diff options
Diffstat (limited to '42125-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 42125-0.txt | 17415 |
1 files changed, 17415 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/42125-0.txt b/42125-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..45b312b --- /dev/null +++ b/42125-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,17415 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42125 *** + +[Illustration: _Frontispiece._ _Her face turned towards the window._] + + + + + ARMOREL OF LYONESSE + + A Romance of To-day + + + BY + + WALTER BESANT + + AUTHOR OF 'ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN' + + + [Illustration] + + + A NEW EDITION + + _WITH TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS BY FRED. BARNARD_ + + + London + + CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY + + 1891 + + + + +_The Illustrations to this Story are reproduced by kind permission of +the Proprietors of 'The Illustrated London News'_ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +_PART I._ + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. THE CHILD OF SAMSON 1 + + II. PRESENTED BY THE SEA 11 + + III. IN THE BAR PARLOUR 17 + + IV. THE GOLDEN TORQUE 23 + + V. THE ENCHANTED ISLAND 35 + + VI. THE FLOWER-FARM 45 + + VII. A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY 56 + + VIII. THE VOYAGERS 62 + + IX. THE LAST DAY BUT ONE 69 + + X. MR. FLETCHER RETURNS FOR HIS BAG 80 + + XI. ROLAND'S LETTER 86 + + XII. THE CHANGE 91 + + XIII. ARMOREL'S INHERITANCE 95 + + +_PART II._ + + I. SWEET COZ 115 + + II. THE SONATA 122 + + III. THE CLEVEREST MAN IN LONDON 127 + + IV. MASTER OF ALL THE ARTS 134 + + V. ONLY A SIMPLE SERVICE 139 + + VI. THE OTHER STUDIO 148 + + VII. A CANDID OPINION 153 + + VIII. ALL ABOUT MYSELF 160 + + IX. TO MAKE HIM HAPPY 166 + + X. THE SECRET OF THE TWO PICTURES 173 + + XI. A CRITIC ON TRUTH 178 + + XII. TO MAKE THAT PROMISE SURE 186 + + XIII. THE DRAMATIST 192 + + XIV. AN HONOURABLE PROPOSAL 198 + + XV. NOT TWO MEN, BUT ONE 201 + + XVI. THE PLAY AND THE COMEDY 205 + + XVII. THE NATIONAL GALLERY 217 + + XVIII. CONGRATULATIONS 223 + + XIX. WHAT NEXT? 229 + + XX. A RECOVERY AND A FLIGHT 235 + + XXI. ALL LOST BUT---- 242 + + XXII. THE END OF WORLDLY TROUBLES 254 + + XXIII. THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH 264 + + XXIV. THE CUP AND THE LIP 267 + + XXV. TO FORGET IT ALL 280 + + XXVI. NOT THE HEIR, AFTER ALL 288 + + XXVII. THE DESERT ISLAND 292 + + XXVIII. AT HOME 299 + + XXIX. THE TRESPASS OFFERING 306 + + + + +ARMOREL OF LYONESSE + + + + +_PART I_ + + +CHAPTER I + +THE CHILD OF SAMSON + + +It was the evening of a fine September day. Through the square window, +built out so as to form another room almost as large as that which had +been thus enlarged, the autumn sun, now fast declining to the west, +poured in warm and strong; but not too warm or too strong for the girl +on whose head it fell as she sat leaning back in the low chair, her +face turned towards the window. The sun of Scilly is never too fierce +or too burning in summer, nor in winter does it ever lose its force; +in July, when the people of the adjacent islands of Great Britain and +Ireland venture not forth into the glare of the sun, here the soft sea +mists and the strong sea air temper the heat; and in December the sun +still shines with a lingering warmth, as if he loved the place. This +girl lived in the sunshine all the year round; rowed in it; lay in it; +basked in it bare-headed, summer and winter; in the winter she would +sit sheltered from the wind in some warm corner of the rocks; in +summer she would lie on the hillside or stand upon the high headlands +and the sea-beat crags, while the breezes, which in the Land of +Lyonesse do never cease, played with her long tresses and kept her +soft cheek cool. + +The window was wide open on all three sides; the girl had been doing +some kind of work, but it had dropped from her hands, and now lay +unregarded on the floor; she was gazing upon the scene before her, but +with the accustomed eyes which looked out upon it every day. A girl +who has such a picture continually before her all day long never tires +of it, though she may not be always consciously considering it and +praising it. The stranger, for his part, cannot choose but cry aloud +for admiration; but the native, who knows it as no stranger can, is +silent. The house, half-way up the low hill, looked out upon the +south--to be exact, its aspect was S. W. by S.--so that from this +window the girl saw always, stretched out at her feet, the ocean, now +glowing in the golden sunshine of September. Had she been tall enough, +she might even have seen the coast of South America, the nearest land +in the far distance. Looking S. W., that is, she would have seen the +broad mouth of Oroonooque and the shores of El Dorado. This broad +sea-scape was broken exactly in the middle by the Bishop's Rock and +its stately lighthouse rising tall and straight out of the water; on +the left hand the low hill of Annet shut out the sea; and on the right +Great Minalto, rugged and black, the white foam always playing round +its foot or flying over its great black northern headland, bounded and +framed the picture. Almost in the middle of the water, not more than +two miles distant, a sailing ship, all sails set, made swift way, +bound outward one knows not whither. Lovely at all times is a ship in +full sail, but doubly lovely when she is seen from afar, sailing on a +smooth sea, under a cloudless sky, the sun of afternoon lighting up +her white sails. No other ships were in sight; there was not even the +long line of smoke which proclaims the steamer below the horizon; +there was not even a Penzance fishing-boat tacking slowly homewards +with brown sails and its two masts: in this direction there was no +other sign of man. + +The girl, I say, saw this sight every day: she never tired of it, +partly because no one ever tires of the place in which he was born and +has lived--not even an Arab of the Great Sandy Desert; partly because +the sea, which has been called, by unobservant poets, unchanging, does +in fact change--face, colour, mood, even shape--every day, and is +never the same, except, perhaps, when the east wind of March covers +the sky with a monotony of grey, and takes the colour out of the face +of ocean as it takes the colour from the granite rocks, last year's +brown and yellow fern, and the purple heath. To this girl, who lived +with the sea around her, it always formed a setting, a background, a +frame for her thoughts and dreams. Wherever she went, whatever she +said or sang, or thought or did, there was always in her ears the +lapping or the lashing of the waves; always before her eyes was the +white surge flying over the rocks; always the tumbling waves. But, as +for what she actually thought or what she dreamed, seeing how ignorant +of the world she was, and how innocent and how young, and as for what +was passing in her mind this afternoon as she sat at the window, I +know not. On the first consideration of the thing, one would be +inclined to ask how, without knowledge, can a girl think, or imagine, +or dream anything? On further thought, one understands that knowledge +has very little to do with dreams or fancies. Yet, with or without +knowledge, no poet, sacred bard, or prophet has ever been able to +divine the thoughts of a girl, or to interpret them, or even to set +them down in consecutive language. I suppose they are not, in truth, +thoughts. Thought implies reasoning and the connection of facts, and +the experience of life as far as it has gone. A young maiden's mind is +full of dimly seen shadows and pallid ghosts which flit across the +brain and disappear. These shadows have the semblance of shape, but +it is dim and uncertain: they have the pretence of colour, but it +changes every moment: if they seem to show a face, it vanishes +immediately and is forgotten. Yet these shadows smile upon the young +with kindly eyes; they beckon with their fingers, and point to where, +low down on the horizon, with cloudy outline, lies the Purple +Island--to such a girl as this the future is always a small island +girt by the sea, far off and lonely. The shadows whisper to her; they +sing to her; but no girl has ever yet told us--even if she +understands--what it is they tell her. + +She had been lying there, quiet and motionless, for an hour or more, +ever since the tea-things had been taken away--at Holy Hill they have +tea at half-past four. The ancient lady who was in the room with her +had fallen back again into the slumber which held her nearly all day +long as well as all the night. The house seemed thoroughly wrapped and +lapped in the softest peace and stillness; in one corner a high clock, +wooden-cased, swung its brass pendulum behind a pane of glass with +solemn and sonorous chronicle of the moments, so that they seemed to +march rather than to fly. A clock ought not to tick as if Father Time +were hurried and driven along without dignity and by a scourge. This +clock, for one, was not in a hurry. Its tick showed that Time rests +not--but hastes not. There is admonition in such a clock. When it has +no one to admonish but a girl whose work depends on her own sweet +will, its voice might seem thrown away; yet one never knows the worth +of an admonition. Besides, the clock suited the place and the room. +Where should Time march with solemn step and slow, if not on the quiet +island of Samson, in the archipelago of Scilly? On its face was +written the name of its maker, plain for all the world to see--'Peter +Trevellick, Penzance, A.D. 1741.' + +The room was not ceiled, but showed the dark joists and beams above, +once painted, but a long time ago. The walls were wainscotted and +painted drab, after an old fashion now gone out: within the panels +hung coloured prints, which must have been there since the beginning +of this century. They represented rural subjects--the farmer sitting +before a sirloin of beef, while his wife, a cheerful nymph, brought +him 'Brown George,' foaming with her best home-brewed; the children +hung about his knees expectant of morsels; or the rustic bade farewell +to his sweetheart, the recruiting-sergeant waiting for him, and the +villagers, to a woman, bathed in tears. There were half a dozen of +those compositions simply coloured. I believe they are now worth much +money. But there were many other things in this room worth money. +Opposite the fireplace stood a cabinet of carved oak, black with age, +precious beyond price. Behind its glass windows one could see a +collection of things once strange and rare--things which used to be +brought home by sailors long before steamers ploughed every ocean and +globe-trotters trotted over every land. There were wonderful things +in coral, white and red and pink; Venus's-fingers from the +Philippines; fans from the Seychelles; stuffed birds of wondrous hue, +daggers and knives, carven tomahawks, ivory toys, and many other +wonders from the far East and fabulous Cathay. Beside the cabinet was +a wooden desk, carved in mahogany, with a date of 1645, said to have +been brought to the islands by one of the Royalist prisoners whom +Cromwell hanged upon the highest carn of Hangman's Island. There was +no escaping Cromwell--not even in Scilly any more than in Jamaica. In +one corner was a cupboard, the door standing open. No collector ever +came here to gaze upon the treasures unspeakable of cups and saucers, +plates and punch-bowls. On the mantelshelf were brass candlesticks and +silver candlesticks, side by side with 'ornaments' of china, pink and +gold, belonging to the artistic reign of good King George the Fourth. +On the hearthrug before the fire, which was always burning in this +room all the year round, lay an old dog sleeping. + +Everybody knows the feeling of a room or a house belonging to the old. +Even if the windows are kept open, the air is always close. Rest, a +gentle, elderly angel, sits in the least frequented room with folded +wings. Sleep is always coming to the doors at all hours: for the sake +of Rest and Sleep the house must be kept very quiet: nobody must ever +laugh in the house: there is none of the litter that children make: +nothing is out of its place: nothing is disturbed: the furniture is +old-fashioned and formal: the curtains are old and faded: the carpets +are old, faded, and worn: it is always evening: everything belonging +to the house has done its work: all together, like the tenant, are +sitting still--solemn, hushed, at rest, waiting for the approaching +end. + +The only young thing at Holy Hill was the girl at the window. +Everything else was old--the servants, the farm labourers, the house +and the furniture. In the great hooded arm-chair beside the fire +reposed the proprietor, tenant, or owner of all. She was the oldest +and most venerable dame ever seen. At this time she was asleep: her +head had dropped forward a little, but not much; her eyes were closed; +her hands were folded in her lap. She was now so very ancient that she +never left her chair except for her bed; also, by reason of her great +antiquity, she now passed most of the day in sleep, partly awake in +the morning, when she gazed about and asked questions of the day. But +sometimes, as you will presently see, she revived again in the +evening, became lively and talkative, and suffered her memory to +return to the ancient days. + +By the assistance of her handmaidens, this venerable lady was enabled +to present an appearance both picturesque and pleasing, chiefly +because it carried the imagination back to a period so very remote. To +begin with, she wore her bonnet all day long. Fifty years ago it was +not uncommon in country places to find very old ladies who wore their +bonnets all day long. Ursula Rosevean, however, was the last who still +preserved that ancient custom. It was a large bonnet that she wore, a +kind of bonnet calculated to impress very deeply the imagination of +one--whether male or female--who saw it for the first time: it was of +bold design, as capacious as a store-ship, as flowing in its lines as +an old man-of-war--inspired to a certain extent by the fashions of the +Waterloo period--yet, in great part, of independent design. Those few +who were permitted to gaze upon the bonnet beheld it reverently. +Within the bonnet an adroit arrangement of cap and ribbons concealed +whatever of baldness or exiguity as to locks--but what does one know? +Venus Calva has never been worshipped by men; and women only pay their +tribute at her shrine from fear--never from love. The face of the +sleeping lady reminded one--at first, vaguely--of history. Presently +one perceived that it was the identical face which that dread +occidental star, Queen Elizabeth herself, would have assumed had she +lived to the age of ninety-five, which was Ursula's time of life in +the year 1884. For it was an aquiline face, thin and sharp; and if her +eyes had been open you would have remarked that they were bright and +piercing, also like those of the Tudor Queen. Her cheek still +preserved something of the colour which had once made it beautiful; +but cheek and forehead alike were covered with lines innumerable, and +her withered hands seemed to have grown too small for their natural +glove. She was dressed in black silk, and wore a gold chain about her +neck. + +The clock struck half-past five, melodiously. Then the girl started +and sat upright--as awakened out of her dream. 'Armorel,' it seemed to +say--nay, since it seemed to say, it actually did say--'Child Armorel, +I am old and wise. For a hundred and forty-three years, ever since I +left the hands of the ingenious Peter Trevellick, of Penzance, in the +year 1741, I have been counting the moments, never ceasing save at +those periods when surgical operations have been necessary. In each +year there are 31,536,000 moments. Judge, therefore, for yourself how +many moments in all I have counted. I must, you will own, be very wise +indeed. I am older even than your great-great-grandmother. I remember +her a baby first, and then a pretty child, and then a beautiful woman, +for all she is now so worn and wizened. I remember her father and her +grandfather. Also her brothers and her son, and her grandson--and your +own father, dear Armorel. The moments pass: they never cease: I tell +them as they go. You have but short space to do all you wish to do. +You, child, have done nothing at all yet. But the moments pass. +Patience. For you, too, work will be found. Youth passes. You can hear +it pass. I tell the moments in which it melts away and vanishes. Age +itself shall pass. You may listen if you please. I tell the moments in +which it slowly passes.' + +Armorel looked at the clock with serious eyes during the delivery of +this fine sermon, the whole bearing of which she did not perhaps +comprehend. Then she started up suddenly and sprang to her feet, stung +by a sudden pang of restlessness, with a quick breath and a sigh. We +who have passed the noon of life are apt to forget the disease of +restlessness to which youth is prone: it is an affection which greatly +troubles that period of life, though it should be the happiest and the +most contented; it is a disorder due to anticipation, impatience, and +inexperience. The voyage is all before: youth is eager to be sailing +on that unknown ocean full of strange islands. Who would not be +restless with such a journey before one and such discoveries to make? + +Armorel opened the door noiselessly, and slipped out. At the same +moment the old dog awoke and crept out with her, going delicately and +on tiptoe, lest he should awaken the ancient lady. In the hall outside +the girl stood listening. The house was quite silent, save that from +the kitchen there was wafted on the air a soft droning--gentle, +melodious, and murmurous, like the contented booming of a bumble-bee +among the figwort. Armorel laughed gently. 'Oh!' she murmured, 'they +are all asleep. Grandmother is asleep in the parlour; Dorcas and +Chessun are asleep in the kitchen; Justinian is asleep in the cottage; +and I suppose the boy is asleep somewhere in the farmyard.' + +The girl led the way, and the dog followed. + +She passed through the door into the garden of the front. It was not +exactly a well-ordered garden, because everything seemed to grow as it +pleased; but then in Samson you have not to coax flowers and plants +into growing: they grow because it pleases them to grow: this is the +reason why they grow so tall and so fast. The garden faced the +south-west, and was protected from the north and east by the house +itself and by a high stone wall. There is not anywhere on the island a +warmer and sunnier corner than this little front garden of Holy Hill. +The geranium clambered up the walls beside and among the branches of +the tree-fuchsia, both together covering the front of the house with +the rich colouring of their flowers. On either side of the door grew a +great tree, with gnarled trunk and twisted branches, of lemon verbena, +fragrant and sweet, perfuming the air; the myrtles were like unto +trees for size; the very marguerites ran to timber of the smaller +kind; the pampas-grass in the warmest corner rose eight feet high, +waving its long silver plumes; the tall stalk still stood which had +borne the flowers of an aloe that very summer; the leaves of the plant +itself were slowly dying away, their life-work, which is nothing at +all but the production of that one flowering stem, finished. That +done, the world has no more attractions for the aloe: it is +content--it slowly dies away. And in the front of the garden was a row +of tall dracæna palms. An old ship's figure-head, thrown ashore after +a wreck, representing the head and bust of a beautiful maiden, gilded, +but with a good deal of the gilt rubbed off, stood on the left hand +of the garden, half hidden by another fuchsia-tree in flower: and a +huge old-fashioned ship's lantern hung from an iron bar projecting +over the door of the house. + +The house itself was of stone, with a roof of small slates. Impossible +to say how old it was, because in this land stone-work ages rapidly, +and soon becomes covered with yellow and orange lichen, while in the +interstices there grows the grey sandwort; and in the soft sea air and +the damp sea mists the sharp edges even of granite are quickly rounded +off and crumbled. But it was a very old house, save for the square +projecting window, which had been added recently--say thirty or forty +years ago--a long, low house of two storeys, simply built; it stands +half-way up the hill which slopes down to the water's edge; it is +protected from the north and north-east winds, which are the deadliest +enemies to Scilly, partly by the hill behind and partly by a spur of +grey rock running like an ancient Cyclopean wall down the whole face +of the hill into the sea, where for many a fathom it sticks out black +teeth, round which the white surge rises and tumbles, even in the +calmest time. + +Beyond the garden-wall--why they wanted a garden-wall I know not, +except for the pride and dignity of the thing--was a narrow green, +with a little, a very little, pond; in the pond there were ducks; and +beside the green was a small farmyard, containing everything that a +farmyard should contain, except a stable. It had no stable, because +there are no horses or carts upon the island. Pigs there are, and +cows; fowls there are, and ducks and geese, and a single donkey for +the purpose of carrying the flower-baskets from the farm to the +landing-place; but neither horse nor cart. + +Beyond the farmyard was a cottage, exactly like the house, but +smaller. It was thatched, and on the thatch grew clumps of samphire. +This was the abode of Justinian Tryeth, bailiff, head man, or foreman, +who managed the farm. When you have named Ursula Rosevean, and +Armorel, her great-great-granddaughter, and Justinian Tryeth, and +Dorcas his wife--she was a native of St. Agnes, and therefore a Hicks +by birth--Peter his son, and Chessun his daughter, you have a complete +directory of the island, because nobody else now lives on Samson. +Formerly, however, and almost within the memory of the oldest +inhabitant, according to the computation of antiquaries and the voice +of tradition, this island maintained a population of over two score. + +The hill which rises behind the house is the southern hill of the two, +which, with the broad valley between them, make up the island of +Samson. This hill slopes steeply seaward to south and west. It is not +a lofty hill, by any means. In Scilly there are no lofty hills. When +Nature addressed herself to the construction of this archipelago she +brought to the task a light touch: at the moment she happened to be +full of feeling for the great and artistic effects which may be +produced by small elevations, especially in those places where the +material is granite. Therefore, though she raised no Alpine peak in +Scilly, she provided great abundance and any variety of bold +coast-line with rugged cliffs, lofty carns, and headlands piled with +rocks. And her success as an artist in this _genre_ has been +undoubtedly wonderful. The actual measurement of Holy Hill, +Samson--but why should we measure?--has been taken, for the admiration +of the world, by the Ordnance Survey. It is really no more than a +hundred and thirty-two feet--not a foot more or less. But then one +knows hills ten times that height--the Herefordshire Beacon, for +example--which are not half so mountainous in the effect produced. +Only a hundred and thirty-two feet--yet on its summit one feels the +exhilaration of spirits caused by the air, elsewhere of five thousand +feet at least. On its southern and western slopes lie the fields which +form the flower-farm of Holy Hill. + +Below the farmyard the ground sloped more steeply to the water: the +slope was covered with short heather fern, now brown and yellow, and +long trailing branches of bramble, now laden with ripe blackberries, +the leaves enriched with blazon of gold and purple and crimson. + +Armorel ran across the green and plunged among the fern, tossing her +arms and singing aloud, the old dog trotting and jumping, but with +less elasticity, beside her. She was bare-headed; the sunshine made +her dark cheeks ruddy and caused her black eyes to glow. Hebe, young +and strong, loves Phoebus, and fears not any freckles. When she came +to the water's edge, where the boulders lie piled in a broken mass +among and above the water, she stood still and looked across the sea, +silent for a moment. Then she began to sing in a strong contralto; but +no one could hear her, not even the coastguard on Telegraph Hill, or +he of the Star Fort: the song she sang was one taught her by the old +lady, who had sung it herself in the old, old days, when the road was +always filled with merchantmen waiting for convoy up the Channel, and +when the islands were rich with the trade of the ships, and their +piloting, and their wrecks--to say nothing of the free trade which +went on gallantly and without break or stop. As she sang she lifted +her arms and swung them in slow cadence, as a Nautch-girl sometimes +swings her arms. What she sang was none other than the old song-- + + Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, + I heard a maid sing in the valley below: + Oh! don't deceive me. Oh! never leave me. + How could you use a poor maiden so? + +In the year of grace 1884 Armorel was fifteen years of age. But she +looked nineteen or twenty, because she was so tall and so well-grown. +She was dressed simply in a blue flannel; the straw hat which she +carried in her hand was trimmed with red ribbons; at her throat she +had stuck a red verbena--she naturally took to red, because her +complexion was so dark. Black hair; black eyes; a strongly marked +brow; a dark cheek of warm and ruddy hue; the lips full, but the mouth +finely curved; features large but regular--she was already, though so +young, a tall and handsome woman. Those able to understand things +would recognise in her dark complexion, in her carriage, in her eyes, +and in her upright figure, the true Castilian touch. The gipsy is +swarthy; the negro is black; the mulatto is dusky: it is not the +colour alone, but the figure and the carriage also, which mark the +Spanish blood. A noble Spanish lady; yet how could she get to Samson? + +She wore no gloves--you cannot buy gloves in Samson--and her hands +were brown with exposure to sea and sun, to wind and rain: they were +by no means tiny hands, but strong and capable hands; her arms--no one +ever saw them, but for shape and whiteness they could not be +matched--would have disgraced no young fellow of her own age for +strength and muscle. That was fairly to be expected in one who +continually sailed and rowed across the inland seas of this +archipelago; who went to church by boat and to market by boat; who +paid her visits by boat and transacted her business by boat, and went +by boat to do her shopping. She who rows every day upon the salt +water, and knows how to manage a sail when the breeze is strong and +the Atlantic surge rolls over the rocks and roughens the still water +of the road, must needs be strong and sound. For my own part, I admire +not the fragile maiden so much as her who rejoices in her strength. +Youth, in woman as well as in man, should be brave and lusty; clean of +limb as well as of heart; strong of arm as well as of will; enduring +hardness of voluntary labour as well as hardness of involuntary pain; +with feet that can walk, run, and climb, and with hands that can hold +on. Such a girl as Armorel--so tall, so strong, so healthy--offers, +methinks, a home ready-made for all the virtues, and especially the +virtues feminine, to house themselves therein. Here they will remain, +growing stronger every day, until at last they have become part and +parcel of the very girl herself, and cannot be parted from her. +Whereas, when they visit the puny creature, weak, timid, delicate--but +no--'tis better to remain silent. + +How many times had the girl wandered, morning or afternoon, down the +rough face of the hill, and stood looking vaguely out to sea, and +presently returned home again? How many such walks had she taken and +forgotten? For a hundred times--yea, a thousand times--we do over and +over again the old familiar action, the little piece of the day's +routine, and forget it when we lie down to sleep. But there comes the +thousandth time, when the same thing is done again in the same way, +yet is never to be forgotten. For on that day happens the thing which +changes and charges a whole life. It is the first of many days. It is +the beginning of new days. From it, whatever may have happened before, +everything shall now be dated until the end. Mohammed lived many +years, but all the things that happened unto him or his successors +are dated from the Flight. Is it for nothing that it has been told +what things Armorel did and how she looked on this day? Not so, but +for the sake of what happened afterwards, and because the history of +Armorel begins with this restless fit, which drove her out of the +quiet room down the hillside to the sea. Her history begins, like +every history of a woman worth relating, with the man cast by the sea +upon the shores of her island. The maiden always lives upon an island, +and whether the man is cast upon the shore by the sea of Society, or +the sea of travel, or the sea of accident, or the sea of adventure, or +the sea of briny waves and roaring winds and jagged rocks, matters +little. To Armorel it was the last. To you, dear Dorothy or Violet, it +will doubtless be by the sea of Society. And the day that casts him +before your feet will ever after begin a new period in your reckoning. + +Armorel stopped her song as suddenly as she had begun it. She stopped +because on the water below her, not far from the shore, she saw a +strange thing. She had good sea eyes--an ordinary telescope does not +afford a field of vision much larger or clearer across water than +Armorel's eyes--but the thing was so strange that she shaded her +forehead with her hand, and looked more curiously. + +It would be strange on any evening, even after the calmest day of +summer, when the sun is setting low, to see a small boat going out +beyond Samson towards the Western Islets. There the swell of ocean is +always rolling among the rocks and round the crags and headlands of +the isles. Only in calm weather and in broad daylight can the boatman +who knows the place venture in those waters. Not even the most skilled +boatman would steer for the Outer Islands at sunset. For there are +hidden rocks, long ridges of teeth that run out from the islands to +tear and grind to powder any boat that should be caught in their +devouring jaws. There are currents also which run swiftly and +unexpectedly between the islands to sweep the boat along with them +till it shall strike the rocks and so go down with any who are abroad; +and there are strong gusts which sweep round the headlands and blow +through the narrow sounds. So that it is only when the day is calm and +in the full light of the sun that a boat can sail among these islands. + +Yet Armorel saw a boat on the water, not half a mile from Samson, with +two men on board. More than this, the boat was apparently without oars +or sails, and it was drifting out to sea. What did this mean? + +She looked and wondered. She looked again, and she remembered. + +The tide was ebbing, the boat was floating out with the tide; the +breeze had dropped, but there was still something left--what there was +came from the south-east and helped the boat along; there was not much +sea, but the feet of Great Minalto were white, and the white foam kept +leaping up the sides, and on her right, over the ledges round White +Island, the water was tearing and boiling, a white and angry heap. +Why, the wind was getting up, and the sun was setting, and if they did +not begin to row back as hard as they could, and that soon, they would +be out to sea and in the dark. + +She looked again, and she thought more. The sinking sun fell upon the +boat, and lit it up so plainly that she could now see very well two +things. First, that the boat was really without any oars or sails at +all; and next, that the two men in her were not natives of Scilly. She +could not discern their faces, but she could tell by their appearance +and the way they sat in the boat that they were not men of the place. +Besides, what would an islander want out in a boat at such a time and +in such a place? They were, therefore, visitors; and by the quiet way +in which they sat, as if it mattered not at all, it was perfectly +plain that they understood little or nothing of their danger. + +Again she considered, and now it became certain to her, looking down +upon the boat, that the current was not taking her out to sea at all, +which would be dangerous enough, but actually straight on the ridge or +ledge of rocks lying off the south-west of White Island. Then, seized +with sudden terror, she turned and fled back to the farm. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +PRESENTED BY THE SEA + + +'Peter!' cried Armorel in the farmyard. 'Peter! Peter! Wake up! Where +is the boy? Wake up and come quick!' + +The boy was not sleeping, however, and came forth slowly, but +obediently, in rustic fashion. He was a little older than most of +those who still permit themselves to be called boys: unless his looks +deceived one, he was a great deal older, for he was entirely bald, +save for a few long, scattered hairs, which were white. His beard and +whiskers also consisted of nothing but a few sparse white hairs. He +moved heavily, without the spring of boyhood in his feet. Had Peter +jumped or run, one might in haste have inferred a condition of drink +or mental disorder. As for his shoulders, too, they were rounded, as +if by the weight of years--a thing which is rarely seen in boys. Yet +Armorel called this antique person 'the boy,' and he answered to the +name without remonstrance. + +'Quick, Peter!' she cried. 'There's a boat drifting on White Island +Ledge, and the tide's running out strong; and there are two men in +her, and they've got no oars in the boat. Ignorant trippers, I +suppose! They will both be killed to a certainty, unless---- Quick!' + +Peter followed her flying footsteps with a show of haste and a +movement of the legs approaching alacrity. But then he was always a +slow boy, and one who loved to have his work done for him. Therefore, +when he reached the landing-place, he found that Armorel was well +before him, and that she had already shipped mast and sail and oars, +and was waiting for him to shove off. + +Samson has two landing beaches, one on the north-east below Bryher +Hill, and the other farther south, on the eastern side of the valley. +There might be a third, better than either, on Porth Bay, if anyone +desired to put off there, on the west side facing the other islands, +where nobody has any business at all except to see the rocks or shoot +wild birds. + +The beach used by the Holy Hill folk was the second of these two; here +they kept their boats, and had their old stone boat-house to store the +gear; and it was here that Armorel stood waiting for her companion. + +Peter was slow on land; at sea, however, he alone is slow who does not +know what can be got out of a boat, and how it can be got. Peter did +possess this knowledge; all the islanders, in fact, have it. They are +born with it. They also know that nothing at sea is gained by hurry. +It is a maxim which is said to rule or govern their conduct on land as +well as afloat. Peter, therefore, when he had pushed off, sat down and +took an oar with no more appearance of hurry than if he were taking a +boat-load of boxes filled with flowers across to the port. Armorel +took the other oar. + +'They are drifting on White Island Ledge,' repeated Armorel; 'and the +tide is running out fast.' + +Peter made no reply--Armorel expected none--but dipped his oar. They +rowed in silence for ten minutes. Then Peter found utterance, and +spoke slowly. + +'Twenty years ago--I remember it well--a boat went ashore on that very +Ledge. The tide was running out--strong, like to-night. There was +three men in her--visitors they were, who wanted to save the boatman's +pay. Their bodies was never found.' + +Then both pulled on in silence, and doggedly. + +In ten minutes or more they had rounded the Point at a respectful +distance, for reasons well known to the navigator and the nautical +surveyor of Scilly. Peter, without a word, shipped his oar. Armorel +did likewise. Then Peter stepped the mast and hoisted the sail, +keeping the line in his own hand, and looked ahead, while Armorel took +the helm. + +'It's Jinkins's boat,' said Peter, because they were now in sight of +her. 'What'll Jinkins say when he hears that his boat's gone to +pieces?' + +'And the two men? Who are they? Will Jinkins say nothing about the +men?' + +'Strangers they are; gentlemen, I suppose. Well, if the breeze doesn't +soon---- Ah, here it is!' + +The wind suddenly filled the sail. The boat heeled over under the +breeze, and a moment after was flying through the water straight up +the broad channel between the two Minaltos and Samson. + +The sun was very low now. Between them and the west lay the boat they +were pursuing--a small black object, with two black silhouettes of +figures clear against the crimson sky. And now Armorel perceived that +they had by this time gotten an inkling, at least, of their danger, +for they no longer sat passive, but had torn up a plank from the +bottom, with which one, kneeling in the bows, was working as with a +paddle, but without science. The boat yawed this way and that, but +still kept on her course drifting to the rocks. + +'If she touches the Ledge, Peter,' said Armorel, 'she will be in +little bits in five minutes. The water is rushing over it like a +mill-stream.' + +This she said ignorant of mill-streams, because there are none on +Scilly; but the comparison served. + +'If she touches,' Peter replied, 'we may just go home again. For we +shall be no good to nobody.' + +Beyond the boat they could plainly see the waters breaking over the +Ledge; the sun lit up the white foam that leaped and flew over the +black rocks just showing their teeth above the water as the tide went +down. + +Here is a problem--you may find plenty like it in every book of +algebra. Given a boat drifting upon a ledge of rocks with the current +and the tide; given a boat sailing in pursuit with a fair wind aft; +given also the velocity of the current and the speed of the boat and +the distance of the first boat from the rocks: at what distance must +the second boat commence the race in order to catch up the first +before it drives upon the rocks? + +This second boat, paying close attention to the problem, came up hand +over hand, rapidly overtaking the first boat, where the two men not +only understood at last the danger they were in, but also that an +attempt was being made to save them. In fact, one of them, who had +some tincture or flavour of the mathematics left in him from his +school days, remembered the problems of this class, and would have +given a great deal to have been back again in school working out one +of them. + +Presently the boats were so near that Peter hailed, 'Boat ahoy! Back +her! Back her! or you'll be upon the rocks. Back her all you know!' + +'We've broken our oars,' they shouted. + +'Keep her off!' Peter bawled again. + +Even with a plank taken from the bottom of the boat a practised +boatman would have been able to keep her off long enough to clear the +rocks; but these two young men were not used to the ways of the sea. + +'Put up your hellum,' said Peter, quietly. + +'What are you going to do?' The girl obeyed first, as one must do at +sea, and asked the question afterwards. + +'There's only one chance. We must cut across her bows. Two lubbers! +They ought not to be trusted with a boat. There's plenty of room.' He +looked at the Ledge ahead and at his own sail. 'Now--steady.' He +tightened the rope, the boat changed her course. Then Peter stood up +and called again, his hand to his mouth, 'Back her! Back her! Back her +all you know!' He sat down and said quietly, 'Now, then--luff it +is--luff--all you can.' + +The boat turned suddenly. It was high time. Right in front of +them--only a few yards in front--the water rushed as if over a +cascade, boiling and surging among the rocks. At high tide there would +have been the calm, unruffled surface of the ocean swell; now there +were roaring floods and swelling whirlpools. The girl looked round, +but only for an instant. Then the boat crossed the bows of the other, +and Armorel, as they passed, caught the rope that was held out to her. + +One moment more and they were off the rocks, in deep water, towing the +other boat after them. + +Then Peter arose, lowered the sail, and took down his mast. + +'Nothing,' he said, 'between us and Mincarlo. Now, gentlemen, if you +will step into this boat we can tow yours along with us. So--take +care, sir! Sit in the stern beside the young lady. Can you row, either +of you?' + +They could both row, they said. In these days a man is as much ashamed +of not being able to row as, fifty years ago, he was ashamed of not +being able to ride. Peter took one oar and gave the other to the +stranger nearest. Then, without more words, he dipped his oar and +began to row back again. The sun went down, and it suddenly became +cold. + +Armorel perceived that the man beside her was quite a young man--not +more than one- or two-and-twenty. He wore brave attire--even a brown +velvet jacket, a white waistcoat, and a crimson necktie; he also had a +soft felt hat. Nature had not yet given him much beard, but what there +was of it he wore pointed, with a light moustache so arranged as to +show how it would be worn when it became of a respectable length. As +he sat in the boat he seemed tall; and he did not look at all like one +of the bawling and boastful trippers who sometimes come over to the +islands for a night and pretend to know how to manage a boat. Yet---- + +'What do you mean,' asked the girl, severely, 'by going out in a boat, +when you ought to have known very well that you could not manage her?' + +'We thought we could,' replied this disconcerted pretender, with +meekness suitable to the occasion. Indeed, under such humiliating +circumstances, Captain Parolles himself would become meek. + +'If we had not seen you,' she continued, 'you would most certainly +have been killed.' + +'I begin to think we might. We should certainly have gone on those +rocks. But there is an island close by. We could swim.' + +'If your boat had touched those rocks you would have been dead in +three minutes,' this maid of wisdom continued. 'Nothing could have +saved you. No boat could have come near you. And to think of standing +or swimming in that current and among those rocks! Oh! but you don't +know Scilly.' + +'No,' he replied, still with a meekness that disarmed wrath, 'I'm +afraid not.' + +'Tell me how it happened.' + +The other man struck in--he who was wielding the oar. He also was a +young man, of shorter and more sturdy build than the other. Had he +not, unfortunately, confined his whole attention in youth to football, +he might have made a good boatman. Really, a young man whose +appearance conveyed no information or suggestion at all about him +except that he seemed healthy, active, and vigorous, and that he was +presumably short-sighted, or he would not have worn spectacles. + +'I will tell you how it came about,' he said. 'This man would go +sketching the coast. I told him that the islands are so beautifully +and benevolently built that every good bit has got another bit on the +next island, or across a cove, or on the other side of a bay, put +there on purpose for the finest view of the first bit. You only get +that arrangement, you know, in the Isles of Scilly and the Isles of +Greece. But he wouldn't be persuaded, and so we took a boat and went +to sea, like the three merchants of Bristol city. We saw Jerusalem and +Madagascar very well, and if you hadn't turned up in the nick of time +I believe we should have seen the river Styx as well, with Cocytus +very likely: good old Charon certainly: and Tantalus, too much +punished--overdone--up to his neck.' + +Armorel heard, wondering what, in the name of goodness, this talker of +strange language might mean. + +'When his oar broke, you know,' the talker went on, 'I began to laugh, +and so I caught a crab; and while I lay in the bottom laughing like +Tom of Bedlam, my oar dropped overboard, and there we were. Five +mortal hours we drifted; but we had tobacco and a flask, and we didn't +mind so very much. Some boat, we thought, might pick us up.' + +'Some boat!' echoed Armorel. 'And outside Samson!' + +'As for the rocks, we never thought about them. Had we known of the +rocks, we should not have laughed----' + +'You have saved our lives,' said the young man in the velvet jacket. +He had a soft sweet voice, which trembled a little as he spoke. And, +indeed, it is a solemn thing to be rescued from certain death. + +'Peter did it,' Armorel replied. 'You may thank Peter.' + +'Let me thank you,' he said, softly and persuasively. 'The other man +may thank Peter.' + +'Just as you like. So long, that is, as you remember that it will have +to be a lesson to you as long as you live never to go out in a boat +without a man.' + +'It shall be a lesson. I promise. And the man I go out with, next +time, shall not be you, Dick.' + +'Never,' she went on, enforcing the lesson, 'never go in a boat alone, +unless you know the waters. Are you Plymouth trippers? But then +Plymouth people generally know how to handle a boat.' + +'We are from London.' In the twilight the blush caused by being taken +for a Plymouth tripper was not perceived. 'I am an artist, and I came +to sketch.' He said this with some slight emphasis and distinction. +There must be no mistaking an artist from London for a Plymouth +tripper. + +'You must be hungry.' + +'We are ravenous, but at this moment one can only feel that it is +better to be hungry and alive than to be drowned and dead.' + +'Oh!' she said, earnestly, 'you don't know how strong the water is. It +would have thrown you down and rolled you over and over among the +rocks, your head would have been knocked to pieces, your face would +have been crushed out of shape, every bone would have been broken: +Peter has seen them so.' + +'Ay! ay!' said Peter. 'I've picked 'em up just so. You are well off +those rocks, gentlemen.' + +Silence fell upon them. The twilight was deepening, the breeze was +chill. Armorel felt that the young man beside her was shivering--perhaps +with the cold. He looked across the dark water and gasped: 'We are +coming up,' he said, 'out of the gates of death and the jaws of hell. +Strange! to have been so near unto dying. Five minutes more, and there +would have been an end, and two more men would have been created for no +other purpose but to be drowned.' + +Armorel made no reply. The oars kept dipping, dipping, evenly and +steadily. Across the waters on either hand flashed lights: St. Agnes +and the Bishop from the south--they are white lights; and from the +north the crimson splendour of Round Island: the wind was dropping, +and there was a little phosphorescence on the water, which gleamed +along the blade of the oar. + +In half an hour the boat rounded the new pier, and they were in the +harbour of Hugh Town at the foot of the landing steps. + +'Now,' said Armorel, 'you had better get home as fast as you can and +have some supper.' + +'Why,' cried the artist, realising the fact for the first time, 'you +are bare-headed! You will kill yourself.' + +'I am used to going about bare-headed. I shall come to no harm. Now go +and get some food.' + +'And you?' The young man stood on the stepping-stones ready to mount. + +'We shall put up the sail and get back to Samson in twenty minutes. +There is breeze enough for that.' + +'Will you tell us,' said the artist, 'before you go--to whom we are +indebted for our very lives?' + +'My name is Armorel.' + +'May we call upon you? To-night we are too bewildered. We cannot say +what we ought and must say.' + +'I live on Samson. What is your name?' + +'My name is Roland Lee. My friend here is called Dick Stephenson.' + +'You can come if you wish. I shall be glad to see you,' she corrected +herself, thinking she had been inhospitable and ungracious. + +'Am I to ask for Miss Armorel?' + +She laughed merrily. 'You will find no one to ask, I am afraid. Nobody +else, you see, lives on Samson. When you land, just turn to the left, +walk over the hill, and you will find the house on the other side. +Samson is not so big that you can miss the house. Good-night, Roland +Lee! Good-night, Dick Stephenson!' + +'She's only a child,' said the young man called Dick, as he climbed +painfully and fearfully up the dark and narrow steps, slippery with +sea-weed and not even protected by an inner bar. 'I suppose it doesn't +much matter since she's only a child. But I merely desire to point out +that it's always the way. If there does happen to be an adventure +accompanied by a girl--most adventures bring along the girl: nobody +cares, in fact, for an adventure without a girl in it--I'm put in the +background and made to do the work while you sit down and talk to the +girl. Don't tell me it was accidental. It was the accident of design. +Hang it all! I'll turn painter myself.' + + + + +CHAPTER III + +IN THE BAR PARLOUR + + +At nine o'clock the little bar parlour of Tregarthen's was nearly +full. It is a very little room, low as well as little, therefore it is +easily filled. And though it is the principal club-room of Hugh Town, +where the better sort and the notables meet, it can easily accommodate +them all. They do not, however, meet every evening, and they do not +all come at once. There is a wooden settle along the wall, beautifully +polished by constant use, which holds four: a smaller one beside the +fire, where at a pinch two might sit; there is a seat in the window +which also might hold two, but is only comfortable for one. A small +round table only leaves room for one chair. This makes sitting +accommodation for nine, and when all are present, and all nine are +smoking tobacco like one, the atmosphere is convivially pungent. This +evening there were only seven. They consisted of the two young men +whose perils on the deep you have just witnessed; a Justice of the +Peace--but his office is a sinecure, because on the Scilly Isles +virtue reigns in every heart; a flower-farmer of the highest standing; +two other gentlemen weighed down with the mercantile anxieties and +interests of the place--they ought to have been in wigs and square +brown coats, with silver buckles to their shoes; and one who held +office and exercised authority. + +The art of conversation cannot be successfully cultivated on a small +island, on board ship, or in a small country town. Conversation +requires a continual change of company, and a great variety of topics. +Your great talker, when he inconsiderately remains too long among the +same set, becomes a bore. After a little, unless he goes away, or +dies, or becomes silent, they kill him, or lock him up in an asylum. +At Tregarthen's he would be made to understand that either he or the +rest of the population must leave the archipelago and go elsewhere. In +some colonial circles they play whist, which is an excellent method, +perhaps the best ever invented, for disguising the poverty or the +absence of conversation. At Tregarthen's they do not feel this +necessity--they are contented with their conversation; they are so +happily contented that they do not repine even though they get no more +than an observation dropped every ten minutes or so. They are not +anxious to reply hurriedly; they are even contented to sit silently +enjoying the proximity of each other--the thing, in fact, which lies +at the root of all society. The evening is not felt to be dull, though +there are no fireworks of wit and repartee. Indeed, if Douglas Jerrold +himself were to appear with a bag full of the most sparkling epigrams +and repartees, nobody would laugh, even when he was kicked out into +the cold and unappreciative night--the stars have no sense of +humour--as a punishment for impudence. + +This evening the notables spoke occasionally; they spoke slowly--the +Scillonians all talk slowly--they neither attempted nor looked for +smartness. They did not tell stories, because all the stories are +known, and they can now only be told to strangers. The two young men +from London listened without taking any part in the talk: people who +have just escaped--and that narrowly--a sharp and painful death by +drowning and banging on jagged rocks are expected to be hushed for +awhile. But they listened. And they became aware that the talk, in +whatever direction it wandered, always came back to the sea. +Everything in Scilly belongs to the sea: they may go up country, which +is a journey of a mile and a half, or even two miles--and speak for a +moment of the crops and the farms; but that leads to the question of +import and export, and, therefore, to the vessels lying within the +pier, and to the steam service to Penzance and to vessels in other +ports, and, generally, to steam service about the world. And again, +wherever two or three are gathered together in Scilly, one at least +will be found to have ploughed the seas in distant parts. This confers +a superiority on the society of the islands which cannot, even in +these days, be denied or concealed. In the last century, when a man +who was known to have crossed the Pacific entered a coffee-house, the +company with one accord gazed upon him with envy and wonder. Even now, +familiarity hath not quite bred contempt. We still look with +unconcealed respect upon one who can tell of Tahiti and the New +Hebrides, and has stood upon the mysterious shores of Papua. And, at +Tregarthen's this evening, these two strangers were young; they had +not yet made the circuit of the round earth; they had had, as yet, not +many opportunities of talking with travellers and sailors. Therefore, +they listened, and were silent. + +Presently, one after the other, the company got up and went out. There +is no sitting late at night in Scilly. There were left of all only the +Permanent Official. + +'I hear, gentlemen,' he said, 'that you have had rather a nasty time +this evening.' + +'We should have been lost,' said the artist, 'but for a--young lady, +who saw our danger and came out to us.' + +'Armorel. I saw her towing in your boat and landing you. Yes, it was a +mighty lucky job that she saw you in time. There's a girl! Not yet +sixteen years old! Yet I'd rather trust myself with her in a boat, +especially if she had the boy Peter with her, than any boatman of the +islands. And there's not a rock or an islet, not a bay or a headland +in this country of bays and capes and rocks, that she does not know. +She could find her way blindfold by the feel of the wind and the force +of the current. But it's in her blood. Father to son--father to son +and daughter too--the Roseveans are born boatmen.' + +'She saved our lives,' repeated the artist. 'That is all we know of +her. It is a good deal to know, perhaps, from our own point of view.' + +'She belongs to Samson. They've always lived on Samson. Once there +were Roseveans, Tryeths, Jenkinses, and Woodcocks on Samson. Now, they +are nearly all gone--only one family of Rosevean left, and one of +Tryeth.' + +'She said that nobody else lived there.' + +'Well, it is only her own family. They've started a flower-farm lately +on Holy Hill, and I hear it's doing pretty well. It's a likely +situation, too, facing south-west and well sheltered. You should go +and see the flower-farm. Armorel will be glad to show you the farm, +and the island too. Samson has got a good many curious things--more +curious, perhaps, than she knows, poor child!' + +He paused for a moment, and then continued: 'There's nobody on the +island now but themselves. There's the old woman, first--you should +see her too. She's a curiosity by herself--Ursula Rosevean--she was a +Traverse, and came from Bryher to be married. She married Methusalem +Rosevean, Armorel's great-great-grandfather--that was nigh upon eighty +years ago; she's close upon a hundred now; and she's been a widow +since--when was it?--I believe she'd only been a wife for twelve +months or so. He was drowned on a smuggling run--his brother Emanuel, +too. Widow used to look for him from the hill-top every night for a +year and more afterwards. A wonderful old woman! Go and look at her. +Perhaps she will talk to you. Sometimes, when Armorel plays the +fiddle, she will brighten up and talk for an hour. She knows how to +cure all diseases, and she can foretell the future. But she's too old +now, and mostly she's asleep. Then there's Justinian Tryeth and +Dorcas, his wife--they're over seventy, both of them, if they're a +day. Dorcas was a St. Agnes girl--that's the reason why her name was +Hicks: if she'd come from Bryher she'd have been a Traverse; if from +Tresco she'd have been a Jenkins. But she was a Hicks. She's as old as +her husband, I should say. As for the boy, Peter----' + +'She called him the boy, I remember. But he seemed to me----' + +'He's fifty, but he's always been the boy. He never married, because +there was nobody left on Samson for him to marry, and he's always been +too busy on the farm to come over here after a wife. And he looks more +than fifty, because once he fell off the pier, head first, into the +stern of a boat, and after he'd been unconscious for three days, all +his hair fell off except a few stragglers, and they'd turned white. +Looks most as old as his father. Chessun's near fifty-two.' + +'Who is Chessun?' + +'She's the girl. She's always been the girl. She's never married, just +like Peter her brother, because there was no one left on Samson for +her. And she never leaves the island except once or twice a year, when +she goes to the afternoon service at Bryher. Well, gentlemen, that's +all the people left on Samson. There used to be more--a great many +more--quite a population, and if all stories are true, they were a +lively lot. You'll see their cottages standing in ruins. As for +getting drowned, you'd hardly believe! Why, take Armorel alone. Her +father, Emanuel--he'd be about fifty-seven now--he was drowned--twelve +years ago it must be now--with his wife and his three boys, Emanuel, +John, and Andrew, crossing over from a wedding at St. Agnes. He +married Rovena Wetherel, from St. Mary's. Then there was her +grandfather, he was a pilot--but they were all pilots--and he was cast +away taking an East Indiaman up the Channel, cast away on Chesil Bank +in a fog--that was in the year 1845--and all hands lost. His +father--no, no, that was his uncle--all in the line were drowned; +that one's uncle died in his bed unexpectedly--you can see the bed +still--but they do say, just before some officers came over about a +little bit of business connected with French brandy. One of the +Roseveans went away, and became a purser in the Royal Navy. Those were +the days for pursers! Their accounts were never audited, and when +they'd squared the captain and paid him the wages and allowances for +the dummies and the dead men, they had left as much--ay, as a couple +of thousand a year. After this he left the Navy and purveyed for the +Fleet, and became so rich that they had to make him a knight.' + +'Was there much smuggling here in the old days?' + +'Look here, sir; a Scillonian in the old days called himself a pilot, +a fisherman, a shopkeeper, or a farmer, just as he pleased. That was +his pleasant way. But he was always--mind you--a smuggler. Armorel's +great-great-great-grandfather, father of the old lady's husband--him +who was never heard of afterwards, but was supposed to have been cast +away off the French coast--he was known to have made great sums of +money. Never was anyone on the islands in such a big way. Lots of +money came to the islands from smuggling. They say that the St. +Martin's people have kept theirs, and have got it invested; but, for +all the rest, it's gone. And they were wreckers too. Many and many a +good ship before the islands were lit up have struck on the rocks and +gone to pieces. What do you think became of the cargoes? Where were +the Scilly boats when the craft was breaking up? And did you never +hear of the ship's lantern tied to the horns of a cow? They've got one +on Samson could tell a tale or two; and they've still got a +figure-head there which ought to have haunted old Emanuel Rosevean +when his boat capsized off the coast of France.' + +'An interesting family history.' + +'Yes. Until the Preventive Service put an end to the trade, the +Roseveans were the most successful and the most daring smugglers in +the islands. But an unlucky family. All these drownings make people +talk. Old wives' talk, I dare say. But for something one of them +did--wrecking a ship, robbing the dead, who knows--they say the bad +luck will go on till something is done--I know not what.' + +He got up and put on his cap, the blue-cloth cap with a cloth peak, +much affected in Scilly, because the wind blows off any other form of +hat ever invented. + +'It is ten o'clock--I must go. Did you ever hear the story, gentlemen, +of the Scillonian sailor?' He sat down again. 'I believe it must have +been one of the Roseveans. He was on board a West Indiaman, homeward +bound, and the skipper got into a fog and lost his reckoning. Then he +asked this man if he knew the Scilly Isles. "Better nor any book," +says the sailor. "Then," says the skipper, "take the wheel." In an +hour crash went the ship upon the rocks. "Damn your eyes!" says the +skipper, "you said you knew the Scilly Isles." "So I do," says the +man; "this is one of 'em." The ship went to pieces, and near all the +hands were lost. But the people of the islands had a fine time with +the flotsam and the jetsam for a good many days afterwards.' + +'I believe,' said the young man--he who answered to the name of +Dick--'that this patriot is buried in the old churchyard. I saw an +inscription to-day which probably marks his tomb. Under the name is +written the words "Dulce et decor"--but the rest is obliterated.' + +'Very likely--they would bury him in the old churchyard. Good-night, +gentlemen!' + +'Roland!' The young man called Dick jumped from the settle. 'Roland! +Pinch me--shake me--stick a knife into me--but not too far--I feel as +if I was going off my head. The fair Armorel's father was a corsair, +who was drowned on his way from the coast of France, with his +grandfather and his great-grandfather and great-grand-uncles, after +having been cast away upon the Chesil Bank, and never heard of again, +though he was wanted on account of a keg of French brandy picked up in +the Channel. He made an immense pile of money, which has been lost; +and there's an old lady at the farm so old--so old--so very, very +old--it takes your breath away only to think of it--that she married +Methusalem. Her husband was drowned--a new light, this, on +history--and of course she escaped on the Ark--as a stowaway or a +cabin passenger. Armorel plays the fiddle and makes the old lady +jump.' + +'We'll go over there to-morrow.' + +'We will. It is a Land of Enchantment, this outlying bit of Lyonesse. +Meanwhile, just to clear my brain, I think I must have a whisky. The +weakness of humanity demands it. + + Oh! 'twas in Tregarthen's bar, + Where the pipes and whiskies are---- + +They are an unlucky family,' he went on, 'because they "did +something." Remark, Roland, that here is the very element of romance. +My ancestors have "done something" too. I am sure they have, because +my grandfather kept a shop, and you can't keep a shop without "doing +something." But Fate never persecuted my father, the dean, and I am +not in much anxiety that I too shall be shadowed on account of the old +man. Yet look at Armorel Rosevean! There's distinction, mind you, in +being selected by Fate for vicarious punishment. The old corsair +wrecked a ship and robbed the bodies: therefore, all his descendants +have got to be drowned. Dear me! If we were all to be drowned because +our people had once "done something," the hungry, insatiate sea would +be choked, and the world would come to an end. A Scotch whisky, +Rebecca, if you please, and a seltzer! To-morrow, Roland, we will once +more cross the raging main, but under protection. If you break an oar +again, you shall be put overboard. We will visit this fair child of +Samson. Child of Samson! The Child of Samson! Was Delilah her mother, +or is she the grand daughter of the Timnite? Has she inherited the +virtues of her father as well as his strength? Were the latter days of +Delilah sanctified and purified? Happily, she is only as yet a +child--only a child, Roland'--he emphasised the words--'although a +child of Samson.' + + * * * * * + +In the night a vision came to Roland Lee. He saw Armorel once more +sailing to his rescue. And in his vision he was seized with a mighty +terror and a shaking of the limbs, and his heart sank and his cheek +blanched; and he cried aloud, as he sank beneath the cold waters: 'Oh, +Armorel, you have come too late! Armorel, you cannot save me now.' + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE GOLDEN TORQUE + + +The morning was bright, the sky blue, the breeze fresh--so fresh that +even in the Road the sea broke over the bows and the boat ran almost +gunwale under. This time the two lands-men were not unprotected: they +were in charge of two boatmen. Humiliating, perhaps; but your true +courage consisteth not in vain boasting and arrogant pretence, and he +is safest who doth not ignorantly presume to manage a boat. Therefore, +boatmen twain now guided the light bark and held the ropes. + +'Dick,' said Roland, presently, looking ahead, 'I see her. There she +is--upon the hillside among the brown fern. I can see her, with her +blue dress.' + +Dick looked, and shook his short-sighted head. + +'I only see Samson,' he said. 'He groweth bigger as we approach. That +is not uncommon with islands. I perceive that he hath two hills, one +on the north and the other on the south; he showeth--perhaps with +pride--a narrow plain in the middle. The hills appear to be strewn +with boulders, and there are carns, and perhaps Logan stones. There is +always a Logan stone, but you can never find it. There are also, I +perceive, ruins. Samson looks quite a large island when you come near +to it. Life on Samson must be curiously peaceful. No post-office, no +telegrams, no telephones, no tennis, no shops, no papers, no +people--good heavens! For a whole month one would enjoy Samson.' + +'Don't you see her?' repeated Roland. 'She is coming down the +hillside.' + +'I dare say I do see her if I knew it; but I cannot at this distance, +even with assisted eyes----' + +'Oh! a blue dress--blue--against the brown and yellow of the fern. Can +you not----?' + +Dick gazed with the slow, uncertain eyes of short sight, and adjusted +his glasses. + +'My pal,' he said, 'to please you I would pretend to see anything. In +fact, I always do: it saves trouble. I see her plainly--blue dress, +you say--certainly--sitting on a rock----' + +'Nonsense! She is walking down the hill. You don't see her at all.' + +'Quite so. Coming down the hill,' Dick replied, unmoved. + +'She has been in my mind all night. I have been thinking all kinds of +things--impossible things--about this nymph. She is not in the least +common, to begin with. She is----' + +'She is only a child, Roland. Don't----' + +'A child? Why shouldn't she be a child? I suppose I may admire a +beautiful child? Do you insinuate that I am going to make love to +her?' + +'Well, old man, you mostly do.' + +'It was not so dark last night but one could see that she is a very +beautiful girl. She looks eighteen, but our friend last night assured +us that she is not yet sixteen. A very beautiful girl she is: features +regular, and a head that ought to be modelled. She is dark, like a +Spaniard.' + +'Gipsy, probably. Name of Stanley or Smith--Pharaoh Stanley was, most +likely, her papa.' + +'Gipsy yourself! Who ever heard of a gipsy on Scilly? You might as +well look for an organ-grinder! Spanish blood, I swear! Castilian of +the deepest blue. Then her eyes! You didn't observe her eyes?' + +'I was too hungry. Besides, as usual, I was doing all the work.' + +'They are black eyes----' + +'The Romany have black eyes--roving eyes--hard, bold, bad, black +eyes.' + +'Soft black--not hard black. The dark velvet eyes which hold the +light. Dick, I should like to paint those eyes. She is now looking at +our boat. I can see her lifting her hand to shade her eyes. I should +like to paint those eyes just at the moment when she gives away her +heart.' + +'You cannot, Childe Roland, because there could only be one other +person present on that interesting occasion. And that person must not +be you.' + +'Dick, too often you are little better than an ass.' + +'If you painted those eyes when she was giving away her heart it might +lead to another and a later picture when she was giving away her +temper. Eyes which hold the light also hold the fire. You might be +killed with lightning, or, at least, blinded with excess of light. +Take care!' + +'Better be blinded with excess of light than pass by insensible. Some +men are worse than the fellow with the muck-rake. He was only +insensible to a golden crown; they are insensible to Venus. Without +loveliness, where is love? Without love, what is life?' + +'Yet,' said Dick, drily, 'most of us have got to shape our lives for +ourselves before we can afford to think of Venus.' + +It will be understood that these two young men represented two large +classes of humanity. One would not go so far as to say that mankind +may be divided into those two classes only: but, undoubtedly, they are +always with us. First, the young man who walketh humbly, doing his +appointed task with honesty, and taking with gratitude any good thing +that is bestowed upon him by Fate. Next, the young man who believes +that the whole round world and all that therein is are created for his +own special pleasure and enjoyment; that for him the lovely girls +attire themselves, and for his pleasure go forth to dance and ball; +for him the actress plays her best; for him the feasts are spread, the +corks are popped, the fruits are ripened, the suns shine. To the +former class belonged Dick Stephenson: to the latter, Roland Lee. +Indeed, the artistic temperament not uncommonly enlists a young man in +the latter class. + +'Look!' cried the artist. 'She sees us. She is coming down the hill. +Even you can see her now. Oh! the light, elastic step! Nothing in the +world more beautiful than the light, elastic step of a girl. Somehow, +I don't remember it in pictures. Perhaps--some day--I may----' He +began to talk in unconnected jerks. 'As for the Greek maiden by the +sea-shore playing at ball and showing bony shoulders, and all that--I +don't like it. Only very young girls should play at ball and jump +about--not women grown and formed. They may walk or spring as much as +they like, but they must not jump, and they must not run. They must +not laugh loud. Violent emotions are masculine. Figure and dress alike +make violence ungraceful: that is why I don't like to see women jump +about. If they knew how it uglifies most of them! Armorel is only a +child--yes--but how graceful, how complete she is in her movements!' + +She was now visible, even to a short-sighted man, tripping lightly +through the fern on the slope of the hill. As she ran, she tossed her +arms to balance herself from boulder to boulder. She was singing, too, +but those in the boat could not hear her; and before the keel touched +the sand she was silent. + +She stood waiting for them on the beach, her old dog Jack beside her, +a smile of welcome in her eyes, and the sunlight on her cheeks. Hebe +herself--who remained always fifteen from prehistoric times until the +melancholy catastrophe of the fourth century, when, with the other +Olympians, she was snuffed out--was not sweeter, more dainty, or +stronger, or more vigorous of aspect. + +'I thought you would come across this morning,' she said. 'I went to +the top of the hill and looked out, and presently I saw your boat. +You have not ventured out alone again, I see. Good-morning, Roland +Lee! Good-morning, Dick Stephenson!' + +She called them thus by their Christian names, not with familiarity, +but quite naturally, and because when she went into the world--that is +to say, to Bryher Church--on Sunday afternoon, each called unto each +by his Christian name. And to each she gave her hand with a smile of +welcome. But it seemed to Dick, who was observant rather than jealous, +that his companion appropriated to himself and absorbed both smiles. + +'Shall I show you Samson? Have you seen the islands yet?' + +No; they had only arrived two days before, and were going back the +next day. + +'Many do that,' said the girl. 'They stay here a day or two: they go +across to Tresco and see the gardens: then perhaps they walk over +Sallakey Down, and they see Peninnis and Porthellick and the old +church, and they think they have seen the islands. You will know +nothing whatever about Scilly if you go to-morrow.' + +'Why should we go to-morrow?' asked the artist. 'Tell me, that, Dick.' + +'I, because my time is up, and Somerset House once more expects me. +You, my friend,' Dick replied, with meaning, 'because you have got +your work to do and you must not fool around any longer.' + +Roland Lee laughed. 'We came first of all,' he said, turning to +Armorel, 'in order to thank you for----' + +'Oh! you thanked me last night. Besides it was Peter----' + +'No, no. I refuse to believe in Peter.' + +'Well, do not let us say any more about it. Come with me.' + +The landing-place of Samson is a flat beach, covered with a fine white +sand and strewn with little shells--yellow and grey, green and blue. +Behind the beach is a low bank on which grow the sea-holly, the +sea-lavender, the horned poppy, and the spurge, and behind the bank +stretches a small plain, low and sandy, raised above the high tide by +no more than a foot or two. Armorel led the way across this plain to +the foot of the northern hill. It is a rough and rugged hill, wild and +uncultivated. The slope facing the south is covered with gorse and +fern, the latter brown and yellow in September. Among the fern at this +season stood the tall dead stalks of foxglove. Here and there were +patches of short turf set about with the withered flowers of the +sea-pink, and the long branches of the bramble lay trailing over the +ground. The hand of some prehistoric giant has sprinkled the slopes of +this hill with boulders of granite: they are piled above each other so +as to make carns, headlands, and capes with strange resemblances and +odd surprises. Upon the top they found a small plateau sloping gently +to the north. + +'See!' said Armorel. 'This is the finest thing we have to show on +Samson, or on any of the islands. This is the burial-place of the +kings. Here are their tombs.' + +'What kings?' asked Dick, looking about him. 'Where are the tombs?' + +'The kings,' Roland repeated; 'there can be no other kings. These are +their tombs. Do not interrupt.' + +'The ancient kings,' Armorel replied, with historic precision. 'These +mounds are their tombs. See--one--two--half a dozen of them are here. +Only kings had barrows raised over them. Did you expect graves and +headstones, Dick Stephenson?' + +'Oh, these are barrows, are they?' he replied, in some confusion. A +man of the world does not expect to be caught in ignorance by the +solitary inhabitant of a desert island. + +'A long time ago,' Armorel went on, 'these islands formed part of the +mainland. Bryher and Tresco, St. Helen's, Tean, St. Martin's and St. +Mary's, were all joined together, and the road was only a creek of the +sea. Then the sea washed away all the land between Scilly and the +Land's End. They used to call the place Lyonesse. The kings of +Lyonesse were buried on Samson. Their kingdom is gone, but their +graves remain. It is said that their ghosts have been seen. Dorcas saw +them once.' + +'I should like to see them very much,' said Roland. + +'If you were here at night, we could go out and look for them. I have +been here often after dark looking for them.' + +'What did you see?' + +She answered like unto the bold Sir Bedivere--who, perhaps, was +standing on that occasion not far from this hill-top. + +'I saw the moonlight on the rocks, and I heard the beating of the +waves.' + +Quoth Dick: 'The spook of a king of Lyonesse would be indeed worth +coming out to see.' + +Armorel led the way to a barrow, the top of which showed signs of the +spade. + +'See!' she said. 'Here is one that has been opened. It was a long time +ago.' + +There were the four slabs of stone still in position which formed the +sides of the grave, and the slab which had been its cover lying close +beside. + +Armorel looked into the grave. 'They found,' she whispered, 'the bones +of the king lying on the stone. But when someone touched them they +turned to dust. There is the dust at your feet in the grave. The wind +cannot bear it away. It may blow the sand and earth into it, but the +dust remains. The rain can turn it into mud, but it cannot melt it. +This is the dust of a king.' + +The young men stood beside her silent, awed a little, partly by the +serious look in the girl's face, and partly because, though it now +lay open to the wind and rain, it was really a grave. One must not +laugh beside the grave of a man. The wind lifted Armorel's long +locks and blew them off her white forehead: her eyes were sad and +even solemn. Even the short-sighted Dick saw that his friend was +right: they were soft black eyes, not of the gipsy kind; and he +repented him of a hasty inference. To the artist it seemed as if +here was a princess of Lyonesse mourning over the grave of her +buried king and--what?--father--brother--cousin--lover? Everything, +in his imagination, vanished--except that one figure: even her +clothes were changed for the raiment--say the court mourning--of +that vanished realm. And also, like Sir Bedivere, he heard nothing +but the wild water lapping on the crag. + +And here followed a thing so strange that the historian hesitates +about putting it down. + +Let us remember that it is thirty years, or thereabouts, since this +barrow was laid open; that we may suppose those who opened it to have +had eyes in their heads; that it has been lying open ever since; and +that every visitor--to be sure there are not many--who lands on Samson +is bound to climb this hill and visit this open barrow with its +perfect kistvaen. These things borne in mind, it will seem indeed +wonderful that anything in the grave should have escaped discovery. + +Roland Lee, leaning over, began idly to poke about the mould and dust +of the grave with his stick. He was thinking of the girl and of the +romance with which his imagination had already clothed this lonely +spot; he was also thinking of a picture which might be made of her; he +was wondering what excuse he could make for staying another week at +Tregarthen's--when he was startled by striking his stick against +metal. He knelt down and felt about with his hands. Then he found +something and drew it out, and arose with the triumph that belongs to +an archæologist who picks up an ancient thing--say, a rose noble in a +newly ploughed field. The thing which he found was a hoop or ring. It +was covered and encrusted with mould; he rubbed this off with his +fingers. Lo! it was of gold: a hoop of gold as thick as a lady's +little finger, twisted spirally, bent into the form of a circle, the +two ends not joined, but turned back. Pure gold: yellow, soft gold. + +'I believe,' he said, gasping, 'that this must be--it _is_--a torque. +I think I have seen something like it in museums. And I've read of +them. It was your king's necklace: it was buried with him: it lay +around the skeleton neck all these thousand years. Take it, Miss +Armorel. It is yours.' + +'No! no! Let me look at it. Let me have it in my hands. It is +yours'--in ignorance of ancient law and the rights of the lord +proprietor--'it is yours because you found it.' + +'Then I will give it to you, because you are the Princess of the +Island.' + +She took it with a blush and placed it round her own neck, bending +open the ends and closing them again. It lay there--the red, red +gold--as if it belonged to her and had been made for her. + +'The buried king is your ancestor,' said Roland. 'It is his legacy to +his descendant. Wear the king's necklace.' + +'My luck, as usual,' grumbled Dick, aside. 'Why couldn't I find a +torque and say pretty things?' + +'Come,' said Armorel, 'we have seen the barrows. There are others +scattered about--but this is the best place for them. Now I will show +you the island.' + +The hill slopes gently northward till it reaches a headland or carn of +granite boldly projecting. Here it breaks away sharply to the sea. +Armorel climbed lightly up the carn and stood upon the highest +boulder, a pretty figure against the sky. The young men followed and +stood below her. + +[Illustration: _Armorel climbed lightly up the carn._] + +At their feet the waves broke in white foam (in the calmest weather +the Atlantic surge rolling over the rocks is broken into foam), a +broad sound or channel lay between Samson and the adjacent island: in +the channel half a dozen rocks and islets showed black and +threatening. + +'The island across the channel,' said Armorel, 'is Bryher. This is +Bryher Hill, because it faces Bryher Island. Yonder, on Bryher is +Samson Hill, because it faces Samson Island. Bryher is a large place. +There are houses and farms on Bryher, and a church where they have +service every Sunday afternoon. If you were here on Sunday, you could +go in our boat with Peter, Chessun, and me. Justinian and Dorcas +mostly stay at home now, because they are old.' + +'Can anybody stay on the island, then?' asked Roland, quickly. + +'Once the doctor came for Justinian's rheumatism, and bad weather +began and he had to stay a week.' + +'His other patients meanly took advantage and got well, I suppose,' +said Dick. + +'I hope so,' Armorel replied simply. + +She turned and looked to the north-east, where lie the eastern +islands, the group between St. Martin's and St. Mary's, a miniature in +little of the greater group. From this point they looked to the eye of +ignorance like one island. Armorel distinguished them. There were +Great and Little Arthur; Ganilly, with his two hills, like Samson; the +Ganninicks and Meneweather, Ragged Island, and Inisvouls. + +'They are not inhabited,' said the girl, pointing to them one by one; +'but it is pleasant to row about among them in fine weather. In the +old time, when they made kelp, people would go and live there for +weeks together. But they are not cultivated.' + +Then she turned northwards, and showed them the long island of St. +Martin's, with its white houses, its church, its gentle hills, and its +white and red daymark on the highest point. Half of St. Martin's was +hidden by Tresco, and more than half of Tresco by Bryher. Over the +downs of Tresco rose the dome of Round Island, crowned with its white +lighthouse. And over Bryher, out at sea, showed the rent and jagged +crest of the great rock Menovawr. + +'You should land on Tresco,' said Armorel. 'There is the church to +see. Oh! it is a most beautiful church. They say that in Cornwall +itself there is hardly any church so fine as Tresco Church. And then +there are the gardens and the lake. Everybody goes to see the gardens, +but they do not walk over the down to Cromwell's Castle. Yet there is +nothing in the islands like Cromwell's Castle, standing on the Sound, +with Shipman's Head beyond. And you must go out beyond Tresco, to the +islands which we cannot see here--Tean and St. Helen's, and the rest.' + +Then she turned westward. Lying scattered among the bright waters, +whitened by the breeze, there lay before their eyes--dots and specks +upon the biggest maps, but here great massive rocks and rugged islets +piled with granite, surrounded by ledges and reefs, cut and carved by +winds and flying foam into ragged edges, bold peaks, and defiant +cliffs--places where all the year round the seals play and the +sea-gulls scream, and, in spring, the puffins lay their eggs, with the +oyster-catchers and the sherewaters, the shags and the hern. Over all +shone the golden sun of September, and round them all the water leaped +and sparkled in the light. + +'Those are the Outer Islands.' The girl pointed them out, her eyes +brightening. 'It is among the Outer Islands that I like best to sail. +Look! that great rock with the ledge at foot is Castle Bryher; that +noble rock beyond is Maiden Bower; the rock farthest out is Scilly. If +you were going to stay, we would sail round Scilly and watch the waves +always tearing at his sides. You cannot see from here, but he is +divided by a narrow channel; the water always rushes through this +channel roaring and tearing. But once we found it calm--and we got +through; only Peter would never try again. If you were going to +stay--sometimes in September it is very still----' + +'I did not know,' said Roland, 'that there was anything near England +so wonderful and so lovely.' + +'You cannot see the islands in one morning. You cannot see half of +them from this hill. You like them more and more as you stay longer, +and see them every day with a different light and a different sea.' + +'You know them all, I suppose?' Roland asked. + +'Oh! every one. If you had sailed among them so often, you would know +them too. There are hundreds, and every one has got its name. I think +I have stood on all, though there are some on which no one can land, +even at low tide and in the calmest weather. And no one knows what +beautiful bays and beaches and headlands there are hidden away and +never seen by anyone. If you could stay, I would show them to you. But +since you cannot----' She sighed. 'Well, you have not even seen the +whole of Samson yet--and that is only one of all the rest.' + +She leaped lightly from the rocks, and led them southward. + +'See!' she said. 'On this hill there are ten great barrows at least, +every one the tomb of a king--a king of Lyonesse. And on the sides of +the hill--they kept the top for the kings--there are smaller barrows, +I suppose of the princes and princesses. I told you that the island +was a royal burying-ground. At the foot of the hill--you can see +them--are some walls which they say are the ruins of a church; but I +suppose that in those days they had no church.' + +They left these venerable tombs behind them and descended the hill. At +its foot, between the two hills, there lies a pretty little bay, +circular and fringed with a beach of white sand. If one wanted a port +for Samson, here is the spot, looking straight across the Atlantic, +with Mincarlo lying like a lion couchant on the water a mile out. + +'This is Porth Bay,' said their guide. 'Out there at the end is Shark +Point. There are sharks sometimes, I believe: but I have never seen +them. Now we are going up the southern hill.' + +It began with a gentle ascent. There were signs of former cultivation; +stone walls remained, enclosing spaces which once were fields--nothing +in them now but fern and gorse and bramble and wild flowers. Half-way +up there stood a ruined cottage. The walls were standing, but the roof +was gone and all the woodwork. The garden-wall remained, but the +little garden was overrun with fern. + +'This was my great-great-grandmother's cottage,' said Armorel. 'It was +built by her husband. They lived in it for twelve months after they +were married. Then he was drowned, and she came to live at the farm. +See!'--she showed them in a corner of the garden a little wizened +apple-tree, crouching under the stone wall out of the reach of the +north wind--'she planted this tree on her wedding-day. It is too old +now to bear fruit; but she is still living, and her husband has been +dead for seventy-five years. I often come to look at the place, and to +wonder how it looked when it was first inhabited. There were flowers, +I suppose, in the garden, when she was young and happy.' + +'There are more ruins,' said Roland. + +'Yes, there are other ruins. When all the people except ourselves went +away, these cottages were deserted, and so they fell into decay. They +used to live by smuggling and wrecking, you see, and when they could +no longer do either, they had to go away or starve.' + +They stood upon the highest point of Holy Hill, some twenty feet above +the summit of the northern hill, and looked out upon the Southern +Islands. + +'There!' said Armorel, with a flush of pride, because the view here is +so different and yet so lovely. + +'Here you can see the South Islands. Look! there is Minalto, which you +drifted past yesterday: those are the ledges of White Island, where +you were nearly cast away and lost: there is Annet, where the +sea-birds lay their eggs--oh! thousands and thousands of puffins, +though now there are not any: you should see them in the spring. That +is St. Agnes--a beautiful island. I should like to show you Camberdizl +and St. Warna's Cove. And there are the Dogs of Scilly beyond--they +look to be black spots from here. You should see them close: then you +would understand how big they are and how terrible. There are Gorregan +and Daisy, Rosevean and Rosevear, Crebawethan and Pednathias; and +there--where you see a little circle of white--that is Retarrier +Ledge. Not long ago there was a great ship coming slowly up the +Channel in bad weather: she was filled with Germans from New York +going home to spend the money they had saved in America: most of them +had their money with them tied up in bags. Suddenly, the ship struck +on Retarrier. It was ten o'clock in the evening and a great sea +running. For two hours the ship kept bumping on the rocks: then she +began to break up, and they were all drowned--all the women and all +the children, and most of the men. Some of them had life-belts on, but +they did not know how to tie them, and so the things only slipped down +over their legs and helped to drown them. The money was found on them. +In the old days the people of the islands would have had it all; but +the coastguard took care of it. There, on the right of Retarrier, is +the Bishop's Rock and lighthouse. In storms, the lighthouse rocks like +a tree in the wind. You ought to sail over to those rocks, if it was +only to see the surf dashing up their sides. But, since you cannot +stay----' Again she sighed. + +'These are very interesting islands,' said Dick. 'Especially is it +interesting to consider the consequences of being a native.' + +'I should like to stay and sail among them,' said Roland. + +'For instance'--Dick pursued his line of thought--'in the study of +geography. We who are from the inland parts of Great Britain must +begin by learning the elements, the definitions, the terminology. Now +to a Scilly boy----' + +'A Scillonian,' the girl corrected him. 'We never speak of Scilly +folk.' + +'Naturally. To a Scillonian no explanation is needed. He knows, +without being told, the meaning of peninsula, island, bay, shore, +archipelago, current, tide, cape, headland, ocean, lake, road, +harbour, reef, lighthouse, beacon, buoy, sounding--everything. He must +know also what is meant by a gale of wind, a stiff breeze, a dead +calm. He recognises, by the look of it, a lively sea, a chopping sea, +a heavy sea, a roaring sea, a sulky sea. He knows everything except a +river. That, I suppose, requires very careful explanation. It was a +Scilly youth--I mean a Scillonian--who sat down on the river bank to +wait for the water to go by. The history seems to prove the commercial +intercourse which in remote antiquity took place between Phoenicia +and the Cassiterides or Scilly Islands.' + +Armorel looked puzzled. 'I did not know that story of a Scillonian and +a river,' she said, coldly. + +'Never mind his stories,' said Roland. 'This place is a story in +itself: you are a story: we are all in fairyland.' + +'No'--she shook her head. 'Bryher is the only island in all Scilly +which has any fairies. They call them pixies there. I do not think +that fairies would ever like to come and live on Samson: because of +the graves, you know.' + +She led them down the hill along a path worn by her own feet alone, +and brought them out to the level space occupied by the +farm-buildings. + +'This is where we live,' she said. 'If you could stay here, Roland +Lee, we could give you a room. We have many empty rooms'--she +sighed--'since my father and mother and my brothers were all drowned. +Will you come in?' + +She took them into the 'best parlour,' a room which struck a sudden +chill to anyone who entered therein. It was the room reserved for days +of ceremony--for a wedding, a christening, or a funeral. Between these +events the room was never used. The furniture presented the aspect +common to 'best parlours,' being formal and awkward. In one corner +stood a bookcase with glass doors, filled with books. Armorel showed +them into this apartment, drew up the blind, opened the window--there +was certainly a stuffiness in the air--and looked about the room with +evident pride. Few best parlours, she thought, in the adjacent islands +of St. Mary's, Bryher, Tresco, or even Great Britain itself, could +beat this. + +She left them for a few minutes, and came back bearing a tray on which +were a plate of apples, another of biscuits, and a decanter full of a +very black liquid. Hospitality has its rules even on Samson, whither +come so few visitors. + +'Will you taste our Scilly apples?' she said. 'These are from our own +orchard, behind the house. You will find them very sweet.' + +Roland took one--as a general rule, this young man would rather take a +dose of medicine than an apple--and munched it with avidity. 'A +delicious fruit!' he cried. But his friend refused the proffered gift. + +'Then you will take a biscuit, Dick Stephenson? Nothing? At least, a +glass of wine?' + +'Never in the morning, thank you.' + +'You will, Roland Lee?' She turned, with a look of disappointment, to +the other man, who was so easily pleased and who said such beautiful +things. 'It is my own wine--I made it myself last year, of ripe +blackberries.' + +'Indeed I will! Your own wine? Your own making, Miss Armorel? Wine of +Samson--the glorious vintage of the blackberry! In pies and in +jam-pots I know the blackberry, but not, as yet, in decanters. Thank +you, thank you!' + +He smiled heroically while he held the glass to the light, smelt it, +rolled it gently round. Then he tasted it. 'Sweet,' he said, +critically. 'And strong. Clings to the palate. A liqueur wine--a +curious wine.' He drank it up, and smiled again. 'Your own making! It +is wonderful! No--not another drop, thank you!' + +'Shall I show you?'--the girl asked, timidly--'would you like to see +my great-great-grandmother? She is so very old that the people come +all the way from St. Agnes only just to look at her. Sometimes she +answers questions for them, and they think it is telling their +fortunes. She is asleep. But you may talk aloud. You will not awaken +her. She is so very, very old, you know. Consider: she has been a +widow nearly eighty years.' + +She led them into the other room, where, in effect, the ancient dame +sat in her hooded chair fast asleep, in cap and bonnet, her hands, in +black mittens, crossed. + +'Heavens!' Roland murmured. 'What a face! I must draw that face! +And'--he looked at the girl bending over the chair placing a pillow in +position--'and that other. It is wonderful!' he said aloud. 'This is, +indeed, the face of one who has lived a hundred years. Does she +sometimes wake up and talk?' + +'In the evening she recovers her memory for awhile and +talks--sometimes quite nicely, sometimes she rambles.' + +'And you have a spinning-wheel in the corner.' + +'She likes someone to work at the spinning-wheel while she talks. Then +she thinks it is the old time back again.' + +'And there is a violin.' + +'I play it in the evening. It keeps her awake, and helps her to +remember. Justinian taught me. He used to play very well indeed until +his fingers grew stiff. I can play a great many tunes, but it is +difficult to learn any new ones. Last summer there were some ladies at +Tregarthen's--one of them had a most beautiful voice, and she used to +sing in the evening with the window open. I used to sail across on +purpose to land and listen outside. And I learned a very pretty tune. +I would play it to you in the evening if you were not going away.' + +'I am not obliged to go away,' the young man said, with strangely +flushing cheeks. + +'Roland!' That was Dick's voice--but it was unheeded. + +'Will you stay here, then?' the girl asked. + +'Here in this house? In your house?' + +'You can have my brother Emanuel's room. I shall be very glad if you +will stay. And I will show you everything.' She did not invite the +young man called Dick, but this other, the young man who drank her +wine and ate her apple. + +'If your--your--your guardian--or your great-great-grandmother +approves.' + +'Oh! she will approve. Stay, Roland Lee. We will make you very happy +here. And you don't know what a lot there is to see.' + +'Roland!' Again Dick's warning voice. + +'A thousand thanks!' he said. 'I will stay.' + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE ENCHANTED ISLAND + + +The striking of seven by the most sonorous and musical of clocks ever +heard reminded Roland of the dinner-hour. At seven most of us are +preparing for this function, which civilisation has converted almost +into an act of praise and worship. Some men, he remembered, were now +walking in the direction of the club: some were dressing: some were +making for restaurants: some had already begun. One naturally +associates seven o'clock with the anticipation of dinner. There are +men, it is true, who habitually take in food at midday and call it +dinner: there are also those who have no dinner at all. He began to +realise that he was not, this evening, going to have any dinner at +all. For he was now at the farmhouse, sitting in the square window +with Armorel: he had gone back to Tregarthen's and returned with his +portmanteau and his painting gear: fortunately he had also taken an +abundant lunch at that establishment. He had become an inhabitant of +Samson. The increased population, therefore, now consisted of seven +souls. + +In fact, there was no dinner for him. Everybody in Samson dines at +half-past twelve: he had tea with Armorel at half-past four: after tea +they wandered along the shore and stood upon Shark Point to see the +sun set behind Mincarlo, an operation performed with zeal and +despatch, and with great breadth and largeness of colouring. When the +shades of evening began to prevail they were fain to get home quickly, +because there is no path among the boulders, nor have former +inhabitants provided hand-rails for visitors on the carns. Therefore +they retraced their steps to the farm, and Armorel left him sitting +alone in the square window while she went about some household duties. +In the quiet room the solemn clock told the moments, and there was +light enough left to discern the ghostly figure of the ancient dame +sleeping in her chair. The place was so quiet and so strange that the +visitor presently felt as if he was sitting among ghosts. It is at +twilight, in fact, that the spirits of the past make themselves most +readily felt, if not seen. Now, it was exactly as if he had been in +the place before. He knew, now, why he had been so suddenly and +strangely attracted to Samson. He _had been there before_--when, or +under what conditions, he knew not, and did not ask himself. It is a +condition of the mind known to everybody. A touch--a word--a look--and +we are transported back--how many years ago? The hills, the rocks, the +house, Armorel herself--all were familiar to him. The thing was +absurd, yet in his mind it was quite clear. It was so absurd that he +thought his mind was wandering, and he arose and went out into the +garden. There, the figure-head of the woman under the tall +fuchsia-tree--the glow from the fire in the sitting-room fell upon the +face through the window--seemed to smile upon him as upon an old +friend. He went back again and sat down. Where was Armorel? + +This strange familiarity with an unknown place quickly passes, though it +may return. He now began to feel as if, perhaps, he was making a +mistake. He was living on an island, with, practically, no other +companion than a girl of fifteen. Dick, who had become suddenly grumpy +on learning his resolution to stay, might be right. Well, he would +sketch and paint; he would be very careful; not a word should be said +that might disturb the child's tranquillity. No--Dick was a fool. He was +going to have a day or two--just a day or two--of quiet happiness. The +girl was young and beautiful and innocent. She was also made happy--she +showed that happiness without an attempt at concealment--because he was +going to stay. What would follow? + +Well--it was an adventure. One does not ask what is going to follow on +first encountering an adventure. What young man, besides, sallying +forth upon a simple holiday, looks to find himself upon a desert +island with no other companion than a trustful and admiring maiden of +fifteen? + +Then Armorel returned and took a chair beside him. He was a little +surprised--but then, on a desert island nothing happens as on terra +firma--that she did not ring for lights, and was still not without +some hope of dinner. They took up the thread of talk about the +islands, concerning which Roland Lee perceived that he would before +long know a good deal. Local knowledge is always interesting; but it +does not, except to novelists, possess a marketable value. One cannot, +for instance, at a dinner-party, turn the conversation on the +respective families of St. Agnes and St. Martin's. He made a mental +note that he would presently change the subject to one of deeper +personal interest. Perhaps he could get Armorel to talk about herself. +That would be very much more interesting than to hear about the three +Pipers' Holes of Tresco, White, and St. Mary's Islands. How did she +live--this girl--and what did she do--and what did she think? + +Meantime, while the girl herself was talking of the rocks and bays, +the crags and coves, the white sand and the grey granite, the seals +and the shags, the puffins and the dottrells, she was wondering, for +her part, what manner of man this was--how he lived, and what he did, +and what he thought. For when man and woman meet they are clothed and +covered up; they are a mystery each to the other; never, since the +Fall, have we been able to read each other's hearts. + +But when the clock struck seven Armorel sprang to her feet, as one who +hath a serious duty to perform, and preparations to make for it. + +First she pulled down the blind, and so shut out what was left of the +twilight. The fire had sunk low, but by its light she was dimly +visible. She pushed back the table; she placed two chairs opposite the +old lady, and another chair before the spinning-wheel. + +'Something,' said the young man to himself, 'is certainly going to +happen. One can no longer hope for dinner. Family prayers, perhaps; or +the worship of the old lady as an ancestor. The descendants of the +ancient people of Lyonesse no doubt bow down to the sun and dance to +the moon, and pass the children through the holèd stone, and make Baal +fires, and worship their grandmothers. It will be an interesting +function. But, perhaps, only family prayers.' + +Armorel took down the fiddle that hung on the wall and began to tune +it, twanging the strings and drawing the bow across in the manner +which so pleasantly excites the theatre before the music begins. + +'Not family prayers, then,' said the young man, perhaps disappointed. + +What did happen, however, was a series of things quite new and wholly +unexpected. Never was known such a desert island. + +First of all, the lady of many generations moved uneasily in her sleep +at the twanging of the strings, and her fingers clutched at her dress +as if she was startled by an uneasy dream. + +And then the door opened, and a small procession of three came in. At +this point, had the young man been a Roman Catholic, he would have +crossed himself. As he was not, he only started and murmured, 'As I +thought. The worship of the ancestor! These are the ghosts of the +grandfather and the grandmother. The old lady is a mummy. They are all +ghosts--I shall presently awake and find myself on my back among the +barrows.' + +First came an ancient dame, but not so ancient as she of the great +chair. Grey-headed she was, and equipped in a large cap; wrinkled was +her face, and her chin, for lack of teeth, approached her nose, quite +in the ancestral manner. She was followed by an old man, also +grey-headed and grey-bearded, wrinkled of face, his shoulders bent and +twisted with rheumatism, his fingers gnarled and twisted. These two +took the chairs set for them by Armorel. The third in the procession +was a woman already elderly and with streaks of grey in her hair. She +was thin and sharp-faced. She sat down before the spinning-wheel and +began to work, not as you may now see the amateur, but in the quiet, +quick, professional manner which means business. + +The stranger was not quite right in his conjecture. They were not +ancestors. The old man, who had worked on the farm, man and boy, for +nearly seventy years, and now managed it altogether, was Justinian +Tryeth. The old woman was Dorcas, his wife. The middle-aged woman was +their daughter Chessun, who had been maid on the farm, as her brother +Peter had been boy, all her life. + +Whatever was intended was clearly a daily function, because each +dropped into his own place without hesitation. The old woman had +brought some knitting with her, her daughter picked up the thread of +the spindle, and the old man, taking the tongs, stimulated the coals +into a flame, which he continually nursed and maintained with new +fuel. There was neither lamp nor candle in the room; the ruddy +firelight, rising and falling, played about the room, warming the drab +panels into crimson, sinking into the dark beams of the joists, +flashing among the china in the cupboard, painting red the +Venus's-fingers in the cabinet, and throwing strange lights and +shadows upon the aged lady in the chair. Was she really alive? Was +she, after all, only a mummy? + +Roland looked on breathless. What was to be done next? Time had gone +back eighty years--a hundred and eighty years--any number of years. As +they sat here in the firelight with the spinning-wheel, the old +serving-people with their mistress, without lamp or candle, so they +sat in the generations long gone by. And again that curious feeling +fell upon him that he had seen it all before. Yet he could not +remember what was to be done next. Armorel, the tuning complete, +turned with a look of inquiry to the old man. + +'"Singleton's Slip,"' he commanded with the authority of a professor. + +The girl began to play this old tune. Perhaps you remember the style +of the fiddler--he is getting scarce now--who used to sit in the +corner and play the hornpipe for the sailors in the days when every +sailor could dance the hornpipe. Perhaps you do not remember that +fiddler and his style. That is your misfortune. For there was a noble +freedom in the handling of his bow, and the interpretation of his +melodies was bold and original. He poured into the music all the +spirit it was capable of containing, and drew out of his hearers every +emotion that each particular tune was able to draw. Because you see +tunes have their limitations. You cannot strike every chord in the +human heart with a simple hornpipe. This sailor's best friend, +however, did all that could be done. And always conscientious, if you +please, never allowing his playing to become slovenly or to lack +spirit. + +Armorel played after the manner of this old fiddler, standing up to +her work in the middle of the room. + +'Singleton's Slip' is a ditty which was formerly much admired by those +who danced the hey, the jig, or the simple country dance: it was also +much played by the pipe and tabor upon the village green; it +accompanied the bear when he carried the pole; it assisted those who +danced on stilts; and it lent spirit to those who frolicked in the +morrice. Charles II. knew it; Tom D'Urfey wrote words to it, I +believe, but I have not yet found them in his collection; Rochester +must certainly have danced to it. Armorel played it; first cheerfully +and loudly, as if to arouse the spirits of those who listened, to +remind them that legs may be shaken to this tune, and that ladies may +be, and should be, when this tune begins, taken to their places and +presently handed round and down the middle. Then she played it +trippingly, as if they were actually all dancing. Then she played it +tenderly--there is, if you come to think of it, a good deal of +possible tenderness in the air--and, lastly, she played it joyfully, +yet softly. How had she learned all these modes and moods? + +While she played the old man listened critically, nodding his head and +beating the time. Then, fired with memory, he bent his arms and worked +his fingers as if they held the fiddle and the bow. And he threw back +his head and thrust out his leg and leaned sideways, just like that +jolly fiddler of whom we have just been reminded. Such, my friends, is +the power of music. + +After a little while Justinian stopped this imaginary performance, and +sitting forward yielded himself wholly to the influence of the tune, +cracking his fingers over his head and beating time with one foot, just +as you may see the old villager in the old coloured prints--no villager +in these days of bad beer ever cracks his fingers or shows any external +signs of joyful emotion. As for the two serving-women, they reminded the +spectator of the supers on the stage who march when they are told to +march, sit down to feast when they are ordered, and swell a procession +for a funeral or a festival, all with unmoved countenance, showing a +philosophy so great that the triumph of victory or the disaster of +defeat finds them equally calm and self-contained--that is to say, the +two women showed no sense at all of being pleased or moved by +'Singleton's Slip.' They went on--one with her knitting and the other +with her spinning. + +As for the ancient lady, however, when the music began she +straightened herself, sat upright, and opened her eyes. Then Chessun +hastened to adjust her bonnet: if ladies sleep in their bonnets, these +adornments have a tendency to fall out of the perpendicular. Heaven +forbid that we should gaze upon Ursula Rosevean with her bonnet +tilted, like a lady in a van coming home to Wapping from Fairlop Fair! +This done, the venerable dame looked about her with eyes curiously +bright and keen. Then she began to beat time with her fingers; and +then she began to talk; but--and this added to the strangeness of the +whole business--nobody seemed to regard what she said. It was much as +if the Oracle of Delphi were pouring out the most valuable prophecies +and none of her attendants paid any heed. 'If,' thought the young man, +'I were to take down her words, they would be a Message.' And what +with the voice of the Oracle, the spirited fiddling, the firelight +dancing about the room, the old man snapping his fingers, and perhaps +some physical exhaustion following on the absence of dinner, the young +man felt as if the music had got into his head; he wanted to get up +and dance with Armorel round and round the room; he would not have +marvelled had Dorcas and Justinian bidden him lead out Chessun and so +take hands, round twice, down the middle and back again, set and turn +single--where had he learnt these phrases and terms of the old country +dance? Nowhere; they belonged to the place and to the music and to the +time--and that was at least a hundred and eighty years back. + +The fiddle stopped. Armorel held it down, and looked again at her +master. + +''Tis well played,' he said. 'A moving piece. Now, "Prince Rupert's +March."' + +She nodded, and began another tune. This is a piece which may be +played many ways. First, to those who understand it rightly, it +indicates the tramp of an army, the riding of the cavalry, the +jingling of sabres. Next, it may serve for a battle-piece, and you +shall hear between the bars the charge of the horse and the clashing +of the steel. Or, it may be played as a triumphal march after victory; +or, again, as a country dance, in which a stately dignity takes the +place of youthful mirth and merriment. At such a dance, to the tune of +'Prince Rupert's March,' the elders themselves--yea, the Justice of +Peace, the Vicar, the Mayor and Aldermen, and the Head-borough +himself--may stand up in line. + +And now Roland became conscious of the old lady's words; he heard them +clear and distinct, and as she talked the firelight fell upon her +eyes, and she seemed to be gazing fixedly upon the stranger. + +'When the "Princess Augusta," East Indiaman, struck upon the +Castinicks in the middle of the night, she went to pieces in an +hour--any vessel would. They said she was wrecked by the people of +Samson, who tied a ship's lantern between the horns of a cow. But it +was never proved. There are other islands in Scilly, and other +islanders, if you talk of wrecking. Some of the dead bodies were +washed ashore, and a good part of the cargo, so that there was +something for everybody; a finer wreck never came to the islands. +What! If a ship is bound to be wrecked, better that she should strike +on British rocks and cast her cargo ashore for the king's subjects. +Better the rocks of Scilly than the rocks of France. What the sea +casts up belongs to the people who find it. That is just. But you must +not rob the living. No. That is a great crime. 'Twas in the year '13. +When Emanuel Rosevean, my father-in-law, rescued the passenger who was +lying senseless lashed to a spar, he should not have taken the bag +that was hanging round his neck. That was not well done. He should +have given the man his bag again. He stood here before he went away. +"You have saved my life," he said. "I had all my treasure in a bag +tied about my neck. If I had brought that safe ashore I could have +offered you something worth your acceptance. But I have nothing. I +begin the world again." Emanuel heard him say this, and he let him go. +But the bag was in his box. He kept the bag. Very soon the wrath of +the Lord fell upon the house, and His Hand has been heavy upon us ever +since. No luck for us--nor shall be any till we find the man and give +him back his bag of treasure.' + +She went on repeating this story with small variations and additions. +But Roland was now listening again to the fiddle. + +Armorel stopped again. + +'"Dissembling Love,"' said her master. + +She began that tune obediently. + +The stranger within the gates seemed compelled to listen. His brain +reeled; the old woman fascinated him. The words which he had heard had +been few, but now he seemed to see, standing before the fire, his hair +powdered, and in black silk stockings and shoes with steel buckles, +the man who had been saved and robbed shaking hands with the man who +had saved and robbed him. Oh! it was quite clear; he had seen it all +before; he remembered it. This time he heard nothing of the tune. + +'My husband, Methusalem, my dear husband, with his only brother, began +to pay for that wickedness. They were capsized crossing to St. Mary's, +and drowned. If I had thought what was going to happen I would have +taken the bag and walked through all England looking for him until I +had found him. Yes--if it took me fifty years. But I knew nothing. I +thought our happiness would last for ever. Five-and-twenty years +after, my son, Emanuel, was cast away in the Bristol Channel piloting +a vessel. They struck on Steep Holm in a fog. And your own father, +Armorel, was drowned with his wife and three boys on their way home +from a wedding-feast at St. Agnes.' + +Here her voice dropped, and Roland heard the concluding bars of +'Dissembling Love,' which Armorel was playing with quite uncommon +tenderness. + +When she stopped, Justinian gave her no rest. '"Blue Petticoats,"' he +commanded. + +Armorel again obeyed. + +Then the old lady went back in memory to the days of her girlhood--now +so long ago. Nowhere now can one find an old lady who will tell of her +girlish days when the century was not yet arrived at the age of ten. + +'We shall dance to-night,' she said, 'on Bryher Green. My boy will be +there. We shall dance together. John Tryeth from Samson will play his +fiddle. We shall dance "Prince Rupert's March" and "Blue Petticoats" +and "Dissembling Love." The Ensign from the garrison is coming and the +Deputy Commissary. They will drink my health. But they shall not have +me for partner. My boy will be there--my own boy--the handsomest man +on all the islands, though he is so black. That's the Spaniard in him. +His mother was a Mureno--Honor Mureno, the last of the Murenos. He has +got the old Spaniard's sword still. It's the Spanish blood. It gives +my boy his black eyes and his black hair; it makes his cheeks +swarthy; and it makes him proud and hot-tempered. I like a man to be +quick and proud if he's strong and brave as well. When I have sons, +the Lord make them all like their father!' + +So she went on talking of her lover. + +Armorel stopped and looked again at her master. + +'"The Chirping of the Lark,"' he said. + +Armorel began this tune. It is of an artificial character, lending +itself less readily than the rest to emotion; the composer called it +'The Chirping of the Lark' because he wanted a title: it resembles the +song of that warbler in no single particular. But it changed the old +lady's current of thought. + +'This long war,' she said, looking round cheerfully, 'will be the +making of the islands if it lasts. Never was there so much money +about: we roll in money: the women have all got silks and satins: the +men drink port wine and the finest French brandy, which they run over +for themselves: the merchantmen put into the road, and the sailors +spend their money at the port. Why shouldn't we go on fighting the +French until they haven't a ship left afloat? My man made the run last +week, and hid the cargo--I know where. I shall help him to carry the +kegs across to the garrison, where they want brandy badly. A fine run +and a good day's work!' + +She looked around with a jubilant countenance. Then another memory +seized her, and the light left her eyes. + +'Better be drowned yourself than marry a man who is going to be +drowned! Better not marry at all than lose your husband six months +afterwards. It is long ago, now, Armorel. Time goes on--one can +remember. He would be very old now--yes--very old. Sometimes I see him +still. But he has not grown old where he is staying. That is bad for +me, because he liked young women, not old women. Men mostly do. They +are so made, even the oldest of them. Perhaps the old women, when they +rise again, are made young again, so that their lovers may love them +still.' + +The clock struck half-past eight. Armorel stopped playing and the old +lady stopped talking at the same moment. Her eyes closed, her head +fell forward, she became comatose. + +Then the two serving-women got up and helped her, or carried her, out +of the room to her bedroom behind. And the old man arose, and without +so much as a good-night hobbled away to his own cottage. + +'She will go to bed now,' said Armorel. 'Chessun will take in her +broth and her wine, and she will sleep all night.' + +'Do you have this performance every night?' + +'Yes; the playing seems to put life and heart into her. All the +morning she dozes, or if she wakes she is not often able to talk; but +in the evening, when we sit around the fire just as they used to sit +in the old days, without candles--because my people were poor and +candles were dear--and when Chessun spins and I play--she revives and +sits up and talks, as you have seen her.' + +'Yes. It is rather ghostly.' + +'Justinian used to play--oh! he could play very well indeed.' + +'Not so well as you.' + +'Yes--much better--and he knows hundreds of tunes. But his fingers +became stiff with rheumatism, and, as he had put off teaching Peter +until it was too late, he taught me. That is all.' + +'I think you play wonderfully well. Do you play nothing but old +tunes?' + +'I only know what I have learned. There is that song which I heard the +lady sing last year--I don't know what it is called. Tell me if you +like it.' + +She struck the strings again and played a song full of life and +spirit, of tenderness and fond memory--a bright, sparkling song--which +wanted no words. + +'Oh!' cried Roland, 'you are really wonderful. You are playing the +"Kerry Dance."' + +She laughed and layed down the violin. + +'We must not have any more playing to-night. Do you really like to +hear me play? You look as if you did.' + +'It is wonderful,' he replied. 'I could listen all night. But if there +is to be no more music, shall we look outside?' + +If there were no light in the house the ship's lantern was hanging up, +with one of those big ship's candles in it which are of such noble +dimensions, and of generosity so unbounded in the matter of tallow. +There was no moon; but the sky was clear and the sea could be seen by +the light of the stars, and the revolving lights of Bishop's Rock and +St. Agnes flashed across the water. + +The young man shivered. + +'We are in fairyland,' he said. 'It is a charmed island. Nothing is +real. Armorel, your name should be Titania. How have you made me hear +and believe all these things? How do you contrive your sorceries? Are +you an enchantress? Confess--you cannot, in sober truth, play those +tunes; the old lady is in reality only a phantom, called into visible +shape by your incantations? But you are a benevolent witch--you will +not turn me into a pig?' + +'I do not understand. There have been no sorceries. There are no +witches left on the Scilly Islands. Formerly there were many. Dorcas +knows about them. I do not know what was the good of them.' + +'I suppose you are quite real, after all. It is only strange and +incomprehensible.' + +'It is a fine night. To-morrow it will be a fine day with a gentle +breeze. We will go sailing among the Outer Islands.' + +'The air is heavy with perfume. What is it? Surely an enchanted land!' + +'It is the scent of the lemon-verbena tree--see, here is a sprig. It +is very sweet.' + +'How silent it is here! Night after night never to hear a sound.' + +'Nothing but the sound of the waves. They never cease. Listen--it is a +calm night. But you can hear them lapping on the beach.' + +Ten minutes later, when they returned to the house, they found candles +lighted and supper spread. A substantial supper, such as was owed to a +man who had had no dinner. There was cold roast fowl and ham; there +was a lettuce-salad and a goodly cheese. And there was the unexpected +and grateful sight of a 'Brown George,' with a most delectable ball of +white froth at the top. Also, Roland remarked the presence of the +decanter containing the blackberry wine. + +'Now you shall have some supper.' Armorel assumed the head of the +table and took up the carving-knife. 'No, thank you--I can carve very +well. Besides, you are our visitor, and it is a pleasure to carve for +you. Will you have a wing or a leg? Do you like your ham thin? Not too +thin? Oh, how hungry you must be! That is ale--home-brewed ale: will +you take some? or would you prefer a glass of the blackberry wine? +No?--help yourself.' + +'The beer for me,' said Roland. He filled and drank a tumbler of the +beverage dear to every right-minded Briton. It was strong and +generous, with flakes of hop floating in it like the bee's-wing in +port. 'This is splendid beer,' he said. 'I do not remember that I ever +tasted such beer as this. It is humming ale--October ale--stingo. No +wonder our forefathers fought so well when they had such beer as this +to fight upon!' + +'Peter is proud of his home-brewed.' + +'Do you make everything for yourselves? Is Samson sufficient for all +the needs of the islanders? This beer is the beer of Samson--strong +and mighty. My hair is growing long already--and curly.' + +'We make all we can. There are no shops, you see, on Samson. We bake +our own bread: we brew our own beer: we make our own butter: we even +spin our own linen.' + +'And you make your own wine, Armorel.' He called her naturally by her +Christian name. You could not call such a girl 'Miss Armorel' or 'Miss +Rosevean.' 'It is a wonderful island!' + +After supper they sat by the fireside, and, by permission, he smoked +his pipe. + +Then, everybody else on the island being in bed and asleep, they +talked. The young man had his way. That is to say, he encouraged the +girl to talk about herself. He led her on: he had a soft voice, soft +eyes, and a general manner of sympathy which surprised confidence. + +She began, timidly at first, to talk about herself, yet with feminine +reservation. No woman will ever talk about herself in the way which +delights young men. But she told him all he asked: her simple lonely +life--how she arose early in the morning, how she roamed about the +island and sang aloud with none to hear her but the sea-gulls and the +shags. + +'Do you never draw?' he asked. + +She had tried to draw, but there was no one to help her. + +'Do you read?' + +No, she seldom read. In the best parlour there was a bookcase full of +books, but she never looked at them. As for the old lady and Dorcas, +they had never learned to read. She had been at school over at St. +Mary's, till she was thirteen, but she hardly cared to read. + +'And the newspapers--do you ever read them?' + +She never read them. She knew nothing that went on. + +As for her ambitions and her hopes--if he could get at them. Fond +youth!--as if a girl would ever tell her ambitions! But Armorel, +apparently, had none to tell. She lived in the present; it was joy +enough for her to wander in the soft warm air of her island home, upon +the hills and round the coast, to cruise among the rocks while the +breeze filled out the sail and the sparkling water leaped above the +bow. + +So far she told: nay, she hid nothing, because there was nothing to +hide. She told no more because, as yet, her ambitions and her dreams +of the future had no shape: they were vague and misty--she was only +aware of their existence when restlessness seized her and impelled her +to get up and run over the hills to Porth Bay and back again. + +But at night, when she went to bed, she experienced quite a new and +disquieting sensation. It showed at least that she was no longer a +child, but already on the threshold of womanhood. With blushing cheek +and beating heart she remembered that for an hour and more she had +been talking about nothing but herself! What would Mr. Roland Lee +think of a girl who could waste his time in talking about nothing but +herself? + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE FLOWER-FARM + + +Roland, startled out of sleep by the sudden feeling of danger which +always seizes us in a strange bed--except a bed at an inn--sat up and +looked around him. His room was small and low and simply furnished. He +was lying on a feather bed of the old-fashioned kind; the bedstead was +of wood, but without curtains. He presently remembered where he was: +on Samson Island--the guest of a child, a girl of fifteen. + +He sprang out of bed and threw open the window. His room was over the +porch. The fragrance of the lemon-verbena tree arose like steam from +a haystack, and filled his chamber. Below him, and beyond the garden, +the geese waddled on the green, the ducks splashed in the pond, and in +the farmyard Peter walked about slowly, carrying a pitchfork in his +hands, but, apparently, for amusement rather than use, as if it had +been a court sword. + +He looked at his watch. It was half-past seven. At this time in London +he would have been still in the first long slumber of the night. Now +he was eager to be up and dressed, if only for a better understanding +of the situation. To be the guest of a child has the freshness of +novelty; but it is a situation which might lead to complications. +Suppose a guardian, or a lawyer, or a cousin of some kind were to +cross over in a boat and ask what he was doing there. And suppose he +had no better reply than the plain truth--that this young lady had +been so good as to invite him. Would a man go down to stay at a +country house on the simple invitation of a school-girl? At the same +time, this girl appeared to be the mistress of the establishment. +There was an ancient lady--too old for superintendence--and there were +servants. Well, if no guardian challenged his presence, why, then, for +a single day--he must not stay more--it surely mattered little. The +girl was but a child. Yet he must not stay longer. Perhaps they were +not too well off: he must not be a burden. And, again, though the girl +invited him to stay she named no limit of time. She did not invite him +to stay, for a week or for a fortnight. Perhaps she expected him to go +away that very morning. + +He proceeded--with somewhat thoughtful countenance, considering these +things--to dress, paying as much attention to his personal appearance +as a young man should, and an old man must. It is the privilege of +middle-aged men to go slovenly if they please: no one regardeth him of +middle age. While their locks are turning grey and their children are +growing up they are in the thick of the day's work, and they may +disregard, if they choose, the mysteries of the toilette. Apollo, +however, must be as jealous about his apparel and adornment as the +Graces themselves, who are always represented at the moment before the +choice is made. A velvet jacket and a white waistcoat are trifles in +themselves, but they become a youthful figure and a face which has +finely-cut features and is decorated with a promising silky beard, +pointed withal, and the brown shading of a young moustache. Besides, +he who is an artist thinks more than other young men about such +things. Dress, to him, as to a woman, becomes costume. Colour has to +be considered; such picturesqueness as is possible in modern fashion +is aimed at; the artistic craving for fitness and beauty must be +satisfied. Roland did what he could: and with his velvet coat, a clean +white waistcoat, a crimson scarf, a good figure, and a handsome face, +he was as handsome a youth of twenty-one as one is likely to find +anywhere. + +Again, as he opened his door and began to descend the narrow stairs, +there came over him that curious feeling of having been in the place +before. He had felt it in the evening when Armorel played 'Dissembling +Love.' Now he felt it again. And when he stood in the porch he seemed +to remember standing there once--long ago, long ago--but how long he +could not tell; nor, as happened to him before, could he remember what +had happened on that occasion. + +Armorel herself was in the garden looking for some flowers for the +breakfast-table. She greeted him with a smile of welcome and a +friendly grasp of the hand. There was also a look of kindly solicitude +on her face which would have suited a châtelaine of forty years. Had +he slept well? Had he really been provided with everything he wanted? +Was there anything at all lacking? If so, would he speak to Chessun? +Breakfast, she said, leaving him in the garden, would be served in a +few minutes. + +Would he speak to Chessun? Then, it seemed as if she meant him to stay +another night. What should he do? + +Then Armorel came back. + +'Breakfast is quite ready,' she said. 'Come in, Roland Lee. It is a +beautiful morning. There is a fresh breeze and a smooth sea. We can go +anywhere this morning. I have spoken to Peter, and he will be ready to +go with us in an hour or so. I think we may even get out to Scilly and +Maiden Bower.' + +Yes; the morning was bright and the sky was clear. In the golden +sunshine of September the islets across the water showed like +creations of a poet's dream. + +Roland drew a deep breath of admiration. 'Everybody,' he said, 'ought +to come to Scilly and to stay a long time.' + +He turned from the view to the girl beside him. She had changed her +blue flannel dress for a daintier and a prettier costume--think not +that there are no shops at Hugh Town--of grey nun's cloth, daintily +embroidered in front. Still at her throat she wore a red flower, and +round her neck clung the golden torque found in the old king's grave. +Her dark eyes glowed: her lips were parted in a smile: her cheek +showed the dewy bloom that some girls, fortunate above their sisters, +can exhibit when they first appear in the morning: her long tresses +were now tied up and confined; she looked as if she had just stepped +forth from her chamber, fresh from her sleep. No one certainly could +have guessed that she had been up since six; nor that the fish which +had been hissing in the frying-pan, and were now lying meekly side by +side in a dish on the breakfast-table, were of her own catching. An +hour's sitting in the boat off Samson Ledge with hook and line had +procured this splendid contribution to the morning banquet. Fish +fragrant with the salt sea: fish that had not been packed tight in +boxes, nor travelled in railway trains, nor been slapped about on +counters, nor been packed in ice; fish that can never lie on a London +table--these were set out before Roland's hungry gaze. + +The ancient dame did not appear. The two breakfasted, as they had +supped, together. I do not know how or where Armorel learned the art +and practice of hospitality, but certainly she showed a true feeling +in the matter of feeding--especially at breakfast. First, the table +was decorated with the autumn leaves of the bramble--crimson, yellow, +purple--few, indeed, know how beautiful a table may be made when +decorated with these leaves. There were also a few late flowers from +the garden; but not many. The coffee was strong, the milk hot and +thick, the bread and butter home-made, like the beer of yester eve: +the ham was cured by Chessun: the eggs were collected by Armorel: she +had also with her own hands made the jam and the cake. + +Armorel sat behind the cups with as much ease as if she had been +accustomed from infancy to entertain young gentlemen at breakfast. She +was serious over her task, and poured out the coffee as if it was +something precious, not to be wasted or carelessly administered, which +is the spirit in which all good food should be approached. She did not +ask any questions, nor did she talk much during the banquet. Perhaps +she had an instinctive perception of the great truth that breakfast, +which is taken at the beginning of the day--the sacred day, with all +its possibilities and its chances of what may happen; the fateful day, +which alone and unaided may change the whole course and current of a +life--should be approached with a becoming gravity. At breakfast the +man fortifies himself before he goes forth to work. But he has the +work before him. In the evening it is done: he has passed through the +dangers of the day: he still lives: he has received no hurt: he has, +we hope, prospered in his honest handiwork: he may laugh and rejoice. +But at breakfast we should be serious. + +'What will you do,' asked Armorel, breakfast completed, 'until Peter +is ready? He has got some work, you know, before he can come out.' + +'I should like first,' he said, 'to see your flower-farm, if I may.' + +'If you please. But there is nothing to see at this time of the year. +You must not think we grow flowers all the year round. If you were +here in February, you would see the fields covered with beautiful +flowers--iris, anemone, jonquil, narcissus, and daffodil. They are +very pretty then, and the air is sweet with their scent. But now the +fields are quite bare.' + +'I should like to see them, however.' + +'I will show them to you. It is a great happiness to the islands,' +said Armorel, gravely, 'that we have found out the flower-farming. +Everybody was very poor before. All the old ways of living were gone, +you see. A long time ago the people had wrecks every winter--the sea +cast up quantities of things which they could sell, or they went out +in boats and took the things out of the hold when the ship was on the +rocks. And then they were all smugglers: the Scillonians used to run +over to France openly, day and night, with no one to stop them. And +they used to carry fruit and vegetables out to the homeward-bound +ships in the Channel. And then they were pilots as well. Some of the +men used to make as much as two hundred pounds a year as pilots. My +grandfathers were all pilots. They were smugglers too; and they had +this farm and grew vegetables for the ships. Then the Government built +the lighthouses, and there were no more wrecks; and the Preventive +Service came and stopped the smuggling; and since the steamers took +the place of the sailing-ships no vessels put in here, and there are +no more pilots wanted. So, you see, it was as if nothing was left at +all.' + +'It does seem rough on the people.' + +'First they tried kelp-making. They collected the sea-weed and put it +in a kiln or furnace, and made a fire under it. I can show you some of +the old furnaces still. But that came to an end. Then they tried a +fishing company; but I believe it did not pay. And then they began to +build ships; but I suppose other people could build them better. So +that came to an end too. And for some time I do not know how all the +people lived. As for the farms, they could never grow enough for the +islands. Then a great many of the people went away. They had to go, or +they would have starved. Some went to England, and some to America, +and some to Australia. All the families went away from Samson, one by +one, until at last there were none left but ourselves and Justinian. +On Bryher and St. Martin's they became fishermen, but not here. As for +Justinian, he sent away all his boys except Peter. Oh! they have done +very well--splendidly. One is a coastguard, and one is bo's'n in the +Queen's Navy. One is captain of a steamer trading between Philadelphia +and Cuba, and one is actually chief steward on a great Pacific liner! +Justinian is very proud of him.' + +'Indeed, yes,' said Roland, 'with reason.' + +'The Scillonians,' the girl continued, proudly, 'all get on very well +wherever they go. They are honest, you see, as well as clever.' + +'And the flower-farming?' + +'Somebody discovered that the early spring flowers, which begin here +in January, could be carried to London and sold quite fresh. And then +everybody began to plant bulbs. That is all. We have had a farm of +some kind here for I do not know how many generations.' + +'Since the time,' Roland suggested, 'when, in consequence of the +separation of Scilly from the mainland and the disappearance of +Lyonesse, the royal family found themselves left in Samson.' + +She laughed. 'Well, all these stone inclosures on the hill belonged to +our farm. We grew things and ate them, I suppose. Perhaps we sold +them. But we were then poor, I know, and now we have no more trouble.' + +Beside and behind the farmhouse on the slope of the hill they came +upon a series of little fields following one after the other. They +were quite small--some mere patches, none larger than a garden of +ordinary size, and they were all enclosed and shut in by high hedges, +so that they looked like largish boxes with the lids off. Some of the +hedges were of elm, growing thick and close; some of escallonia, with +its red flowers; some of veronica, its purple blossom like heads of +bulrush; some of the service-tree; and some, but not many, of +tamarisk, its pink bunches of blossom all displayed at this time of +the year. But the fields were now brown and bare, and had nothing at +all growing in them, except a few patches of gladiolus, now dying. +Beyond these fields, however, there were others of larger area, with +ruder hedges formed by laths, reeds, wooden palings, and stone walls. +These were inclosed, and partly sheltered for the growth of +vegetables. + +'These are our fields,' said Armorel. 'At this time of the year there +is nothing to show you. Our harvest begins in January, and lasts till +May; but February and March are our best months. See--there is Peter, +with a young man from Bryher, planting bulbs for next year: they are +taken up every three years and replanted.' + +Peter, in fact, was at work. He was superintending--a form of work +which he found to suit him best--while the young man from Bryher, who +looked more than half sailor, with a broad, long-handled spade, was +leisurely turning over the light sandy soil and laying in the bulbs +side by side out of a great basket. + +'It seems an easy form of agriculture,' said Roland. + +'It is not hard. There is nothing to do after this until the flowers +are picked. But sometimes a cold wind will come down from the north +and will kill a whole field full of blossoms--in spite of all our +hedges. That is a terrible loss. When everything goes well, we cut the +flowers, pack them in boxes, carry them over to the port, and next +morning they are sold in London--oh! and all over the country, in +every big town.' + +'I shall never again behold a daffodil in February,' said Roland, +'without thinking of Samson. You have lent a new association to the +spring flowers. Henceforth they will bring back this glorious view of +sea and islands, grey and black rocks, the splendid sunshine and the +fresh breeze--and,' he added, with a winning smile and deferential +eyes, 'the Lady of Lyonesse.' + +Armorel laughed. It was very nice to be called the Lady of +Lyonesse--nobody before had ever called her anything except plain +Armorel. And it was quite a new experience to have a young gentleman +treating her with deference as well as compliment. + +At the back of the house was an orchard, through which they presently +passed. Like the flower-fields, it was protected by a high hedge. But +the apple-trees looked like the olives of Provence: every one seemed +in the last decay of age. They were twisted and dwarfish; the branches +grew in queer angles and elbows, as if they were crouching down out of +reach of the north wind; the trunks were bent, and, which completed +their resemblance to the olive, all alike were covered and clothed +with a thick grey lichen, clinging to every bough like a glove, and +hanging like a fringe. If you tear it off, the tree begins to shiver +and shake, though on Samson it is never cold. + +'Let us sit down,' said Roland, 'in this secluded spot and talk. Have +I your leave, Armorel, to---- Thank you.' He filled and lit his +briar-root, and lay back on the warm bank, gazing upwards at the blue +sky through the leaves and the twisted branches of an aged apple-tree. + +'It is good to be here. Do you know how very, very good it was of you +to ask me, Armorel? And do you know how very, very rash it was?' + +The girl, who showed her youth and inexperience in many little ways, +regarded him with admiration unconcealed. Certainly, he was a +personable young man, even picturesque; when his beard should be a +little longer, when his moustache should be a little stronger, he +might be able to pass for Charles I. idealised, and in early manhood, +when as yet he had not begun to dissimulate. + +'I was so glad when you promised to stay,' she replied, truthfully. + +'Again, it is most good of you to say so. But, Armorel, a dreadful +misgiving has possessed me. Does your--does the Ancestress approve of +the invitation?' + +Armorel laughed. 'Why,' she said, 'we never consult her about +anything. She is too old, you know.' + +'Was nobody consulted at all? Did you ask me here all out of your own +head, as the children say?' + +'Why not? There is nobody to consult. Why should I not ask you?' + +'It was very good of you--only--well--you are younger than most ladies +who invite people to their house.' + +'Well--but I asked you,' she replied, with a little irritation, 'and +you said you would come. You asked if anybody could stay on the +island.' + +'Yes, of course.' He did not explain that at first he thought the +place was a lodging-house. The mistake was not unnatural; but he could +not explain. 'I ought to have known,' he said. 'You are the Queen of +Samson, as well as a Princess in Lyonesse. I beg your Majesty to +forgive the ignorance of a traveller from foreign parts.' + +'Justinian and Peter manage the farm. Dorcas and Chessun manage the +house. There is no one to ask,' she added, simply, 'what I am doing.' + +She said this with a touch of sadness. + +'Have you no relations--cousins--nobody?' + +'I have some far-off cousins. They live in London, I believe. One of +them went away--a long, long time ago, in the Great War--and became a +purser in the Navy. After that he was purveyor for the Fleet, and was +made a knight. He was my grandfather's cousin, so I suppose he is dead +by this time, but I dare say he has left children.' + +'You are very lonely, Armorel.' + +'I had three brothers; but they were all drowned--father, mother, +three brothers, all drowned together coming from St. Agnes. That was +ten years ago, when I was only a little girl and did not know what it +meant. All our misfortunes, my great-great-grandmother says, are due +to the wickedness of her husband's father, who took a bag of treasure +from the neck of a passenger rescued from a wreck. You heard her last +night. Do you think that God would drown my innocent brothers and my +innocent father and mother all on the same day, because, eighty years +ago, that wicked thing was done?' + +'No, Armorel. I can believe a great deal, but that I cannot believe.' + +'And so, you see, I am quite alone. Why should I not invite you to +stay here?' + +'There is not, in reality, Armorel, any reason, except that you did +not know anything about me.' + +'Oh! but I saw you and talked with you.' + +'Yes; but that was not enough. We do not ask people into our houses +unless we know something about them.' + +'I could see that you were a gentleman.' + +'You are very good to think so. Let me try to justify that belief. +But, Armorel, seriously, there are thieves and rogues and wicked men +in the world. Some of these may come to Scilly. Do not ask another +stranger. Believe me, it is dangerous. As for me, you have shown me +your flower-farm and have entertained me hospitably: let me thank you +and take my departure.' + +'Go away? Take your departure? Why?' Armorel looked ready to cry. 'You +have only just come. You have seen nothing.' + +'Do you wish me to stay another night?' + +'Of course I do. What is it, Roland Lee? You have got something on +your mind. Why should you not stay?' + +'I should like somebody,' he replied, weakly, 'to approve. If the +Ancestress, or even Dorcas, or Chessun herself, would approve----' + +'Why, of course Dorcas approves. She says it is the best thing in the +world for me to have someone here to talk to. She said so yesterday +evening, and again this morning.' + +'In that case, Armorel, and since it is so delightful here--and so +new--and since you are so kind, I will stay one more day.' + +He remembered his friend's warning, and the grumpiness which he showed +on the way back. His conscience smote him, but not severely. He would +be very careful. And, after all, she was but a child. He would just +stay the one day and make a sketch or two. Then he would go away. + +'That is settled, then. One more day--or, perhaps, one more week, or a +month, or a year,' she said, laughing. 'And now, before Peter is +ready, I must leave you for ten minutes, because I have to make a cake +for your tea this evening. As for dinner, we shall have that in the +boat, or on one of the islands. It is my business, you know, to make +the puddings and the cakes.' + +'Armorel--you shall not. I would rather go without.' + +'You shall certainly not go without a cake. Why, I like to make +things. It would be dull here indeed if I had not got things to do all +day long.' + +'Do you not find it dull sometimes, even with things to do?' + +'Perhaps. Sometimes. I suppose we are all of us tempted to be +discontented at times, even when we have so many blessings as I +enjoy.' Armorel was young enough, you see, to talk the language of her +nurses and serving-women. + +'How do you get through the day?' + +'I get up at six o'clock, except in winter, when it is too dark. I +have a run with Jack after breakfast; we run up the hill and down the +other side--round Porth Bay, just to see the waves beating on White +Island Ledge, where you very nearly----' + +'Very nearly,' Roland echoed, 'but for you.' + +'Then we run up Bryher Hill and stand on the carn just for Jack to +bark at the north wind.' + +'Sometimes it rains.' + +'Oh, yes--and sometimes it blows such a gale of wind that I could not +stand on the carn for a moment. Then I stay at home and make or mend +something. There are always things to be made or mended. Then we are +always wanting stores of some kind or other, and I have to go over to +Hugh Town and buy them. At Hugh Town there are shops where they keep +beautiful things--you can buy anything you want at Hugh Town. We +cannot make pins and needles at home, can we? Then we have dinner, and +Granny is brought in. Sometimes she wakes up then, and gets lively, +and knows everything that is going on. She will talk quite sensibly +for an hour at a time. And I have my fiddle to practise. After tea, +when the days are long enough, I go up on the hills again and wander +about till dark.' + +'And do you never have any companions at all?' he asked with a +curious, unreasoning, perfectly inexcusable touch of jealousy, because +it could not matter to him even if all the young men of St. Mary's and +Bryher and Tresco and St. Martin's came over every Sunday to court +this dainty damsel. Yet he did feel the least bit anxious. + +'Never any companions. Nobody ever comes here. They used to come, when +Granny was still able to talk, in order to ask her advice. She was so +wise, you see.' + +'And every evening you make music for the Ancestress and the worthy +Tryeth family?' + +'Yes, and then I have supper and go to bed. Generally by nine o'clock +we are all asleep in the house.' + +'It would be a monotonous life if you were older. But it is only a +preliminary or a preparation to something else. It is the overture, +played in soft music, to the happy comedy of your future life, +Armorel.' + +'You mean to say something kind,' she replied. 'Of course, my life +must seem dull to you.' + +'One cannot always live on lovely skies and sunlit seas and enchanted +islands.' + +'Sometimes it seems to me that a little more talk would be pleasant. +Justinian talks very well, to be sure; but he is the only one. He +knows quantities of wrecks. It would astonish you to hear him tell of +the wrecks he has seen. Dorcas talks very little now, because she has +lost all her teeth. Chessun is a silent woman, because she's always +been kept under by her mother. And Peter's not a talkative boy, +because he's always been kept under both by his father and his mother. +Besides, he got that nasty fall which made all his hair fall off. You +can't wonder if he thinks about that a good deal. And they are all +getting old.' + +'Yes. They seem to be getting very old indeed. Some day they will +follow the example of other old people and vanish. Then, Armorel, you +will be like Robinson Crusoe or Alexander Selkirk.' + +'I know all about Alexander Selkirk. He lived alone on Juan Fernandez, +having been put ashore by Captain Stradling, of the "Cinque Ports." He +had been four years and four months on the island when Captain Woodes +Rogers found him. He was clothed in goat-skin. He built two huts with +pimento-trees, and covered them with long grass and lined them with +the skin of goats. He made fire by rubbing two sticks together on his +knee. And he lived by catching goats. You mean, Roland Lee,' she said, +with great seriousness, 'that some day or other all these old people +will die--my great-great-grandmother, Justinian, Dorcas, and even +Peter and Chessun, and that then I shall be alone on the island. That +would be terrible. But it will not happen in that way. I am sure it +will not, because it would be so very terrible. We are in the Lord's +hand, and it will not be allowed.' + +The young man coloured and dropped his eyes. There certainly was not a +single girl of all those whom he knew in London who could have said +such a thing so simply and so sincerely. Not the youngest girl fresh +from the most religious teaching could say such a thing. Yet they go +to church a good deal oftener than Armorel, whose chances were only +once a week, and then only when the weather was fine. This it is to be +a Scillonian, and to believe what you hear in church. Roland had no +reply to make. Even to hint that faith so simple and so complete was +rare would have been cruel and wicked. + +'You have quoted Woodes Rogers,' he said presently. 'Have you read +that good old navigator? It is not often that one finds a girl quoting +from Woodes Rogers.' + +'Oh! I do not read much. There is a bookcase full of books; but I only +read the voyages. There is a whole row of them. Woodes Rogers, +Shelvocke, Commodore Anson, Wallis, Carteret, and Cook--and more +besides. I like Carteret best, because his ship was so small and so +crazy, and his men so few and so weak, and yet he would keep on +traversing the ocean as long as he could, and discovered a great deal +more than his commander, who cowardly deserted him.' + +'There are other things in the world besides voyages--and other +books.' + +'I learned the other things at school. There was geography--the world +is only the Scilly Islands spread out big--and history, too. You would +be surprised to find what a lot of English history there is that +belongs to Scilly. Queen Elizabeth built the Star Fort--you've seen +the Star Fort on the Garrison. There is Charles the First's Castle, on +Tresco, all in ruins; and, down below it, Cromwell's Castle, which I +will show you. And Charles the Second stayed here. Oh! and there was +the Spanish Armada; I must not forget that, because of another +great-great-far-off-great-grandfather, three hundred years ago, who +was wrecked here.' + +'How was that?' + +'He was a captain, or officer of some kind, on board one of the +Spanish ships; his name was Don Hernando Mureno. After the Armada was +defeated and driven away, some of the ships came down the Irish Sea, +and among them his ship--and she ran ashore on one of the Outer +Islands--I think on Maiden Bower. How many were saved I cannot tell +you; but some were, and among them Don Hernando Mureno himself. He +stayed here, and never wanted to go away any more; but married a +Scillonian, and lived out his life on Bryher, and is buried at the old +church at St. Mary's, where I could show you his grave and the +headstone--though the letters are all gone by this time. I have his +sword still, and I will show it to you. One of my grandfathers married +his granddaughter. They say I take after the Spanish side.' + +'You are a true Castilian, Armorel; unless, indeed, you happen to be +an Andalusian or a Biscayan.' + +'Do you think I ought to read the other books?' she asked him, +anxiously. 'If you really think so, I will try--I will, really.' + +I suppose that no young man--not even the most hardened lecturers at +Newnham--ever becomes quite indifferent to the spectacle of Venus +entrusting the care of her intellect to a young philosopher. It is a +moving spectacle, and still novel. It makes a much more beautiful +picture than that of Venus handing over the care of her soul to the +Shaven and Shorn. Roland coloured. He felt at once the responsibility +and the delicacy of the task thus offered him. + +'We will look into the shelves,' he said. 'I suppose that the +Ancestress no longer reads?' + +'She never learned to read at all. She can neither read nor write: yet +there was never anyone who knew so much. She could cure all diseases, +and the people came over here from all the islands for her advice. +Dorcas knew a great deal, but she does not know the half or the +quarter of her mistress's knowledge.' + +'Armorel'--Roland knocked out the ashes of his pipe--'I think you +want--very badly--someone to advise you.' + +'Will you advise me, Roland Lee?' + +'Child'--he slowly got up--'all my life, so far, I have been looking +for someone to advise and help myself. You must not lean upon a reed. +Come--let us seek Peter the boy, and launch the ship and go forth upon +our voyage about this sea of many islands. Perchance we may discover +Circe upon one of them--unless you are yourself Circe--and I shall +presently find myself transformed; but you are too good to turn me +into anything except a prince or a poet. And we may light upon St. +Brandan's Land; or we may find Judas Iscariot floating on that island +of red-hot brass; or we may chance on Andromeda, and witness the +battle of Perseus and the dragon; or we may find the weeping +Ariadne--everything is possible on an island.' + +'Roland Lee,' said the girl, 'you are talking like your friend Dick +Stephenson. Why do you say such extravagant things? This is the island +of Samson, and I am nothing in the world but Armorel Rosevean.' + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY + + +All day long the boat sailed about among the channels and over the +shallow ledges of the Outer or Western Islands, whither no boat may +reach save on such a day, so quiet and so calm. The visitor who comes +by one boat and goes away by the next thinks he has seen this +archipelago. As well stand inside a great cathedral for half an hour +and then go away thinking you have seen it all. It takes many days to +see these fragments of Lyonesse, and to get a time sense of the place. +They sailed round the southern point of Samson, and they steered +westward, leaving Great Minalto on the lee, towards Mincarlo, lying, +like an old-fashioned sofa, high at the two ends and flat in the +middle. They found a landing at the southern point, and clambered up +the steep and rocky sides of the low hill. On this island there are +four peaks with a down in the middle, all complete. It is like a +doll's island. Everywhere in Scilly there are the same features: +here a hill strewn with boulders; here a little down, with fern and +gorse and heath; here a bay in which the water, on such days as it can +be approached, peacefully laps a smooth white beach; here dark caves +and holes in which the water always, even in the calmest day of +summer, grumbles and groans, and, when the least sea rises, begins to +roar and bellow--in time of storm it shrieks and howls. Those who sail +round these rumbling water-dungeons begin to think of sea monsters. +Hidden in those recesses the awful calamary lies watching, waiting, +his tentacles forty feet long stretching out in the green water, +floating innocently till they touch their prey, then seizing and +haling it within sight of the baleful, gleaming eyes and within reach +of the devouring mouth. In these holes, too, lie the great +conger-eels--they fear nothing that swims except that calamary; and in +these recesses walk about the huge crabs which devour the dead bodies +of shipwrecked sailors. On the sunlit rocks one looks to see a +mermaiden, with glittering scales, combing out her long fair tresses: +perhaps one may unfortunately miss this beautiful sight, which is rare +even in Scilly; but one cannot miss seeing the seals flopping in the +water and swimming out to sea, with seeming intent to cross the broad +ocean. And in windy weather porpoises blow in the shallow waters of +the sounds. All round the rocks at low tide hangs the long sea-weed, +undisturbed since the days when they manufactured kelp, like the rank +growth of a tropical creeper: at high tide it stands up erect, rocking +to and fro in the wash and sway of the water like the tree-tops of the +forest in the breeze. Everywhere, except in the rare places where men +come and go, the wild sea-birds make their nests; the shags stand on +the ledges of the highest rocks in silent rows gazing upon the water +below; the sea-gulls fly, shrieking in sea-gullic rapture--there is +surely no life quite so joyous as a sea-gull's; the curlews call; the +herons sail across the sky; and, in spring, millions of puffins swim +and dive and fly about the rocks, and lay their eggs in the hollow +places of these wild and lonely islands. + +These things, which one presently expects and observes without wonder +in all the islands, were new to Roland when he set foot on the rugged +rock of Mincarlo. He climbed up the steep sides of the rock and stood +upon the top of its highest peak. He made two or three rapid sketches +of rock and sea, the girl looking over his shoulder, watching +curiously, for the first time in her life, the growth of a picture. + +[Illustration: _Watching curiously, for the first time in her life, +the growth of a picture._] + +Then he stood and looked around. The great stones were piled about; +the brown turf crept up their sides; where there was space to grow, +the yellow branches of the fern were spread; and on all four sides lay +the shining water. + +'All my life,' he said, 'I have dreamed of islands. This is true joy, +Armorel. For a permanency, Samson is better than Mincarlo, because +there is more of it. But to come here sometimes--to sit on this carn +while the wind whistles in your ear, and the waves are lapping against +the rocks all day long and always----Armorel, is there any other +world? Are there men and women living somewhere? Is there anybody but +you and me--and Peter?' he added, hastily. 'I don't believe in London. +It is a dream. Everything is a dream but the islands and the boat and +Armorel.' + +She was only a child, but she turned a rosy red at the compliment. +Nothing but the boat and herself. She was very fond of the boat, you +see, and she felt that the words conveyed a high compliment. Then they +began to explore the rest of this mountainous island, which has such a +variety of scenery all packed away in the small space of twelve acres. +When they had walked over the whole of Mincarlo that is accessible, +they returned to their landing-place, where Peter sat in the boat +keeping her off, with head bent as if he was asleep. + +'It must be half-past twelve,' said Armorel. 'I am sure you are +hungry. We will have dinner here.' + +'No better place for a picnic. Come along, Peter. Bear a hand with the +basket. Here, Armorel, is a rock that will do for a table, and here is +one on which we two can sit. There is a rock for you, Peter. Now! The +opening of a luncheon-basket is always a moment of grave anxiety. What +have we got?' + +'This is a rabbit-pie,' said Armorel. 'And this is a cake-pudding. I +made it yesterday. Do you like cake-pudding? Here are bread and salt +and things. Can you make your dinner off a rabbit-pie, Roland Lee?' + +'A very good dinner too.' The young man now understood that on Samson +one uses the word dinner instead of lunch, and that supper is an +excellent cold spread served at eight. 'A very good dinner, Armorel. I +mean to carve this. Sit down and let me see you make a good dinner.' + +An admirable rabbit-pie, and an excellent cake-pudding. Also, there +had not been forgotten a stone jar filled with that home-brewed of +which the like can no longer be found in any other spot in the British +Islands. I hope one need do no more than indicate the truly +appreciative havoc wrought by the young gentleman among all these good +gifts and blessings. + +After dinner, to lie in the sunshine and have a pipe, looking across +the wide stretch of sunny water to the broken line of rocks and the +blue horizon beyond, was happiness undeserved. Beside him sat the +girl, anxious that he should be happy--thinking of nothing but what +might best please her guest. + +Then they got into the boat again, and sailed half a mile or so due +north by the compass, until they came within another separate +archipelago, of which Mincarlo is an outlying companion. + +It is the group of rocks, called the Outer or the Western Islands, +lying tumbled about in the water west of Bryher and Samson. Some of +them are close together, some are separated by broad channels. Here +the sea is never calm: at the foot of the rocks stretch out ledges, +some of them bare at low water, revealing their ugly black stone +teeth: the swell of the Atlantic on the calmest days rises and falls +and makes white eddies, broken water, and flying spray. Among these +rocks they rowed: Peter and Roland taking the oars, while Armorel +steered. They rowed round Maiden Bower, with its cluster of granite +forts defying the whole strength of the Atlantic, which will want +another hundred thousand years to grind them down--about and among the +Black Rocks and the Seal Rocks, dark and threatening: they landed on +Ilyswillig, with his peak of fifty feet, a strange wild island: they +stood on the ledge of Castle Bryher and looked up at the tower of +granite which rises out of the water like the round keep of a Norman +castle: they hoisted sail and stood out to Scilly himself, where his +twin rocks command the entrance to the islands. Scilly is of the dual +number: he consists of two great mountains rising from the water +sheer, precipitous, and threatening: each about eighty feet high, but +with the air of eight hundred; each black and square and terrible of +aspect: they are separated by a narrow channel hardly broad enough for +a boat to pass through. + +'One day last year,' said Armorel--'it was in July, after a fortnight +of fine weather--we went through this channel, Peter and I--didn't we, +Peter? It was a dead calm, and at high tide.' + +The boy nodded his head. + +The channel was now, the tide being nearly high, like a foaming +torrent, through which the water raced and rushed, boiling into +whirlpools, foaming and tearing at the sides. The rapids below Niagara +are not fiercer than was this channel, though the day was so fair and +the sea without so quiet. + +'Once,' said Peter, breaking the silence, 'there was a ship cast up by +a wave right into the fork of the channel. She went to pieces in ten +minutes, for she was held in a vice like, while the waves beat her +into sticks. Some of the men got on to the north rock--what they call +"Cuckoo"--and there they stuck till the gale abated. Then people saw +them from Bryher, and a pilot-boat put off for them.' + +'So they were saved?' said Roland. + +'No, they were not saved,' Peter replied, slowly. ''Twas this way: the +pilot-boat that took them off the rock capsized on the way home. So +they was all drowned.' + +'Poor beggars! Now, if they had been brought safe ashore we might have +been told what these rocks look like in rough weather: and what Scilly +is like when you have climbed it: and how a man feels in the middle of +a storm on Scilly.' + +'You can see very well what it is like from Samson,' said Armorel. +'The waves beat upon the rocks, and the white spray flies over them +and hides them.' + +'I should like to hear as well as to see,' said Roland. 'Fancy the +thunder of the Atlantic waves against this mass of rock, the hissing +and boiling in the channel, the roaring of the wind and the dashing of +the waves! I wonder if any of these shipwrecked men had a sketch-book +in his pocket. + +'To be drowned,' he continued, 'just by the upsetting of a boat, and +after escaping death in a much more exciting manner! Their companions +were torn from the deck and hurled and dashed against the rock, so +that in a moment their bones were broken to fragments, and the +fragments themselves were thrown against the rocks till there was +nothing left of them. And these poor fellows clung to the rock, hiding +under a boulder from the driving wind--cold, starving, wet, and +miserable. And just as they thought of food and shelter and warmth +again, to be taken and plunged into the cold water, there to roll +about till they were drowned! A dreadful tragedy!' + +Having thus broken the ice, Peter proceeded to relate more stories of +shipwreck, taking after his father, Justinian Tryeth, whose +conversational powers in this direction were, according to Armorel, +unrivalled. There is a shipwreck story belonging to every rock of +Scilly, and to many there are several shipwrecks. As there are about +as many rocks of Scilly as there are days in the year, the stories +would take long in the telling. + +Fortunately, Peter did not know all. It is natural, however, that a +native of Samson, and the descendant of many generations of wreckers, +should love to talk about wrecks. Therefore he proceeded to tell of +the French frigate which came over to conquer Scilly in 1798, and was +very properly driven ashore by the sea which owns allegiance to +Britannia, and all hands lost, so that the Frenchmen captured no more +than their graves, which now lie in a triumphant row on St. Agnes. On +Maiden Bower he placed, I know not with what truth, the wreck of the +Spaniard which gave Armorel an ancestor. On Mincarlo he remembered the +loss of an orange-ship on her way from the Azores. On Menovaur he had +seen a collier driven in broad daylight and broken all to pieces in +half a day, and of her crew not a man saved. Other things, similarly +cheerful, he narrated slowly while the sunshine made these grey rocks +put on a hospitable look and the boat danced over the rippling waves. +With his droning voice, his smooth face with the long white hair upon +it, like the last scanty leaves upon a tree, he was like the figure of +Death at the Feast, while Armorel--young, beautiful, smiling--reminded +her guest of Life, and Love, and Hope. + +They sailed round so many of these rocks and islets: they landed on so +many: they lingered so long among the reefs, loth to leave the wild, +strange place, that the sun was fast going down when they hoisted sail +and steered for New Grinsey Sound on their homeward way. + +You may enter New Grinsey Sound either from the north or from the +south. The disadvantage of attempting it from the former on ordinary +days is that those who do so are generally capsized and frequently +drowned. On such a day as this, however, the northern passage may be +attempted. It is the channel, dangerous and beset with rocks and +ledges, between the islands of Bryher and Tresco. As the boat sailed +slowly in, losing the breeze as it rounded the point, the channel +spread itself out broad and clear. On the right hand rose, +precipitous, the cliffs and crags of Shipman's Head, which looks like +a continuation of Bryher, but is really separated from the island by a +narrow passage--you may work through it in calm weather--running from +Hell Bay to the Sound. On the left is Tresco, its downs rising steeply +from the water, and making a great pretence of being a very lofty +ascent indeed. In the middle of the coast juts out a high promontory, +surrounded on all sides but one by the water. On this rock stands +Cromwell's Castle, a round tower, older than the Martello Towers. It +still possesses a roof, but its interior has been long since gutted. +In front of it has been built a square stone platform or bastion, +where once, no doubt, they mounted guns for the purpose of defending +this channel against an invader, as if Nature had not already defended +it by her ledges and shallows and hardly concealed teeth of granite. +To protect by a fort a channel when the way is so tortuous and +difficult, and where there are so many other ways, is almost as if +Warkworth Castle, five miles inland, on the winding Coquet, had been +built to protect the shores of Northumberland from the invading Dane: +or as if Chepstow above the muddy Wye had been built for the defence +of Bristol. There, however, the castle is, and a very noble picture it +made as the boat slowly voyaged through the Sound. The declining sun, +not yet sunk too low behind Bryher, clothed it with light and +splendour, and brought out the rich colour of grey rock and yellow +fern upon the steep hillside behind. Beyond the castle, in the midst +of the Sound, rose a pyramidal island, a pile of rocks, seventy or +eighty feet high, on whose highest carn some of Oliver Cromwell's +prisoners were hanged, according to the voice of tradition, which, +somehow, always goes dead against that strong person. + +Roland, who had exhausted the language of delight among the Outer +Islands, contemplated this picture in silence. + +'Do you not like it?' asked the girl. + +'Like it?' he repeated. 'Armorel! It is splendid.' + +'Will you make a sketch of it?' + +'I cannot. I must make a picture. I ought to come here day after day. +There must be a good place to take it from--over there, I think, on +that beach. Armorel! It is splendid. To think that the picture is to +be seen so near to London, and that no one comes to see it!' + +'If you want to come day after day, Roland,' she said, softly, 'you +will not be able to go away to-morrow. You must stay longer with us on +Samson.' + +'I ought not, child. You should not ask me.' + +'Why should you not stay if you are happy with us? We will make you as +comfortable as ever we can. You have only to tell us what you want.' + +She looked so eagerly and sincerely anxious that he yielded. + +'If you are really and truly sure,' he said. + +'Of course I am really and truly sure. The weather will be fine, I +think, and we will go sailing every day.' + +'Then I will stay a day or two longer. I will make a picture of +Cromwell's Castle--and the hill at the back of it and the water below +it. I will make it for you, Armorel; but I will keep a copy of it for +myself. Then we shall each have a memento of this day--something to +remember it by.' + +'I should like to have the picture. But, oh! Roland!--as if I could +ever forget this day!' + +She spoke with perfect simplicity, this child of Nature, without the +least touch of coquetry. Why should she not speak what was in her +heart? Never before had she seen a young man so brave, so gallant, so +comely: nor one who spoke so gently: nor one who treated her with so +much consideration. + +He turned his face: he could not meet those trustful eyes, with the +innocence that lay there: he was abashed by reason of this innocence. +A child--only a child. Armorel would change. In a year or two this +trustfulness would vanish. She would become like all other girls--shy +and reserved, self-conscious in intuitive self-defence. But there was +no harm as yet. She was a child--only a child. + +As the sun went down the bows ran into the fine white sand of the +landing-place, and their voyage was ended. + +'A perfect day,' he murmured. 'A day to dream of. How shall I thank +you enough, Armorel?' + +'You can stay and have some more days like it.' + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE VOYAGERS + + +This was the first of many such voyages and travels, though not often +in the outside waters, for the vexed Bermoothes themselves are not +more lashed by breezes from all the quarters of the compass than these +isles of Scilly. They sailed from point to point, and from island to +island, landing where they listed or where Armorel led, wandering for +long hours round the shores or on the hills. All the islands, except +the bare rocks, are covered with down and moorland, bounded in every +direction by rocky headlands and slopes covered with granite +boulders. They were quite alone in their explorations: no native is +ever met upon those downs: no visitor, except on St. Mary's, wanders +on the beaches and around the bays. They were quite alone all the day +long: the sea-breeze whistled in their ears; the gulls flew over their +heads--the cormorants hardly stirred from the rocks when they climbed +up; the hawk that hung motionless in the air above them changed not +his place when they drew near. And always, day after day, they came +continually upon unexpected places: strange places, beautiful places: +beaches of dazzling white: wildly heaped carns: here a cromlech, a +logan stone, a barrow--Samson is not the only island which guards the +tombs of the Great Departed--a new view of sea and sky and +white-footed rock. I believe that there does not live any single man +who has actually explored all the isles of Scilly: stood upon every +rock, climbed every hill, and searched on every island for its +treasures of ancient barrows, plants, birds, carns, and headlands. +Once there was a worthy person who came here as chaplain to St. +Martin's. He started with the excellent intention of seeing +everything. Alas! he never saw a single island properly: he never +walked round one exhaustively. He wrote a book about them, to be sure; +but he saw only half. As for Samson, this person of feeble +intelligence even declared that the island was not worth a second +visit! After that one would shut the book, but is lured on in the hope +of finding something new. + +One must not ask of the islanders themselves for information about the +isles, because few of them ever go outside their own island unless to +Hugh Town, where is the Port, and where are the shops. Why should +they? On the other islands they have no business. Justinian Tryeth, +for instance, was seventy-five years of age; Hugh Town he knew, and +had often been there, though now Peter did the business of the farm at +the Port: St. Agnes he knew, having wooed and won a wife there: he had +been to Bryher Church, which is close to the shore--the rest of Bryher +was to him as unknown as Iceland. As for St. Martin's, or Annet, or +Great Ganilly, he saw them constantly; they were always within his +sight, yet he had never desired to visit them. They were an emblem, a +shape, a name to him, and nothing more. It is so always with those who +live in strange and beautiful places: the marvels are part of their +daily life: they heed them not, unless, like Armorel, they have no +work to do and are quick to feel the influences of things around them. +Most Swiss people seem to care nothing for their Alps, but here and +there is one who would gladly spend all his days high up among the +fragrant pines, or climbing the slope of ice with steady step and +slow. + +But these young people did try to visit all the islands. Upon Roland +there fell the insatiate curiosity--the rage--of an explorer and a +discoverer. He became like Captain Cook himself: he longed for more +islands: every day he found a new island. 'Give,' cries he who sails +upon unknown seas and scans the round circle of the horizon for the +cloudy peak of some far-distant mountain, 'give--give more +islands--still more islands! Let us sail for yonder cloud! Let us sail +on until the cloud becomes a hill-top, and the hill another island! +Largesse for him who first calls "Land ahead!" There shall we find +strange monsters and treasures rare, with friendly natives, and girls +more blooming than those of fair Tahiti. Let us sail thither, though +it prove no more than a barren rock, the resting-place of the +sea-lion; though we can do no more than climb its steep sides and +stand upon the top while the spray flies over the rocks and beats upon +our faces.' In such a spirit as Captain Carteret (Armorel's favourite) +steered his frail bark from shore to shore did Roland sail among those +Scilly seas. + +Of course they went to Tresco, where there is the finest garden in all +the world. But one should not go to see the garden more than once, +because its perfumed alleys, its glasshouses, its cultivated and +artificial air, are somehow incongruous with the rest of the islands. +As well expect to meet a gentleman in a Court dress walking across +Fylingdale Moor. Yet it is indeed a very noble and royal garden: other +gardens have finer hothouses: none have a better show of flowers and +trees of every kind: for variety it is like unto the botanical gardens +of a tropical land: you might be standing in one of the alleys of the +garden of Mauritius, or of Java, or the Cape. Here everything grows +and flourishes that will grow anywhere, except, of course, those +plants which carry patriotism to an extreme and refuse absolutely to +leave their native soil. You cannot go picking pepper here, nor can +you strip the cinnamon-tree of its bark. But here you will see the +bamboos cluster, tall and graceful: the eucalyptus here parades his +naked trunk and his blue leaves: here the fern-tree lifts its circle +of glory of lace and embroidery twenty feet high: the prickly pear +nestles in warm corners: the aloe shoots up its tall stalk of flower +and of seed: the palms stand in long rows: and every lovely plant, +every sweet flower, created for the solace of man, grows abundantly, +and hastens with zeal to display its blossoms: the soft air is full of +perfumes, strange and familiar: it is as if Kew had taken off her +glass roofs and placed all her plants and trees to face the English +winter. But, then, the winter of Scilly is not the winter of Great +Britain. The botanist may visit this garden many times, and always +find something to please him; but the ordinary traveller will go but +once, and admire and come away. It is far better outside on the breezy +down, where the dry fern and withered bents crack beneath your feet, +and the elastic turf springs as you tread upon it. There are other +things on Tresco: there is a big fresh-water lake--it would be a +respectable lake even in Westmoreland--where the wild birds disport +themselves: beside it South American ostriches roam gravely, after +the manner of the bird. It is pleasant to see the creatures. There is +a great cave, if you like dark damp caves: better than the cave, there +is a splendid bold coast sloping steeply from the down all round the +northern part of the island. + +Then they walked all round St. Mary's. It is nine miles round; but if, +as these young people did, you climb every headland and walk round +every bay, and descend every possible place where the boulders make a +ladder down to the boiling water below, it is nine hundred miles +round, and, for its length, the most wonderful walk in all the world. +They crossed the broad Sound to St. Agnes, and saw St. Warna's +wondrous cove: they stood on the desolate Gugh and the lonely Annet, +beloved of puffins: they climbed on every one of the Eastern Islands, +and even sailed, when they found a day calm enough to permit the +voyage, among the Dogs of Scilly, and clambered up the black boulders +of Rosevear and scared the astonished cormorants from wild Goreggan. + +One day it rained in the morning. Then they had to stay at home, and +Armorel showed the house. She took her guest into the dairy, where +Chessun made the butter and scalded the cream--that rich cream which +the West-country folk eat with everything. She made him stand by and +help make a junket, which Devonshire people believe cannot be made +outside the shadow of Dartmoor: she took him into the kitchen--the old +room with its old furniture, the candlesticks and snuffers of brass, +the bacon hanging to the joists, the blue china, the ancient pewter +platters, the long bright spit--a kitchen of the eighteenth century. +And then she took him into a room which no longer exists anywhere else +save in name. It was the still-room, and on the shelves there stood +the elixirs and cordials of ancient time: the currant gin to fortify +the stomach on a raw morning before crossing the Road; the cherry +brandy for a cold and stormy night; the elderberry wine, good mulled +and spiced at Christmas-time; the blackberry wine; the home-made +distilled waters--lavender water, Hungary water, Cyprus water, and the +Divine Cordial itself, which takes three seasons to complete, and +requires all the flowers of spring, summer, and autumn. Then they went +into the best parlour, and Armorel, opening a cupboard, took out an +old sword of strange shape and with faded scabbard. On the blade there +was a graven Latin legend. 'This is my ancestor's sword,' she said. +'He was an officer of the Spanish Armada--Hernando Mureno was his +name.' + +'You are indeed a Spanish lady, Armorel. Your ancestor is well known +to have been the bravest and most honourable gentleman in King +Philip's service.' + +'He remained here--he would not go home: he married and became a +Protestant.' + +She put back the sword in its place, and brought forth other things to +show him--old-fashioned watches, old compasses, sextants, telescopes, +flint-and-steel pistols--all kinds of things belonging to the old days +of smuggling and of piloting. + +Then she opened the bookcase. It should have been filled with +histories of pirates and buccaneers; but it was not: it contained a +whole body of theology of the Methodist kind. Roland tossed them over +impatiently. 'I don't wonder,' he said, 'at your reading nothing if +this is all you have.' But he found one or two books which he set +aside. + +As they wandered about the islands, of course they talked. It wants +but little to make a young man open his heart to a girl; only a pair +of soft and sympathetic eyes, a face full of interest and questions of +admiration. Whether she tells him anything in return is quite another +matter. Most young men, when they review the situation afterwards, +discover that they have told everything and learned nothing. Perhaps +there is nothing to learn. In a few days Armorel knew everything about +her guest. He had come from Australia--from that far-distant land--in +search of fortune. He had as yet made but few friends. He was unknown +and without patrons. He had no family connections which would help +him. The patrimony on which he was to live until he should begin to +succeed was but small, and although he held money-making in the +customary contempt, it was necessary that he should make a good deal, +because--which is often the case--his standard of comfort was pitched +rather high: it included, for instance, a good club, good cigars, and +good claret. Also, as he said, an artist should be free from sordid +anxieties: Art demands an atmosphere of calm: therefore, he must have +an income. This, like everything that does not exist, must be created. +Man is godlike because he alone of creatures can create: he, and he +alone, constantly creates things which previously did not exist--an +income, honour, rank, tastes, wants, desires, necessities, habits, +rules, and laws. + +'How can you bear to sell your pictures?' asked the girl. 'We sell our +flowers, but then we grow them by the thousand. You make every picture +by itself--how can you sell the beautiful things? You must want to +keep them every one to look at all your life. Those that you have +given to me I could never part with.' + +'One must live, fair friend of mine,' he replied, lightly. 'It is my +only way of making money, and without money we can do nothing. It is +not the selling of his pictures that the artist dreads--that is the +necessity of Art as a profession: it is the danger that no one will +care about seeing them or buying them. That is much more terrible, +because it means failure. Sometimes I dream that I have become old and +grey, and have been working all my life, and have had no success at +all, and am still unknown and despised. In Art there are thousands of +such failures. I think the artist who fails is despised more than any +other man. It is truly miserable to aspire so high and to fall so low. +Yet who am I that I should reach the port?' + +'All good painters succeed,' said the girl, who had never seen a +painter before or any painting save her own coloured engravings. 'You +are a good painter, Roland. You must succeed. You will become a great +painter in everybody's estimation.' + +'I will take your words for an oracle,' he said. 'When I am +melancholy, and the future looks dark, I will say, "Thus and thus +spoke Armorel."' + +The young man who is about to attempt fortune by the pursuit of Art +must not consider too long the wrecks that strew the shores and float +about the waters, lest he lose self-confidence. Continually these +wrecks occur, and there is no insurance against them: yet continually +other barques hoist sail and set forth upon their perilous voyage. It +may be reckoned as a good point in this aspirant that he was not +over-confident. + +'Some are wrecked at the outset,' he said. 'Others gain a kind of +success. Heavens! what a kind! To struggle all their lives for +admission to the galleries, and to rejoice if once in a while a +picture is sold.' + +'They are not the good painters,' the girl of large experience again +reminded him. + +'Am I a good painter?' he replied, humbly. 'Well, one can but try to +do good work, and leave to the gods the rest. There is luck in things. +It is not every good man who succeeds, Armorel. To every man, however, +there is allotted the highest stature possible for him to reach. Let +me be contented if I grow to my full height.' + +'You must, Roland. You could not be contented with anything less.' + +'To reach one's full height, one must live for work alone. It is a +hard saying, Armorel. It is a great deal harder than you can +understand.' + +'If you love your work, and if you are happy in it----' said the girl. + +'You do not understand, child, Most men never reach their full height. +You can see their pictures in the galleries--poor, stunted things. It +is because they live for anything rather than their work. They are +pictures without a soul in them.' + +Now, when a young man holds forth in this strain, one or two things +suggest themselves. First, one thinks that he is playing a part, +putting on 'side,' affecting depths--in fact, enacting the part of the +common Prig, who is now, methinks, less common than he was. If he is +not a prig uttering insincere sentimentalities, he may be a young man +who has preserved his ideals beyond the usual age by some accident. +The ideals and beliefs and aspirations of young men, when they first +begin the study of Art in any of its branches, are very beautiful +things, and full of truths which can only, somehow, be expressed by +very young men. The third explanation is that in certain +circumstances, as in the companionship of a girl not belonging to +society and the world--a young, innocent, and receptive girl--whose +mind is ready for pure ideas, uncontaminated by earthly touch, the old +enthusiasms are apt to return and the old beliefs to come back. Then +such things may spring in the heart and rise to the lips as one could +not think or utter in a London studio. + +Sincere or not, this young man pursued his theme, making a kind of +confession which Armorel could not, as yet, understand. But she +remembered. Women at all ages remember tenaciously, and treasure up in +their hearts things which they may at some other time learn to +understand. + +'There was an old allegory, Armorel,' this young man went on, 'of a +young man choosing his way, once for all. It is an absurd story, +because every day and all day long we are pulled the other way. +Sometimes it makes me tremble all over only to think of the flowery +way. I know what the end would be. But yet, Armorel, what can you know +or understand about the Way of Pleasure, and how men are drawn into it +with ropes? My soul is sometimes sick with yearning when I think of +those who run along that Way and sing and feast.' + +'What kind of Way is it, Roland?' + +'You cannot understand, and I cannot tell you. The Way of Pleasure and +the Way of Wealth. These are the two roads by which the artistic life +is ruined. Yet we are dragged into them by ropes.' + +'You shall keep to the true path, Roland,' the girl said, with +glistening eyes. 'Oh! how happy you will be when you have reached your +full height--you will be a giant then.' + +He laughed and shook his head. 'Again, Armorel, I will take it from +your lips--a prophecy. But you do not understand.' + +'No,' she said. 'I am very ignorant. Yet if I cannot understand, I can +remember. The Way of Pleasure and the Way of Wealth. I shall remember. +We are told that we must not set our hearts upon the things of this +world. I used to think that it meant being too fond of pretty frocks +and ribbons. Dorcas said so once. Since you have come I see that there +are many, many things that I know nothing of. If I am to be dragged to +them by ropes, I do not want to know them. The Way of Pleasure and the +Way of Wealth. They destroy the artistic life,' she repeated, as if +learning a lesson. 'These ways must be ways of Sin, don't you think?' +she asked, looking up with curious eyes. + +Doubtless. Yet this is not quite the modern manner of regarding and +speaking of the subject. And considering what an eighteenth-century +and bourgeois-like manner it is, and how fond we now are of that +remarkable century, one is surprised that the manner has not before +now been revived. When we again tie our hair behind and assume +silver-buckled shoes and white silk stockings, we shall once more +adopt that manner. It was not, however, artificial with Armorel. The +words fell naturally from her lips. A thing that was prejudicial to +the better nature of a man must, she thought, belong to ways of Sin. +Again--doubtless. But Roland did not think of it in that way, and the +words startled him. + +'Puritan!' he said. 'But you are always right. It is the instinct of +your heart always to be right. But we no longer talk that language. It +is a hundred years old. In these days there is no more talk about +Sin--at least, outside certain circles. There are habits, it is true, +which harm an artist's eye and destroy his hand. We say that it is a +pity when an artist falls into these habits. We call it a pity, +Armorel, not the way of Sin. A pity--that is all. It means the same +thing, I dare say, so far as the artist is concerned.' + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE LAST DAY BUT ONE + + +The last day but one! It always comes at length--it is bound to +come--the saddest, the most sentimental of all days. The boy who +leaves school--I speak of the old-fashioned boy and the ancient +school--where he has been fagged and bullied and flogged, on this last +day but one looks round with a choking throat upon the dingy walls and +the battered desks. Even the convict who is about to be released after +years of prison feels a sentimental melancholy in gazing for the last +time upon the whitewashed walls. The world, which misunderstands the +power of temptation and is distrustful as to the reality of +repentance, will probably prove cold to him. How much more, then, when +one looks around on the last day but one of a holiday! To-morrow we +part. This is the last day of companionship. + +Roland's holiday was to consist of a day or two, or three at the +most--yet lo! the evening and the morning were the twenty-first day. +There was always something new to be seen, something more to be +sketched, some fresh excuse for staying in a house where this young +man lived from the first as if he had been there all his life and +belonged to the family. Scilly has to be seen in cloud as well as in +sunshine: in wind and rain as well as in fair weather: one island had +been accidentally overlooked; another must be re-visited. + +So the days went on, each one like the days before it, but with a +difference. The weather was for the most part fine, so that they could +at least sail about the islands of the Road. Every morning the young +man got up at six and, after a bathe from Shark Point, walked all +round Samson and refreshed his soul by gazing upon the Outer Islands. +Breakfast over, he took a pipe in the farmyard with Justinian and +Peter, who continually talked of shipwrecks and of things washed +ashore. During this interval Armorel made the puddings and the cakes. +When she had accomplished this delicate and responsible duty, she came +out, prepared for the day. They took their dinner-basket with them, +and sallied forth: in the afternoon they returned: in the evening, at +seven o'clock, the table was pushed back: the old serving people came +in; the fire was stirred into animation; Armorel played the +old-fashioned tunes; and the ancient lady rallied, and sat up, and +talked, her mind in the past. All the days alike, yet each one +differing from its neighbours. There is no monotony, though place and +people remain exactly the same, when there is the semblance of +variety. For, besides the discovery of so many curious and interesting +islands, this fortunate young man, as we have seen, discovered that +his daily companion, though so young--'only a child'--was a girl of +wonderful quickness and ready sympathy. A young artist wants +sympathy--it is necessary for his growth: sympathy, interest, and +flattery are necessary for the artistic temperament. All these Armorel +offered him in large measure, running over. She kept alive in him that +faith in his own star which every artist, as well as every general, +must possess. Great is the encouragement of such sympathy to the young +man of ambitions. This consideration is, indeed, the principal excuse +for early marriages. Three weeks of talk with such a girl--no one else +to consider or to interrupt--no permission to be sought--surely these +things made up a holiday which quite beat the record! Three whole +weeks! Such a holiday should form the foundation of a life-long +friendship! Could either of them ever forget such a holiday? + +Now it was all over. For very shame Roland could make no longer any +excuses for staying. His sketch-book was crammed. There were materials +in it for a hundred pictures--most of them might be called Studies of +Armorel. She was in the boat holding the tiller, bare-headed, her hair +flying in the breeze, the spray dashing into her face, and the clear +blue water rushing past the boat: or she was sitting idly in the same +boat lying in Grinsey Sound, with Shipman's Head behind her: or she +was standing on the sea-weed at low water under the mighty rock of +Castle Bryher: or she was standing upright in the low room, violin in +hand, her face and figure crimsoned in the red firelight: or she was +standing in the porch between the verbena-trees, the golden +figure-head smiling benevolently upon her, and the old ships lanthorn +swinging overhead with an innocent air, as if it had never heard of a +wreck and knew not how valuable a property may be a cow, judiciously +treated--with a lighted lanthorn between its horns--on a stormy night. +There were other things: sketches of bays and coves, and headlands and +carns, gathered from all the islands--from Porthellick and Peninnis on +St. Mary's, which everybody goes to see, to St. Warna's Cove on St. +Agnes, whither no traveller ever wendeth. + +A very noble time. No letters, no newspapers, no trouble of any kind: +yet one cannot remain for ever even in a house where such a permanent +guest would be welcomed. Now and then, it is true, one hears how such +a one went to a friend's house and stayed there. La Fontaine, Gay, +and Coleridge are examples. But I have never heard, before this case, +of a young man going to a house where a quite young girl, almost a +child, was the mistress, and staying there. Now the end had come: he +must go back to London, where all the men and most of the women have +their own shows to run, and there is not enough sympathy to go round: +back to what the young artist, he who has as yet exhibited little and +sold nothing, calls his Work--putting a capital letter to it, like the +young clergyman. Perhaps he did not understand that under the eyes of +a girl who knew nothing about Art he had done really better and finer +work, and had learned more, in those three weeks than in all the time +that he had spent in a studio. Well; it was all over. The sketching +was ended: there would be no more sailing over the blue waves of the +rolling Atlantic outside the islands: no more quiet cruising in the +Road: no more fishing: no more clambering among the granite rocks: no +more sitting in sunny places looking out to sea, with this bright +child at his side. + +Alas! And no more talks with Armorel. From the first day the child sat +at his feet and became his disciple, Heloïse herself was not an apter +pupil. She ardently desired to learn: like a curious child she asked +him questions all day long, and received the answers as if they were +gospel: but no child that he had ever known betrayed blacker gaps of +ignorance than this girl of fifteen. Consider. What could she know? +Other girls learn at school: Armorel's schooling was over at fourteen, +when she came home from St. Mary's to her desert island. Other girls +continue their education by reading books: but Armorel never read +anything except voyages of the last century, which treat but little of +the modern life. Other girls also learn from hearing their elders +talk: but Armorel's elders never talked. Other girls, again, learn +from conversation with companions: but Armorel had no companions. And +they learn from the shops in the street, the people who walk about, +from the church, the theatre, the shows: but Armorel had no better +street than the main street of Hugh Town. And they learn from society: +but this girl had none. And they learn from newspapers, magazines, and +novels: but Armorel had none of these. No voice, no sound of the outer +world reached Alexandra Selkirk of Samson. Juan Fernandez itself was +not more cut off from men and women. Therefore, in her seclusion and +her ignorance, this young man came to her like another Apollo or a +Vishnu at least--a revelation of the world of which she knew nothing, +and to which she never gave a thought. He opened a door and bade her +look within. All she saw was a great company painting pictures and +talking Art; but that was something. As for what he said, this young +man ardent, she remembered and treasured all, even the lightest +things, the most trivial opinions. He did not abuse her confidence. +Had he been older he might have been cynical: had he not been an +artist he might have been flippant: had he been a City man and a +money-grub he might have shown her the sordid side of the world. Being +such as he was he showed her the best and most beautiful part--the +world of Art. But as for these black gaps of ignorance, most of them +remained even after Roland's visit. + +'Your best friend, Armorel,' said her guest, 'would not deny that you +are ignorant of many things. You have never gone to a dinner-party or +sat in a drawing-room: you cannot play lawn-tennis; you know none of +the arts feminine: you cannot talk the language of Society: oh! you +are a very ignorant person indeed! But then there are compensations.' + +'What are compensations? Things that make up? Do you mean the boat and +the islands?' + +'The boat is certainly something, and the islands give a flavour of +their own to life on Samson, don't they? If I were talking the usual +cant I should say that the chief compensation is the absence of the +hollow world and its insincere society. That is cant and humbug, +because society is very pleasant, only, I suppose, one must not expect +too much from it. Your real compensations, Armorel, are of another +kind. You can fiddle like a jolly sailor, all of the olden time. If +you were to carry that fiddle of yours on to the Common Hard at +Portsea not a man among them all, even the decayed veteran--if he +still lives--who caught Nelson, the Dying Hero, in his arms, but would +jump to his feet and shuffle--heel and toe, double-step, back-step, +flourish and fling. I believe those terms are correct.' + +'I am so glad you think I can fiddle.' + +'You want only instruction in style to make you a very fine violinist. +Besides, there is nothing more pleasing to look at, just now, than a +girl playing a violin. It is partly fashion. Formerly it was thought +graceful for a girl to play the guitar, then the harp; now it is the +fiddle, when it is not the zither or the banjo. That is one +compensation. There is another. I declare that I do not believe there +is in all London a girl with such a genius as yours for puddings and +pies, cakes and biscuits. I now understand that there is more wanted, +in this confection, than industry and application. It is an art. Every +art affords scope for genius born not made. The true--the really +artistic--administration of spice and sugar, milk, eggs, butter, and +flour requires real genius--such as yours, my child. And as to the +still-room, there isn't such a thing left, I believe, in the whole +world except on Samson, any more than there is a spinning-wheel. Who +but yourself, Armorel, possesses the secret, long since supposed to be +hopelessly lost, of composing Cyprus water, and the Divine Cordial? In +this respect, you belong to a hundred years ago, when the modern +ignorance was unknown. And where can I find--I should like to know--a +London girl who understands cherry brandy, and can make her own +blackberry wine?' + +'You want to please me, Roland, because you are going away and I am +unhappy.' She hung her head in sadness too deep for tears. 'That is +why you say all these fine things. But I know that they mean very +little. I am only an ignorant girl.' + +'I must always, out of common gratitude, want to please you. But I am +only speaking the bare truth. Then there is the delicate question of +dress. An ordinary man is not supposed to know anything about dress, +but an artist has always to consider it. There are certainly other +girls--thousands of other girls--more expensively dressed than you, +Armorel; but you have the taste for costume, which is far better than +any amount of costly stuff.' + +'Chessun taught me how to sew and how to cut out.' But the assurance +of this excellence brought her no comfort. + +'When I am gone, Armorel, you will go on with your drawing, will you +not?' It will be seen that he endeavoured, as an Apostle of Art, to +introduce its cult even on remote Samson. That was so, and not without +success. The girl, he discovered, had been always making untaught +attempts at drawing, and wanted nothing but a little instruction. This +was a fresh discovery. 'That you should have the gift of the pencil is +delightful to think of. The pencil, you see, is like the Jinn--I fear +you have no Jinn on Samson--who could do almost anything for those who +knew how to command his obedience, but only made those people +ridiculous who ignorantly tried to order him around. If you go on +drawing every day I am sure you will learn how to make that Jinn +obedient. I will send you, when I get home, some simple books for your +guidance. Promise, child, that you will not throw away this gift.' + +'I will draw every day,' she replied, obediently, but with profound +dejection. + +'Then there is your reading. You must read something. I have looked +through your shelves, and have picked out some books for you. There is +a volume of Cowper and of Pope, and an old copy of the _Spectator_, +and there is Goldsmith's "Deserted Village."' + +'I will read anything you wish me to read,' she replied. + +'I will send you some more books. You ought to know something about +the world of to-day. Addison and Goldsmith will not teach you that. +But I don't know what to send you. Novels are supposed to represent +life; but then they pre-suppose a knowledge of the world, to begin +with. You want an account of modern society as it is, and the thing +does not exist. I will consider about it.' + +'I will read whatever you send me. Roland, when I have read all the +books and learned to draw, shall I have grown to my full height? +Remember what you said about yourself.' + +'I don't know, Armorel. It is not reading. But----' He left the +sentence unfinished. + +'Who is to tell me--on Samson?' she asked. + +In the afternoon of this day Roland planted his easel on the plateau +of the northern hill, where the barrows are, and put the last touches +to the sketch, which he afterwards made into the first picture which +he ever exhibited. It appeared in the Grosvenor of '85: of course +everybody remembers the picture, which attracted a very respectable +amount of attention. It was called the 'Daughter of Lyonesse.' It +represented a maiden in the first blossom of womanhood--tall and +shapely. She was dressed in a robe of white wool thrown over her left +shoulder and gathered at the waist by a simple belt of brown leather: +a white linen vest was seen below the wool: round her neck was a +golden torque: behind her was the setting sun: she stood upon the +highest of a low pile of granite boulders, round the feet of which +were spread the yellow branches of the fern and the faded flowers of +the heather: she shaded her eyes from the sun with her left hand, and +looked out to sea. She was bare-headed: the strong breeze lifted her +long black hair and blew it from her shoulders: her eyes were black +and her complexion was dark. Behind her and below her was the +splendour of sun and sky and sea, with the Western Islands rising +black above the golden waters. + +The sketch showed the figure, but the drapery was not complete: as yet +it was a study of light and colour and a portrait. + +'I don't quite know,' said the painter, thoughtfully, 'whether you +ought not to wear a purple chiton: Phoenician trade must have +brought Phoenician luxuries to Lyonesse. Your ancestors were +tin-men--rich miners--no doubt the ladies of the family went dressed +in the very, very best. I wonder whether in those days the King's +daughter was barefooted. The _caliga_, I think--the leather +sandal--would have been early introduced into the royal family on +account of the spikiness of the fern in autumn and the thorns of the +gorse all the year round. The slaves and common people, of course, +would have to endure the thorns.' + +He continued his work while he talked, Armorel making no reply, +enacting the model with zeal. + +'It is a strange sunset,' he went on, as if talking to himself, 'a day +of clouds, but in the west a broad belt of blue low down in the +horizon: in the midst of the belt the sun flaming crimson: on either +hand the sky aglow, but only in the belt of clear: above is the solid +cloud, grey and sulky, receiving none of the colour: below is also the +solid, sulky cloud, but under the sun there spreads out a fan of light +which strikes the waters and sets them aflame in a long broad road +from the heavens to your feet, O child of Lyonesse. Outside this road +of light the waters are dull and gloomy: in the sky the coloured belt +of light fades gradually into soft yellows, clear greens, and azure +blues. A strange sunset! A strange effect of light! Armorel, you see +your life: it is prefigured by the light. Overhead the sky is grey and +colourless: where the glow of the future does not lie on the waters +they are grey and colourless. Nothing around you but the waste of +grey sea: before you black rocks--life is always full of black rocks: +and beyond, the splendid sun--soft, warm, and glowing. You shall +interpret that in your own way.' + +Armorel listened, standing motionless, her left hand shading her eyes. + +'If the picture,' he went on, 'comes out as I hope it may, it will be +one of those that suggest many things. Every good picture, Armorel, as +well as every good poem, suggests. It is like that statue of Christ +which is always taller than the tallest man. Nobody can ever get above +the thought and soul of a good picture or a good poem. There is always +more in it than the wisest man knows. That is the proof of genius. +That is why I long all day for the mysterious power of putting into my +work the soul of everyone who looks upon it--as well as my own soul. +When you come to stand before a great picture, Armorel, perhaps you +will understand what I mean. You will find your heart agitated with +strange emotions--you will leave it with new thoughts. When you go +away from your desert island, remember every day to read a piece of +great verse, to look upon a great picture, and to hear a piece of +great music. As for these suggested thoughts, you will not perhaps be +able to put them into words. But they will be there.' + +Still Armorel made no reply. It was as if he were talking to a statue. + +'I have painted you,' he said, 'with the golden torque round your +neck: the red gold is caught by the sunshine: as for your dress, I +think it must be a white woollen robe--perhaps a border of purple--but +I don't know---- There are already heaps of colour--colour of sky and +of water, of the granite with the yellow lichen, and of brown and +yellow fern and of heather faded---- No--you shall be all in white, +Armorel. No dress so sweet for a girl as white. A vest of white linen +made by yourself from your own spinning-wheel, up to the throat and +covering the right shoulder. Are you tired, child?' + +'No--I like to hear you talk.' + +'I have nearly done--in fact,' he leaned back and contemplated his +work with the enthusiasm which is to a painter what the glow of +composition is to the writer, 'I have done all I can until I go home. +The sun of Scilly hath a more golden glow in September than the sun of +St. John's Wood. If I have caught aright--or something like it--the +light that is around you and about you, Armorel---- The sun in your +left hand is like the red light of the candle through the closed +fingers. So--I can do no more--Armorel! you are all glorious within +and without. You are indeed the King's Daughter: you are clothed with +the sun as with a garment: if the sun were to disappear this moment, +you would stand upon the Peak, for all the island to admire--a flaming +beacon!' + +His voice was jubilant--he had done well. Yet he shaded his eyes and +looked at canvas and at model once more with jealousy and suspicion. +If he had passed over something! It was an ambitious picture--the most +ambitious thing he had yet attempted. + +'Armorel!' he cried. 'If I could only paint as well as I can see! Come +down, child; you are good indeed to stand so long and so patiently.' + +She obeyed and jumped off her eminence, and stood beside him looking +at the picture. + +'Tell me what you think,' said the painter. 'You see--it is the King's +Daughter. She stands on a peak in Lyonesse and looks forth upon the +waters. Why? I know not. She seeks the secrets of the future, perhaps. +She looks for the coming of the Perfect Knight, perhaps. She expects +the Heaven that waits for every maiden--in this world as well as in +the next. Everyone may interpret the picture for himself. She is +young--everything is possible to the young. Tell me, Armorel, what do +you think?' + +She drew a long breath. 'A--h!' she murmured. 'I have never seen +anything like this before. It is not me you have painted, Roland. You +say it is a picture of me--just to please and flatter me. There is my +face--yet not my face. All is changed. Roland, when I am grown to my +full height, shall I look like this? + +'If you do, when that day comes, I shall be proved to be a painter +indeed,' he replied. 'If you had seen nothing but yourself--your own +self--and no more, I would have burnt the thing. Now you give me +hopes. + +Afterwards, Armorel loved best to remember him as he stood there +beside this unfinished picture, glowing with the thought that he had +done what he had attempted. The soul was there. + +Out of the chatter of the studio, the endless discussions of style and +method, he had come down to this simple spot, to live for three weeks, +cut off from the world, with a child who knew nothing of these things. +He came at a time when his enthusiasm for his work was at its +fiercest: that is, when the early studies are beginning to bear fruit, +when the hand has acquired command of the pencil and can control the +brush, and when the eye is already trained to colour. It was at a time +when the young artist refuses to look at any but the greatest work, +and refuses to dream of any future except that of the greatest and +noblest work. It is a splendid thing to have had, even for a short +time, these dreams and these enthusiasms. + +'The picture is finished,' said Armorel, 'and to-morrow you will go +away and leave me.' The tears welled up in her eyes. Why should not +the child cry for the departure of this sweet friend? + +'My dear child,' he said, 'I cannot believe that you will stay for +ever on this desert island.' + +'I do not want to leave the island. I want to keep you here. Why don't +you stay altogether, Roland? You can paint here. Have we made you +happy? Are you satisfied with our way of living? We will change it for +you, if you wish.' + +'No--no--it is not that. I must go home. I must go back to my work. +But I cannot bear to think of you left alone with these old people, +with no companions and no friends. The time will come when you will +leave the place and go away somewhere--where people live and talk----' + +He reflected that if she went away it might be among people ignorant +of Art and void of culture. This beautiful child, who might have been +a Princess--she was only a flower-farmer of the Scilly Islands. What +could she hope or expect? + +'I do not want to go into the world,' she went on. 'I am afraid, +because I am so ignorant. People would laugh at me. I would rather +stay here always, if you were with me. Then we would do nothing but +sail and row and go fishing: and you could paint and sketch all the +time.' + +'It is impossible, Armorel. You talk like a child. In a year or two +you will understand that it is impossible. Besides, we should both +grow old. Think of that. Think of two old people going about sailing +among the islands for ever: I, like Justinian Tryeth, bald and bowed +and wrinkled: you, like Dorcas--no, no; you could never grow like +Dorcas: you shall grow serenely, beautifully old.' + +'What would that matter?' she replied. 'Some day, even, one of us +would die. What would that matter, either, because we should only be +parted by a year or two? Oh! whether we are old or young the sea never +grows old, nor the hills and rocks--and the sunshine is always the +same. And when we die there will be a new heaven and a new earth--you +can read it in the Book of Revelation--but no more sea, no more sea. +That I cannot understand. How could angels and saints be happy without +the sea? If one lives among people in towns, I dare say it may be +disagreeable to grow old, and perhaps to look ugly like poor Dorcas; +but not, no, not when one lives in such a place as this.' + +'Where did you get your wisdom, Armorel?' + +'Is that wisdom?' + +'When I go away my chief regret will be that I kept talking to you +about myself. Men are selfish pigs. We should have talked about +nothing but you. Then I should have learned a great deal. See how we +miss our opportunities.' + +'No, no; I had nothing to tell you. And you had such a great deal to +tell me. It was you who taught me that everybody ought to try to grow +to his full height.' + +'Did I? It was only a passing thought. Such things occur to one +sometimes.' + +She sat down on a boulder and crossed her hands in her lap, looking at +him seriously and gravely with her great black eyes. + +'Now,' she said, 'I want to be very serious. It is my last chance. +Roland, I am resolved that I will try to grow to my full height. You +are going away to-morrow, and I shall have no one to advise me. Give +me all the help you can before you go.' + +'What help can I give you, Armorel?' + +'I have been thinking. You have told me all about yourself. You are +going to be a great artist: you will give up all your life to your +work: when you have grown as tall as you can, everybody will +congratulate you, and you will be proud and happy. But who is to tell +me? How shall I know when I am grown to my full height?' + +'You have got something more in your mind, Armorel.' + +'Give me a model, Roland. You always paint from a model yourself--you +told me so. Now, think of the very best actual girl of all the girls +you know--the most perfect girl, mind: she must be a girl that I can +remember and try to copy. I must have something to think of and go by, +you know.' + +'The very best actual girl I know?' he laughed, with a touch of the +abominable modern cynicism which no longer believes in girls. 'That +wouldn't help you much, I am afraid. You see, Armorel, I should not +look to the actual girls I know for the best girl at all. There is, +however'--he pulled his shadowy moustache, looking very wise--'a most +wonderful girl--I confess that I have never met her, but I have heard +of her: the poets keep talking about her--and some of the novelists +are fond of drawing her; I have heard of her, read of her, and dreamed +of her. Shall I tell you about her?' + +'If you please--that is, if she can become my model.' + +'Perhaps. She is quite a possible girl, Armorel, like yourself. That +is to say, a girl who may really develop out of certain qualities. As +for actual girls, there are any number whom one knows in a way--one +can distinguish them--I mean by their voices, their faces, and their +figures and so forth. But as for knowing anything more about them----' + +'Tell me, then, about the girl whom you do know, though you have never +seen her.' + +'I will if I can. As for her face--now----' + +'Never mind her face,' she interrupted, impatiently. + +'Never mind her face, as you say. Besides, you can look in the glass +if you want to know her face.' + +'Yes; that will do,' said Armorel, simply. 'Now go on.' + +'First of all, then, she is always well dressed--beautifully +dressed--and with as much taste as the silly fashion of the day +allows. A woman, you know, though she is the most beautiful creature +in the whole of animated nature, can never afford to do without the +adornments of dress. It does not much matter how a man goes dressed. +He only dresses for warmth. In any dress and in any rags a handsome +man looks well. But not a woman. Her dress either ruins her beauty or +it heightens it. A woman must always, and at all ages, look as +beautiful as she can. Therefore, she arranges her clothes so as to set +off her beauty when she is young: to make her seem still beautiful +when she is past her youth: and to hide the ravages of time when she +is old. That is the first thing which I remark about this girl. Of +course, she doesn't dress as if her father was a Silver King. Such a +simple stuff as your grey nun's cloth, Armorel, is good enough to make +the most lovely dress.' + +'She is always well dressed,' his pupil repeated. 'That is the first +thing.' + +'She is accomplished, of course,' Roland added, airily, as if +accomplishments were as easy to pick up as the blue and grey shells on +Porth Bay. 'She understands music, and plays on some instrument. She +knows about art of all kinds--art in painting, sculptures, +decorations, poetry, literature, music. She can talk intelligently +about art; and she has trained her eye so that she knows good work. +She is never carried away by shams and humbug.' + +'She has trained her eye, and knows good work,' Armorel repeated. + +'Above all, she is sympathetic. She does not talk so as to show how +clever she is, but to bring out the best points of the man she is +talking with. Yet when men leave her they forget what they have said +themselves, and only remember how much this girl seems to know.' + +'Seems to know?' Armorel looked up. + +'One woman cannot know everything. But a clever woman will know about +everything that belongs to her own set. We all belong to our own set, +and every set talks its own language--scientific, artistic, whatever +it is. This girl does not pretend to enter into the arena; but she +knows the rules of the game, and talks accordingly. She is always +intelligent, gracious, and sympathetic.' + +'She is intelligent, gracious, and sympathetic,' Armorel repeated. 'Is +she gracious to everybody--even to people she does not like?' + +'In society,' said Roland, 'we like everybody. We are all perfectly +well-bred and well-behaved: we always say the kindest things about +each other.' + +'Now you are saying one thing and meaning another. That is like your +friend Dick Stephenson. Don't, Roland.' + +'Well, then, I have very little more to say. This girl, however, is +always a woman's woman.' + +'What is that?' + +'Difficult to explain. A wise lady once advised me when I went +courting, first to make quite sure that the girl was a woman's woman. +I think she meant that other girls should speak and think well of her. +I haven't always remembered the advice, it is true, but----' Here he +stopped short and in some confusion, remembering that this was not an +occasion for plenary confession. + +But Armorel only nodded gravely. 'I shall remember,' she said. + +'The rest you know. She loves everything that is beautiful and good. +She hates everything that is coarse and ugly. That is all.' + +'Thank you--I shall remember,' she repeated. 'Roland, you must have +thought a good deal about girls to know so much.' + +He blushed: he really did. He blushed a rich and rosy red. + +'An artist, you know,' he said, 'has to draw beautiful girls. +Naturally he thinks of the lovely soul behind the lovely face. These +things are only commonplaces. You yourself, Armorel--you--will shame +me, presently--when you have grown to that full height--for drawing a +picture so insufficient of the Perfect Woman.' + +He stooped slightly, as if he would have kissed her forehead. Why not? +She was but a child. But he refrained. + +[Illustration: _He stooped slightly, as if he would have kissed her +forehead._] + +'Let us go home,' he said, with a certain harshness in his voice. 'The +sun is down. The clouds have covered up the belt of blue. You have +seen your splendid future, Armorel, and you are back in the grey and +sunless present. It grows cold. To-morrow, I think, we may have rain. +Let us go home, child: let us go home.' + + + + +CHAPTER X + +MR. FLETCHER RETURNS FOR HIS BAG + + +Half an hour later the blinds were down, the fire was brightly +burning, the red firelight was merrily dancing about the room, and the +table was pushed back. Then Dorcas and Justinian came in--the two old +serving-folk, bent with age, grey-headed, toothless--followed by +Chessun--thin and tall, silent and subdued. And Armorel, taking her +violin, tuned it, and turned to her old master for instructions, just +as she had done on the first and every following night of Roland's +stay. + +'"Barley Break,"' said Justinian. + +Armorel struck up that well-known air. Then, as before, the ancient +dame started, moved uneasily, sat upright, and opened her eyes and +began to talk. But to-night she was not rambling: she did not begin +one fragment of reminiscence and break off in the middle. She started +with a clear story in her mind, which she began at the beginning and +carried on. When Armorel saw her thus disposed, she stopped playing +'Barley Break,' which may amuse the aged mind and recall old +merriment, but lacks earnestness. + +'"Put on thy smock o' Monday,"' said Justinian. + +This ditty lends itself to more sustained thought. Armorel put more +seriousness into it than the theme of the music would seem to +warrant. The old lady, however, seemed to like it, and continued her +narrative without interrupting it at any point. Armorel also observed +that, though she addressed the assembled multitude generally, she kept +glancing furtively at Roland. + +'The night was terrible,' said the ancient dame, speaking distinctly +and connectedly; 'never was such a storm known--we could hear the +waves beating and dashing about the islands louder than the roaring of +the wind, and we heard the minute-gun, so that there was little sleep +for anyone. At daybreak we were all on the shore, out on Shark Point. +Sure enough, on the Castinicks the ship lay, breaking up fast--a +splendid East Indiaman she was. Her masts were gone and her bows were +stove in--as soon as the light got strong enough we could see so +much--and the shore covered already with wreck. But not a sign of +passengers or crew. Then my husband's father, who was always first, +saw something, and ran into the water up to his middle and dragged +ashore a spar. And, sure enough, a man was lashed to the spar. When +father hauled the man up, he was quite senseless, and he seemed dead, +so that another quarter of an hour would have finished him, even if +his head had not been knocked against a rock, or the spar turned over +and drowned him. Just as father was going to call for help to drag him +up, he saw a little leather bag hanging from his neck by a leather +thong. There were others about, all the people of Samson--fifty of +them--men, women, and children--all busy collecting the things that +had been washed ashore, and some up to their waists in the water after +the things still floating about. But nobody was looking. Therefore, +father, thinking it was a dead man, whipped out his knife, cut the +leather thong, and slipped the bag into his own pocket, not stopping +to look at it. No one saw him, mind--no one--not even your father, +Justinian, who was close beside him at the time.' + +'Ay, ay,' said Justinian: 'if father had seen it, naturally----' But +his voice died away, and Roland was left to wonder what, under such +circumstances, a native of Samson would have done. + +'No one saw it. Father thought the man was dead. But he wasn't. +Presently he moved. Then they carried him up the hill to the +farm--this very house--and laid him down before the fire--just at your +feet, Armorel--and I was standing by. "Get him a cordial," says +father. So we gave him a dram, and he drank it and opened his eyes. He +was a gentleman--we could see that--not a common sailor: not a common +man.' + +Here her head dropped, and she seemed to be losing herself again. + +'Try her with a Saraband,' said Justinian, as if a determined effort +had to be made. Armorel changed her tune. A Saraband lends itself to a +serious and even solemn turn of thought. As a dance it requires the +best manners, the bravest dress, and the most dignified air. It will +be seen, therefore, that to a mind bent upon a grave narrative of +deeds lamentable and fateful, the Saraband, played in a proper frame +of mind, may prove sympathetic. The ancient lady lifted her head, +strengthened by the opening bars, which, indeed, are very strong, and +resumed her story. Armorel, to be sure, and all her hearers, knew the +history well, having heard it every night in disjointed bits. The Tale +of the Stolen Treasure was familiar to her: it was more than +familiar--it was a bore: the Family Doom seemed unjust to her: it +disturbed her sense of Providential benevolence: yet she threw all her +soul into the Saraband in order to prolong by a few minutes the waking +and conscious moments of this remote ancestress. A striking +illustration, had the others understood it, of filial piety. + +'But I was standing close by father,' she went on--'I was beside him +on the beach, and I saw it. I saw him cut the thong and slip the bag +into his pocket. When he came to himself, I whispered to father, +"There's his bag: you've got his bag in your pocket." "I know," he +said, rough. "Hold your tongue, girl." So I said no more, but waited. +Then the man opened his eyes and tried to sit up; but he couldn't, +being still dizzy with the beating of the waves. But he looked at us, +wondering where he was. "You are ashore, Master," said father. "The +only one of all the ship's company that is, so far." "Ashore?" he +asked. "Ay, ashore: where else would you be? Your ship's in splinters: +your captain and your crew are dead men all. But you're ashore." With +that the man shut his eyes and lay quiet for a time. Then he opened +them again. "Where am I?" he asked. "You are on Samson, in Scilly," I +told him. Then he tried to get up again, but he couldn't. And so we +carried him upstairs and laid him on the bed. + +'He was in bed for nigh upon six weeks. Never was any man so near his +latter end. I nursed him all the time. He had a fever, and his head +wandered. In his rambling he told me who he was. His name was Robert +Fletcher--Robert Fletcher,' she repeated, nodding to Roland with +strange significance. 'A brave gentleman, and handsome and +well-mannered. He had been in the service of an Indian King; and, +though he was only thirty, he had made his fortune and was bringing it +home, thinking that he would do nothing more all his life but just sit +down and enjoy himself. All his fortune was in the bag. When he +recovered he told me that the last thing he remembered, before he was +washed off the ship, was feeling for the safety of his bag. And it was +gone. And he was a beggar. Poor man! And I knew all the time where the +bag was and who had it. But I could not tell him. If father sinned +when he kept the bag, I sinned as well, because I knew he kept it. If +father was punished when his son was drowned, that son was my husband, +and I was punished too.' + +She stopped, and it seemed as if for the evening she had run down; but +Armorel stimulated her again, and she went on, looking more and more +at the face of the stranger that was in their gates. + +'While he lay ill and was like to die, father was uneasy--I know why. +He wanted him to die, because then he could keep the treasure with a +quiet mind. "All's ours that comes ashore," that's what we used to +say. He never confessed his thoughts--but I, who knew what was in the +bag, guessed them very well. + +'The stranger began to recover, and father fell into a gloomy fit, and +would go and sit by himself for hours. Nobody dared ask him--for he +was a man of short temper and rough in his speech--what was the matter +with him, but I knew very well. He was gloomy because he didn't want +to lose that bag. But the man got better, and at last quite well, and +one morning he came down dressed in clothes that father lent him, +because his own were ruined in the washing of him ashore, and he bade +us all farewell. "Captain Rosevean," he said, very earnestly, "when I +left India I was rich: I was carrying all my fortune home with me in a +small compass, for safety, as I thought. I was going to be a rich man, +and work no more. Well--I have escaped with my life, and that is all. +If I were not a beggar I would offer you half my fortune for saving my +life. As it is, I can offer you nothing but my gratitude." + +'So he shook hands with father, who stood as white as a sheet, for all +he was a ruddy-faced man and inclined to brandy. "And farewell, +Mistress Ursula," he said. "Farewell, my kind nurse." So he kissed me, +being a courteous gentleman. "I shall come back again to see you," he +said; "I shall surely come back. Look to see me some day, when you +least expect me." So he went away, and they rowed him over to the +Port, and he sailed to Penzance. Father went to his own room, where +the treasure was. And my heart sank heavy as lead. The more I thought +of the wickedness, the heavier fell my heart. There was father and his +son, my husband, and myself and my own son not yet born. The Hand of +the Lord would be upon us for that wickedness. I ought to have cried +out to the stranger before he went away that his treasure was safe and +that we were keeping it for him. But I didn't. Then I tried to comfort +myself. I said that when he came again I would give him back the bag, +even if I had to steal it from father's chest. + +'It was a long time ago--they are all gone, swallowed up by the +sea--which was right, because we stole the treasure from the sea. He +never came back. I looked for him to come after my husband was +drowned, and after my son went too, and my grandson--but he never came +again as he promised. And at last, at last'--her voice rose almost to +a shriek, and everybody jumped in his chair; but Armorel continued to +play the Saraband slowly and with much expression--'at last he has +come back, and we are saved. All that are left of us are saved. +Armorel, my child, you are saved. Your bones shall not lie rotting +among the sea-weed: your flesh shall not be devoured by crabs and +conger-eels: you may sail without fear among the islands. For he has +kept his promise and has come back. + +Then she rose--she, who had not stood upon her feet for three +years--actually rose and stood up, or seemed to stand: the red light, +playing on her face, made her eyes shine like two balls of fire. +'You,' she cried, pointing her long, skinny, finger at Roland. 'You! +oh! you have come at last. You have suffered all that innocent blood +to be shed: but you have come at last.' She sank back among her +pillows, but her finger still pointed at the stranger. 'Sir,' she said +now, with tremulous voice, 'you are welcome. Late though it is, Mr. +Fletcher, you are welcome. When you came a day or two ago I wondered, +being now very old and foolish, if it was really you. Now I know. I +remember, though it is nearly eighty years ago. You are welcome again +to Samson, Mr. Fletcher. You find me changed, no doubt. I knew you +would keep your promise and come again, some time or other. As for +you, I see little change. You are dressed differently, and when you +were here last your hair was worn in another fashion. But you are no +older to look at. You are not changed at all by time. You would not +know me again. How should you? I suppose you knew--somebody told you, +perhaps--that the bag was safe after all. That knowledge has kept you +young. Nothing short of that knowledge could have kept you young. I +assure you, Sir, had I known where to find you I would have taken the +bag and its contents to you long, long ago. And now you are come back +in search of it.' + +'It was eighty years ago!' Dorcas whispered to Chessun, shuddering. +'He must be more than a hundred!' + +'A hundred years!' returned her daughter, with pallid cheeks. 'It +isn't in nature. He looks no more than twenty. Mother, is he a man and +alive?' + +'Pretend that you are Mr. Fletcher,' whispered Armorel. 'Do not +contradict her. Say something.' + +'It is a long time ago,' said Roland. 'I should have kept my promise +much sooner. And as for that bag--you saved my life, you know. Pray +keep the bag. It has long been forgotten.' + +'Keep the bag? Do you know what is in it? Do you know what it is +worth? That, Mr. Fletcher, is your politeness. We, who have suffered +so much from the possession of the bag, cannot believe that you have +forgotten it, because if we have suffered for our guilt you must have +suffered through that guilt. Else there would be no justice. No +justice at all unless you have suffered too. Else all those lives have +been wasted and thrown away.' + +The old lady spoke with the voice and firmness of a woman of fifty. +She looked strong: she sat up erect. Armorel played on, now softly, +now loudly. The serving-folk looked on open-mouthed: the women with +terror undisguised. Was this gentleman, so young and so pleasant, none +other than the man whose injury had brought all these drownings upon +the family? Nearly eighty years ago that happened. Then, he must be a +ghost! What else could he be? No human creature could come back after +eighty years still so young. + +'When I said, Madam,' Roland explained, 'that I had forgotten the bag, +what I meant was that after losing it so long I had quite abandoned +all hope of finding it again. I assure you that I have not come here +in search of it. In fact, I thought it was lying at the bottom of the +sea, where so many other treasures lie.' + +'It is not at the bottom of the sea, Mr. Fletcher. You shall have it +again, to-morrow. You are still so young that you can enjoy your +fortune. Make good use of it, Sir, and do not forget the poor. I have +counted the contents again and again. They are not things that wear +out and rust, are they? No, no. You must often have laughed to think +that the moth and the worm cannot destroy that treasure. You will be +very pleased to have it back.' + +'I shall be very pleased indeed,' he echoed, 'to have my treasure +again.' + +'Face and voice unchanged.' The old lady shook her head. 'And after +eighty years. It is a miracle, yet not a greater miracle than the +Vengeance which has pursued this house so long. This single crime has +been visited upon the third and fourth generation. 'Tis time that +punishment should cease at last--cease at last! I must tell you, Mr. +Fletcher,' she went on, 'that when my husband was drowned and my +father-in-law died, I took possession of the bag and everything else. +I said nothing to my son. Why? Because, until the owner of the stolen +bag came back, the curse was on him and his children. No--no; I would +not let him know. But I knew very well what would happen to all of +them. Oh! yes; I knew, and I waited. But he was happy, and his son and +his grandson and his great-grandson, until they were drowned, one +after the other. And still you stayed away.' + +'Madam, had I known, I would have returned fifty years ago and more, +in time to have saved them all.' + +'You might have come sooner, Sir, permit me to say, and so have saved +some.' It was wonderful how erect the old lady held herself, and with +what firmness and precision she spoke. + +'There is now only one left--the child Armorel. To-morrow, Sir, you +shall have your bag again. Once more you are our guest: this time, I +hope you will leave a blessing instead of a curse upon the house.' + +At this moment Armorel ceased playing. Then this ancient lady stopped +talking. She looked round: her eyes lost their fire: her face its +expression: her mouth its firmness: she fell back in her pillows, and +her head dropped. + +Dorcas and Chessun rose and carried her to her own room. The old man +got up, too, and shambled out. Armorel pushed the table into its +place, and lit the candles. The incident was closed. In the morning +the old lady had forgotten everything. + +'Almost,' said Roland, 'she has made me believe that my name is +Fletcher. Shall I to-morrow morning ask her for the bag? Where is that +bag? Armorel, it is a true story. I am quite certain of it.' + +'Oh, yes, it is true. Justinian knows about the wreck, though it +happened before he was born. Mr. Fletcher was the only man saved of +all the ship and company--captain, officers, crew, and passengers--the +only one. He was rescued by Captain Rosevean himself and brought here. +He had the bedroom where you sleep--the bedroom which was my brother +Emanuel's room. Here he lay ill a long time, but recovered and went +away.' + +'And the bag?' + +'I know nothing about the bag. That has gone long ago, I suppose, with +all the money that my people made by smuggling and by piloting. I have +seen her watching you for some days past: I thought she would speak to +you last night. To-morrow she will have forgotten everything.' + +'I suppose I have some kind of resemblance to Mr. Robert Fletcher, +presumably deceased. Well--but, Armorel, this is a fortunate evening. +The family luck has come back--I have brought it back. The Ancient one +said so, and you are saved. She may call me Fletcher--call me +Tryeth--call me any name that flyeth--if she only calls me him who +arrived in time to save you, Armorel.' + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +ROLAND'S LETTER + + +Roland went away. Like Mr. Robert Fletcher, he promised to return, +and, like her great-great-grandmother, but for other reasons, Armorel +treasured this promise. Also like Mr. Robert Fletcher, now presumably +deceased, Roland went away with the sense of having left something +behind him. Not his heart, dear reader. A young man of twenty-one does +not give away his heart in the old-fashioned way any longer: he +carries it about with him, carefully kept in its proper place: what +Roland had left behind him, for awhile, was a part of himself. It +would perhaps come back to him in good time, but for the present it +remained on Samson, and discoursed to the rest of him in London +whenever he would listen, on the beauties of that archipelago and the +graces of the child Armorel. And this part of himself, which haunted +Samson, made him sit down and write a letter. It would have been a +tender, a sorrowful, an affectionate letter had it not been for that +other part of him--the greater part--which went to London. That other +part of him remonstrated. 'She is but a simple country girl,' it said. +'Her future will be to marry a simple Scillonian. Why disturb her +mind? Why seek to plant the seeds of discontent under the guise of +culture? Leave her--leave her to herself. Forget those dark eyes, in +whose depths there seemed to lie so sweet, so great a soul. Believe +me, there was nothing at all behind those eyes but ignorance and +curiosity. How could there be anything? Leave her in peace. Or, since +you must write, let it be a cold letter--friendly, but fatherly--and +let her understand clearly that the visit can produce no further +consequences whatever.' Thus the London half of him--the bigger half. +Perhaps his friend Dick Stephenson remonstrated in the same strain. +But the lesser half insisted on writing a letter of some kind--and had +his way. + +He wrote a letter, and sent it off. + +It was the very first letter that had ever been sent to Samson. Of +that I am quite sure. No letters ever reached that island. If people +had business with Samson, they transacted it at the Port with +Justinian or Peter. Of course it was the first letter that had ever +been received by Armorel. Peter brought it across for her. He had +wrapped the unaccustomed thing in brown paper for fear the spray +should fall upon it. Armorel drew it forth from its covering and gazed +upon it with the wonder of a child who gets an unexpected toy. She +read over the address a dozen times: '"Miss Rosevean"--look at it, +Dorcas. What a pity you cannot read! "Miss Rosevean"--he might have +written "Armorel"--"Island of Samson, Scilly." Of course, it is from +Roland. No one else would write to me.' Then she opened it carefully, +so as not to injure any part of the writing--indeed, Roland possessed +that desirable, but very rare, gift of a very beautiful hand. No +Penman of the monastery: no scrivener of a later age: no Arab or +Persian scribe, could write a more beautiful hand. It was a hand in +which every letter was clearly formed, as if it made a picture of +itself, and every word was a Group, like the Eastern Isles of Scilly, +to be admired by the whole world. + +The letter began--the London portion conceding so much--with a +pen-and-ink sketch of the writer's head: if it was just a little +idealised, who shall blame the limner? This was delightful. Armorel +had no portrait of her friend. What would follow after such a +beautiful beginning? Then the writing began, and Armorel addressed +herself seriously to the mastering of and the meaning of the letter. I +blush to record the fact, but Armorel read handwriting slowly. +Consider. Since she left school she had seen none: while at school she +had seen little. People easily forget such a simple thing, though we +who write all day long cannot understand how a man can forget how to +write. Yet there are many working-men who cannot read handwriting, nor +can they themselves write. They have had no occasion, all their lives, +to use either accomplishment, and so have readily forgotten it--a fact +which shows the profound wisdom of the School Boards in teaching +spelling. Armorel could read the letter, but she read it slowly. + +It seemed, when she read it first, sentence by sentence, a really +beautiful letter--regarded as a letter in the abstract. After she had +read it two or three times over, and had mastered the whole document, +she began to understand that the writer of it was not the man she +remembered, not the man whose memory she loved and cherished, not at +all her friend Roland Lee. All the old _camaraderie_ was gone. It was +the letter of another man altogether. It was cold and stiff. The +coldness went to the girl's heart. She had never known Roland to be +cold. Where was the sympathy which formerly flowed in magnetic +currents from one to the other? Where was the brotherly interest?--she +called it brotherly. The writer spoke, it is true, with gratitude +overwhelming, of his stay on the island, and her hospitality. But, +good gracious! Armorel wanted no thanks. His visit had made her happy: +he knew that. Why should he take up a page and a half in returning +thanks to her, when her own heart was full of gratitude to him? He +said that the three weeks he had spent among the islands had been a +holiday which he could never forget--this was very good, so far; but +then he spoiled all by adding that he should not readily +forget--'readily forget' he wrote--his fair companion and guide among +those labyrinthine waters. 'Fair companion!' What had fairness to do +with it? Armorel had been his pupil: he taught her all day long. She +did not want to be called his 'fair companion': that was mockery. She +wanted to be called 'his dear friend' or 'his dear sister': that would +have gone straight to her heart. She expected at least so much when +she opened the letter. But worse--far worse--was to follow. He +actually spoke of the possibilities of their never meeting again, the +world (outside Scilly) being so very wide. Never to meet again! And he +had promised to return: he had faithfully promised. Why, he had only +to take the steamer from Penzance: Samson Island would not sail away. +Why did he not rather say when he was to be expected? Worst of all, he +spoke of her forgetting him. Oh! how could she forget him? As for the +rest of the letter, the paternal advice to continue in the path of +industry, and so forth, no clergyman in the pulpit could speak more +wisely: but these things touched not the girl. Woman wants affection +rather than wisdom, even though she understands, or has, at least, +been told, that Wisdom delivereth from the way of the Evil Man. + +Armorel at length laid the letter down with a sigh and a tear. She +kept it in her pocket for some days, and read it every day: but with +increasing sadness. Finally, she laid it in a drawer where were all +the sketches, fragments of illustration, and outline drawings which +Roland had given her. She would read it no longer. She would wait till +Roland came back, and she would ask him what it meant. Perhaps it was +the way of the world to be so cold and so constrained in +letter-writing. + +There came a box with the letter. It contained books--quite a large +number of books--selected by Roland with the view of suiting the case +of one who dwells upon a desert island. It was just as if Captain +Woodes Rogers had left Alexander alone upon Juan Fernandez, and gone +home to make up for him a parcel of books intended to show him what +went on in the wider world. There were also drawing materials, +colours, brushes, pencils, books of instruction, and books of music. +Roland the fatherly--the London part of Roland--neglected nothing that +might be solidly serviceable to the young Person. Observe, here, one +of those black gaps of ignorance already spoken of in this girl of the +Lonely Isles. She did not know that an answer to the letter was +absolutely necessary. In the London studio the writer sat wondering +why no answer came. He had been so careful, too: not a word which +could be misunderstood: he had been so truly fatherly. And yet no +reply. + +Nobody was at hand to tell Armorel that she must sit down and write +some kind of an answer. She tried, in fact: she made several attempts. +But she could not write anything that satisfied her. The coldness of +the letter chilled her. She wanted to write as she had talked with +him--all out of the fulness of her heart. How could she write to this +frigid creature? The writer of such a letter could not be her dear +companion who laughed and made her laugh, sang and made her sing, made +pictures for her, told her all about his own private ambitions, and +had no secrets from her: it was a strange man who wrote to her and +signed the name of Roland Lee. The real Roland would never have hinted +at the possibility of her forgetting him, or at the chance of their +never meeting again. The real Roland would have written to say when he +was coming again. She could not reply to this impostor. + +Therefore, she never answered that letter at all; and so she got no +more letters. It was a pity, because, had she written what was in her +mind, for very pity the real Roland would have returned to her. Once, +and once only, the voice of Roland came to her across the sea--and +then it was a changed voice. He spoke no more. But he would come +again: he said he would come again. Every day she sat on the hill +beside the barrow, and gazed across the Road. She could see the pier +of Hugh Town and the vessels in the port: perhaps Roland had come over +from Penzance by the morning steamer, and would shortly sail across +the Road, and leap out upon the beach, and run to meet and greet her, +with both hands outstretched, the light of affection in his eyes, and +the laugh of welcome in his voice. She was graver and more silent than +before: she did not sing so often as she walked among the ferns: she +did not prattle to Chessun and Dorcas while she made her cakes and +puddings. But nobody noticed any change in her: the serving-women, if +they observed any, would have said only that Armorel was growing into +a woman already. + +The autumn changed to winter. Roland would not come in winter, when +the sea is stormy and there is little sunshine. She must wait now +until spring. Meantime, on Samson, where are no trees except those +wizened and crooked little trees of the orchard, there is not much to +mark the winter except the cold wind and the short days. Here there is +never frost or snow, hail or ice. The brown turf is much the same in +December as in August; the dead fern is not so yellow; the dead and +dying leaves of the bramble are not so splendid. The wind is colder, +the sky is more grey; otherwise winter makes little difference in the +external aspect of this archipelago. When the short days begin, the +brown fields of the flower-farms clothe themselves with the verdure of +spring: before the New Year has fairly set in, some of the fresh +delicate flowers have been already cut and laid in the hothouse to be +sent across to Covent Garden. The harvest of the year begins with its +first day, and they reap it from January to May. + +There are plenty of things on such a farm for a girl to do. Armorel +did not, if you please, sit down to weep. But she daily recalled with +tender regret every one of the pleasant days of that companionship. +She kept her promise, too: she read something every morning in the +books which Roland had sent her: every afternoon she attempted to +carry on the drawing lesson by herself: she practised her violin +diligently: and every evening she played the old tunes to the old +lady, and awakened her once more to life and memory. There was no +change, except that everything now was coloured by what he had said. +She was to grow to her full height--he had told her how--but at +present she hardly saw her way to carrying out those instructions. Her +full height! Ignorant of the truth--since such a girl grown to her +full height would be so tall as to be out of all proportion, not only +to Samson, but even to St. Mary's itself. + +Sometimes one falls into the habit of associating a single person with +an idea, a thought, an anticipation, a place. Whenever the mind turns +to this thought, the person is present. For example, there is a street +in London which I have learned, from long habit, to associate with a +second-hand bookseller. He was a gentle creature, full of reading, who +had known many men. I sometimes sat at the back of his shop conversing +with him. Sometimes a twelve-month would pass without my seeing him at +all. But always when I think of this street I think of this old +gentleman. The other day I passed through it. Alas! the shutters were +up: the house was to let: my gentle friend was gone. Armorel +associated her future--the unknown future--with Roland. Suppose that +when that future should be the present she should find the shutters +up, the house deserted, the tenant dead! + +The harvest of flowers was well begun: the boxes piled in the hold of +the steamer merrily danced in the roll of the Atlantic waves as the +_Lady of the Isles_ made her way to Penzance: in London the delicate +narcissus and the jonquil returned to the dinner-tables, and stood +about in glasses. Roland Lee bought them and took them home to his +studio, where he sat looking at them, reminded of Armorel--who had +never even answered his letter. Perhaps the flowers came from Samson. +Why did the girl send him no answer to his letter? Then his memory +went back to that little island with its two hills, and its barrows, +and the quiet house--and to the girl who lived there. On what rock of +Samson was she sitting? Where was she at that moment? Gazing somewhere +over the wild waste of waters, the wind blowing about her curls, and +the beating of the waves in her ears. She had forgotten him. Why not? +He was only a visitor of a week or two. She was nothing but a +child--and an ignorant farmer-girl living in a desert island. +Ignorant? No; that was not the word. He saw her once more standing in +the middle of the room, the ruddy firelight in her eyes and on her +cheeks, playing 'Singleton's Slip' and 'Prince Rupert's March,' while +the Ancient Lady mopped and mowed and discoursed of other days. And +again: he saw her standing on the beach when he said farewell, the +tears in her eyes, her voice choked. Then he longed again, as he had +longed then, to take her in his arms, even in the presence of Peter +the boy, to soothe and kiss her and bid her weep no more, because he +would never, never leave her. + +So strong was the impression made upon this young man by this child of +fifteen, that after six months spent in the society of many other +girls, of charms more matured, he still remembered her, and thought of +her with that kind of yearning regret which is perilously akin to +love. An untaught, ignorant girl--whose charm lay in her innocent +confidence, her soft black eyes, and the beauty of the maiden emerging +from the child--could hardly make a permanent impression on a man of +the world, even a young man of only twenty-one. The time would go on, +and the girl would be forgotten, except as a pleasant memory +associated with a delightful holiday. An artist is, perhaps, above his +fellows, liable to swift and sudden changes; his mind dwells +continually on beauty. All lovely girls have not black hair and black +eyes. Apollo, himself, the god of artists, loved not only all the nine +Muses and all the three Graces, but a good many nymphs and princesses +as well--such is the artistic temperament, so catholic is its +admiration of beauty. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE CHANGE + + +'A change,' said Roland, 'will surely come, and that before long. I +cannot believe'--Armorel remembered the words afterwards--'that you +will stay on this island for ever.' It needed no unusual gift of +prophecy to foretell impending change when the most important member +of the household was nearing her hundredth year. + +The change foretold actually came in April, when the flower-fields had +lost their beauty and the harvest of Scilly was nearly over. Late +blossoms of daffodil still reared their heads among the thick leaves, +though their blooming companions had all been cut off to grace London +tables; there were broad patches of wallflower little regarded; the +leaves of the bulbs were drooping and already turning brown: these +were the signs of approaching summer to the Scillonian, who has +already had his spring. On the adjacent island of Great Britain the +primrose clustered on the banks; the hedges of the West Country were +splendid, putting forth tender leaves over a wealth of wild flowers; +the chestnut-buds were swollen and sticky, ready to burst. Do we not +know the signs and tokens of coming spring? On Scilly, the lengthening +day--there are no hedges and no trees to speak of--the completion of +the flower harvest, and the drooping of the daffodil-leaves in the +fields are the chief signs of spring. Yet there are other signs: if +there are no woods to show the tender leaf of spring, there are the +green shoots of the fern on the down: and there are the birds. The +puffin has already come back; he comes in his thousands: he arrives in +April, and he departs in September: whence he cometh and whither he +goeth no man hath ever learned nor can naturalist discover. At the +same time comes the guillemot, and sometimes the solan-goose: the tern +and the sheerwater come too, if they come at all, in spring: but the +wild ducks and the wild geese depart before the flower-harvest is +finished. + +Armorel got up one morning in April a little earlier than usual. It +was five o'clock: the sun was rising over Telegraph Hill on St. +Mary's. She ran down the stairs, opened the door, and stood on the +porch drawing a deep breath. No one was as yet stirring on Samson, +though I think Peter was beginning to turn in his bed. Out at sea +Armorel saw a great steamer, homeward bound, perhaps an Australian +liner: the level rays of the early sun shone on her spars and made +them stand out clear and fine against the sky: behind her streamed her +long white cloud of smoke and steam, hanging over the water, light and +feathery. There were no other ships visible. The air was cold, but the +sun of April was already strong. Armorel shivered, caught her hat, and +ran over the hill, singing as she went, not knowing that in the night, +while she slept, the Angel of Death had visited the house. + +About seven o'clock she came back, having completely circumnavigated +the island of Samson, and made, as usual, many curious observations +and discoveries in the manners and customs of puffins, terns, and +shags. She returned in the cheerful mood which belongs to youth, +health, and readiness for breakfast. She instantly perceived, however, +on arriving, that something had happened--something unusual. For Peter +stood in the porch: what was Peter doing in the porch at seven o'clock +in the morning, when he ought to have been ministering to the pigs? +Further, Peter was standing in the attitude of a boy who waits to be +sent on an errand. It is an attitude of expectant readiness--of zeal +according to duty--of activity bought and freely rendered. You will +observe this attitude in all office boys--except telegraph-boys: they +never assume it: they affect no zeal: they betray no eagerness to put +in a fair day's work. Such an attitude would lack the dignity due to a +Government officer. And at sight of Armorel Peter hung his head as one +who sorrows, or is ashamed or repentant. What did he do that for? What +had happened? Why should he hang his head? + +She asked these questions of Peter, who only shook his head and +pointed within. She heard Justinian's voice giving some directions. +She also heard Dorcas and Chessun. They were all three speaking in low +voices. She hurried in. The door of the old lady's bedroom--that +sacred apartment into which no one, except the two handmaidens, had +ever ventured--stood wide open; not only that, but Justinian himself +was in the room--actually in the room--and beside the bed. Then +Armorel understood what had happened. On no other condition would +Justinian be admitted to his old mistress's room. On the other side of +the bed stood Dorcas and Chessun. Seeing Armorel at the door, these +two ladies instantly lifted up their voices and wailed aloud--nay, +they shrieked and screamed their lamentations, as if it was the first +time in the world's history that death had carried off an aged woman. +This they did by a kind of instinct: the thing, though they knew it +not, was a survival. In ancient times it was the custom in Lyonesse +that the women should all wail and weep and shriek, and beat their +breasts and tear their hair, and cut their cheeks with their nails, +while the body of the dead king or warrior was carried up the slope of +the hill to be laid in its kistvaen and covered with its barrow on +Samson island. + +They wailed aloud, then, because it had always been the right thing +for the women of Samson to do. Otherwise, when one so ancient dies at +last, mind and memory gone before, what place is there for wailing and +weeping? One natural tear we drop, for all must die; but grief belongs +to the death-bed of the young. There needed no shriek of the women nor +anyone's speech to tell Armorel that the white face upturned on the +bed was not the face of a living woman. They had folded the dead hands +across her breast: the eyes were closed: the countless wrinkles of the +aged face were smoothed out: the lips were parted with a wan smile. +After many, many years, Ursula, the widow, was gone to rejoin her +husband. Pray Heaven her desire be granted, and that she rise again +young and beautiful--such a woman as that ill-starred sailor, dragged +to the bottom of the sea by the weight of Robert Fletcher's bag, had +loved in life! + +Peter presently sailed across the Road, and returned with the doctor. +It is the part of the doctor not only to usher the new-born into life, +but to bar or open the gates of the tomb: without him very few of us +die, and without him no one can be buried. This man of science +graciously expressed his willingness to acknowledge, though he had not +been called in, that the deceased died of old age. Then he went back. + +In the evening there was no music. The violin remained in its place; +the great chair was empty; no one brought out the spinning-wheel; the +table was not pushed back. How was the long evening to be got through +without the violin? How could those ancient tunes be played any more +in the presence of that empty chair? When the serving-folk came in as +usual and sat round the fire, and the women sighed and moaned, and +Justinian stimulated the coals to a flame, and the ruddy light played +upon their faces, Armorel began to think that a continuance of these +evenings would be tedious. Then they began to talk, the conversation +naturally turning on Death and Judgment, and the prospects of Heaven +and the departed. + +'She was not one of them,' said Dorcas, 'as would never talk of such +things. I've often heard her say she wanted to rise again, young and +beautiful, same as she was when her husband was took, so that he +should love her again.' + +'Nay,' said Justinian; 'that's foolish talk. There's neither marrying +nor giving in marriage there. You ought to know so much, Dorcas. +Husbands and wives will know each other, I doubt not, if it's only for +the man's forgiveness after the many crosses and rubs. 'Twould be a +pity, wife, if we didn't know each other, golden crown and all. I'd be +sorry to think you were not about somewhere.' + +Armorel listened without much interest. She wondered vaguely how +Dorcas would look in a golden crown, and hoped that she might not +laugh when she should be permitted to gaze upon her thus wonderfully +adorned. Then she listened in silence while these thinkers followed up +their speculations on the next world and the decrees of Heaven, with +the freedom of their kind. A strangely brutal freedom! It consigns, +without a thought of pity, the majority of mankind to a doom which +they are too ignorant to realise and too stupid to understand. The +deceased lady, it was agreed, might, perhaps--though this was by no +means certain--have fallen under Conviction of Sin at some remote +period, before any of them knew her. Not since, that was certain. And +as for her husband, he was cut off in his sins--like all the +Roseveans, struck down in his sins, without a warning. So that if the +old lady expected to meet him, after their separation of nearly eighty +years, on the Shores of Everlasting Praise, she would certainly be +disappointed, because he was otherwise situated and disposed of. +Therefore she might just as well go up old and wrinkled. This kind of +talk was quite familiar to Armorel, and generally meant nothing to +her. The right of private judgment is claimed and freely exercised in +Scilly, where that branch of the Church Catholic called Bryanite +greatly flourishes. Formerly, she would have passed over this talk +without heeding. Now, she had begun to think of these as well as of +many other things. Roland's words on religious things startled her +into thinking. She listened, therefore, wondering what view people +like Roland Lee would take of her great-grandfather's present +condition, and of the poor old lady's prospects of meeting him again. +Then her thoughts wandered from these nebulous speculations, and she +heard no more, though the conversation became lurid with the flames of +Tartarus, and these old religioners gloated over the hopeless +sufferings of the condemned. A sweet and holy thing, indeed, has +mankind made of the Gospel of Great Joy! + +Before they separated, Chessun rose and left the room noiselessly. +Armorel had no experience of the situation, but she knew that +something was going to be done, something connected with the impending +funeral--something solemn. + +In fact, Chessun returned after ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, +the others making a pretence of expecting nothing. Doctrinal +meditation was written on Justinian's brow: resignation on that of +Dorcas. Chessun bore in her hands a tray with glasses and a silver +tankard filled with something that steamed. It was a posset, made with +biscuits, new milk and sherry, nutmeg and sugar--an emotional drink, +strong, sweet, comforting, very good for mournful occasions, but, of +late years, unfortunately, gone out of fashion. + +They all had a glass, the two women moaning over their glasses, and +the old man shaking his head. Then they went to bed. + +They had a posset every night until the funeral. They buried the +ancient dame on Bryher. A boat carried the coffin across the water to +the landing-place in New Grinsey Sound, behind which stands the little +old church with its churchyard. Armorel and her household followed in +one of the family boats, as in a mourning-carriage. All the people of +Tresco and Bryher were present at the funeral; and most of them came +across to Samson after the ceremony to drink a glass of wine and eat a +slice of cake, the women no longer wailing and the men no longer +shaking their heads. + +All the Roseveans who have escaped the vengeance of Mr. Fletcher's +terrible bag lie in Bryher churchyard. They are mostly widows, poor +things! They sleep alone, because their husbands' bones lie about +among the tall weeds in the tranquil depths of the ocean. + +And Armorel, looking forward, thought with terror of the long, silent +evenings, while the old serving-folk would sit round in the firelight, +silent, or saying things that might as well have been left unsaid. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +ARMOREL'S INHERITANCE + + +'You are now the mistress, dearie,' said Dorcas. 'It is time that you +should learn what that means.' + +It was the morning after the funeral--the Day of Accession--the +beginning of the new reign. + +'Why, Dorcas, it makes no difference, does it? There are still the +flowers and the house and everything.' + +'Yes--there's everything.' The old woman nodded her head meaningly. +'Oh! yes--there is everything. Oh! you don't know--you don't +suspect--nobody knows--what a surprise is in store for you!' + +'What surprise, Dorcas?' + +'You've never been into her room except to see her lying dead. It's +your room now. You can go in whenever you like. Always the master or +the mistress has slept in that room. When her father-in-law died she +took the room. And she's slept in it ever since. And no one, except me +and Chessun to clean up and sweep and dust, has ever been in that room +since. And now it's yours.' + +'Well, Dorcas, it may be mine; but I shall go on sleeping in my own +room.' + +'Then keep it locked--keep it locked up--day and night. There's nobody +in Samson to dread--but keep it locked! As for sleeping in it, time +enough, perhaps, when you come to marry. But keep it locked----' + +'Why, Dorcas, what is in it?' + +'I am seventy-five years old and past,' Dorcas went on. 'I was fifteen +when I came to the house, and here I've been ever since. Not one of +the grandchildren nor the great-grandchildren ever came in here. No +one ever knew what is kept here.' + +'What is it, then?' Armorel asked again. + +'She used to come here alone, by daylight, regularly once a month. She +locked the door when she came in. No one ever knew what she was doing, +and no one ever asked. One day she forgot to lock the door, and by +accident I opened it, and saw what she was doing.' + +'What was she doing?' + +'She'd opened all the cupboards and boxes, and she'd spread out all +the things, and was counting, and--no, no--you may guess, when you +have looked for yourself, what she was doing. I shut the door softly, +and she never knew that I'd looked in upon her. She might have been +overseen from the orchard, but no one ever went in there except to +gather the fruit. To make safe, however, I've put up a muslin blind +now, because Peter might take it into his head--boys go everywhere +peering and prying. Nobody knows what I saw. I never even told +Justinian. Men blab, you see: they get together, and they drink--then +they blab. You can never trust a man with a secret. How long would it +be before Peter would let it out if he knew? Once over at Hugh Town, +drinking at a bar, and all the world would know in half an hour. No, +no; the secret was hers: it was mine as well--but that was an +accident--she never knew that: now it will be yours and mine. And we +will tell nobody--nobody at all.' + +'Where shall I find this wonderful secret, Dorcas?' + +'Wherever you look, dearie. Oh! the room is full of things. There +can't be such another room in all the world. It's crammed with things. +Look everywhere. If they knew, all the young lords and princes would +be at your feet, Armorel, because you are so rich. Best keep it +secret, though, and get richer.' + +'I so rich? Dorcas, you are joking!' + +'No--you shall look and find out. Not that you will understand at +first--because, how should you know the value of things? Here's her +bunch of keys. She always carried them in her pocket, and at night she +kept them under her pillows--and there I found them, sure enough, when +she was cold and dead. Take them, child. I never told her +secret--no--not even to my own husband. Take the keys, child. They are +yours--your own. You can open everything: you can look at everything: +you can do what you like with everything. It's your inheritance. But +tell no one,' she repeated, earnestly. 'Oh! my dear, let it remain a +secret. Don't let anyone see you when you come in here. Lock the door, +as she did--and keep it locked.' + +The old woman led Armorel by the hand to the door of the room where +there was to be found the Great Surprise. She opened it, placed a +bunch of keys in her hand, pushed her in and closed it behind her, +whispering, 'Lock it, and keep it locked.' + +The girl turned the key obediently, wondering what would happen next. + +The room was on the ground floor, looking out upon the orchard, with a +northern aspect, so that the sun could only shine in for a small +portion of the year, during the summer months. The apple-trees were +now in blossom, the white pink and flowers bright in the sunshine +contrasting with the grey lichen which wrapped every branch and hung +down like ribbons. The room was the oldest part of the house, the only +remaining portion of an earlier house: it was low and small: the +fireplace had never been modernised: it stood wide open, with its dogs +and its broad chimney: the window was of three narrow lights, one of +which could be opened: all were still provided with the old diamond +panes in their leaden setting. Armorel observed the muslin blind put +up by Dorcas to keep out prying eyes. In dull and cloudy days the room +would be gloomy. As it was, even with the bright sunshine out of +doors, the air seemed cold and oppressive--perhaps from the fresh +association of Death. Armorel shivered as she looked about her. + +The greater part of the room was taken up by a large bed. In the old +lady's time it had curtains and a head, and things at the four corners +like the plumes of a hearse, but in faded crimson. Then it looked +splendid. Now, the bed had been stripped: curtains and plumes and all +were gone, and only the skeleton bed left, with its four great solid +posts and its upper beams, and its feather bed lying exposed, with the +bare pillow-cases upon the mattress. But the bedstead was magnificent +without its trappings, because it was made of mahogany black with age: +they no longer make such bedsteads. There was also a table--an old +black table--with massive legs; but there was nothing on it. + +Between door and wall there was a row of pegs, with a chair beneath +them. Now, by some freak of chance, when Dorcas and Chessun hung up +the ancient dame's things for the last time--her great bonnet, and the +cap of many ribbons within it, and her silk dress--they arranged them +so as to present a most extraordinary presentment of the venerable +lady herself--much elongated and without any face: she seemed to be +sitting in the chair below the pegs, dressed as usual, and nodding her +great bonnet, but pulled out to eight or ten feet in length. Armorel +caught the ghostly similitude and started, trembling. It seemed as if +in a moment the wrinkled old face, with the hawk-like nose and the +keen eyes, would come back to the bonnet and the cap. She was so much +startled that she turned the bonnet round. And then the figure seemed +watching with the shoulders. This was uncanny, but it was not so +terrible as the faceless form. + +Beside the fireplace was a cupboard--one of those huge cupboards which +one only finds in the old houses. Armorel tried the door, but it was +locked. Against the wall stood a chest of drawers, brass-bound, +massive. She tried the handles, but every lock was fast. Under the +window stood an old sea-chest. It was a very big sea-chest. One would +judge, from its rich carvings and its ornamental ironwork, that it was +probably the sea-chest of an admiral at least--perhaps that of Admiral +Hernando Mureno, Armorel's ancestor, if such was his rank in the navy +of his Catholic Majesty. The sight of this sea-chest caused the girl +to shiver with the fear of expectation. Nobody contemplates the +absolutely unknown without a certain fear. It contained, she was +certain, the things that Dorcas had seen, of which she would not +speak. The chest seemed to drag her: it cried, 'Open me. Look inside +me--see what I have got to show you.' + +Then she remembered, as one in a dream, hearing people talk. Words +long forgotten came back to her. 'Twas in Hugh Town, whither she went +across to school when she was as yet a little girl. 'What have the +Roseveans'--thus and thus said the voice--'done with all their money? +They've never spent anything: they've gone on saving and saving. Some +day we shall find out what became of it.' Was she going to find out +what had become of it? + +The old lady, in her most lucid moments, had never dropped the least +hint of any inheritance, except that disagreeable necessity of getting +drowned on account of the unfortunate Robert Fletcher. And that was +not an inheritance to gladden the heart. Yet there was an inheritance. +It was here, in this room. And she was locked in alone, in order that +she, herself unseen by any, might discover what it was. + +Baron Bluebeard's last wife--she who afterwards, as a beautiful, rich, +and lively young widow, set so many hearts aflame--was not more +curious than Armorel. Nor was she, in the course of her +investigations, more afraid than Armorel. The girl looked nervously +about the room, so ghostly and so full of shadow. All old rooms have +their ghosts, but some of them have so many that one is not afraid of +them. There is a sense of companionship in a crowd of ghosts. This +room had only one--that of the woman who had grown old in it--who had +spent nearly eighty years in it. All the old ghosts had grown tired of +this monotonous room, gone away and left the place to her. Armorel not +only 'believed in ghosts'--many of us accord to these shadows a +shadowy, theoretical belief--she actually knew that ghosts do +sometimes appear. Dorcas had seen many--Chessun herself, while not +going actually that length, threw out hints. She herself had often, +too, gone to look for them. Now she glanced nervously where the +'things' were hanging, expecting to see the ancestral figure reappear, +shoulders move, the bonnet and cap turn round, the old, old face +within them, ready to warn, to admonish, and to guide. If this had +happened, it would have seemed to Armorel nothing but what was natural +and in the regular course of things looked for. But, outside, the sun +shone on the white apple-blossom. No one is very much afraid of ghosts +in the sunshine. + +She encouraged herself with this reflection, and began with unlocking +the chest of drawers. The lower drawers, when they were opened, +contained nothing but the 'things' of her great-great-grandmother. +Among them was a box roughly made--a boy's box made with a jack-knife: +it contained a gold watch with a French name upon it--a very old +watch, with a representation of the Annunciation in low relief on the +gold face. There were also in the box two or three gold chains and +sundry rings and trinkets. Armorel took them out and laid them on the +table. They were, she said to herself, part of her inheritance. Was +this the Great Surprise spoken of by Dorcas? She tried the two upper +drawers. They were locked, but she easily found the right key, and +opened them. She found that they were filled with lace; they were +crammed with lace. There were packets of lace tied up tight, rolls of +lace, cardboards with lace wound round and round--an immense quantity +of lace was lying in these drawers. As for its value, Armorel knew +nothing. Nor did she even ask herself what the value might be. She +only unrolled one or two packets, and wondered vaguely what in the +world she should do with so much lace. And she wished it was not so +yellow. Yet the packets she unrolled contained Valenciennes--some of +it half a yard wide, precious almost beyond price. Armorel knew, +however, very well how it had got there, and what it meant. The +descendant of so many brave runners was not ignorant that lace, +velvet, silk and satin, brandy and claret, all came from the French +coast with which her gallant forefathers were so familiar before the +Preventive Service interfered. This, then, was left from the smuggling +times. They had not sold all. They had kept enough, in fact, to stock +half a dozen West-End shops, to adorn the trousseau of fifty +Princesses. And here the stuff had lain undisturbed since--well, +perhaps, since the unfortunate visit of Mr. Robert Fletcher. + +'My inheritance, so far,' said Armorel, 'is a pile of yellow lace and +a gold watch and chain and some trinkets. Is this the Great Surprise?' +But she looked at the sea-chest. Something more must be there. + +Next she turned to the cupboard. It was locked and double-locked. But +she found the key. The cupboard was one of those great receptacles +common in the oldest houses, almost rooms in themselves, but dark +rooms, where mediæval housekeepers kept their stores. In those days, +housekeeping on a respectable scale meant the continual maintenance of +immense stores. All the things which now we get from shops as we want +them were then laid in store long before they were wanted. Outside the +country town there were no shops; and, even in London itself, people +did not run to the shop every day. The men had great quantities of +shirts--three clean shirts a day was the allowance of a solid city man +under good Queen Anne--a city man who respected himself: the women had +a corresponding quantity of flowered petticoats. Wine was by no means +the only thing laid down for future years. All these accumulations +helped to give solidity to the appearance of life. When a woman +thought of her cupboards filled with fine linen and a man of his +cellars filled with wine, the uncertainty and brevity of life alleged +by the Preacher seemed not to concern them. It would be absurd to lay +down a great bin of good port if one was not going to live long enough +to drink it. The fashion, therefore, has its advantages. + +Armorel threw open the door and looked in. The place was so dark that +she was obliged to light a candle in order to examine the shelves +running round the sides of the cupboard. There was a strange smell in +the place, which, perhaps, had not been opened for a long time. Bales +of some kind lay upon the upper shelves. Armorel took down two and +opened them. They contained silk--strong, rich silk. She rolled them +up and put them back. On a lower shelf was a most singular collection. +In the front row were one--two--no fewer than six punch-bowls, all of +silver except one, and that was of silver gilt. This must be the Great +Surprise. Armorel took them all out and placed them on the table. For +the most part they showed signs of having been used with freedom--one +has heard of an empty punch-bowl being kicked about the place as a +conclusion to the feast. But six punch-bowls! 'They came,' said +Armorel, 'from the wrecks.' Behind the punch-bowls were silver +candlesticks, silver snuffers, silver cups, silver tankards--some with +coats-of-arms, some with names engraven. There was also a great silver +ship, one of those galleons in silver which formerly adorned Royal +banquets. All these Armorel took out and arranged upon the table. +Among them was a tall hour-glass mounted in silver. Armorel set the +sand running again, after many years. On the floor there were packets +and bundles tied up and rolled together. Armorel opened one of them, +and, finding that it contained a packet of gold lace and a pair of +gold epaulettes, she left them undisturbed. And standing against the +wall, stacked behind the bundles of gold lace, were swords--dozens of +swords. What could she do with swords? Well, then, now, at last, she +had found the Great Surprise. But still the sea-chest seemed to drag +her and to call to her: 'Open me! Open me! See what I have got for +you!' + +'So far, then,' she said, 'I have inherited a pile of lace; a gold +watch, rings, and chains; six punch-bowls, twenty-four silver +candlesticks, twelve silver cups, four great tankards, a silver ship, +I know not how many old swords, and a bundle of gold lace. I wonder if +these things make a person rich?' + +If so, great wealth does not satisfy the soul. This was certain, +because Armorel really felt no richer than before. Yet the array of +punch-bowls was truly imposing, and the silver candlesticks, the +snuffers, the tankards, the cups, and the ship, though they sadly +wanted the brush and the chamois leather, with a pinch of 'whitenin',' +were worthy of a College Plate-Room. One might surely feel a little +elation at the thought of owning all this silver, even if one did not +understand its intrinsic value. But, like the effect of champagne, +such elation would quickly wear off. + +Next, Armorel remembered the secret cupboard at the head of the bed. +Her own bed had its secret recess at the head--every respectable +bedstead used formerly to have them. Where else could money be hidden +away safely? To be sure, everybody knew this hiding-place, but +everybody pretended not to know. It was an open secret, like the +concealed drawer in a schoolboy's desk. Our forefathers were full of +such secrets that everybody knew. The stocking in the teapot: the +receptacle under the hearthstone: the hidden compartment in the +cabinet: the secret room: the secret staircase: the recess in the head +of the bed--these were all secrets that everybody knew and everybody +respected. I think that even the burglar respected these conventions. +Armorel knew how to open the panel--she found the spring and it flew +open, rustily, as if it had not been opened for a great many years. +Behind the panel was a recess eighteen inches long and about nine +inches deep. And here stood a Black Jack--nothing less than a Black +Jack; a quart Jack, not a Leather Jack, but a tankard made of tin and +painted with hunting scenes something like an Etruscan vase, or +perhaps more like a Brown George. Why should anyone want to hide away +a Black Jack? This quart pot, however, held something better than +stingo--even stronger: it was half-filled with foreign money. Here +were moidores, doubloons, ducats, pieces-of-eight, Louis d'ors, +Spanish pillar dollars, sequins, gold coins from India--nothing at all +in the pot less than a hundred years old. Armorel took out a handful +and looked at them. Well, gold coins do look like money. She began to +feel really rich. She had a quart tankard half-full of gold coins. She +added the Black Jack to the other treasures on the table. All this +foreign money must have come out of the wrecks. And, since it was all +so old, out of wrecks that had happened before the memory even of the +Ancient Lady. This, then, was perhaps the Great Surprise. + +But there remained the sea-chest under the window, and again, when +Armorel looked upon it, the chest continued to call to her, 'Open me! +Open me! See what I have for you!' + +Armorel found the key which unlocked it, and threw open the lid. +Within, there was the deep tray which belongs to every sea-chest. This +was filled with a quantity of uninteresting brown canvas bags. She +wanted to see what was below, and tried to lift the tray, but it was +too heavy. Then, still regarding the bags as of no account, she took +one out. It was heavy, and when she lifted it there was a clink as of +coin. It was tied tightly at the mouth with a piece of string. She +opened it. Within there were gold coins. She took out a handful: they +were all sovereigns, some of them worn, some quite new and fresh from +the Mint. She poured out the whole contents of the bag on the table. +Why, it was actually full of golden sovereigns. Nothing else in the +bag. All golden sovereigns! And there were five hundred of them. She +counted them. Five hundred pounds! She had never, it is true, thought +much about money--but--five hundred pounds! It seemed an amazing sum. +Five hundred pounds! And all in a single bag. And such a little bag as +this. She put back the money and tied up the bag. + +Then she took out another bag. This was as big as the first, and +heavier. It was full of guineas--Armorel counted them. There were also +five hundred of them. Some of them were so old that they bore the +impression of the elephant, and therefore belonged to the seventeenth +century. But most of them belonged to the eighteenth century, and bore +the heads of the three first Georges. Five hundred guineas--and never +before had Armorel seen a guinea! Well, she thought, that made a +thousand pounds. She took up another bag and opened it. That, too, +weighed as much and was full of gold. And another, and yet another. +They were all full of gold. And now she knew what Dorcas +meant--this--nothing but this--was the Great Surprise! Not the +punch-bowls, or the lace, or the bales of silk, but these bags full of +gold constituted her wealth. She understood money, you see: lace and +silk were beyond her. This was her inheritance! + +Consider: the Roseveans, from father to son, had been from time +immemorial wreckers, smugglers, and pilots. They were also farmers. On +their little farm they grew nearly enough to support their simple +lives. They had pigs and poultry; they had milch cows; they had a few +sheep; they kept geese, pigeons, ducks; they made their own beer and +their own cordials and strong waters; they made their own linen; they +were unto themselves millers, tinkers, carpenters, cabinet-makers, +builders, and thatchers. They grew their own salads and vegetables, +and if they wanted any fruit they grew that as well. Oats and barley +they grew, clover and hay. I believe that on Samson wheat has never +been grown--indeed, there are only eighty acres in all. There was +left, therefore, little to buy. Coals, wood for fuel and for +carpentering, things in iron, crockery, tools, cloth clothes, flannel, +flour, and sometimes a little beef--what else did they want? As for +fish, they had only to catch as much as they wanted. Tea, coffee, +sugar, and so forth came in with later civilisation, when small ale, +possets, and hypsy died out. + +In order to provide these small deficiencies they were pilots, to +begin with. This trade brought in a steady income. They also sent out +boats, filled with fresh vegetables, to meet the homeward-bound East +Indiamen. And they were also, like the rest of the artless islanders, +wreckers and smugglers. In the former capacity they occasionally +acquired an extraordinary quantity of odd and valuable things. In the +latter profession they made at times, and until the Peace and the +Preventive Service put an end to the business, a really fine income. + +Then, on Samson, they continued to live after the patriarchal fashion +and in the old simplicity. Each Captain Rosevean in turn was the +chieftain or sheik. To him his family brought all that they earned or +found. The sea-chest took it all. For three hundred years, at least, +this sea-chest received everything and gave up nothing. Nobody ever +took anything out of it: nobody looked into it: nobody knew, until +Ursula counted the money and made bags for it, what there was in the +chest. Nobody ever asked if they were rich or how rich they were. + +There was no bank on Samson: there is not even now a bank in the +Scilly archipelago at all: nobody understood any other way of saving +money than the good old fashion of putting it by in a bag. On Samson +there never were thieves, even when as many as fifty people lived on +the island. Therefore the Captain Rosevean of the time, though he knew +not how much was saved, nor did he ever inquire, laid the last +additions to the pile in the tray of the old sea-chest with the rest, +and, having locked it up, dropped the key in his pocket, and went +about his business in perfect confidence, never thinking either that +it might be stolen, or that he might count up his hoard, proceed to +enjoy it, and alter his simple way of life. Every Captain Rosevean in +succession added to that hoard every year; not one among them all +thought of spending it or taking anything from it. He added to it. +Nobody ever counted it until the reign of Ursula. It was she who made +the little brown bags of canvas: she, usurping the place of Family +Chief or Sheik, took from her sons and grandsons all the money that +they made. They gave it over to her keeping--she was the Family Bank. +And, like her predecessors in that room, she told no one of the hoard. + +Most of the bags contained guineas of George I., George II., and +George III., down to the year 1816, when the Mint left off coining +guineas. A few contained sovereigns of later date; but the family +savings since that year had been small and uncertain. The really fat +time--the prosperous time--when the money poured in, was during the +long war which lasted for nearly five-and-twenty years. + +There were actually forty of these bags. Armorel laid them out upon +the table and counted them. Forty! And each bag to all appearance, for +she only counted two, contained five hundred guineas or pounds. Forty +times five hundred--that makes twenty thousand pounds, if all were +sovereigns! There are, I am told, a few young ladies in this country +who have as much as twenty thousand pounds for their dot. There are +also a great many young ladies in France, and an amazing multitude, +whom no man may number, in the United States of America, who have as +much. But I am quite sure that not one of these heiresses, except +Armorel herself, has ever actually gazed upon her fortune in a +concrete form--tangible--to be counted--to be weighed--to be admired. +It is a pity that they cannot do this, if only because they would then +see for themselves what a very small pile of gold a fortune of twenty +thousand pounds actually makes. This would make them humble. Armorel +stood looking at the table thus laden with bewildered eyes. + +'I have got,' she murmured, 'twenty thousand sovereigns and guineas at +least: I have got a painted pot full of old money. I have got six +punch-bowls, a great silver ship, a large number of silver +candlesticks and cups: I have got a silver-mounted hour-glass'--its +sand was now nearly run--'I have got a great quantity of lace and +silk. I suppose all this does make riches. Whatever shall I do with +it? Shall I give it to the poor? or shall I put it back into the box +and leave it there? But perhaps there is something else in the box.' + +The chest, in fact, continued to call aloud to be examined. Even while +Armorel looked at her glittering treasures spread out upon the table +she felt herself drawn towards the chest. There was more in it. There +was another Surprise waiting for her--even a greater Surprise, +perhaps, than that of the bags of gold. 'Search me!' cried the chest. +'Search me! Look into the innermost recesses of me: explore my +contents to the very bottom: let nothing escape your eyes.' + +Armorel knelt down before the chest and took out the tray. It was +empty now, and she could lift it easily. + +Beneath the tray there was a most miscellaneous collection of things. + +They lay in layers, separated and divided--Ursula's hand was here--by +silk handkerchiefs of the good old kind--the bandanna, now gone out of +fashion. + +First Armorel took out and laid on the floor a layer of silver spoons, +silver ladles, even silver dishes, all of antique appearance and for +the most part stamped with a crest or a coat-of-arms: for in the old +days if a man was Armiger he loved to place his shield on everything; +to look at it and glory in it: to let others see it and envy it. + +Then she found a layer of watches. There were gold watches and silver +watches; the latter of all kinds, down to the veritable turnip. The +glasses were broken of nearly all, and, if one had examined, the works +would have been found rusted with the sea-water which had got in. What +were they worth now? Perhaps the value of the cases and of the jewels +with which the works were set, and more with one or two, where +miniatures adorned the back and jewels were set in the face. Armorel +turned with impatience from the watches to the gold chains, which lay +beside them. There were yards of gold chain: gold chains of all kinds, +from the heavy English make to the dainty interlaced Venetian and +thread-like Trichinopoly; there were silver chains also--massive +silver chains, made for some extinct office-bearer, perhaps bo's'n on +the Admiral's ship of the Great Armada. Armorel drew up some of the +chains and played with them, tying them round her wrists and letting +them slip through her fingers--the pretty delicate things, which spoke +of wealth almost as loudly as the bags of guineas. + +She laid them aside, and took up a silk handkerchief containing a +small collection of miniatures. They were almost all portraits of +women: young and pretty women: ladies on land whose faces warmed the +hearts and fired the memories of men at sea. The miniatures had hung +round the necks of some and had lain in the sea-chests of others, +whose bones had long since melted to nothing in the salt sea depths, +while those of their mistresses had turned to dust beneath the aisle +of some village church, their memory long since forgotten, and their +very name trampled out by the feet of the rustics. + +Armorel laid aside these pictures--they were very pretty, but she +would look at them again another time. + +The next parcel was a much larger one. It consisted of snuff-boxes. +There were dozens of snuff-boxes: one or two of gold: one or two +silver-gilt: some silver. In the lids of some were pictures, some most +beautifully and delicately executed; some of subjects which Armorel +did not understand--and why, she thought, should painters draw people +without proper clothes? Venus and the Graces and the Nymphs, in whom +our eighteenth-century ancestors took such huge delight, were to this +young person merely people. The snuff-boxes were very well in their +way, but Armorel had no inclination to look at them again. + +Then she found in a handkerchief, the four corners of which were +loosely tied together, a great quantity of rings. There were rings of +every kind--the official ring or the ring of office, the signet-ring, +the ring with the shield, the ring with the name of a ship, the ring +with the name of a regiment, mourning-rings, wedding-rings, +betrothal-rings, rings with posies, cramp-rings with the names of the +Magi on them--but their power was gone--gimmal-rings, rings episcopal, +rings barbaric, mediæval, and modern, rings set with every kind of +precious stone--there were hundreds of rings. All drowned sailors used +to have rings on their fingers. + +Armorel began to get tired of all these treasures. Beneath them, +however, at the bottom of the box, lay piled together a mass of +curios. They were stowed away for the most part in small boxes, of +foreign make and appearance: ivory boxes: carved wood boxes. They +consisted of all kinds of things, such as gold and silver buckles, +brooches, painted fans, jewel-hilted daggers, crystal tubes of attar +of roses, and knives of curious construction. The girl sighed: she +would look over them at another time. They would, perhaps, add +something to the inheritance, but for the moment she was satisfied. +She had seen enough. She was putting back a dagger whose jewelled +handle flashed in the unaccustomed light, when she saw, lying half +hidden among this pile of curious things, the corner of a chagreen +case. This attracted her curiosity, and she took it out. The chagreen +had been green in colour, but was now very much discoloured. It had +been fastened by a silver clasp, but this was broken: a small leather +strap was attached to two corners. Armorel expected to find another +bag of money. But this did not contain gold. It was lighter than the +canvas bags. As she took it into her hands she remembered the bag of +Robert Fletcher. Yes. The leathern strap of this case had been cut +through. She held in her hands--she was certain--the abominable Thing +that had brought so much trouble on the family. Again the room felt +ghostly: she heard voices whispering: the voices of all those who had +been drowned: the voices of the women who had mourned for them: the +voice of the old lady who was herself a witness of the crime. They all +whispered together in her ears: 'Armorel, you must find him. You must +give it back to him.' + +What was in it? The clasp acted no longer. Armorel lifted the +overlapping leather and looked within. There was a thick roll of silk. +She took this out. Wrapped up in the silk, laid in folds, side by +side, were a quantity of stones--common-looking stones, such as one +may pick up, she thought, on the beach of Porth Bay. There were a +couple of hundred or more, mostly small stones, only one or two of +them bigger than the top of Armorel's little finger. + +'Only stones!' she cried. 'All this trouble about a bag full of red +stones!' + +Among the stones lay a small folded paper. Armorel opened it. The +paper was discoloured by age or by water, and most of the writing was +effaced. But she could read some of it. + +'... from the King of Burmah himself. This ruby I estimate to be worth +... 000_l._ at the very least. The other ... Mines. The second largest +stone weighs ... about 2,000_l._ The smaller ... rt Fletcher.' + +It was a note on the contents of the parcel, written by the owner. + +The stones, therefore, were rubies, uncut rubies. Armorel knew little +about precious stones and jewels, but she had heard and read of them. +The price of a virtuous woman, she knew, was far above rubies. And +Solomon's fairest among women was made comely with rows of jewels. +Queen Sheba, moreover, brought precious stones among her presents to +the Wise King. The girl wondered why such common-looking objects as +these should be precious. But she was humbly ignorant, and put that +wonder by. + +This, then, was nothing less than Robert Fletcher's fortune. He had +this round his neck, and he was bringing it home to enjoy. And it was +taken from him by her ancestor. A wicked thing indeed! A foul and +wicked thing! And the poor man had been sent empty away to begin his +life all over again. She shivered as she looked at them. All for the +sake of these dull, red bits of stone! How can man so easily fall into +temptation? In the empty room, so quiet, so ghostly, she heard again +the whispers, 'Armorel, find him--find the man--and give him back his +jewels.' + +She replied aloud, not daring to look round her lest she should see +the pale and eager faces of those who had suffered death by drowning +in consequence of this sin, 'Yes--yes, I will find him! I will find +him!' + +She pushed the chagreen case back into its corner and covered it up. +'I will find him,' she repeated. Then she rose to her feet and looked +about the room. Heavens! What a sight! The bags of gold, two of them +open, their contents lying piled upon the table--the chains of gold on +the floor--the handful of old gold coins lying on the table beside the +Black Jack, the snuff-boxes, the miniatures, the punch-bowls, the +rings, the silver cups--the low room, dark and quiet, filled with +ghosts and voices, the recent occupant wagging her shoulders and +shaking the back of her bonnet at her from the opposite wall, and, +through the open window, the sight of the sunlight on the +apple-blossoms mocking the gold and silver in this gloomy cave. She +comprehended, as yet, little of the extent of her good fortune. Lace +and silk, rings and miniatures, snuff-boxes: all these things had no +value to her--of buying and selling she had no kind of experience. All +she understood was that she was the possessor of a vast quantity of +things for which she could find no possible use--one jewelled dagger, +for instance, might be used for a dinner-knife, or for a paper-knife; +but what could she do with a dozen? In addition to this museum of +pretty and useless things she had forty bags with five hundred +guineas, or pounds, in each--twenty-one thousand pounds, say, in cash. +This museum was perfectly unique: no family in Great Britain had such +a collection. It had been growing for more than three hundred years: +it was begun in the time of the Tudor Kings, at least, perhaps even +earlier. Wrecks there were, and Roseveans, on Samson, before the +seventh Henry. I doubt if any other family, even the oldest and the +noblest, has been collecting so long. Certainly no other family, even +in this archipelago of wrecks, can have had such opportunities of +collecting with such difficulties in dissipating. For more than three +hundred years! And Armorel was sole heiress! + +She understood that she had inherited something more than twenty +thousand pounds--how much more, she knew not. Now, unless one knows +something of the capacities of one single pound, one cannot arrive at +the possibilities of twenty thousand pounds. Armorel knew as much as +this. Tea at Hugh Town costs two shillings a pound--perhaps +two-and-four--sugar threepence a pound: nun's cloth so much a +yard--serge and flannel so much: coals, so much a ton: wood for fuel, +so much. This was nearly the extent of her knowledge: and it must be +confessed that it goes very little way towards a right comprehension +of twenty thousand pounds. + +Once, again, she had heard Justinian talking of the flower-farm. 'It +has made,' he said, 'four hundred pounds this year, clear.' To which +Dorcas replied, 'And the housekeeping doesn't come to half that, nor +near it.' Whence, by the new light of this Great Surprise, she +concluded, first, that the other two hundred, thus made, must have +been added to those money-bags, and, next, that two hundred pounds a +year would be a liberal allowance for her whole yearly expenditure. +Then she made a little calculation. Two hundred pounds a year--two +hundred into twenty thousand--twenty thousand--two and four +noughts--she put five bags in a row for the number--subtract two--she +did so--there remained three--divide by two--she did so--one hundred +years was the result of that sum. Her twenty thousand pounds would +therefore last her exactly one hundred years. At the expiration of the +century all would be gone. For the first time in her life Armorel +comprehended the fleeting nature of riches. And, naturally, the +discovery, though she shivered at the thought of losing all, made her +feel a little proud. A strange result of wealth, to advance the +inheritor one more step in the knowledge of possible misery! She was +like unto the curious youth who opens a book of medicine, only to +learn of new diseases and terrible sufferings and alarming symptoms, +and to imagine these in his own body of corruption. In a hundred years +there would be no more. She would then be reduced to sell the lace and +the other things for what they would then be worth. There would still, +however, remain the flower-farm. She would, after all, be no worse off +than before the Great Surprise. And then there sprang up in her heart +the blossom of another thought, to be developed, later on, into a +lovely flower. + +She had risen from her knees now, and was standing beside the table, +vaguely gazing upon her inheritance. It was all before her. So the +Ancient Lady had stood many and many a time counting the money: +looking to see if all was safe: content to count it and to know that +it was there. The old lady was gone, but from the opposite wall her +shoulders and the back of her bonnet were looking on. + +Well: Armorel might go on doing exactly the same. She might live as +her forefathers had lived: there was the flower-farm to provide all +their necessities: if it brought in four hundred pounds a year, she +could add two hundred to the heap--in every two years and a half +another bag of five hundred sovereigns. All her people had done +this--why not she? It seemed expected of her; a plain duty laid upon +her shoulders. If she were to live on for eighty years longer--which +would bring her to her great-great-grandmother's age--she would save +eighty times two hundred--sixteen thousand pounds. The inheritance +would then be worth thirty-six thousand pounds--a prodigious sum of +money indeed. And, besides, the Black Jack, with its foreign gold, and +the rings and lace and things! + +A strange room it was this morning. What voice was it that whispered +solemnly in her ear, 'Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, +where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and +steal'? + +Never before had this injunction possessed any other significance to +her than belongs to one manifestly addressed to other people. The +Bible is full of warnings addressed to other people. Armorel was like +the Royal Duke who used to murmur during the weekly utterance of the +Commandments, 'Never did that. Never did that.' Now, this precept was +clearly and from the very first intended to meet her own case. Oh! To +live for nothing than to add more bags to that tray in the great +sea-chest! + +Roland had prophesied that there would be a change. It had come +already in part, and more was coming. + +What next? As yet the girl did not understand that she was mistress of +her own fate. Hitherto things had been done for her. She was now about +to act for herself. But how? If Roland were only here! But he had only +written once, and he had never kept his promise to write back again to +Samson. If he were here he could advise. + +She looked around, and saw the heaps of things that were all hers, and +she laughed. The girl whom Roland thought to be only an ignorant and +poor little country girl, a flower-farmer's girl of Samson Island, +living alone with her old grandmother and the serving-folk, was +ignorant still, no doubt. But she was not poor: she was rich--she +could have all that can be bought with money--she was rich. What would +Roland say and think? And she laughed aloud. + +She was rich--the last girl in the world to hope, or expect, or desire +riches. Thus Fate mocks us, giving to one, who wants it not, wealth: +and to another, who knows not how to use it, youth: and to a third, +insensible of its power, beauty. The young lady of society, she whom +the good old hymns used to call the Worldling--fond and pretty title! +there are no Worldlings now--would have had no difficulty in knowing +how to use this wonderful windfall. She, indeed, is always longing, +perhaps praying, for money: she is always thinking how delightful it +would be to be rich, and how there is nothing in the whole world more +desirable than much fine gold. But to Lady Worldling, poor thing! such +a windfall never happens. Again, there are all the distressed +gentlewomen, the unappreciated artists, the authors whose books won't +sell, the lawyers who have no clients, the wives whose name is +Quiverful, the tradesman who 'scapes the Bankruptcy Court year after +year by the skin of his teeth, and the poor dear young man who pines +away because he cannot join the rabble rout of Comus--why, why does +not such a windfall ever come to any of these? It never does: yet they +spend all their spare time--all the time when they ought to be +planning and devising ways and means of advancement--in dreaming of +the golden days they would enjoy, if only such a windfall fell to +them. One such man I knew: he dreamed of wealth all his life: he tried +to become rich by taking every year a share in a foreign lottery. Of +course, he never won a prize. While he was yet young and even far down +the shady or outer slope of middle age he continually built castles in +the air, fashioning pleasant ways for himself when he should get that +prize. When he grew old, he dreamed of the will he would make and of +the envy with which other old men, when he was gone, should regard the +memory of one who had cut up so well. So he died poor; but I think he +had always, through his dreaming, been as happy as if he had been +rich. + +Armorel told herself, standing in the midst of this great treasure, +that she was rich. Roland had once told her, she remembered, that an +artist ought to have money in order to be free: only in freedom, he +said, could a man make the best of himself. What was good for an +artist might be good for her. At the same time--it is not for nothing +that a girl reads and ponders over the Gospels--there were terrible +words of warning--there were instances. She shuddered, overwhelmed +with the prospects of new dangers. + +She knew everything: the room had yielded all its secrets there were +no more cupboards, boxes, or drawers. The sight of the treasures +already began to pall upon her. She applied herself to putting +everything back. First the chagreen case. This she laid carefully in +its corner among the daggers and pistols, remembering that she had +promised to find the owner. How should she do that if she remained on +Samson? Then she put back the snuff-boxes, the miniatures, and the +watches in their silk handkerchiefs: then the box of rings and the +silver spoons and dishes. Then she put the tray in its place and laid +the bags in the tray, and locked the old sea-chest. This done, she +bore back to the shelves in the cupboard the punch-bowls, +candlesticks, tankards, and the big silver ship: she locked and +double-locked the cupboard-door: she crammed the lace into the +drawers, and put back the box of trinkets. + +Then she dropped the keys in her pocket. Oh! what a lump to carry +about all day long! But the weight of the keys in her pocket was +nothing to the weight that was laid upon her shoulders by her great +possessions. This, however, she hardly felt at first. + +Everything was her own. + +When the new King comes to the throne he makes a great clearance of +all the personal belongings of the old King. He gives away his cloaks +and his uniforms, and all the things belonging to the daily life of +his predecessor. That is always done. Therefore, Queen Armorel--Vivat +Regina!--at this point gathered together all her predecessor's +belongings. She turned them out of the drawers and laid them on the +floor--with the great bonnet and the wonderful cap of ribbons. And +then she opened the door. She would give these things to Dorcas. Her +great-great-grandmother should have no more authority there. Even her +clothes must go. If her ghost should remain, it should be without the +bonnet and the cap. + +She called Dorcas, who came, curious to know how her young mistress +took the Great Surprise. Armorel had taken it, apparently, as a matter +of course. So the new King stands upon the highest step of the Throne, +calm and collected, as if he had been prepared for this event, and was +expecting it day after day. + +'You know all now, dearie?' she whispered, shutting the door +carefully. 'Did you find everything?' + +'Yes--I believe I found everything.' + +'The silver in the cupboard: the lace: the bags of gold?' + +'I think I have found everything, Dorcas.' + +'Then you are rich, my dear. No Rosevean before you was ever half so +rich. For none of it has been spent. They've all gone on saving and +adding--almost to the last she saved and added. Oh! the last thing she +lost was the love of saving, and the jealousy of her keys she never +lost. Oh! you are very rich--you are the richest girl in the whole of +Scilly--not even in St. Mary's is there anyone who can compare with +you. Even the Lord Proprietor himself--I hardly know.' + +'Yes. I believe I must be very rich,' said Armorel. 'Dorcas, you kept +her secret. Keep mine as well. Let no one know.' + +'No one shall know, dearie--no one. But lock the door. Keep the door +locked always.' + +'I will. Now, Dorcas, here are all her dresses and things. You must +take them all away and keep them. They are for you.' + +'Very well, dearie. Though how I'm to wear black silk---- Oh! Child,' +she cried, out of the religious terrors of her soul--'it is written +that it is harder for a rich man to enter into heaven than for a camel +to pass through the eye of a needle. My dear, if these great riches +are to drag your soul down into hell, it would be better if they were +all thrown into the sea, the silver punch-bowls and the bags of gold +and all. But there's one comfort. It doesn't say, impossible. It only +says, harder. So that now and then, perhaps, a rich man may wriggle +in--just one--and oh! I wish, seeing the number of rich people there +are in the world, that there'd been shown one camel--only a single +camel--going through the needle's eye. Think what a miracle! 'Twould +have brought conviction to all who saw it, and consolation ever +afterwards to all who considered it--oh! the many thousands of +afflicted souls who are born rich! You are not the only one, child, +who is rich through no fault of her own. Often have I told Justinian, +thinking of her, and he not knowing or suspecting, but believing I was +talking silly, that, considering the warnings and woes pronounced +against the rich, we cannot be too thankful. But don't despair, my +dear--it is nowhere said to be impossible. And there's the rich young +man, to be sure, who was told to sell all that he had and to give to +the poor. He went away sorrowful. You can't do that, Armorel, because +there are no poor on Samson. And it's said, "Woe unto you that are +rich, for you have had your consolation!" Well, but if your money +never is your consolation--and I'm sure I don't know what it is going +to console you for--that doesn't apply to you, does it? There's the +story of the Rich Man, again; and there's texts upon texts, when you +come to think of them. You will remember them, child, and they will be +your warnings. Besides, you are not going to waste and riot like a +Prodigal Son, and where your earthly treasure is there you will not +set your heart. You will go on like all the Roseveans before you: and +though the treasure is kept locked up, you will add to it every year +out of your savings, just as they did.' + +'There is another parable, Dorcas. I think I ought to remember that as +well. It is that of the Talents. If the man who was rich with Five +Talents had locked them up, he would not have been called a good and +faithful servant.' + +'Yes, dearie, yes. You will find some Scripture to comfort and assure +your soul, no doubt. There's a good deal in Scripture. Something for +all sorts, as they say. Though, after all, riches is a dangerous +thing. Child! if they knew it over at St. Mary's, not a young man in +the place but would be sailing over to Samson to try his luck. Our +secret, child, all to ourselves.' + +'Yes; our secret, Dorcas. And now take away all these things, +everything that belonged to her: there are her shoes--take them too. I +want the room to be all my own. So.' + +When all the things were gone, Armorel closed and locked the door. +Then she ran out of the house gasping, for she choked. Everything was +turned into gold. She gasped and choked and ran out over the hill and +down the steps and across the narrow plain, and up the northern hill, +hoping to drive some of the ghosts from her brain, and to shake off +some of the bewildering caused by the Great Surprise. But a good deal +remained, and especially the religious terrors suggested by that pious +Bryanite Christian and Divider of the Word, Dorcas Tryeth. + +When she sat down in the old place upon the carn, the great gulf +between herself and Bryher island reminded her of that great gulf in +the parable. How if she should be the Rich Man sitting for ever and +for ever on the red-hot rock, tormented with pain and thirst--and how +if on Samson Hill beyond she should see Abraham himself, the +patriarch, with Lazarus lying at his feet--as yet she had developed no +Lazarus--but who knows the future? The Rich Man must have been a +thoughtless and selfish person. Until now the parable never interested +her at all: why should it? She had no money. + +The other passages, those which Dorcas had kindly quoted in this her +first hour of wealth, came crowding into her mind, and told her they +were come to stay. All these texts she had previously classed with the +denunciations of sins the very meaning of which she knew not. She had +no concern with such wickedness. Nor could she possibly understand how +it was that people, when they actually knew that they must not do such +things, still went on doing them. Now, however, having become rich +herself, all the warnings of the New Testament seemed directed against +herself. Already, the load of wealth was beginning to weigh upon her +young shoulders. + +She changed the current of her thoughts. Even the richest girl cannot +be always thinking about woes and warnings. Else she would do nothing, +good or bad. She began to think about the outer world. She had been +thinking of it constantly ever since Roland left her. Now, as she +looked across the broad Roadstead, and remembered that thirty miles +beyond Telegraph Hill rose the cliffs where the outer world +begins--they can be seen in a clear day--a longing, passionate and +irresistible, seized her. She could go away now, whenever she pleased. +She could visit the outer world and make the acquaintance of the +people who live in it. + +She laughed, thinking how Justinian, who had never been beyond St. +Mary's, pictured, as he was fond of doing, the outer world. The Sea of +Tiberias was to him the Road: the Jordan was like Grinsey Sound: the +steep place down which the swine fell into the sea was like Shipman's +Head: the Sermon on the Mount took place on just such a spot as the +carn of the North Hill on Samson, with the sun shining on the Western +Islands: the New Jerusalem in his mind was a city like Hugh Town, +consisting of one long street with stone houses, roofed with slate; +each house two storeys high, a door in the middle, and one window on +each side. On the north side of the New Jerusalem was the harbour, +with the ships, the sea-shore, and the open sea beyond: on the south +side was a bay with beaches of white sand and black rocks at the +entrance, exactly like Porth Cressa. And it was a quiet town, with +seldom any noise of wheels, and always the sound of the sea lapping on +either hand, north or south. + +Now, there was nothing to keep her: she could go to visit the outer +world whenever she pleased--if only she knew how. A girl of sixteen +can hardly go forth into the wide, wide world all alone, announcing to +the four corners her desire to make the acquaintance of everybody and +to understand anything. + +And then she began to remember her teacher's last instructions. The +perfect girl was one who had trained her eye and her hand: she could +play one instrument well: she understood music: she understood art: +she was always gracious, sympathetic, and encouraging: she knew how to +get their best out of men: she was always beautifully dressed: she had +the sweetest and the most beautiful manners. + +And here she blushed crimson, and then turned pale, and felt a pang as +if a knife had pierced her very heart. For a dreadful thought struck +her. She thought she understood at last the true reason why Roland +never came back, though he promised, and looked so serious when he +promised. + +Why? why? Because she was so ill-mannered. Of course that was the +reason. Why did Roland speak so strongly about the perfect girl's +gracious and sympathetic manners, unless to make her understand, in +this kindly and thoughtful way, how much was wanting in herself? Of +course, he only looked upon her as a common country girl, who knew +nothing, and would never learn anything. He wanted her to understand +that--to feel that she would never rise to higher levels. He drew this +picture of the perfect girl to make and keep her humble. Nay, but now +she had this money--all this wealth--now--now---- She sprang to her +feet and threw out her arms, the gesture that she had learned I know +not where. 'Oh!' she cried, 'it is the gift of the Five Talents! I am +not the rich young man. I have not received these riches for my +consolation. They are my Five Talents. I will go away and learn--I +will learn. I will become the perfect girl. I will train eye and hand. +I will grow--grow--grow--to my full height. That will be true work in +the service of the Giver of those Talents. I shall become a good and +faithful servant when I have risen to the stature that is possible for +me!' + + + + +PART II + + +CHAPTER I + +SWEET COZ + + +'I suppose,' said Philippa, 'that we were obliged to ask her.' + +'Well, my dear,' her mother replied, 'Mr. Jagenal is an old friend, +and when----' Her voice dropped, and she did not finish the sentence. +It is absurd to finish a sentence which is understood. + +'Perhaps she will not do anything very outrageous.' + +'Well, my dear, Mr. Jagenal distinctly said that her manner----' Again +she left the sentence unfinished. Perhaps it was her habit. + +'As she bears our name and comes from our place we can hardly deny the +cousinship. In a few minutes, however, we shall know the worst.' + +Philippa, dressed for dinner, was standing before the fire, tapping +the fender impatiently with her foot, and playing with her fan. A +handsome girl of three- or four-and-twenty: handsome, not pretty, if +you please, nor lovely. By no means. Handsome, with a kind of beauty +which no painter or sculptor would assign to Lady Venus, because it +lacked softness; nor to Diana, because that huntress, chaste and fair, +was country-bred, and Philippa was of the town--urban. The young lady +was perfectly well satisfied with her own style of beauty. If she +exaggerated a little its power, that is a common feminine mistake. The +exaggeration brings to dress a moral responsibility. Philippa was +dressed this evening in a creamy white silk, which had the effect of +softening a face and manner somewhat cold and even hard. The young men +of the period complained that Philippa was stand-offish. Certainly she +did not commit the mistake, too common among girls, of plunging +straight off into sympathetic interest with every young man. Philippa +waited for the young men to interest her, if they could. Generally, +they could not. And, while many girls listen with affected deference +to the opinions of the young man, Philippa made the young man receive +hers with deference. These plain facts show, perhaps, why Philippa, at +twenty-four, was still free and unengaged. + +In appearance she was tall--all young ladies who respect themselves +are tall in these days: her features were clearly cut, if a little +pronounced: her hazel eyes were intellectually bright, though cold: +her hair, the least-marked feature, was of a common brown colour, but +she treated it so as to produce a distinctive effect: her mouth was +fine, though her lips were rather thin: her figure was correct, though +Venus herself would have preferred more of it, and, perhaps, that more +flexible. But it is the commonplace girl, we know, who runs to +plumpness. + +She was dressed with greater care than usual that evening, because +people were coming, but not to dinner. The only guests at dinner were +to be one Mr. Jagenal, the well known family solicitor, of Lincoln's +Inn, and a certain far-off cousin, named Armorel Rosevean, from the +Scilly Isles, and her companion and chaperon, one Mrs. Jerome +Elstree--unknown. + +'My dear,' her mother began, 'you are too desponding. Mr. Jagenal +assured your father----' She dropped her voice again. + +'Oh! He is an old bachelor. What does he know? Our cousin comes from +Scilly. So did we. It does very well to talk of coming from Scilly, as +if it was something grand, but I have been looking into a book about +it. Old families of Scilly, we say. Why, they have never been anything +but farmers and smugglers. And our cousin, I hear, is actually a small +tenant-farmer--a flower-farmer--a kind of market-gardener! She grows +daffodils and jonquils and anemones and snowdrops, and sells them. +Very likely the daffodils on our table have come from her farm. +Perhaps she will tell us about the price they fetch a dozen. And she +will inform us at dinner how she counts the stalks and makes out the +bills.' + +'Absurd! She is an heiress. Mr. Jagenal says----' + +'An heiress? How can she be an heiress?' Philippa repeated, with +scorn. 'She inherits the lease of a little flower-farm. The people of +Scilly are all quite, quite poor. My book says so. Some years ago the +Scilly folk were nearly starving.' + +'Your book must be wrong, Philippa. Mr. Jagenal says that the girl has +a respectable fortune. When a man of his experience says that, he +means----' Here her voice dropped again. + +'Well; the island heiress will go back, I dare say, to her +inheritance.' + +At this point Mr. Jagenal himself was announced--elderly, precise, +exact in appearance and in language. + +'You have not yet seen your cousin?' he asked. + +'No. She will be here immediately, I suppose.' + +'Your cousin came to our house five years ago. My late partner +received her. She brought a letter from a clergyman then at the Scilly +Islands. She was sixteen, quite ignorant of the world, and a really +interesting girl. She had inherited a very handsome fortune. My late +partner found her tutors and guardians, and she has been travelling +and learning. Now she has come to London again. She chooses to be her +own mistress, and has taken a flat. And I have found a companion for +her--widow of an artist--our young friend Alec Feilding knew about +her--name of Elstree. I think she will do very well.' + +'Alec knew her? He has never told me of any lady of that name.' +Philippa looked a little astonished. + +Then the girl of whom they were talking, with the companion in +question, appeared. + +You know how one forms in the mind a whole image, or group of images, +preparatory; and how these shadows are all dispelled by the appearance +of the reality. At the very first sight of Armorel, Philippa's +prejudices and expectations--the vision of the dowdy rustic, the +half-bred island savage, the uncouth country maiden--all vanished into +thin air. New prejudices might arise--it is a mistake to suppose that +because old prejudices have been cleared away there can be no +more--but, in this case, the old ones vanished. For while Armorel +walked across the room, and while Mrs. Rosevean stepped forward to +welcome her, Philippa made the discovery that her cousin knew how to +carry herself, how to walk, and how to dress. Girls who have learned +these three essentials have generally learned how to talk as well. And +a young lady of London understands at the first glance whether a +strange young person, her sister in the bonds of humanity, is also a +lady. As for the dress, it showed genius either on the part of Armorel +herself or of her advisers. There was genius in the devising and +invention of it. But genius of this kind one can buy. There was the +genius of audacity in the wearing of it, because it was a dress of the +kind more generally worn by ladies of forty than of twenty-one. And it +required a fine face and a good figure to carry it off. Ladies will +quite understand when I explain that Armorel wore a train and bodice +of green brocaded velvet: the sleeves and the petticoat trimmed with +lace. You may see a good deal of lace--of a sort--on many dresses; but +Philippa recognised with astonishment that this was old lace, the +finest lace in the world, of greater breadth than it is now made--lace +that was priceless--lace that only a rich girl could wear. There were +also pearls on the sleeves: she wore mousquetaire gloves--which proved +many things: there were bracelets on her wrists, and round her neck +she had a circlet of plain red gold--it was the torque found in the +kistvaen on Samson, but this Philippa did not know. And she observed, +taking in all these details in one comprehensive and catholic glance +of mind and eye, that her cousin was a very beautiful girl indeed, +with something Castilian in her face and appearance--dark and +splendid. For a simple dinner she would have been overdressed; but +considering the reception to come afterwards, she was fittingly +arrayed. She was accompanied by her companion--Philippa might have +remembered that one must be an heiress in order to afford the luxury +of such a household official. Mrs. Jerome Elstree was almost young +enough to want a chaperon for herself, being certainly a good deal +under thirty. She was a graceful woman of fair complexion and blue +eyes: if Armorel had desired a contrast to herself she could not have +chosen better. She wore a dress in the style which is called, I +believe, second mourning. The dress suggested widowhood, but no longer +in the first passionate agony--widowhood subdued and resigned. + +The hostess rose from her chair and advanced a step to meet her +guests. She touched the fingers of Mrs. Elstree. 'Very pleased, +indeed,' she murmured, and turned to Armorel. 'My dear cousin'--she +seized both her hands, and looked as well as spoke most motherly. 'My +dear child, this is, indeed, a pleasure! And to think that we have +known nothing about your very existence all the time! This is my +daughter--my only daughter, Philippa.' Then she subsided into her +chair, leaving Philippa to do the rest. 'We are cousins,' said +Philippa, kindly but with cold and curious eyes. 'I hope we shall be +friends.' Then she turned to the companion. 'Oh!' she cried, with a +start of surprise. 'It is Zoe!' + +'Yes,' said Mrs. Elstree, a quick smile on her lips. 'Formerly it was +Zoe. How do you do, Philippa?' Her voice was naturally soft and sweet, +a caressing voice, a voice of velvet. She glanced at Philippa as she +spoke, and her eyes flashed with a light which hardly corresponded +with the voice. 'I was wondering, as we came here, whether you would +remember me. It is so long since we were at school together. How long, +dear? Seven years? Eight years? You remember that summer at the +seaside--where was it? One changes a good deal in seven years. Yet I +thought, somehow, that you would remember me. You are looking very +well, Philippa--still.' + +A doubtful compliment, but conveyed in the softest manner, which +should have removed any possible doubt. Armorel looked on with some +astonishment. On Philippa's face there had risen a flaming spot. +Something was going on below the surface. But Philippa laughed. + +'Of course, I remember you very well,' she said. + +'But, dear Philippa,' Mrs. Elstree went on, softly smiling and gently +speaking, 'I am no longer Zoe. I am Mrs. Jerome Elstree--I am La Veuve +Elstree. I am Armorel's companion.' + +'I am sorry,' Philippa replied coldly. Her eyes belied her words. She +was not sorry. She did not care whether good or evil had happened to +this woman. She was too good a Christian to desire the latter, and not +good enough to wish the former. What she had really hoped--whenever +she thought of Zoe--was that she might never, never meet her again. +And here she was, a guest in her own home, and companion to her own +cousin! + +Then Mr. Rosevean appeared, and welcomed the new cousin cordially. He +seemed a cheerful, good-tempered kind of man, was sixty years of age, +bald on the forehead, and of aspect like the conventional Colonel of +_Punch_--in fact, he had been in the Army, and served through the +Crimean war, which was quite enough for honour. He passed his time +laboriously considering his investments--for he had great +possessions--and making small collections which never came to +anything. He also wrote letters to the papers, but these seldom +appeared. + +Then they went in to dinner. The conversation naturally turned at +first upon Scilly, their common starting-point, and the illustrious +family of the Roseveans. + +'As soon as I heard about you, my dear young lady, I set to work to +discover our exact relationship. My grandfather, Sir Jacob--you have +heard of Sir Jacob Rosevean, Knight of Hanover? Yes; naturally--he was +born in the year 1760. He was the younger brother of Captain Emanuel +Rosevean, your great-grandfather, I believe.' + +'My grandfathers were all named either Emanuel or Methusalem. They +took turns.' + +'Quite so,' Mr. Rosevean nodded his head in approbation. 'The +preservation of the same Christian names gives dignity to the family. +Anthony goes with Ashley: Emanuel or Methusalem with Rosevean. The +survival of the Scripture name shows how the Puritanic spirit lingers +yet in the good old stocks.' Philippa glanced at her mother, mindful of +her own remarks on the old families of Scilly. 'We come of a very fine +old family, cousin Armorel. I hope you have been brought up in becoming +pride of birth. It is a possession which the world cannot give and the +world cannot take away. We are a race of Vikings--conquering Vikings. +The last of them was, perhaps, my grandfather, Sir Jacob, unless any of +the later Roseveans----' + +'I am afraid they can hardly be called Vikings,' said Armorel, simply. + +'Sir Jacob--my grandfather--was cast, my dear young friend, in the +heroic mould--the heroic mould. Nothing short of that. For the +services which he rendered to the State at the moment of Britannia's +greatest peril, he should have been raised to the House of Lords. But +it was a time of giants--and he had to be contented with the simple +recognition of a knighthood.' + +'Jacob Rosevean'--who was it had told Armorel this--long before? And +why did she now remember the words so clearly, 'ran away and went to +sea. He could read and write and cipher a little, and so they made him +clerk to the purser. Then he rose to be purser himself, and when he +had made some money he left the service and became Contractor to the +Fleet, and supplied stores of all kinds during the long war, and at +last he became so rich that they were obliged to make him a Knight.' + +'The simple recognition of a Knighthood,' Mr. Rosevean went on. 'This +it is to live in an age of heroes.' + +Armorel waited for further details. Later on, perhaps, some of the +heroic achievements of the great Sir Jacob would be related. +Meantime, every hero must make a beginning: why should not Jacob +Rosevean begin as purser's clerk? It was pleasing to the girl to +observe how large and generous a view her cousins took of the family +greatness--never before had she known to what an illustrious stock she +belonged. The smuggling, the wrecking, the piloting, the +farming--these were all forgotten. A whole race of heroic ancestors +had taken the place of the plain Roseveans whom Armorel knew. Well: if +by the third generation of wealth and position one cannot evolve so +simple a thing as an ancient family, what is the use of history, +genealogy, heraldry, and imagination? The Roseveans were Vikings: they +were the terror of the French coast: they went a-crusading with +short-legged Robert: they were rovers of the Spanish Main: the great +King of Spain trembled when he heard their name: they were buccaneers. +Portraits of some of these ancestors hung on the wall: Sir Jacob +himself, of course, was there; and Sir Jacob's great-grandfather, a +Cavalier; and his grandfather, an Elizabethan worthy. Presumably, +these portraits came from Samson Island. But Armorel had never heard +of any family portraits, and she had grown up in shameful ignorance of +these heroes. There was a coat-of-arms, too, with which she was not +acquainted. Yet there were circumstances connected with the grant of +that shield by the Sovereign--King Edward the First--which were highly +creditable to the family. Armorel listened and marvelled. But her host +evidently believed it all: and, indeed, it was his father, not +himself, who had imagined these historic splendours. + +'It is pleasing,' he said, 'to revive these memories between members +of different branches. You, however, are fresh from the ancestral +scenes. You are the heiress of the ancient island home: yours is the +Hall of the Vikings: to you have been entrusted the relics of the +past. I look upon you and seem to see again the Rovers putting forth +to drag down the Spanish pride. There are noble memories, Armorel--I +must call you Armorel--associated with that isle of Samson, our +ancient family domain. Let us never forget them.' + +The dinner came to an end at last, and the ladies went away. + +Mrs. Elstree sat down in the most comfortable chair by the fire and +was silent, leaning her face upon her hands and looking into the +firelight. Mrs. Rosevean took a chair on the other side and fell +asleep. Philippa and Armorel talked. + +'I cannot understand,' said Philippa, bluntly, 'how such a girl as you +could have come from Scilly. I have been reading a book about the +place, and it says that the people are all poor, and that Samson, your +island--our island--is quite a small place.' + +'I will tell you if you like,' said Armorel, 'as much about myself as +you please to hear.' The chief advantage of an autobiography--as you +shall see, dear reader, if you will oblige me by reading mine, when it +comes out--is the right of preserving silence upon certain points. +Armorel, for example, said nothing at all about Roland Lee. Nor did +she tell of the chagreen case with the rubies. But she did tell how +she found the treasure of the sea-chest, and the cupboard, and how she +took everything, except the punch-bowls and the silver ship and cups, +to London, and how she gave them over to the lawyer to whom she had a +letter. And she told how she was resolved to repair the deficiencies +of her up-bringing, and how, for five long years, she had worked day +and night. + +'I think you are a very brave girl,' said Philippa. 'Most girls in +your place would have been contented to sit down and enjoy their good +fortune.' + +'I was so very ignorant when I began. And--and one or two things had +happened which made me ashamed of my ignorance.' + +'Yet it was brave of you to work so hard.' + +'At first,' said Armorel, 'when this good fortune came to me I was +afraid, thinking of the Parable of the Rich Man.' Philippa started and +looked astonished. In the circle of Dives this Parable is never +mentioned. No one regardeth that Parable, which is generally believed +to be a late interpolation. 'But when I came to think, I understood +that it might be the gift of the Five Talents--a sacred trust.' + +Philippa's eyes showed no comprehension of this language. Armorel, +indeed, had learned long since that the Bryanite or Early Christian +language is no longer used in society. But Philippa was her cousin. +Perhaps, in the family, it would still pass current. + +'I worked most at music. Shall I play to you?' + +'Nothing, dear Philippa,' said Zoe, half-turning round, 'would please +you so much as to hear Armorel play. You used to play a little +yourself'--Philippa had been the pride and glory of the school for her +playing--'A little!' Had she lost her memory? + +'Will you play this evening?' + +'I brought her violin in the carriage,' said Zoe, softly. 'I wanted to +give you as many delightful surprises as possible, Philippa. To find +your cousin so beautiful: to hear her play: and to receive me again! +This will be, indeed, an evening to remember.' + +'I will play if you like,' said Armorel, simply. 'But perhaps you have +made other arrangements.' + +'No--no--you can play? But of course, you have had good masters. You +shall play instead of me.' + +Zoe murmured her satisfaction, and turned again her face to the fire. + +'Tell me, Armorel,' said Philippa, 'all this about the Vikings--the +Hall of the Vikings--the Rovers--and the rest of it. Was it familiar +to you?' + +'No; I have never heard of any Vikings or Rovers. And there is no +Hall.' + +'We are, I suppose, really an old family of Scilly?' + +'We have lived in the same place for I know not how many years. One +of the outlying rocks of Scilly is called Rosevean. Oh! there is no +doubt about our antiquity. About the Crusaders, and all the rest of +it, I know nothing. Perhaps because there was nobody to tell me.' + +'I see,' said Philippa, thoughtfully. 'Well, it does no harm to +believe these things. Perhaps some of them are true. Sir Jacob, +certainly, cannot be denied; nor the Roseveans of Samson Island. My +dear, I am very glad you came.' + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE SONATA + + +The room was full of people. It was the average sort of reception, +where one always expects to meet men and women who have done +something: men who write, paint, or compose; women who do the same, +but not so well; women who play and sing; women who are æsthetic, and +show their appreciation of art by wearing hideous dresses; women who +recite: men and women who advocate all kinds of things--mostly cranks +and cracks. There are, besides, the people who know the people who do +things: and these, who are a talkative and appreciative folk, carry on +the conversation. Thirdly, there are the people who do nothing, and +know nobody, who go away and talk casually of having met this or that +great man last night. + +'Armorel,' said Philippa, 'let me introduce Dr. Bovey-Tracy. Perhaps +you already know his works.' + +'Unfortunately--not yet,' Armorel replied. + +The Doctor was quite a young man, not more than two- or +three-and-twenty. His degree was German, and his appearance, with long +light hair and spectacles, was studiously German. If he could have +Germanised his name as well as his appearance he would certainly have +done so. As a pianist, a teacher of music, and a composer, the young +Doctor is already beginning to be known. When Armorel confessed her +ignorance, he gently spread his hands and smiled pity. 'If you will +really play, Armorel, Dr. Bovey-Tracy will kindly accompany you.' + +Armorel took her violin out of the case and began to tune it. + +'What will you play?' asked the musician: 'Something serious? So?' + +Armorel turned over a pile of music and selected a piece. It was the +Sonata by Schumann in D minor for violin and pianoforte. 'Shall we +play this?' + +Philippa looked a little surprised. The choice was daring. The Herr +Doctor smiled graciously: 'This is, indeed, serious,' he said. + +I suppose that to begin your musical training with the performance of +heys and hornpipes and country dances is not the modern scientific +method. But he who learns to fiddle for sailors to dance may acquire a +mastery over the instrument which the modern scientific method teaches +much more slowly. Armorel began her musical training with a fiddle as +obedient to her as the Slave of the Lamp to his master. And for five +years she had been under masters playing every day, until---- + +The pianist sat down, held his outstretched fingers professionally +over the keys, and struck a chord. Armorel raised her bow, and the +sonata began. + +I am told that there is now quite a fair percentage of educated people +who really do understand music, can tell good playing from bad, and +fine playing from its counterfeit. In the same way, there is a +percentage--but not nearly so large--of people who know a good picture +when they see it, and can appreciate correct drawing if they cannot +understand fine colour. Out of the sixty or seventy people who filled +this room, there were certainly twenty--but then it was an +exceptionally good collection--who understood that a violinist born +and trained was playing to them, in a style not often found outside +St. James's Hall. And they marvelled while the music delivered its +message--which is different for every soul. They sat or stood in +silence, spellbound. Of the remaining fifty, thirty understood that a +piece of classical music was going on: it had no voice or message for +them: they did not comprehend one single phrase--the sonata might have +been a sermon in the Bulgarian tongue: but they knew how to behave in +the presence of Music, and they governed themselves accordingly. The +Remnant--twenty in number--containing all the young men and most of +the girls, understood that here was a really beautiful girl playing +the fiddle for them. The young men murmured their admiration, and the +girls whispered envious things--not necessarily spiteful, but +certainly envious. What girl could resist envy at sight of that dress, +with its lace, and that command of the violin, and--which every girl +concedes last of all, and grudgingly--that face and figure? + +Philippa stood beside the piano, rather pale. She knew, now, why her +old schoolfellow had been so anxious that Armorel should play. Kind +and thoughtful Zoe! + +The playing of the first movement surprised her. Here was one who had, +indeed, mastered her instrument. At the playing of the second, which +is a scherzo, bright and lively, she acknowledged her mistress--not +her rival. At the playing of the third, which contains a lovely, +simple, innocent, and happy tune, her heart melted--never, never, +could she so pour into her playing the soul of that melody: never +could she so rise to the spirit of the musician and put into the music +what even he himself had not imagined. But Zoe was wrong. Her soul was +not filled with envy. Philippa had a larger soul. + +It was finished. The twenty who understood gasped. The thirty who +listened murmured thanks, and resumed their talk about something +else. The twenty who neither listened nor understood went on talking +without any comment at all. + +'You have had excellent masters,' said the Doctor. 'You play very well +indeed--not like an amateur. It is a pity that you cannot play in +public.' + +'You have made good use of your opportunities,' said Philippa. 'I have +never heard an amateur play better. I play a little myself; but----' + +'I said you would be pleased,' Zoe murmured softly at her side. 'I +knew you would be pleased when you heard Armorel play.' + +'You will play yourself, presently?' said the Herr Doctor. + +'No; not this evening,' Philippa replied. 'Impossible--after Armorel.' + +'Not this evening!' echoed Zoe, sweetly. + +Then there came walking tall and erect through the crowd, which +respectfully parted right and left to let him pass, a young man of +striking and even distinguished appearance. + +'Philippa,' he said, 'will you introduce me to your cousin?' + +'Armorel, this is another cousin of mine--unfortunately not of +yours--Mr. Alec Feilding.' + +'I am very unfortunate, Miss Rosevean. I came too late to hear more +than the end of the sonata. Normann-Néruda herself could not interpret +that music better.' Then he saw Zoe, and greeted her as an old friend. +'Mrs. Elstree and I,' he said, 'have known each other a long time.' + +'Fifty years, at least,' Zoe murmured. 'Is it not so long, Philippa?' + +'Will you play something else?' he asked. 'The people are dying to +hear you again.' + +Armorel looked at Philippa. 'If you will,' she said kindly. 'If you +are not tired. Play us, this time, something lighter. We cannot all +appreciate Schumann.' + +'Shall I give you a memory of Scilly?' she replied. 'That will be +light enough.' + +She played, in fact, that old ditty--one of those which she had been +wont to play for the Ancient Lady--called 'Prince Rupert's March.' She +played this with variations which that gallant Cavalier had never +heard. It is a fine air, however, and lends itself to the phantasy of +a musician. Then those who had understood the sonata laughed with +condescension, as a philosopher laughs when he hears a simple story; +and those who had pretended to understand pricked up their ears, +thinking that this was another piece of classical music, and joyfully +perceiving that they would understand it; and those who had made no +pretence now listened with open mouths and ears as upright as those of +any wild-ass of the desert. Music worth hearing, this. Armorel played +for five or six minutes. Then she stopped and laid down her violin. + +'I think I have played enough for one evening,' she said. + +She left the piano and retired into the throng. A girl took her place. +The Herr Doctor placed another piece of music before him, lifted his +hands, held them suspended for a moment, and then struck a chord. This +girl began to sing. + +Mr. Alec Feilding followed Armorel and led her to a seat at the end of +the room. Then he sat down beside her and, as soon as the song was +finished, began to talk. + +He began by talking about music, and the Masters in music. His talk +was authoritative: he laid down opinions: he talked as if he was +writing a book of instruction: and he talked as if the whole wide +world was listening to him. But not quite so loudly as if that had +been really the case. + +He was a man of thirty or so, his features were perfectly regular, but +his expression was rather wooden. His eyes were good, but rather too +close together. His mouth was hidden by a huge moustache, curled and +twisted and pointed forwards. + +Armorel disliked his manner, and for some reason or other distrusted +his face. + +He left off laying down the law on music, and began to talk about +things personal. + +'I hope you like your new companion,' he said. 'She is an old friend +of mine. I was in hopes of being able to advance her husband in his +profession. But he died before I got the chance. Mr. Jagenal told me +what was wanted, and I was happy in recommending Zoe--Mrs. Elstree.' + +'Thank you,' said Armorel, coldly. 'I dare say we shall get to like +each other in time.' + +'If so, I shall rejoice in having been of some service to you as well +as to her. What is her day at home?' + +'I believe we are to be at home on Wednesdays.' + +'As for me,' he said lightly, 'I am always at home in my studio. I am +a triple slave--Miss Rosevean--as you may have heard. I am a slave of +the brush, the pen, and the wastepaper-basket. If you will come with +Mrs. Elstree to my studio I can show you one or two things that you +might like to see.' + +'Thank you,' she replied, without apparent interest in his studio. The +young man was not accustomed to girls who showed no interest in him, +and retired, chilled. Presently she heard his voice again. This time +he was talking with Philippa. They were talking low in the doorway +beside her, but she could not choose but hear. + +'You recommended her--you?' said Philippa. + +'Why not?' + +'Do you know how--where--she has been living for the last seven +years?' + +'Certainly. She married an American. He died a year ago, leaving her +rather badly off. Is there any reason, Philippa, why I should not +recommend her? If there is I will speak to Mr. Jagenal.' + +'No--no--no. There is no reason that I know of. Somebody told me she +had gone on the stage. Who was it?' + +'Gone on the stage? No--no: she was married to this American.' + +'You have never spoken to me about her.' + +'Reason enough, fair cousin. You do not like her.' + +'And--you--do,' she replied slowly. + +'I like all pretty women, Philippa. I respect one only.' + +Then other people came and were introduced to Armorel. One does not +leave in cold neglect a girl who is so beautiful and plays so +wonderfully. None of them interested Armorel very much. At the +beginning, when a girl first goes into society, she expects to be +interested and excited at a general gathering. This expectation +disappears, and the current coin of everybody's talk takes the place +of interest. + +Suddenly she caught a face which she knew. When a girl has been +travelling about for five years she sees a great many faces. This was +a face which she remembered perfectly well, yet could not at first +place it in any scene or assign it to any date. Then she recollected. +And she walked boldly across the room and stood before the owner of +that face. + +'You have forgotten me,' she said abruptly. + +'I--I--can I ever have known you?' he asked. + +'Will you shake hands, Mr. Stephenson? You were Dick Stephenson five +years ago. Have you forgotten Armorel, of Samson Island in Scilly?' + +No. He had not forgotten that young lady. But he would never have +known her thus changed--thus dressed. + +'Where is your friend Roland Lee?' + +Dick Stephenson changed colour. 'I have not seen him for a long time. +We are no longer--exactly--friends.' + +'Why not?' she asked, with severity. 'Have you done anything bad? How +have you offended him?' + +'No, no; certainly not.' He coloured more deeply. 'I have done nothing +bad at all,' he added with much indignation. + +'Have you deserted him, then? I thought men never gave up their +friends. Come to see me, Mr. Stephenson. You shall tell me where he is +and what he is doing.' + +In the press of the crowd, as they were going away, she heard Mr. +Jagenal's voice. + +'You are burning the candle at both ends, Alec,' he was saying. 'You +cannot possibly go on painting, writing, editing your paper, riding in +the Park, and going out every evening as you do now. No man's +constitution can stand it, young gentleman. Curb your activity. Be +wise in time.' + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE CLEVEREST MAN IN LONDON + + +Alec Feilding--everybody, even those who had never seen him, called +him Alec--stood before the fire in his own den. In his hand he held a +manuscript, which he was reading with great care, making dabs and +dashes on it with a thick red pencil. + +Sometimes he called the place his studio, sometimes his study. No +other man in London, I believe, has so good a right to call his +workshop by either name. No other man in London, certainly, is so well +known both for pen and pencil. To be at once a poet, a novelist, an +essayist, and a painter, and to do all these things well, if not +splendidly, is given to few. + +The room was large and lofty, as becomes a studio. A heavy curtain +hung across the door: the carpet was thick: there was a great +fireplace, as deep and broad as that of an old hall, the fire burning +on bricks in the ancient style. Above the fireplace there was no +modern overmantel, but dark panels of oak, carved in flowers and +grapes, with a coat of arms--his own: he claimed descent from the +noble House of Feilding: and in the centre panel his own portrait let +into the wall without a frame--the work was executed by the most +illustrious portrait-painter of the day--the face full of thought, the +eyes charged with feeling, the features clear, regular, and classical. +A beautiful portrait, with every point idealised. Three sides of the +room were fitted with bookshelves, as becomes a study, and these were +filled with books. The fourth side was partly hung with tapestry and +partly adorned with armour and weapons. Here were also two small +pictures, representing the illustrious Alec in childhood--the light of +future genius already in his eyes--and in early manhood. + +A large library table, littered with books, manuscripts, and proofs, +belonged to the study. An easel before the north light, and another +table provided with palettes, brushes, paints, and all the tools of +the limning trade, belonged to the studio. + +The house, which was in St. John's Wood, stood in an old garden at the +end of a cul-de-sac off the main road: it was, therefore, quiet: the +house itself was new, built in the style now familiar, and put up for +the convenience of those who believe that there is nothing in the +world to be considered except Art. Therefore there was a spacious +hall: stairs broad enough for an ancient mansion led to the first +floor and to the great studio. There were also three or four small +cupboards, called bedrooms, dining-room, and anything else you might +please. But the studio was the real thing. The house was built for the +studio. + +The place was charged with an atmosphere of peace. Intellectual calm +reigned here. Art of all kinds abhors noise. One could feel here the +silence necessary for intellectual efforts of the highest order. +Apart from the books and the easel and this silence, the character of +the occupant was betrayed--or perhaps proclaimed--by other things. The +furniture was massive: the library table of the largest kind: the easy +chairs by the fire as solid and comfortable as if they had been +designed for a club smoking-room: a cabinet showed a collection of +china behind glass: the appointments, down to the inkstand and the +paper-knife, were large and solid: all together spoke not only of the +artist but of the successful artist: not only of the man who works, +but of one who works with success and honour: the man arrived. The +things also spoke of the splendid man, the man who knows that success +should be followed by the splendid life. Too often the successful man +is a poor-spirited creature, who continues in the humble middle-class +style to which he was born; is satisfied with his suburban villa, +never wants a better house or one more finely appointed, and has no +craving for society. What is success worth if one does not live up to +it? Success is not an end: it is the means: it brings the power of +getting the things that make life--wine--horses--the best cook at the +best club--sport--the society, every day, of beautiful and well-bred +women--all these things the man who has succeeded can enjoy. Those who +have not yet succeeded may envy the favourite of Fortune. + +As for his work, this highly successful man owned that he could not +desert the Muse of Painting any more than her sister of +Belles-Lettres. Happy would he be with either, were t'other dear +charmer away! Happier still was he with both! And they were not +jealous. They allowed him--these tender creatures--to love them both. +He was by nature polygamous, perhaps. + +Therefore those who were invited to see his latest picture--the lucky +few, because you must not think that his studio was open on Show +Sunday for all the world to see--stayed, when they had admired that +production, to talk of his latest poem or his latest story. + +Over the mantelshelf was quite a stack of invitations. And really one +hardly knows whether Alec Feilding was most to be envied for his +success as a painter--though he painted little: or for his +stories--though these were all short--much too short: or for his +verses--certainly written in the most delightful vein of _vers de +société_: or for his essays, full of observation: or for his social +success, which was undoubted. And there is no doubt that there was not +any man in London more envied, or who occupied a more enviable +position, than Alec Feilding. To be sure, he deserved it: because, +without any exception, he was the cleverest man in town. + +He owned and edited a paper of his own--a weekly journal devoted to +the higher interests of Art. It was called _The Muses Nine_. It was +illustrated especially by blocks from art books noticed in its +columns. In this paper his own things first appeared: his verses, his +stories, his essays. The columns signed _Editor_ were the leading +feature of the paper, for which alone many people bought it every +week. The contents of these columns were always fresh, epigrammatic, +and delightful: in the stories a certain feminine quality lent +piquancy--it seemed sometimes as if a man could not have written these +stories: the verses always tripped lightly, merrily, and gracefully +along. An Abbé de la Cour in the last century might have served up +such a weekly dish for the Parisians, had he been the cleverest man in +Paris. + +Alec Feilding's enemies--every man who is rising or has risen has +enemies--consoled themselves for a success which could not be denied +by sneering at the ephemeral character of his work. It was for to-day: +to-morrow, they said, it would be flat. This was not quite true, but, +as it is equally true of nearly every piece of modern work, the +successful author could afford to disregard this criticism. Perhaps +there may be, here and there, a writer who expects more than a limited +immortality: I do not know any, but there may be some. And these will +probably be disappointed. The enemies said further that his social +success--also undoubted--was due to his unbounded cheek. This, too, +was partly true, because, if one would rise at all, one must possess +that useful quality: without it one will surely sink. It is not to be +denied that this young man walked into drawing-rooms as if his +presence was a favour: that he spoke as one who delivers a judgment: +and that he professed a profound belief in himself. With such gifts +and graces--the gift of painting, the gift of verse, the gift of +fiction, a handsome presence, good manners, and unbounded cheek--Alec +Feilding had already risen very high indeed for so young a man. His +enemies, again, said that he was looking out for an heiress. + +His enemies, as sometimes but not often happens, spoke from imperfect +knowledge. Every man has his weak points, and should be careful to +keep them to himself--friends may become enemies--and to let no one +know them or suspect them. As for the weak points of Alec +Feilding--had his enemies known them---- But you shall see. + +He sat down at his library-table and began to copy the manuscript that +he had been reading. It was a laborious task, first because copying work +is always tedious, and next because he was making alterations--changing +names and places--and leaving out bits. He worked on steadily for about +half an hour. + +Then there was a gentle tap at the door, and his servant--who looked +as solemn and discreet as if he had been Charles the Second's +confidential clerk of the Back-stairs--came in noiselessly on tiptoe +and whispered a name. Alec placed the manuscript and his copy +carefully in a drawer, and nodded his head. + +You have already seen the man who came in. Five years older, and a +good deal altered--changed, perhaps, for the worse--but then the +freshness of twenty-one cannot be expected to last. The man who +stayed three weeks in Samson, and promised a girl that he would +return. The man who broke that promise, and forgot the girl. He never +went back to Scilly. Perhaps he had grown handsomer: his Vandyke beard +and moustache were by this time thicker and longer: he was more +picturesque in appearance than of old: he still wore a brown velvet +coat: he looked still more what he was--an artist. But his cheek was +thin and pale, dark rings were round his eyes, his face was gloomy: he +wore the look of waste--the waste of energy and of purpose. It is not +good to see this look in the eyes of a young man. + +'You sent for me,' he said, with no other greeting. + +'I did. Come in. Is the door shut? I've got some good news for you. +Heavens! you look as if you wanted good news badly! What's the matter, +man? More debts and duns? And I want to consult you a little about +this picture of yours'--he pointed to the easel. + +[Illustration: _'I want to consult you a little about this picture of +yours.'_] + +'Mine? No: yours. You have bought me--pictures and all.' + +'Just as you like. What does it matter--here--within these walls?' + +'Hush! Even here you should not whisper it. The birds of the air, you +know---- Take great care'---- Roland laughed, but not mirthfully. +'Mine?' he repeated; 'mine? Suppose I were to call together the +fellows at the club, and suppose I were to tell the story of the last +three years?--eh? eh? How a man was fooled on until he sold himself +and became a slave--eh?' + +'You can't tell that story, Roland, you know.' + +'Some day I will--I must.' + +Alec Feilding threw himself back in his chair, crossed his legs, and +joined his fingers. It is an attitude of judicial remonstrance. + +'Come, Roland,' he said, smiling blandly. 'Let us have it out. It +galls sometimes, doesn't it? But remember you can't have +everything--come, now. If you were to tell the fellows at the club, +truthfully, the whole story, they would, I dare say, be glad to get +such a beautiful pile of stones to throw at me. One more reputation +built on pretence and humbug--eh? Yes: the little edifice which you +and I have reared together with so much care would be shattered at a +single stroke, wouldn't it? You could do that: you can always do that. +But at some little cost to yourself--some little cost, remember.' + +Roland remarked that the cost or consequences of that little exploit +might be condemned. + +'Truly. If you will. But not until you realise what they are. Now my +version of the story is this. There was once--three years ago--a +fellow who had failed. The Academy wouldn't accept his pictures; no +one would buy them. And yet he had some power and true feeling. But he +could not succeed: he could not get anybody to buy his pictures. And +then he was an extravagant kind of man: he was head over ears in +debt: he liked to lead the easy life--dinner and billiards at the +club--all the rest of it. Then there was another man--an old +schoolfellow of his--a man who wanted, for purposes of his own, a +reputation for genius in more than one branch of Art. He wanted to +seem a master of painting as well as poetry and fiction. This man +addressed the Failure. He said, "Unsuccessful Greatness, I will buy +your pictures of you, on the simple condition that I may call them +mine." The Failure hesitated at first. Naturally. He was loth to write +himself down a Failure. Everybody would be. Then he consented. He +promised to paint no more in the style in which he had failed except +for this other man. Then the other man, who knew his way about, called +his friends together, set up a picture painted by the Failure on an +easel, bought the tools, laid them out on the table--there they +are--and launched himself upon the world as an artist as well as a +poet and author. A Fraud, wasn't he? Yet it paid both men--the Fraud +and the Failure. For the Fraud knew how to puff the work and to get it +puffed and praised and noticed everywhere; he made people talk about +it: he had paragraphs about it: he got critics to treat his--or the +Failure's--pictures seriously: in fact, he advertised them as +successfully and as systematically as if he had been a soap-man. Is +this true, so far?' + +'Quite true. Go on--Fraud.' + +'I will--Failure. Then the price of the pictures went up. The Fraud +was able to sell them at a price continually rising. And the Failure +received a price in proportion. He shared in the proceeds. The Fraud +gave him two thirds. Is that true? Two thirds. He ran your price, +Failure, from nothing at all to four hundred and fifty pounds--your +last, and biggest price. And he gave you two thirds. All you had to do +was to produce the pictures. What he did was to persuade the world +that they were great and valuable pictures. Is that true?' + +Roland grunted. + +'Three years ago you were at your wits' end for the next day's dinner. +You had borrowed of all your friends: you had pawned your watch and +chain: you were face to face with poverty--no; starvation. Deny that, +if you can.' He turned fiercely on Roland. 'You can't deny it. What +are you now? You have a good income: you dine every day on the best of +everything: you do yourself well in every respect. Hang it, Roland, +you are an ungrateful dog!' + +'You have ruined my life. You have robbed me of my name.' + +'Let us stop heroics. If you are useful to me, I am ten times as +useful to you. Because, my dear boy, without me you cannot live. +Without you I can do very well. Indeed, I have only to find another +starving genius--there are plenty about--in order to keep up my +reputation as a painter. Go to the club. Call the men together. Tell +them if you like, and what you like. You have no proofs. I can deny +it, and I can give you the sack, and I can get that other starving +genius to carry on the work.' + +Roland made no reply. + +'Why, my dear fellow--why should we quarrel? What does it matter about +a little reputation? What is the good of your precious name to you +when you are dead? Here you are--painting better and better every +day--your price rising--your position more assured--what on earth can +any man want more? As for me, you are useful to me. If you were not, I +should put an end to the arrangement. That is understood. Very well, +then. Enough said. Now, if you please, we will look at the picture.' + +He got up and walked across the room to the easel. Roland followed +submissively, with hanging head. He staggered as he went: not with +strong drink, but with the rage that tore his heart. + +'It is really a very beautiful thing,' said the cleverest man in all +London, looking at it critically. 'I think that even you have never +done anything quite so good.' + +The picture showed a great rock rising precipitous from the sea--at +its base was a reef or projecting shelf. The shags stood in a line on +the top of the rock: the sea-gulls flew around the rock and sailed +merrily before the breeze: there was a little sea on, but not much: a +boat with a young man in it lay off the rock, and a girl was on the +reef standing among the long yellow sea-weed: the spray flew up the +sides of the rock: the sun was sinking. What was it but one of +Roland's sketches made in the Outer Islands, with Armorel for his +companion? + +'It is very good, Roland,' Alec repeated. 'If I am not so good a +painter myself, I am not envious. I can appreciate and acknowledge +good work.' Under the circumstances, rather an extraordinary speech. +But Roland's gloomy face softened a little. Even at such a moment the +artist feels the power of praise. The other, standing before the +picture, watched the softening of the face. 'Good work?' he repeated +by way of question. 'Man! it is splendid work! I can feel the breath +of the salt breeze: I can see the white spray flying over the rock: +the girl stands out real and living. It is a splendid piece of work, +Roland.' + +'I think it is better than the last,' the unlucky painter replied +huskily. + +'I should rather think it is. I expect to get a great name for this +picture'--the painter winced--'and you--you--the painter, will get a +much more solid thing--you will get a big cheque. I've sold it +already. No dealers this time. It has been bought by a rich American. +Three hundred is the figure I can offer you. And here's your cheque.' + +He took it, ready drawn and signed, from his pocket-book. Roland Lee +received it, but he let it drop from his fingers: the paper fluttered +to the floor. He gazed upon the picture in silence. + +'Well? What are you thinking of?' + +'I was thinking of the day when I made the sketch for that picture. I +remember what the girl said to me.' + +'What the devil does it matter what the girl said? All we care about +is the picture.' + +'I remember her very words. You who have bought the picture can see +the girl; but I, who painted it, can hear her voice.' + +'You are not going off into heroics again?' + +'No, no. Don't be afraid. I am not going to tell you what she said. +Only I told her, being pleased with what she told me, that she was a +prophetess. Nobody ought ever to prophesy good things about a man, for +they never come to pass. Let them prophesy disappointment and ruin and +shame, and then they always come true. My God! what a prophecy was +hers! And what has come of it? I have sold my genius, which is my +soul. I have traded it away. It is the sin unforgiven in this world +and in the next.' + +'When you give over tragedy and blank verse----' + +'Oh! I have done.' + +'I should like to ask you a question.' + +'Ask it.' + +'The foreground--the sea-weeds lying over the boulders. Does the light +fall quite naturally? I hardly understand--look here. If the +sunlight----' + +'_You_ to pretend to be a painter!' Roland snorted impatiently. '_You_ +to talk about lights and shadows! Man alive! I wonder you haven't been +found out ages ago! The light falls this way--this way--see!'--he +turned the painting about to show how it fell. + +'Oh! I understand. Yes, yes; I see now.' Alec seemed not to resent +this language of contempt. + +'Is there anything else you want to know before I go? Perhaps you wish +the sea painted black?' + +'Cornish coast again, I suppose?' + +'Somewhere that way. What does it matter where you put it? Call it a +view on Primrose Hill.' + +He stooped and picked up the cheque. He looked at it savagely for a +moment as if he would like to tear it into a thousand fragments. Then +he crammed it into his pocket and turned to go. + +'My American,' said Alec, 'who rolls in money, is ready to buy +another. I think I can make an advance of fifty. Shall we say three +hundred and fifty? And shall we expect the painting in three months or +so? Before the summer holidays--say. You will become rich, old man. As +for this fellow, he is going to the New Gallery. Go and gaze upon it, +and say to yourself, "This was worth, to me, three hundred--three +hundred." How many men at the club, Roland, can command three hundred +for a picture? Thirty is nearer their figure; and your own, dear boy, +would have continued to stand at double duck's egg if it had not been +for me. Trust me for running up your price. Our interests, my dear +Roland, are identical and indivisible. I think you are the only +painter in history whose name will remain unknown though his works +will live as long as the pigments keep their colour. Fortune is yours, +and fame is mine. You have got the best of the bargain.' + +'Curse you and your bargain!' + +'Pleasant words, Roland'--his face darkened. 'Pleasant words, if you +please, or perhaps ... I know, now, what is the reason of this +outbreak. I heard last night a rumour. You've been taking opium +again.' + +'It isn't true. If it was, what does that matter to you?' + +'This, my friend. The partnership exists only so long as the work +continues to improve. If bad habits spoil the quality of the work I +shall dissolve the partnership, and find that other starving +genius--plenty, plenty, plenty about. Nothing shakes the nerves more +quickly than opium. Nothing destroys the finer powers of head and hand +more surely. Don't let me hear any more about opium. Don't fall into +bad habits if you want to go on making an income. And don't let me +have to speak of this again. Now, there is no more to be said, I +think. Well, we part friends. Ta-ta, dear boy.' + +Roland flung himself out of the room with an interjection of great +strength not found in the school grammars. + +Alec Feilding returned to his table. 'Roland's a great fool,' he +murmured. 'Because there isn't a gallery in London that wouldn't jump +at his pictures, and he could sell as fast as he could paint. A great +fool he is. But it would be very difficult for me to find another man +so good and such a fool. On fools and their folly the wise man +flourishes.' + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +MASTER OF ALL THE ARTS + + +This unreasonable person dispatched, and the illustrious artist's +doubts about his lights and shadows dispelled, Alec Feilding resumed +his interrupted task. That is to say, he took the manuscript out of +the drawer and went on laboriously copying it. So great a writer, +whose time was so precious, might surely give out his copying work. +Lesser men do this. For half an hour he worked on. Then the servant +tapped at the door and came in again, noiselessly as before, to +whisper a name. + +Alec nodded, and once more put back the manuscript in the drawer. + +The visitor was a young lady. She was of slight and slender figure, +dressed quite plainly, and even poorly, in a cloth jacket and a stuff +frock. Her gloves were shabby. Her features were fine but not +beautiful, the eyes bright, and the mouth mobile, but the forehead too +large for beauty. She carried a black leather roll such as those who +teach music generally carry about with them. She was quite young, +certainly not more than two-and-twenty. + +'Effie?' He looked round, surprised. + +'May I come in for two minutes? I will not stay longer. Indeed, I +should be so sorry to waste your time.' + +'I am sure you would, Effie.' He gave her his hand, without rising. +'Precious time--my time--there is so little of it. Therefore, +child----' + +'I have brought you,' she said, 'another little poem. I think it is +the kind of thing you like--in the _vers de société_ style. She +unrolled her leather case and took out a very neatly written paper. + +He read it slowly. Then he nodded his head approvingly and read it +aloud. + +'How long does it take you to knock off this kind of thing, Effie?' + +'It took me the whole of yesterday. This morning I corrected it and +copied it out. Do you like it?' + +'You are a clever little animal, Effie, and you shall make your +fortune. Yes; it is very good, very good indeed: Austin Dobson himself +is not better. It is very good: light, tripping, graceful--in good +taste. It is very good indeed. Leave it with me, Effie. If I like it +as well to-morrow as I do to-day, you may depend upon seeing it in the +next number.' + +'Oh!' she blushed a rosy red with the pleasure of being praised. +Indeed, it is a pleasure which never palls. The old man who has been +praised all his life is just as eager for more as the young poet who +is only just beginning. 'Oh! you really think it is good?' + +'I do indeed. The best proof is that I am going to buy it of you. It +shall go into the editor's column--my own column--in the place of +honour.' + +'Yes,' she replied, but doubtfully--and she reddened again for a +different reason. 'Oh, Mr. Feilding,' she said with an effort, 'I am +so happy when I see my verses in print--in your paper--even without my +name. It makes me so proud that I hardly dare to say what I want.' + +'Say it, Effie. Get it off your mind. You will feel better +afterwards.' + +'Well, then, it cannot be anything to you--so great and high, with +your beautiful stories and your splendid pictures. What is a poor +little set of verses to you?' + +'Go on--go on.' His face clouded and his eyes hardened. + +'In the paper it doesn't matter a bit. It is--it is--later--when they +come out all together in a little volume--with--with----' + +'Go on, I say.' He sat upright, his chair half turned, his hands on +the arms, his face severe and judicial. + +'With your name on the title-page.' + +'Oh! that is troubling your mind, is it?' + +'When the critics praise the poems and praise the poet--oh! is it +right, Mr. Feilding? Is it right?' + +'Upon my word!' He pushed back his chair and rose, a tall man of six +feet, frowning angrily--so that the girl trembled and tottered. 'Upon +my word! This--from you! This from the girl whom I have literally kept +from starvation! Miss Effie Wilmot, perhaps you will tell me what you +mean! Haven't I bought your verses? Haven't I polished and corrected +them, and made them fit to be seen? Am I not free to do what I please +with my own?' + +'Yes--yes--you buy them. But I--oh!--I write them!' + +'Look here, child; I can have no nonsense. Before I took these verses +of you, had you any opening or market for them?' + +'No. None at all.' + +'Nobody would buy them. They were not even returned by editors. They +were thrown into the basket. Very well. I buy them on the condition +that I do what I please with them. I give you three pounds--three +pounds--for a poem, if it is good enough for me to lick into shape. +Then it becomes my own. It is a bargain. When you leave off wanting +money you will leave off bringing me verses. Then I shall look for +another girl. There are thousands of girls about who can write verses +as good as these.' + +The girl remained silent. What her employer said was perfectly true. +And yet--and yet--it was not right. + +'What more do you want?' he asked brutally. + +'I am the author of these poems,' she said. 'And you are not.' + +'Within these walls I allow you to say so--this once. Take care never +to say so again. Outside these walls, if you say so, I will bring an +action against you for libel and slander and defamation of character. +Remember that. You had better, however, take these verses and go +away.' He flung them at her feet. 'We will put an end to the +arrangement.' + +'No, no--I consent.' She humbly stooped and picked them up. 'Do what +you like with them. I am too poor to refuse. Do what you please.' + +'It is your interest, certainly, to consent. Why, I paid you last year +a hundred pounds. A hundred pounds! There's an income for a girl of +twenty! Well, Effie, I forgive you. But no more nonsense. And give +over crying.' For now she was sobbing and crying. 'Look here, +Effie'--he laid his hand on hers--'some day, before long, I will put +your verses in another column, with your name at the end--"Effie +Wilmot." Come, will that do?' + +'Oh! if you would! If you really would!' + +'I really will, child. Don't think I care much about the thing. What +does it matter to me whether I am counted a writer of society verses? +It pleased me that the world should think me capable of these trifles +while I am elaborating a really ambitious poem. One more little volume +and I shall have done. Besides, all this time you are improving. When +you burst upon the world it will be with wings full-fledged and +flight-sustained that you will soar to the stars. Fair poetess, I will +make your fame assured. Be comforted.' + +She looked up, tearful and happy. 'Oh, forgive me!' she said. 'Yes; I +will do everything--exactly--as you want!' + +'The world wants another poetess. You shall be that sweet singer. Let +me be the first to acknowledge the gift divine.' He bowed and raised +her hand and kissed the fingers of her shabby glove. + +'Now, child,' he said, 'your visit has gained you another three +pounds--here they are.' + +She took the money, blushing again. The glowing prospect warmed her +heart. But the three golden sovereigns chilled her again. She had +parted with her child--her own. It was gone--and he would call it his +and pretend to be the father. And yet he was going to make such +splendid amends to her. + +'How is your brother?' + +'He is always the same. He works all day at his play. In the afternoon +he creeps out for a little on his crutches. In the future, Mr. +Feilding, we are both going to be happy, he with his dramas and I with +my poems.' + +'Is his drama nearly ready?' + +'Very nearly.' + +'Tell him to let me read it. I can, at least, advise him.' + +'If you will! Oh! you are so kind! What we should have done without +your help and the money you have given me, I do not know.' + +'You are welcome, sweet singer and heavenly poet.' The great man took +her hand and pressed it. 'Now be thankful that you came here. You have +cleared your mind of doubts, and you know what awaits you in the +future. Bring your brother's little play. I should like--yes, I should +like to see what sort of a play he has written.' + +She went away, happier for the prophecy. In the dead of night she +dreamed that she saw Mr. Alec Feilding carried along in a triumphal +car to the Temple of Fame. The goddess herself, flying aloft in a +white satin robe, blew the trumpet, and a nymph flying lower down--in +white linen--put on the laurel crown and held it steady when the +chariot bumped over the ruts. It was her crown--her own--that adorned +those brows. Is it right? she asked again. Is it right? + +Mr. Feilding, when she was gone, proceeded to copy out the poem +carefully in his own handwriting, adding a few erasures and +corrections so as to give the copy the hall-mark of the poet's study. +Then he threw the original upon the fire. + +'There!' he said, 'if Miss Effie Wilmot should have the audacity to +claim these things as her own, at least I have the originals in my own +handwriting--with my own corrections upon them, too, as they were sent +to the printer. Yes, Effie, my dear; some day perhaps your verses +shall appear with your name to them. Not while they are so good, +though. I only wish they were a little more masculine.' + +Again he lugged out that manuscript, and resumed his copying, +laboriously toiling on. The clock ticked, and the ashes dropped, and +the silence was profound while he performed this intellectual feat. + +At the stroke of noon the servant disturbed him a third time. He put +away his work in the drawer, and went out to meet this visitor. + +This time it was none other than a Lady of Quality--a Grande Dame de +par le monde. She came in splendid attire, sailing into the studio +like some richly adorned pinnace or royal yacht. A lady of a certain +age, but still comely in the eyes of man. + +'Lady Frances!' cried Alec. 'This is, indeed, unexpected. And you know +that it is the greatest honour for me to wait upon you.' + +'Yes, yes; I know that. But I thought I should like to see you as you +are--in your own studio. So I came. I hope not at an inconvenient +time.' + +'No time could be inconvenient for a visit from you.' + +'I don't know. Your model might be sitting to you. To be sure, you are +not a figure-painter. But one always supposes that models are standing +to artists all day long. Good-looking women, too, I believe. Perhaps +you have got one hidden away behind the screen, just as they do on the +stage. I will look.' She put up her glasses and walked across the room +to look behind the screen. 'No: she has gone. Oh! is this your new +picture?' + +He bowed. 'I hope you like it.' + +'I do,' she said, looking at it. 'It seems to me the very best thing +you have done. Oh! it is really beautiful! Do you know, Mr. Feilding, +that you are a very wonderful man?' + +Alec laughed pleasantly. Of course he knew. 'If you think so,' he +said. + +'You write the most beautiful verses and the most charming stories: +you paint the most wonderful pictures: you belong to society, and you +go everywhere. How do you do it? How do you find time to do it? I +suppose you never want any sleep? Poet, painter, novelist, journalist! +Are you a sculptor as well, by chance?' + +'Not yet. Perhaps----' + +'Glutton! Are you a dramatist?' + +'Again--not yet. Perhaps, some time---- + +'Insatiate! You are a Master of all the Arts. Alec Feilding, M.A.' He +laughed pleasantly, again. + +'You are the cleverest man in all London. Well; I sent you another +story yesterday----' + +'You did. I was about to write and thank you for it. Is it a true +story?' + +'Quite true. It happened in my husband's family, thirty years ago. +They are not very proud of it. You can dress it up somehow with new +names.' + +'Quite so. I shall rewrite the whole.' + +'I don't mind. It is a great pleasure to me to see the stories in +print. And no one suspects poor little Me. Are they so _very_ badly +written?' + +'The style is a little--just a little, may I say?--jerky. But the +stories are admirable. Do let me have some more, Lady Frances.' + +'Remember. No one is to know where you get them.' + +'A Masonic secrecy forms part of my character. I even put my own name +to them for greater security.' + +He did. Every week he put his own name to stories which he got from +people like this Lady of Quality. + +'That ought to disarm suspicion. On the other hand, everybody must +know that you cannot invent these things.' + +Alec laughed. 'Most people give me credit for inventing even your +stories.' + +'By the way,' she said, 'are you coming to my dinner next week?' + +'With the greatest pleasure.' + +'If you don't come you shall have no more stories drawn from the +domestic annals and the early escapades of the British Aristocracy.' + +'I assure you, Lady Frances, I look forward with the greatest----' + +'Very well, then. I shall expect you. And remember--secrecy.' + +She laid her finger on her lips and vanished. + +The smile faded out of the young man's face. He sat down again, and +once more set himself to work doggedly copying out the manuscript, +which was, indeed, none other than the story furnished him by Lady +Frances. It was going to appear in the next week's issue of the +journal, with his name at the end. + +Was not Alec Feilding the cleverest all-round man in the whole of +London--_Omnium artium magister_? + + + + +CHAPTER V + +ONLY A SIMPLE SERVICE + + +Mrs. Elstree took the card that the maid brought her. She started up, +mechanically touched her hair--which was of the feathery and fluffy +kind--and her dress, with the woman's instinct to see that everything +was in order: the quick colour rose to her cheek--perhaps from the +heat of the fire. 'Yes,' she said, 'I am at home.' She was sitting +beside the fire in the drawing-room of Armorel's flat. It was a cold +afternoon in March: outside, a black east wind raged through the +streets; it was no day for driving or for walking: within, soft +carpets, easy-chairs, and bright fires invited one to stay at home. +This lady, indeed, was one of those who love warmth and physical ease +above all other things. Actually to be warm, lazily warm, without any +effort to feel warmth, afforded her a positive and distinct physical +pleasure, just as a cat is pleased by being stroked. Therefore, though +a book lay in her lap, she had not been reading. It is much pleasanter +to lie back and feel warm, with half-closed eyes, in a peaceful room, +than to be led away by some impetuous novelist into uncomfortable +places, cold places, fatiguing places. + +She started, however, and the book fell to the floor, where it +remained. And she rose to her feet when the owner of the card came in. +The relict of Jerome Elstree was still young, and grief had as yet +destroyed none of her beauty. She looked better, perhaps, in the +morning--which says a great deal. + +'Alec?' she murmured--her eyes as soft as her voice. 'I thought you +would come this afternoon.' + +'Are you quite alone, Mrs. Elstree?' he asked with a look of warning. + +'Quite, Mr. Feilding. And, since the door is shut, and we are quite +alone--why--then----' She laughed, held out both her hands, and put up +her face like a child. + +He took her hands and bent to kiss her lips. + +'Zoe,' he said, 'you grow lovelier every day. Last night----' He +kissed her again. + +'Lovelier than Philippa?' + +'What is Philippa beside you? An iceberg beside a--a garden of +flowers----' + +'There is beauty in icebergs, I have read.' + +'Never mind Philippa, dear Zoe. She is nothing to us.' + +'I don't mind her a bit, Alec, if you don't. If you begin to mind +her---- But we will wait until that happens. Why are you here to-day?' + +'I have come to call upon Mrs. Elstree, widow of my poor friend Jerome +Elstree.' + +'Ce pauvre Jerome! The tears come into my eyes'--in fact, they did at +that moment--'look!--when I think of him. So often have I spoken of +his virtues and his untimely fate that he has really lived. I never +before understood that there are ghosts of men who never lived as well +as ghosts of the dead.' + +'And I came to call upon your charge, Miss Rosevean.' + +'Yes'--she said this dubiously, perhaps jealously--'so I supposed. Why +did you send me here, Alec? You have always got some reason for +everything. There was no need for my coming--I was doing as well as I +expect to do.' + +The young man looked about the room without replying to this question. + +'Someone,' he said presently, 'has furnished this room who knows +furniture.' + +'It was Armorel herself. I have no taste--as you know.' + +'And how do you get on with her? Are you happy here, Zoe?' + +'I am as happy as I ever expect to be--until----' + +'Yes, yes,' he interrupted, impatiently. 'You like her, then?' + +'I like her as much as I can like any woman. You know, Alec, I am not +greatly in love with my own sex. If there were no other women in the +world than just enough to dress me, get my dinner, and keep my house +clean, I should not murmur. Eve was the happiest of women, in spite of +the difficulties she must have had in keeping up with the fashion. +Because, you see, she was the only woman.' + +'No doubt. And now tell me about this girl.' + +'She is rich. To be rich is everything. Money makes an angel of every +woman. When I was eighteen, and first met you, Alec, I was rich. Then +you saw the wings sticking out visibly one on each shoulder, didn't +you? They are gone now--at least,' she looked over her shoulder, 'I +see them no longer.' + +'I heard she was rich. Where did the money come from?' + +'It has been saving up for I don't know how long. The girl is only +twenty-one, and she has about thirty thousand pounds, besides all +kinds of precious things worth I don't know how much.' + +'Jagenal told me she was comfortably off--"comfortably," he +said--but--thirty thousand pounds!' + +'The mere thought of so much makes your eyes glow quite poetically, +Alec. Write a poem on thirty thousand pounds. Well, that is what she +has, and all her own, without any drawbacks: no nasty poor +relations--no profligate brothers--to nibble and gnaw. She has not +either brother or sister--an enviable lot when one has money. When one +has no money a brother--a successful brother--might be useful.' + +'And how do you get on with her?' + +'I think we do pretty well together. But my post is precarious.' + +'Why?' + +'Because the young woman is pretty, rich, and masterful. It is a +curious thing about women that the most masterful soonest find their +master.' + +'You mean that she will marry.' + +'If she gets engaged, being rich, she will certainly marry at once. +Until she marries I believe we can get on together, because she is +totally independent of me. This afternoon, for example, she has gone +out to look at pictures somewhere, with a girl she has picked up +somehow--a girl who writes.' + +'But, my dear Zoe, you must look after her. Don't let her pick up +girls and make friendships. You are here to look after her. I hoped +that you would gain her complete confidence--become indispensable to +her.' + +'Oh! that is why you sent me here? Pray, my dear Alec, what can +Armorel be to you?' + +'Nothing, dear child,' he replied, patting her soft hand, 'that will +bring any discord between you and me. But--make yourself indispensable +and necessary to her.' + +'You will tell me, I dare say, presently, what you mean. But you don't +know this young islander. Necessary to me she is, as you know. +Necessary to her I shall never become. We have nothing in common. I +can do nothing for her at all, except go out to theatres and concerts +and things in the evening. Even then our tastes clash. I like to +laugh; she likes to sit solemnly with big eyes staring--so--as if she +was receiving inspiration. I like comic operas, she likes serious +plays; I like dance music, she likes classical music; I like the +fool's paradise, she likes--the other kind, where they all behave so +well and are under no illusions. In fact, Armorel takes herself quite +seriously all round. Of course, a girl with such a fortune can take +herself anyhow she pleases.' + +'She knows how to dress, apparently. Most advanced girls disdain +dress.' + +'But she is not an advanced girl. She is only a girl who knows a great +deal. She is not in the least emancipated. Why, she still professes +the Christian religion. She is just a girl who has set herself +resolutely to learn all she can. She has been about it for five years. +When she began, I understand that she knew nothing. What she means to +do with her knowledge I have not learned. She talks French and German +and Italian. You have heard her play? Very well: you can't beat that. +You shall see some of her drawings. They are rather in your style, I +think. A highly cultivated girl. That is all.' + +'A female prig? A consciously superior person?' + +'Not a bit. Rather humble-minded. But masterful and independent. Where +she fails is, of course, in ordinary talk. She can't talk--she can +only converse. She doesn't know the pictures and painters, and poets +and novelists of the day--she doesn't know a single person in society. +She doesn't know any personal history at all. And she doesn't care +about any. That is Armorel.' + +'I see,' he replied thoughtfully. 'Things will be difficult, I am +afraid.' + +'What things? Oh! there is another point in which she differs from +people of society.' + +'Yes?' + +'When you and I, dear Alec, think and talk of people, we conclude that +they are exactly like ourselves--do we not? Quite worldly and selfish, +you know. Everyone with his little show to run for himself. Now, +Armorel, on the other hand, concludes that everyone is like--not +us--but herself. Do you catch the difference? There is a difference, +you know.' + +'Sometimes, Zoe, I seem not to understand you. But never mind. Under +your influence----' + +'I have no influence at all with her. I never shall have.' + +'But, my dear Zoe, why are you here? I want you--I repeat--to exercise +an overwhelming influence.' + +'Oh! It is impossible. Consider--you who know me so well--how can I +influence a girl who is always seeking after great things? She wants +everything noble and lofty and pure. She has what they call a great +soul--and I--oh! Alec, you know that I belong to the infinitely little +souls. There are a great, great number of us, but we are very +contemptible.' + +'Let us think,' he replied. 'Let us contrive and devise some way----' + +'Enough about Armorel. Tell me now about yourself.' + +'I am always the same.' + +'You have come, perhaps, this afternoon,' she murmured softly, 'to +bring me some new hope--Oh! Alec--at last--some hope?' + +'I have no new hope to give you, child.' + +Both sat in silence, looking into the firelight. + +'It is seven years--seven years,' said Zoe, 'since I had my great +quarrel with Philippa. She was eighteen then--and so was I--I charged +her with throwing herself at your head, you know. So she did. So she +does still. Why, the woman can't conceal, even now, that she loves +you. I saw it in her eyes last night, I saw it in her attitude when +she was talking to you. She swore after the row we had that she would +never speak to me again. But you see she has broken that vow. I was +eighteen then, and I was rich, a good deal richer than Philippa ever +will be. When you and I became engaged I was twenty-one. That is four +years ago, Alec. Yet, a year or two, and the girl you were--engaged +to--will be thin and faded. For your sake, my dear boy, I hope that +you will not keep her waiting very much longer before you present her +to the world.' + +'My dear child, could I help the smash that came--the smash and +scandal? When the whole town was ringing with your father's smash and +his suicide, and the ruin of I don't know how many people, was that +the moment for us to step forward and take hands before the world?' + +'No; you certainly could not. As a man of the world, you would have +been justified in breaking off the thing--especially as it was only a +day or two old.' + +'I could not let you go, Zoe,' he said, with a touch of real +tenderness. 'I was madly in love.' + +'I think you were, Alec. I really think that at the time you were +truly and madly in love. Else you would never have done a thing of +which you repented the next day.' + +'I have never repented, dear Zoe--never once.' + +'Perhaps you calculated that something would be saved out of the +smash. Perhaps, for once in your life, you never calculated at all +upon anything. Well--I consented to keep the thing a secret.' + +'You know that it was necessary.' + +'You said so. I obeyed. But four years--four years--and no prospect of +a termination. Consider!' She pleaded as she had spoken before, in the +same soft, caressing, murmuring tone. + +'I do consider, Zoe. You can have your freedom again. I have no +right----' + +'Nonsense! My freedom? It is your own that you want. My freedom?' she +repeated, but without raising her voice. 'Mine? What could I do with +it--now? Whither could I turn? Do not, I advise you, think that I will +ever while I live restore your freedom to you.' + +'I spoke in your own interest, believe me.' + +'I am now what you have made me. You know what that is. You know what +I was four years ago.' + +'I have advised you, it is true.' + +'No; you have led me. At the moment of my greatest trouble you made me +break away from my own people, who were sorry for my misfortunes, and +would have kept me among them in my own circle. There was no reason +for me to leave them. The wreck of my father's fortune was not imputed +to me. You persuaded me to assert my own independence, and to go upon +the stage, for which I was as well fitted as for the kingdom of +heaven.' + +'I hoped--I thought--that you would succeed.' + +'No; what you hoped and intended was to keep me in your power. You +would not let me go, and you could not--or would not----' + +'Could not, my child. I could not.' + +'For four years I have endured the humiliations of the actress who is +a failure and can only take the lowest parts. You know what I have +endured, and yet---- Oh! Alec, your love is, indeed, a noble gift! And +now, for your sake, I am here, playing a part for you. I am the young +widow of the man who never existed. I make up a hundred lies every day +to a girl who believes every word--which makes it more disgraceful and +more horrible. When one knows that she is disbelieved it is +different.' + +'Zoe, you know my position.' + +'Very well, indeed. You live in a little palace. You keep your +man-servant and your two horses. You go every day into some kind of +good society----' + +'It is necessary: my position demands it.' + +'Your position, my friend, has nothing to do with it. If you stayed at +home every evening just as many copies of your paper would be sold. +You spend all this money on yourself, Alec, because you are a selfish +person and indulgent, and because you like to make a great show of +success.' + +'You do not understand.' + +'Oh, yes, I do! You paint lovely pictures, which you sell: you write +admirable stories and excellent verses--at least, I suppose they are +admirable and excellent. You put them into a paper which is your +own----' + +'Yes--yes. But all these things leave me as poor as I was four years +ago.' + +He got up and stood before the fire, looking into it. Then he walked +across to the window and gazed into the street. Then he returned and +looked into the fire again. This restlessness may be a sign that +something is on a man's mind. + +'Zoe,' he said at length, without looking at her, 'your impatience +makes you unjust. You do not understand. Things have come to a +crisis.' + +'What kind of a crisis?' + +'A financial crisis. I must have money.' + +'Then go and make it. Paint more pictures: write more poetry. Make +money, as other men do. It is very noble and grand to pretend that you +only work when you please; but it isn't business, and it isn't true.' + +'Again--you do not understand. I must have money in a short time, or +else----' + +'Else--what may happen, Alec?' She leaned forward, losing her +murmuring manner for the first time. + +'I may--I must--become bankrupt. That to me signifies social ruin.' + +'You have something more to say. Won't you say it at once?' + +'If I can get over this difficulty it will be all right--my anxieties +over. I thought, Zoe, when I sent you here, that, with a girl rich, +mistress of her own, of age, it would be easy for you to wind yourself +into her confidence and borrow--or beg, or somehow get what I want out +of her. To borrow would be best.' + +'How much do you want? Tell me exactly.' + +'I want, before the end of next month, about 3,000_l._ Say, 3,500_l._' + +'That is a very large sum of money.' + +'Not to this girl. Make her lend it to you. Make up some story. Beg it +or borrow it--and----' he laid his hand upon her shoulder, but she +made no movement in reply; he stooped and kissed her head, but she did +not look up. 'Zoe--I swear--if you will do this for me, our long and +weary waiting shall be at an end. I will acknowledge everything. I +will give up this extravagant life: we will settle down like a couple +of honest bourgeois: we will live over the shop if you like--that is, +the publishing office of the paper.' He took her hand and raised it to +his lips, but she made no response. + +'Would she ever get the money back again?' + +'Perhaps. How can I tell?' + +'Even for the bribe you offer, Alec, I am afraid I cannot do it.' + +'We will try together. We will lay ourselves out to attract the girl, +to win her confidence. Consider. She is alone. She is in our +hands----' + +'Yes, yes. But you do not know her. Alec, if I cannot succeed, what +will you do?' + +'I must look out for some girl with money and get engaged to her. The +mere fact of an engagement would be enough for me.' + +'Yes,' she said quickly, 'it would have to be. Will you get engaged +to--to Philippa?' + +'No; Philippa will only have money at the death of her father and +mother--not before. Philippa is out of the question.' + +'Is there nobody among all your fine friends who will lend you the +money?' + +'No one. We do not lend money to each other. We go on as if there were +no money difficulties in the world, as well as no diseases, no old +age, no dying. We do not speak of money.' + +'Friendship in society has its limits. Yes; I see. But can't you +borrow it in the usual way of business people?' + +'I should have to show books and enter into unpleasant explanations. +You see, Zoe, the paper has got a very good name, but rather a small +circulation. Everybody sees it, but very few buy it.' + +'And so you heard of Armorel, and you thought that here was a chance. +You say to me, in plain words: "If you get this money, there shall be +an end of the false position." Is that so?' + +'That is exactly what I do say and swear, Zoe. It is a very simple +thing. You have only to persuade the girl to lend you this money, or +to advance it, or to invest it by your agency--or something--a very +simple and easy thing. You love me well enough to do me such a simple +service.' + +'I love you well enough, I suppose,' she replied sadly, 'to do +everything you tell me to do. A simple service! Only to deceive and +plunder this girl, who believes us all to be honourable and truthful!' + +'Oh, we shall find a way--some way--to pay her back. Don't be afraid. +And don't go off into platitudes, Zoe--you are much too pretty--and +when it is done, and you are openly, before the world----' + +'I know you well enough to know how much happiness to expect. I am a +fool. All women are fools. Philippa is a fool. And I've set my foolish +heart on--you. If I fail--if I fail'--her words sank to the softest +and gentlest murmur--'you are going to cast about for an heiress, and +you will get engaged to her, and then--then--we shall see, dear Alec, +what will happen then.' She sat up, her cheek fiery, and her eyes +flashing, though her voice was so soft. 'Hush!' she whispered. 'I hear +Armorel's step!' + +They heard her voice as well outside, loud and clear. + +'Come to my own room,' she said. 'What you want is there. This way.' + +'It is the girl with her--the girl who writes. They have gone into her +own room--her boudoir--her study--where she works half the day. The +girl lives with her brother, close by.' + +They listened, silent, with hushed breath, like conspirators. + +'Poor Armorel!' said Zoe. 'If she only knew what we are plotting! She +thinks me the most truthful of women! And all I am here for is to +cheat her out of her money! Don't you think I had better make a clean +breast and ask her to give me the money and let me go?' + +'Begin to-day,' said Alec. 'Begin to talk about me. Interest her in +me. Let her know how great and good----' + +'Hush!' + +Then they heard her voice again in the hall. + +'No--no--you must come this evening. Bring Archie with you. I will +play, and he shall listen. You shall both listen. And then great +thoughts will come to you.' + +'Always great thoughts--great thoughts--great pictures,' Zoe murmured. +'And we are so infinitely little. Brother worm, shall we crawl into +some hole and hide ourselves?' + +Then the door opened, and Armorel herself appeared, fresh and rosy in +spite of the cold wind. + +'My dear child,' said Zoe softly, looking up from her cushions, 'come +in and sit down. You must be perishing with the east wind. Do sit down +and be comfortable. You met Mr. Feilding last night, I believe.' + +The visitor remained for a quarter of an hour. Armorel had been to see +a certain picture in the National Gallery. He talked of pictures just +as, the night before, he had talked of music: that is to say, as one +who knows all the facts about the painters and their works and their +schools: their merits and their defects. He knew and could talk +fluently the language of the Art Critic, just as he knew and could +talk the language of the Musical Critic. Armorel listened. Now and +then she made a remark. But her manner lacked the reverence with which +most maidens listened to this thrice-gifted darling of the Muses. She +actually seemed not to care very much what he said. + +Zoe, for her part, lay back in her cushions in silence. + +'How do you like him?' she asked, when their visitor left them. + +'I don't know; I haven't thought about him. He talks too much, I +think. And he talks as if he was teaching.' + +'No one has a better right to talk with authority.' + +'But we are free to listen or not as we please. Why has he the right +to teach everybody?' + +'My dear child, Alec Feilding is the cleverest man in all London.' + +'He must be very clever then. What does he do?' + +'He does everything--poetry, painting, fiction--everything!' + +'Oh, you will show me his poetry, perhaps, some time? And his pictures +I suppose we shall see in May somewhere. He doesn't look as if he was +at all great. But one may be wrong.' + +'My dear Armorel, you are a fortunate girl, though you do not +understand your good fortune. Alec--I am privileged to call him +Alec--has conceived a great interest in you. Oh, not of the common +love kind, that you despise so much--nothing to do with your _beaux +yeux_--but on account of your genius. He was greatly taken with your +playing: if you will show him your pictures he will give you +instruction that may be useful to you. He wants to know you, my dear.' + +'Well,' said Armorel, not in the least overwhelmed, 'he can if he +pleases, I suppose, since he is a friend of yours.' + +'That is not all: he wants your friendship as a sister in art. Such a +man--such an offer, Armorel, must not be taken lightly.' + +'I am not drawn towards him,' said the girl. 'In fact, I think I +rather dislike his voice, which is domineering; and his manner, which +seems to me self-conscious and rather pompous; and his eyes, which are +too close together. Zoe, if he were not the cleverest man in London, I +should say that he was the most crafty.' + +Zoe laughed. 'What man discovers by experiment and experience,' she +murmured, incoherently, 'woman discovers at a glance. And yet they +say----' + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE OTHER STUDIO + + +The Failure was at work in his own studio. Not the large and lofty +chamber fitted and furnished as if for Michael Angelo himself, which +served for the Fraud. Not at all. The Failure did his work in a simple +second-floor back, a chamber in a commonplace lodging-house of Keppel +Street, Bloomsbury. Nowhere in the realms of Art was there a more +dismal studio. The walls were bare, save for one picture which was +turned round and showed its artistic back. The floor had no carpet: +there was no other furniture than a table, strewn and littered with +sketches, paints, palettes, brushes: there were canvases leaning +against the wall: there was a portfolio also leaning against the wall: +there was an easel and the man standing before it: and there was a +single chair. + +For three years Roland Lee had withdrawn from his former haunts and +companions. No one knew now where he lived: he had not exhibited: he had +resigned his membership at the club: he had gone out of sight. Many +London men every year go out of sight. It is quite easy. You have only +to leave off going to the well-known places of resort: very soon--so +soon that it is humiliating only to think of it--men cease asking where +you are: then they cease speaking of you: you are clean gone out of +their memory--you and your works--it is as if the sea had closed over +you. There is not left a trace or a sign of your existence. Perhaps, now +and then, something may revive your name: some little adventure may be +remembered: some frolic of youth--for the rest--nothing: Silence: +Oblivion. It does, indeed, humiliate those who look on. When such an +accident revived the memory of Roland Lee, one would ask another what +had become of him. And no one knew. But, of course, he had gone +down--down--down. When a man disappears it means that he sinks. He had +gone out of sight: therefore he had gone under. Yet, when you climb, you +can never get so high as to be invisible. Even the President, R.A., is +not invisible. Again, the higher that a balloon soars, the smaller does +it grow; but the higher a man climbs up the Hill of Fame the bigger does +he show. It is quite certain that when a man has disappeared he has +sunk. The only question--and this can never be answered--is, what +becomes of the men who sink? One man I heard of--also, like Roland, an +artist--who has been traced to a certain tavern, where he fuddles +himself every evening, and where you may treat with him for the purchase +of his pictures at ten shillings--ay, or even five shillings--apiece. +And two scholars--scholars gone under--I heard of the other day. They +now reside in the same lodging-house. It is close to the Gray's Inn +Road. One lives in the garret, and the other occupies the cellar. In the +evening they get drunk together and dispute on points of the finer +scholarship. But this only accounts for three. And where are all the +rest? + +Of Roland Lee nobody knew anything. There was no story or scandal +attached to him: he was no drinker: he was no gambler: he was no +profligate. But he had vanished. + +Yet he had not gone far--only to Keppel Street, which is really a +central place. Here he occupied a second floor, and lived alone. +Nobody ever called upon him: he had no friends. Sometimes he sat all +day long in his studio doing nothing: sometimes he went forth, and +wandered about the streets: in the evening he dined at restaurants +where he was certain to meet none of his old friends. He lived quite +alone. As to that rumour concerning opium, it was an invention of his +employer and proprietor. He did not take opium. Day after day, +however, he grew more moody. What developments might have followed in +this lonely life I know not. Opium, perhaps: whisky, perhaps: +melancholia, perhaps. And from melancholia--Good Lord deliver us! + +One thing saved him. The work which filled his soul with rage also +kept his soul from madness. When the spirit of his Art seized him and +held him he forgot everything. He worked as if he was a free man: he +forgot everything, until the time came when he had to lay down his +palette and to come back to the reality of his life. Some men would +have accepted the position: there were, as we have seen, compensations +of a solid and comfortable kind: had he chosen to work his hardest, +these golden compensations might have run into four figures. Some men +might have sat and laughed among their friends, forgetting the +ignominy of their slavery. Not so Roland. His chains jangled as he +walked; they cut his wrists and galled his ankles: they filled him +with so much shame that he was fain to go away and hide himself. And +in this manner he enjoyed the great success which his employer had +achieved for his pictures. To arrive at the success for which you have +always longed and prayed--and to enjoy it in such a fashion. Oh! +mockery of fate! + +This morning he was at work contentedly--with ardour. He was beginning +a picture from one of his sketches: it was to be another study of +rocks and sea: as yet there was little to show: it was growing in his +brain, and he was so fully wrapped in his invention that he did not +hear the door open, and was not conscious that for the first time +within three years he had a visitor. + +She opened the door and stood for a moment looking about her. The bare +and dingy walls, the scanty furniture, the meanness of the place, made +her very soul sink within her. For they cried aloud the story of the +painter. + +For five long years she had thought of him. He was successful: he was +rising to the top of the tree: he was conquering the world--so brave, +so strong, so clever! There was no height to which he could not rise. +She should find him splendid, triumphant, and yet modest--her old +friend the same, but glorified. And she found him thus, in this dingy +den--so low, so shabby! Consider, if she had risen while he was +sinking, how great was now the gulf between them! Then she stepped +into the room and stood beside the artist at his easel. + +'Roland Lee,' she whispered. + +He started, looked up, and recognised her. 'Armorel!' he cried. + +Then, strange to say, instead of hastening to meet and greet her, and +to hold out hands of welcome, he stood gazing at her stupidly, his +face changing colour from crimson to white. His hair was unkempt, she +saw; his cheeks worn; his eyes haggard, with deep lines round them; +and his dress was shabby and uncared for. + +'You have not forgotten me, then?' she said. + +'Forgotten you? No. How could I forget you?' + +'Then are you pleased to see me? Shake hands with me, Roland Lee.' + +He complied, but with restraint. 'Have you dropped from the clouds?' +he asked. 'How did you find me here?' + +'I met your old friend Dick Stephenson. He told me that you lived +here. You are no longer friends: but he has seen you going in and +coming out. That is how I found you. Are you well, Roland?' + +'Yes, I am well.' + +'Does all go well with you, my old friend?' + +'Why not? You see--I have got a magnificent studio: there is every +outward sign of wealth and prosperity: and if you look into any +art-criticisms you will find the papers ringing with my name.' + +'You are changed.' Armorel passed over the bitterness of this speech. +'You are a little older, perhaps.' She did not tell him how haggard +and worn he looked, how unkempt and unhappy. + +'Let me see some of your work,' she said. The picture on the easel was +only in its very first stage. She looked about the room. Nothing on +the walls but one picture with its face turned round. 'May I look at +this?' She turned it round. It was the picture of herself, 'The +Princess of Lyonesse,' the sketch of which he had finished on the last +day of his holiday. 'Oh!' she cried, 'I remember this. And you have +kept it, Roland--you have kept it. I am glad.' + +'Yes, I have kept the only picture which I can call my own.' + +'Was I like that in those days?' + +'You are like that now. Only, the little Princess has become a tall +Queen.' + +'Yes, yes; I remember. You said, then, that if I should ever look like +this, you would be proved to be a painter indeed. Roland, you are a +painter indeed.' + +'No, no,' he said; 'I am nothing--nothing at all.' + +'We were talking--when you made this sketch--of how one can grow to +his highest and noblest.' + +'I have grown to my lowest,' he replied. 'But you--you----' + +'What has happened, my friend? You told me so much once about +yourself--you taught me so much--you put so many new things into my +head--you must tell me more! What has happened?' + +'Nothing.' + +'Why are you here in this poor room? I have been to studios in Rome +and Florence, and Paris and Vienna: they are lovely rooms, fit for a +man whose mind is always full of lovely images and sweet thoughts. But +this--this room is not a studio. It is an ugly little prison. How can +light and colour visit such a place?' + +'It explains itself. It proclaims aloud--Failure--Failure--Failure!' + +'This picture is not Failure.' + +'My name is unknown. I work on like a mole under ground. I am a +Failure. You have seen Dick Stephenson. What did he say of me?' + +'He said that you must have left off working. But you have not.' + +'What does it matter how much or how long a Failure goes on working?' + +'Have you lost heart, Roland?' + +'Heart, and hope, and faith. Everything is lost, Armorel!' + +'You have lost your courage because you have failed. But many men have +failed at first--great men. Robert Browning failed for years. You were +brave once, Roland. You were able to say that if you knew you were +doing good work you cared nothing for the critics.' + +'You see, Dick was right. I no longer do any work. I never send +anything to the exhibitions.' + +'But why--why--why?' + +'Ask me no more questions, Armorel. Go away and leave me. How +beautiful and glorious you have grown, child! But I knew you would. +And I have gone down so low, and--and--well, you see! Yes. I remember +how we talked of growing to our full height. We did not think, you +see, of the depths to which we might also drop. There are awful +depths, which you could never guess.' + +He sank into the chair, and his head dropped. + +Armorel stood over him, the tears gathering into her eyes. + +'Roland,' she laid her hand upon his shoulder--there is no action more +sisterly--'since I have found you I shall not let you go again. It is +five years since you went away. You will tell me about yourself, when +you please. I have a great deal to tell you. Don't you remember how +sympathetic you used to be in the old days? I want a great deal more +sympathy now, because I am five years older, and I am trying so much. +I want you to hear me play--you were the first who ever praised my +playing, you know. And you must see my drawings. I have worked every +day, as I promised you I would. I have remembered all your +instructions. Come and see your pupil's work, my master.' + +He made no reply. + +'You live too much alone,' she went on. 'Dick Stephenson told me that +you have given up your club, and that you go nowhere, and that no one +knows how you live. You have dropped quite away from your old friends. +Why did you do that? You live in this dismal room by yourself--alone +with your thoughts: no wonder you lose courage and faith.' She opened +the portfolio and drew out a number of the sketches. 'Why,' she said, +'here are some of those you made with me. Here is Castle Bryher--you +in the boat, and I on the ledge among the sea-weed under the great +rock--and the shags in a row on the top: and here is Porth +Cressa--and here Peninnis--and here Round Island. Oh! we have so many +things to talk about. Will you come to see me?' + +'You had better leave me alone, Armorel,' he said. 'Even you can do no +good to me now.' + +'When will you come? See--I will write down my address. I have a flat, +and it is ever so much better furnished than this, Sir. Will you come +to-night? I shall be at home. There will be no one but Effie Wilmot. +Oh! I am not going to talk about you, but about myself. I want your +praise, Roland, and your sympathy. Both were so ready--once. Will you +come to-night?' + +'You will drive me mad, I think, Armorel!' + +'Will you come?' + +He shook his head. + +'I have got to tell you how I became rich, if you will listen. You +must come and hear my news. Why, there is no one but you in all London +who knew me when I lived on Samson alone with those old people. You +will come to-night, Roland?' Again she laid her hand upon his +shoulder. 'I will ask no questions about you--none at all. You will +tell me what you please about yourself. But you must let me talk to +you about myself, as frankly as in the old days. If you have got any +kindly memory left of me at all, Roland, you will come.' + +He rose and lifted his shameful eyes to hers, so full of pity and of +tears. + +'Yes,' he said; 'I will do whatever you tell me.' + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A CANDID OPINION + + +Youth in the London lodging-house! Youth quite poor--youth +ambitious--youth with a possible future--youth meditating great +things! Walk along the streets of Lodging-land--there are miles of +such streets--and consider with trembling that the dingy houses +contain thousands of young people--boys and girls--who have come to +the city of golden pavements to make--not a fortune, unless that +happens as well--but their name. In the long struggle before the +lowest rung of the ladder is reached they endure hardness, but they +complain not. Everything is going to be made up to them in the +splendid time to come. + +Something more than a year ago two such young people came up from the +country, and found shelter in a London lodging-house, where they could +work and study until success should arrive. They were boy and girl, +brother and sister--twins. They had very little money, and could +afford no more than one sitting-room. Therefore, one worked in the +sitting-room and the other in a bedroom, because their occupations +demanded solitude. The one in the sitting-room was the girl. She was +engaged in the pursuit of poetry: she made verses continually, every +day. Unless she was reading verse, she was either making, or +polishing, or devising verses. Of all pursuits in the world this is at +once the most absorbing and the most delightful. It is also, with the +greater part of these who follow it, the most useless. Thomas the +Rhymer sits down and takes his pen: it is nine of the clock. He +considers: he writes: he scratches out: he writes again: he corrects +again: after ten minutes or so, he looks up. It is three in the +afternoon: the luncheon hour is past: the morning is gone: all he has +to show for the six golden hours, when an account of them is demanded, +will be a single stanza of a ballade. And perhaps not a single editor +will look at it. To Effie Wilmot, the girl-twin, thus engaged morning +after morning, the hours become moments and the days minutes. The +result and outcome of her labours you have already learned. But she +was young, and she lived in hope. A few more weeks, and the great man, +her patron, would have satisfied that whim of wishing to be thought a +poet of society. Strange that one who painted pictures of such +wonderful beauty, who wrote such charming stories in such endless +variety--stories quaint and bizarre, stories pathetic, stories +humorous--should so condescend! What could a few simple verses--such +as hers--do to increase his fame? However, that was nearly over. She +felt quite happy and light-hearted: as happy as if, like other poets, +she was writing things that would appear with her own name: she +pursued the light and airy fancies of her brain, capturing one or two, +chaining them in the prison of her rhymes, which, of course, were set +to the old-new tunes affected by the little poets of the day. If they +have got no message to deliver, they can at least come on the stage +and repeat over again the old things clad in dress revived. We can +keep on dressing up in the poet's habit until the poet himself shall +come along. + +Effie worked on, sitting at the window. Poets can work anywhere, +though, of course, they ought to sit habitually on the sides of hills, +with hanging woods and mountain-streams and waterfalls. But they can +work just as well in a mean London lodging, such as this where Effie +sat, looking out, if she looked through the curtain, upon a most +commonplace street. We can all--common spirits as well as poets--rise +above our streets and houses and our dingy setting--otherwise there +would be no work done at all. Nay, if we were all cockered up, and +daintily surrounded with things æsthetic and artistic and beautiful, I +believe we should be so happy that nobody would ever do anything. The +poet would murmur his thoughts in indolent rhyme by the fireside: the +musician would drop his fingers among the notes, echoing faintly and +imperfectly the music in his soul--all for his own enjoyment: the +story-teller would tell his stories to his wife: the dramatist would +make plots without words for his children to act: the painter would +half sketch his visions and leave them unfinished. Art would die. + +No such temptations were offered to Effie. The æsthetic movement had +not touched that ground-floor front. The shaky round table stood under +the flaring gas which every night made her head ache; the chiffonier +contained in its recesses the tea and sugar and bread and butter, and, +when the money ran to such luxuries, her jam or her honey or her +oranges. There was one easy-chair and one arm-chair; and before the +window a small square table, which had, at least, the merit of being +firm; and at this she wrote. Everybody knows this kind of room +perfectly. + +The poetic workshop is always kept locked. No poet ever tells of the +terrific struggles he has to encounter before he finally subdues his +thought and compels it to walk or run in double harness of rhythm and +rhyme. No poet ever confesses how he sometimes has to let that thought +go because he cannot subdue it--nay, the same discomfiture has been +reported of those who, like M. Jourdain, speak in prose. And no poet +ever shows, as a painter will readily show us, the first sketch, the +first rough draft of a poem, the unfinished lines, the first feeble +attempts at the rhythmic expression of a great thought. Let us respect +the mystery of the craft--have we not all dabbled in verse and essayed +to play upon the scrannel-pipe? + +It was towards noon, however, that Effie was disturbed by the arrival +of a visitor. The event was so unusual--so unprecedented even--that no +instructions had ever been given to the lodging-house servant in the +art of introducing callers. She therefore opened the door, and put in +her head--'A gentleman, Miss'--and went downstairs, leaving the +gentleman to walk in if he pleased. + +'You, Mr. Feilding?' Effie cried, springing to her feet. 'Oh! This is, +indeed----' + +The great man took her hand. 'My dear child,' he said, 'I have been +thinking over our conversation of the other day. I am, of course, only +anxious to be of service to you and to your brother, and so I thought +I would call.' He was quite magnificent in his fur-lined coat, and he +was very tall and big, so that he seemed to fill up the whole room. +But he had an unusual air of hesitation. 'I thought,' he repeated, +'that I would call. Yes----' + +The girl sat with her hands in her lap, waiting. + +'You remember what I told you about--the--the verses which you +sometimes bring me----' + +'Oh! Yes. I remember. It is so kind of you, Mr. Feilding, so very kind +and noble----' For the moment the dazzling prospect of seeing her +verses acknowledged as her own in place of seeing them adopted by the +Editor, made her believe that none but a truly noble person could do +such a thing. + +'I mean to begin even sooner than I had intended. It is true that when +I took your verses I made them my own by those little touches and +corrections which, as you know very well, distinguish true poetry +from its imitation'--It was not until he was gone that Effie +remembered that not a single alteration had ever been made. So great +is the power of the human voice that for the moment she listened and +acquiesced, subdued and ashamed of herself--'At last, my young friend, +the time for alteration and improvement is past. You can now stand +alone--your verses signed--if, of course, we remain, as I hope, on the +same friendly relations.' + +'Oh!' she murmured. + +'Enough. We understand each other. Your brother, you told me, is at +work on a play--a romantic drama.' + +'Yes. He has finished it. He has been at work upon it for two years, +thinking of nothing else all day.' + +Mr. Feilding nodded approval. + +'That is the way,' he said heartily, 'to produce good work. +Perfect--absolute--devotion--regardless of any earthly consideration. +Art--Art--before all else. And now it is done?' + +'Yes; he is copying it out.' + +'Effie'--he suddenly changed the subject--'you have never told me of +your resources. Tell me! I do not ask out of idle curiosity. That you +are not rich I know----' + +'No, we are not rich. We have a little--a thousand pounds apiece--and +we have resolved to live on that, and on what we can get besides, +until we have made our way. We have no rich relations to help us. My +father is a country clergyman with a small living. We came to town so +that Archie could get treatment for his hip. He is better now, and we +shall stay altogether if we can only hold on.' + +'A thousand pounds each. That is seventy pounds a year, I suppose?' + +'Yes. But during the last twelve months you have given me a hundred +pounds for my verses--three pounds for every poem, and there were +thirty-three altogether in the volume--"Voices and Echoes," you know.' + +The poet who had published these verses did not change colour or show +any sign of emotion in the presence of the poet who had written them. +He nodded his head. 'Yes,' he said, 'on a hundred and seventy pounds a +year you can live--on seventy you would starve. Where is your +brother?' + +'He works in his bedroom. It is the room behind, on the same floor. My +room is upstairs.' + +'He requires, I suppose, good food, wine, and certain luxuries?' + +'When we can afford them. Since you took my verses we have been able +to buy things.' + +'Your money is well expended. I should like to see your brother, +Effie.' + +'I will take you to him,' she said. But she hesitated and blushed. +'Oh! Mr. Feilding, Archie knows nothing about the--the volumes, you +know! He sees only the verses in the paper. And he only knows that you +have been so kind as to take them. Don't tell him anything else.' + +'Your secret, Effie,' he replied generously, 'is safe with me. He +shall not know it from my lips.' + +She thanked him. Again, it was not until he was gone that Effie +remembered that he could not possibly reveal that fact to her brother. + +She led him into the room, at the back of which was her brother's +study and bedroom as well. + +Her brother might have been herself, save for a slight manly growth +upon the upper lip, and for the pale cheek of ill health. The same +large forehead overhanging the face, eyes sunken but as bright as his +sister's, the same sensitive lips were his. A finer face than his +sister's, and stronger, but not so sweet. Beside his chair a pair of +crutches proclaimed that he was a cripple. Before him was a table, at +which he was writing. There were on the table, besides his writing +materials, a number of little dolls, some of which were arranged in +groups, while others were lying about unused. He was copying his +finished play: as he copied it he played the scenes with the dolls and +spoke the dialogue. The dolls were his characters: there was not a +single scene or change of the grouping which this conscientious young +dramatist had not rehearsed over and over again, until every line of +the dialogue had its own stage picture, clear and distinct in his +mind. + +'You are Mr. Feilding?' he asked, rising with some difficulty. 'I have +heard so much of you from Effie. It is a great honour to have a call +from you.' + +'I take a deep interest,' the great man replied, 'in anything that +concerns Miss Effie Wilmot. I have been able--I believe you know--to +give her some assistance and advice in her work. Oh!'--he waved his +hand to deprecate any expressions of gratitude--'I have done very +little--very little indeed. Now, about yourself. I learn from your +sister that you have ambitions--you would become a dramatist?' + +'I have no other ambition. It is my only dream.' + +'A very good dream indeed. And you have made, I am told, a start--a +maiden effort--a preliminary flight to try your wings. You have +written your first attempt at a play?' + +'Yes. It is here. It is finished.' + +'Tell me, briefly, the plot.' + +Some young dramatists mar their plot in getting it out. This young man +had taken the trouble to write out first a rough outline of his piece +and next a complete scenario with every situation detailed. These he +read to his visitor one after the other. + +'Yes,' said Mr. Feilding, when he had finished; 'there is something in +the idea of the play. Perhaps not a completely novel motif. A good +deal might be said as to the arrangement of the scenes. And one or +two of the characters might--but these are details. Remains to find +out how the dialogue goes. Will you read me a scene or two?' + +The dramatist read. As he read he might have observed in the eyes of +his listener a growing eagerness, as of one who vehemently yearns to +get possession of something--his neighbour's vineyard, for example, or +his solitary ewe lamb. But the reader did not observe this. He was +wholly wrapped in his piece: he threw his soul into the reading: he +was anxious only that his words and his situations should produce the +best effect upon his hearer. + +'Yes, yes; your dialogue, unhappily, shows the want of skill common to +the beginner,' said Mr. Feilding, when he had finished. 'It will have +to be completely rewritten. As it stands now, the play would be simply +killed by it, in spite of the situations, which, with some +alterations, are really pretty good--pretty good for a first effort.' + +'You don't think, then--that----' the dramatist's voice broke down. +Consider: for two long years he had done nothing but cast, recast, +write, rewrite this play. He had dreamed all this time of success with +this play. And now--now--the very first critic--and that the most +accomplished man of the day--no less than Mr. Alec Feilding--told him +that the play would not be received unless the dialogue was entirely +rewritten. He _could_ not rewrite the dialogue. It was a part of +himself. As well ask him to remake his own face or to reconstruct his +legs. His face fell: his cheeks grew pale: his eyes filled with +unmanly tears. + +'I am truly sorry, believe me,' said the critic, 'to throw cold water +on your hopes. I have been myself an aspirant. Yet'--he hesitated in +his kindliness--'why encourage illusive expectations? The play as it +is--I say, as it is only--must be pronounced totally unfit for the +stage. No manager would think of it for a moment.' + +'Then I may as well throw it on the fire? And all my work wasted!' + +'Nay--not wasted. Good work--true work--is never wasted. You ought to +have learned much--very much--from this two years' labour. And, as for +putting it into the fire'--he laughed genially--'I believe I can show +you a better way than that. Look here, Archie--I call you by your +Christian name because I have so often talked about you: we are old +friends--I should be really sorry to think that you had actually lost +all your time. Give me this play: I will take it--skeleton, scenario, +dialogue--all, just as it is--the mere rough, crude, shapeless thing +that it is. I will buy it of you--useless as it is. I will give you +fifty pounds down for it, and it shall become my property--my own, +absolutely. I shall then, perhaps, recast and rewrite the play from +beginning to end. When I have made a play out of it worth putting on +the stage--when, in short, I have made it my own play--I may possibly +bring it out--possibly. Most likely, however, not. There's a chance +for you, Archie, such as you will never get again! Fifty pounds +down--think of that! Fifty pounds!' + +The dramatist laid his hand, for reply, upon his papers. + +'If it should ever be brought out,' this good Samaritan went on, 'you +will come and see it acted. What a splendid lesson it will be for you +in the art of writing drama!' + +The dramatist's fingers tightened on his manuscript. + +'Of course you must consider your sister,' the considerate critic +continued. 'She has been able to make a few pounds of late, having +been so fortunate as to attract the interest of... one who is not +wholly without influence. Should that interest fail or be withdrawn +you might have--both of you--to suffer much privation. The luxuries +which you now enjoy would be impossible--and----' + +'Oh, you kill me!' cried the unfortunate youth. + +'Shall I leave you for the present? My offer is always open--on the +condition of secrecy--one is bound to keep business transactions +secret. I will leave you now. There is no hurry. Think it over +carefully and send me an answer.' + +He went out and shut the door. The young dramatist, I am ashamed to +say, fell to tears and weeping over the destruction of his hopes. + +'Effie,' said Mr. Feilding, 'I have talked with your brother. He has +read some of the play to me----' + +'And you think?' she asked him eagerly. + +He shook his head mournfully. 'The boy has much to learn--very much. +Meantime, the play itself is worthless--quite worthless.' + +'Oh! Poor boy! And he has built so much upon it.' + +'Yes--they all do at the outset. Mind, Effie, he is a clever boy: he +will do. Meantime, he must study.' + +'Oh! Poor Archie! Poor boy!' + +'It seems hard, doesn't it, not to succeed all at once? Yet Browning +and Tennyson and Thackeray were all well on for forty before they +succeeded. Why should he despair? Meantime I have made him a little +offer.' + +'Oh! Mr. Feilding, you are always so good.' + +'I have offered to give him fifty pounds--down--and to take this rough +unlicked thing he calls a Play. If I find time I shall, perhaps, +rewrite the whole, and put it on the stage. It will then, of course, +be my own--my own, Effie. Good-bye, child. I have not forgotten our +talk--or my promise--if we remain on friendly relations.' + +He went away. Effie sank into a chair. What she had done with her own +work had never seemed to her half so terrible as what was now proposed +to be done with her brother's work. + +She crept into his room. He sat with his head in his hands, most +mournful of bards since the world began. + +'Archie, I know--I know; he has told me. Oh! Archie--do you think it +is true?' + +[Illustration: _'Archie, I know--I know.'_] + +'He says so, Effie. He says it is worthless.' + +'Yet he will give you fifty pounds.' + +'That is to please you--for your sake. The thing is worthless--no +manager would look at it.' + +'Yet--fifty pounds! Why should Mr. Feilding give fifty pounds--a whole +fifty pounds--for a worthless play? Archie, don't do it--don't let him +have it; wait a little--we will ask somebody else. Oh! I could tell +you something. Wait--tell him, if you must say anything, that you will +think it over.' + +When Effie turned over the pages of the next number of _The Muses +Nine_, she found, first of all, her own verses in the Editor's column +with his name at the bottom. This sight, which had formerly made her +so proud, now filled her with shame. The generous promise of the +future failed to awaken in her any glow of hope. For the very words +with which her only editor had beguiled her of her verses--the plea +that they were worthless, and must be rewritten--he had used to her +brother. And as her poems had never been rewritten, so would Archie's +play, she felt sure, be presented without a single alteration, with +the name of Mr. Alec Feilding as author. That week she took no verses +to the studio-study. + +And a certain paragraph in the same columns perused by this suspicious +young woman brought rage--nothing short of rage--into her heart. No! +not her brother, as well as herself! It ran thus: 'I have always been +under the impression that the dearth of good plays is due to nothing +else in the world than the fact that the good men who ought to be +writing them all run off into the domain of fiction. It is a pleasant +country--that of Fable Land. I have been there, and I hope to go there +again and make a long stay. But Play Land--that is also a pleasant +country. I have been there lately, and I hope to demonstrate that a +good play may still be produced in the English tongue--a good and +original play. In short, I have written a romantic drama, of which all +I can say at present is that it lies finished, in my fireproof safe, +and that a certain actor-manager will probably play the title-rôle +before many moons have waxed and waned.' + +'No,' said Effie, crumpling up the paper. 'You have not got Archie's +romantic drama yet.' + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +ALL ABOUT MYSELF + + +'You have kept this promise, then.' Armorel welcomed her old friend +with eyes of kindness and lips of smiles. 'Do you ever think of the +promise that you broke? Effie, dear'--this young lady was the only +other occupant of the room--'this is Mr. Roland Lee--my first friend +and my first master. He knew me long ago, in Samson, in the days of +which I have told you. We have memories of our own--memories such as +make the old friendships impossible to be dissolved--whatever happens. +Roland, you first put a pencil into my hand and taught me how to use +it. In return, I used to play old-fashioned tunes in the evening. And +you first put thoughts into my head. Before you came my head was +filled with phantoms, which had neither voice nor shape. What am I to +do now in return for such a gift?' She gave him both her hands, and +her face was so glowing, her eyes so soft yet serious withal, her +voice so full of tenderness--that the luckless painter stood confused +and overwhelmed. How had he deserved such a reception? + +'This evening,' she went on, 'we are going to talk about nobody but +myself, and about nothing but my own affairs. Effie, you will be +horribly bored. It is five years since I had such a chance. Because, +my dear, though you have the best will in the world, and would talk to +me about old times if you could, you did not know me when I lived on +Samson in the Scilly Islands--and Roland did. That is, if he still +remembers Samson.' + +'I remember every day on Samson: every blade of grass on the island: +every boulder and every crag.' + +'And every talk we had in those days?--all the things you told me?' + +'I remember, as well, a girl who has so changed, so grown----' + +'So much the better. Then we can talk just as we used to do. I thought +you would somehow remember the girl, Roland.' She looked up again, +smiling. Then she hesitated, and went on slowly: 'Yet I was afraid, +this morning, that you might have forgotten one of the two who +wandered about the island together.' + +'I could never forget you, Armorel.' + +'I meant--the other--Roland.' + +He made no reply. In his evening dress--which was full of creases, as +if it had not been put on for a very long time--he looked a little +less forlorn than in the shabby old brown-velvet jacket; he had +brushed his hair--nay, he had even had it cut and trimmed: but there +still hung about him the look of waste: his eyes were melancholy: his +bearing was dejected: he spoke with hesitation: he was even shy, like +a schoolboy. Effie noted these things, and wondered. And she observed, +besides, not only that his coat was creased, but that his shirt was +frayed at the cuffs, and torn in the front. In fact, the young man, in +dropping out of society, had, as a natural consequence, neglected his +wardrobe and allowed his linen to run to seed unrebuked. Every man who +has been a bachelor--most of us have--remembers how shirts behave when +the eye of the master is once taken off them. + +He was shy because the atmosphere of the drawing-room, so dainty, so +luxurious, so womanly, was strange to him. Three years and more had +passed since he had been in such a room. He was also shy because this +splendid creature, this girl dressed in silk and lovely lace, this +miracle of girls, called herself Armorel, his once simple rustic maid +of Samson Isle. Further, he was ashamed because this girl remembered +him as he was in the good old days, when his face was turned to the +summit of the mountain and his feet were on the upward slope. + +Armorel had placed on the table a portfolio full of drawings. + +'Now for myself,' she said, gaily. 'Roland, you are an artist. You +must look at my drawings. Here are the best I have done. I have had +many masters since you, but none that taught me so much in so short a +time. Do you remember when you first found out that I could hold a +pencil? You were very patient then, Master. Be lenient now.' + +'I had a very apt pupil,' he began, turning over the drawings. 'These +need no leniency. These are very good indeed. You have had other and +better masters.' + +'I have had other masters, it is true. I have done my best, Roland--to +grow.' + +He dropped his eyes. But he continued to turn over the sketches. The +drawings showed, at least, that natural aptitude which may be genius +and may be that imitation of genius which is difficult to distinguish +from the real gift. Many painters with no more natural aptitude than +Armorel have risen to be Royal Academicians. + +'But these are very good indeed,' Roland repeated, with emphasis. 'You +have, indeed, worked well, and you have the true feeling.' + +'Do you remember, Roland, that day when we talked about the Perfect +Woman? No, I see by your eyes that you have forgotten. But I remember. +I will not tell you all. One thing she had done: she had trained her +eye and her hand. She knew what was good in Art, and was not carried +away by any follies or fashions. I did not understand then what you +meant by follies and fashions. But I am wiser now. I have been +training eye and hand. I think I know a good picture, or a good +statue, or a good work in any Art. Do not think me conceited, Master. +I have been obedient to your instructions--that is all.' + +'You have the soul of an artist, Armorel,' said her Master. 'But +yet--I fear--I think--you have missed the supreme gift. You are not a +great artist.' + +'No, I can grow no higher in painting. I have learned my own +limitations. If it is only to understand and to worship the Great +Masters it is worth while to get so far. Are you satisfied with your +pupil?' + +For a moment the old look came back to Roland's eyes. 'You are the +best of pupils,' he said. 'But I might have expected so much. Tell me +how you succeeded in getting away from Samson?' + +She told him, briefly, how the Ancient Lady died, how she found the +family treasure, and how she had resolved to go away and learn: how +she found masters and guardians: how she lived in Florence, Dresden, +Paris: how she worked unceasingly. 'I remembered, always, Roland, your +picture of the Perfect Woman.' + +'Could I--I--have told you things that have made you--what you are?' +It seemed as if another man had given the girl this excellent advice. +Not himself--quite another man. + +'Effie, dear,' Armorel turned to her, 'you do not understand. I must +tell you. Five years ago, when I lived on Samson, a girl so ignorant +that it makes me tremble to think what might have happened--there came +to the island a young gentleman who was so kind as to take this +ignorant girl--me--in hand, and to fill her empty head with all kinds +of great and noble thoughts. He was an artist by profession. Oh! an +artist filled with ardour and with ambition. He would be satisfied +with nothing short of the best: he taught me that none of us ought to +be satisfied till we have attained our full stature, and grown as tall +as we possibly can. It made that ignorant girl's heart glow only to +hear him talk, because she had never heard such talk before. Then he +left her, and came back no more. But presently the chance came to this +girl, as you have heard, and she was able to leave the island and go +where she could find masters and teachers. It is five years ago. And +always, every day, Roland'--her lip quivered--'I have said to myself, +"My first master is growing taller--taller--taller--every day--I must +grow as tall as I can, or else when I meet him again I shall be too +insignificant for him to notice." Always I have thought how I should +meet him again. So tall, so great, so wonderful!' + +Effie remarked that while Armorel addressed Roland she did not look at +him until the last words, when she turned and faced him with eyes +running over. The man's head dropped: his fingers played with the +drawings: he made no reply. + +'In the evening,' Armorel went on, 'we used to have music. I played +only the old-fashioned tunes then that Justinian Tryeth taught me--do +you remember the tunes, Roland? I will play one for you again.' She +took a violin out of the case and began to tune the strings. 'This is +my old fiddle. It has been Justinian's--and his father's before him. I +have had other instruments since then, but I love the old fiddle +best.' She drew her bow across the strings. 'I can play much better +now, Roland. And I have much better music; but I will play only the +old tunes, because I want you to remember quite clearly those two who +walked and talked and sailed together. It is so easy for you to forget +that young man. But I remember him very well indeed.' She drew the bow +across the strings again. 'Now we are in the old room, while the old +people are sitting round the fire. Effie, dear, put the shade over +the lamp and turn it low--so--now we are all sitting in the firelight, +just as it used to be on Samson--see the red light dancing about the +walls. It fills your eyes and makes them glow, Roland. Oh! we are back +again. What are you thinking of, artist, while the music falls upon +your ears?--while I play--what shall I play? "Dissembling Love," which +others call "The Lost Heart"?' She played it with the old spirit, but +far more than the old delicacy and feeling. 'You remember that, +Roland? Do you hear the lapping of the waves in Porth Bay and the +breakers over Shark Point? Or is it too rustic a ditty? I will play +you something better, but still the old tunes.' She played first +'Prince Rupert's March,' and then 'The Saraband'--great and lofty airs +to one who can play them greatly. While she played Effie watched. In +Armorel's eyes she read a purpose. This was no mere play. The man she +called her master listened, sitting at the table, the sketches spread +out before him, ill at ease, and as one in a troubled dream. + +'Do you see him again, that young man?' Armorel asked. 'It makes one +happy only to think of such a young man. He knew the dangers before +him. "The Way of Wealth," he said once, "and the Way of Pleasure draw +men as if with ropes." But he was so strong and steadfast. Nothing +would turn him from his way. Not Pleasure, not Wealth, not anything +mean or low. There was never any young man so noble. Oh! Do you +remember him, Roland? Tell me--tell me--do you remember him?' + +Over the pictures on the table he bowed his head. But he made no +reply. Then Effie, watching the glittering tears in Armorel's eyes and +the bowed head of the man, stole softly out of the room and closed the +door. + +Armorel put down her fiddle. She drew nearer to the man. His head sank +lower. She stood over him, tall and queenly, as the Muse stood over +Alfred de Musset. She laid her hand upon his shoulder. + +'That old spirit is not dead, but sleeping, Roland. You have not +driven it forth. It is your own still. You have only silenced its +voice for a while. You think that you have killed it; but you remember +it still. Thank God! it has been only sleeping. If it were dead you +would not remember. Let it wake again. Oh! Roland--let it wake +again--again. Oh! Roland--Roland--my friend and Master----' She could +say no more. + +The man raised his head. It is a shameful and a terrible thing to see +the face of a man who is disgraced and conscious of his shame. Perhaps +it is worse to see the face of a man who is disgraced and is +unconscious of his shame. He looked round, and saw the tears in the +girl's eyes and the quivering of her lips. + +'The man you remember,' he said hoarsely, 'is dead and buried. He died +three years ago and more. Another man--a poor and mean creature--walks +about in his shape. He is unworthy to be in your presence. Suffer him +to go, and think of him no longer.' + +'Not another man, because you remember the former. Roland, come back, +my old friend; come back!' + +'It is too late.' But he wavered. + +'It is never too late. Oh! I wonder--was it the Way of Pleasure or was +it the Way of Wealth?' + +'Do I look,' he asked bitterly, 'as if it was the Way of Pleasure?' + +'It is not too late, Roland. You have sinned against yourself. If it +were too late you would be happy after the kind of those who can live +in sin and be happy. Since you are not happy, it is not too late. The +doors of heaven stand open night and day for all.' + +'You talk the old language, Armorel.' + +'It is the language of my soul. I will say the same thing in any +tongue you please, so that you understand me.' + +'To go back--to begin all over again--to go on as if the last three +years had never been----' + +'Yes--yes--as if they had never been! That is best. As if they had +never been.' + +'Armorel, do you know,' he asked her quickly--'do you know the +thing--the Awful Thing--that I have done?' + +'Do not tell me. Never tell me.' + +'Some day, I think I must. What shall I say, now?' + +'Say that your footsteps are turned in the old way, Roland.' + +He pushed back the chair and stood up. Now, if they had been measured, +he would have proved four inches and a half taller than the girl, for +he was half an inch short of six feet, and she was exactly five feet +seven. Yet as they stood face to face, it seemed to him--and to her as +well--as if she towered over him by as many inches as separate the +tallest woman from the smallest man. Nature thus accommodates herself +to the mental condition of the moment. + +The small man, however, did a very strange thing. He drew forth a +pocket-book and took from it what Armorel perceived to be a cheque. +This he deliberately tore across twice, and threw the fragments into +the fire. + +'You do not understand this act, Armorel. It is the turning of the +footstep.' + +She took his hand and pressed it. 'I pray,' she said, 'that the way +may prove less thorny than you think!' + +Nature, again accommodating herself, caused the small, mean man to +grow suddenly several inches. There was still a goodly difference +between the two, but it was lessened. More than that, the man +continued to grow; and his face was brighter, and his eyes less +haggard. + +'I will go now, Armorel,' he said. + +'You will come again--soon?' + +'Not yet. I will come again, when the shame of the present belongs to +the past.' + +'No. You shall come often. But of past or present we will speak no +more. Tell me, in your own good time, Roland, how you fare. But do not +desert your old pupil. Come to see me often.' + +He bowed his head and went away. + + * * * * * + +'Effie,' said Armorel, presently, 'I cannot tell you what all this +means.' + +'It means a man who has fallen,' said the girl, wise with poetic +instinct. 'Anyone could see failure and shame written on his face. It +ought to be a noble face, but something has gone out of it. You knew +him long ago--when he was different--and you tried to bring him to his +old self. Oh! Armorel--you are wonderful--you were his better +spirit--you were his muse--calling him back.' + +She laid her hand in Armorel's. They stood together in silence. Then +Armorel spoke. + +'I feared it was quite another man--a new man--a stranger that I had +found. But it was not. It was the same man after all.' + +Effie stooped and picked up a fragment of paper lying on the hearth. +'Mr. Feilding's signature,' she said, unthinking. At times, when one +is moved, trifles sometimes seem to acquire importance. + +'That? It is a part of a cheque which he tore up. Effie, dear--it was +good of you to go away and leave us when you did. Perhaps he would not +have spoken so freely if you had been here. Oh! he is the same man, +after all. He has come back to me. Effie, tell me; but you know no +more than I. If you once loved a man, and if you suffered the thought +of him to lie in your heart for years, and if you filled him with all +the virtues that there are, and if he grew in your heart to be a +knight perfect at all points----' + +'Well, Armorel?' For she stopped, and Effie took her hand. + +'Oh! Effie,' she replied, with glowing cheeks; 'could you ever +afterwards love another man? Could you ever cease to love that man of +your imagination? Could any meaner man content you? For my +part--never!--never!--never!' + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +TO MAKE HIM HAPPY + + +'Shall we discuss Mr. Feilding any longer?' Armorel asked, with a +little impatience. 'It really seems as if we had nothing to talk about +but the perfections of this incomparable person.' It was in the +evening. Armorel had discovered, already, that the evenings spent at +home in the society of her companion were both long and dull; that +they had nothing to talk about; that Zoe regarded every single +subject from a point of view which was not her own; and that both in +conversation and in personal intercourse she was having a great deal +more than she desired of Mr. Alec Feilding. Therefore, she was +naturally a little impatient. One cannot every evening go and sit +alone in the study: one cannot play the violin all the evening: and +one cannot reduce a companion to absolute silence. + +Zoe, who had been talking into the fire from her cushions, turned her +fluffy head, opened her blue eyes wide, and looked, not reproachfully +but sorrowfully and with wonder, at a girl who could hear too much +about Alec Feilding. + +'Let me talk--just a little--sometimes--of my best friend, Armorel, +dear. If you only knew what Alec has been to me and to my lost +lover--my Jerome!' + +'Forgive me, Zoe. Go on talking about him.' + +'How quiet and cosy,' she murmured, in reply, 'this room is in the +evening! It makes one feel virtuous only to think of the cold wind and +the cold people outside. This heaven is surely a reward for the +righteous. It is enough only to lie in the warmth without talking. But +the time and the place invite confidences. Armorel, I am going to +repose a great confidence in you--a secret plan of my own. And you are +so very, very sympathetic when you please, dear child--especially when +Effie is here--I wonder if she is worth it?--that you might spare me a +little of your sympathy.' + +'My dear Zoe'--Armorel felt a touch of remorse--she had been +unsympathetic--'you shall have all there is to spare. But what kind of +sympathy do you want? You were talking of Mr. Feilding--not of +yourself.' + +'Yes--and that is of myself in a way. I know you will not +misunderstand me, dear. You will not imagine that I am--well, in love +with Alec, when I confess to you that I think a very great deal about +him.' + +'I never thought so, at all,' said Armorel. + +Zoe's eyes opened for a moment and gleamed. It was a doubtful saying. +Why should not she be in love with Alec, or Alec with her? But Armorel +knew nothing about love. + +'When a woman has loved once, dear,' she murmured, 'her heart is gone. +My love-passages,' she put her handkerchief to her eyes--to some women +the drawing-room is the stage--'my love-story, dear, is finished and +done. My heart is in the grave with Jerome. But this you cannot +understand. I think so much of Alec--first, because he has been all +goodness to me; and, next, because he is so wonderfully clever.' + +'Talk about him, Zoe, as long as you please.' + +'If he had been an ordinary man,' she went on, 'I should have been +equally grateful, I suppose. But there it would have ended. To be +under a debt of gratitude to such a man as Alec makes one long to do +something in return. And, besides, there are so very, very few good +men in the world that it does one good only to talk about them.' + +'I suppose that Mr. Feilding is really a man of great genius,' said +Armorel. 'I confess he seems to me rather ponderous in his talk--may I +say, dull? From genius one expects the unexpected.' + +'Dull? Oh, no! A little constrained in his manner. That comes from his +excessive sensibility. But dull?--oh, no!' + +'He seemed dull at the theatre last night.' + +'It was a curious coincidence meeting him there, was it not?' + +'I thought you must have told him that you were going.' + +'No, no; quite a coincidence. And he so seldom goes to a theatre. The +badness of the acting, he says, irritates his nerves to such a degree +that it sometimes spoils his work for a week. And yet he is actually +going to bring out a play himself. There is a paragraph in the paper +about it--his own paper. Give it to me, dear; it is on the sofa. Thank +you.' She read the paragraph, which we already know. 'What do you +think of that, Armorel?' + +'Isn't it rather arrogant--about good men turning out good work?' + +'My dear, genius can afford to be arrogant. True genius is always +impatient of small people and of stupidities. It suffers its contempt +to be seen, and that makes the stupidities cry out about arrogance. +Even the most stupid can cry out, you see. But think. He is going to +add a new wreath to his brow. He is already known as a poet, a +novelist, a painter, an essayist, and now he is to become a dramatist. +He really is the cleverest man in the whole world.' + +Armorel expressed none of the admiration that was expected. She was +wondering whether, if Mr. Feilding had not been quite so clever, he +might not have been quite so heavy and didactic in conversation. Less +clever people, perhaps, are more prodigal of their cleverness, and +give away some of it in conversation. Perhaps the very clever want it +all for their books. + +'I said I would give you his poems,' Zoe continued. 'I bought the book +for you--the second series, which is better than the first. It is on +the piano, dear; that little parcel, thank you.' She opened the parcel +and disclosed a dainty little volume in white and gold. It was +illustrated by a small etching of the poet's head for a frontispiece. +It was printed in beautiful new type on thick paper--the kind called +hand-made--the edges left ragged. There were about a hundred and +twenty pages, and on every two pages there was a single poem. These +were not arranged in any order or sequence of thought. They were all +separate. The poet showed knowledge of contemporary manners in serving +up so small a dish of verse. Fifty or sixty short poems is quite as +much as the reader of poetry will stand in these days. + +Armorel turned over the pages and began to read them. Strange! How +could a man so ponderous, so pompous in his conceit, so dogmatic, so +self-conscious, write such pretty, easy-flowing numbers? The metres +fitted the subject; the rhymes were apt, the cadence true, the verses +tripped light and graceful like a maiden dancing. + +'How could such a man,' she cried, 'get a touch so light? It is truly +wonderful.' + +'I told you so, dear. He is altogether wonderful.' + +She went on reading. Presently she cried out, 'Why! he writes like a +woman. Only a woman could have written these lines.' She read them +out. 'It is a woman's hand, and a woman's way of thinking.' + +'That shows his genius. No one except Alec--or a woman--could have +said just that thing in just that manner.' + +Armorel closed the volume. 'I think,' she said, 'that I like a man to +write like a man and a woman like a woman.' + +'Then,' said Zoe, 'how is a novelist to make a woman talk?' + +'He makes his women talk like women if he can. But when he speaks +himself it must be with the voice of a man. In these poems it is the +poet who speaks, not any character, man or woman.' + +'You will like the poems better as you read them. They will grow upon +you. And you will find the poet himself--not a woman, but a man--in +his verses. It helps one so much to understand the verses when you +know the poet. I think I could almost understand Browning if I had +ever known him. Think of Alec when you read his verses.' + +'Yes,' said Armorel, still without enthusiasm. + +'You said we were talking about nothing else, dear,' Zoe went on. 'I +talk so much of him because I respect and revere him so much. I have +known Alec a long time'--she lay back with her head turned from her +companion, talking softly into the fire, as if she was communing with +herself. 'He is, though you do not understand it yet, a man of the +most highly strung and sensitive nature. The true reason why he talks +ponderously--as you call it, Armorel--is that he is conscious of the +traps into which this very sensitiveness of his may lead him: for +instance, he may say, before persons unworthy of his confidence, +things which they would most likely misunderstand. It is simply wicked +to cast pearls before swine. A poet, more than any other man, must be +quite sure of his audience before he gives himself away. I assure you, +when Alec feels himself alone with his intimates--a very little +circle--his talk is brilliant.' + +'We are unlucky, then,' said Armorel, still without enthusiasm. + +'Another thing may make him seem dull. He is always preoccupied, +always thinking about his work: his mind is overcharged.' + +'I thought he was always in society--a great diner-out?' + +'He is. Society brings him relief. The inanities of social +intercourse rest his brain. Without this rest he would be crushed.' + +'I see,' said Armorel, coldly. + +'Then there is that other side of him--of which you know nothing. My +dear, he is constantly thinking of others. His private life--but I +must not tell too much. Not only the cleverest man in London, but the +best.' + +Armorel felt guilty. She had not, hitherto, looked upon this phoenix +with the reverence which was due to so great a creature. Nay, she did +not like him. She was repelled rather than attracted by him. She liked +him less every time she met him. And this was oftener than she +desired. Somehow or other, they were always meeting. On some pretext +or other he was always calling. And certainly for the last few days +Zoe was unable to talk about anything else. The genius, the greatness +of this man seemed to overwhelm her. + +'And now, my dear,' she went on, still talking about him, 'for my +little confidences. I have a great scheme in my head. Oh! a very great +scheme indeed.' She turned round and sat up, looking Armorel full in +the face. Her eyes under her fluffy hair were large and luminous, when +she lifted them. Oftener, they were large but sleepy eyes. Now they +were quite bright. She was wide awake and she was in earnest. 'I have +spoken to no one but you about it as yet. Perhaps you and I can manage +it all by ourselves.' + +'What is it?' + +'You and I, dear, you and I, we two--we can be so associated and bound +up in the life of the poet-painter as to be for ever joined with his +name. Petrarch and Laura are not more closely connected than we may be +with Alec Feilding, if you only join with me.' + +'First tell me what it is--this plan of yours.' + +'It is nothing less than just to relieve him, once for all, from his +business cares.' + +'Has he business cares?' + +'They take up his precious time. They weigh upon his mind. Why should +such a man have any business at all to look after?' + +'Well, but,' said Armorel, refusing to rise to this tempting bait, +'why does such a man allow himself to have business cares, if they +worry him?' + +'It is the conduct of his journal, my dear.' + +'But other authors and painters do not conduct journals. Why should +he? I believe that successful writers and artists make very large +incomes. If he is so successful, why does he trouble about managing a +paper? That is certainly work that can be done by a man of inferior +brain.' + +'You are so matter-of-fact, dear. The paper is his own, and he thinks, +I suppose, that nobody but himself could edit the thing. Leave poor +Alec one or two human weaknesses. He may think this, and yet make no +allowance for his own shrinking and sensitive nature.' + +Certainly Armorel had seen no indications in this poet-painter of the +shrinking nature. It was very carefully concealed. + +'Of course,' Zoe continued, 'you hardly know him. But his genius you +do know. And the business worries that are inseparable from a journal +are a serious hindrance to his higher work. Believe me, dear, even if +you do not understand why it should be so.' + +'I can very well believe it--I only ask why Mr. Feilding alone, among +authors and painters, should hamper himself with such worries.' + +'Well, dear--there they are. And I have formed a plan--Oh!'--she +clasped her hands and opened her eyes wide--'such a plan! The best and +the cleverest plan in the world for the best and the cleverest man in +the world! But I want your help.' + +'What can I do?' + +'I will tell you. First of all. You must remember that Alec is the +sole proprietor, as well as the editor of this journal--_The Muses +Nine_. It is his property. He created it. But the business management +of the paper worries him. My plan, Armorel--my plan'--she spoke and +looked most impressive--'will relieve him altogether of the work.' + +'Yes--and how do I come into your plan?' + +'This way. I have found out, through a person of business, that if he +would sell a share--say a quarter, or an eighth--of his paper he would +be able to put the business part of it into paid hands--the people who +do nothing else. Now, Armorel, we will buy that share--you and I between +us will buy it. You shall advance the whole of the money, and I will pay +you back half. The price will be nothing to you. That is, it will be a +great deal, because the investment will be such a splendid thing, and +the returns will be so brilliant. You will increase your income +enormously, and you will have the satisfaction'--she paused, because, +though she was herself more animated, earnest, and eloquent with voice +and eyes, and though she threw so much persuasion into her manner, the +tell-tale face of the girl showed no kindling light of response at +all--'the satisfaction,' she continued, 'of feeling that such a help to +Literature and Art will make us both immortal.' + +Armorel made no reply. She was considering the proposition coldly, and +it was one of those things which must be considered without +enthusiasm. + +'As for money,' Zoe continued, with one more attempt to awaken a +responsive fire, 'I have found out what will be wanted. For three +thousand five hundred pounds we can get this share in the paper. Only +three thousand five hundred pounds! That is no more than one thousand +seven hundred and fifty pounds apiece! I shall insist upon having my +share in the investment, because I should grudge you the whole of the +work. As for the returns, I have been well advised of that. Of course, +Alec is beyond all paltry desire for gain, and he might ask a great +deal more. But he leaves everything to his advisers--and oh! my dear, +he must on no account know--yet--who is doing this for him. +Afterwards, we will break it to him gradually, perhaps, when he has +quite recovered from the worries and is rested. If we think of +returns, ten, twenty, even fifty per cent. may be expected as the +paper gets on. Think of fifty per cent.!' + +'No,' said Armorel. 'Let us, too, be above paltry desire for gain. Let +those who do want more money go in for this business. If your advice +is correct, Mr. Feilding can have no difficulty at all in selling a +share of the paper. People who want more money will be only too eager +to buy it.' + +'My dear child, everybody wants more money.' + +'I have quite enough. But why do you ask me to join you, Zoe? I do not +know Mr. Feilding, except as an acquaintance. He is, I dare say, all +that you think. But I do not find him personally interesting. And +there is no reason why I should pretend to be one of the train who +follow him and admire him.' + +'But I want you--I want you, Armorel.' Zoe clasped her hands and +lifted her eyes, humid now. But a woman's eyes move a girl less than a +man. 'I want you, and none but you, to join me in this. We two alone +will do it. It will be such a splendid thing to do! Nothing short of +the rescue of the finest and most poetic mind of the day from sordid +cares and worries. Think of what future ages will say of you!' + +Armorel laughed. 'Indeed!' she said. 'This kind of immortality does +not tempt me very much. But, Zoe, it is really useless to urge me. I +could not do this, if I would. And truly I would not if I could; for I +made a promise to Mr. Jagenal, when I came of age the other day, that +I would not lend or part with any money without taking his advice; and +that I would not change any of his investments without consulting him. +I seem to know, beforehand, what he would say if I consulted him about +this proposal.' + +'Then, my dear,' said Zoe, lying back in her cushions and turning her +face to the fire, 'let us talk about the matter no more.' + +She had failed. From the outset she felt that she was going to fail. +The man had had every chance. He had met the girl constantly: she had +left him alone with her: but he had not attracted her in the least. +Well: she confessed, in spite of his cleverness, Alec had somewhat of +a wooden manner: he was too authoritative; and Armorel was too +independent. She had failed. + +Armorel, for her part, remembered how her lawyer had warned her on the +day when she became twenty-one and of age to manage her own affairs: +all kinds of traps, he told her, are set to catch women who have got +money in order to rob them of their money: they are besieged on every +side, especially on the sides presumably the weakest: she must put on +the armour of suspicion: she must never--never--never--here he held up +a terrifying forefinger--enter into any engagement or promise, verbal +or in writing, without consulting him. The memory of this warning made +her uneasy--because it was her own companion, the lady appointed by +her lawyer himself, who had made the first attempt upon her money. +True, the attempt was entirely disinterested. There would be no gain +to Zoe even if she were to accede: the proposal was prompted by the +purest friendship. And yet she felt uneasy. + +As for the disinterested companion, she wrote a letter that very +night. She said: 'I have made an attempt to get this money for you. It +has failed. It was hopeless from the first. You have had your chance: +you have been with the girl often enough to attract and interest her: +yet she is neither attracted nor interested. I have given her your +poems: she says they ought to be the work of a woman: she likes the +verse, but she cares nothing about the poet. Strange! For my own part, +I have been foolish enough to love the man, and to care not one brass +farthing about his work. Your poems--your pictures--they all seem to +me outside yourself, and not a part of you at all. Why it is so I +cannot explain. Well, Alec, you planted me here, and I remain till you +tell me I may go. It is not very lively: the girl and I have nothing +in common: but it is restful and cosy, and I always did like comfort +and warmth. And Armorel pays all the bills. What next, however? Is +there any other way? What are my lord's commands?' + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE SECRET OF THE TWO PICTURES + + +A good many things troubled Armorel--the companion with whom she could +not talk: her persistent praises of Mr. Feilding: the constant +attendance of that illustrious genius--and she wanted advice. +Generally, she was a self-reliant person, but these were new +experiences. Effie, she knew, could not advise her. She might go to +Mr. Jagenal; but, then, elderly lawyers are not always ready to +receive confidences from young ladies. Then she thought of her cousin +Philippa, whom she had not seen since that first evening. Philippa +looked trustworthy and judicious. She went to see her in the morning, +when she would be alone. Philippa received her with the greatest +friendliness. + +'If you really would like a talk about everything,' she said, 'come +to my own room.' She led the way. 'Here we shall be quiet and +undisturbed. It is the place where I practise every day. But I shall +never be able to play like you, dear. Now, take that chair and let us +begin. First, why do you come so seldom?' + +'Frankly and truly, do you wish me to come often?' + +'Frankly and truly, fair cousin, yes. But come alone. Mrs. Elstree and +I were at school together, and we were not friends. That is all. I +hope you like her for a companion.' + +'The first of my difficulties,' said Armorel, 'is that I do not. I +imagined when she came that it mattered nothing about her. You see, I +have been for five years under masters and teachers, and I never +thought anything about them outside the lesson. I thought my companion +would be only another master. But she isn't. I have her company at +breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And all the evening. I think I am wrong +not to like her, because she is always good-tempered. Somehow, she +jars upon me. She likes everything I do not care about--comic operas, +dance music, French novels. She has no feeling for pictures, and her +taste in literature is ... not mine. Oh, I am talking scandal. And she +is so perfectly inoffensive. Mostly she lies by the fire and either +dozes or reads her French novels. All day long, I go about my devices. +But there is the evening.' + +'This is rather unfortunate, Armorel, is it not?' + +'If it were only for a month or two, one would not mind. Tell me, +Philippa, how long must I have a companion?' + +Philippa laughed. 'I dare say the question may solve itself before +long. Women generally achieve independence--with the wedding +ring--unless that brings worse slavery.' + +'No,' said Armorel, gravely, 'I shall not achieve independence that +way.' + +'Not that way?' + +'Not by marrying!' + +'Why not, Armorel?' + +'You will not laugh at me, Philippa? I learned a long time ago that I +could only marry one kind of man. And now I cannot find him.' + +'You did know such a man formerly? My dear, you are not going to let a +childish passion ruin your own life.' + +'I knew a man who was, in my mind, this kind of man. He came across my +life for two or three weeks. When he went away I kept his image in my +mind, and it gradually grew as I grew--always larger and more +beautiful. The more I learned--the more splendid grew this image. It +was an Idol that I set up and worshipped for five long years.' + +'And now your Idol is shattered?' + +'No; the Idol remains. It is the man, who no longer corresponds to the +Idol. The man who might have become this wonderful Image is gone--and +I can never love any other man. He must be my Idol in the body.' + +'But, Armorel, this is unreal. We are not angels. Men and women must +take each other with their imperfections.' + +'My Idol may have had his imperfections, too. Well, the man has gone. +I am punished, perhaps, for setting up an Idol.' + +She was silent for awhile, and Philippa had nothing to say. + +'But about my companion?' Armorel went on. 'When can I do without +one?' + +'There is nothing but opinion to consider. Opinion says that a young +lady must not live alone.' + +'If one never hears what opinion says, one need not consider opinion +perhaps.' + +'Well, but you could not go into society alone.' + +'That matters nothing, because I never go into society at all.' + +'Never go into society at all? What do you mean?' + +'I mean that we go nowhere.' + +'Well, what are people about? They call upon you, I suppose?' + +'No; nobody ever calls.' + +'But where are Mrs. Elstree's friends?' + +'She has no friends.' + +'Oh! She has--or had--an immense circle of friends.' + +'That was before her father lost everything and killed himself. They +were fair-weather friends.' + +'Yes, but one's own people don't run away because of misfortune.' +Philippa looked dissatisfied with the explanation. 'My dear cousin, +this must be inquired into. Your lawyer told me that Mrs. Elstree's +large circle of friends would be of such service to you. Do you really +mean that you go nowhere? And your wonderful playing absolutely +wasted? And your face seen nowhere? Oh! it is intolerable that such a +girl as you should be so neglected.' + +'I have other friends. There is Effie Wilmot and her brother who wants +to become a dramatist. And I have found an old friend, an artist. I am +not at all lonely. But in the evening, I confess, it is dull. I am not +afraid of being alone. I have always been alone. But now I am not +alone. I have to talk.' + +'And uncongenial talk.' + +'Now advise me, Philippa. Her talk is always on one subject--always +the wonderful virtues of Mr. Feilding.' + +'My cousin Alec? Yes'--Philippa changed colour, and shaded her face +with a hand-screen. 'I believe she knows him.' + +'Your cousin? Oh! I had forgotten. But it is all the better, because +you know him. Philippa, I am troubled about him. For not only does Zoe +talk about him perpetually, but he is always calling on one pretext or +other. If I go to a picture-gallery, he is there: if I walk in the +park, I meet him: if I go to church--Zoe does not go--he meets me in +the porch: if we go to the theatre, he is there.' + +'I did not think that Alec was that kind of man,' said Philippa, still +keeping the hand-screen before her face. 'Are you mistaken, perhaps? +Has he said anything?' + +'No: he has said nothing. But it annoys me to have this man following +me about--and--and--Philippa--he is your cousin--I know--but I detest +him.' + +'Can you not show that you dislike his attentions? If he will not +understand that you dislike him--wait--perhaps he will speak--though I +hardly think--you may be mistaken, dear. If he speaks, let your answer +be quite unmistakable.' + +'Then I hope that he will speak to-morrow. Zoe wanted me to find some +money in order to help him in some way--out of some worries.' + +'My dear child--I implore you--do not be drawn into any money +entanglements. What does Zoe mean? What does it all mean? My dear, +there is something here that I cannot understand. What can it mean? +Zoe to help my cousin out of worries about money? Zoe? What has Zoe to +do with him and his worries?' + +'He has been very kind to her and to her husband.' + +'There is something we do not understand,' Philippa repeated. + +'You are not angry with me for not liking your cousin?' + +'Angry? No, indeed. He has been so spoiled with his success that I +don't wonder at your not liking him. As for me, you know, it is +different. I knew Alec before his greatness became visible. No one, in +the old days, ever suspected the wonderful powers he has developed. +When he was a boy, no one knew that he could even hold a pencil, +nobody suspected him of making rhymes--and now see what he has done. +Yet, after all, his achievements seem to me only like incongruous +additions stuck on to a central house. Alec and painting don't go +together, in my mind. Nor Alec and vers de société. Nor Alec and +story-telling. In his youth he passed for a practical lad, full of +common-sense and without imagination.' + +'Was he of a sensitive, highly nervous temperament?' + +'Not to my knowledge. He has been always, and is still, I think, a man +of a singularly calm and even cold temper--not in the least nervous +nor particularly sensitive.' + +Armorel compared this estimate with that of her companion. Strange +that two persons should disagree so widely in their estimate of a man. + +'Then, three or four years ago, he suddenly blossomed out into a +painter. He invited his friends to his chambers. He told us that he +had a little surprise for us. And then he drew aside a curtain and +disclosed the first picture he thought worthy of exhibition. It hangs +on the wall above your head, Armorel, with its companion of the +following year. My father bought them and gave them to me.' + +Armorel got up to look at them. + +'Oh!' she cried. 'These are copies!' + +[Illustration: _'Oh!' she cried. 'These are copies!'_] + +'Copies? No. They are Alec's own original pictures. What makes you +think they are copies?' + +What made her think that they were copies was the very remarkable fact +that both pictures represented scenes among the Scilly Isles: that in +each of them was represented--herself--as a girl of fifteen or +sixteen: that the sketches for both these pictures had been made in +her own presence by the artist: that he was none other than Roland +Lee: and that the picture she had seen in his studio was done by the +same hand and in the same style as the two pictures before her. Of +that she had no doubt. She had so trained her eye and hand that there +could be no doubt at all of that fact. + +She stared, bewildered. Philippa, who was beside her looking at the +pictures, went on talking without observing the sheer amazement in +Armorel's eyes. + +'That was his first picture,' she continued; 'and this was the second. +I remember very well the little speech he made while we were all +crowding round the picture. "I am going," he said, "to make a new +departure. You all thought I was just following the beaten road at the +Bar. Well, I am trying a new and a shorter way to success. You see my +first effort." It was difficult to believe our eyes. Alec a painter? +One might as well have expected to find Alec a poet: and in a few +months he was a poet: and then a story-teller. And his poetry is as +good as it is made in these days; and his short stories are as good as +any of those by the French writers.' + +'What is the subject of this picture?' Armorel asked with an effort. + +'The place is somewhere on the Cornish coast, I believe. He always +paints the same kind of picture--always a rocky coast--a tossing +sea--perhaps a boat--spray flying over the rocks--and always a girl, +the same girl. There she is in both pictures--a handsome black-haired +girl, quite young--it might be almost a portrait of yourself when you +were younger, Armorel.' + +'Almost,' said Armorel. + +'This girl is now as well known to Alec's friends as Wouvermann's +white horse. But no one knows the model.' + +Armorel's memory went back to the day when Roland made that sketch. +She stood--so--just as the painter had drawn her, on a round boulder, +the water boiling and surging at her feet and the white foam running +up. Behind her the granite rock, grey and black. How could she ever +forget that sketch? + +'Alec is wonderful in his seas,' Philippa went on. 'Look at the bright +colour and the clear transparency of the water. You can feel it +rolling at your feet. Upon my word, Armorel, the girl is really like +you.' + +'A little, perhaps. Yes; they are good pictures, Philippa. The man who +painted them is a painter indeed.' + +She sat down again, still bewildered. + +Presently she heard Philippa's voice. 'What is it?' she asked. 'You +have become deaf and dumb. Are you ill?' + +'No--I am not ill. The sight of those pictures set me thinking. I will +go now, Philippa. If he speaks to me I will reply so that there can be +no mistake. But if he persists in following me about, I will ask you +to interfere.' + +'If necessary,' Philippa promised her. 'I will interfere for you. But +there is something in all this which I do not understand. Come again +soon, dear, and tell me everything.' + +When they began this talk, one girl was a little troubled, but not +much. The other was free from any trouble. When they parted, both +girls were troubled. + +One felt, vaguely, that danger was in the air. Zoe meant something by +constantly talking about her cousin Alec. What understanding was there +between him and that woman--that detestable woman? + +The other walked home in a doubt and perplexity that drove everything +else out of her head. What did those pictures mean? Had Roland given +away his sketches? Was there another painter who had the very touch of +Roland as well as his sketches? No, no; it was impossible. + +Suddenly she remembered something on the fragment of paper that Effie +picked up. The corner of the torn cheque--even the signature of Alec +Feilding. What did that mean? Why had Roland torn up a cheque signed +by Mr. Feilding? Why had he called that act the turning of the +footstep? + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +A CRITIC ON TRUTH + + +One painter may make use of another man's sketches for his own +pictures. The thing is conceivable, though one cannot recall, and +there is no record of, any such case. It is, perhaps, possible. +Portrait-painters have employed other men to paint backgrounds and +even hands and drapery. Now, the two pictures hanging in Philippa's +room were most certainly painted from Roland's sketches. If there were +any room for doubt the figure of Armorel herself in the foreground +removed that doubt. Therefore, Roland must have lent his sketches to +Mr. Feilding. What else did he lend? Can one man lend another his eye, +his hand, his sense of colour, his touch, his style? There was once, I +seem to have read, a man who sold his soul to the only Functionary who +buys such things, and keeps a stock of them second-hand, on the +condition that he should be able to paint as well as the immortal +Raffaello. He obtained his wish, because the Devil always keeps his +bargain to the letter, with the result that, instead of winning the +imperishable wreath for himself that he expected, he was never known +at all, and his pictures are now sold as those of the master whose +works they so miraculously resemble. Armorel had perhaps heard this +story somewhere. Could the cleverest man in all London have made a +similar transaction, taking Roland Lee for his model? If so, the Devil +had not cheated him at all, and he got out of the bargain all he +expected, because he not only painted quite as well as his master, and +in exactly the same style, so that it was impossible to distinguish +between them, but, which the other unfortunate did not get, all the +credit was given to him, while the original model or master languished +in obscurity. + +It was obvious to a trained eye, at very first sight, that the style +of the pictures was that of Roland Lee. He had a style of his own. The +first mark of genius in any art is individuality. His style was no +more to be imitated in painting than the style of Robert Browning can +be followed in poetry. Painters there are who have been imitated and +have created a school of imitators: even these can always be +distinguished from their copyists. The subtle touch of the master, the +personal presence of his hand, cannot be copied or imitated. In these +two pictures the hand of Roland was clearly, unmistakably visible. The +light thrown over them, the atmosphere with which they were +charged--everything was his. He had caught the September sunshine as +it lies over and enfolds the Scilly Islands--who should know that soft +and golden light better than Armorel?--he had caught the +transparencies of the seas, the shining yellows of the sea-weed, the +browns and purples of bramble and fern, the greyness and the blackness +of the rock: you could hear the rush of the water eddying among the +boulders; you could see the rapid movement of the sea-gulls' wings as +they swept along with the wind. Could another, even with the original +sketches lying before him, even with skill and feeling of his own, +reproduce these things in Roland's own individual style? + +'No,' she cried, but not aloud; 'I know these pictures. They are not +his at all. They are Roland's.' + +Every line of thought that she followed--to write these down would be +to produce another 'Ring and Book'--in her troubled meditations after +the discovery led her to the same conclusion. It was that at which she +had arrived in a single moment of time, without argument or reasoning, +and at the very first sight of the pictures. The first thought is +always right. 'They are Roland's pictures'--that was the first +thought. The second thought brings along the doubts, suggests +objections, endeavours to be judicial, deprecates haste, and calls for +the scales. 'They cannot,' said the second thought, 'be Roland's +paintings, because Mr. Feilding says they are his.' The third thought, +which is the first strengthened by evidence, declared emphatically +that they were Roland's, whatever Mr. Feilding might say, and could +be the work of none other. + +Therefore, the cleverest man in all London, according to everybody, +the best and most generous and most honourable, according to Armorel's +companion, was an impostor and a Liar. Never before had she ever heard +of such a Liar. + +Armorel, it is true, knew but little of the crooked paths by which +many men perform this earthly pilgrimage from the world which is to +the world which is to come. Children born on Samson--nay, even those +also of St. Mary's--have few opportunities of observing these ways. +That is why all Scillonians are perfectly honest: they do not know how +to cheat--even those who might wish to become dishonest, if they knew. +In her five years' apprenticeship the tree of knowledge had dropped +some of its baleful fruit at Armorel's feet: that cannot be avoided +even in a convent garden. Yet she had not eaten largely of the fruit, +nor with the voracity that distinguishes many young people of both +sexes when they get hold of these apples. In other words, she only +knew of craft and falsehood in general terms, as they are set forth in +the Gospels and by the Apostles, and especially in the Book of +Revelation, which expressly states the portion of liars. Yet, even +with this slight foundation to build upon, Armorel was well aware that +here was a fraud of a most monstrous character. Surely, there never +was, before this man, any man in the world who dared to present to the +world another man's paintings, and to call them his own? Men and women +have claimed books which they never wrote--witness the leading case of +the false George Eliot and the story told by Anthony Trollope; men +have pretended to be well-known writers--did I not myself once meet a +man in an hotel pretending to be one of our most genial of +story-tellers? Men have written things and pretended that they were +the work of famous hands. Literature--alas!--hath many impostors. But +in Art the record is clean. There are a few ghosts, to be sure, here +and there--sporadic spectres!--but they are obscure and mostly +unknown. Armorel had never heard or seen any of them. Surely there +never before was any man like unto this man! + +And, apart from the colossal impudence of the thing, she began to +consider the profound difficulties in carrying it out. Because, you +see, no one man, unaided, could carry it through. It requires the +consent, the silence, and the active--nay, the zealous--cooperation of +another man. And how are you to get that man? + +In order to get this other man--this active and zealous +fellow-conspirator--you must find means to persuade him to sacrifice +every single thing that men care for--honour, reputation, success. He +must be satisfied to pursue Art, actually and literally, for Art's own +sake. This is, I know, a rule of conduct preached by every art critic, +every æsthete, every lecturer or writer on Art. Yet observe what it +may lead to. Was there, for instance, an unknown genius who gave his +work to Giotto, with permission to call it his own? And was that +obscure genius content to sit and watch that work in the crowd, unseen +and unsuspected, while he murmured praises and thanksgiving for the +skill of hand and eye which had been given to him, but claimed by that +other young man, Messer Giotto? Did Turner have his ghost? Sublime +sacrifice of self! So to pursue Art for Art's sake as to give your +pictures to another man by which he may rise to honour--even, it may +be, to the Presidency of the Royal Academy, contented only with the +consciousness of good and sincere work, and with the possession of +mastery! It is beyond us: we cannot achieve this greatness--we cannot +rise to this devotion. Art hath no such votaries. By what persuasions, +then--by what bribes--was Roland induced to consent to his own +suicide--ignoble, secret, and shameful suicide? + +He must have consented; in no other way could the thing be done. He +must have agreed to efface himself--but not out of pure devotion to +Art. Not so. The Roland of the past survived still. The burning desire +for distinction and recognition still flamed in his soul. The +bitterness and shame with which he spoke of himself proved that his +consent had been wrung from him. He was ashamed. Why? Because another +bore the honours that should be his. Because he was a bondman of the +impostor. Of this Armorel was certain. Roland Lee--the man whom for +five long years she had imagined to be marching from triumph to +triumph--conqueror of the world--had sold himself--for what +consideration she knew not--hand and eye, genius and brain, heart and +soul--had sold himself into slavery. He had consented to a monstrous +and most impudent fraud! And the man who stood before the canvas in +public, writing his name in the corner, was--the noun appellative, the +proper noun--belonging to such an act. And her own friend--her gallant +hero of Art--what else was he in this conspiracy of two? You cannot +persuade a woman--such is the poverty of the feminine imagination--to +call a thing like this by any other name than its plain, simple, and +natural one. A man may explain away, find excuses, make suggestions, +point out extenuating circumstances, show how the force of events +destroys free will, and propose a surplice and a golden crown for the +unfortunate victim of fate, instead of bare shoulders and the +nine-clawed cat. But a woman--never. If the thing done is a Lie, the +man who did it is a ---- + +'Armorel,' said her companion--it was in the afternoon, and she had +been dozing after her lunch--'what is the matter? You have been +sitting in the window, which has a detestable view of a dismal street, +for two long hours without talking. At lunch you sat as if in a dream. +Are you ill? Has anything happened? Has the respectable Mr. Jagenal +robbed you of your money? Has Philippa been saying amiable things +about me?' + +'I have found out something which has disquieted me beyond +expression,' said Armorel, gravely. + +Zoe changed colour. 'Heavens!'--she laughed curiously. 'What has come +out now? Anything about me? One never knows what may come out next. It +is very odd what a lot of things may be said about everybody.' + +'My discovery has nothing to do with you, at least--no, nothing at +all.' + +'That is reassuring.' It certainly was, as everybody knows who does +not wish the curtain to draw up once again on the earlier and +half-forgotten scenes of the play. 'Perhaps it might relieve you, +dear, if you were to tell me. But do not think I am curious. Besides, +I dare say I could tell you more than you could tell me. Is it about +Philippa's hopeless attachment for the man who will never marry her, +and her cruelty to the reverend gentleman who will?' + +'No--no: it is nothing about Philippa. I know nothing about any +attachments.' + +'Well, you will tell me when you please.' Zoe relapsed into warmth and +silence. But she watched the girl from under her heavy eyelids. +Something had happened--something serious. Armorel pursued her +meditations, but in a different line. She now remembered that the +leader in this Fraud was the man whom Zoe professed to honour above +all other living men: could she tell this disciple what she had +discovered? One might as well inform Kadysha that her prophet Mohammed +was an epileptic impostor. And, again, he was Philippa's first cousin, +and she regarded him with pride, if not--as Zoe suggested--with a +warmer feeling still. How could she bring this trouble upon Philippa? + +And, again, it was Roland's secret. How could she reveal a thing which +would cover him with ridicule and discredit for the rest of his life? +She must be silent for the sake of everybody. + +'Zoe,' she sprang to her feet, 'don't ask me anything more. Forget +what I said. It is not my own secret.' + +'My dear child,' Zoe murmured, 'if nobody has run away with your +money, and if you have found out no mares' nests about me, I don't +mind anything. I have already quite forgotten. Why should I remember?' + +'Of course,' Armorel repeated impatiently--this companion of hers +often made her impatient--'there is nothing about you. It +concerns----' + +'Mr. Feilding.' + +It was only an innocent maid who opened the door to announce an +afternoon caller; but Armorel started, for really it was the right +completion to her sentence, though not the completion she meant to +make. + +He came in--the man of whom her mind was full--tall, handsome, calm, +and self-possessed. Authority sat, visible to all, upon his brow. His +dress, his manner, his voice, proclaimed the man who had +succeeded--who deserved to succeed. Oh! how could it be possible? + +Armorel mechanically gave him her hand, wondering. Then, quite in the +old style, and as a survival of Samson Island, there passed rapidly +through her mind the whole procession of those texts which refer to +liars. For the moment she felt curious and nervously excited, as one +who should talk with a man condemned. Then she came back to London and +to the exigencies of the situation. Yet it was really quite wonderful. +For he sat down and began to talk for all the world as if he was a +perfectly truthful person: and she rang the bell for tea, and poured +it out for him, as if she knew nothing to the contrary. That he, being +what he was, should so carry himself; that she, who knew everything, +should sit down calmly and put milk and sugar in his tea, were two +facts so extraordinary that her head reeled. + +Presently, however, she began to feel amused. It was like knowing +beforehand, so that the mind is free to think of other things, the +story and the plot of a comedy. She considered the acting and the +make-up. And both were admirable. The part of successful genius could +not be better played. One has known genius too modest to accept the +position, happiest while sitting in a dark corner. Here, however, was +genius stepping to the front and standing there boldly in sight of +all, as if the place was his by the double right of birth and of +conquest. + +He sat down and began to talk of Art. He seldom, indeed, talked about +anything else. But Art has many branches, and he talked about them +all. To-day, however, he discoursed on drawing and painting. He was +accustomed to patient listeners, and therefore he assumed that his +discourse was received with respect, and did not observe the +preoccupied look on the face of the girl to whom he discoursed--for +Zoe made no pretence of listening, except when the conversation seemed +likely to take a personal turn. Nor did he observe how from time to +time Armorel turned her eyes upon him--eyes full of astonishment--eyes +struck with amazement. + +Presently he descended for awhile from the heights of principle to the +lower level of personal topic. 'Mrs. Elstree tells me,' he said, +smiling with some condescension, 'that you paint--of course as an +amateur--as well as play. If you can draw as well as you can play you +are indeed to be envied. But that is, perhaps, too much to be +expected. Will you show me some of your work? And will you--without +being offended--suffer me to be a candid critic?' + +Armorel went gravely to her own room and returned with a small +portfolio full of drawings which she placed before him, still with the +wonder in her eyes. What would he say--this man who passed off another +man's pictures for his own? She stood at the table over him, looking +down upon him, waiting to see him betray himself--the first criminal +person--the first really wicked man--she had ever encountered in the +flesh. + +'You are not afraid of the truth?' he asked, turning over the +sketches. 'In Art--truth--truth is everything. Without truth there is +no Art. Truth and sincerity should be our aim in criticism as well as +in Art itself.' + +Oh! what kind of conscience could this man have who was able so to +talk about Art, seeing what manner of man he was? Armorel glanced at +Zoe, half afraid that he would convict himself in her presence. But +she seemed asleep, lying back in her cushions. + +His remarks were judgments. Once pronounced, there was no appeal. Yet +his judgments produced no effect upon the girl, not the least. She +listened, she heard, she acquiesced in silence. + +Perhaps because he was struck with her coldness he left off examining +the sketches, and began a learned little discourse about composition +and harmony, selection and grouping. He illustrated these remarks, not +obtrusively, but quite naturally, by referring to his own pictures, +appealing to Zoe, who lazily raised her head and murmured response, as +one who knew it all beforehand. Now, as to the discourse itself, +Armorel recognised every word of it already: she had read and had been +taught these very things. It showed, she thought, what a pretender the +man must be not to understand work that had been done by one who had +studied seriously, and already knew all that he was laboriously +enforcing. But she said nothing. It was, moreover, the lesson of a +professor, not of an artist. Between the professional critic who can +neither paint nor draw and the smallest of the men who can paint and +draw there is, if you please, a gulf fixed that cannot be passed over. + +'This drawing, for instance,' he concluded, taking up one from the +table, 'betrays exactly the weakness of which I have been speaking. It +has some merit. There is a desire for truth--without truth what are +we? The lights are managed with some dexterity, the colour has real +feeling. But consider this figure. From sheer ignorance of the +elementary considerations which I have been laying down, you have +placed it exactly in front. Had it been here, at the right, the effect +of the figure in bringing up the whole of the picture would have been +heightened tenfold. For my own part, I always like a figure in a +painting--a single figure for choice--a girl, because the treatment of +the hair and the dress lends itself to effect.' + +'His famous girl!' echoed Zoe. 'That model whom nobody is allowed to +see!' + +Now, the figure was placed in the middle for very excellent reasons, +and in full consideration of those very principles which this +expounder had been setting forth. But what yesterday would have +puzzled her, now amused her one moment and irritated her the next. + +He took up a crayon. 'Shall I show you,' he asked, 'exactly what I +mean?' + +'If you please. Here is a piece of paper which will do.' + +He spoke in the style which Matthew Arnold so much admired--the Grand +Style--the words clear and articulate, the emphasis just, the manner +authoritative. 'I will just indicate your background,' he said, +poising the pencil professionally--he looked as if the Grand Style +really belonged to him--'in two or three strokes, and then I will +sketch in your figure in the place--here--where it properly belongs. +You will see immediately, though, of course--your eye--cannot----' He +played with the chalk as one considering where to begin--but he did +not begin. Armorel remembered a certain day when Roland gave her his +first lesson, pencil in hand. Never was that pencil idle: it moved +about of its own accord: it was drawing all the time: it seemed to be +drawing out of its own head. Mr. Feilding, on the other hand, never +touched the paper at all. His pencil was dumb and lifeless. But +Armorel waited anxiously for him to begin. Now, at any rate, she +should see if he could draw. She was disappointed. The clock on the +overmantel suddenly struck six. Mr. Feilding dropped the crayon. 'Good +heavens!' he cried. 'You make one forget everything, Miss Rosevean. We +must put off the rest of this talk for another day. But you will +persevere, dear young lady, will you not? Promise me that you will +persevere. Even if the highest peak cannot be attained--we may not all +reach that height--it is something to stand upon the lower slope, if +it is only to recognise the greatness of those who are above and the +depths below--how deep they are!--of the world which knows no art. +Persevere--persevere! I will call again and help you, if I may.' He +pressed her hand warmly, and departed. + +'I really think,' said Zoe, 'that he believes you worth teaching, +Armorel. I have never known him give so much time to any one girl +before. And if you only knew how they flock about him!' + +'Zoe,' said Armorel, without answering this remark, 'you have seen all +Mr. Feilding's pictures, have you not?' + +'I believe, all.' + +'Do they all treat the same subject?' + +'Up to the present, he has exhibited nothing but sea and coast pieces, +headlands, low tide on the rocks, and so forth. Always with this +black-haired girl--something like you, but not much more than a +child.' + +'Did you ever see him actually at work?' + +'You mean working at an unfinished thing? No; never. He cannot endure +anyone in his studio while he is at work.' + +'Did he ever draw anything for you--any pen-and-ink sketch--pencil +sketch? Have you got any of his sketches--rough things?' + +'No. Alec has a secretive side to his character. It comes out in odd +ways. No one suspected that he could paint, or even draw, until, three +or four years ago, he suddenly burst upon us with a finished picture; +and then it came out that he had been secretly drawing all his life, +and studying seriously for years. Where he will break out next, I +don't know.' + +'He may break out anywhere,' said Armorel, 'except upon the fiddle. I +think that he will never play the fiddle. Yes, Zoe, he really is a +very, very clever man. He is certainly the very cleverest man in all +London.' + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +TO MAKE THAT PROMISE SURE + + +There are few instincts and impulses of imperfect human nature more +deeply rooted or more certain to act upon us than the desire to 'have +it out' with some other human creature. Women are especially led or +driven by this impulse, even among the less highly civilised to the +tearing out of nose- and ear-rings. You may hear every day at all +hours in every back street of every city the ladies having it out with +each other. In fact there is a perpetual court of Common Pleas being +held in these streets, without respite of holiday or truce, in which +the folk have it out with each other, while friends--sympathetic +friends--stand by and act as judges, jury, arbitrators, lawyers, and +all. Things are reported, things are said, things are done, a personal +explanation is absolutely necessary, before peace of mind can be +restored, or the way to future action become clearly visible. The two +parties must have it out. + +In Armorel's case she found that before doing anything she must see +that member of the conspiracy--if, indeed, there was a conspiracy--who +was her own friend: she must see Roland. She must know exactly what it +meant, if only to find out how it could be stopped. In plain words, +she must have it out. Those who obey a natural impulse generally +believe that they are acting by deliberate choice. Thus the doctrine +of free will came to be invented: and thus Armorel, when she took a +cab to the other studio, had no idea but that she was acting the most +original part ever devised for any comedy. + +As before, she found the artist in his dingy back room, alone. But the +picture was advancing. When she saw it, a fortnight before, it was +little more than the ghost of a rock with a spectral sea and a shadowy +girl beside the sea. Now, it was advanced so far that one could see +the beginnings of a fine painting in it. + +Roland stepped forward and greeted his old friend. Why--he was already +transformed. What had he done to himself? The black bar was gone from +his forehead: his eyes were bright: his cheeks had got something of +their old colour: his hair was trimmed, and his dress, as well as his +manner, showed a return to self-respect. + +'What happy thought brings you here again, Armorel?' he asked, with +the familiarity of an old friend. + +'I came to see you at work. Last time I came only to see you. Is it +permitted?' + +'Behold me! I am at work. See my picture--all there is of it.' + +Armorel looked at it long and carefully. Then she murmured +unintelligibly, 'Yes, of course. But there never could have been any +doubt.' She turned to the artist a face full of encouragement. 'What +did I prophesy for you, Roland? That you should be a great painter? +Well, my prophecy will come true.' + +'I hope, but I fear. I am beginning the world again.' + +'Not quite. Because you have never ceased to work. Your hand is firmer +and your eye is truer now than it was four years ago, when you--ceased +to exhibit. But you have never ceased to work. So that you go back to +the world with better things.' + +'They refused to buy my things before.' + +'They will not refuse now. Nay, I am certain. Don't think of money, my +old friend: you must not--you shall not think of money. Think of +nothing but your work--and your name. What ought to be done to a man +who should forget his name? He deserves to be deprived of his genius, +and to be cast out among the stupid. But you, Roland, you were always +keen for distinction--were you not?' + +He made no reply. + +'How well I know the place,' she said, standing before the picture. +'It is the narrow channel between Round Island and Camber Rock. Oh! +the dear, terrible place. When you and I were there, you remember, +Roland, the water was smooth and the sea-birds were flying quietly. I +have seen them driven by the wind off the island and beating up +against it like a sailing ship. But in September there are no puffins. +And I have seen the water racing and roaring through the channel, +dashing up the black sides of the rocks--while we lay off, afraid to +venture near. It was low tide when you made your sketch. I remember +the long, yellow fringing sea-weed hanging from the rock six feet +deep. And there is your girl sitting in the boat. Oh! I remember her +very well. What a happy time she had while you were with her, Roland! +You were the very first person to show her something of the outer +world. It seemed, when you were gone, as if you had taken that girl +and planted her on a high rock so that she could see right across the +water to the world of men and Art. You always keep this girl in your +pictures?' + +'Always in these pictures of coast and rock.' + +'Roland, I want you to make a change. Do not paint the girl of sixteen +in this picture. Let me be your model instead. Put me into the +picture. It is my fancy. Will you let me sit for you again?' + +'Surely, Armorel, if I may. It will be--oh, but you cannot--you must +not come to this den of a place.' + +'Indeed, I think it is not a nice place at all. But I shall stipulate +that you take another and a more decent studio immediately. Will you +do this?' + +'I will do anything--anything--that you command.' + +'You know what I want. The return of my old friend. He is on his way +back already.' + +'I know--I know. But whether he ever can come back again I know not. A +shade or spectre of him, perhaps, or himself, besmirched and smudged, +Armorel--dragged through the mud.' + +'No. He shall come back--himself--in spotless robes. Now you shall +take a studio, and I will come and sit to you. I may bring my little +friend, Effie Wilmot, with me? That is agreed, then. You will go, Sir, +this very morning and find a studio. Have you gone back to your old +friends?' + +'Not yet. I had very few friends. I shall go back to them when I have +got work to show. Not before.' + +'I think you should go back as soon as you have taken your new studio. +It will be safer and better. You have been too much alone. And there +is another thing--a very important thing--the other night you made me +a promise. You tore up something that looked like a cheque. And you +assured me that this meant nothing less than a return to the old +paths.' + +'When I tore up that accursed cheque, Armorel, I became a free man.' + +'So I understood. But when one talks of free men one implies the +existence of the master or owner of men who are not free. Have you +signified to that master or owner your intention to be his bondman no +longer?' + +'No. I have not.' + +'This man, Roland,' she laid her hand on his, 'tell me frankly, has he +any hold upon you?' + +'None.' + +'Can he injure you in any way? Can he revenge himself upon you? Is +there any old folly or past wickedness that he can bring up against +you?' + +'None. I have to begin the world again: that is the outside mischief.' + +'All your pictures you have sold to this man, Roland, with me in every +one?' + +'Yes, all. Spare me, Armorel! With you in every one. Forgive me if you +can!' + +'I understand now, my poor friend, why you were so cast down and +ashamed. What? You sold your genius--your holy, sacred genius--the +spirit that is within you! You flung yourself away--your name, which +is yourself--you became nothing, while this man pretends that the +pictures--yours--were his! He puts his name to them, not your +own--he shows them to his friends in the room that he calls his +studio--he sends them to the exhibition as his own--and yet you +have been able to live! Oh, how could you?--how could you? Oh! it +was shameful--shameful--shameful! How could you, Roland? Oh, my +master!--I have loaded you with honour--oh, how could you?--how +could you?' + +The vehemence of her indignation soon revived the old shame. Roland +hung his head. + +'How could I?' he repeated. 'Yes, say it again--ask the question a +thousand times--how could I?' + +'Forgive me, Roland! I have been thinking about it continually. It is +a thing so dreadful, and yesterday something--an unexpected +something--brought it back to my mind--and--and--made me understand +more what it meant. And oh, Roland, how could you? I thought, before, +that you had only idled and trifled away your time; but now I know. +And again--again--again--how could you?' + +'It is no excuse--but it is an explanation--I do not defend myself. +Not the least in the world--but ... Armorel, I was starving.' + +'Starving?' + +'I could not sell my pictures. No one wanted them. The dealers would +give me nothing but a few shillings apiece for them. I was penniless, +and I was in debt. A man who drops into London out of Australia has no +circle of friends and cousins who will stand by him. I was alone. +Perhaps I loved too well the luxurious life. I tried for employment on +the magazines and papers, but without success. In truth, I knew not +where to look for the next week's rent and the next week's meals. I +was a Failure, and I was penniless. Do you ask more?' + +'Then the man came----' + +'He came--my name was worth nothing--he asked me to suppress it. My +work--which no one would buy--he offered to buy for what seemed, in my +poverty, substantial prices if I would let him call it his own. What +was the bargain? A life of ease against the bare chance of a name with +the certainty of hard times. I was so desperate that I accepted.' + +'You accepted. Yes.... But you might have given it up at any moment.' + +'To be plunged back again into the penniless state. For the life of +ease, mark you, brought no ease but a bare subsistence. Only quite +lately, terrified by the success of the last picture, my employer has +offered to give me two thirds of all he gets. The cheque you saw me +tear up and burn was the first considerable sum I have ever received. +It is gone, and I am penniless again----' + +'And now that you are penniless?' + +'Now I shall pawn my watch and chain and everything else that I +possess. I shall finish this picture, and I will sell it for what the +dealers will give me for it. Too late, this year, for exhibition. And +so ... we shall see. If the worst comes I can carry a pair of boards +up and down Piccadilly, opposite to the Royal Academy, and dream of +the artistic life that once I hoped would be my own.' + +'You will do better than that, Roland,' said Armorel, moved to tears. +'Oh! you will make a great name yet. But this man--don't tell me his +name. Roland, promise me, please, not to tell me his name. I want +you--just now--to think that it is your own secret--to yourself. If I +should find it out, by accident, that would be--just now--my +secret--to myself. This man--you have not yet broken with him?' + +'Not yet.' + +'Will you go to him and tell him that it is all over? Or will you +write to him?' + +'I thought that I would wait, and let him come to me.' + +'I would not, if I were you. I would write and tell him at once, and +plainly. Sit down, Roland, and write now--at once--without delay. Then +you will feel happier.' + +'I will do what you command me,' he replied meekly. He had, indeed, +resolved with all his might and main that the rupture should be made; +but, as yet, he had not made it. + +'Get paper, then, and write.' + +He obeyed, and sat down. 'What shall I say?' he asked. + +'Write: "After four years of slavery, I mean to become a man once +more. Our compact is over. You shall no longer put your name to my +works; and I will no longer share in the infamy of this fraud. Find, +if you can, some other starving painter, and buy him. I have torn up +your cheque, and I am now at work on a picture which will be my own. +If there is any awkwardness about the subject and the style, in +connection with the name upon it, that awkwardness will be yours, not +mine." So--will you read it aloud? I think,' said Armorel, 'that it +will do. He will probably come here and bluster a little. He may even +threaten. He may weep. You will--Roland--are you sure--you will be +adamant?' + +'I swear, Armorel! I will be true to my promise.' + +Armorel heaved a sigh. Would he stand steadfast? He might have much to +endure. Would he be able to endure hardness? It is only the very young +man who can be happy in a garret and live contentedly on a crust. At +twenty-six or twenty-seven, the age at which Roland had now arrived, +one is no longer quite so young. The garret is dismal: the crust is +insipid, unless there are solid grounds for hope. Yet he had the solid +grounds of improved work--good work. + +'Should you be afraid of him?' she asked. + +'Afraid of him?' Roland laughed. 'Why, I never meet him but I curse +him aloud. Afraid of him? No. I have never been afraid of anything but +of becoming penniless. Poverty--destitution--is an awful spectre. And +not only poverty but--I confess, with shame----' + +'Oh! man of little faith'--she did not want to hear the end of that +confession--'you could not endure a single hour. You did this awful +thing for want of money.' + +'I did,' said Roland, meekly. + +'The Way of Pleasure and the Way of Wealth. I remember--you told me +long ago--they draw the young man by ropes. But not the girl. Why not +the girl? I have never felt this strange yearning for riot and excess. +In all the poetry, the novels, the pictures, and the plays the young +men are always being dragged by ropes to the Way of Pleasure. Are men +so different from women? What does it mean--this yearning? I cannot +understand it. What is your Way of Pleasure that it should attract you +so? Your poetry and your novels cannot explain it. I see feasting in +the Way of Pleasure, drinking, singing, dancing, gambling, sitting up +all night, and love-making. As for work, there is none. Why should the +young man want to feast? It is like a City Alderman to be always +thinking of banquets. Why should you want to drink wine perpetually? I +suppose you do not actually get tipsy. If you can sing and like +singing, you can sing over your work, I suppose. As for +love-making'--she paused. The subject, where a young man and a maiden +discuss it, has to be treated delicately. + +'I have always supposed'--she added, with hesitation, for experience +was lacking--'that two people fall in love when they are fitted for +each other. But in this, your wonderful Way of Pleasure, the poets +write as if every man was always wanting to make love to every woman +if she is pleasant to look at, and without troubling whether she is +good or bad, wise or silly. Oh! every woman! any woman! there is +neither dignity of manhood nor self-respect nor respect to woman in +this folly.' + +'You cannot understand any of it, Armorel,' said Roland. 'We ought all +of us to be flogged from Newgate to Tyburn.' + +'That would not make me understand. Flora, Chloe, Daphne, +Amaryllis--they are all the same to the poet. A pretty girl seems all +that he cares for. Can that be love?' + +'--And back again,' said Roland. + +'Still I should not understand. In the poetry I think that love-making +comes first, and eating and drinking afterwards. As for love-making,' +she spoke philosophically, as one in search of truth, 'as for +love-making, I believe I could wait contentedly without it until I +found exactly the one man I could love. But that I should take a +delight in writing or singing songs about making love to every man who +was a handsome fellow--any man--every man--oh! can one conceive such a +thing? There is but one Way of Pleasure to such as you, Roland. If I +could paint so good a picture as this is going to be, it would be a +life-long joy. I should never, never, never tire of it. I should want +no other pleasure--nothing better--than to work day after day, to work +and study, to watch and observe, to feel the mastery of hand and eye. +Oh! Roland--with this before you--with this'--she pointed to the +picture--'you sold your soul--you--you--you!--for feasting and +drinking and--and--perhaps----' + +'No, Armorel: no. Everything else if you like, but not love-making.' + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE DRAMATIST + + +If Mrs. Elstree was Armorel's official and authorised companion, her +private unpaid companion was Effie Wilmot. The official companion was +resident in the chambers, and was seen with her charge at the theatres +and concerts. The private unpaid companion went about with her all day +long, sat with her in her own room, knew what she thought, and talked +with her of the things she loved to discuss. So that, though the +representative of Order and Propriety had less to do, the unpaid +attachée had a much more lively time. Fortunately, the official +companion was best pleased when there was nothing to do. In those +days, when London was as yet an unknown land to both of them, the +girls went together to see things. Nobody knows what a great quantity +of things there are to see in London when you once set yourself +seriously to explore this great unknown continent. Captain Magalhaens +himself, crossing the Pacific Ocean for the first time, did not +experience a more interesting and exciting time than these two girls +in their walks in and about the great town, new to both. They were as +ravenous as American tourists beginning their European round. And, +like them, they consulted their Baedeker, their Hare, and their Peter +Cunningham. Pictures there are, all in the West-End; museums, with +every kind of treasure; historic houses--alas! not many; libraries; +art galleries of all kinds; cathedrals, churches, ancient and modern; +old streets, whose paving-stones are inscribed in the closest print +with the most wonderful recollections; old sites, broken fragments, +even. Every morning the two girls wandered forth, sometimes not coming +home until late in the afternoon. Then Effie went back to her lodging, +and spent the evening working at her verses; while Armorel practised +her violin, or read and dreamed away the time opposite her companion, +who sat for the most part in silence, gazing into the firelight, lying +back in her easy-chair beside the fire. + +These ramblings belong to another book--the Book of the Things Left +Out. I could show you, dear reader, many curious and interesting +places visited by these two pilgrims, but one must not in this place +write these down, because Armorel's story is not Armorel's history. +Let us always be careful to distinguish. Besides, the events which +have to be related destroyed, as you will see, the calm and +tranquillity necessary for the proper enjoyment of such ramblings. +First, this discovery concerning the pictures. Who can visit old +churches and museums with a mind full of wrath and bitterness? So +wrathful was Armorel in considering the impudence of the fraud she had +discovered: so bitter was she in considering the cowardice of her old +hero: that she even failed to observe the unmistakable signs of +trouble which at this time showed themselves in her friend's face. If +not a beautiful face, it was expressive. When the projecting forehead +showed a thick black line: when the deep-set eyes were ringed with +dark circles: when the pale cheeks grew paler and more hollow: and +when the girl, who was generally so bright and animated, became silent +and _distraite_, something was wrong. + +'What is it, Effie?' Armorel asked, waking up. 'I have asked you three +questions, and have received no answer. And you are looking ill. Has +anything gone wrong?' + +'Oh!' cried Effie, 'it is horrid! You are in troubles of your own, and +you want me to add to them by telling you about mine.' + +'I am in trouble, dear. And it makes me selfish and blind. You know +partly what it is about. It is about the Life that has gone wrong. I +have found out why and how. But I can never tell you or anybody. Never +mind. Tell me about yourself.' + +'It is more about my brother than myself. You know that Archie has +been writing a play?' + +'Yes. You write verses which you have never shown me; and your brother +writes plays. I shall see both some day, perhaps.' + +'Whenever you like. But Archie has now finished his play.' + +'Yes?' + +'That means to him more than I can possibly tell you. He has been +living for that play, and for nothing else. It has filled his brain +day and night. Never was so much trouble given to a play before, I am +sure. It is himself.' + +'I understand.' + +'Well--then--you will understand also what he feels when he has been +told that his play is utterly worthless.' + +'Who told him that?' + +'A great authority--a writer of great reputation--the only living +writer whom we have ever known.' + +'Well--but--Effie, if a great authority says this, it is frightful.' + +'It would be, but for one thing, which you shall hear afterwards. +However, he did confess that some of the situations were fine. But the +dialogue, he said, was unfitted for the stage, and no manager would so +much as look at the play.' + +'Poor Archie! What a dreadful blow! What does he say?' + +'He is utterly cast down. He sits at home and broods. Sometimes he +swears that he will tear up the thing and throw it into the fire; +sometimes he recovers a little of his old confidence in it. He will +not eat anything, and he does not sleep; and I can find nothing to say +that will comfort him. If I knew anyone who would give him another +opinion--the play cannot be so bad. Armorel, will you read the play?' + +'But, my dear, I am no critic. What would be the good of my reading +it?' + +'I would rather have your criticism than'--she hesitated--'than +anybody's. Because you can feel--and you have the artist's soul; and +everybody has not----though he may paint such beautiful pictures,' she +added rather obscurely. + +'Well, I will read the play, or hear him read it, if you think it will +do him any good, Effie. I will go with you at once.' + +'Oh! will you, really? Archie will be shy at first. The last criticism +caused him so much agony that he dreads another. But yours will be +sympathetic, at least. You will understand what he meant, even if he +has not succeeded--poor boy!--in putting on the stage what was in his +heart. When he sees that you do feel for him, it will be different. +Oh! Armorel!'--the tears rose to her eyes--'you cannot know what that +play has been to both of us. We have talked over every situation: we +have rehearsed all the dialogue. I know it by heart, I think. I could +recite the whole of it, straight through. We have cried over it, and +laughed over it. I have dressed dolls for all the parts, and one of us +made them act while the other read the play. And, after all, to be +told that it is worthless! Oh! It is a shame! It is a shame! And it +isn't worthless. It is a great, a beautiful play. It is full of +tenderness, and of strength as well.' + +'Let us go at once, Effie.' + +'What a good thing it was for me that the Head of the Reading Room +sent me to you! I little thought I was going to make such a +friend'--she took Armorel's hand--'We had no friends--yes, there was +one, but he is no true friend. We have had no friends at all, and we +thought to make our way without any.' + +'You came to London to conquer the world--such a great giant of a +world--you and your brother, Jack the Giant Killer.' + +'Ah! But we had read, somewhere, that the world is a good-natured +giant. He only asks to be amused. If you make him laugh or cry, and +forget, somehow, his own troubles--the world is full of troubles--he +will give in at once. Archie was going to make him laugh and cry; I +was going to tickle him with pretty rhymes. But you may play for him, +act for him, dance for him, paint for him, sing for him, make stories +for him--anything that you will, and he will be subdued. That is what +we read, and we kept on repeating this assurance to each other, but as +yet we have not got very far. The great difficulty seems to make him +look at you and listen to you.' + +'My dear, you shall succeed.' + + * * * * * + +The young dramatist was sitting at his table, as melancholy as Keats +might have been after the _Quarterly Review's_ belabouring. He looked +wretched: there was no pretence at anything else: it was unmitigated +wretchedness. Despair sat upon his countenance, visible for all to +see: his hair had not apparently been brushed, nor his collar changed, +since the misery began: he seemed to have gone to bed in his clothes. +Trouble does thus affect many men. It attacks even their clothes as +well as their hair and their minds. The manuscript was lying on the +table before him, but the pen was dry: he had no longer any heart to +correct the worthless thing. It was the hour of his deepest dejection. +The day before he had plucked up a little courage: perhaps the critic +was wrong: to-day all was blackness. + +'Here is Armorel, Archie!' cried Effie, with the assumption of +cheerfulness. + +'I have come to ask a favour,' said Armorel, taking the hand that was +mechanically extended. 'I hear that your play is finished, and I am +told that it is a beautiful play.' + +'No--it isn't,' said the author. + +'And that an unkind critic has said horrid and unkind things about it. +And I want to read it, if I may. Oh! I am not a great critic, but, +indeed, Archie, I have some feeling for Art and for things beautiful. +May I read it?' + +'The play is perfectly worthless,' he replied sternly, but with signs +of softening. 'It is only waste of time to read it. Better throw it +behind the fire!' He seized the manuscript as he spoke, but he did not +throw it behind the fire. + +'Is your critic a dramatist?' + +'No. He has never written a play that I know of. But he is a great +authority. Everybody would acknowledge that.' + +'A critic who has never written a play may very easily make mistakes,' +said Armorel. 'You have only to read the critiques of pictures in the +papers written by men who cannot paint. They are full of mistakes.' + +'This man would not make a mistake, would he, Effie?' + +'Well, dear, I think he might, and besides, remember what he said at +the conclusion.' Armorel sat down. 'Now,' she said, 'tell me first +what the play is about, and then read it, or let Effie read it. I am +sure she will read it a great deal better than you.' + +He hesitated. He was ashamed to show his miserable work to a second +critic. And yet he longed to have another opinion, because, when he +came to think about it, he could not understand why the thing could be +called worthless. + +He yielded. He read, with faltering accents, the scenario which he had +prepared with so much pride. Now it was like unrolling a canvas daubed +for the scenery of Richardson's Show. He took no more pride in it. + +'Oh!' cried Armorel, interrupting. 'This seems to me a very fine +situation.' + +'My critic said that some of the situations were fine.' + +He went on to the end without further interruption. + +'Now, Effie,' said Armorel, 'you will read it aloud while your brother +plays it with his dolls. Then I am sure to catch the points.' + +Archie sat up, and began to place his dolls while Effie read. He was +so expert in manipulating his puppets that he made them actually +represent the piece, changing the groups every moment, while Effie, +dropping the manuscript, folded her arms and recited the play, +watching Armorel's face. + +This was quite another kind of critic. It was such a critic as the +playwright loves when he sits in his box and watches the people in the +house--a face which is easily moved to laughter or to tears, which +catches the points and feels the story. There are thousands of such +faces in every theatre every night. It is for them that the play is +written, and not for the critic, who comes to show his superiority by +picking out faults and watching for slips. For two hours, not pausing +for the division of the acts, Effie went on, her soft voice rising and +falling, the passion indicated but repressed; and Archie watched, and +moved his groups, and the audience of one sat motionless but not +unmoved. + +'What?' she cried, springing to her feet and clasping her hands. It is +easy for this fine gesture to become theatrical and unreal, but +Armorel was never unreal. 'He dared to call this splendid play--this +glorious play--oh, this beautiful, sweet, and noble play!'--here +Archie's eyes began to fill, and his lips to quiver: he was but a +young dramatist, and of praise he had as yet had none--'he dared to +call this worthless?' + +'He said it was utterly worthless,' said Effie. + +'He said,' Archie added, 'that the language was wholly unfitted for +the stage. And then--then--after he'd said that, he offered to give me +fifty pounds for it.' + +'Fifty pounds for a play quite worthless?' + +'On the condition that he was to bring it out himself if he pleased, +under his own name.' + +'Oh! but this is monstrous! Can there be,' asked Armorel, thinking of +the pictures, 'two such men in London?' + +'If I would let him call it his own! He wants to take my +play--mine--to do what he likes with it--to bring it out as if it was +his own! Never! Never! I would rather starve first.' + +'What did you tell him?' + +'He said that he would wait for an answer. I have sent him none as +yet.' + +'When you do,' said Armorel, 'let there be no hesitation or +possibility of mistaking. Oh! If I could tell you a thing that I +know!' + +'I will put it quite plainly. Effie, am I the same man? I feel +transformed. What a difference it makes only to think that, perhaps, +after all one is not such a dreadful failure!' In fact, he looked +transformed. The trouble had gone out of him--out of his face--out of +his hair--out of his clothes--out of his attitude. Armorel even +fancied that his limp, day-before-yesterday's collar had become white +and starched again. That may have been mere fancy, but joy certainly +produces very strange effects. + +'I would have sent an answer before,' he said, 'but it is so unlucky +for Effie. This great man--this critic--is the only editor who would +ever take her verses. And now, of course, he will be offended, and +will never take any more.' + +'He shall not have any more,' said Effie, with red cheeks. + +'Oh! But that would be horribly mean. Well, Archie, I will begin by +taking advice. I know a dramatic critic--his name is Stephenson. I +will ask him what you should do next, and I will ask him about your +verses, Effie, too--those verses which you are always going to show +me.' + +'I tell her,' said her brother, 'that she will easily find another +editor. You would say so too, if you were to see her verses. I am +always telling her she ought to show them to you.' + +The poet blushed. 'Some day, perhaps, when I am very courageous.' + +'No--to-day.' Archie opened a drawer and took out a manuscript book +bound in limp brown leather. 'I will read you one,' he said. + +'Of course, you will say kind things,' said the poet. 'But you cannot +deceive me, Armorel. I shall tell by your eyes and by your face if you +really like my rhymes.' + +'Well, I will read one, and I will lend you the volume, and then you +will see whether Effie hasn't got her gifts as well as anybody else.' + +He turned over the pages, selected a poem, and read it. The lines +showed, first of all, the command that comes of long and constant +practice; and next, they were sweet, simple, and pure in tone. + +'Strange!' said Armorel. 'I seem to have heard something like them +before--a phrase, perhaps. Where did I read only the other day?... +Never mind. But, Effie, this is not ordinary girl's verse.' + +'Oh! you really like it?' + +'Of course I like it. But it is so strange--I seemed to know the +style. May I borrow the whole volume? I will be very careful with it. +Thank you. I will carry it home with me. And now--I have thought of a +plan. Listen, Archie. You know that many young dramatists bring out +their pieces first at a matinée. Now, suppose that you read your +piece, Archie, in my rooms in the evening. Should you like to do so?' + +'I read badly,' he said. 'Could Effie read or recite it?' + +'The very thing. Bring your dolls along and arrange your groups, while +Effie recites. You will do that, Effie?' + +'I will do anything that will help Archie.' + +'Very well, then. We will get an evening fixed as soon as possible. I +fear we shall have to wait a week at least. I will get my dramatic +critic and a few more people, and we will have a private performance +of our own. And then we shall defy this critic who said the piece was +worthless--and then wanted to buy it and to bring it out as his own. I +could not have believed,' she added, 'that there were two such +impudent pretenders and liars to be found in the whole of London.' + +'Two?' asked Ellie, changing colour. 'There can be only one.' + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +AN HONOURABLE PROPOSAL + + +At the same time Mr. Alec Feilding, whose ears ought to have been +burning, was engaged in a serious conversation in his own studio with +Armorel's companion. The conversation took the form of reproach. 'I +expected,' he said--'I had a right to expect--greater devotion--more +attention to business. It was not for play that you undertook the +charge of this girl. How long have you been with her? Three months? +And no more influence with her than when you began.' + +'Not a bit more,' Mrs. Elstree replied. She had of course taken the +most comfortable chair by the fire. 'Not a bit, my dear Alec. What is +more, I never shall have any influence over her. A society girl I +could manage. I know what she wants, and how she looks at things. With +such a girl as Armorel I am powerless.' + +'She is a woman, I suppose.' He occupied a commanding position on his +own hearthrug, towering above his visitor, but yet he did not command +her. + +'Therefore, you think, open to flattery and artful wiles. She is a +woman, and yet, strange to say, not open to flattery.' + +'Rubbish! It is because you are too stupid or too careless to find out +the weak point.' + +'To return, Alec: I have failed. I have no influence at all upon this +girl. I have spent hours and hours in singing your praise. I have +enlarged upon the absolute necessity of giving you a rest from +business cares. I have proposed that she and I together--that was the +way I put it--should buy a share in the paper, and that she should +advance my half. Oh! I grew eloquent on the glory that two women thus +coming to the relief of a man like yourself would achieve in after +years. I tried to speak from my heart, Alec.' The woman caught his +hand, but he drew it away. 'Oh! you deserve no help. You are +hard-hearted, and you are selfish: you have broken every promise you +ever made me: you spend all that you have in selfish pleasures: you +leave me almost without assistance----' + +'When I have got you into the easiest and most luxurious berth that +can be imagined; when I have asked you for nothing but a simple----' + +'Yes, dear Alec, but you see that an honest acknowledgment would be +worth all this goodness. Well, I say that I spoke from my heart, +because in spite of all I was proud of my man--mine, yes, though +Philippa still imagines, poor wretch!' + +'Do leave my cousin's name out of it, will you, Zoe?' he said, a +little less roughly. + +'I am proud of the man who is acknowledged to be the cleverest man in +London.' She got up and began to walk about the studio. She stopped +before the picture. 'Do you know, Alec--I am not a critic, but I can +feel a thing--that this is quite the best work you have ever done. Oh! +Those waves, they live and dance; and those birds, they fly; and the +air is so warm and soft!--you are a great painter. Odd! your girl is +curiously like Armorel. One would fancy your model was Armorel at +sixteen or so--a lovely girl she must have been then, and a lovely +woman she is now.' Zoe left the picture and began to look at the +papers on the table. 'What is this--the new story? Is it good?' + +'To you, Zoe, I may confess that it is as good as anything I have ever +done.' + +'You are really splendid, Alec! What is this?' She took up a very +neatly written page in his handwriting. 'Poetry?' + +'Those are some verses for next week's journal. I think there is no +falling off there, Zoe.' + +'Have you got another copy?' + +'There is the copy that has gone to the printers'.' + +'Then I will take this. It will do for a present--the autograph +original draft of the poem--or I may keep it.' + +'Zoe, come back and sit down. We must talk seriously.' + +She returned and took up her old position by the fire. 'As seriously +as you please. It means something disagreeable--something to do with +money. Let us get it over. To go back to what we were saying, +therefore. I cannot get you that money from Armorel. And at the very +word of money she refers one to her lawyer. No confidence at all, as +between friends who love each other. That is the position, Alec.' She +sat with her hands clasped over her right knee. + +'I must have some money,' he said. + +'Then, as I have before remarked, Alec--make it.' + +'If one cannot have money, Zoe, one may get credit, which is sometimes +just as good.' + +'I cannot help you in getting credit.' + +'Perhaps you can. You can help me, Zoe, by keeping quite quiet.' + +'Oh! I am always quiet. I have remained quiet for three years and +more, while you flirt with countesses and cousins. How much more quiet +do you wish me to remain? While you marry them?' + +'Not quite that, my child. But next door to it. While I get engaged to +one of them--to one who has money.' + +'Not--Philippa.' + +'No--I told you before. What the devil is the good of harping on +Philippa? You see, if I can let it be understood that I am going to +marry an heiress, the difficulties will be tided over. Therefore I +shall get engaged to your charge--Armorel Rosevean.' + +'Oh!' Zoe received this proposition with coldness. 'This is a charming +thing for me to sanction, isn't it?' + +'It will do you no harm.' + +'I have certainly endured things as bad.' + +'You see, Zoe, one could always break off the thing when the time +came.' + +'Certainly.' + +'And you would know all the time that it was a mere pretence.' + +'I should certainly know that.' + +'Well; is there any other observation?' + +'You would make it an open engagement--go about with her--have it +publicly known?' + +'Of course. The whole point is publicity. I must be known to be +engaged to an heiress.' + +'And it would last----' + +'As long as might prove necessary. One could find an excuse at any +time for breaking it off.' + +'Or I could.' + +'Just so. It really amounts to nothing at all.' + +'To nothing at all!' Zoe neither raised her voice nor her eyes. 'Here +is a man who proposes to pretend love and to win a girl's affections, +when he can never marry her. He also proposes to throw her over, as +soon as she has served his purpose. It is nothing at all, of course! +Alec, you are really a wonderful man!' + +'Nonsense! The thing is done every day.' + +'No--not every day. If you are the cleverest man in London, you are +also the most heartless.' + +'You know that you can say what you please,' he replied, without any +outward sign of annoyance. 'Even heroics.' + +'But,' she said, nursing her knee and swinging backwards and forwards, +'we have forgotten one thing--the most important thing of all, in +fact. My poor boy, there is no more chance of your being engaged to +Armorel than of your entering into the Kingdom of Heaven.' + +'Why?' + +'Other girls you might catch: you are tall and big and handsome; and +you have the reputation of being so very, very clever. Most girls +would be carried away. But not Armorel. She is not subdued by bigness +in men, and she doesn't especially care for a clever man. She is +actually so old-fashioned--think of it!--that she wants--character.' + +'Well! What objection would that raise, I should like to know?' + +Zoe laughed softly and sweetly. + +'Don't you see, dear Alec? Oh! But you must let Armorel explain to +you.' + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +NOT TWO MEN, BUT ONE + + +Great is the power of coincidence. Things have got a habit of +happening just when they are most likely to be useful. It is not on +the stage alone that the long-lost uncle turns up, or the long-missing +will is found in the cupboard. And you cannot invent for fiction +anything half so strange as the daily coincidence of common life. A +tolerably long experience of the common life has convinced me of this +great truth. Therefore, the coincidence which happened to Armorel on +the very day when the young dramatist unfolded his griefs will not, by +wise men, be thought at all strange. + +It was in the evening. She was sitting with her companion, thinking +over Archie and his play. Was it really good? Was it good enough to +hold the stage, and to command the attention of the audience? To her +it seemed a singularly beautiful, poetical, and romantic piece. But +Armorel was of a lowly and humble mind. She knew that she had no +experience in things dramatic. Had it been a picture, now---- + +'Oh!' cried her companion, suddenly starting upright in the cushioned +chair where she was lying apparently asleep, 'I had almost forgotten. +My dear, I have got a present for you.' + +'From yourself, Zoe?' + +'Yes; from myself. It is a present which cost me nothing, but is worth +a good deal. The making of it cost nobody anything. Yet it is a very +precious thing. The material of which it is made is worth nothing. Yet +the thing is worth anything you please.' + +'It must be a picture, then.' + +'It is a Work of Art, but not a picture. Guess again.' + +'No; I will not guess any more. May I have it without guessing?' + +Zoe held in her hands a small roll of blue paper. This she now opened, +and gazed at the writing upon it with idolatry: but it hardly carried +conviction with it--perhaps it was a little overdone. + +'Least imaginative of girls,' she said. It pleased her to consider +Armorel's refusal to join in that little scheme of hers as proving a +lack of imagination. 'I have brought you, though you do not deserve +it, what any other girl in London would give--would give--a dance, +perhaps, to obtain, and you shall have it for nothing.' + +'I want to hear what it is.' + +'It is nothing less, Armorel, nothing less--I got it to-day from the +table in his studio--than an autograph: it is the copy used by the +printers--an autograph poem of Alec's! An autograph poem, as yet +unpublished.' + +'Is that all?' replied the least imaginative of girls. 'You must not +give it to me, really. You will value it far more than I shall. +Besides, I suppose it is to be published some day.' + +'But the original manuscript--the autograph poem, dear child! Don't +you know the value of such a thing? Take it. You shall be enriched in +spite of yourself. Take it and put it aside somewhere in your desk, in +some safe place. Heavens! if one had the autograph of a poem of Byron, +for example!' + +'Mr. Feilding is not Byron,' said Armorel, coldly. 'He may write +pretty feminine verses, but he is not Byron. Thank you, however. I +will take it, and I will keep it and value it because you think it +valuable. I do not suppose the autograph verses of small poets are +worth keeping; but still--as you value it' ... + +This was very ungracious and ungrateful. But she was really tired of +Mr. Feilding's praises, and after the discovery of the pictures, and +after the strange story she had heard only that morning--no; she +wanted to hear no more, for the present, of the praises of this +man--the cleverest man in London! + +However, she unrolled the paper, and began to read the contents, at +first carelessly. Then, 'Oh! what is this?' she cried. + +'What is what?' asked Mrs. Elstree. + +'This is a copy.' + +They were the same words as she had used concerning the pictures. She +remembered this, and a strange suspicion seized her. 'A copy,' she +repeated, wondering. + +'A copy? Not at all. They are the verses which are to appear in the +next number of the journal--or the number after next. Alec's own +verses, of course. Sweetly pretty, I think: what makes you say that +they are copied?' + +'I thought that I had seen them--something like them--somewhere +before.' She went on reading. As she read she remembered the lines +more clearly. + +'What is the matter, Armorel?' asked Zoe. 'What makes you look so +fierce? Heaven help your husband when you look like that!' + +'Did I look fierce? It must have been something that I remembered. +Yes--that was it.' + +'May I read the verses again?' Zoe read them, suspiciously. There was +something in them which had startled Armorel. What was it? She could +see nothing to account for this emotion. Certainly she was not fond of +poetry, and failed to appreciate the fine turns and subtle tones, the +felicitous phrase and the unexpected thought with which the poet +delights his readers. In this little poem she could find nothing but a +few jingling rhymes. Why should Armorel behave so strangely? + +'What is it, my dear?' she asked again. + +'Something I remembered--nothing of any importance.' + +'Armorel, has Alec said anything to you? Has he--has he wanted to make +love to you? Has he offended you by speaking?' + +'No. There has been no question of love-making between us, and there +never will be.' + +'One cannot say.' Zoe looked at the matter from experience. 'One can +never say. Men are strange creatures; and Alec certainly thinks a +great deal of you.' + +'I cannot imagine his making love--any more than I can imagine his +painting a picture or writing a poem. Perhaps he would make love as he +paints.' + +'Well, he paints very well.' + +'Very well indeed, I dare say.' She got up. 'I am going to leave you +to-night, Zoe. I want to go to my own room. I have things to write. +You don't mind?' + +'My dear child, mind! Of course, one would rather have your company. +But since you must leave me'--she sank back in her chair with a sigh. +'Give me that book, dear--if you please--the French novel. When one +has been married one can read French novels without trying to conceal +the fact. They are mostly wicked, and sometimes witty. Not always. +Good-night, dear. I shall not expect you back this evening.' + +Armorel, in her own room, opened the manuscript book of poems which +Archie had given her, and found--the very last of all--the lines which +she had remembered. She laid the precious autograph beside Effie's +poem. Word for word--comma for comma--they were exactly the same. +There was not the slightest difference. And again Armorel thought of +the two pictures. + +Then she thought of the little dainty volume in white parchment +containing the Second Series of 'Voice and Echo, by Alec Feilding.' +She had tossed it aside, impatient with the man, when Zoe gave it to +her. Now she looked for it, and found it after a little search. She +opened it side by side with Effie's manuscript book. Presently she +found the page in Effie's book which corresponded with the first page +of the printed volume. There were about thirty or forty poems in the +little book: in the manuscript book there were double that number; but +the same poems followed each other one after the other in the same +order, and without the difference of a single word, both in book and +manuscript. + +This discovery justifies my remarks about the common coincidences of +daily life. + +Again Armorel remembered that Zoe possessed another volume--the First +Series of 'Voice and Echo, by Alec Feilding.' It was lying--she had +seen it in the afternoon--in the drawing-room. She went in search of +it, and returned without waking her companion, who had apparently +fallen asleep over her novel. + +As a matter of fact, Mrs. Elstree was not sleeping. She was broad +awake, but she was curious. She desired to know what it all meant: why +Armorel was suddenly struck with hardness, why her cheek burned, and +her eyes flashed; and what she wanted in the drawing-room. She +perceived that Armorel had come in search of Alec's first volume of +verse. Oh! Alec's first volume of verse. Now--what might Armorel want +with that book? + + * * * * * + +At the end of March it is light at about half-past five. Everybody is +then in their soundest sleep. But at that hour Mrs. Elstree came +softly out of her bedroom, wrapped in a dressing-gown, her feet in +soft slippers of white wool, and looked at the books and papers on the +table in Armorel's room. There was a manuscript volume of verse, +professing to be by one Effie Wilmot. There were also two printed +little volumes, bound in white-and-gold, containing verses by one Alec +Feilding. Strange and wonderful! The verses in both books were exactly +the same! Mrs. Elstree returned to bed, thoughtful. + + * * * * * + +Armorel, for her part, when she returned to her own room, compared the +first series of poems, as she had compared the second, with the +manuscript book. And the first series, too, word for word, was the +same as the earlier poems in the book. + +'Good heavens!' cried Armorel. 'The man steals his verses, as he +steals his pictures! Poor Effie! She is as bad as Roland!' + +This was Thought the First. One has already seen how the three +Thoughts treated her before. This time it was just the same. Thought +the Second came next, and began to argue. A very capable logician is +Thought the Second, once distinguished for what Oxford men call +Science. If, said Thought the Second, the manuscript and the volumes +agree, it seems to show that Effie has copied the latter into her own +book, and now tries to pass the poems off as her own. Such things have +been done. If this was the case--and why not?--Effie would be, indeed, +a girl full of deceit and desperately wicked. But then, how came Effie +to have in her volume a poem hitherto unpublished, which was lying on +Mr. Feilding's table? Yet, surely, it was quite as probable that the +girl should deceive her as that the man should deceive the world. + +Next. Thought the Third. This sage remarked calmly, 'The man is full +of villany. He has deceived the world in the matter of the pictures. +Why not also in the matter of the poems? But let us consider the +character of the verses. Take internal evidence.' Then Armorel read +the whole series right through in the two little printed volumes. Oh! +They were feminine. Only a woman could write these lines. Womanhood +breathed in every one. Now that the key was supplied, she understood. +She recognised the voice, eager, passionate, of her friend. + +'They are all Effie's!' she cried again; 'all--all. The man has stolen +his verses as well as his pictures.' + +This discovery, when she had quite made up her mind that it was as +true as the former, entirely fell in with all that Effie had told her +concerning herself. She had sold her poems all to one editor--he was +the only editor who would ever take them--and now she was afraid that +he would take no more. Why?--why?--because--oh, now she understood +all--because he wanted to be a dramatist in the same way that he was a +painter and a poet, and neither Archie nor his sister would consent! +'Yes,' she said, 'he is, indeed, the cleverest man in London.' + +Before she went to bed that night she had devised a little plan--quite +an ingenious clever little plan. You shall hear what it was, and how +it came off. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE PLAY AND THE COMEDY + + +Armorel arranged for the reading of the play one evening four or five +days later. It was a short notice, but she secured the people whom she +wanted most, and trusted to chance for the others. She occupied +herself in the interval in arranging the details and leading +situations for a little comedy drama of her own--a play of some +melodramatic force, in which, as in 'Hamlet,' a certain guilty person +was to discover by a kind of dumb show that his guilt was known to +her. It was to be a comedy which no one, except herself, was to +understand. You shall see, directly, what an extremely clever little +comedy it was, and how effective to the person principally concerned. +She said nothing at all about this comedy even to Effie. As for words, +there were none. They were left to the principal character. This is, +indeed, the ancient and original drama. The situations were, at the +outset, devised beforehand. The actors filled in the dialogue. This +form of drama is still kept up, and with vigour. When the schoolboy +sets the booby-trap, or sews up the shirt-sleeves, or greases the +side-walk--if that old situation is still remembered--or practises any +other kindly and mirthful sally, the victim supplies the words. The +confidence trick in all its branches is another form of the primitive +drama, and this evening's performance with reference to a certain +person was only another example. You will hear, presently, what +admirable dialogue was elicited by Armorel's situations. + +By half-past eight she had completed the mounting of her piece. First, +for the reading of the play she placed a table at the side of the +room, with a space at the back sufficient for a chair, or for a person +to sit. A reading-lamp, with one of those silver cowls that throw the +whole light upon the table, stood at either end, illuminating a small +space in the middle. This was for the manipulation of the dolls. For, +though the people had been asked to come for a reading, Armorel had +determined to try the experiment of a recitation, accompanied by the +presentment of those puppets which Effie had dressed with such care, +and her brother manipulated so deftly. Needless to say that more than +one rehearsal had been held. In front of the table she placed a +semicircle of chairs for some of her audience. At one side of the +table was the piano: a music-stand, with a violin case, gave promise +of an overture. Between the music-stand and the table was room for a +person to stand, and on the table a water-decanter and a glass showed +that this was the place for the reciter. On the other side of the +table, in the corner of the room, stood an easel, and on it a picture, +with curtains arranged so that they could fall over and cover it up. +The picture was lighted up by two lamps. The room had no other lights +in it at all, so that, if these two lamps were lowered or +extinguished, the only light would be that thrown by the reading-lamps +upon the table. As for the picture, it was as yet unfinished, but +nearly finished. Of course it was Roland Lee's new picture. This +evening, indeed, which professed to be the simple reading of a new +play by a new writer, included a great deal more: it included, in +fact, Roland's return to the arena he had deserted, and, as you shall +see, the stepping upon the stage of both the twins, brother and +sister. When one adds that Mr. Alec Feilding would be one of the +company, you understand, dear reader, the nature of Armorel's comedy, +and the kind of situation devised and prepared by that artful and +vindictive young lady. + +'How long will it take, dear?' asked Mrs. Elstree, wearily +contemplating these preparations. + +'I should say that the play will take an hour and a half or two hours +to recite. Then there will be a little music between the acts. I dare +say it will last two hours and a half.' + +'Oh, that will bring us to half-past eleven at least! And then it will +be too late for anything else.' + +'We don't want anything else to-night.' + +'No, dear. The play will be quite enough for us. I wish it was over. I +am so constituted, Armorel, that I cannot see the least use in going +out of my way to help anybody. If you succeed in helping people to +climb up, they only trample on you as soon as they get the chance. If +you fail, they are a burden upon you for life. These two Wilmot +people, for instance: what are you going to do with them when you have +read their play and stuff? You can't get a manager to play it any the +more for having it read. The two are no further advanced.' + +'Yes; I shall have made the young man known. He will be introduced. +Mr. Stephenson promised to bring some critics with him, and you have +asked Mr. Feilding to do the same. An introduction--perhaps the +creation of some personal interest--may be to Archie of the greatest +advantage.' + +'Then he will rise by your help, and he will proceed to trample upon +you. That is, if the brother is like the sister. If ever I saw +"trampler" written plain on any woman's face, it is written on the +great square block of bone that Effie Wilmot calls a forehead.' + +'They may trample on me if they please,' Armorel replied, smiling. + +The tramplers were naturally the first to arrive. They were both pale, +and they trembled, especially the one who was not going to speak. He +came in, limping on his crutches, and looked around with terror at the +preparations. One does not realise before the night comes what a +serious thing is a first appearance in public. Besides, the strong +light on the table, the expectant chairs, the arrangement of +everything, presented an aspect at once critical and threatening. The +manuscript play and the box of puppets were in readiness. + +'Now, Archie,' said Armorel, 'it is not yet nine o'clock. You shall +have a cup of coffee to steady your nerves. So shall you, Effie. After +that we will settle ourselves.' She talked about other things to +distract their thoughts. 'See, Effie, that is Roland Lee's new +picture. It is not yet finished. The central figure is myself. You +see, it is as yet only sketched in. I am going to sit for him, but he +has caught a good likeness, has he not? It will be a lovely picture +when it is completed, and I am going to give him permission to flatter +me as much as ever he pleases. The scene is among the outer rocks of +Scilly. We will go there some day and sail about the Western Islands, +and I will show you Camber Rock and the Channel, and Castle Bryher and +Menovawr and Maiden Bower, and all the lovely places where I lived +till I was sixteen years of age. Are you in good voice to-night, +Effie?' + +'I don't know. I hope so.' + +'She has eaten nothing all day,' said Archie. + +'You are not really frightened, are you, Effie?' The girl was white +with nervousness. 'A little excited and anxious. Will you have another +cup of coffee? A little jelly? Remember I shall be close beside you, +with the play in my hand, to prompt. I like your dress. You look very +well in white, dear.' + +'Oh! Armorel, I am horribly frightened. If I should break down, +Archie's chance will be ruined. And if I recite it badly I shall spoil +the play.' + +'You will not break down, dear; you will think of nothing but the +play. You will forget the people. Besides, it will be so dark that you +will hardly see them.' + +'I will try my best. Perhaps when I begin--Oh! for Archie's sake, I +would stand up on the stage at the theatre and speak before all the +people! And yet----' + +'She had no sleep last night,' said her brother. 'I think, after all, +I had better read it. Only I read so badly.' + +Armorel's face fell. She had thought so much of the reciting. Then +Mrs. Elstree came to the rescue. + +'Nonsense,' she said. 'You three people are making yourselves so +nervous that you will most certainly break down. Now, Mr. Wilmot, go +into your own place. Set out your dolls. Here's your cardboard back +scene.' She arranged it while Archie got himself and his crutches into +the chair behind, and began to take the dolls out of their box. 'So. +Now don't speak to your sister. You will only make her worse. And as +for you, Effie, if you break down now you will be a most disgraceful +coward. With your brother's future, perhaps, dependent on your +courage. For shame! Pull yourself together!' Effie, thus rudely +stimulated, and by a person she disliked greatly, lost her limpness +and stood upright. Her face also put on a little colour, and her lips +stiffened. The tonic worked, in fact. Then Zoe went on. 'Now,' she +said, 'take up your position here. How are you going to stand? Fold +your hands so. That is a very good attitude to begin with. Of course, +you understand nothing of gesture. Don't try it. Change your hands a +little--so--front--right--left--like that. And don't--don't--don't +hold your head like that, facing the crowd. Hold it up--like this. +Look at the corner of that cornice--straight up. Oh! you will lower +your head as you go on. But, to begin with, and at the opening of each +act, look up to that corner. Remember, if you break down----' She held +up a forefinger, threatening, admonitory, and left her standing in +position. 'You will do now,' she said. + +'Besides,' said Armorel, 'no one will look at you. They will all be +looking at Archie's actors.' + +The dramatist, relegated to the humble position of fantoccini-man, +would be also in complete shade behind the table. He would not be +seen, whatever emotion of anxiety he should feel. And for dexterity of +manipulation with his puppets he could vie even with the firm of +Codlin and Short. + +The noise of cups and saucers in the dining-room proclaimed the +arrival of guests. The first to come was Roland Lee, still a little +shy, as Alexander Selkirk might have been, or Philip Quarles, or Mr. +Penrose, on his return to civilised society. He looked about the room. +Mrs. Elstree--looking resigned--and Armorel, standing by the fire, and +the two performers. Nobody else. And, in a place of honour, his +unfinished picture. + +'It looks very well, doesn't it?' said Armorel. 'I wish it was a +little more complete. But it will do to show.' + +'Are you quite sure it is wise?' + +'Quite sure. The sooner you show everybody what you can do the +better.' + +'I have found a new studio,' he told her in low tones. 'I have moved +in to-day. It is among the old lot of men that I used to know a +little. I have gone back to them just as if I had only been gone for a +day. I don't find that they have got on very much. Perhaps they spend +too much time smoking pipes and cigarettes and talking. They chaff me, +but with respect, because, I believe, they think I have been staying +in a lunatic asylum. Respect, you know, is due to madmen and to old +men.' + +'I hope it is the kind of studio you want.' + +'It will do. I am anxious to begin your sittings. When can you come?' + +'Any day you please. To-morrow. The next day. I can begin at once.' + +Then came a small party of men--journalists and critics--captured by +Dick Stephenson at the club, and bribed to come by the promise of an +introduction to the beautiful Miss Armorel Rosevean. I do not think +they expected much joy from the amateur reading of an unacted piece. +It is melancholy, indeed, to consider that though the preliminary and +tentative performance of the unacted play--long prayed for--has been +at last established, the promised appearance of the great dramatist +has not yet come off--nay, the theatrical critic weeps, swears, and +growls at the mention of a matinée, and when he is requested to attend +one passes it on if he can to his younger brother in the calling. And +yet such great treasures were expected of the matinée! However, they +agreed to come and listen on this occasion. It shall be put down to +their credit as a Samaritan deed. + +'Dick Stephenson,' said Armorel, with an assumption of old friendship +which filled him with pride, 'I hope you are come here to-night in a +really serious frame of mind--you and your friends.' + +'We are always serious.' + +'I mean that you are going to hear an ambitious piece of work. All I +ask of you is to listen seriously, and to remember that it is really +the work of a man who aims at the very highest.' + +'Will he reach the very highest?' + +'I do not know. But I am quite certain that there are very few +artists, in any branch, who dare to aim high. Listen, and try to +understand what the poet has attempted--what has been in his mind. +Promise me this.' + +'Certainly, I will promise you so much.' + +'Thank you. It was for this that I asked you to-night. And see--here +is your old friend Roland Lee.' The two young men shook hands rather +sheepishly--the one because he had been an Ass--a long-eared Ass; and +the other, because he was not guiltless of letting his friend slip out +of his hands without a remonstrance and so away into paths unknown. 'I +hear,' said Armorel, with her beautiful seriousness, 'that you two +have suffered yourselves to drift apart of late. I hope that will be +all over now. Oh! you must never give up the early friendships. Have +you seen Roland's new picture? He has lent it to me for this evening. +Come and look at it.' + +'Why,' cried one of the men, 'it is an unfinished picture of Alec +Feilding's!' + +Roland turned hot and red. + +'Not at all,' said Armorel. 'This is a sketch made in the isles of +Scilly and in my presence, five years ago. As for the figure, you see +it is not yet completed. I am the model. You remember Scilly, Dick +Stephenson? To be sure, you were not with us when we used to go +sailing about among the rocks.' + +'I have reason to remember Scilly, seeing that you saved my life +there, and Roland's too. But the picture is curiously in Feilding's +style. Only it seems to me better than any of his. Old man'--he laid +his hand on Roland's shoulder: it was the renewal of the ancient +friendship--'old man, you've done the trick at last.' + +Philippa came next, with her father and two or three girls. They, in +their turn, called out upon the striking similarity in style. A few +more people came, and it was a quarter past nine. But the man for whom +Armorel had especially arranged her little comedy did not come. He was +late. Perhaps he would not come at all. + +'We must wait no longer,' said Armorel. 'Will everybody please to sit +down?' + +Philippa placed herself at the piano. Armorel took out her violin and +tuned it. First, however, she made a little speech. + +'I have asked you,' she said, 'to come this evening in order to hear a +play read. It is a play written by a young gentleman in whom some of +us take the deepest interest. I hope greatly that it will succeed. But +we want your judgment and opinion as well as our own. The play belongs +to all time and to no time. The scene is laid in Italy, and in the +sixteenth century; but it might as well have been laid in London and +in the nineteenth--only that we are more self-governed than a +dramatist likes, and we conceal our emotions. It is a play of romance +and of human passion. I entreat you to consider it seriously--as +seriously as the author himself considers it. We have arranged for you +a list of the dramatis personæ, with a little scenario of each +act--there are three--and we think that if, instead of hearing it +read, we have it recited, while the author himself plays the piece +before us by puppets on this little stage, we shall get a clearer idea +of the dramatic merits of the piece.' + +This speech done, everybody took up the little book of the play and +began to read the scenario, while Armorel played an overture with +Philippa. + +She played a Hungarian piece, one of the things that are now played +everywhere--a quite short piece. + +When it was finished, Roland lowered the lamps beside his picture, +and covered them with crimson shades. Then there was no other light in +the room but that from the two reading-lamps on the table. Just before +the lamps were lowered Mr. Alec Feilding arrived, with half a dozen +men whom he had brought with him. She saw his startled face as he +caught sight of the picture as the lights were lowered. In the +twilight she could still distinguish his face among the men who stood +behind the chairs. And she watched him. Then Effie, who had not seen +the latest arrival, took her place, and the play began. + +The effect was new and very curious. The people saw a girl standing up +beside the table--only the shadow of a girl--a ghostly figure in +white--the spectre of a white face--two bright eyes flashing in the +dim light. And they heard her voice, a rich, low contralto, beginning +to recite the play. + +It is not the nervous creature who breaks down. He may generally be +trusted. He lies awake for whole nights before the time arrives: he +reaches the spot weak-kneed, trembling, and pale; but when the hour +strikes he braces himself, stands up, and goes through with it. Effie +had been partly pulled together, it is true, by the rough exhortation +of Mrs. Elstree, but some credit must be given to her own resolution. +She began with a little hesitation, fearing that she should forget the +words. Then they came back to her: she saw them written plainly before +her eyes in that friendly corner of the cornice: she hesitated no +longer: in full and flowing flood she poured forth the dialogue, +helped to right modulation by the strength of her own feeling and her +belief in the beauty and the splendour of the drama. Armorel meantime +watched her man. He had seen the picture. Now he recognised the play, +and he knew the reciter. As he stood at the back, tall above the rest, +she saw his face change from astonishment gradually to dismay. It was +rather a wooden face, but it passed plainly and successively through +the phases of doubt and certainty to that of dismay. Yes; dismay was +written on that face, with discomfiture and suspicion. In a more +demonstrative age he would have sat gnawing his nails: every wicked +man, overtaken by the consequence of his own wickedness, used formerly +to gnaw his nails. On the stage of the last century he would have +turned upon his persecutors with a 'Death and confusion!' before he +banged off the scene. We no longer use those fine old phrases. On the +modern stage he would stand with straightened arms and bowed head, +while the rest of the company pointed fingers of scorn at him, crushed +but defiant. In Armorel's drawing-room he stood quiet and motionless, +trying to collect himself. He saw, first of all, Roland Lee's new +picture in the corner; he saw Roland Lee himself, no longer the +negligent, despairing sloven, but once more a gentleman to outer view, +and in his right mind. Next, he observed that Effie, his own poet, was +reciting the play; and, thirdly, that the play was that for which he +had himself made a bid. Thus all three--painter, poet, and +dramatist--were friends of this girl Armorel; and they had all three, +he knew quite well, slipped clean out of his hands for ever, and were +lost to him; and all three, he suspected, had already related to each +other the history of his doings and dealings with themselves. +Therefore, while the play proceeded, his heart sank low--lower--lower. + +There were three acts. When the first was finished Armorel stood up +again and, with Philippa, played another little piece, but not long. +And so between the second and the third. + +Watching the people, Armorel became aware that the play had gripped +them, and held them fast. No one moved. The little space upon the +table between the two lamps, where the puppets stood before the +painted screen of cardboard, became a scene richly mounted: it was a +garden, or a dancing-hall, or an arbour, or a library, just as those +little books told them, and the puppets were men and women. We want so +little of mounting to fire the imagination, if only the poet has the +strength to seize it and to hold it by his words. Nothing, in this +case, but a modulated voice reciting a dramatic poem, and, to help it +out, a dozen dressed dolls, six or seven inches high, standing stiffly +on a little stage. Yet, even when passion was at its highest, in the +great scene of the third act, they were not ridiculous. Nobody laughed +at the dolls. That was because the showman knew their capabilities. +When they stood in their place, they indicated the nature of the +situation and explained the words. Had he tried to make them act, he +would have spoiled the whole. They made a series of groups--_tableaux +vivants_, _poses plastiques_--constantly changed by the deft hands of +the showman, finding relief in this occupation for the anxiety in his +soul. For he, less fortunate than Effie, who had grasped the cheering +truth, could not read in the circle of still faces before him their +rapt and magnetised condition. + +And now the end of the third act was neared. The reciter rose to the +concluding situation. Her voice, firm and clear, rang out in the dim +light. The younger girls in the audience caught each other's hands. +The 'lines' were good lines, strong and nervous, rapid and yet +intense, equal to the strength and intensity of the situation. + +At last the play was finished. + +'Effie!' Armorel caught her in her arms, 'you have done splendidly!' + +But the girl drew back. The honours of the evening were not for her, +but for her brother: she stood aside. + +Armorel took the cowls from the reading-lamps, and the room returned +to light. Then the people began all to press round the dramatist and +to shake hands solemnly with him, to murmur, to assure, to +congratulate, and to prophesy. And the loud voice of Mr. Alec +Feilding arose as he stepped forward among the first and grasped the +young man's hand. + +'Archie!' he said with astounding friendliness, 'this is better than I +expected. Let me congratulate you! I have had the privilege,' he +explained to the multitude, 'of hearing this play--at least, a part of +it--already. I told you, my dear boy, that your situations were +splendid, but your dialogue wanted pulling together in parts. You have +attended to my advice. I am glad of it. The result promises to be a +splendid success. What say you?' He turned to a very well-known +dramatic critic whom he had brought with him. + +'If you can get the proper man to play the leading part,' he replied +more quietly, 'the play seems to me full of promise. Frankly, Mr. +Wilmot, I think you have written a most poetical and most romantic +piece. It is valuable, not only for itself, but for the promise it +contains.' + +'For its promise,' repeated Alec Feilding blandly, 'as I told you, my +dear boy, for its promise--its admirable promise. I shall not rest now +until this play is produced--either at the Lyceum or at the Haymarket. +Once more.' Again he grasped Archie by the hand. Then another and +another followed. It was not until the next day the dramatist +recovered presence of mind enough to remember that Mr. Feilding had +not given him any advice: that he had not said it was a work of +promise: that he had offered to buy it for fifty pounds and bring it +out as his own, with his own name put to it: and that no alteration of +any kind had been made in it. + + * * * * * + +When Mr. Alec Feilding stepped back, he perceived that some one had +turned up the lamps beside the picture. He was a man of great presence +of mind and resource. He instantly stepped over to the picture and +began to examine it curiously. Armorel followed him. + +'This is by my old friend Mr. Roland Lee,' she said. 'Do you know him? +Let me introduce him to you.' The men bowed distantly as those who, +having met for the first time in a crowd, see no reason for desiring +to meet each other again. That they should so meet, with such an +assumption of never having met before, struck Armorel with admiration. + +'The picture is a good deal in your own style, Feilding,' said one of +the critics. + +'Perhaps,' replied the successful painter in that style, briefly. + +'It is taken from a sketch,' Armorel explained, 'made by Mr. Lee while +he was staying at the same spot as myself. He made a great number at +the time--which is now five years ago.' + +Mr. Alec Feilding heard this statement with outward composure. +Inwardly he was raging. + +'It is, in fact, exactly in your style,' said the same critic. 'One +would say that it was a copy of one of your pictures.' + +'Perhaps,' he replied again. + +'If,' said Roland, 'Mr. Feilding sends another picture in the same +style for exhibition this year, I hope that the similarity of style +may be tested by their hanging side by side.' + +'Shall you send anything this year--in the same style?' asked Armorel. + +'I hardly know. I have not decided.' + +The critic looked at the picture more closely. 'Strange!' he murmured. +'One would swear ... the same style--so individual--and belonging to +two different men!' + +Then Roland covered his picture over with the curtain. There had been +enough said. + +'Now,' said Armorel, 'after our emotions and our fatigues of the play, +we are exhausted. There is supper in the next room. Before we go in I +want to sing you a song. I am not a singer, you know, and you must +only expect simple warbling. But I want you to like the song.' + +She sat down to the piano and played a few bars of introduction. Then +she sang the first verse--it was Effie's latest song, that which Mr. +Feilding had accepted but not yet published. + +He heard and recognised. This third blow finished him. He sat down on +the nearest chair, speechless. Mrs. Elstree watched him, wondering +what was the matter with him. For he was in a speechless rage. Lucky +for him that it was speechless, because for the moment he was beside +himself, and might have said anything. + +'That is the first verse,' said Armorel. 'I have set it to an old +French air which I found in a book. The words seem written for the +music. There are two more verses.' + +She sang them through. Her voice was pleasing though not strong: she +sang sweetly and with feeling, just as she had sung in the old days on +the shores of Samson, to the accompaniment of the waves lapping along +the white sands, and she watched the man whom she had been torturing +the whole evening through. Would not even this rouse him to some word +or deed which might proclaim him a pretender and an impostor +discovered? She knew, you see, that the lines were actually in type +ready to appear as another poem by the Editor. She finished and rose. +'Do you like the song, Philippa?' she said. 'I have even had it +printed and set to music. Anybody that pleases may carry away a copy. +I hope everybody will, and keep it in remembrance of this evening. For +the words are written by Miss Effie Wilmot, who has recited so +beautifully her brother's play. We will share the honours of the +evening between them. Archie, will you give me your arm? Roland'--in +her excitement she called him by his Christian name, which caused a +little surprise--'will you take Effie? Do you like the words, Mr. +Feilding?' + +'Very much indeed. I had seen them before you, I think.' + +'Yes? Then you recognised them. You have seen other poems by the same +hand, I believe?' + +'Good-night, Miss Rosevean. I have had a delightful evening.' He +retired without any supper. On his way out, he passed Effie. 'You +should have trusted me,' he whispered hoarsely. 'I expected, at least, +common confidence. You will find that I have kept my promise--and you +have broken yours.' He passed on, and disappeared. Then they trooped +in to the dining-room, where they found spread that kind of midnight +refection which is dear to the hearts of those who are yet young +enough to love champagne and chicken. And after supper they went back +to the drawing-room and danced. Mrs. Elstree played to them--nobody +could play a waltz better. Roland danced with Armorel. 'You make me +believe,' he said, at the end of the waltz, 'that I am really back +again.' + +'Of course you are back again.' + +Then Armorel danced with the critics, and talked about the play; and +they all promised to go to great actors and speak about this wonderful +drama. And so all went away at last, and all to bed, well content. + +'But,' said Zoe, when the last was gone, 'what was the matter with +Alec? Why did he look so glum? What made him in such an awful rage? He +can get into a blind rage, Armorel--blind and speechless. As for that, +I would not give a button for a man who could not. But what was the +matter with him?' + +'Was he in a rage? Perhaps he wished that he had written the play +himself. Such a clever man as that would be sorry, perhaps, that +anything good was written, except by himself.' + +Mr. Alec Feilding rushed down the stairs and into the street. He +hailed a cab, and jumped into it. + +'Fleet Street! Quick!' + +His printers, he knew, had work which kept them at work on Thursday +nights till long past midnight. It was not too late to make a +correction. His paper would be printed in the morning, and ready for +issue by five o'clock in the afternoon. In fact, Effie received a note +from him on Saturday morning:-- + +'My dear Effie,' he wrote, 'I send you a copy of my new number. You +will find, on looking into the editorial columns, that I have +performed what I promised. Not only have I accepted and published your +very charming verses, but I have added a brief note introducing the +writer as a débutante of promise. So much I am very pleased to have +been able to do for you. Now, as one writer introducing another, I +leave you with your public. Give them of your best. Let your first set +of published verses prove your worst. Aim at the best and highest; +write in a spirit of truth; let your Art be sincere and +self-respectful. + +'I am sorry that this note, written on Tuesday, could not contain what +I should much have wished to add, had I known it: that your verses +have been adapted to an old air by Miss Armorel Rosevean. You did not, +however, think fit to take me into your confidence. + +'I cannot hope to give you more than an occasional appearance in my +columns. I should advise you, with this introduction of mine and the +credentials of being published in my paper, to send verses to the +magazines. I think you will have little difficulty with the help of my +name in gaining admission. + +'Allow me to add my congratulations on your brother's undoubted +success. His play is admirable as a chamber play. It may also succeed +on the stage, but of this it is impossible to be certain. Meantime, it +is very cheering to find that he listens to the advice of those who +have a right to speak, and that he follows that advice. It is both +cheering to his friends and promising as regards his own future. I do +not regret the time that I spent in advising upon that play. + + 'I remain, my dear Effie, very sincerely yours, + + 'ALEC FEILDING.' + +The paper which contained the verses contained also the following +paragraph:-- + +'In place of the usual editorial verses--my editorial duties do not +always give me leisure for the service of the Muse--I have great +pleasure in inserting a set of verses from the pen of a young lady +whose name is new to my readers. She makes her bow to my readers in +this column. I venture, however, to prophesy that she will not long +remain unknown. Wherever the English language is spoken, before many +years the name of Effie Wilmot shall be known and loved. This is the +prophecy of one who at least can recognise good work when he sees it.' + +Effie read both letter and paragraph to her brother, who raged and +stormed about the alleged advice and assistance. She also read them +both to Armorel, who only laughed a little. + +'But,' said Effie, 'he never helped Archie at all! He gave him no +advice!' + +'My dear, if he chooses to say that he did, what does it matter? Time +goes on, and every day will make your brother rise higher and Mr. +Feilding sink lower. And as to the verses, Effie, and your--your first +appearance'--Effie turned away her shamefaced cheek--'why, we will +take his advice and try other editors. Mr. Feilding is, indeed, the +cleverest man in London!' + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE NATIONAL GALLERY + + +Contrary to all reasonable expectation, Alec Feilding called at +Armorel's rooms the very next morning--and quite early in the morning, +when it was not yet eleven. Armorel, however, had already gone out. He +was received by Mrs. Elstree, who was, as usual, sitting, apparently +asleep, by the fire. + +'You have come in the hope of seeing Armorel alone, I suppose?' she +said. + +'Yes. You remember, Zoe,' he replied quickly--she observed that he was +pale, and that he fidgeted nervously, and that his eyes, restless and +scared, looked as if somebody was hunting him--'that we had a talk +about it. You said you wouldn't make a row. You know you did. You +consented.' + +'Oh, yes! I remember. I am to play another part, and quite a new one. +You too are about to play a new part--one not generally desired--quite +the stage villain.' He made a gesture of impatience. 'Consider, +however,' she went on quickly, before he could speak. 'Do you think +this morning--the day after yesterday--quite propitious for your +purpose?' + +'What do you mean?' he asked quickly. 'Why not the day after +yesterday?' + +'Nothing. Still, if I might advise----' + +'Zoe, you know nothing at all. And time presses. If there was reason, +a week ago, for me to be the reputed and accepted lover of this girl, +there is tenfold more reason now. You don't know, I say. For Heaven's +sake don't spoil things now by any interference.' + +He was at least in earnest. Mrs. Elstree contemplated him with +curiosity. It seemed as if she had never seen him really in earnest +before. But now she understood. He knew by this time that Armorel had +discovered the source, the origins, of his greatness. She might +destroy him by a word. This knowledge would pierce the hide of the +most pachydermatous: his strength, you see, was like that of +Samson--it depended on a secret: it also now resembled that of Samson +in that it lay at the mercy of a woman. + +'Alec,' said Mrs. Elstree, softly, 'you were greatly moved last night +by several things--by the play, by the picture, by the song. I watched +you. While the rest were listening to the play, I watched you. The +room was dark, and you thought no one could see you. But I could make +out your features. Armorel watched you, too, but for other motives. I +was wondering. She was triumphant. You know why?' + +'What do you know?' + +'Your face, which is generally so well under command, expressed +surprise, rage, disgust, and terror--all these passions, dear Alec. On +the stage we study how to express them. We represent an exaggeration +so that the gallery shall understand, and we call it Art. But I know +the symptoms.' + +'What else do you know, I ask?' + +'This morning you are nervous and agitated. You are afraid of +something. Alec, you know what I think of the cruelty and +hardheartedness of this project of yours--to sustain your credit on an +engagement which will certainly not last a month--I could not possibly +suffer the girl to be entangled longer than that--now give it over.' + +'I cannot give it over: it is my only chance. Zoe, you don't know the +mischief she has done me, and will do me again. It is ruin--ruin!' + +'Well then, Alec, don't go after her to-day. Indeed, I advise you not. +You are not in a condition to approach the subject, and she is not in +a condition to be approached. I do not ask your reasons, or the kind +of mischief you mean. I sit here and watch. In the course of time I +find out all things.' + +'How much do you know, Zoe? What have you found out?' + +'Knowledge, Alec, is power. Should I part in a moment, and for +nothing, with what I have acquired at the expense of a great deal of +contriving and putting together? Certainly not. You can go and find +Armorel, if you persist in choosing such a day for such a purpose. She +has gone, I believe, to the National Gallery.' + +'I must find her to-day. I must bring things to a head. Good Heavens! +I don't know what new mischief they may be designing.' + +'Go home and wait, Alec. No one will do anything to you to-day. You +are nervous and excited.' + +'You don't understand, I say. Tell me, did the men talk last +night--about me--in your hearing?' + +'Not in my hearing, certainly. Go home and rest, Alec.' + +'I cannot rest. I must find the girl.' + +'Well, if you want her--go and find her. Alec, remember, if you stood +the faintest chance of success with her, I think I should have to get +up and warn her. Even for your sake I do not think I could suffer this +wickedness to be done. But you have no chance--none--not on any day, +particularly on this day--and after last night. Go, however--go.' + +When things have gone so far that assignations and appointments are +made and places of secret meeting agreed upon, there is hardly any +place in the whole of London more central, more convenient, or safer +than the National Gallery. Here the young lady of society may be +perfectly certain of remaining undiscovered. At the South Kensington +no one is quite safe, because in the modern enthusiasm for art all +kinds of people--even people in society--sometimes go there to see +embroideries and hangings, and handiwork of every sort. The India +Museum is perhaps safer even than the National Gallery--safer, for +such a purpose, than any other spot in the world. But there is a +loneliness in its galleries which strikes a chill to the most ardent +heart, and damps the spirit of the most resolute lover. + +In the National Gallery there are plenty of people: but they are all +country visitors, or Americans, or copyists: never any people of the +young lady's own set: and there is never any crowd. One can sit and +talk undisturbed and quiet: the copyists chatter or go on with their +work regardless of anything: the attendants slumber: the visitors pass +round room after room, looking for pictures which have a story to +tell--and a story which they can read. That, you see, is the only kind +of picture--unless it be a picture of a pretty face--which the +ordinary visitor commonly understands. Not many young people know of +this place, and those who do keep the knowledge to themselves. The +upper rooms of the British Museum are also commended by some for the +same reason, but the approaches are difficult. + +This use of the National Gallery once understood, the thing which +happened here the day after the reading of the play will not seem +incredible, though it certainly was not intended by the architect when +he designed the building. Otherwise there might have been convenient +arbours. + +Armorel went often to the Gallery: the English girl reserves, as a +rule, her study of pictures, and art generally, till she gets to +Florence. Armorel, who had also studied art in Florence, found much to +learn in our own neglected Gallery. Sometimes she went alone: +sometimes she went with Effie, and then, being quite a learned person +in the matter of pictures and their makers, she would discourse from +room to room, till the day was all too short. The country visitors +streamed past her in languid procession: the lovers met by appointment +at her very elbow: the copyists flirted, talked scandal, wasted time, +and sighed for commissions: but Armorel had not learned to watch +people: she came to see the pictures: she had not begun to detach an +individual from the crowd as a representative: in other words, she was +not a novelist. + +This morning she was alone. She carried a notebook and pencil, and was +standing before a picture making notes. It was a wet morning: the +rooms were nearly empty, and the galleries were very quiet. + +She heard a manly step striding across the floor. She half turned as +it approached her. Mr. Alec Feilding took off his hat. + +'Mrs. Elstree told me you were here,' he said. 'I ventured to follow.' + +'Yes?' + +'You--you--come often, I believe?' He looked pale, and, for the first +time in Armorel's recollection of him, he was nervous. 'There is, I +believe, a good deal to be learned here.' + +'There is, especially by those who want to paint--of course, I +mean--who want to do their own paintings by themselves. Mr. Feilding, +frankly, what do you want? Why do you come here in search of me?' Her +face hardened: her eyes were cold and resolved. But the man was full +of himself; he noted not these symptoms. + +'I came because I have something to say.' + +'Of importance?' + +'Of great importance.' + +'Not, I hope, connected with Art. Do not talk to me about Art, if you +please, Mr. Feilding--not about any kind of Art.' + +He bowed gravely. 'One cannot always listen to conversation involving +canons and first principles,' he said, with much condescension. 'Let +me, however, congratulate you on the promise of your protégés, Archie +and Effie Wilmot.' + +'They are clever.' + +'They are distinctly clever,' he repeated, recovering his usual +self-possession. 'Effie, as perhaps she has told you, has been my +pupil for a long time.' + +'She has told me, in fact, something about her relations to you.' + +'Yes.' The man was preoccupied and rather dense by nature. Therefore +he caught only imperfectly these side meanings in Armorel's replies. +'Yes--quite so--I have been able to be useful to her, and to her +brother also--very useful, indeed, happily.' + +'And to--to others--as well--very useful, indeed,' Armorel echoed. + +He understood that there was some kind of menace in these words. But +the very air, this morning, was full of menace. He passed them by. + +'It is a curious coincidence that you should also have taken up this +interesting pair. It ought to bring us closer.' + +'Quite the contrary, Mr. Feilding. It puts us far more widely apart.' + +'I do not understand that. We have a common interest. For instance, +only the other day I accepted a poem of Effie's----' + +'Only the other day, Mr. Feilding?' + +'Yes, the day before yesterday. I had it set up, and I added a few +words introducing the writer. That was the day before yesterday. Judge +of my astonishment when, only yesterday, you sang that very song, and +handed it round printed with the accompaniment. I have made no +alteration. The verses will appear to-night, with my laudatory +introduction. Some men might complain that they had not been taken +into confidence. But I do not. Effie is a little genius in her way. +She is not practical: she does not understand that having disposed of +her verses to one editor she is not free to give them to another. But +I do not complain, if your action in her cause brings her into +notice.' + +Here was a turning of tables! Now, some men overdo a thing. They smile +too much: they rub their hands nervously: they show a nervous anxiety +to be believed. Not so this man. He spoke naturally--he had now +recovered his usual equanimity: he looked blankly unconscious that any +doubt could possibly be thrown upon his word. Since he said it, the +thing must be so. Men of honour have always claimed and exacted this +concession. Therefore, the following syllogism:-- + + Mr. Alec Feilding is a man of honour: + Everybody must acknowledge so much. + A man of honour cannot lie: + Else--what becomes of his honour? + Therefore: + Any statement made by Mr. Alec Feilding is literally true. + +Armorel showed no doubt in her face. Why should she? There was no +doubt in her mind. The man was a Liar. + +'The Wilmots will get on,' she said coldly, 'without any help from +anybody. Now, Mr. Feilding, you came to say something important to me. +Shall we go on to that important communication?' She took a seat on +the divan in the middle of the room. He stood over her, 'There is no +one here this morning,' she said. 'You can speak as freely as in your +own study.' + +'Among your many fine qualities, Miss Rosevean,' he began floridly, +but with heightened colour, 'a certain artistic reserve is reckoned by +your friends, perhaps, the highest. It makes you queenly.' + +'Mr. Feilding, I cannot possibly discuss my own qualities with any but +my friends.' + +'Your friends! Surely, I also----' + +'My friends, Mr. Feilding,' Armorel repeated, bristling like the +fretful porcupine. But the man, preoccupied and thick of skin, and +full of vainglory and conceit, actually did not perceive these quills +erect. Armorel's pointed remarks did not prick his hide: her coldness +he took for her customary reserve. Therefore he hurried to his doom. + +'Give me,' he said, 'the right to speak to you as your dearest friend. +You cannot possibly mistake the attentions that I have paid to you for +the last few weeks. They must have indicated to you--they were, +indeed, deliberately designed to indicate--a preference--deepening +into a passion----' + +'I think you had better stop at once, Mr. Feilding.' + +There are many men who honestly believe that they are irresistible. It +seems incredible, but it is really true. It is the consciousness of +masculine superiority carried to an extreme. They think that they have +only to repeat the conventional words in the conventional manner for +the woman to be subjugated. They come: they conquer. Now, this man, +who plainly saw that he was to a certain extent--he did not know how +far--detected, actually imagined that the woman who had detected him +in a gigantic fraud one day would accept his proffered hand and heart +the very next day! There are no bounds, you see, to personal vanity. +Besides, for this man, if it was necessary that he should appear as +the accepted suitor of a rich girl, it was doubly necessary that the +girl should be the one woman in the world who could do mischief. He +was anxious to discover how much she knew. But of his wooing he had no +anxiety at all. He should speak: she would yield: she could do nothing +else. + +'Permit me,' he replied blandly, 'to go on. I am, as you know, a +leader in the world of Art. I am known as a painter, a poet, and a +writer of fiction. I have other ambitions still.' + +'Doubtless you will succeed in these as you have succeeded in those +three Arts.' + +'Thank you.' He really did not see the meaning of her words. 'I take +your words as of happy augury. Armorel----' + +'No, Sir! Not my Christian name, if you please.' + +'Give me the right to call you by your Christian name.' + +'You are asking me to marry you. Is that what you mean?' + +'It is nothing less.' + +'Really! When I tell you, Mr. Feilding, that I know you--that I know +you--it will be plain to you that the thing is absolutely impossible.' + +'To know me,' he replied, showing no outward emotion, 'should make it +more than possible. What could I wish better than to be known to you?' + +She looked him full in the face. He neither dropped his eyes nor +changed colour. + +'What could be better for me?' he repeated. 'What could I hope for +better than to be known?' + +'Oh! This man is truly wonderful!' she cried. 'Must I tell you what I +know?' + +'It would be better, perhaps. You look as if you knew something to +my--actually--if I may say so--actually to my discredit!' + +Armorel gasped. His impudence was colossal. + +'To your discredit! Oh! Actually to your discredit! Sir, I know the +whole of your disgraceful history--the history of the past three or +four years. I know by what frauds you have passed yourself off as a +painter and as a poet. I know by what pretences you thought to lay the +foundation for a reputation as a dramatist. I know that your talk is +borrowed--that you do not know art when you see it: that you could +never write a single line of verse--and that of all the humbugs and +quacks that ever imposed themselves upon the credulity of people you +are the worst and biggest.' + +He stared with a wonder which was, at least, admirably acted. + +'Good Heavens!' he said. 'These words--these accusations--from you? +From Armorel Rosevean--cousin of my cousin--whom I had believed to be +a friend? Can this be possible? Who has put this wonderful array of +charges into your head?' + +'That matters nothing. They are true, and you know it.' + +'They are so true,' he replied sternly, 'that if anyone were to +dare to repeat these things before a third person, I should +instantly--instantly--instruct my solicitors to bring an action for +libel. Remember: youth and sex would not avail to protect that +libeller. If anyone--anyone--dares, I say----' + +'Oh! say no more. Go, and do not speak to me again! What will be done +with this knowledge, I cannot say. Perhaps it will be used for the +exposure which will drive you from the houses of honest people. Go, I +say!' + +[Illustration: _'Oh! say no more. Go, and do not speak to me again!'_] + +She stamped her foot and raised her voice, insomuch that two drowsy +attendants woke up and looked round, thinking they had dreamed +something unusual. + +The injured man of Art and Letters obeyed. He strode away. He, who had +come pale and hesitating, now, on learning the truth which he had +suspected and on receiving this unmistakable rejection, walked away +with head erect and lofty mien. He showed, at least by outward +bearing, the courage which is awakened by a declaration of war. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +CONGRATULATIONS + + +In the afternoon of the same day Armorel received a visit from a +certain Lady Frances, of whom mention has already been made. She was +sitting in her own room, alone. The excitements of the last night and +of the morning were succeeded by a gentle melancholy. These things had +not been expected when she took her rooms and plunged into London +life. Besides, after these excitements the afternoon was flat. + +Lady Frances came in, dressed beautifully, gracious and cordial; she +took both Armorel's hands in her own, and looked as if she would have +kissed her but for conscientious scruples: she was five-and-forty, or +perhaps fifty, fat, comfortable, and rosy-cheeked. And she began to +talk volubly. Not in the common and breathless way of volubility which +leaves out the stops; but steadily and irresistibly, so that her +companion should not be able to get in one single word. Well-bred +persons do not leave out their commas and their full stops: but they +do sometimes talk continuously, like a cataract or a Westmoreland +Force, at least. + +'My dear,' she said, 'I told your maid that I wanted to see you alone, +and in your own room. She said Mrs. Elstree was out. So I came in. It +is a very pretty little room. They tell me you play wonderfully. This +is where you practise, I suppose.' She put up her glasses and looked +round, as if to see what impression had been produced on the walls by +the music. 'And I hear also that you paint and draw. My dear, you are +the very person for him.' Again she looked round. 'A very pretty room, +really--wonderful to observe how the taste for decoration and domestic +art has spread of late years!' A doubtful compliment, when you +consider it. 'Well, my dear, as an old friend of his--at all events, a +very useful friend of his--I am come to congratulate you.' + +'To congratulate me?' + +'Yes. I thought I would be one of the first. I asked him two or three +days ago if it was settled, and he confessed the truth, but begged me +not to spread it abroad, because there were lawyers and people to see. +Of course, his secrets are mine. And, except my own very intimate +friends and one or two who can be perfectly trusted, I don't think I +have mentioned the thing to a soul. I dare say, however, the news is +all over the town by this time. Wonderful how things get carried--a +bird of the air--the flying thistledown----' + +'I do not understand, Lady Frances.' + +'My dear, you need not pretend, because he confessed. And I think you +are a very lucky girl to catch the cleverest man in all London, and he +certainly is a lucky man to catch such a pretty girl as you. They say +that he has got through all his money--men of genius are always bad +men of business--but your own fortune will set him up again--a hundred +thousand, I am told--mind you have it all settled on yourself. No one +knows what may happen. I could tell you a heartrending story of a girl +who trusted her lover with her money. But your lawyers will, of +course, look after that.' + +'I assure you----' + +'He tells me,' the lady went on, without taking any notice of the +interruption, 'that the thing will not come off for some time yet. I +wouldn't keep it waiting too long, if I were you. Engagements easily +get stale. Like buns. Well, I suppose you have learned all his secrets +by this time: of course he is madly in love, and can keep nothing from +you.' + +'Indeed----' + +'Has he told you yet who writes his stories for him? Eh? Has he told +you that?' The lady bent forward and lowered her voice, and spoke +earnestly. 'Has he told you?' + +'I assure you that he has told me nothing--and----' + +'That is in reality what I came about. Because, my dear, there must be +a little plain speaking.' + +'Oh! but let me speak--I----' + +'When I have said what I came to say'--Lady Frances motioned with her +hand gently but with authority--'then you shall have your turn. Men +are so foolish that they tell their sweethearts everything. The chief +reason why they fall in love, I believe, is a burning desire to have +somebody to whom they can tell everything. I know a man who drove his +wife mad by constantly telling her all his difficulties. He was always +swimming in difficulties. Well, Alec is bound to tell you before long, +even if he has not told you yet, which I can hardly believe. Now, my +dear child, it matters very little to him if all the world knew the +truth. All the world, to be sure, credits him with those stories, +though he has been very careful not to claim them. He knows better. I +say to such a clever man as Alec a few stories, more or less, matter +nothing. But it matters a great deal to me'--what was this person +talking about?--'because, you see, if it were to come out that I had +been putting together old family scandals and forgotten stories, and +sending them to the papers--there would be--there would be--Heaven +knows what there would be! Yes, my dear--you can tell Alec that you +know--I am the person who has written those stories. I wrote them, +every one. They are all family stories--every good old family has got +thousands of stories, and I have been collecting them--some of my own +people, some of my husband's, and some of other people--and writing +them down, changing names, and scenes, and dates, so that they should +not be identified except by the few who knew them.' + +Armorel made no further attempt to stem the tide of communication. + +'I have come to make you understand clearly, young lady, that it is +not his secret alone, but mine. You would do him a little harm, +perhaps--I don't know--by letting it out, but you would do me an +infinity of harm. I write them down, you see, and I take them to Alec, +and he alters them--puts the style right--or says he does--though I +never see any difference in them when they come out in the paper. And +everybody who knows the story asks how in the name of wonder he got +it.' + +'Oh! But I do assure you that I know nothing at all of this.' + +'Don't you? Well, never mind. Now you do know. And you know also that +you can't talk about it, because it is his secret as well as mine. +Why, you don't suppose that the man really does all he says he does, +do you? Nobody could. It isn't in nature. Everybody who knows anything +at all agrees that there must be a ghost--perhaps more than one. I'm +the story ghost. I dare say there's a picture ghost, and a poetry +ghost. He's a wonderful clever man, no doubt--it's the cleverest thing +in the world to make other people work for you; but don't imagine, +pray, that he can write stories of society. Bourgeois stories--about +the middle class--his own class--perhaps; but not stories about Us. My +stories belong to quite another level. Well, my dear, that is off my +mind. Remember that this secret would do a great deal of harm to him +as well as to me if it were to get about.' + +'Oh! You are altogether--wholly--wrong----' + +'My dear, I really do not care if I am wrong. You will not, however, +damage his reputation by letting out his secrets? A wife can help her +husband in a thousand ways, and especially in keeping up the little +deceptions. Thousands of wives, I am told, pass their whole lives in +the pretence that they and their husbands are gentlefolk. Alec has +been received into a few good houses; and though it is, of course, +more difficult to get a woman in than a man, I will really do what I +can for you. With a good face, good eyes, a good figure, and a little +addition of style, you ought to get on very well by degrees. Or you +might take the town by storm, and become a professional beauty.' + +'Thank you--but----' + +'And there's another thing. As an old friend of Alec's, I feel that I +can give advice to you. Let me advise you earnestly, my dear, to make +all the haste you can to get rid of your companion. I know all about +it. She was sent to your lawyer's by Alec himself. Why? Well, it is an +old story, and I suppose he wanted to place her comfortably--or he had +some other reason. He's always been a crafty man. You can see that in +his eyes.' + +'Oh! But I cannot listen to this!' cried Armorel. + +'Nonsense, my dear. You do not expect your husband to be an angel, I +suppose. Only silly middle-class girls who read novels do that. It +will do you no harm to know that the man is no better than his +neighbours. And I am sure he is no worse. I am speaking, in fact, for +your own good. My dear child, Alec ran after the woman years ago. She +was rich then, and used to go about. Certain houses do not mind who +enter within their gates. They lived in Palace Gardens, and Monsieur +le Papa was rich--oh! rich _à millions_--and the daughter was +sugar-sweet and as innocent as an angel--fluffy hair, all tangled and +rebellious--you know the kind--and large blue, wondering eyes, +generally lowered until the time came for lifting them in the faces of +young men. It was deadly, my dear. I believe she might have married +anybody she pleased. There was the young Earl of Silchester--he wanted +her. What a fool she was not to take him! No; she was spoony on Alec +Feilding----' + +'Oh! I must not!' cried Armorel again. + +'My dear, I'm telling you. Her papa went smash--poor thing!--a grand, +awful, impossible smash; other people's money mixed up in it. A dozen +workhouses were filled with the victims, I believe. That kind of smash +out of which it is impossible to pull yourself anyhow. Killed himself, +therefore. Went out of the world without invitation by means of a +coarse, vulgar, common piece of two-penny rope, tied round his great +fat neck. I remember him. What did the girl do? Ran away from society: +went on the stage as one of a travelling company. Why, I saw her +myself three years ago at Leamington. I knew her instantly. "Aha!" I +said, "there's Miss Fluffy, with the appealing, wondering eyes. Poor +thing! Here is a come down in the world!" Now I find her here--your +companion--a widow--widow of one Jerome Elstree deceased--artist, I am +told. I never heard of the gentleman, and I confess I have my doubts +as to his existence at all.' + +Armorel ceased to offer any further opposition to the stream. + +'The innocent, appealing blue eyes: the childish face: oh! I remember. +My dear, I hope you will not have any reason to be jealous of Mrs. +Elstree. But take care. There were other girls, too, now I come to +think about it. There was his cousin, Philippa Rosevean. Everybody +knows that he went as far with her as a man can go, short of an actual +engagement. Canon Langley, of St. Paul's, wants to marry her. She's an +admirable person for an ecclesiastical dignitary's wife--beautiful, +cold, and dignified. But, as yet, she has not accepted him. They say +he will be a bishop. And they say she loves her cousin Alec still. +Women are generally dreadful fools about men. But I don't know. I +don't think, if I were you, I should be jealous of Philippa. There's +another little girl, too, I have seen coming out of his studio. But +she's only a model, or something. If you begin to be jealous about the +models, there will be no end. Then, there are hundreds of girls about +town--especially those who can draw and paint a little, or write a +silly little song--who think they are greatly endowed with genius, and +would give their heads to get your chance. You are a lucky girl, Miss +Armorel Rosevean; but I would advise you, in order to make the most of +your good fortune, to change your companion quickly. Persuade her to +try the climate of Australia. Else, there may be family jars.' + +Here she stopped. She had said what was in her mind. Whether she came +to say this out of the goodness of her heart; or whether she intended +to make a little mischief between the girl and her lover; or whether +she supposed Armorel to be a young lady who accepts a lover with no +illusions as to imaginary perfections, so that a new weakness +discovered here and there would not lower him in her opinion, I cannot +say. Lady Frances was generally considered a good-natured kind of +person, and certainly she had no illusions about perfection in any +man. + +'May I speak now?' asked Armorel. + +'Certainly, my dear. It was very good of you to hear me patiently. And +I've said all I wanted to. Keep my secret, and get rid of your +companion, and I'll take you in hand.' + +'Thank you. But you would not suffer me to explain that you are +entirely mistaken. I am not engaged to Mr. Feilding at all.' + +'But he told me that you were.' + +'Yes; but he also tells the world, or allows the world to believe, +that he writes your stories. I am not engaged to Mr. Feilding, Lady +Frances, and, what is more, I never shall be engaged to that +man--never!' + +'Have you quarrelled already?' + +'We have not quarrelled, because before people quarrel they must be on +terms of some intimacy. We have never been more than acquaintances.' + +'Well--but--child--he has been seen with you constantly. At theatres, +at concerts, in the park, in galleries--everywhere, he has been +walking with you as if he had the right.' + +'I could not help that. Besides, I never thought----' + +'Never thought? Why, where were you brought up? Never thought? Good +gracious! what do young ladies go into society for?' + +'I am not a young lady of society, I am afraid.' + +'Well--but--what was your companion about, to allow---- Oh!'--Lady +Frances nodded her head--'oh! now I understand. Now one can understand +why he got her placed here. Now one understands her business. My dear, +you have been placed in a very dangerous position--most dangerous. +Your guardians or lawyers are very much to blame. And you really never +suspected anything?' + +'How should I suspect? I was always told that Mr. Feilding was not the +man to begin that kind of thing.' + +'Were you? Your companion told you that, I suppose?' + +'Oh! I suppose so. There seems a horrid network of deception all about +me, Lady Frances.' Armorel rose, and her visitor followed her example. +'You have put a secret into my hands. I shall respect it. Henceforth, +I desire but one more interview with this man. Oh! he is all +lies--through and through. There is no part of him that is true.' + +'Nonsense, my dear; you take things too seriously. We all have our +little reservations, and some deceptions are necessary. When you get +to my age you will understand. Why won't you marry the man? He is +young: his manners are pretty good: he is a man of the world: he is +really clever: he is quite sure to get on, particularly if his wife +help him. He means to get on. He is the kind of man to get on. You see +he is clever enough to take the credit of other people's work: to make +others work for you is the first rule in the art of getting on. Oh! he +will do. I shall live to see him made a baronet, and in the next +generation his son will marry money, and go up into the Lords. That is +the way. My dear, you had better take him. You will never get a more +promising offer. You seem to me rather an unworldly kind of girl. You +should really take advice of those who know the world.' + +'I could never--never--marry Mr. Feilding. + +'Wealth, position, society, rank, consideration--these are the only +things in life worth having, and you are going to throw them away! My +dear, is there actually nothing between you at all? Was it all a fib?' + +'Actually nothing at all, except that he offered himself to me this +very morning, and he received an answer which was, I hope, plain +enough.' + +'Ah! now I see.' Lady Frances laughed. 'Now I understand, my dear, the +vanity of the man! The creature, when he told me that fib, thought it +was the truth because he had made up his mind to ask you, and, of +course, he concluded that no one could say "No" to him. Now I +understand. You need not fall into a rage about it, my dear. It was +only his vanity. Poor dear Alec! Well, he'll get another pretty girl, +I dare say; but, my dear, I doubt whether---- Rising men are scarce, +you know. Good-bye, child! Keep that little secret, and don't bear +malice. The vanity--the vanity of the men! Wonderful! wonderful!' + + * * * * * + +'And now,' cried Armorel, alone--'now there is nothing left. +Everything has been torn from him. He can do nothing--nothing. The +cleverest man--the very cleverest man in all London!' + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +WHAT NEXT? + + +Roland had moved into his new studio before Armorel became, as she had +promised, his model in the new picture. She began to go there nearly +every morning, accompanied by Effie, and faithfully sat for two or +three hours while the painting went on. It was the picture which he +had begun under the old conditions, her own figure being substituted +for that of the girl which the artist originally designed. The studio +was one of a nest of such offices crowded together under a great roof +and lying on many floors. The others were, I dare say, prettily +furnished and decorated with the customary furniture of a studio, with +pictures, sketches, screens, and pretty things of all kinds. This +studio was nothing but a great gaunt room, with a big window, and no +furniture in it except an easel, a table, and two or three chairs. +There was simply nothing else. Under the pressure of want and failure +the unfortunate artist had long ago parted with all the pretty things +with which he had begun his career, and the present was no time to +replace them. + +'I have got the studio,' he said, 'for the remainder of a lease, +pretty cheap. Unfortunately, I cannot furnish it yet. Wait until the +tide turns. I am full of hope. Then this arid wall and this great +staring Sahara of a floor shall blossom with all manner of lovely +things--armour and weapons, bits of carving and tapestry, drawings. +You shall see how jolly it will be.' + +Next to the studio there were two rooms. In one of these, his bedroom, +he had placed the barest necessaries; the other was empty and +unfurnished, so that he had no place to sit in during the evening but +his gaunt and ghostly studio. However, the tide had turned in one +respect. He was now full of hope. + +There is no better time for conversation than when one is sitting for +a portrait or standing for a model. The subject has to remain +motionless. This would be irksome if silence were imposed as well as +inaction. Happily, the painter finds that his sitter only exhibits a +natural expression when he or she is talking and thinking about +something else. And, which is certainly a Providential arrangement, +the painter alone among mortals, if we except the cobbler, can talk +and work at the same time. I do not mean that he can talk about the +Differential Calculus, or about the relations of Capital and Labour, +or about a hot corner in politics: but he can talk of things light, +pleasant, and on the surface. + +'I feel myself back in Scilly,' said Armorel. 'Whenever I come here +and think of what you are painting, I am in the boat, watching the +race of the tide through the channel. The puffins are swarming on +Camber Rock, and swimming in the smooth water outside: there is the +head of a seal, black above the water, shining in the sunlight--how he +flounders in the current! The sea-gulls are flying and crying +overhead: the shags stand in rows upon the farthest rocks: the +sea-breeze blows upon my cheek. I suppose I have changed so much that +when I go back I shall have lost the old feeling. But it was joy +enough in those days only to sit in the boat and watch it all. Do you +remember, Roland?' + +'I remember very well. You are not changed a bit, Armorel: you have +only grown larger and----' 'More beautiful,' he would have added, but +refrained. 'You will find that the old joy will return again--_la joie +de vivre_--only to breathe and feel and look around. But it will be +then ten times as joyous. If you loved Scilly when you were a child +and had seen nothing else, how much more will you love the place now +that you have travelled and seen strange lands and other coasts and +the islands of the Mediterranean!' + +'I fear that I shall find the place small: the house will have +shrunk--children's houses always shrink. I hope that Holy Farm will +not have become mean.' + +'Mean? with the verbena-trees, the fuchsias, the tall pampas-grass, +and the palms! Mean? with the old ship's lanthorn and the gilded +figure-head? Mean, Armorel? with the old orchard behind and the +twisted trees with their fringe of grey moss? You talk rank blasphemy! +Something dreadful will happen to you.' + +'Perhaps it will be I myself, then, that will have grown mean enough +to think the old house mean. But Samson is a very little place, isn't +it? One cannot make out Samson to be a big place. I could no longer +live there always. We will go there for three or four months every +year; just for refreshment of the soul, and then return here among men +and women or travel abroad together, Effie. We could be happy for a +time there: we could sail and row about the rocks in calm weather: and +in stormy weather we should watch the waves breaking over the +headlands, and in the evening I would play "The Chirping of the +Lark."' + +'I am ready to go to-morrow, if you will take me with you,' said +Effie. + +Then they were silent again. Roland walked backwards and forwards, +brush and palette in hand, looking at his model and at his canvas. +Effie stood beside the picture, watching it grow. To one who cannot +paint, the growth of a portrait on the canvas is a kind of magic. The +bare outline and shape of head and face, the colour of the eyes, the +curve of the neck, the lines of the lips--anyone might draw these. But +to transfer to the canvas the very soul that lies beneath the +features--that, if you please, is different. Oh! How does the painter +catch the soul of the man and show it in his face? One must be oneself +an artist of some kind even to appreciate the greatness of the +portrait painter. + +'When this picture is finished,' said Armorel, 'there will be nothing +to keep me in London; and we will go then.' + +'At the very beginning of the season?' + +'The season is nothing to me. My companion, Mrs. Elstree, who was to +have launched me so beautifully into the very best society, turns out +not to have any friends; so that there is no society for me, after +all. Perhaps it is as well.' + +'Will Mrs. Elstree go to Scilly with you?' asked Roland. + +'No,' said Armorel, with decision. 'On Samson, at least, one needs no +companion.' + +Again they relapsed into silence for a space. Conversation in the +studio is fitful. + +'I have a thing to talk over with you two,' she said. 'First, I +thought it would be best to talk about it to you singly; but now I +think that you should both hear the whole story, and so we can all +three take counsel as to what is best.' + +'Your head a little more--so.' Roland indicated the movement with his +forefinger. 'That will do. Now pray go on, Armorel.' + +'Once there was a man,' she began, as if she was telling a story to +children--and, indeed, there is no better way ever found out of +beginning a story--'a man who was, in no sense at all, and could never +become, try as much as he could, an artist. He was, in fact, entirely +devoid of the artistic faculty: he had no ear for music or for poetry, +no eye for beauty of form or for colour, no hand for drawing, no brain +to conceive: he was quite a prosaic person. Whether he was clever in +things that do not require the artistic faculty, I do not know. I +should hardly think he could be clever in anything. Perhaps he might +be good at buying cheap and selling dear.' + +'Won't you take five minutes' rest?' asked the painter; hardly +listening at all to the beginning, which, as you see, promised very +little in the way of amusement. There are, however, many ways by which +the story-teller gets a grip of his hearer, and a dull beginning is +not always the least effective. He put down his palette. 'You must be +tired,' he said. 'Come and tell me what you think.' He looked +thoughtfully at his picture. Armorel's poor little beginning of a +story was slighted. + +'You are satisfied, so far?' she asked. + +'I will tell you when it is finished. Is the water quite right?' + +'We are in shoal, close behind us are the broad Black Rock Ledges. The +water might be even more transparent still. It is the dark water +racing through the narrow ravine that I think of most. It will be a +great picture, Roland. Now I will take my place again.' She did so. +'And, with your permission, I will go on with my story: you heard the +beginning, Roland?' + +'Oh! Yes! Unfortunate man with no eyes and no ears,' he replied, +unsuspecting. 'Worse than a one-eyed Calender.' + +'This preposterous person, then, with neither eye, nor ear, nor hand, +nor understanding, had the absurd ambition to succeed. This you will +hardly believe. But he did. And, what is more, he had no patience, but +wanted to succeed all at once. I am told that lots of young men, +nowadays, are consumed with that yearning to succeed all at once. It +seems such a pity, when they should be happily dancing and singing and +playing at the time when they were not working. I think they would +succeed so very much better afterwards. Well, this person very soon +found that in the law--did I say he was a barrister?--he had no chance +of success except after long years. Then he looked round the fields of +art and literature. Mind, he could neither write nor practise any art. +What was he to do? Every day the ambition to seem great filled his +soul more and more, and every day the thing appeared to him more +hopeless: because, you see, he had no imagination, and therefore could +not send his soul to sleep with illusions. I wonder he did not go mad. +Perhaps he did, for he resolved to pretend. First, he thought he would +pretend to be a painter'--here Roland, who had been listening +languidly, started, and became attentive. 'He could neither paint nor +draw, remember. He began, I think, by learning the language of Art. He +frequented studios, heard the talk and read the books. It must have +been weary work for him. But, of course, he was no nearer his object +than before; and then a great chance came to him. He found a young +artist full of promise--a real artist--one filled with the whole +spirit of Art: but he was starving. He was actually penniless, and he +had no friends who could help him, because he was an Australian by +birth. This young man was not only penniless, but in despair. He was +ready to do anything. I suppose, when one is actually starving and +sees no prospect of success or any hope, ambition dies away and even +self-respect may seem a foolish thing.' Roland listened now, his +picture forgotten. What was Armorel intending? 'It must be a most +dreadful kind of temptation. There can be nothing like it in the +world. That is why we pray for our daily bread. Oh! a terrible +temptation. I never understood before how great and terrible a +temptation it is. Then the man without eye, or hand, or brain saw a +chance for himself. He would profit by his brother's weakness. He +proposed to buy the work of this painter and to call it his own.' + +'Armorel, must you tell this story?' + +'Patience, Roland. In his despair the artist gave way. He consented. +For three years and more he received the wages of--of sin. But his +food was like ashes in his mouth, and his front was stamped--yes, +stamped--by the curse of those who sin against their own soul.' + +'Armorel----' But she went on, ruthless. + +'The pictures were very good: they were exhibited, praised, and sold. +And the man grew quickly in reputation. But he wasn't satisfied. He +thought that as it was so easy to be a painter, it would be equally +easy to become a poet. All the Arts are allied: many painters have +been also poets. He had never written a single line of poetry. I do +not know that he had ever read any. He found a girl who was +struggling, working, and hoping.' Effie started and turned roseate +red. 'He took her poems--bought them--and, on the pretence of having +improved them and so made them his own, he published them in his own +name. They were pretty, bright verses, and presently people began to +look for them and to like them. So he got a double reputation. But the +poor girl remained unknown. At first she was so pleased at seeing her +verses in print--it looked so much like success--that she hardly +minded seeing his name at the end. But presently he brought out a +little volume of them with his name on the title-page, and then a +second volume--also with his name----' + +'The scoundrel!' cried Roland. 'He cribbed his poetry too?' + +Effie bowed her face, ashamed. + +'And then the girl grew unhappy. For she perceived that she was in a +bondage from which there was no escape except by sacrificing the money +which he gave her, and that was necessary for her brother's sake. So +she became very unhappy.' + +'Very unhappy,' echoed Effie. Both painter and poet stood confused and +ashamed. + +'Then this clever man--the cleverest man in London--began to go about +in society a good deal, because he was so great a genius. There he met +a lady who was full of stories.' + +'Oh!' said Roland. 'Is there nothing in him at all?' + +'Nothing at all. There is really nothing at all. This man persuaded +the lady to write down these stories, which were all based on old +family scandals and episodes unknown or forgotten by the world. They +form a most charming series of stories. I believe they are written in +a most sparkling style--full of wit and life. Well, he did not put +his name to them, but he allowed the whole world to believe that they +were his own.' + +'Good Heavens!' cried Roland. + +'And still he was not satisfied. He found a young dramatist who had +written a most charming play. He tried to persuade the poor lad that +his play was worthless, and he offered to take it himself, alter +it--but there needed no alteration--and convert it into a play that +could be acted. He would give fifty pounds for the play, but it was to +be his own.' + +'Yes,' said Effie, savagely. 'He made that offer, but he will not get +the play.' + +'You have heard, now, what manner of man he was. Very well. I tell you +two the story because I want to consult you. The other day I arranged +a little play of my own. That is, I invited people to hear the +reciting of that drama: I invited the pretender himself among the +rest, but he did not know or guess what the play was going to be. And +at the same time I invited the painter and the poet. The former +brought his unfinished picture--the latter brought her latest poem, +which the pretender was going that very week to bring out in his own +name. I had set it to music, and I sang it. I meant that he should +learn in this way, without being told, that everything was discovered. +I watched his face during the recital of the play, and I saw the +dismay of the discovery creeping gradually over him as he realised +that he had lost his painter, his poet, and his dramatist. There +remained nothing more but to discover the author of the stories--and +that, too, I have found out. And I think he will lose his story-teller +as well. He will be deprived of all his borrowed plumes. At one blow +he saw himself ruined.' + +Neither of the two made answer for a space. Then spoke Roland: 'Dux +femina facti! A woman hath done this.' + +'He is ruined unless he can find others to take your places. The +question I want you to consider is--What shall be done next? Roland, +it is your name and fame that he has stolen--your pictures that he has +called his own. Effie, they are your poems that he has published under +his name. What will you do? Will you demand your own again? Think.' + +'He must exhibit no more pictures of mine,' said Roland. 'He has one +in his studio that he has already sold. That one must not go to any +gallery. That is all I have to say.' + +'He cannot publish any more poems of mine,' said Effie, 'because he +hasn't got any, and I shall give him no more.' + +'What about the past?' + +'Are we so proud of the past and of the part we have played in +it'--asked Roland--'that we should desire its story published to all +the world?' + +Effie shook her head, approvingly. + +'As for me,' he continued, 'I wish never to hear of it again. It +makes me sick and ashamed even to think of it. Let it be forgotten. I +was an unknown artist--I had few friends--I had exhibited one picture +only--so that my work was unknown--I had painted for him six or seven +pictures which are mostly bought by an American. As for the +resemblance of style, that may make a few men talk for a season. Then +it will be forgotten. I shall remain--he will have disappeared. I am +content to take my chance with future work, even if at first I may +appear to be a mere copyist of Mr. Alec Feilding.' + +'And you, Effie?' + +'I agree with Mr. Lee,' she replied briefly. 'Let the past alone. I +shall write more verses, and, perhaps, better verses.' + +'Then I will go to him and tell him that he need fear nothing. We +shall hold our tongues. But he is not to exhibit the picture that is +in his studio. I will tell him that.' + +'You will not actually go to him yourself, Armorel--alone--after what +has passed?' asked Effie. + +'Why not? He can do me no harm. He knows that he has been found out, +and he is tormented by the fear of what we shall do next. I bring him +relief. His reputation is secured--that is to say, it will be the +reputation of a man who stopped at thirty, in the fulness of his first +promise and his best powers, and did no more work.' + +'Oh!' cried Effie. 'I thought he was so clever! I thought that his +desire to be thought a poet was only a little infirmity of temper, +which would pass. And, after all, to think that----' Here the poet +looked at the painter, and the painter looked at the poet--but neither +spoke the thought: 'How could you--you, with your pencil: how could +you--you, with your pen--consent to the iniquity of so great a fraud?' + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A RECOVERY AND A FLIGHT + + +Amid all these excitements Armorel became aware that +something--something of a painful and disagreeable character, was +going on with her companion. They were at this time very little +together. Mrs. Elstree took her breakfast in bed; at luncheon she was, +just now, nearly always out; at dinner she sat silent, pale, and +anxious; in the evening she lay back in her chair as if she was +asleep. One night Armorel heard her weeping and sobbing in her room. +She knocked at the door with intent to offer her help if she was ill. +'No, no,' cried Mrs. Elstree; 'you need not come in. I have nothing +but a headache.' + +This thing as well disquieted her. She remembered what Lady Frances +had suggested--it is always the suggestion rather than the bare fact +which sticks and pricks like a thorn, and will not come out or suffer +itself to be removed. Armorel thought nothing of the allegation +concerning the stage--why should not a girl go upon the stage if she +wished? The suggestion which pricked was that Mrs. Elstree had been +sent to her by the man whom she now knew to be fraudulent through and +through, in order to carry out some underhand and secret design. There +is nothing more horrid than the suspicion that the people about one +are treacherous. It reduces one to the condition of primitive man, for +whom every grassy glade concealed a snake and every bush a wild beast. +She tried to shake off the suspicion, yet a hundred things confirmed +it. Her constant praise of this child of genius, his persistence in +meeting them wherever they went, the attempt to make her find money +for his schemes. The girl, thus irritated, began to have uneasy +dreams; she was as one caught in the meshes; she was lured into a +garden whence there was no escape; she was hunted by a cunning and +relentless creature; she was in a prison, and could not get out. +Always in her dreams Zoe stood on one side of her, crying, 'Oh, the +great and glorious creature!--oh, the cleverness of the man!--oh, the +wonder and the marvel of him!' And on the other side stood Lady +Frances, saying, 'Why don't you take him? He is a liar, it is true, +but he is no worse than his neighbours--all men are liars! You can't +get a man made on purpose for you. What is your business in life at +all but to find a husband? Why are girls in Society at all except to +catch husbands? And they are scarce, I assure you. Why don't you take +the man? You will never again have such a chance--a rising man--a man +who can make other people work for him--a clever man. Besides, you are +as good as engaged to him: you have made people talk: you have been +seen with him everywhere. If you are not engaged to him you ought to +be.' + +It was about a week after the reading of the play when this condition +of suspicion and unquiet was brought to an end in a very unexpected +manner. + +Mr. Jagenal called at the rooms in the morning about ten o'clock. Mrs. +Elstree was taking breakfast in bed, as usual. Armorel was alone, +painting. + +'My dear young lady,' said her kindly adviser, 'I would not have +disturbed you at this early hour but for a very important matter. You +are well and happy, I trust? No, you are not well and happy. You look +pale.' + +'I have been a little worried lately,' Armorel replied. 'But never +mind now.' + +'Are you quite alone here? Your companion, Mrs. Elstree?' + +'She has not yet left her room. We are quite alone.' + +'Very well, then.' The lawyer sat down and began nursing his right +knee. 'Very well. You remember, I dare say, making a certain +communication to me touching a collection of precious stones in your +possession? You made that communication to me five years ago, when +first you came from Scilly. You returned to it again when you arrived +at your twenty-first birthday, and I handed over to your own keeping +all your portable property.' + +'Of course I remember perfectly well.' + +'Then does your purpose still hold?' + +'It is still, and always, my duty to hand over those rubies to their +rightful owner--the heir of Robert Fletcher, as soon as he can be +found.' + +'It is also my duty to warn you again, as I have done already, that +there is no reason at all why you should do so. You are the sole +heiress of your great-great-grandmother's estate. She died worth a +great sum of money in gold, besides treasures in plate, works of art, +lace, and jewels cut and uncut. The rambling story of an aged woman +cannot be received as evidence on the strength of which you should +hand over valuable property to persons unknown, who do not even claim +it, and know nothing about it.' + +'I must hand over those rubies,' Armorel repeated, 'to the person to +whom they belong.' + +'It is a very valuable property. If the estimate which was made for me +was correct--I see no reason to doubt it--those jewels could be sold, +separately, or in small parcels, for nearly thirty-five thousand +pounds--a fortune larger than all the rest of your property put +together--thirty-five thousand pounds!' + +'That has nothing to do with the question, has it? I have got to +restore those jewels, you see, to their rightful owner, as soon as he +can be discovered.' + +'Well--but--consider again. What have you got to go upon? The story +about Robert Fletcher may or may not be true. No one can tell after +this lapse of time. The things were found by you lying in the old +sea-chest with other things--all your own. Who was this Robert +Fletcher? Where are his heirs? If they claim the property, and can +prove their claim, give it up at once. If not, keep your own. The +jewels are undoubtedly your own as much as the lace and the silks and +the silver cups, which were all, I take it, recovered from wrecks.' + +'Do you disbelieve my great-great-grandmother's story, then?' + +'I have neither to believe nor to disbelieve. I say it isn't evidence. +Your report of what she said, being then in her dotage, amounts to +just nothing, considered as evidence.' + +'I am perfectly certain that the story is true. The leathern thong by +which the case hung round the man's neck has been cut by a knife, just +as granny described it in her story. And there is the writing in the +case itself. Nothing will persuade me that the story is anything but +true in every particular.' + +'It may be true. I cannot say. At the same time, the property is your +own, and you would be perfectly justified in keeping it.' + +'Mr. Jagenal'--Armorel turned upon him sharply--'you have found out +Robert Fletcher's heir! I am certain you have. That is the reason why +you are here this morning.' + +Mr. Jagenal laid upon the table a pocket-book full of papers. + +'I will tell you what I have discovered. That is why I came here. +There has been, unfortunately, a good deal of trouble in discovering +this Robert Fletcher and in identifying one of the Robert Fletchers we +did discover with your man. We discovered, in fact, ten Robert +Fletchers before we came to the man who may reasonably be supposed---- +But you shall see.' + +He opened the pocket-book, and found a paper of memoranda from which +he read his narrative:-- + +'There was one Robert Fletcher, the eleventh whom we unearthed. This +man promised nothing at first. He became a broker in the City in the +year 1810. In the same year he married a cousin, daughter of another +broker, with whom he entered into partnership. He did so well that +when he died, in the year 1846, then aged sixty-nine, his will was +proved under 80,000_l._ He left three daughters, among whom the estate +was divided, in equal shares. The eldest of the daughters, Eleanor, +remained unmarried, and died two years ago, at the age of +seventy-seven, leaving the whole of her fortune--greatly increased by +accumulations--to hospitals and charities. I believe she was, in early +life, alienated from her family, on account of some real or fancied +slight. However, she died: and her papers came into the hands of my +friends Denham, Mansfield, Westbury, and Co., of New Square, Lincoln's +Inn, solicitors. Her second sister, Frances, born in the year 1813, +married in 1834, had one son, Francis Alexander, who was born in 1835, +and married in 1857. Both Frances and her son are now dead; but one +son remained, Frederick Alexander, born in the year 1859. The third +daughter, Catharine, born in the year 1815, married in 1835, and +emigrated to Australia with her husband, a man named Temple. I have no +knowledge of this branch of the family.' + +'Then,' said Armorel, 'I suppose the eldest son or grandson of the +second sister must have the rubies?' + +'You are really in a mighty hurry to get rid of your property. The +next question--it should have come earlier--is--How do I connect this +Robert Fletcher with your Robert Fletcher? How do we know that Robert +Fletcher the broker was Robert Fletcher the shipwrecked passenger? +Well; Eleanor, the eldest, left a bundle of family papers and letters +behind her. Among them is a packet endorsed "From my son Robert in +India." Those letters, signed "Robert Fletcher," are partly dated from +Burmah, whither the writer had gone on business. He gives his +observations on the manners and customs of the country, then little +known or visited. He says that he is doing very well, indeed: so well, +he says presently, that, thanks to a gift made to him by the King, he +is able to think about returning home with the means of staying at +home and doing no more work for the end of his natural days.' + +'Of course, he had those jewels.' + +'Then he writes from Calcutta. He has returned in safety from Burmah +and the King, whose capricious temper had made him tremble for his +life. He is putting his affairs in order: he has brought his property +from Burmah in a portable form which he can best realise in London: +lastly, he is going to sail in a few weeks. This is in the year 1808. +According to your story it was somewhere about that date that the +wreck took place on the Scilly Isles, and he was washed ashore, +saved----' + +'And robbed,' said Armorel. + +'As we have no evidence of the fact,' answered the man of law, 'I +prefer to say that the real story ends with the last of the letters. +It remained, however, to compare the handwriting of the letters with +that of the fragment of writing in your leather case. I took the +liberty to have a photograph made of that fragment while it was in my +possession, and I now ask you to compare the handwriting.' He drew out +of his pocket-book a letter--one of the good old kind, on large paper, +brown with age, and unprovided with any envelope--and the photograph +of which he was speaking. 'There,' he said, 'judge for yourself.' + +'Why!' cried Armorel. 'The writing corresponds exactly!' + +'It certainly does, letter for letter. Well; the conclusion of the +whole matter is that I believe the story of the old lady to be correct +in the main. On the other hand, there is nothing in the papers to show +the existence in the family of any recollection of so great a loss. +One would imagine that a man who had dropped--or thought he had +dropped--a bag, full of rubies, worth thirty-five thousand pounds, +into the sea would have told his children about it, and bemoaned the +loss all his life. Perhaps, however, he was so philosophic as to +grieve no more after what was hopelessly gone. He was still in the +years of hope when the misfortune befell him. Possibly his children +knew in general terms that the shipwreck had caused a destruction of +property. Again, a man of the City, with the instincts of the City, +would not like it to be known that he had returned to his native +country a pauper, while it would help him in his business to be +considered somewhat of a Nabob. Of this I cannot speak from any +knowledge I have, or from any discovery that I have made.' + +'Oh!' cried Armorel, 'I cannot tell you what a weight has been lifted +from me. I have never ceased to long for the restoration of those +jewels ever since I found them in the sea-chest.' + +'There is--as I said--only one descendant of the second sister--a +man--a man still young. You will give me your instructions in writing. +I am to hand over to this young man--this fortunate young man--already +trebly fortunate in another sense--this precious packet of jewels. It +is still, I suppose, in the bank?' + +'It is where you placed it for me when I came of age.' + +'Very well. I have brought you an order for its delivery to me. Will +you sign it?' + +Armorel heaved a great sigh. 'With what relief!' she said. 'Have you +got it here?' + +Mr. Jagenal gave her the order on the bank for the delivery of sealed +packet, numbered III., to himself. She signed it. + +'To think,' she said, 'that by a simple stroke of the pen I can remove +the curse of those ill-gotten rubies! It is like getting rid of all +your sins at once. It is like Christian dropping his bundle.' + +'I hope the rubies will not carry on this supposed curse of yours.' + +'Oh!' cried Armorel, with a profound sigh, 'I feel as if the poor old +lady was present listening. Since I could understand anything, I have +understood that the possession of those rubies brought disaster upon +my people. From generation to generation they have been drowned one +after the other--my father--my grandfather--my great-grandfather--my +mother--my brothers--all--all drowned. Can you wonder if I rejoice +that the things will threaten me no longer?' + +'This is sheer superstition.' + +'Oh! yes: I know, and yet I cannot choose but to believe it, I have +heard the story so often, and always with the same ending. Now, they +are gone.' + +'Not quite gone. Nearly. As good as gone, however. Dismiss this +superstitious dread from your mind, my dear young lady.' + +'The rubies are gone. There will be no more of us swallowed up in the +cruel sea.' + +'No more of you,' repeated Mr. Jagenal, with the incredulous smile of +one who has never had in his family a ghost, or a legend, or a curse, +or a doom, or a banshee, or anything at all distinguished. 'And now +you will be happy. You don't ask me the name of the fortunate young +man.' + +'No; I do not want to know anything more about the horrid things.' + +'What am I to say to him?' + +'Tell him the truth.' + +'I shall tell him that you discovered the rubies in an old sea-chest +with other property accumulated during a great many years: that a +scrap of paper with writing on it gave a clue to the owner: and that, +by means of other investigation, he has been discovered: that it was +next to impossible for your great-grandfather, Captain Rosevean, to +have purchased these jewels: and that the presumption is that he +recovered them from the wreck, and laid them in the chest, saying +nothing, and that the chest was never opened until your succession to +the property. That, my dear young lady, is all the story that I have +to tell. And now I will go away, with congratulations to Donna +Quixote in getting rid of thirty-five thousand pounds.' + +An hour or two afterwards, Mrs. Elstree appeared. She glided into the +room and threw herself into her chair, as if she desired to sleep +again. She looked harassed and anxious. + +'Zoe,' cried Armorel, 'you are surely ill. What is it? Can I do +nothing for you?' + +'Nothing. I only wish it was all over, or that I could go to sleep for +fifty years, and wake up an old woman--in an almshouse or +somewhere--all the troubles over. What a beautiful thing it must be to +be old and past work, with fifteen shillings a week, say, and nothing +to think about all day except to try and forget the black box! If it +wasn't for the black box--I know I should see them always coming along +the road with it--it must be the loveliest time.' + +'Well--but--what makes you look so ill?' + +'Nothing. I am not ill. I am never ill. I would rather be ill +than--what I am. A tearing, rending neuralgia would be a welcome +change. Don't ask me any more questions, Armorel. You look radiant, +for your part. Has anything happened to you?--anything good? You are +one of those happy girls to whom only good things come.' + +'Do you remember the story I told you--about the rubies?' + +'Yes.' She turned her face to the fire. 'I remember very well.' + +'I have at last--congratulate me, Zoe--I have got rid of them.' + +'You have got rid of them?' Mrs. Elstree started up. 'Where are they, +then?' + +'Mr. Jagenal has been here. He has found a great-grandson of Robert +Fletcher, who is entitled to have them. I have never been so relieved! +The dreadful things are out of my hands now, and in Mr. Jagenal's. He +will give them to this grandson. Zoe, what is the matter?' + +Mrs. Elstree rose to her feet, and stood facing Armorel, with eyes in +which wild terror was the only passion visible, and white cheeks. And, +as Armorel was still speaking, she staggered, reeled, and fell +forwards in a faint. Armorel caught her, and bore her to the sofa, +when she presently came to herself again. But the fainting fit was +followed by hysterical weeping and laughing. She knew not what she +said. She raved about somebody who had bought something. Armorel paid +no heed to what she said. She lamented the hour of her birth: she had +been pursued by evil all her life: she lamented the hour when she met +a certain man, unnamed, who had dragged her down to his own level: and +so on. + +When she had calmed a little, Armorel persuaded her to lie down. It is +a woman's chief medicine. It is better than all the drugs in the +museum of the College of Physicians. Mrs. Elstree, pale and +trembling, tearful and agitated, lay down. Armorel covered her with a +warm wrapper, and left her. + +A little while afterwards she looked in. The patient was quite calm +now, apparently asleep, and breathing gently. Armorel, satisfied with +the result of her medicine, left her in charge of her maid, and went +out for an hour. She went out, in fact, to tell Effie Wilmot the +joyful news concerning those abominable rubies. When she came back, in +time for luncheon, she was met by her maid, who gave her a letter, and +told her a strange thing. Mrs. Elstree had gone away! The sick woman, +who had been raving in hysterics, hardly able to support herself to +her bed, had got up the moment after Armorel left the house, packed +all her boxes hurriedly, sent her for a cab, and had driven away. But +she had left this note for Armorel. It was brief. + + 'I am obliged to go away unexpectedly. In order to avoid + explanations and questions and farewells, I have thought it + best to go away quietly. I could not choose but go. For + certain reasons I must leave you. For the same reasons I hope + that we may never meet again. I ought never to have come here. + Forgive me and forget me. I will write to Mr. Jagenal to-day. + + 'ZOE.' + +There was no reason given. She had gone. Nor, if one may anticipate, +has Armorel yet discovered the reasons for this sudden flight. Nor, as +you will presently discover, will Armorel ever be able to discover +those reasons. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +ALL LOST BUT---- + + +Mr. Alec Feilding paced the thick carpet of his studio with a restless +step and an unquiet mind. Never before had he faced a more gloomy +outlook. Black clouds, storm and rain, everywhere. Bad, indeed, is it +for the honest tradesman when there is no money left, and no credit. +But a man can always begin the world again if he has a trade. The +devil of it is when a man has no trade at all, except that of lying +and cheating in the abstract. Many men, it is true, combine cheatery +and falsehood with their trade. Few are so unfortunate as to have no +trade on which to base their frauds and adulterations. + +Everything threatened, and all at once. Nay, it seemed as if +everything was actually taken from him and all at once. Not something +here, which might be repaired, and something there, a little later on, +but all at once--everything. Nothing at all left. Even his furniture +and his books might be seized. He would be stripped of his house, his +journal, his name, his credit, his position--even his genius! +Therefore his face--that face which Armorel found so wooden--was now +full of expression, but of the terror-stricken, hunted kind: that of +the man who has been found out and is going to be exposed. + +On the table lay three or four letters. They had arrived that morning. +He took them up and read them one after the other. It was line upon +line, blow upon blow. + +The first was from Roland Lee. + +'I see no object,' he said, 'in granting you the interview which you +propose. There is not really anything that requires discussion. As to +our interests being identical, as you say--if they have been so +hitherto they will remain so no longer. As to the market price of the +pictures, which you claim to have raised by your judicious management, +I am satisfied to see my work rise to its own level by its own worth. +As to your threat that the influence which has been exerted for an +artist may be also exerted against him--you will do what you please. +Your last demand, for gratitude, needs no reply. I start again, +exactly where I was when you found me. I am still as poor and as +little known. The half-dozen pictures which you have sold as your own +will not help me in any way. Your assertion that I am about to reap +the harvest of your labours is absurd. I begin the world over again. +The last picture--the one now in your studio--you will be good enough +not to exhibit'--'Won't I, though?' asked the owner--'at the penalty +of certain inconveniences which you will learn immediately. I have +torn up and burned your cheque.'--'So much the better for me,' said +the purchaser.--'You say that you will not let me go without a +personal interview. If you insist upon one, you must have it. You will +find me here any morning. But, as you can only want an interview in +the hope of renewing the old arrangement, I am bound to warn you that +it is hopeless and impossible, and to beg that you will not trouble +yourself to come here at all. Understand that no earthly consideration +will induce me to bear any further share in the deception in which I +have been too long a confederate. The guilty knowledge of the past +should separate us as wide apart as the poles. To see you will be to +revive a guilty memory. Since we must meet, perhaps, from time to +time, let us meet as a pair of criminals who avoid each other's +conversation for fear of stirring up the noisome past. What has been +resolved upon, so far as I--and another--are concerned, Miss Armorel +Rosevean has undertaken to inform you.--R. L.' + +'Deception! Criminals!' I suppose there is no depth of wickedness into +which men may not descend, step by step, getting daily deeper in the +mire of falsehood and crime, yet walking always with head erect, and +meeting the world with the front of rectitude. Had anyone told Mr. +Alec Feilding, years before, what he would do in the future, he would +have kicked that foul and obscene prophet. Well: he had done these +things, and deliberately: he had posed before the world as painter, +poet, and writer of fiction. As time went on, and the world accepted +his pretensions, they became a part of himself. Nay: he even excused +himself. Everybody does the same thing: or, just the same, everybody +would do it, given the chance: it is a world of pretension, +make-believe, and seeming. Besides, he was no highwayman, he bought +the things: he paid for them: they were his property. And +yet--'Deception! Criminals!' The words astonished and pained him. + +And the base ingratitude of the man. He was starving: no one would buy +his things: nobody knew his work, when he stepped in. Then, by +dexterity in the art of Puff, which the moderns call _réclame_--he +actually believed this, being so ignorant of Art--he had forced these +pictures into notice: he had run up their price, until for that +picture on the easel he had been offered, and had taken, 450_l._! +Ungrateful! + +'Deception! Criminals!' + +Why, the man had actually received a cheque for 300_l._ for that very +picture. What more could he want or expect? True, he had refused to +cash the cheque. More fool he! + +And now he was going absolutely to withdraw from the partnership, and +work for himself. Well--poor devil! He would starve! + +He stood in front of the picture and looked at it mournfully. The +beautiful thing--far more beautiful than any he had exhibited before. +It cut him to the heart to think--not that he had been such a fraud, +but--that he could have no more from the same source. His career was +cut short at the outset, his ambitions blasted, by this unlucky +accident. Yet a year or two and the Academy would have made him an +Associate: a few more years and he would have become R.A. Perhaps, in +the end, President. And now it was all over. No Royal Academy for him, +unless--a thing almost desperate--he could find some other Roland +Lee--some genius as poor, as reckless of himself. And it might be +years--years--before he could find such a one. Meantime, what was he +to show? What was he to say? 'Deception! Criminals!' Confound the +fellow! The words banged about his head and boxed his ears. + +The second letter was from Effie--the girl to whom he had paid such +vast sums of money, whom he had surrounded with luxuries--on whom he +had bestowed the precious gift of his personal friendship. This girl +also wrote without the least sense of gratitude. She said, in fact, +writing straight to the point, 'I beg to inform you that I shall not, +in future, be able to continue those contributions to your paper which +you have thought fit to publish in two volumes with your own name +attached. I have submitted my original manuscript of those verses to a +friend, who has compared them with your published volume, and has +ascertained that there is not the alteration of a single word. So that +your pretence of having altered and improved them, until they became +your own, is absurd. My brother begs me to add that your statement +made before all the people at the reading was false. You made no +suggestions. You offered no advice. You said that the play was +worthless. My brother has made no alterations. You offered to give him +fifty pounds for the whole rights in the play, with the right of +bringing it out under your own name. This offer he refuses absolutely. + +'I sincerely wish I could restore the money you have given me. I now +understand that it was the price of my silence--the Wages of Sin. + + 'E. W.' + +No more verses from that quarter. Poets, however, there are in plenty, +writers of glib and flowing rhymes. To be sure, they are as a race +consumed by vanity, and want to have their absurd names stuck to +everything they do. Very well, henceforth he would have anonymous +verses, and engage a small army of poets. The letter moved him little, +except that it came by the same post as the other. It proved, taken +with the evening of the play, concerted action. As for comparing the +girl's manuscript verses with the volume, how was she to prove that +the manuscript verses were not copied out of the volume? + +Then there was a third letter, a very angry letter, from Lady Frances, +his story-teller. + +'I learn,' she said, 'that you have chosen me as the fittest person +upon whom to practise your deceptions. You assured me that you were +engaged to Miss Armorel Rosevean. I learn from the young lady herself +that this is entirely false: you did offer yourself, it is true, a +week after you had assured me of the engagement. You were promptly and +decidedly refused. And you had no reason whatever for believing that +you would be accepted. + +'I should like you to consider that you owe your introduction into +society to me. You also owe to me whatever name you have acquired as a +story-teller. Every one of the society stories told in your paper has +been communicated to you by me. And this is the way in which you repay +my kindness to you. + +'Under the circumstances, I think you cannot complain if I request +that in future we cease to meet even as acquaintances. Of course, my +contributions to your paper will be discontinued. And if you venture +to state anywhere that they are your own work, I will publicly +contradict the statement. + + 'F. H.' + +He stood irresolute. What was to be done? For the moment he could +think of nothing. 'It is that cursed girl!' he cried. 'Why did she +ever come here? By what unlucky accident did she meet these +two--Roland Lee and Effie? Why was I such a fool as to ask Lady +Frances to call upon her? Why did I send Zoe to her? It is all folly +together. If it had not been for her we should have been all going on +as before. I am certain we should--and going on comfortably. I should +have made Roland's fortune as well as my own name--and his hand was +getting stronger and better every day. And I should have kept that +girl in comfort, and made a very pretty little name for myself that +way. She was improving, too--a bright and clever girl--a real treasure +in proper hands. And I had the boy as well, or should have had. Good +Heavens! what losses! What a splendid possession to have destroyed! No +man ever before had such a chance--to say nothing of Lady Frances!' It +was maddening. We use the word lightly, and for small cause. But it +really was maddening. 'What will they say? What are they going to do? +What can they say? If it comes to a question of affirmation I can +swear as well as anyone, I suppose. If Roland pretends that he painted +my pictures--if Effie says she wrote my poems--how will they prove it? +What can they do? + +'But things stick. If it is whispered about that there will be no more +pictures and no more poems--oh! it is the hardest luck.' + +One more letter reached him by that morning's post:-- + + 'Dearest Alec,--I have left Armorel, and am no longer a + Companion. The gilt could not disguise the pill. I have, + however, a communication to make of a more comfortable + character than this. It is true that I am like a housemaid out + of a situation. But I think you will change the natural + irritation caused by this announcement for a more joyful + countenance when you see me. I shall arrive with my + communication about noon to-morrow. Be at home, and be + alone.--Your affectionate + + 'ZOE.' + +What had she got to say? At the present crisis what could it matter +what she had to say? If she had only got that money out of Armorel, or +succeeded in making the girl his servant. But she could not do the +only really useful thing he ever asked of her. + +He laid down the letter on the table, beside one from his +printers--three days old. In this communication the printers pointed +out that his account was very large; that no satisfactory arrangement +had been proposed; that they were going to discontinue printing his +paper unless something practical was effected; and that they hoped to +hear from him without delay. + +There was a knock at the door: the discreet man-servant brought a +card, with the silence and confidential manner of one who announces a +secret emissary--say a hired assassin. + +The visitor was Mr. Jagenal. He came in friendly and expansive. + +'My dear boy!' he said with a warm grasp. 'Always at work--always at +work?' + +Alec dexterously swept the letters into an open drawer. 'Always at +work,' he said. 'But I must be hard pressed when I cannot give you +five minutes. What is it?' + +'I will come to the point at once. You know Mrs. Elstree very well, I +believe?' + +'Very well indeed--I knew her before her father's failure. Before her +marriage.' + +'Quite so. Then what do you make of this?' He handed over a note, +which the other man read: 'Dear Sir,--Unexpected circumstances have +made it necessary for me to give up my charge of Armorel Rosevean at +once. I have not even been able to wait a single day. I have been +compelled to leave her without even wishing her farewell.--Very truly +yours, Zoe Elstree.' + +'It is very odd,' he said truthfully. 'I know nothing of these +circumstances. I cannot tell you why she has resigned.' + +'Oh! I thought I would ask you! Well, she has actually gone: she has +vanished: she has left the girl quite alone. This is all very +irregular, isn't it? Not quite what one expects of a lady, is it?' + +'Very irregular indeed. Well, I am responsible for her introduction to +you, and I will find out, if I can, what it means. She is coming here +to-day, she writes: no doubt to give me her reasons. What will Miss +Rosevean do?' + +'Oh! she is an independent girl. She tells me that she has found a +young lady about her own age, and they are going to live together. +Alec, I don't quite understand why you thought Mrs. Elstree so likely +a person for companion. Philippa tells me that she has no friends, and +we appointed her because we thought she had so many.' + +'Pleasing--attractive--accomplished--what more did you want? And as +for friends, she must have had plenty.' + +'But it seems she had none. Nobody has ever called upon her. And she +never went into any society. Are you sure that you were not misled +about her, my dear boy? I have heard, for instance, rumours about her +and the provincial stage.' + +'Oh! rumours are nothing. I don't think I could have been mistaken in +her. However, she has gone. I will find out why. As for Armorel +Rosevean----' + +'Alec--what a splendid girl! Was there no chance there for you? Are +you so critical that even Armorel is not good enough for you?' + +'Not my style,' he said shortly. 'Never mind the girl.' + +'Well--there is one more thing, Alec--and a more pleasant subject--about +yourself. I want to ask you one or two questions--family questions.' + +'I thought you knew all about my family.' + +'So I do, pretty well. However--this is really important--most +important. I wouldn't waste your time if it was not important. Do you +remember your great-aunt Eleanor Fletcher?' + +'Very well. She left all her money to charities--Cat!' + +'And your grandmother, Mrs. Needham?' + +'Quite well. What is in the wind now? Has Aunt Eleanor been proved to +have made a later will in my favour?' + +'You will find out in a day or two. Eh! Alec, you are a lucky dog. +Painter--poet--nothing in which you do not command success. And +now--now----' + +'Now--what?' + +'That I will tell you, my dear boy, in two or three days. There's many +a slip, we know, but this time the cup will reach your lips.' + +'What do you mean?' cried the young man, startled. 'Cup? Do you mean +to tell me that you have something--something unexpected--coming to +me? Something considerable?' + +'If it comes--oh! yes, it is quite certain to come--very considerable. +You are your mother's only son, and she was an only child, and her +grandfather was one Robert Fletcher, wasn't he?' + +'I believe he was. There's a family Bible on the shelves that can tell +us.' + +'Did you ever hear anything about the early life and adventures of +this Robert Fletcher?' + +'No: he was in the City, I believe, and he left a good large fortune. +That is all.' + +'That is all. That is all. Well, my dear boy, the strangest things +happen: we must never be surprised at anything. But be prepared +to-morrow--or next day--or the day after--to be agreeably--most +agreeably--surprised.' + +'To the tune of--what? A thousand pounds, say?' + +'Perhaps. It may amount very nearly to as much--very nearly--Ha! +ha!--to nearly as much as that, I dare say--Ho! ho!' He chuckled, and +wagged his white head. 'Very nearly a thousand pounds, I dare say.' He +walked over to look at the picture. + +'Really, Alec,' he said, 'you deserve all the luck you get. Nobody can +possibly grudge it to you. This picture is charming. I don't know when +I have seen a sweeter thing. You have the finest feeling for rock and +sea-shore and water. Well, my dear boy, I am very sorry that you +haven't as fine a feeling for Armorel Rosevean--the sweetest girl and +the best, I believe, in the world. Good-bye!--good-bye! till the day +after to-morrow--the day after to-morrow! It will certainly reach to a +thousand--or very near. Ho! ho! Lucky dog!' + +Mr. Jagenal went away nodding and smiling. There are moments when it +is very good to be a solicitor: they are moments rich in blessing: +they compensate, in some measure, for those other moments when the +guilty are brought to bay and the thriftless are made to tremble: they +are the moments when the solicitor announces a windfall--the return of +the long-lost Nabob--the discovery of a will--the favourable decision +of the Court. + +Alec sat down and seized a pen. He wrote hurriedly to his printers: +'Let the present arrangements,' he said, continue unchanged. I shall +be in a position in two or three days to make a very considerable +payment, and, after that, we will start on a more regular +understanding.' + +Another knock, and again the discreet man-servant came in on tiptoe. +'Lady refused her card,' he whispered. + +The lady was none other than Armorel herself--in morning dress, +wearing a hat. + +He bowed coldly. There was a light in her eyes, and a heightened +colour on her cheek, which hardly looked like a friendly call. But +that, of course, one could not expect. + +'After our recent interview,' he said, 'and after the very remarkable +string of accusations which fell from your lips, I could hardly expect +to see you in my studio, Miss Rosevean.' + +'I came only to communicate a resolution arrived at by my friends Mr. +Roland Lee and Miss Effie Wilmot.' + +'From your friends Mr. Roland Lee and Miss Effie Wilmot? May I offer +you a chair?' + +'Thank you. No. My message is only to tell you this. They have +resolved to let the past remain unknown.' + +'To let the past remain unknown.' He tried to appear careless, but the +girl watched the sudden light of satisfaction in his eyes and the +sudden expression of relief in his face. 'The past remain unknown,' he +repeated. 'Yes--certainly. Am I--may I ask--interested in this +decision?' + +'That you know best, Mr. Feilding. It seems hardly necessary to try to +carry it off with me--I know everything. But--as you please. They +agree that they have been themselves deeply to blame: they cannot +acquit themselves. Certainly it is a pitiful thing for an artist to +own that he has sold his name and fame in a moment of despair.' + +'It would be indeed a pitiful thing if it were ever done.' + +'Nothing more, therefore, will be said by either of them as to the +pictures or poems.' + +'Indeed? From what you have already told me: from the gracious freedom +of your utterances at the National Gallery, I seem to connect those +two names with the charges you then brought. They refuse to bring +forward, or to endorse, those charges, then? Do you withdraw them?' + +'They do not refuse to bring forward the charges. They have never made +those charges. I made them, and I, Mr. Feilding'--she raised her voice +a little--'I do not withdraw them.' + +'Oh! you do not withdraw them? May I ask what your word in the matter +is worth unsupported by their evidence--even if their evidence were +worth anything?' + +'You shall hear what my word is worth. This picture'--she placed +herself before it--'is painted by Mr. Roland Lee. Perhaps he will not +say so. Oh! It is a beautiful picture--it is quite the best he has +ever painted--yet. It is a true picture: you cannot understand either +its beauty or its truth. You have never been to the place: you do not +even know where it is: why, Sir, it is my birthplace. I lived there +until I was sixteen years of age: the scene, like all the scenes in +those pictures you call your own, was taken in the Scilly +archipelago.' He started. 'You do not even know the girl who stands in +the foreground--your own model. Why--it is my portrait--mine--look at +me, Sir--it is my portrait. Now you know what my word is worth. I have +only to stand before this picture and tell the world that this is my +portrait.' + +He started and changed colour. This was unexpected. If the girl was to +go on talking in this way outside, it would be difficult to reply. +What was he to say if the words were reported to him? Because, you +see, once pointed out, there could be no doubt at all about the +portrait. + +'A portrait of myself,' she repeated. + +'Permit me to observe,' he said, with some assumption of dignity, +'that you will find it very difficult to prove these statements--most +difficult--and at the same time highly dangerous, because libellous.' + +'No, not dangerous, Mr. Feilding. Would you dare to go into a Court of +Justice and swear that these pictures are yours? When did you go to +Scilly? Where did you stay? Under what circumstances did you have me +for a model? On what island did you find this view?' + +He was silent. + +'Will you dare to paint anything--the merest sketch--to show that this +picture is in your own style? You cannot.' + +'Anyone,' he said, 'may bring charges--the most reckless charges. But +I think you would hardly dare----' + +'I will do this, then. If you dare to exhibit this picture as your +own, I will, most assuredly, take all my friends and stand in front of +it, and tell them when and where it was painted, and by whom, and show +them my own portrait.' + +The resolution of this threat quelled him. 'I have no intention,' he +said, 'of exhibiting this picture. It is sold to an American, and will +go to New York immediately. Next year, perhaps, I may take up your +challenge.' + +She laughed scornfully. 'I promised Roland,' she said, 'that you +should not show this picture. That is settled, then. You shall not, +you dare not.' + +She left the picture reluctantly. It was dreadful to her to think that +it must go, with his name upon it. + +On a side-table lay, among a pile of books, the dainty white-and-gold +volume of poems bearing the name of this great genius. She took it up, +and laughed. + +'Oh!' she said. 'Was there ever greater impudence? Every line in this +volume was written by Effie Wilmot--every line!' + +'Indeed? Who says so?' + +'I say so. I have compared the manuscript with the volume. There is +not the difference of a word.' + +'If Miss Effie Wilmot, for purposes of her own, and for base purposes +of deception, has copied out my verses in her own handwriting, +probably a wonderful agreement may be found.' + +'Shame!' cried Armorel. + +'You see the force of that remark. It _is_ a great shame. Some girls +take to lying naturally. Others acquire proficiency in the art. Effie, +I suppose, took to it naturally. I am sorry for Effie. I used to think +better of her.' + +'Oh! He tries, even now! How can you pretend--you--to have written +this sweet and dainty verse? Oh! You dare to put your signature to +these poems!' + +'Of course,' said the divine Maker, with brazen front and calmly +dignified speech, 'if these things are said in public or outside the +studio, I shall be compelled to bring an action for libel. I have +warned you already. Before repeating what you have said here you had +better make quite sure that you can prove your words. Ask Miss Effie +Wilmot what proofs she has of her assertion, if it is hers, and not an +invention of your own!' + +Armorel threw down the volume. 'Poor Effie!' she said. 'She has been +robbed of the first-fruits of her genius. How dare you talk of +proofs?' She took up the current number of the journal. 'That is not +all,' she said. 'Look here! This is one of your stories, is it not? I +read in a paper yesterday that no Frenchman ever had so light a touch: +that there are no modern stories anywhere so artistic in treatment and +in construction as your own--your own--your very own, Mr. Feilding. +Yet they are written for you, every one of them: they are written by +Lady Frances Hollington. You are a Triple Impostor. I believe that you +really are the very greatest Pretender--the most gigantic Pretender in +the whole world.' + +'Of course,' he went on, a little abashed by her impetuosity. 'I +cannot stop your tongue. You may say what you please.' + +'We shall say nothing more. That is what I came to say on behalf of my +friends. I wished to spare them the pain of further communication with +you.' + +'Kind and thoughtful!' + +'I have one more question to ask you, Mr. Feilding. Pray, why did you +tell people that I was engaged to you?' + +'Probably,' he replied, unabashed, 'because I wished it to be +believed.' + +'Why did you wish it to be believed?' + +'Probably for private reasons.' + +'It was a vile and horrible falsehood!' + +'Come, Miss Rosevean, we will not call each other names. Otherwise I +might ask you what the world calls a girl who encourages a man to +dangle after her for weeks, till everybody talks about her, and then +throws him over.' + +'Oh! You cannot mean----' Before those flashing eyes his own dropped. + +'I mean that this is exactly what you have done,' he said, but without +looking up. + +'Is it possible that a man can be so base? What encouragement did I +ever give you?' + +'You surely are not going to deny the thing, after all. Why, it has +been patent for all the world to see you. I have been with you +everywhere, in all public places. What hint did you ever give me that +my addresses were disagreeable to you?' + +'How can one reply to such insinuations?' asked Armorel, with flaming +face. 'And so you followed me about in order to be able to say that I +encouraged you! What a man! What a man! You have taught me to +understand, now, why one man may sometimes take a stick and beat +another. If I were a man, at this moment, I would beat you with a +stick. No other treatment is fit for such a man. I to encourage +you!--when for a month and more I have known what an Impostor and +Pretender you are! You dare to say that I have encouraged +you!--you--the robber of other men's name and fame!' + +'Well, if you come to that, I do dare to say as much. Come, Miss +Armorel Rosevean. I certainly do dare to say as much.' + +She turned with a gesture of impatience. + +'I have said what I came to say. I will go.' + +'Stop a moment!' said Alec Feilding. 'Is it not rather a bold +proceeding for a beautiful girl like you, a day or two after you have +refused a man, to visit him alone at his studio? Is it altogether the +way to let the world distinctly understand that there never has been +anything between us, and that it is all over?' + +'I am less afraid of the world than you think. My world is my very +little circle of friends. I am very much afraid of what they think. +But it is on their account, and with their knowledge, that I am here.' + +'Alone and unprotected?' + +'Alone, it is true. I can always protect myself.' + +'Indeed!' He turned an ugly--a villanous--face towards her. 'We shall +see! You come here with your charges and your fine phrases. We shall +see!' + +He had been standing all this time before his study table. He now +stepped quickly to the door. The key was in the lock. He turned it, +drew it out, and dropped it in his pocket. + +[Illustration: _'You have had your innings, and I am going to have +mine.'_] + +'Now, my lovely lady,' he said, grinning, 'you have had your innings, +and I am going to have mine. You have come to this studio in order to +have a row with me. You have had that row. You can use your tongue in +a manner that does credit to your early education. As for your +nonsense about Roland Lee and Effie and Lady Frances, no one is going +to believe that stuff, you know. As for your question, I did tell Lady +Frances that you were engaged to me. And I told others. Because, of +course, you were--or ought to have been. It was only by some kind +of accident that I did not speak before. As I intended to speak the +next day, I anticipated the thing by twelve hours or so. What of that? +Well, I shall now have to explain that you seem not to know your own +mind. It will be awkward for you--not for me. You have thrown me over. +And all you have got to say in explanation is a long rigmarole of +abuse. This not my own painting? These not my own poems? These, again, +not my own stories? Really, Miss Armorel Rosevean, you know so very +little of the world--you are so inexperienced--you are so easily +imposed upon--that I am inclined to pity rather than to blame you. Of +course, you have tried to do me harm, and I ought to be angry with +you. But I cannot. You are much too beautiful. To a lovely woman +everything, even mischief, is forgiven.' + +'Will you open the door and let me go?' + +'All in good time. When I please. It will do you no harm to be caught +alone in my studio--alone with me. It will look so like returning to +the lover whom, in a moment of temper, you threw over. I will take +care that it shall bear that interpretation, if necessary. You have +changed your mind, sweet Armorel, have you not? You have repented of +that cruel decision?' + +He advanced a little nearer. I really believe that he was still +confident in his own power of subjugating the sex feminine--Heaven +knows why some men always retain this confidence. + +Armorel looked round the room: the window was high, too high for her +to reach: there was no way of escape except through the door. Then she +saw something hanging on the wall within her reach, and she took +courage. + +He drew still nearer: he held out his hands, and laughed. + +'You are a really lovely girl,' he said. 'I believe there is not a +more beautiful girl in the whole world. Before you go let us make +friends and forgive. It is not too late to change your mind. I will +forget all you have said and all the mischief you have done me. My man +is very discreet. He will say nothing about your visit here, unless I +give him permission to speak. This I will never allow unless I am +compelled. Come, Armorel, once more let me be your lover--once more. +Give me your hands.' + +He bowed suppliant. He looked in her face with baleful eyes. He tried +to take her hands. Armorel sprang from him and darted to the other end +of the room. + +The thing she had observed was hanging up among the weapons and armour +and tapestry which decorated this wall of the studio. It was an axe +from foreign parts, I think, from Indian parts, with a stout wooden +handle and a boss of steel at the upper part. Armorel seized this +lethal weapon. It was so heavy that no ordinary girl could have lifted +it. But her arm, strengthened by a thousand days upon the water, +tugging at the oar, wielded it easily. + +'Open the door!' she cried. 'Open the door this moment!' + +Her wooer made no reply. He shrank back before the girl who handled +this heavy axe as lightly as a paper-knife. But he did not open the +door. + +'Open it, I say!' + +He only shrank back farther. He was cowed before the wrath in her +face. He did not know what she would do next. I think he even forgot +that the key was in his pocket. The door, a dainty piece of furniture, +was not one of the common machine-made things which the competitive +German--or is it the thrifty Swede?--is so good as to send over to us. +It was a planned and fitted door, the panels painted with reeds and +grasses, the gift of some admirer of genius. Armorel raised the +axe--and looked at him. He did not move. + +Crash! It went through the panel. Crash! again and again. The upper +part of the door was a gaping wreck of splinters. Outside, the +discreet man-servant waited in silence and expectation. Often ladies +had held interviews alone with his master. But this was the first time +that an interview had ended with such a crash. + +'Will you open the door?' she asked again. + +The man replied by a curse. + +The lock--a piece of imitation mediævalism in iron--was fitted on to +the inner part of the door, a very pretty ornament. Armorel raised her +axe again, and brought the square boss at the top of it down upon the +dainty fragile lock, breaking it and tearing it from the wood. There +was no more difficulty in opening the door. She did so. She threw the +hatchet on the carpet and walked away, the discreet man-servant +opening the door for her with unchanged countenance, as if the +deplorable incident had not happened at all. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE END OF WORLDLY TROUBLES + + +Not more than five minutes afterwards, Mrs. Elstree arrived upon this +scene of wreck. The splintered panels, the broken lock, the axe lying +on the floor, proclaimed aloud that there had been an Incident of some +gravity--certainly what we have called a Deplorable Incident. + +Such a thing as a Deplorable Incident in such a place and with such a +man was, indeed, remarkable. Mrs. Elstree gazed upon the wreck with +astonishment unfeigned: she turned to the tenant of the studio, who +stood exactly where Armorel had left him. As the sea when the storm +has ceased continues to heave in sullen anger, so that majestic spirit +still heaved with wrath as yet unappeased. + +In answer to the mute question of her eyes, he growled, and threw +himself into his study-chair. When she picked up the axe and bore it +back to its place, he growled. When she pointed to the door, he +growled again. + +She looked at his angry face, and she laughed gently. The last time we +saw her she was pale and hysterical. She was now smiling, apparently +in perfect health of body and ease of mind. Perhaps she was a very +good actress--off the stage: perhaps she shook off things easily. +Otherwise one does not always step from a highly nervous and +hysterical condition to one of happiness and cheerfulness. + +'There appears to have been a little unpleasantness,' she said softly. +'Something, apparently an axe--something hard and sharp--has been +brought into contact with the door. It has been awkward for the door. +There has been, I suppose, an earthquake.' + +He said nothing, but drummed the table with his fingers--a sign of +impatient and enforced listening. + +'Earthquakes are dangerous things, sometimes. Meanwhile, Alec, if I +were you I would have the broken bits taken away.' She touched the +bell on the table. 'Ford'--this was the name of the discreet +man-servant--'will you kindly take the door, which you see is broken, +off its hinges and send it away to be mended. We will manage with the +curtain.' + +'What do you want, Zoe?'--when this operation had been effected--'what +is the important news you have to bring me? And why have you given up +your berth? I suppose you think I am able to find you a place just by +lifting up my little finger? And I hear you have gone without a +moment's notice, just as if you had run away?' + +'I did run away, Alec,' she replied. 'After what has--been done'--she +caught her breath--'I was obliged to run away. I could no longer +stay.' + +'What has been done, then? Did Armorel tell you? No--she couldn't.' + +'She has told me nothing. I have hardly seen her at all during the +last few days. Of course, I know that you proposed to her--because you +went off with that purpose; and that she refused you--because that was +certain. And, now, don't begin scolding and questioning, because we +have got something much more important to discuss. I have given up my +charge of Armorel, and I have come here. If you possibly can, Alec, +clear up your face a little, forget the earthquake, and behave with +some attempt at politeness. I insist,' she added sharply, 'upon being +treated with some pretence at politeness.' + +'Mind, I am in no mood to listen to a pack of complaints and squabbles +and jealousies.' + +'Whatever mind you are in, my dear Alec, it wants the sweetening. You +shall have no squabbles or jealousies. I will not even ask who brought +along the earthquake--though, of course, it was an Angel in the House. +They are generally the cause of all the earthquakes. Fortunately for +you, I am not jealous. The important thing about which I want to talk +to you is money, Alec--money.' + +Something in her manner seemed to hold out promise. A drowning man +catches at a straw. Alec lifted his gloomy face. + +'What's the use?' he said. 'You have failed to get money in the way I +suggested. I haven't got any left at all. And we are now at the very +end. All is over and done, Zoe. The game is ended. We must throw up +the sponge.' + +'Not just yet, dear Alec,' she said softly. + +'Look here, Zoe'--he softened a little. 'I have thought over things. I +shall have to disappear for a while, I believe, till things blow over. +Now, here's just a gleam of luck. Jagenal the lawyer has been here +to-day. He came to tell me that he has discovered, somehow, something +belonging to me. He says it will run up to nearly a thousand pounds. +It isn't much, but it is something. Now, Zoe, I mean to convert that +thousand into cash--notes--portable property--and I shall keep it in +my pocket. Don't think I am going to let the creditors have much of +that! If the smash has to come off, I will then give you half, and +keep the other half myself. Meantime, the possession of the money may +stave off the smash. But if it comes, we will go away--different ways, +you know--and own each other no more.' + +'Not exactly, my dear Alec. You may go away, if you please, but I +shall go with you. For the future, I mean to go the same way as +you--with you--beside you.' + +'Oh!' His face did not betray immoderate joy at this prospect. 'I +suppose you have got something else to say. If that was all, I should +ask how you propose to pay for your railway ticket and your hotel +bill.' + +'Of course, I have got something else to say.' + +'It must be something substantial, then. Look here, Zoe: this is +really no time for fooling. Everything, I tell you, has gone, and all +at once. I can't explain. Credit--everything!' + +'I have read,' said Zoe, taking the most comfortable chair and lying +well back in it, 'that the wise man once discovered that everybody +must be either a hammer or an anvil. I think it was Voltaire. He +resolved on becoming the hammer. You, Alec, made the same useful +discovery. You, also, became a hammer. So far, you have done pretty +well, considering. But now there is a sudden check, and you are thrown +out altogether.' + +'Well?' + +'That seems to show that your plans were incomplete. Your ideas were +sound, but they were not fully developed.' + +'I don't know you this morning, Zoe. I have never heard you talk like +this before.' + +'You have never known me, Alec,' she replied, perhaps a little sadly. +'You have never tried to know me. Well--I know all. Mr. Roland Lee, +the painter, was one anvil--you played upon him very harmoniously. +Effie Wilmot was another. Now, Alec, don't'--she knew the premonitory +symptoms--'don't begin to deny, either with the "D" or without, +because, I assure you, I know everything. You are like the ostrich, +who buries his head in the sand and thinks himself invisible. Don't +deny things, because it is quite useless. Before we go a step farther +I am going to make you understand exactly. I know the whole story. I +have suspected things for a long time, and now I have learned the +truth. I learned it bit by bit through the fortunate accident of +living with Armorel, who has been the real discoverer. First I saw the +man's work, and I saw at once where you got your pictures from, and +what was the meaning of certain words that had passed from Armorel. +Why, Armorel was the model--your model, and you didn't know it. And +the coast scenery is her scenery--the Scilly Isles, where you have +never been. I won't tell you how I pieced things together till I had +made a connected story and had no longer any doubt. But remember the +night of the Reading. Why did Armorel hold that Reading? Why did she +show the unfinished picture? Why did she sing that song? It was for +you, Alec. It was to tell you a great deal more than it told the +people. It was to let you know that everything was discovered. Do you +deny it now?' + +'I suppose that infernal girl--she is capable of everything----' + +'Even of earthquakes? No, Alec, she has told me nothing. They've got +into the habit of talking--she and Effie and the painter man--as if I +was asleep. You see I lie about a good deal by the fireside, and I +don't want to talk, and so I lie with my eyes shut and listen. Then +Armorel leaves everything about--manuscript poems, sketches, +letters--everything, and I read them. A companion, of course, must see +that her ward is not getting into mischief. It is her duty to read +private letters. When they talk in the evening, Effie, who worships +Armorel, tells her everything, including your magnificent attempt to +become a dramatic poet, my dear boy--wrong--wrong--you should not get +more than one ghost from one family. You should not put all your +ghosts into one basket. When the painter comes--Armorel is in love +with him, and he is in love with her; but he has been a naughty boy, +and has to show true repentance before.... Oh! It's very pretty and +sentimental: they play the fiddle and talk about Scilly and the old +times, and Effie sighs with sympathy. It is really very pretty, +especially as it all helped me to understand their ghostlinesses and +to unravel the whole story. Fortunately, my dear Alec, you have had to +do with a girl who is not of the ordinary society stamp, otherwise +your story would have been given to the society papers long ago, and +then even I could have done nothing for you. Armorel is a girl of +quite extinct virtues--forbearing, unrevengeful, honourable, +unselfish. You, my dear Alec, could never appreciate or understand +such a girl.' + +'The girl is--a girl. What is there to understand in one girl more +than in another?' + +'Nothing--nothing. O great Poet and greater Painter!--Nothing. O man +of fine insight, and delicate fancy, and subtle intellect!--Nothing. +Only a girl.' + +'I know already that they are not going to say anything more about it. +They are going to let the whole business be forgotten. If anything +comes out through you----' + +'Nothing will come out. I told you because it is well that we should +perfectly understand each other. You will never again be able to +parade before me in the disguise of genius. This is a great pity, +because you have always enjoyed playing the part. Never again, Alec, +because I have found you out. Should you ever find me out, I shall not +be able to walk with you in the disguise of ... but you must find out +first.' + +'What do you mean?' + +'Oh! you must find out first. When you do find out, you will be able +to hold out your arms and cry, "We are alike at last. You have come +down to my level: we are now in the same depths. Come to my arms, +sister in pretence! Come, my bride!"' She spread out her arms with an +exaggerated gesture and laughed, but not mirthfully. + +'What on earth do you mean, Zoe? I never saw you like this before.' + +'No, we change sometimes, quite suddenly. It is very unaccountable. +And now I shall never be anything else than what I am now--what you +have made me.' + +'What have you done, then?' + +'Done? Nothing. To do something is polite for committing a crime. +Could I have done something, do you think? Could I actually commit a +crime? O Alec!--my dear Alec!--a crime? Well, the really important +thing is that your troubles are over.' + +'By Jove! They are only just beginning.' + +'It is only money that troubles you. If it was conscience, or the +sense of honour, I could not help you. As it is only money----how +much, actually, will put a period to the trouble?' + +'If I were to use Jagenal's promised thousand, I could really manage +with two thousand more.' + +'Oh! Then, my dear Alec, what do you think of this?' + +She drew out of her pocket a new clean white bank-book, and handed it +to him. + +He opened it. 'Heavens, Zoe! What is the meaning of this?' + +'You can read, Alec: it means what it says. Four thousand two hundred +and twenty-five pounds standing to my credit. Observe the name--Mrs. +Alexander Feilding--Mrs. Alexander Feilding--wife, that is, of Alec! +Mrs. Elstree has vanished. She has gone to join the limbo of ghosts +who never existed. Her adored Jerome is there, too.' + +'What does it mean?' + +'It means, again, that I have four thousand two hundred and +twenty-five pounds of my own, who, the day before yesterday, had +nothing. Where I got that money from is my own business. Perhaps +Armorel relented and has advanced this money--perhaps some old friends +of my father's--he had friends, though he was reputed so rich and died +so miserably--have quietly subscribed this amount--perhaps my cousins, +whom you forced me to abandon, have found me out and endowed me with +this sum--a late but still acceptable act of generosity--perhaps my +mother's sister, who swore she would never forgive me for going on the +stage, has given way at last! In short, my dear Alec----' + +'Four thousand pounds! Where could you raise that money?' + +'Make any conjecture you please. I shall not tell you. The main point +is that the money is here--safely deposited in my name and to my +credit. It is mine, you see, my dear Alec; and it can only be used for +your purposes with my consent--under my conditions.' + +'How on earth,' he repeated slowly, 'did you get four thousand +pounds?' + +'It is difficult for you to find an answer to that question,' she +replied, 'isn't it? Especially as I shall not answer it. About my +conditions now.' + +'What conditions?' + +'The possession of this capital--I have thought it all out--will +enable us, first of all, to pay off your creditors in full if you +must--or at least to satisfy them. Next, it will restore your credit. +Thirdly, it will enable you to live while I am laying the foundations +of a new and more stable business.' + +'You?' + +'I, my dear boy. I mean in future to be the active working and +contriving partner in the firm. I have the plans and method worked out +already in my head. You struck out, I must say, a line of audacity. +There is something novel about it. But your plan wanted elasticity. +You kept a ghost. Well, I suppose other people have done this before. +You kept three or four ghosts, each in his own line. Nobody thought of +setting up as the Universal Genius before--at least, not to my +knowledge. But, then, you placed your whole dependence upon your one +single family of ghosts. Once deprived of him--whether your painter, +your poet, your story-teller--and where were you? Lost! You are +stranded. This has happened to you now. Your paper is to come out as +usual, and you have got nothing to put into it. Your patrons will be +flocking to your studio, and you have got nothing to show. You have +made a grievous blunder. Now, Alec, I am going to remedy all this.' + +'You?' + +'You shall see what I am capable of doing. You shall no longer waste +your time and money in going about to great houses. Your wife shall +have her _salon_, which shall be a centre of action far more useful +and effective. You shall become, through her help, a far greater +leader, with a far greater name, than you have ever dreamed of. And +your paper shall be a bigger thing.' + +'You, Zoe? You to talk like this?' + +'You thought I was a helpless creature because I never succeeded on +the stage, and could not even carry out your poor little schemes upon +Armorel's purse, I suppose, and because I---- Well, you shall be +undeceived.' + +'If I could only believe this!' + +'You will find, Alec, that my stage experiences will not go for +nothing. Why, even if I was a poor actress, I did learn the whole +business of stage management. I am going to transfer that business +from the stage to the drawing-room, which shall be, at first, this +room. We shall play our little comedy together, you and I.' She sprang +to her feet, and began to act as if she was on the stage--'It will be +a duologue. Your _rôle_ will still be that of the Universal Genius; +mine will be that of the supposed extinct Lady--the Lady of the +Salon--I shall be at home one evening a week--say on Sunday. And it +shall be an evening remembered and expected. We shall both take Art +seriously: you as the Master, I as the sympathetic and intelligent +worshipper of Art. We shall attract to our rooms artists of every kind +and those who hang about artistic circles: our furniture shall show +the latest artistic craze: foreigners shall come here as to the art +centre of London--we will cultivate the foreign element: young people +shall come for advice, for encouragement, for introduction: +reputations shall be made and marred in this room: you shall be the +Leader and Chief of the World of Art. If there is here and there one +who knows that you are a humbug, what matters? Alec'--she struck a +most effective attitude--'rise to the prospect! Have a little +imagination! I see before me the most splendid future--oh! the most +splendid future!' + +'All very well. But there's the present staring us in the face. How +and where are we to find the--the successors to Lady Frances and Effie +and----' + +'Where to find ghosts? Leave that to me. I know where there are plenty +only too glad to be employed. They can be had very cheap, my dear +Alec, I can assure you. Oh! I have not been so low down in the social +levels for nothing. You paid a ridiculous price for your ghosts--quite +ridiculous. I will find you ghosts enough, never fear.' + +'Where are they?' + +'When one goes about the country with a travelling company one hears +strange things. I have heard of painters--good painters--who once +promised to become Royal Academicians, and anything you please, but +took to ways--downward ways, you know--and now sit in public-houses +and sell their work for fifteen shillings a picture. I will find you +such a genius, and will make him take pains and produce a picture +worthy of his better days, and you shall have it for a guinea and a +pint of champagne.' + +Alec Feilding gasped. The vista before him was too splendid. + +'Or, if you want verses, I know of a poet who used to write little +dainty pieces--_levers de rideau, libretti_ for little operettas, and +so forth. He carries the boards about the streets when he is very hard +up. I can catch that creature and lock him up without drink till he +has written a poem far better--more manly--than anything that girl of +yours could ever produce, for half-a-crown. And he will never ask what +becomes of it. If you want stories, I know a man--quite a young +fellow--who gets about fifteen shillings a week in his travelling +company. This fellow is wonderful at stories. For ten shillings a +column he will reel you out as many as you want--good stuff, mind--and +the papers have never found him out: and he will never ask what has +become of them, because he is never sober for more than an hour or two +at a time in the middle of the day, and he will forget his own +handiwork. Alec, I declare that I can find you as many ghosts as you +like, and better--more popular--more interesting than your old lot.' + +'If I could only believe----' he repeated. + +'You say that because you have never even begun to believe that a +woman can do anything. Well, I do not ask you to believe. I say that +you shall see. I owe to you the idea. All the working out shall be my +own. All the assistance you can give me will be your own big and +important presence and your manner of authority. Yes; some men get +rich by the labours of others: you, Alec, shall become famous--perhaps +immortal--by the genius--the collected genius, of others.' + +His imagination was not strong enough to understand the vision that +she spread out before him. In a wooden way, he saw that she intended +something big. He only half believed it: he only half understood it: +but he did understand that ghosts were to be had. + +'There's next week's paper, Zoe,' he said helplessly. 'Nothing for it +yet! We mustn't have a breakdown--it would be fatal!' + +'Breakdown! Of course not, even if I write it all myself. You don't +believe that I can write even, I suppose?' + +'Well, you shall do as you like.' He got up and stood over the fire +again, sighing his relief. 'At all events, we have got this money. +Good Heavens! What a chance! And what a day! I stood here this +morning, Zoe, thinking all was lost. Then old Jagenal comes in and +tells me of a thousand pounds--said it would run to nearly a thousand. +And then you come in with a bank-book of four thousand! Oh! it's +Providential! It's enough to make a man humble. Zoe, I confess'--he +took her hands in his, stooped, and kissed her tenderly--'I don't +deserve such treatment from you. I do not, indeed. Are you sure about +those ghosts? As for me, of course you are right. I can't paint a +stroke. I can't make a rhyme. I can't write stories. I can do +nothing--but live upon those who can do everything. You are quite sure +about those ghosts?' + +'Oh, yes! Quite sure. Of course I knew all along. But you must keep it +up more religiously than ever, because the business is going to be so +much--so very much--bigger. Now for my conditions.' + +'Any conditions--any!' + +'You will insert this advertisement for six days, beginning to-morrow, +in the _Times_.' + +He read it aloud. He read it without the least change of countenance, +so wooden was his face, so hard his heart. + +'On Wednesday, April 21, 1887, at St. Leonard's, Worthing, Alexander +Feilding, of the Grove Studio, Marlborough Road, to Zoe, only daughter +of the late Peter Evelyn, formerly of Kensington Palace Gardens.' + +'I believe,' he said, folding the paper, 'that was the date. It was +three years ago, wasn't it? I say, Zoe, won't it be awkward having to +explain things--long interval, you know--engagement as companion--wrong +name?' + +'I have thought of that. But it would be more awkward pretending that +we were married to-day and being found out. No. There are not +half-a-dozen people who will ever know that I was Armorel's companion. +Then, a circumstance, which there is no need ever to explain, forbade +the announcement of our marriage--hint at a near relation's will--I +was compelled to assume another name. Cruel necessity!' + +'You are a mighty clever woman, Zoe.' + +'I am. If you are wise, now, you will assume a joyful air. You will go +about rejoicing that the bar to this public announcement has been at +length removed. Family reasons--you will say--no fault of yours or of +mine. It is your business, of course, how you will look--but I +recommend this line. Be the exultant bridegroom, not the downcast +husband. Will you walk so?'--she assumed a buoyant dancing step with a +smiling face--'or so?' she hung a dejected head and crawled sadly. + +'By gad, it's wonderful!' he cried, looking at her with astonishment. +And, indeed, who would recognise the quiet, sleepy, indolent woman of +yesterday in the quick, restless, and alert woman of to-day? + +'Henceforth I must work, Alec. I cannot sit down and go to sleep any +longer. That time has gone. I think I have murdered sleep.' + +'Work away, my girl. Nobody wants to prevent you. Are there any other +conditions?' + +'You will sell your riding-horses and buy a Victoria. Your wife must +have something to drive about in. And you will lead, in many respects, +an altered life. I must have, for the complete working out of my +plans, an ideal domestic life. Turtle-doves we must be for affection, +and angels incarnate for propriety. The highest Art in the home is the +highest standard of manners that can be set up.' + +'Very good. Any more conditions?' + +'Only one more condition. _J'y suis. J'y reste._ You will call your +servant and inform him that I am your wife, and the mistress of this +establishment. I think there will be no more earthquakes and broken +panels. Alec'--she laid her hand upon his arm--'you should have done +this three years ago. I should have saved you. I should have saved +myself. Now, whatever happens, we are on the same level--we cannot +reproach each other. We shall walk hand in hand. It was done for you, +Alec. And I would do it again. Yes--yes--yes. Again!' She repeated the +words with flashing eyes. 'Fraud--sham--pretence--these are our +servants. We command them. By them we live, and by them we climb. What +matter--so we reach the top--by what ladders we have climbed?' She +looked around with a gesture of defiance, fine and free. 'The world is +all alike,' she said. 'There is no truth or honour anywhere. We are +all in the same swim.' + +The man dropped into his vacant chair. 'We are saved!' he cried. + +'Saved!' she echoed. 'Saved! Did you ever see a Court of Justice, +Alec? I have. Once, when our company was playing at Winchester, I went +to see the Assizes. I remember then wondering how it would feel to be +a prisoner. Henceforth I shall understand his sensations. There they +stand, two prisoners, side by side--a man and a woman--a pair of them. +Found out at last, and arrested and brought up for trial. There sits +the Judge, stern and cold: there are the twelve men of the jury, grave +and cold: there are the policemen, stony-hearted: there are the +lawyers, laughing and talking: there are the people behind, all grave +and cold. No pity in any single face--not a gleam of pity--for the +poor prisoners. Some people go stealing and cheating because they are +driven by poverty. These people did not: they were driven by vanity +and greed. Look at them in the box: they are well dressed. See! they +are curiously like you and me, Alec'--she was acting now better than +she ever acted on the stage--'The man is like you, and the woman--oh! +you poor, unlucky wretch!--is like me--curiously, comically like me. +They will be found guilty. What punishment will they get? As for her, +it was for her husband's sake that she did it. But, I suppose, that +will not help her. What will they get, Alec?' + +He sat up in the chair and heaved a great sigh of relief. + +'What are you talking about, my dear? I was not listening. Well; we +are saved. It has been a mighty close shave. Another day, and I must +have thrown up the sponge. We have a world of work before us; but if +you are only half or quarter as clever as you think yourself, we shall +do splendidly.' He laid his arm round her waist, and drew her gently +and kissed her again. 'So--now you are sensible--what were you talking +about prisoners for? No more separations now. Let me kiss away these +tears. And now, Zoe--now--time presses. I am anxious to repair my +losses. Where are we to find these ghosts? Sit down. To work! To +work!' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH + + +A man may do a great many things without receiving from the world the +least sign of regard or interest. He may write the most lovely +verses--and no one will read them. He may design and invent the most +beautiful play--which no one will act: he may advocate a measure +certain to bring about universal happiness--but no one will so much as +read it. There is one thing, however, by which he may awaken a spirit +of earnest curiosity and interest concerning himself: he may get +married. Everybody will read the announcement of his marriage in the +paper: everybody will immediately begin to talk about him. The +bridegroom's present position and future prospects, his actual income +and the style in which he will live: the question whether he has done +well for himself, or whether he has thrown himself away: the bride's +family, her age, her beauty, her _dot_, if she has got any: the +question whether she had not a right to expect a better marriage--all +these points are raised and debated when a man is married. Also, which +is even more remarkable, whatever a man does shall be forgotten by the +world, but the story of his marriage shall never be forgotten. A man +may live down calumny; he may hold up his head though he has been the +defendant in a disgraceful cause; he may survive the scandal of +follies and profligacies; he may ride triumphant over misfortune: but +he can never live down his own marriage. All those who have married +'beneath' them--whether beneath them in social rank, in manners, in +morals, character, in spiritual or in mental elevation, will bear +unwilling and grievous testimony to this great truth. + +When, therefore, the _Times_ announced the marriage of Mr. Alexander +Feilding, together with the fact that the announcement was no less +than three years late, great amazement fell upon all men and all +women--yea, and dismay upon all those girls who knew this Universal +Genius--and upon all who knew or remembered the lady, daughter of the +financial City person who let in everybody to so frightful a tune, and +then, like another treacherous person, went away and hanged himself. +And as many questions were asked at the breakfast-tables of London as +there were riddles asked at the famous dinner-party at the town of +Mansoul. To these riddles there were answers, but to those none. For +instance, why had Alec Feilding concealed his marriage? Where had he +hidden his wife? And (among a very few) how could he permit her to go +about the country in a provincial troupe? To these replies there have +never been any answers. The lady herself, who certainly ought to know, +sometimes among her intimate friends alludes to the cruelty of +relations, and the power which one's own people have of making +mischief. She also speaks of the hard necessity, owing to these +cruelties, of concealing her marriage. This throws the glamour and +magic of romance--the romance of money--over the story. But there are +some who remain unconvinced. + + * * * * * + +The bridegroom wrote one letter, and only one, of explanation. It was +to Mr. Jagenal, the family solicitor. + +'To so old a friend,' he wrote, 'the fullest explanations are due +concerning things which may appear strange. Until the day before +yesterday there were still existing certain family reasons which +rendered it absolutely necessary for us to conceal our marriage and to +act with so much prudence that no one should so much as suspect the +fact. This will explain to you why we lent ourselves to the little +harmless--perfectly harmless--pretence by which my wife appeared in the +character of a widow. It also explains why she was unwilling--while +under false colours--to go into general society. The unexpected +disappearance of these family reasons caused her to abandon her charge +hurriedly. I had not learned the fact when you called yesterday. Now, I +hope that we may receive, though late, the congratulations of our +friends.--A. F.' + + * * * * * + +'This,' said Mr. Jagenal, 'is an explanation which explains nothing. +Well, it is all very irregular; and there is something behind; and it +is no concern of mine. Most things in the world are irregular. The +little windfall of which I told him yesterday will be doubly welcome +now that he has a wife to spend his money for him. And now we +understand why he was always dangling after Armorel--because his wife +was with her--and why he did not fall in love with that most beautiful +creature.' + +He folded up the note; put it, with a few words of his own, into an +envelope, and sent it to Philippa. Then he went on with the cases in +his hands. Among these were the materials for many other studies into +the workings of the feminine heart and the masculine brain. The +solicitor's tin boxes: the doctor's notebook: the priest's memory: +should furnish full materials for that exhaustive psychological +research which science will some day insist upon conducting. + +In the afternoon of the same day was the Private View of the Grosvenor +Gallery. There was the usual Private View crowd--so private now that +everybody goes there. It would have been incomplete without the +presence of Mr. Alec Feilding. + +Now, at the very thickest and most crowded time, when the rooms were +at their fullest, and when the talk was at its noisiest, he appeared, +bearing on his arm a young, beautiful, and beautifully dressed woman. +He calmly entered the room where half the people were talking of +himself and of his marriage, concealed for three years, with as much +coolness as if he had been about in public with his wife all that +time: he spoke to his friends as if nothing had happened: and he +introduced them to his wife as if it was by the merest accident that +they had not already met. Nothing could exceed the unconsciousness of +his manner, unless it was the simple and natural ease of his wife. No +one could possibly guess that there was, or could be, the least +awkwardness in the situation. + +The thing itself, and the manner of carrying it through, constituted a +_coup_ of the most brilliant kind. This public appearance deprived the +situation, in fact, of all its awkwardness. No one could ask them at +the Grosvenor Gallery what it meant. There were one or two to whom the +bridegroom whispered that it was a long and romantic story: that there +had been a bar to the completion of his happiness, by a public avowal: +that this bar--a purely private and family matter--had only yesterday +been removed: nothing was really explained: but it was generally felt +that the mystery added another to the eccentricities of genius. There +was a something, they seemed to remember dimly, about the marriages +and love-passages of Shelley, Coleridge, and Lord Byron. + +Mrs. Feilding, clearly, was a woman born to be an artist's wife: +herself, artistic in her dress, her manner, and her appearance: +sympathetic in her caressing voice: gracious in her manners: and +openly proud of a husband so richly endowed. + +Alec presented a great many men to her. She had, it seemed, already +made acquaintance with their works, which she knew by name: she +betrayed involuntarily, by her gracious smile, and the interested, +curious gaze of her large and limpid eyes, the genuine admiration +which she felt for these works, and the very great pleasure with which +she made the acquaintance of this very distinguished author. If any of +them were on the walls, she bestowed upon them the flattery of +measured and appreciative praise: she knew something of the technique. + +'Alec is not exhibiting this year,' she said. 'I think he is right. He +had but one picture: and that was in his old style. People will think +he can do nothing but sea-coast, rock, and spray. So he is going to +send his one picture away--if you want to see it you must make haste +to the studio--and he is going--this is a profound secret--to break +out in a new line--quite a new line. But you must not know anything +about it.' + +A paragraph in a column of personal news published the fact, the very +next day, which shows how difficult it is to keep a secret. + +Before Mrs. Feilding left the gallery she had made twenty friends for +life, and had laid a solid foundation for her Sunday evenings. + +In the evening there was a First Night. No First Nights are possible +without the appearance of certain people, of whom Mr. Alec Feilding +was one. He attended, bringing with him his wife. Some of the men who +had been at the private view were also present at the performance, but +not many, because the followers of one art do not--as they +should--rally round any other. But all the dramatic critics were +there, and all the regular first-nighters, including the wreckers--who +go to pit and gallery--and the friends of the author and those of the +actors. Between the acts there was a good deal of circulation and +talking. Alec presented a good many more gentlemen to his wife. Before +they went home Mrs. Feilding had made a dozen more friends for life, +and placed her Sunday evenings on a firm and solid basis. Her social +success--at least among the men--was assured from this first day. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE CUP AND THE LIP + + +Two days after the Private View Alec Feilding repaired, by special +invitation, to Mr. Jagenal's office. + +'I have sent for you, Alec,' said the solicitor, _ami de famille_, 'in +continuance of our conversation of the other day--about that little +windfall, you know.' + +'I am not likely to forget it. Little windfalls of a thousand pounds +do not come too often.' + +'They do not. Meantime another very important event has happened. I +saw the announcement in the paper, and I received your note----' + +'You are the only person--believe me--to whom I have thought it right +to explain the circumstances----' + +'Yes? The explanation, at all events, is one that may be given in the +same words--to all the world. I have no knowledge of Mrs. Feilding's +friends, or of any obstacles that have been raised to her marriage! +But I am rather sorry, Alec, that you sent her to me under a false +name, because these things, if they get about, are apt to make +mischief.' + +'I assure you that this plan was only adopted in order the more +effectually to divert suspicion. It was with the greatest reluctance +that we consented to enter upon a path of deception. I knew, however, +in whose hands I was. At any moment I was in readiness to confess the +truth to you. In the case of a stranger the thing would have been +impossible. You, however, I knew, would appreciate the motive of our +action, and sympathise with the necessity.' + +Mr. Jagenal laughed gently--behind the specious words he +discerned--something--the shapeless spectre which suspicion calls up +or creates. But he only laughed. 'Well, Alec,' he said, 'marriage is a +perfectly personal matter. You are a married man. You had reasons of +your own for concealing the fact. You are now enabled to proclaim the +fact. That is all anybody need know. We condone the little pretence of +the widowhood. Armorel Rosevean has lost her companion; whether she +has also lost her friend I do not know. The rest concerns yourself +alone. Very good. You are a married man. All the more reason that this +little windfall should be acceptable.' + +'It will be extremely acceptable, I assure you.' + +'Whether it is money or money's worth?' + +'To save trouble I should prefer money.' + +'You must take it as it comes, my dear boy.' + +'Well, what is it?' + +'It is,' replied Mr. Jagenal solemnly, 'nothing short of the sea +giving up its treasures, the dead giving up her secrets, and the +restoration of what was never known to be lost.' + +'You a maker of conundrums?' + +'You shall hear. Before we come to the thing itself--the treasure, the +windfall, the thing picked up on the beach--let me again recall to you +two or three points in your own family history. Your mother's maiden +name was Isabel Needham. She was the daughter of Henry Needham and +Frances his wife. Frances was the daughter of Robert Fletcher.' + +'Very good. I believe that is the case.' + +'Your money came to you from this Robert Fletcher, your maternal +great-grandfather. You should, therefore, remember him.' + +'I recognise,' said Alec, sententiously, 'the respect that should be +paid to the memory of every man who makes money for his children.' + +'Very good. Now, this Robert Fletcher as a young man, went out to +India in search of fortune. He was apparently an adventurous young +man, not disposed to sit down at the desk after the usual fashion of +young men who go out to India. We find him in Burmah, for +instance--then a country little known by Englishmen. While there he +managed to attract the notice and the favour of the King, who employed +him in some capacity--traded with him, perhaps; and, at all events, +advanced his interests--so that, while still a young man, he found +himself in the possession of a fortune ample enough for his wants----' + +'Which he left to his daughters.' + +'Don't be in a hurry. That was quite another fortune.' + +'Oh! Another fortune? What became of the first?' + +'Having enough, he resolved to return to his native country. But in +Burmah there were then no banks, merchants, drafts, or cheques. He +therefore converted his fortune into portable property, which he +carried about his person, no one, I take it, knowing anything at all +about it. Thus, carrying his treasure with him, he sailed for England. +Have you heard anything of this?' + +'Nothing at all. The beginning of the story, however, is interesting.' + +'You will enjoy the end still better. The ship in which he sailed met +with disaster. She was wrecked on the Isles of Scilly. It is said--but +this I do not know--that the only man saved from the wreck was your +great-grandfather: he was saved by one Emanuel Rosevean, +great-great-grandfather to Armorel, the girl whose charge your own +wife undertook.' + +'Always that cursed girl!' murmured Alec. + +'Robert Fletcher was clinging to a spar when he was picked up and +dragged ashore. He recovered consciousness after a long illness, and +then found that the leather case in which all his fortune lay had +slipped from his neck and was lost. Therefore, he had to begin the +world again. He went away, therefore. He went away----' Mr. Jagenal +paused at this point, rattled his keys, and looked about him. He was +not a story-teller by profession, but he knew instinctively that every +story, in order to be dramatic--and he wished this to be a very +dramatic history--should be cut up into paragraphs, illustrated by +dialogue, and divided into sections. Dialogue being impossible, he +stopped and rattled his keys. This meant the end of one chapter and +the beginning of another. + +'Do pray get along,' cried his client, now growing interested and +impatient. + +'He went away,' the narrator repeated, 'his treasure lost, to begin +the world again. He came here, became a stockbroker, made money--and +the rest you know. He appears never to have told his daughters of his +loss. I have been in communication with the solicitors of the late +Eleanor Fletcher, your great-aunt, and I cannot learn from them that +she ever spoke of this calamity. Yet had she known of it she must have +remembered it. To bring all your fortune--a considerable fortune--home +in a bag tied round your neck, and to lose it in a shipwreck is a +disaster which would, one thinks, be remembered to the third and +fourth generations.' + +'I should think so. But you said something about the sea giving up its +treasure.' + +'That we come to next. Five years ago, by the death of a very aged +lady, her great-great-grandmother, Armorel Rosevean succeeded to an +inheritance which turned out to be nothing less than the accumulated +savings of many generations. Among other possessions she found in this +old lady's room a sea-chest containing things apparently recovered +from wrecks, or drowned men, or washed ashore by the sea--a very +curious and interesting collection: there were snuff-boxes, watches, +chains, rings, all kinds of things. Among these treasures she turned +out, at the bottom of the chest, a case of shagreen with a leather +thong. On opening this Armorel found it to contain a quantity of +precious stones, and a scrap of paper which seemed to show that they +had formerly been the property of one Robert Fletcher. We may suppose, +if we please, that the case containing the jewels was cast up on the +beach after the storm, and tossed into the chest without much +knowledge of its contents or their value. We may suppose that Emanuel +Rosevean found the case. We may suppose what we please, because we can +prove nothing. For my own part, I think there is no reasonable doubt +that the case actually contained the fortune of Robert Fletcher. The +dates of the story seem to correspond: the handwriting appears to be +his: we have letters of his speaking of his intention to return, and +of his property being in convenient portable shape.' + +'Well--then--this portable fortune belongs to Robert Fletcher's +heirs.' + +'Not so quick. How are you going to prove your claim? You have nothing +to go by but a fragment of writing with part of his name on it. You +cannot prove that he was shipwrecked, and if you could do that you +could not prove that these jewels belonged to him.' + +'If there is no doubt, she ought to give them up. She is bound in +honour.' + +'I said that in my mind there is no reasonable doubt. That is because +I have heard a great deal more than could be admitted in evidence. But +now--listen again without interrupting. When, five years ago, the +young lady placed the management of her affairs in my hands through +the Vicar of her parish, I had every part of her very miscellaneous +fortune valued and a part of it sold. I had these rubies examined by a +merchant in jewels.' + +'And how much were they worth?' + +'One with another--some being large and very valuable indeed, and +others small--they were said, by my expert, to be worth thirty-five +thousand pounds. They might, under favourable circumstances and if +judiciously placed in the market realise much more. Thirty-five +thousand pounds!' + +'What?' He literally opened his mouth. 'How much do you say?' + +'Thirty-five thousand pounds.' + +'Oh! But the stones are not hers--they belong--they belong--to us--to +the descendants of Robert Fletcher.' No one would have called that +face wooden, now. It was full of excitement--the excitement of a newly +awakened hope. 'Does she propose to buy me off with a thousand pounds? +Does she think I am to be bought off at any price? The jewels are +mine--mine--that is, I have a share in them.' + +'Gently--gently--gently! What proof have you got of this story? +Nothing. You never heard of it: your great-grandfather never spoke of +it. Nothing would have been heard of it at all but for this old lady +from whom Armorel inherited. The property is hers as much as anything +else. If she gives up anything it is by her own free and uncompelled +will. She need give nothing. Remember that.' + +'Then she offers me a miserable thousand pounds for my share--which +ought to be at least a third. Jagenal'--he turned purple and the veins +stood out on his forehead--'That infernal girl hates me! She has done +me--I cannot tell you how much mischief. She persecutes me. Now she +offers to buy me out of my share of thirty-five thousand pounds--a +third share--nay--a half, because my great-aunt left no children--for +a thousand pounds down!' + +'I did not say so.' + +'You told me that the windfall would amount to a thousand pounds.' + +'That was in joke, my boy. You are perfectly wrong about Armorel +hating you. How can she hate you? You are so far wrong in this +instance that she has instructed me to give you the whole of this +fortune--actually to make you a free gift of the whole property--the +whole, mind--thirty-five thousand pounds!' + +'To me! Armorel gives me--me--the whole of this fortune?' Blank +astonishment fell upon him. He stood staring--open-mouthed. 'To ME?' +he repeated. + +'To you. She does not, to be sure, know to whom she gives it. She is +only desirous of restoring the jewels which she insists in believing +to belong to Robert Fletcher's family. Therefore, as it would be +obviously impossible to find out and to divide this fortune among all +the descendants of Robert Fletcher, who are scattered about the globe, +she was resolved to give them to the eldest descendant of the second +daughter.' + +'Oh!' Alec turned pale, and dropped into a chair, broken up. 'To the +eldest descendant of the second--the second daughter. Then----' + +'Then to you, as the only grandson of the second daughter--Frances.' + +'The second daughter was----' He checked himself. He sighed. He sat +up. His eyes, always small and too close together, grew smaller and +closer together. 'The other branch of the family,' he said slowly, +'has vanished--as you say--it is scattered over the face of the globe. +I do not know anything about my cousins--if I have any cousins. +Perhaps when you have carried on the search a little further----' + +'But I am not going to carry it on any further at all. Why should I? +We have nothing more to learn. I am instructed by Armorel to give the +rubies to you. It is a gift--not a right. It is not an inheritance, +remember--it is a free gift. She says, "These rubies used to belong to +Robert Fletcher. I will restore them to someone of his kin." You are +that someone. Why should I inquire further?' + +'Oh!' Alec sank back in his chair and closed his eyes as one who +recovers from a sharp pang, and sighed deeply. 'If you are satisfied, +then---- But if other cousins should turn up----' + +'They will have nothing, because nobody is entitled to anything. Come +Alec, my boy, you look a little overcome. It is natural. Pull yourself +together, and look at the facts. You will have thirty-five thousand +pounds--perhaps a little more. At four per cent.--I think I can put +you in the way of getting so much with safety--you will have fourteen +hundred a year. You will have that, apart from your literary and +artistic income. It is not a gigantic fortune, it is true; but let me +tell you that it is a very handsome addition indeed to any man's +income. You will not be able to live in Kensington Palace Gardens, +where your wife lived as a girl; but you can take a good house and see +your friends, and have anything in reason. Well, that is all I have to +say, except to congratulate you, which I do, my Alec'--he seized the +fortunate young man's hand and shook it warmly--'most heartily. I do, +indeed. You deserve your good luck--every bit of the good luck that +has befallen you. Everybody who knows you will rejoice. And it comes +just at the right moment--just when you have acknowledged your +marriage and taken your wife home.' + +'Really,' said Alec, now completely recovered, 'I am overwhelmed with +this stroke of luck. It is the most unexpected thing in the world. I +could never have dreamed of such a thing. To find out, on the same +day, that one's great-grandfather once made a fortune and lost it, and +that it has been recovered, and that it is all given to me--it +naturally takes one's breath away at first.' + +'You would like to gaze upon this fortune from the Ruby Mines of +Burmah, would you not?' Mr. Jagenal threw open the door of a safe, and +took out a parcel in brown paper. 'It is here.' He opened the parcel, +and disclosed the shagreen case which we have already seen in the +sea-chest. He laid it on the table, and unrolled the silk in which the +stones were rolled. 'There they are--look common enough, don't they? +One seems to have picked up stones twice as pretty on the sea-shore: +here are two or three cut and polished--bits of red glass would look +as pretty.' + +'Thirty-five thousand pounds!' Alec cried, laying a hand, as if in +episcopal benediction, upon the treasure. 'Is it possible that this +little bundle of stones should be worth so much?' + +'Quite possible. Now--they are yours--what will you do with them.' + +'First, I will ask you to put them back in the safe.' + +'I will send them to your bank if you please.' + +'No--keep them here--I will consult you immediately about their +disposition. Thirty-five thousand pounds! Thirty-five----perhaps we +may get more for them. What am I to say to this girl? Perhaps when she +learns who has got the rubies she will refuse to let them go. I am +sure she would never consent.' + +'Nonsense--about persecution and annoyance! Armorel hate you? Why +should she hate you? The sweetest girl in the world. You men of genius +are too ready to take offence. The things are yours. I have given them +to you by her instructions. I have written you a letter, formally +conveying the jewels to you. Here it is. And now go home, my dear +fellow, and when you feel like taking a holiday, do it with a tranquil +mind, remembering that you've got fourteen hundred pounds a year given +you for nothing at all by this young lady, who wasn't obliged to give +you a penny. Why, in surrendering these jewels, she has surrendered a +good half of her whole fortune. Find me another girl, anywhere, who +would give up half her fortune for a scruple. And now go away, and +tell your wife. Let her rejoice. Tell her it is Armorel's wedding +present.' + +Alec Feilding walked home. He was worth thirty-five thousand +pounds--fourteen hundred pounds a year. When one comes to think of it, +though we call ourselves such a very wealthy country, there are +comparatively few, indeed, among us who can boast that they enjoy an +income of fourteen hundred pounds a year, with no duties, +responsibilities, or cares about their income--and with nothing to do +for it. Fourteen hundred pounds a year is not great wealth; but it +will enable a man to keep up a very respectable style of living: many +people in society have got to live on a great deal less. He and his +wife were going to live on nothing a year, except what they could get +by their wits. Fourteen hundred a year! They could still exercise +their wits: that is to say, he should expect his wife, now the +thinking partner, to exercise her wits with zeal. But what a happiness +for a man to feel that he does not live by his wits alone! Alas! It is +a joy that is given to few indeed of us. + +As for his late literary and artistic successes, how poor and paltry +did they appear to this man, who had no touch of the artist nature, +beside this solid lump of money, worth all the artistic or poetic fame +that ever was achieved! + +He went home dancing. He was at peace with all mankind. He found it in +his heart to forgive everybody: Roland Lee, who had so basely deserted +him: Effie, that snake in the grass: Lady Frances, the most +treacherous of women: Armorel herself---- Oh! Heavens! what could not +be forgiven to the girl who had made him such a gift? Even the revolt +against his authority: even the broken panel, the shattered lock, and +the earthquake. + +In this mood he arrived home. His wife, the thinking partner, was hard +at work in the interests of the new firm. In her hand was a manuscript +volume of verse: on the table beside her lay an open portfolio of +sketches and drawings. + +'You see, Alec,' she looked up, smiling. 'Already the ghosts have +begun to appear at my call. If you ask me where I found them, I reply, +as before, that when one travels about with a country company one has +opportunities. All kinds of queer people may be heard of. Your ghosts, +in future, my dear boy, must be of the tribe which has broken down and +given in, not of those who are still young and hopeful. I have found a +man who can draw--here is a portfolio full of his things: in black and +white: they can be reproduced by some photographic process: he is in +an advanced stage of misery, and will never know or ask what becomes +of his things. He ought to have made his fortune long ago. He hasn't, +because he is always drunk and disreputable. It will do you good to +illustrate the paper with your own drawings. There's a painter I have +heard of. He drinks every afternoon and all the evening at a certain +place, where you must go and find him. He has long since been turned +out of every civilised kind of society, and you can get his pictures +for anything you like; he can't draw much, I believe, but his +colouring is wonderful. There is an elderly lady, too, of whom I have +heard. She can draw, too, and she's got no friends, and can be got +cheap. And this book is full of the verses of a poor wretch who was +once a rising literary man, and now carries a banner at Drury-Lane +Theatre whenever they want a super. As for your stories, I have got a +broken-down actor--he writes better than he can act--to write stories +of the boards. They will appear anonymously, and if people attribute +them to you he will not be able to complain. Oh, I know what I am +about, Alec! Your paper shall double its circulation in a month, and +shall multiply its circulation by ten in six months, and without the +least fear of such complications as have happened lately. They must +lie avoided for the future--proposals as well as earthquakes--my dear +Alec.' + +Alec sat down on the table and laughed carelessly. 'Zoe,' he said, +'you are the cleverest woman in the world. It was a lucky day for us +both when you came here. I made a big mistake for three years. Now +I've got some news for you--good news----' + +'That can only mean--money.' + +'It does mean--money, as you say. Money, my dear. Money that makes the +mare to go.' + +'How much, Alec?' + +'More than your four thousand. Twenty times as much as that little +balance in your book.' + +'Oh, Alec! is it possible? Twenty times as much? Eighty thousand +pounds?' + +'About that sum,' he replied, exaggerating with the instincts of the +City, inherited, no doubt, from Robert Fletcher. 'Perhaps quite that +sum if I manage certain sales cleverly.' + +'Is it a legacy?--or an inheritance?--how did you get it?' + +'It is not exactly a legacy: it is a kind of restoration to an unknown +person: a gift not made to me personally, but to me unknown.' + +'You talk to me in riddles, Alec.' + +'I would talk in blank verse if I could. It is, indeed, literally +true. I have received an--estate--in portable property worth nearly +forty thousand pounds.' + +'Oh! Then we shall be really rich, and not have to pretend quite so +much? A little pretence, Alec, I like. It makes me feel like returning +to society: too much pretence reminds one of the policeman.' + +'Don't you want to know how I have come into this money?' + +'I am not curious, Alec. I like everything to be done for me. When I +was a girl there were carriages and horses and everything that I +wanted--all ready--all done for me, you know. Then I was stripped of +all. I had nothing to do or to say in the matter. It was done for me. +Now, you tell me you have got eighty thousand pounds. Oh! Heavens! It +is done for me. The ways of fate are so wonderful. Things are given +and things are taken away. Why should I inquire how things come? +Perhaps this will be taken away in its turn.' + +'Not quite, Zoe. I have got my hand over it. You can trust your +husband, I think, to keep what he has got.' Indeed, he looked at this +moment cunning enough to be trusted with keeping the National Debt +itself. + +'Eighty thousand pounds!' she said. 'Let me write it down. Eighty +thousand pounds! Eight and one, two, three, four oughts.' She wrote +them down, and clasped her hands, saying, 'Oh! the beauty--the +incomparable beauty--of the last ought!' + +'Perhaps not quite so much,' said her husband, thinking that the +exaggeration was a little too much. + +'Don't take off one of my oughts--not my fourth: not my Napoleon of +oughts!' + +'No--no. Keep your four oughts. Well, my dear, if it is only sixty +thousand or so, there is two thousand a year for us. Two thousand a +year!' + +'Don't, Alec; don't! Not all at once. Break it gently.' + +'We will carry on the paper; and perhaps do something or +other--carefully, you know--in Art. There is no need to knock things +off. And if you can make the paper succeed, as you think, there will +be so much the more. Well, we can use it all. For my part, Zoe, my +dear, I don't care how big the income is. I am equal to ten thousand.' + +'Of course, and you will still pronounce judgments and be a leader. +Now let us talk of what we will do--where we will live--and all. Two +thousand is pretty big to begin with, after three years' tight fit; +but the paper will bring in another two thousand easily. I've been +looking through the accounts--bills and returns--and I am sure it has +been villanously managed. We will run it up: we will have ten thousand +a year to spend. A vast deal may be done with ten thousand a year: we +will have a big weekly dinner as well as an At Home. We will draw all +the best people in London to the house: we will----' + +She enlarged with great freedom on what could be done with this +income: she displayed all the powers of a rich imagination: not even +the milkmaid of the fable more largely anticipated the joys of the +future. + +'And, oh! Alec,' she cried. 'To be rich again! rich only to the +limited extent of ten thousand a year, is too great happiness. When my +father was ruined, I thought the world was ended. Well, it was ended +for me, because you made me leave it and disappear. The last four +years I should like to be clean forgotten and driven out of my +mind--horrid years of failing and enduring and waiting! And now we are +rich again! Oh! we are rich again! It is too much happiness!' + +The tears rose to her eyes; her soft and murmuring voice broke. + +'My poor Zoe,' her husband laid his hand on hers, 'I am rejoiced,' he +said, 'as much for your sake as for my own.' + +'How did you get this wonderful fortune, Alec?' + +'Through Mr. Jagenal, the lawyer. It's a long story. A +great-grandfather of mine was wrecked, and lost his property. That was +eighty years ago. Now, his property was found. Who do you think found +it? Armorel Rosevean. And she has restored it--to me.' + +'What?' She sprang to her feet, her face suddenly turning white. +'What? Armorel?' + +'Yes, certainly. Curious coincidence, isn't it? The very girl who has +done me so much mischief. The man was wrecked on the island where her +people lived.' + +'Yes--yes--yes. The property--what was it? What was it? Quick!' + +'It was a leather case filled with rubies--rubies worth at least +thirty-five thousand pounds---- What's the matter?' + +'Rubies! Her rubies! Oh! Armorel's rubies! No--no--no--not that! +Anything--anything but that! Armorel's rubies--Armorel's rubies!' + +'What is the matter, Zoe? What is it?' + +She gasped. Her eyes were wild: her cheek was white. She was like one +who is seized with some sudden horrible and unintelligible pain. Or +she was like one who has suddenly heard the most dreadful and most +terrible news possible. + +'What is it, Zoe?' her husband asked again. + +'You? Oh! you have brought me this news--you! I thought, perhaps, +someone--Armorel--or some other might find me out. But you!--you!' + +'Again, Zoe'--he tried to be calm, but a dreadful doubt seized +him--'what does this mean?' + +'I remember,' she laughed wildly, 'what I said when I gave you the +bank-book. If you found me out, I said, we should be both on the same +level. You would be able to hold out your arms, I said, and to cry, +"You have come down to my level. Come to my heart, sister in +wickedness." That is what I said. Oh! I little thought--it was a +prophecy--my words have come true.' + +She caught her head with her hand--it is a stagey gesture: she had +learned it on the stage: yet at this moment of trouble it was simple +and natural. + +'What the DEVIL do you mean?' he cried with exasperation. + +'They were _your_ rubies all the time, and I did not know. Your +rubies! If I had only known! Oh! what have I done? What have I done? + +'Tell me quick, what you have done.' He caught her by the arm roughly. +He actually shook her. His own face now was almost as white as hers. +'Quick--tell me--tell me--tell me!' + +'You wanted money badly,' she gasped. Her words came with difficulty. +'You told me so every time I saw you. It was to get money that I went +to live with Armorel. I could not get it in that way. But I found +another way. She told me about the rubies. I knew where they were +kept. In the bank. In a sealed packet. I had seen an inventory of the +things in the bank. Armorel told me the story of the rubies, and I +never believed it--I never thought that there would be any search for +the man's heirs. I never thought the story was true. She told me, +besides, all about her other things--her miniatures and snuff-boxes, +and watches and rings. She showed me all her beautiful lace, worth +thousands. And as for the gold things and the jewels, they were all in +the bank, in separate sealed parcels, numbered. She showed me the bank +receipts. Opposite each number was written the contents of each, and +opposite Number Three was written "The case containing the rubies."' + +'Well? Well?' + +'Hush! What did I do? Let me think. I am going mad, I believe. It was +for your sake--all for your sake, Alec! All for your sake that I have +ruined you!' + +'Ruined me? Quick! What have you done?' + +'It was for your sake, Alec--all for your sake! Oh, for your own sake +I have lost and ruined you!' + +'You will drive me mad, I think!' he gasped. + +'I wrote a letter, one day, to the manager of the bank. I wrote it in +imitation of Armorel's hand. I signed her name at the end so that no +one could have told it was a forgery. My letter told him to give the +sealed packet numbered three to the bearer who was waiting. I sent the +letter by a commissionaire. He returned bringing the packet with him.' + +'And then?' + +'Oh! Then--then--Alec, you will kill me--you will surely kill me when +you know! You care for nothing in the world but for money--and I--I +have stolen away your money! It is gone--it is gone!' + +'You stole those rubies? But I have seen them. They are in Jagenal's +safe. What do you mean?' he cried hoarsely. + +'I have sold them. I stole them, and I sold them all--they were +worth--how much did you say? Fifty--sixty--eighty thousand pounds? I +sold them all, Alec, for four thousand two hundred and twenty-five +pounds! I sold them to a Dutchman in Hatton Garden.' + +'You are raving mad! You dream! I have seen them. I have handled +them.' + +'What you have seen were the worthless imitation jewels that I +substituted. I found out where to get sham rubies made of paste, or +something--some cut and some uncut. I bought them, and I substituted +them in the case. Then I returned the packet to the bank. I had the +packet in my possession no more than one morning. The man who bought +the stones swore they were worth no more. He said he should lose money +by them: he was going away to America immediately, and wanted to +settle at once, otherwise he would not give so much. That is what I +have done, Alec.' + +'Oh!' he stood over her, his eyes glaring; he roared like a wild +beast; he raised his hand as if to slay her with a single blow. But he +could find no words. His hand remained raised--he was speechless--he +was motionless--he was helpless with blind rage and madness. + +[Illustration: _His hand remained raised--he was speechless--he was +motionless--he was helpless with blind rage and madness._] + +His wife looked up, and waited. Now that she had told her tale she was +calm. + +'If you are going to kill me,' she said, 'you had better do it at +once. I think I do not care about living any longer. Kill me, if you +like.' + +He dropped his arm: he straightened himself, and stood upright. + +'You are a Thief!' he said hoarsely. 'You are a wretched, miserable +THIEF!' + +She pointed to the picture on the easel. + +'And you--my husband?' + +He threw himself into a chair. Then he got up and paced the room: he +beat the air with his hands: his face was distorted: his eyes were +wild: he abandoned himself to one of those magnificent rages of which +we read in History. William the Conqueror--King Richard--King +John--many mediæval kings used to fall into these rages. They are less +common of late. But then such provocation as this is rare in any age. + +When, at last, speech came to him, it was at first stuttering and +broken: speech of the elementary kind: speech of primitive man in a +rage: speech ejaculatory: speech interjectional: speech of railing and +cursing. He walked--or, rather, tramped--about the room: he stamped +with his foot: he banged the table with his fist: he roared: he +threatened: he cleared the dictionary of its words of scorn, contempt, +and loathing: he hurled all these words at his wife. As a tigress +bereft of her young, so is such a man bereft of his money. + +His wife, meantime, sat watching, silent. She waited for the storm to +pass. As for what he said, it was no more than the rolling of thunder. +She made no answer to his reproaches; but for her white face you would +have thought she neither heard nor felt nor cared. + +Outside the discreet man-servant heard every word. Once, when his +master threatened violence, he thought it might be his duty to +interfere. As the storm continued, he began to feel that this was no +place for a man-servant who respected himself. He remembered the +earthquake. He had then been called upon to remove from its hinges a +door fractured in a row. That was a blow. He was now compelled to +listen while a master, unworthy of such a servant, brutally swore at +his wife. He perceived that his personal character and his dignity no +longer allowed him to remain with such a person. He resigned, +therefore, that very day. + +When the bereaved sufferer could say no more--for there comes a time +when even to shriek fails to bring relief--he threw himself into a +chair and began to cry. Yes: he cried like a child: he wept and sobbed +and lamented. The tears ran down his cheeks: his voice was choked with +sobs. The discreet man-servant outside blushed with shame that such a +thing should happen under his roof. The wife looked on without a sign +or a word. We break down and cry when we have lost the thing which +most we love--it may be a wife; it may be a child: in the case of +this young man the thing which most he loved and desired was money. It +had been granted to him--in large and generous measure. And, lo! it +was torn from his hands before his fingers had even closed around it. +Oh! the pity--the pity of it! + +This fit, too, passed away. + +Half an hour later, when he was quite quiet, exhausted with his rage, +his wife laid her hand upon his shoulder. + +'Alec,' she said, 'I have always longed for one thing most of all. It +was the only thing, I once thought, that made it worth the trouble to +live. An hour ago it seemed that the thing had been granted to me. And +I was happy even with this guilt upon my soul. I know you for what you +are. Yet I desired your love. Henceforth, this dreadful thing stands +between us. You can no longer love me--that is certain, because I have +ruined you--any more than I can hold you in respect. Yet we will +continue to walk together--hand in hand--I will work and you shall +enjoy. If we do not love each other, we can continue in partnership, +and show to the world faces full of affection. At least you cannot +reproach me. I am a thief, it is true--most true! And you--Alec! +you--oh! my husband!--what are you?' + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +TO FORGET IT ALL + + +When Philippa read the announcement in the _Times_, she held her +breath for a space. It was at breakfast. Her father was reading the +news; she was looking through that column which interests us all more +than any other. Her eye fell upon her cousin's name. She read, she +changed colour, she read again. Her self-control returned. She laid +down the paper. 'Here,' she said, 'is a very astonishing +announcement!' A very astonishing announcement indeed! + + * * * * * + +An hour later she called upon Armorel at her rooms. + +'You are left quite alone in consequence of this--this amazing +revelation?' + +'Quite. Not that I mind being alone. And Effie Wilmot is coming.' + +'Nothing in the world,' said Philippa, 'could have astonished me more. +It is not so much the fact of the marriage--indeed, my cousin's name +was mentioned at one time a good deal in connection with hers--but the +dreadful duplicity. He sent her to you--she came to us--as a widow. +And for three years they have been married! Is it possible?' + +'Indeed,' said Armorel, 'I know nothing. She left me without a cause, +and now I hear of her marriage. That is all.' + +'My dear, the thing reflects upon us. It is my cousin who has brought +this trouble upon you.' + +'Oh! no, Philippa! As if you could be held responsible for his +actions! And, indeed, you must not speak of trouble. I have had none. +My companion was never my friend in any sense: we had nothing in +common: we must have parted company very soon: she irritated me in +many ways, especially in her blind praise of the man who now turns out +to be her husband. I really feel much happier now that she has gone.' + +'But you have no companion--no chaperon.' + +'I don't want any chaperon, I assure you.' + +'But you cannot go into society alone.' + +'I never do go into society. You know that nobody ever called upon +Mrs. Elstree--or Mrs. Feilding, as we must now call her. There are +only two houses in the whole of this great London into which I have +found an entrance--yours and Mr. Jagenal's.' + +'Yes; I know now. And most disgraceful it is that you should have been +so sacrificed. That also is my cousin's doing. He represented his +wife--it seems difficult to believe that he has got a wife--as a +person belonging to a wide and very desirable circle of friends. Not a +soul called upon her! The world cannot continue to know a woman who +has disappeared bodily for three long years, during which she was +reported to have been seen on the stage of a country theatre. What has +she been doing? Why has she been in hiding? It was culpable negligence +in Mr. Jagenal not to make inquiries. What it must be called in my +cousin others may determine. As for you, Armorel, you have been most +disgracefully and shamefully treated.' + +'I suppose I ought to have had a companion who was recognised by +society. But it seems to matter very little. I have made one or two +new friends, and I have found an old friend.' + +'It is not too late, of course, even for this season. Now, my dear +Armorel, I am charged with a mission. It is to bring you back with +me--to get you to stay with us for the season and, at least, until the +summer holidays. That is, if you would be satisfied with our friends.' + +'Thank you, Philippa, a thousand times. I do not think I can accept +your kindness, however, because I feel as if I must go away somewhere. +I have had a great deal of anxiety and worry. It has been wretched to +feel--as I have been made to feel--that I was in the midst of +intrigues and designs, the nature of which I hardly understood. I must +go away out of the atmosphere. I will return to London when I have +forgotten this time. I cannot tell you all that has been going on, +except that I have discovered one deception after another----' + +'She is an abominable woman,' said Philippa. + +'On the island of Samson, at least, there will be no wives who call +themselves widows, and no men who call themselves'--painters and +poets, she was going to say, but she checked herself--'call +themselves,' she substituted, 'single men, when they are already +married.' + +'But, surely you will not go away now--just at the very beginning of +the season?' + +'The season is nothing at all to me.' + +'Oh! But, Armorel--think. You ought to belong to society. You are +wealthy: you are a most beautiful girl: you are quite young: and you +have so many gifts and accomplishments. My dear cousin, you might do +so well, so very well. There is no position to which you could not +aspire.' + +Armorel laughed. 'Not in that way,' she said. 'I have already told +you, dear Philippa, that I am not able to think of things in that +way.' + +'Always that dream of girlhood, dear? Well, then, come and show +yourself, if only to make the men go mad with love and the women with +envy. Stay with us. Or, if you prefer it, I will find you a companion +who really does belong to the world.' + +'No, no; for the present I have had enough of companions. I want +nothing more than to go home and rest. I feel just a little battered. +My first experience of London has not been, you see, quite what I +expected. Let me go away, and come back when I feel more charitable +towards my fellow-creatures.' + +'You have had a most horrid experience,' said Philippa. 'I trembled +for you when I learned who your companion was. I was at school with +her, and--well, I do not love her. But what could I do? Mr. Jagenal +said she had been most strongly recommended--I could not interfere: it +was too late: and besides, after what had happened, years before, it +would have looked vindictive. And then she has been rich and is now +poor, and perhaps, I thought, she wanted money: and when one has +quarrelled it is best to say nothing against your enemy. Besides, I +knew nothing definite against her. She said she was a widow--my cousin +Alec said that he had been an old friend of her husband: he spoke of +having helped him. Oh! he made up quite a long and touching story +about his dead friend. So, you see, I refrained, and if I could say +nothing good, I would say nothing bad.' + +'I am sure that no one can possibly blame you in the matter, +Philippa.' + +'Yet I blame myself. For if I had caused a few questions to be asked +at first, all the lies about the widowhood might have been avoided.' + +'Others would have been invented.' + +'Perhaps. Well--she is married, and I don't suppose her stay here will +have done you any real harm. As for her, to go masquerading as a widow +and to tell a thousand lies daily can hardly do any woman much good. +Have you made up your mind how you will treat her if you should +meet?' + +'She has settled that question. She wrote me a letter saying that she +has behaved so badly that she wishes never to see me again. And if we +should meet she begs that it will be as perfect strangers.' + +'Really--after all that has been done--that is the very least----' + +'So we are to meet as strangers. I suppose that will be best. It would +be impossible to ask for explanations. Poor Zoe! One does not know all +her history. She told me once that she had been very unhappy. I have +heard her crying in her room at night. Perhaps, she is to be more +pitied than blamed. It is her husband whom I find it difficult to +forgive and to forget. He is like a nightmare: he cannot be put so +easily out of my mind.' + +'Unfortunately, no. I, who have thought of him all my life, must +continue to think of him.' + +'You will forgive him, Philippa. You must. Besides, you have less to +forgive. He has never offered his hand and heart to you.' + +Philippa blushed a rosy red, and confusion gathered to her eyes, +because there had, in fact, been many occasions when things were said +which---- Armorel was sorry that she had said this. + +'You mean, Armorel, that he actually--did this--to you?' + +'Yes. It was only the other day--the morning after we read the play. +He came to the National Gallery, where I often go in the morning, and, +in one of the rooms, he told me how much he loved me--words, however, +go for nothing in such things--and kindly said that marriage with me +would complete his happiness.' + +'Oh! He is a villain--a villain indeed!' Her voice rose and her cheeks +flushed. 'Forgive him, Armorel? Never!' + +'Considering that it was only a day or two before he was going to +announce in the paper the fact that he had been married for three +years, it does seem pretty bad, doesn't it?' + +'And you, Armorel?' + +'Fortunately, I was able to dismiss him unmistakably.' + +'Oh!' Philippa cried in exasperation. 'My cousin has been guilty of +many treacherous and base actions; but this is quite the worst thing +that I have heard of him--worse even than sending you his own wife, +under a false name and disguised with a lying story on her lips. No, +Armorel; I will never forgive him. Never!' Her eyes gleamed and her +lips trembled. She meant what she said. 'Never! It is the worst, the +most wicked thing he has ever done--because he might have succeeded.' + +'I suppose he meant to get something by the pretence.' + +'He wanted, I suppose, to have it reported that he was going to marry +a rich girl. I had heard that he was continually seen with you. And I +had also heard that he had confessed to an engagement which was not to +be announced. My father has found out that his affairs are in great +confusion.' + +'But what good would an engagement of twenty-four hours do for him?' + +'Indeed, I do not understand. Perhaps, after all, he had allowed +himself to fall in love--but I do not know. Men sometimes seem to +behave like mad creatures, with no reason or rule of self-control--as +if there was no such thing as consequence and no such thing as the +morrow. I do not understand anything about him. Why are his affairs in +confusion? He had, to begin with, a fortune of more than twelve +thousand pounds from his mother; his pictures latterly commanded a +good price. And his paper is supposed to be doing well. To be sure he +keeps horses and goes a great deal into society. And, perhaps, his +wife has been a source of expense to him. But it is no use trying to +explain or to find out things. Meantime, to you, his conduct has been +simply outrageous. A man who sends his own wife as companion to a +girl, and then makes love to her, is--my dear, there is no other +word--he is a Wretch. I will never forgive him.' Armorel felt that she +would keep her word. This pale, calm, self-contained Philippa could be +moved to anger. And again she heard her companion's soft voice +murmuring, 'My dear, the woman shows that she loves him still.' + +'Fortunately for me,' said Armorel, 'my heart has remained untouched. +I was never attracted by him; and latterly, when I had learned certain +things, it became impossible for me to regard him with common +kindliness. And, besides, his pretence and affectation of love were +too transparent to deceive anybody. He was like the worst actor you +ever saw on any stage--wooden, unreal--incapable of impressing anyone +with the idea that he meant what he said.' + +'I wonder how far Zoe--his wife--knew of this?' + +'I would rather not consider the question, Philippa. But, indeed, one +cannot help, just at first, thinking about it, and I am compelled to +believe that she was his servant and his agent throughout. I believe +she was instigated to get money from me if she could, and I believe +she knew his intentions as regards me, and that she consented. She +must have known, and she must have consented.' + +'She would excuse herself on the ground of being his wife. For their +husbands some women will do anything. Perhaps she worships him. His +genius, very likely, overshadows and awes her.' Armorel smiled, but +made no objection to this conjecture. 'Some women worship the genius +in a man as if it was the man himself. Some women worship the man +quite apart from his genius. I used to worship Alec long before he was +discovered to be a genius at all. When I was a school-girl, Alec was +my knight--my Galahad--purest-hearted and bravest of all the knights. +There was no one in the world--no living man, and very few dead +men--Bayard, Sidney, Charles the First, and two or three more +only--who could stand beside him. He was so handsome, so brave, so +great, and so good, that other men seemed small beside him. Well, my +hero passed through Cambridge without the least distinction: I thought +it was because he was too proud to show other men how easily he could +beat them. Then he was called to the Bar, but he did not immediately +show his eloquence and his abilities: that was because he wanted an +opportunity. And then I went out into the world, and made the +discovery that my hero was in reality quite an ordinary young +man--rather big and good-looking, perhaps--with, as we all thought +then, no very great abilities. And he certainly was always--and he is +still--heavy in conversation. But he was still my cousin, though he +ceased to be my hero. He was more than a cousin--he was almost my +brother; and brothers, as you do not know, perhaps, Armorel, sometimes +do things which require vast quantities of patience and forgiveness. I +am sure no girl's brother ever wanted forgiveness more than my cousin +Alec.' + +Her face, cold and pale, had, in fact, the sisterly expression. +Philippa's enemies always declared that in the composition and making +of her the goddess Venus, who presumably takes a large personal +interest in the feminine department, had no lot or part at all. Yet +certain words--the late companion's words--kept ringing in Armorel's +ears: 'My dear, the woman loves him still. She has never ceased to +love him.' + +'There was nothing to forgive at first,' she went on: 'on the +contrary, everything to admire. Yet his career has been throughout so +unexpected as to puzzle and bewilder us. Consider, Armorel. Here was a +young man who had never in boyhood, or later, shown the least love or +leaning towards Art or the least tinge of poetical feeling, or the +smallest power as a _raconteur_, or any charm of writing--suddenly +becoming a fine painter--a really fine painter--a respectable poet, +and an admirable story-teller. When he began with the first picture +there grew up in my head a very imaginative and certain set of ideas +connecting the painter's mind with his Art. I saw a grave mind +dwelling gravely and earnestly on the interpretation of nature. It +seemed impossible that one who should so paint sea and shore should be +otherwise than grave and serious.' + +'Impossible,' said Armorel. + +'What we had called, in our stupidity, dulness, now became only +seriousness. He took his Art seriously. But then he began to write +verses, and then I found that there was a new mind--not a part of the +old mind, but a new mind altogether. It was a mind with a light vein of +fancy and merriment: it was affectionate, sympathetic, and happy: and +it seemed distinctly a feminine mind. I cannot tell you how difficult +it was to fit that mind to my cousin Alec--it was like dressing him up +in an ill-fitting woman's riding-habit. And then he began those stories +of his--and, behold, another mind altogether!--this time a worldly +mind--cynical, sarcastic, distrustful, epigrammatic, and heartless--not +at all a pleasant mind. So that you see I had four different minds all +going about in the same set of bones--the original Alec Feilding, +handsome and commonplace, but a man of honour: the serious student of +Art: the light and gay-hearted poet, sparkling in his verses like a +glass of champagne: and the cynical man of the world, who does not +believe that there are any men of honour or any good women. Why, how +can one man be at the same time four men? It is impossible. And now we +have a fifth development of Alec. He has become--at the same time--a +creature who marries a wife secretly--no one knows why: and hides her +away for three years and then suddenly produces her--no one knows why. +What does he hide her away for? Why does she consent to be hidden away? +Then, the very day before he has got to produce his wife for all the +world to see--I am perfectly certain that she herself forced him to +take that step--he makes love to a young lady, and formally asks her to +marry him. Reconcile, if you can, all these contradictions.' + +'They cannot possibly be reconciled.' + +'We have heard of seven devils entering into one man; but never of +angels and devils mixed, my dear. Such a man cannot be explained, any +more than the Lady Melusina herself.' + +'Do not let us try. As for me, I am going to forget the existence of +Mr. Alec Feilding if I can. In order to do this the quicker I mean to +go home and stay there. Come and see me on the island of Samson, +Philippa. But you must not bring your father, or he may be +disappointed at the loss of his ancestral hall. To you I shall not +mind showing the little house where your ancestors lived.' + +'I should like very much--above all things--to see the place.' + +'I will bribe you to come. I have got a great silver punch-bowl--old +silver, such as you love--for you. You shall have a choice of rings, a +choice of snuff-boxes. There is a roll of lace put away in the +cupboard that would make you a lovely dress. It will be like the +receiving of presents which we read of in the old books.' + +'I will try to come, Armorel, after the season.' + +Armorel laughed. + +'There is the difference between us, Philippa. You belong to the +world, and I do not. Oh! I will come back again some day and look at +it again. But it will always be a strange land to me. You will leave +London after the season; I am leaving it before the season. Come, +however, when you can. Scilly is never too hot in summer nor too cold +in winter. Instead of a carriage you shall have a boat, and instead of +a coachman you shall have my boy Peter. We will sail about and visit +the Islands: we will carry our midday dinner with us: and in the +evening we will play and sing. Nobody will call upon you there: there +are no dinner-parties, and you need not bring an evening dress. The +only audience to our music will be my old servants, Justinian and +Dorcas his wife, and Chessun, and Peter the boy.' + +There were no preparations to make: there was nothing to prevent +Armorel from going away immediately. She asked Effie to go with her. +She opened the subject in the evening, when she and her brother and +Roland were all sitting together in her drawing-room by the light of +the fire alone, which she loved. They were thoughtful and rather +silent, conscious of recent events. + +'While we were in Regent Street this afternoon, Effie,' said Armorel, +'I was thinking of the many happy faces that we met. The street seemed +filled with happiness. I was wondering if it was all real. Are they +all as happy as they seem? Is there no falsehood in their lives? The +streets are filled with happy people. The theatres are filled with +happy faces: society shows none but happy faces. It ought to be the +happiest of worlds. Have we, alone, fallen among pretenders and +intriguers?' + +'They are gone from you, Armorel. Can you not forget them?' Effie +murmured. + +'I seem to hear the murmuring voice of my companion always. She +whispers in her caressing voice, "Oh! my dear, he is so good and +great! He is so full of truth and honour. Will you lend him a thousand +pounds? He thinks so highly of you. A thousand pounds--two thousand +pounds. If I had it to lay at the feet of so much genius!" And all the +time she is his wife. And in my thoughts I am always hearing his +voice, which I learned to hate, laying down a commonplace. And in my +dreams I awake with a start, because he is making love to me while Zoe +listens at the door.' + +'You must go away somewhere,' said Roland. + +'I shall go home--to my own place. Effie, will you come with me?' + +'Go with you? Oh! To Scilly?' + +'To the land of Lyonesse. I have arranged it all, dear. Archie shall +have these rooms of mine to live in: you shall come with me. It is two +years since you have been out of London: your cheeks are pale: you +want our sea-breezes and our upland downs. Will you come with me, +Effie?' + +She held out her hand. 'I will go with you,' said the girl, 'round the +whole world, if you order me.' + +'Then that is settled. Archie, you must stay because your future +demands it. I met Mr. Stephenson yesterday. He told me that he is in +great hopes about the play, and that, meantime, he will be able to put +some work into your hands.' + +'You are always thinking about me,' said Archie. + +'Come to us in the summer. Take your holiday on Samson. Oh! Effie, we +will be perfectly happy. We will forget London, and everything that +has happened. Thank Heaven, the rubies are gone! I will send a piano +there: we will carry with us loads of books and music. We will have a +perfectly lovely time, with no one but ourselves. Roland will tell you +how we will live. You will do nothing for a time, while you are +drinking in the fresh air and getting strong. Then--then--you shall +have ideas--great and glorious ideas--and you shall write far, far +better poetry than any you have attempted yet.' + +'And, meantime--we who have to remain behind?' asked Roland. 'What +shall we do when you are gone?' + + * * * * * + +It takes longer to get to Penzance than to Edinburgh, because the +train ceases to run and begins to crawl as soon as it leaves Plymouth. +The best way is to take the nine o'clock train and to travel all +night. Then you will probably sleep from Reading to Bristol: from +Bristol to Exeter: and from Exeter to Plymouth. After that you will +keep awake. + +In this way and by this train Armorel and Effie travelled to Penzance. +Effie fell asleep very soon, and remained asleep all night long, +waking up somewhere between Lostwithiel and Marazion. Armorel sat up +wakeful the whole night through, yet was not tired in the morning. +Partly, she was thinking of her stay in London, the crowning of her +apprenticeship five years long. Nothing had happened as she had +expected. Nothing, in this life, ever does. She had found the hero of +her dreams defeated and fallen, a pitiable object. But he stood erect +again, better armed and in better heart, his face turned upwards. + +Partly, another thing filled her heart and made her wakeful. + +Roland and Archie came with them to the station. + +'Shall I ever be permitted to visit again the Land of Lyonesse?' +whispered the former at the window just before the guard's whistle +gave the signal for the train to start. + +She gave him her hand. 'Good-bye, Roland. You will come to +Scilly--when you please--as soon as you can.' + +He held her hand. + +'I live only in that hope,' he replied. + +The train began to move. He bent and kissed her fingers. + +She leaned forward. 'Roland,' she said, 'I also live only in that +hope.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +NOT THE HEIR, AFTER ALL + + +The storm expended itself. The gale cannot go on blowing: the injured +man cannot go on raging, cursing, or weeping. Alec Feilding became +calm. Yet a settled gloom rested like a dark cloud upon his front: he +had lost something--a good part--of his pristine confidence. That +enviable quality which so much impresses itself upon others--called +swagger--had been knocked out of him. Indeed, he had sustained a blow +from which he would never wholly recover: such a man could never get +over the loss of such a fortune: his great-grandfather, so far as +could be learned, lost his fortune and began again, with cheerful +heart. Alec would begin again, because he must, but with rage and +bitterness. It was like being struck down by an incurable disease: it +might be alleviated, but it would never be driven out: from time to +time, in spite of the physicians, the patient writhes and groans in +the agony of this disease. So from time to time will this man, until +the end of time, groan and lament over the wicked waste and loss of +that superb inheritance. + +Of course he disguised from himself--this is one of the things men +always do hide away--the fact that he himself was part and parcel of +the deed: he had destroyed himself by his own craft and cunning. Had +he not placed his wife with Armorel under instructions to persuade and +coax her into advancing money for his own purposes, the thing could +never have happened. + +Henceforth, though the pair should have the desire of their hearts: +though they should march on to wealth and success: though the wife +should invent and contrive with the cleverness of ten for the good of +the firm: though the husband should grow more and more in the +estimation of the outer world into the position of a Master and an +Authority: between the two will lie the memory of fraud and crime, to +divide them and keep them apart. + +On the day after the revelation, a thought came into the mind of the +inheritor of the rubies. The thing that had happened unto him--could +he cause it to happen unto another? Perhaps one remembers how, on +learning that the rubies were to be given to the eldest grandson of +the second daughter, he had dropped, limp and pale, into a chair. One +may also remember how, on learning that no further investigation would +be made, he recovered again. The fact was, you see, that Mr. Jagenal +had made a little mistake. His searchers had altered the order of the +three sisters. Frances, Alec Feilding's grandmother, was not the +second, but the third daughter. When the rubies were actually waiting +and ready for him, it would have been foolish to mention that fact, +especially as no further search was to be made, and the elder branch, +wherever it was, would never know anything of the matter at all. +Therefore, he then held his tongue. + +Now, on the other hand, the jewels being worthless, he thought, first +of all, that it would look extremely scrupulous to inform Mr. Jagenal +of the discovery that his grandmother was really the third daughter: +next, if the other branch should be discovered, the fortunate heir +would, like himself, be raised to the heavens only to be dashed down +again to earth. Let someone else, as well as himself, experience the +agonies of that fall. He chuckled grimly as he considered the torments +in store for this fortunate unknown cousin. As for danger to his wife, +he considered rightly that there was none: the stones had been +consigned to the bank by Armorel, and in her own name: she signed an +order for their delivery to Mr. Jagenal: he had kept them in his safe. +They would certainly lie there some time before he found the new +heir. Nay. They had been in his custody for five years before he gave +them over formally to Armorel. Who could say when the robbery had been +effected? Who would think of asking the bank whether during the short +time the parcel was held in the name of Armorel it had been taken out? +Clearly the whole blame and responsibility lay with Mr. Jagenal +himself. He would have a very curious problem to solve--namely, how +the rubies had been changed in his own safe. + +'Well, Alec, come to take away your rubies?' asked Mr. Jagenal, +cheerily. 'There they are in that safe.' + +'No,' he replied, sadly. 'I am grieved indeed to say that I have not +come for the rubies. I shall never come for the rubies.' + +'Why not?' + +'Because they are not for me. According to your instructions, I have +no claim to them.' + +'No claim?' + +'I understand that Miss Rosevean intends to give these jewels to the +first representative of the family of Robert Fletcher. That is to say, +to the eldest grandchild of the first, second, or third daughter, as +the case may be?' + +'That is so.' + +'Very well. The eldest daughter left no children. You therefore sent +for me as the eldest--and only--grandchild of the second daughter?' + +'I did.' + +'Then I have to tell you that you are wrong. My grandmother was the +third daughter.' + +'Is it possible?' + +'Quite possible. She was the third daughter. I was not very accurately +acquainted with that part of my genealogy, and the other day I could +not have told you whether I came from the second or the third +daughter. I have since ascertained the facts. It was the second +daughter who went away to Australia or New Zealand, or somewhere. I do +not know anything at all about my cousins, but I think it very +unlikely that there are none in existence.' + +'Very unlikely. What proof have you that your grandmother was the +second daughter?' + +'I have an old family Bible--I can show it you, if you like. In this +has been entered the date of the birth, the place and date of baptism, +the names of the sponsors of all three sisters. There is also a note +on the second sister's marriage and on her emigration. I assure you +there can be no doubt on the subject at all.' + +'Oh! This is very disastrous, my dear boy. How could my people have +made such a mistake? Alec, I feel for you--I do, indeed!' + +'It is most disastrous!' Alec echoed with a groan. 'I have been in the +unfortunate position of a man who is suddenly put into possession +of a great fortune one day, and as suddenly deprived of it the next. +Of course, as soon as I discovered the real facts, it became my duty +to acquaint you with them.' + +'By George!' cried Mr. Jagenal. 'If you had kept the facts to +yourself, no one would ever have been any wiser. No one, because the +transfer of the property is a sheer gift made by my client to you +without any compulsion at all. It is a private transaction of which I +should never have spoken to anyone. Well, Alec, I must not say that +you are wrong. But many men--most men perhaps--with a less keen sense +of honour than you--well--I say no more. Yet the loss and +disappointment must be a bitter pill for you.' + +'It is a bitter pill,' he replied truthfully. 'More bitter than you +would suspect.' + +'You will have the satisfaction of feeling that you have behaved in +this matter as a man of the strictest honour.' + +'I am very glad, considering all things, that I have not had the +rubies in my own possession, even for a single hour.' + +'That is nothing: of course they would have been safe in your hands. +Well, Alec, I am sorry for you. But you are young: you are clever: you +are succeeding hand over hand: pay a little more attention to your +daily expenses, put down your horses and live for a few years quietly, +and you will make your own fortune--ay, a fortune greater far than was +contained in this unlucky case of precious stones.' + +'I suppose you will renew your search, now, after the descendants of +the second daughter?' + +'I suppose we must. Do not forget that if there are no +descendants--or, which is much the same thing, if we cannot find them +in a reasonable time, I shall advise my client to transfer the jewels +to the grandson of the third daughter. And I hope, my dear boy--I +hope, I say, that we may never find those descendants.' + +Alec departed, a little cheered by the consolation that he had passed +on the disappointment to another. + +He went home, and found his wife in the studio, apparently waiting for +him. There were dark rings round her eyes. She had been weeping. Since +the storm they had not spoken to each other. + +He sat down at his table--it was perfectly bare of papers--no sign of +any work at all upon it--and waited for her to begin. + +'Is it not time,' she asked, 'that this should cease? You have +reproached me enough, I think. Remember, we are on the same level. +But, whatever I have done, it was done for your sake. Whatever you +have done, was done for your own sake. Now, is there going to be an +end to this situation?' + +[Illustration: _'Is it not time,' she asked, 'that this should +cease?'_] + +He made a gesture of impatience. + +'Understand clearly--if I am to help you for the future: if I am going +to pull you through this crisis: if I am to direct and invent and +combine for you, I mean to be treated with the semblance of +kindness--the show of politeness at least.' + +He sat up, moved by this appeal, which, indeed, was to his purse--that +is, to his heart. + +'I say, my husband,' she repeated, 'you must understand me clearly. +Again, what I have done was done for you--for you. Unless you agree to +my conditions it shall have been done--for myself. I have four +thousand pounds in the bank in my own name. You cannot touch it. I +shall go away and live upon that money--apart from you. And you shall +have nothing--nothing--unless----' + +'Unless what?' He shook off his wrath with a mighty effort, as a sulky +boy shakes off his sulks when he perceives that he must, and that +instantly. He threw off his wrath and sat up with a wan semblance of a +smile, a spectral smile, feebly painted on his lips. 'Unless what, +Zoe? My dear child, can you not make allowance for a man tried in this +terrible fashion? I don't believe that any man was ever so mocked by +Fortune. I have been crushed. Yes, any terms, any condition you +please. Let us forget the past. Come, dear, let us forget what has +happened.' He sprang to his feet and held out his arms. + +She hesitated a moment. 'There is no other place for me now,' she +murmured. 'We are on the same level. I am all yours--now.' + +Then she drew herself away, and turned again to the table. 'Come, +Alec,'she said, 'to business. Time presses. Sit down, and give me all +your attention.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +THE DESERT ISLAND + + +The train proceeded slowly along the head of Mount's Bay, the waters +of the high tide washing up almost to the sleepers on the line. +Armorel let down the window and looked out across the bay-- + + Where the great vision of the guarded Mount + Looks towards Namancos and Bayona's hold. + +'See, Effie!' she cried. 'There is Mount's Bay. There is the Lizard. +There is Penzance. And there--oh! there is the Mount itself!' + +St. Michael's Mount, always weird and mysterious, rose out of the +waters wrapped in a thin white cloud, which the early sun had not yet +been able to dissipate. I am told there is a very fine modern house +upon the Mount. I prefer not to believe that story. The place should +always remain lonely, awful, full of mystery and wonder. There is also +said to be a battery with guns upon it. Perhaps. But there are much +more wonderful things than these to tell of the rock. Upon its highest +point those gallant miners--Captain Caractac and Captain Caerleon, +both of Boadicea Wheal--were wont to stand gazing out upon the stretch +of waters expecting the white sails and flashing oars of the +Phoenician fleet, come to buy their white and precious tin, with +strong wines from Syria and spices from the far East, and purple robes +and bronze swords and spearheads, far better than those made by Flint +Jack of the Ordnance Department. Hither came white-robed priests with +flowing beards and solemn faces--faces supernaturally solemn, till +they were alone upon the rock. Then, perhaps, an eyelid trembled. What +they did I know not, nor did the people, but it was something truly +awful, with majestic rites and ineffable mysteries and mumbo-jumbo of +the very noblest. Here St. Michael himself once, in the ages of Faith, +condescended to appear. It was to a hermit. Such appearances were the +prizes of the profession. Many went a-hermiting in hopes of getting a +personal call from a Saint who would otherwise have fought and lived +and died quite like the rest of the world. And, indeed, there were so +many Cornish Saints--such as St. Buryan, St. Levan, St. Ives, St. +Just, St. Keverne, St. Anthony, not to speak of St. Erth, St. Gulval, +St. Austell, St. Wenn--all kindly disposed saints, anxious to +encourage hermits, and pleased to extend their own sphere of +usefulness, that few of these holy men were disappointed. + +In the bay the blue water danced lightly in the morning breeze: the +low, level sunlight shone upon Penzance on the western side: the +fishing-boats, back from the night's cruise, lay at their moorings, +their brown sails lowered: the merchantmen and trading craft were +crowded in the port: beyond, the white curves chased each other across +the water, and showed that, outside, the breeze was fresh and the +water lively. + +'We are almost at home,' said Armorel. 'There is our steamer lying off +the quay--she looks very little, doesn't she? Only a short voyage of +forty miles--oh! Effie, I do hope you are a good sailor--and we shall +be at Hugh Town.' + +'Are we really arrived? I believe I have slept the whole night +through,' said Effie, sitting up and pulling herself straight. 'Oh! +how lovely!'--as she too looked out of window. 'Have you slept well, +Armorel?' + +'I don't think I have been asleep much. But I am quite happy, Effie, +dear--quite as happy as if I had been sound asleep all night. There +are dreams, you know, which come to people in the night when they are +awake as well as when they are asleep. I have been dreaming all night +long--one dream which lasted all the night--one voice in my ears--one +hand in mine. Oh! Effie, I have been quite happy!' She showed her +happiness by kissing her companion. 'I am happier than I ever thought +to be. Some day, perhaps, I shall be able to tell you why.' + +And then the train rolled in to Penzance Station. + +It was only half-past seven in the morning. The steamer would not +start till half-past ten. The girls sent their luggage on board, and +then went to one of the hotels which stand all in a row facing the +Esplanade. Here they repaired the ravages of the night, which makes +even a beautiful girl like Armorel show like Beauty neglected, and +then they took breakfast, and, in due time, went on board. + +Now behold! They had left in London a pitiless nor'-easter and a black +sky. They found at Penzance a clear blue overhead, light and sunshine, +and a glorious north-westerly breeze. That is not, certainly, the +quarter whose winds allay the angry waves and soothe the heaving +surge. Not at all. It is when the wind is from the north-west that the +waves rise highest and heaviest. Then the boat bound to Scilly tosses +and rolls like a round cork, yet persistently forces her way westward, +diving, ploughing, climbing, slipping, sliding, and rolling, shipping +great seas and shaking them off again, always getting ahead somehow. +Then those who come forth at the start with elastic step and lofty +looks lie low and wish that some friend would prod Father Time with a +bradawl and make him run: and those who enjoy the sea, Sir, and are +never sick, are fain to put down the pipe with which they proudly +started and sink into nothingness. For taking the conceit out of a +young man there is nothing better than the voyage from Penzance to +Scilly, especially if it be a tripper's voyage--that is, back again +the same day. + +There is, on the Scilly boat, a cabin, or rather a roofed and walled +apartment, within which is the companion to the saloon. Nobody ever +goes into the saloon, though it is magnificent with red velvet, but +round this roofed space there is a divan or sofa. And here lie the +weak and fearful, and all those who give in and oppose no further +resistance to the soft influences of ocean. Effie lay here, white of +cheek and motionless. She had never been on the sea before, and she +had a rough and tumbling day to begin with, and the sea in glory and +grandeur--but all was lost and thrown away so far as she was +concerned. Armorel stood outside, holding to the ropes with both +hands. She was dressed in a waterproof: the spray flew over her: her +cheek was wet with it: her eyes were bright with it: the heavy seas +dashed over her: she laughed and shook her waterproof: as for wet +boots, what Scillonian regardeth them? And the wind--how it blew +through and through her! How friendly was its rough welcome! How +splendid to be once more on rough water, the boat fighting against a +head wind and rolling waves! How glorious to look out once more upon +the wild ungoverned waves! + +It was not until the boat had rounded the Point and was well out in +the open that these things became really enjoyable. Away south stood +the Wolf with its tall lighthouse: you could see the white waves +boiling and fighting around it and climbing half-way up. Beyond the +Wolf a great ocean steamer plunged through the water outward bound. +Presently there came flying past them the most beautiful thing ever +invented by the wit of man or made by his craft, a three-masted +schooner under full sail--all sails spread--not forging slowly along +under poverty-stricken stays which proclaim an insufficient crew, but +flying over the water under all her canvas. She was a French boat, of +Havre. + +'There is Scilly, Miss,' said the steward, pointing out to sea. + +Yes; low down the land lay, west by north. It looked like a cloud at +first. Every moment it grew clearer; but always low down. What one +sees at first are the eastern shores of St. Agnes and Gugh, St. +Mary's, and the Eastern Islands. They are all massed together, so that +the eye cannot distinguish one from the other, but all seem to form +continuous land. By degrees they separated. Then one could discover +the South Channel and the North Channel. When the tide is high and the +weather fair the boat takes the former: at low tide, the latter. +To-day the captain chose the South Channel. And now they were so near +the land that Armorel could make out Porthellick Bay, and her heart +beat, though she was going home to no kith or kin, and to nothing but +her _familia_, her serving folk. Next she made out Giant's Castle, +then the Old Town, then Peninnis Head, black and threatening. And now +they were so near that every carn and every boulder upon it could be +made out clearly: and one could see the water rising and falling at +the foot of the rock, and hear it roaring as it was driven into the +dark caves and the narrow places where the rocks opened out and made +make-believe of a port or haven of refuge. And now Porthcressa Bay, +and now the Garrison, and smooth water. + +Then Armorel brought out Effie, pale and languid. 'Now, dear, the +voyage is over: we are in smooth water, and shall be in port in ten +minutes. Look round--it is all over: we are in the Road. And over +there--see!--with his twin hills--is my dear old Samson.' + +There was a little crowd on the quay waiting to see the boat arrive. +All of them--boatmen, fishermen, and flower-farmers' men, to say +nothing of those representing the interests of commerce--pressed +forward to welcome Armorel. Everybody remembered her, but now she was +a grand young lady who had left them a simple child. They shook hands +with her and stepped aside. And then Peter came forward, looking no +older but certainly no younger, and Armorel shook hands with him too. +He had the boat alongside, and in five minutes more the luggage was on +board, the mast was up, the sail set, and Armorel was sitting in her +old place, the strings in her hand, while Peter held the rope and +looked out ahead, shading his eyes with his right hand in the old +familiar style. + +'It is as if I never left home at all,' said Armorel. 'I sailed like +this with Peter yesterday--and the day before.' + +'You've growed,' said Peter, after an inquiring gaze, being for the +moment satisfied that there was nothing ahead and that there was no +immediate danger of shipwreck on the Nut Rock or Green Island. + +'I am five years older,' Armorel replied. + +'It's been a rare harvest this year,' he went on. 'I thought we should +never come to the end of the daffodils.' + +'Now I am at home indeed,' said Armorel, 'when I hear the old, old +talk about the flowers. To-morrow, Effie, I will show you our little +fields where we grow all the lovely flowers--the anemone and +jonquil--the narcissus and the daffodil. This afternoon, when we have +had dinner and rested a little, I will take you all round Samson and +show you the glories of the place: they are principally views of other +islands: but there is a headland and two bays, and there are the Tombs +of the Kings--the Ancient Kings of Lyonesse--in one of them Roland +Lee'--she blushed and turned away her head--henceforth, she +understood, this was a name to be treated with more reverence--'found +a golden torque, which you have seen me wear. And oh! my dear--you +shall be so happy: the sea-breeze shall fill your soul with music: the +sea-birds shall sing to you: the very waves shall lap on the shore in +rhyme and rhythm for you: and the sun of Scilly, which is so warm and +glowing, but never too warm, shall colour that pale cheek of yours, +and fill out that spare form. And oh, Effie! I hope you will not get +tired of Samson and of me! We are two maidens living on a desert +island: there is nobody to talk to except each other: we shall wander +about together as we list. Oh, I am so happy, Effie!--and oh, my dear, +I am so hungry!' + +The boat ran up over the white sand of the beach. They jumped out, and +Armorel, leaving Peter to bring along the trunks by the assistance of +the donkey, led the way over the southern hill to Holy Farm. + +'Effie,' she said, 'I have been tormented this morning with the fear +that everything would look small. I was afraid that my old memories--a +child's memories--would seem distorted and exaggerated. Now I am not +in the least afraid. Samson has got all his acres still: he looks +quite as big and quite as homely as ever he did--the boulders are as +huge, the rocks are as steep. I remember every boulder, Effie, and +every bush, and every patch of brown fern, and almost every trailing +branch of bramble. How glorious it is here! How the sea-breeze sweeps +across the hill--it comes all the way from America--across the +Atlantic! Effie, I declare you are looking rosier already. I must +sing--I must, indeed--I always used to sing!----' She threw up her +arms in the old gesture, and sang a loud and clear and joyous burst of +song--sang like the lark springing from the ground, because it cannot +choose but sing. 'I used to jump, too; but I do not want, somehow, to +jump any more. Ah, Effie, I was quite certain there would be some +falling-off, but I could not tell in what direction. I can no longer +jump. That comes of getting old. To be sure, I did not jump when I +took Roland Lee about the islands. Sometimes I sang, but I was ashamed +to jump. Here we are upon the top. It is not a mighty Alp, is it?--but +it serves. Look round--but only for a moment, because Chessun will +have dinner waiting for us, and you are exhausted by your bad +passage--you poor thing. This is our way, down the narrow lanes. Here +our fields begin: they are each about as big as a dinner-table. See +the tall hedges to keep off the north wind: there is a field of +narcissus, but there are no more flowers, and the leaves are dying +away. This way! Ah! Here we are!' + +The house did not look in the least mean, or any smaller than Armorel +expected. She became even prouder of it. Where else could one find a +row of palms, with great verbena-trees and prickly pear and aloes, not +to speak of the creepers over the porch, the gilt figure-head, and the +big ship's lantern hung in the porch? Within, the sunlight poured into +the low rooms--all of them looking south--and made them bright: in the +room where formerly the ancient lady passed her time in the hooded +chair--the lady passed away and the chair gone--the cloth was spread +for dinner. And in the porch were gathered the serving-folk--Justinian +not a day older, Dorcas unchanged, and Chessun thin and worn, almost +as old, to look at, as her mother. And as soon as the greetings were +over, and the questions asked and answered, and the news told of the +harvest and the prices, and the girls had run all over the house, +Chessun brought in the dinner. + +It is a blessed thing that we must eat, because upon this necessity we +have woven so many pretty customs. We eat a welcome home: we eat a +godspeed: we eat together because we love each other: we eat to +celebrate anything and everything. Above all, upon such an event as +the return of one who has long been parted from us we make a little +banquet. Thought and pains had been bestowed upon the dinner which +Chessun placed upon the table. Dorcas stood by the table, watching the +effect of her cares. First there was a chicken roasted, with bread +crumbs--a bird blessed with a delicacy of flavour and a tenderness of +flesh and a willingness to separate at the joints unknown beyond the +shores of Scilly: Dorcas said so, and the girls believed it--Effie, at +least, willing to believe that nothing in the world was so good as in +this happy realm of Queen Armorel. Dorcas also invited special +attention to the home-cured ham, which was, she justly remarked, mild +as a peach: the potatoes, served in their skins, were miracles of +mealiness--had Armorel met with such potatoes out of Samson? had the +young lady, her visitor, ever seen or dreamed of such potatoes? There +was spinach grown on the farm, freshly cut, redolent of the earth, +fragrant with the sea-breeze. And there was home-made bread, sweet, +wholesome, and firm. There was also placed upon the table a Brown +George, filled with home-brewed, furnished with a head snow-white, +venerable, and benevolent, such a head as not all the breweries of +Burton--or even of the whole House of Lords combined--could furnish. +Alas! that head smiled in vain upon this degenerate pair. They would +not drink the nut-brown, sparkling beer. It was not wasted, however. +Peter had it when he brought the pack-ass to the porch laden with the +last trunk. Nor did they so much as remove the stopper from the +decanter containing a bottle of the famous blackberry wine, the +primest _crû_ of Samson, opened expressly for this dinner. Yet this +was not wasted either, for Justinian, who knew a glass of good wine, +took it with three successive suppers. Is it beneath the dignity of +history to mention pudding? Consider: pudding is festive: pudding +contributes largely to the happiness of youth. Armorel and Effie +tackled the pudding as only the young and hungry can. And this day, +perhaps from the promptings of simple piety, being rejoiced that +Armorel was back again; perhaps from some undeveloped touch of poetry +in her nature, Chessun placed upon the table that delicacy seldom seen +at the tables of the unfortunate Great--who really get so few of the +good things--known as Grateful Pudding. You know the ingredients of +this delightful dish? More. To mark the day, Chessun actually made it +with cream instead of milk! + +'To-morrow,' said Armorel, fired with emulation, 'I will show you, +Effie, what I can do in the way of puddings and cakes. I always used +to make them: and, unless my lightness of hand has left me, I think +you will admire my teacakes, if not my puddings. Roland Lee praised +them both. But, to be sure, he was so easily pleased. He liked +everything on the island. He even liked--oh! Effie!--he liked me.' + +'That was truly wonderful, Armorel.' + +'Now, Effie, dear, lie down in this chair beside the window. You can +look straight out to sea--that is Bishop's Rock, with its lighthouse. +Lie down and rest, and I will talk to you about Scilly and Samson and +my own people. Or I will play to you if you like. I am glad the new +piano has arrived safely.' + +'I like to look round this beautiful old room. How strange it is! I +have never seen such a room--with things so odd.' + +'They are all things from foreign lands, and things cast up by the +sea. If you like odd things I will show you, presently, my punch-bowls +and the snuff-boxes and watches and things. I did not give all of them +to the care of Mr. Jagenal five years ago.' + +'It is wonderful: it is lovely: as if one could ever tire of such a +place!' + +'Lie down, dear, and rest. You have had such a tossing about that you +must rest after it, or you may be ill. It promises to be a fine and +clear evening. If it is we will go out by-and-by and see the sun set +behind the Western Rocks.' + +'We are on a desert island,' Effie murmured obediently, lying down and +closing her eyes. 'Nobody here but ourselves: we can do exactly what +we please: think of it, Armorel! Nobody wants any money, here: nobody +jostles his neighbour: nobody tramples upon his friend. It is like a +dream of the primitive life.' + +'With improvements, dear Effie. My ancestors used to lead the +primitive life when Samson was a holy island and the cemetery of the +Kings of Lyonesse: they went about barefooted and they were dressed in +skins: they fought the wolves and bears, and if they did not kill the +creatures, why, the creatures killed them: they were always fighting +the nearest tribe. And they sucked the marrow-bones, Effie, think of +that! Oh! we have made a wonderful advance in the civilisation of +Samson Island.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +AT HOME + + +'I am so very pleased to see _you_ here, Mr. Stephenson.' Mrs. +Feilding welcomed him with her sweetest and most gracious smile. 'To +attract our few really sincere critics--there are so many incompetent +pretenders--as well as the leaders in all the Arts is my great +ambition. And now you have come.' + +'You are very kind,' said Dick, blushing. I dare say he is a really +great critic at the hours when he is not a most superior clerk in the +Admiralty. At the same time, one is not often told the whole, the +naked, the gratifying truth. + +'To have a _salon_, that is my desire: to fill it with men of light +and leading. Now you have broken the ice, you will come often, will +you not? Every Sunday evening, at least. My husband will be most +pleased to find you here.' + +'Again, you are very kind.' + +'We saw you yesterday afternoon at that poor boy's _matinée_; did we +not? The crush was too great for us to exchange a word with you. What +do you think of the piece?' + +'I always liked it. I was present, you know, at the reading that +night.' + +'Oh yes; the reading--Armorel Rosevean's Reading. Yes. Though that +hardly gave one an idea of the play.' + +'The piece went very well indeed. I should think it will catch on; but +of course the public are very capricious. One never knows whether they +will take to a thing or not. To my mind there is every prospect of +success. In any case, young Wilmot has shown that he possesses +poetical and dramatic powers of a very high order indeed. He seems the +most promising of the men before us at present. That is, if he keeps +up to the standard of this first effort.' + +'Ye--es? Of course we must discount some of the promise. You have +heard, for instance, that my husband lent his advice and assistance?' + +'He said so, after the reading, did he not?' + +'Nobody knows, Mr. Stephenson,' she clasped her hands and turned those +eyes of limpid blue upon the young man, 'how many successes my husband +has helped to make by his timely assistance! What he did to this +particular play I do not know, of course. During the reading and +during yesterday's performance, I seemed to hear his voice through all +the acts. It haunted me. But Alec said nothing. He sat in silence, +smiling, as if he had never heard the words before. Oh! It is +wonderful! And now--not a word of recognition! You help people to +climb up, and then they pretend--they pretend--to have got up by their +own exertions! Not that Alec expects gratitude or troubles himself +much about these things, but, naturally, I feel hurt. And oh! Mr. +Stephenson, what must be the conscience of the man--how can he bear to +live--who goes about the world pretending--pretending,' she shook her +head sadly, 'pretending to have written other men's works!' + +'Men will do anything, I suppose. This kind of assistance ought, +however, to be recognised. I will make some allusion to it in my +notice of the play. Meantime, if I can read the future at all, Master +Archie Wilmot's fortune is made, and he will.' + +'Mr. Roland Lee showed his picture that night. He had just come out of +a madhouse, had he not?' + +'Not quite that. He failed, and dropped out. But what he did with +himself or how he lived for three years I do not exactly know. He has +returned, and never alludes to that time.' + +'And he exactly imitates my husband, I am told.' + +'No, no--not exactly. The resemblance is close, only an experienced +critic'--Oh! Dick Stephenson!--'could discern the real differences of +treatment.' Mrs. Feilding smiled. 'But I knew him before he +disappeared, and I assure you his method was then the same as it is +now. Very much like your husband's style, yet with a difference.' + +'I am glad there is a difference. An artist ought, at least, to have a +style of his own. You know, I suppose, that Armorel has gone away?' + +'I have heard so.' + +'It became possible for us at last to acknowledge things. So I joined +my husband. Armorel went home--to her own home in the Scilly Islands. +She took Effie Wilmot with her. Indeed, the girl's flatteries have +become necessary to her. I fear she was unhappy, poor child! I +sometimes think, Mr. Stephenson, that she saw too much of Alec. Of +course he was a good deal with us, and I could not tell her the whole +truth, and--and--girls' heads are easily turned, you know, when genius +seems to be attracted. Poor Armorel!' she sighed, playing with her +fan. 'Time, I dare say, will help her to forget.' + +'It is a pity,' said Dick Stephenson, changing the subject, because he +did not quite believe this version, 'it is a pity that Mr. Feilding, +who can give such admirable advice to a young dramatist, does not +write a play himself.' + +'Hush!' she looked all round, 'nobody is listening. Alec _has_ written +a play, Mr. Stephenson. It is a three-act drama--a tragedy--strong--oh! +so strong--so strong!' She clasped her hands again, letting the fan +dangle from her wrist. 'So effective! I don't know when I have seen a +play with more striking situations. It is accepted. But not a word has +yet been said about it.' + +'May I say something about it? Will you let me be the first to +announce it, and to give some little account of it?' + +'I will ask Alec. If he consents, I will tell you more about the play. +And, my dear Mr. Stephenson, you, one of our old friends, really ought +to do some work for the paper.' + +'I have not been asked,' he replied, colouring, for he was still at +that stage when the dramatic critic is flattered by being invited to +write for a paper. + +'You shall be. How do you like the paper?' + +'It has so completely changed its character, one would think that the +whole staff had been changed. Everybody reads it now, and everybody +takes it, I believe.' + +'The circulation has gone up by leaps and bounds. It is really +wonderful. But, Mr. Stephenson, here is one of the reasons. Give me a +little credit--poor me! I cannot write, but I can look on, and I have +a pair of eyes, and I can see things. Now, I saw that Alec was killing +himself with writing. Every week a story; also, every week, a poem; +every week an original article; and then those notes. I made him stop. +I said to him, "Stamp your own individuality on every line of the +paper; but write it yourself no longer. Edit it." You see, it is not +as if Alec had to prove his powers: he has proved them already. So he +can afford to let others do the hard work, while he adds the magic +touch--the touch of genius--that touch that goes to the heart. And the +result you see.' + +'Yes; the brightest--cleverest--most varied paper that exists.' + +'With a large staff. Formerly Alec and one or two others formed the +whole staff. Well, Mr. Stephenson, I know that Alec is going to ask +you to do some of the dramatic criticism, and if you consent I shall +be very pleased to have been the first to mention it.' + + * * * * * + +It will be understood from this conversation that the new methods of +managing the business of the Firm were essentially different from the +old. The paper had taken a new departure: it prospered. It was +understood that the editor put less of his own work into it; but the +articles, verses, and stories were all unsigned, and no one could tell +exactly which were his papers: therefore, as all were clever, his +reputation remained on the same level. Also, there was a thick and +solid mass of advertisements each week, which represented public +confidence widespread and deep. 'Give me,' cries the proprietor of a +paper, 'the confidence of advertisers. That is proof enough of +popularity.' + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Feilding moved to another part of the room, and began to talk +with another man. + +'My husband,' she said, 'has prepared a little surprise for us this +evening. I say for us, because I have not seen what he has to +show--since it came back from the frame-maker.' + +'It is a picture, then?' + +'A picture in a new style. He has abandoned for a time his coast and +sea-shore studies. This is in quite a new style. I think--I hope--that +it will be liked as well as his old.' + +'He is indeed a wonderful man!' + +'Is he not?' She laughed--a low and musical--a contented and a happy +laugh. 'Is he not? You never know what Alec may be going to do next.' + +Mrs. Feilding's Sundays have already become a great success: such a +success as a woman of the world may desire, and a clever woman can +achieve. There is once more, as she says proudly, a _salon_ in London. +If it does not quite take the lead that she pretends in Art and +Letters, it is always full. Men who go there once, go again: they find +the kind of entertainment that they like: plenty of people for talk, +to begin with. Then, every man is made, by the hostess, to feel that +his own position in the literary and artistic world is above even his +own estimate: that is soothing: in fact, the note of the _salon_ is +appreciation--not mutual admiration, as the envious do enviously +affirm. Moreover, everybody in the _salon_ has done something--perhaps +not much, but something. And then the place is one where the talk is +delightfully free, almost as free as in a club smoking-room. Every +evening, again, there is some kind of entertainment, but not too much, +because the _salon_ has to keep up its reputation for conversation, +and music destroys conversation. 'Let us,' said Mrs. Feilding, 'revive +the dead art of conversation. Let the men in this room make their +reputation as they did a hundred years ago, for brilliant talk.' I +have not heard that Mrs. Feilding has yet developed a talker like the +mighty men of old: perhaps one will come along later: those, however, +who have looked into the subject with an ambition in that line, and +have ascertained the nature of the epigrams, repartees, retorts, +quips, jokes, and personal observations attributed to Messrs. Douglas +Jerrold and his brilliant circle are doubtful of reviving that Art +except in a modified and a greatly chastened, even an effeminate form. + +The entertainments provided by Mrs. Feilding consisted of a little +music or a little singing--always by a young and little-known +professional: there was generally something in the fashion--young lady +with a banjo or a tum-tum, or anything which was popular: young +gentleman to whistle: young actor or actress to give a character +sketch: sometimes a picture sent in for private exhibition: sometimes +a little poem printed for the evening and handed about--one never knew +what would be done. + +But always the hostess would be gracious, winning, caressing, smiling, +and talking incessantly: always she would be gliding about the room, +making her friends talk: the happy wife of the most accomplished and +most versatile man in London. And always that illustrious genius +himself, calm and grave, taking Art seriously, laying down with +authority the opinion that should be held to a circle who surrounded +him. The circle consisted chiefly of women and of young men. Older +men, with that reluctance to listen to the voice of Authority which +distinguishes many after thirty, held aloof and talked with each +other. 'Alec Feilding,' said one of them, expressing the general +opinion, 'may be a mighty clever fellow, but he talks like a dull +book. You've heard it all before. And you've heard it better put. It's +wonderful that such a clever dog should be such a dull dog.' + +They came, however, in spite of the dulness: the wife would have +carried off a hundred dull dogs. + +As in certain earlier and better-known circles, the men greatly +outnumbered the women. 'I am not in love with my own sex,' said Mrs. +Feilding, quite openly. 'I prefer the society of men.' But some women +came of their own accord, and some were brought by their fathers, +husbands, lovers, and brothers. No one could say that ladies kept away +from Mrs. Feilding's Sunday evenings. + +This evening, the principal thing was the uncovering of a new +picture--Mr. Feilding's new picture. + +At ten o'clock the painter-poet, in obedience to a whisper from his +wife, moved slowly, followed by his ring of disciples--male and +female--all young--a callow brood--to the upper end of the room, where +was an easel. A picture stood upon it, but a large green cloth was +thrown over it. + +'I thought,' said Mr. Alec Feilding, in his most dignified manner, +'that you would like to see this picture before anyone else. It is one +of the little privileges of our Sunday evenings to show things to each +other. Some of you may remember,' he said, with the true humility of +genius, 'that I have exhibited, hitherto, chiefly pictures of coast +scenery. I have always been of opinion that a man should not confine +himself to one class of subjects. His purchasing public may demand it, +but the true artist should disregard all and any considerations +connected with money.' + +'Your true artist hasn't always got a weekly journal to fall back +upon,' growled a young A.R.A. who did stick to one class of subjects. +He had been brought there. As a rule, artists are not found at Mrs. +Feilding's, nor do they rally round the cleverest man in London. + +'I say,' repeated the really great man, 'that the wishes of buyers +must not be weighed for an instant in comparison with the true +interests of Art.' + +'Like a copy-book,' murmured the Associate. + +'Therefore, I have attempted a new line altogether. I have made new +studies. They have cost a great deal of time and trouble and anxious +thought. It is quite a new departure. I anticipate, beforehand, what +you will say at first. But--Eccolo!' + +He lifted the green cloth. At the same moment his wife turned up a +light that stood beside the painting. He disclosed a really very +beautiful painting: a group of trees beside a shallow pool of water: +the trees were leafless: a little snow lay at their roots: the pool +was frozen over: there was a little mist over the ground, and between +the trunks one saw the setting sun. + +[Illustration: _He disclosed a really very beautiful painting._] + +'By Jove! It's a Belgian picture!' cried the Associate. And, indeed, +you may see hundreds of pictures exactly in this style in the Brussels +galleries, where the artists are never tired of painting the flat +country and the trees, at every season and under every light. + +'Precisely,' said the painter. 'That is the remark which I +anticipated. Let us call it--if you like--a Belgian picture. The +subject is English: the treatment, perhaps, Belgian. For my part, I am +not too proud to learn something from the Belgians.' + +The Associate touched the man nearest him--an artist, not yet an +Associate--by the arm. + +'Ghosts!' he murmured. 'Spooks and ghosts!' + +'Spectres!' replied the other. 'Phantoms and bogies!' + +'A Haunted Studio!' said the Associate. 'My knees totter! My hair +stands on end!' + +'I tremble--I have goose-flesh!' replied his friend. + +'Let us--let us run to the Society of Psychical Research!' whispered +the Associate. + +'Let us swiftly run!' said the other. + +They fled, swiftly and softly. Only Mrs. Feilding observed their +flight. She also gathered from their looks the subject of their talk. +And she resolved that she would not, henceforth, encourage artists at +her Sunday evenings. She turned to Dick Stephenson. + +'You, Mr. Stephenson,' she said, 'who are a true critic and understand +work, tell me what _you_ think of the picture.' + +The great critic--he was not really a humbug; he was very fond of +looking at pictures; only, you see, he was not an artist--advanced to +the front, bent forward, considered a few moments, and then spoke. + +'A dexterous piece of work--truly dexterous in the highest sense: full +of observation intelligently and poetically rendered: careful: +truthful: with intense feeling. I could hardly have believed that any +English painter was capable of work in this _genre_.' + +The people all gazed upon the canvas with rapt admiration: they +murmured that it was wonderful and beautiful. Then Alec covered up +the picture, and somebody began to play something. + + * * * * * + +'Alec,' said Mr. Jagenal, who seldom came to these gatherings, 'I +congratulate you. Your picture is very good. And in a new style. When +will you be content to settle down in the jog-trot that the British +public love?' + +'Let me change my subject sometimes. When I am tired of trees I will +go back, perhaps, to the coast and seapieces.' + +'Ah! But take care. There's a fellow coming along---- By the way, +Alec, I have made a discovery lately.' + +'What is it?' + +'About those rubies. Why, man'--for Alec turned suddenly pale--'you +remember that business still?' + +'Indeed I do,' he replied. 'And I am not likely to forget it in a +hurry.' + +'My dear boy, to paint such pictures is worth many such bags of +precious stones, if you will only think so.' + +'What's your discovery?' Alec asked hoarsely. + +'Well; I have found, quite accidentally, the eldest grandchild of the +second daughter--your great-aunt.' + +'Oh!' Again he changed colour. 'Then you will, I suppose, hand him +over the things.' + +'Yes, certainly. I have sent for him. He does not yet know what I want +him for. And I shall give him the jewels in obedience to Armorel's +instructions. Alec, I have always been desperately sorry for your +unfortunate discovery.' + +'It caused a pang, certainly. And who is my cousin?' + +'Well, Alec, I will not tell you until I have made quite sure. Not +that there is any doubt. But I had better not. You will perhaps like +to make his acquaintance. Perhaps you know him already. I don't say, +mind.' + +'Well, Sir,' said Alec, 'when he realises the extent and value of this +windfall, I expect he will show a depth of gratitude which will +astonish you. I do, indeed.' + + * * * * * + +'Zoe,' he said, when everybody was gone, 'are you quite sure that in +the matter of those rubies your action can never be discovered?' + +'Anything may be discovered. But I think--I believe--that it will be +difficult. Why?' + +'Because my cousin, the grandson of Robert Fletcher's second daughter, +has been found, and he will receive the jewels to-morrow. And when he +finds out what they are worth----' + +'Then, Alec, it will be asked who had the jewels. They were taken to +the bank by Mr. Jagenal and taken thence to Mr. Jagenal. What have +you--what have I--to do with them? Don't think about it, Alec. It has +nothing to do with us. No suspicion can possibly attach to us. Forget +the whole business. The evening went off very well. The picture struck +everybody very much. And I've laid the foundation for curiosity about +the play. And as for the paper, I was going into the accounts this +morning: it is paying at the rate of three thousand a year. Alec, you +have never until now been really and truly the cleverest man in +London.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +THE TRESPASS OFFERING + + +It was a day in midwinter. Over the adjacent island of Great Britain +there was either a yellow fog, or a white fog, or a black fog. Perhaps +there was no fog at all, but a black east wind, or there was melting +snow, or there was cold sleet and rain: whatever there was, to be out +of doors brought no joy, and the early darkness was tolerable because +it closed and hid and put away the day. In the archipelago of Scilly, +the sky was bright and clear: the sea was blue, except in the shallow +places, where it was a light transparent green: the waves danced and +sparkled: round the ledges of the rocks the white foam rolled and +leaped: the sunshine was warm: the air was fresh. The girls stood on +the northern carn of Samson. They had been on the island now for eight +months. For the greater part of that time they were alone. Only in the +summer Archie came to pay them a visit. His play was accepted: it would +probably be brought out in January, perhaps not till later, according +to the success of the piece then running. Meantime, he had got +introductions, thanks to Armorel's evening, and now found work enough +to keep him going on one or two journals, where his occasional +papers--the papers of a young and clever man feeling his way to +style--were taken and published. And he was, of course, writing another +play: he was in love with another heroine--happy, if he knew his own +happiness, in starting on that rare career in which a man is always in +love, and blamelessly, even with the knowledge of his wife, with a +succession of the loveliest and most delightful damsels--country girls +and princesses--lasses of the city and of the milking path--Dolly and +Molly and stately Kate, and the Duchess of Dainty Device. As yet, he +had only lost his heart to two and was now raving over the second of +his sweethearts. One such youth I have known and followed as he passed +from the Twenties to the Thirties--to the Forties--even to the Fifties. +He has always loved one girl after the other. He knows not how life can +exist unless a man is in love: he is a mere slave and votary of Love: +yet never with a goddess of the earth. He loves an image--a +simulacrum--a phantom: and he looks on with joy and satisfaction--yea! +the tears of happiness rise to his eyes when he sees that phantom at +the last, after many cruel delays, fondly embraced--not by himself--but +by another phantom. Happy lover! so to have lost the substance, yet to +be satisfied with the shadow! + +Except for Archie's visit they had no guests all through the summer. +The holiday visitors mostly arrive at Hugh Town, sail across to Tresco +Gardens and back, some the same day, some the next day, thinking they +have seen Scilly. None of them land on Samson. Few there are who sail +about the Outer Islands where Armorel mostly loved to steer her boat. +The two girls spent the whole time alone with each other for company. +I do not know whether the literature of the country will be enriched +by Effie's sojourn in Lyonesse, but one hopes. At least, she lost her +pale cheeks and thin form: she put on roses, and she filled out: she +became almost as strong as Armorel, almost as dexterous with the +sheet, and almost as handy with the oar. But of verses I fear that few +came to her. With the best intentions, with piles of books, these two +maidens idled away the summer, basking on the headlands, lying among +the fern, walking over the downs of Bryher and St. Martin's, sailing +in and out among the channels, bathing in Porth Bay, or off the lonely +beach of Ganilly in the Eastern group. Always something to see or +something to do. Once they ventured to sail by themselves--a parlous +voyage, but the day was calm--all the way round Bishop's Rock and +back: another time they sailed--but this time they took Peter--among +the Dogs of Scilly, climbed up on Black Rosevean, and stood on +Gorregan with the cruel teeth. Once, on a very calm day in July, they +even threaded the narrow channel between the twin rocks known together +as the Scilly. Always there was something new to do or to see. So the +morning and the afternoon passed away, and there was nothing left but +tea and a little music, and a stroll in the moonlight or beneath the +stars, and a talk together, and so to bed: and if there came a rainy +day, the cakes to make and the puddings to compose! A happy, lazy, +idle, profitable time! + +'We have been six months here and more, Effie,' said Armorel. They +were sitting in the sunshine in the sheltered orchard, among the +wrinkled and twisted old apple-trees. 'What next? When shall we think +of going back to London? We must not stay here altogether, lest we +rust. We will go back--shall we?--as soon as the short, dark days are +over, and we will make a new departure somehow, but in what direction +I do not quite know. Shall we travel? Shall we cultivate society? What +shall we do?' + +'We will go back to London as soon as Archie's play is produced. Dear +Armorel, I do not want ever to go away. I should like to stay here +with you always and always. It has been a time of peace and quiet. +Never before have I known such peace and such quiet. But we must go. +We must go while the spell of the place is still upon us. Perhaps if +we were to stay too long--Nature does not expect us to outstay her +welcome--not that her welcome is exhausted yet--but if we go away, +shall we ever come back? And, if so, will it be quite the same?' + +'Nothing ever returns,' said Armorel the sage. 'We shall go away and +we shall come back again, and there will be changes. Everything +changes daily. The very music of the sea changes from day to day; but +it is always music. My old grandmother in the great chair used to hold +her hand to her ear--so--to catch the lapping of the waves and the +washing of the tide among the rocks. It was the music that she had +known all her life. But the tune was different--the words of the song +in her head were different--the key was changed--but always the music. +Oh, my dear! I never tire of this music. We will go away, Effie; we +must not stay too long here, lest we fall in love with solitude and +renounce the world. But we will come back and hear the same music +again, with a new song. We must go back.' She sighed. 'Eight months. +We must go and see Archie's play. Archie! It will be a proud and +glorious day for him, if it succeeds. It must succeed. And not a word +or a sign all this time from Roland! What is he doing? Why----' She +stopped. + +Effie laid a hand on hers. + +'You have been restless for some days, Armorel,' she said. + +'Yes--yes. I do not doubt him. No--no--he has returned to himself. He +can never--never again--I do not doubt him.' She sprang to her feet. +'Oh, Effie! I do not doubt, but sometimes I fear. What do I fear? Why, +I know there may be failure, but there can never again be disgrace.' + +'You think of him so much, Armorel,' said Effie, with a touch of +jealousy. + +'I cannot think of him too much.' She looked out upon the sunlit sea +at their feet, talking as one who talks to herself. 'How can I think +of him too much? I have thought of him every day for five years--every +day. I love him, Effie. How can you think too much of the man you +love? Suppose I were to hear that he had failed again. That would make +no difference. Suppose he were to sink low--low--deep down among the +worst of men--that would make no difference. I love the man as he may +be--as he shall be--by the help of God, if not in this world, then in +the world to come! I love him, Effie!' + +She stopped because her voice choked with a sob. The strength of her +passion--not for nothing was the Castilian invader wrecked upon +Scilly!--frightened the other girl. She had never dreamed of such a +passion; yet she knew that Armorel thought continually of this man. +She did not dare to speak. She looked on with clasped hands, in +silence. + +Armorel softened again. The tumult of her heart subsided. She turned +to Effie and kissed her. + +'Forgive me, dear: you know now--but you have guessed already. Let us +say no more. But I must see him soon. I must go to see him if he +cannot come to see me. Let us go over the hill. This little orchard is +like a hothouse this morning.' + +When they reached the top of the hill they saw the steamer from +Penzance rounding Bar Point on St. Mary's and coming through the North +Channel. + +'They have had a fine passage,' said Armorel. 'The boat must have done +it in three hours. I wonder if she brings anything for us. It is too +early for the magazines. I wrote for those books, but I doubt if there +has been time. And I wrote to Philippa, but I do not expect a letter +in reply by this post.' + +'And I wrote to Archie, but I do not know whether I shall get a letter +to-day. Suppose there should come a visitor?' + +'Few visitors come to Scilly in the winter--and none to Samson. We are +alone on our desert island, Effie. See, the steamer is entering the +port: the tide is low: she cannot get alongside the quay. It is such a +fine day that it is a pity we did not sail over this morning and meet +the steamer. There goes the steam-launch from Tresco.' + +It is quite a mile from Samson to the quay of Hugh Town; but the air +was so clear that Armorel, whose eyes were as good as any ordinary +field-glass, could plainly make out the agitation and bustle on the +quay caused by the arrival of the steamer. + +'The boat always carries my thoughts back to London,' said Armorel. +'And we have been talking about London, have we not? When I was a +child the boat came into the Road out of the Unknown, and next day +went back to the Unknown. What was the other side like? I filled it up +with the vague splendour of a child's imagination. The Unknown to me +was like the sunrise or the sunset. Well ... now I know. The poets say +that knowledge makes us no happier. I think they are quite wrong. It +is always better to know everything, even though it's little joy-- + + To feel that Heaven is farther off + Than when one was a boy. + +'There is a boat,' she went on, after a while. 'She is putting out +from the port. I wonder what boat it is. Perhaps she is going to +Bryher--or to St. Martin's--or to St. Agnes. It is not the lighthouse +boat. She is sailing as if for Samson; but she cannot be coming here. +What a lovely breeze! She would be here in a quarter of an hour. I +suppose she must be going to Tresco. See what comes of living on a +desert island. We are actually speculating about the voyage of a +sailing-boat across the Road! Effie, we are little better than village +gossips. You shall marry Mr. Paul Pry.' + +'She looks very pretty,' said Effie, 'heeling over with the wind, +wherever she is going.' + +'They are steering south of Green Island,' said Armorel. 'That is very +odd. If she had been making for Bryher or Tresco she would leave Green +Island on the lee and steer up the channel past Puffin. I really +believe that she is coming to Samson. I expect there is a parcel for +us. Let us run down to the beach, Effie. We shall get there just in +time.' + +They ran down the hill. As the boatman lowered the sail and the boat +grounded on the firm white sand of the beach, the girls arrived. The +boat brought, however, no packet---- + +'Oh!' cried Effie. 'It is Roland Lee!' + +It was none other than that young man of whom they had been speaking. +Armorel changed colour: she blushed a rosy red: then she recovered +quickly and stepped forward, as Roland leaped out upon the sand. +'Welcome back to Samson!' she said, giving him her hand with her old +frankness. 'We expected you to come, but we did not know when.' + +'May I stay?' he murmured, taking her hand and looking into her face. + +'You know--yourself,' she replied. + +He made answer by shouldering his portmanteau. 'No new road has been +made, I suppose,' he said. 'Shall I go first? How well I remember the +way over the hill! Samson has changed little since I was here last.' + +He led the way, all laughing and chatting as if his visit was +expected, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world and +the most common thing to run down to the beach and meet a morning +caller from London Town. But Effie, who was as observant as a poet +ought to be, saw how Roland kept looking round as he led, as if he +would be still catching sight of Armorel. + +'Come, Dorcas,' cried Armorel, when they arrived at the house. 'Come, +Chessun--here is Mr. Roland Lee. You have not forgotten Mr. Lee. He +has come to stay with us again.' The serving-women came out and shook +hands with him in friendly fashion. Forgotten Mr. Lee? Why, he was the +only young man who had been seen at Holy Farm since Armorel's brothers +were drowned--victims to the relentless wrath of those execrable +rubies. + +'You shall have your old room,' said Dorcas. 'Chessun will air the bed +for you and light a fire to warm the room. Well, Mr. Lee, you are not +much altered. Your beard is grown, and you're a bit stouter. Not much +changed. You're married yet?' + +'Not yet, Dorcas.' + +'Armorel, she's a woman now. When you left her she was little better +than a child. I say she's improved, but perhaps you wish she was a +child again?' + +'Indeed, no,' said Roland. + +Everything was quite commonplace. There was not the least romance +about the return of the wanderer. It was half-past two. He had had +nothing to eat since breakfast, and after three hours and more upon +the sea one is naturally hungry. Chessun laid the cloth and put the +cold beef--cold boiled beef--upon the table. Pickles were also +produced--a pickled walnut is not a romantic object. The young man was +madly in love: he had come all the way from town on purpose to +explain and dilate upon that wonderful accident: yet he took a pickled +walnut. Nay, he was in a famishing condition, and he tackled the beef +and beer--that old Brown George full of the home-brewed with a head of +foam like the head of a venerable bishop--as if he was not in love at +all. And Armorel sat opposite to him at the table talking to him about +the voyage and his studio and whether he had furnished it, and all +kinds of things, and Chessun hovered over him suggesting more pickles. +And he laughed, and Armorel laughed--why not? They were both as happy +as they could be. But Effie wondered how Armorel, whose heart was so +full, whose soul was so charged and heavy with love, could laugh thus +gaily and talk thus idly. + +After luncheon, which of course was, in Samson fashion, dinner, Roland +got up and stood in the square window, looking out to sea. Armorel +stood beside him. + +'I remember standing here,' he said, 'one morning five years ago. A +great deal has happened since then.' + +'A great deal. We are older--we know more of the world.' + +'We are stronger, Armorel'--their eyes met--'else I should not be +here.' + +It was quite natural that Armorel should put on her jacket and take +her hat, and that they should go out together. Effie took her seat in +the window and lay in the sunshine, a book neglected in her lap. +Armorel had got her lover back. She loved him. Oh! she loved him. So +heavenly is the contemplation of human love that Effie found it more +soothing than the words of wisdom in her book, more full of comfort +than any printed page. Human love, she knew well, would never fall to +her lot: all the more should she meditate on love in others. Well, she +has her compensations: while others act she looks on: while others +feel, she will tell the world, in her verse, what and how they feel: +to be loved is the chief and crowning blessing for a woman, but such +as Effie have their consolations. + +She looked up, and saw old Dorcas standing in the door. + +'They have gone out in the boat,' she said. 'When I saw him coming +over the hill I said to Chessun, "He's come again. He's come for +Armorel at last." I always knew he would. And now they've gone out in +the boat to be quite alone. Is he worth her, Miss Effie? Is he worth +my girl?' + +'If he is not she will make him worth her. But nobody could be worth +Armorel. Are you sure you are not mistaken, Dorcas?' + +'No--no--no, I am not mistaken. The love-light is in his eyes, and the +answering love in hers. I know the child. She loved him six years ago. +She is as steadfast as the compass. She can never change. Once love +always love, and no other love. She has thought about him ever since. +Why did she go away and leave us alone without her for five long +years? She wanted to learn things so as to make herself fit for him. +As if he would care what things she knew if only he loved her! 'Twas +the beautiful maid he would love, with her soft heart and her tender +voice and her steadfast ways--not what she knew.' + +'Oh! but, Dorcas, perhaps--you are not quite sure--we do not know--one +may be mistaken.' + +'_You_ may be mistaken, Miss Effie. As for me, I've been married for +five-and-fifty years. A woman of my age is never mistaken. I saw the +love-light in his eyes, and I saw the answering love in hers. And I +know my own girl that I've nursed and brought up since the cruel sea +swallowed up her father and her mother and her brothers. No, Miss +Effie, I know what I can see.' + +One does not, as a rule, go in a small open boat upon the water in +December, even in Scilly, whose winter hath nor frost nor snow. But +these two young people quite naturally, and without so much as asking +whether it was summer or winter, got into the boat. Roland took the +oars--Armorel sat in the stern. They put out from Samson what time the +midwinter sun was sinking low. The tide was rising fast, and the wind +was from the south-east. When they were clear of Green Island, Roland +hoisted the sail. + +'I have a fancy,' he said, 'to sail out to Round Island and to see +Camber Rock again, this first day of my return. Shall we have time? We +can let the sun go down: there will be light enough yet for an hour. +You can steer the craft in the dark, Armorel. You are captain of this +boat, and I am your crew. You can steer me safely home, even on the +darkest night--in the blackest time,' he added, with a deeper meaning +than lay in his simple words. + +The sail caught the breeze, and the boat heeled over. Roland sat +holding the rope while Armorel steered. Neither spoke. They sailed up +New Grinsey Channel between Tresco and Bryher, past Hangman's Island, +past Cromwell's Castle. They sailed right through beyond the rocks and +ledges outlying Tresco, outside Menovawr, the great triple rock, with +his two narrow channels, and so to the north of Round Island. The sky +was aflame: the waters were splendid with the colours of the west. +They rounded the island. Then Roland lowered the sail and put out the +oars. 'We must row now,' he said. 'How glorious it all is! I am back +again. Nine short months ago--you remember, Armorel?--how could I have +hoped to come here again--to sail with you in your boat?' + +'Yet you are here,' she said simply. + +'I have so much to say, and I could not say it, except in the boat.' + +'Yes, Roland.' + +'First of all, I have sold that picture. It is not a great price that +I have taken. But I have sold it. You will be pleased to hear that. +Next, I have two commissions, at a better price. Don't believe, +Armorel, that I am thinking about nothing but money. The first step +towards success, remember, is to be self-supporting. Well--I have +taken that first step. I have also obtained some work on an +illustrated paper. That keeps me going. I have regained my lost +position--and more--more, Armorel. The way is open to me at last: +everything is open to me now if I can force myself to the front.' + +'No man can ask for more, can he?' + +'No. He cannot. As for the time, Armorel, the horrible, shameful +time----' + +'Roland, you said you would not come here until the shame of that time +belonged altogether to the past.' + +'It does: it does: yet the memory lingers--sometimes, at night, I +think of it--and I am abased.' + +'We cannot forget--I suppose we can never forget. That is the burden +which we lay upon ourselves. Oh! we must all walk humbly, because we +have all fallen so far short of the best, and because we cannot +forget.' + +'But--to be forgiven. That also is so hard.' + +'Oh! Roland, you mistake. We can always forgive those we +love--yes--everything--everything--until seventy times seven. How can +we love if we cannot forgive? The difficulty is to forgive ourselves. +We shall do that when we have risen high enough to understand how +great a thing is the soul--I don't know how to put what I wish to say. +Once I read in a book that there was a soul who wished--who would +not?--to enter into heaven. The doors were wide open: the hands of the +angels were held out in love and welcome: but the soul shrank back. "I +cannot enter," he said, "I cannot forgive myself." You must learn to +forgive yourself, Roland. As for those who love you, they ask for +nothing more than to see your foot upon the upward slope.' + +'It is there, Armorel. Twice you have saved me: once from death by +drowning: once from a worse death still--the second death. Twice your +arms have been stretched out to save me from destruction.' + +They were silent again. The boat rocked gently in the water: the +setting sun upon Armorel's face lent her cheek a warmer, softer glow, +and lit her eyes, which were suffused with tears. Roland, sitting in +his place, started up and dipped the oars again. + +'It is nearly half-tide now,' he said. 'Let us row through the Camber +Pass. I want to see that dark ravine again. It is the place I painted +with you--you of the present, not of the past--in it. I have sold the +picture, but I have a copy. Now I have two paintings, with you in +each. One hangs in the studio, and the other in my own room, so that +by night as well as by day I feel that my guardian angel is always +with me.' + +Through the narrow ravine between Camber Rock and Round Island the +water races and boils and roars when the tide runs strongly. Now, it +was flowing gently--almost still. The sun was so low that the rock on +the east side was obscured by the great mass of Round Island: the +channel was quite dark. The dipping of the oars echoed along the black +walls of rock; but overhead there was the soft and glowing sky, and in +the light blue already appeared two or three stars. + +'A strange thing has happened to me, Armorel,' Roland said, speaking +low, as if in a church--'a very strange and wonderful thing. It is a +thing which connects me with you and with your people and with the +Island of Samson. You remember the story told us one evening--the +evening before I left you--by the Ancient Lady?' + +'Of course. She told that story so often, and I used to suffer such +agonies of shame that my ancestor should act so basely, and such +terrors in thinking of the fate of his soul, that I am not likely to +forget the story.' + +'You remember that she mistook me for Robert Fletcher?' + +'Yes; I remember.' + +'She was not so very far wrong, Armorel; because, you see, I am Robert +Fletcher's great-grandson.' + +'Oh! Roland! Is it possible?' + +'I suppose that there may have been some resemblance. She forgot the +present, and was carried back in imagination to the past, eighty years +ago.' + +'Oh! And you did not know?' + +'If you think of it, Armorel, very few middle-class people are able to +tell the maiden name of their grandmother. We do not keep our +genealogies, as we should.' + +'Then how did you find it out?' + +'Mr. Jagenal, your lawyer, found it out. He sent for me and proved it +quite clearly. Robert Fletcher left three daughters. The eldest died +unmarried: the second and third married. I am the grandson of the +second daughter who went to Australia. Now, which is very odd, the +only grandson of the third daughter is a man whose name you may +remember. They call him Alec Feilding. He is at once a painter, a +poet, a novelist, and is about to become, I hear, a dramatist. He is +my own cousin. This is strange, is it not?' + +'Oh! It is wonderful.' + +'Mr. Jagenal, at the same time, made me a communication. He was +instructed, he said, by you. Therefore, you know the nature of the +communication.' + +'He gave you the rubies.' + +'Yes. He gave them to me. I have brought them back. They are in my +pocket. I restore them to you, Armorel.' He drew forth the packet--the +case of shagreen--and laid it in Armorel's lap. + +'Keep them. I will not have them. Let me never see them.' She gave +them back to him quickly. 'Keep them out of my sight, Roland. They are +horrible things. They bring disaster and destruction.' + +'You will not have them? You positively refuse to have them? Then I +can keep them to myself. Why--that is brave!' He opened the case and +unrolled the silken wrapper. + +'See, Armorel, the pretty things! They sparkle in the dying light. Do +you know that they are worth many thousands? You have given me a +fortune. I am rich at last. What is there in the world to compare with +being rich? Now I can buy anything I want. The Way of Wealth is the +Way of Pleasure. What did I tell you? My feet were dragged into that +way as if with ropes: now they can go dancing of their own accord--no +need to drag them. They fly--they trip--they have wings. What is +art?--what is work?--what is the soul?--nothing! Here'--he took up a +handful of the stones and dropped them back again--'here, Armorel, is +what will purchase pleasure--solid comfort! I shall live in ease and +sloth: I shall do nothing: I shall feast every day: everybody will +call me a great painter because I am rich. Oh, I have a splendid +vision of the days to come, when I have turned these glittering things +into cash! Farewell drudgery--I am rich! Farewell disappointment--I am +rich! Farewell servitude--I am rich! Farewell work and struggle--I am +rich! Why should I care any more for Art? I am rich, Armorel! I am +rich!' + +'That is not all you are going to say about the rubies, Roland. Come +to the conclusion.' + +'Not quite all. In the old days I flung away everything for the Way of +Wealth and the Way of Pleasure--as I thought. Good Heavens! What +Wealth came to me? What Pleasure? Well, Armorel, in your presence I +now throw away the wealth. Since you will not have it, I will not.' + +He seized the case as if he would throw it overboard. She leaned +forward eagerly and stopped him. + +'Will you really do this, Roland? Stop a moment. Think. It is a great +sacrifice. You might use that wealth for all kinds of good and useful +things. You could command the making of beautiful things: you could +help yourself in your Art: you could travel and study--you could do a +great deal, you know, with all this money. Think, before you do what +can never be undone.' + +Roland, for reply, laid the rubies again in her lap. It was as if one +should bring a Trespass offering and lay it upon the altar. The case +was open, and the light was still strong enough overhead for the +rubies to be seen in a glittering heap. + +He took them up again. 'Do you consent, Armorel?' + +She bowed her head. + +He took a handful of the stones and dropped them in the water. There +was a little splash, and the precious stones, the fortune of Robert +Fletcher, the gems of the Burmah mines, dropped like a shower upon the +surface. They were, as we know, nothing but bits of paste and glass, +but this he did not know. And therefore the Trespass offering was rich +and precious. Then he took the silken kerchief which had wrapped them +and threw the rest away, as one throws into the sea a handful of +pebbles picked up on the beach. + +'So,' he said, 'that is done. And now I am poor again. You shall keep +the empty case, Armorel, if you like.' + +'No--no. I do not want even the case. I want never to be reminded +again of the rubies and the story of Robert Fletcher.' Roland dipped +the oars again, and with two or three vigorous strokes pulled the boat +out of the dark channel--the tomb of his wealth--into the open water +beyond. There in the dying light the puffins swam and dived, and the +sea-gulls screamed as they flew overhead, and on the edge of the rocks +the shags stood in meditative rows. + + * * * * * + +Far away in the studio of the poet-painter--the cleverest man in +London--sat two who were uneasy with the same gnawing anxiety. Roland +Lee--they knew by this time--had the rubies. When would the discovery +be made? When would there be an inquiry? What would come out? As the +time goes on this anxiety will grow less, but it will never wholly +vanish. It will change perhaps into curiosity as to what has been done +with those bits of glass and paste. Why has not Roland found out? He +must have given them to his wife, and she must have kept them locked +up. Some day it will be discovered that they are valueless. But then +it will be far too late for any inquiry. As yet they do not speak to +each other of the thing. It is too recent. Roland Lee has but just +acquired his fortune: he is still gloating over the stones: he is +building castles in the air: he is planning his future. When he finds +out the truth about them--what will happen then? + + * * * * * + +'I have had a bad dream of temptation with rubies, Armorel. Temptation +harder than you would believe. How calm is the sea to-night! How warm +the air! The last light of the west lies on your cheek, and--Armorel! +Oh! Armorel!' + + * * * * * + +It was nearly six o'clock, long after dark, when the two came home. +They walked over the hill hand in hand. They entered the room hand in +hand, their faces grave and solemn. I know not what things had been +said between them, but they were things quite sacred. Only the lighter +things--the things of the surface--the things that everybody +expects--can be set down concerning love. The tears stood in Armorel's +eyes. And, as if Effie had not been in the room at all, she held out +both her hands for her lover to take, and when he bent his head she +raised her face to meet his lips. + +'You have come back to me, Roland,' she said. 'You have grown so +tall--so tall--grown to your full height. Welcome home!' + + * * * * * + +At seven the door opened and the serving-folk came in. First marched +Justinian, bowed and bent, but still active. Then Dorcas, also bowed +and bent, but active. Then Chessun. Effie turned down the lamp. + +Dorcas stood for a moment, while Chessun placed the chairs, gazing +upon Roland, who stood erect as a soldier surveyed by his captain. + +'You have got a good face,' she said, 'if a loving face is a good +face. If you love her you will make her happy. If she loves you your +lot is happy. If you deserve her, you are not far from the Kingdom of +Heaven.' + +'Your words, Dorcas,' he replied, 'are of good omen.' + +'Chessun shall make a posset to-night,' she said. 'If ever a posset +was made, one shall be made to-night--a sherry posset! I remember the +posset for your mother, Armorel, and for your grandmother, the first +day she came here with her sweetheart. A sherry posset you shall +have--hot and strong!' + +The old man sat down and threw small lumps of coal upon the fire. Then +the flames leaped up, and the red light played about the room and +showed the golden torque round Armorel's neck and played upon her +glowing face as she took her fiddle and stood up in the old place to +play to them in the old fashion. + +Dorcas sat opposite her husband. At her left hand, Chessun with her +spinning-wheel. It was all--except for the Ancient Lady and the hooded +chair--all exactly as Roland remembered it nearly six years before. +Yet, as Armorel said, though outside there was the music of the waves +and within the music of her violin--the music was set to other words +and arranged for another key. Between himself of that time and of the +present, how great a gulf! + +Armorel finished tuning, and looked towards her master. + +'"Dissembling Love"!' he commanded. ''Tis a moving piece, and you play +it rarely, "Dissembling Love"!' + + +_Spottiswoode & Co. Printers, New-street Square, London._ + + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + +Obvious typographical errors have been repaired. Hyphenation +inconsistencies have been standardized to most frequently used. + +Illustrations were moved to the text which they illustrated, and page +references within their original captions have been removed. + +Original used single quotation marks for normal conversation, and +double quotation marks for quoted material within conversations. This +has been retained. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Armorel of Lyonesse, by Walter Besant + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42125 *** |