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diff --git a/42125-8.txt b/42125-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7823d88..0000000 --- a/42125-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17808 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Armorel of Lyonesse, by Walter Besant - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Armorel of Lyonesse - A Romance of To-day - -Author: Walter Besant - -Illustrator: Fred Barnard - -Release Date: February 18, 2013 [EBook #42125] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARMOREL OF LYONESSE *** - - - - -Produced by sp1nd, JoAnn Greenwood, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - -[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. 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