was attached to Coverdale. As far as it was possible, + without actually entering a community, his existence resembled that of a + monk, and Diane came to believe that he had voluntarily vowed himself to a + certain form of penance and expiation for the marriage which the bigotry + of his nature had led him to regard as a sin. + </p> + <p> + His life only impinged upon his wife’s in so far as the upbringing of + their child was concerned. He was unnecessarily severe with her, and, + since Diane opposed his strict ruling at every opportunity, Magda’s early + life was passed in an atmosphere of fierce contradictions. + </p> + <p> + The child inherited her mother’s beauty to the full, and, as she + developed, exhibited an extraordinary faculty for getting her own way. + Servants, playmates, and governesses all succumbed to the nameless charm + she possessed, while her mother and old Virginie frankly worshipped her. + </p> + <p> + The love of dancing was instinctive with her, and this, unknown to Hugh, + her mother cultivated assiduously, fostering in her everything that was + imaginative and delicately fanciful. Magda believed firmly in the + existence of fairies and regarded flowers as each possessed of a separate + entity with personal characteristics of its own. The originality of the + dances she invented for her own amusement was the outcome. + </p> + <p> + But, side by side with this love of all that was beautiful, she absorbed + from her mother a certain sophisticated understanding of life which was + somewhat startling in one of her tender years, and this, too, betrayed + itself in her dancing. For it is an immutable law that everything—good, + bad, and indifferent—which lies in the soul of an artist ultimately + reveals itself in his work. + </p> + <p> + And Magda, inheriting the underlying ardour of her father’s temperament + and the gutter-child’s sharp sense of values which was her mother’s Latin + Quarter garnering, at the age of eight danced, with all the beguilement + and seductiveness of a trained and experienced dancer. + </p> + <p> + Even Hugh himself was not proof against the elusive lure of it. He chanced + upon her one day, dancing in her nursery, and was so carried away by the + charm of the performance that for the moment he forgot that she was + transgressing one of his most rigid rules. + </p> + <p> + In the child’s gracious, alluring gestures he was reminded of the first + time that he had seen her mother dance, and of how it had thrilled him. + Beneath the veneer with which his self-enforced austerity had overlaid his + emotions, he felt his pulses leap, and was bitterly chagrined at being + thus attracted. + </p> + <p> + He found himself brought up forcibly once more against the inevitable + consequences of his marriage with Diane, and reasoned that through his + weakness in making such a woman his wife, he had let loose on the world a + feminine thing dowered with the seductiveness of a Delilah and backed—here + came in the exaggerated family pride ingrained in him—by all the + added weight and influence of her social position as a Vallincourt. + </p> + <p> + “Never let me see you dance again, Magda,” he told her. “It is forbidden. + If you disobey you will be severely punished.” + </p> + <p> + Magda regarded him curiously out of a pair of long dark eyes the colour of + black smoke. With that precociously sophisticated instinct of hers she + realised that the man had been emotionally stirred, and divined in her + funny child’s mind that it was her dancing which had so stirred him. It + gave her a curious sense of power. + </p> + <p> + “Sieur Hugh is <i>afraid</i> because he likes me to dance,” she told her + mother, with an impish little grin of enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + (On one occasion Hugh had narrated for her benefit the history of an + ancestor, one Sieur Hugues de Vallincourt, whose effigy in stone adorned + the church, and she had ever afterwards persisted in referring to her + father as “Sieur Hugh”—considerably to his annoyance, since he + regarded it as both disrespectful and unseemly.) + </p> + <p> + From this time onwards Magda seemed to take a diabolical delight in + shocking her father—experimenting on him, as it were. In some + mysterious way she had become conscious of her power to allure. Young as + she was, the instinct of conquest was awakened within her, and she + proceeded to “experiment” on certain of her father’s friends—to + their huge delight and Hugh’s intense disgust. Once, in an outburst of + fury, he epitomised her ruthlessly. + </p> + <p> + “The child has the soul of a courtesan!” + </p> + <p> + If this were so, Hugh had no knowledge of how to cope with it. His + fulminations on the subject of dancing affected her not at all, and a few + days after he had rebuked her with all the energy at his command he + discovered her dancing on a table—this time for the delectation of + an enraptured butler and staff in the servants’ hall. + </p> + <p> + Without more ado Hugh lifted her down and carried her to his study, where + he administered a sound smacking. The result astonished him considerably. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you can stop me from dancing by beating me?” + </p> + <p> + Magda arraigned him with passionate scorn. + </p> + <p> + “I do,” he returned grimly. “If you hurt people enough you can stop them + from committing sin. That is the meaning of remedial punishment.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it!” she stormed at him. “You might hurt me till I <i>died</i> + of hurting, but you couldn’t make me good—not if I hated your + hurting me all the time! Because it isn’t good to hate,” she added out of + the depths of some instinctive wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “Then you’d better learn to like being punished—if that will make + you good,” retorted Hugh. + </p> + <p> + Magda sped out into the woods. Hugh’s hand had been none too light, and + she was feeling physically and spiritually sore. Her small soul was aflame + with fierce revolt. + </p> + <p> + Just to assure herself of the liberty of the individual and of the fact + that “hurting couldn’t make her good,” she executed a solitary little + dance on the green, mossy sward beneath the trees. It was rather a painful + process, since certain portions of her anatomy still tingled from the + retributive strokes of justice, but she set her teeth and accomplished the + dance with a consciousness of unholy glee that added appreciably to the + quality of the performance. + </p> + <p> + “Are you the Fairy Queen?” + </p> + <p> + The voice came suddenly out of the dim, enfolding silence of the woods, + and Magda paused in the midst of a final pirouette. A man was standing + leaning against the trunk of a tree, watching her with whimsical grey + eyes. Behind him, set up in the middle of a clearing amongst the trees, an + easel and stool evidenced his recent occupation. + </p> + <p> + Magda returned the scrutiny of the grey eyes. She was no whit embarrassed + and slowly lowered her foot—she had been toe-dancing—to its + normal position while she surveyed the newcomer with interest. + </p> + <p> + He was a tall, lean specimen of mankind, and the sunlight, quivering + between the interlacing boughs above his head, flickered on to kinky fair + hair that looked almost absurdly golden contrasted with the brown tan of + the face beneath it. It was a nice face, Magda decided, with a dogged, + squarish jaw that appealed to a certain tenacity of spirit which was one + of her own unchildish characteristics, and the keen dark-grey eyes she + encountered were so unlike the cold light-grey of her father’s that it + seemed ridiculous the English language could only supply the one word + “grey” to describe things that were so totally dissimilar. + </p> + <p> + “They’re like eyes with little fires behind them,” Magda told herself. + Then smiled at their owner radiantly. + </p> + <p> + “Are you the Fairy Queen?” he repeated gravely. + </p> + <p> + She regarded him with increasing approval. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she assented graciously. “These are my woods.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’m afraid I’ve been trespassing in your majesty’s domain,” admitted + the grey-eyed man. “But your woods are so beautiful I simply had to try + and make a sketch of them.” + </p> + <p> + Magda came back to earth with promptitude. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, are you an artist?” she demanded eagerly. + </p> + <p> + He nodded, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “I’m trying to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me look.” She flashed past him and planted herself in front of the + easel. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais, c’est bon!</i>” she commented coolly. “Me, I know. We have good + pictures at home. This is a good picture.” + </p> + <p> + The man with the grey eyes looked suitably impressed. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad you find it so,” he replied meekly. “I think it wants just one + thing more. If”—he spoke abstractly—“if the Fairy Queen were + resting just there”—his finger indicated the exact point on the + canvas—“tired, you know, because she had been dancing to one of the + Mortals—lucky beggar, wasn’t he?—why, I think the picture + would be complete.” + </p> + <p> + Magda shot him a swift glance of comprehension. Then, without a word, she + moved towards the bole of a tree and flung herself down with all the + supple grace of a young faun. The artist snatched up his palette; the pose + she had assumed without a hint from him was inimitable—the slender + limbs relaxed and drooping exactly as though from sheer fatigue. He + painted furiously, blocking in the limp little figure with swift, sure + strokes of his brush. + </p> + <p> + When at last he desisted he flung a question at her. + </p> + <p> + “Who taught you to pose—and to dance like that, you wonder-child?” + </p> + <p> + Magda surveyed him with that mixture of saint and devil in her long, + suddenly narrow eyes which, when she grew to womanhood, was the measure of + her charm and the curse of her tempestuous life. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Le bon dieu</i>,” she responded demurely. + </p> + <p> + The man smiled and shook his head. It was a crooked little smile, oddly + humorous and attractive. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said with conviction. “No. I don’t think so.” + </p> + <p> + The daylight was beginning to fade, and he started to pack up his + belongings. + </p> + <p> + “What’s your name?” asked Magda suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Michael.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with sudden awe. + </p> + <p> + “Not—not <i>Saint Michel</i>?” she asked breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + Virginie had told her all about “<i>Saint Michel</i>.” He was a very great + angel indeed. It would be tremendously exciting to find she had been + talking to him all this time without knowing it! And the grey-eyed man had + fair hair; it shone in the glinting sunset-light <i>almost</i> like a + halo! + </p> + <p> + He quenched her hopes with that brief, one-sided smile of his. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. “I’m not Saint Michael. I’m only a poor devil of a painter + who’s got his way to make in the world. Perhaps, you’ve helped me, Fairy + Queen.” + </p> + <p> + And seeing that “The Repose of Titania” was the first of his paintings to + bring Michael Quarrington that meed of praise and recognition which was + later his in such full measure, perhaps she had. + </p> + <p> + “I think I’m glad you’re not a saint, after all,” remarked Magda + thoughtfully. “Saint’s are dreadfully dull and superior.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled down at her. + </p> + <p> + “Are they? How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Because Sieur Hugh is preparing to be one. At least Virginie says so—and + she sniffs when she says it. So you see, I know all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” he replied seriously. “And who are Sieur Hugh and Virginie?” + </p> + <p> + “Sieur Hugh is my father. And Virginie is next best to <i>petite maman</i>. + Me, I love Virginie.” + </p> + <p> + “Lucky Virginie!” + </p> + <p> + Magda made no answer, but she stood looking at him with an odd, + unchildlike deviltry in her sombre eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Fairy Queen, I should like to kiss you,” said the man suddenly. Then he + jerked his head back. “No, I wouldn’t!” he added quickly to himself. “By + Jove, it’s uncanny!” + </p> + <p> + Magda remained motionless, still staring at him with those long dark eyes + of hers. He noticed that just at the outer corners they slanted upwards a + little, giving her small, thin face a curiously Eastern look. + </p> + <p> + At last— + </p> + <p> + “Please kiss me, Saint Michael,” she said. + </p> + <p> + For a moment he hesitated, a half-rueful, half-whimsical smile on his + lips, rather as though he were laughing at himself. Then, with a shrug of + his shoulders, he stooped quickly and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “Witch-child!” he muttered as he strode away through the woods. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <h3> + THE SEED OF EVIL + </h3> + <p> + Diane sat in the twilight, brooding. Winter had come round again, gripping + the world with icy fingers, and she shivered a little as she crouched in + front of the fire. + </p> + <p> + She felt cold—cold in body and soul. The passage of time had brought + no cheery warmth of love or loving-kindness to her starved heart, and the + estrangement between herself and Hugh was as definite and absolute as it + had been the day Catherine quitted Coverdale for the Sisterhood of + Penitence. + </p> + <p> + But the years which had elapsed since then had taken their inevitable + toll. Hugh had continued along the lines he had laid down for himself, + rigidly ascetic and austere, and his mode of life now revealed itself + unmistakably in his thin, emaciated face and eyes ablaze with fanatical + fervour. + </p> + <p> + Diane, thrust into a compulsory isolation utterly foreign to her + temperament, debarred the fulfilment of her womanhood which her + spontaneous, impetuous nature craved, had drooped and pined, gradually + losing both her buoyant spirit and her health in the loveless atmosphere + to which her husband had condemned her. + </p> + <p> + She had so counted on the prospect that a better understanding between + herself and Hugh would ensue after Catherine’s departure that the downfall + of her hopes had come upon her as a bitter disappointment. Once she had + stifled her pride and begged him to live no longer as a stranger to her. + But he had repulsed her harshly, refusing her pleading with an inexorable + decision there was no combating. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards she had given herself up to despair, and gradually—almost + imperceptibly at first—her health had declined until finally, at the + urgent representations of Virginie, Hugh had called in Dr. Lancaster. + </p> + <p> + “There is no specific disease,” he had said. “But none the less”—looking + very directly at Hugh—“your wife is dying, Vallincourt.” + </p> + <p> + Diane had been told the first part of the doctor’s pronouncement, and + recommended by her husband to “rouse herself” out of her apathetic state. + </p> + <p> + “‘No specific disease!’” she repeated bitterly, as she sat brooding in the + firelight. “No—only this death in life which I have had to endure. + Well, it will be over soon—and the sooner the better.” + </p> + <p> + The door burst open suddenly and Magda came in to the room, checking + abruptly, with a child’s stumbling consciousness of pain, as she caught + sight of her mother curled up in front of the fire, staring mutely into + its glowing heart. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Maman</i>?” she begin timidly. “<i>Petite maman</i>?” + </p> + <p> + Diane turned round. + </p> + <p> + “Cherie, is it thou?” + </p> + <p> + She kneeled up on the hearthrug and, taking the child in her arms, + searched her face with dry, bright eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Baby,” she said. “Listen! And when thou art older, remember always what I + have said.” + </p> + <p> + Magda stared at her, listening intently. + </p> + <p> + “Never, never give your heart to any man,” continued Diane. “If you do, he + will only break it for you—break it into little pieces like the + glass scent-bottle which you dropped yesterday. Take everything. But do + not give—anything—in return. Will you remember?” + </p> + <p> + And Magda answered her gravely. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oui, maman</i>, I will remember.” + </p> + <p> + What happened after that remained always a confused blur in Magda’s memory—a + series of pictures standing out against a dark background of haste and + confusion, and whispered fears. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly her mother gave a sharp little cry and her hands went up to her + breast, while for a moment her eyes, dilated and frightened-looking, + stared agonisingly ahead. Then she toppled over sideways and lay in a + little heap on the great bearskin rung in front of the fire. + </p> + <p> + After that Virginie came running, followed by a drove of scared-looking + servants and, last of all, by Hugh himself, his face very white and + working strangely. + </p> + <p> + The car was sent off in frantic haste in search of Dr. Lancaster, and + later in the day two white-capped nurses appeared on the scene. Then + followed hours of hushed uncertainty, when people went to and fro with + hurried, muffled footsteps and spoke together in whispers, while + Virginie’s face grew yellow and drawn-looking, and the tears trickled down + her wrinkled-apple cheeks whenever one spoke to her. + </p> + <p> + Last of all someone told Magda that “<i>petite maman</i>” had gone away—and + on further inquiry Virginie vouchsafed that she had gone to somewhere + called Paradise to be with the blessed saints. + </p> + <p> + “When will she come back again?” demanded Magda practically. + </p> + <p> + Upon which Virginie had made an unpleasant choking noise in her throat and + declared: + </p> + <p> + “Never!” + </p> + <p> + Magda was frankly incredulous. <i>Petite maman</i> would never go away + like that and leave her behind! Of that she felt convinced, and said so. + Gulping back her sobs, Virginie explained that in this case madame had + been given no choice, but added that if Magda comported herself like a + good little girl, she would one day go to be with her in Paradise. Magda + found it all very puzzling. + </p> + <p> + But when, later, she was taken into her mother’s room and saw the slender, + sheeted figure lying straight and still on the great bed, hands meekly + crossed upon the young, motionless breast, while tall white candles burned + at head and foot, the knowledge that <i>petite maman</i> had really gone + from her seemed all at once to penetrate her childish mind. + </p> + <p> + That aloofly silent figure could not be her gay, pretty <i>petite maman</i>—the + one who had played and laughed with her and danced so exquisitely that + sometimes Magda’s small soul had ached with the sheer beauty and + loveliness of it. . . . + </p> + <p> + She met Dr. Lancaster as she came out from the candle-lit room and + clutched him convulsively by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “Is that—being dead?” she whispered, pointing to the room she had + just quitted. + </p> + <p> + Very gently he tried to explain things to her. Afterwards Magda overheard + the family lawyer asking him in appropriately shocked tones of what + complaint Lady Vallincourt had died, and there had been a curious grim + twist to Lancaster’s mouth as he made answer. + </p> + <p> + “Heart,” he said tersely. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Very sad. Very sad indeed,” rejoined the lawyer feelingly. “These + heart complaints are very obscure sometimes, I believe?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” said Lancaster. “Not always.” + </p> + <p> + The next happening that impressed itself on Magda’s cognisance as an event + was the coming of Lady Arabella Winter. She arrived on a day of heavy + snow, and Magda’s first impression of her, as she came into the hall + muffled up to the tip of her patrician nose in a magnificent sable wrap, + was of a small, alert-eyed bird huddled into its nest. + </p> + <p> + But when the newcomer had laid aside her furs Magda’s impression qualified + itself. Lady Arabella was not in the least of the “small bird” type, but + rather suggested a hawk endowed with a grim sense of humour—quick + and decisive in movement, with eyes that held an incalculable wisdom and + laughed a thought cynically because they saw so clearly. + </p> + <p> + Her hair was perfectly white, as white as the snow outside, but her + complexion was soft and fine-grained as that of a girl of sixteen—pink + and white like summer roses. She had the manner of an empress with + extremely modern ideas. + </p> + <p> + Magda was instructed that this great little personage was her godmother + and that she would in future live with her instead of at Coverdale. She + accepted the information without surprise though with considerable + interest. + </p> + <p> + “Think you’ll like it?” Lady Arabella shot at her keenly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Magda replied unhesitatingly. “But why am I going to live with you? + Sieur Hugh isn’t dead, too, is he?”—with impersonal interest. + </p> + <p> + “And who in the name of fortune is Sieur Hugh?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella looked around helplessly, and Virginia, who was hovering in + the background, hastened to explain the relationship. + </p> + <p> + “Then, no,” replied Lady Arabella. “Sieur Hugh is not dead—though to + be sure he’s the next thing to it!” + </p> + <p> + Magda eyed her solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “Is he very ill?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, merely cranky like all the Vallincourts. He’s in a community, joined + a brotherhood, you know, and proposes to spend the rest of his days + repenting his sins and making his peace with heaven. I’ve no patience with + the fool!” continued the old lady irascibly. “He marries to please himself + and then hasn’t the pluck of a rabbit to see the thing through decently. + So you’re to be my responsibility in future—and a pretty big one, + too, to judge by the look of you.” + </p> + <p> + Magda hardly comprehended the full meaning of this speech. Still she + gathered that her father had left her—though not quite in the same + way as <i>petite maman</i> had done—and that henceforth this + autocratic old lady with the hawk’s eyes and quick, darting movements was + to be the arbiter of her fate. She also divined, beneath Lady Arabella’s + prickly exterior, a humanness and ability to understand which had been + totally lacking in Sieur Hugh. She proceeded to put it to the test. + </p> + <p> + “Will you let me dance?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Tchah!” snorted the old woman. “So the Wielitzska blood is coming out + after all!” She turned to Virginia. “Can she dance?” she demanded + abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Mais oui, madame!” cried Virginie, clasping her hands ecstatically. “Like + a veritable angel!” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t have thought it,” commented her ladyship drily. + </p> + <p> + Her shrewd eyes swept the child’s tense little face with its long, Eastern + eyes and the mouth that showed so vividly scarlet against its unchildish + pallor. + </p> + <p> + “Less like an angel than anything, I should imagine,” muttered the old + woman to herself with a wicked little grin. Then aloud: “Show me what you + can do, then, child.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” Magda paused, reflecting. Then she ran forward and laid her + hand lightly on Lady Arabella’s knee. “Look! This is the story of a Fairy + who came to earth and lost her way in the woods. She met one of the + Mortals, and he loved her so much that he wouldn’t show her the way back + to Fairyland. So”—abruptly—“she died.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella watched the child dance in astonished silence. Technique, of + course, was lacking, but the interpretation, the telling of the story, was + amazing. It was all there—the Fairy’s first wonder and delight in + finding herself in the woods, then her realisation that she was lost and + her frantic efforts to find the way back to Fairyland. Followed her + meeting with the Mortal and supplication to him to guide her, and finally + the Fairy’s despair and death. Magda’s slight little figure sank to the + ground, drooping slowly like a storm-bent snowdrop, and lay still. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella sat up with a jerk. + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious! The child’s a born dancer! Lydia Tchinova must see her. + She’ll have to train. Poor Hugh!” She chuckled enjoyably. “This will be + the last straw! He’ll be compelled to invent a new penance.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART TWO + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <h3> + THE FLOWERING + </h3> + <p> + “You’re very trying, Magda. Everyone is talking about you, and I’m tired + of trying to explain you to people.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella paused in her knitting and spoke petulantly, but a secret + gleam of admiration in her sharp old eyes as they rested upon her + god-daughter belied the irritation of her tones. + </p> + <p> + Magda leaned back negligently against the big black velvet cushions in her + chair and lit a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “I <i>want</i> everyone to talk about me,” she returned composedly. Her + voice was oddly attractive—low-pitched and with a faint blur of + huskiness about it that caught the ear with a distinctive charm. “It + increases the box-office receipts. And there’s no reason in the world for + you to ‘explain’ me to people.” + </p> + <p> + Her godmother regarded her with increasing irritation, yet at the same + time acutely conscious of the arresting quality of the young, vividly + alive face that gleamed at her from its black-velvet background. + </p> + <p> + Ten years had only served to emphasise the unusual characteristics of the + child Magda. Her skin was wonderful, of a smooth, creamy-white texture + which gave to the sharply angled face something of the pale, exotic + perfection of a stephanotis bloom. Her eyes were long, the colour of black + pansies—black with a suggestion of purple in their depths. They + slanted upwards a little at the outer corners, and this together with the + high cheek-bones, alone would have betrayed her Russian ancestry. When + Lady Arabella wanted to be particularly obnoxious she told her that she + had Mongolian eyes, and Magda would shrug her shoulders and, thrusting out + a foot which was so perfect in shape that a painting of it by a certain + famous artist had been the most talked-of picture of the year, would reply + placidly: “Well, thank heaven, <i>that’s</i> not English, anyway!” + </p> + <p> + “It certainly required some explanation when you chose to leave me and go + off and live by yourself,” pursued Lady Arabella, resuming her knitting. + “A girl of twenty! Of course people have talked. Especially as half the + men in town imagine themselves in love with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m perfectly respectable now. I’ve engaged a nice, tame pussy-cat + person to take charge of my morals and chaperon me generally. Not—like + you, Marraine—an Early Victorian autocrat with a twentieth-century + tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “If you mean Mrs. Grey, she doesn’t give me the least impression of being + a ‘nice, tame pussy-cat,’” retorted Lady Arabella. “You’ll find that out, + my dear.” + </p> + <p> + Magda regarded her thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Gillian is all right,” affirmed Magda, dismissing the matter airily. + “She’s a gorgeous accompanist, anyway—almost as good as Davilof + himself. Which reminds me—I must go home and rehearse my solo dance + in the <i>Swan-Maiden</i>. I told Davilof I’d be ready for him at four + o’clock; and it’s half-past three now. I shall never get back to Hampstead + through this ghastly fog in half an hour.” She glanced towards the window + through which was visible a discouraging fog of the “pea-soup” variety. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella sniffed. + </p> + <p> + “You’d better be careful for once in your life, Magda. Davilof is in love + with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Pouf! What if he is?” + </p> + <p> + Magda rose, and picking up her big black hat set it on her head at + precisely the right angle, and proceeded to spear it through with a + wonderful black-and-gold hatpin of Chinese workmanship. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella shot a swift glance at her. + </p> + <p> + “He’s just one of a crowd?” she suggested tartly. + </p> + <p> + Magda assented indifferently. + </p> + <p> + “You’re wrong—quite wrong,” returned her godmother crisply. “Antoine + Davilof is not one of a crowd—never will be! He’s half a Pole, + remember.” + </p> + <p> + Magda smiled. + </p> + <p> + “And I’m half a Russian. It must be a case of deep calling to deep,” she + suggested mockingly. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella’s shining needles clicked as they came to an abrupt stop. + </p> + <p> + “Does that mean you’re in love with him?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Magda stared. + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious, no! I’m never in love. You know that.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn’t prevent my hoping you may develop—some day—into + a normal God-fearing woman,” retorted the other. + </p> + <p> + “And learn to thank heaven, fasting, for a good man’s love?” Magda laughed + lightly. “I shan’t. At least, I hope not. Judging from my friends and + acquaintances, the condition of being in love is a most unpleasant one—reduces + a woman to a humiliating sense of her own unworthiness and keeps her in a + see-saw state of emotional uncertainty. No, thank you! No man is worth + it!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella looked away. Her hard, bright old eyes held a sudden + wistfulness foreign to them. + </p> + <p> + “My dear—one man is. One man in every woman’s life is worth it. Only + we don’t always find it out in time.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Marraine—you don’t mean—you weren’t ever——” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella rose suddenly and came across to where Magda stood by the + fire, one narrow foot extended to the cheerful warmth. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind what I mean,” she said, and her voice sounded a little + uncertain. “Only, if it comes your way, don’t miss the best thing this + queer old world of ours has to offer. If it brings you nothing else, love + at least leaves you memories. Even that’s something.” + </p> + <p> + Magda glanced at her curiously. Somehow she had never imagined that behind + the worldly-wise old woman’s sharp speeches and grim, ironic humour there + lay the half-buried memory of some far-distant romance. Yet now in the + uneven tones of her voice she recognised the throb of an old wound. + </p> + <p> + “And meanwhile”—Lady Arabella suddenly resumed in her usual curt + manner—“meanwhile you might play fair with one or two of those boys + you have trailing around—Kit Raynham for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” began Magda. + </p> + <p> + “You understand perfectly. A man of the world’s fair game. He can look + after himself—and probably sizes you up for what you are—a + phenomenally successful dancer, who regards her little court of admirers + as one of the commonplaces of existence—like her morning cup of tea. + But these boys—they look upon you as a woman, even a possible wife. + And then they proceed to fall in love with you!” + </p> + <p> + Magda’s foot tapped impatiently on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “What’s this all leading up to?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella met her glance squarely. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to leave Kit Raynham alone. His mother has been to me—Magda, + I’m sick of having their mothers come to me!—and begged me to + interfere. She says you’re ruining the boy’s prospects. He’s a brilliant + lad, and they expect him to do something rather special. And now he’s + slacking completely. He’s always on your doorstep. If you care about him—do + you, Magda?—tell him so. But, if you don’t, for goodness’ sake send + him about his business.” + </p> + <p> + She waited quietly for an answer. Magda slipped into a big fur-coat and + caught up her gloves. Then she turned to her godmother abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Raynham is absurd. I can’t prevent Kit’s making a fool of himself if + he wants to. And—and”—rather helplessly—“I can’t help it + if I don’t fall in love to order.” She kissed her godmother lightly. “So + that’s that.” + </p> + <p> + A minute later Lady Arabella’s butler had swung open the front door, and + Magda crossed the pavement and entered her waiting car. + </p> + <p> + Outside, the fog hung like a thick pall over London—thick enough to + curtain the windows of the car with a blank, grey veil and to make + progress through the streets a difficult and somewhat dangerous process. + Magda snuggled into her furs and leant back against the padded cushions. + All sight of the outside world was cut off from her, except for the + blurred gleam of an occasional street-lamp or the menacing shape of a + motor-bus looming suddenly alongside, and she yielded herself to the train + of thought provoked by her talk with Lady Arabella. + </p> + <p> + In a detached sort of way she felt sorry about Kit Raynham—principally + because Lady Arabella, of whom she was exceedingly fond, seemed vexed + about the matter. It had not taken her long to discover, when as a child + she had come to live with her godmother, the warm heart that concealed + itself beneath the old lady’s somewhat shrewish exterior. And to Lady + Arabella the advent of her god-child had been a matter for pure rejoicing. + </p> + <p> + Having no children of her own, she lavished a pent-up wealth of affection + upon Magda of which few would have thought her capable, and though she was + by no means niggardly in her blame of Hugh Vallincourt for his method of + shelving his responsibilities, she was grateful that his withdrawal into + the monastic life had been the means of throwing Magda into her care. Five + years later, when death claimed him, she found he had appointed her the + child’s sole guardian. + </p> + <p> + True to her intention, she had asked the opinion of Lydia Tchinova, the + famous dancer, and under Madame Tchinova’s guidance Magda had received + such training that when she came to make her debut she leaped into fame at + once. Hers was one of those rare cases where the initial drudgery and + patient waiting that attends so many careers was practically eliminated, + and at the age of twenty she was probably the most talked-of woman in + London. + </p> + <p> + She had discarded the family surname for professional purposes, and + appeared in public under the name of Wielitzska—“to save the + reigning Vallincourts from a soul convulsion,” as she observed with a + twinkle. During the last year, influenced by the growing demands of her + vocation, she had quitted her godmother’s hospitable roof and established + herself in a house of her own. + </p> + <p> + Nor had Lady Arabella sought to dissuade her. Although she and Magda were + the best of friends, she had latterly found the onus of chaperoning her + god-child an increasingly heavy burden. As she herself remarked: “You + might as well attempt to chaperon a comet!” + </p> + <p> + It was almost inevitable that Magda, starred and feted wherever she went, + should develop into a rather erratic and self-willed young person, but on + the whole she had remained singularly unspoilt. Side by side with her gift + for dancing she had also inherited something of her mother’s sweetness and + wholesomeness of nature. There was nothing petty or mean about her, and + many a struggling member of her own profession had had good cause to thank + “the Wielitzska” for a helping hand. + </p> + <p> + Women found in her a good pal; men, an elusive, provocative personality + that bewitched and angered them in the same breath, coolly accepting all + they had to offer of love and headlong worship—and giving nothing in + return. + </p> + <p> + It was not in the least that Magda deliberately set herself to wile a + man’s heart out of his body. She seemed unable to help it! Apart from + everything else, her dancing had taught her the whole magic of the art of + charming by every look and gesture, and the passage of time had only added + to the extraordinary physical allure which had been hers even as a child. + </p> + <p> + Yet for all the apparent warmth and ardour of her temperament, to which + the men she knew succumbed in spite of themselves, she herself seemed + untouched by any deeper emotion than that of a faintly amused desire to + attract. The lessons of her early days, the tragedy of her mother’s + married life, had permeated her whole being, and her ability to remain + emotionally unstirred was due to an instinctive reserve and + self-withdrawal—an inherent distrust of the passion of love. + </p> + <p> + <i>“Take everything. But do not give—anything—in return.”</i> + Subconsciously Diane’s words, wrested from her at a moment of poignant + mental anguish, formed the credo of her daughter’s life. + </p> + <p> + No man, so far, had ever actually counted for anything in Magda’s scheme + of existence, and as she drove slowly home from Lady Arabella’s house in + Park Lane she sincerely hoped none ever would. Certainly—she smiled + a little at the bare idea—Kit Raynham was not destined to be the + man! He was clever, and enthusiastic, and adoring, and she liked him quite + a lot, but his hot-headed passion failed to waken in her breast the least + spark of responsive emotion. + </p> + <p> + Her thoughts drifted idly backward, recalling this or that man who had + wanted her. It was odd, but of all the men she had met the memory of one + alone was still provocative of a genuine thrill of interest—and that + was the unknown artist whom she had encountered in the woods at Coverdale. + </p> + <p> + Even now, after the lapse of ten years, she could remember the young, + lean, square-jawed face with the grey eyes, “like eyes with little fires + behind them,” and hear again the sudden jerky note in the man’s voice as + he muttered, “Witch-child!” + </p> + <p> + That brief adventure with “Saint Michel”—she remembered calling him + “Saint Michel”—stood out as one of the clearest memories of her + childhood. That, and the memory of her mother, kneeling on the big + bearskin rug and saying in a hard, dry voice: “Never give your heart to + any man. Take everything. But do not give—anything—in return.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <h3> + OUT OF THE FOG + </h3> + <p> + A sudden warning shout, the transient glare of fog-blurred headlights, + then a crash and a staggering blow on the car’s near side which sent it + reeling like a drunken thing, bonnet foremost, straight into a + motor-omnibus. + </p> + <p> + Magda felt herself pitched violently forward off the seat, striking her + head as she fell, and while the car yet rocked with the force of its + collision with the motor-bus another vehicle drove blindly into it from + the rear. It lurched sickeningly and jammed at a precarious angle, canted + up on two wheels. + </p> + <p> + Shouts and cries, the frenzied hooting of horns, the grinding of brakes + and clash of splintered glass combined into a pandemonium of terrifying + hubbub. + </p> + <p> + Magda, half-dazed with shock, crouched on the floor of the car where she + had been flung. She could see the lights appearing and disappearing in the + fog like baleful eyes opening and shutting spasmodically. A tumult of + hoarse cries, cursing and bellowing instructions, crossed by the thin + scream of women’s cries, battered against her ears. + </p> + <p> + Then out of the medley of raucous noise came a cool, assured voice: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be frightened. I’ll get you out.” + </p> + <p> + Magda was conscious of a sudden reaction from the numbed sense of + bewildered terror which had overwhelmed her. The sound of that unknown + voice—quiet, commanding, and infinitely reassuring—was like a + hand laid on her heart and stilling its terrified throbbing. + </p> + <p> + She heard someone tugging at the handle of the door. There came a moment’s + pause while the strained woodwork resisted the pull, then with a scrape of + jarring fittings the door jerked open and a man’s figure loomed in the + aperture. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you?” he asked, peering through the dense gloom. “Ah!” She felt + his outstretched hands close on her shoulders as she knelt huddled on the + floor. “Can you get up? Or are you hurt?” + </p> + <p> + Magda tested her limbs cautiously, to discover that no bones were broken, + though her head ached horribly, so that she felt sick and giddy with the + pain. + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m not hurt,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then come along. The car’s heeled up a bit, but I’ll lift you out if you + can get to the door.” + </p> + <p> + She stumbled forward obediently, groping her way towards the vague panel + of lighter grey revealed by the open door. + </p> + <p> + Once more, out of the swathing fog, hands touched her. + </p> + <p> + “There you are! That’s right. Now lean forward.” + </p> + <p> + She found herself clasped by arms like steel—so strong, so sure, + that she felt as safe and secure as when Vladimir Ravinski, the amazingly + clever young Russian who partnered her in several of her dances, sometimes + lifted her, lightly and easily as a feather, and bore her triumphantly off + the stage aloft on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “You’re very strong,” she murmured, as the unknown owner of the arms swung + her down from the tilted car. + </p> + <p> + “You’re not very heavy,” came the answer. There was a kind of laughter in + the voice. + </p> + <p> + As the man spoke he set her down on her feet, and then, just as Magda was + opening her lips to thank him, the fog seemed to grow suddenly denser, + swirling round her in great murky waves and surging in her ears with a + noise like the boom of the ocean. Higher and higher rose the waves, a + resistless sea of blackness, and at last they swept right over her head + and she sank into the utter darkness of oblivion. + </p> + <p> + “Drink this!” + </p> + <p> + Someone was holding a glass to her lips and the pungent smell of sal + volatile pricked her nostrils. Magda shrank back, her eyes still shut, and + pressed her head further into the cushions against which it rested. She + detested the smell of sal volatile. + </p> + <p> + “Drink it! Do you hear?” + </p> + <p> + The voice seemed to drive at her with its ring of command. She opened her + eyes and looked straight up into other eyes—dark-grey ones, these—that + were bent on her intently. To her confused consciousness they appeared to + blaze down at her. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she muttered, feebly trying to push the glass away. + </p> + <p> + The effort of moving her arm seemed stupendous. Her head swam with it. The + sea of fog came rolling back again, and this time she sank under it at + once. + </p> + <p> + Then—after an immensity of time, she was sure—she felt herself + struggling up to the surface once more. She was lying rocking gently on + the top of the waves now; the sensation was very peaceful and pleasant. A + little breeze played across her face. She drew in deep breaths of the cool + air, but she did not open her eyes. Presently a murmur of voices + penetrated her consciousness. + </p> + <p> + “She’s coming round again.” A man was speaking. “Go on fanning her.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor young thing! She’s had a shaking up and no mistake!” This in a + woman’s voice, very kindly and commiserating. A hand lightly smoothed the + fur of her coat-sleeve. “Looks as if she was a rich young lady. Her people + must be anxious about her.” + </p> + <p> + Someone laughed a little, softly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, she’s a rich enough young lady, Mrs. Braithwaite. Don’t you know + who it is we’ve rescued?” + </p> + <p> + “I, sir? No. How should I?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll tell you. This is Mademoiselle Wielitzska, the famous dancer.” + </p> + <p> + “Never, sir! Well, I do declare——” + </p> + <p> + “Now, drink this at once, please.” The man’s voice cut sharply across the + impending flow of garrulous interest, and Magda, who had not gathered the + actual sense of the murmured conversation, felt an arm pass behind her + head, raising it a little, while once more that hateful glass of sal + volatile was held to her lips. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes unclosed fretfully. + </p> + <p> + “Take it away,” she was beginning. + </p> + <p> + “Drink it! Do you hear? Do as you’re told!” + </p> + <p> + The sharp, authoritative tones startled her into sudden compliance. She + opened her mouth and swallowed the contents of the glass with a gulp. Then + she looked resentfully at the man whose curt command she had obeyed in + such unexpected fashion. Magda Wielitzska was more used to giving orders + than to taking them. + </p> + <p> + “There, that’s better,” he observed, regarding the empty glass with + satisfaction. “No, lie still”—as she attempted to rise. “You’ll feel + better in a few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m better now,” declared Magda sulkily. + </p> + <p> + Her head was growing clearer every minute. She was even able to feel an + intense irritation against this man who had just compelled her to drink + the sal volatile. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her unperturbedly. + </p> + <p> + “Are you? That’s good. Still, you’ll stay where you are till I tell you + that you may get up.” He turned to a comfortable-looking woman who was + standing at the foot of the couch on which Magda lay—a housekeeper + of the nice old-fashioned black-satin kind. “Now, Mrs. Braithwaite, I + think this lady will be glad of a cup of tea by the time you can have one + ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good, sir.” + </p> + <p> + With a last, admiring glance at the slender figure on the couch the good + woman bustled away, leaving Magda alone with her unknown host and burning + with indignation at the cool way in which he had ordered her to remain + where she was. + </p> + <p> + He had his back to her for the moment, having turned to poke up the fire, + and Magda raised herself on her elbow, preparatory to getting off the + couch. He swung round instantly. + </p> + <p> + “I told you to stay where you were,” he said peremptorily. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t always do as I’m told,” she retorted with spirit. + </p> + <p> + “You will in this instance, though,” he rejoined, crossing the room + swiftly towards her. + </p> + <p> + But quick though he was, she was still quicker. Her eyes blazing defiance, + she slipped from the couch and stood up before he could reach her side. + She took a step forward. + </p> + <p> + “There!” she began defiantly. The next moment the whole room seemed to + swim round her as she tottered weakly and would have fallen had he not + caught her. + </p> + <p> + “What did I tell you?” he said sharply. “You’re not fit to stand.” + </p> + <p> + Without more ado he lifted her up in his arms and deposited her again on + the couch. + </p> + <p> + “I—I only turned a little giddy,” she protested feebly. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely. Just as I thought you would. Another time, perhaps, you’ll + obey orders.” + </p> + <p> + He stood looking down at her with curiously brilliant grey eyes. Magda + almost winced under their penetrating glance. She felt as though they + could see into her very soul, and she summoned up all her courage to + combat the man’s strange force. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not used to obeying orders,” she said impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “No?”—with complete indifference. “Then it will be a salutary + experience for you. Now, lie still until tea comes. I have a letter to + write.” + </p> + <p> + He walked away and, seating himself at a desk in the window, appeared to + forget all about her, while his pen travelled swiftly over the sheet of + notepaper he had drawn towards him. + </p> + <p> + Magda watched him with rebellious eyes. Gradually, however, the rebellion + died out of them, replaced by a puzzled look of interest. There was + something vaguely familiar about the man. Had she ever seen him before? Or + was it merely one of those chance resemblances which one comes across + occasionally? That fair hair with its crisp wave, the lean, square-jawed + face, above all, the dark-grey eyes with their bright, penetrating glance—why + did she feel as though every detail of the face were already known to her? + </p> + <p> + She failed to place the resemblance, however, and finally, with a little + sigh of fatigue, she gave up the attempt. Her brain still felt muddled and + confused from the blow she had received. Perhaps later she would be able + to think things out more clearly. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile she lay still, her eyes resting languidly on the face that so + puzzled her. It was not precisely a handsome face, but there was a certain + rugged fineness in its lines that lifted it altogether out of the ruck of + the ordinary. It held its contradictions, too. Notwithstanding the + powerful, determined jaw, the mouth had a sensitive upward curve at the + corners which gave it an expression of singular sweetness, and beneath the + eyes were little lines which qualified their dominating glance with a hint + of whimsical humour. + </p> + <p> + The clock ticked on solemnly. Presently Mrs. Braithwaite bustled in with + the tea and withdrew again. But the man remained absorbed in his writing, + apparently oblivious of everything else. + </p> + <p> + Magda, who was rapidly recovering, eyed the teapot longingly. She was just + wondering whether she dared venture to draw his attention to its arrival + or whether he would snap her head off if she did, when he looked up + suddenly with that swift, hawk-like glance of his. + </p> + <p> + “Ready for some tea?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Am I”—sarcastically—“allowed to get up now?” + </p> + <p> + He surveyed her consideringly. + </p> + <p> + “No, I think not,” he said at last. “But as the mountain can’t go to + Mahomet, Mahomet shall come to the mountain.” + </p> + <p> + He crossed the room and, while Magda was still wondering what he proposed + to do, he stooped and dexterously wheeled the couch with its light burden + close up to the tea-table. + </p> + <p> + “Now, I’ll fix these cushions,” he said. And with deft hands he rearranged + the cushions so that they should support her comfortably while she drank + her tea. + </p> + <p> + “You would make a very good nurse, I should think,” commented Magda, + somewhat mollified. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” was all he vouchsafed in answer. + </p> + <p> + He busied himself pouring out tea, then brought her cup and placed it + beside her on a quaint little table of Chinese Chippendale. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Braithwaite—my housekeeper—is looking after your + chauffeur in the kitchen,” he observed presently. “Possibly you may be + interested to hear”—sarcastically—“that he wasn’t hurt in the + smash-up.” + </p> + <p> + Magda felt herself flushing a little under the implied rebuke—as + much with annoyance as anything else. She knew that she was not really the + heartless type of woman he inferred her to be, to whom the fate of her + dependents was only of importance in so far as it affected her own + personal comfort, and she resented the injustice of his assumption that + she was. + </p> + <p> + She had been so bewildered and dazed by the suddenness of the accident and + by the blow she herself had received that she had hardly yet collected her + thoughts sufficiently to envisage the possible consequences to others. + </p> + <p> + With feminine perverseness she promptly decided that nothing would induce + her to explain matters. If this detestably superior individual chose to + think her utterly heartless and selfish—why, let him think so! + </p> + <p> + “And the car?” she asked in a tone of deliberate indifference. “That’s + quite as important as the chauffeur.” + </p> + <p> + “More so, surely?”—with polite irony. “The car, I am sorry to say, + will take a good deal of repairing. At present it’s still in the middle of + the street with red lights fore and aft. It can’t be moved till the fog + lifts.” + </p> + <p> + “What a nuisance! How on earth am I to get home?” + </p> + <p> + “There are such things as taxis”—suggestively. “Later, when it + clears a bit, I’ll send out for one.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. I’m afraid I’m giving you a lot of trouble.” + </p> + <p> + He did not hastily disclaim the idea as most men would have done. + </p> + <p> + “That can’t be helped,” he returned bluntly. + </p> + <p> + Magda felt herself colouring again. This man was insufferable! + </p> + <p> + “Evidently the role of knight-errant is new to you,” she observed. + </p> + <p> + “Quite true. I’m not in the habit of rescuing damsels in distress. But how + did you guess?”—with interest. + </p> + <p> + “Because you do it with such a very bad grace,” she flashed at him. + </p> + <p> + He smiled—and once more Magda was aware of the sense of familiarity + even with that whimsical, crooked smile. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” he replied composedly. “Then you think I ought to have been + overwhelmed with delight that your car cannoned into my bus—incidentally + I barked my shins badly in the general mix-up—and that I had to haul + you out and bring you round from a faint and so on?” + </p> + <p> + The question—without trimmings—was unanswerable. But to Magda, + London’s spoiled child, conscious that there were men who would have given + half their fortune for the chance to render a like service, and then + counted themselves amply rewarded by the subsequent hour or two alone with + her, the question was merely provocative. + </p> + <p> + “Some men would have been,” she returned calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Just because you are the Wielitzska, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + She stared at him in blank astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “You knew—you knew who I was all the time?” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I knew.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—then——” + </p> + <p> + “Then why wasn’t I suitably impressed?” he suggested drily. + </p> + <p> + She sprang to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you are intolerable!” she exclaimed hotly. “You know I didn’t mean + that!” + </p> + <p> + He regarded her quite placidly. + </p> + <p> + “You did. That is precisely what you were thinking. Only you funked + putting it into plain words.” + </p> + <p> + He got up and came to her side and stood looking down at her. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it a fact?” he insisted. “Isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + Magda looked up, tried to answer in the negative and failed. He had spoken + the simple truth and she knew it. But none the less she hated him for it—hated + him for driving her up into a corner and trying to force an acknowledgment + from her. She remained obstinately silent. + </p> + <p> + He turned away with a short, amused laugh. + </p> + <p> + “So you haven’t even the courage of your convictions,” he commented. + </p> + <p> + Magda clenched her hands, driving the nails hard into the soft palms of + them. He was an absolute boor, this man who had come to her rescue in the + fog! He was taking a brutal advantage of their relative positions to speak + to her as no man had ever dared to speak to her before. Or woman either! + Even old Lady Arabella would hardly have thrust the naked truth so + savagely under her eyes. + </p> + <p> + And now he had as good as told her that she was a coward! Well, at least + he should not have the satisfaction of finding he was right in that + respect. She walked straight up to him, her small head held high, in her + dark eyes a smouldering fire of fierce resentment. + </p> + <p> + “So that is what you think, is it?” she said in a low voice of bitter + anger. “Well, I <i>have</i> the courage of my convictions.” She paused. + Then, with an effort: “Yes, I did think you weren’t ‘suitably impressed,’ + as you put it. You are perfectly right.” + </p> + <p> + He threw her a swift glance of surprise. Presumably he hadn’t anticipated + such a candid acknowledgment, but even so he showed no disposition to lay + down the probe. + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t think it possible that anyone could meet the Wielitzska + without regarding the event as a piece of stupendous good luck and being + appropriately overjoyed, did you?” he pursued relentlessly. + </p> + <p> + Magda pressed her lips together. Then, with an effort: + </p> + <p> + “No,” she admitted. + </p> + <p> + “And so, just because I treated you as I would any other woman, and made + no pretence of fatuous delight over your presence here, you supposed I + must be ignorant of your identity? Was that it?” + </p> + <p> + Magda writhed under the cool, ironical questioning with its undercurrent + of keen contempt. Each word stung like the flick of a lash on bare flesh. + But she forced herself to answer—and to answer honestly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said very low. “That was it.” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders and turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Comment is superfluous, I think.” + </p> + <p> + She made an impulsive step towards him. + </p> + <p> + For some unfathomable reason she minded—minded intensely—that + this man should hold her in such poor esteem. She wanted to put herself + right with him, to justify her attitude in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever seen me dance?” she asked abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Surely if he had ever seen that wonderful artistry which she knew was + hers, witnessed the half-crazy enthusiasm with which her audience received + her, he would make allowance, judge her a little less harshly for what + was, after all, a very natural assumption on the part of a stage + favourite. + </p> + <p> + An expression of unwilling admiration came into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Have I seen you dance?” he repeated. “Yes, I have. Several times.” + </p> + <p> + He did not add—which would have been no more than the truth—that + during her last winter’s season at the Imperial Theatre he had hardly + missed a dozen performances. + </p> + <p> + “Then—then——” Magda spoke with a kind of incredulous + appeal. “Can’t you understand—just a little?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I understand. I understand perfectly. You’ve been spoilt and idolised + to such an extent that it seems incredible to you to find a man who + doesn’t immediately fall down and worship you.” + </p> + <p> + Magda twisted her hands together. Once more he was thrusting at her with + the rapier of truth. And it hurt—hurt inexplicably. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I believe that’s—almost true,” she acknowledged falteringly. + “But if you understand so well, couldn’t you—can’t you”—with a + swift supplicating smile—“be a little more merciful?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I—I <i>hate</i> your type of woman!” + </p> + <p> + There was an undertone of passion in his voice. It was almost as though he + were fighting against some impulse within himself and the fierceness of + the struggle had wrung from him that quick, unvarnished protest. + </p> + <p> + “Then you despise dancers?” + </p> + <p> + “Despise? On the contrary, I revere a dancer—the dancer who is a + genuine artist.” He paused, then went on speaking thoughtfully. “Dancing, + to my mind, is one of the most consistent expressions of beauty. It’s the + sheer symmetry and grace of that body which was made in God’s own likeness + developed to the utmost limit of human perfection. . . . And the dancer + who desecrates the temple of his body is punished proportionately. No art + is a harder taskmistress than the art of dancing.” + </p> + <p> + Magda listened breathlessly. This man understood—oh, he understood! + Then why did he “hate her type of woman”? + </p> + <p> + Almost as though he had read her thoughts he pursued: + </p> + <p> + “As a dancer, an artist—I acknowledge the Wielitzska to be supreme. + But as a woman——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? As a woman? Go on. What do you know about me as a woman?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed disagreeably. + </p> + <p> + “I’d judge that in the making of you your soul got left out,” he said + drily. + </p> + <p> + Magda forced a smile. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I’m very stupid. Do you mind explaining?” + </p> + <p> + “Does it need explanation?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—please!” + </p> + <p> + “Then—one of my best pals was a man who loved you.” + </p> + <p> + Magda threw him a glance of veiled mockery from beneath her long white + lids. + </p> + <p> + “Surely that should be a recommendation—something in my favour?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes hardened. + </p> + <p> + “If you had dealt honestly with him, it might have been. But you drew him + on, <i>made</i> him care for you in spite of himself. And then, when he + was yours, body and soul, you turned him down! Turned him down—pretended + you were surprised—you’d never meant anything! All the old rotten + excuses a woman offers when she has finished playing with a man and got + bored with him. . . . I’ve no place for your kind of woman. I tell you”—his + tone deepening in intensity—“the wife of any common labourer, who + cooks and washes and sews for her man day in, day out, is worth a dozen of + you! She knows that love’s worth having and worth working for. And she + works. You don’t. Women like you take a man’s soul and play with it, and + when you’ve defiled and defaced it out of all likeness to the soul God + gave him, you hand it back to him and think you clear yourself by saying + you ‘didn’t mean it’!” + </p> + <p> + The bitter speech, harsh with the deeply rooted pain and resentment which + had prompted it, battered through Magda’s weak defences and found her + helpless and unarmed. Once she had uttered a faint cry of protest, tried + to check him, but he had not heeded it. After that she had listened with + bent head, her breath coming and going unevenly. + </p> + <p> + When he had finished, the face she lifted to him was white as milk and her + mouth trembled. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. Well, I’ve heard my character now,” she said unsteadily. “I—I + didn’t know anyone thought of me—like that.” + </p> + <p> + He stared at her—at the drooping lines of her figure, the quivering + lips, at the half-stunned expression of the dark eyes. And suddenly + realisation of the enormity of all he had said seemed to come to him. But + he did not appear to be at all overwhelmed by it. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I’ve transgressed beyond forgiveness now,” he said curtly. + “But—you rather asked for it, you know, didn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she admitted. “I think I did—ask for it.” Suddenly she threw + up her head and faced him. “If—if it’s any satisfaction to you to + know it, I think you’ve paid off at least some of your friend’s score.” + She looked at him with a curious, almost piteous surprise. “You—you’ve + hurt me!” she whispered passionately. She turned to the door. “I’ll go + now.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” He stopped her with a hand on her arm, and she obeyed his touch + submissively. For a moment he stood looking down at her with an oddly + conflicting expression on his face. It was as though he were arguing out + some point with himself. All at once he seemed to come to a decision. + </p> + <p> + “Look, you can’t go till the fog clears a bit. Suppose we call a truce? + Sit down here”—pulling forward a big easy-chair—“and for the + rest of your visit let’s behave as though we didn’t heartily disapprove of + one another.” + </p> + <p> + Magda sank into the chair with that supple grace of limb which made it + sheer delight to watch her movements. + </p> + <p> + “I never said I disapproved of you,” she remarked. + </p> + <p> + He seated himself opposite her, on the other side of the hearth, and + regarded her quizzically. + </p> + <p> + “No. But you do, all the same. Naturally, you would after my candour! And + I’d rather you did, too,” he added abruptly. “But at least you’ve no more + devoted admirer of your art. You know, dancing appeals to me in a way that + nothing else does. My job’s painting—” + </p> + <p> + “House-painting?” interpolated Magda with a smile. Her spirits were rising + a little under his new kindliness of manner. + </p> + <p> + He laughed with sudden boyishness and nodded gaily. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes—so long as people continue to cover their wall-space with + portraits of themselves.” + </p> + <p> + Magda wondered whether he was possibly a well-known painter. But he gave + her no chance to find out, for he continued speaking almost at once. + </p> + <p> + “I love my art—but a still, flat canvas, however beautifully + painted, isn’t comparable with the moving, living interpretation of beauty + possible to a dancer. I remember, years ago—ten years, quite—seeing + a kiddy dancing in a wood.” Magda leaned forward. “It was the prettiest + thing imaginable. She was all by herself, a little, thin, black-and-white + wisp of a thing, with a small, tense face and eyes like black smudges. And + she danced as though it were more natural to her than walking. I got her + to pose for me at the foot of a tree. The picture of her was my first real + success. So you see, I’ve good reason to be grateful to one dancer!” + </p> + <p> + Magda caught her breath. She knew now why the man’s face had seemed so + familiar! He was the artist she had met in the wood at Coverdale the day + Sieur Hugh had beaten her—her <i>“Saint Michel”</i>! She was + conscious of a queer little thrill of excitement as the truth dawned upon + her. + </p> + <p> + “What was the picture called?” she asked, forcing herself to speak + composedly. + </p> + <p> + “‘The Repose of Titania.’” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. The picture was a very well-known one. Everybody knew by whom + it had been painted. + </p> + <p> + “Then you must be Michael Quarrington?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. So now, we’ve been introduced, haven’t we?” + </p> + <p> + It seemed almost as if he had repented of his former churlish manner, and + were endeavouring to atone for it. He talked to her about his work a + little, then slid easily into the allied topics of music and books. + Finally he took her into an adjoining room, and showed her a small, + beloved collection of coloured prints which he had gathered together, + recounting various amusing little incidents which had attended the + acquisition of this or that one among them with much gusto and a certain + quaint humour that she was beginning to recognise as characteristic. + </p> + <p> + Magda, to whom the study of old prints was by no means an unknown + territory, was thoroughly entertained. She found herself enthusing, + discussing, arguing points, in a happy spirit of <i>camaraderie</i> with + her host which, half an hour earlier, she would have believed impossible. + </p> + <p> + The end came abruptly. Quarrington chanced to glance out of the window + where the street lamps were now glimmering serenely through a clear dusk. + The fog had lifted. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it’s just as well,” he said shortly. “I was beginning—” He + checked himself and glanced at her with a sudden stormy light in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Beginning—what?” she asked a little breathlessly. The atmosphere + had all at once grown tense with some unlooked-for stress of emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—tell me!” + </p> + <p> + “I was beginning to forget that you’re the ‘type of woman I hate,’” he + said. And strode out of the room, leaving her startled and unaccountably + shaken. + </p> + <p> + When he came back he had completely reassumed his former non-committal + manner. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a taxi waiting for you,” he announced. “It’s perfectly clear + outside now, so I think you will be spared any further adventures on your + way home.” + </p> + <p> + He accompanied her into the hall, and as they shook hands she murmured a + little diffidently: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we shall meet again some time?” + </p> + <p> + He drew back sharply. + </p> + <p> + “No, we shan’t meet again.” There was something purposeful, almost + vehemently so, in the curtly spoken words. “If I had thought that——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” she prompted. “If you had?” + </p> + <p> + “If I’d thought that,” he said quietly, “I shouldn’t have dared to risk + this last half-hour.” + </p> + <p> + A momentary silence fell between them. Then, with a shrug, he added + lightly: + </p> + <p> + “But we shan’t meet again. I’m leaving England next week. That settles + it.” + </p> + <p> + Without giving her time to make any rejoinder he opened the street-door + and stood aside for her to pass out. A minute later she was in the taxi, + and he was standing bare-headed on the pavement beside it. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” she said. “Good-bye—<i>Saint Michel</i>.” + </p> + <p> + His hand closed round hers in a grip that almost crushed the slender + fingers. + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i>!” he cried hoarsely. There was a note of sudden, desperate + recognition in his voice. “<i>You</i>!” + </p> + <p> + As Magda smiled into his startled eyes—the grey eyes that had burned + their way into her memory ten years ago—the taxi slid away into the + lamp-lit dusk. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <h3> + FRIARS’ HOLM + </h3> + <p> + With a grinding of brakes the taxi slowed up and came to a standstill at + Friars’ Holm, the quaint old Queen Anne house which Magda had acquired in + north London. + </p> + <p> + Once within the high wall enclosing the old-world garden in which it + stood, it was easy enough to imagine oneself a hundred miles from town. + Fir and cedar sentinelled the house, and in the centre of the garden there + was a lawn of wonderful old turf, hedged round in summer by a riot of + roses so that it gleamed like a great square emerald set in a jewelled + frame. + </p> + <p> + Magda entered the house and, crossing the cheerfully lit hall, threw open + the door of a room whence issued the sound of someone—obviously a + first-rate musician—playing the piano. + </p> + <p> + As she opened the door the twilight, shot by quivering spears of light + from the fire’s dancing flames, seemed to rush out at her, bearing with it + the mournful, heart-shaking music of some Russian melody. Magda uttered a + soft, half-amused exclamation of impatience and switched on the lights. + </p> + <p> + “All in the dark, Davilof?” she asked in a practical tone of voice + calculated to disintegrate any possible fabric of romance woven of + firelight and fifths. + </p> + <p> + The flood of electric light revealed a large, lofty room, devoid of + furniture except for a few comfortable chairs grouped together at one end + of it, and for a magnificent grand piano at the other. The room appeared + doubly large by reason of the fact that the whole of one wall was taken up + by four immense panels of looking-glass, cleverly fitted together so that + in effect the entire wall was composed of a single enormous mirror. It was + in front of this mirror that Magda practised. The remaining three walls + were hung with priceless old tapestry woven of sombre green and greys. + </p> + <p> + As she entered the room a man rose quickly from the piano and came forward + to meet her. There was a kind of repressed eagerness in the action, as + though he had been waiting with impatience for her coming. + </p> + <p> + He was a striking-looking man, tall, and built with the slender-limbed + grace of a foreigner. Golden-brown hair, worn rather longer than fashion + dictates, waved crisply over his head, and the moustache and small Vandyck + beard which partially concealed the lower part of his face were of the + same warmly golden colour. + </p> + <p> + The word “musician” was written all over him—in the supple, capable + hands, in the careless stoop of his loosely knit shoulders, and, more than + all, in the imaginative hazel eyes with their curious mixture of + abstraction and fire. They rather suggested lightning playing over some + dreaming pool. + </p> + <p> + Magda shook hands with him carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “We shall have to postpone the practice as I’m so late, Davilof,” she + said. “I had a smash-up in the fog. My car ran into a bus—” + </p> + <p> + “And you are hurt?” Davilof broke in sharply, his voice edged with fear. + </p> + <p> + “No, no. I was stunned for a minute and then afterwards I fainted, but I’m + quite intact otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + “You are sure—sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite.” Hearing the keen anxiety in his tone she smiled at him + reassuringly and held out a friendly hand. “I’m all right—really, + Antoine.” + </p> + <p> + He took the hand in both his. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God!” he said fervently. + </p> + <p> + Antoine Davilof had lived so long in England that he spoke without trace + of accent, though he sometimes gave an unEnglish twist to the phrasing of + a sentence, but his quick emotion and the simplicity with which he made no + effort to conceal it stamped him unmistakably as a foreigner. + </p> + <p> + A little touched, Magda allowed her hand to remain in his. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Davilof!” She chided him laughingly. “You’re quite absurdly upset + about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I could not have borne it if you had been hurt,” he declared vehemently. + “You ought not to go about by yourself. It’s horrible to think of <i>you</i>—in + a street accident—alone!” + </p> + <p> + “But I wasn’t alone. A man who was in the other half of the accident—the + motor-bus half—played the good Samaritan and carried me into his + house, which happened to be close by. He looked after me very well, I + assure you.” + </p> + <p> + Davilof released her hand abruptly. His face darkened. + </p> + <p> + “And this man? Who was he?” he demanded jealously. “I hate to think of any + man—a stranger—touching you.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! Would you have preferred me to remain lying in the middle of + the road?” + </p> + <p> + “You know I would not. But I’d rather some woman had looked after you. Do + you know who the man was?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not—at first.” + </p> + <p> + “But you do now. Who was it?” + </p> + <p> + “No one you know, I think,” she answered provokingly. His eyes flashed. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you making a mystery about it?” he asked suspiciously. “You’re + keeping something from me! Who was this man? Tell me his name.” + </p> + <p> + Magda froze. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Antoine! Why this air of high tragedy?” she said lightly. “And + what on earth has it to do with you who the man was?” + </p> + <p> + “You know what it has to do with me——” + </p> + <p> + “With my accompanist?”—raising her brows delicately. + </p> + <p> + “No!”—with sudden violence—“With the man who loves you! I’m + that—and you know it, Magda! Could I play for you as I do if I did + not understand your every mood and emotion? You know I couldn’t! And then + you ask what it matters to me when some unknown man has held you in his + arms, carried you into his house—kissed you, perhaps, while you were + unconscious!”—his imagination running suddenly riot. + </p> + <p> + “Stop! You’re going too far!” Magda checked him sharply. “You’re always + telling me you love me. I don’t want to hear it.” She paused, then added + cruelly: “I want you for playing my accompaniments, Davilof. That’s all. + Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes blazed. With a quick movement he stepped in front of her. + </p> + <p> + “I’m a man—as well as an accompanist,” he said hoarsely. “One day + you’ll have to reckon with the man, Magda!” + </p> + <p> + There was a new, unaccustomed quality in his voice. Hitherto she had not + taken his ardour very seriously. He was a Pole and a musician, with all + the temperament that might be expected from such a combination, and she + had let it go at that, pushing his love aside with the careless hand of a + woman to whom the incense of men’s devotion has been so freely offered as + to have become commonplace. But now the new ring of determination, of + something unexpectedly dogged in his voice, poignantly recalled the + warning uttered by Lady Arabella earlier in the day. + </p> + <p> + Magda’s nerve wavered. A momentary panic assailed her. Then she + intuitively struck the right note. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Davilof, don’t worry me now—not to-night!” she said + appealingly. “I’m tired. It’s been a bit of a strain—the accident + and—and——” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me!” In a moment he was all penitence—overwhelmed with + compunction. “Forget it! I’ve behaved like a brute. I ought to have seen + that you were worn out.” + </p> + <p> + He was beside himself with remorse. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right, Antoine.” She smiled forgiveness at him. “Only I felt—I + felt I couldn’t stand any more to-night. I suppose it’s taken it out of me + more than I knew—the shock, and fainting like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it has. You ought to rest. I wish Mrs. Grey were in.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she not?” + </p> + <p> + “No. The maid told me she was out when I came, and she hasn’t returned + yet.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s been held up by the fog, I expect,” answered Magda. “Never mind. + I’ll sit here—in this big chair—and you shall switch off these + glaring lights and play to me, Antoine. That will rest me better than + anything.” + </p> + <p> + She was a little sorry for the man—trying to make up to him for the + pain she knew she had inflicted a moment before, and there was a dangerous + sweetness in her voice. + </p> + <p> + Davilof’s eyes kindled. He stooped swiftly and kissed her hand. + </p> + <p> + “You are too good to me!” he said huskily. + </p> + <p> + Then, while she lay back restfully in a chair which he heaped with + cushions for her, he played to her, improvising as he played—slow, + dreaming melodies that soothed and lulled but held always an undertone of + passionate appeal. The man himself spoke in his music; his love pleaded + with her in its soft, beseeching cadences. + </p> + <p> + But Magda failed to hear it. Her thoughts were elsewhere—back with + the man who, that afternoon, had first rescued her and afterwards treated + her with blunt candour that had been little less than brutal. She felt + sore and resentful—smarting under the same dismayed sense of + surprise and injustice as a child may feel who receives a blow instead of + an anticipated caress. + </p> + <p> + Indulged and flattered by everyone with whom she came in contact, it had + been like a slap in the face to find someone—more particularly + someone of the masculine persuasion—who, far from bestowing the + admiration and homage she had learned to look for as a right, quite openly + regarded her with contemptuous disapproval—and made no bones about + telling her so. + </p> + <p> + His indictment of her had left nothing to the imagination. She felt + stunned, and, for the first time in her life, a little unwilling doubt of + herself assaulted her. Was she really anything at all like the woman + Michael Quarrington had pictured? A woman without heart or conscience—the + “kind of woman he had no place for”? + </p> + <p> + She winced a little at the thought. It was strange how much she minded his + opinion—the opinion of a man whom she had only met by chance and + whom she was very unlikely ever to meet again. He himself had certainly + evinced no anxiety to renew the acquaintance. And this, too, fretted her + in some unaccountable way. + </p> + <p> + She could not analyse her own emotions. She felt hurt and angry and + ashamed in the same breath—and all because an unknown man, an + absolute stranger, had told her in no measured terms exactly what he + thought of her! + </p> + <p> + Only—he was not really quite a stranger! He was the “Saint Michel” + of her childhood days, the man with whom she had unconsciously compared + those other men whom the passing years had brought into her life—and + always to their disadvantage. + </p> + <p> + The first time she had seen him in the woods at Coverdale was the day when + Hugh Vallincourt had beaten her; she had been smarting with the physical + pain and humiliation of it. And now, this second time they had met, she + had been once more forced to endure that strange and unaccustomed + experience called pain. Only this time she felt as though her soul had + been beaten, and it was Saint Michel himself who had scourged her. + </p> + <p> + The door at the far end of the room opened suddenly and a welcome voice + broke cheerfully across the bitter current of her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Well, here I am at last! Has Magda arrived home yet?” + </p> + <p> + Davilof ceased playing abruptly and the speaker paused on the threshold of + the room, peering into the dusk. Magda rose from her seat by the fire and + switched on one of the electric burners. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, here I am,” she said. “Did you get held up by the fog, Gillian?” + </p> + <p> + The newcomer advanced into the circle of light. She was a small, slight + woman, though the furs she was wearing served to conceal the slenderness + of her figure. Someone had once said of her that “Mrs. Grey was a charming + study in sepia.” The description was not inapt. Eyes and hair were brown + as a beechnut, and a scattering of golden-brown freckles emphasised the + warm tints of a skin as soft as velvet. + </p> + <p> + “Did I get held up?” she repeated. “My dear, I walked miles—miles, I + tell you!—in that hideous fog. And then found I’d been walking + entirely in the wrong direction! I fetched up somewhere down Notting Hill + Gate way, and at last by the help of heaven and a policeman discovered the + Tube station. So here I am. But if I could have come across a taxi I’d + have been ready to <i>buy</i> it, I was so tired!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor dear!” Magda was duly sympathetic. “We’ll have some tea. You’ll + stay, Davilof?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not, thanks. I’m dining out”—with a glance at his watch. + “And I shan’t have too much time to get home and change as it is.” + </p> + <p> + Magda held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, then. Thank you for keeping me company till Gillian came.” + </p> + <p> + There was a sudden sweetness of gratitude in the glance she threw at him + which fired his blood. He caught her hand and carried it to his lips. + </p> + <p> + “The thanks are mine,” he said in a stifled voice. And swinging round on + his heel he left the room abruptly, quite omitting to make his farewells + to Mrs. Grey. + </p> + <p> + The latter looked across at Magda with a gleam of mirth in her brown eyes. + Then she shook her head reprovingly. + </p> + <p> + “Will you never learn wisdom, Magda?” she asked, subsiding into a chair + and extending a pair of neatly shod feet to the fire’s warmth. + </p> + <p> + Magda laughed a little. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it won’t be the fault of my friends if I don’t!” she returned + ruefully. “Marraine expended a heap of eloquence over my misdeeds this + afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Lady Arabella? I’m glad to hear it. Though she has about as much chance + of producing any permanent result as the gentleman who occupied his + leisure time in rolling a stone uphill.” + </p> + <p> + “Cat!” Magda made a small grimace at her. “Ah, here’s some tea!” Melrose, + known among Magda’s friends as “the perfect butler,” had come noiselessly + into the room and was arranging the tea paraphernalia with the reverential + precision of one making preparation for some mystic rite. “Perhaps when + you’ve had a cup you’ll feel more amiable—that is, if I give you + lots of sugar.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the text of Lady Arabella’s homily?” inquired Gillian presently, + as she sipped her tea. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that boy, Kit Raynham,” replied Magda impatiently. “It appears I’m + blighting his young prospects—his professional ones, I mean. Though + I don’t quite see why an attack of calf-love for me should wreck his work + as an architect!” + </p> + <p> + “I do—if he spends his time sketching ‘the Wielitzska’ in half a + dozen different poses instead of making plans for a garden city.” + </p> + <p> + Magda smiled involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “Does he do that?” she said. “But how ridiculous of him!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s merely indicative of his state of mind,” returned Gillian. She gazed + meditatively into the fire. “You know, Magda, I think it will mean the end + of our friendship when Coppertop reaches years of discretion.” + </p> + <p> + Coppertop was Gillian’s small son, a young person of seven, who owed his + cognomen to the crop of flaming red curls which adorned his round button + of a head. + </p> + <p> + Magda laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Pouf! By the time that happens I shall be quite old—and harmless.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Your type is never harmless, my dear. Unless you fall in love, you’ll be + an unexploded mine till the day of your death.” + </p> + <p> + “That nearly occurred to-day, by the way,” vouchsafed Magda tranquilly. + “In which case,”—smiling—“you’d have been spared any further + anxiety on Coppertop’s account.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” demanded Gillian, startled. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that I’ve had an adventure this afternoon. We got smashed up in + the fog.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear! How dreadful! How did it happen?” + </p> + <p> + “Something collided with the car and shot us bang into a motor-bus, and + then, almost at the same moment, something else charged into us from + behind. So there was a pretty fair mix-up.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t you tell me before! Was anyone badly hurt? And how did you get + home?” Gillian’s questions poured out excitedly. + </p> + <p> + “No, no one was badly hurt. I got a blow on the head, and fainted. So a + man who’d been inside the bus we ran into performed the rescuing stunt. + His house was close by, and he carried me in there and proceeded to dose + me with sal volatile first and tea afterwards. He wound up by presenting + me with an unvarnished summary of his opinion of the likes of me.” + </p> + <p> + There was an unwontedly hard note in Magda’s voice as she detailed the + afternoon’s events, and Gillian glanced at her sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand. Was he a strait-laced prig who disapproved of + dancing, do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of the sort. He had a most comprehensive appreciation of the art + of dancing. His disapproval was entirely concentrated on me—personally.” + </p> + <p> + “But how could it be—since he didn’t know you?” + </p> + <p> + Magda gave a little grin. + </p> + <p> + “You mean it would have been quite comprehensible if he <i>had</i> known + me?” she observed ironically. + </p> + <p> + The other laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be so provoking! You know perfectly well what I meant! You deserve + that I should answer ‘yes’ to that question.” + </p> + <p> + “Do, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “I would—only I happen to know you a good deal better than you know + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about me, then, that I don’t?” + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s nice brown eyes smiled across at her. + </p> + <p> + “I know that, somewhere inside you, you’ve got the capacity for being as + sweet and kind and tender and self-sacrificing as any woman living—if + only something would happen to make it worth while. I wish—I wish to + heaven you’d fall in love!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not likely to. I’m in love with my art. It gives you a better return + than love for any man.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Gillian quietly. “No. You’re wrong. Tony died when we’d + only been married a year. But that year was worth the whole rest of life + put together. And—I’ve got Coppertop.” + </p> + <p> + Magda leaned forward suddenly and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Gillyflower!” she said. “I’m so glad you feel like that—bless + you! I wish I could. But I never shall. I was soured in the making, I + think”—laughing rather forlornly. “I don’t trust love. It’s the + thing that hurts and tortures and breaks a woman—as my mother was + hurt and tortured and broken.” She paused. “No, preserve me from falling + in love!” she added more lightly. “‘A Loaf of Bread, and Thou beside me in + the Wilderness’ doesn’t appeal to me in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “It will one day,” retorted Gillian oracularly. “In the meantime you might + go on telling me about the man who fished you out of the smash. Was he + young? And good-looking? Perhaps he is destined to be your fate.” + </p> + <p> + “He was rather over thirty, I should think. And good-looking—quite. + But he ‘hates my type of woman,’ you’ll be interested to know. So that you + can put your high hopes back on the top shelf again.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” declared Gillian briskly. “There’s nothing like beginning + with a little aversion.” + </p> + <p> + Magda smiled reminiscently. + </p> + <p> + “If you’d been present at our interview, you’d realise that ‘a little + aversion’ is a cloying euphemism for the feeling exhibited by my late + preserver.” + </p> + <p> + “What was he like, then?” + </p> + <p> + “At first, because I wouldn’t take the sal volatile—you know how I + detest the stuff!—and sit still where he’d put me like a good little + girl, he ordered me about as though I were a child of six. He absolutely + bullied me! Then it apparently occurred to him to take my moral welfare in + hand, and I should judge he considered that Jezebel and Delilah were + positively provincial in their methods as compared with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! If he didn’t know you, why should he suppose himself competent + to form any opinion about you at all—good, bad, or indifferent?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” replied Magda slowly. Then, speaking with sudden defiance: + “Yes, I do know! A pal of his had—had cared about me some time or + other, and I’d turned him down. That’s why.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Magda!” There was both reproach and understanding in Gillian’s voice. + </p> + <p> + Magda shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if he wanted to pay off old scores on his pal’s behalf, he + succeeded,” she said mirthlessly. + </p> + <p> + Gillian looked at her in surprise. She had never seen Magda quite like + this before; her sombre eyes held a curious strained look like those of + some wild thing of the forest caught in a trap and in pain. + </p> + <p> + “And you don’t know who he was—I mean the man who came to your help + and then lectured you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do. It was Michael Quarrington, the artist.” + </p> + <p> + “Michael Quarrington? Why, he has the reputation of being a most charming + man!” + </p> + <p> + Magda stared into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say he might have a great deal of charm if he cared to exert it. + Apparently, however, he didn’t think I was worth the effort.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <h3> + IN THE MIRROR ROOM + </h3> + <p> + Shouts of mirth came jubilantly from the Mirror Room as Davilof made his + way thither one afternoon a few days later. The shrill peal of a child’s + laughter rose gaily above the lower note of women’s voices, and when the + accompanist opened the door it was to discover Magda completely engrossed + in giving Coppertop a first dancing lesson, while Gillian sat stitching + busily away at some small nether garments afflicted with rents and tears + in sundry places. Every now and again she glanced up with softly amused + eyes to watch her son’s somewhat unsteady efforts in the Terpsichorean + art. + </p> + <p> + Coppertop, a slim young reed in his bright green knitted jersey, was + clinging with one hand to a wooden bar attached to the wall which served + Magda for the “bar practice” which constitutes part of every dancer’s + daily work, while Magda, holding his other hand in hers, essayed to + instruct him in the principle of “turning out”—that flexible turning + of the knees towards the side which gives so much facility of movement. + </p> + <p> + “Point your toes sideways—so,” directed Magda. “This one towards me—like + that.” She stooped and placed his foot in position. “Now, kick out! Try to + kick me!” + </p> + <p> + Coppertop tried—and succeeded, greeting his accomplishment with + shrieks of delight. + </p> + <p> + It was just at this moment that Davilof appeared on the scene, pausing + abruptly in the doorway as he caught sight of Magda’s laughing face bent + above the fiery red head. There was something very charming in her + expression of eager, light-hearted abandonment to the fun of the moment. + </p> + <p> + At the sound of the opening door Coppertop wriggled out of her grasp like + an eel, twisting his lithe young body round to see who the new arrival + might be. His face fell woefully as he caught sight of Davilof. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you can’t <i>never</i> have come already to play for the Fairy Lady!” + he exclaimed in accents of dire disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “Fairy Lady” was the name he had bestowed upon Magda when, very early in + their acquaintance, she had performed for his sole and particular benefit + a maturer edition of the dance she had evolved as a child—the dance + with which she had so much astonished Lady Arabella. Nowadays it figured + prominently on her programmes as “The Hamadryad,” and was enormously + popular. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not never three o’clock!” wailed Coppertop disconsolately, as + Davilof dangled his watch in front of him. + </p> + <p> + “I think it is, small son,” interpolated Gillian, gathering together her + sewing materials. “Come along. We must leave the Fairy Lady to practise + now, because she’s got to dance to half the people in London to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Must I really go?” appealed Coppertop, beseeching Magda with a pair of + melting green eyes. + </p> + <p> + She dropped a light kiss on the top of his red curls. + </p> + <p> + “‘Fraid so, Coppertop,” she said. “You wouldn’t want Fairy Lady to dance + badly and tumble down, would you?” + </p> + <p> + But Coppertop was not to be taken in so easily. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” he scoffed. “You <i>couldn’t</i> tumble down—not never!” + </p> + <p> + “Still, you mustn’t be greedy, Topkins,” urged Magda persuasively. + “Remember all the grown-up people who want me to dance to them! I can’t + keep it all for one little boy.” He stared at her for a moment in silence. + Suddenly he flung his arms round her slender hips, clutching her tightly, + and hid his face against her skirt. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Fairy Lady, you are so booful—<i>so booful</i>!” he whispered + in a smothered voice. Then, with a big sigh: “But one little boy won’t be + greedy.” He turned to his mother. “Come along, mummie!” he commanded + superbly. And trotted out of the room beside her with his small head well + up. + </p> + <p> + Left alone, Davilof and Magda smiled across at one another. + </p> + <p> + “Funny little person, isn’t he?” she said. + </p> + <p> + The musician nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Grown-ups might possibly envy the freedom of speech permitted to + childhood,” he said quietly. Then, still more quietly: “‘Fairy Lady, you + are so beautiful!’” + </p> + <p> + “But you’re not a child, so don’t poach Coppertop’s preserves!” retorted + Magda swiftly. “Let’s get to work, Antoine. I’ll just change into my + practice-kit and then I want to run through the ‘Swan-Maiden’s’ dance. You + fix the lighting.” + </p> + <p> + She vanished into an adjoining room, while Davilof proceeded to switch off + most of the burners, leaving only those which illumined the space in front + of the great mirror. The remainder of the big room receded into a grey + twilight encircling the patch of luminance. + </p> + <p> + Presently Magda reappeared wearing a loose tunic of some white silken + material, girdled at the waist, but yet leaving her with perfect freedom + of limb. + </p> + <p> + Davilof watched her as she came down the long room with the feather-light, + floating walk of the trained dancer, and something leaped into his eyes + that was very different from mere admiration—something that, taken + in conjunction with Lady Arabella’s caustic comments of a few days ago, + might have warned Magda had she seen it. + </p> + <p> + But with her thoughts preoccupied by the work in hand she failed to notice + it, and, advancing till she faced the great mirror, she executed a few + steps in front of it, humming the motif of <i>The Swan-Maiden</i> music + under her breath. + </p> + <p> + “Play, Antoine,” she threw at him over her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Davilof hesitated, made a movement towards her, then wheeled round + abruptly and went to the piano. A moment later the exquisite, smoothly + rippling music which he had himself written for the Swan-Maiden dance + purled out into the room. + </p> + <p> + The story of the Swan-Maiden had been taken from an old legend which told + of a beautiful maiden and the youth who loved her. + </p> + <p> + According to the narrative, the pair were unfortunate enough to incur the + displeasure of the evil fairy Ritmagar, and the latter, in order to punish + them, transformed the maiden into a white swan, thus separating the + hapless lovers for ever. Afterwards, the disconsolate youth, bemoaning the + cruelty of fate, used to wander daily along the shores of the lake where + the maiden was compelled to dwell in her guise of a swan, and eventually + Ritmagar, apparently touched to a limited compassion, permitted the + Swan-Maiden to resume her human form once a day during the hour + immediately preceding sunset. But the condition was attached that she must + always return to the lake ere the sun sank below the horizon, when she + would be compelled to reassume her shape of a swan. Should she fail to + return by the appointed time, death would be the inevitable consequence. + </p> + <p> + Every reader of fairy tales—and certainly anyone who knows anything + at all about being in love—can guess the sequel. Comes a day when + the lovers, absorbed in their love-making, forget the flight of time, so + that the unhappy maiden returns to the shore of the lake to find that the + sun has already dipped below the horizon. She falls on her knees, + beseeching the witch Ritmagar for mercy, but no answer is vouchsafed, and + gradually the Swan-Maiden finds herself growing weaker and weaker, until + at last death claims her. + </p> + <p> + A dance, based upon this legend, had been devised for Magda in conjunction + with Vladimir Ravinski, the brilliant Russian dancer, he taking the + lover’s part, and the whole tragic little drama was designed to terminate + with a solo dance by Magda as the dying Swan-Maiden. Davilof had written + the music for it, and the dance was to be performed at the Imperial + Theatre for the first time the following week. + </p> + <p> + Davilof played ever more and more softly as the dance drew to its close. + The note of lament sounded with increasing insistence through the slowing + ripple of the accompaniment, and at last, as Magda sank to the ground in a + piteous attitude that somehow suggested both the drooping grace of a dying + swan and the innocence and helplessness of the hapless maiden, the music + died away into silence. + </p> + <p> + There was a little pause. Then Davilof sprang to this feet. + </p> + <p> + “By God, Magda! You’re magnificent!” he exclaimed with the spontaneous + appreciation of one genuine artist for another. + </p> + <p> + Magda raised her head and looked up at him with vague, startled eyes. She + still preserved the pose on which the dance had ceased, and had hardly yet + returned to the world of reality from that magic world into which her art + had transported her. + </p> + <p> + The burning enthusiasm in Davilof’s excited tones recalled her abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Was it good—was it really good?” she asked a little shakily. + </p> + <p> + “Good?” he said. “It was superb!” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hands and she laid hers in them without thinking, allowing + him to draw her to her feet beside him. + </p> + <p> + She stood quite still, breathing rather quickly from her recent exertions + and supported by the close clasp of his hands on hers. Her lips were a + little parted, her slight breast rose and fell unevenly, and a faint + rose-colour glowed beneath the ivory pallor of her skin. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Davilof’s grip tightened. + </p> + <p> + “You beautiful thing!” he exclaimed huskily. “Magda——” + </p> + <p> + The next moment, with a swift, ungoverned movement, he caught her to him + and was crushing her in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Antoine! . . . Let me go!” + </p> + <p> + But the pressure of her soft, pulsing body against his own sent the blood + racing through his veins. He smothered the words with his mouth on hers, + kissing her breathless with a headlong passion that defied restraint—slaking + his longing for her as a man denied water may at last slake his thirst at + some suddenly discovered pool. + </p> + <p> + Magda felt herself powerless as a leaf caught up in a whirlwind—swept + suddenly into the hot vehemence of a man’s desire while she was yet + unstrung and quivering from the emotional strain of the Swan-Maiden’s + dance, every nerve of her quickened to a tingling sentience by the + underlying passion of the music. + </p> + <p> + With an effort she wrenched herself out of his arms and ran from him + blindly into the furthest corner of the room. She had no clear idea of + making for the door, but only of getting away—anywhere—heedless + of direction. An instant later she was standing with her back to the wall, + leaning helplessly against the ancient tapestry that clothed it. In that + dim corner of the vast room her slim figure showed faintly limned against + its blurred greens and greys like that of some pallid statue. + </p> + <p> + “Go . . . go away!” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + Davilof laughed triumphantly. Nothing could hold him now. The barriers of + use and habit were down irrevocably. + </p> + <p> + “Go away?” he said. “No, I’m not going away.” + </p> + <p> + He strode straight across the space that intervened between them. She + watched his coming with dilated eyes. Her hands, palms downwards, were + pressed hard against the woven surface of the tapestry on either side of + her. + </p> + <p> + As he approached she shrank back, her whole body taut and straining + against the wall. Then she bent her head and flung up her arms, curving + them to shield her face. Davilof could just see the rounded whiteness of + them, glimmering like pale pearl next the satin sheen of night-black hair. + </p> + <p> + With a stifled cry he sprang forward and gripped them in his strong, + supple hands, drawing them down inexorably. + </p> + <p> + “Kiss me!” he demanded fiercely. “Magda, kiss me!” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head, struggling for speech. + </p> + <p> + “No!” she gasped. “No!” + </p> + <p> + She glanced desperately round, but he had her hemmed in, prisoned against + the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Kiss me!” he repeated unsteadily. “You—you’d better, Magda.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I don’t?” she forced the words through her stiff lips. + </p> + <p> + “But you will!” he said hoarsely. “You will!” + </p> + <p> + There was a dangerous note in his voice. The man had got beyond the stage + to be played with. In the silence of the room Magda could hear his + laboured breathing, feel his heart leaping against her own soft breast + crushed against his. It frightened her. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll let me go if I do?” The words seemed to run into each other in her + helpless haste. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll let you go.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + Slowly, reluctantly she lifted her face to his and kissed him. But the + touch of her lips on his scattered the last vestige of his self-control. + </p> + <p> + “My beloved . . . Beloved!” + </p> + <p> + He seized her roughly in his arms. She felt his kisses overwhelming her, + burning against her closed eyelids, bruising her soft mouth and throat. + </p> + <p> + “I love you . . . worship you——” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go!” she cried shrilly, struggling against him. “Let me go—you + promised it!” + </p> + <p> + He released her, drawing slowly back, his arms falling unwillingly away + from her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” he muttered confusedly. “I did promise.” + </p> + <p> + The instant she felt his grip relax, Magda sprang forward and switched on + the centre burners, flooding the room with a blaze of light, and in the + sudden glare she and Davilof stood staring silently at each other. + </p> + <p> + With the springing up of the lights it was as though a spell had broken. + The strained, hunted expression left Magda’s face. She wasn’t frightened + any longer. Davilof was no more the man whose sudden passion had surged + about her, threatening to break down all defences and overwhelm her. He + was just Davilof, her accompanist, who, like half the men of her + acquaintance, was more or less in love with her and who had overstepped + the boundary which she had very definitely marked out between herself and + him. + </p> + <p> + She regarded him stormily. + </p> + <p> + “Have you gone mad?” she asked contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + He returned her look, his eyes curiously brilliant. Then he laughed + suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Mad?” he said. “Yes, I think I <i>am</i> mad. Mad with love for you! + Magda”—he came and stood close beside her—“don’t send me away! + Don’t say you can’t care for me! You don’t love me now—but I could + teach you.” His voice deepened. “I love you so much. Oh, sweetest!—<i>Soul</i> + of me! Love is so beautiful. Let me teach you how beautiful it is!” + </p> + <p> + Magda drew back. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said. The brief negative fell clear and distinct as a bell. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t take no,” he returned hotly. “I won’t take no. I want you. Good + God! Don’t you understand? My love for you isn’t just a boy’s infatuation + that you can dismiss with a word. It’s all of me. I worship you! Haven’t I + been with you day after day, worked with you, followed your every mood—shared + your very soul with you? You’re mine! Mine, because I understand you. + You’ve shown me all you thought, all you felt. You couldn’t have done that + if I hadn’t meant something to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly you meant something to me. You meant an almost perfect + accompanist. Why should you have imagined you meant more? I gave you no + reason to think so.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>No reason</i>?” + </p> + <p> + It was as though the two short words were the key which unlocked the + floodgates of some raging torrent. Magda could never afterwards recall the + words he used. She only knew they beat upon her with the cruel, + lancinating sharpness of hail driven by the wind. + </p> + <p> + She had treated him much as other men, evoking the love of his ardent + temperament by that subtle witchery which was second nature to her and + which can be such a potent weapon in the hands of a woman whose own + emotions remain untouched. And now the thwarted passion of the lover and + the savage anger of a man who felt himself deceived and duped broke over + her in a resistless storm—an outburst so bitter and so trenchant + that for the moment she remained speechless before it, buffeted into + helpless, resentful silence. When he ceased, he had stripped her of every + rag of feminine defence. + </p> + <p> + “Have you finished?” she asked in a stifled voice. + </p> + <p> + She made no attempt to palliate matters or to refute anything he had said. + In his present frame of mind it would have been useless pointing out to + him that she had treated him no differently from other men. He was a Pole, + and he had caught fire where others would merely have glowed + smoulderingly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he rejoined sullenly. “I’ve finished.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better.” + </p> + <p> + He regarded her speculatively. + </p> + <p> + “What are you made of, I wonder? Does it mean nothing to you that a man + has given you his very best—all that he has?” + </p> + <p> + She appeared to reflect a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid it doesn’t. There’s only one thing really means much to me—and + that is my art. And Lady Arabella,” she added after a pause. “She’ll + always mean a good deal.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down by the fire and held out her hands to its warmth. The slender + fingers seemed almost transparent, glowing rosily in the firelight. + Davilof turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, then,” he said curtly. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye.” Magda nodded indifferently. Then, carelessly: “I shall want + you to-morrow, Davilof—same time.” + </p> + <p> + He swung round. + </p> + <p> + “I will never play for you again. Did you imagine I should?” + </p> + <p> + She smiled at him—that slow, subtle smile of hers with its hint of + mockery. + </p> + <p> + “You won’t be able to keep away,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “I will never play for you again,” he repeated. “Never! I will teach + myself to hate you.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head lightly. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible, Davilof.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not impossible. There’s very little difference between love and hate—sometimes. + And I want all or nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid it must be nothing, then.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see. But if I can’t have you, <i>I</i> swear no other man + shall!” + </p> + <p> + She glanced up at him, lifting her brows a little. + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you going too far, Antoine? You can hate me, if you like, or love + me—it’s a matter of indifference to me which you do. But I don’t + propose to allow you to arrange my life for me. And in any case”—after + a moment—“I’m not likely to fall in love—with you or anyone + else.” + </p> + <p> + “You think not?” He stood looking down at her sombrely. “You’ll fall in + love right enough some day. And when you do it will be all or nothing with + you, too. You’re that kind. Love will take you—and break you, + Magda.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke slowly, with an odd kind of tensity. To Magda it seemed almost as + if his quiet speech held the gravity of prophecy, and she shivered a + little. + </p> + <p> + “And when that time comes, then you’ll come back to me,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Magda threw up her head, defying him. + </p> + <p> + “You propose to be waiting round to pick up the pieces, then?” she + suggested nonchalantly. + </p> + <p> + But only the sound of the closing door answered her. Davilof had gone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <h3> + THE SWAN-MAIDEN + </h3> + <p> + Lady Arabella was in her element. She had two brilliant and unattached + young men dining with her—one, Michael Quarrington, a lion in the + artistic world, and the other, Antoine Davilof, who showed unmistakable + symptoms of developing sooner or later into a lion in the musical world. + </p> + <p> + It was Davilof who was responsible for the artist’s presence at Lady + Arabella’s dinner table. She had expressed—in her usual autocratic + manner—a wish that he should be presented to her, and had determined + upon the evening of the first performance of <i>The Swan-Maiden</i> as the + appointed time. + </p> + <p> + Davilof appeared doubtful, and declared that Quarrington was leaving + England and had already fixed the date of his departure. + </p> + <p> + “He’s crossing from Dover the very day before the one you want him to dine + with you,” he told her. + </p> + <p> + But Lady Arabella swept his objections aside with regal indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Crossing, is he?” she snapped. “Well, tell him I want him to dine here + and go to the show with us afterwards. He’ll cross the day <i>after</i>, + you’ll find—if he crosses at all!” she wound up enigmatically. + </p> + <p> + So it came about that her two lions, the last-arrived artist and the + soon-to-arrive musician, were both dining with her on the appointed + evening. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella adored lions. Also, notwithstanding her seventy years, she + retained as much original Eve in her composition as a girl of seventeen, + and she adored young men. + </p> + <p> + In particular, she decided that she approved of Michael Quarrington. She + liked the clean English build of him. She liked his lean, square jaw and + the fair hair with the unruly kink in it which reminded her of a certain + other young man—who had been young when she was young—and to + whom she had bade farewell at her parents’ inflexible decree more than + fifty years ago. Above all, she liked the artist’s eyes—those grey, + steady eyes with their look of reticence so characteristic of the man + himself. + </p> + <p> + Reticence was an asset in her ladyship’s estimation. It showed good sense—and + it offered provocative opportunities for a battle of wits such as her soul + loved. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen my god-daughter dance, Mr. Quarrington?” she asked him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, several times.” + </p> + <p> + His tone was non-committal and she eyed him sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t admire dancing, do you?” she threw at him. + </p> + <p> + Quarrington regarded her with a humorous twinkle. + </p> + <p> + “And I an artist? How can you ask, Lady Arabella?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you sounded supremely detached,” she grumbled. + </p> + <p> + “I think Mademoiselle Wielitzska’s dancing the loveliest thing I have ever + seen,” he returned simply. + </p> + <p> + The old woman vouchsafed him a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she answered. “I enjoyed that quite as much as I used to + enjoy being told I’d a pretty dimple when I was a girl.” + </p> + <p> + “You have now,” rejoined Quarrington audaciously. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella’s eyes sparkled. She loved a neatly turned compliment. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you again. But it’s a pity to waste your pretty speeches on an old + woman of seventy.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t,” retorted the artist gravely. “I reserve them for the young + people I know of that age.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed delightedly. Then, turning to Davilof, she drew him into the + conversation and the talk became general. + </p> + <p> + Later, as they were all three standing in the hall preparatory to + departure, she flashed another of her sudden remarks at Quarrington. + </p> + <p> + “I understand you came to my god-daughter’s rescue in that bad fog last + week?” + </p> + <p> + The quiet grey eyes revealed nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I was privileged to be some little use,” he replied lightly. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly gathered you regarded it as a privilege,” observed her ladyship + drily. + </p> + <p> + The shaft went home. A fleeting light gleamed for a moment in the grey + eyes. Davilof was standing a few paces away, being helped into his coat by + a man-servant, and Quarrington spoke low and quickly. + </p> + <p> + “She told you?” he said. There was astonishment—resentment, almost—in + his voice. + </p> + <p> + “No, no.” Lady Arabella, smiling to herself, reassured him hastily. “It + was a shot in the dark on my part. Magda never confides details. She hands + you out an unadorned slice of fact and leaves you to interpret it as you + choose. But if you know her rather well—as I do—and can add + two and two together and make five or any unlikely number of them, why, + then you can fill in some of the blanks for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced at him with impish amusement as she moved towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “Come along, Davilof,” she said. “I suppose you want to hear your own + music—even if Magda’s dancing no longer interests you?” + </p> + <p> + Davilof gave her his arm down the steps. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, miladi?” he asked. “There is no more beautiful dancing + in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why have you jacked up your job of accompanist? Shoes beginning to + pinch a little, eh?”—shrewdly. + </p> + <p> + “You mean I grow too big for my boots? No, madame. If I were the greatest + musician in Europe, instead of being merely Antoine Davilof, it could only + be a source of pride to be asked to accompany the Wielitzska.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella paused on the pavement, her foot on the step of the + limousine. + </p> + <p> + “Then how is it that Mrs. Grey accompanies her now? She was playing for + her at the Duchess of Lichbrooke’s the other evening. + </p> + <p> + “Magda didn’t tell you, then?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she didn’t; or I’d not be wasting my breath in asking you. I asked + her, and she said you had taken to playing wrong notes.” + </p> + <p> + A faint smile curved the lips above the small golden beard. + </p> + <p> + “Then it must be true. Undoubtedly I played wrong notes, miladi.” + </p> + <p> + “Very careless of you, I’m sure.” Under the garish light of a neighbouring + street-lamp her keen old eyes met his significantly. “Or—very + imprudent, Davilof. You need the tact of the whole Diplomatic Service to + deal with Magda. And you ought to know it.” + </p> + <p> + “True, miladi. But I was not designed for diplomacy, and a man can only + use the weapons heaven has given him.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t have suggested heaven as invariably the source of your + inspirations,” retorted Lady Arabella. And hopped into the car. + </p> + <p> + They arrived at the Imperial Theatre to find Mrs. Grey already seated in + Lady Arabella’s box. Someone else was there, too—old Virginie, with + her withered-apple cheeks and bright brown, bird-like eyes, still active + and erect and very little altered from the Virginie of ten years before. + Just as she had devoted herself to Diane, so now she devoted herself to + Diane’s daughter, and no first performance of a new dance of the + Wielitzska’s took place without Virginie’s presence somewhere in the + house. To-night, Lady Arabella had invited her into her box and Virginie + was a quivering bundle of excitement. She rose from her seat at the back + of the box as the newcomers entered. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Virginie.” Lady Arabella nodded kindly to the Frenchwoman. “And + pull your chair forward. You’ll see nothing back there, and there is + plenty of room for us all.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Merci, madame. Madame est bien gentille.</i>” Virginie’s voice was + fervent with ecstatic gratitude as she resumed her seat and waited + expectantly for Magda’s appearance. + </p> + <p> + Other dances, performed principally by lesser lights of the company and + affording only a briefly tantalising glimpse of Magda herself, preceded + the chief event of the evening. But at last the next item on the programme + read as <i>The Swan-Maiden (adapted from an Old Legend)</i>, and a tremour + of excitement, a sudden hush of eager anticipation, rippled through the + audience like wind over grass. + </p> + <p> + Slowly the heavy silken curtains drew to either side of the stage, + revealing a sunlit glade. In the background glimmered the still waters of + a lake, while at the foot of a tree, in an attitude of tranquil repose, + lay the Swan-Maiden—Magda. One white, naked arm was curved behind + her head, pillowing it, the other lay lightly across her body, palm + upward, with the rosy-tipped fingers curled inwards a little, like a + sleeping child’s. She looked infinitely young as she lay there, her + slender, pliant limbs relaxed in untroubled slumber. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella, with Quarrington sitting next to her in the box, heard the + quick intake of his breath as he leaned suddenly forward. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it has quite a familiar look,” she observed. “Reminds me of your + ‘Repose of Titania.’” + </p> + <p> + His eyes flickered inquiringly over her face, but it was evident that hers + had been merely a chance remark. The old lady had obviously no idea as to + who it was who had posed for the Titania of the picture. That was one of + the “slices of fact” which Magda had omitted to hand out when recounting + her adventure in the fog to her godmother. Quarrington leaned back in his + chair satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not unlike,” he agreed carelessly. + </p> + <p> + Then the entrance of Vladimir Ravinski, the lovelorn youth of the legend, + riveted his attention on the stage. + </p> + <p> + The dance which followed was exquisite. The Russian was a beautiful youth, + like a sun-god with his flying yellow locks and glorious symmetry of body, + and the <i>pas de deux</i> between him and Magda was a thing to marvel at—sweeping + through the whole gamut of love’s emotion, from the first shy, delicate + hesitancy of worshipping boy and girl to the rapturous abandon of mated + lovers. + </p> + <p> + Then across the vibrant, pulsating scene fell the deadly shadow of the + witch Ritmagar. The stage darkened, the violins in the orchestra skirled + eerily in chromatic showers of notes, and the hunched figure of Ritmagar + approaching menaced the lovers. A wild dance followed, the lovers now + kneeling and beseeching the evil fairy to have pity on them, now rushing + despairingly into each other’s arms, while the witch’s own dancing held + all of threat and malevolence that superb artistry could infuse into it. + </p> + <p> + The tale unfolded itself with the inevitableness of preordained + catastrophe. + </p> + <p> + Ritmagar declines to be appeased. She raises her claw-like hand, pointing + a crooked finger at the lovers, and with a clash of brazen sound and the + dull thrumming of drums the whole scene dissolves into absolute darkness. + When the darkness lifts once more, the stage is empty save for a pure + white swan which sails slowly down the lake and disappears. . . . Followed + a solo dance by Ravinski in which he gave full vent to the anguish of the + bereft lover, while now and again the swan swam statelily by him. At + length the witch appeared once more and, yielding to his impassioned + entreaties, declared that the Swan-Maiden might reassume her human form + during the hour preceding sunset, and Magda—the Swan-Maiden released + from enchantment for the time being—came running in on the stage. + </p> + <p> + This love-duet was resumed and presently, when the lovers had made their + exit, Ritmagar was seen gleefully watching while the red sun dropped + slowly down the sky, sinking at last below the rim of the lake. + </p> + <p> + Then a low rumble of drums muttered as she stole from the stage, the + personification of vindictive triumph, and all at once the great concourse + of people in the auditorium seemed to strain forward, conscious that the + climax of the evening, the wonderful solo dance by the Wielitzska, was + about to begin. + </p> + <p> + The moon rose on the left, and Magda, a slim white figure in her dress + which cleverly suggested the plumage of a swan, floated on to the stage + with that exquisite, ethereal lightness of movement which only toe-dancing—and + toe-dancing of the most perfectly finished quality—seems able to + convey. It was as though her feet were not touching the solid earth at + all. The feather-light drifting of blown petals; the swaying grace of a + swan as it glides along the surface of the water; the quivering, + spirit-like flight of a butterfly—it seemed as though all these had + been caught and blended together by the dancer. + </p> + <p> + The heavier instruments of the orchestra were silenced, but the rippling + music of the strings wove and interwove a dreaming melody, unutterably + sweet and appealing, as the Swan-Maiden, bathed in pallid moonlight, + besought the invisible Ritmagar for mercy, praying that she might not die + even though the sun had set. . . . But there comes no answer to her + prayers. A sombre note of stern denial sounds in the music, and the + Swan-Maiden yields to utter despair, drooping slowly to earth. Just as + Death himself claims her, her lover, demented with anguish, comes rushing + to her side, and turning towards him as she lies dying upon the ground, + she yields to his embrace with a last gesture of passionate surrender. + </p> + <p> + Slowly the heavy curtains swung together, hiding the limp, lifeless body + of the Swan-Maiden and the despairing figure of her lover as he knelt + beside her, and after a breathless pause, the great audience, carried away + by the tragic drama of the dance, its passion and its pathos, broke into a + thunder of applause that rolled and reverberated through the theatre. + </p> + <p> + Again and again Magda and her partner were called before the curtain, the + former laden with the sheafs of flowers which had been handed up on to the + stage. But the audience refused to be satisfied until at last Magda + appeared alone, standing very white and slender under the blaze of lights, + a faint suggestion of fatigue in the poise of her lissome figure. + </p> + <p> + Instantly the applause broke out anew—thunderous, overwhelming. + Magda smiled, then held out her arms in a little disarming gesture of + appeal, touching in its absolute simplicity. It was as though she said: + “Dear people, I love you all for being so pleased, but I’m very, very + tired. Please, won’t you let me go?” + </p> + <p> + So they let her go, with one final round of cheers and clapping, and then, + as the curtains fell together once more and the orchestra slid + unobtrusively into the <i>entr’acte</i> music, a buzz of conversation + arose. + </p> + <p> + Michael Quarrington turned and spoke to Davilof as they stood together. + </p> + <p> + “This will be my last memory of England for some time to come. + Mademoiselle Wielitzska is very wonderful. As much actress as dancer—and + both rather superlatively.” + </p> + <p> + There was an odd note in Quarrington’s voice, as if he were forcibly + repressing some less measured form of words. + </p> + <p> + Davilof glanced at him sharply. + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” he said curtly. + </p> + <p> + The musician’s hazel eyes were burning feverishly. One hand was clenched + on the back of the chair from which he had just risen; the other hung at + his side, the fingers opening and shutting nervously. + </p> + <p> + Quarrington smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the two men met, and Michael became suddenly conscious that + the other was struggling in the grip of some strong emotion. He could even + sense its atmosphere of antagonism towards himself. + </p> + <p> + “I think”—Davilof spoke with slow intensity—“I think she’s a + soulless piece of devil’s mechanism.” And turning abruptly, he swung out + of the box, slamming the door behind him. + </p> + <p> + Quarrington frowned. With his keen perceptions it was not difficult for + him to divine what lay at the back of Davilof’s bitter criticism. The man + was in love—hopelessly in love with the Wielitzska. Probably she had + turned him down, as she had turned down better men than he, but he had + been unable to resist the bitter-sweet temptation of watching her dance, + and throughout the evening had almost certainly been suffering the + torments of the damned. + </p> + <p> + The artist smiled a little grimly to himself, remembering the many + evenings he, too, had spent at the Imperial Theatre, drawn thither by the + magnetism of a white, slender woman with night-black hair, whose long, + dark eyes haunted him perpetually, even coming between him and his work. + </p> + <p> + And then, just as he had made up his mind to go away, first to Paris and + afterwards to Spain or perhaps even further afield, and thus set as many + miles of sea and land as he could betwixt himself and the “kind of woman + he had no place for,” fate had played him a trick and sent her out of the + obscurity of the fog-ridden street straight to his very hearth and home, + so that the fragrance and sweetness and charm of her must needs linger + there to torment him. + </p> + <p> + He thought he could make a pretty accurate guess at the state of Davilof’s + feelings, and was ironically conscious of a sense of fellowship with him. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella’s sharp voice cut across his reflections. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care for this next thing,” she said, flicking at her programme. + “Mrs. Grey and I are going round to see Magda. Will you come with us?” + </p> + <p> + Quarrington had every intention of politely excusing himself. Instead of + which he found himself replying: + </p> + <p> + “With pleasure—if Mademoiselle Wielitzska won’t think I’m + intruding.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “Well, she intruded on you that day in the fog, didn’t she? So you’ll be + quits.” She glanced impatiently round the box. “Where on earth has Davilof + vanished to? Has he gone up in flame?” + </p> + <p> + Michael laughed involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “Something of the kind, I fancy,” he replied. “Anyway, he departed rather + hurriedly.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Antoine!” Gillian spoke with a kind of humorous compassion. “He has + a temperament. I’m glad I haven’t.” + </p> + <p> + “You have the best of all temperaments, Mrs. Grey,” answered Michael, as + they both followed Lady Arabella out of the box. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “The temperament that understands other people’s temperaments,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” she asked, smiling. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella was prancing on ahead down the corridor, and for the moment + Michael and Gillian were alone. + </p> + <p> + “We artists learn to look for what lies below the surface. If your work is + sincere, you find when you’ve finished a portrait that the soul of the + sitter has revealed itself unmistakably.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been told you’ve an almost diabolical genius for expressing just + what a man or woman is really like—in character, I mean—in + your portraits.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t help it,” he said simply. “It comes—it reveals itself—if + you paint sincerely.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you—always paint sincerely?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I try to. Though once I got hauled over the coals pretty sharply for + doing so. My sitter happened to be a pretty society woman, possessed of + about as much soul as would cover a threepenny-bit, and when I’d finished + her portrait she simply turned and rent me. ‘I wanted a taking picture,’ + she informed me indignantly, ‘not the bones of my personality laid bare + for public inspection.’” + </p> + <p> + They were outside Magda’s dressing-room by this time, and Virginie, who + had flown to her nurseling the moment the dance was at an end, opened the + door in response to Lady Arabella’s preemptory knock. Gillian paused a + moment before entering the room. + </p> + <p> + “Yours is a wonderful gift of perception,” she said quietly. “It ought to + make you—very merciful.” + </p> + <p> + Michael looked at her swiftly. Her eyes seemed to be asking something of + him—entreating. But before he could speak Lady Arabella’s voice + interposed remorselessly. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, you two; and for goodness’ sake shut the door. There’s draught + enough to waft one to heaven.” + </p> + <p> + There was no choice but to obey, and silently Quarrington followed Mrs. + Grey into the room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <h3> + MICHAEL CHANGES HIS MIND + </h3> + <p> + Magda’s dressing-room at the Imperial Theatre was something rather special + in the way of dressing-rooms. It had been designed expressly for her by + the management, and boasted a beautifully appointed bathroom adjoining it + where she could luxuriate in a refreshing dip immediately after the strain + and fatigue of her work on the stage. + </p> + <p> + She had been very firm about the bathroom, airily dismissing a plaintive + murmur from the manager to the effect that they were “somewhat crowded for + space at the Imperial.” + </p> + <p> + “Then take another theatre, my dear man,” she had told him. “Or build! Or + give the <i>corps de ballet</i> one less dressing-room amongst them. But + if you want <i>me</i>, I must have a bathroom. If I dance, I bathe + afterwards. If not, I don’t dance.” + </p> + <p> + Being a star of the first magnitude, the Wielitzska could dictate her own + terms, and accordingly a bathroom she had. + </p> + <p> + She had just emerged from its white-tiled, silver-tapped luxury a few + minutes before Lady Arabella, together with Gillian and Michael + Quarrington, presented themselves at her dressing-room door, and they + found her ensconced in an easy-chair by the fire, sipping a cup of + steaming hot tea. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve brought Mr. Quarrington to see you,” announced Lady Arabella. “I + thought perhaps you’d like some other congratulations besides family + ones.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I permitted?” asked Quarrington, taking the hand Magda held out to + him. “Or are you too tired to be bothered with an outsider?” + </p> + <p> + Magda looked up at him. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve very glad to see you,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + She appeared unwontedly sweet and girlish as she sat there, clad in a + negligee of some soft silken stuff that clung about the lissom lines of + her figure, and with her satiny hair coiled in a simple knot at the nape + of her neck. There was little or nothing about her to remind one of the + successful ballerina, and Michael found himself poignantly recalling the + innocent, appealing charm of the Swan-Maiden. It was difficult to + associate this woman with that other who had so unconsciously turned down + his pal—the man who had loved her. + </p> + <p> + “Well? Did it go all right?” + </p> + <p> + Magda’s eyes sought Gillian’s eagerly as she put the question. + </p> + <p> + “Did it go?” Mrs. Grey’s voice held all the unqualified enthusiasm any + artiste could desire. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Magda! It was wonderful! The most wonderful, beautiful dance I’ve + ever seen.” + </p> + <p> + “And you know it as well as we do,” interpolated Lady Arabella tartly, but + smiling pridefully in spite of herself. + </p> + <p> + “Still, of course, she likes to hear us <i>say</i> it.” Gillian championed + her friend stoutly. + </p> + <p> + “The whole world will be saying it to-morrow,” observed Quarrington + quietly. + </p> + <p> + Here Virginie created a diversion by handing round cups of freshly brewed + tea. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll get nerves—drinking tea at this hour of the night,” + commented Lady Arabella, accepting a cup with alacrity, nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + “I take it very weak,” protested Magda, smiling faintly. “It’s the only + thing I like after dancing.” + </p> + <p> + But Lady Arabella was already deep in conversation with Gillian and + Virginie—a conversation which resolved itself chiefly into a + laudatory chorus regarding the evening’s performance. In the background + Magda’s maid moved quietly to and fro, carefully putting away her + mistress’s dancing dresses. For the moment Michael and Magda were to all + intents and purposes alone. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not easily forget to-night,” he said rather low, drawing a chair + up beside her. + </p> + <p> + “You liked it, then?” she asked hesitatingly—almost shyly. + </p> + <p> + “‘Like’ is hardly the word.” + </p> + <p> + Magda flashed him a swift glance. + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” she said slowly, “I’m the ‘type of woman you hate.’” + </p> + <p> + “You make it rather difficult to maintain the point of view,” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + She was silent a moment. + </p> + <p> + “You were very unkind to me that day,” she said at last. + </p> + <p> + Their eyes met and in hers was something soft and dangerously disarming. + Quarrington got up suddenly from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I was unkind to you so that I might not be unkind to myself,” he + replied curtly. + </p> + <p> + Magda’s soft laugh rippled out. + </p> + <p> + “But how selfish! And—and aren’t you being rather mysterious?” + </p> + <p> + “Am I?” he returned pointedly. “Surely self-preservation is the first + instinct of the human species?” + </p> + <p> + She picked up the challenge and tossed it lightly back to him. + </p> + <p> + “Is the danger, then, very great?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is. So, like a wise man, I propose to avoid it.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, by quitting the danger zone. I go to Paris to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “To Paris?” + </p> + <p> + Magda experienced a sudden feeling of blankness. It was inexplicable, but + somehow the knowledge that Quarrington was going away seemed to take all + the savour out of things. It was only by a supreme effort that she + contrived to keep her tone as light and unconcerned as his own as she + continued: + </p> + <p> + “And then—after Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “After Paris? Oh, Spain possibly. Or the Antipodes!”—with a short + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s talking about the Antipodes?” suddenly chimed in Lady Arabella. + “Home to bed’s my next move. Gillian, you come with me—the car can + take you on to Hampstead after dropping me in Park Lane. And Virginie can + drive back with Magda.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, do go with Marraine,” said Magda, nodding acquiescence in reply to + Gillian’s glance of interrogation. “I have to dress yet.” + </p> + <p> + There was a general move towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye”—Magda’s slim hand lay for a moment in Quarrington’s. “I—I’m + sorry you’re going away, Saint Michel.” + </p> + <p> + Only Michael heard the last two words, uttered in that <i>trainante</i>, + slightly husky voice that held so much of music and appeal. He turned + abruptly and made his way out of the room in the wake of Gillian and Lady + Arabella. + </p> + <p> + “You’d better postpone your visit to the Antipodes, Mr. Quarrington,” said + the latter, as presently they all three stood together in the vestibule, + halted by the stream of people pouring out from the theatre. “I’m giving a + dinner-party next week, with a ‘crush’ to follow. Stay and come to it.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s awfully kind of you, Lady Arabella, but I’m afraid it’s impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Fiddlesticks! You’re a free agent, aren’t you?”—looking at him + keenly. + </p> + <p> + A whimsical light gleamed for an instant in the grey eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I sometimes wonder if I am,” he returned. + </p> + <p> + “There’s only one cord I know of that can’t be either unknotted—or + cut. And that’s lack of money. That’s not your complaint”—significantly. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “So you’ll come?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid not.” + </p> + <p> + “Magda has promised to dance for me,” proceeded Lady Arabella, entirely + disregarding his quietly uttered negative. “They’re not giving <i>The + Swan-Maiden</i> that night at the Imperial. She can’t dine, of course, + poor dear. Really, dancers have a lot to put up with—or rather, to + put up <i>without</i>! Magda never dares to enjoy a good square meal. + Afraid of getting fat, of course! After all, a dancer’s figure’s her + fortune.” + </p> + <p> + Like a low, insistent undertone beneath the rattle of Lady Arabella’s + volubility Michael could hear again the murmur of a soft, dragging voice: + “I’m sorry you’re going away, Saint Michel.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed almost as though Lady Arabella, with that uncanny shrewdness of + hers, divined it. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll come, then?” She smiled at him over her shoulder, moving forward + as the crush in the vestibule lessened a little. + </p> + <p> + And Michael, with an odd expression in his eyes, answered suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’ll come.” + </p> + <p> + Later, as Lady Arabella and Gillian drove home together, the former + laughed quietly. There was an element of pride and triumph in the + laughter. Probably the hen who has reared a duckling and sees it sail off + into the water experiences, alongside her natural apprehension and + astonishment, a somewhat similar pride in the startling proclivities + evinced by her nurseling. + </p> + <p> + “That nice artist-man is in love with Magda,” crowed Lady Arabella + contentedly. + </p> + <p> + Gillian smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “I do. Only it’s very much against his will, for some reason or other. + Crossing from Dover to-morrow, forsooth!”—with a broad smile. “Not + he! He’ll be at my party—and asking Magda to marry him before the + week’s out, bar accidents! . . . After all, it’s not surprising that the + men are falling over each other to marry her. She’s really rather + wonderful. Where do you think she gets it all from, Gillian, my dear? Not + from the Vallincourts, I’ll swear!”—chuckling. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Grey shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. But I think Magda is a standing argument in favour of the + doctrine of reincarnation! She always seems to me to be a kind of modern + embodiment of Helen of Troy or Cleopatra.” + </p> + <p> + “Only without the capacity for falling in love! She’s as chilly as an + iceberg and yet somehow gives you the idea she’s all fire and passion. No + wonder the men get misled, poor lambs!” + </p> + <p> + “She’s not cold, really,” asserted Gillian positively. “Of that I’m sure. + No one could dance as she does—and be an iceberg.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella chuckled again, wickedly. + </p> + <p> + “A woman who can dance like that ought to be preceded through life by a + red flag. She positively stirs my old blood—that’s been at a + comfortably tepid temperature for the last thirty years!” + </p> + <p> + “Some day,” said Gillian, “she’ll fall in love. And then—” + </p> + <p> + “Then there’ll be fireworks.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella completed the sentence briskly just as the car pulled up in + front of her house. She skipped nimbly out on to the pavement. + </p> + <p> + “Fireworks, my dear,” she repeated emphatically. “And a very fine display, + too! Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + The car slid away north with Gillian inside it reflecting rather ruefully + upon the very great amount of probability contained in Lady Arabella’s + parting comment. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <h3> + THE GARDEN OF EDEN + </h3> + <p> + Lady Arabella’s big rooms were filling rapidly. The dinner to which only a + few of the elect had been bidden was over, and now those who had been + invited to the less exclusive reception which was to follow were eagerly + wending their way towards Park Lane. + </p> + <p> + The programme for the evening promised to be an attractive one. A solo + from Antoine Davilof, Lady Arabella’s pet lion-cub of the moment; a song + from the leading operatic tenor; and afterwards a single dance by the + Wielitzska—who could never be persuaded to perform at any other + private houses than those of her godmother and the Duchess of Lichbrooke—the + former’s half sister. So, in this respect, Lady Arabella enjoyed almost a + monopoly, and such occasions as the present were enthusiastically sought + after by her friends and acquaintances. Later, when the artistes had + concluded their programme, there was to be a dance. The ballroom, the + further end of which boasted a fair-sized stage, had been temporarily + arranged with chairs to accommodate an audience, and in one of the + anterooms Virginie, with loving, skilful fingers, was putting the + finishing touches to Magda’s toilette. + </p> + <p> + Magda submitted passively to her ministrations. She was thinking of + Michael Quarrington, the man who had come into her life by such strange + chance and who had so deliberately gone out of it again. By the very + manner of his going he had succeeded in impressing himself on her mind as + no other man had ever done. Other men did not shun her like the plague, + she reflected bitterly! + </p> + <p> + But from the very beginning he had shown her that he disapproved of her + fundamentally. She was the “type of woman he hated!” Night and day that + curt little phrase had bitten into her thoughts, stinging her with its + quiet contempt. + </p> + <p> + She felt irritated that she should care anything about his opinion. But if + she were candid with herself she had to admit that she did care, + intensely. More than that, his departure from England had left her + conscious of an insistent and unaccountable little ache. The knowledge + that there could be no more chance meetings, that he had gone right out of + her ken, seemed like the sudden closing of a door which had just been + opening to her. It had somehow taken the zest out of things. + </p> + <p> + “Voila!” Virginie drew back to survey the results of her labours, turning + for approval to Gillian, who was in attendance in her capacity of + accompanist. “Is it not that mademoiselle looks ravishing?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite ravishing, Virginie,” agreed Gillian. “Did you expect her to look + anything else by the time you had finished decking her out?” she added + teasingly. + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing that I do,” responded the old Frenchwoman seriously. + “Mademoiselle cannot help but be beautiful to the eye—<i>le bon dieu</i> + has created her like that.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe He has,” assented Gillian, smiling. + </p> + <p> + As she spoke the bell of the telephone instrument on the table beside her + rang imperatively and she lifted the receiver. Magda, watching her face as + she took the message, saw it suddenly blanch. + </p> + <p> + “Coppertop! . . . He’s ill!” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Ill?” Magda could hardly credit it. Two hours ago they had left the child + in perfect health. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Gillian swallowed, moistening her dry lips. “They’ve sent for the + doctor. It’s croup. Oh!”—despairingly, and letting the receiver fall + unheeded from her grasp—“What am I to do? What am I to do?” + </p> + <p> + Magda stepped forward, the filmy draperies of the dress in which she was + to dance floating cloudily about her as she moved. She picked up the + receiver as it hung dangling aimlessly from the stand and replaced it on + its clip. + </p> + <p> + “Do?” she said quietly. “Why, you’ll go straight home, of course. As + quickly as the car can take you. Virginie”—turning to the maid—“fly + and order the car round at once.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian looked at her distractedly. + </p> + <p> + “But you? Who’ll play for you? I can’t go! I can’t leave you!” Her voice + was shaken by sobs. “Oh, Coppertop!” + </p> + <p> + Magda slipped a comforting arm round her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you’ll go—and at once, too. See, here’s your coat”—lifting + it up from the back of the chair where Gillian had thrown it. “Put it on.” + </p> + <p> + Hardly conscious of what was happening, Gillian allowed herself to be + helped into the coat. Suddenly recollection returned. + </p> + <p> + “But your dance—your dance, Magda? You’ve forgotten!” + </p> + <p> + Magda shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No. It will be all right,” she said soothingly. “Don’t worry, + Gillyflower. <i>You’ve</i> forgotten that Davilof is playing here + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Antoine?” Gillian stared at her incredulously. “But you can’t ask him to + play for you! You’d hate asking him a favour after—after his refusal + to accompany you any more.” + </p> + <p> + Magda smiled at her reassuringly. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she said, and there was an unaffected kindliness in her voice + which few people ever heard. “My dear, I’m not going to let a little bit + of cheap pride keep you away from Coppertop.” + </p> + <p> + She bent suddenly and kissed Gillian’s white, miserable face just as + Virginie reappeared in the doorway to announce that the car was waiting. + </p> + <p> + “There, run along. Look, would you like to take Virginie with you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no.” Gillian shook her head decidedly. “I shall be quite all right. + Oh, Magda!”—impulsively drawing the slender figure close into her + arms a moment. “You are <i>good</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Magda laughed a trifle bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “That would be news to the world at large!” she replied. Then cheerfully: + “Now, don’t worry, Gillyflower. Remember they’ve got a doctor there. And + ‘phone me presently about Coppertop. If he’s worse, I’ll come home as + early as I can get away. Send the car straight back here.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as Gillian had gone, Magda flung a loose wrap over her diaphanous + draperies and turned to Virginie. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Monsieur Davilof? Do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui, mademoiselle</i>! I saw him through the doorway as I came + from ordering the car. He is in the library.” + </p> + <p> + “Alone?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oui, mademoiselle</i>!” Virginie nodded eloquently. “He smokes a + cigarette—to steady the nerves, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + Magda went swiftly out of the room. She reached the hall by way of an + unfrequented passage and slipped into the library closing the door behind + her. + </p> + <p> + “Antoine!” + </p> + <p> + At the sound of her voice Davilof, who had been standing by the fire, + wheeled round. + </p> + <p> + “You!” he exclaimed violently. “You!” And then remained silent, staring at + her. + </p> + <p> + “You knew I was dancing here to-night,” she said chidingly. “Why are you + so startled? We were bound to meet, weren’t we?” + </p> + <p> + “No, we were not. I proposed leaving the house the moment my solo was + over.” + </p> + <p> + Magda laughed a little. + </p> + <p> + “So afraid of me, Antoine?” she mocked gently. + </p> + <p> + He made no answer, but his hands, hanging at his sides, clenched suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Magda advanced a few steps towards him and paused. + </p> + <p> + “Davilof,” she said quietly. “Will you play for me to-night?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Play for you?” he repeated. “But you have Mrs. Grey.” + </p> + <p> + “No. She can’t accompany me this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “And you ask me?” His voice held blank amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Will you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember what I told you the last time we met? That I would never + play for you again?” + </p> + <p> + Magda drew her breath slowly. It was hurting her pride far more than + Gillian knew or could imagine to ask a favour of this man. And he wasn’t + going to make it easy for her, either—that was evident. But she must + ask it, nevertheless. For Gillian’s sake; for the sake of poor little + Coppertop fighting for breath and with no “mummie” at hand to help and + comfort him; and for the sake of Lady Arabella, too. After promising to + dance for her she couldn’t let her godmother down by crying off at the + last moment, when all the world and his wife had come crowding to her + house on the strength of that promise. + </p> + <p> + So she bent her head in response to Davilof’s contemptuous question. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “And you still ask me to play for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I still ask you.” + </p> + <p> + Davilof laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You amaze me! And supposing I reply by saying I refuse?” + </p> + <p> + “But you won’t,” dared Magda. + </p> + <p> + Davilof’s eyes held something of cruelty in their hazel depths as he + answered quietly: + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary—I do refuse.” + </p> + <p> + Her hand went up to her throat. It was going to be more difficult than she + had anticipated! + </p> + <p> + “There is no one else who can play for me as you do,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “No,” fiercely. “Because no one loves you as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the use of saying you love me when you won’t do the one little + thing I ask?” she retorted. “It is not often that I ask favours. And—and + no one has ever refused me a request before.” + </p> + <p> + Davilof could hear the note of proud resentment in her voice, and he + realised to the full that, in view of all that had passed between them in + the Mirror Room, it must have been a difficult matter for a woman of + Magda’s temperament to bring herself to ask his help. + </p> + <p> + But he had no intention of sparing her. None but himself knew how bitterly + she had hurt him, how cruelly she had stung his pride, when she had flung + him that contemptuous command: “I shall want you to-morrow, Davilof!—same + time.” He had unveiled his very soul before her—and in return she + had tossed him an order as though he were a lackey who had taken a + liberty. All his pain and brooding resentment came boiling up to the + surface. + </p> + <p> + “If I meant anything to you,” he said slowly, “if you had even looked upon + me as a friend, you could have asked what you liked of me. But you showed + me once—very clearly—that in your eyes I was nothing more than + your paid accompanist. Very well, then! Pay me—and I’ll play for you + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Pay you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not in money”—with a short laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Then—then what do you mean?” Her face had whitened a little. + </p> + <p> + “It’s quite simple. Later on there is a dance. Give me a dance with you!” + </p> + <p> + Magda hesitated. In other circumstances she would have refused + point-blank. Davilof had offended her—and more than that, the + revelation of the upsettingly vehement order of his passion for her that + day in the Mirror Room had frightened her not a little. There was + something stormy and elemental about it. To the caloric Pole, love was + love, and the fulfilment of his passion for the adored woman the supreme + necessity of life. + </p> + <p> + Realising that she had to withstand an ardour essentially unEnglish in its + violently inflammable quality, Magda was loth to add fuel to the flame. + And if she promised to dance with Davilof she must let him hold her in his + arms, risk that dangerous proximity which, she knew now, would set the + man’s wild pulses racing unsteadily and probably serve as the preliminary + to another tempestuous scene. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” Davilof broke in upon her self-communings. “Have I asked too high + a price?” + </p> + <p> + Time was flying. She must decide, and decide quickly. She took her courage + in both hands. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she returned quickly. “I will dance with you, Antoine.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Our bargain is complete, then,” he said ironically. “I shall be charmed + to play for you, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + An hour or so later the last burst of applause had died away, and the + well-dressed crowd which had sat in enthralled silence while the + Wielitzska danced emerged chattering and laughing from the great ballroom. + </p> + <p> + Their place was immediately taken by deft, felt-slippered men, who + proceeded swiftly to clear away the seats and the drugget which had been + laid to protect the surface of the dancing floor. In the twinkling of an + eye, as it were, they transformed what had been to all intents and + purposes a concert-hall into a flower-decked ballroom, while the members + of the band engaged for the dance began climbing agilely into their + allotted places on the raised platform preparatory to tuning up for the + evening’s work. + </p> + <p> + Magda, released at last from Virginie’s worshipfully careful hands, came + slowly down the main staircase. She was in black, diaphanous and elusive, + from which her flower-pale face and shoulders emerged like a water-lily + starring the dark pool on which it floats. A crimson rose glowed just + above her heart—that and her softly scarlet lips the only touches of + colour against the rare black-and-white loveliness of her. + </p> + <p> + She was descending the stairs reluctantly, mentally occupied in screwing + up courage to fulfil her promise to Davilof. A ‘phone message from Friars’ + Holm had come through saying that Coppertop was better. All danger was + passed and there was no longer any need for her to return early. So it + remained, now, for her to keep her pact with the musician. + </p> + <p> + As she rounded the last bend in the staircase, she saw that a man was + standing with bent head at the foot of the stairs, apparently waiting for + someone, and she threw a quick, nervous glance in the direction of the + motionless figure, thinking it might be Davilof himself. It would be like + his eager impatience to await her coming there. Then, as the lights + gleamed on fair, crisply waving hair she realised that the man was Michael—Michael, + whom she believed to be on his way to Spain! + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was merely chance, or perhaps it was at the direct inspiration + of Lady Arabella, but, whatever may have been the cause, Gillian had not + confided to Magda that Quarrington was to be at her godmother’s reception. + The sudden, totally unexpected meeting with him—with this man who + had contrived to dominate her thoughts so inexplicably—startled a + little cry of surprise from her lips. She drew back abruptly, and then—quite + how it happened she could not tell—but she missed her footing and + fell. + </p> + <p> + For the fraction of a second she experienced a horrible sensation of utter + helplessness to save herself; then Michael’s arms closed round her as he + caught her before she reached the ground. + </p> + <p> + The shock of the fall stupefied her for a moment. She lay against his + breast like a terrified child, clinging to him convulsively. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right,” he murmured soothingly. “You’re quite safe.” + </p> + <p> + Unconsciously his arms tightened round her. His breath quickened. The + satin-soft hair had brushed his cheek as she fell; the pale, exquisite + face and warm white throat lay close beneath his lips—all the + fragrant beauty of her gathered unresisting against his heart. He had only + to stoop his head—— + </p> + <p> + With a stifled exclamation he jerked himself backward, squaring his + shoulders, and released her, though he still steadied her with a hand + beneath her arm. + </p> + <p> + “There, you are all right,” he said reassuringly. “No bones broken.” + </p> + <p> + The commonplace words helped to restore her poise. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Thank you!” The words came a little gaspingly still. “I—I don’t + know how I came to fall like that. I think you startled me—I didn’t + expect to see you here.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t expect to be,” he returned, smiling a little. + </p> + <p> + Magda did not ask how it had come to pass. For the moment it was enough + for her that he <i>was</i> there—that he had not gone away! She was + conscious of a sudden incomprehensible sense of tumult within her. + </p> + <p> + “It was lucky for me you happened to be standing just at the foot of the + stairs,” she said a little unsteadily. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t ‘happen.’ I was there of <i>malice prepense</i>”—the + familiar crooked smile flashed out—“waiting for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Waiting for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Lady Arabella asked me to shepherd you into the supper-room and see + that you had a glass of champagne and a sandwich before the dancing + begins.” + </p> + <p> + “Orders from headquarters?”—smiling up at him. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his arm and they moved away together. As they passed through + the crowded rooms one man murmured ironically to another: + </p> + <p> + “Quarrington’s got it badly, I should say.” + </p> + <p> + The second man glanced after the pair with amused eyes. + </p> + <p> + “So he’s the latest victim, is he? I head young Raynham’s nose was out of + joint.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean she’s fired him?” + </p> + <p> + The other nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Got the push the day before yesterday,” he answered tersely. + </p> + <p> + “Poor devil! He’ll take it hard. He’s a hotheaded youngster. Just the sort + to go off and blow his brains out.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Quarrington had established Magda at a corner table in the empty + supper-room and was seeing to it that Lady Arabella’s commands were + obeyed, in spite of Magda’s assurances that she was not in the least + hungry. + </p> + <p> + “Then you ought to be,” he replied. “After dancing. Besides, unlike the + rest of us, you had no dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I had a light meal at six o’clock. But naturally, you can’t consume a + solid dinner just before giving a performance.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not going to pay you compliments about your dancing,” he observed + quietly, after a pause. “You must receive a surfeit of them. But”—looking + at her with those direct grey eyes of his—“I’m glad I didn’t leave + England when I intended to.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t you?” she asked impulsively. + </p> + <p> + He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Because it’s so much easier to yield to temptation than to resist,” he + answered, not taking his eyes from her face. + </p> + <p> + She flushed a little. + </p> + <p> + “What was the temptation?” she asked uncertainly. + </p> + <p> + He waited an instant, then answered with deliberation: + </p> + <p> + “The temptation of seeing you again.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought you disapproved of me far too much for that to be + the case! Saint Michel, don’t you think you’re rather hard on me?” + </p> + <p> + “Am I? I had an old-fashioned mother, you see. Perhaps my ideas about + women are out of date.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me them.” + </p> + <p> + He regarded her reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I? Well, I like to think of a woman as something sweet and + fragrant, infinitely tender and compassionate—not as a marauder and + despoiler. Wherever she comes, the place should be the happier for her + coming—not bereft by it. She should be the helper and healer in this + battered old world. That’s the sort of woman I should want my wife to be; + that’s the sort of woman my mother was.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think I’m—not like that? I’m the marauder, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + He remained silent, and Magda sat with her bent head, fingering the stem + of her wine-glass restlessly. + </p> + <p> + “You like my dancing?” she said at last. + </p> + <p> + “You know I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Well”—she looked at him with a mixture of defiance and appeal. “My + dancing is me—the real me.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “You’re not the ‘Swan-Maiden,’ whose love was so great that she forgot + everything except the man she loved—and paid for it with her life.” + </p> + <p> + “The process doesn’t sound exactly encouraging,” she retorted with a flash + of dry humour. “But how do you know I’m not—like that?” + </p> + <p> + “How do I know? Because, if you knew anything at all about love, you + couldn’t play with it as you do. Even the love you’ve no use for is the + biggest thing the poor devil who loves you has to offer you; you’ve no + right to play battledore and shuttlecock with it.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke lightly, but Magda could hear the stern accusation that underlay + the words. She rose from the table abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” she said, “I think I’m afraid of love.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke, she made a movement as though to quit the supper-room, but, + either by accident or design, Michael barred her way. + </p> + <p> + “Love,” he said, watching her face intently, “means sacrifice—surrender.” + </p> + <p> + “And you believe I’m not capable of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” he replied slowly, drawing aside to let her pass, “I think I’m + afraid to believe.” + </p> + <p> + Something in the deep tones of his voice sent a thrill of consciousness + through her. She felt her breath come and go unevenly and, afraid to trust + herself to speak, she moved forward without response in the direction of + the door. A moment later they were drawn into the stream of people wending + their way by twos and threes towards the ballroom. + </p> + <p> + As they entered, Antoine Davilof broke away from a little group of men + with whom he had been conversing and came to Magda’s side. + </p> + <p> + “The next dance is just beginning,” he said. “Are you engaged? Or may I + have it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m not engaged,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + She spoke flurriedly. She was dreading this dance with Antoine. She felt + as though the evening had drained her of her strength and left her unequal + to a battle of wills should Antoine prove to be in one of his hotheaded + moods. + </p> + <p> + She glanced round her with a hint of desperation in her eyes. If only + Michael had asked her to dance with him instead! But he had bowed and left + her as soon as the musician joined them, so that there was no escape to be + hoped for that way. + </p> + <p> + Davilof was watching her curiously. + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” he said, “that you’re afraid to dance with me!” + </p> + <p> + On an impulse she answered him with perfect candour. + </p> + <p> + “I believe I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you promise? You did promise, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. I promised. I promised because Coppertop had croup and they had + telephoned down for his mother to go to him. And you wouldn’t accompany me + unless I gave you this dance. So I promised it.” + </p> + <p> + Davilof’s eyes held a curiously concentrated expression. + </p> + <p> + “And you did this so that Mrs. Grey could go to her little boy—to + nurse him?” + </p> + <p> + Magda inclined her head. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said simply. + </p> + <p> + “But you hated asking me—<i>loathed</i> it!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said again. + </p> + <p> + He was silent for a moment. Then he drew back from her. “That was kind. + Extraordinarily kind,” he commented slowly. His expression was one of + frank amazement. “I did not believe you could be so kind—so + womanly.” + </p> + <p> + “Womanly?” she queried, puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. For is not a woman—a good woman—always ready to + sacrifice herself for those she loves?” + </p> + <p> + Magda almost jumped. It was as though she were listening to an echo of + Quarrington’s own words. + </p> + <p> + “And you sacrificed yourself,” continued Davilof. “Sacrificed your pride—crushed + it down for the sake of Mrs. Grey and little Coppertop. Mademoiselle”—he + bowed gravely—“I kiss your hands. And see, I too, I can be generous. + I release you from your promise. I do not claim that dance.” + </p> + <p> + If any single thing could have astonished Magda more than another, it was + that Davilof should voluntarily, in the circumstances, renounce the dance + she had promised him. It argued a fineness of perception and a generosity + for which she would never have given him credit. She felt a little warm + rush of gratitude towards him. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” she cried impulsively, “you shan’t give up your dance.” Then, as + he still hesitated: “I should <i>like</i> to dance with you—really I + should, Antoine. You’ve been so—so <i>decent</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Davilof’s face lit up. He looked radiant—like a child that has been + patted on the back and told it is good. + </p> + <p> + “No wonder we are all in love with you!” he exclaimed in low, vehement + tones; adding quickly, as he detected a flicker of apprehension in Magda’s + eyes: “But you need not fear to dance with me. I will be as your brother—I + will go on being ‘decent.’” + </p> + <p> + And he was. He danced as perfectly as any of his music-loving nationality + can dance, but there was a restraint, a punctilious deference about him + that, even while it amazed, availed to reassure Magda and restore her + shaken confidence in the man. + </p> + <p> + She did not realise or suspect that just those two simple actions of hers—the + good turn she had done Gillian at some considerable cost to herself in the + matter of personal pride, and her quick recognition of the musician’s + sense of fair play in renouncing his dance with her when he knew the + circumstances which had impelled her to promise it—these two things + had sufficed to turn Davilof’s heady, emotional devotion into something + more enduring and perhaps more dangerous, an abiding, deeply rooted love + and passion for her which was stronger than the man himself. + </p> + <p> + He left the house immediately after the conclusion of his dance with her, + and Magda was speedily surrounded by a crowd of would-be partners. But she + felt disinclined to dance again, and, always chary of her favours in this + respect, she remained watching the dancing in preference to taking any + part in it, exchanging small-talk with the men who, finding she could not + be induced to reconsider her decision, clustered round her chair like bees + round a honey-pot. + </p> + <p> + It was towards the end of the evening that Michael Quarrington finally + joined the group. Magda’s eyes rested on him with a mixture of annoyance + and approval—annoyance because she had expected him to ask her for a + dance quite early in the course of the programme and he had failed to do + so, and approval because he was of that clean-cut, fair-haired type of man + who invariably contrives to look particularly well-groomed and + thoroughbred in evening kit. + </p> + <p> + She had no intention of permitting him to request a dance at this late + hour, however, and rose from her seat as he approached. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You, Mr. Quarrington?” she said gaily. “I am just going home. It’s + been a charming evening, hasn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Charming,” he rejoined courteously. “May I see you to your car?” + </p> + <p> + He offered his arm and Magda, dismissing her little court of disgruntled + admirers with a small gracious nod, laid her slim hand on his sleeve. As + they moved away together the orchestra broke into the swinging seductive + rhythm of a waltz. + </p> + <p> + Quarrington paused abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t go yet!” he said. “Dance this with me.” + </p> + <p> + His voice sounded strained and uneven. It was as though the words were + dragged from him without his own volition. + </p> + <p> + For an instant the two pairs of eyes met—the long, dark ones with + their slumbrous fire brooding beneath white lids, and the keen, hawk-like + grey ones. Then: + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” she answered a trifle breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + She was almost glad when the waltz came to an end. They had danced it in + utter silence—a tense, packed silence, vibrant with significances + half-hidden, half-understood, and she found herself quivering with a + strange uncertainty and nervousness as she and Quarrington together made + their way into the dim-lit quiet of the winter-garden opening off the + ballroom. + </p> + <p> + Overhead the green, shining leaves of stephanotis spread a canopy, pale + clusters of its white, heavy-scented bloom gleaming star-like in the faint + light of Chinese lanterns swung from the leaf-clad roof. From somewhere + near at hand came the silvery, showering plash of a fountain playing—a + delicate and aerial little sound against the robust harmonies of the band, + like the notes of a harp. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Magda as though she and Michael had left the world behind + them and were quite alone, enfolded in the sweet-scented, tender silence + of some Garden of Eden. + </p> + <p> + They stood together without speaking. In every tingling nerve of her she + was acutely conscious of his proximity and of some rapidly rising tide of + emotion mounting within him. She knew the barrier against which it beat + and a little cry escaped her, forced from her by some impulse that was + stronger than herself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Saint Michel! Can’t you—can’t you believe in me?” + </p> + <p> + He swung round at the sound of her voice and the next moment she was + crushed against his breast, his mouth on hers, his kisses burning their + way to her very heart. . . . + </p> + <p> + Then voices, quick, light footsteps—someone else had discovered the + Eden of the winter-garden, and Michael released her abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Behind the chimneystacks the grey fingers of dawn were creeping up in the + sky as Magda drove home. In the wan light her face looked unusually pale, + and beneath the soft lace at her breast her heart throbbed unevenly. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes ago Michael had held her in his arms and she had felt herself + stirred to a sudden passionate surrender and response that frightened her. + </p> + <p> + Was this love—the love against which Diane had warned her? It had + all happened so suddenly—that last, unpremeditated dance, those + tense, vibrant moments in the winter-garden, then the jarring interruption + of other couples seeking its fragrant coolness. And she and Michael + suddenly apart. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards, only the barest conventionalities had passed between them. + Nothing else had seemed possible. Their solitude had been ruthlessly + destroyed; the outside world had thrust itself upon them without warning, + jerking them back to the self-consciousness of suddenly arrested emotion. + </p> + <p> + “I must be going.” The stilted, banal little phrase had fallen awkwardly + from Magda’s lips, and Quarrington had assented without comment. + </p> + <p> + She felt confused and bewildered. What had he meant? Had he meant anything + at all? Was it possible that he believed in her now—trusted her? It + had been in answer to that low, imploring cry of hers—“<i>Saint + Michel, can’t you believe in me?</i>”—that he had taken her in his + arms. + </p> + <p> + Looking out through the mist-blurred window at the pale streamers of + dawnlight penciling the sky, Magda’s eyes grew wistful—wonderingly + questioning the future. Was she, too, only waiting for the revelation of + dawn—the dawn of that mysterious thing called love which can + transmute this everyday old world of ours into heaven or hell? + </p> + <p> + Gillian was at the door to welcome her when at length the car pulled up at + Friars’ Holm. She looked rather white and there were purple shadows under + her eyes, but her lips smiled happily. + </p> + <p> + “Coppertop? How is he?” asked Magda quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Sleeping, thank God! He’s safe now! But—oh, Magda! It’s been + awful!” + </p> + <p> + And quite suddenly Gillian, who had faced Death and fought him with a + dogged courage and determination that had won the grave-eyed doctor’s rare + approval, broke down and burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + Magda petted and soothed her, until at last her sobs ceased and she smiled + through her tears. + </p> + <p> + “I <i>am</i> a fool!” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a moist, + screwed-up ball of something that had once been a cambric handkerchief. + “But I’ve quite recovered now—really. Come and tell me about + everything. Did Davilof play for you all right? And did you enjoy the + dance afterwards? And, oh, I forgot! There’s a letter for you on the + mantelpiece. It was delivered by hand while we were both at Lady + Arabella’s.” + </p> + <p> + Mechanically, as she responded to Gillian’s rapid fire of questions, Magda + picked up the square envelope propped against the clock and slit open the + flap. It was probably only some note of urgent invitation—she + received dozens of them. An instant later a half-stifled cry broke from + her. Gillian turned swiftly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked, a note of apprehension sharpening her voice. + </p> + <p> + Magda stared at her dumbly. Then she held out the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Read it,” she said flatly. “It’s from Kit Raynham’s mother.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s eyes flew along the two brief lines of writing: + </p> + <p> + “Kit has disappeared. Do you know where he is?—ALICIA RAYNHAM.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE FIRST REAPING + </h3> + <p> + At breakfast, some hours later, Magda was in a curiously petulant and + uncertain mood. To some extent her fractiousness was due to natural + reaction after the emotional excitement of the previous evening. Granted + the discovery of the Garden of Eden, and add to this the almost immediate + intrusion of outsiders therein—for everybody else is an “outsider” + to the pair in possession—and any woman might be forgiven for + suffering from slightly frayed nerves the following day. And in Magda’s + case she had been already rather keyed up by finding the preceding few + days punctuated by unwelcome and unaccustomed happenings. + </p> + <p> + They all dated from the day of the accident which had befallen her in the + fog. It almost seemed as though that grey curtain of fog had been a symbol + of the shadow which was beginning to dog her footsteps—the shadow + which stern moralists designate “unpleasant consequences.” + </p> + <p> + First there had been Michael Quarrington’s plain and candid utterance of + his opinion of her. Then had followed Davilof’s headlong wooing and his + refusal, when thwarted, to play for her again. He, too, had not precisely + glossed things over in that tirade of accusation and reproach which he had + levelled at her! + </p> + <p> + And now, just when it seemed as though she had put these other ugly + happenings behind her, Kit Raynham, who for the last six months had been + one of the little court of admirers which surrounded her, had seen fit to + complicate matters by vanishing without explanation; while his mother, in + an absurd maternal flurry of anxiety as to what had become of him, must + needs write to her as though it inevitably followed that she was + responsible for his disappearance! + </p> + <p> + Magda was conscious of an irritated sense of injury, which Gillian’s + rather apprehensive little comments on the absence of further news + concerning young Raynham scarcely tended to allay. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t be tiresome, Gillian!” she exclaimed. “The boy’s all right. I + expect he’s been having a joy-day—which has prolonged itself a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems he hasn’t been seen or heard of since the day before yesterday,” + responded Gillian gravely. “They’re afraid he may—may have committed + suicide”—she brought out the word with a rush. “They’ve been + dragging the lake at his home.” + </p> + <p> + Magda flared. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you hear all this—this nonsense? You said nothing about + it last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Lady Raynham told me. She rang up half an hour ago—before you were + down—to ask if by any chance we had had any news of him,” replied + Gillian gently. + </p> + <p> + Magda pushed away her plate and, leaving her breakfast unfinished, moved + restlessly across to the window. + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing about it in this morning’s paper, is there?” she asked. + Her tone sounded apprehensive. + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s eyes grew suddenly compassionate. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. There is—something,” she returned, laying her hand quickly + over the newspaper as though to withhold it. + </p> + <p> + But Magda swung round and snatched it from her. Gillian half rose from her + chair. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t look—don’t read it, Magda!” she entreated hastily. + </p> + <p> + The other made no response. Instead, she deliberately searched the columns + of the paper until she found a paragraph headed: Disappearance of the + Honourable Kit Raynham. + </p> + <p> + No exception could reasonably be taken to the paragraph in question. It + gave a brief resume of Kit Raynham’s short life up to date, referred to + the distinguished career which had been predicted for him, and, in + mentioning that he was one of the set of brilliant young folks of whom + Magda Wielitzska, the well-known dancer, was the acknowledged leader, it + conveyed a very slightly veiled hint that he, in particular, was accounted + one of her most devoted satellites. The sting of the paragraph lay in its + tail: + </p> + <p> + “It will be tragic indeed if it should eventually transpire that a young + life so full of exceptional promise has foundered in seas that only a + seasoned swimmer should essay.” + </p> + <p> + It was easy enough for Magda to read between the lines. If anything had + happened to Kit Raynham—if it were ultimately found that he had + taken his own life—society at large was prepared to censure her as + more or less responsible for the catastrophe! + </p> + <p> + Side by side with this paragraph was another—a panegyric on the + perfection of Wielitzska’s dancing as a whole, and dwelling particularly + upon her brilliant performance in <i>The Swan-Maiden</i>. + </p> + <p> + To Magda, the juxtaposition of the two paragraphs was almost unendurable. + That this supreme success should be marred and overshadowed by a possible + tragedy! She flung the newspaper to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “I think—I think the world’s going mad!” she exclaimed in a choked + voice. + </p> + <p> + Gillian looked across at her. Intuitively she apprehended the mental + conflict through which her friend was passing—the nervous + apprehension and resentment of the artiste that any extraneous happening + should infringe upon her success contending with the genuine regret she + would feel if some untoward accident had really befallen Kit Raynham. And + behind both these that strange, aloof detachment which seemed part of the + very fibre of her nature, and which Gillian knew would render it almost + impossible for her to admit or even realise that she was in any way + responsible for Kit Raynham’s fate—whatever it might be. + </p> + <p> + Of what had taken place in the winter-garden at Lady Arabella’s Gillian + was, of course, in ignorance, and she had therefore no idea that the + intrusion of Kit Raynham’s affairs at this particular juncture was doubly + unwelcome. But she could easily see that Magda was shaken out of her + customary sang-froid. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t worry, Magda.” The words sprang consolingly to her lips, but before + she could give them utterance Melrose opened the door and announced that + Lady Raynham was in the library. Would Mademoiselle Wielitzska see her? + </p> + <p> + The old man’s face wore a look of concern. They had heard all about the + disappearance of Lady Raynham’s son in the servants’ hall—the + evening papers had had it. Moreover, it always seems as though there + exists a species of wireless telepathy by which the domestic staff of any + household, great or small, speedily becomes acquainted with everything + good, bad, or indifferent—and particularly bad!—which affects + the folks “above-stairs.” + </p> + <p> + A brief uncomfortable pause succeeded Melrose’s announcement; then Magda + walked quietly out of the room into the library. + </p> + <p> + Lady Raynham rose from a low chair near the fire. She was a little, + insignificant woman, rather unfashionably attired, with neat grey hair and + an entirely undistinguished face, but as she stood there, motionless, + waiting for Magda to come up to her, she was quite unconsciously + impressive—transformed by that tragic dignity with which great + sorrow invests even the most commonplace of people. + </p> + <p> + Her thin, middle-aged features looked drawn and puckered by long hours of + strain. Her eyes were red-rimmed with sleeplessness. They searched Magda’s + face accusingly before she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “What have you done to my son?” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” Magda’s answering question came in almost breathless haste. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Raynham sat down suddenly. Her legs were trembling beneath her—had + been trembling uncontrollably even as she nerved herself to stand and + confront the woman at whose door she laid the ruin of her son. But now the + spurt of nervous energy was exhausted, and she sank back into her chair, + thankful for its support. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know where he is,” she said tonelessly. “I don’t even know + whether he is alive or dead.” + </p> + <p> + She fumbled in the wrist-bag she carried, and withdrawing a crumpled sheet + of notepaper held it out. Magda took it from her mechanically, + recognising, with a queer tightening of the muscles of her throat, the + boyish handwriting which sprawled across it. + </p> + <p> + “You want me to read this?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve <i>got</i> to read it,” replied the other harshly. “It is written + to you. I found it—after he’d gone.” + </p> + <p> + Her gaze fastened on Magda’s face and clung there unwaveringly while she + read the letter. + </p> + <p> + It was a wild, incoherent outpouring—the headlong confession of a + boy’s half-crazed infatuation for a beautiful woman. A pathetic enough + document in its confused medley of passionate demand and boyish + humbleness. The tragic significance of it was summed up in a few lines at + the end—lines which seemed to burn themselves into Magda’s brain: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it was cheek my hoping you could ever care, but you were so + sweet to me you made me think you did. I know now that you don’t—that + you never really cared a brass farthing, and I’m going right away. The + same world can’t hold us both any longer. So I’m going out of it.” + </p> + <p> + Magda looked up from the scrawled page and met the gaze of the sad, + merciless eyes that were fixed on her. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t you have left him alone?” Lady Raynham spoke in a low, difficult + voice. “You have men enough to pay you compliments and run your errands. + I’d only Kit. Couldn’t you have let me keep him? What did you want with my + boy’s love. You’d nothing to give him in return?” + </p> + <p> + “I had!” protested Magda indignantly. “You’re wrong. I was very fond of + Kit. I gave him my friendship.” + </p> + <p> + Her indignation was perfectly sincere. To her, it seemed that Lady Raynham + was taking up a most unwarrantable attitude. + </p> + <p> + “Friendship?” repeated the latter with bitter scorn. “Friendship? Then God + help the boys to whom you give it! Before Kit ever met you he was the best + and dearest son a woman could have had. He was keen on his work—wild + to get on. And he was so gifted it looked as if there were nothing in his + profession that he might not do. . . . Then you came! You turned his head, + filled his thoughts to the exclusion of all else—work, duty, + everything that matters to a lad of two-and-twenty. You spoilt his chances—spoilt + his whole life. And now I’ve lost him. I don’t know where he is—whether + he is dead or alive.” She paused. “I think he’s dead,” she said dully. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry if—” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry!” Lady Raynham interrupted hysterically. Her composure was giving + way under the strain of the interview. “Sorry if my son has taken his own + life—” + </p> + <p> + “He hasn’t,” asserted Magda desperately. “He was far too sensible and—and + ordinary.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Till you turned his head!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Raynham rose and walked towards the door as though she had said all + she came to say. Magda sprang to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t—I won’t be blamed like this!” she exclaimed rebelliously. + “It’s unfair! Can I help it if your son chose to fall in love with me? You—you + might as well hold me responsible because he is tall or short—or + good or bad!” + </p> + <p> + The other stopped suddenly on her way to the door as though arrested by + that last defiant phrase. + </p> + <p> + “I do,” she said sternly. “It’s women like you who are responsible whether + men are good—or bad.” + </p> + <p> + In silence Magda watched the small, unassuming figure disappear through + the doorway. She felt powerless to frame a reply, nor had Lady Raynham + waited for one. If her boy were indeed dead—dead by his own hand—she + had at least cleared his memory, laid the burden of the mad, rash act he + had committed on the shoulders that deserved to bear it. + </p> + <p> + Normally a shy, retiring kind of woman, loathing anything in the nature of + a scene, the tragedy which had befallen her son had inspired Alicia + Raynham with the reckless courage of a tigress defending its young. And + now that the strain was over and she found herself once more in her + brougham, driving homeward with the familiar clip-clop of the fat old + carriage-horse’s hoofs in her ears, she shrank back against the cushions + marvelling at the temerity which had swept her into the Wielitzska’s + presence and endowed her with words that cut like a two-edged sword. + </p> + <p> + Like a two-edged sword in very truth! Lady Raynham’s final thrust, + stabbing at her with its stern denunciation, brought back vividly to Magda + Michael Quarrington’s bitter speech—“I’ve no place for your kind of + woman.” + </p> + <p> + Side by side with the recollection came a sudden dart of fear. How would + all this stir about Kit Raynham—the impending gossip and censure + which seemed likely to be accorded her—affect him? Would he judge + her again—as he had judged her before? + </p> + <p> + She was conscious of a fresh impulse of anger against Lady Raynham. She + wanted to forget the past—blot it all out of her memory—and + out of the memory of the man whose contempt had hurt her more than + anything in her whole life before. And now it seemed as though everything + were combining to emphasise those very things which had earned his scorn. + </p> + <p> + But, apart from a certain apprehension as to how the whole affair might + appear in Michael’s eyes, she was characteristically unimpressed by her + interview with Lady Raynham. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see,” she told Gillian indignantly, “that I’m to blame because + the boy lost his head. His mother was—stupid.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian regarded her consideringly. To her, the whole pitiful tragedy was + so clear. She could envisage the point of view of Kit’s mother only too + well, and sympathise with it. Yet, understanding Magda better than most + people did, she realised that the dancer was hardly as culpable as Lady + Raynham thought her. + </p> + <p> + Homage and admiration were as natural to Magda as the air she breathed, + and it made very little impression on her whether a man more or less lost + his heart to her or not. Moreover, as Gillian recognised it was almost + inevitable that this should be the case. The influences by which Magda had + been surrounded during the first ten plastic years of childhood had all + tended to imbue her with the idea that men were only to be regarded as + playthings, and that from the simple standpoint of self-defence it was + wiser not to take them seriously. If you did, they invariably showed a + disposition to become tyrants. Gillian made allowance for this; + nevertheless she had no intention of letting Magda down lightly. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you were created without a soul,” she informed her candidly. + </p> + <p> + Magda smiled a little. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know you’re the second person to tell me that?” she said. “The + idea’s not a bit original. Michael Quarrington told me the same thing in + other words. Perhaps, perhaps it’s true.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, it’s not true!” Gillian contradicted her warmly. “I only said + it because I was so out of patience with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody seems to be hating me rather badly just now.” Magda spoke + somewhat forlornly. “And yet—I don’t think I’m any different from + usual.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you are,” retorted Gillian. “But it’s your ‘usual’ that’s + so disastrous. You go sailing through life like a beautiful cold star—perfectly + impassive and heartless.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not heartless. I love you—and Marraine. You surely don’t blame + me because I don’t ‘fall in love’? . . . I don’t <i>want</i> to fall in + love,” she added with sudden vehemence. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to goodness you would!” exclaimed Gillian impatiently. “If only + you cared enough about anybody to do something really outrageous—run + off with another woman’s husband, even—I believe I should respect + you more than I do now.” + </p> + <p> + Magda laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Gillyflower, I’m afraid you’ve no morals. And you here in the capacity of + watchdog and duenna, too!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all very well to make a joke of everything. But I know—I’m + sure this business about Kit Raynham is going to be more serious than you + think. It’s bound to affect you.” + </p> + <p> + Magda stared at her blankly. + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense! Affect me—why should it? How can it?” + </p> + <p> + “How can it?”—with bitterness. “Everyone will talk—more than + usual! You can’t smash up people’s only sons—not lovable, popular + boys like Kit—without there being a fuss. You—you should have + left a kid like that alone.” + </p> + <p> + And she went out of the room, banging the door behind her like a big + full-stop. + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s prophecy proved only too accurate. People did talk. Kit Raynham + had been a general favourite in society, and his disappearance, taken in + conjunction with the well-known fact of his infatuation for Magda, created + a sensation. + </p> + <p> + Even when the theory of suicide was finally disproved by his mother’s + receiving a letter from Australia, whither it appeared, the boy had + betaken himself and his disappointment, people seemed at first disinclined + to overlook Magda’s share in the matter. For a time even her immense + prestige as a dancer suffered some eclipse, but this, with a performer of + her supreme artistry, was bound to be only a passing phase. + </p> + <p> + The world will always condone where it wants to be amused. And—now + that the gloom of young Raynham’s supposed suicide was lifted from the + affair—there was a definite aroma of romance about it which was not + without its appeal to the younger generation. + </p> + <p> + So that gradually the pendulum swung back and Magda’s audiences were once + again as big and enthusiastic as ever. Perhaps even more enthusiastic, + since the existence of a romantic and dramatic attachment sheds a certain + glamour about any well-known artiste. + </p> + <p> + All of which affected Magda herself comparatively little—though it + irritated her that her actions should be criticised. What did affect her, + however, absorbing her thoughts to the exclusion of all other matters, was + that since the night of Lady Arabella’s reception she had received neither + word nor sign from Michael Quarrington. + </p> + <p> + She could not understand it. Had he been a different type of man she might + have credited him with having yielded to a sudden impulse, kissing her as + some men will kiss women—lightly and without giving or asking more + than the moment’s caress. + </p> + <p> + But Quarrington was essentially not the man to be carried away by a + passing fancy. That he had cared for her against his will, against his + better judgment, Magda could not but realise. <i>But he had cared!</i> She + was sure of it. And he was the only man for whom her own pulses had ever + beaten one whit the faster. + </p> + <p> + His touch, the sound of his voice, the swift, hawk-like glance of those + grey eyes of his, had power to wake in her a vague tumult of emotion at + once sweet and frightening; and in that brief moment in the “Garden of + Eden,” when he had held her in his arms, she had been tremulously ready to + yield—to surrender to the love which claimed her. + </p> + <p> + But the days had multiplied to weeks and still the silence which had + followed remained unbroken. As far as Magda was concerned, Michael seemed + to have walked straight out of her life, and she was too proud—and + too much hurt—to inquire amongst her friends for news of him. It was + her godmother who finally tersely enlightened her as to his whereabouts. + </p> + <p> + Characteristically, Lady Arabella had withheld her judgment regarding the + Kit Raynham affair until it was found that he had betaken himself off to + Australia. But when the whole of the facts were evident, she allowed + nothing—neither the romantic dreams of the episode nor her own warm + affection for her god-daughter—to obscure her clear-sighted vision. + </p> + <p> + Magda twisted her slim shoulders irritably when taken to task. + </p> + <p> + “I think I’m tired of being blamed for Kit Raynham’s idiocy,” she said, a + note of resentment in her voice. “No one seems to consider my side of the + question! I was merely nice to him in an ordinary sort of way, and there + wasn’t the least need for him to have chucked up everything and rushed off + to the other side of the world like that. <i>I</i> couldn’t help it!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella made a gesture of despair. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe you could,” she acknowledged helplessly. “I’m really + beginning to have a sneaking sympathy with poor Hugh for shelving the + responsibility of having brought you into the world. But at least you + might refrain from baby-snatching!” she added wrathfully. + </p> + <p> + Magda protested. + </p> + <p> + “Marraine! You’re abominable! Kit is four-and-twenty if he’s a day. And + I’m barely twenty.” + </p> + <p> + “That has nothing whatever to do with it,” retorted Lady Arabella + incisively. “Kit is a babe in arms, while you—you’re as old as Eve.” + She paused. “Anyway, you’ve broken his heart and driven him to the ends of + the earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Where he’ll probably paste together the pieces and offer the repaired + article to someone else.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella looked up sharply. Cynicism was usually far enough away from + Magda. She was too full of the joy of life and of the genuine delight an + artist finds in his art to have place for it. Egoist she might be, with + the unthinking egotism of youth, irresponsible in her gay acceptance of + the love and admiration showered on her, but there was nothing bitter or + sour in her composition. Lady Arabella, seeking an explanation for the + unwonted, cast her mind back on the events of the last few weeks—and + smiled to herself. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you know you’ve driven someone else out of England besides Kit + Raynham?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Whom do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Magda spoke mechanically. A faint colour crept up under her white skin, + and she avoided her godmother’s keen gaze. + </p> + <p> + “That charming artist-man—Michael Quarrington.” + </p> + <p> + “Has—he left England?” Magda’s throat felt suddenly parched. Then + with an effort she went on: “You’re surely not going to put the entire + steamship’s passenger list down to me, Marraine?” + </p> + <p> + “Only those names for which I happen to know you’re responsible.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know about Saint Mi—about Mr. Quarrington. It’s mere + guesswork on your part.” + </p> + <p> + “Most of the things we really know in life are mere guesswork,” replied + Lady Arabella sagely. “But in this case——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. In this case?” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause. Then Lady Arabella answered slowly: + </p> + <p> + “In this case I’m speaking from first-hand information.” + </p> + <p> + Magda’s slender figure tautened. She moistened her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that Mr. Quarrington told you he was leaving England on my + account?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t often meddle, Magda—not really meddle.” Lady Arabella’s + voice sounded unusually deprecating. “But I did in this instance. Because—oh, + my dear, he’s the only man I’ve ever seen to whom I’d be glad to give you + up. He’d—he’d manage you, Magda.” + </p> + <p> + Magda’s head was turned away, but the sudden scarlet flush that flew up + into her face surged over even the white nape of her neck. + </p> + <p> + “And he loves you,” went on Lady Arabella, her voice softening incredibly. + “It’s only a man here or there who really <i>loves</i> a woman, my dear. + Most of them whip up a hotch-potch of quite commonplace feelings with a + dash of passion and call it love, while all they actually want is a good + housekeeper and presentable hostess and someone to carry on the name.” + </p> + <p> + No answer came from Magda, unless a stifled murmur could be regarded as + such, and after a few minutes Lady Arabella spoke again, irritably. + </p> + <p> + “Why couldn’t you have left Kit alone?” + </p> + <p> + Magda raised her head. + </p> + <p> + “What has that to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything”—succinctly. “I told you I meddled. Michael Quarrington + came to see me before he went away—and I know precisely why he left + England. I asked him to go and see you before he sailed.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say?” The words were almost inaudible. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella hesitated. Then she quoted quickly: “‘There is no need. She + will understand.’” + </p> + <p> + To Magda the brief sentence held all the finality of the bolting and + barring of a door. So Quarrington, like everyone else, had heard the story + of Kit Raynham! And he had judged and sentenced her. + </p> + <p> + That night in the winter-garden he had been on the verge of trusting her, + ready to believe in her, and she had vowed to herself that she would prove + worthy of his trust. She had meant never to fall short of all that Michael + demanded in the woman he loved. And now, before she had had a chance to + justify his hardly-won belief, the past had risen up to destroy her, + surging over her like a great tidal wave and sweeping away the whole + fabric of the happiness she had visioned. + </p> + <p> + She had not wholly realised before that she loved. But she knew now. As + the empty weeks dragged along she learned what it meant to long for the + beloved one’s presence—the sound and touch of voice or hand—with + an aching, unassuagable longing that seems to fuse body and soul into a + single entity of pain. + </p> + <p> + Outwardly she appeared unchanged. Her pride was indomitable, and exactly + how much Michael’s going had meant to her not even Gillian suspected—though + the latter was too sensitive and sympathetic not to realise that Magda had + passed through some experience which had touched her keenly. Ignorant of + the incidents that had occurred on the night of Lady Arabella’s party, she + was disposed to assign the soreness of spirit she discerned in her friend + to the general happenings which had followed from the Raynham episode. And + amongst these she gave a certain definite place to the abrupt withdrawal + of Quarrington’s friendship, and resented it. She felt curiously + disappointed in the man. With such fine perceptive faculty as he possessed + she would have expected him to be more tolerant—more merciful in his + judgment. + </p> + <p> + Once she had tentatively approached the subject, but Magda had clearly + indicated that she had no intention of discussing it. + </p> + <p> + Not even to Gillian, whom she had gradually come to look upon as her + closest friend, could Magda unveil the wound to her pride. No one, no one + in the whole world, should know that she had been ready to give her love—and + that the offering had been silently, but none the less decisively, + rejected. + </p> + <p> + Diane’s warning now found its echo in her own heart: “Never give your + heart to any man. If you do he will only break it for you—break it + into little pieces like the glass scent-bottle which you dropped + yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “She was right,” Magda told herself bitterly. “A thousand times right!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <h3> + THE BACK OF BEYOND + </h3> + <p> + The season was drawing to its close. London lay sweltering under a + heat-wave which had robbed the trees in the Park of their fresh June + greenness and converted the progress of foot-passengers along its sultry + pavements into something which called to mind the mediaeval ordeal of + walking over hot ploughshares. + </p> + <p> + Even the garden at Friars’ Holm, usually a coolly green oasis in the midst + of the surrounding streets, seemed as airless as any back court or alley, + and Coppertop, who had been romping ever more and more flaggingly with a + fox-terrier puppy he had recently acquired, finally gave up the effort and + flung himself down, red-faced and panting, on the lawn where his mother + and Magda were sitting. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it nearly time for us to go to the seaside, mummie?” he inquired + plaintively. + </p> + <p> + Magda smiled down at the small wistful face. + </p> + <p> + “How would you like to go to the country instead, Topkins?” she asked. “To + a farm where they have pigs and horses and cows, and heaps of cream—” + </p> + <p> + “And strawberries?” interpolated Coppertop pertinently. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course. Or, no—they’ll be over by the time we get there. But + there’ll be raspberries. That’s just as good, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + Gillian looked up, smiling a little. + </p> + <p> + “It’s settled we’re going ‘there,’ then—wherever it is?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you’d like it, Gillyflower?” asked Magda. “It’s a farm I’ve + heard of in Devonshire, where they want to take paying-guests for the + summer.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian, guessing from Magda’s manner that the whole matter was + practically arranged, nodded acquiescence. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I should. But will <i>you</i>?”—whimsically. She glanced + at the sophisticated simplicity of Magda’s white gown, at the narrow suede + shoes and filmy stockings—every detail of her dress and person + breathing the expensiveness and luxury and highly specialised civilisation + of the city. “Somehow I can’t imagine you—on a farm in the depths of + the country! I believe you’ll hate it.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall like it.” Magda got up restlessly. “I’m sick of society and the + theatre and the eternal gossip that goes on in London. I—I want to + get away from it all!” + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s thoughts turned back to the happenings of the last few months. + She thought she understood what lay behind Magda’s sudden decision to bury + herself in the country. + </p> + <p> + “Have you taken rooms at this farm?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have”—shortly. Then, with one of those sudden flashes of + affectionate insight which were part of her essential lovableness, she + went on: “Gilly, are you sure you don’t mind? I ought to have asked you + first”—remorsefully. “I expect you’ll be bored to death. Perhaps + you’d rather not come?” + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s quiet brown eyes smiled at her reassuringly. + </p> + <p> + “‘Where thou goest—‘” she quoted. “Of course I want to come. I’ve + never been to Devonshire. And I know Coppertop will adore the pigs and + cows—” + </p> + <p> + “And cream,” put in Coppertop ruminatively. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about the place,” said Gillian. “How did you hear of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Through the prosaic columns of the <i>Daily Post</i>,” replied Magda. “I + didn’t want a place recommended by anyone I knew. That doesn’t cut the + connecting line one bit. Probably the people who’ve recommended it to you + decide to look you up in their car, just when you think you’re safely + buried, and disinter you. I don’t <i>want</i> to be disinterred. I propose + to get right away into the country, out of reach of everybody we know, for + two months. I shan’t give our address to anyone except Melrose, and he can + forward on all letters.” A small amused smile crossed her lips. “Then we + can answer them or not, exactly as we feel disposed. It will be heavenly.” + </p> + <p> + “Still I don’t know where this particular paradise is which you’ve + selected,” returned Gillian patiently. + </p> + <p> + “It’s at the back of beyond—a tiny village in Devonshire called + Ashencombe. I just managed to find it on the Ordnance map with a + magnifying glass! The farm itself is called Stockleigh and is owned and + farmed by some people named Storran. The answer to my letter was signed + Dan Storran. Hasn’t it a nice sound—Storran of Stockleigh?” + </p> + <p> + “And did you engage the rooms on those grounds, may I ask? Because the + proprietor’s name ‘had a nice sound’?” + </p> + <p> + Magda regarded her seriously. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, I really believe that had a lot to do with it,” she + acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + Gillian went off into a little gale of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “How like you!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + The train steamed fussily out of Ashencombe station, leaving Magda, + Gillian, and Coppertop, together with sundry trunks and suitcases, in + undisputed possession of the extremely amateurish-looking platform. Magda + glanced about her with amusement. + </p> + <p> + “What a ridiculous little wayside place!” she exclaimed. “It has a kind of + ‘home-made’ appearance, hasn’t it? You’d hardly expect a real bona fide + train to stop here!” + </p> + <p> + “This your luggage, miss?” + </p> + <p> + A porter—or, to be accurate, <i>the</i> porter, since Ashencombe + boasted but one—addressed her abruptly. From a certain inimical + gleam in his eye Magda surmised that he had overheard her criticism. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” She nodded smilingly. “Is there a trap of any kind to meet us?” + </p> + <p> + Being a man as well as a porter he melted at once under Magda’s disarming + smile, and replied with a sudden accession of amiability. + </p> + <p> + “Be you going to Stockleigh?” he asked. The soft sing-song intonation + common to all Devon voices fell very pleasantly on ears accustomed to the + Cockney twang of London streets. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to Storran of Stockleigh,” announced Coppertop importantly. + </p> + <p> + The porter’s mouth widened into an appreciative grin. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right, young master, and there’s the wagonette from the Crown and + Bells waiting to take you there.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later, the luggage precariously piled up on the box-seat + beside the driver, they were ambling through the leafy Devon lanes at an + unhurried pace apparently dictated by the somewhat ancient quadruped + between the shafts. The driver swished his whip negligently above the + animal’s broad back, but presumably more with the idea of keeping off the + flies than with any hope of accelerating his speed. There would be no + other train to meet at Ashencombe until the down mail, due four hours + later, so why hurry? No one ever appears to be in a hurry in the leisurely + West Country—a refreshing characteristic in a world elsewhere so + perforated by tubes and shaken by the ubiquitous motor-bus. + </p> + <p> + Magda leaned back in the wagonette with a sigh of pleasure. The drowsy, + sunshiny peace of the July afternoon seemed very far removed from the + torrid rush and roar of the previous day in London. + </p> + <p> + It was almost like entering another world. Instead of the crowded, + wood-paved streets, redolent of petrol, this winding ribbon of a lane + where the brambles and tufted grass leaned down from close-set hedges to + brush the wheels of the carriage as it passed. Overhead, a restful sky of + misty blue flecked with wisps of white cloud, while each inconsequent turn + of the narrow twisting road revealed a sudden glimpse of distant purple + hills, or a small friendly cottage built of cob and crowned with yellow + thatch, or high-hedged fields of standing corn, deepening to gold and + quiveringly still as the sea on a windless afternoon. + </p> + <p> + At last the wagonette swung round an incredibly sharp turn and rumbled + between two granite posts—long since denuded of the gate which had + once swung between them—pulling up in front of a low, two-storied + house, which seemed to convey a pleasant sense of welcome, as some houses + do. + </p> + <p> + The casement windows stood wide open and through them you caught glimpses + of white curtains looped back with lavender ribbons. Roses, pink and white + and red, nodded their heads to you from the walls, even peering out + impertinently to catch the sun from beneath the eaves of the roof, whose + thatch had mellowed to a somber brown with wind and weather. Above the + doorway trails of budding honeysuckle challenged the supremacy of more + roses in their summer prime, and just within, in the cool shadow of the + porch, stood a woman’s slender figure. + </p> + <p> + Gillian never forgot that first glimpse of June Storran. She looked very + simple and girlish as she stood there, framed in the rose-covered trellis + of the porch, waiting with a slight stir of nervousness to receive the + travellers. The sunlight, filtering between the leaves of the honeysuckle, + dappled her ash-blond hair with hovering flecks of gold, and a faint, shy + smile curved her lips as she came forward, a little hesitatingly, to greet + them. + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad to see you,” she said. “Dan—my husband had to go to + Exeter to-day. He was sorry he could not meet you himself at the station.” + </p> + <p> + As she and Magda stood side by side the contrast between them was + curiously marked—the one in her obviously homemade cotton frock, + with her total absence of poise and her look of extreme youth hardly + seeming the married woman that she was, the other gowned with the + simplicity of line and detailed finish achieved only by a great + dressmaker, her quiet assurance and distinctive little air of <i>savoir + vivre</i> setting her worlds apart from Dan Storran’s young wife. + </p> + <p> + “Will you come in? The man will see to your luggage.” + </p> + <p> + June was speaking again, still shyly but with her shyness tempered by a + sensitive instinct of hospitality. She led the way into the house and they + followed her through a big, low-raftered living-room and up a flight of + slippery oak stairs. + </p> + <p> + “These are your rooms,” said June, pausing at last at the end of a + rambling passage-way. “I hope”—she flushed a little anxiously—“I + do hope you will like them. I’ve made them as nice as I could. But, of + course”—she glanced at Magda deprecatingly—“you will find them + very different from London rooms.” + </p> + <p> + Magda flashed her a charming smile. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure we shall love them,” she answered, glancing about her with + genuine appreciation. + </p> + <p> + The rooms were very simply furnished, but sweet and fresh with chintz and + flowers, and the whitewashed ceilings, sloping at odd, unexpected angles, + gave them a quaint attractiveness. The somewhat coarse but spotless + bed-linen exhaled a faint fragrance of lavender. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to charge extra for the view alone,” observed Gillian, going to + one of the open lattice windows and looking across the rise and fall of + hill and valley to where the distant slopes of Dartmoor, its craggy tors + veiled in a grey-blue haze, rimmed the horizon. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you didn’t think the terms too high?” said June. “You see, I—we + never had paying-guests before, and I really didn’t know what would be + considered fair. I do hope you’ll be happy and comfortable here,” she + added timidly. + </p> + <p> + There was something very appealing in her ingenuousness and wistful desire + to please, and Magda reassured her quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t any doubt about it,” she said, smiling. “This is such a + charming house”—glancing about her—“so dear and old-fashioned. + I think it’s very good of you to let us share your home for a little + while. It will be a lovely holiday for us.” + </p> + <p> + June Storran had no possibility of knowing that this dark, slender woman + to whom she had let her rooms was the famous dancer, Magda Wielitzska, + since the rooms had been engaged in the name of Miss Vallincourt, but she + responded to Magda’s unfailing charm as a flower to the sun. + </p> + <p> + “It will be lovely for us, too,” she replied. “Do you know, we were so + frightened about putting in that advertisement you answered! Dan was + terribly against it.” A troubled little frown knitted her level brows. + “But we’ve had such bad luck on the farm since we were married—the + rain spoilt all our crops last year and we lost several valuable animals—so + I thought it would help a bit if we took paying-guests this summer. But + Dan didn’t really approve.” + </p> + <p> + “I can quite understand,” said Gillian. “Naturally he wanted to keep his + home to himself—an Englishman’s home is his castle, you know! And I + expect”—smilingly—“you haven’t been married very long.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Storran flushed rosily. She was evidently a sensitive little person, + and the blood came and went quickly under her clear skin at the least + provocation. + </p> + <p> + “Not very long,” she acknowledged. “But we’ve been very happy—in + spite of our bad luck on the farm! After all, that’s what matters, isn’t + it?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the only thing that really matters at all,” said Gillian. Her eyes + had grown suddenly soft with some tender recollection of the past. “But + you mustn’t let us give you a lot of trouble while we’re here. You don’t + look over-strong.” Her glance rested kindly on her hostess’s young face. + In spite of its dewy blue eyes and clear skin with the tinge of wild-rose + pink in the cheeks, it conveyed a certain impression of fragility. She + looked almost as though a vigorous puff of wind might blow her away. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m quite well. Of course I found looking after a farmhouse rather + heavy work—just at first. I hadn’t been used to it, and we can’t + afford to keep a servant. You see, I married Dan against the wishes of my + people, so of course we couldn’t accept any help from them, though they + have offered it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why not,” objected Magda. “They can’t feel very badly about + it if they are willing to help you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no—they would, gladly. But Dan would hate it in the + circumstances. You can understand that, can’t you?”—appealingly. “He + wants to justify himself—to prove that he can keep his own wife. + He’d be too proud to let me take anything from them.” + </p> + <p> + “Storran of Stockleigh appears to be considerably less attractive than his + name,” summed up Gillian, as, half an hour later, she and Magda and + Coppertop were seated round a rustic wooden table in the garden partaking + of a typical Devonshire tea with its concomitants of jam and clotted + cream. + </p> + <p> + “Apparently,” she continued, “he has married ‘above him.’ Little Mrs. + Storran obviously comes of good stock, while I expect he himself is just + an ordinary sort of farmer and doesn’t half appreciate her. Anyway, he + doesn’t seem to consider her much.” + </p> + <p> + Magda made no answer. Characteristically her interest in June Storran had + evaporated, pushed aside by something of more personal concern. + </p> + <p> + “This is the most restful, peaceful spot I’ve ever struck,” she said, + leaning back with a sigh of pleasure. “Isn’t it lovely, Gilly? There’s + something homelike and friendly about the whole landscape—a sort of + <i>intimate</i> feeling. I feel as if I’d known it all for years—and + should like to know it for years more! Don’t they say Devon folk always + want to come home to die? I’m not surprised.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s very beautiful,” agreed Gillian, her gaze resting contentedly + on the gracious curves of green and golden fields, broken here and there + by stretches of ploughed land glowing warmly red between the ripening corn + and short-cropped pasture. + </p> + <p> + “I believe I could be quite good here, Gillyflower,” pursued Magda + reflectively. “Just live happily from one day to the next, breathing this + glorious air, and eating plain, simple food, and feeding those adorable + fluffy yellow balls Mrs. Storran calls chickens, and churning butter and—” + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s ringing, whole-hearted laughter checked this enthusiastic + epitome of the simple life. + </p> + <p> + “Never, Magda!” she asserted, shaking her head. “I’m quite expecting you + to get bored in about a week and to rush me off to Deauville or somewhere + of that ilk. And as to being ‘good’—why, it isn’t in you!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not so sure.” Magda rose and together they strolled over the grass + towards the house, Coppertop skirmishing happily behind them. “I really + think I might be good here—if only for the sole reason that there’s + no temptation to be anything else”—drily. + </p> + <p> + As she spoke a gate clicked close at hand. Followed the sound of quick, + striding steps, and the next moment a man’s figure rounded the tall yew + hedge which skirted the foot of the garden and came towards them. + </p> + <p> + He was a big giant of a man—at least six foot two in his socks, and + proportionately broad and muscular in build. There was something free and + bold in his swinging gait that seemed to challenge the whole world. It + suggested an almost fierce independence of spirit that would give or take + as it chose, but would never brook dictation from any man—or woman + either. + </p> + <p> + Instinctively Magda and Gillian paused, and Magda held out a slim hand, + smiling, as he overtook them. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure you must be Mr. Storran,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He halted abruptly and snatched off his cap, revealing a crop of crinkly + dark-brown hair thatching a lean sunburnt face, out of which gleamed a + pair of eyes as vividly blue as periwinkles. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’m Dan Storran,” he said simply. “Is it Miss Vallincourt?” + </p> + <p> + Magda nodded and proceeded to introduce Gillian. But Storran’s glance only + rested cursorily on Gillian’s soft, pretty face, returning at once to + Magda’s as though drawn thither by a magnet. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet your train myself to-day,” he said, a note of + eager apology in his voice. + </p> + <p> + Magda smiled at him. + </p> + <p> + “So am I,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <h3> + FOREBODINGS + </h3> + <p> + Gillian was sitting alone in the yew-hedged garden, her slim fingers busy + repairing the holes which appeared with unfailing regularity in the heels + of Coppertop’s stockings. From the moment he had come to Stockleigh the + number and size of the said holes had increased appreciably, for, although + five weeks had elapsed since the day of arrival, Coppertop was still + revelling whole-heartedly in the incredible daily delights which, from the + viewpoint of six years old, attach to a farm. + </p> + <p> + Day after day found him trotting contentedly in the wake of the stockman, + one Ned Honeycott, whom he had adopted as guide, philosopher, and friend, + and whom he regarded as a veritable fount of knowledge and the provider of + unlimited adventure and entertainment. + </p> + <p> + It was Honeycott who lifted Coppertop on to the broad back of the + steadiest cart-horse; who had taught him how to feed calves by dipping his + chubby little hand into a pail of milk and then letting them suck the milk + from off his fingers; who beneficently contrived that hardly a load of hay + was driven to the great rick without Coppertop’s small person perched + proudly aloft thereon, his slim legs dangling and his shrill voice joining + with that of the carter in an encouraging “Come-up, Blossom,” to the bay + mare as she plodded forward between the shafts. + </p> + <p> + Gillian experienced no anxiety with regard to Coppertop’s safety while he + was in Ned Honeycott’s charge, but she missed the childish companionship, + the more so as she found herself frequently alone these days. June Storran + was naturally occupied about her house and dairy, while Magda, under Dan + Storran’s tutelage, appeared smitten with an extraordinary interest in + farm management. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Gillian that Magda and Dan were in each other’s company the + greater part of the time. Every day Dan had some suggestion or other to + make for Miss Vallincourt’s amusement. Either it was: “Would you care to + see the hay-loader at work?” Or: “I’ve just bought a couple of pedigree + Devon cows I’d like to show you, Miss Vallincourt.” Or, as yesterday: + “There’s a pony fair to be held to-morrow at Pennaway Bridge. Would you + care to drive in it?” And to each and all of Storran’s suggestions Magda + had yielded a ready assent. + </p> + <p> + So this morning had seen the two of them setting out for Pennaway in Dan’s + high dog-cart, while Gillian and June stood together in the rose-covered + porch and watched them depart. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t you like to have gone?” Gillian asked on a sudden impulse. + </p> + <p> + She regretted the question the instant it had passed her lips, for in the + wide-apart blue eyes June turned upon her there was something of the mute, + puzzled misery of a dog that has received an unexpected blow. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t spare the time,” she answered hastily. “You see”—the + sensitive colour as usual coming and going quickly in her face—“Miss + Vallincourt is on a holiday.” + </p> + <p> + She turned and went quickly into the house, leaving Gillian conscious of a + sudden uneasiness—that queer “trouble ahead” feeling which descends + upon us sometimes, without warning and without our being able to assign + any very definite cause for it. + </p> + <p> + She was thinking over the little incident now, as she sat sewing in the + evening light, and meditating whether she should give Magda a hint that it + might be kinder of her not to monopolise so much of Dan’s society. And + then the crisp sound of a horse trotting on the hard, dry road came to her + ears, and almost immediately the high dog-cart swung between the granite + gateposts and clattered into the yard. + </p> + <p> + Dan tossed the reins on to the horse’s neck and, springing to the ground, + came round to help Magda down from the cart. + </p> + <p> + “It’s rather a steep step. Let me lift you down,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + Magda stood up in the trap and looked down at him with smiling eyes, + unconsciously delighting in his sheer physical good looks. He was a + magnificent specimen of manhood, and the good yeoman blood in him, which + had come down through the generations of the same sturdy stock, proclaimed + itself in his fine physique and splendid virility. + </p> + <p> + A moment later he had swung her down as easily as though she were a child, + and she was standing beside him. + </p> + <p> + She laughed up at him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ‘girt Jan Ridd’!” she exclaimed softly. + </p> + <p> + He laughed back, well pleased. (Was there ever a man who failed to be + ridiculously flattered by a feminine tribute to his physical strength?) + Nor did his hands release her quite at once. + </p> + <p> + “You’re as light as a feather! I could carry you all day and—” + </p> + <p> + “Not know it!” concluded Magda gaily. + </p> + <p> + His hands fell away from her slim body abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I should know it right enough!” he said jerkily. + </p> + <p> + His eyes kindled, and Magda, conscious of something suddenly disturbing + and electric in the atmosphere, turned quickly and, leaving Storran to + unharness the horse, made her way to where she espied Gillian sitting. + </p> + <p> + The latter looked up from her sewing. + </p> + <p> + “So you’ve got back? Did you have a good time?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It was quite amusing. There were heaps and heaps of ponies—some + of them wild, unbroken colts which had been brought straight off the Moor. + They were rearing and plunging all over the place. I loved them! By the + way, I’m gong to learn riding, Gillyflower. Mr. Storran has offered to + teach me. He says he has a nice quiet mare I could start on.” + </p> + <p> + A small frown puckered Gillian’s brows. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think Mrs. Storran will like it?” + </p> + <p> + Magda started. + </p> + <p> + “Why on earth shouldn’t she?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,”—Gillian spoke with a vague discomfort. “He’s her husband!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see what that has to do with it,” replied Magda. “We’re staying + here and, of course, the Storrans want to make it as nice as they can for + us. Anyway, I’m going to take such goods as the gods provide.” + </p> + <p> + She got up abruptly and went in the direction of the house, leaving Gillian + to digest as best she might the hint that her interference was not likely + to be either welcomed or effective. + </p> + <p> + Left to herself, Gillian sighed unhappily. Almost she wished they had + never come to Stockleigh, only that it was pure joy to her to see + Coppertop’s rather thin little cheeks filling out and growing sunburnt and + rosy. He had not picked up strength very readily after his attack of + croup, and subsequently the intense heat in London had tried him a good + deal. + </p> + <p> + But she was gradually becoming apprehensive that disturbing consequences + might accrue from Magda’s stay at Stockleigh Farm. A woman of her elusive + charm, equipped with all the subtle lore that her environment had taught + her, must almost inevitably hold for a man of Storran’s primitive way of + life the fascination of something new and rather wonderful. To contrast + his wife with her was to contrast a field-flower with some rare, exotic + bloom, and Gillian was conscious of a sudden rush of sympathy for June’s + unarmoured youth and inexperience. + </p> + <p> + Magda’s curiously uncertain moods of late, too, had worried her not a + little. She was unlike herself—at times brooding and introspective, + at other times strung up to a species of forced gaiety—a gaiety + which had the cold sparkle of frost or diamonds. With all her faults Magda + had ever been lovably devoid of bitterness, but now it seemed as though + she were developing a certain new quality of hardness. + </p> + <p> + It puzzled Gillian, ignorant of that sudden discovery and immediate loss + of the Garden of Eden. It might have been less of an enigma to old Lady + Arabella, to whom the jigsaw puzzle of human motives and impulses was + always a matter of absorbing interest, and who, as more or less an + onlooker at life during the last thirty years, had become an adept in the + art of fitting the pieces of the puzzle together. + </p> + <p> + Magda herself was only conscious of an intense restlessness and + dissatisfaction with existence in general. She reflected bitterly that she + had been a fool to let slip her hold of herself—as she had done the + night of Lady Arabella’s reception—even for a moment. + </p> + <p> + It had been thoroughly drilled into her both by precept and example—her + mother’s precept and her father’s example—that to let a man count + for anything much in her life was the biggest mistake a woman could make, + and Michael’s treatment of her had driven home the truth of all the + warnings Diane had instilled. + </p> + <p> + He had hurt her as she had never been hurt before, and all that she craved + now was change. Change and amusement to drug her mind so that she need not + think. Whether anyone else got hurt in the process was a question that + never presented itself to her. + </p> + <p> + She had not expected to find amusement at Stockleigh. She had been driven + there by an overmastering desire to escape from London—for a few + weeks, at least, to get right away from her accustomed life and from + everyone who knew her. And at Stockleigh she had found Dan Storran. + </p> + <p> + The homage that had leaped into his eyes the first moment they had rested + on her, and which had slowly deepened as the days slipped by, had somehow + soothed her, restoring her feminine poise which Michael’s sudden defection + had shaken. + </p> + <p> + She knew—as every woman always does know when a man is attracted by + her—that she had the power to stir this big, primitive countryman, + whose way of life had never before brought him into contact with her type + of woman, just as she had stirred other men. And she carelessly accepted + the fact, without a thought that in playing with Dan Storran’s emotions + she was dealing with a man who knew none of the moves of the game, to whom + the art of love-making as a pastime was an unknown quantity, and whose + fierce, elemental passions, once aroused, might prove difficult to curb. + He amused her and kept her thoughts off recent happenings, and for the + moment that was all that mattered. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <h3> + STORRAN OF STOCKLEIGH + </h3> + <p> + It was a glorious morning. The sun blazed like a great golden shield out + of a cloudless sky, and hardly a breath of air stirred the foliage of the + trees. + </p> + <p> + Magda, to content an insatiable Coppertop, had good-naturally suffered + herself to be dragged over the farm. They had visited the pigs—a new + and numerous litter of fascinating black ones having recently made their + debut into this world of sin—and had watched the cows being milked, + and been chased by the irascible gander, and finally, laughing and + breathless, they had made good their escape into the garden where Gillian + sat sewing, and had flung themselves down exhaustedly on the grass at her + feet. + </p> + <p> + “I’m in a state of mental and moral collapse, Gilly,” declared Magda, + fanning herself vigorously with a cabbage leaf. “Whew! It is hot! As soon + as I can generate enough energy, I propose to bathe. Will you come?” + </p> + <p> + Gillian shook her head lazily. + </p> + <p> + “I think not to-day. I want to finish this overall for Coppertop. And it’s + such a long trudge from here down to the river.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know.” Magda nodded. “It’s three interminable fields away—and + the thistles and things prick one’s ankles abominably. Still, it’s lovely + when you <i>do</i> get there! I think I’ll go now”—springing up from + the velvet turf—“before I get too lazy to move.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s eyes followed her thoughtfully as she made her way into the + house. She had never seen Magda so restless—she seemed unable to + keep still a moment. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later Magda emerged from the house wrapped in a cloak, a + little scarlet bathing-cap turbanning her dark hair, and a pair of sandals + on the slim supple feet that had danced their way into the hearts of half + of Europe. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye!” she called gaily, waving her hand. And went out by the wicket + gate leading into the fields. + </p> + <p> + There was not a soul in sight. Only the cows, their red, burnished coats + gleaming like the skin of a horse-chestnut in the hot sun, cast ruminative + glances at her white-cloaked figure as it passed, and occasionally a + peacefully grazing sheep emitted an astonished bleat at the unusual vision + and skedaddled away in a hurry. + </p> + <p> + Magda emulated Agag in her progress across the field which intervened + between the house and the river, now and then giving vent to a little cry + of protest as a particularly prickly thistle or hidden trail of bramble + whipped against her bare ankles. + </p> + <p> + At last from somewhere near at hand came the cool gurgle of running water + and, bending her steps in the direction of the sound, two minutes’ further + walking brought her to the brink of the river. Further up it came tumbling + through the valley, leaping the rocks in a churning torrent of foam, a + cloud of delicate up-flung spray feathering the air above it; but here + there were long stretches of deep, smooth water where no boulder broke the + surface into spume, and quiet pools where fat little trout heedlessly + squandered the joyous moments of a precarious existence. + </p> + <p> + Magda threw off her wrapper and, picking her way across the moss-grown + rocks, paused for an instant on the bank, her slender figure, clad in its + close-fitting scarlet bathing-suit, vividly outlined against the + surrounding green of the landscape. Then she plunged in and struck out + downstream, swimming with long, even strokes, the soft moorland water + laving her throat like the touch of a satin-smooth hand. + </p> + <p> + She was heading for a spot she knew of, a quarter of a mile below, where a + wooden bridge spanned the river and the sun’s heat poured down unchecked + by sheltering trees. Here she proposed to scramble out and bask in the + golden warmth. + </p> + <p> + She had just established herself on a big, sun-warmed boulder when a + familiar step sounded on the bridge and Dan Storran’s tall figure emerged + into view. He pulled up sharply as he caught sight of her, his face taking + on a schoolboy look of embarrassment. Deauville <i>plage</i>, where people + bathed in companionable parties and strolled in and out of the water as + seemed good to them, was something altogether outside Dan’s ken. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m sorry,” he began, flushing uncomfortably. + </p> + <p> + Magda waved to him airily. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t be. I’m having a sun-bath. You can stay and talk to me if you + like. Or are you too busy farming this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m not too busy,” he said slowly. + </p> + <p> + There was a curious dazzled look in his eyes as they rested on her. + Sheathed in the stockingette bathing-suit she wore, every line and curve + of her supple body was revealed. Her wet, white limbs gleamed pearl-like + in the quivering sunlight. The beauty of her ran through his veins like + wine. + </p> + <p> + “Then come and amuse me!” Magda patted the warm surface of the rock beside + her invitingly. “You can give me a cigarette to begin with.” + </p> + <p> + Storran sat down and pulled out his case. As he held a match for her to + light up from, his hand brushed hers and he drew it away sharply. It was + trembling absurdly. + </p> + <p> + He sat silent for a moment or two; then he said with an odd abruptness: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you find it frightfully dull down here?” + </p> + <p> + Magda laughed a little. + </p> + <p> + “Is that because I told you to come and amuse me? . . . No, I don’t find + it dull. Change is never really dull.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you must find it change enough here from the sort of life you’ve + been accustomed to lead.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know what sort of life I lead?”—teasingly. + </p> + <p> + “I can guess. One has only to look at you. You’re different—different + from everyone about here. The way you move—you’re like a + thoroughbred amongst cart-horses.” He spoke with a kind of sullen + bitterness. + </p> + <p> + Magda drew her feet up on to the rock and clasped her hands round her + knees. + </p> + <p> + “Now you’re talking nonsense, you know,” she said amusedly. “Frankly, I + like it down here immensely. I happened to be—rather worried when I + came away from London, and there’s something very soothing and comforting + about the country—particularly your lovely Devon country.” + </p> + <p> + “Worried?” Storran’s face darkened. “Who’d been worrying you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh”—vaguely. “All sorts of things. Men—and women. But don’t + let’s talk about worries to-day. This glorious sunshine makes me feel as + though there weren’t any such things in the world.” + </p> + <p> + She leaned back, stretching her arms luxuriously above her head with the + lithe, sensuous grace of movement which her training had made second + nature. Storran’s eyes dwelt on her with a queer tensity of expression. + Every gesture, every tone of her curiously attractive voice, held for him + a disturbing allure which he could not analyse and against which he was + fighting blindly. + </p> + <p> + He had never doubted his love for his wife. Quite honestly he had believed + her the one woman in the world when he married her. Yet now he was + beginning to find every hour a blank that did not bring him sight or sound + of this other woman—this woman with her slender limbs and skin like + a stephanotis petal, and her long Eastern eyes with the subtle lure which + seemed to lie in their depths. Beside her June’s young peach-bloom + prettiness faded into something colourless and insignificant. + </p> + <p> + “It must be nice to be you”—Magda nodded at him. “With no vague, + indefinable sort of things to worry you.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know I haven’t?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, because I do.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman’s reason!” + </p> + <p> + “Quite. But women’s reasons are generally very sound—we were endowed + with a sixth sense, you know! Besides—it’s obvious, isn’t it? Here + you are—you and June—living a simple, primitive kind of + existence, all to yourselves, like Adam and Eve. And if you do have a + worry it’s a real definite one—as when a cow inconveniently goes and + dies or your root crop fails. Nothing intangible and uncertain about + that!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you forgotten that the serpent intruded even upon Adam and Eve?” he + asked quietly. + </p> + <p> + She laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Is that a hit at Gillian and me? I know—June told us—that you + were horribly opposed to anyone’s coming here for the summer. I thought + that you had got over that by now?” + </p> + <p> + “So I have”—bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “Then we’re not—not unwelcome visitors any longer?” the soft, + tantalising voice went on. The low cadence of it seemed to tug at his very + heartstrings. + </p> + <p> + He leaned nearer to her and, catching both her hands in his, twisted her + round so that she faced him. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you ask?” he demanded, his voice suddenly roughened and uneven. + </p> + <p> + “Because I wanted to know—of course!”—lightly. + </p> + <p> + “Then—you’re not an unwelcome visitor. You never have been! From the + moment you came the place was different somehow. When you go——” + </p> + <p> + He stopped as though startled by the sound of his own words—struck + by the full significance of them. + </p> + <p> + “When you go!” he repeated blankly. His grip of her slight hands tightened + till it was almost painful. “But you won’t go! I can’t let you go now! + Magda—” + </p> + <p> + The situation was threatening to get out of hand. Magda drew quickly away + from him, springing to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk like that,” she said hastily. “You don’t mean it, you know.” + </p> + <p> + With a sudden, unexpected movement she slipped from his side and ran down + to the river’s edge. He caught a flashing glimpse of scarlet, heard the + splash as her slim body cleaved the water, and a moment later all he could + see was the red of her turban cap, bobbing like a scarlet poppy on the + surface of the river, and the glimmer of a moon-white arm and shoulder as + a smooth overhand stroke bore her swiftly away from him. + </p> + <p> + He stood staring after her, conscious of a sudden bewildered sense of + check and thwarting. The blood seemed leaping in his veins. His heart + thudded against his ribs. He stepped forward impetuously as though to + plunge in after the receding gleam of scarlet still flickering betwixt the + branches which overhung the river. + </p> + <p> + Then, with a stifled exclamation, he drew back, brushing his hand across + his eyes as though to clear their vision. What mad impulse was this urging + him on to say and do such things as he had never before conceived himself + saying or doing? + </p> + <p> + Magda had checked him on the brink of telling her—what? The sweat + broke out on his forehead as the realisation surged over him. + </p> + <p> + “God!” he muttered. “God!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <h3> + THE LATEST NEWS + </h3> + <p> + Magda hardly knew what impulse had bidden her save Dan Storran from + himself—check the hot utterance to which he had so nearly given + voice and which to a certain extent she had herself provoked. Driven by + the bitterness of spirit which Michael’s treatment of her had engendered, + she knew that she had flirted outrageously with Dan ever since she had + come to Stockleigh. She had bestowed no thought on June—pretty, + helpless June, watching with distressed, bewildered eyes while Dan + unaccountably changed towards her, his moods alternating from sullen + unresponsiveness to a kind of forced and contrite tenderness which she had + found almost more difficult to meet and understand. + </p> + <p> + It was indeed something altogether apart from any sympathy for June which + had prompted Magda to leave Storran before he uttered words that he might + regret, but which no power on earth could ever recall. Still beneath the + resentment and wounded pride which Michael’s going had caused her + flickered the spark of an ideal utterly at variance with the whole tenor + of the teaching of poor Diane’s last embittered days—the ideal of + womanhood which had been Michael’s. And the impulse which had bade her + leave Storran so abruptly was born of the one-time resolution she had made + to become the sort of woman Michael would wish his wife to be. + </p> + <p> + She felt oddly perturbed when at last she reached the seclusion of her + chintzy bedroom underneath the sloping roof. A vague sense of shame + assailed her. The game, as between herself and Dan, was hardly a fair one, + after all, and she could well picture the cold contempt in Michael’s eyes + had he been looking on at it. + </p> + <p> + Though he had no right to disapprove of her now! He had forfeited that + right—if he had ever had it—when he went away without a word + of farewell—without giving her even the chance to appeal against the + judgment which, by his very going, he had silently pronounced against her. + </p> + <p> + For months, now, she had been a prey to a conflicting jumble of emotions—the + pain and hurt pride which Michael’s departure had occasioned her, the + craving for anything that might serve to distract her thoughts and keep + them from straying back to those few vibrant meetings with him, and deep + down within her an aching, restless wonder as to whether she would ever + see him again. + </p> + <p> + With an effort she dismissed the fresh tangle of thought provoked by the + morning’s brief scene with Dan Storran, and, dressing quickly, went + downstairs to the mid-day dinner which was the order of things at + Stockleigh. + </p> + <p> + At first the solid repast, with its plentitude of good farmhouse fare + partaken of during the hottest hour of the day, had somewhat appalled + Magda. But now she had grown quite accustomed to the appearance of a roast + joint or of a smoking, home-cured ham, attended by a variety of country + vegetables and followed by fruit tart and clotted cream. + </p> + <p> + Although she herself, as befitted a woman whose “figure was her fortune” + according to Lady Arabella, partook extremely sparingly of this hospitable + meal, it somehow pleased her to see big Dan Storran come in from his work + in the fields and do full justice to the substantial fare. To Magda, + ultra-modern and over-civilised as she was, there was something refreshing + in the simple and primitive usages of Stockleigh Farm and its master—this + man who toiled, and satisfied his hunger, and rested from toil, just as + his fathers had done before him, literally fulfilling the law: In the + sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread. + </p> + <p> + And perhaps if Magda had never crossed his path Dan Storran might have + gone his way contentedly, toiling from sun-up to sun-down till all his + days were finished. + </p> + <p> + Even although she had crossed it, she might still have left him pretty + much as she found him—unawakened to the deeps of his own nature—if + she had remained in her present ambiguous mood, half-remorseful, half + indifferent. But it was precisely at this particular juncture that it + pleased Fate to give a fresh twist to her swiftly turning wheel. + </p> + <p> + Storran did not come in until dinner was half over, and when finally he + appeared he was somewhat taciturn and avoided meeting Magda’s eyes. June + got up from the table and went dutifully into the kitchen to fetch the + joint of meat and vegetables which she had been keeping hot for him there. + Abruptly Dan followed her. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry I’m late, June,” he said awkwardly. “Here, give the tray to me; + I’ll carry it in.” + </p> + <p> + June paused in the middle of the kitchen, flushing right up to the soft + tendrils of hair that curled about her forehead. It was weeks since Dan + had offered to relieve her of any of her housewifely tasks, although at + one time he had been wont to hurry home, if he could manage to do so, on + purpose to help her. Dozens of times they had laid the table together, + punctuating the process with jokes and gay little bursts of laughter and + an odd kiss or two thrown in to sweeten the work. But not lately—not + since the visitors from London had come to Stockleigh Farm. + </p> + <p> + So June blushed and looked at her husband with eyes that were suddenly + sweet and questioning. She knew, though she had not told him yet, that + there was a reason now why he should try to save her when his greater + strength could do so, and for a moment she wondered shyly if he had + guessed. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Dan, Dan——” she stammered. + </p> + <p> + His face darkened. Her obvious surprise irritated him, pricking his + conscience. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not very complimentary of you to look so taken aback when I offer to + carry something for you,” he said. “Anyone might think I never did wait on + my wife.” + </p> + <p> + The blood drained away from June’s face as suddenly as it had rushed + there. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you don’t often, do you?” she returned shortly. + </p> + <p> + They re-entered the sitting-room together and Magda glanced up, smiling + approval. She, too, was feeling somewhat conscience-stricken, and to see + Dan helping his wife in this everyday, intimate sort of fashion seemed to + minimise the significance of that little incident which had occurred by + the river’s edge. + </p> + <p> + “What a nice, polite husband!” she commented gaily. “Mr. Storran, you + really out to come up to London and give classes—‘Manners for Men,’ + you know. Very few of them wait on their wives these days.” + </p> + <p> + June upset the salt and busied herself spooning it up again from the + cloth. There was no answering smile on her face. She was not quite clear + <i>why</i> Dan had followed her out into the kitchen so unexpectedly, but + she sensed that it was not the old, quick impulse to wait upon her which + had actuated him. + </p> + <p> + Had she but known it, it was the same instinct, more primitively + manifested, which induces a man whose conscience is not altogether clear + respecting his loyalty towards his wife to bring her home an unexpected + gift of jewellery. + </p> + <p> + The disturbing memory of a lithe, scarlet-sheathed figure had been with + Dan all morning as he went about his work, and he was sullenly ashamed of + the riot which the vision occasioned within him and of his own utter + helplessness to master it. It—it was damnable! So he accompanied his + wife to the kitchen and offered to carry in the joint. + </p> + <p> + Following upon this incident the atmosphere seemed to become all at once + constrained and difficult. June sat very silent, her eyes holding that + expression of pain and bewilderment which was growing habitual to them, + while Storran hurried through his meal in the shortest possible time. As + soon as he had finished he pushed back his chair abruptly and, with a + muttered apology, quitted the room and went out again on to the farm. June + rose and began clearing the table mechanically. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t I help you?” Gillian paused as she was about to follow Magda out of + the room. “You look so tired to-day.” + </p> + <p> + June’s lip quivered sensitively. She was in the state of nerves when a + little unexpected sympathy is the most upsetting thing imaginable. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can’t let you!” she answered hastily. “No—really!”—as + Gillian calmly took the tray she was carrying out of her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Supposing you go and lie down for a little while,” suggested Gillian + practically. “And leave the washing-up to Coppertop and me!” + </p> + <p> + The tears suddenly brimmed up into the wide-open blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I couldn’t!” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t you like a little rest?” urged Gillian persuasively. “I believe + you’d be asleep in two minutes!” + </p> + <p> + “I believe I should,” acknowledged June faintly. “I—I haven’t been + sleeping very well lately.” + </p> + <p> + A little shudder ran through her as she recalled those long hours each + night when she lay at Dan’s side, staring wide-eyed into the darkness and + wondering dully what it was that had come between herself and her husband—come + just at the time when, with his unborn child beneath her heart, they two + should have been drawn together in to the most wonderful and blessed + comradeship and understanding. Only Dan didn’t know this—didn’t know + that before the snowdrops lifted their white heads again from the green + carpet of spring there would be a little son—June was sure it would + be a son, to grow up tall and strong like Dan himself!—born of the + love which had once been so sweet and untroubled by any creeping doubts. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you”—Gillian broke in on the miserable thoughts that were + chasing each other through June’s tired brain—“I assure you, + Coppertop and I are very competent people. We won’t break a single dish!” + </p> + <p> + “But you’ve never been used to that kind of thing—washing-up!” + protested June, glancing significantly at Gillian’s white hands and soft, + pretty frock of hyacinth muslin. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t I?” Gillian laughed gaily. “I haven’t always been as well off as + I am not, and I expect I know quite as much about doing ‘chores’ as you! + Come now!” She waited expectantly. + </p> + <p> + “Dan would be awfully angry if he knew—it’s my duty, you see,” + objected June, visibly weakening. + </p> + <p> + “If he knew! But what a husband doesn’t know his heart doesn’t grieve + over,” replied Gillian sagely. “There, that’s settled. Come along upstairs + and let me tuck you up in your bed, and leave the rest to Coppertop and + me.” + </p> + <p> + And June, with her heart suddenly warmed and comforted in the way in which + an unexpected kindness does warm and comfort, went very willingly and, + tired out in body and mind, fell asleep in ten minutes. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Magda had established herself in the hammock slung from the + boughs of one of the great elms which shaded the garden. She had brought a + book with her, since her thoughts were none too pleasant company just at + the moment, and was speedily absorbed in its contents. + </p> + <p> + It was very soothing and tranquil out there in the noonday heat. The gnats + hovered in the sunlight, dancing and whirling in little transient + clusters; now and again a ladybird flickered by or a swallow swooped so + near that his darting shadow fell across her book; while all about her + sounded the pleasant hum of a summer’s day—the soft susurration of + the pleasant hum of a thousand insect voices blending into an indefinite, + murmurous vibration of the air. + </p> + <p> + Occasionally the whir of a motor-car sweeping along the adjacent road + broke harshly across the peaceful quiet. Magda glanced up with some + annoyance as the first one sped by, dragging her back to an unwilling + sense of civilisation. Then she bent her head resolutely above her book + and declined to be distracted any further, finally losing herself + completely in the story she was reading. + </p> + <p> + So it came about that when a long, low, dust-powdered car curved in + between the granite gateposts of Stockleigh Farm and came abruptly to a + standstill, she remained entirely oblivious of its advent. Nor did she see + the tall, slender-limbed man who had been driving, and whose questing + hazel eyes had descried her almost immediately, slip from his seat behind + the steering-wheel and come across the grass towards her. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Antoine!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The book fell from her hand and she sat up suddenly in the hammock. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth are you doing here?” she demanded. There was no welcome in + her tone. + </p> + <p> + For a moment Davilof remained watching her, the sunshine, slanting between + the leaves of the trees, throwing queer little flickering lights into the + hazel eyes and glinting on his golden-brown hair and beard. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I came—to see you,” he said simply. + </p> + <p> + There was something disarming in the very simplicity of his reply. It + seemed to imply an almost child-like wonder that she should ask—that + there could possibly be any other reason for his presence. + </p> + <p> + But it failed to propitiate Magda in the slightest degree. She felt + intensely annoyed that anyone from the outside world—from her world + of London—should have intruded upon her seclusion at Ashencombe, nor + could she imagine how Davilof had discovered her retreat. + </p> + <p> + “How did you learn I was here?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “From Melrose.” + </p> + <p> + Magda’s eyes darkened sombrely. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean you bribed him?” she asked quickly. “Oh, but surely not!”—in + dismayed tones. “Melrose would go to the stake sooner than accept a + bribe!” + </p> + <p> + Davilof’s mouth twisted in a rueful smile. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure he would! I tried him, but he wouldn’t look at a bribe of any + sort. So I had to resort to strategy. It was one evening, when he was + taking your letters to post, and I waited for him at the pillar-box. I + came up very quietly behind him and just nipped one of the letters, + readdressed to you, out of his hand. I read the address and then posted + the letter for him. It was very simple.” + </p> + <p> + He recounted the incident with a little swaggering air of bravado, + boyishly delighted at the success of his small ruse. Vexed as she was + Magda could hardly refrain from smiling; the whole thing was so eminently + un-English—so exactly like Davilof! + </p> + <p> + “Well, now that you have seen me, will you please go away again?” she said + coolly, reopening her book as though to end the conversation. + </p> + <p> + He regarded her with unqualified reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you even ask me to tea?” he said plaintively. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” Magda was beginning. But precisely as she spoke June + Storran, looking more herself again after her short sleep, came towards + them from the house. + </p> + <p> + Her face brightened as she caught sight of Davilof. Even to June’s + inexperienced eyes it was quite obvious that he admired the woman with + whom he was talking. The very way he looked at her told her that. + Presumably he was one of her London friends who had motored to Devonshire + to see her. No man—within the limited scope of June’s knowledge of + men—did that deliciously absurd, extravagant kind of thing unless he + was tremendously in love. Nor would any nice woman let a man take such a + journey on her behalf unless she reciprocated his feelings. Of this June—whose + notions were old-fashioned—felt assured. So her spirits rose + accordingly. Since, if these two were on the verge of becoming engaged, + the mere fact would clear away the indefinable shadows which seemed to + have been menacing her own happiness from the time Miss Vallincourt had + come to Stockleigh. + </p> + <p> + “Tea is just ready,” she announced, approaching. “Will you come in? And + perhaps your friend will have tea with us?” she added shyly. + </p> + <p> + Davilof was presented and June repeated her invitation. He shot a glance + of triumph at Magda. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be delighted, madame,” he said, giving June one of his quaint + little foreign bows. “But—the sun is shining so gloriously—might + we not have it out here?” + </p> + <p> + June looked round her doubtfully. As is often the case with people born + and bred in the country, it never occurred to the Storrans to have the + family meals out-of-doors, and June felt considerable misgiving as to + whether Dan would appreciate the innovation. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, please, madame!” pleaded Davilof persuasively. “Let us have it here—under + this tree. Why, the tree grows here expressly for the purpose!” + </p> + <p> + Davilof had all the charm of his nationality, and June capitulated, + retreating to make the necessary arrangements. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t fancy Dan Storran will at all approve of the alteration from his + usual customs which you’ve engineered,” observed Magda when they were + again alone. + </p> + <p> + “Dan Storran?” Davilof’s glance flashed over her face, searching, + questioning. + </p> + <p> + “The owner of the place. He’s been teaching me to ride,” she added + inconsequently. + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?”—with swift jealousy. “The little fair-haired lady’s + brother?” + </p> + <p> + “No, her husband. I said <i>Mrs.</i> Storran.” + </p> + <p> + Davilof’s interest waned suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Did you?”—indifferently. “I didn’t notice. She’s a pretty little + person.” + </p> + <p> + Magda agreed absently. A fresh difficulty had occurred to her; Davilof + might chance to give away to the Storrans the secret of her identity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, by the way,” she said hurriedly. “They don’t know me here as Magda + Wielitzska. I’m plain Miss Vallincourt to them—enjoying the + privileges of being a nobody! You’ll be sure to remember, won’t you?” He + nodded, and she pursued more lightly: “And now, as you insist on having + your tea here, you might begin to earn it by telling me the latest London + gossip. We hear nothing at all down here. We don’t even get a London + newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think there is much news. There never is at this time of the + year. Everybody’s out of town.” + </p> + <p> + He vouchsafed one or two items concerning mutual friends—an + engagement here, a forthcoming divorce there. So-and-so was in Italy and + Mrs. Somebody Else was said to have eloped with a well-known actor-manager + to America—all the odds and ends of gossip that runs like wildfire + over the social prairie. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, by the way,” he went on, “your artist friend—” + </p> + <p> + “Which artist friend?” Magda interrupted almost rudely. She was moved by a + perfectly irrational impulse to stop him, to delay what he had to say. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Quarrington—Michael Quarrington. It seems he has married a + Spanish woman—a rather lovely person who had been sitting to him for + one of his pictures. That’s the latest bit of news.” + </p> + <p> + For an instant it seemed to Magda as though the whole world stood still—gripped + in a strange, soundless stillness like the catastrophic pause which for an + infinitesimal space of time succeeds a bad accident. Then she heard + herself saying: + </p> + <p> + “Really? Where did you hear that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there’ve been several rumours of a beautiful Spaniard whom he has + been using as a model. The Arlingtons were travelling in Spain and saw + her. Mrs. A. said she was a glorious creature—a dancer. And the + other day I saw in one of the papers—the <i>Weekly Gossip</i> I + think it was—that he’d married her.” + </p> + <p> + The carelessly spoken words drove at Magda with the force of utter + certainty. It was true, then—quite true! The fact that the Spaniard + had been a dancer gave an irrefutable reality to the tale; Michael so + worshipped every form of dancing. + </p> + <p> + “Never give your heart to any man.” Her mother’s last cynical warning beat + in Magda’s brain with a dull iteration that almost maddened her. She put + her hand up to her throat, feeling as if she were choking. + </p> + <p> + Then, dimly, as though from a great way off, she heard Antoine’s voice + again: + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad Quarrington’s married. He was the man who saved you in the fog—you + remember?—and I’ve always been afraid you might get to care for + him.” + </p> + <p> + Magda was conscious of one thing and one thing only—that somewhere, + deep down inside her, everything had turned to ice. She knew she would + never feel anything again—much. . . . She thought death must come + like that sometimes—just one thrust of incredible, immeasurable + agony, and then a dull, numbed sense of finality. + </p> + <p> + “. . . afraid you might get to care for him.” The meaning of Antoine’s + last words slowly penetrated her mind. She gave a hard little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I? Does one ‘get to care’ for a man just because he does the + only obvious thing there is to do in an emergency?” + </p> + <p> + She was surprised to hear how perfectly natural her voice sounded. It was + quite steady. Reassured, she went on, shrugging her shoulders: + </p> + <p> + “Besides—do I ever care?” + </p> + <p> + Antoine, sitting on the grass at her feet, suddenly raised himself a + little and put his hand over hers as they lay very still and folded on her + lap. + </p> + <p> + “You shall care—some time,” he said in a low, tense voice. “I swear + it!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <h3> + DAN STORRAN’S AWAKENING + </h3> + <p> + “Fairy Lady, we’re going to have a picnic tea!” + </p> + <p> + Coppertop’s excited voice, shrilling across the garden as he came racing + over the grass, put an abrupt end to a scene that was threatening to + develop along the familiar tempestuous lines dictated by Antoine’s + temperament. + </p> + <p> + The child’s advent was somewhat differently received—by Magda with + unmixed relief, by Antoine with a baulked gesture of annoyance. However, + he recovered himself almost immediately, and when, a moment later, June + reappeared, laden with the paraphernalia for tea, he rushed forward with + his usual charming manners to assist her. + </p> + <p> + Presently Gillian joined them, exclaiming with surprise as she perceived + who was the visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Why, this is like a bit of London appearing in our very midst,” she + declared, shaking hands with Davilof. “Where have you hailed from? I heard + the car but never suspected you were the arrival.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m on holiday,” he replied. “And it struck me”—his hazel eyes + smiled straight into hers—“that Devonshire might be a very + delightful place in which to spend my holiday.” + </p> + <p> + Magda looked up suddenly from stirring her tea. + </p> + <p> + “I think you’ve made a mistake, Davilof,” she said curtly. “You’re not + likely to enjoy a holiday in Devonshire.” + </p> + <p> + June, innocently unaware of any double entente in Magda’s speech, glanced + across at her in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but why not, Miss Vallincourt? Devon is a lovely county; most people + like it so much. But perhaps you don’t care for the country, Mr.—Mr. + Davilof?” She stumbled a little over the foreign name. + </p> + <p> + “I think it would depend upon who my neighbours were—whether I liked + it or nor,” he returned, meeting Magda’s glance challengingly over the top + of June’s head, bent above the teacups. “I feel sure I should like it + here. And there is a charming little inn at Ashencombe where one might + stop.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian divined that a veiled passage of arms between Magda and the + musician underlay the light discussion. Moreover—though she had no + clue to the cause—she was sensitively conscious that the former was + not quite herself. She had seen that white, set look on her face before. + Something had distressed her, and Gillian felt apprehensive lest Davilof + had been the bearer of unwelcome tidings. It was either that, or else he + must have succeeded in frictioning Magda in some way himself, since, + beyond flinging an occasional double-edged sentence in his direction, she + seemed absent and disinclined to take part in the conversation. + </p> + <p> + It was almost a relief to Gillian when Dan Storran appeared, although the + recollection of the strained atmosphere which had attended the previous + meal did not hold out much promise of better things to come. His face was + still clouded and he glowered at the tea-table under the elms with + dissatisfied eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth’s the meaning of this?” he demanded ungraciously of his + wife. “Is it some newfangled notion that’s got you?” + </p> + <p> + June coloured up nervously, and was about to falter an explanation of the + innovation when Magda suddenly took the matter out of her hands. + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing newfangled about tea out-of-doors, on a glorious day like + this,” she said. “It’s the only sensible thing to do. You don’t really + mind, do you?” + </p> + <p> + She smiled up at him provocatively and his sombre face lightened. + </p> + <p> + “Not if you like it,” he replied shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do. So sit down and be pleased—instead of looking like a + thundercloud, please.” The softness in her voice robbed the speech of its + sharpness. “I have a friend here—and we’re having tea outside in his + honour.” + </p> + <p> + She introduced the two men, who exchanged a few commonplace words—each, + meanwhile, taking the measure of the other through eyes that were frankly + hostile. They were of such dissimilar type that there was practically no + common ground upon which they could meet, and with the swift, unerring + intuition of the lover each had recognised the other as standing in some + relationship to Magda which premised a just cause for jealousy. Both men + endeavoured to secure her undivided attention and, failing lamentably, + their mutual antagonism deepened, smouldering visibly beneath the stiff + platitudes they exchanged with one another. + </p> + <p> + Gillian, thrust rather into the position of an onlooker, watched the + proceedings with amused eyes—her amusement only tempered by the + slightly apprehensive feeling concerning Magda of which she had been + vaguely conscious from the first moment she had found her in Davilof’s + company, and which continued to obsess her. + </p> + <p> + True, she no longer wore that set, still look which Gillian had observed + on her face prior to Dan Storran’s appearance upon the scene. But even + when she smiled and talked, playing the men off one against the other with + a deft skill that was inimitable, there seemed a curious new hardness + underlying it all—a certain reckless deviltry for which Gillian was + at a loss to account. + </p> + <p> + June watched, too, with troubled eyes. Half an hour ago she had been + feeling ridiculously happy, comfortably assured in her own mind that this + tall, rather exquisite foreigner and the woman whose presence in her home + had occasioned so much bitter heart-burning were only hesitating, as it + were, on the brink of matrimony. And now—now she did not know what + to think! Miss Vallincourt was treating Davilof with an airy negligence + that to June’s honest and candid soul seemed altogether incompatible with + such circumstances. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, with her own ears attuned to catch each varying shade of Dan’s + beloved voice, she could not but perceive its change of quality, slight, + but unmistakable, when he spoke to Magda—the sudden deepening of it—and + the unconscious self-betrayal of his glance as it rested on her. It was a + relief when at last he got up and moved off, excusing himself on the plea + that he had some work he must attend to. As he shook hands with Davilof + the eyes of the two men met, hard as steel and as hostile. + </p> + <p> + Storran’s departure was the signal for the breaking-up of the party. June + returned to the house, while Gillian allowed herself to be carried off by + Coppertop to visit the calves, which were a never-failing source of + interest to him. + </p> + <p> + Left alone, an awkward pause ensued between Davilof and Magda, backwash of + the obvious clash of antagonism between the two men. + </p> + <p> + “So!” commented Davilof, at last. “It looks as though there might be + another Raynham episode down here before long.” + </p> + <p> + The colour rushed up into Magda’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think that remark is in rather bad taste?” she replied icily. + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it was. But the men who love you get rather beyond considering + the matter of good or bad taste.” + </p> + <p> + She made a petulant gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t begin that old subject again. We’ve had it all out before. It’s + finished.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not finished.” + </p> + <p> + There was a clipped, curt force about the brief denial. The good-humoured, + big-child mood in which Davilof had joyously narrated to her how he had + circumvented the unfortunate Melrose had passed, leaving the man—turbulent + and passionately demanding as of old. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not finished,” he repeated. “It never will be—till you’re my + wife.” + </p> + <p> + Magda laughed lightly. + </p> + <p> + “Then I’m afraid it will have to remain unfinished—a + continued-in-our-next kind of thing. For I certainly haven’t the least + intention of becoming your wife. Do understand that I <i>mean</i> it. And + please go away. You had no business to come down here at all.” + </p> + <p> + A smouldering fire lit itself in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he said, taking a step nearer her. “No! I’m not going. I came + because I can’t bear it any longer without you. Since you went away I’ve + been half-mad, I think. I can’t eat or sleep! I can’t even play!”—he + flung out his sensitive musician’s hands in a gesture of despair. + </p> + <p> + Magda glanced at him quickly. It was true. The man looked as though he had + been suffering. She had not noticed it before. His face had altered—worn + a trifle fine; the line from chin to cheek-bone had hollowed somewhat and + his eyes held a certain feverish brightness. But although she could see + the alteration, it did not move her in the least. She felt perfectly + indifferent. It was as though the band of ice which seemed to have clasped + itself about her heart when she heard of Michael’s marriage had frozen her + capacity for feeling anything at all. + </p> + <p> + “I thought once”—Davilof was speaking again—“I thought once + that you had said ‘no’ to me because of Quarrington. But now I know you + never cared for him——” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + The question sprang from her lips before she was aware. + </p> + <p> + “How do I know?” Davilof laughed harshly. “Why, because the man who was + loved by Magda Wielitzska wouldn’t marry any other woman. There would be + no other woman in the world for him. . . . There’s no other woman in the + world for me.” His control was rapidly deserting him. “Magda, I can’t live + without you! I’ve told you—I can neither eat nor sleep. I burn for + you! If you refuse to give yourself to me, you destroy me!” + </p> + <p> + Swept by an emotion stronger than himself, his acquired Englishisms went + by the board. He was all Pole in the picturesque ardour of his speech. + </p> + <p> + Magda regarded him calmly. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Davilof,” she said quietly. “What weight do you suppose such an + argument would have with me?” + </p> + <p> + The cool, ironic little question, with its insolent indifference, checked + him like the flick of a lash across the face. He turned away. + </p> + <p> + “None, I suppose,” he admitted bitterly. “You are fire and flame—but + within, you are ice.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, almost as though to herself. “Within, I’m ice. I believe + that’s true.” + </p> + <p> + “True!” he repeated. “Of course it’s true. If it were not——” + </p> + <p> + A slight smile tilted her mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she echoed. “If it were not?” + </p> + <p> + He swung round. With a quick stride he was beside her. His eyes blazing + with a sudden fury of passion and resentment, he caught her by the + shoulders, forcing her to face him. + </p> + <p> + “God!” he muttered thickly. “What are you made of? You make men go through + hell for you! Even here—here in this little country place—you + do it! Storran’s wife—one can see her heart breaks, and it is you + who are breaking it. Yet nothing touches you! You’ve no conscience like + other women—no heart—” + </p> + <p> + Magda pulled herself out of his grasp. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do forget that I’m a woman, Davilof! I’m a dancer. Nothing else + matters. I don’t want to be troubled with a heart. And—and I think + they left out my soul.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he agreed with intense bitterness. “I think they did. One day, + Magda some man will kill you. You’ll try him too far.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed? Is that what you contemplate doing when you finally lose patience + with me?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not lose patience—until you are another man’s wife,” he + said quietly. “And I don’t intend you to be that.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later, Gillian, having dispatched her small son to bed and seen + him safely tucked up between the lavender-scented sheets, discovered Magda + alone in the low-raftered sitting-room. She was lying back idly in a + chair, her hands resting on the arms, in her eyes a curious abstracted + look as though she were communing with herself. + </p> + <p> + Apparently she was too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice Gillian’s + entrance, for she did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinking about? Planning a new dance that shall out-vie <i>The + Swan-Maiden</i>?” asked Gillian at last, for the sake of something to say. + The silence and Magda’s strange aloofness frightened her in some way. + </p> + <p> + It was quite a moment before Magda made any answer. When she did, it was + to say with a bitter kind of wonder in her voice: + </p> + <p> + “What centuries ago it seems since the first night of <i>The Swan-Maiden</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not very long,” began Gillian, then checked herself and asked + quickly: “Is there anything the matter, Magda? Did Antoine bring you bad + news of some kind?” + </p> + <p> + “He brought me the offering of his hand and heart. That’s no news, is it?” + </p> + <p> + The opening was too good to be lost. With the remembrance of June’s + wistful face before her eyes, Gillian plunged in recklessly. + </p> + <p> + “Apropos of such offerings—don’t you think it would be wiser if you + weren’t quite so nice to Dan Storran?” + </p> + <p> + “Am I nice to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Too much so for my peace of mind—or his! It worries me, Magda—really. + You’ll play with fire once too often.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Gillian, I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. Do you + imagine”—with a small, fine smile—“that I’m in danger of + losing my heart to a son of the soil?” + </p> + <p> + Gillian could have shaken her. + </p> + <p> + “<i>You?</i> You don’t suppose I’m afraid for you! It’s Dan Storran who + isn’t able to look after himself.” She stooped over Magda’s chair and + slipped an arm persuasively round her shoulders. “Come away, Magda. Let’s + leave Stockleigh—go home to London.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not.” Magda stood up suddenly. “I’m quite well amused down + here. I don’t propose to leave till our time is up.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke with unmistakable decision, and Gillian, feeling that it would + be useless to urge her further at the moment, went slowly out of the room + and upstairs. As she went she could hear Dan’s footstep in the passage + below. It sounded tired—quite unlike his usual swinging stride with + its suggestion of impetuous force. + </p> + <p> + But it was not work that had tired Dan Storran that afternoon. When he had + quitted the little party gathered beneath the elms, he had started off + across the fields, unheeding where he went, and for hours he had been + tramping, deaf and blind to the world around him, immersed in the thoughts + that had driven him forth. + </p> + <p> + The full significance of the last few weeks had suddenly come home to him. + Till now he had been drifting—drifting unthinkingly, conscious only + that life had become extraordinarily full of interest and of a breathless + kind of happiness, half sweet, half bitter. Bitter when Magda was not with + him, sweet with a maddening sweetness when she was. + </p> + <p> + He had not stopped to consider what it all meant—why the dull, + monotonous round of existence on the farm to which he had long grown + accustomed should all at once have come alive—grown vibrant and + quick with some new impulse. + </p> + <p> + But the happenings of to-day had suddenly shown him where he stood. That + revealing moment by the river’s edge with Magda, the swift, unreasoning + jealousy of Davilof which had run like fire through his veins—jealousy + because the other man was so evidently an old acquaintance with prior + rights in her which seemed to set him, Dan Storran, quite outside the + circle of their intimacy—had startled him into recognition of how + far he had drifted. + </p> + <p> + He loved her—craved for her with every fibre of his being. She was + his woman, and beside the tumultuous demand for her of all his lusty + manhood the quiet, unexacting affection which he bore his wife was as + water is to wine. + </p> + <p> + And since in Dan’s simple code of ethics a man’s loyalty to his wife + occupied a very definite and unassailable position, the realisation came + to him fraught with the acme of bitterness and self-contempt. Nor did he + propose to yield to the madness in his blood. Hour after hour, as he + tramped blindly across country, he thrashed the matter out. This love + which had come to him was a forbidden thing—a thing which must be + fought and thrust outside his life. For the sake of June he must see no + more of Magda. She must go—leave Stockleigh. Afterwards he would + tear the very memory of her out of his heart. + </p> + <p> + Dan was a very direct person. Having taken his decision he did not stop to + count the cost. That could come afterwards. Dimly he apprehended that it + might be a very heavy one. But he was strong, now—strong to do the + only possible thing. As he stood with his hand on the latch of the + living-room door, he wondered whether what he had to say would mean to + Magda all, or even a part, of what it meant to him—wondered with a + sudden uncontrollable leaping of his pulses. . . . The latch grated + raucously as he jerked it up and flung open the door. Magda was standing + by the window, the soft glow of the westering sun falling about her. Dan’s + eyes rested hungrily on the small dark head outlined against the tender + light. + </p> + <p> + “Why—Dan——” She faltered into tremulous silence before + the look on his face—the aching demand of it. + </p> + <p> + The huskily sweet voice robbed him of his strength. He strode forward and + caught her in his arms, staring down at her with burning eyes. Then, + almost violently, he thrust her away from him, unkissed, although the soft + curved lips had for a moment lain so maddeningly near his own. + </p> + <p> + “When can you and Mrs. Grey make it convenient to leave Stockleigh Farm?” + he asked, his voice like iron. + </p> + <p> + The crudeness of it whipped her pride—that pride which Michael had + torn down and trampled on—into fresh, indignant life. + </p> + <p> + “To leave? Why should we leave?” + </p> + <p> + Storran’s face was white under his tan. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” he said hoarsely, “because you’re coming between me and my + wife. That’s why.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <h3> + THE MOONLIT GARDEN + </h3> + <p> + The chintzy bedroom under the sloping roof was very still and quiet. The + moonlight, streaming in through the open casement, revealed the bed + unoccupied, its top-sheet neatly folded back just as when June had made + her final round of the house some hours earlier, leaving everything in + order for the night. + </p> + <p> + Magda, crouched by the window, glanced back at it indifferently. She did + not want to go to bed. If she went, she knew she would not sleep. She felt + as though she would never sleep again. + </p> + <p> + She had no idea of the time. She might have been there half an hour or + half eternity—she did not know which. The little sounds of movement + in the different bedrooms had gradually died down into silence, until at + least the profound tranquillity and peace of night enshrouded the whole + house. Only for her there was neither tranquility nor peace. + </p> + <p> + She was alone now, face to face with the news which Davilof had brought + her—the news of Michael’s marriage. Throughout the rest of the day, + after Davilof had gone, she had forced the matter into the background of + her thoughts, and during supper she had kept up a light-hearted ripple of + talk and laughter which had deceived even Gillian, convincing her that her + apprehensions of the afternoon were unfounded. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps she was helped by the fact that Dan failed to put in an appearance + at the supper-table. It was easier to scintillate successfully for the + sole benefit of a couple of other women than under the eyes of a man who + had just ordered you out of his life. But when at last she was alone in + her own room, the sparkle was suddenly quenched. There was no longer any + need to pretend. + </p> + <p> + Michael was married! Married! And the bitterness which she had been + strenuously keeping at bay since the day, months ago now, when she had + learned from Lady Arabella that he had deliberately left England without + seeing her again swept over her in a black flood. + </p> + <p> + It had hurt her badly enough when he had gone away, but somewhere in the + depths of her consciousness there had always lurked a little fugitive hope + that he would come back—that she would be given another chance. Now + she knew that he would never come back—that one isn’t always given a + second chance in this world. + </p> + <p> + And beneath the sick anguish of the realisation she was aware of a fierce + resentment—a bitter, rebellious anger that any man could make her + suffer as she was suffering now. It was unjust—a burden that had + been forced upon her unfairly. She could not help her own character—that + was a heritage with which one comes into the world—and now she was + being punished for simply having been herself! + </p> + <p> + An hour—two hours crept by. Hours of black, stark misery. The clock + in the hall struck one—a single, bell-like stroke that reverberated + through the silent house. It penetrated the numbed confusion of her mind, + rousing her to a sudden recognition of the fact that she had been crouched + so long in one position that her limbs were stiff and aching. + </p> + <p> + She drew herself up to her feet, stretching her cramped muscles. The night + was warm and the room felt stiflingly hot. She looked longingly through + the window to where the garden lay drenched in moonlight, with + cool-looking alleyways of moon-washed paths threading the black gloom of + overhanging trees, ebony-edged in the silver light. + </p> + <p> + She felt as though she could hardly breathe in the confined space of the + room. Its low, sloping roof, which she had thought so quaintly attractive, + seemed to press down on her like the lid of a box. She must get out—out + into the black and silver night which beckoned to her through the open + window. She could not stay in this room—this little room, alone with + her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + She glanced down dubiously at the soft, chiffony negligee which she had + slipped on in place of a frock. Her feet, too, were bare. She had stripped + off her shoes and stockings first thing upon coming upstairs, for the sake + of coolness. Certainly her attire was not quite suitable for out-of-doors. + . . . But there would be no one to see her. Ashencombe folk did not take + their walks abroad at that hour of the night. And she longed to feel the + cool touch of the dewy grass against her feet. + </p> + <p> + Very quietly she opened her door and stole out into the passage. The house + was strangely, wonderfully still. Only the ticking of the hall-clock broke + the silence. So lightly that not a board creaked beneath her step, Magda + flitted down the old stairway, and, crossing the hall, felt gingerly for + the massive bolt which barred the heavy oaken door. She wondered if it + would slide back quietly; she rather doubted it. She remembered often + enough having heard it grate into its place as Storran went his nightly + round, locking up the house. But, as her slender, seeking fingers came in + contact with the knob, she realised that to-night by some oversight he had + forgotten to shoot the bolt and, noiselessly lifting the iron latch, she + opened the door and slipped out into the moonlit garden. Down the paths + she went and across the lawns, the touch of the earth coming clean and + cool to her bare feet. Now and again she paused to draw a long breath of + the night air, fresh and sweet with the lingering scents of the day’s + blooming. + </p> + <p> + An arch of rambler roses led into the distant part of the garden towards + which she was wending her way, its powdering of tiny blossoms gleaming + like star clusters borrowed from the Milky Way. Magda stooped as she + passed beneath it to avoid an overhanging branch. Then, as she + straightened herself, lifting her head once more, she stood still, + suddenly arrested. On a stone bench, barely twenty yards away, sat Dan + Storran! + </p> + <p> + Against the pallid ghost-white of the bench his motionless figure showed + black and sombre like some sable statue. His big shoulders were bowed, his + hands hung loosely clasped between his knees, the white mask of his face, + mercilessly revealed in the clear moonlight, was twisted into harsh lines + of mental conflict. A certain grim triumph manifested itself in the set of + his mouth and out-thrust jaw. + </p> + <p> + He did not see the slight figure standing just within the shade of the + rose-twined arch, and Magda remained for a moment or two watching him in + silence. The unbarred door was explained now. Storran had not come in at + all that night. She guessed the struggle which had sent him forth to seek + the utter solitude of the garden. Almost she thought she could divine the + processes of thought which had closed his lips in that strange line of + ironic triumph. He had told her to go—when every nerve of him ached + to bid her stay. And he was glad that the strength in him had won. + </p> + <p> + A bitter smile flitted across her face. Men were all the same! They + idolised a woman just because she was beautiful—for her lips and + eyes and hair and the nameless charm that was in her—and set her up + on an altar at which they could kneel becomingly. Then, when they found + she was merely an ordinary human being like themselves, with her bundle of + faults and failings, hereditary and acquired, the prig in them was + appropriately shocked—and they went away! + </p> + <p> + An unhappy woman is very often a bitter one. And Magda had been slowly + learning the meaning of unhappiness for the first time in her life—a + life that had been hitherto roses and laurel all the way. + </p> + <p> + The devils that lie in wait for our weak moments prompted her then. The + bitterness faded from her lips and they curved in a smile that subtly + challenged the stern decision in Dan Storran’s face. She hesitated an + instant. Then, with feet that scarcely seemed to brush the grass, she + glided forward, swaying, bending to some rhythmic measure, floating + spirit-like across the lawn. + </p> + <p> + With a great cry Dan leaped to his feet and stared at her, transfixed. At + the sound of his voice she paused, poised on one bare foot, leaning a + little towards him with curving, outstretched arms. Then, before he could + touch her, she drew away, step by step, and Dan Storran, standing there in + tense, breathless silence, beheld what no one else had ever seen—the + Wielitzska dancing in the moonlight as she alone could dance. + </p> + <p> + He knew nothing of art, nor of the supreme technique which went to make + each supple movement a thing of sheer perfection, instinct with rhythm and + significance. But he was a man, and a man in love, fighting the strongest + instincts of his nature; and the bewildering beauty of her as she danced, + the languorous, ethereal allure, delicately sensuous as the fragrance of a + La France rose, sent the hot blood rioting through his veins. . . . She + was going—slowly retreating from him. The primal man in him, the + innate hunter who took his mate by capture, swept him headlong. With a + bound he sprang past the dusky shrubbery that hedged the lawn and overtook + her, catching her in his arms. She did not struggle. He felt her yield, + and strained the soft, panting body closer to him. Beneath his hand he + could feel the hurrying beat of her heart. Her breath, quickened by the + exertion of the dance, came unevenly between her lips as she smiled at + him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you still want me to go away, Dan Storran?” + </p> + <p> + There was a note of half-amused, half-triumphant mockery in her voice. The + last bonds that held him snapped suddenly: “Yes!” he cried hoarsely. “Yes, + I do. To go away with me!” + </p> + <p> + He crushed his mouth down on hers, draining the sweetness of her in + burning kisses he had thwarted through all these weeks that they had been + together, pouring out his love in disjointed, stumbling phrases which + halted by very reason of the force of passion which evoked them. + </p> + <p> + Frightened by the tempest of emotion she had aroused she strained away + from him. But she was powerless against his huge strength, helpless to + resist him. + </p> + <p> + At length the fierce tensity of his grip relaxed, though his arms still + clasped her. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” he commanded triumphantly. “Tell me you love me. I want to hear + it!” His voice vibrated and his eyes sought her face hungrily. + </p> + <p> + She summoned up all her forces to deny him—to deny him in such a + manner that he should realise his mistake absolutely and at once. “But I + don’t! I don’t love you! If you thought that, you misunderstood me.” + </p> + <p> + His hands released their hold of her and fell heavily to his sides. + “Misunderstood?” he muttered. The glad triumph went suddenly out of his + voice. “Misunderstood?” he repeated dully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Misunderstood me altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it!” + </p> + <p> + “But you <i>must</i> believe it,” she insisted. “It’s the truth!” + </p> + <p> + He stared at her. + </p> + <p> + “Then what have you meant all these weeks?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve not meant anything.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a lie!” he gave back savagely. “Unless”—he came closer to her—“unless—is + it that man, that damned foreigner, who was here to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Antoine? No. Oh, Dan”—she forced an uncertain little laugh to her + lips—“if you knew me better you’d know that I never <i>do</i>—‘mean + anything’!” + </p> + <p> + The bitter intonation in her voice—the gibe at her own poor ruins of + love fallen about her—was lost on him. He was in total ignorance of + her friendship with Quarrington. But the plain significance of her words + came home to him clearly enough. He did not speak for a minute or two. + Then: “You’ve been playing with me, then—fooling me?” he said + heavily. + </p> + <p> + Magda remained silent. The heavy, laboured speech seemed to hold something + minatory in it—the sullen lowering which precedes a tempest. + </p> + <p> + “Answer me!” he persisted. “Was that it?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I suppose it was,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + He drew still closer and instinctively she shrank away. A consciousness of + repressed violence communicated itself to her. She half expected him to + strike her. + </p> + <p> + “And you don’t love me? You’re quite sure?” + </p> + <p> + There was an ominous kind of patience in the persistent questioning. It + was as though he were deliberately giving her every possible chance to + clear herself. Her nerves frayed a little. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I’m sure—perfectly sure,” she said with nervous asperity. + “I wish you’d believe me, Dan!” + </p> + <p> + “I only wanted to make sure,” he returned. + </p> + <p> + Something in the careful precision of his answer struck her with a swift + sense of apprehension. She looked up at him and what she saw made her + catch her breath convulsively. His face was ashen, the veins in his + forehead standing out like weals, and his eyes gleamed like blue flame—mad + eyes. His hands, hanging at his sides, twitched curiously. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure now,” he said. “Sure. . . . Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve + smashed up my life. Smashed it. June and I were happy enough till you + came. Now we’ll never be happy again. I expect you’ve smashed other lives, + too. But you won’t do it any more. I’m the last. Women like you are better + dead!” + </p> + <p> + His great arms swung out and gripped her. + </p> + <p> + “No, don’t struggle. It wouldn’t be any good, you know.” He went on + speaking very carefully and quietly, and while he spoke she felt his left + arm tighten round her, binding her own arms down to her sides as might a + thong, while his right hand slid up to the base of her throat. She + writhed, twisting her body desperately in his grip. “Keep still. I’ve + kissed you. And now I’m going to kill you. You’ll be better dead.” + </p> + <p> + There was implacable purpose in his strangely quiet, unhurried accents. + Magda recognised it—recognised that death was very close to her. It + would be useless to scream. Before help could come—if anyone heard + her cries, which was unlikely—Dan would have accomplished what he + meant to do. + </p> + <p> + In the last fraction of time these thoughts flashed through her mind. Her + brain seemed to be working with abnormal clarity and speed. This was + death, then—unavoidable, inevitable. + </p> + <p> + She felt Dan’s hand creep upward, closing round her throat. Quite suddenly + she ceased to struggle and lay still in his grasp. After all, she didn’t + know that she would much mind dying. Life was not so sweet. There would be + pain, she supposed . . . a moment’s agony. . . . + </p> + <p> + All at once, Storran’s hands fell away from her passive, silent body and + he stepped back. “I can’t do it!” he muttered hoarsely. “I can’t do it!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment the suddenness of her release left Magda swaying dizzily on + her feet. Then her brain clearing, she looked across to where Dan + Storran’s big figure faced her. The nonchalance with which she usually met + life, and with which a few moments earlier she had been prepared to face + inevitable death, stood by her now. A faint, quizzical smile tilted her + mouth. + </p> + <p> + “So you couldn’t do it after all, Dan?” The familiar note of + half-indifferent mockery sounded in her voice. + </p> + <p> + Storran stared at her. “By God! I don’t believe you are a woman!” he + exclaimed thickly. + </p> + <p> + She regarded him contemplatively, her hands lightly touching the red marks + scored by his fingers on the whiteness of her throat. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” she replied dispassionately, “I sometimes wonder if I am? I + don’t seem to have—feelings, like other women. It doesn’t matter to + me, really, a bit that I’ve—what was it you said?—smashed up + your life. I don’t know that it would have mattered much if you had + strangled me.” She paused, then stepped towards him. “Now you know the + truth. Do you still want to kill me, Dan Storran! . . . Or may I go?” + </p> + <p> + He swung aside from her. + </p> + <p> + “Go!” he muttered sullenly. “Go to <i>hell</i>!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <h3> + THE DAY AFTER + </h3> + <p> + “Magda, how could you?” Gillian’s voice was full of blank dismay. “You + ought to be thoroughly ashamed of yourself!” + </p> + <p> + Magda perched on the foot of Gillian’s bed, her hands clasped round her + knees, nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose I ought. I don’t know what made me do it—except that + he’d suggested I should leave Stockleigh! I’m not used to being—shunted!” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven knows you’re not!” agreed Gillian ruefully. “It would be a + wholesome tonic for you if you were. I told you only yesterday that it + would be better if we left here. And on top of that you must needs go and + dance in the moonlight, of all things, while Dan Storran looks on! What + ordinary man is going to keep his head in such circumstances, do you + suppose? Especially when he was more than half in love with you to start + with. . . . Oh, I should like to shake you!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ll leave now—as soon as ever you like,” replied Magda, + slipping down from the bed. She was unwontedly meek, from which Gillian + judged that for once she felt herself unable to cope with the situation + she had created. “Will you arrange it?” + </p> + <p> + Gillian shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” she returned resignedly. “As usual, you break the crockery + and someone else has to sweep up the pieces.” + </p> + <p> + Magda bent down and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “You’re such a dear, Gillyflower,” she said with that impulsive, lovable + charm of manner which it was so difficult to resist. “Still”—her + voice hardening a little—“perhaps there are a few odd bits that I’ll + have to sweep up myself.” + </p> + <p> + And she departed to her own room to complete her morning toilette, leaving + Gillian wondering rather anxiously what she could have meant. + </p> + <p> + When, half an hour later, the two girls descended for breakfast, Dan + Storran was not visible. He had gone off early to work, June explained, + and Magda experienced a sensation of distinct relief. She had dreaded + meeting Dan this morning. The mad, bizarre scene of the night before, with + sudden unleashing of savage and ungoverned passions, had shaken even her + insouciant poise, though she was very far from seeing it in its true + proportions. + </p> + <p> + June received Gillian’s intimation that they proposed leaving Stockleigh + Farm that day without comment. She was very quiet and self-contained, and + busied herself in making the necessary arrangements for their departure, + sending a boy into Ashencombe to order the wagonette from the Crown and + Bells to take them to the station whilst she herself laboriously made out + the account that was owing. When she presented the latter, with a + perfectly composed and business-like air, and proceeded conscientiously to + stamp and receipt it, no one could have guessed how bitter a thing it was + to her to accept Miss Vallincourt’s money. Within herself she recognised + that every penny of it had been earned at the cost of her own happiness. + </p> + <p> + But as she stood at the gate, watching the ancient vehicle from the Crown + and Bells bearing the London visitors towards the station, a little quiver + of hope stirred in her heart. Early that morning Dan himself had said to + her before starting out to his work: “Get those people away! They must be + out of the house before I come into it again. Pay them a week’s money + instead of notice if necessary. We can afford it.” So it was evident that + he, too, had realised the danger of their happiness—hers and his—if + Miss Vallincourt remained at Stockleigh any longer. + </p> + <p> + He did not come in till late in the evening, when June was sitting in the + lamplight, adding delicate stitchery to some tiny garments upon which she + was at work. She hid them hastily at the sound of his footsteps, + substituting one of his own socks that stood in need of repair. Not yet + could she share with him that wonderful secret joy which was hers. There + must be a clearer understanding between them first. They must get back to + where they were before Miss Vallincourt came between them, so that nothing + might mar the sweetness of the telling. + </p> + <p> + Presently Dan came into the room and sat down heavily. June looked across + at him. + </p> + <p> + “She has gone, Dan,” she said quietly. She did not use the word “they.” + Those others did not count as far as she was concerned. Her use of the + pronoun sounded significantly in Storran’s ears. + </p> + <p> + “You know, then?” he said dully. Adding, after a moment’s pause. “Did she + tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me?” repeated June doubtfully. “Tell me what?” + </p> + <p> + “That she’s robbed you of all that belongs to you.” + </p> + <p> + Her face blanched. “What do you mean, Dan?” she asked falteringly. “I + don’t think I understand.” + </p> + <p> + Her wide, questioning blue eyes, with that softness and depth of + expression dawning in them which motherhood gives to women’s eyes, + searched his face. The innocent appeal of them cut him to the heart. He + had loved his wife; and now he had to tell her that he loved her no + longer. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve got to understand,” he said roughly. His hatred of being compelled + to hurt her made him almost brutal. “I—everything is changed between + us, June.” He stopped, not knowing how to go on. + </p> + <p> + “Changed? How, Dan?” Her voice sharpened with apprehension. “Do you mean—that + you don’t—care any longer?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It’s that. It’s Magda—Oh, good God! Can’t you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “You love Miss Vallincourt?” June spoke in carefully measured accents. She + felt that if she did not speak very quietly indeed she should scream. She + wanted to laugh, too. It sounded so absurd to be asking her husband if he + loved Miss Vallincourt! + </p> + <p> + Dan’s eyes met her own. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “I love her.” He paused a moment, then added: “I asked her + to go away with me.” + </p> + <p> + June stared at him dumbly. The whole thing seemed unreal. She could not + feel as though what Dan was saying had any relation to herself, any + bearing on their life together. At last: + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t you go, then?” she heard herself say—at least, she + supposed she must be saying it, although the voice didn’t sound a bit like + her own. + </p> + <p> + Dan turned on her with sudden savagery. His nerves were raw. + </p> + <p> + “You speak as though you were disappointed,” he said roughly. + </p> + <p> + “No. But if you care for Miss Vallincourt and she cares for you, I’m + wondering what stopped you.” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn’t care for me”—shortly. + </p> + <p> + June felt a thrill of pure joy. If Magda didn’t care, then she could win + him back—win back her husband! Within her she was instinctively + aware that if Magda <i>had</i> cared, no power of hers could have won back + Dan’s allegiance. A faint doubt assailed her. + </p> + <p> + “She—she <i>seemed</i> as if she cared?” she ventured. + </p> + <p> + Dan nodded indifferently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I was a summer holiday’s amusement for her.” + </p> + <p> + “And—was that all?” + </p> + <p> + As June spoke, her direct gaze sought her husband’s face. He met it fair + and square, unflinchingly. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all,” he replied quietly. + </p> + <p> + She crossed the room swiftly to his side. + </p> + <p> + “Then, if that’s all, Dan, we—we won’t speak of it again—ever,” + she said steadily. “It—it was just a mistake. It need never come + between us. You’ll get over it, and I”—her small head reared itself + bravely—“I’ll forget it.” + </p> + <p> + The pathetic courage of her! Storran turned away with a groan. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered. “I shan’t ‘get over it.’ When a man loves a woman as I + love Magda he doesn’t ‘get over it.’ That’s what I meant when I told you + she had robbed you.” + </p> + <p> + “You <i>will</i> get over it, Dan,” she persisted. “I’ll help you.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t,” he returned doggedly. “You, least of all! Every touch of your + hand—I should be thinking what her touch would have meant! The sound + of your step—I’d be listening for hers!” + </p> + <p> + He saw her wince. He wanted to kick himself for hurting her like this. But + he knew what he intended doing; and sooner or later she must know too. It + would be better for her in the long run to face it now than to be + endlessly waiting and hoping and longing for what he knew could never be. + </p> + <p> + “Dan, I’ll be very patient. Don’t you think—if you tried—you + could conquer this love of yours for Miss Vallincourt?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It’s conquered me, June. It’s—it’s torture!” + </p> + <p> + “It will be easier now she’s gone away,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Gone away? . . . Aye, as far as London! And in five hours I could be with + her—see her again——” + </p> + <p> + He broke off. At the bare thought his heart was pounding against his ribs, + his breath labouring in his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you try, Dan?” Even to herself June’s voice sounded faint and far + away. + </p> + <p> + “It would be useless.” He got up and strode aimlessly back and forth, + coming at last to a standstill in front of her. “A man knows his own + limits, June. And I’ve reached mine. England can’t hold the two of us.” + </p> + <p> + June gave a little stifled cry. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean? You’re not—you’re not going to leave me? To go + abroad—now?” + </p> + <p> + There would be need for him in England soon—in a few months. But of + course he couldn’t know that. Should she tell him. Tell him why he <i>must + not</i> leave her now? Keep him with her by a sure and certain chain—the + knowledge that she was soon to be the mother of his child? + </p> + <p> + She debated the question wildly in her mind, tempted to tell him, yet + feeling that even if then he stayed with her it would not be because he + loved her or had ceased to care for Miss Vallincourt, but only because he + was impelled by a sense of duty. And her pride rebelled against holding + him by that. + </p> + <p> + His voice broke in upon her conflicting thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I’m going abroad. It’s the only thing, June. I can’t stay in England—and + keep away from her.” + </p> + <p> + June was silent a moment. Then she said in a very low voice, almost as + though speaking to herself: + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if—if you ever loved me.” + </p> + <p> + He wheeled round, and the desperate misery in his eyes hurt her almost + physically. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said harshly. “I did love you. In a way, I do now. But it’s + nothing—nothing to the madness in my blood! I’m a brute to leave + you. But I’m going to do it. No civilised country can hold me now!” + </p> + <p> + So that was to be the end of it! June recognised the bitter truth at last. + Magda had indeed robbed her of everything she possessed. And robbed her + wantonly, seeing that she herself set no value on Dan’s love—had, in + fact, tossed it aside like an outworn plaything. + </p> + <p> + June ceased to plead with Dan then. She would not wish to hold him by any + other chain than his love for her. And if that chain had snapped—broken + irrevocably—then the child born of what had once been love would + only be an encumbrance in his eyes, an unwelcome tie, shackling him to a + duty from which he longed to escape. + </p> + <p> + So she let him go—let him go in silence. . . . + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <h3> + WHAT LADY ARABELLA KNEW + </h3> + <p> + Lady Arabella might disapprove of her god-daughter from every point of the + compass, but she was nevertheless amazingly fond of her, so that when + Gillian appeared on her spotless Park Lane doorstep one afternoon with the + information that she and Magda had returned from Devonshire, she hailed + the announcement with enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “But where is Magda? Why didn’t she come with you?” she demanded + impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Her manager rang up to know if he could see her about various things in + connection with this next winter’s season, so there’s a great council in + progress. But she’s coming to see you to-morrow. Won’t I do”—Gillian + wrinkled her brows whimsically—“for to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Bless the child! Of course you will! Come along and tell me all about + your Devonshire trip. I suppose,” she went on, “you heard the news of + Michael Quarrington’s marriage? Or didn’t you get any newspapers down in + your benighted village?” + </p> + <p> + “No, we had no London papers,” replied Gillian doubtfully. “But—I + don’t understand. Mr. Quarrington isn’t married, is he? I thought—I + thought——” + </p> + <p> + “You thought he was in love with Magda. So he was. The announcement + startled everybody, I can tell you! And Davilof promptly decided that a + motoring trip would benefit his health and shot off to Devonshire at top + speed. Of course he wanted to impart the news to Magda. He must have felt + a pretty fool since!” And Lady Arabella gave one of her enjoyable + chuckles. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Antoine came down to see us,” replied Gillian in puzzled tones. “But + Magda never confided anything special he had said. I suppose he <i>must</i> + have told her——” She broke off as all at once illumination + penetrated the darkness. “That explains it, then! Explains everything!” + she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “What explains what?” demanded Lady Arabella bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “Why——” And Gillian proceeded to recount the events which had + led up to the abrupt termination of the visit to Stockleigh Farm. + </p> + <p> + “She was in a very odd kind of mood after Antoine had gone. I even asked + her if he had brought any bad news, but I couldn’t get any sensible answer + out of her. And that night she proceeded to dance in the moonlight with + Dan Storran for audience—out of sheer devilment, of course!” + </p> + <p> + “Or sheer heartsickness,” suggested Lady Arabella, with one of those quick + flashes of tender insight which combined so incongruously with the rest of + her personality. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think she—cared, then?” asked Gillian. + </p> + <p> + “For Quarrington? Of course I do. Oh, well it will all come right in the + end, I hope. And, anyway”—with a wicked little grin—“Davilof + won’t have quite such a clear coast as he anticipated.” + </p> + <p> + “But if Michael Quarrington is married—” + </p> + <p> + “He isn’t,” interrupted Lady Arabella briskly. “It was contradicted in the + papers the very next morning. Only I suppose Davilof hustled off to + Devonshire in such a hurry that he never saw it. + </p> + <p> + “Contradicted? But how did such a mistake arise?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, whoever supplied that particular tidbit of news got the names mixed. + It ought really to have been <i>Warrington</i>, not Quarrington—Mortrake + Warrington, the sculptor, you know. It seems he and Michael were both + using the same woman as a model—only Warrington married her! Spoiled + Michael’s picture—or his temper—when he ran off with her for a + honeymoon, I expect!” + </p> + <p> + On her return to Friars’ Holm Gillian hastened to retail for Magda’s + benefit the information she had acquired from Lady Arabella, and was + rewarded by the immediate change in her which became apparent. The + haunted, feverish look in her eyes was replaced by a more tranquil + shining, the intense restlessness she had evinced of late seemed to fall + away from her, and she ceased to pepper her conversation with the bitter + speeches which had worried Gillian more than a little, recognising in + them, as she did, the outcrop of some inward and spiritual turmoil. + </p> + <p> + To Magda, the fact that Michael was not married, after all, seemed to + re-create the whole world. It left hope still at the bottom of the box of + life’s possibilities. Looking backward, she realised now how strongly she + had clung to the belief that some day he would come back to her. It had + been the one gleam of light through all those dark months which had + followed his abrupt departure; and the intolerable pain of the hours that + had succeeded Davilof’s announcement of his marriage to the Spanish woman + had taught her how much Michael meant to her. + </p> + <p> + She was beginning to appreciate, too, the tangle of convictions and + emotions which had driven him from her side. His original attitude toward + her, based on the treatment she had accorded to his friend who had loved + her, had been one of plain censure and distrust, strengthened and + intensified by that strong “partisan” feeling of one man for another—fruit + of the ineradicable sex antagonism which so often colours the judgments + men pass on women and women on men. Then had come love, against which he + had striven in vain, and gradually, out of love, had grown a new tentative + belief which the pitiful culmination of the Raynham episode had suddenly + and very completely shattered. + </p> + <p> + Of late, circumstances had combined to impress on Magda an altogether new + point of view—the viewpoint from which other people might + conceivably regard her actions. She had never troubled about such a thing + before, nor was she finding the experience at all a pleasant one. But it + helped her to understand to a certain extent—though still only in a + very modified degree—the influences which had sent Michael + Quarrington out of England. + </p> + <p> + And now, in the passionate relief bred of the knowledge that he was still + free, that he had not gone straight from her to another woman, much of the + resentful hardness which had embittered her during the last few months + melted away, and she became once more the nonchalant, tantalising but + withal lovable and charming personality of former days. + </p> + <p> + She was even conscious of a certain compunction for her behaviour at + Stockleigh. She had been bitterly hurt herself, and since, for the moment, + to experiment with a new and, to her, quite unknown type of man had amused + her and helped to distract her thoughts, she had not paused to consider + the possible resultant consequences to the subject of the experiment. + </p> + <p> + She endeavoured to solace herself with the belief that after she had gone + he would instinctively turn to June once more, and that life on the farm + would probably resume the even tenor of its way. Gradually, with the + passage of time, her thoughts reverted less and less often to the + happenings at Stockleigh, and the prickings of conscience—which + beset her return to London—grew considerably fainter and more + infrequent. + </p> + <p> + It was almost inevitable that this should be so. With the autumn came the + stir and hustle of the season, with its thousand-and-one claims upon her + thought and time. The management of the Imperial Theatre was nothing if + not enterprising, and designed to present a series of ballets throughout + the course of the winter, in the greater number of which Magda would be + the bright and particular star. And in the absorption of work and the + sheer joy she found in the art which she loved, the recollection of her + holiday at Stockleigh slipped by degrees into the background of her mind. + Fraught with such immense significance and catastrophe to those others, + Dan and June—to Magda it soon came to occupy no more than an + incidental niche in her memory. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <h3> + CROSS CURRENTS + </h3> + <p> + Winter had slipped away, pushed from his place by the tender, resistless + hands of spring. And now spring had given place to summer, and June, arms + filled with flowers, was converting the earth into a garden of roses. + </p> + <p> + Magda’s car, purring its way southward along the great road from London, + sped between fields that still gleamed with the first freshness of their + young green, while through the open window drifted vagrant little puffs of + clean country air, coming delicately to her nostrils, fragrant of leaf and + bloom. + </p> + <p> + She was motoring to Netherway, a delightfully small and insignificant + place on the Hampshire coast where Lady Arabella had what it pleased her + to term her “cottage in the country,” a charming old place, Elizabethan in + character—the type of “cottage” which boasted a score or so of rooms + and every convenience which an imaginative estate agent, sustained by the + knowledge that his client regarded money as a means and not an end, could + devise. + </p> + <p> + Summer invitations to the Hermitage—as the place was quite inaptly + called, since no one could be less akin to a hermit than its gregarious + owner—were much sought after by the younger generation of Lady + Arabella’s set. The beautifully wooded park, with its green aisles of + shady solitude sloping down from the house to the very edge of the blue + waters of the Solent, was an ideal spot in which to bring to a safe and + happy conclusion a love affair that might seem to have hung fire a trifle + during the hurly-burly of the London season. And if further inducement + were needed, it was to be found in the fact that Lady Arabella herself + constituted the most desirable of chaperons, remaining considerately + inconspicuous until the moment when her congratulations were requested. + </p> + <p> + This year a considerable amount of disappointment had been occasioned by + the fact that she had left town quite early during the season, and later + on had apparently limited her invitations exclusively to the trio at + Friars’ Holm. She declared that the number of matrimonial ventures for + which the Hermitage was responsible was beginning to weigh on her + conscience. Also, she wanted a quiet holiday and she proposed to take one. + </p> + <p> + And now Magda was on her way to join her, Gillian remaining behind in + order to close up the house at Hampstead and settle the servants on board + wages. It had been arranged that she and Coppertop should come on to + Netherway immediately this was accomplished. + </p> + <p> + Magda could hardly believe that only a year had elapsed since last the + roses beckoned her out of London. It seemed far longer since that hot + summer’s day when she had rushed away to Devonshire, vainly seeking a + narcotic for the new and bewildering turmoil of pain that was besetting + her. + </p> + <p> + She had learned now that you carry a heartache with you, and that no + change of scenery makes up for the beloved face you can no longer see. For + Michael had not come back. He had remained abroad and had never by sign or + letter acknowledged that he even remembered her existence. Magda had come + to accept it as a fact now that he had gone out of her life entirely. + </p> + <p> + A whiff of air tinged with the salt tang of the sea blew in at the window, + and she came suddenly out of her musings to find that the car was winding + its way up the hill upon which the Hermitage was perched. + </p> + <p> + A long, low house, clothed in creeper, it stood just below the hill’s + brow, sheltered to the rear by a great belt of woods, and overlooking a + sea which sparkled in the sunlight as though strewn with diamond-dust. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella was waiting in the porch when the car drew up and welcomed + her god-daughter with delight. She seemed bubbling over with good spirits, + and there was a half-mischievous, half-guilty twinkle in her keen old eyes + which suggested that there might be some ulterior cause for her + effervescence. + </p> + <p> + “If you were poor I should say you’d just come into a fortune,” commented + Magda, regarding her judicially. “As you’re not, I should like to know why + you’re looking as pleased as a child with a new toy. Own up, now, + Marraine! What’s the secret you’ve got up your sleeve?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is a secret,” acknowledged Lady Arabella gleefully. “Come + along and I’ll show it you.” + </p> + <p> + Magda smiled and followed her across the long hall and into a room at the + further end of which stood a big easel. On the easel, just nearing + completion, rested a portrait of her godmother. It was rather a wonderful + portrait. The artist seemed to have penetrated beyond the mere physical + lineaments of his sitter into the very crannies of her soul. It was all + there—the thoroughly worldly shrewdness, the mordant, somewhat + cynical humour, and the genuine kindness of heart which went to make up + Lady Arabella’s personality as her world knew it. And something more. + Behind all these one sensed the glamour of a long-past romance, the + unquenched spark of a faith that, as Lady Arabella had herself once put it + in a rare moment of self-revelation, “love is the best thing this queer + old world of ours has to offer.” The portrait on the easel was that of a + woman who had visioned the miracle of love only to be robbed of its + fulfilment. + </p> + <p> + Magda stood silently in front of the picture, marvelling at its keen + perceptive powers. And then quite suddenly she realised who must have + painted it. It almost seemed to her as though she had really known it from + the first moment her eyes had rested on the canvas. The brushwork, and + that uncannily clever characterisation, were unmistakable. + </p> + <p> + “Good likeness, don’t you think?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella’s snapping speech broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “It’s rather more than that, isn’t it?” said Magda. “How did you seduce + Michael Quarrington? I thought”—for an instant her voice wavered, + then steadied again—“I thought he was abroad.” + </p> + <p> + “He was. At the present moment he’s at the Hermitage.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Here</i>?” + </p> + <p> + Magda turned her head aside so that Lady Arabella might not see the wave + of scarlet which flooded her face and then receded, leaving it milk-white. + Michael . . . <i>here</i>! She felt her heart beating in great suffocating + throbs, and the room seemed to swim round her. If he were here, knowing + that she was to be his fellow-guest, surely he could not hate her so + badly! She was conscious of a sudden wild uprush of hope. Perhaps—perhaps + happiness was not so far away, after all! + </p> + <p> + And then she heard Lady Arabella’s voice breaking across the riot of + emotion which stirred within her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he has been here the last three weeks painting my portrait. It’s for + you, the portrait. I thought you’d like to have it when you haven’t got + the original any longer.” + </p> + <p> + Magda turned to her suddenly, her affection for her godmother alertly + apprehensive. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” she said anxiously. “You’re—you’re not ill, + Marraine?” + </p> + <p> + “Ill? No. But I’m over seventy. And after seventy you’ve had your allotted + span, you know. Anything beyond that’s an extra. And whether fate gives me + a bit more rope or not, I’ve nothing to grumble at. I’ve <i>lived</i>, not + vegetated—and I’ve had a very good time, too.” She paused, then + added slowly: “Though I’ve missed the best.” + </p> + <p> + Magda slipped her hand into the old woman’s thin, wrinkled one with a + quick gesture of understanding, and a little sympathetic silence fell + between them. + </p> + <p> + “Then you’ll find the hanging-room for the portrait at Friars’ Holm?” + queried Lady Arabella, breaking it at last in practical tones. + </p> + <p> + “You know we’d love to have it,” replied Magda warmly. In a studiously + casual voice she pursued: “By the way, does Mr. Quarrington know I’m + here?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella nodded. Secretly she was congratulating herself on having + successfully tided over the awkwardness of explaining Michael’s presence + at the Hermitage. She had been somewhat apprehensive as to how Magda would + take it. It was quite on the cards that she might have ordered her car + round again and driven straight back to London! + </p> + <p> + But she had accepted the fact with apparent composure—one’s mental + states, fortunately, being invisible to the curious eyes of the outside + world!—and Lady Arabella felt proportionately relieved. Nor had + Quarrington himself evinced any particular emotion, either of + dissatisfaction or otherwise, when she had confided to him the fact that + she was expecting her god-daughter. And although the extreme composure + exhibited by both Michael and Magda was a trifle baffling, Lady Arabella + was fain to comfort herself with her confirmed belief in propinquity as + the resolution of most lovers’ problems and misunderstandings. + </p> + <p> + She was fully determined to bring these two together once more if it were + in any way possible, and the commission to paint her portrait had been + merely part of her scheme. Her three score years and ten had had little + enough to do with it. They weighed extremely lightly on her erect old + shoulders, and her spirit was as unquenchable as it had been twenty years + ago. It seemed more than likely that fate was preparing to allow her quite + a good deal of rope. + </p> + <p> + As for Quarrington, he would probably have refused to return to England at + this juncture to please anyone other than Lady Arabella. But somehow no + one ever did refuse Lady Arabella anything that she particularly set her + heart upon. Moreover, as he reflected upon receipt of her assured little + missive commissioning him to paint her portrait, he would be obliged to + return to England sooner or later, and by now he felt he had himself + sufficiently in hand to risk the contingency of a possible meeting with + Magda. But he had hardly counted upon finding himself actually under the + same roof with her for days together, and, although outwardly unmoved, he + was somewhat taken aback when halfway through his visit to the Hermitage, + Lady Arabella cheerfully communicated the prospect to him. + </p> + <p> + He could read between the lines and guess her purpose, and it afforded him + a certain sardonic amusement. It was like Lady Arabella’s temerity, he + reflected! No other woman, knowing as much of the special circumstances as + she did, would have ventured so far. + </p> + <p> + Well, she would soon realise that her attempt to bridge matters over + between himself and her god-daughter was foredoomed to failure. He would + never trust Magda, or any other woman, again. From the moment he had left + England he had made up his mind that henceforth no woman should have any + place in his life, and certain subsequent occurrences had confirmed him in + this determination. + </p> + <p> + At the same time he was not going to run away. He would stay and face it + out. He would remain at the Hermitage until he had finished the portrait + upon which he was at work, and then he would pack up and depart. + </p> + <p> + So that when finally he and Magda met in the sun-filled South Parlour at + the Hermitage each of them was prepared to treat the other with a cool + detachment. + </p> + <p> + But Magda found it difficult to maintain her pose after her first glance + at his face. The alteration in it sent a swift pang to her heart. It had + hardened—hardened into lines of a grim self-control that spoke of + long mental conflict. The mouth, too, had learned to close in a new line + of bitterness, and in the grey eyes as they rested on her there lay a + certain cynical indifference which seemed to set her as far away from him + as the north is from the south. She realised that the gulf between them + was almost as wide and impassable as though he were in very truth the + Spanish dancer’s husband. This man proposed to give her neither love nor + forgiveness. Only the feminine instinct of pride—the pride of woman + who must be sought and never the seeker—carried her through the + ordeal of the first meeting. Nor did he seek to make it easier for her. + </p> + <p> + “It is a long time since you were in England,” she remarked after the + first interchange of civilities. + </p> + <p> + “Very long,” agreed Quarrington politely. “It would probably have been + still longer if Lady Arabella had not tempted me. But her portrait was too + interesting a commission to refuse.” + </p> + <p> + “It sounds banal to say how good I think it. You never paint anything that + <i>isn’t</i> good, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I paint what I see.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case quite a lot of people might be afraid to have their + portraits painted by you—beauty being so much in the eye of the + beholder!” returned Magda with the flippancy that is so often only the + defence behind which a woman takes refuge. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think so. As a matter of fact I have no objection to painting a + plain face—provided there’s a beautiful soul behind it.” + </p> + <p> + “But I suppose a beautiful soul in a beautiful body would satisfy you + better?” + </p> + <p> + “It might, if such a combination existed.” + </p> + <p> + Magda flushed a little. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t think it does?” + </p> + <p> + The grey, contemptuous eyes swept her face suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “My experience has not led me to think so.” + </p> + <p> + There was an almost calculated insolence in the careless answer. It was as + though he had tossed her an epitome of his opinion of her. Magda’s spirit + rose in opposition. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps your experience has been somewhat limited,” she observed. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it has. If so, I have no wish to extend it.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of Michael’s taciturnity—or perhaps, more truly, on account + of it—Magda’s spirits lightened curiously after that first interview + with him. The mere fact of his presence had stilled the incessant ache at + her heart—the ache to see him again and hear his voice. And the + morose cynicism of his thrusts at her was just so much proof that, + although he had forced himself to remain out of England for a year and a + half, yet he had not thereby achieved either peace of mind or + indifference. Magda was too true a daughter of Eve not to know that a man + doesn’t expend powder and shot on a woman to whom he is completely + indifferent. + </p> + <p> + The next day or two were not without their difficulties, as Lady Arabella + speedily realised. A triangular party, when two out of the three share + certain poignant memories, is by no means the easiest thing to + stage-manage. There were inevitable awkward moments that could only be + surmounted by the exercise of considerable tact, and the hours which Lady + Arabella passed sitting to Quarrington for her portrait, while Magda + wandered alone through the woods or sculled a solitary boat up the river, + helped to minimize the strain considerably. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, it was a relief to everyone concerned when Gillian and + Coppertop were added to the party. A strained atmosphere was somewhat + difficult of accomplishment anywhere within the joyous vicinity of the + latter, while Gillian’s tranquil and happy nature reacted on the whole + household. + </p> + <p> + “That’s an extraordinary friendship,” commented Quarrington one day as he + and his hostess stood at the window watching Gillian and Magda, returned + from shopping in the village, approaching up the drive. “Mrs. Grey is so + simple and—to use an overworked word—so essentially womanly.” + </p> + <p> + “And Magda?” + </p> + <p> + The hard look deepened in Michael’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Essentially—feminine,” he answered curtly. “A quite different + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “She hasn’t found her soul yet,” said Lady Arabella. Adding with sudden + daring: “Suppose you find it for her, Michael?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think the search would interest me,” he returned coolly. “I + haven’t the instinct of the prospector.” He paused, then went on slowly + and as though making the admission almost against his will: “But I’d like + to paint her.” + </p> + <p> + “A portrait of her?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not a portrait.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you mean you want her to sit for your ‘Circe’?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella knew all about the important picture he had in mind to + paint. They had often discussed it together during the progress of the + sittings she had been giving him, and she was aware that so far he had + been unable to find a suitable model. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said slowly. “She is the perfect model for such a subject—body + and soul.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella ignored the sneer. + </p> + <p> + “Then why not ask her to sit for you?” + </p> + <p> + Quarrington’s brows drew together. + </p> + <p> + “You know the answer to that, I think, Lady Arabella,” he answered curtly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you men! I’ve no patience with you!” exclaimed the old lady testily. + “<i>I</i> shall ask her, then!” + </p> + <p> + Gillian and Magda, laden with parcels, entered the room as she spoke, and, + before Quarrington could prevent her, she had flashed round on her + god-daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Magda, here’s Michael in need of a model for the best picture he’s ever + likely to paint, and it seems you exactly fit the bill. Will you sit for + him?” + </p> + <p> + Followed an astonished silence. Gillian glanced apprehensively towards + Magda. She felt as though Lady Arabella had suddenly let off a firework in + their midst. Magda halted in the process of unwrapping a small parcel. + </p> + <p> + “What is the subject of the picture?” + </p> + <p> + There was a perceptible pause. Then Lady Arabella took the bull by the + horns. + </p> + <p> + “Circe,” she said tersely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Magda seemed to reflect. “She turned men into swine, didn’t she?” + She looked across at Quarrington. “And I’m to understand you think I’d + make a suitable model for that particular subject?” + </p> + <p> + “She was a very beautiful person,” suggested Gillian hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Quarrington hasn’t answered my question,” persisted Magda. + </p> + <p> + He met her glance with cool defiance. + </p> + <p> + “Then, yes,” he returned with a little bow. “As Mrs. Grey has just + remarked—Circe was very beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “You score,” observed Magda demurely. There was a glint of amusement in + her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think he does,” agreed Lady Arabella, who was deriving an impish, + pixie-like enjoyment from the situation. Then, recognising that it might + be more diplomatic not to press the matter any further at the moment, she + skilfully drew the conversation into other channels. + </p> + <p> + It was not until evening, after dinner, that she reverted to the subject. + They had all four been partaking of coffee and cigarettes on the verandah, + and subsequently she had proposed a stroll in the garden—a + suggestion to which Gillian responded with alacrity. Magda, her slim + length extended on a comfortably cushioned wicker lunge, shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I’m too comfortable to stir,” she declared idly. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella paused at the edge of the verandah and contemplated her + critically. Something in the girl’s pose and in the long, lithe lines of + her recumbent figure was responsible for her next remark. + </p> + <p> + “I can see you as Circe,” she commented, “quite well.” She tucked her arm + into Gillian’s and, as they moved away together, threw back over her + shoulder: “By the way, have you two settled the vexed question of the + model for the picture yet?” + </p> + <p> + Quarrington blew a thin stream of smoke into the air before replying. + Then, looking quizzically across at Magda, he asked: “Have we?” + </p> + <p> + “Have we what?” + </p> + <p> + “Decided whether you will sit for my picture of Circe?” + </p> + <p> + Magda lifted her long white lids and met his glance. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I?” she asked lazily. + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders with apparent unconcern. + </p> + <p> + “No reason in the world—unless you feel inclined to do a good turn.” + </p> + <p> + His indifference was maddening. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t make a habit of doing good turns,” she retorted sharply. + </p> + <p> + “So I should imagine.” + </p> + <p> + The contemptuous edge to his voice roused her to indignation. As always, + she found herself stung to the quick by the man’s coolly critical attitude + towards her. She was back once more in the atmosphere of their first + meeting on the day he had come to her assistance in the fog. It seemed + almost incredible that all that followed had ever taken place—incredible + that he had ever cared for her or taught her to care for him. At least he + was making it very clear to her now that he intended to cut those + intervening memories out of his life. + </p> + <p> + It was a sheer challenge to her femininity, and everything that was woman + in her rose to meet it. + </p> + <p> + She smiled across at him engagingly. + </p> + <p> + “I might—perhaps—make an exception.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment there was silence. Quarrington’s gaze was riveted on her + slim, supple figure with its perfect symmetry and rare grace of limb. It + was difficult to interpret his expression. Magda wondered if he were going + to reject her offer. He seemed to be fighting something out with himself—pulled + two ways—the artist in him combating the man’s impulse to resist + her. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the artist triumphed. He rose and, coming to her side, stood + looking down at her. + </p> + <p> + “Will you?” he said. “<i>Will you</i>?” + </p> + <p> + Something more than the artist spoke in his voice. It held a note of + passionate eagerness, a clipped tensity that set all her pulses racing. + </p> + <p> + She turned her head aside. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, a little breathlessly. “Yes—if you want me to.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <h3> + A READJUSTMENT OF IDEAS + </h3> + <p> + Magda glanced from the divan covered with a huge tiger-skin to Michael, + wheeling his easel into place. A week’s hard work on the part of the + artist had witnessed the completion of Lady Arabella’s portrait, and + to-day he proposed to make some preliminary sketches for “Circe.” + </p> + <p> + Magda felt oddly nervous and unsure of herself. This last fortnight passed + in daily companionship with Quarrington had proved a considerable strain. + Not withstanding that she had consented to sit for his picture of Circe, + he had not deviated from the attitude which he had apparently determined + upon from the first moment of her arrival at the Hermitage—an + attitude of aloof indifference to which was added a bitterness of speech + that continually thrust at her with its trenchant cynicism. It was as + though he had erected a high wall between them which Magda found no effort + of hers could break down, and she was beginning to ask herself whether he + could ever really have cared for her at all. Surely no man who had once + cared could be so hard—so implacably hard! + </p> + <p> + And now, alone with him in the big room which had been converted into a + temporary studio, she found herself overwhelmed by a feeling of intense + self-consciousness. She felt it would be impossible to bear the coolly + neutral gaze of those grey eyes for hours at a time. She wished fervently + that she had never consented to sit for the picture at all. + </p> + <p> + “How do you want me to pose?” she inquired at last, endeavouring to speak + with her usual detachment and conscious that she was failing miserably. + “You haven’t told me yet.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed a little. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t the least intention of telling you,” he replied. “‘The + Wielitzska’ doesn’t need advice as to how to pose.” + </p> + <p> + Magda looked at him uncertainly. + </p> + <p> + “But you’ve given me no idea of what you want,” she protested. “I must + have some idea to start from!” + </p> + <p> + “I want a recumbent Circe,” he vouchsafed at last. “Hence the divan. Here + is the goblet”—he held it out—“supposed to contain the fatal + potion which transformed men into swine. I leave the rest to you. You + posed very successfully for me some years ago—without my issuing any + stage directions. Afterwards you played the part of a youthful Circe, I + remember. You should be more experienced now.” + </p> + <p> + She flushed under the cool, satirical tone. It seemed as though he + neglected no opportunity of impressing on her the poor estimation in which + he held her. Her thoughts flew back to a sunlit glade in a wood and to the + grey-eyed, boyish-looking painter who had kissed her and called her + “Witch-child!” + </p> + <p> + “You—you were kinder in those days,” she said suddenly. She made a + few steps towards him and stood looking up at him, her hands hanging + loosely clasped in front of her, like a penitent school-girl. + </p> + <p> + “Saint Michel”—and at the sound of her old childish name for him he + winced. “Saint Michel, I don’t think I can sit for you if—if you’re + going to be unkind. I thought I could, but—but—I can’t!” + </p> + <p> + “Unkind?” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said desperately. “Since I came here you’ve said a good many + hard things to me. I—I dare say I’ve deserved them. But”—smiling + up at him rather wanly—“it isn’t always easy to accept one’s + deserts.” She paused, then spoke quickly: “Couldn’t we—while we’re + here together—behave like friends? Just friends? It’s only for a + short time.” + </p> + <p> + His face had whitened while she was speaking. He was silent for a little + and his hand, grasping the side of the big easel, slowly tightened its + grip till the knuckles showed white like bone. At last he answered her. + </p> + <p> + “Very well—friends, then! So be it.” + </p> + <p> + Impulsively she held out her hand. He took it in his and held it a moment, + looking down at its slim whiteness. Then he bent his head and she felt his + lips hot against her soft palm. + </p> + <p> + A little shaken, she drew away from him and moved towards the divan. She + paused beside it and glanced down reflectively at the goblet she still + carried in her hand, mentally formulating her conception of Circe before + she posed. An instant later and her voice roused Quarrington from the + momentary reverie into which he had fallen. + </p> + <p> + “How would this do?” + </p> + <p> + He looked up, and as his gaze absorbed the picture before him an eager + light of pure aesthetic satisfaction leaped into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Hold that!” he exclaimed quickly. “Don’t move, please!” And, snatching up + a stick of charcoal, he began to sketch rapidly with swift, sure strokes. + </p> + <p> + The pose she had assumed was matchless. She was half-sitting, half-lying + on the divan, the swathing draperies of her tunic outlining the wonderful + modelling of her limbs. The upper part of her body, twisting a little from + the waist, was thrown back as she leaned upon one arm, hand pressed palm + downward on the tiger-skin. In her other hand she held a golden goblet, + proffering the fatal draught, and her tilted face with its strange, + enigmatic smile and narrowed lids held all the seductive entreaty and + beguilement, and the deep, cynical knowledge of mankind, which are the + garnerings of the Circes of this world. + </p> + <p> + At length Quarrington laid down his charcoal. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a splendid pose,” he said enthusiastically. “That sideways bend + you’ve given to your body—it’s wonderful! But can you stand it, do + you think? Of course I’ll give you rests as often as I can, but even so it + will be a very trying pose to hold.” + </p> + <p> + Magda sat up, letting her feet slide slowly over the edge of the divan. + The “feet of Aurora” someone had once called them—white and arched, + with rosy-tipped toes curved like the petals of a flower. + </p> + <p> + “I can hold it for a good while, I think,” she answered evasively. + </p> + <p> + She did not tell him that even to her trained muscles the preservation of + this particular pose, with its sinuous twist of the body, was likely to + prove somewhat of a strain. If the pose was so exactly what he wanted for + his Circe, he should have it, whatever the cost to herself. + </p> + <p> + And without knowing it, yielding to an impulse which she hardly + recognised, Magda had taken the first step along the pathway of service + and sacrifice trodden by those who love. + </p> + <p> + “It seems as though you were destined to be the model of my two + ‘turning-point’ pictures,” commented Quarrington some days later, during + one of the intervals when Magda was taking a brief rest. “It was the + ‘Repose of Titania’ which first established my reputation, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “But this can’t be a ‘turning-point,’” objected Magda. “When you’ve + reached the top of the pinnacle of fame, so to speak, there isn’t any + ‘turning-point’—unless”—laughing—“you’re going to turn + round and climb down again!” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no top to the pinnacle of work—of achievement,” he answered + quietly. “At least, there shouldn’t be. One just goes on—slipping + back a bit, sometimes, then scrambling on again.” His glance returned to + the picture and Magda watched the ardour of the creative artist light + itself anew in his eyes. “That”—he nodded towards the canvas—“is + going to be the best bit of work I’ve done.” + </p> + <p> + “What made you”—she hesitated a moment—“what made you choose + Circe as the subject?” + </p> + <p> + His face clouded over. + </p> + <p> + “The experience of a friend of mine.” + </p> + <p> + Magda caught her breath. + </p> + <p> + “Not—you don’t mean——-” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no”—divining her thought—“not the friend of whom you know—who + loved the dancer. She hurt him”—looking at her significantly—“but + she didn’t injure him to that extent. Circe turned men into swine, you + remember. My friend was too fine a character for her to spoil like that.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad.” Magda spoke very low, her head bent. She felt unable to meet + his eyes. After a short silence she asked: “Then what inspired—this + picture?” + </p> + <p> + Was it some woman-episode that had occurred while he was abroad which had + scored those new lines on his face, embittering the mouth and implanting + that sternly sad expression in the grey eyes? She must know—at all + hazards, she must know! + </p> + <p> + Quarrington lit a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not a pretty story,” he remarked harshly. + </p> + <p> + Magda glanced towards the picture. The enchanting, tilted face smiled at + her from the canvas, faintly derisive. + </p> + <p> + “Tell it me,” was all she said. + </p> + <p> + “There’s very little to tell,” he answered briefly. “There was a man and + his wife—and another woman. Till the latter came along they were + absolutely happy together—sufficient unto each other. The other + woman was one of the Circe type, and she broke the man. Broke him utterly. + I happened to be in Paris at the time, and he came to see me there on his + way out to South America. He’d left his wife, left his work—everything. + Just <i>quitted</i>! Since then I believe ‘Frisco has seen more of him + than any other place. A man I know ran across him there and told me he’d + gone under—utterly.” + </p> + <p> + “And the wife?” + </p> + <p> + “Dead”—shortly. “She’d no heart to go on living—no wish to. + She died when their first child was born—she and the child together—a + few months after her husband had left her.” + </p> + <p> + Magda uttered a stifled cry of pity, but Quarrington seemed not to hear + it. + </p> + <p> + “That woman was a twentieth-century Circe.” He paused, then added with + grim conviction: “There’s no forgiveness for a woman like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Don’t say that!” + </p> + <p> + The words broke impulsively from Magda’s lips. The recollection of the + summer she had spent at Stockleigh rushed over her accusingly—and + she realised that actually she had come between Dan Storran and his wife + very much as the Circe woman of Michael’s story had come between some + other husband and wife. + </p> + <p> + A deep compassion for that unknown woman surged up within her. Surely her + burden of remorse must be almost more than she could endure! And Magda—to + whom penalties and consequences had hitherto been but very unimportant + factors with which she concerned herself as little as possible—was + all at once conscious of an intense thankfulness that she had not been + thus punished, that she had quitted Stockleigh leaving husband and wife + still together. Together, they would find the way back into each other’s + hearts! + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say that!” she repeated imploringly. “It sounds so hard—so + relentless!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think that it is a case for relenting. But I oughtn’t to have + told you about it. After all, neither the husband nor wife were friends of + yours. And you’re looking quite upset over it. I didn’t imagine that you + were so easily moved to sympathy.” + </p> + <p> + She looked away. Of late she had been puzzled herself at the new and + unwonted emotions which stirred her. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think—I used to be,” she said at last, uncertainly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, please don’t take the matter too much to heart or you won’t be able + to assume the personality of Circe again when you’ve rested. I don’t want + to paint the picture of a model of propriety!” + </p> + <p> + It seemed as though he were anxious to restore the conversation to a + lighter vein, and Magda responded gladly. + </p> + <p> + “I’m quite rested now. Shall I pose again?” she suggested a few minutes + later. + </p> + <p> + Michael assented and, picking up his palette, began squeezing out fresh + shining little worms of paint on to it while Magda reassumed her pose. For + a while he chatted intermittently, but presently he fell silent, becoming + more and more deeply absorbed in his work. Finally, when some remark of + hers repeated a second time still remained unanswered, she realised that + he had completely forgotten her existence. As far as he was concerned she + was no longer Magda Wielitzska, posing for him, but Circe, the + enchantress, whose amazing beauty he was transferring to his canvas in + glowing brushstrokes. As with all genius, the impulse of creative work had + seized him suddenly and was driving him on regardless of everything + exterior to his art. + </p> + <p> + Time had ceased to matter to him, and Magda, with little nervous pains + shooting first through one limb, then another, was wondering how much + longer she could maintain the pose. She was determined not to give in, not + to check him while that fervour of creation was upon him. + </p> + <p> + The pain was increasing. She felt as though she were being stabbed with + red-hot knives. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, and her + breath came gaspingly between her lips. + </p> + <p> + All at once the big easel at which Michael was standing receded out of + sight, and when it reappeared again it was quite close to her, swaying and + nodding like a mandarin. Instinctively she put out her hand to steady it, + but it leaned nearer and nearer and finally gave a huge lurch and swooped + down on top of her, and the studio and everything in it faded out of + sight. . . . + </p> + <p> + The metallic tinkle of the gold goblet as it fell from her hand and rolled + along the floor startled Michael out of his absorption. With a sharp + exclamation he flung down his brush and palette and strode hurriedly to + the divan. Magda was lying half across it in a little crumpled heap, + unconscious. + </p> + <p> + His first impulse to lift her up was arrested by something in her + attitude, and he stood quite still, looking down at her, his face suddenly + drawn and very weary. + </p> + <p> + In the limp figure with its upturned face and the purple shadows which + fatigue had painted below the closed eyelids, there was an irresistible + appeal. She looked so young, so helpless, and the knowledge that she had + done this for him—forced her limbs into agonised subjection until at + last conscious endurance had failed her—moved him indescribably. + </p> + <p> + Surely this was a new Magda! Or else he had never known her. Had he been + too hard—hard to her and pitilessly hard to himself—when he + had allowed the ugly facts of her flirtation with Kit Raynham to drive him + from her? + </p> + <p> + Eighteen months ago! And in all those eighteen months no word of gossip, + no lightest breath of scandal against her, had reached his ears. Had he + been merely a self-righteous Pharisee, enforcing the penalty of old sins, + bygone failings? A grim smile twisted his lips. If so, and he had made her + suffer, he had at least suffered equally himself! + </p> + <p> + He stooped over the prone figure on the divan. Lower, lower still, till a + tendril of dark hair that had strayed across her forehead quivered beneath + his breath. Then suddenly he drew back, jerking himself upright. Striding + across the room he pealed the bell and, when a neat maidservant appeared + in response, ordered sharply: + </p> + <p> + “Bring some brandy—quick! And ask Mrs. Grey to come here. + Mademoiselle Wielitzska has fainted.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <h3> + AT THE END OF THE STORM + </h3> + <p> + “This is very nice—but it won’t exactly contribute towards finishing + the picture!” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke Magda leaned back luxuriously against her cushions and + glanced smilingly across at Michael where he sat with his hand on the + tiller of the <i>Bella Donna</i>, the little sailing-yacht which Lady + Arabella kept for the amusement of her guests rather than for her own + enjoyment, since she herself could rarely be induced to go on board. + </p> + <p> + It had been what Magda called a “blue day”—the sky overhead a deep + unbroken azure, the dimpling, dancing waters of the Solent flinging back a + blue almost as vivid—and she and Quarrington had put out from + Netherway harbour in the morning and crossed to Cowes. + </p> + <p> + Here they had lunched and Magda had purchased one or two of the + necessities of life (from a feminine point of view) not procurable in the + village emporia at Netherway. Afterwards, as there was still ample time + before they need think of returning home, Michael had suggested an hour’s + run down towards the Needles. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Bella Donna</i> sped gaily before the wind, and neither of its + occupants, engrossed in conversation, noticed that away to windward a bank + of sullen cloud was creeping forward, slowly but surely eating up the blue + of the sky. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it will contribute towards finishing the picture.” Quarrington + answered Magda’s laughing comment composedly. “A blow like this will have + done you all the good in the world, and I shan’t have you collapsing on my + hands again as you did a week ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then, you brought me out on hygienic grounds alone?” derided Magda. + </p> + <p> + She was feeling unaccountably happy and light-hearted. Since the day when + she had fainted during the sitting Michael seemed to have changed. He no + longer gave utterance to those sudden, gibing speeches which had so often + hurt her intolerably. That sense of his aloofness, as though a great wall + rose between them, was gone. Somehow she felt that he had drawn nearer to + her, and once or twice those grey, compelling eyes had glowed with a + smothered fire that had set her heart racing unsteadily within her. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you enjoyed to-day, then?” he inquired, responding to her + question with another. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve loved it,” she answered simply. “I think if I’d been a man I should + have chosen to be a sailor.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it’s a good thing heaven saw to it that you were a woman. The world + couldn’t have done without its Wielitzska.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know”—half-indifferently, half-wistfully. “It’s + astonishing how little necessary anyone really is in this world. If I were + drowned this afternoon the Imperial management would soon find someone to + take my place.” + </p> + <p> + “But your friends wouldn’t,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + Magda laughed a little uncertainly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I won’t suggest we put them to the test, so please take me home + safely.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke a big drop of rain splashed down on to her hand. Then another + and another. Simultaneously she and Michael glanced upwards to the sky + overhead, startlingly transformed from an arch of quivering blue into a + monotonous expanse of grey, across which came sweeping drifts of black + cloud, heavy with storm. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove! We’re in for it!” muttered Quarrington. + </p> + <p> + His voice held a sudden gravity. He knew the danger of those unexpected + squalls which trap the unwary in the Solent, and inwardly he cursed + himself for not having observed the swift alteration in the weather. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Bella Donna</i>, too, was by no means the safest of craft in which + to meet rough weather. She was slipping along very fast now, and Michael’s + keen glance swept the gray landscape to where, at the mouth of the + channel, the treacherous Needles sentinelled the open sea. + </p> + <p> + “We must bring her round—quick!” he said sharply, springing up. “Can + you take the tiller? Do you know how to steer?” + </p> + <p> + Magda caught the note of urgency in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “I can do what you tell me,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know port from starboard?” he asked grimly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I know that.” + </p> + <p> + Even while they had been speaking the wind had increased, churning the sea + into foam-flecked billows that swirled and broke only to gather anew. + </p> + <p> + It was ticklish work bringing the <i>Bella Donna</i> to the wind. Twice + she refused to come, lurching sickeningly as she rolled broadside on to + the race of wind-driven waves. The third time she heeled over till her + canvas almost brushed the surface of the water and it seemed as though she + must inevitably capsize. There was an instant’s agonised suspense. Then + she righted herself, the mainsail bellied out as the boom swung over, and + the tense moment passed. + </p> + <p> + “Frightened?” queried Quarrington when he had made fast the mainsheet. + </p> + <p> + Magda smiled straight into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No. We almost capsized then, didn’t we?” + </p> + <p> + “It was a near shave,” he answered bluntly. + </p> + <p> + They did not speak much after that. They had enough to do to catch the + wind which seemed to bluster from all quarters at once, coming in violent, + gusty spurts that shook the frail little vessel from stem to stern. Time + after time the waves broke over her bows, flooding the deck and drenching + them both with stinging spray. + </p> + <p> + Magda sat very still, maintaining her grip of the wet and slippery tiller + with all the strength of her small, determined hands. Her limbs ached with + cold. The piercing wind and rain seemed to penetrate through her thin + summer clothing to her very skin. But unwaveringly she responded to + Michael’s orders as they reached her through the bellowing of the gale. + Her eyes were like stars and her lips closed in a scarlet line of courage. + </p> + <p> + “Port your helm! <i>Hard</i>! . . . Hold on!” + </p> + <p> + Then the thudding swing of the boom as the <i>Bella Donna</i> slewed round + on a fresh tack. + </p> + <p> + The hurly-burly of the storm was bewildering. In the last hour or so the + entire aspect of things had altered, and Magda was conscious of a freakish + sense of the unreality of it all. With the ridiculous inconsequence of + thought that so often accompanies moments of acute anxiety she reflected + that Noah probably experienced a somewhat similar astonishment when he + woke up one morning to find that the Flood had actually begun. + </p> + <p> + It seemed as though the storm had reached out long arms and drawn the + whole world of land and sea and sky into its turbulent embrace. Driving + sheets of rain blurred the coastline on either hand, while the wind caught + up the grey waters into tossing, crested billows and flung them down again + in a smother of angry spume. + </p> + <p> + Overhead, it screamed through the rigging of the little craft like a + tormented devil, tearing at the straining canvas with devouring fingers + while the slender mast groaned beneath its force. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a terrific gust of wind seemed to strike the boat like an actual + blow. Magda saw Michael leap aside, and in the same instant came a + splitting, shattering report as the mast snapped in half and a tangled + mass of wood and cordage and canvas fell crash on to the deck where he had + been standing. + </p> + <p> + Magda uttered a cry and sprang to her feet. For an instant her heart + seemed to stop beating as she visioned him beneath the mass of tackle. Or + had he been swept off his feet—overboard into the welter of grey, + surging waters that clamoured round the boat? + </p> + <p> + The moment of uncertainty seemed endless, immeasurable. Then Michael + appeared, stepping across the wreckage, and came towards her. The relief + was almost unendurable. She stretched out shaking hands. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Michael! . . . Michael!” she cried sobbingly. + </p> + <p> + And all at once she was in his arms. She felt them close about her, strong + as steel and tender as love itself. In the rocking, helpless boat, with + the storm beating up around them and death a sudden, imminent hazard, she + had come at last into haven. + </p> + <p> + An hour later the storm had completely died away. It had begun to abate in + violence almost immediately after the breaking of the <i>Bella Donna’s</i> + mast. It was as though, having wreaked its fury and executed all the + damage possible short of absolute destruction, it was satisfied. With the + same suddenness with which it had arisen it sank away, leaving a sulky, + sunless sky brooding above a sullen sea still heaving restlessly with the + aftermath of tempest. + </p> + <p> + The yacht had drifted gradually out of mid-channel shorewards, and after + one or two unsuccessful efforts Quarrington at last succeeded in casting + anchor. Then he turned to Magda, who had been assisting in the operation, + with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “That’s about all we can do,” he said. “We’re perfectly helpless till some + tug or steamer comes along.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably they’ll run us down,” she suggested. “We’re in the fairway, + aren’t we?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—which is about our best hope of getting picked up before + night.” Then, laying his hand on her arm: “Are you very cold and wet?” + </p> + <p> + Magda laughed—laughed out of sheer happiness. What did being cold + matter, or wet either, if Michael loved her? And she was sure now that he + did, though there had been but the one moment’s brief embrace. Afterwards + he had had his hands full endeavouring to keep the <i>Bella Donna</i> + afloat. + </p> + <p> + “I think the wind has blown my things dry,” she said. “How about you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m all right—men’s clothing being adapted for use, not + ornament! But I must find something to wrap you up in. We may be here for + hours and the frock you’re wearing has about as much warming capacity as a + spider’s web.” + </p> + <p> + He disappeared below into the tiny, single-berthed cabin, and presently + returned armed with a couple of blankets, one of which he proceeded to + wrap about Magda’s shoulders, tucking the other over her knees where she + sat in the stern of the boat. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want them both,” she protested, resisting. “You take one.” + </p> + <p> + There was something rather delightful in this unconventional comradeship + of discomfort. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll obey orders,” replied Michael firmly. “Especially as you’re going + to be my wife so soon.” + </p> + <p> + A warm flush dyed her face from brow to throat. He regarded her with + quizzical eyes. Behind their tender mockery lurked something else—something + strong and passionate and imperious, momentarily held in leash. But she + knew it was there—could feel the essential, imperative demand of it. + </p> + <p> + “Well? Does the prospect alarm you?” + </p> + <p> + Magda forced herself to meet his glance. + </p> + <p> + “So soon?” she repeated hesitantly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. As soon as it can be accomplished,” he said triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + He seated himself beside her and took her in his arms, blankets and all. + </p> + <p> + “Did you think I’d be willing to wait?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t think you wanted to marry me at all!” returned Magda, the words + coming out with a little rush. “I thought you—you disapproved of me + too much!” + </p> + <p> + His mouth twisted queerly. + </p> + <p> + “So I did. I’m scrapping the beliefs of half a lifetime because I love + you. I’ve fought against it—tried not to love you—kept away + from you! But it was stronger than I.” + </p> + <p> + “Saint Michel, I’m so glad—glad it was stronger,” she said + tremulously, a little break in her voice. + </p> + <p> + He bent his head and kissed her lips, and with the kiss she gave him back + she surrendered her very self into his keeping. She felt his arms strain + about her, and the fierce pressure of their clasp taught her the exquisite + joy of pain that is born of love. + </p> + <p> + She yielded resistlessly, every fibre of her being quivering responsive to + the overwhelming passion of love which had at last stormed and broken down + all barriers—both the man’s will to resist and her own defences. + </p> + <p> + Somewhere at the back of her consciousness Diane’s urgent warning: <i>“Never + give your heart to any man. Take everything, but do not give!”</i> tinkled + feebly like the notes of a worn-out instrument. But even had she paused to + listen to it she would only have laughed at it. She knew better. + </p> + <p> + Love was the most wonderful thing in the world. If it meant anything at + all, it meant giving. And she was ready to give Michael everything she had—to + surrender body, soul, and spirit, the threefold gift that a man demands of + his mate. + </p> + <p> + She drew herself out of his arms and slipped to her knees beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Saint Michel, do you believe in me now?” + </p> + <p> + “Believe in you? I don’t know whether I believe in you or not. But I know + I love you! . . . That’s all that matters. I love you!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” She resisted his arms that sought to draw her back into his + embrace. “I want more than that. I’m beginning to realise things. There + must be trust in love. . . . Michael, I’m not really hard—and + selfish, as they say. I’ve been foolish and thoughtless, perhaps. But I’ve + never done any harm. Not real harm. I’ve never”—she laughed a little + brokenly—“I’ve never turned men into swine, Michael. . . . I’ve hurt + people, sometimes, by letting them love me. But, I didn’t know, then! Now—now + I know what love is, I shall be different. Quite different. Saint Michel, + I know now—love is self-surrender.” + </p> + <p> + The tremulous sweetness of her, the humble submissiveness of her appeal, + could not but win their way. Michael’s lingering disbelief wavered and + broke. She had been foolish, spoilt and thoughtless, but she had never + done any real harm. Men had loved her—but how could it be otherwise? + And perhaps, after all, they were none the worse for having loved her. + </p> + <p> + Deliberately Michael flung the past behind him and with it his last doubt + of her. He drew her back into his arms, against his heart, and their lips + met in a kiss that held not only love but utter faith and confidence—a + pledge for all time. + </p> + <p> + “Beloved!” he whispered. “My beloved!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <h3> + NIGHT + </h3> + <p> + Michael and Magda stood together on the deck of the crippled yacht which + now rocked idly on a quite placid sea. Dusk was falling. That first + glorious, irrecoverable hour when love had come into its own was past, and + the consideration of things mundane was forcing itself on their notice—more + especially consideration of their particular plight. + </p> + <p> + “It looks rather as though we may have to spend the night here,” observed + Quarrington, his eyes scanning the channel void of any welcome sight of + sail or funnel. + </p> + <p> + Magda’s brows drew together in a little troubled frown. + </p> + <p> + “Marraine and Gillian will be frightfully worried and anxious,” she said + uneasily. It was significant of the gradual alteration in her outlook that + this solicitude for others should have rushed first of anything to her + lips. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” He spoke with a curious abruptness. “Besides, that’s not the only + point. There’s—Mrs. Grundy.” + </p> + <p> + Magda shrugged her shoulders and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if it’s to come to a choice between Mrs. Grundy and Davy Jones, I + think I should decide to face Mrs. Grundy! Anyway, people can’t say much + more—or much worse—things about me than they’ve said already.” + </p> + <p> + Quarrington frowned moodily. + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to kick myself for bringing you out to-day and landing you into + this mess. I can’t stand the idea of people gossiping about you.” + </p> + <p> + “They’ve left me very little reputation at any time. A little less can’t + hurt me.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes grew stormy. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t!” he said sharply. “I hate to hear you talk like that.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s true! No public woman gets a fair chance.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> will—when you’re my wife,” he said between his teeth. + “I’ll see to that.” + </p> + <p> + Magda glanced at him swiftly. + </p> + <p> + “Then you don’t want me to—to give up dancing after we’re married?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I don’t. I shall want you to do just as you like. I’ve no place + for the man who asks his wife to ‘give up’ things in order to marry him. + I’ve no more right to ask you to give up dancing than you have to ask me + to stop painting.” + </p> + <p> + Magda smiled at him radiantly. + </p> + <p> + “Saint Michel, you’re really rather nice,” she observed impertinently. “So + few men are as sensible as that. I shall call you the ‘Wise Man,’ I + think.” + </p> + <p> + “In spite of to-day?” he queried whimsically, with a rueful glance at the + debris of mast and canvas huddled on the deck. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Because</i> of to-day,” she amended softly. “It’s—it’s very wise + to be in love, Michael.” + </p> + <p> + He drew her into his arms and his lips found hers. + </p> + <p> + “I think it is,” he agreed. + </p> + <p> + Another hour went by, and still there came no sign of any passing vessel. + </p> + <p> + “Why the devil isn’t there a single tug passing up and down just when we + happen to want one?” demanded Quarrington irately of the unresponsive + universe. He swung round on Magda. “I suppose you’re starving?” he went + on, in his voice a species of savage discontent—that unreasonable + fury to which masculine temperament is prone when confronted with an + obstacle which declines to yield either to force or persuasion. + </p> + <p> + Magda laughed outright. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll admit to being hungry. Aren’t you? . . . It’s horribly unromantic of + us, Michael,” she added regretfully. + </p> + <p> + Quarrington grinned. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” he assented. “All the same, I believe I could consume a tin of + bully beef and feel humbly grateful for it at the present moment!” + </p> + <p> + Magda had a sudden inspiration. + </p> + <p> + “Michael! Let’s forage in the locker! There’s almost sure to be some + biscuits or chocolate there. Marraine nearly always has things like that + put on board. And there may be something left from the last supply.” + </p> + <p> + A brief search brought to light a half-tin of biscuits and some plain + chocolate, and off these, with the addition of a bottle of soda-water, + also discovered, they proceeded to make an impromptu meal. It was a + somewhat thin substitute for the perfectly appointed little dinner of + which they would have partaken in the ordinary course of events at the + Hermitage, but when you have been a good many hours without food of any + description, and spent the greater part of the time in “saving your own + life at sea,” as Michael put it, even biscuits and chocolate have their + uses. + </p> + <p> + When the improvised feast was over, Quarrington explored the recesses of + the tiny hold and unearthed a lantern, which he proceeded to light and + attach to the broken mast. It burned with a flickering, uncertain light, + momentarily threatening to go out altogether. + </p> + <p> + “We’re not precisely well-equipped with lights,” he remarked grimly. “But + at least that’s a precaution—as long as it lasts! It may—or + may not—save us from being run down.” + </p> + <p> + Twilight deepened slowly into dark. The lights of Yarmouth sprang into + being, a cluster of lambent orange points studding the dim coast of the + Island. One by one the stars twinkled out in the dusky sky, and a waning + moon, thin and frail like a worn sickle, flung a quivering ribbon of + silver across the sea. + </p> + <p> + It was strangely still and quiet. Now and again the idle rudder creaked as + the boat swung to the current. Once there came the long-drawn hoot of a + distant siren. Beyond these fitful sounds only the gurgle of water lapping + the sides of the boat broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “We’re here till morning,” said Quarrington at last. “You may as well go + to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “To bed?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there’s a cabin, isn’t there?”—smiling. “And a more or less + uncomfortable bunk. Come down and see what you can make of it as an + abiding-place for the night.” + </p> + <p> + “And—and you? Can’t we rig up anything for you?” Magda looked round + her vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “I shan’t sleep. I’ll do sentry-go on deck”—laughing. “It wouldn’t + do for us both to go comfortably asleep and get run down without even + having a shot at making our presence known!” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll keep watch with you,” said Magda. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ll go down to the cabin and sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me stay, Michael. I couldn’t bear to think of your watching all + through the night while I slept comfortably below.” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t sleep <i>comfortably</i>—if my estimate of the look of + that bunk is correct. But you’ll be out of the cold. Come, be sensible, + Magda. You’re not suitably attired for a night watch. You’d be perished + with cold before morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let us take it in turns, then,” she suggested. “I’ll sleep four + hours and then I’ll keep a look-out while you have a rest.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Then we’ll both watch,” she asserted. Through the starlit dark he could + just discern her small head turned defiantly away from him. + </p> + <p> + “Has it occurred to you,” he asked incisively, “what a night spent in the + open might mean to you? Rheumatism is not precisely the kind of thing a + dancer wants to cultivate.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m not going below, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down firmly and Quarrington regarded her a moment in silence. + </p> + <p> + “You baby!” he said at last in an amused voice. + </p> + <p> + And the next moment she felt herself picked up as easily as though she + were in very truth the baby he had called her and carried swiftly down the + few steps into the cabin. The recollection of that day of her accident in + the fog, when he had carried her from the wrenched and twisted car into + his own house, rushed over her. Now, as then, she could feel the strength + of his arms clasped about her, the masterful purpose of the man that bore + her whither he wished regardless of whether she wanted to go or not. + </p> + <p> + He laid her down on the bunk and, bending over her, kept his hands on her + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he demanded, “are you going to stay there?” + </p> + <p> + A faint rebellion still stirred within her. + </p> + <p> + “Supposing I say ‘no’!”—irresolutely. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not supposing anything so unlikely,” he assured her. “I’m merely + waiting to hear you say ‘yes.’” + </p> + <p> + She recognised the utter futility of trying to pit her will against the + indomitable will of the man beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Michael, you are a bully!” she protested indignantly, half angry with + him. + </p> + <p> + “Then you’ll stay there?” he persisted. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t give me much choice”—twisting her shoulders restlessly + beneath his hands. + </p> + <p> + He laughed a little. + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t answered me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then—yes!” + </p> + <p> + She almost flung the word at him, and instantly she felt him lift his + hands from her shoulders and heard his footsteps as he tramped out of the + cabin and up on to the deck. Presently he returned, carrying the blankets + which he had wrapped round her earlier in the course of their vigil. Magda + accepted them with becoming docility. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Wise Man,” she said meekly. + </p> + <p> + He stood looking down at her in the faint moonlight that slanted in + through the open door of the cabin, and all at once something in the + intentness of his gaze awakened her to a sudden vivid consciousness of the + situation—of the hour and of her absolute aloneness with him. Their + solitude was as complete as though they had been cast on a desert island. + </p> + <p> + Magda felt her pulses throb unevenly. The whole atmosphere seemed sentient + and athrill with the surge of some deep-lying emotion. She could feel it + beating up against her—the clamorous demand of something hardly + curbed and straining for release. + </p> + <p> + “Michael——” The word stammered past her lips. + </p> + <p> + The sound of her voice snapped the iron control he had been forcing on + himself. With a hoarse, half-strangled exclamation he caught her up from + where she lay, crushing her slim, soft body in a grip that almost stifled + her, kissing her fiercely on eyes and lips and throat. Then abruptly he + released her and, without a word, without a backward look, strode out of + the cabin and up on to the deck. + </p> + <p> + Magda sank down weakly on the edge of the narrow bunk. The storm of his + passion had swept through her as the wind sweeps through a tree, leaving + her spent and trembling. Sleep was an impossibility. Ten minutes, twenty + passed—she could not have told how long it was. Then she heard him + coming back, and as he gained the threshold she sprang to her feet and + faced him, nervously on the defensive. In the pale, elusive moonlight, and + with that startled poise of figure, she might well have been the hamadryad + at bay of one of her most famous dances. + </p> + <p> + Michael looked rather white and there was a grim repression about the set + of his lips. As he caught sight of her face with its mute apprehension and + dilated eyes, he spoke quickly. + </p> + <p> + “You should be resting,” he said. “Let me tuck you up and then try to go + to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + There was something infinitely reassuring in the steady tones of his + voice. It held nothing but kindness—just comradeship and kindness. + He was master of himself once more. For her sake he had fought back the + rising tide of passion. It had no place while they two were here alone on + the wide waters. + </p> + <p> + He stooped and picked up the blankets, laying them over her with a + tenderness that seemed in some subtle way to be part of his very strength. + Her taut nerves relaxed. She smiled up at him. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Saint Michel,” she said simply. “Take care of me.” + </p> + <p> + He stooped and kissed the slim hand lying outside the blanket. + </p> + <p> + “Now and always,” he answered gravely. + </p> + <p> + When Magda awoke, seven hours later, the sunlight was streaming into the + cabin. She could hear Michael moving about the deck, and she sprang up and + proceeded to make such toilette as was possible in the circumstances, + taking down her hair and dressing it afresh at the tiny looking-glass hung + on the wall. She had barely completed the operation when she heard Michael + give a shout. + </p> + <p> + “Ahoy! Ahoy there!” + </p> + <p> + She ran up on deck. Approaching them was a small steam-tug, and once again + Quarrington sent his voice ringing lustily across the water, while he + flourished a large white handkerchief in the endeavour to attract the + attention of those on board. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the tug saw them and, altering her course, came fussing up + alongside. Quarrington briefly explained their predicament—in the + face of the <i>Bella Donna’s</i> battered appearance a lengthy explanation + was hardly necessary—and a few minutes later the tug was steaming + for Netherway harbour, towing the crippled yacht behind her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <h3> + THE OTHER MAN + </h3> + <p> + “Please, Marraine, will you give us your blessing?” + </p> + <p> + The joyous excitement and relief incidental to the safe return of the + voyagers had spent itself at last, and now, refreshed and invigorated by a + hot bath and by a meal of more varied constituents than biscuit and plain + chocolate, Magda propounded her question, a gleam of mirth glancing in her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella glanced doubtfully from one to the other. Then a look of + undisguised satisfaction dawned in her face. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean——” she began eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve been and gone and got engaged,” explained Quarrington. + </p> + <p> + “My dears!” Lady Arabella jumped up with the agility of twenty rather than + seventy and proceeded to pour out her felicitations. Incidentally she + kissed everybody all round, including Quarrington, and her keen old hawk’s + eyes grew all soft and luminous like a girl’s. + </p> + <p> + Coppertop was hugely excited. + </p> + <p> + “Will the wedding be to-morrow?” he asked hopefully. “And shall I be a + page and carry the Fairy Lady’s train?” + </p> + <p> + Magda smiled at him. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you shall be a page, Topkins. But the wedding won’t be quite as + soon as to-morrow,” she told him. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” insinuated Quarrington calmly. “There are such things as + special licences, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be silly,” replied Magda scathingly. “I’ve only just been saved + from drowning, and I don’t propose to take on such a risk as matrimony + till I’ve had time to recover my nerve.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella surveyed them both with a species of irritated approval. + </p> + <p> + “And to think,” she burst out at last, indignantly, “of all the hours I’ve + spent having my silly portrait painted and getting cramp in my stiff old + joints, and that even then it needed Providence to threaten you both with + a watery grave to bring you up to the scratch!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we’re engaged now,” submitted Magda meekly. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella chuckled sardonically. + </p> + <p> + “If you weren’t, you’d have to be—after last night!” she commented + drily. + </p> + <p> + “No one need know about last night,” retorted Magda. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” Lady Arabella snorted. “Half Netherway will know the tale by + midday. And you may be sure your best enemy will hear of it. They always + do.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. It will make an excellent advertisement,” observed Magda + philosophically. “Can’t you see it in all the papers?—‘NARROW ESCAPE + OF THE WIELITZSKA.’ In big capitals.” + </p> + <p> + They all laughed, realising the great amount of probability contained in + her forecast. And, thanks to an enterprising young journalist who chanced + to be prowling about Netherway on that particular day, the London + newspapers flared out into large headlines, accompanied by vivid and + picturesque details of the narrow escape while yachting of the famous + dancer and of the well-known artist, Michael Quarrington—who, in + some of the cheaper papers, was credited with having saved the + Wielitzska’s life by swimming ashore with her. + </p> + <p> + The immediate result was an augmented post-bag for the Hermitage, and + Gillian had to waste the better part of a couple of sunshiny days in + writing round to Magda’s friends assuring them of her continued existence + and wellbeing, and thanking them for their kind inquiries. + </p> + <p> + It was decided to keep the engagement private for the present, and life at + the Hermitage resumed the even tenor of its way, Magda continuing to sit + daily for the picture of Circe which Michael was anxious to complete + before she returned to London for the autumn season. + </p> + <p> + “It’s <i>our</i> picture now, Saint Michel,” she told him, with a happy, + possessive pride in his work. + </p> + <p> + In this new atmosphere of tranquil happiness Magda bloomed like a flower + in the sun. To the nameless natural charm which was always hers there was + added a fresh sweetness and appeal, and the full revelation of her love + for him startled even Michael. He had not realised the deep capacity for + love which had lain hidden beneath her nonchalance. + </p> + <p> + It seemed as though her whole nature had undergone a change. Alone with + him she was no longer the assured woman of the world, the spoilt and feted + dancer, but just a simple, unaffected girl, sometimes a little shy, almost + diffident, at others frank and spontaneous with the splendid candour and + simplicity of a woman who knows no fear of love, but goes courageously to + meet it and all that it demands of her. + </p> + <p> + She was fugitively sweet and tender with Coppertop, and now and then her + eyes would shine with a quiet, dreaming light as though she visioned a + future wherein someone like Coppertop, only littler, might lie in the + crook of her arm. + </p> + <p> + Often during these tranquil summer days the two were to be found together, + Magda recounting the most gorgeous stories of knights and dragons such as + Coppertop’s small soul delighted in. On one such occasion, at the end of a + particularly thrilling narrative, he sat back on his heels and regarded + her with a certain wistful anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” he asked rather forlornly, “when you’re married they’ll give + you a little boy like me, Fairy Lady, won’t they?” + </p> + <p> + The clear, warm colour ran up swiftly beneath her skin. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps so, Topkins,” she answered very low. + </p> + <p> + He heaved a big sigh. “He’ll be a very <i>lucky</i> little boy,” he said + plaintively. “If Mummie couldn’t have been my mummie, I’d have choosed + you.” + </p> + <p> + And so, in this tender atmosphere of peace and contentment, the summer + slipped by until it was time for Magda to think of going back to London. + The utter content and happiness of these weeks almost frightened her + sometimes. + </p> + <p> + “It can’t last, Gilly,” she confided to Gillian one day, caught by an + access of superstitious fear. “It simply <i>can’t</i> last! No one was + meant to be as happy as I am!” + </p> + <p> + “I think we were all meant to be happy,” replied Gillian simply. “Happy + and good!” she added, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But I haven’t been particularly good. I’ve just done whatever it + occurred to me to do without considering the consequences. I expect I + shall be made to take my consequences all in a heap together one day.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Then I suppose we shall all of us have to rally round and get you out of + them,” she said cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—perhaps you wouldn’t be able to.” + </p> + <p> + There was a strange note of foreboding in Magda’s voice—an accent of + fatality, and despite herself Gillian experienced a reflex sense of + uneasiness. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” she said brusquely. “What on earth has put all these + ridiculous notions into your head?” + </p> + <p> + Magda smiled at her. “I think it was four lines I read in a book + yesterday. They set me thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “More’s the pity then!” grumbled Gillian. “What were they?” + </p> + <p> + Magda was silent a moment, looking out over the sea with abstracted eyes. + It was so blue to-day—all blue and gold in the dancing sunlight. But + she knew that self-same sea could be grey—grey and chill as death. + </p> + <p> + Her glance came slowly back to Gillian’s face as she quoted the fragment + of verse which had persisted in her thoughts: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “To-day and all the still unborn To-morrows + Have sprung from Yesterday. For Woe or Weal + The Soul is weighted by the Burden of Dead Days— + Bound to the unremitting Past with Ropes of Steel.” + </pre> + <p> + After a moment she added: + </p> + <p> + “Even you couldn’t cut through ‘ropes of steel,’ my Gillyflower.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian tried to shrug away this fanciful depression of the moment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, by way of a counterblast to your dejection of spirit, I propose to + send an announcement of your engagement to the <i>Morning Post</i>. You’re + not meaning to keep it private after we get back to town, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no. It was only that I didn’t want to be pestered with + congratulations while we were down here. I suppose they’ll have to come + some day”—with a small grimace of disgust. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be snowed under with them,” Gillian assured her encouragingly. + </p> + <p> + The public announcement of the engagement preceded Magda’s return from + Netherway by a few days, so that by the time the Hermitage house-party + actually broke up, its various members returning to town, all London was + fairly humming with the news. The papers were full of it. Portraits of the + fiances appeared side by side, together with brief histories of their + respective careers up to date, and accompanied by refreshing details + concerning their personal tastes. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me, I never knew Michael had a passion for raw meat before,” + remarked Magda, after reading various extracts from the different accounts + aloud for Gillian’s edification. + </p> + <p> + “Has he?” Gillian was arranging flowers and spoke somewhat indistinctly, + owing to the fact that she had the stem of a chrysanthemum between her + lips. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he must have. Listen to this, ‘Mr. Quarrington’s wonderful creations + are evidently not entirely the fruit of the spirit, since we understand + that his staple breakfast dish consists of a couple of underdone cutlets—so + lightly cooked, in fact, as to be almost raw.’ I’m glad I’ve learned + that,” pursued Magda earnestly. “It seems to me an important thing for a + wife to know. Don’t you think so, Gillian?” + </p> + <p> + Gillian shouted with delight. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do! Do let’s ask Michael to lunch and offer him a couple of + raw cutlets on a charger.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” insisted Magda firmly. “I shall keep a splendid treat like that for + him till after we’re married. Even at a strictly conservative estimate it + should be worth a new hat to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Or a dose of arsenic in your next cup of tea,” suggested Gillian, + giggling. + </p> + <p> + The following evening was the occasion of Magda’s first appearance at the + Imperial after the publication of her engagement, and the theatre was + packed from floor to ceiling. “House Full” boards were exhibited outside + at quite an early hour, and when Magda appeared on the stage she was + received with such enthusiasm that for a time it was impossible to proceed + with the ballet. When finally the curtain fell on what the critics + characterised next day as “the most appealing performance of <i>The + Swan-Maiden</i> which Mademoiselle Wielitzska has yet given us,” she + received an absolute ovation. The audience went half-crazy with + excitement, applauding deliriously, while the front of the stage speedily + became converted into a veritable bank of flowers, from amidst which Magda + bowed and smiled her thanks. + </p> + <p> + She enjoyed every moment of it, every handclap. She was radiantly happy, + and this spontaneous sharing in her happiness by the big public which + idolised her served but to intensify it. She was almost crying as she + returned to her dressing-room after taking a dozen or more calls, and + when, as usual, Virginie met her on the threshold, she dropped the great + sheaf of lilies she was carrying and flung her arms round the old woman’s + neck. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the dears!” she exclaimed. “The blessed <i>dears</i>! Virginie, I + believe I’m the happiest woman alive!” + </p> + <p> + “And who should be, <i>mon petite chou</i>, if not thou?” returned the old + woman with conviction. “Of course they love thee! <i>Mais bien sur</i>! + Doest thou not dance for them as none else can dance and give them angel + visions that they could not imagine for themselves?” She paused. Then + thrusting her hand suddenly into the pocket of her apron and producing a + card: “<i>Tiens</i>! I forgot! Monsieur Davilof waits. Will mademoiselle + receive him?” + </p> + <p> + Magda nodded. She had not seen Antoine since her return from Netherway. He + had been away in Poland, visiting his mother whom, by the way, he adored. + But as her engagement to Michael was now public she was anxious to get her + first meeting with the musician over. He would probably rave a little, + despairing in the picturesque and dramatic fashion characteristic of him, + and the sooner he “got it out of his system,” as Gillian had observed on + one occasion, the better for everyone concerned. So Magda braced herself + for the interview, and prepared to receive a tragical and despondent + Davilof. + </p> + <p> + But she was not in the least prepared for the man as he appeared when + Virginie ushered him into the dressing-room and retired, discreetly + closing the door behind her. Magda, her hand outstretched to greet him, + paused in sheer dismay, her arm falling slowly to her side. + </p> + <p> + She had never seen so great a change in any man. His face was grey—grey + and lined like the face of a man who has had no sleep for days. His + shoulders stooped a little as though he were too weary to hold himself + upright, and there was a curiously rigid look about his features, + particularly the usually mobile mouth. The only live thing about him + seemed to be his eyes. They blazed with a burning brightness that made her + think of flame. With it all, he was as immaculately groomed, his small + golden beard as perfectly trimmed, as ever. + </p> + <p> + “Antoine!” His name faltered from Magda’s lips. The man’s face, its beauty + all marred by some terrible turmoil of the soul, shocked her. + </p> + <p> + He vouchsafed no greeting, but came swiftly to her side. + </p> + <p> + “Is it true?” he demanded imperiously. + </p> + <p> + She shrank back from him. There was a dynamic force about him that + startled her. + </p> + <p> + “Is what true?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it true that you’re engaged to Quarrington?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it is. It was in all the papers. Didn’t you see it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I saw it. I didn’t believe it. I was in Poland when I heard and I + started for England at once. But I was taken ill on the journey. Since + then I’ve been travelling night and day.” He paused, adding in a tone of + finality: “You must break it off.” + </p> + <p> + “Break it off? Are you crazy, Antoine?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m not crazy. But you’re mine. You’re meant for me. And no other man + shall have you.” + </p> + <p> + Magda’s first impulse was to order him out of the room. But the man’s + haggard face was so pitifully eloquent of the agony he had been enduring + that she had not the heart. Instead, she temporised persuasively. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk like that, Antoine.” She spoke very gently. “You don’t mean + it, you know. If—if you do care for me as you say, you’d like me to + be happy, wouldn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I’d make you happy,” he said hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered. “You couldn’t make me happy. Only Michael can do that. + So you must let me go to him. . . . Antoine, I’d rather go with your good + wishes. Won’t you give them to me? We’ve been friends so long—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Friends</i>?” he broke in fiercely. “No! We’ve never been ‘friends.’ + I’ve been your lover from the first moment I saw you, and shall be your + lover till I die!” + </p> + <p> + Magda retreated before his vehemence. She was still wearing her costume of + the Swan-Maiden, and there was something frailly virginal and elusive + about her as she drew away from him that set the hot, foreign blood in him + on fire. In two strides he was at her side, his hands gripping her bare + arms with a savage clasp that hurt her. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon adoree</i>!” + </p> + <p> + His voice was harsh with the tensity of passion, and the cry that + struggled from her throat for utterance was smothered by his lips on hers. + The burning kisses seemed to scorch her—consuming, overwhelming her. + When at last he took his mouth from hers she tried unavailingly to free + herself. But his clasp of her only tightened. + </p> + <p> + “Now you know how I love you,” he said grimly. He was breathing rather + fast, but in some curious way he seemed to have regained his self-control. + It was as though he had only slipped the leash of passion so that she + might, as he said, comprehend his love for her. “Do you think I’ll give + you up? I tell you I’d rather kill you than see you Quarrington’s wife.” + </p> + <p> + Once more she made an effort to release herself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you’re mad, you’re mad!” she cried. “Let me go, Davilof! At once!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said in a measured voice. “Don’t struggle. I’m not going to let + you go. Not yet. I’ve reached my limit. You shall go when you promise to + marry me. Me, not Quarrington.” + </p> + <p> + She had not been frightened by the storm of passion which had carried him + headlong. That had merely roused her to anger. But this quiet, purposeful + composure which had succeeded it filled her with an odd kind of misgiving. + </p> + <p> + “It’s absurd to talk like that,” she said, holding on desperately to her + self-possession. “It’s silly—and melodramatic, and only makes me + realise how glad I am I shall be Michael’s wife and not yours.” + </p> + <p> + “You will never be Quarrington’s wife.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with conviction. Magda called up all her courage to defy him. + </p> + <p> + “And do you propose to prevent it?” she asked contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Then, suddenly: “<i>Adoree</i>, don’t force me to do it! I don’t + want to. Because it will hurt you horribly. And it will all be saved if + you’ll promise to marry me.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke appealingly, with an earnestness that was unmistakable. But + Magda’s nerve was gradually returning. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t seem to understand that you can’t prevent my marrying Michael—or + anyone else,” she said coolly. “You haven’t the power.” + </p> + <p> + “I can prevent your marrying Michael”—doggedly. + </p> + <p> + She was silent a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” she said at last, “you think that because he once thought + badly of me you can make him think the same again. Well, you can’t. + Michael and I trust each other—absolutely!” + </p> + <p> + Her face was transfigured. Michael trusted her now! Nothing could really + hurt her while he believed in her. She could afford to laugh at Antoine’s + threat. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” she said quietly, “will you please release me?” + </p> + <p> + Slowly, reluctantly Davilof’s hands dropped from her arms, revealing red + weals where the grip of his fingers had crushed the soft, white flesh. He + uttered a stifled exclamation as his eyes fell on the angry-looking marks. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon dieu</i>! I’ve hurt you—” + </p> + <p> + “No!” Magda faced him with a defiance that was rather splendid. “No! <i>You + can’t</i> hurt me, Davilof. Only the man I love can do that.” + </p> + <p> + He flinched at the proud significance of the words—denying him even + the power to hurt her. It was almost as though she had struck him, + contemptuously disdainful of his toy weapons—the weapons of the man + who didn’t count. + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. At last he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be sorry for that,” he said in a voice of concentrated anger. + “Damned sorry. Because it isn’t true. I <i>can</i> hurt you. And by God, + if you won’t marry me, I will! . . . Magda——” With one of the + swift changes so characteristic of the man he softened suddenly into + passionate supplication. “Have a little mercy! God! If you knew how I love + you, you couldn’t turn me away. Wait! Think again—” + </p> + <p> + “That will do.” She checked him imperiously. “I don’t want your love. And + for the future please understand that you won’t even be a friend. I don’t + wish to see or speak to you again!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <h3> + THE ROPES OF STEEL + </h3> + <p> + Magda sat gazing idly into the fire, watching with abstracted eyes the + flames leap up and curl gleefully round the fresh logs with which she had + just fed it. She was thinking about nothing in particular—merely + revelling in the pleasant warmth and comfort of the room and in the + prospect of a lazy evening spent at home, since to-night she was not due + to appear in any of the ballets to be given at the Imperial Theatre. + </p> + <p> + Outside, the snow was falling steadily in feathery flakes, hiding the + grime of London beneath a garment of shimmering white and transforming the + commonplace houses built of brick and mortar, each capped with its ugly + chimneystack, into glittering fairy palaces, crowned with silver towers + and minarets. + </p> + <p> + The bitter weather served to emphasise the easy comfort of the room, and + Magda curled up into her chair luxuriously. She was expecting Michael to + dinner at Friars’ Holm this evening. They had not seen each other for + three whole days, so that there was an added edge to her enjoyment of the + prospect. She would have so much to tell him! About the triumphant + reception she had had the other night down at the theatre—he had + been prevented from being present—and about the unwarrantable + attitude Davilof had adopted, which had been worrying her not a little. He + would sympathise with her over that—the effortless sympathy of the + man in possession! + </p> + <p> + Then the unwelcome thought obtruded itself that if the snow continued + falling Michael might be weather-bound and unable to get out to Hampstead. + She uncurled herself from her chair and ran to the window. The sky + stretched sombrely away in every direction. No sign of a break in the + lowering, snow-filled clouds! She drummed on the window with impatient + fingers; and then, drowning the little tapping noise they made, came the + sound of an opening door and Melrose’s placid voice announcing: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Quarrington.” + </p> + <p> + Magda whirled round from the window. + </p> + <p> + “Michael!” she exclaimed joyfully. “I was just wondering if you would be + able to get over this evening. I suppose you came while you could!”—laughing. + “I shouldn’t be in the least surprised if you were snowed up here. Shall + you mind—dreadfully—if you are?” + </p> + <p> + But Michael made no response to the tenderly mocking question, nor did her + smile draw from him any answering smile. She looked at him waveringly. He + had been in the room quite long enough to take her in his arms and kiss + her. And he hadn’t done it. + </p> + <p> + “Michael——” She faltered a little. “How queer you are! Have + you—brought bad news?” A sudden dread rushed through her. “It’s not—Marraine?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no.” He spoke hastily, answering the startled apprehension in her + eyes. “It’s not that.” + </p> + <p> + Her mind, alertly prescient, divined significance in the mere wording of + the phrase. + </p> + <p> + “Then there is—something?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is something.” + </p> + <p> + His voice sounded forced, and Magda waited with a strange feeling of + tension for him to continue. + </p> + <p> + “I want to ask you a question,” he went on in the same carefully measured + accents. “Did you ever stay at a place called Stockleigh—Stockleigh + Farm at Ashencombe?” + </p> + <p> + Stockleigh! At the sound of the word it seemed to Magda as though a hand + closed suddenly round her heart, squeezing it so tightly that she could + not breathe. + </p> + <p> + “I—yes, I stayed there,” she managed to say at last. + </p> + <p> + “Ah-h!” It was no more than a suddenly checked breath. “When were you + there?” The question came swiftly, like the thrust of a sword. With it, it + seemed to Magda that she could feel the first almost imperceptible pull of + the “ropes of steel.” + </p> + <p> + “I was there—the summer before last,” she said slowly. + </p> + <p> + Michael made no answer. Only in the silence that followed she saw his face + change. Something that had been hope—a fighting hope—died out + of his eyes and his jaw seemed to set itself with a curious inflexibility. + </p> + <p> + She waited for him to speak—waited with a keyed-up intensity of + longing that was almost physically painful. At last, unable to bear the + continued silence, she spoke again. Her voice cracked a little. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why do you ask, Michael?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her and a sudden cynical amusement gleamed in his eyes—an + amusement so bitterly unmirthful that there seemed something almost brutal + about it. Her hand went up to her face as though to screen out the sight + of it. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t guess, I suppose?” he said with dry, harsh irony. Then, after a + moment: “Why did you never tell me you were there? You never spoke of it. + . . . Wasn’t it curious you should never speak of it?” + </p> + <p> + She made a step towards him. She could not endure this torturing suspense + another instant. It was racking her. She must know what Stockleigh + signified to him. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean? Tell me what you mean!” she asked desperately. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember the story I told you down at Netherway—of a man and + his wife and another woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember”—almost whispering. + </p> + <p> + “That was the story of my sister, June, and her husband, Dan Storran. You—were + the other woman.” + </p> + <p> + She felt his eyes—those eyes out of which all hope had died—fixed + on her. + </p> + <p> + “June—your sister? Your sister? Are you sure?” she stammered + stupidly. + </p> + <p> + It couldn’t be true! Not even God could have thought of a punishment so + cruel, so awful as this. That June—the woman who had died just + because she “had no heart to go on living”—should be Michael’s + sister! Oh, it was a crazy tangling of the threads—mad! Like some + macabre invention sprung from a disordered brain. She wanted to laugh, and + she knew if she began to laugh she should never stop. She felt she was + losing her hold over herself. With a violent effort she clutched at her + self-control. + </p> + <p> + “Will you say it all over again, please?” she said in a flat voice. “I + don’t think I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor did I till to-day,” he replied shortly. “Davilof made me understand—this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Davilof?” The word seemed to drag itself from her throat. . . . Davilof—who + had been at Stockleigh that summer! Then it was all going to be true, + after all. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Davilof. He had chanced on the fact that June was my sister. Very + few people knew it, because, when she married, it was against our father’s + wishes, and she had cut herself adrift from the family. I wanted to help + her, but she would never let me.” He paused, then went on tonelessly: + “It’s all quite clear, isn’t it? You know everything that happened while + you were at Stockleigh. I’ve told you what happened afterwards. Storran + cleared out of the country at once, and June had nothing left to live for. + The only thing I didn’t know was the name of the woman who had smashed up + both their lives. I saw Dan in Paris . . . He came to me at my studio. But + he was a white man. He never gave away the name of the woman who had + ruined him. I only knew she had spent that particular summer at + Stockleigh. It was Davilof who told me who the woman was.” + </p> + <p> + <i>“I can prevent your marrying Quarrington!”</i> Magda could hear again + the quiet conviction of Antoine’s utterance. So he had known, then, when + he threatened her, that June was Michael’s sister! She wondered dully how + long he had been aware of the fact—how he had first stumbled across + it and realised its value as a hammer with which to crush her happiness. + Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered any more. The main fact was that he + <i>had</i> known. + </p> + <p> + June was dead! Amid the confused welter of emotions which seemed to have + utterly submerged her during the last few minutes, Magda had almost lost + sight of this as a fact by itself—as distinct from its identity with + the fact that Michael’s sister was dead. She felt vaguely sorry for June. + </p> + <p> + Since the day she and Gillian had left Ashencombe she had heard nothing of + Storran or his wife. No least scrap of news relating to them had come her + way. In the ordinary course of events it was hardly likely that it would. + The circles of their respective lives did not overlap each other. And + Magda had made no effort to discover what had happened at Stockleigh after + she had left there. She had been glad to shut the door on that episode in + her life. She was not proud of it. + </p> + <p> + There were other incidents, too, which she could have wished were blotted + out—the Raynham incident amongst them. With the new insight which + love had brought her she was beginning to rate these things at their true + value, to realise how little she had understood of all love’s exquisite + significance when she played with it as lightly as a child might play with + a trinket. She had learned better now—learned that love was of the + spirit as well as of the body, and that in playing at love she had played + with men’s souls. + </p> + <p> + She believed she had put that part of her life behind her—all those + unrecognising days before love came to her. And now, without warning, + sudden as an Eastern night, the past had risen up and confronted her. The + implacable ropes of steel held her in bondage. + </p> + <p> + “Michael . . . can’t you—forgive me?” + </p> + <p> + Her voice wavered and broke as she realised the utter futility of her + question. Between them, now and always, there must lie the young, dead + body of June Storran. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive you?” Michael’s voice was harsh with an immeasurable bitterness. + “Good God! What are you made of that you can even ask me? It’s women like + you who turn this world into plain hell! . . . Look back! Have you ever + looked back, I wonder?” He paused, and she knew his eyes were searching + her—those keen, steady eyes, hard, now, like flint—searching + the innermost recesses of her being. She felt as though he were dragging + the soul out of her body, stripping it naked to the merciless lash of + truth. + </p> + <p> + “June—my little sister, the happiest of mortals—dead, through + you. And Storran—he was a big man, white all through—down and + out. And God knows who else has had their sun put out by you. . . . You’re + like a blight—spreading disease and corruption wherever you go.” + </p> + <p> + A little moan broke from her lips. For a moment it was a physical + impossibility for her to speak. She could only shrink, mute and quivering, + beneath the flail of his scorn. + </p> + <p> + At last: “Is—is that what you think of me?” she almost whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + She winced at the harsh monosyllable. There was a finality about it—definite, + unalterable. She looked at him dry-eyed, her face tragically beautiful in + its agony. But he seemed impervious to either its beauty or its suffering. + There was no hint of softening in him. Without another word he swung round + on his heel and turned to leave her. + </p> + <p> + “Michael . . . don’t go!” The lovely voice was a mere thread of sound—hoarse + and strangulated. “Don’t go! . . . Oh, be a little merciful!” + </p> + <p> + She laid an imploring hand on his arm, and at the touch of her his iron + composure shook a little. For a moment the hardness in his eyes was wiped + out by a look of intolerable pain. Then, with a quiet, inexorable movement + he released himself from her straining clasp. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no question of mercy,” he said inflexibly. “I’m not judging you, + or punishing you. It’s simply that I can’t marry you. . . . You must see + that June’s death—my sister’s death—lies at your door.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said. “No. I suppose you can’t marry me—now.” + </p> + <p> + Her breath came in short, painful gasps. Her face seemed to have grown + smaller—shrunk. There was a pinched look about the nostrils and + every drop of blood had drained away, leaving even her lips a curious + greyish-white. She leaned forward, swaying a little. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” she said in a clear, dry voice, “you don’t even love me any + more?” + </p> + <p> + His hands clenched and he took a sudden impetuous step towards her. + </p> + <p> + “Not love you?” he said. And at last the man’s own agony broke through his + enforced calm, shaking his voice so that it was hoarse and terrible. “Not + love you? I love you now as I loved you the day I first saw you. God in + heaven! Did you think love could be killed so easily? Does it die—just + because it’s forbidden by every decent instinct that a man possesses? If + so, nine-tenths of us would find the world an easier place to live in!” + </p> + <p> + “And there is—no forgiveness, Michael?” The lovely grief-wrung face + was uplifted to his beseechingly. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t ask me!” he said hoarsely. “You know there can be none.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and strode to the door. He did not look back even when his name + tore itself like a cry between her lips. The next moment the sound of a + door’s closing came dully to her ears. + </p> + <p> + She looked vaguely round the room. The fire was dying, the charred logs + sinking down on to a bed of smouldering cinders. A touch would scatter + them from their semblance of logs into a heap of grey, formless ash. + Outside the window the snow still fell monotonously, wrapping the world in + a passionless, chill winding-sheet. + </p> + <p> + With a little broken cry she stumbled forward on to her knees, her arms + outflung across the table. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <h3> + ACCOUNT RENDERED + </h3> + <p> + The long, interminable night was over at last. Never afterwards, all the + days of her life, could Magda look back on the black horror of those hours + without a shudder. She felt as though she had been through hell and come + out on the other side, to find stretching before her only the blank grey + desolation of chaos. + </p> + <p> + She was stripped of everything—of love, of happiness, even of hope. + There was nothing in the whole world to look forward to. There never would + be again. And when she looked back it was with eyes that had been + vouchsafed a terrible enlightenment. + </p> + <p> + Phrases which had fallen from Michael’s lips scourged her anew throughout + the long hours of the night. “Women like you make this world into plain + hell,” he had said. “You’re like a blight—spreading disease and + corruption wherever you go.” And the essential truth which each sentence + held left her writhing. + </p> + <p> + It was all true—horribly, hideously true. The magical, mysterious + power of beauty which had been given her, which might have helped to + lighten the burden of the sad old world wherever she passed, she had used + to destroy and deface and mutilate. The debt against her—the debt of + all the pain and grief which she had brought to others—had been + mounting up, higher and higher through the years. And now the time had + come when payment was to be exacted. + </p> + <p> + Quite simply and directly, without seeking in any way to exculpate + herself, she had told Gillian the bare facts of what had happened—that + her engagement was broken off and the reason why. But she had checked all + comment and the swift, understanding sympathy which Gillian would have + given. Criticism or sympathy would equally have been more than she could + bear. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to be said or done about it,” she maintained. “I’ve + sinned, and now I’m to be punished for my sins. That’s all.” + </p> + <p> + The child of Hugh Vallincourt spoke in that impassive summing up of the + situation and Lady Arabella, with her intimate knowledge of both Hugh and + his sister Catherine, would have ascribed it instantly to the Vallincourt + strain in her god-daughter. To Gillian, however, to whom the Vallincourts + were nothing more than a name, the strange submissiveness of it was + incomprehensible. As the days passed, she tried to rouse Magda from the + apathy into which she seemed to have fallen, but without success. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use, Gillyflower,” she would reply with a weary little smile. + “There <i>is</i> no way out. Do you remember I once said I was too happy + for it to last? It was quite true. . . . Have you told Marraine?” she + asked suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And she wants to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I want to see her—or anyone just at present. I’ve got + to think—to think things out.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean? What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I—don’t know—yet.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian regarded her with some anxiety. That Magda, usually so unreserved + and spontaneous, should shut her out of her confidence thoroughly + disquieted her. She felt afraid. It seemed to her as though the girl were + more or less stunned by the enormity of the blow which had befallen her. + She went about with a curious absence of interest in anything—composed, + quiet, absorbed in her own thoughts, only rousing herself to appear at the + Imperial as usual. Probably her work at the theatre was the one thing that + saved her from utter collapse. + </p> + <p> + As far as Gillian knew she had not shed a single tear. Only her face + seemed to grow daily more strained-looking, and her eyes held a curious + expression that was difficult to interpret. + </p> + <p> + There were days which she spent entirely in the seclusion of her own room, + and then Virginie alone was allowed entrance. The old Frenchwoman would + come in with some special little dish she had cooked with her own hands, + hoping to tempt her beloved mistress’s appetite—which in these days + had dwindled to such insignificant proportions that Virginie was in + despair. + </p> + <p> + “Thou must eat,” she would say. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want anything—really, Virginie,” Magda would insist. + </p> + <p> + “And wherefore not?” demanded Virginie indignantly one day. “Thou art not + one of the Sisters of Penitence that thou must needs deny thyself the good + things of life.” + </p> + <p> + Magda looked up with a sudden flash of interest. + </p> + <p> + “The Sisters of Penitence, Virginie? Who are they? Tell me about them.” + </p> + <p> + Virginie set a plate containing an epicurean omelet triumphantly in front + of her. + </p> + <p> + “Eat that, then, <i>cherie</i>, while I tell thee of them,” she replied + with masterly diplomacy. “It is good, the omelet. Virginie made it for + thee with her own hands.” + </p> + <p> + Magda laughed faintly in spite of herself and began upon the omelet + obediently. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then. Tell me about the Sisters of Penitence. Are they always + being sorry for what they’ve done?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a sisterhood, <i>mademoiselle cherie</i>, for those who would + withdraw themselves from the world. They are very strict, I believe, the + sisters, and mortify the flesh exceedingly. Me, I cannot see why we should + leave the beautiful world the <i>bon dieu</i> has put us into. For + certain, He would not have put us in if He had not meant us to stay + there!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—they are happier—out of the world, Virginia,” + suggested Magda slowly. + </p> + <p> + “But my niece, who was in the sisterhood a year, was glad to come out + again. Though, of course, she left her sins behind her, and that was good. + It is always good to get rid of one’s sins, <i>n’est-ce pas</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Get rid of your sins? But how can you?” + </p> + <p> + “If one does penance day and night, day and night, for a whole long year, + one surely expiates them! And then”—with calm certainty—“of + course one has got rid of them. They are wiped off the slate and one + begins again. At least, it was so with my niece. For when she came out of + the sisterhood, the man who had betrayed her married her, and they have + three—no, four <i>bebes</i> now. So that it is evident <i>le bon + dieu</i> was pleased with her penance and rewarded her accordingly.” + </p> + <p> + Magda repressed an inclination to smile at the naive simplicity of + Virginie’s creed. Life would indeed be an easy affair if one could “get + rid of one’s sins” on such an ingenuous principal of quid pro quo! + </p> + <p> + But Virginie came of French peasant stock, and to her untutored mind such + a process of wiping the slate clean seemed extremely reasonable. She + continued with enthusiasm: + </p> + <p> + “She but took the Vow of Penitence for a year. It is a rule of the + sisterhood. If one has sinned greatly, one can take a vow of penitence for + a year and expiate the sin. Some remain altogether and take the final + vows. But my niece—no! She sinned and she paid. And then she came + back into the world again. She is a good girl, my niece Suzette. + Mademoiselle has enjoyed her omelet? Yes?” + </p> + <p> + Magda nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Virginie, I’ve enjoyed it. And I think your niece was certainly a + brave <i>fille</i>. I’m glad she’s happy now.” + </p> + <p> + For long after Virginie had left her, Magda sat quietly thinking. The + story of the old Frenchwoman’s niece had caught hold of her imagination. + Like herself she had sinned, though differently. Within her own mind Magda + wondered whether she or Suzette were in reality the greater sinner of the + two. Suzette had at least given all, without thought of self, whereas she + had only taken—taken with both hands, giving nothing in return. + </p> + <p> + Probably Suzette had been an attractive little person—of the same + type of brown-eyed, vivacious youth which must have been Virginie’s + five-and-thirty years ago—and her prettiness had caused her + downfall. Magda glanced towards the mirror. It was through her beauty she + herself had sinned. It had given her so much power, that exquisite, + perfect body of hers, and she had pitifully misused the power it had + bestowed. The real difference between herself and Suzette lay in the fact + that the little French girl had paid the uttermost farthing of the price + demanded—had submitted herself to discipline till she had surely + expiated all the evil she had done. What if she, likewise, were to seek + some such discipline? + </p> + <p> + The idea had presented itself to her at precisely the moment when she was + in the grip of an agony of recoil from her former way of life. Like her + father, she had been suddenly brought up short and forced to survey her + actions through the eyes of someone else, to look at all that she had done + from another’s angle of vision. And coincidentally, just as in the case of + her father, the abrupt downfall of her hopes, the sudden shattering of her + happiness, seemed as though it were due to the intervention of an angry + God. + </p> + <p> + The fanatical Vallincourt blood which ran in Magda’s veins caused her to + respond instinctively to this aspect of the matter. But the strain of her + passionate, joy-loving mother which crossed with it tempered the tendency + toward quite such drastic self-immolation as had appealed to Hugh + Vallincourt. + </p> + <p> + To Magda, Michael had come to mean the beginning and end of everything—the + pivot upon which her whole existence hung. So that if Michael shut her out + of his life for ever, that existence would no longer hold either value or + significance. From her point of view, then, the primary object of any kind + of self-discipline would be that it might make her more fit to be the wife + of “Saint Michel.” + </p> + <p> + He despised her now. The evil she had done stood between them like a high + wall. But if she were to make atonement—as Suzette had atoned—surely, + when the wickedness had been purged out of her by pain and discipline, + Michael would relent! + </p> + <p> + The idea lodged in her mind. It went with her by day and coloured her + thoughts by night, and it was still working within her like yeast when she + at last nerved herself to go and see her godmother. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella, as might have been anticipated, concealed her own + sore-heartedness under a manner that was rather more militant than usual, + if that were possible. + </p> + <p> + “Why you hadn’t more sense than to spend your time fooling with a sort of + cave-man from the backwoods, I can’t conceive,” she scolded. “You must + have known how it would end.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t. I never thought about it. I was just sick with Michael because + he had gone abroad, and then, when I heard that he was married, it was the + last straw. I don’t think—that night—I should have much cared + what happened.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Women like you make it heaven or hell for the men who love you.” + </p> + <p> + “And hell, without the choice of heaven, for ourselves,” returned Magda. + </p> + <p> + The bitterness in her voice wrung the old woman’s heart. She sighed, then + straightened her back defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “We have to bear the burden of our blunders, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + There was a reminiscent look in the keen old eyes. Lady Arabella had had + her own battles to fight. “And, after all, who should pay the price if not + we ourselves?” + </p> + <p> + “But if the price is outrageous, Marraine? What then?” + </p> + <p> + “Still you’ve got to pay.” + </p> + <p> + Magda returned home with those words ringing in her ears. They fitted into + the thoughts which had been obsessing her with a curious precision. It was + true, then. You had to pay, one way or another. Lady Arabella knew it. + Little Suzette had somehow found it out. + </p> + <p> + That night a note left Friars’ Holm addressed to the Mother Superior of + the Sisters of Penitence. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <h3> + GILLIAN INTERCEDES + </h3> + <p> + It was a bald, austere-looking room. Magda glanced about her curiously—at + the plain, straight-backed chairs, at the meticulously tidy desk and bare, + polished floor. Everything was scrupulously clean, but the total absence + of anything remotely resembling luxury struck poignantly on eyes + accustomed to all the ease and beauty of surroundings which unlimited + money can procure. + </p> + <p> + By contrast with the severity of the room Magda felt uncomfortably + conscious of her own attire. The exquisite gown she was wearing, the big + velvet hat with its drooping plume, the French shoes with their buckles + and curved Louis heels—all seemed acutely out of place in this + austere, formal-looking chamber. + </p> + <p> + Her glance came back to the woman sitting opposite her, the Mother + Superior of the Sisters of Penitence—tall, thin, undeniably + impressive, with a stern, colourless face as clean-cut as a piece of + ivory, out of which gleamed cold blue eyes that seemed to regard the + dancer with a strange mixture of fervour and hostility. + </p> + <p> + Magda could imagine no reason for the antagonism which she sensed in the + steady scrutiny of those light-blue eyes. As far as she was concerned, the + Mother Superior was an entire stranger, without incentive either to like + or dislike her. + </p> + <p> + But to the woman who, while she had been in the world, had been known as + Catherine Vallincourt, the name of Magda Wielitzska was as familiar as her + own. In the dark, slender girl before her, whose pale, beautiful face + called to mind some rare and delicate flower, she recognised the living + embodiment of her brother’s transgression—that brother who had made + Diane Wielitzska his wife and the mother of his child. + </p> + <p> + All she had anticipated of evil consequence at the time of the marriage + had crystallised into hard fact. The child of the “foreign dancing-woman”—the + being for whose existence Hugh’s mad passion for Diane had been + responsible—had on her own confession worked precisely such harm in + the world as she, Catherine, had foreseen. And now, the years which had + raised Catherine to the position of Mother Superior of the community she + had entered had brought that child to her doors as a penitent waveringly + willing to make expiation. + </p> + <p> + Catherine was conscious of a strange elevation of spirit. She felt + ecstatically uplifted at the thought that it might be given to her to + purge from Hugh’s daughter, by severity of discipline and penance, the + evil born within her. In some measure she would thus be instrumental in + neutralising her brother’s sin. + </p> + <p> + She was supremely conscious that to a certain extent—though by no + means altogether—her zealous ardour had its origin in her rooted + antipathy to Hugh’s wife and hence to the child of the marriage. But, + since beneath her sable habit there beat the heart of just an ordinary, + natural woman, with many faults and failings still unconquered in spite of + the austerities of her chosen life, a certain very human element of + satisfaction mingled itself with her fervour for Magda’s regeneration. + </p> + <p> + With a curious impassivity that masked the intensity of her desire she had + told Magda that, by the rules of the community, penitents who desired to + make expiation were admitted there, but that if once the step were taken, + and the year’s vow of penitence voluntarily assumed, there could be no + return to the world until the expiration of the time appointed. + </p> + <p> + Somehow the irrevocability of such a vow, undertaken voluntarily, had not + struck her in its full significance until Catherine had quietly, almost + tonelessly, in the flat, level voice not infrequently acquired by the + religious, affirmed it. + </p> + <p> + “Supposing”—Magda looked round the rigidly bare room with a new + sense of apprehension—“supposing I felt I simply couldn’t stand it + any longer? Do you mean to say, <i>then</i>, that I should not be allowed + to leave here?” + </p> + <p> + “No, you would not be permitted to. Vows are not toys to be broken at + will.” + </p> + <p> + “A year is a long time,” murmured Magda. + </p> + <p> + The eyes beneath the coifed brow with its fine network of wrinkles were + adamant. + </p> + <p> + “The body must be crucified that the soul may live,” returned the cold + voice unflinchingly. + </p> + <p> + Magda’s thoughts drew her this way and that. A year! It was an eternity! + And yet, if only she could emerge purified, a woman worthy to be Michael’s + wife, she felt she would be willing to go through with it. + </p> + <p> + It was as though the white-faced, passionless woman beside her read her + thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “If you would be purified,” said Catherine, “if you would cast out the + devil that is within you, you will have to abide meekly by such penance as + is ordained. You must submit yourself to pain.” + </p> + <p> + At the words a memory of long ago stirred in Magda’s mind. She remembered + that when her father had beaten her as a child he had said: “If you hurt + people enough you can stop them from committing sin.” + </p> + <p> + Groping dimly for some light that might elucidate the problems which + bewildered her, Magda clutched at the words as though they were a + revelation. They seemed to point to the only way by which she might repair + the past. + </p> + <p> + Catherine, watching closely the changes on the pale, sensitive face, spoke + again. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, if you feel you have not the strength of will to keep your + vow, you must not take it.” + </p> + <p> + The words acted like a spur. Instantly, Magda’s decision was taken. + </p> + <p> + “If I take the vow, I shall have strength of mind to keep it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The following evening Magda composedly informed Gillian that she proposed + to take a vow of expiation and retire into the community of the Sisters of + Penitence for a year. Gillian was frankly aghast; she had never dreamed of + any such upshot to the whole miserable business of Magda’s broken + engagement. + </p> + <p> + “But it is madness!” she protested. “You would hate it!” + </p> + <p> + Magda nodded. + </p> + <p> + “That’s just it. I’ve done what I liked all my life. And you know what the + result has been! Now I propose to do what I <i>don’t</i> like for a year.” + </p> + <p> + Neither persuasion nor exhortation availed to shake her resolution, and in + despair Gillian referred the matter to Lady Arabella, hoping she might + induce Magda to change her mind. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella accepted the news with unexpected composure. + </p> + <p> + “It is just what one might expect from the child of Hugh Vallincourt,” she + said thoughtfully. “It’s the swing of the pendulum. There’s always been + that tendency in the Vallincourts—the tendency towards atonement by + some sort of violent self-immolation. They are invariably <i>excessive</i>—either + excessively bad like the present man, Rupert, or excessively devout like + Hugh and Catherine! By the way, the Sisters of Penitence is the community + Catherine first joined. I wonder if she is there still? Probably she’s + dead by now, though. I remember hearing some years ago that she was + seriously ill—somewhere about the time of Hugh’s death. That’s the + last I ever heard of her. I’ve been out of touch with the whole + Vallincourt family for so many years now that I don’t know what has become + of them.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean to say that you’re going to <i>let</i> Magda do what she + proposes?” exclaimed Gillian, in dismayed astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “There’s never much question of ‘letting’ Magda do things, is there?” + retorted Lady Arabella. “If she’s made up her mind to be penitential—penitential + she’ll be! I dare say it won’t do her any harm.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see how it can do her any good,” protested Gillian. “Magda isn’t + cut out for a sisterhood.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just why it may be good for her.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe in mortification of the flesh and all that sort of thing, + either,” continued Gillian obstinately. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, we must all work out our own salvation—each in his own + way. Prayer and fasting would never be my method. But for some people it’s + the only way. I believe it is for the Vallincourts. In any case, it’s only + for a year. And a year is very little time out of life.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, at Gillian’s urgent request, Lady Arabella made an effort to + dissuade Magda from her intention. + </p> + <p> + “If you live long enough, my dear,” she told her crispy, “providence will + see to it that you get your deserts. You needn’t be so anxious to make + sure of them. Retribution is a very sure-footed traveller.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t only retribution, punishment, I’m looking for,” returned Magda. + “It is—I can’t quite explain it, Marraine, but even though Michael + never sees me or speaks to me again, I’d like to feel I’d made myself into + the sort of woman he <i>would</i> speak to.” + </p> + <p> + From that standpoint she refused to move, declining even to discuss the + matter further, but proceeded quietly and unswervingly with her + arrangements. The failure to complete her contract at the Imperial Theatre + involved her in a large sum of money by way of forfeit, but this she paid + ungrudgingly, feeling as though it were the first step along the new road + of renunciation she designed to tread. + </p> + <p> + To the manager she offered no further explanation than that she proposed + to give up dancing, “at any rate for a year or so,” and although he was + nearly distracted over the idea, he found his arguments and persuasions + were no more effective than those King Canute optimistically addressed to + the encroaching waves. The utmost concession he could extract from Magda + was her assent to giving a farewell appearance—for which occasion + the astute manager privately decided to quadruple the price of the seats. + He only wished it were possible to quadruple the seating capacity of the + theatre as well! + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Gillian, whose normal, healthy young mind recoiled from the idea + of Magda’s self-imposed year of discipline, had secretly resolved upon + making a final desperate venture in the hope of straightening out the + tangle of her friend’s life. She would go herself and see Michael and + plead with him. Surely, if he loved Magda as he had once seemed to do, he + would not remain obdurate when he realised how bitterly she had repented—and + how much she loved him! + </p> + <p> + It was not easy for Gillian to come to this decision. She held very strong + opinions on the subject of the rights of the individual to manage his own + affairs without interference, and as she passed out of the busy main + street into the quiet little old-world court where Michael had his rooms + and studio she felt as guilty as a small boy caught trespassing in an + orchard. + </p> + <p> + The landlady who opened the door in response to her somewhat timid ring + regarded her with a curiously surprised expression when she inquired if + Mr. Quarrington were in. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll see, miss,” she answered non-committally, “if you’ll step inside.” + </p> + <p> + The unusual appearance of the big double studio where she was left to wait + puzzled Gillian. All the familiar tapestries and cushions and rare + knick-knacks which wontedly converted the further end of it into a + charming reception room were gone. The chairs were covered in plain + holland, the piano sheeted. But the big easel, standing like a tall cross + in the cold north light, was swathed in a dust-sheet. Gillian’s heart + misgave her. Was she too late? Had Michael—gone away? + </p> + <p> + A moment later a quick, resolute footstep reassured her. The door opened + and Michael himself came in. He paused on the threshold as he perceived + who his visitor was, then came forward and shook hands with his usual + grave courtesy. After that, he seemed to wait as though for some + explanation of her visit. + </p> + <p> + Gillian found herself nervously unready. All the little opening speeches + she had prepared for the interview deserted her suddenly, driven away by + her shocked realisation of the transformation which the few days since she + had last seen him had wrought in the man beside her. + </p> + <p> + His face was lined and worn. The grey eyes were sunken and burned with a + strange, bitter brilliance. Only the dogged, out-thrust jaw remained the + same as ever—obstinate and unconquerable. Twice she essayed to speak + and twice failed. The third time the words came stumblingly. + </p> + <p> + “Michael, what—what does it mean—all this?” She indicated the + holland-sheeted studio with a gesture. + </p> + <p> + “It means that I’m going away,” he replied. “I’m packing now. I leave + England to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn’t go!” + </p> + <p> + The words broke from her imperatively, like a mandate. + </p> + <p> + He glanced at her quickly and into his eyes came a look of comprehension. + </p> + <p> + “You’re a good friend,” he said quietly. “But I must go.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, you mustn’t! Listen—” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing can alter my decision,” he interrupted in a tone of absolute + finality. “Nothing you could say, Gillian—so don’t say it.” + </p> + <p> + “But I must!” she insisted. “Oh, Michael, I’m not going to pretend that + Magda hasn’t been to blame—that it isn’t all terrible! But if you + saw her—now—you’d <i>have</i> to forgive her and love her + again.” She spoke with a simple sincerity that was infinitely appealing. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve never ceased to love her,” he replied, still in that quiet voice of + repressed determination. + </p> + <p> + “Then if you love, her, can’t you forgive her? She’s had everything + against her from the beginning, both temperament and upbringing, and on + top of that there’s been the wild success she’s had as a dancer. You can’t + judge her by ordinary standards of conduct. You <i>can’t</i>! It isn’t + fair.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t presume to judge her”—icily. “I simply say I can’t marry + her.” + </p> + <p> + “If you could see her now, Michael——” Her voice shook a + little. “It hurts me to see Magda—like that. She’s broken——” + </p> + <p> + “And my sister, June, is dead,” he said in level, unemotional tones. + </p> + <p> + Gillian wrung her hands. + </p> + <p> + “But even so——! Magda didn’t kill her, Michael. She couldn’t + tell—she didn’t know that June——” She halted, faltering + into silence. + </p> + <p> + “That June was soon to have a child?” Michael finished her sentence for + her. “No. But she knew she loved her husband. And she stole him from her. + When I think of it all, of June . . . little June! . . . And Storran—gone + under! Oh, what’s the use of talking?”—savagely. “You know—and + I know—that there’s nothing left. Nothing!” + </p> + <p> + “If you loved her, Michael—” + </p> + <p> + “If I loved her!” he broke out stormily. “You’re not a man, and you don’t + know what it means to want the woman you love night and day, to ache for + her with every fibre of your body—and to know that you can’t have + her and keep your self-respect!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—self-respect!” There was a note of contempt in Gillian’s voice. + “If you set your ‘self-respect’ above your love—” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t understand!” he interrupted violently. “You’re a woman and you + can’t understand! I must honour the woman I love—it’s the kernel of + the whole thing. I must look up to her—not down!” + </p> + <p> + Gillian clasped her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she said in a low, vehement voice. “I don’t think we women <i>want</i> + to be ‘looked up to.’ It sets us so far away. We’re not goddesses. We’re + only women, Michael, with all our little weaknesses just the same as men. + And we want the men who love us to be comrades—not worshippers. Good + pals, who’ll forgive us and help us up when we tumble down, just as we’d + be ready to forgive them and help them up. Can’t you—can’t you do + that for Magda?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said shortly. “I can’t.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian was at the end of her resources. She would not tell him that Magda + proposed joining the Sisters of Penitence for a year. Somehow she felt she + would not wish him to know this or to be influenced by it. + </p> + <p> + She had made her appeal to Michael himself, to his sheer love for the + woman he had intended to make his wife. And she had failed because the man + was too bitter, too sore, to see clearly through the pain that blinded + him. + </p> + <p> + His voice, curt and clipped, broke the silence which had fallen. + </p> + <p> + “Have you said all you came to say?” he asked with frigid politeness. + </p> + <p> + “All,” she returned sadly. + </p> + <p> + He moved slowly towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” she said, holding out her hand. + </p> + <p> + He took it and held it in his. For a moment the hard eyes softened a + little. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry I can’t do what you ask,” he said abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Gillian opened her lips to speak, but no words came. Instead, a sudden + lump rose in her throat, choking her into silence, at the sight of the + man’s wrung face, with its bitter, pain-ridden eyes and the jaw that was + squared implacably against love and forgiveness, and against his own + overwhelming desire. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <h3> + “CHILDREN STUMBLING IN THE DARK” + </h3> + <p> + As Gillian mingled once more with the throng on the pavements she felt + curiously unwilling to return home. She had set out from Friars’ Holm so + full of hope in her errand! It had seemed impossible that she could fail, + and she had been almost unconsciously looking forward to seeing Magda’s + wan, strained face relax into half-incredulous delight as she confided in + her the news that Michael was as eager and longing for a reconciliation as + she herself. + </p> + <p> + And instead—this! This utter, hopeless failure to move him one jot. + Only the memory of the man’s stern, desperately unhappy eyes curbed the + hot tide of her anger against him for his iron refusal. + </p> + <p> + He still loved Magda, so he said. And, indeed, Gillian believed it. But—love! + It was not love as she and Tony Grey had understood it—simple, + forgiving, and wholly trustful. It seemed to her as though Michael and + Magda were both wandering in a dim twilight of misunderstanding, neither + of them able to see that there was only one thing for them to do if they + were ever to find happiness again. They must thrust the past behind them—with + all its bitterness and failures and mistakes, and go forward, hand in + hand, in search of the light. Love would surely lead them to it + eventually. + </p> + <p> + Yet this was the last thing either of them seemed able to think of doing. + Magda was determined to spend the sweetness of her youth in making + reparation for the past, while Michael was torn by bitterly conflicting + feelings—his passionate love for Magda warring with his innate + recoil from all that she had done and with his loyalty to his dead sister. + </p> + <p> + Gillian sighed as she threaded her way slowly along the crowded street. + The lights of a well-known tea-shop beckoned invitingly and, only too + willing to postpone the moment of her return home, she turned in between + its plate-glass doors. + </p> + <p> + They swung together behind her, dulling the rumble of the traffic, while + all around uprose the gay hum of conversation and the chink of cups and + saucers mingling with the rhythmic melodies that issued from a cleverly + concealed orchestra. + </p> + <p> + The place was very crowded. For a moment it seemed to Gillian as though + there were no vacant seat. Then she espied an empty table for two in a + distant corner and hastily made her way thither. She had barely given her + order to the waitress when the swing doors parted again to admit someone + else—a man this time. + </p> + <p> + The new arrival paused, as Gillian herself had done, to search out a seat. + Then, noting the empty place at her table, he came quickly towards it. + </p> + <p> + Gillian was idly scanning the list of marvellous little cakes furnished by + the menu, and her first cognisance of the new-comer’s approach was the + vision of a strong, masculine hand gripping the back of the chair opposite + her preparatory to pulling it out from under the table. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid there’s no other vacant seat,” he was beginning + apologetically. But at the sound of his voice Gillian’s eyes flew up from + that virile-looking hand to the face of its owner, and a low cry of + surprise broke from her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Dan Storran!” + </p> + <p> + Simultaneously the man gave utterance to her own name. + </p> + <p> + Gillian stared at him stupidly. Could this really be Dan Storran—Storran + of Stockleigh? + </p> + <p> + The alteration in him was immense. He looked ten years older. An habitual + stoop had lessened his apparent height and the dark, kinky hair was + streaked with grey. The golden-tan bestowed by an English sun had been + exchanged for the sallow skin of a man who has lived hard in a hot + country, and the face was thin and heavily lined. Only the eyes of + periwinkle-blue remained to remind Gillian of the splendid young giant she + had known at Ashencombe—and even they were changed and held the + cynical weariness of a man who has eaten of Dead Sea fruit and found it + bitter to the taste. + </p> + <p> + There were other changes, too. Storran of Stockleigh was as civilised, his + clothes and general appearance as essentially “right,” as those of the men + around him. All suggestion of the “cave-man from the backwoods,” as Lady + Arabella had termed him, was gone. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know you were in England,” said Gillian at last. + </p> + <p> + “I landed yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve been in South America, haven’t you?” + </p> + <p> + She spoke mechanically. There seemed something forced and artificial about + this exchange of platitudes between herself and the man who had figured so + disastrously in Magda’s life. Without warning he brought the conversation + suddenly back to the realities. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I was in ‘Frisco when my wife died. Since then I’ve been half over + the world.” + </p> + <p> + Behind the harshly uttered statement Gillian could sense the unspeakable + bitterness of the man’s soul. It hurt her, calling forth her quick + sympathy just as the sight of some maimed and wounded animal would have + done. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she said, a sensitive quiver in her voice. “I was so sorry—so + terribly sorry—to hear about June. We hadn’t heard—we only + knew quite recently.” Her face clouded as she reflected on the tragic + happenings with which the news had been accompanied. + </p> + <p> + At this moment a waitress paused at Storran’s side and he gave his order. + Then, looking curiously at Gillian, he said: + </p> + <p> + “What did you hear? Just that she died when our child was born, I + suppose?” + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s absolute honesty of soul could not acquiesce, though it would + have been infinitely the easier course. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, flushing a little and speaking very low. “We heard that + she might have lived if—if she had only been—happier.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded silently, rather as though this was the answer he had + anticipated. Presently he spoke abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Does Miss Vallincourt know that?” + </p> + <p> + Gillian hesitated. Then, taking her courage in both hands she told him + quickly and composedly the whole story of the engagement and its rupture, + and let him understand just precisely what June’s death, owing to the + special circumstances in which it had occurred, had meant for Magda of + retribution and of heartbreak. + </p> + <p> + Storran listened without comment, in his eyes an odd look of + concentration. The waitress dexterously slid a tray in front of him and he + poured himself out a cup of tea mechanically, but he made no attempt to + drink it. When Gillian ceased, his face showed no sign of softening. It + looked hard and very weary. His strong fingers moved restlessly, crumbling + one of the small cakes on the plate in front of him. + </p> + <p> + “‘Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small,’” + he quoted at last, quietly. + </p> + <p> + Gillian met his harshly cynical glance with one of brave defiance. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think God’s mills have anything to do with it,” she said swiftly. + “He’d understand all the excuses and allowances that should be made for + her better even than I do. And I shouldn’t want to punish Magda. I’d make + her—happy. She’s never known what it means to be really happy. + Success and gaiety aren’t <i>happiness</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” he asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + There was a soft and wonderful shining in the brown eyes that were lifted + to his. + </p> + <p> + “I had one year of utter happiness,” she answered gently. “And I’ve got + Coppertop—so I can’t ever be quite unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + “If there were more women like you——” he began abruptly. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” she said, smiling a little. “If there were more men like Tony! + You men are so hard—so cruelly hard.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her very directly. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t I the right to be?” he demanded bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Forgive me!” Gillian spoke with an accent of self-reproach. “I’d + forgotten you still—care.” + </p> + <p> + “For Magda?” He laughed shortly. “No. That’s dead, thank God! I killed it. + Worked it out of my system in ‘Frisco”—with exceeding bitterness. + “Then I got the news of June’s death. Her sister wrote me. Told me she + died because she’d no longer any wish to live. That sobered me-brought me + back to my sense. There was a good deal more to the letter—my + sister-in-law didn’t let me down lightly. I’ve had to pay for that summer + at Stockleigh. And now Magda’s paying. . . . Well, that seems to square + things somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you are brutal!” broke out Gillian. + </p> + <p> + His eyes, hard as steel and as unyielding, met hers. + </p> + <p> + “Am I?”—indifferently. “Perhaps I am.” + </p> + <p> + This was a very different Dan from the impetuous, hot-headed Dan of former + times. Gillian found his calm ruthlessness difficult to understand, and + yet, realising all that he had suffered, she could not but condone it to a + certain extent. + </p> + <p> + When at last she rose to go, he detained her a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I am remaining in England now. I should like to see you sometimes. May + I?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. Then something that appealed in the tired eyes impelled her + answer. + </p> + <p> + “If you wish,” she said gently. + </p> + <p> + Back once more in the street she made her way as quickly as possible to + the nearest tube station, in order to reach it before the usual evening + crowd of homeward-wending clerks and typists poured into the thoroughfares + from a thousand open office doors. But as soon as she was safely seated in + the train her thoughts reverted to the two strange interviews in which she + had taken part that afternoon. + </p> + <p> + She felt very low-spirited. Since she had seen and talked with the two men + in whose lives Magda had played so big a part, she was oppressed with a + sense of the utter hopelessness of trying to put matters right. Things + must take their course—drive on to whatever end, bitter or sweet, + lay hidden in the womb of fate. + </p> + <p> + She had tried to stem the current of affairs, but she had proved as + powerless to deflect it as a dried stick tossed on to a river in spate. + And now, whether the end were ultimate happiness or hopeless, + irretrievable disaster, Michael and Magda must still fight their way + towards it, each alone, by the dim light of that “blind Understanding” + which is all that Destiny vouchsafes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI + </h2> + <h3> + FAREWELL + </h3> + <p> + The curtains swung together for the last time, the orchestra struck up the + National Anthem, and the great audience which had come from all parts to + witness the Wielitzska’s farewell performance began to disperse. + </p> + <p> + A curious quietness attended its departure. It was as though a pall of + gravity hung over the big assemblage. Public announcements of the + performance had explained that the famous dancer proposed taking a long + rest for reasons of health. “But,” as everyone declared, “you know what + that means! She’s probably broken down—heart or something. We shall + never see her dance again.” And so, beneath the tremendous reception which + they gave her, there throbbed an element of sadness, behind all the cheers + and the clapping an insistent minor note which carried across the + footlights to where Magda stood bowing her thanks, and smiling through the + mist of tears which filled her eyes. + </p> + <p> + The dance which she had chosen for her last appearance was the <i>Swan-Maiden</i>. + There had seemed a strange applicability in the choice, and to those who + had eyes to see there was a new quality in the Wielitzska’s dancing—a + depth of significance and a spirituality of interpretation which was + commented upon in the Press the next day. + </p> + <p> + It had been quite unmistakable. She had gripped her audience so that + throughout the final scene of the ballet no word was spoken. The big + crowd, drawn from all classes, sat tense and silent, sensitive to every + movement, every exquisite, appealing gesture of the Swan-Maiden. And when + at last she had lain, limp in death, in her lover’s embrace, and the music + had quivered into silence, there followed a vibrant pause—almost it + seemed as though a sigh of mingled ecstasy and regret went up—before + the thunderous applause roared through the auditorium. + </p> + <p> + The insatiable few were still clapping and stamping assiduously when + Magda, after taking innumerable calls, at last came off the stage. It had + been a wonderful night of triumph, and as she made her way towards her + dressing-room she was conscious of a sudden breathless realisation of all + that she was sacrificing. For a moment she felt as though she must rush + back on to the stage and tell everybody that she couldn’t do it, that it + was all a mistake—that this was not a farewell! But she set her + teeth and moved resolutely towards her dressing-room. + </p> + <p> + As her fingers closed round the handle of the door, someone stepped out + from the shadows of the passage and spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Magda!” + </p> + <p> + The voice, wrung and urgent, was Antoine Davilof’s. + </p> + <p> + Her first impulse was to hurry forward and put the dressing-room door + betwixt herself and him. She had not seen him since that night when he had + come down to the theatre and implored her to be his wife, warning her that + he would prevent her marriage with Michael. He had carried out his threat + with a completeness that had wrecked her life, and although, since the + breaking-off of her engagement, he had both written and telephoned, + begging her to see him, she had steadfastly refused. Once he had come to + Friars’ Holm, but had been met with an inexorable “Not at home!” from + Melrose. + </p> + <p> + “Magda! For God’s sake, give me a moment!” + </p> + <p> + Something in the strained tones moved her to an unexpected feeling of + compassion. It was the voice of a man in the extremity of mental anguish. + </p> + <p> + Silently she opened the door of the dressing-room and signed to him to + follow her. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said, facing him, “what is it? Why have you come?” + </p> + <p> + The impulse of compassion died out suddenly. His was the hand that had + destroyed her happiness. The sight of him roused her to a fierce anger and + resentment. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she repeated. “What do you want? To know the result of your + handiwork?”—bitterly. “You’ve been quite as successful as even you + could have wished.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t,” he said unevenly. “Magda, I can’t bear it. You can’t give up—all + this. Your dancing—it’s your life! I shall never forgive myself . . + . I’ll see Quarrington and tell him—” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t see him. He’s gone away.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll find him.” + </p> + <p> + “If you found him, nothing you could say would make any difference,” she + answered unemotionally. “It’s the facts that matter. You can’t alter—facts.” + </p> + <p> + Davilof made a gesture of despair. + </p> + <p> + “Is it true you’re going into some sisterhood?” he asked hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is I—I who have driven you to this! <i>Dieu</i>! I’ve been + mad—mad!” + </p> + <p> + His hands were clenched, his face working painfully. The hazel eyes—those + poet’s eyes of his which she had seen sometimes soft with dreams and + sometimes blazing with love’s fire—were blurred by misery. They + reminded her of the contrite, tortured eyes of a dog which, maddened by + pain, has bitten the hand of a beloved master. Her anger died away in the + face of that overwhelming remorse. She herself had learned to know the + illimitable bitterness of self-reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Antoine——” Her voice had grown very gentle. + </p> + <p> + He swung round on her. + </p> + <p> + “And I can’t undo it!” he exclaimed desperately. “I can’t undo it! . . . + Magda, will you believe me—will you <i>try</i> to believe that, if + my life could undo the harm I’ve done, I’d give it gladly?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you would, Antoine,” she replied simply. + </p> + <p> + With a stifled exclamation he turned away and, dropping into a chair, + leaned his arms on the table and hid his face. Once, twice she heard the + sound of a man’s hard-drawn sob, and the dry agony of it wrung her heart. + All that was sweet and compassionate in her—the potential mother + that lies in every woman—responded to his need. She ran to him and, + kneeling at his side, laid a kind little hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t Antoine!” she said pitifully. “Ah, don’t, my dear!” + </p> + <p> + He caught the hand and held it against his cheek. + </p> + <p> + “It’s unforgivable!” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “No, no. I do forgive you.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t forgive! . . . Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “I think I can, Antoine. You see, I need forgiveness so badly myself. I + wouldn’t want to keep anyone else without it. Besides, Michael would have + been bound to learn—what you told him—sooner or later.” She + rose to her feet, pushing back the hair from her forehead rather wearily. + “It’s better as it is—that he should know now. It—it would + have been unbearable if it had come later—when I was his wife.” + </p> + <p> + Antoine stumbled to his feet. His beautiful face was marred with grief. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I were dead!” + </p> + <p> + The words broke from him like an exceeding bitter cry. To Magda they + seemed to hold some terrible import. + </p> + <p> + “Not that, Antoine!” she answered in a frightened voice. “You’re not + thinking—you’re not meaning——” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head, smiling faintly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said quietly. “The Davilofs have never been cowards. I shan’t + take that way out. You need have no fears, Magda.” The sudden tension in + her face relaxed. “But I shall not stay in England. England—without + you—would be hell. A hell of memories.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall you do, then, Antoine? You won’t give up playing?” + </p> + <p> + He made a fierce gesture of distaste. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t play in public! Not now. Not for a time. I think I shall go to + my mother. She always wants me, and she sees me very little.” + </p> + <p> + Magda nodded. Her eyes were wistful. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, go to her. I think mothers must understand—as other people + can’t ever understand. She will be glad to have you with her, Antoine.” + </p> + <p> + He was silent for a moment, his eyes dwelling on her face as though he + sought to learn each line of it, so that when she would be no more beside + him he might carry the memory of it in his heart for ever. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is good-bye,” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + Magda held out her hands and, taking them in his, he drew her close to + him. + </p> + <p> + “I love you,” he said, “and I have brought you only pain.” There was a + tragic simplicity in the statement. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered steadily. “Never think that. I spoiled my own life. And—love + is a big gift, Antoine.” + </p> + <p> + She lifted her face to his and very tenderly, almost reverently, he kissed + her. She knew that in that last kiss there was no disloyalty to Michael. + It held renunciation. It accepted forgiveness. + </p> + <p> + “Did you know that Dan Storran was in front to-night?” asked Gillian, as + half an hour later she and Magda were driving back to Hampstead together. + She had already confided the fact of her former meeting with him in the + tea-shop. + </p> + <p> + Magda’s eyes widened a little. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said quietly. “I think I’m glad I didn’t know.” + </p> + <p> + She was very silent throughout the remainder of the drive home and Gillian + made no effort to distract her. She herself felt disinclined to talk. She + was oppressed by the knowledge that this was the last night she and Magda + would have with each other. To-morrow Magda would be gone and one chapter + of their lives together ended. The gates of the Sisters of Penitence would + close upon her and Friars’ Holm would be empty of her presence. + </p> + <p> + Everything had been said that could be said, every persuasion used. But to + each and all Magda had only answered: “I know it’s the only thing for me + to do. It probably wouldn’t be for you, or for anyone else. But it is for + me. So you must let me go, Gillyflower.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian dreaded the morrow with its inevitable moment of farewell. As for + Virginie, she had done little else but weep for the last three days, and + although Lady Arabella had said very little, she had kissed her + god-daughter good-bye with a brusqueness that veiled an inexpressible + grief and tenderness. Gillian foresaw that betwixt administering comfort + to Lady Arabella and Virginie, and setting Magda’s personal affairs in + order after her departure, she would have little time for the indulgence + of her own individual sorrow. Perhaps it was just as well that these tasks + should devolve on her. They would serve to occupy her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + The morning sunlight, goldenly gay, was streaming in through the windows + as Magda, wrapped in a soft silken peignoir, made her way into the + bathroom. Virginie, her eyes reddened from a night’s weeping, was kneeling + beside the sunken bath of green-veined marble, stirring sweet-smelling + salts in to the steaming water. Their fragrance permeated the atmosphere + like incense. + </p> + <p> + “My tub ready, Virginie?” asked Magda, cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + Virginie scrambled to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais oui, mademoiselle</i>. The bath is ready.” + </p> + <p> + Then, her face puckering up suddenly, she burst into tears and ran out of + the room. Magda smiled and sighed, then busied herself with her morning + ablutions—prolonging them a little as she realised that this was the + last occasion for a whole year when she would step down into a bath + prepared and perfumed for her in readiness by her maid. + </p> + <p> + A year! It was a long time to look forward to. So much can happen in a + year. And no one can foresee what the end may bring. + </p> + <p> + Presently she emerged from her bath, her skin gleaming like wet ivory, her + dark hair sparkling with the drops of water that had splashed on to it. As + she stepped up from its green-veined depths, she caught a glimpse of + herself in a panel mirror hung against the wall, and for a moment she was + aware of the familiar thrill of delight in her own beauty—in the + gleaming, glowing radiance of perfectly formed, perfectly groomed flesh + and blood. + </p> + <p> + Then, with a revulsion of feeling, came the sudden realisation that it was + this very perfection of body which had been her undoing—like a + bitter blight, leaving in its wake a trail of havoc and desolation. She + was even conscious of a fierce eagerness for the period of penance to + begin. Almost ecstatically she contemplated the giving of her body to + whatever discipline might be appointed. + </p> + <p> + To anyone hitherto as spoiled and imperious as Magda, whose body had been + the actual temple of her art, and so, almost inevitably, of her worship, + this utter renouncing of physical self-government was the supremest + expiation she could make. As with Hugh Vallincourt, whose blood ran in her + veins, the idea of personal renunciation made a curious appeal to her + emotional temperament, and she was momentarily filled with something of + the martyr’s ecstasy. + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s arms clung round Magda’s neck convulsively as she kissed her at + the great gates of Friars’ Holm a few hours later. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye! . . . Ah, Magda! Come back to me!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall come back.” + </p> + <p> + One more lingering kiss, and then Magda stepped into the open car. + Virginie made a rush forward before the door closed and, dropping on to + her knees on the footboard, convulsively snatched her adored young + mistress’s hand between her two old worn ones and covered it with kisses. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mademoiselle, thy old Virginie will die without thee!” she sobbed + brokenly. + </p> + <p> + And then the car slid away and Magda’s last glimpse was of the open gates + of Friars’ Holm with its old-world garden, stately and formal, in the + background; and of Virginie weeping unrestrainedly, her snowy apron flung + up over her head; and of Gillian standing erect, her brown eyes very wide + and winking away the tears that welled up despite herself, and her hand on + Coppertop’s small manful shoulder, gripping it hard. + </p> + <p> + As the car passed through the streets many people, recognising its + occupant, stopped and turned to follow it with their eyes. One or two + women waved their hands, and a small errand-boy—who had saved up his + pennies and squeezed into the gallery of the Imperial Theatre the previous + evening—threw up his hat and shouted “Hooray!” + </p> + <p> + Once, at a crossing, the chauffeur was compelled to pull up to allow the + traffic to pass, and a flower-girl with a big basket of early violets on + her arm, recognising the famous dancer, tossed a bunch lightly into the + car. They fell on Magda’s lap. She picked them up and, brushing them with + her lips, smiled at the girl and fastened the violets against the furs at + her breast. The flower-girl treasured the smile of the great Wielitzska in + her memory for many a long day, while in the arid months that were to + follow Magda treasured the sweet fragrance of that spontaneous gift. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later the doors of the grey house where the Sisters of + Penitence dwelt apart from the world opened to receive Magda Vallincourt, + and closed again behind her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII + </h2> + <h3> + THE GREY VEIL + </h3> + <p> + Magda felt a sudden stab of fear. The sound of the latch clicking into its + place brought home to her the irrevocability of the step she had taken. + That tall, self-locking door stood henceforth betwixt her and the dear, + familiar world she had known—the world of laughter and luxury and + success. But beyond, on the far horizon, there was Michael—her + “Saint Michel.” If these months of discipline brought her nearer him, then + she would never grudge them. + </p> + <p> + The serene eyes of the Sister who received her—Sister Bernardine—helped + to steady her quivering pulses. + </p> + <p> + There was something in Sister Bernardine that was altogether lacking in + Catherine Vallincourt—a delightfully human understanding and charity + for all human weakness, whether of the soul or body. + </p> + <p> + It was she who reassured Magda when a sudden appalling and unforeseen idea + presented itself to her. + </p> + <p> + “My hair!” she exclaimed breathlessly, her hand going swiftly to the + heavy, smoke-black tresses. “Will they cut off my hair?” + </p> + <p> + As Sister Bernardine comfortingly explained that only those who joined the + community as sisters had their heads shaven, a strange expression + flickered for an instant in her eyes, a fleeting reminiscence of that day, + five-and-twenty years ago, when the shears had cropped their ruthless way + through the glory of hair which had once been hers. + </p> + <p> + And afterwards, as time went on and Magda, wearing the grey veil and grey + serge dress of a voluntary penitent, found herself absorbed into the daily + life of the community, it was often only the recollection of Sister + Bernardine’s serene, kind eyes which helped her to hold out. Somehow, + somewhere out of this drastic, self-denying life Sister Bernardine had + drawn peace and tranquillity of soul, and Magda clung to this thought when + the hard rules of the sisterhood, the distastefulness of the tasks + appointed her, and the frequent fasts ordained, chafed and fretted her + until sometimes her whole soul seemed to rise up in rebellion against the + very discipline she had craved. + </p> + <p> + Most of her tasks were performed under the lynx eyes of Sister Agnetia, an + elderly and sour-visaged sister to whom Magda had taken an instinctive + dislike from the outset. The Mother Superior she could tolerate. She was + severe and uncompromising. But she was at least honest. There was no + doubting the bedrock genuineness of her disciplinary ardour, harsh and + merciless though it might appear. But with Sister Agnetia, Magda was + always sensible of the personal venom of a little mind vested with + authority beyond its deserts, and she resented her dictation accordingly. + And equally accordingly, it seemed to fall always to her lot to work under + Sister Agnetia’s supervision. + </p> + <p> + Catherine had been quick enough to detect Magda’s detestation of this + particular sister and to use it as a further means of discipline. It was + necessary that Magda’s pride and vanity should be humbled, and Catherine + saw to it that they were. It was assuredly by the Will of Heaven that the + child of Diane Wielitzska had been led to her very doors, and to the + subject of her chastening Catherine brought much thought and + discrimination. <i>“If you hurt people enough you can make them good.”</i> + It had been her brother’s bitter creed and it was hers. Pain, in + Catherine’s idea, was the surest means of chastening, and Magda was to + remember her year at the sisterhood by two things—by the deadly, + unbearable monotony of its daily routine and by her first acquaintance + with actual bodily pain. + </p> + <p> + Her health had always been magnificent, and—with the exception of + the trivial punishments of childhood and those few moments when she was + sitting for the picture of Circe—physical suffering was unknown to + her. The penances, therefore, which Catherine appointed her—to kneel + for a stated length of time until it seemed as though every muscle she + possessed were stretched to breaking-point, to fast when her whole healthy + young body craved for food, to be chastened with flagellum, a scourge of + knotted cords—all these grew to be a torment almost beyond + endurance. + </p> + <p> + Almost! . . . Yet in the beginning the thought of Michael sustained her + triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + It was a curious sensation—that first stroke of the flagellum. + </p> + <p> + As Magda, unversed in physical suffering, felt the cords shock against her + flesh, she was conscious of a strange uplifting of spirit. This, then, + this smarting, blinding thing called pain, was the force that would drive + the will to do evil out of her soul. + </p> + <p> + She waited expectantly—almost exultantly—for the second fall + of the thongs. The interval between seemed endless. Sister Agnetia was + very deliberate, pausing between each stroke. She knew to a nicety the + value of anticipation as a remedial force in punishment. + </p> + <p> + Again the cords descended on the bared shoulders. Magda winced away from + them, shivering. For a moment Sister Agnetia’s arm hung flaccid, the cords + of the flagellum pendant and still. + </p> + <p> + “Are you submitting to the discipline, Sister Penitentia?” came her voice. + It was an unpleasant voice, suggestive of a knife that has been dipped in + oil. + </p> + <p> + Magda caught her breath. + </p> + <p> + “Yes . . . yes . . . I submit myself.” + </p> + <p> + Dimly she felt that by means of this endurance she would win back Michael, + cleanse herself to receive his love. + </p> + <p> + “I submit,” she repeated in a rapt whisper of self-surrender. + </p> + <p> + Sister Agnetia’s voice swam unctuously into her consciousness once more. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you tried to avoid that last stroke. If you flinch from + punishment it is not submission, but rebellion.” + </p> + <p> + Magda gripped her hands together and pressed her knees into the hard stone + floor, her muscles taut with anticipation as she heard the soft whistle of + the thongs cleaving the air. + </p> + <p> + This time she bore the pang of anguish motionless, but the vision of + Michael went out suddenly in a throbbing darkness of swift agony. Her + shoulders felt red-hot. The pain shot up into her brain like fingers of + flame. It clasped her whole body in a torment, and the ecstasy of + self-surrender was lost in a sick groping after sheer endurance. + </p> + <p> + The next stroke, crushing across that fever of intolerable suffering, + wrung a hoarse moan from her dry lips. Her hands locked together till she + felt as though their bones must crack with the strain as she waited for + the next inexorable stroke. + </p> + <p> + One moment! . . . Two! An eternity of waiting! + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” she breathed. “Oh! . . . Be quick . . .” Her voice panted. + </p> + <p> + No movement answered her. Unable to endure the suspense, she straightened + her bowed shoulders and turned in convulsive appeal to where she had + glimpsed the flail-like rise and fall of Sister Agnetia’s serge-clad arm. + </p> + <p> + There was no one there! The bare, cell-like chamber was empty, save for + herself. Sister Agnetia had stolen away, completing the penance of + physical pain by the refinement of anguish embodied in those hideous + moments of mental dread. + </p> + <p> + Magda almost fancied she could hear an oily chuckle outside the door. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII + </h2> + <h3> + THOSE THAT WERE LEFT BEHIND + </h3> + <p> + For the first month or two after Magda’s departure Gillian found that she + had her hands full in settling up various business and personal matters + which had been left with loose ends. She was frankly glad to discover that + there were so many matters requiring her attention; otherwise the blank + occasioned in her life by Magda’s absence would have been almost + unendurable. + </p> + <p> + The two girls had grown very much into each other’s hearts during the + years they had shared together, and when friends part, no matter how big a + wrench the separation may mean to the one who goes, there is a special + kind of sadness reserved for the one who is left behind. For the one who + sets out there are fresh faces, new activities in store. Even though the + new life adventured upon may not prove to be precisely a bed of thornless + roses, the pricking of the thorns provides distraction to the mind from + the sheer, undiluted pain of separation. + </p> + <p> + But for Gillian, left behind at Friars’ Holm, there remained nothing but + an hourly sense of loss added to that crushing, inevitable flatness which + succeeds a crisis of any kind. + </p> + <p> + Nor did a forlorn Coppertop’s reiterated inquiries as to how soon the + Fairy Lady might be expected back again help to mend matters. + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella’s grief was expressed in a characteristically prickly + fashion. + </p> + <p> + “Young people don’t seem to know the first thing about love nowadays,” she + observed with the customary scathing contempt of one age for another. + </p> + <p> + In <i>my</i> young days! Ah! there will never be times like those again! + We are all quite sure of it as our young days recede into the misty past. + </p> + <p> + “If you loved, you loved,” pursued Lady Arabella crisply. “And the death + of half a dozen sisters wouldn’t have been allowed to interfere with the + proceedings.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian smiled a little. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn’t only that. It was Michael’s bitter disappointment in Magda, I + think, quite as much as the fact that, indirectly, he held her responsible + for June’s death.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s ridiculous to try and foist Mrs. Storran’s death on to Magda,” fumed + Lady Arabella restively. “If she hadn’t the physical health to have a + good, hearty baby successfully, she shouldn’t have attempted it. That’s + all! . . . And then those two idiots—Magda and Michael! Of course he + must needs shoot off abroad, and equally of course she must be out of the + way in a sisterhood when he comes rushing back—as he will do!”—with + a grim smile. + </p> + <p> + “He hasn’t done yet,” Gillian pointed out. + </p> + <p> + “I give him precisely six months, my dear, before he finds out that, + sister or no sister, he can’t live without Magda. Michael Quarrington’s + got too much good red blood in his veins to live the life of a hermit. + He’s a man, thank goodness, not a mystical dreamer like Hugh Vallincourt. + And he’ll come back to his mate as surely as the sun will rise to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I felt as confident as you do.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could make sure of putting my hand on Magda when he comes,” + grumbled Lady Arabella. “That’s the hitch I’m afraid of! If only she + hadn’t been so precipitate—only waited a bit for him to come back to + her.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t agree with you,” rapped out Gillian smartly. “Women are much too + ready to do the patient Griselda stunt. I think”—with a vicious + little nod of her brown head—“it would do Michael all the good in + the world to come back and want Magda—want her <i>badly</i>. And + find he couldn’t get her! So there!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella regarded her with astonishment, then broke into a delighted + chuckle. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word! If a tame dove had suddenly turned round and pecked at me, + I couldn’t have been more surprised! I didn’t know you had so much of the + leaven of malice and wickedness in you, Gillian!” + </p> + <p> + Gillian, a little flushed and feeling, in truth, rather surprised at + herself for her sudden heat, smiled back at her. + </p> + <p> + “But I should have thought your opinion would have been very much the same + as mine. I never expected you’d want Magda to sit down and twiddle her + thumbs till Michael chose to come back to her.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella sighed. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t. Not really. Only I want them to be happy,” she said a little + sadly. “Love is such a rare thing—love like theirs. And it’s hard + that Magda should lose the beauty and happiness of it all because of + mistakes she made before she found herself, so to speak.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian nodded soberly. Lady Arabella had voiced precisely her own feeling + in the matter. It <i>was</i> hard! And yet it was only the fulfilment of + the immutable law: <i>Who breaks, pays</i>. + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s thoughts tried to pierce the dim horizon. Perhaps all the pain + and mistakes and misunderstandings of which this workaday world is so full + are, after all, only a part of the beautiful tapestry which the patient + Fingers of God are weaving—a dark and sombre warp, giving value to + the gold and silver and jewelled threads of the weft which shall cross it. + When the ultimate fabric is woven, and the tissue released from the loom, + there will surely be no meaningless thread, sable or silver, in the + consummated pattern. + </p> + <p> + A few weeks after Magda’s departure Gillian received a letter from Dan + Storran, reminding her of her promise to let him see her and asking if she + would lunch with him somewhere in town. + </p> + <p> + It was with somewhat mixed feelings that she met him again. He was much + altered—so changed from the hot-headed, primitive countryman she had + first known. Some chance remark of hers enlightened him as to her confused + sense of the difference in him, and he smiled across at her. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been through the mill, you see,” he explained quietly, “since the + Stockleigh days.” + </p> + <p> + The words seemed almost like a key unlocking the door that stands fast + shut between one soul and another. He talked to her quite simply and + frankly after that, telling her how, after he had left England, the + madness in his blood had driven him whither it listed. There had been no + depths to which he had not sunk, no wild living from which he had + recoiled. + </p> + <p> + And then had come the news of June’s death. Not tenderly conveyed, but + charged to his account by her sister with a fierce bitterness that had + suddenly torn the veil from his eyes. Followed days and nights of agonised + remorse, and after that the slow, steady, infinitely difficult climb back + from the depths into which he had allowed himself to sink to a plane of + life where, had June still lived, he would not have been ashamed to meet + her eyes nor utterly unworthy to take her hand. + </p> + <p> + “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” he ended. “But she would + have wished it. I can never tell her now how I regret, never ask her + forgiveness. And this was the only thing I could do to atone.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s eyes were very soft as she answered: + </p> + <p> + “I expect she knows, Dan, and is glad.” + </p> + <p> + After a moment she went on thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “It’s rather the same kind of feeling that has driven Magda into a + sisterhood, I think—the desire to do something definite, something + tangible, as a sort of reparation. And a woman is much more limited that + way than a man.” + </p> + <p> + Storran’s mouth hardened. Any mention of Magda would bring that look of + concentrated hardness into his face, and as the months went on, giving + Gillian a closer insight into the man, she began to realise that he had + never forgiven Magda for her share in the ruin of his life. On this point + he was as hard as nether millstone. He even seemed to derive a certain + satisfaction from the knowledge that she was paying, and paying heavily, + for all the harm she had wrought. + </p> + <p> + It troubled Gillian—this incalculable hardness in Dan’s nature + towards one woman. She found him kindly and tolerant in his outlook on + life—with the understanding tolerance of the man who has dragged + himself out of the pit by his own sheer force of will, and who, knowing + the power of temptation, is ready to give a helping hand to others who may + have fallen by the way. So that his relentlessness towards Magda was the + more inexplicable. + </p> + <p> + More than once she tried to soften his attitude, tried to make him realise + something of the conflicting influences both of temperament and + environment which had helped to make Magda what she was. But he remained + stubbornly unmoved. + </p> + <p> + “No punishment is too severe for a woman who has done what Magda + Vallincourt has done. She has wrecked lives simply in order to gratify her + vanity and insensate instinct for conquest.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No, you’re wrong. You <i>won’t</i> understand! It’s all that went before—her + parents’ mistakes—that should be blamed for half she’s done. I think + you’re very merciless, Dan.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I am—in this case. Frankly, if I could lessen her + punishment by lifting my little finger—I wouldn’t do it.” + </p> + <p> + Yet this same man when, as often happened, he took Gillian and Coppertop + for a run into the country in his car, was as simple and considerate and + kindly as a man could be. Coppertop adored him, and, as Gillian reflected, + the love of children is rarely misplaced. Some instinct leads them to + divine unfailingly which is gold and which dross. + </p> + <p> + The car was a recent acquisition. As Storran himself expressed it, rather + bitterly: “Now that I can’t buy a ha’p’orth of happiness with the money, + my luck has turned.” He explained to Gillian that after he had left + England he had sold his farm in Devonshire, and that a lucky investment of + the capital thus realised had turned him into a comparatively rich man. + </p> + <p> + “Even when I was making ducks and drakes of my life generally, I didn’t + seem to make a mistake over money matters. If I played cards, I won; if I + backed a horse, he romped in first; it I bought shares, they jumped up + immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “What a pity!” replied Gillian ingenuously. “If only your financial + affairs hadn’t prospered, you’d have had to settle down and <i>work</i>—instead + of—of——” + </p> + <p> + “Playing the fool,” he supplemented. “No, I don’t suppose I should. I + hadn’t learned—then—that work is the only panacea, the one big + remedy.” + </p> + <p> + “And now?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve learned a lot of things in the last two years,” quietly. “And I’m + still learning.” + </p> + <p> + As the months went on, Dan’s friendship began to mean a good deal to + Gillian. It had come into her life just at a time when she was intolerably + lonely, and quite unconsciously she was learning to turn to him for advice + on all the large and small affairs of daily life as they came cropping up. + </p> + <p> + She was infinitely glad of his counsel with regard to Coppertop, who was + growing to the age when the want of a father—of a man’s broad + outlook and a man’s restraining hand—became an acute lack in a boy’s + life. And to Gillian, who had gallantly faced the world alone since the + day when death had abruptly ended her “year of utter happiness,” it was + inexpressibly sweet to be once more shielded and helped in all the big and + little ways in which a man—even if he was only a staunch man-friend—can + shield and help a woman. + </p> + <p> + It seemed as though Dan Storran always contrived to interpose his big + person betwixt her and the sharp corners of life, and she began to wonder, + with a faint, indefinable dread, what must become of their friendship when + Magda returned to Friars’ Holm. Feeling as he did towards the dancer, it + would be impossible for him to come there any more, and somehow a snatched + hour here and there—a lunch together, or a motor-spin into the + country—would be a very poor substitute for his almost daily visits + to the old Queen Anne house tucked away behind its high walls at + Hampstead. + </p> + <p> + Once she broached the subject to him rather diffidently. + </p> + <p> + “My dear”—he had somehow dropped into the use of the little term of + endearment, and Gillian found that she liked it and knew that she would + miss it if it were suddenly erased from his speech—“my dear, why + cross bridges till we come to them? Perhaps, when the time comes, there’ll + be no bridge to cross.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian glanced at him swiftly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that she—that you’re feeling less bitter towards her, + Dan?” she asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + He smiled down at her whimsically. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t quite know. But I know one thing—it’s very difficult to be + a lot with you and keep one’s anger strictly up to concert pitch.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian made no answer. She was too wise—with that intuitive wisdom + of woman—to force the pace. If Dan were beginning to relent ever so + little towards Magda—why, then, her two best friends might yet come + together in comradeship and learn to forget the bitter past. The gentle + hand of Time would be laid on old wounds and its touch would surely bring + healing. But Gillian would no more have thought of trying to hasten + matters than she would have tried to force open the close-curled petals of + a flower in bud. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX + </h2> + <h3> + THE RETURN + </h3> + <p> + Magda slipped through the tall doorway in the wall which marked the abode + of the Sisters of Penitence and stood once more on the pavement of the + busy street. The year was over, and just as once before the clicking of + the latch had seemed to signify the end of everything, so now it sounded a + quite different note—of new beginnings, of release—freedom! + </p> + <p> + Three months prior to the completion of her allotted span at the + sisterhood Magda had had a serious attack of illness. The hard and + rigorous life had told upon her physically, while the unaccustomed + restrictions, the constant obedience exacted, had gone far towards + assisting in the utter collapse of nerves already frayed by the strain of + previous happenings. + </p> + <p> + Probably her fierce determination to go through with her self-elected + expiation, no matter what the cost, had a good deal to do with her + ultimate breakdown. With unswerving resolution she had forced herself to + obedience, to the performance of her appointed tasks in spite of their + distastefulness; and behind the daily work and discipline there had been + all the time the ceaseless, aching longing for the man who had loved her + and who had gone away. + </p> + <p> + It was not surprising, therefore, that the tired body and nerves at last + gave way, and in the delirium of brain fever Magda revealed the whole + pitiful story of the mistakes and misunderstandings which had brought her + in desperation to the Sisters of Penitence. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately it was upon Sister Bernardine that the major part of the + nursing devolved, and it was into her gentle ears that Magda unwittingly + poured out the history of the past. Bit by bit, from the ramblings of + delirium, Sister Bernardine pieced together the story, and her shy, + virginal heart found itself throbbing in overflowing sympathy—a + sympathy that sought expression in the tender care she gave her patient. + </p> + <p> + During the long, slow days of convalescence Magda, very helpless and + dependent, had gradually learned to love the soft-footed little Sister who + came and went throughout her illness—to love her as she would not, + at one time, have believed it possible she could grow to love anyone + behind the high grey walls which encircled the sisterhood. + </p> + <p> + If the past year had taught her nothing else, it had at least taught her + that goodness and badness are very evenly distributed. She had found both + good and bad behind those tall grey walls just as she had found them in + the great free world outside. + </p> + <p> + Her last memory, as her first, was of Sister Bernardine’s kind eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Some of us find happiness in the world,” the little Sister had said at + parting, “and some of us out of it. I think you were meant to find yours + in the world.” + </p> + <p> + It was Magda’s own choice to leave the sisterhood on foot. She had nothing + to take with her in the way of luggage, and she smiled a little as she + realised that, for the moment, she possessed actually nothing but the + clothes she stood up in—the same in which she had quitted Friars’ + Holm a year ago, and which, on departure, she had substituted for the grey + veil and habit she was discarding. + </p> + <p> + At first, as she made her way along the street, she found the continuous + ebb and flow of the crowded thoroughfare somewhat confusing after the + absolute calm and quiet of the preceding months, but very soon the + Londoner’s familiar love of London and of its ceaseless, kaleidoscopic + movement returned to her, and with it the requisite poise to thread her + way through the throngs that trod the pavements. + </p> + <p> + Then her eyes turned to the shop windows—Catherine’s stern + discipline had completely failed to stamp out the eternal feminine in her + niece—and as they absorbed the silken stuffs and rainbow colours + that gleamed and glowed behind the thick plateglass, she became suddenly + conscious of her own attire—of its cut and style. When last she had + worn it, it had been the final word in fashionable raiment. Now it was out + of date. The Wielitzska, whose clothes the newspapers had loved to + chronicle, in a frock in which any one of the “young ladies” behind the + counters of these self-same shops into which she was gazing would have + declined to appear! She almost laughed out loud. And then, quick on the + heels of her desire to laugh, came a revulsion of feeling. This little + incident, just the disparity between the fashion of her own clothes and + the fashion prevailing at the moment, served to make her realise, with a + curious clarity of vision, the irrevocable passage of time. A year—a + slice out of her life! What other differences would it ultimately show? + </p> + <p> + Something else was already making itself apparent—the fact that none + of the passers-by seemed to recognise her. In the old days, when she had + been dancing constantly at the Imperial Theatre, she had grown so used to + seeing the sudden look of interest and recognition spring into the eyes of + one or another, to the little eager gesture that nudged a companion, + pointing out the famous dancer as she passed along the street, that she + had thought nothing of it—had hardly consciously noticed it. Now she + missed it—missed it extraordinarily. + </p> + <p> + A sudden sense of intense loneliness swept over her—the loneliness + of the man who has been cast on a desert island, only returning to his + fellows after many weary months of absence. She felt she could not endure + to waste another moment before she saw again the beloved faces of Gillian + and Virginie and felt once more the threads of the old familiar life + quiver and vibrate between her fingers. + </p> + <p> + With a quick, imperative gesture she hailed a taxi and was whirled away + towards Hampstead. + </p> + <p> + The first excited greetings and embraces were over. The flurry of broken, + scattered phrases, half-tearfully, half-smilingly welcoming her back, had + spent themselves, and now old Virginie, drawing away, regarded her with + bewildered, almost frightened eyes. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mais, mon dieu</i>!” she muttered. “<i>Mon dieu</i>!” Then with a + sudden cry: “Cherie! Cherie! What have they done to thee? What have they + done?” + </p> + <p> + “Done to me?” repeated Magda in puzzled tones. “Oh, I see! I’m thinner. + I’ve been ill, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not—that! Hast thou looked in the glass? Oh, my poor——” + And the old Frenchwoman incontinently began to weep. + </p> + <p> + A glass! Magda had not seen her own reflection in a looking-glass since + the day she left Friars’ Holm. There were no mirrors hanging on the walls + of the house where the Sisters of Penitence dwelt. Filled with a nameless, + inexplicable terror, she turned and walked out of the room. There was an + old Chippendale mirror hanging at the further end, but she avoided it. + Something in the askance expression of Virginie’s eyes had frightened her + so that she dared not challenge what the mirror might give back until she + was alone. + </p> + <p> + Once outside the door she flew upstairs to her own room and, locking the + door, went to the glass. A stifled exclamation of dismay escaped her. She + had not dreamed a year could compass such an alteration! Then, very + deliberately, she removed her hat and, standing where the light fell full + upon her, she examined her reflection. After a long moment she spoke, + whisperingly, beneath her breath. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why—it isn’t me, at all. I’m ugly. Ugly——” + </p> + <p> + With a quick movement she lifted her arm, screening her face against it + for a moment. + </p> + <p> + Her startled eyes had exaggerated the change absurdly. Nevertheless, that + a change had taken place was palpable. The arresting radiance, the vivid + physical perfection of her, had gone. She was thin, and with the thinness + had come lines—lines of fatigue, and other, more lasting lines born + of endurance and self-control. The pliant symmetry of her figure, too, was + marred. She stooped a little; the gay, free carriage of her shoulders was + gone. The heavy manual work at the sisterhood, of which, in common with + the others, she had done her share, had taken its toll of her suppleness + and grace, and the hands she extended in front of her, regarding them + distastefully, were roughened and worn by the unwonted usage to which they + had been subjected. Her hair, so long, hidden from the light and air by + the veil she had worn, was flaccid and lustreless. Only her eyes remained + unchangedly beautiful. Splendid and miserable, they stared back at the + reflection which the mirror yielded. + </p> + <p> + It was a long time before Magda reappeared downstairs, so long, indeed, + that Gillian was beginning to grow nervously uneasy. When at last she + came, she was curiously quiet and responded to all Gillian’s attempts at + conversation with a dull, flat indifference that was strangely at variance + with the spontaneously happy excitement which had attended the first few + moments after her arrival. + </p> + <p> + Gillian was acutely conscious of the difference in her manner, but even + she, with all her intuition, failed to attribute it to its rightful cause. + To her, Magda was so indubitably, essentially the Magda she loved that she + was hardly sensible of that shadowing of her radiant beauty which had + revealed itself with a merciless clarity to the dancer herself. And such + change as she observed she ascribed to recent illness. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Magda got through that first evening at Friars’ Holm as best she + might. The hours seemed interminable. She was aching for night to come, so + that she might be alone with her thoughts—alone to realise and face + this new thing which had befallen her. + </p> + <p> + She had lost her beauty! The one precious gift she had to give Michael, + that lover of all beauty! . . . The knowledge seemed to beat against her + brain, throbbing and pulsing like a wound, while she made a pretence at + doing justice to the little dinner party, which had been especially + concocted for her under Virginie’s watchful eye, and responded in some + sort to Coppertop’s periodic outbreaks of jubilation over her return. + </p> + <p> + But the moment of release came at length. A final good-night kiss to + Gillian on the landing outside her bedroom door, and then a nerve-racking + hour while Virginie fussed over her, undressing her and preparing her for + bed with the same tender care she had devoted to the <i>bebe</i> she had + nursed and tended more than twenty years ago. + </p> + <p> + It was over at last. + </p> + <p> + “Sleep well!” And Virginie switched off the electric light as she pattered + out of the room, leaving Magda alone in the cool dark, with the silken + softness of crepe de chine once more caressing her slender limbs, and the + fineness of lavender-scented linen smooth against her cheek. + </p> + <p> + The ease, and comfort, and wellbeing of it all! Yet this first night, + passed in the familiar luxury which had lapped her round since childhood, + was a harder, more bitter night than any of the preceding three hundred + and sixty-five she had spent tossing weary, aching limbs on a lumpy straw + mattress with a coarse brown woollen blanket drawn up beneath her chin, + vexing her satin skin. + </p> + <p> + For each of those nights had counted as a step onwards along the hard road + that was to lead her back eventually to Michael. Now she knew that they + had all been endured in vain. Spiritually her self-elected year of + discipline might have fitted her to be the wife of “Saint Michel.” But the + undimmed physical beauty and charm which Michael, the man and artist, + would crave in the woman he loved was gone. + </p> + <p> + The recognition of these things rushed over her, overwhelming her with a + sense of blank and utter failure. It meant the end of everything. As far + as she was concerned, life henceforward held nothing more. There was + nothing to hope for in the future—except to hope that Michael might + never see her again! At least, she would like to feel that his memory of + her—of the Wielitzska whose lithe grace and beauty had swept him + headlong even against the tide of his convictions—would remain for + ever unmarred. + </p> + <p> + It was a rather touching human little weakness—the weakness and + prayer of many a woman who has lost her lover. . . . Let him remember her—always—as + she was before the radiance of youth faded, before grief or pain blurred + the perfection that had been hers! + </p> + <p> + Perhaps for Magda the wish was even stronger, more insistent by reason of + the fact that her beauty had been of so fine and rare a quality, setting + her in a way apart from other women. + </p> + <p> + With the instinct of the wounded wild creature she longed to hide—to + hide herself from Michael, so that she might never see in his eyes that + look of quickly veiled disappointment which she knew would spring into + them as he realised the change in her. She felt she could not bear that. + It would be like a sword-thrust through her heart. . . . Better if she had + never left the sisterhood! + </p> + <p> + Suddenly every nerve of her tautened. Supposing—supposing she + returned there, never to emerge again? No chance encounter could ever then + bring her within sight or sound of Michael. She would be spared watching + the old, eager look of admiration fade suddenly from the grey eyes she + loved. + </p> + <p> + Hour after hour she lay there, dry-eyed, staring into the darkness. And + with the dawn her decision was taken. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX + </h2> + <h3> + AN UNANSWERED LETTER + </h3> + <p> + “You shan’t do it!” + </p> + <p> + When first Magda had bruited her idea of rejoining the sisterhood—the + decision which had crystallised out of the long black hours of the night + of her return to Friars’ Holm—Gillian had merely laughed the notion + aside, attaching little importance to it. But now, a week later, when + Magda reverted to the subject with a certain purposeful definiteness, she + grew suddenly frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to throw away every possibility of happiness?” she demanded + indignantly. “Just because Michael isn’t here, waiting for you on the + doorstep, so to speak, you decide to rush off and make it impossible for + him ever to see you again!” + </p> + <p> + Magda kept her head bent, refusing to meet the other’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want him to see me now,” she said shrinkingly. “I’m not—not + the Magda he knew any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s an absurd exaggeration. You’re not looking very well, that’s all,” + retorted Gillian with her usual practical common sense. “You can’t suppose + that would make any difference to Michael! It didn’t make any to me. I’m + only too glad to have you back at any price!” + </p> + <p> + Magda’s faint responsive smile was touched with that bitter knowledge + which is the heritage of the woman who has been much loved for her beauty. + </p> + <p> + “You’re a woman, Gillyflower,” she said. “And Michael is not only a man—but + an artist. Men don’t want you when the bloom has been brushed off. And you + know how Michael worships beauty! He’s bound to—being an artist.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you’re morbidly self-conscious,” declared Gillian firmly. “I + suppose it’s the result of being out of the world for so long. You’ve lost + all sense of proportion. You’re quite lovely enough, now, to satisfy most + people. You only look rather tired and worn out.” + </p> + <p> + But Magda’s face remained clouded. + </p> + <p> + “But even that isn’t—all,” she answered. “It’s—oh, it’s a heap + of things! Somehow I thought when I came back I should see the road clear. + But it isn’t. It’s all shadowed—just as it was before. I thought I + should have so much to give Michael now. And I haven’t anything. I don’t + think I ever quite realised before that, however much you try to atone, + you can never <i>undo</i> the harm you’ve done. But I’ve had time to think + things out while I was with the Sisters.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you go back to them you’ll have time to do nothing but think for + the rest of your life!” flashed back Gillian. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” Magda spoke quickly. “I shouldn’t return under a vow of + penitence. There are working sisters attached to the community who go + about amongst the sick and poor in the slums. I should join as a working + sister if I went back.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian stared at her in amazement. Magda devoting her life to good works + seemed altogether out of the picture! She began to feel that the whole + affair was getting too complicated for her to handle, and as usual, when + in a difficulty, she put the matter up to Lady Arabella. + </p> + <p> + The latter, with her accumulated wisdom of seventy years, saw more clearly + than the younger woman, although even she hardly understood that sense of + the deadly emptiness and failure of her life which had overwhelmed Magda + since her return to Friars’ Holm. But the old woman realised that she had + passed through a long period of strain, and that, now the reaction had + come, the Vallincourt blood in her might drive her into almost any extreme + of conduct. + </p> + <p> + “If only Michael were on the spot!” she burst out irritably. “I own I’m + disappointed in the man! I was so sure six months would bring him to his + senses.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” assented Gillian miserably. “It’s—it’s—the most + hopeless state of things imaginable!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella’s interview with Magda herself proved unproductive. + </p> + <p> + “Have you written to Michael?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Written to him?” A flash of the old defiant spirit sounded in Magda’s + voice. “No, nor shall I.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be a fool, child. He’s probably learned something during this last + twelve months—as well as you. Don’t let pride get in your way now.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not pride. Marraine, I never knew—I never thought——Look + at me! What have I to give Michael now? Have you forgotten that he’s an + artist and that beauty means everything to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Well!’” Magda held out her hands. “Can’t you see that I’m changed? . . . + Michael wouldn’t want me to pose for him as Circe now!” + </p> + <p> + “He wanted you for a wife—not a model, my dear. You can buy models + at so much the hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Marraine! You won’t understand——” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella took the slender, work-roughened hands in hers. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I understand better than you think,” she said quietly. “There are + other ways of assessing life than merely in terms of beauty. And you can + believe this, too: you’ve lost nothing from the point of view of looks + that a few months of normal healthy life won’t set right. Moreover, if + you’d grown as plain as a pikestaff, I don’t think Michael would care + twopence! He’s an artist, I know. He can’t help that, but he’s a man + first. And he’s a man who knows how to love. Promise me one thing,” she + went on insistently. “Promise that you’ll do nothing definite—yet. + Not, at least, without consulting me.” + </p> + <p> + Magda hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Very well. I’ll do nothing without—telling you—first.” + </p> + <p> + That was the utmost concession she would make, and with that her godmother + had to be content. + </p> + <p> + The same evening a letter in Lady Arabella’s spirited, angular handwriting + sped on its way to Paris. + </p> + <p> + “If you’re not absolutely determined to ruin both your own and Magda’s + lives, my dear Michael, put your pride and your ridiculous principles in + your pocket and come back to England. I don’t happen to be a grandmother, + but I’m quite old enough for the job, so you might pay my advice due + respect by taking it.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I was shelved altogether.” + </p> + <p> + Thus Dan Storran, rather crossly, when, a day or two later, he met Gillian + by appointment for lunch at their favourite little restaurant in Soho. It + was the first time she had been able to fix up a meeting with him since + Magda’s return, as naturally his customary visits to Friars’ Holm were out + of the question now. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you expected my time to be pretty well occupied the first week or + two after Magda came back, didn’t you?” countered Gillian. + </p> + <p> + She smiled as she spoke and proceeded leisurely to draw off her gloves, + while Storran signalled to a waiter. + </p> + <p> + She was really very glad to see him again. There was something so solid + and dependable about him, and she felt it would be very comforting to + confide in him her anxieties concerning Magda. Not that she anticipated he + would have any particular compassion to bestow upon the latter. But she + was femininely aware that inasmuch as Magda’s affairs were disturbing her + peace of mind, he would listen to them with sympathetic attention and + probably, out of the depths of his man’s consciousness, produce some quite + sound and serviceable advice. + </p> + <p> + Being a wise woman, however, she did not launch out into immediate + explanation, but waited for him to work off his own individual grumble at + not having seen her recently, trusting to the perfectly cooked little + lunch to exercise a tranquillising effect. + </p> + <p> + It was not until they had reached the cigarette and coffee stage of the + proceedings that she allowed a small, well-considered sigh to escape her + and drift away into the silence that had fallen between them. Storran + glanced across at her with suddenly observant eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked quickly. “You look worried. Are you?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded silently. + </p> + <p> + “And here I’ve been grousing away about my own affairs all the time! Why + didn’t you stop me?” + </p> + <p> + “You know I’m interested in your affairs.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’m interested in yours. What’s bothering you, Gillian? Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Magda,” said Gillian simply. + </p> + <p> + She was rather surprised to observe that Dan’s face did not, as usual, + darken at the mere mention of Magda’s name. + </p> + <p> + “I saw her the other day,” he said quickly. “I was in the Park and she + drove by.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian felt that there was something more to come. She waited in silence. + </p> + <p> + “She has altered very much,” he went on bluntly. Then, after a moment: “I + felt—sorry for her.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> did, Dan?” Gillian’s face lit up. “I’m glad. I’ve always hated + your being so down on her.” + </p> + <p> + With an abrupt movement he jabbed the glowing stub of his cigarette on to + an ash-tray, pressing it down until it went out. Then, taking out his + case, he lit another before replying. + </p> + <p> + “I shan’t be ‘down on her’ any more,” he said at last. “I never guessed + she’d felt things—like that.” + </p> + <p> + “No. No one did. I don’t suppose even Magda herself knew she could ever go + through all she has done just for an ideal.” + </p> + <p> + Then very quietly, very simply and touchingly, she told him the story of + all that had happened, of Magda’s final intention of becoming a working + member of the sisterhood, and of Lady Arabella’s letter summoning Michael + back to England. + </p> + <p> + “But even when he comes,” added Gillian, “unless he is very careful—unless + he loves her in the biggest way a man can love, so that <i>nothing else + matters</i>, he’ll lose her. He’ll have to convince her that she means + just that to him.” + </p> + <p> + Storran was silent for a long time, and when at last he spoke it was with + an obvious effort. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” he said. “There’s something you don’t know. Perhaps when I’ve + told you, you won’t have anything more to say to me—I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian opened her lips in quick disclaimer, but he motioned her to be + silent. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” he said. “Wait till you’ve heard what I have to say. You think, + and Magda thinks, that June died of a broken heart—at least, that + the shock of all that miserable business down at Stockleigh helped to kill + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Gillian assented mechanically when he paused. + </p> + <p> + “I thought so, too, once. It was what June’s sister told me—told + everyone. But it wasn’t true. She believed it, I know—probably + believes it to this day. But, thank God, it wasn’t true!” + </p> + <p> + “How can you tell? All that strain and heart-break just at a time when she + wasn’t strong. Oh, Dan! We can never be sure—<i>sure</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>am</i> sure. Quite sure,” he said steadily. “When I came to my + senses out there in ‘Frisco, I couldn’t rest under that letter from June’s + sister. It burned into me like a red-hot iron. I was half-mad with pain, I + think. I wrote to the doctor who had attended her, but I got no answer. + Then I sailed for England, determined to find and see the man for myself. + I found him—my letter had miscarried somehow—and he told me + that June could not have lived. There were certain complications in her + case which made it impossible. In fact, if she had been so happy that she + had longed to live—and <i>tried</i> to—it would only have made + it harder for her, a rougher journey to travel. As it was, she went + easily, without fighting death—letting go, without any effort, her + hold on life.” + </p> + <p> + He ceased, and after a moment’s silence Gillian spoke in strained, + horror-stricken tones. + </p> + <p> + “And you never told us! Oh! It was cruel of you, Dan! You would have + spared Magda an infinity of self-reproach!” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t want to spare her. I left her in ignorance on purpose. I wanted + her to be punished—to suffer as she had made me suffer.” + </p> + <p> + There were tears in Gillian’s eyes. It was terrible to her that Dan could + be so bitter—so vengefully cruel. Yet she recognised that it had + been but the natural outcome of the man’s primitive nature to pay back + good for good and evil for evil. + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you tell me now?” she asked at last. + </p> + <p> + “Why—because you’ve beaten me—you with your sweetness and + courage and tolerance. You’ve taught me that retribution and punishment + are best left in—more merciful Hands than ours.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s hand went out to meet his. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Dan, I’m so glad!” she said simply. + </p> + <p> + He kept her hand in his a moment, then released it gently. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can tell her now,” he said awkwardly. + </p> + <p> + “I?” Gillian smiled a little. “No. I want you to tell her. Don’t you see, + Dan”—as she sensed his impulse to refuse—“it will make all the + difference in Magda if you and she are—are square with each other? + She’s overweighted. She’s been carrying a bigger burden than she can bear. + Michael comes first, of course, but there’s been her treatment of you, as + well. June, too. And—and other things. And it’s crushing her. . . . + No, you must tell her.” + </p> + <p> + “I will—if you say I must. But she won’t forgive me easily.” + </p> + <p> + “I think she will. I think she’ll understand just what made you do it. So + now we’ll go back to Friars’ Holm together.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later Storran came slowly downstairs from the little room where he + and Magda had met again for the first time since that moonlight night at + Stockleigh—met, not as lovers, but as a man and woman who have each + sinned and each learned, out of their sinning, how to pardon and forgive. + </p> + <p> + Storran was very quiet and grave when presently he found himself alone + with Gillian. + </p> + <p> + “We men will never understand women,” he said. “There’s an angel hidden + away somewhere in every one of you.” His mouth curved into a smile, + half-sad, half-whimsical. “I’ve just found Magda’s.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella and Gillian, both feeling rather like conspirators, waited + anxiously for a reply to the former’s letter to Quarrington. But none + came. The time slipped by until a fortnight had elapsed, and with the + passage of each day their hearts sank lower. + </p> + <p> + Neither of them believed that Michael would have utterly disregarded the + letter, had he received it, but they feared that it might have miscarried, + or that he might be travelling and so not receive it in time to prevent + Magda’s carrying out her avowed intention of becoming a working member of + the sisterhood. + </p> + <p> + Even though she knew now that at least June Storran’s death need no longer + be added to her account, she still adhered to her decision. As she had + told Dan with a weary simplicity: “I’m glad. But it won’t make any + difference—to Michael and me. Too much water has run under the + bridge. Love that is dead doesn’t come to life again.” + </p> + <p> + Each day was hardening her resolve, and both Lady Arabella and Gillian—those + two whose unselfish happiness was bound up in her own—were beginning + to realise that it would be a race against time if she was to be saved + from taking a step that would divide her from Michael as long as they both + should live. + </p> + <p> + At the end of a fortnight Gillian, driven to desperation, despatched a + telegram to his Paris address: “Did you receive communication from Lady + Arabella?” But it shared the fate of the letter, failing to elicit any + reply. She allowed sufficient time to elapse to cover any ordinary delay + in transit, then, unknown to Magda, taxied down to the house in Park Lane. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to invite Magda to stay with you, please,” she informed Lady + Arabella abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I will,” she replied. “But why? You’ve got a reason.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she acknowledged quietly. “I’m going to Paris—to find + Michael.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella, whose high spirits had wilted a little in the face of the + double disappointment regarding any answer from Quarrington, beamed + satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “You blessed child!” she exclaimed. “I’d have gone myself, but my old body + is so stiff with rheumatism that I don’t believe they’d get me on board + the boat except in an ambulance!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m going,” said Gillian. “Only the point is, Magda mustn’t know. + If she thought I was going off in pursuit of Michael I believe she’d lock + me up in the cellar. She intends never to let him see her again. Melrose + will manage about the letters, and somehow you’ve got to prevent Magda + from coming to Friars’ Holm and finding out that I’m not there.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll take her away with me,” declared Lady Arabella. “Rheumatism—Harrogate. + It’s quite simple.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian heaved a sigh of relief. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That would be a good plan,” she agreed. “Then I’d let you know when + we should arrive—” + </p> + <p> + “‘We?’” + </p> + <p> + “Michael and I. I’m not coming back without him. And you could bring Magda + straight back to town with you.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Arabella’s keen old eyes searched her face. + </p> + <p> + “You sound very certain of success. Supposing you find Michael still + unforgiving—and he refuses to return with you?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe in Michael,” replied Gillian steadily. “He’s made mistakes. + People in love do. But when he knows all that Magda has endured—for + his sake, really—why, he’ll come back. I’m sure of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, my dear. <i>I</i> was sure he would come back within six + months. But, you see, I was wrong. Men are kittle cattle—and often + very slow to arrive at the intrinsic value and significance of things. A + woman jumps to it while a man is crawling round on his hands and knees in + the dark, looking for it with a match.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian laughed and got up to go, and Lady Arabella—whose rheumatism + was quite real at the moment—rose rather painfully and hobbled down + the room beside her, her thin, delicate old hand resting on the silver + knob of a tall, ebony walking-stick. + </p> + <p> + “Now, remember,” urged Gillian. “Magda mustn’t have the least suspicion + Michael may be coming back—or she’d be off into her slums before you + could stop her. <i>Whatever happens</i>, you’ve got to prevent her rushing + back to the Sisters of Penitence.” + </p> + <p> + “Only over my dead body, my dear,” Lady Arabella assured her determinedly. + “She shan’t go any other way.” + </p> + <p> + So Gillian returned to Friars’ Holm bearing with her a note from Lady + Arabella in which she asked her god-daughter to pay her a visit. In it, + however, the wily old lady made no mention of her further idea of going to + Harrogate, lest it should militate against an acceptance of the + invitation. Magda demurred a little at first, but Gillian, suddenly + endowed with diplomacy worthy of a Machiavelli, pointed out that if she + really had any intention of ultimately withdrawing into a community the + least she could do was to give her godmother the happiness of spending a + few days with her. + </p> + <p> + “She will only urge me to give up the idea all the time,” protested Magda. + “And I’ve quite made up my mind. The sooner I can get away from—from + everything”—looking round her with desperate, haunted eyes—“the + better it will be.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s impulse to combat her decision to rejoin the sisterhood died on + her lips stillborn. It was useless to argue the matter. There was only one + person in the world who could save Magda from herself, and that was + Michael. The main point was to concentrate on getting him back to England, + rather than waste her energies upon what she knew beforehand must prove a + fruitless argument. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go to Marraine for a couple of nights, anyway,” said Magda at last. + “After that, I want to make arrangements for my reception into the + sisterhood.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian returned no answer. She felt her heart contract at the quiet + decision in Magda’s voice, but she pinned her faith on Lady Arabella’s + ability to hold her, somehow, till she herself had accomplished her errand + to Paris. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI + </h2> + <h3> + AGAINST TIME + </h3> + <p> + Gillian, dashing headlong into Victoria Station, encountered Storran + sauntering leisurely out of it, a newspaper under his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you off to?” he demanded, stopping abruptly. “You look as if + you were in a hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “I am. Don’t stop me. I’m catching the boat-train.” + </p> + <p> + Storran pulled out his watch as he turned and fell into step beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Then you’ve got a good half-hour to spare. No hurry,” he returned + placidly. + </p> + <p> + Gillian glanced at the watch on her wrist. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure?” she asked doubtfully. “If so, my watch must be altogether + wrong!” + </p> + <p> + “Unbeliever! Come and look at the clock. And, incidentally, give me that + suit-case.” + </p> + <p> + She yielded up the case obediently and, having verified the time, + proceeded towards the platform at a more reasonable gait. + </p> + <p> + Storran, his long legs leisurely keeping pace with her shorter ones, + smiled down at her. + </p> + <p> + “And now, for the second time of asking, where are you off to?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to France—to fetch Michael.” + </p> + <p> + He gave a quick exclamation—whether of surprise or disapproval she + was not quite sure. + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t heard from him, then?” + </p> + <p> + “No. And unless something happens <i>quick</i>, it will be too late.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he were at his studio he would surely have answered Lady + Arabella’s letter.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose so,” replied Gillian absently, her eyes following the + queue of passengers passing through the gate on the platform. By mutual + consent they had come to a standstill outside it. + </p> + <p> + “Then if he isn’t there, what’s the use of your rushing over to Paris?” + protested Storran. “It’s absurd—an absolute wild-goose chase. You + can’t go!” + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s brown eyes came back to his face. + </p> + <p> + “But I’m going,” she said calmly. + </p> + <p> + He frowned. + </p> + <p> + “If Michael’s not at his studio he may be—anywhere!” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I know. If so, I shall follow—anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + Storran looked down at her and read the quiet determination in her face. + </p> + <p> + “Then let me come too,” he said. “Sort of courier, you know. I’d just be + at hand in case of a tangle.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! I couldn’t let you. There’s not the least need. Good heavens, I’m + not a baby!” + </p> + <p> + There was a curious softness in Dan’s blue eyes as they rested on her. + </p> + <p> + “No. I think you’re—a very good friend,” he said. “But I don’t see + why you should have the monopoly! Let me show I know how to be a good pal, + too, if I want to.” + </p> + <p> + “No—no.” Gillian still protested, but her tone betrayed signs of + weakening. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll be as conventional as you like,” urged Dan, twinkling. “I’d stop at + different hotels.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Say ‘yes’!” he insisted. + </p> + <p> + Gillian smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You obstinate person! Yes, then!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Then I’ll go along and buy a ticket.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and went towards the booking-office, while Gillian, inwardly + much relieved, awaited his return. She could not but acknowledge that in + the “wild-goose chase” upon which she was embarking it would be an + enormous comfort to have Storran at hand in case of an emergency. As to + the proprieties—well, Gillian was far too honest and independent a + soul to worry about them in the circumstances. Her friend’s happiness was + at stake. And whether people chose to talk because she and Dan Storran + travelled to Paris together—or to Timbuctoo, for the matter of that, + if Michael had chanced to depart thither—troubled her not at all. + </p> + <p> + When Storran rejoined her a much more practical consideration presented + itself to her mind. + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear man, you can’t fly with me to Paris without even a + tooth-brush! I’d forgotten you’d no luggage!” + </p> + <p> + Her face fell as she spoke. But Storran dismissed the matter with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can buy clean collars and shirts as I go along,” he replied, + entirely unruffled. “The dickens was to get on to the train at all! They + assured me there wasn’t a seat. However, I make a point of never believing + official statements—on principle.” + </p> + <p> + And as a consequence of such well-directed incredulity, Storran + accompanied Gillian to Dover and thence to Calais. + </p> + <p> + They had a good crossing—sun up and blue sky. Looking back, + afterwards, it always seemed to Gillian as though the short time it + occupied had been a merciful breathing space—a tranquil interval, + specially vouchsafed, in which she was able to brace herself for the + coming race against time. Just so long as they were on board, nothing she + could do was of any importance whatever, either to help or hinder the + fulfilment of her errand. She could not quicken the speed of the boat by a + single throb of its engine. So, like a sensible woman, she sat on deck + with Dan and enjoyed herself amazingly. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards, in quick succession, came the stir and bustle of landing and + the journey to Paris. They arrived too late to make any inquiries that + night, but ten o’clock the following morning found them outside the + building where Michael had his apartment. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Dan!”—Gillian was seized with sudden panic. “Supposing he is + here, after all, and has <i>deliberately</i> not answered Lady Arabella’s + letter?” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t suppose anything so foolish. Michael may be many kinds of a + fool—artists very often are, I believe. It’s part of the + temperament. But whatever he proposed to do regarding Magda, there’s no + reason in the world to suppose he wouldn’t answer Lady Arabella’s letter.” + </p> + <p> + “No—no. Perhaps not,” agreed Gillian hurriedly. But it was in rather + a shaky voice that she asked to see Mr. Quarrington when finally they + found themselves confronted by the concierge. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Quarrington?” Hands, shoulders, and eyebrows all seemed to + gesticulate at once as madame la concierge made answer. “But he has been + gone from here two—no, three months. Perhaps madame did not know?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Gillian. “I didn’t know. But I thought he might possibly be + away, because I—I have had no answer to a letter I wrote him.” + </p> + <p> + “What misfortune!” + </p> + <p> + The concierge regarded Gillian with a pair of shrewd, gimlet eyes while a + stream of inquiry and comment issued from her lips. Madame was the sister + of monsieur, perhaps? Truly, they resembled each other! One could see at a + glance. No, not a sister? Ah, a friend, then? And there had been no answer + to a letter! But monsieur had left an address. Oh, yes. And all letters + were forwarded. She herself saw to that. + </p> + <p> + At last Gillian managed to stem the torrent of garrulity and interposed a + question concerning the telegram she had sent. + </p> + <p> + A telegram! Now that was another affair altogether. Yes, the concierge + remembered the telegram. She had opened it to see if it were of life or + death importance, in which case she would have, of course, telegraphed its + contents to monsieur at his present address. + </p> + <p> + Gillian was nearly crying with impatience as the woman’s voluble tongue + ran on complacently. + </p> + <p> + “Then you did send it on?” she managed to interpolate at last. + </p> + <p> + The letter—yes. Not, of course, the telegram. That would have been a + needless expense seeing that monsieur would already have had the letter, + since all the letters were sent on. <i>All!</i> She, Madame Ribot, could + vouch for that. + </p> + <p> + At the end of half an hour Gillian succeeded in extracting Michael’s + address from amid the plethora of words and, bidding the voluble concierge + <i>bon jour</i>, she and Storran beat a masterly retreat. + </p> + <p> + It appeared that Michael had been commissioned to paint the portrait of + some Italian society beauty and had gone to Rome. Gillian screwed up her + small face resolutely. + </p> + <p> + “I shall go to Rome!” she announced succinctly. There was a definite + defiance in her tone, and Storran concealed a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you will,” he replied composedly. “Just as well I came with + you, isn’t it?” he added with great cheerfulness. + </p> + <p> + Her expression relaxed. + </p> + <p> + “You really are rather a nice person, Dan,” she allowed graciously. “I was + horribly afraid you’d suggest wiring Michael again, or something silly + like that. I’m not going to trust to anything of that kind.” + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, the only wire despatched was one to Lady Arabella, informing + her as to their movements, and a few hours later found Dan and Gillian + rushing across Europe as fast as the thunderous whirl of the express could + take them. They travelled day and night, and it was a very weary Gillian + who at last opened her eyes to the golden sunshine of Italy. + </p> + <p> + At the hotel whither Madame Ribot had directed them, fresh disappointment + awaited them. The manager—when he found that the two dusty and + somewhat dishevelled-looking travellers who presented themselves at the + inquiry bureau were actually friends of Signor Quarrington, the famous + English artist who had stayed at his hotel—was desolated, but the + signor had departed a month ago! Had he the address? But assuredly. He + would write it down for the signora. + </p> + <p> + “He’s in Normandy!” exclaimed Gillian in tones of bitter disappointment. + “At—what’s the name of the place?—Armanches. Oh, Dan! We’ve + got to go right back to Paris again and then on to the coast.” + </p> + <p> + Her face was full of anxiety. This would mean at least a delay of several + days before they could possibly see Michael, and meanwhile it was a moot + question as to how much longer Lady Arabella could restrain Magda from + taking definite steps with regard to joining the sisterhood. + </p> + <p> + Storran nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said quietly. “But all the same, you’ll not start back till + to-morrow—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I must!” interrupted Gillian. “We can’t afford to waste a + moment.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced down at her and shook his head. Her face was white and drawn, + and there were deep violet shadows underneath her eyes. Suspense and her + anxious impatience had told upon her, and she had slept but little on the + journey. And now, with the addition of this last, totally unexpected + disappointment, she looked as though she could not stand much more. + </p> + <p> + “We can afford to waste a single day better than we can afford the three + or four which it would cost us if you collapsed en route,” said Storran. + </p> + <p> + “I shan’t collapse,” she protested with white lips. + </p> + <p> + “So much the better. But all the same, you’ll stay here till to-morrow and + get a good night’s rest.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t sleep,” she urged. “Let’s go right on, Dan. Let’s go——” + </p> + <p> + But the sentence was never finished. Quite suddenly she swayed, stretching + out her hands with a blind, groping movement. Dan was just in time to + catch her in his arms as she toppled over in a dead faint. + </p> + <p> + It was a week later when, in the early morning, a rather wan and + white-faced Gillian sprang up from her seat as the train ran into Bayeux. + </p> + <p> + “Thank goodness we’re here at last!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Storran put out his hand to steady her as the train jolted to a + standstill. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we’re here at last,” he said. “Now to find a vehicle of some + description to take us out to Armanches.” + </p> + <p> + As he had suggested it would, Gillian’s collapse had delayed them some + time. Probably she had caught a slight chill while travelling, and that, + together with the fatigue from which she was suffering, combined to keep + her in bed at the hotel in Rome for a couple of days. + </p> + <p> + When the slight feverishness had abated, she slept the greater part of the + time, her weary body exacting the price for all those wakeful hours she + had passed on the train. But it was not until four days had elapsed that + Dan would agree to a resumption of the journey. Even then, consent was + only wrung from him by the fear that she would fret herself ill over any + further delay. He did not consider her by any means fit to travel. But + Gillian was game to the core, and they had reached Bayeux without further + <i>contretemps</i>. + </p> + <p> + “The thing that puzzles me,” she said as they started on the long drive + from Bayeux to Armanches, “is why Michael didn’t send his Normandy address + to Madame Ribot. We should have been saved all that long journey to Rome + if he had.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he intended to, and forgot,” suggested Dan. “Artists are + proverbially absent-minded.” + </p> + <p> + But Gillian shook her head with a dissatisfied air. Michael was not of the + absent-minded type. + </p> + <p> + Armanches was a tiny place on the Normandy coast, in reality not much more + than a fishing village, but its possession of a beautiful <i>plage</i>—smooth, + fine, golden sands—brought many visitors to the old-fashioned + hostelry it boasted. + </p> + <p> + The landlady, a smiling, rosy-cheeked woman, with a chubby little + brown-faced son hiding shy embarrassment behind her ample skirts, greeted + the travellers hospitably. But when they mentioned Quarrington’s name a + look of sympathetic concern overspread her comely face. + </p> + <p> + Yes, he was there. And of course madame could not know, but he had been + ill, seriously ill with <i>la grippe</i>—taken ill the very day he + had arrived, nearly a month ago. He had a nurse. Oh, yes! One had come + from Bayeux. But this influenza! It was a veritable scourge. One was here + to-day and gone to-morrow. However, Michael Quarrington was recovering, + the saints be praised! Monsieur and madame wished to see him? The good + woman looked doubtful. She would inquire. What name? Grey? But there was a + telegram awaiting madame! + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s face blanched as the landlady bustled away in search of the + wire. Had Magda already——Oh, but that was impossible! Lady + Arabella was in charge at that end, and Gillian had a great belief in Lady + Arabella’s capacity to deal with any crisis that might arise. + Nevertheless, they had wired her the Normandy address from Rome, in case + of necessity. The next moment Gillian had torn open the telegram and she + and Dan were reading it together. + </p> + <p> + “Magda insists we return to London on Wednesday. She has completed + preliminary arrangements to join sisterhood and goes there Thursday. + Impossible to dissuade her.—ARABELLA WINTER.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s mouth set itself in a straight line of determination as her eyes + raced along the score or so of pregnant words. She was silent a moment. + Then she met Storran’s questioning glance. + </p> + <p> + “We can just do it,” she said sternly. “To-day is Wednesday. By crossing + to Southampton to-night, we can make London to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Without waiting for his reply she entered the inn and ran quickly up the + stairs which the landlady had already ascended. + </p> + <p> + “But, madame, I am not sure that monsieur will receive anyone,” protested + the astonished woman, turning round as Gillian caught up with her. + </p> + <p> + “I must see him,” asserted Gillian quietly. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps something in the tense young face touched a sympathetic chord in + the Frenchwoman’s honest heart. She scented romance, and when she emerged + from the invalid’s bedroom her face was wreathed in smiles. + </p> + <p> + “It is all arranged. Will madame please to enter?” + </p> + <p> + A moment later Gillian found herself standing in front of a tall, gaunt + figure of a man, whose coat hung loosely from his shoulders and whose face + was worn and haggard with something more than <i>la grippe</i> alone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Michael!” + </p> + <p> + A little, stricken cry broke from her lips. What men and women make each + other suffer! She realised it as she met the stark, bitter misery of the + grey eyes that burned at her out of the thin face and remembered the look + on Magda’s own face when she had last seen her. + </p> + <p> + She went straight to the point without a word of greeting or of + explanation. There was no time for explanations, except the only one that + mattered. + </p> + <p> + “Michael, why didn’t you answer Lady Arabella’s letter?” + </p> + <p> + He stared at her. Then he passed his hand wearily across his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Letter? I don’t remember any letter.” + </p> + <p> + “She wrote to you about a month ago. I know the letter was forwarded on to + Rome. It must have followed you here.” + </p> + <p> + “A month ago?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + Then a light broke over his face. He turned and crossed the room to where + a small pile of letters lay on a table, dusty and forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it’s here,” he said. “I was taken ill directly I arrived. I never + even sent this address to the concierge at Paris. I believe I was off my + head part of the time—‘flue plays the deuce with you. But I remember + now. The nurse told me there were some letters which had come while I was + ill. I—didn’t bother about them.” + </p> + <p> + While he spoke he was turning over the envelopes, one by one, in a + desultory fashion. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. This is Lady Arabella’s writing.” He paused and looked across at + Gillian. + </p> + <p> + “Will you read it, please?” she said. “And—oh, you ought to sit + down! You don’t look very strong yet.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled a little. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not quite such a crock as I look. But won’t you sit down yourself + while I read this letter? Is it of importance?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Please read it!” exclaimed Gillian with sudden nervous impatience. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to her an eternity while he read the letter. But at last he + looked up from its perusal. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she asked under her breath. + </p> + <p> + Very deliberately he refolded the sheet of notepaper and slipped it back + into its envelope. + </p> + <p> + “It would have made no difference if I had received it earlier,” he said + composedly. + </p> + <p> + “No difference” + </p> + <p> + “None. Because, you see, this letter—asking me to go back to Magda—is + written under a misapprehension. + </p> + <p> + “How? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean—that Magda has—no further use for me.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian leaned forward. + </p> + <p> + “You’re wrong,” she said tersely—“quite wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” He shook his head. “I’m not blaming her. Looking back, I’m not even + very much surprised. But still, the fact remains, she has no further use + for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell me what makes you think that?” With an effort Gillian + forced herself to speak quietly and composedly. + </p> + <p> + He was silent a moment, staring out of the window at the gay blue sea + beyond, sparkling in the morning sunlight. All at once he swung round on + her, his face wrung with a sudden agony. + </p> + <p> + “I <i>know</i>,” he said in a roughened voice. “I know, because I wrote to + her—six months ago. I was hard, I know, brutally hard to her that + last day at Friars’ Holm. But—God! I paid for it afterwards! And I + wrote to her—bared my very soul to her. . . . Wrote so that if she + had ever cared she must at least have answered me.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped abruptly, his face working. + </p> + <p> + “And she didn’t answer?” + </p> + <p> + A wry smile twisted his lips. + </p> + <p> + “I got my own letter back,” he said quietly. “After all, that was an + answer—a conclusive one.” + </p> + <p> + Gillian was thinking rapidly. Six months ago! A momentary flash of + recollection came to her. So Lady Arabella, that wise old citizen of the + world, had been quite right after all! She had given Michael six months to + find out his imperative need of Magda. And he had found it. Only—something + had gone wrong. + </p> + <p> + “Magda never had that letter,” she said quietly at last. + </p> + <p> + She was gradually beginning to piece together the separate parts of the + puzzle. All letters that came for Magda had been forwarded on to the + sisterhood, and had she herself readdressed this of Michael’s she would + have recognised the handwriting. But probably she had been away from home, + or had chanced to be out at post time, in which case Melrose, or old + Virginie, would have readdressed the envelope and dropped it in the pillar + box at the corner of the road. + </p> + <p> + Then—as was the case with any correspondence addressed to one of the + Sisters of Penitence—the letter would be read by the Mother Superior + and passed on to its destined recipient if she thought good. If not—— + </p> + <p> + Gillian had learned a great deal about Catherine Vallincourt by now, both + from Lady Arabella and from Magda herself, who, before leaving the + community, had discovered the identity of its head. And she could + visualise the stern, fanatical woman, obsessed by her idea of disciplining + Magda and of counteracting the effects of her brother’s marriage with + Diane Wielitzska, opening the letter and, after perusal, calmly sealing it + up in its envelope again and returning it to the sender. + </p> + <p> + “Magda never had that letter, Michael,” she repeated. “Listen!” And then, + without preamble, but with every word vibrant with pity for the whole + tragedy, she poured out the story of Magda’s passionate repentance and + atonement, of her impetuous adoption of her father’s remorseless theory, + mistaken though it might be, that pain is the remedy for sin, and of the + utter, hopeless despair which had overwhelmed her now that she believed it + had all proved unavailing. + </p> + <p> + “She has come to believe that you don’t want her—never could want + her, Michael—because she has failed so much.” + </p> + <p> + There was more than one reproach mingled with the story, but Michael made + no protest. It was only when she had finished that Gillian could read in + his tortured eyes all that her narrative had cost him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said at last. “It’s true. I wanted the impossible. I was looking + for a goddess—not a woman. . . . But now I want—just a woman, + Gillian.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, if you want her, you must save her from herself. You’ve just + twenty-four hours to do it in. To-morrow she’s still Magda. The next day + she’ll be Sister Somebody. And you’ll have lost her.” + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later, when Michael’s nurse returned, she found her patient + packing a suit-case with the assistance of a pretty, brown-haired girl + whose eyes shone with the unmistakable brightness of recent tears. + </p> + <p> + “But you’re not fit to travel!” she protested in horrified dismay. “You + mustn’t think of it, Mr. Quarrington.” + </p> + <p> + But Michael only laughed at her, defying her good-humouredly. + </p> + <p> + “If the man you loved were waiting for you in England, nurse, you know + you’d go—and you wouldn’t care a hang whether you were fit to travel + or not!” + </p> + <p> + The nurse smiled in spite of herself. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she admitted. “I suppose I shouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + As the Havre-Southampton boat steamed through the moonlit night, Dan and + Gillian were pacing the deck together. + </p> + <p> + “I’m so glad Michael is going back to Magda without knowing—about + June,” said Gillian, coming to a standstill beside the deck-rail. “Going + back just because his love is too big for anything else to matter now.” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you told him?”—Storran’s voice held surprise. + </p> + <p> + “No. I decided not to. I should like Magda to tell him that herself.” + </p> + <p> + They were both silent for a little while. Gillian bent over the rail, + looking down at the phosphorescent water breaking away from the steamer’s + bow. Suddenly a big hand covered hers. + </p> + <p> + “I think I’m—lonely,” said Storran. + </p> + <p> + “Gillian,” he went on, his voice deepening. “Gillian . . . dear. We’re two + rather lonely people. We shall be lonelier still when Michael and Magda + are married. Couldn’t we be lonely—in company?” + </p> + <p> + Gillian’s hand moved a little beneath his, then stayed still. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Dan—Dan——” she stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” went on the strong, tender voice. “I’m asking you to marry me, + Gillian, I’d never expect too much of you. We both know all that’s in the + past of each of us. But we might help each other to be less lonely—good + comrades together, Gillian.” + </p> + <p> + And suddenly Gillian realised how good it would be to rest once more in + the shelter of a man’s affection and good comradeship—to have + someone to laugh with or to be sorry with. There’s a tender magic in the + word “together.” And she, too, had something to give in return—sympathy, + and understanding, and a warm friendship. . . . She would not be going to + him empty-handed. + </p> + <p> + “Is it yes, Gillian?” + </p> + <p> + She bent her head. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Dan.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII + </h2> + <h3> + THE EDGE OF THE DAWN + </h3> + <p> + Magda paused outside the closed door of the room. She knew whom she would + see within. Lady Arabella had told her he was there waiting for her. + </p> + <p> + Her first impulse had been to refuse to meet him. Then the temptation to + see him again—just once more—before she passed out of his life + altogether, rushed over her like the surge of some resistless sea, + sweeping everything before it. + </p> + <p> + Very quietly she opened the door and went into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Magda!” + </p> + <p> + She never knew whether he really uttered her name or whether it was only + the voiceless, clamorous cry of his whole consciousness—of a man’s + passionate demand for the woman who is mate of his soul and body. + </p> + <p> + But she answered its appeal, her innermost being responding to the claim + of it. All recollection of self, of the dimming of her beauty, even of the + great gulf of months that lay between them, crowded with mistakes and + failure, was burned away in the white-hot flame of love that blazed up + within her. + </p> + <p> + She ran to him, and that white, searing flame found its expression in the + dear human tenderness of the little cry that broke from her as he turned + his gaunt face towards her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Saint Michel! Saint Michel! How dreadfully ill you look! Oh, my dear—sit + down! You’re not fit to stand!” + </p> + <p> + But when that first instinctive cry had left her lips, memory came + flooding over her once more. She shrank back from him, covering her face + with her hands, agonisingly conscious of the change in herself—of + that shadowing of her beauty which the sensitiveness of a woman in love + had so piteously magnified. + </p> + <p> + Then, drawing her hands slowly down, she braced herself to say what must + be said. + </p> + <p> + “You are free of me, Michael.” She spoke in a curious, still voice. “I + know Marraine and Gillian between them have brought you back. But you are + free of me. As you see—I shall never do any more harm. No other man + will come to grief for the sake of the Wielitzska. . . . I determined that + as I had made others pay, so I would pay. I think”—suddenly moving + towards the window and standing full in the brilliant sunlight—“I + think you’ll agree I’ve settled the bill.” + </p> + <p> + Michael came to her side. + </p> + <p> + “I want you for my wife,” he said simply. + </p> + <p> + She held out her work-roughened hands, while the keen-edged sunlight + pitilessly revealed the hollowed line of cheek and throat, the lustreless + dark hair, the fine lines that Pain, the great Sculptor, had graved about + her mouth. + </p> + <p> + “You are an artist before everything, Michael,” she said. “Look—look + well!” + </p> + <p> + He took the two work-worn hands in his and drew her nearer him. + </p> + <p> + “I’m your lover before everything,” he answered. “When will you come to + me, Magda?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” she said whisperingly. “I mustn’t come. You’ll never—never + quite forgive me. Some day the past would come between us again—you’ll + never forget it all.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied steadily. “Perhaps not. Consequences <i>cannot</i> be + evaded. There are things that can’t be forgotten. But one forgives. And I + love you—love you, Magda, so that I can’t face life without you.” + His voice vibrated. “The past must always lie like a shadow on our love. + But you’re my woman—my soul! And if you’ve sinned, then it must be + my sin, too——” + </p> + <p> + She leaned away from him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean—June?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + He nodded with set lips. + </p> + <p> + “Then—then you don’t know—you haven’t heard?” + </p> + <p> + His expression answered her and her face changed—grew suddenly + radiant, transfigured. “Oh, Saint Michel—Saint Michel! Then there is + one thing I can do, one gift I have still left to give! Oh, my dear, I can + take away the shadow!” Her voice breathless and shaken, she told him how + June had died—all that Dan Storran had learned from the doctor who + had attended her. + </p> + <p> + “I know I hurt her—hurt her without thinking. But oh, Michael! Thank + God, it wasn’t through me that she died!” + </p> + <p> + And Michael, as he folded his arms about her, knew that the shadow which + had lain between him and the woman he loved was there no longer. They were + free—freed from those “ropes of steel” which had held them bound. + Free to go together and find once more their Garden of Eden. + </p> + <p> + Presently, when those first perfect moments of reunion were past, Magda + gave utterance to the doubts and perplexities that still vexed her soul. + </p> + <p> + “Pain may purify,” she said slowly. “But it spoils, Michael, and blots, + and ruins. I think, after all, pain is meaningless.” + </p> + <p> + Michael’s grey, steady eyes met her troubled ones. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think pain—just as pain—purifies,” he answered + quickly. “Pain is merely horrible. It is the <i>willingness to suffer</i> + that shrives us—not the pain itself.” + </p> + <p> + Later still, the essential woman in her came into its own again. “I shall + never be able to sit for you any more, Saint Michel,” she said + regretfully. “I’m nobody’s model—now!” + </p> + <p> + She could see only her lost beauty—the unthinking, radiant beauty of + mere youth. But Michael could see all that her voluntary renunciation and + atonement had bestowed in its stead of more enduring significance. + </p> + <p> + He took her by the hand and led her to the mirror. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said, a great content in his voice, “is the model for the + greatest picture I shall ever paint—the model for my ‘Madonna.’” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lamp of Fate, by Margaret Pedler + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAMP OF FATE *** + +***** This file should be named 3824-h.htm or 3824-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/2/3824/ + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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